"Why Curzon though?" is a question that none of you are probably thinking of but I'm going to answer it anyway. First of all, having never been to their new ground it was a chance to see what all the fuss is about. Secondly, it was an opportunity to see a team I'd never seen before in NECL side Parkgate. Thirdly, it was a cup match (the Vase to be exact). And finally, with not wanting to spend a small fortune to watch either Hyde or Droylsden, the only other option was Woodley and having seen them twice already over the past three weeks we were in grave danger of becoming "regular" supporters, so Curzon it was.
There's no denying the fact that the Tameside Stadium is nice (which is the least it should be for £3m) but it's a soulless place. Even though they've played at the ground since it opened last year there's little to suggest that Curzon Ashton actually do reside there; the only branding being the TMBC lettering emblazoning the seats in the main stand.
Another notable feature of the ground is the complete lack shelter afforded to spectators. There may be two huge stands but with no sides, and being north/south facing, they actually act as a funnel for the winds that whip across what’s left of Ashton Moss; the effect being that low winter temperatures become even colder, making the supporters envious of the hot water bottles all the Curzon substitutes were carrying around with them.
Despite the eventual 7-1 score line in the home teams favour, the game itself was nothing special. The opening few minutes promised a humdinger of a cup tie when everyone on the pitch, barring the two keepers, became embroiled in a mass hand bag melee. The catalyst for the incident was an obvious stamp by Curzon’s right back on a prone Parkgate player, but the expected red card amazingly never came and from that point on Curzon never looked back; outclassing their opponents in midfield and attack (though more than matching them for a dodgy defence), limiting the visitor’s to a solitary goal that was sandwiched between Ashton’s sixth and seventh.
Unfortunately it did mean that we had to endure “I Feel Good” blaring out of the PA system seven times, proving that not even the lower levels of the football pyramid are immune from the encroachment of totally unnecessary gimmicks to the game. Worse was to follow once the Yorkshire scored when a, good thirty seconds after the game had restarted, a filling rattling cry of “Oh no!” screamed out of the speakers. It might have been a novel idea when Piccadilly Radio played it in the 80’s every time a local side conceded a goal, but what on earth does it (and James Brown for that matter) bring to the non-league game?
The arrival of half-time (it was 3-0 at this point) meant that not only could we take some warmth out of a cup of tea from a flask but also catch up on Mossley’s exploits in Cannock via the medium of the mobile phone. What follows is the actual conversation that took place:
[brrrr-brrrr, brrrr-brrrr] (That's not actually the sound of the phone ringing but the noise my lips were making due the cold.)
[click]
"Kyzpk!" So terse was the reply I thought I'd phoned someone in Eastern Europe by mistake until I realised that what the man on the other end of the line was saying was Keys Park.
"Err, Hello. Could you tell me what the current score is please?" I asked.
"The score?" came the reply, intoned in much the same manner as the initial answer to Oliver Twist’s request for more gruel was.
"Yes, the half-time score please."
"It's nil... ... ... niiiiiiiiiiiiil."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Where are you from?"
"Pardon?" Not only had the question took me by surprise (it’s something not normally asked when you ring up for a score) but the aggressive way in which it was delivered had too.
"Where ARE you from?"
"Mossley." I mistakenly answered, when what I should have actually said was “It’s none of you’re fricking business!”
"Wha... wh... eh?" he stammered, no doubt listening to the voice in his head going ‘does not compute!’
"Bye!"
"What do you mean you..."
[/click]
I’m almost certain that when I put the phone down his head exploded, because he definitely seemed to be struggling with the concept that somebody from Mossley might not actually be at the game. So if it you were at Hednesford on Saturday and heard a loud pop at around 3:55pm, you now know what it was.
The second half continued from where the first had left off (only much, much colder) with the only question that now needed answering being not who’d win but how many the home side would score. And if truth be told Curzon should have got a lot more than seven they ended up with.
The trouble with one sided games though is that they, for the neutral at least anyway, tend to become a bit dull and this match was no exception. Even as the goals flew, bobbled and ricocheted in our attention was drawn to more pressing concerns such as the weather, shoes and the actual names of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (not War, Famine, etc. but their actual birth certificate names, and if anyone knows them please don’t hesitate to get in touch).
Once the referee had brought a halt to proceedings, the only thing remaining was to phone up Hednesford and undergo another interrogation from Cannock’s very own Torquemada. Or at least I would have done if he (or anyone else for that matter) had bothered to answer the phone. After ten minutes, my gloveless fingers couldn’t take the cold anymore so I resigned myself to the belief that no news is good news; which it was (sort of) when I eventually found out at 9:00pm that Mossley had drawn.
News as to when the open top bus ride to show off the point takes place will be on here as soon as I get it. Only joshing everyone… onwards and upwards, etc.
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