Atherton Collieries (MEN United Cup)

This week first team goalkeeper John McIlwaine tells Rob all about the dressing room music tastes…or lack of them

Who controls the music in the dressing room?
That would be any one who doesn't mind using up their mobile phone data as we stream tunes from the internet… usually Danny Hewitt. He's taken Malam on board this season to carry the speakers to away games. 

Do you have an regular tunes that you listen to before matches?
Recently we’ve been opting for different dance music mixes from the Soundcloud website. It’salways something upbeat to get us going. It makes a change as before that we had the same CD every week for two years. 

Who is the squad’s biggest muso?
Tough one but I reckon Haggis (assistant manager). He seems to have been to see all kinds of bands at all kinds of places. He’s also probably the last guy you'd think who loves rap legends Cypress Hill. 

Who has the worst taste in music?

Another tough one. While there’s always dodgy stuff coming out of Tom Murray and Brandon's earphones, I’d have to say Kiarno. He strikes me as a Pitbull and Will.i.am kind of guy.

Are there any musicians in the squad?
The only ones I know of is our gaffer, Gibbo. He reckons he taught himself to play the guitar. Oh and apparently Jonny Hardy is good with the triangle.

Who would win in an Abbey karaoke competition?
The best singer, Sam Jones, isn't with us anymore.He gets a bit carried away. A competition between Baz (Walker) Gibbo, Sam and Yarwood would be good. Yarwood reckons he's got a bit of Ed Sheeranin his locker. I think he means his barnet. The  best bit of karaoke there has been in my time at Abbey was when we all sang Bob Marley Could You Be Loved in memory of our late former teammate Lowen Douglas at the Christmas party. 

Congleton Town (NWCFL Premier Division)

Halloween has now passed. The nightmare is over. The skies are clear once again and everything is rosy on Goredale. For now.
After a hellish start to the season it seems things are startingto take something of an upward turn on the pitch. 
Trick-or-treaters from Silsden to Alsager took full advantage as our lads lost their first seven games. It was quite a feat.

Another nine defeats were punctuated with a solitary win at home to Nelson. On three occasions we shipped four goals in a single game. At home. 
The spirits were definitely angry with us for some reason. Did a stray ball land end up being booted next door into Gorton Cemetery by mistake? Did it dislodge a gravestoneperhaps?
Whatever happened it’s a good job that Gibbo swapped his tactics board for a Ouija board to shoo the bad vibes away as the last five results make much happier reading. 
Three wins and a couple of draws is quite a turn around for a club that two months ago couldn’t find the back of the net.

The fight for Premier League survival starts here and, as the zombies from Bacup appear to have been even sleepier at the back than us, we stand more than a fighting chance of staying up. 
As a footnote, the winners against Barnoldswick and WestDidsbury were bagged by new boys Sam FREAKES and Chris HALLOWS.

Tell me that’s not a coincidence.

 

Maine Road (The MEN Cup)

Ever seen three thousand Emirate men in traditional dress chanting We Will Rock You in Arabic from a football terrace? No, neither had I until last Saturday night.
My October travels took me to Abu Dhabi, the UAE captial, where my cousin lives and works. He’s a football obsessive and suggested we take in a local game. 
The plan was to meet ten minutes before kick off at Al Wahda Mall which backs on to Al Nahyan Stadium, the home of Al Wahda FC. Sadly, hectic evening traffic scuppered this arrangement and at 8.10pm, ten minutes in to the game, I was frantically running down a narrow street behind the main stand looking for a turnstile.
I needn’t have been worried though as entry to these matches is free. The UAE Gulf League is seen as a vanity project and most clubs are owned by a UAE royal family member. 
As you have already seen with the investment into Manchester City, money appears to be no object to these lads – City owner Sheikh Mansour also owns Al Wahda’s cross-town rivals Al Jazira.
Eventually I found a gate. Two policemen searched my bag and I was led up to a sparsely populated but plush looking main stand. 
The Al Nahyan Stadium is a 12,000-capacity open bowl which is very reminiscent of old Eastern Bloc stadia. The stand opposite the one I’d ended up in was where the action was. 3,000 locals in their white dish dash robes filled the terrace. They banged drums and passionately chanted for their team in unison. It was a shame I didn’t speak Arabic.
Al Wahda’s rivals for the night, Al Wasl, had travelled down from Dubai. Their players were sporting a bright yellow strip which contrasted nicely with the burgundy of the hosts. In the far corner of one end behind the goal were a plucky 300 who had made the journey. 
As for the standard of football...well it wasn’t the best. The teams were mainly made up of local players with a few international imports. Decision making was dubious from both teams and the ball was regularly booted out of play. The setting had all the trappings and prestige of a Champions League match but the actual football was no better to watch than our own league.  
At half time I migrated to the other side of the ground to meet up with my cousin who was sat in the middle of the dish dash mafia. It was a comical sight. 
In the second half the home support upped its game as a man with a megaphone led the chanting from the front of the stand. In the shadow of three enormous framed portraits – the country’s founder, president and vice-president – that towered above the stand it had the feel of a protest rally rather than a football crowd.
On the pitch things were hotting up ever so slightly. Al Wasl’s Brazilian loanee Caio, wearing number 90, came on from the bench and immediately scored to send the visitors into a 2-1 lead. The South American was head and shoulders above the rest of his mainly UAE team mates. He then pushed his luck by running the length of the home stand making a shushing gesture. The locals weren’t happy.
I was praying Wahda would equalise to ensure myself a safe exit and got my wish ten minutes later. A scuffed shot from Amer Omar made it 2-2. The final whistle blew and we made our way out of the ground. 
In this non-drinking country the mall is often the focus of the locals’ leisure time and it was there where we headed to grab a burger and have a wander. It was a far cry from the Abbey clubhouse and 3,000 miles away from Gorton I secretly pined for a pint of Boddingtons. I’ll be pleased to get that pint this afternoon. Enjoy the game.

