Taking It On The Chinnor - Matchgoing 27th January - 2nd February

[Foot of Astaire's]

Charlton 1-2 Bolton
3rd Division

Well that was a nice surprise. On telly, with a good away following and at a ground where we have a decent record, were all usual indicators that we'd be hopeless. In fact, Bolton were bloody marvellous, playing open, attacking football in what was easily their best away performance of the season so far.

If I had one gripe it was that we didn't convert more of the many chances we created. This has been an issue for much of our time under Ian Evatt. All fart and no shite as one Sunderland fan described us.

The Valley is a great away day, nice ground, easy to get to and away from. I've no idea why I left it so long to make a first trip.

[MrLeam]

North Macedonia vs Argentina

You’re stuck in a Dublin airport for seven hours. Not drinking, your options are to speak to random strangers, peruse the magazine rack in WH Smiths 1,239 times, or write interminable waffle for people you’ve never met to get three sentences into before rightly ignoring. What are you going to do?

TL;DR - Leam watched some sport




The rain lashed down in torrents on the day in 1989 when my brother and I invented handball. The first ever football international was played between Scotland and England at Hamilton Crescent. The first ever handball game was played between my brother and I in our hallway. My brother shot towards the goal formed by the front door, while as the older child I grabbed the advantage of shooting towards the larger goal formed by the gap between the wall and the staircase. We used the soon to be traditional yellow foam ball, about the size of a grapefruit (Pomelo, rather than the smaller Star Ruby variety).

Armies of handball-obsessed sports archaeologists have yet to determine the exact result of this legendary first match, although they generally agree that I won. I always did. Being a teenager and six years older than your sibling gave me a sporting advantage not seen again until Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, and Charles Barkley rocked up in the 1992 Olympics against the combined basketball might of Panama. I was not above using my superior size and strength. You may judge me harshly, but nothing I did was ever against the rules. Of course, as the older brother I wrote and enforced the rules.

My role as the co-creator of handball has gone scandalously unrecognised for over 30 years, with the International Handball Federation refusing to acknowledge my many letters, despite their extensive length and felt tip illustrations. You can only insult someone for so long until they somersault recklessly into action. The IHF's intransigence drove me to open up my laptop, log onto the Internet, and set Google to hunt for “suspiciously cheap accommodation in Central Europe”. Yep, I was set to face down my sporting demons by watching world championship 2023 handball in Poland.

The 32 teams in the championship were split into eight groups of four, half the competition in Poland and the other half in Sweden, with various stages leading to the final in Stockholm. A twelve days trip with manic shuttling between Krakow and Katowice meant I could see 30 games, and achieve my lifelong dream of getting into the top ten of middle-aged, bald Scots on the Handbology app. The combined ticket cost for all 30 games was around £150, about what you could easily spend watching three football games at Goodison Park. Or, if you are lucky, what you could easily spend watching two football games at Goodison Park.

I was full of enthusiasm when arriving at the Tauron Arena in Krakow for my first game solely as a handball spectator rather than inventor/participant. When the first whistle sounded, my naïve zeal instantly vanished, as I understood why the IHF refused to answer my emails demanding financial recompense for inventing the sport. The IHF have almost ruined the game I jointly created. Instead of a one-on-one gladiatorial combat, the IHF’s version of handball ludicrously requires seven players on each side. Each IHF game finishes strictly after an hour, rather than embracing the random excitement of finishing when food is served, a vase is broken, or someone injures their younger brother. Worst of all, the money-grubbing shills at the IHF have foolishly embraced standardisation and designed a symmetrical, rectangular court with equal sized goals. Yet again, capitalism has leeched from a working-class pastime, leaving only a maggot-infested cadaver.

Despite the IHF’s ridiculous rule changes, the World Championships were a qualified success, albeit with more excitement throughout the first two rounds in Sweden than in Poland. The groups in Sweden were tight, with several games going down to the final minute. Iceland underachieved. Hungary and the USA overachieved. Danes and Swedes wedged in to sell-out stadiums as their teams progressed deep in the tournament. There was less drama in Poland, where few games were close. The Polish quarter final places were sorted with a round to spare, as Germany, France, Spain, and Norway all progressed as expected. Missing their star striker, the home team never seriously contended, Poland going from packed houses in Katowice in the preliminary round, to a farewell victory over Iran less than two weeks later in a relatively empty arena in Krakow.

