Cowes Sports 1 Havant & Waterlooville 3

13jul07
Pre-season friendly
Westwood Park, Cowes
att. 185

“Sitting around in their pants reading transfer speculation.” A friend of mine once offered me this image. I recall not whether he was quoting an article or plucking a vision from within himself, and nor do I remember the exact context. I imagine it involved the leisure activities of the generic male. It is an image I can empathise with, although naturally I have to rely on internet forums for conjecture in all its fervency, the ol’ Conference South switcheroo season not being a priority for the back pages of the Currant. Not that I’d read that demon rag anyway I hasten to add, so it’s probably just as well that I have to work with the web.

Neither do I sit around in my chuds while reading up on the merry-go-round either if I’m being honest. Girlfriends walking in on boyfriends hunched over a flickering screen wearing nowt but a pair of baggy ol’ Y’s and a look of eager concentration makes for a tense household, let me tell you. My ladyfriend will certainly be happier for me not putting her through that, but its moot anyhow being that I only have access to the Internet at work, though my colleagues appear similarly relieved at my fairly conservative choice of game attire. As might well be the smattering of fellow Hawks that make the trip across to the island tonight, as the opening of the pre-season friendly selection box is always solely about ‘the speculation’ and observing for oneself what it amounts to. As a result, our club secretary has to put up with endless enquiries from virtually everyone present that all boil down to one essential question – “’Ooz ‘ee?”, or more specifically, “Oi Trev, who’s that mush there, the 17, no not that 17, the other 17, on the right.” At this experimental stage, there clearly aren’t enough numbers to go round.

There is no joy to be had in pre-season friendlies other than catching up with chums (such as the Magellan-like Adrian, who's globe-trotting contributions to this site can be read here and here), having a trip out, and familiarising yourself with players old and new. After all, its not just about who is here, but who is not, as most summers usually sees a few depart or go AWOL in circumstances both fair and foul. At that happier end of the scale this year we have Mickey Warner who has quite reasonably left to join his wife and family. In Finland. Travelling expenses may well have been the sticking point. HJK Helsinki will apparently be his next port of call, and the very best of luck to him there. We’ll miss him, it was a rare novelty for us to have a genuine right-back playing both on the right, and at the back.

In the middle of the departure grumbling graph is Jefferson Louis, who came midway through last season and, frankly, wasn’t better than what we had, but nevertheless has conjured himself a move up a division to hook up with Weymouth. Considering our dealings with the Muff over the years, this may well be the transfer equivalent of slipping Polonium-210 into their picnic flask, we shall have to see. Then we have another player who remains in limbo, apparently holding out for a hero, that hero being a load of money, money that will preferably come from someone else. Our manager has been quite vocal in the press about refusing to bankrupt our club in chasing the promotion dream, so if players think they’re worth more moolie than we’re prepared to give them, the attitude nowadays (quite admirably) is, well, you f*** off and find it. If you can.

Another plus point is that we are able to field three cast-iron contracted signings in our starting line-up this evening. Kevin Scriven, a goalkeeper from Farnborough; from Swindon Town we've taken Andy Gurney, a veteran utility-man who knows his way round the inside of a ref's notebook (word is he's seen more red than a toreador outfitter's accessory box); and Jay Smith, a tall, strong defender coming in from Grays Athletic. To add to that, a similar number of trialists appear during the course of the game, including one tiny striker sporting the kind of pointy facial hair usually found on Japanese death metal bassists, who begins the match as “Brazilian, or something”, but gets up/down-graded to Chilean/Australian by half-time.

One tall lad, who plays most of the second half on the right flank looks particularly useful, especially in his exquisite pass for a newly shorn Rocky Baptiste to scalp it home mid-way through the second half. Rocky’s goal comes between two typically sharp finishes from Richard Pacquette which gives the vaguely-attentive away support something to cheer about. Not to loudly of course, we have to obey the laws of the pre-season friendly, as clearly set out here by our chum Twohundredpercent.

However, we are not here to treat our Wessex League opposition with contempt. Our friendlies have been chosen fairly carefully and as Cowes Sports gave a near full-strength Hawk squad a bit of a hairy going over in our Hampshire Senior Cup tie here last season, we come here for a decent work-out. One of the Cowes players in fact works us a little too hard and gets a straight red-card. The usual law of the friendly is for the ref to ask for law-transgressors to be substituted, but his crime was apparently deemed too heinous for that unwritten conceit to come into effect.

