And I’m not ashamed to say that a tear was shed. Not one wept through sadness I hasten to add but one of many emitted through laughter.
It may be rude to mock people trying their absolute best but it’s hard to stifle a giggle or a guffaw when you watch two players from the same side run 20 yards to pick up a loose and tackle each other. Or when you witness someone attempt to play a ten yard pass and stick the ball on the roof of the stand.
Even when someone tries to lump the ball down what passes for the pitch at Curzon and only succeeds in hoofing it backwards over their own head, it’s incredibly difficult to keep a straight face. Not that I'm complaining though. Far from it in fact as without the master class in the art of slapstick that was taking place at regular intervals, this would have just simply been a bad game.
Thankfully the ability to take a MST3K approach to watching the proceedings made the passage of time more enjoyable. Especially as the game was over as a contest before it was half an hour old; New Mills registering two goals through perseverance and a bit of help from some not especially clever defending.
To be fair to the Runcorn defence they were no worse than the rest of their side. I’m not saying the Linnet's were bad but... no, they were bad.
And with a midfield built around Nehru McKenzie (yes, that one) and Joel Pilkington, Clive Brown in defence and Barry Massey on the bench I'm stumped as to why that was the case (Sarcasm may be the lowest form of wit but it's the easiest).
Their supporters deserved better really as their backing for the team never let up throughout the entire game and they continued their singing well beyond the final whistle. Not too dissimilar to a set of supporters at Boundary Park almost a fortnight earlier if I recall...
Apart from a twenty minute spell in the second half when Runcorn finally caused the Miller’s defence a bit of consternation, the High Peak side never looked in any danger of having the League Cup wrenched from their grasp.
Not unexpectedly for a team that had missed out on a far bigger prize two days earlier in Fylde, the celebrations at the final whistle were like Andy Gray’s commentary when I watch the football on Sky – muted.
There may have been a bit of a celebration when the trophy was presented but my presence was long gone by that time. And as I left a ground for the final time this season my thoughts weren't on the ups and downs that had made it what it was, or even about what the next could hold.
No. Instead they were occupied by the three games I'd seen over the previous ten days and the following question: football in the NWCL wasn’t this bad when Mossley were marooned there, was it?
0 Comments:
Post a Comment