Glossop North End 1 Cammell Laird 4

24apr06
North West Counties League Division One
Surrey Street, Glossop
att. 105

I would spend ages discussing the usual bits about the 'home' town and club but the Glossop experience has been already more than adequately noted by our friend Jonathan Crinklybee in two postings from earlier this season, when they took on Romulus in a high-scoring FA Vase game. It's in two parts, part 1 here and part 2 here. While you're about it, you should also check out his latest brief article that describes a visit to Dunston Federation Brewery. Anyway, back to tonight's game at Surrey Street.

In the first half, a rotated Lairds squad look bright of mind, but slow in body, as might be expected of a side playing games virtually every other day for the last 6 weeks of the season. Thankfully for them, the North West Counties League has extended its season to cater for its clubs that have been either more successful in the cups or poor in the drainage. As such they have games running through until May 15th.

Despite this, and that games are less prone to postponement now the spring weather is showing itself, the going on bobbly pitches like the one here at Glossop will sap the legs somewhat, and while not as technically proficient, the home side are able to exploit this by upping the work-rate amongst their less wearied players. Their efforts are rewarded in the 28th minute as Sam Hind polishes off a nod across goal. Word is clearly spreading round the neighbourhood of this lead as two chaps take advantage of the low-ish wall near the turnstile to peer Kilroy-like at the action, or possibly to check on the feasibility of breaking into adjacently parked cars.

Lairds have every reason to be nervous at this point, and not just because their team bus is parked right outside, as while they are still several games behind Alsager and Skelmersdale, some of their catch-up fixtures have not gone to plan, a 0-0 draw with Trafford, a 2-1 defeat at home to Bacup Borough and yet another postponement coming in the week prior to this game. It is therefore unsurprising that Lairds manager Ian Doran isn’t cutting his charges any slack, screaming “Don’t get lazy on me” as though having just perched on a window sill laden with net-curtain disguised cacti. It does the trick as on the stroke of half time, Jamie McGuire latching onto a long ball over the defence and exquisitely lobbing keeper Stuart Williams with a single touch. However, Lairds cannot sit on their equaliser and go in knowing that they will have to push for victory after the break. Doran will certainly be on their case if they take their foot off the pedal.

It is easy to get distracted at this stage of the season though, particularly when the pitch gets a regular visit from a duck at the start of the second period. He ambles around the Glossop half for a while before, like the home side’s defence, he gets caught out by Cammell Laird’s pacey and penetrative runs, quacking with a hint of panic and flying off, muttering “of course, you realise, this means war” through a pursed bill. He returns later, seemingly avoiding the pun potential of a quick trip up the road to Dukinfield, and once again plays his own game of dare in the face of increasingly productive Wirralian limbs. Others in the past week have suggested as to what this blog would have made of ‘the Highbury squirrel’. I really don’t know what they mean.

Despite the diversion, Lairds’ class eventually spills out and their undoubted passing abilities get them their lead in the 61st minute. Lairds have had 3 decent penalty shouts during the game and this was perhaps the softest of the lot as, with the long ball bounces and sails over them both, Stuart Williams collides with Chris McGinn, Jamie McGuire scoring his second of the night from the spot. That he should be penalised is harsh on Williams who has a pretty decent game, making several vital blocks and saves.

Glossop attempt to push on for an equaliser and, for a short time look good for it; one corner curling in towards the centre of goal before Lairds keeper Leon Bimpson athletically bats it away like a table tennis junior champ trying to impress his best friend’s attractive cousin. It is a short-lived fight-back as Lairds seal it in the 84th minute, McGuire completing his hat-trick with an easy close-range header, his 39th goal of the season which takes him to within 4 of club, and league, top scorer Ronnie Morgan.

At this point, to be sure of my train home, I am on the edge of the Peak District and needing to get back to Liverpool after all, I scoot and thus miss the icing on the cake that is Mike Rimmer’s final minute effort of which I can tell you precisely nothing. Apologies, the hobo doesn’t like to miss anything, but when nights on cold, desolate Derbyshire railway stations somehow manage not to appeal, there is little choice.

So, as it stands, Lairds are 6 games behind Skelmersdale and Alsager, with 10 and 9 points separating respectively. Still, it is theirs for the taking. The top 3 may yet all go up but until that is made clear, the top spot is all important.

Links
Glossop North End website
Cammell Laird website

Hendon 0 AFC Wimbledon 1

22apr06
Isthmian League Premier Division
Claremont Road, Brent Cross
att. 1,444

So I’m in London for my birthday weekend, right, but the question is, how do you adequately celebrate your non-milestone 28th? For me it meant Indian food, finally getting to see my chums Autons play a live gig, dancing into the night at a quasi-miserablist club and attending a screening of a 1913 Expressionist film with live piano accompaniment. I would add football to that list but, as you’ll be aware by now, I don’t use that as a marker of another year passed. Another week, yes! I’m quite the hedonist really.

The London option was made much more viable and, more importantly, affordable by my lovely lady friend’s placement, for work purposes, in a Farringdon flat. However nice and central it may be, though, to spend a weekend there, you become acutely aware of one sage old soundbite; there really is no place like home. Sadly, on the Sunday, the clicking heels option for the instant return wasn’t available on a Virgin Saver ticket; I think young Dorothy may have acquiesced to knocking about permenantly in Oz if the only other option was a standing-room only Pendolino.

