Eastbourne Borough 2 Havant & Waterlooville 2

25mar06
Conference South
Priory Lane, Eastbourne
att. 447

As you may have spotted, I have quite taken to winging my way around the country on solo missions. I am not alone in this, and certainly not the only one who has thought to travelog about it. When writing does occur elsewhere about this kind of thing, the word ‘odyssey’ is often bandied about, as though noting the process of sampling the chips at Barnt Green Spartak is somehow comparable to the twelve tasks of Hercules. Pompous tag-lines like “searching for the soul of football” are applied to books, good and bad, when “getting under the skin of my readership” is often the more honest phrasing, particularly in vanity publishing. Like, err, blogs. Believe me, I throw stones knowing full well I’m in a rickety greenhouse full of rotting tomato plants and a rather ropey grapevine.

For me, being a neutral these past three seasons has allowed me to be able to view not just football, but the habits and behaviours of those who watch it, without the bias of association. This is perhaps why I think I write less well on the subject of my own club. Not because I want to paper over any cracks, but I do feel that this season I have had too much cause to write negatively about being a partisan Hawk. This despite it being one of our more successful years on the field.

There have been several things that have gone on this season, on the terraces and on Internet forums, which have made me genuinely uncomfortable with some aspects of Hawk fandom. I won’t go into too many details though, I have re-written this weeks posting several times, and after a great deal of thought, I think I’ll keep this bit short. I was thinking my tag-line for this week should be ‘searching for my internal safety valve’, but just the process of writing out some of the issues that I’ve been having was enough. No need to publish, really.

At the crux of it though has been my desire for our club to not be seen in an unnecessarily negative light. A supporter, especially one who travels away from home regularly is a representative, especially as our following is not exactly akin to hordes of marauding Zulu warriors coming over the hill. I don’t expect the Zulus had anything by Showaddywaddy in their war-chant repertoire either. See, I want us to be respected, not reviled. If no one likes us, I DO care. I want to sing up for my club, even if that does involve invoking 70’s rock n’ roll revivalists, and not about anyone else; be a fan, not an anti-fan. Furthermore schisms occurring between members of our support do nothing for my morale. At times this year, and immediately prior to this game, I have never felt closer to leaving the behind-the-goal hardcore, and watching our matches from the side.

I’d find it difficult to annex myself though and the conclusion to today’s game showed just why being part of the vocal mob can be such an exhilarating experience. For all the frustrations of today’s on-field performance (see, I got to it eventually), an equaliser in the 90th minute, after going 2-1 behind in the 87th, is genuinely thrilling stuff that cannot be matched in neutrality. It would be difficult to suggest though, despite the Get Out Of Jail card being played, that this was a point gained rather than two lost for the mighty H&’Dub.

For the first 15/20 minutes, the Hawks put in virtually a total football master class, opening the scoring in the 5th. Neil Sharp headed down at the far post from a free-kick out on the left, enabling Rocky Baptiste to tuck away easily at the other stick. For the remainder of the first half though, Eastbourne bulldozed their way to domination, levelling the game on 26 minutes, an unmarked Scott Ramsay able to head past Gareth Howells. One each for Rocky and Rambo then, a reference one of our number slips in on the Sly. Ahem.

If it weren’t for some magnificent shot stopping from our veteran custodian, we’d have gone into the break several behind. However, the second half was largely about the Hawks pressing forward in the increasingly heavy blanket of rain, as the pitch got heavier and skiddier. Just the sort of environment for chancing your arm from outside the box, and Brett Poate did so on three occasions, each time managing to send gorgeous fizzing thumps a mere inch outside either post or bar. Tough for Brett who looked lively from the moment he arrived as sub at the start of the second half.

With the play-off race getting increasingly tight, Ian Baird chanced him arm, bringing on Carl Wilson-Denis to play up front with Rocky as well as new signing Richard Pacquette, a former QPR player and giant of a striker in the Heskey mould. Comments were made on the size of his calf muscles but for me, more remarkable was his critical mass further up; a posterior of such abundance, it may well have spent several golden summers acting as muse for a world-weary Sir Mix-A-Lot.