It’s hard, and foolish, to read too much into games like this, particularly when you have a man advantage, but pre-season should start this way; a gentle amble in an unpretentious setting is a necessary ramp-up to tougher pre-season challenges. After all, following this sea-crossing by only four days would be our yearly visit from Portsmouth, who are usually duty bound to stick out a few first-teamers at least. That might prove to be a little bit more of a challenge, but one that will hopefully focus our minds for a Conference South campaign where, for some reason, we have been made early favourites, despite oodles of cash being poured into other clubs such as Dorchester and Lewes.

So we are no clearer to knowing whether or not our wage constraints will hinder our title bid as yet, but the boat trip over to the Wight has given us no reason to feel in any way gloomy, and that’ll do for now, particularly as our manoeuvrings in the transfer market are not finished yet.

H&W pre-season programme
04 Aug: H&W 1 Salisbury City 2
30 Jul: H&W 2 AFC Totton 1 (att. 193)
27 Jul: H&W 1 Woking 0 (att. 255)
21 Jul: Llanelli 1 H&W 4 (att. 230)
20 Jul: Afan Lido P H&W P
17 Jul: H&W 0 Portsmouth 2 (att. 3,573)
13 Jul: Cowes Sports 1 H&W 3

Links
Cowes Sports website
Havant & Waterlooville website
Twohundredpercent's spot-on appraisal of 'the friendly'

Kingstonian 1 Dover Athletic 3

20jan07
Isthmian League Division One South
Kingsmeadow, Norbiton
att. 391

Hobo in my pocket #7

Kent Spitfires v Hampshire Hawks

10jun07
Friends Provident Trophy South Conference
Nevill Ground, Tunbridge Wells

Hampshire 220ao [49.4ov; Mascarenhas 50, Arafat 3-48]
Kent 218ao [49.3ov; Walker 83no, Warne 3-30]

Hampshire Hawks win by 2 runs

One downside of Hampshire’s move from spit and sawdust Northlands Road to the polished silver ballroom that is the Rose Bowl is that, since then, Hampshire have eschewed out-ground cricket. Counties being the expansive representative things they are, it seems only of business sense, and did before business sense as a concept was invented, that you should reach out to your constituency, to go and doorstep them before they forget who you are, and to make them care about your fortunes before they realise they do. Counties like Glamorgan and Nottinghamshire have been known even to take their product out to grounds in neighbouring(ish) counties (at Colwyn Bay and Cleethorpes respectively) and set up shop for a short festival season.

However once you’ve spent millions on a ground that you expect to one day hosts Tests (and in 2010, the Rose Bowl is due to do just that), I guess you want to justify that investment in the short-term. Thus Hants waved goodbye to Bournemouth, Basingstoke and, my old local, the United Services Ground, Portsmouth. Next year though will see a return to Basingstoke, and it is about time. There is something special about festival seasons. When Yorkshire take their show to Scarborough, thousands turn out for four-day cricket, which might only just tip into four figures, on a good day, back at Headingley.

The first ever professional cricket match I attended was at an out-ground, as you might expect at the USG. 1989, Hampshire hosting Lancashire. It may have taken me a whole longer to get to a game had there been a Rose Bowl, and a monopoly, then and I may never have taken up the game to the extent I did without the inspiration of seeing legends in that first game. Legends like Malcolm Marshall, Robin Smith, Wasim Akram and, err, P-J Bakker. Mmm, think the last one may have been a legend only in my house, and possibly his own.

Of course, being that they are built to host club cricket that will rarely, these days anyway, have to cater for big four-figure crowds, spectator comfortability varies. Some cope better than others, Surrey’s Whitgift School ground in Croydon is blessed with a perfect gradient on one side that provides perfect views for all. The Nevill Ground is not quite so blessed, and so unless you are prepared to fork out five pounds to chuck into either the permanent stand or the single temporary one, or are sat at the front, your head will be popping up and down like a masochistic whack-a-mole to try and get a decent all-encompassing view of the play. Hence we stand, although one group have clearly coped with this before, turning up with a big trestle table and enough buffet nosebag to keep ‘em going for a week.

Kent can certainly be forgiven for perhaps not catering for a bigger crowd, as these things are always difficult to predict in advance. The English climate can be a real malicious ol’ bitch at times. Today, though, is dog hot, and thus a good three thousand plus squeeze in, drawn by Kent’s one-week-per-summer visit and, possibly, by the presence of the opposition captain. Not many cricketers can sell tickets on their name alone, but Shane Warne is one of those. Some come today to doff a cap to a legend in his final two years of professional engagement. After all the five cricketers of the twentieth century don’t turn out in Tunbridge Wells that often (Jack Hobbs and Don Bradman would particularly struggle these days). Others come in the hope that their county will put one over on him, while quite a significant number, I imagine, will fall into both camps.