By far the most exciting team playing in the Polish half of the competition was Holland. Only in the tournament as one of two wild cards (a plan for major sport tournaments currently being investigated by Scottish football authorities), the Dutch embraced the extremes. We’ve all slouched in our sofa, cracked open an Oranjeboom, started up John Madden Handball on the PS4, and ramped up speed scores to the maximum. That’s the real-life Holland approach. Sit back on defence the,n when you get possession, make sure everyone absolutely legs it forward as quickly as they can, desperately hoping to catch the other team off balance.

Holland’s dynamic counterattack approach tires out players quickly, requiring strength in depth and regular substitutions to achieve any success. Or so you’d think. Holland douse your pathetic thinking with vast quantities of scorn, instead relying on two excellent players in Smits and Steins, and refusing to substitute anyone unless absolutely required. It shouldn’t work, but it does. Holland were the great entertainers in Poland, beating Qatar, North Macedonia, and Argentina, running Norway close and performing admirably against Serbia and Germany. The Dutch succeeded despite few of their players playing in the top European leagues, although Robin Schoenaker is listed as playing for the only club in the world whose full name is a fashion statement, Belgian handball team Sporting Pelt.

[MrLeam]

North Macedonia vs Argentina (yep, more waffle)

The standout game in the preliminary round was the match between North Macedonia and Argentina, where a win meant progress to the main round, and a defeat meant finishing bottom and being cast into the murky undergrowth of the Presidents Cup, where reside snakes, scorpions, and Uruguay. While blessed with a magisterial title, the Presidents Cup merely grabs all the detritus at the bottom of each group, then chucks those teams out to the onomatopoeically named Polish town of Plock, and forces them to play each other in a tiny arena in front of no-one. The Presidents Cup has all the appeal of Dante’s seventh circle of hell (being stuck in a telephone box for 48 hours with Jonathan Pearce).

North Macedonia and Argentina should have been well-matched, both being far better than cannon fodder such as Algeria or Saudi Arabia, and both being capable of upsetting one of the bigger teams. North Macedonia and Argentina were not well matched. North Macedonian fans were relatively calm when Argentina opened up an early two goal lead, became frustrated as Argentina continued to score easily, and ended up irate as the gap grew further. The referee hadn’t even begun to think about blowing his half-time whistle and the Macedonians had already secured the booby prize of a week in Plock.

There are three things you must know about North Macedonian handball fans. Firstly, they roll deep, being by far the best supported travelling team in Poland, taking about 700 supporters to their games. Secondly, the North Macedonian fans are generally an amiable bunch, waving flags, dancing, and wearing Alexander the Great outfits. Thirdly, and based solely on this game against Argentina, they do not enjoy losing. They do not enjoy losing at all. Not even the tiniest bit.

As Argentina’s lead mounted, my attention was drawn to the performative histrionics of the nearby Macedonian fans, one of whom resembled Mario from the Nintendo games and periodically stormed up and down the arena steps, shouting and gesticulating furiously as if faced with a particularly upsetting toilet piping problem. Suddenly, wild shouts erupted as a fight broke out between two fans in another section of the Macedonian support. The contretemps stopped, there was some hand waving, a bit of shouting, then some pushing and more hand waving.

Other fans got involved in an attempt to calm things down. It worked. For a few minutes. Then, a 50 year old woman involved in the original melee started throwing wild haymakers at the face of a far younger, hefty, bearded Macedonian bloke, who stood bemused as his brain cranked through the options for the most appropriate way to respond to this unexpected event. Nearby fans again waded in to break up the fight, while a couple of stewards slowly wandered over, doubtless wondering why the job adverts never mentioned the ruthless hooliganism of middle-aged, female, handball fans. The source of the altercations was a mystery, although I suspect it was an argument over the use of fantasy in the short stories of Macedonian author Zivko Cingo. Discussions continued, gestures were made, and the protagonists were eventually separated.

Matters calmed down in the second half. The Macedonian fans occasionally booed their players but seemed resigned to their fate. On the final whistle, the Macedonian players courageously ventured over to applaud their traveling army of support, and stayed clapping for at least three minutes in a transparent attempt to gain penance. Most of their fans good naturedly applauded back, as if the previous hour of underperformance and disappointment could be negated merely by slapping your hands together. Meanwhile, the Argentinians were bouncing around enthusiastically in the far corner of the arena with their 20 supporters. A fantastic victory for the South Americans, in what was otherwise a lacklustre tournament for them.

The other highlight of the tournament was Montenegro. Their performance on the court was anonymous. I watched five hours of Montenegran handball and can’t remember a single thing they did, although I think there was a moment where one of their players passed the ball to another of their players. Their performance where it mattered was exhilarating, namely in the competition for best national anthem. The Montenegran national anthem is the answer to the question we’ve all repeatedly asked, about what would happen if Norwegian death metallers Burzum and gloomy Russian composer Modest Mussorgsky joined forces to pen the most portentous piece of music possible.