My brief football excursion up the Northern line, amongst my attempts to look debonair, brought me into brief contact with two sets of supporters who would certainly empathise wholeheartedly with my pigeon-like instinct. Wimbledon fans spent the best part of a decade, after moving out of Plough Lane and into a tenancy agreement with Crystal Palace, campaigning that it was “time we had a home game”, before new owners decided that ‘home’ should be over 60 miles away and, eventually, in new colours and with a different name. Yada yada yada, AFC Wimbledon were formed in 2002 and have ascended from the Combined Counties League and now find themselves challenging for a play-off place that could potentially see them into the Conference South.

That AFC have not made sure of their spot already is far from the ideal scenario for Hendon who themselves require the points in more trying circumstances. While three teams have already been directly relegated from the Ryman Premier, there remains a stealthy dotted line caveat that exists just above the zone in the 3 Conference feeders and, as such, the Lambs find themselves in a linear scuffle to avoid a single extra relegation with those similarly placed in the other two step 3 leagues. This entails that Hendon’s worried glances should flick not only upwards to those within reach in their own division, but also across at the points tallies of the likes of Lincoln United and Wakefield & Emley in the Northern Premier and Northwood in the Southern League.

If this was the only thing to currently concern Hendon, I’m sure they’d be coping slightly better as the possibility remains that they might not have a team at all next season. One thing that seems for certain is that they will not be playing here at Claremont Road, where they have been in situ since 1926, as owners the Arbiter Group have decided, upon the death of company chairman Ivor Arbiter, that they can no longer fund the club and, as such, the ground is being sold for housing. Today, then, sees the last game that will be played at Claremont Road. A move to the Copthall Athletics Stadium has been vetoed, although the possibilities of mergers or amalgamations remain. A Supporter’s Trust has been set up to work alongside current vice-chairman, former 10,000 metre world record holder and wearer of a triumphantly colossal moustache, Dave Bedford in securing some kind of future for Hendon.

With all this up in the air, the first priority is to cement the top-tier status they have held since they joined the Isthmian League from the Athenian in 1963. They have run relegation close on several occasions in that time, no more so than with a final day 4-1 victory over Slough 20 years ago. It appears they are trying to invoke the spirit of that era as a good luck charm today as, prior to kick-off, the PA spits out a school-disco of 80’s hits such as ‘Easy Lover’, ‘Don’t You Want Me’ and ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’, the poignancy of which appears deliberate as when we do finally move on to the music of the 1990’s, it is with REM’s ‘Everybody Hurts’. With souvenir rosettes on sale and a poetic homage to the ground pinned, seemingly unsolicited, to the outer walls of the toilets, the tactic today is evidently to squeeze out every last drop, rather than wallow all summer. Bruce Hornsby laissez-fairing with the suggestion that “that’s just the way it is” doesn’t quite capture the mood of the occasion, particularly in the insinuation that “some things will never change,” when, quite clearly, sometimes too many changes can occur at once.

Their support is certainly mobilised though, the Supporters Trust gathering cash and names outside the club shop while, inside, they are having a sale in advance of having to box things up. A ceramic lamb mascot is clearly already getting in the way and has been swept aside so as to seemingly be facing the naughty corner and, therefore, in looking sheepish, succeeds on more than one level. Before you reel in horror at the outrageous pun, bear in mind that this is merely a reflection of the fact that the chap walking round the ground in full woolly costume, barely succeeds on any level. Despite this he still manages get a load of coinage thrown in his bucket, making the most of the imposing size of the visiting support, who themselves include one chap seemingly a day early for his London Marathon entry, taking on the spring sunshine by turning up amongst the shirtsleeves in a gorilla outfit.

Considering AFC are currently managed by ex-Hendon gaffer Dave Anderson; exist as the result of a supporters’ initiative; and take at least 1500 to most league away games, Hendon Supporter’s Trust couldn’t have chosen a better time for their launch as they have a large and empathic captive audience for their symbolic, but unostentatious, release of green and white balloons. The Dons arrival en masse is certainly fitting for Claremont Road’s last hurrah and, as a result, money flies from all sides in the direction of the charity bins but the last remaining 50/50 draw ticket still requires the hard sell from one lady sounding exhausted and exasperated by her sales drive; “C’mon, you’ve been where we are. Bin it, eat it, wipe your arse on it if you want, just give us yer money.” In the world of marketing, you really can’t beat that feminine touch.

For all the benefits of a big crowd, the script was never going to be that perfectly written, as it is AFC who win the game, despite playing all of the second half with 10 men after Scott Curley’s 45th minute dismissal for planting an elbow on Andy Cook. Richard Butler scores their winner, in the 59th minute and against the run of second half play, polishing off a pinpoint pass by sliding the ball beneath keeper Rikki Banks. Prior to that point, in the face of Hendon’s much improved display, the Dons support had been singing that Milton Keynes “is full of shit”, but upon the goal, spirits are lifted to the point that they spend the next 10 minutes solid singing their goal scorer’s name.

It is a gutting moment for the demotion and demolition haunted Lambs, particularly after their hard first half work in the face of AFC pressure which saw Banks make several fine saves. Aside from one cross-goal flash that avoids both defensive and offensive out-stretched limbs, Hendon don’t look like getting anything out of the game after the goal, their day neatly summed up during a break in play when a substitute’s attempt to skid a water bottle to Rikki Banks sees the lid wind off and the contents spill out, an enthusiastic “’R-rrrraaaayyyy” immediately lifting from the far terrace.