During the final overs of the game, as the great man tinkers with his field after every ball as Kent close in on the target despite a paucity of wickets in reserve, those camps unite as one, becoming a matinee pantomime audience to Warne’s gigantically moustachioed Captain Hook. How, though, did we all get to this point? Well, not me, I ate up every second, of course, ‘AAAAAAAAAmpshire n’ all that.

To start with, the Hawks’ innings skipped and staggered, as though collectively walking in shoes in-soled by a prickly pebble. John Crawley was typically unyielding at the top until, of course, he yielded, caught by Kent skipper Fat Bob Key for 45. The remainder of the top order scrimped and scraped but never took off, until Dimitri Mascarenhas and Nic Pothas did their regular rescue job, turning 123-5 into 205-6, before the remainder collapsed for fifteen runs, two to run-outs for ducks; Warne punished for lumbering; Tremlett for not making the most of God’s gift (or curse if his knee injuries are anything to go by) of a 6ft 8in frame.

Kent’s innings also faltered early, Geraint Jones getting trapped for 7 by Stuart Clark, the Aussie paceman then inducing two mis-timed drives within an over, both dropping like apples shaken from a tall tree into the hands of Sean Ervine at extra-cover. Fat Bob appeared to steady the ship, despatching Warne early in his spell for a couple of fours. That is until the big lad came forward with too heavy a hand, flicking an edge into the gloves of Pothas, stood there snickering behind the stumps like he’d just watched a big plastic bucket fall on Fat Bob’s head; a bucket Nic the Greek had spent minutes placing above a door-frame with the calm and care of a career bomb defuser.


After that Kent’s innings fell away as Warne, Shaggy Udal and Stilts Tremlett quickly pierced their defences. With Warne’s every delivery, there was an increasingly awed silence, and a boost to the numbers gathered behind his arm at the Pavilion end. Despite the fairly low target, Hampshire were defending it with ease, until, that is, Ryan McLaren joined Matthew Walker with Kent staring down the barrel at 136-8. Some of the ‘home’ crowd had already taken their leave at this point, while the inter-county sledging amongst those stood on the far side had Hampshire voices bellowing louder. However as the ninth wicket partnership edged Kent towards 200, it was soon back to level pegging in the banter stakes.

With three overs to go, eighteen runs were needed, and although McLaren succumbed at 205 going for a big hit off Udal that fell into the hands of Tremlett, the pressure was then cranked up as Walker crashed a boundary that was tipped from four to six by Carberry’s desperate dive to catch at long-off. However despite all this Warne remained both calm and wily, taking his own sweet time tinkering with his field after each delivery, at point ‘forgetting’ to collect his sunglasses from the umpire’s hat, and thus further delay a new overs start. The field was being manipulated, as was the opposition’s concentration, the jeers of the crowd appearing only to make Warner go about his work with even greater care and consideration.

However what undid Kent in the final over was something as simple as a straight, good length delivery. Warne had asked Chris Tremlett whether he wanted the pressure of the final over. He replied “yes” and with Kent requiring five to win from his six balls he bowled three, leaving Kent two short as he trapped Walker, finally, in front of his stumps, leg before.

A two run win then, excitement throughout, and though the Kent public had had the chance see a master of guile and, if I’m honest, gamesmanship at work, this will have meant not a jot when those two runs eventually turned out to be the difference between Kent and their conquerors making the semi-finals. Hampshire, in those semis, beat Warwickshire to reach Lords. The entire town of Tunbridge Wells might well have bristled with collective indignation.

Links
Kent CCC website
Hampshire CCC website
Telegraph article promoting the use of out-grounds

Bedfont Sports 0 Walthamstow Avenue & Pennant 1

26may07
Middlesex County League Premier Division
Bedfont Sports Club, Feltham
att. 60(approx.)

For all the talk of a nomadic footballing lifestyle, it is not often that these pages have dipped beneath step six of the non-league pyramid. Wrongly so, as we could all do well to challenge our expectations from time to time. Once you come down to this level, the amateur hours go on and on, and presumption might tell me that it will involve visiting grounds so austere that entry is not by programme, but by ration book. If there is a tea-hut, requests for a second Kit-Kat will likely be met with the kind of look that an affair of secretaries might give a dieting colleague rapidly wiping a tiny freckle of synthetic cream away from the tip of their nose, on their return from a lengthy session of conference room minute-taking. You/I/we might expect that some of the grounds at this level are a mere length of missing rope away from being a parks football pitch.