The music of most national anthems inspires traditional and tedious thoughts of glory and honour. The exceptions are the Norwegian and Montenegran anthems. Norway’s anthem is the winning entry in a 1993 primary school competition to write a song that starts off blatantly ripping off the tune of terrace chant "Gordon Strachan walks on water" chant and descends into drivel about being friends and holding hands. Even the Swedish anthem has more chutzpah. The music of the Montenegran anthem contains nothing that will make you think about holding hands with anyone, unless it is the precursor to a lengthy garrotting. The Macedonian anthem tells you that their people know they will die and that they will drag you with them into the fiery furnaces of hell. The anthem is magnificent. With the Russians being banned for geopolitical reasons from the upcoming Eurovision Anthems competition, put a few quid on Montenegro to lift the trophy. Sure, there may be some verses that have alleged fascist connections, but what’s that when money is on the line?

[MrLeam]

North Macedonia vs Argentina (almost the last part, I promise. Honestly)

The first news story I can remember may have been the December 1980 shooting of John Lennon. Or it may have been the scenes of Gdansk shipyard strikes that featured around the same time on the black and white TV in our sitting room, as Lech Walesa's Solidarity trade union protested against Soviet influence in Poland. Like many whose formative years were during the Cold War, scenes of striking workers and tales of Communist repression made it easy to associate Poland and authoritarianism. The truth is very different, with Poland historically having a somewhat extreme dedication to freedom which occasionally proved problematic. For centuries, Poland spurned a hereditary approach and elected their monarch, occasionally resulting in the country becoming the plaything of foreign rulers. For over 150 years, the Polish parliament misguidedly adopted the liberarum veto, the freedom for any member to negate all the votes across an entire parliament just by saying they didn’t agree. Long periods could pass without any decisions being made. The image of gloomy, enforced, Polish collectivism is a mirage. For most of its history, Poland tolerated religious divergence far more than Western Europe. The Polish constitution was one of the first in the world and the country had a particularly expansive franchise.

When you look at a map of Europe, there is a weight and solidity to Poland. The stout, square nature of the country implies permanence. Lower your gaze to the mess of countries below Poland and the jagged borders scream of flux. A 2017 GCSE geography question asked students "look at the featured map of the Balkans - what the fuck is going on there?". In comparison to the crazy paving borders elsewhere, you stare at Poland’s boundaries and imagine it has always been there. However, as sport fans we are experts in the history of central European nations. Pre-match pubs across the UK become the venue for rival team shouting matches over the defenestration of Prague, the rule of Ladislaus the Posthumous, and the favourite terrace chants of Imre Nagy. As experts, we realise Poland and geopolitical permanence have as much in common as Steve Evans and genteel understatement.

Examining the history of Poland shows the fragility of the country and the consequences of major power politics. For over a couple of hundred years from 1569, Poland joined with its neighbour to the east in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, a joint enterprise that once stretched from the Baltic to the Black Sea and inspired noted mediaeval historian Robert Maxwell’s attempted merger of Oxford United and Reading. The fortunes of the country tumbled rapidly. On three occasions in the late 18^th Century, rival powers of Germany, Austria, and Russia took chunks out of Poland, the final occasion leaving it partitioned away into nothing. The disastrous World War One campaigns of those three powers saw Poland reappear, only to be swallowed up by Hitler and Stalin a couple of decades later. The end of World War Two saw Poland re-emerge, but shifted towards the west, losing traditional territory around modern day Belarus, Lithuania, and Ukraine, but gaining German territory that it arguably didn’t want. Poland is the geographical equivalent of Sam Allardyce’s managerial career, spending centuries periodically disappearing and reappearing, and never in the same place twice.

Trawling sporadically through Polish history can suggest the country has been uniquely hard done by, and there is more than a glimmer of truth in that perspective. As always, things aren’t that simple, and while more sinned against than sinning, Poland’s history is not unblemished. One example is the town the Poles call Cieszyn. A top attraction in Katowice is the Spodek, a 15,000 seater city centre arena that was built in the Soviet era, you're obliged to refer to as looking like a UFO, and is to Polish indoor sport what Wembley is to English football. If you’re ever buying a beer in Spodek while attending a major handball tournament, chances are you’ll get served a 400ml plastic glass full of Tyskie, the same cheap swill you’ll find in Polish skleps across the UK. If you’re not served Tyskie, you may get an equally under-sized serving of Cieszyn lager, equally cheap swill from the longest continuously operating brewery in Poland. If forced to choose, go with Cieszyn, if only for their attractive black and white logo of a castle that makes the beer look classy and would be an ideal FC Edinburgh logo if the club hadn’t instead hired a seven-year-old with a version of Microsoft Paint developed in 1729 to design their club badge.