Barnoldswick Town (NWCFL Premier Division)

After Saturday's trip to Chadderton FC it would appear we have a few things in common with the Broadway side.
On top of boasting a Murray brother in the starting line up, they too unfortunately find themselves victims to mindless local crime. 
Friday night break-ins at the Chaddy compound, in similar fashion to what we have experienced in the past, are becoming a regular occurrence.
I was shown photographs of some of the things ground staff find littering the pitch on a Saturday morning. Among them was a robust-looking knife that, in the wrong hands, looked capable of doing some serious damage. Scary stuff.
I can understand the boredom that comes from being too old to sit in on a Friday night yet being too young to get served in the pub. 
I even understand the kids who have climbed over the gates of Goredale to have a moonlit kick-about - ex-professional footballer James Scowcroft was one of them. 
What I don't understand is why anyone would want to vandalise and jeopardise the existence of their local football ground. 
These are little bastions where, for a few hours, you can forget the weight of the world and watch local lads play the game we love in an honest fashion. They should be embraced, not attacked.
Sadly this element will not be going away any time soon and I wish Chadderton FC well in their attempts to tackle the problems that lie on their doorstep.

Nelson (NWCFL Premier Division)

Beyond local football one thing we’re proud of at Abbey is local music. The team runs out to a Manchester anthem and rightly so. With that in mind, this week I’m going to talk about a Manchester music legend’s latest album. 
I’ve purposely left it two months since the release date to chew it over and let it sink in. After all it has been five years in the making. I am of course talking about World Peace Is None Of Your Business, the new Morrissey LP.
The Pope of Mope is the musical equivalent of Marmite and splits people down the middle. But when haters accuse him of being maudlin, they completely miss the point. Morrissey lyrics have always dripped with sarcasm, wit and an unrivaled wryness.  
Take track 10, Kick The Bride Down The Aisle, for example: “Kick the bride down the aisle, look at that cow......in the field, it knows more than the bride knows.” A sardonic take on what Moz deems to be an outdated alien practise. Fair play.
And as for bringing current affairs to the table goes there’s no braver man in the pop world at the minute. On the title track World Peace Is None Of Your Business he belts out: “Brazil and Bahrain, Egypt, Ukraine, so many people in pain.” So much more valid than singing about nightclubs and bling.
The Bullfighter Dies too provides a worthy platform for Moz’s strong beliefs, this time on the animal rights front: “Hooray, hooray, the bullfighter dies, and nobody cries, because we all want the bull to survive.” Rightly or wrongly you can’t accuse the man of sitting on the fence. 
Away from the lyrics, the music on this release is absolutely superb. Production levels are top notch and a nod to Morrissey’s substantial Hispanic fanbase is evident with lovely flamenco interludes. 
Texan guitarist Jesse Tobias has been part of the band for nine years now and on this album comes to the fore more than ever in the song-writing department being credited for five of the 12 tunes.
All in all World Peace doesn’t really touch the heights set by 1994’s Vauxhall And I or 2004’s You Are The Quarry but make no mistake, this would still be a worthy purchase for any Manchester music aficionado.