So, as it stands, AFC Wimbledon leave Claremont Road behind assured of their place in the play-offs in which they could play Heybridge Swifts, currently home to ex-H&W man Dean Holdsworth. Considering he played for ‘Wimbledon’ in their first games at Milton Keynes, as well as more successfully in the immediate post-Crazy Gang era, it would be interesting to see what the reaction to him would be. Hendon, meanwhile, leave home still looking across the parallel divisions, and after this defeat, they know it is out of their hands, a win away at Margate on final day next week would still require results in two unfamiliar leagues to go their way.

Links:
Hendon website
Hendon Supporters' Trust website
AFC Wimbledon website

Lewes 0 Havant & Waterlooville 2

17apr06
Conference South
The Dripping Pan, Lewes
att. 527

With only 2 weeks to go of the Conference South season, things remain a little complicated. Regular readers may remember me mentioning that Havant & Waterlooville got into a bit of trouble back in January for playing Tony Taggart in a match against his former club Weymouth despite giving assurances in writing to them that we would not. This is not an issue of ineligibility, as his contract had been terminated at Weymouth on the basis of said agreement, rather ungentlemanly conduct. Or bringing the Conference into disrepute. Or something. Which was the trouble as nobody, least of all the Conference, really knew what to do about it. No league rules had been broken as such but, and many H&W fans would agree with this, a slap on the wrist of some kind was probably fair.

The Conference’s original ruling was nothing if not revolutionary. They stated that the match should be replayed under cup conditions. We appealed to the FA with regards procedural matters in the hearing, and they ruled that the Conference should re-examine the case. Eventually they got around to doing so, changing their decision to a thousand quid fine and a 3 point deduction. We then had two weeks to appeal the decision, and we have duly done so. This leaves a fortnight left of the season with all matters still up in the air. The outcome, of course, affects not only us, but also those immediately beneath as, prior to the Easter weekend, we sat in 5th at the bottom of the play-off spots, with both Welling United and Cambridge City snapping at our heels 5 points behind, 2 if you’re one of those table compilers that’s already chalked off the rewards from our Weymouth win.

As such the onus has been very much on the Hawks overcoming their stuttering, inconsistent performances of late, and making sure of a play-off berth regardless of any upheld deduction. With a re-arranged trip to Cambridge in the final week, as well as our hosting of title contenders St. Albans City next Saturday, we very much needed to make the best of the Easter double-header.

It didn’t exactly get off to the best of starts; a rare 2-1 home defeat to Thurrock managing to increase the heavy gloom on a grey, drizzly Saturday at West Leigh Park. Thurrock were first to every ball despite having nothing to play for, and we never looked like winning after Neil Champion’s own goal gifted Thurrock an early lead. Carl Wilson-Denis’ scuffed effort that crept in off the post after 68 minutes briefly lifted the spirits, but in truth we looked too lethargic to be considered worthy of taking anything from the game.

As such we found ourselves travelling to Lewes with nerves even further frayed but still it was a train beano along the South Coast and, while the big day out usually spells certain defeat, it was just the shot of fun in the arm that I so desperately needed after recent off-field frustrations. Couple of pubs, Spurs v Man U on the telly and then a nice stroll to the Dripping Pan through the quiet town centre for the main game of the day. Just the ticket.

Lewes’ ground is certainly an oddity as the pitch sits in its own little valley, surrounded by banking on all four sides, although one has been dug into with the changing rooms/social club building and, more recently, a steepish bank of terracing with a designer roof. The Dripping Pan, though, is much less Lewes’ Theatre of Dreams, and more its shabby outhouse basin of frustrated ambition for which, however, they only have themselves to blame. Despite the terracing, and some seating on top of one of the side banks, it betrays the fact that they ascended from the old Isthmian 3rd Division to the Conference South in little over 3 years, an opportune Division One (South) win in 2004 just prior to the step 2 re-jig allowing an instant 2-tier promotion. It is no surprise then that the Pan doesn’t even come close to meeting the requirements for hosting Conference National football. As a result, should they finish between 2nd and 5th, they will not be allowed to compete in the play-off semis, giving the highest placed side a bye to the final, and essentially robbing another sufficiently graded side of the opportunity.



It is not as though they haven’t had fair warning, as exactly the same thing happened at the end of last season, but rather than bring their ground up to standard to prevent such a case again, they seem to prefer pumping loads of cash at players of calibre to bring them the kind of on-field success upon which they cannot truly capitalise. With the further prospect of demotion from the Conference South if adequate changes aren’t made by this time next year, Lewes really do need to face up to the fact that, however proficient they might be at treading water, the prospect of retrieving the plastic brick from the bottom of the pool in their pyjamas is just not going to go away. In fairness though, Lewes District Council, them so beloved of Brighton & Hove Albion FC, have attached concrete boots to their efforts by not allowing the essential removal of a flint wall to aid ground improvements.

With sunshine lighting up the sunken surface, a slight breeze sweeping towards the open end and the occasional child rolling down the banking like a Cooper’s Hill cheese, the Hawks got straight to it, looking steely and determined, Guy Lopez returning to a side that missed his energetic midfield grit on Saturday. All those around him, even the much maligned (on these pages at least) Fitzroy Simpson, were also getting amongst it, our central defensive partnership of Tom Jordan and Neil Sharp looking particularly solid. For all our attacking, though, we only had one goal to show for it going into half time, and could perhaps be said to be fortunate for that, Rocky Baptiste tucking away a penalty given for reasons unknown to most in the ground.