People in Czechoslovakia didn’t call the town Cieszyn. They called it Teschen. By Central European standards, the Czechoslovak and Polish disputes over the town were minor. The town’s inhabitants were split between the two nationalities and fairly amicably divided the town on ethngraphic lines. The Czech and Polish governments would both ignore the townspeople and try to impose their own competing views of the border, ending up with an international conference in 1920 just splitting the town down the middle into two sections, infuriating the Poles by giving their rivals a big chunk of the town populated mainly by Poles. When Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia, Poland took the opportunity to take all of Cieszyn. For the Poles, this was a necessary move to protect a vital path into their country from any Wehrmacht invasion. For the Czechs, this was an underhand Polish attempt to seize their territory. Today, the town is back to the 1920 borders, albeit that the Schengen agreement means residents can now cross the border with as little concern as Aberdeen FC had when heading down the motorway to take on Darvel.

If the dispute over Cieszyn seems small beer, there are plenty more substantial examples of questionable acts in Polish history. Sure, Poland has a romantic history of struggle, but why would we expect Poland to be innately purer than any other country? Loudly shouting about your love for the glorious history of Poland in a Warsaw pub may end with you swapping football stories and shots of vodka with your new best friends. Shouting about the same glorious Polish history may not get the same results in the pubs of Lithuania, Belarus, or Ukraine. As I stated in my A Level exam, history is complicated shit. If you need convincing, set your Sat Nav to Katowice, visit the excellent Silesian Museum and try to figure out exactly who was right in the Polish–German disputes over Upper Silesia after World War One. If tendentious debates over the complexities of VAR are your cup of vodka, you’ll love discussing Central European plebiscites.

When visiting the country to learn its history, you will find Polish museums are generally excellent, if slightly different to their UK equivalents. Every museum must have at least five displays that are kept so dark that you cannot read what they say. John Maynard Keynes's tongue-in-cheek idea of employing people to repeatedly dig and fill in holes has been adapted in Poland as part of a push for full employment by hiring vast numbers of staff to mill around pointlessly in museums. If you’re particularly lucky, your visit to the Museum of Krakow will be immeasurably enhanced by being creepily shadowed around the entire second floor by a particularly persistent thirty year old attendant. You will eventually get used to being asked to show your entrance ticket to every staff member guarding every separate room. For decades, the UK has been plagued by people attending museums wearing coats and carrying bags, with the Poles thankfully avoiding the major resulting disturbances by forcing everyone to check in their bag and coat before daring to visit any exhibition. We have a lot to learn from our continental cousins.

[MrLeam]

North Macedonia vs Argentina (OK, this is it done)

There’s obviously more to Poland than being the site of perhaps the most fascinating history of all the European countries. Anyone stupid enough to visit Poland while on a diet should know the country only recognises two food groups, sausages and carbohydrates. Every third shop in Poland is a bakery (in the centre of Katowice, the other two-thirds are sex shops). Each bakery focusses almost entirely on doughnuts, and a staggering array of various jam and custard filled confections. You may find a rogue slice of regular pizza or the polish version of the snack (baguette, no tomato base), but strolling into your local bakers and ordering something that isn't sweet is heresy. I was almost lynched in a posh Krakow bakery for daring to ask if they had any steak bakes.

It’s customary to say something upbeat about the people living in any country you visit. My linguistic skills in both Polish and English were insufficient to lead me to any grand conclusions, beyond that Polish people appear on the surface to be no different to folk in most other European countries. Quelle surprise, Monsieur Leam. Judging by the TV adverts though, it is foolish to buy into stereotypes that Poles are no-nonsense, tough, and impervious to weakness. Apart from ubiquitous Lidl adverts, every commercial on Polish TV is for over-priced pharmaceuticals. There’s one advert with a bloke needing medication so he can break a substantial piece of wood using the typical male approach of snapping it over your knee, there’s one with a family who somehow all simultaneously need painkillers as a result of minor ailments, and there’s one with a PE teacher whose swift use of flu relief means she can celebrate uncontrollably after scoring an easy basketball lay-up against twelve year-olds. If the UK runs on cheap prosecco, vaping, and cocaine, Poland runs on continental Lemsip.