West Didsbury and Chorlton (NWCFL Premier Division)

Our good friends at Shotts Bon Accord go to the polls on Thursday to determine their country’s future. A momentous day for Scottish history and one that got me thinking. 
Just imagine if us North Westerners were offered a similar opportunity.
The late Mancunian innovator Anthony H Wilson had clearly thought about it while he was still with us and even commissioned the Factory Records’ designer Peter Saville to come up with a North West flag (the top left corner of an existing St Georges flag). 
And he wasn’t wrong about much. In terms of popular and social culture the North West has always been leaps and bounds ahead of other non-London regions of the UK. 
Just look at the music Manchester and Liverpool have given the world for a start. From The Beatles to The Smiths, from Mersey Beat to Acid House, we’re the pioneers. No one comes close. 
Football too. We invented the game here for heaven’s sake. Manchester United and Liverpool are the two biggest and most successful clubs in British football boasting an honours list and history that others can only dream of. 
The civic rivalry between the two cities though would mean that in the event of independence we might have to follow the lead of Australia and base our Canberra between rivals Sydney and Melbourne. Which in our case would probably be Warrington. Imagine that.
Our own North West Counties Football League would already be in place as our national league which could be expanded to accommodate the other North West clubs. 75,000 attendances for cup games against United at Brookburn Road and the AbbeyStad? Better get some temporary stands, Derek.
As for a national anthem who could argue with the Coronation Street theme? Synonymous with North West life for decades it would be a fitting choice. 
So tonight at the thinking man’s Manchester derby cast an eye over the back of the covered stand towards town to Beetham Tower and beyond and ponder. This land could be truly ours. What a wonderful thought.

Bootle (NWCFL Premier Division)

In the absence of a full-time kit man, our management team recently took it upon themselves to design this season’s home strip. 
And to be fair to them they did a good job. The sponsor is legible from 20 yards away which is one up on last season’s black type on red shirt effort. The crest appears on the socks too, nice touch. There is just one snag though. Instead of being red and black it’s purple. 
The kitmaker defended its work explaining that it’s actually a dark shade of red but there’s no getting away from the fact that it’s most definitely purple.
The colour change was so stark that the club has actually had to register the news with the league. 
I’m going to be honest here. I like it. It has a European feel. The sort of kit an Italian second division club would wear.
The colour too, whilst being the product of an accident, represents a mixture of blue and red. A bit like Gorton. 
If we are to persevere with it though I think it’s only fair the teams run out to either Jimi Hendrix Purple Haze or Prince’s Purple Rain. 
Speaking of Purple Rain, last Saturday the lads embarked on what we hope will be the start of a purple patch. 
Their second half dismantling of one of the league’s bigger boys AFC Liverpool was heartwarming. Purple veins were certainly pulsating on the temples of the opposition coaches as a Jon Hardy opener, a Brandon Zibaka brace and a Des Flanagan winner sealed the points in a remarkable 4-2 win.
Let’s hope the lads can put on a repeat performance against the other Merseyside club this afternoon.
 

AFC Liverpool (NWCFL Premier Division)

When Barrie Walker’s promotion winners trudged off Runcorn Linnets’ glistening pitch in April 2013 there was a lot to be hopeful about. The lads had been narrowly beaten in the Division One Cup Final by thorn-in-the-side West Didsbury but the manner in which they flew at the Southern Mancunians in a blood and thunder second-half display was heartwarming. 
The yellow-shirted locals, who are used to watching attacking football from their NWCFL Premier League highflyers, were also impressed. “Just like watching Man United, this,” said one. I can safely say they were referring to the swashbuckling Ferguson era rather than the current malaise. 
What followed later that summer was sad but inevitable. One by one the crown jewels of Walker’s solid first team squad made their way through the exit door, returning only to smash Abbey with new clubs who were able to financially reward the youngsters for their efforts.
It wasn’t pretty but it’s been something the committee on the touchline and the lads in the dugout have just had to deal with. This club is small and perfectly formed but in business terms the emphasis has always been on the adjective ‘small’. You can understand why they went.
And you can also understand the buzz last week at the Alsager game when we saw some of them return.
With Des Flanagan coming back from Northwich Victoria and James Moss from Salford City, albeit on a part-time basis, you have the reunion of three-fifths of a backline that was tighter than a duck’s posterior in the promotion year. 
On his return to the fold, Mossy told me: “I loved it when I was at Abbey last time. I still speak to a few of the lads and I've been in regular contact with Gibbo ever since I left. 
“If I'm not involved at Salford it makes sense to come and play. They’re a top set of lads. We just need to start getting results which I’m sure will happen soon.”
In midfield the return of local lad Danny Hewitt from Evostik outfit New Mills is also a very welcome one, not least because his family are almost always in attendance when he plays. Two more on the gate is two more on the gate and all that.
Glad to be back among friends, Hewitt said: “Overall 2013/14 went well for me personally. It was my first season at Evo-Stik level and I was very keen to prove my self. After a rocky start I eventually nailed down a place in the first team midfield. 
“I had to work away quite a bit, sometimes on nights, and New Mills catered for me which I was very grateful for. The only reason I left was because the traveling times would sometimes clash with work so I had to make a decision and I chose to play a little more locally.”
And we’re glad he’s back. Now what about that lad Martin who left for Ashton United? He must be getting home sick by now. Time to send out an envoy. 