This gamble of a triple-pronged attack didn’t initially pay off of course, stretching the midfield, and thus bringing the defence out of position, allowing Ramsay to again go unmarked to score a virtual carbon copy of his first. Mind you, the immediate reaction suggested a H&W team with plenty of fight in them as 3 minutes later our new man headed home through several bodies to send our support into rapture. It could have been even better not long after, a shot being caught in the legs of Mark Green on the goal-line, which keeper Lee Hook was able then to pounce on as the ref blew the three final whistles.

I hope that on the field, we can revisit our form of the two weeks leading up to this and make the most of our games in hand. I also hope that our support can come together and rediscover the great communal and fun spirit that, having experimented with my hometown non-league club 7 years ago, made me stay.

Links:
Eastbourne Borough website
Havant & Waterlooville website

Alsager Town 1 Skelmersdale United 1

18mar06
North West Counties League Division One
The Town Ground, Alsager
att. 315

Take a look at the Alsager Town web forum and one phrase appears so repetitively it could almost be set to a happy hardcore rhythm. “Farsiders are unbelievable”. So say the Farsiders. Them what stand on the far side like. In fairness though, they do provoke some incredulity. The hardcore who take up position well in advance of kick-off go through their militaristic prep of ‘their’ terrace stand, putting up several flags (including one which worryingly reads ‘1977 Fighters’) and attaching a large laminate reading ‘Farside Ultras’ to the otherwise blank, white-washed hoarding.

As the teams enter the field of play, two wave further flags, another pair release smoke canisters (one, oddly, in the colours of the opposition), while banners shimmering in silver and gold, one spelling the club’s ‘Bullets’ nickname, are unfurled. Indeed, numbers swell impressively during the first half on a terrace so dominated by the home support’s affection that the Ultra’s no doubt, as part of their pre-match ritual, go in for some territorial winkle-action around its perimeter. What makes this all the more remarkable is that Alsager do not come from an ex-league, or even strong non-league, tradition. Only 20 years ago they were forced to close for a season due to lack of funds and support in the Mid-Cheshire League, regaining entry in 1991, and have only been part of the North West Counties League branch of the pyramid for 8 years, earning promotion to the top division in 2002. Yet, they have a pocket of vociferous support which is certainly uncommon at this level, a support that does not let North West Counties League football on the pitch make them feel anything less than Serie A off it, although whether or not you’d find a wheelie-bin with nothing but a deflated football in it on Curva’s Sud or Nord I’ve no idea.

Perhaps that’s the Farsiders own abstract artistic comment on wanting a higher standard of football to arrive at the Town Ground. They’re certainly in with a shout of it this year. As mentioned last week, the North West Counties League Division One is essentially now being contested by 3 sides. Now, the spottier pedants amongst you may exclaim “but, Skif, I thought you were focusing on Cammell Laird?”. Indeed, but when you consider that the other Dobbins in this 3-nag race are Alsager and Skelmersdale, then you can appreciate why I am here. 1st v 2nd. Nice. Plus, I like to think of this as some sort of spy mission, checking out the Lairds competition, albeit purely for my own purposes. Some of you may associate spydom with an arched eye-brow, a pristine tux, and a way with the ladies. I am proof that the reality is more stubbly introvert scribbling barely legible notes, picking his nose and rating the tea.

Readers who journey to this site purely for their love of the leaves will be no doubt be delighted to learn of the quality of the Alsager char. It is that rarest of things, a beverage from a football refreshment hut that doesn’t have the same long-lasting side-effects as opening the Ark of the Covenant. So with all my precious, pinky flesh intact, the first Saturday in ages that isn’t too bleedin’ wet or too bleedin’ cold, plus a pretty decent top of the table clash and, y’know, this North West Counties mini-tread is doing me the world of good. Coming soon, of course, I will be providing a refreshment comparison table. Graphs and pie-charts. A North West Beverage league format. Name change to Hobo Tea’d, maybe. It’ll be Anthony Worral fackin’ glorious.