Still, there was plenty to be confident about, even if we were lacking the second goal that would kill it. The Hawks were not quite so efficient in the second half, Carl Windsor Davies particularly struggling to find his feet in the stiffening breeze. As a result, Richard Pacquette was brought on to intimidate the Lewes back four with his gigantic rump and this seemed to work, as a dreadful mix-up late in the game saw him one on one with whiney, and pretty ropey, Lewes keeper Paul Wilkerson, his powerful sweep placed neatly beneath the keeper’s dive.

As the victory jive commenced high above the goal, and several Hawks cascaded down the bank, Pacquette sauntered towards us, dropping to his dinner-plate-sized knee as though preparing to belt out Rene & Renata’s “Save Your Love”, but instead miming a bow and arrow which, call me paranoid if you like, appears to be directed squarely at my swede. I would have taken this as protest at my recent descriptions of his startling rear-end jut, were it not for the fact that the breadth of his mime suggested that his weapon of choice was a Cupid-sized version. This could be the beginning of something beautiful, folks.



Not long after, the PA crackled into life to reveal the Lewes man of the match as Paul Wilkerson, an announcement that caused the entire away support to double up with sweet harmonious laughter, which certainly made for a pleasing contrast with the atmosphere here last year. 14 months ago we were bottom of the Conference South and had capitulated in pathetic style here at the Pan, with some of our irate fans apparently almost coming to blows with players as they left the field.

This year we went round to applaud them off after their warm-down, having serenaded them almost without taking breath for the final ten minutes and beyond the final whistle, through their post-match huddle. An impressive win AND a clean sheet AND smiles all round. Magic. At this rate, and with St Albans losing the 1st v 2nd battle with Weymouth today, leaving them possibly demoralised ahead of our Saturday fixture with them, it may indeed be our playing staff, rather than our legal team, that makes sure we make these play-offs. As I left for my train back to Liverpool I told my brethren, “I’ll see you at Stevenage for the final”.

I believe.

At this stage, I can't do anything but.

Links:
Lewes website
Havant & Waterlooville website

Nantwich Town 4 Cammell Laird 0

Nantwich Town win 5-0 on aggregate

09apr06
FA Vase Semi Final 2nd leg
Jacksons Avenue, Nantwich
att. 1,320

My decision-making has always been a little shoddy. When given the choice of seeing Oasis at the 400 capacity Wedgewood Rooms, Portsmouth in 1994, or Terrorvision at the Pyramids (with room for a thousand), I opted for the latter. There will be some out there who may think I did well out of that decision but, like the Gallaghers or not, my choice doesn’t make for such a great boast 12 years on. I knew someone who was able to say they ended up at a friend’s flat with Liam Gallagher who had been lured there on the fake premise that a party was occurring. How much this has been embellished, if at all, I am not certain, but it certainly beats “err, got a poster signed by Shutty” as a winning anecdote.

Now, Nantwich is just next door to Crewe. Where many trains stop. Not so many stop at Nantwich, so faced with an hour wait at dour old Crewe station, I gambled that the spots of rain would not get any heavier and thought I’d take a stroll. One hour and four miles later, my outer layer now 4 parts water to 1 parts coat, I popped into the Leopard pub to steam up their windows like a boiling pan of vests. Like I say, if you are faced with more than a single option about anything, do not seek my counsel.

Already in the Leopard were the Nantwich jolly boys seen the previous weekend rolling en masse through a Wirral turnstile, and not long after we were soon joined by the travellers just arrived on the Lairds party bus. They had hired not only a coach for their quieter supporters, but a double decker bus for, essentially, their noisy drunks, although considering the behaviour I have seen from their hardcore thus far, I would guess this was more a stray chunk of coronation chicken on your trousers than chunder on the dancefloor.

The Leopard occupies a special place in the hearts of Nantwich Town fans, as does their ground 100 yards up the road. Jackson Avenue has been Nantwich’s home since their formation in 1884, the pub in those days also acting as a changing room for the players. Liverpool’s first ever FA Cup tie was played here 8 years later, while 5000 squeezed in the place in 1921 for a Cheshire Cup tie against Winsford. However this is likely to be Jackson Avenue’s final full season and it does look a little ramshackle, not helped by the four-seasons-in-one-day nature of the weather. It is currently good enough though to host Northern Premier League football, but it is clear they have their hearts set on providing a more modern facility at Kingsley Fields, slightly nearer the town centre.

So after 122 years, it hosts a national semi-final 2nd leg with the home-team excellently placed to make it to St Andrews on May 6th. Cammell Laird, having achieved a 2-0 double over Nantwich in the league, will of course fancy themselves to over-turn the one goal deficit from the first leg, although a mid-week league defeat in between at the hands of Ramsbottom United may have put a dent in their confidence not only for this game but for their league campaign which requires them to play a further 16 games in the next 4 weeks.