Alsager Town (NWCFL Premier Division)

Yesterday’s press conference in the Alan Vaughan Suite was eventful. 
The Sky Sports cameras glared as the Manchester press pack assembled. Photographers perched down in front of a hastily assembled trestle table with a table cloth slung over it. Two empty seats stood behind it.
Abbey had lost the opening five matches of the season and the world wanted answers. Even the club’s money-spinning northern European pre season tour to pacify Scottish sponsors Irn Bru had proved a fruitless event. The knives were out. 
A car pulled up on gravel outside and the room held its breath. It was time. Footsteps up the stairs followed and in walked club secretary Tony Mac and under-fire Manx manager Luke Gibson with a towel round his neck from yet another ice bucket challenge.
The day before the Evening News had led on a story speculating Gibbo’s future. Over night Twitter had gone into overdrive and the word on the street was that he was a dead man walking.
Nevertheless he looked cool and composed as he sipped his mineral water (tap water, Ed) and awaited his grilling. 
The first few questions were fairly standard. “Do you feel like you’ve lost the dressing room?” “Are the players out of control?” “Do you feel you still have the support of the board?”
Gibson smiled and replied with concise answers. You almost felt he knew something they didn’t. 
Oliver Holt from the Mirror delved a bit deeper: “So Luke, are you thinking of bringing in some reinforcements before the transfer window closes?”
Gibson leaned back in his chair and replied: “Well... there is one we’ve been looking at...”
At that moment there was an almighty bang as the double doors of the bar crashed open and in walked last season’s club captain and midfield rock Des Flanagan. 
“But....but....we thought you’d gone to Northwich?” stuttered a bumbling Holt as a flurry of lenses snapped away eager for their shot to make the back pages. 
“Give yer head a wobble,” replied Des before adding quickly: “I’m back.”
Gibson smiled and posed for a picture with his returning captain, the internet went mental, Gordon opened the bar and the club looked forward to today’s game in earnest knowing we’d got one of our prize jewels back.

Game on.

Maine Road (NWCFL Premier Division)

It’s Monday evening and I’m sat shivering on a patio chair in the garden completely drenched from a dousing of icy water. The reason? I was nominated to take part in an ice bucket challenge to raise funds to help terminally ill Manchester lad James McCarthy, 31, achieve some of his life ambitions.
The initiative started a few weeks ago and has since spread like wild fire on the web. The deal is that nominees have 48 hours to complete their challenge, film it and donate a tenner to the cause. Shirkers have to throw in a forfeit £100.
The most high profile nominee to fulfill his challenge so far was Cristiano Ronaldo. He was nominated by Darren Fletcher. Ronaldo in turn nominated Beyonce. God, I’d pay to see that video.
But back to the reason why people are making fools of themselves on YouTube.
In March 2009 James had a car crash while driving on the motorway. He was cut out of the vehicle, rushed to hospital and after a number of tests was diagnosed with a brain tumour the size of a fist. Emergency surgery to remove the full frontal left lobe of his brain followed.
After learning to walk, talk, read and write again he underwent six weeks of radiotherapy, while at the same time attending a kickboxing class once a week.
In the September, shortly after finishing his radiotherapy, James embarked on a degree at the University of Salford. After three solid years of graft and many weekends spent in the library, he achieved a 2:1 BSc (Hons) in Business Management.
In 2013 James started a masters degree at the University of Manchester but two months ago, after a routine follow-up scan he received the devastating news that a terminal grade 3/4 cancerous tumour had returned.
Among the items on James’ bucket list are ‘getting a religious tattoo’, ‘make a web app’ and a rather poignant ‘let people know they have their health and put their troubles aside’.
I wish him all the best and hope he completes as many of these as possible. In the mean time I nominate our goalkeeper John McIlwaine to do the challenge in the hope he takes his revenge on a few first-teamers.
You have 48 hours, sunshine!