The first news story I can remember might involve Poland, but the first sports story I can remember definitely involves Poland. My mum and dad were late back from a shopping trip. My older sister was increasingly frantic and wanted to call the police. I was also getting increasingly frantic, but about any potential police visit interrupting the ongoing Poland vs Italy 1982 World Cup group game rather than the worrying disappearance of my parents. Luckily my parents returned before my sister called 999, and, after a 0-0 draw against Italy, Zibi Boniek and his men went on the long tournament run they deserved. Poland’s handball team could have done with some Boniek style greatness.

[Via Newbury Park]

Dagenham & Redbridge 0-2 Yeovil Town
National League
Att: 2739 (190-ish away)

This was the annual Daggers Diversity Day - cheaper tickets, schools/ community groups/local dignitaries/head of the National League invited, biggest crowd of the season so far - and as the bloke who stands in front of us noted, “we always play shit and lose these”. This tradition was firmly upheld.

Dagenham started well but lost momentum after Sam Ling went off after a nasty clash of heads. Yeovil were clearly targeting him, presumably on the grounds that he’s not very tall, but hadn’t done any research beyond his height as Ling is excellent in the air and had already won three thumping headers; losing him early clearly affected the team. Yeovil took the lead after the second penalty and red card-combo in as many home games, although from our angle it looked somewhat iffy. The referee waited so long after the penalty was awarded before showing the card that we thought Phipps might have got away with it; he did the same with a booking for a Yeovil player in the second half, where the free kick had been lined up, centre-halves had trundled forward from the back, crowd worked up into a fury at his apparent leniency etc before deciding to get his card out. I’m not sure if the referee (Alan Dale, probably not the one who played Jim Robinson in Neighbours) likes to carefully think things through or if he enjoys the attention being on him for the maximum amount of time, but given his overall performance I have some theories. The penalty was scored by beloved former Daggers loanee Jordan Maguire-Drew, which served the people who decided to boo him when he came over to acknowledge us before kick-off right.

This seemed to spark something and Dagenham had three good chances before half time, including one where Josh Walker, in great form, in front of goal with Junior Morais unmarked to his right, got caught in two minds and somehow contrived to miss, with Morais falling over his own feet before he could get to the rebound. We should have gone home then, in hindsight. At half-time there was a kids penalty competition which had absurdly complicated rules, which we couldn’t follow because the PA man’s mic kept cutting out. This led to us trying to explain the career of Norman Collier to my nephew, and us all agreeing that no matter how bad things might seem, the past was usually worse.

The second half was uneventful, with Yeovil spoiling effectively and Dagenham never really able to get any momentum. Their second came near the end, a lovely strike from 20 years by Matt Worthington that was completely out of keeping with the rest of the game. Dagenham end what’s been a bad month with half the crowd screaming at the players for being shit and demanding the manager’s sacking, and with the team having moved into a play-off place (albeit in a ludicrously contrived system). I have no idea what to make of it at all, and now I’m going to get some crisps and settle in to read the previous four posts.

Red versus pink and purple stripes seems more of a clash than green v red would, and I say this as someone with red/green colourblindness.

20230128_150427.jpg

[MrLeam]

Hull City 3-0 QPR

I owe Hull an apology. Earlier this season I said the centre of the city was merely an agglomeration of shopping centres, failing to realise it also has numerous vape shops. More positively, a wander in the clear January air showed the city also has a serious addiction to imposing sculptures, a walking trail paying homage to Phillip Larkin, and various intriguing pieces of architecture, some of which were not covered with plastic sheeting. There's also the Wilberforce House, which, in apt tribute to the man who shut down the transatlantic slave trade, was itself shut.

Baseball has the concept of the Mendoza Line, named after Mario Mendoza, a shortstop who regularly failed to achieve a batting average of .200, the minimum level generally required to be a feasible major leaguer. Urban geography should have the Hull Line, with any conurbation reaching that level considered to have reached a basic standard of quality. Hull is completely adequate. If you were to rename it Kingston Upon Hull Upon Sea, shift it down to Sussex, and remove the pervading aroma of Greggs, The Telegraph might even list it as one of the UK's most aspirational places in which to live.

I'd never watched Hull City before, having had no real desire to schlep to what I saw as a soulless, empty, out of town bowl that takes about eight hours to get to from the train station. Given how unlikely it is that my perception was incorrect, I can only assume the club has made radical changes in the last couple of weeks, moving the stadium considerably closer to the city centre, and packing in enough locals to create an engaging atmosphere. While never likely to have the charm of older-fashioned grounds, the MKM Stadium is more than merely functional, the only downside being a ratio of 500 men's urinal spaces to every sink which suggests a distinctive approach to male hygiene on Humberside.