As you may have spotted, this site doesn’t cover parks football, but if a side taking part in the national pyramid happens to share a pitch with the Willington Owl & Pussycat Strollers, then who am I to judge. To set my stall out: if it’s pyramid it’s proper, and part of a distinct history. Some might call that sniffy, but considering a great many football followers consider Stoke City beneath their radar, I like to think my mind is reasonably open…

…and, you/I/we might assume, open to the elements here at Bedfont, once the rain begins to fall in the second half (this is not what I signed up for going to watch football five days before June, I can tell you). However despite my claims above, the Middlesex County League is pretty well catered for in terms of grounds, largely thanks to a number of sharing arrangements with clubs higher up, but Bedfont skew the curve even further by having a quite nicely appointed ground of their own.

Bedfont sports club is situated slap bang at the end of Heathrow’s take-off runway and squeezed between some allotments, one which has a bonfire on the go this afternoon, its smoke spiralling up towards the regularly plane-interrupted skies, and the fenced in home of the more senior Bedfont FC, currently two steps ahead of Sports in the Combined Counties League Premier Division. However, Sports clearly have their sights set on joining their neighbours in the CCL set-up at some stage as they have permission for lights, and are clearly in the process of adding to the hard-standing around their boundary, a load of rubble filling a trench thirsty for the concrete that the summer is likely to bring.

So, despite the picture that one might paint of the aesthetics of the county leagues, the constituency of Middlesex’s appears fairly rich, particularly with the presence of a number of south European and south American ex-pat teams, such as Sport London e Benfica, Brazilian and FC Deportivo Galicia. However, the further you delve into the amateur ranks, the more chaotic the organisation gets. Twelve games of this MCL season have been awarded by committee, often due to a no-show by the away side, or in Southall’s case on several occasions, the home team. However, even at this level there is colour, as balloons in the appropriate yellow and blue are on show, with attempts to justify their presence by having two attached with string to a happy child’s wrist.

Walthamstow Avenue & Pennant are particularly skilful looking, full of thoughtful yet rapid first touch passing, while Bedfont are also a pretty good advert for their level, as 103 goals so far this season would suggest. For the first quarter, they cancel each other out, A&P making the first genuine chance, a quick shot on the turn looping as though about to sail just under the bar, but keeper Barry Macwilliam flicks it away. However he makes a blunder from the resulting corner, his brush this time being more flimsy than a tracing paper oar. A header is required at the far post to save him. A minute later, another twenty-yarder requires a tip, round the post this time, as Macwilliam works up a sweat.

On forty minutes, Sports have their first decent opportunity with a shot from range, welting a shot that beats the keeper’s dive but also the post. This wakes the home side up to their abilities, and they press forward with much more purpose and create two further chances in quick succession, but the spidery limbs of Walthamstow’s tall keeper keeps them at bay. On the stroke of half time, a Bedfont corner is whipped in by Mark Smith beautifully to the six yard line, but Ricky Owen’s header catches the join of post and bar and bounces out. Much less than it deserved. A moral goal. Now those don’t all count.

Walthamstow come out after the break re-energised and another gorgeous lilting wallop skims an inch over the bar. Ten minutes later, Spider goes down well and bravely at feet to stem a gilt-edged one-on-one chance. On seventy-five minutes, Walthamstow have the ball in the net, taking out the keeper in the process. After an age of celebration, everyone finally notices the linesman’s flag.

Ten minutes later, with five minutes to go, A&P finally score legitimately. The offside trap is broken, and a tackle is made, but rather than going down the attacker crosses softly, the ball bouncing off a sliding defenders hand, and before the keeper can land on it, A&P’s dreadlocked midfielder toe-pokes it home. It is a finish that doesn’t do justice to his very apparent ball-skills. All told, Bedfont have no answer to Walthamstow today, despite the fact they have outscored everyone else in their division this season (25 ahead of the next highest tally, and a nice looking differential of +63). Today is very much about the wind-down, yet it’s not even their last scheduled game.

However that final game never gets played. Away to Southall. Poor little fixture never had a chance, sniff. With home side suspended by the league seemingly due to a break in communication (the club secretary resigned months ago, apparently). However those three points are not enough for Sports to finish in a coveted promotion position, pipped by Sport London e Benfica, who will move up to the Spartan South Midlands League second tier, and Neasden Foundation, who will ascend to the same level within the Combined Counties League. Both have been able to make the jump thanks to the facilities that come with ground sharing.

All the cool clubs are doing it, I’m told.

Links
Bedfont Sports website
Middlesex County League website
Middlesex County League table