To find out more about the cause visit www.jamesmccarthyfoundation.com

Runcorn Linnets (NWCFL Premier Division)

I missed last week’s opener at Silsden in favour of attending Kendal Calling music festival. Sorry lads but sometimes the music has to come first.
And what a feast of music it turned out to be.
As the rain relentlessly thundered down we thanked our mate and Abbey part-timer Alex from Reddish for bringing a tent big enough for us all to cower under.
This year’s bill on the face of it seemed to be aimed at the younger end of the market with poppy acts like Tom Odell and Ella Eyre. On closer inspection though there was definitely plenty to keep us occupied. 
First up on the Friday were US rap stalwarts De La Soul who worked the crowd with consummate ease. 
I like festival hip hop gigs and although they’re usually better in a tent, the main stage reverberated as the trio ran through their substantial back catalogue of hits.
Next up in the nearby Calling Out tent was ex-Doves frontman Jimi Goodwin and his new band. New material such as the effortlessly beautiful Didsbury Girl sat alongside older Doves hit The Last Broadcast. A fine performance and a nice break from the rain. 
An initiative that’s been running for a number of years now is a diner called Tim Peaks, run by Charlatans singer and all round good egg Tim Burgess. Although unlicensed you can still bring your cans in, which was good because by this stage we were knocking them back for fun.
On Friday’s menu was a Britpop disco. As the tunes began to play I looked around. Everyone was at least 35 and had a beard. It felt homely in a good way. Elastica, Suede, Ash, Oasis belters followed. A little piece of our youth exported to the Lakes. Nice.
Saturday morning began with a bang. Alex’s banging tunes to be precise. I looked at the watch and it was only 8:30am. Rum. A dubious choice of song came on. ”Bloody hell, Julie, what’s this?” cried Alex in dismay. Then addressing the campsite he bellowed: “Sorry everyone, it’s my wife’s iPod.”
Never a dull moment.
Bands wise there was nothing of interest until the evening. The Happy Mondays, whose hit Step On is the tune Abbey run out to, took to the main stage at teatime. 
Dancer Bez took the opportunity to warn the audience about the dangers of fracking, a cause close to his heart. 
Kinky Afro opened and a succession of funky numbers from the Salfordians’ artillery of anthems followed. Backing singer Rowetta’s voice was in fine fettle and even Shaun Ryder looked presentable enough. They’d obviously been no where near the campsites.
By the end of the set Bez had his kids up on the stage with him. Quite how they explain that one at school I’ll never know.
Sunday was mainly spent in a wine-induced haze around the campsite. Mid-thirty-somethings bemoaned the fact that they never get to see their mates as much as they’d like and the newbies in our number vowed to make Kendal an annual event.
Despite the rain it had been a successful weekend. 

Stockport Sports (NWCFL Premier Division)