Early in the game the QPR fans chanted that they were by far the greatest team the world had ever seen, thus finally solving countless dull pub arguments. Or so I thought. After Hull's opening goal, their fans made the same astounding claim. I can only assume that the best team in the world at any time, is the team on top in any game between a club from West London and a club from East Yorkshire, adding extra spice to next year's inevitable FA Cup Final between Chelsea and Goole Town.

Missing Lyndon Dykes (injury to tattoo), QPR's attack could be described as anaemic were this not to wrongly suggest that the rest of their team were not similarly lacking in iron. Hull won with ease, their fans chanted that the hoops had been 'mauled by the Tigers', and City's teenage supporters in the North Stand delighted in taunting their rivals. The home team fans are right to feel positive. Hull's approach to signings has correctly concentrated on acquiring players who share a name with monarchs who are declared to Great. They've got Cyrus Christie, they've got Alfred Jones (actually Alfie, but we'll grant it), and there were rumours in the pie queue that they are about to splurge on signing Monaco FC's standout winger, Catherine Deneuve.

The trip was a success. I had the opportunity to revise my view of an entire city, and, more importantly, early in the first half managed to make a bag of chocolate raisins last for 14 minutes and 22 seconds. You may not think that is an impressive time for some confectionary to last, particularly given it was a standard 200 gram bag, but to me that counts as a diet. A good day out, topped off by a high quality nap on the train back to Leeds.

[Bored Of Education]

Bath City 0 - 1 Farmborough.

Really not much to say about this fixture. It was one of the most boring first halves I ever witnessed. The second was enlivened by a pretty good goal by them and a fantastically cynical foul by one of our players. It’s infuriating that I hosted a Meet The Manager evening this week and Jerry spoke intelligently about tactics and game plans and the next game is utter shit on a stick

[Uros Predic]

Nantlle Vale 2-2 Cardiff Corinthians (2-4 on pens)
FAW Trophy 5th round

It's probably because the Welsh pyramid only has one national division, that I'm always enticed by north vs south ties; particularly ones like this that pitch a Welsh speaking side against an English speaking one. Nantlle Vale's Maes Dulyn is a lovely little ground in Penygroes, offering a view of the (on this occasion, cloud shrouded) mountains of Eryri in one direction, and the peaks on the Llŷn Peninsula in the other. Sgorio were present to record the game, and the amount of times I've bumped into their cameras this season you'd think every second game in Wales was televised.

Corinthians (in maroon and amber quarters) are running away with their fourth tier division so were an even match with mid-table third tier Vale, and it made for a compelling game. The visitors went ahead with a brilliant individual goal from their winger who managed to beat three men and fire home from 20 yards without ever looking anything other than wildly off balance; shame he sullied it by doing the Ronaldo celebration – with sound effect. Rightly angered by such nonsense, Vale roused themselves and realising the young visitors' keeper didn't fancy it much on set-pieces, scored from two of them by packing the six yard box. Corries were upset by this, particularly their vocal centre-back captain, who saw his opportunity to stick the knee in on a man, already wiped out by his defensive partner's forearm, after the ball had gone. Not very corinthian. None of the officials saw it though so he escaped a card, and further anger from the visiting bench was soon quashed by the Vale under 11s in the stand chanting "Who are ya?" at them.

After all that the second half was a much calmer affair. Cardiff levelled early on and though both teams had chances to win it, they went begging, sending the game straight to spot-kicks. Despite seeing their first effort well-saved the visitors scored their others to win it 4-2 and progress to the quarter finals.

The penalties meant I'd missed by planned bus, so I decided to head to the pub; the only one still open in Penygroes. Only it was closed, not opening until 4.30pm, on a Saturday. It's as if business in this part of the world don't want to capitalise on the empty misery of our solo weekends.

[Ray de Galles]

Wimbledon 1 Stockport County 0
Division Four
Plough Lane

The first half of this was a comically absurd & extreme caricature of the shithouse D4 anti-football I'm becoming worryingly used to. It was like some gruesome animated Hieronymus Bosch painting but with less measured calm.

The main incident was an absurdly-given but excellently-saved penalty, the award of which, and aftermath of, triggered the home team and crowd in to hysterical (in both senses of the word) pantomimic fury.

An old gentleman was sat next to me, clearly unused to this level of football and there with his son and grandson - possibly attracted by the £5 tickets on offer. He was equally amused and appalled by it all and kept asking aloud rhetorically "Why is everyone so angry/aggressive" and after a while I thought I should explain that this was pretty much the norm though albeit an extreme example. I did not see the three of them again after half time.