But while I dream of ‘Saturday Kitchen’ style brand extension, the Town Ground continues to fill, to levels not often seen in this league (particularly if you disregard FC United of Manchester’s explosion of the entire league’s attendance records this year in Division 2) as a couple of hundred line not only the 4 sides of the pitch, but several gather on the plateau outside the social club which lies slightly further up the hill. From under the far terrace, the are-you-with-us-or-against-us rallying call comes - “Bar-side, bar-side, giz a song”. The Rovers-shirt wearing barman with the thick West Country accent is soon amongst it. Here, yer either Farside or yer Bar-side. Despite his love for manning the pumps, our Bristol-exile clearly knows which side his bread is truly buttered, now that he’s here in Cheshire. He isn't alone in crossing the great divide.

The singing continues throughout the first half with plenty of original material, although you might argue that they’ve stolen the appropriation of the opening brassy bars of ‘Ring of Fire’ from the Anfield choir. I don’t expect, however, that the Kop kick-start their rendition with a mobile ringtone fed through a loudhailer.

Amongst all this, a game has broken out and a pretty good one that befits two sides dreaming of the Unibond League. Early on, Alsager keeper Lloyd Parry has two opportunities to show his acute spatial awareness, or perhaps his good fortune, as on 4 minutes he lets a fizzing free-kick run past him only for it to ping off the outside of the post. Later on, in the 22nd, again a free-kick is awarded centrally. This time it is floated over, Parry rooted to the spot as it skids off the top of the bar.

Several chances are created for either side, Richard Mitchell hooking just over the bar with an overhead kick for the Bullets, while Skem also flash just too hard and too high. Town also manage a one-on-one chance, but Skem keeper Peter Crookes makes himself big enough to prevent the attacker catching up with his overhit first touch.

In the 32nd minute, it is the away side who score first, Carl Osman breaking down the right, passing to Michael Cole who curves a cross over the head of striker Paul Rogers and the entire Alsager defence. However skipper Stuart Rudd collects at the far post and rifles his shot firmly into the net before heading in the direction of the Skem supporters gathered behind the goal. The cheering gaggle collect the scorer in their arms, where he is followed by pretty much the rest of the Skelmersdale side, as they form a structure more in keeping with a town show motorbike display. Alsager’s support reach into their locker though and immediately break into “Lets all have a disco.”

It is clearly inspiring to suggest a knees up, as Alsager level things within 5 minutes, Peter Heler sprinting through again to beat the after-thought of an offside trap to slot the ball underneath Crookes. The Alsager players also try to compete in the human pyramid stakes, although they refrain from sprinting into their waiting Farside support to do so. Whether they have perhaps been put off by a tangy hint of urine hanging in the air is open to conjecture.

On the stroke of half-time a firmly struck Rudd free-kick flies just past the post accompanied by the sound of a lone “How wide do you want the goal?” through the megaphone. Not that the opposition are the only people they taunt with their hectorer’s bugle. At the start of the second half, the owner strikes out against his brief loneliness asking, seemingly rhetorically, “Where’s the Far-side gone.”

The second half is a little more niggly than the first, nobody wanting to give anything away. That said, the tackles remain committed, which sees plenty of pitch scurrying for Alsager physio Kenny ‘The Rub’ Matthews. Aye, there he is, waddling on his short legs in the way that should be compulsory for physiotherapists. Elsewhere Lloyd Parry is combating the low-setting sun in fine pikey style, resplendent in a burberry cap. Such apparel appears to bring out the hoolie in him as he engages in a running verbal battle with the Skem behind-the-goal boys, taking umbrage at one comment which he then suggests they “sort out after.”

As the match peters out, and despite a draw being better for the home side, it is they who go the closer, Ryan Dicker climbing high to meet a free-kick and head just over in the 83rd minute, while Paul Macari’s speculative shot only curves away at the last minute. The Farside by this point are pogo-ing like Exploited fans with their shoe-laces tied together. They even break into the Barmy Army ‘Everywhere we go-oh’ epic, adding their own local lyrics to create a lengthy parable to all the attractions of Alsager, including, of course, “the little wool shop.”