“Sells recycled muck on his butty truck, viva Phil Jackson....”
We are eleven hours into Abbey Hey’s Scotland away day and things have suddenly turned a bit daft on the coach journey home.
Former gaffer Barrie Walker, suavely quaffing red wine two hours previously, can’t get his breath. The butty truck song has killed him. Bright red and grinning like a fool he sums up how most of us feel. Tired but elated.
Losing 3-0 shouldn’t feel this good but, hey, it’s pre-season and we’ve just been treated like minor celebrities in a one-horse town on the M8.
Things started off sensibly enough. The 8am coach to Shotts Bon Accord FC in Lanarkshire left Goredale at more or less the stated time. Gibbo, Aggis and Jacko debated tactics on a white board while the first-teamers gambled on card games with a trucker cap full of shrapnel waiting for the winner. The committee at the front were in fine spirits too. 
I chose to get stuck into some of the cold cans of beer I’d brought before they had a chance to get warm.
We arrived about an hour before kick off. I thought this might hamper the warm up but Gibbo admitted that a shorter session brings its own benefits. No, he didn’t mean that.
We piled in to the supporters club to meet the Abbey Hey Edinburgh branch. By branch I mean two lads from Scotland who come to Abbey games when they’re in Manchester. One of them, a Hearts lad called Neil, was proudly wearing the club pin badge on his jumper. 
As well as the Edinburgh mob, we’d also arranged to meet two United girls from Dumfries. They were on their way to a charity walk in the west of Scotland but once the idea of an afternoon on the beer with us was mooted it was only a matter of time before they changed their plans.
The kick off was observed on an open terrace. To our left the rest of the Abbey delegation were taking shelter under a large old fashioned stand. Not for us. We put our hoods up and took what the angry Scottish rain clouds threw at us, which was basically a bit of drizzle. 
Ten minutes in and we were thirsty again. One of the dames from Dumfries went off in search of a drink and found more than she bargained for. Above the changing rooms was the chairman’s private bar. After telling them how far we’d all traveled we were welcomed in with open arms to enjoy a view of the match from an upstairs window. 
The bar was a proper little treasure trove of memorabilia. Old Shotts shirts and ties lined the walls interspersed with framed archive club pictures. George the bar man was the knowledgeable host as we ploughed our way through his crates of lager and cursed the scenes on the pitch. 
In fairness Abbey were in the game for 80 minutes. Their opponents were big lads and used their strength to their advantage in the last ten minutes. Three late goals made the defeat look worse than it actually was. 
When the full time whistle had blown we made our way back to the supporters club where a steak pie, peas and mash meal was laid on free of charge for all visitors. A really nice touch. Big Jim Whittaker got up to deliver a speech and promised the same level of hospitality should Shotts ever pay us a visit. Best get the pinnie on now, Gordon.  
The early part of the coach home was predictably raucous. Players were fined by keeper Jonny Mac as the day went on for various crimes. Among them were ‘moaning about the journey’ and ‘wearing flip flops in the shower’. The price was necking in one whatever drink was to hand. As you can imagine our young steeds became quite quickly hammered. And that, readers, is the giddy point you currently find us at.
This mad little club may not deliver the results every time but I tell you what, for a tenner coach fare and two quid ground entry the trip has been well worth it.
Enjoy the season.

Altrincham (Pre-season friendly)

Gibbo sent me an email a couple of days after the end of the season. Did I fancy playing a few songs with former Abbey midfielder Mike O’Connor at the players awards do in June?
The answer was: Of course. After all Abbey had entertained me for the best part of nine months so two 45 minute sets of guitar and vocals were the least I could do in return.
So Mike and I got together for a beer and ran through potential songs under the loose banner of Sergeant Gibbo’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Manchester staple numbers like She Bangs the Drums and This Charming Man were a given as were Beatles hits for the grey-haired lads. After two practises it was starting to sound rather passable. 
Come the big night and the club’s large red and black ABBEY HEY 1902 flag was hoisted up as our back drop as club secretary Tony McAllister’s disco got the crowd tapping their feet.
Our first stint went down well. An improvised version of the Inspiral Carpets’ This is How it Feels (to be Abbey) drew a few laughs. It had been one of those seasons.
The awards were dished out between the two sets which saw Liam Murray scoop the Players’ Player of the Year gong and Scott Hardy bag the Manager’s Player of the Year. Scott was unable to be there in person as he was getting married, priorities eh. 
Our second set contained a few more sing-along numbers including James Sit Down which Keith on the bar seemed to enjoy immensely.
For our big finale we were joined on stage by Gibbo himself who showed off his guitar work with a hearty rendition of Wonderwall. 
Thankfully we left the stage to smiles and handshakes and settled down for a well earned pint.
About half an hour later self-confessed Michael Jackson obsessive and Abbey Hey onion-bagger Sam Jones made his way to the stage and to everyone’s amazement gave a superb rendition of the King of Pop’s Man in the Mirror. His enthusiasm also produced a dance routine that was so powerful it brought the speakers crashing to the floor. 
“It was worth it!” cried DJ McAllister as his kit lay in disarray on the function room floor. 
A barmy end to a balmy Gorton night.

Bacup and Rossendale Borough (NWCFL Premier Division)