As the crowds slowly gather (too slowly as it happens; requiring a 10-minute delay due to congestion at the two turnstiles) the Nantwich keepers warm up together; understudy Danny Reade hammering shots at No. 1 Rob Hackney. One fizzer flies over the bar and drops to catch one of the ladies collecting with a bucket for a local hospice on her ankle. As she bends down to give her Achilles a rub, Reade’s next shot thunders off the bar, flipping over to land on her back. The sound of the giggling that is coming from the children stood nearby is only slightly louder than that coming from the keepers.

The start of the game is explosive, Nantwich, perhaps surprisingly making the initial attempts, the defensive option only taking them so far, I guess. A decent penalty shout is turned down in the first minute while one shot sails just over in the second, however it is Cammell Laird who have the best early chance, Ronnie Morgan squaring to Carl Clampitt who smacks he ball against the bar, Morgan’s follow-up sidefoot requiring Nantwich player-boss Steve Davis to clear up on the goal-line. It is abundantly clear that Nantwich aim to continue their solid defensive display from the first leg; one hoofed clearance breaking a branch off a nearby tree.

However rather than being their only game plan, it is merely the sponge for a particularly fruity counter-attacking flan and as early as the 20th minute, The Dabbers increase their aggregate lead, but mainly thanks to some Keystone Kops interplay between the Lairds Johns, keeper Gillies and centre-back Collins. After a ball loops over Collins’ shoulder and between the two, neither commits to taking command of the ball and they manage only to take each other out, Andy Kinsey dancing easily through the somersaulting defender’s limbs to slot home.

This is all to much excitement for the Nantwich jolly boys who surge forward and cause a section of the perimeter bar, one fence post and a balding late-middle-age gent to collapse under their weight. It is clear though that not all of those in the pile are there courtesy a loss of balance. For the top layers it is almost certainly a playground shout of “BUNNNNNDLLLLLEE” unlocking itself from their inner time capsule like an assembly fart. Thankfully young Mr Grace, sat rather unperturbed by it all just further to the left, doesn’t sail head-first into the muddy turf with them. The skills with which Kinsey avoided Collins’ hapless cartwheels are put to use again as he executes a shuffly moonwalk to move beyond the reach of the cascading Nantwich support.

Once the ref has established that the fencing can be made safe, the game restarts but the surface is not exactly conducive to Laird’s style of quick pass and move football. With players arguing amongst themselves and a two-goal deficit, things don’t look good despite their long periods of possession. Things get a lot worse on the stroke of half-time, Matt Blake’s change of pace down the right flank allowing a penetrative cross bending toward the 6-yard line that Adam Beasley stoops to meet and guide between Gillies’ fingers and the near post.

For the second half, requiring 3 goals just to take the tie to extra-time, Lairds cannot up the tempo sufficiently. At a time when they require as much heart as an AOR buff’s record collection they are distinctly shoegaze in their mannerisms, seeming resigned to their fate on a treacle tart of a pitch. Again they have plenty of possession but have little clue how to break down an impressively strong and focused Nantwich side.

As the clock ticks closer to the final whistle, Nantwich are able to exploit Lairds collective ennui and wrap things up in style. They are even able to bring on their surprise special guest dignitary/substitute Jimmy Quinn (ex Reading and Swindon gaffer) who, at 46 and a half, is really beyond the term ‘veteran’ now and possibly closer to ‘touring exhibit’. He replaces Steve Davis with ten minutes to go just before any doubts are killed off with Kinsey’s second goal, another calm finish after rounding the defence.

Lairds bundle the ball in the net after 87 minutes, although keeper Rob Hackney has hold of it at the time, and thus the last drop of passion drips from their play, upon which Nantwich take the piss by scoring a 4th with almost the last kick, Stuart Schueber neatly lobbing the ball from the edge of the area over Gillies and into the centre of the net. The Dabbers roar on the final whistle at the thought of their forthcoming FA final. I bet some of them are thinking, though, “if only Wembley had been rebuilt on time”. Either way, on this showing they will be excellent representatives of the North West Counties League in the final against Hillingdon Borough, and I’d fancy them to win it. Then again, I thought Cammell Laird would win this semi. Like I say about my choices; put your house on Hillingdon.

Cammell Laird currently look a different side to the one that took my breath away against Abbey Hey. They are understandably tired, but if this is how they feel now with so many games to play, unless the plan to expand the Unibond Northern Premier goes ahead next season after all, Lairds may not have the character to take them there as champions, as may well be required. It is still in their hands but, particularly after this morale blow, is it in their legs?


Road to St. Andrews
F: Hillingdon Borough 1 Nantwich Town 3 (att. 3,286) 
SF2: Nantwich Town 4 Cammell Laird 0
SF1: Cammell Laird 0 Nantwich Town 1 (att. 528) [HOBO]
QF: Newmarket Town 1 Cammell Laird 2 (att. 750)
QF: Nantwich Town 2 Pickering Town 0 (att. 700)
5R: Cammell Laird 1 VCD Athletic 0 (att. 283)
5R: Nantwich Town 1 Buxton 0 (att. 950)
4R: Chessington & Hook United 1 Cammell Laird 2 (att. 390)
4R: Needham Market 3 Nantwich Town 6 aet (att. 223)
3R: Cammell Laird 3 Retford United 0 (att. 122)
3R: Quorn 0 Nantwich Town 1 (att. 182)
2R: Harrogate Railway Athletic 0 Cammell Laird 1 (att. 164)
2R: Chasetown 0 Nantwich Town 1 (att. 284)
1R: Consett 0 Cammell Laird 1 (att. 155)
1R: Nantwich Town 1 Boldmere St Michaels 0 (att. 123)
2QR: Cammell Laird 4 Atherton Collieries 0 (att. 94)
2QR: Shinal Town 0 Nantwich Town 1 (att. 72)
1QR: North Sheilds 1 Cammell Laird 4 (att. 75)

Speke 3 Aintree Villa 3

a.e.t., Speke win 5-4 on penalty kicks

06apr06
Lancashire Amateur Cup Final
County Ground, Leyland
att. 100 (approx.)

