The One With A Talking Point

Gedling Town 3 Gresley 1

East Midlands Counties Football League Cup Smi Final

My footballing memory is famously useless. In the days when I followed a team, I would often be amazed to hear friends effortlessly reel off scores and goalscorers from years past. And these days, I often catch wind of fellow hoppers mentioning seeing the number 4 at Winterton, and recalling the game the keeper played his socks off in a County Cup game.

One of the feets that amazes me most is the ability to recall match officials. "He's the ref who cost us the game at Stamford" or "wasn't he the lino who missed Freddy's offside?" I struggle to remember my name half the time, let alone those of the officials.

I have no idea who the guy in black was tonight. Nor do I rightly care. But I'll remember him. Much is made of refereeing standards at the top end of football, and I'm here to confirm that it's no better the lower you drop. Why should it? Just like the players, the refs are at this level for a reason. Occasionally it's because they are learning the trade and will go on to bigger and better things. But usually it's cos they're crap.

For 70 minutes of this game, the ref was no better, or worse, than any others I have seen. Indeed, he was fairly anonymous which wiser heads than mine often say is the sign of a good day's work for a ref. Much like an assassin really. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Gresley have been decimated by injuries and the like. Conservative estimates put the "off-duty" numbers in excess of 20. Gedling Town in contrast are on a roll, with gargoyle-faced Mick Galloway winning five from six since his appointment.

Gresley played like a team of strangers, with some players so painfully out of position they would have been better served to simply ignore the position all together. Gedling played with spirit, and, whilst it is still early doors, something about the team, and the dugout, says that they may have unearthed a little gem in Galloway. We shall see.

Gedling got their opener midway through the first half, and doubled their lead early in the second. Gresley were committing hari kari. Thankfully as the game progressed, they were giving more and more of the ball to Mickey Lyons, who avid fans of this blog may remember from an earlier entry. Such was his influence that Gedling opted to man mark him. And it was Lyons who got Gresley back into the game.

So there we were, delicately poised. Would Gresley's pressure pay off? Or would Gedling be able to hit them on the break? Neither, as it happens.

A brief period of Gedling pressure saw a bit of play on the edge of the area, before the ball was pumped somewhat hopelessly goal-ward. It's path was interupted by a Gresley defender's face. He wobbled briefly, and the continued apace.

Step forward Super Ref. Not for him the simplicity of the painful action unfolding before him. Not for him the glaringly obvious presence of a pair of grown up hands and arms hanging by the player's side. No, this was a man who was proud of his ability to see what NO OTHER FUCKER IN THE PLACE SAW. Not the fans, not the players, not the benches, not the impartial observers. No-one.

The ensuing penalty was duly dispatched, and unsuprisingly heads dropped. On the pitch, in the crowd, even in the dugout. The incredulous Gary Norton is to be applauded for the way he took the decision. Lesser individuals would, rightly or wrongly, imploded at such an injustice.

Gresley tried to get back in to the game, but their hearts weren't in it. The raucous reception the feisty Gresley support saved for the ref come the final whistle no doubt made some of them feel a little better. But on nights like this it takes a very strong character no to question what the point of it all is.

You know what's coming here don't you?

The One With Collective Amnesia

Central Midlands Football League
Buckingham Insurance Supreme Division

Ollerton Town 3 Kirkby Town 1

As a groundhopper (yes, I admit it, ok? Although semantically I would claim to be a matchhopper) the opportunity to reflect upon the cruel twists your life has taken are many and frequent. Why on earth would you eschew the relative delights of a comfy sofa and the TV, and travel many miles to stand in the midst of a bleak field? A field most people who live a hell of a lot closer have decided not to visit for a very good reason.

Last bus home?

So when the opportunity presents itself to pop round the corner, why would you not? Sure, the complexities of your life choices are still there, but you're still at home at half seven, and back before ten, so it doesn't all seem quite so bad, does it?

Atmospheric, no?

One of the advantages of visiting somewhere like Ollerton (and Frickley before it) for a night game is that you don't actually get to see the place. The fact that the night hinders vision shouldn't be breaking news to most of you, but it when it means you don't have to lay eyes on slag heaps, boarded up houses and the like, you truly do appreciate the wonder of nature.


On the downside, it gets cold. Alarmingly so when you're not prepared for it.

Kirkby came out of the gates on fire. In the first ten minutes they broke the home sides' offside trap on numerous occasions, and were foiled several more. The pace of their front line looked set to scare the Ollerton Town defenders all night. And the poor old lino on the near side who, god love him, was carrying a couple of extra pounds, had the look of a condemned man in his eyes with every push forwards.

It was only a matter of time until they scored, and once the defence was breached, a rout was on the cards.

But then, they stopped. Whether this was Ollerton working them out, or Kirkby getting lazy, they simply abandoned that which had worked before, and insisted on playing across the centre of the pitch. Ollerton sat back, challenged them to break them down, and hit them back harder.

The home side got a deserved equaliser after half an hour, and a second soon after. It was half time score no one could have predicted after 10 minutes, but which was not undeserved. Kirkby looked like a team, resplendent in their shiny new kits, and with a couple of decent players (note to the management - number 11 goes like shit off a shovel. Stick up front and reap the rewards) But Ollerton played like one, and that, ultimately, was the difference.

The whole pitch, and you stand there?

At half time I expected the Kirkby management to point out to their charges that they were doing something that was working, so they should go back to doing it. They didn't, and as a result, Ollerton maintained the upper hand. Kirkby were reduced to playing on the break, but lacked a purpose.

A third goal came virtue of the hard-working Wells, and that was pretty much that. If I'm being picky, Ollerton should have tested the visiting keeper more, as he was carrying a knock from the first goal. If an outfielder is taking goal kicks, then surely to goodness you can push the strikers much higher up the pitch. But that's unnecessarily harsh. Ollerton deserved the win, and whilst Louth may have the title sown up, local bragging rights are still be won.