So it is, so it goes, so it went. By the time you read this Abbey’s fate will probably be sealed in one way or another. 
So what of the club’s first season back in the NWCFL top flight then? Well as it’s been said before in this column, competing in this league has been akin to fighting with one hand tied behind our back.
With star players leaving for the money and our small-but-beautiful gates not delivering enough revenue to match rival clubs on wages it’s been tough. But I tell you what, in spite of the 20 league defeats, the club spirit and never-say-die attitude has been there in abundance on the pitch.
The August home victory over eventual champions Norton United was one to savour as was Sam Jones’ late equaliser seven days later away at Stockport Sports on the Saxons’ plastic pitch. 
Runs of defeats that look admittedly worse on paper than they did in person punctuated victories over Curzon Ashton in the Premier Cup and Eccleshall in the league. The latter game saw Kwame Barnett bag a classy hattrick with three quick goals either side of half time.
Games against AFC Liverpool brought two very different matches. The match at their place frustrated and as the ‘scousers lite’ banged in goal number four it proved just that bit too much to take for Abbey’s travelling fans. The season’s definite low point.
The return fixture proved to be a completely different affair however. A well earned two-two draw in a match that came to an end under the floodlights will be remembered for a goal scored by one Desmond Matt Busby Flanagan. 
Our self-confessed diehard United fan in the centre of park unleashed his powerful shot in the dying seconds, turned and slid on his knees in celebration in front of a jubilant home bench. A warm moment indeed.   
The highlight of the entire campaign though for me was the comeback against Alsager Town. At 2-0 down heads didn’t drop and two well taken Tom Murray penalties brought the game level before captain Des and Eder Ruiz made it four. 
Today’s result will either ensure survival or send us back to where we came from. The good news appears to be that, regardless of our fate, Gibbo will be staying on at the helm to continue the good work he started last summer. It’s an uphill struggle being the boss at a club of this size but he does a great job under the circumstances. Let’s just hope he refrains from singing at the players’ awards do in three weeks time.
Have a good summer, Gorton.
 

AFC Blackpool (NWCFL Premier Division)

Today marks the last home game before Easter so this week I’ll be talking quite topically about eggs. 
And when I say eggs I really mean egg chasing.
Yes, the Super League rugby season is back again and this time around, at the ripe old age of 33, I’m starting to see the faintest glimpse of what it’s all about.  
I already know Abbey website gurus Tim and Paul are big fans as is bartender extraordinaire Keith, who got snapped at a Salford match the other week and found his picture doing the rounds on Twitter.
I normally steer well clear of rugby, mainly down to the bad impression of the game I was treated to at school. 
Rugby was on the curriculum but all we wanted to do was play football. We’d duck out of the rugby games until one day we were rounded up and forced to play one game to tick some boxes. That was one game too much. 
But it was the St Helens verses Leeds match last week that did it for me. With no football on the box I reluctantly decided to give the top of the table clash a go. And what a game to pick.
In front of a packed ground under intense floodlights the 26 monsters from either side of the Pennines went hell for leather right from the off. 
After paying good money to watch United amble through defeats this season, seeing a team put a real shift in is something that can be forgiven if they end up on the losing side as Abbey unfortunately have many times this season. 
I’ve left the Abbey Stad on several occasions in 2013/14 thinking: “Good effort but unlucky, lads.”
That same desire and work rate was there from both rugby sides and as the hooter blared out after 40 minutes I was texting my Salford Red Devils season ticket-holding friends asking: “Are you watching this?”
They were and within two hours of the game wrapping up I’d already agreed to go to the match with them over summer. “You’ll love it, they sing reworked versions of United songs. And you can drink.” Sounds good to me.
There’s not a hope in hell that football will be usurped in my heart by the sport with the odd shaped ball but as the warm summer months approach I can quite easily see what could be gained by a day out on the train to Huddersfield for a daft away day.
You never know, I might run into Keith and then who knows what manner of madness could occur.
Happy Easter. 
 
 
  

Congleton Town (NWCFL Premier Division)