While geographic and civil boundaries may shift, county FA affiliations appear much more firm. The fact that this Lancashire Amateur Cup final is being contested by two teams from Merseyside would certainly suggest that shifting administrative borders do not lead to lapsed memberships. The losing semi-finalists, Rochdale St. Clements and Prestwich Heys, might have launched a legal challenge if it wasn’t for the fact that they both would count as Greater Manchester. Still, when you consider Hereford, Shrewsbury, South Liverpool and Crewe have all won the Welsh Cup in their history, I think we can let it pass.

It was an Aintree side, Aintree Church, which won the inaugural Lancs Amateur Cup in 1893/94, the Villa looking to put the name of their home town back on the honours board for the first time since then. Speke, on the other hand, have lifted this twice in the last six seasons, joining other fantastic names such as Bury Athenaeum, Ogdens Athletic, Florence Albion and Yorkshire Copper Tube on the winners list, the latter’s victory no doubt wilting any red roses within a ten mile radius.

The County Ground at Leyland acts as home for Lancashire cup finals and representative games as well as to Bolton Wanderers’ stiffs. It is attached to the Lancashire FA HQ like a plastic bib-tray to a dribbly infant, and is hemmed in by the Museum of Commercial Vehicles, Leyland being the Mecca for white van men across the nation.

Both sides ply their trade at Step 7 of the National League pyramid, Speke in the Liverpool County Combination and Villa in the West Cheshire League (regional committees once again drawing up their geographical scope using a car boot sold Etch-A-Sketch). Ordinarily the tread doesn’t usually stoop to have a look at such levels but a cup’s a cup and a hard fought contest should be guaranteed, particularly with a load of Scouse doggers in the vicinity, err..., la, and such.

The start of the game suggests that the players have raised their standard for the showpiece occasion, Villa taking an early lead, a breakaway cross-pitch pass met by their no. 8 who curves a beauty over the keeper and into the far corner. Both defences then revert to more expected instincts, performing a series of experiments to determine the scientific merit of the ‘with snow on it’ theory.

Soon though, Villa are able to break away again, a corner falling to their No. 9, who looks 1 part Anders Limpar to 8 parts Miami Vice, who fires in low through bodies and into the bottom corner before running toward the Speke dugout, with whom he has had recent discourse, swearing like a sticky buttoned John-Lydon-In-My-Pocket.

“Don’t lose our discipline, they know who the better side is” bellows a Speke supporter behind the Aintree goal, “Two goals against the run of play.” To a certain extent he is right, and they attempt to impose themselves with both their superior passing along the surface and, in the case of their balding, stocky no. 9, a swiftly delivered tactical elbow to an opponents mush. It earns him a caution, the card being the shade his side’s diluted-urine coloured shirts probably were at the start of the season.

On 35 minutes, Speke finally get a deserved first goal through their number 8, who follows up an athletic diving save from the keeper. Nevertheless Aintree continue to work hard, and impress both a height advantage and an extra spring in their collective step upon Speke, Villa’s no. 5 being a particularly imposing beast of a man. They almost get a third as their no. 10 steps through a clumsy challenge from the goalkeeper only to hurtle the ball in direction of the hockey training going on within the adjacent all weather pitches. His keeper mutters “He’s been told a thousand times, GO DOWN!”, which roughly translates as “we have absolutely no faith in his ability,” although he may have a point.

6 minutes after their first goal, Speke fashion an equaliser, a free-kick given away by the lumbering no. 5 on the edge of the box curved deftly over the wall (see above) and into the top corner. Our gargantuan friend makes immediate amends at the other end getting the important body parts in amongst it after 2 goal-line clearances. As he trots back from restoring his side’s lead, the sweat on his proportionate arse-cheeks combined with the thinness of his white shorts reveal an intrepid thong beneath. Either that or his well-thatched behind could benefit from a Brazilian wax.

The second half sees the tempo of the game decrease but if anything having more time for contemplation ruins the Speke right-back’s game. Looking like little Barry Chuckle after a facial shovel beating, he examines the game as though it is a giant ball of tights he is required to unravel and consequently his passes go a little astray.

With less happening, one old boy absent-mindedly wanders between the dugouts to join a bemused 4th official. Soon after though Speke finally equalise for a second time, a shot hitting the diving keepers body and looping towards the net, a desperate defensive bunt helping it into the roof of the net. Out of the Speke dugout, the substitutes come flying, out of Aintree’s comes a bucket of water via their manager’s boot.

After 80 minutes, the simmering tensions boil over, a hard tackle causing a gathering of bodies, the Speke no. 9 raisings his hands and earning himself a straight red. “I never touched him” he says later, seemingly working to the idea that a haymaker which doesn’t connect was part and parcel of Charles Miller’s Corinthian vision.