On the final whistle, there are handshakes and applause all round. A good game, played in a good spirit, with the home side keeping Skem well within their reach for the run in. Plenty of variables to come yet in this league, without doubt.

Cammell Laird were again missing from League action, instead winning their League Cup semi-final first leg against Flixton 5-0. With the fixture congestion, the prospect of a dead rubber 2nd leg next weekend must seem fairly cruel. Serves them right for showing off, I guess.

Links:
Alsager Town website
Skelmersdale United website

Abbey Hey 0 Cammell Laird 4

11mar06
North West Counties League Division One
Abbey Stadium, Gorton
att. 75

In an ordinary year in the North West Counties League, step 5 of the non-league pyramid, the championship chase will see only the very top side progress. No play offs down here, for the very simple fact that the it shares feedership into the Northern Premier League with the Northern League, the Northern Counties East and the Midland Alliance. Often headache prevention comes in the form of clubs finishing first who aren’t in the financial position, or with a good enough ground, to move on up. Last season only Fleetwood Town ascended, Dunston Federation Brewery, Rushall Olympic and Goole all staying where they were.

Indeed, it is for this reason that the FA has delayed the restructuring of the National System pyramid in its most northerly reaches. Their argument is that not enough clubs, as yet, are of sufficient standard in terms of facilities, to allow the Northern Premier to split their second tier into two geographical divisions. The Isthmian League will be doing just that this summer, while the Southern League will turn its Eastern and Western back into North and South. This is Phase 2 of the FA’s blueprint that aims to reduce travelling times for teams lower down the pyramid, the first phase, two years ago, being the expansion of the Conference and the gentlemans' excuse-me which saw clubs shift back into a more geographically appropriate order amongst the Northern, Southern and Isthmian.

The Northern Premier’s officials are putting a spanner in the works though, saying they should be allowed to get their new Midland division going during the summer as well, and are taking the FA to arbitration over it, which threatens to delay the whole business for an entire year, which would certainly be a blow to the 100 clubs who have brought themselves up to scratch and applied for promotion this year.

All this makes it a bit confusing at the top of the North West Counties League but, it seems to me (and this is an aspect of non-league on which I claim no expertise), that if arbitration is dragged out and Phase 2 delayed, or the Northern Premier League lose, then it will be the regular state of affairs; promotion from the NWCL coming only with the lifting of the championship.

As such it’s getting quite interesting at the top, with several clubs in the hunt. Skelmersdale United set the pace early on and remain at the top, 2 points and 2 games ahead of Alsager Town, while in 3rd place currently lie Wirral-based Cammell Laird, 6 points further behind but with 5 games in hand. It might be argued that the Lairds fate is in their own hands but whatever they are given with those games in hand, threatens to taketh away also, with a horrific fixture backlog building up. Take into consideration that 4 further Saturday fixtures will have to be moved to accommodate their two-legged league cup and FA Vase semi-final appearances and you begin to appreciate that Lairds’ road to success has a virtually perpendicular gradient.

You might think from this that someone up there clearly doesn’t like them. For example, my hitch with them through the remainder of this season was due to begin at Atherton LR last Tuesday. It was postponed, Mother Nature clearly having a monkey on Skem to romp it.

A home defeat this previous Thursday, 4-2 to Newcastle Town, may well have been a timely kick-up the arse to try and pick up as many points as possible before the legs really start to get tired. An away game with mid-table Abbey Hey presents an ideal opportunity to jump-start up the imposing incline. Already though, squad rotation is becoming a necessity, and as such top scorer Ronnie Morgan (39 goals and counting) has to begin the game on the bench, although Jamie McGuire (with a mere 30 to his name) starts as skipper.