They missed The Dons scoring a well-worked, though bizarrely easy, goal early in the second half and then actually manage to play some decent football for 25/30 minutes before descending in to a holding pattern. Stockport flailed away ineffectively for the rest of the match but were so dire at the basics of the game that they didn't really cause any major scares.

[Third rate Leszno]

Rochdale 0-1 Carlisle



A very scrappy game and a gritty win for Carlisle, scoring early through John-Kymani Gordon and seeing it out for a third win in a row for the first time this season. Dale look much better than their bottom position suggests but do struggle in front of goal - they thought they'd equalised near the end but the linesman eventually raised his flag after the referee ran over to ask him whether it was offside or not. Not sure why he wasn't capable of raising it earlier, but there you go. The ref was Ross Joyce, a man who clearly wants to make sure everyone has noticed him.

An impressive and largely Jäger-fuelled away following of over 1600 left Spotland happy. As I was driving I passed on the pre match drinking but did avail myself of excellent fish and chips from the Willbutts Lane chippy outside the away end, always a highlight.

[Third rate Leszno]

Brighton 2-1 Liverpool



Good things about this one: Harvey's Wharf IPA at under a fiver a pint; met up with some mates; new ground tick; very impressive stadium; Ibou Konate; nice sunset from the M40 on the way home.

Orherwise, not a great day out.

[Felicity, I guess so]

[Felicity, I guess so]

Storm clouds over Tannadeechay.

After 10 mins it looked like another hammering on the cards. We settled it but a Celtic stroll, in reality.

Good day out with old school pal

[Simon G]

Ambassador Evesham Football League u12 Group C
Tewkesbury Town Pumas 5-0 Tewkesbury Town Colts

Initially set to ref, as I walked over to our parents for a linesperson, one of our parents (a qualified ref no less) finally offered to do the game, leaving me to run the line. The game was a bit bogged down in the middle for the first 10 mins, a very heavy pitch not being conducive to nice football. However, about 12 mins in, Ruby got the ball on the left, took on the right back and into the box. As she reached the touchline, she pulled the ball back to the middle of the goal where the Colts centre-back could do nothing as it hit him and went into the net to put us 1-0 up. A few minutes later, Ollie N received the ball about 20 yards out, he beat two defenders as he waltzed into the box and blasted past the keeper for 2-0. At this point we were cruising and with 5 mins left of half-time a nasty challenge by the Colts left-back on Aydan at the back post gave us our first penalty of the game. Codie dispatched the penalty with ease to make it 3-0 at half-time.

My players seemed to think they'd won it already at the start of the second half, but fortunately our defence stood firm as we were hit with a barrage in the first 10 mins or so. However, almost on the break, Chris played the ball out to Codie, he beat the Colts right back before crossing to the back post where Chris had continued his run to tap in. 5 mins after this an innocuous ball was lobbed into the box by my boy, Joshua, and it was blocked by the defender putting both his arms up in the air. Our second penalty was missed by Ollie N though as he tried to be cocky and tapped it straight at the keeper. With a few minutes left to play, the icing was put on the cake when Codie's corner found it's way to Aydan on the back post who scuffed the ball into the net. 5-0 and it's nice to get back to winning ways.

Division 3
Cheltenham Town 0-0 Port Vale

One of the most boring games I've ever been to. We offered nothing, they offered little more. Both teams hit the bar and we had a stonewall penalty turned down near the end, but neither team deserved to win really. Our first point of 2023.

Have another photo of Whaddon Road:

[George C.]

Littlehampton v. Cray VPM
28/1/23

[Greenlander]

Plymouth Albion 28-12 Chinnor
English National League 1
Att: 1385

So what should have been our biggest get together of the year ended up with just the four of us. As Mark said 'I don't pay for rugby it's against my religion' and I guess coming from South Yorkshire he might just have a point. Of course on the plus side is, unlike Argyle, getting hold of tickets doesn't require days of planning, messages and being poised over the refresh button at half nine on a weekday morning. Rocking up and paying on the day at a sporting venue feels very last century.

There's other plus points about Albion too. Just round the corner is a cosy pub with a great beer selection and although the Brickfields is right in the middle of the city it has a wonderful spaciousness to it. Not just that but every time I venture down to Devonport, once a pretty foreboding part of town, I seem to find a building that although has been there forever I've just never noticed before. This time Toblerone that is St Joseph's Church.