The game eventually winds down, via some contentious turned-down penalty appeals to extra-time, the short break allowing the Speke 10 to hurdle the hoardings and take a piss against the perimeter wall. During the 2 extra periods, the tired legs begin to show and the game continues to ebb and flow like an Ashes Test. Aintree’s manager continues to yell at his charges, the extension of the game causing his usually barking voice to whistle like a hob kettle. The tunnelled Speke 9 also finds plenty to shout about, appearing behind the goal to abuse the Villa 9, who he blames for his dismissal, “queer” and “shithouse” being among his kinder appraisals.

In the end, probably quite accurately, it takes a penalty shoot-out to separate the sides. Immediately before the 7th penalty, Aintree’s 4th, one chap whispers “He’ll miss this, I’ve got a feeling in my waters”, before disappearing in a cloud of smoke as the kick rebounds off the bar. It is the only penalty missed, Speke greeting their lifting of the cup with a chant of “We’ve won it three times.”

At least the people of Aintree have the National this weekend to occupy their thoughts and cover their disappointment. 112 years and counting…

Road to Leyland
SF: Speke 2 Rochdale St Clements 1
SF: Aintree Villa 3 Prestwich Heys 2
4R: Speke 3 Leigh Athletic 0
4R: Aintree Villa 1 Little Lever SC 0
3R: Merseyside Police 0 Speke 1
3R: Aintree Villa 5 Southport Trinity 2
2R: Royton Town 0 Speke 2
2R: Denton Town 1 Aintree Villa 3
1R: Oldham Hulmeians 2 Speke 4
1R: Hooley Bridge Celtic 0 Aintree Villa 1

Links
Lancashire FA website

Cammell Laird 0 Nantwich Town 1

01apr06
FA Vase Semi Final 1st leg
Kirklands, Rock Ferry, Birkenhead
att. 528

As the people of Liverpool would tell you, (the) Wirral is not Liverpool. The people of (the) Wirral have yet to fully work out whether or not this would be a compliment. Caught between the rough-edged nature of the big city, its own northern coastline flanked with the scarrings of heavy industry, and the slightly more ornate Roman city of Chester, (the) Wirral fights against its ‘little brother’ aura from within.

Of course, being based in the ‘Pool, today presented an opportunity to travel to a game by boat. Apparently there is one that occasionally drifts across this river. In the end though, having seen both sides from the other, the opportunity to see both while swaying on water browner than Jonathon Ross’ handkerchief holds only so much appeal. Besides, I need to get to Rock Ferry which, despite its name, doesn’t have one.

Besides, much as I love the watersports, it has all been done before. Being a non-league fan, you get resigned to the fact that you will never see your team play in Europe. Mind you, those hardy borderers who rocked up to watch Gretna in the Unibond Northern Premier League until about this time 4 years ago might now suggest that where there is life, and maybe a bearded, chain-smoking millionaire philanthropist, there is hope. I imagine Havant & Waterlooville’s request for election to the Scottish League might falter in the logistics though, but if anyone does wish to throw cash at the H&W, like gunge at a CBBC game show contestant, then I’m sure our board could make room in their schedule, but I’ve slipped way off track here.

Knowing you’ll never board a chartered plane bound for Estonia is possibly the only reason those in the English pyramid would envy their former colleagues, like Rhyl and Bangor, now plying their trade in the League of Wales. So, you have to make do with what you have and, luckily, my club’s former ‘deadliest rivals’, before Weymouth rapped a driving glove around our chops (or we theirs) were Newport (Isle of Wight). For one season, they joined us in the old Southern League Premier Division, gamely leaving their inevitable relegation until the last day, which caused much mirth on the Cambridge City terraces for a number of pissed-up Hawks who had established communication with those sat at home in front of Teletext.

Since then Newport (IoW) have plummeted down the divisions and now face demotion to the county leagues, the rivalry long since forgotten. It was great for that season though, particularly as Newport’s manager, Tony Mount, had left the pre-merger Havant Town in some acrimony a few seasons before, and took most of the squad with him. There was a song about him being captain of a ship, that ship being an oil tanker, with which some elementary rhyming was attempted, you get the picture. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the best bit of this rivalry was in the getting to their place. Trains we are used to. Buses? Once in a while. Very rarely a catamaran though. All three? Well, we felt just a little bit spoilt, in truth. That evening, we came back with 3 points, an unprovoked punch in the face for one of our number (the one sour point) and the knowledge that we had shared half the sea journey with the, now sadly deceased, Michael Sheard (aka Mr Bronson from Grange Hill). It was all I could do not to yell ‘KENNNNNN-DALLLLLLLL’ below deck. And people wonder why I quit drinking.

So, as I say, no need for the ferry today, instead a nice, quick trip on the Merseyrail. At Rock Ferry station, you have a choice. Go right and you’re heading in the general direction of Prenton Park, home of Tranmere. Turn left and you’re heading towards the old Cammell Laird shipyards. These are two of the figurehead Wirral institutions and it is fitting that if one club from the area should get themselves noticed on a national scale, aside from Rovers, it should be the team, founded in 1907, that grew out of the Dockers XI.