Of the 75 present, a sizable proportion comes riding with the Cammell stampede, and camp out behind the away dug out, while regulars from the Gorton area of Manchester scatter on the covered terrace, some braving the peeling bench seating placed either side of the single concrete step. Others have got here early, parking their cars to face the pitch on both sides of the clubhouse, taking the opportunity presented by their punctuality to catch up on their kip.

Lairds, resplendent in bright blue kit that highlights that games every 2 or 3 days will not see them acquiesce to tardiness, look well up for responding to their healthy support. That said, Abbey Hey make an initial attempt to impose themselves after kick-off, but soon enough Cammell Laird’s irresistable force starts sweeping towards the railway end. If any legs looked tired, it is the 22 belonging to Abbey, but they solidify themselves for a time into a makeshift immovable object that is centred around brothers Andy and Rick Watson (is it wrong to assume two players with the same surname and pattern baldness issues should be related), the latter looking a bit like Clive Walker, while the former appears to have been recently uprooted from permanent fixture on Easter Island.

Abbey Hey keeper Joe Molloy even has time to worry about the quality of his refreshments, the sub sent round to stock up the back of his net with booze stating with some confusion “Joe, you’ve already got a bottle”, the keeper snootily replying “Yeah but it tastes like shit” like Oz Clarke making a play for the Gordon Ramsay market.

However on the half hour, Lairds finally edge in front, some sharp trickery on the edge of the box leading to a cross which sees Rick Watson’s attempt to mow the ball into Derbyshire sliced into the net (see picture above). 3 minutes later, Lairds increase their lead in similar style, a shot from outside the box bringing a neat save (see picture below) from a now suitably refreshed Molloy. However, while the defence make like a Spiritualized audience in their appreciation of it, Lairds steal in and square the ball across the 6-yard box where three blue shirts are queuing excitedly but politely, Anthony Hargreaves getting his boot in first.

At this stage, Cammell Laird are looking imposing and potentially devastating, like they have Bigfoot tyres attached to their collective axles, Abbey Hey lining their path like rusty, gutted Cortinas long ago nicked from a Stockport car-lot. After a quick half-time service though, the Hey! are able to fight fire with fire briefly, Andy Watson attempting to right his brother’s own goal with a free-kick. Sadly, it ends up curving straight into John Gillies arms and Cammell Laird go on the attack again, the trickery on show bewildering Abbey Hey skipper Dave Brocklehurst to the point of falling over.

In the 65th minute, a handsome strike from Stuart McGill later requires more evasive action from Gillies. From the resulting corner, there is confusion between McGill and Andy Watson as they both attempt to strike the same dropping ball. This allows Lairds to break away, Chris McGuinn powering through to belt the ball into the far corner for a well deserved 3rd. With Abbey Hey demoralised, Cammell Laird are able to really turn on the style, two goal-line clearances required in quick succession around the 75th minute, one shot being unable, albeit understandably, to elude the statuesque Andy Watson’s gigantic head.

In the last ten minutes free-kick being flicked over the 10 yard man, Eddie Jebb then drawing said defender to allow Hargreaves to run into acres of space on the right. Later, in the 89th minute, McGuinn flicks a on a throw-in, Jebb cutting inside and laying on a perfect pass for a shot that is scuffed. Both of these moves may come to nothing, but it’s like the Pele 50 yarder that bounced outside of the post, some things don’t have to reach an adequate conclusion to delight.

It is with play like this that Cammell Laird show why they belong at a higher level and, as if to compound the theory as I write that particular note, a quite brilliant display is completed with a chip off top of boot that arcs over the keeper and in off the underside of the bar. “Anthony Hargreaves, get his name written down, lad” I am instructed by someone clearly able to see that my scribblings are barely able to keep up. I’m starting to think I chose wisely in picking this team to ‘follow’. C’mon you Battleships.

I can only hope the driver’s seat snoozers came to in time to see it all. The Premiership might be football’s jeroboam of Moet but, when it’s as breathtaking – yes, breathtaking – as this, give me the Dougal hot water bottle and bootie slippers of the North West Counties League every time.