The game itself was very much one of two halfs. Chinnor dominated the first and should probably been more that five points up at the end of the first. But the second was all Albion, a mistake by a Chinnor back kicking it straight into the hands of an onrushing Albion player gave away the go ahead try, a proper forwards push opening up the space to for a score under the posts gave Albion the breathing space and a flowing move letting the winger sprint into the corner saw them wrap up the bonus point win as the referee blew up.

All very pleasant, being able to get a pint while watching the game still pleases me and the pasties are way better than those served up at Home Park.

[Ray de Galles]

Lovely looking kit Albion have got too.

[Artificial Hipster]

Rochdale 0-1 Carlisle

Dale look much better than their bottom position suggests

It's the hope that kills you!

[DCI Harry Batt]

Wimbledon 1 Stockport County 0
Division Four
Plough Lane

The first half of this was a comically absurd & extreme caricature of the shithouse D4 anti-football I'm becoming worryingly used to. It was like some gruesome animated Hieronymus Bosch painting but with less measured calm.

The main incident was an absurdly-given but excellently-saved penalty, the award of which, and aftermath of, triggered the home team and crowd in to hysterical (in both senses of the word) pantomimic fury.

An old gentleman was sat next to me, clearly unused to this level of football and there with his son and grandson - possibly attracted by the £5 tickets on offer. He was equally amused and appalled by it all and kept asking aloud rhetorically "Why is everyone so angry/aggressive" and after a while I thought I should explain that this was pretty much the norm though albeit an extreme example. I did not see the three of them again after half time.

They missed The Dons scoring a well-worked, though bizarrely easy, goal early in the second half and then actually manage to play some decent football for 25/30 minutes before descending in to a holding pattern. Stockport flailed away ineffectively for the rest of the match but were so dire at the basics of the game that they didn't really cause any major scares.

I really enjoyed the game, me. I think that makes me a bad person, but there you go.

[Ray de Galles]

Oh, I haven't said I didn't enjoy it.

[Capybara]

Middlesbrough 2-0 Watford
League Division Two

Crikey. This was the best I’ve seen Boro play for absolutely ages. On-loan Cameron Archer, probably the first Middlesbrough player whose forename is the same as a former shirt sponsor, started his first game for Boro and was my player of the match. His breakaway created the first after 36 minutes when Chuba Akpom reacted quickest to a deflection of his own shot to head his 14th goal of the season. The second came in added time at the end of the first half when Marcus Forss was put through and slid home. But it could have been more as Middlesbrough played with confidence not shown earlier in the season. In the 97 days it has taken for Michael Carrick to become the 72nd longest-serving manager in the four divisions, Boro have won 9, drawn 1 and lost 3 and risen from a relegation position to 3rd. Things are really looking up at the Riverside these days. Never mind, MMB* are next up and almost certain to put a dampener on things. Att: 25,469

*Mick McCarthy's Blackpool, obvo.

[MrLeam]

On-loan Cameron Archer, probably the first Middlesbrough player whose forename is the same as a former shirt sponsor, started his first game for Boro and was my player of the match.

Good shout. The only one whose surname is the same as a former shirt sponsor was occasional 2002 Boro left back John Heritage-Hampers

[steveeeeeeeee]

Tecos 2 - 0 Halcones de Zapopan

Local derby of 2 Zapopan based teams meant a bumper crowd of about 400 in the Estadio 3 Marzo. Game was a scrappy midfield battle for 89 minutes, with Tecos getting the better of it overall, but Halcones having the best of the chances, with 2 shots cleared off the line. As ever with Mexican football, lots of technical excellence, but bugger all up front and the chances of getting a goal looked unlikely.

But the game errupted into life on 89 minutes, Tecos breaking down the right, putting in a deep cross where the boy at the far post controlled and hammered home. A certain victory for Tecos! But, Halcones came right back and got an equaliser in the next minute. The sizeable Halcones contingent went crazy only for the goal to ruled offside, which meant more merriment for the Tecos fans, especially as it took the most vocal of the Halcones fans a good minute or so to realise the goal had been ruled out.

Disappointment and disarray entered quickly to Halcones' game, and a poor pass out of the box from their keeper went straight to a Tecos player, who slotted home into an almost empty net to seal it.

Tecos are now in the top 3 overall nationally, have the best defence in the 3rd tier and are looking good to qualify for the "liguila", which is on a national basis and should be quite fun to watch.

[steveeeeeeeee]

I also learnt a bit of football double entendre when I was there. If you want a player to be subbed, you shout "Saca" + player number. Saca means to pull out of sexual intercourse before ejaculation. So, "Saca nueve!!!" was a big shout from spectators on Friday night.