Only in their second season in the North West Counties set-up, Lairds had previously won 19 out of the previous 35 West Cheshire League titles, and ran away with the Second Division Championship and Trophy, as well as the League Challenge Cup, a first for a second tier side. They have kept it going this season, reaching the final of the Challenge Cup again, as well as the FA Cup’s 3rd Qualifying Round, and remain, as you’ll have read on these pages, in contention for the League Championship, although only if they can maintain standards through an intense backlog. The North West Counties League has extended their season by a week to cater for clubs in a similar position to Lairds. Clubs like Nantwich Town who, obviously, have had quite a decent cup season of their own. The benefit of that extra week will be lost on one of these sides though as it is due to end on Saturday May 6th when one or tuther will be at St Andrews for the Vase final.

Lairds will, of course, want it all and they have done the work off the pitch to make it happen. The day prior to this game, the ground-graders gave the go ahead for Kirklands to host Northern Premier League football, should their league finish warrant it. The efforts of the groundstaff and volunteers also prime the ground for a big crowd and, as such, a turnout of 528 will be a great disappointment both in terms of revenue and profile, especially as the other semi’s first leg between Bury Town and Hillingdon Borough attracted 1773. Most frustratingly, Tranmere’s home game with Port Vale took place last night.

It also makes Nantwich’s presence all the more visible, decked out in their green scarves and other effects, indeed it is notable that as the doors open at 2, an expectant gaggle of Cheshire chillen are queuing, singing “Nantwich Town is wonderful”, with few locals to be seen. The old boy trying to unlock the gates jokingly tells them he won’t let them in as “they like it quiet on this estate.” Which would about sum up exactly how infectious Vase fever has been amongst the Birkenhead populous. Immediately the far-side cover is claimed by the early Nantwich arrivals as their own, while the Lairds support take longer to mobilise and, it becomes clear, don’t go in for any of that singing lark anyhow. In the adjacent bus depot, the 654 special is lined up to allow 3 or 4 fellas to turn its top-deck into a makeshift, and most likely unofficial, executive box.

At ground level, Lairds keeper John Gillies is in training, keeping out nearly everything welted at him from his coach and his understudy, but beaten every time by the ten year old mascot. “Little fucker” he stage-whispers as he is beaten by another of the cheeky imp’s dynamic cross-goal daisy-cutters. This is not the only unexpected competition he faces; as the ref announces kick-off with a cool sharp parp, a further pocket of Nantwich fans roll in through the turnstiles and begin to berate Gillies with chants of “the keeper is a pisshead”, although clearly this is less scattergun abuse and more identification with one of their own. Later in the game, Gillies also has to cope with the impenetrable Masonic hand-signals from the linesman when waiting to take a goal-kick. The friendly old regular next to me enquires of the keeper as to what the lino is asking; “Fuck knows, you just nod don’t ya?” reveals Gillies, my neighbour whispering “poetic” as our sweary keeper hoofs the ball back into the play.

As a game, it is as you would expect of a semi-final, end to end without there being any real penetration, full-blooded tackles going in, but a lot of nerves on show. The ball first hits the net in the 65th minute, via the hand of Ronnie Morgan. In fairness it was unintentional, and there are no complaints when a free-kick is given. 3 minutes later, Nantwich have the ball in the net, and they themselves are denied by a flag, this time for offside. The Dabbers step it up at this point, and score in the 76th minute as Andy Kinsey skips through a desperate lunge and after calmly checking his shot and muscling away a defensive challenge, slides the ball into the net before leaping into the heaving gaggle of behind the goal support. Their solidity/break-away game plan remains effective in the face of Lairds pressure up to the final whistle.

As it is, despite not having as much quality up front, Nantwich win the first leg through the battle of the defences. They are well-organised and resolute, perhaps unsurprising when 40 year old gaffer Steve Davis plays the full 90 minutes at centre-half. Cammell Laird have been favourites to win the competition since the exits of AFC Sudbury and Winchester City, and have won both their league fixtures against Nantwich this season 2-0. It is exactly the scoreline they will need next weekend if they are to keep their Vase dream alive. Nantwich need a repeat display and will no doubt be cheered on by a larger and more vocal crowd which could ultimately prove decisive.

Needless to say, the tread will hit South Cheshire next Sunday. Whup!

Road to St. Andrews
F: Hillingdon Borough 1 Nantwich Town 3 (att. 3,286) 
SF2: Nantwich Town 4 Cammell Laird 0 (att. 1,320) [HOBO]
SF1: Cammell Laird 0 Nantwich Town 1QF: Newmarket Town 1 Cammell Laird 2 (att. 750)
QF: Nantwich Town 2 Pickering Town 0 (att. 700)
5R: Cammell Laird 1 VCD Athletic 0 (att. 283)
5R: Nantwich Town 1 Buxton 0 (att. 950)
4R: Chessington & Hook United 1 Cammell Laird 2 (att. 390)
4R: Needham Market 3 Nantwich Town 6 aet (att. 223)
3R: Cammell Laird 3 Retford United 0 (att. 122)
3R: Quorn 0 Nantwich Town 1 (att. 182)
2R: Harrogate Railway Athletic 0 Cammell Laird 1 (att. 164)
2R: Chasetown 0 Nantwich Town 1 (att. 284)
1R: Consett 0 Cammell Laird 1 (att. 155)
1R: Nantwich Town 1 Boldmere St Michaels 0 (att. 123)
2QR: Cammell Laird 4 Atherton Collieries 0 (att. 94)
2QR: Shinal Town 0 Nantwich Town 1 (att. 72)
1QR: North Sheilds 1 Cammell Laird 4 (att. 75)

Links
Cammell Laird website
Nantwich Town website