It was June 2005 and the much-vilified Glazer family had just completed their hostile takeover of my beloved Manchester United Football Club. Despite organised protests and share buy-ups, the man on the street ultimately had nothing on the borrowed millions mustered up by the US tycoons and the unpopular deal was allowed to go through. We felt helpless and resigned to defeat.
I was living near Old Trafford at the time in a small flat above a bakery. Towards the end of a remarkably sunny week I received a text message which simply read: "Flashmob. Mary D's, Beswick. Tomorrow. 11am."
Now as blues reading this will know, Mary D’s is the closest pub to the Etihad Stadium and on a match day is probably the busiest in the area. So what on earth was a close-season Saturday morning flashmob of United fans going to be getting up to? I was intrigued.
I arrived at the pub for half ten and there must have been 40 smartly dressed lads in there already throwing back pints of strong lager as if it were a match day. No one had a clue what we were there for.
At 11am a lad who would eventually go onto be an FC United board member arrived and told us what he had planned. UEFA were holding a meeting in an office on the second floor of City's main stand and the goal was to interrupt it to voice our concern about the debt-laden takeover and it's implications. A tall order I thought.
Nevertheless we set off in a loose trail and walked through the double glass doors of City's main entrance like it was the most natural thing on Earth. The security guard behind the desk looked puzzled. "Are you lads here for the stewards jobs?" he asked. "Yes mate," came the reply. "You want the third floor." He was completely clueless.
As we arrived on the second floor you could already feel the glare from the TV lighting from out in the corridor. It was now or never and in we went.
The startled UEFA party were assembled around a long table with expensive looking bottles of water, laptops and A4 sheets of paper littering its surface.
A representative from the influential United fanzine Red Issue announced who we were and what we wanted to achieve as the rest of us stood almost theatrically in a long line against a wall. Two spooked delegates made for the door. They were stopped in their tracks.
After a tense five minutes in which we assured UEFA’s big wigs that we weren’t terrorists and merely just concerned football fans, a rep from the Independent Manchester United Supporters Association and a rep from Shareholders United were granted a private audience in one of the smaller meeting rooms.
When they left to begin talks the atmosphere in the room suddenly became a lot more relaxed. First over was a portly southern Sky Sports News camera man in shorts and T-shirt. "How the fack did you lot get in here?!" he asked in astonishment. Next up was the German delegate, an elegant middle age woman. "I think all this is brilliant," she said with a smile.
When the talks had finished we retreated to Mary D's beer garden to celebrate a job well done. After about 20 minutes my phone rang. It was my dad. "I know where you are," he said. "You're in a pub in the vicinity of City's ground. Your mate Paddy has just been on Sky Sports News talking about the Glazers."
It may have amounted to a wasp sting on the backside of an elephant in the long run but at the time we felt a hundred feet tall.
Some weeks later I received another text asking whether I fancied crashing another UEFA meeting, this time in Geneva with all flights paid for. It was tempting for a second but leaving my job to start a career as a continental flashmobber was possibly that bit too flash for me.

Barnoldswick Town (NWCFL Premier Division)

“Three hours? Three hours?!”

Mrs Mager was a bit shocked when she discovered the running time of black comedy The Wolf of Wall Street. It was a tad longer than the typical 90 minute’ers she’s used to but previous Martin Scorsese and Leonardo DiCaprio collaborations have form for this. And if I’m being completely honest, the time literally flew.

The picture charts the real-life rise and fall of ambitious New York stockbroker Jordan Belfort (DiCaprio) and for the entire duration we are treated to a visual whirlwind of nineties excess as Belfort and his mates bring new meaning to the phrase ‘work hard play hard’.

Dwarves, candles, monkeys and even goldfish all feature among the gang’s high-jinx in a drug-fuelled world of sex and crooked deals. Belfort even pays one of his employees a cool $10,000 to shave her head provided she spends the money on a boob job. Rum but fascinating.

Our own Joanna Lumley makes a decent cameo appearance as one of Belfort’s in-laws but the best supporting actor in the whole production is Jonah Hill who lines up alongside DiCaprio as odd sidekick Donnie Azoff. Younger readers will recognize Hill from right-of-passage teen comedy Superbad.

The aspiring actor’s desire to work with legend Scorsese saw him pocket just $60,000 while DiCaprio walked away with a cool $10million. On the strength of this Oscar-nomination performance though it was probably the best career move he ever made.

As it’s all based on a real life story the film inevitably turns serious when the FBI decides to wage war on Belfort’s crooked empire and attempts to bring him down. The game of cat and mouse that ensues is superb.

Scorsese’s triumph in my eyes is in engaging the viewer with a world of extremely shallow unlikable characters. He certainly has a knack of making you root for the bad guy. So if there’s one film you see this year then make a date with The Wolf. You’ll be howling.

 

 

 

 

Bootle (NWCFL Premier Division)

“When's the right time to judge David Moyes? Now? Three months ago? End of the season? End of next season I think...”

Abbey gaffer Luke Gibson’s tweet on Wednesday night was extremely telling. He of all people knows first hand what is involved in following in the managerial footsteps of a club legend. When Sir Alex Ferguson called time on his Manchester United career last May so did successful Abbey boss Barrie Walker. Both men left on a relative high. Fergie by winning his club a record 20th league title and Walker leading his team to a well deserved promotion and a cup final.   
Manchester United and Abbey Hey may be a million miles away from each other in football terms but with both clubs having replaced successful retiring managers with younger candidates there are a few parallels that can be drawn between Gibson and Moyes at the minute. 
First off it is fair to say that the two men received something of a hospital ball when taking up the reins. In Moyes’ case he inherited a squad that had overachieved under Ferguson and was in need of some major surgery. In Gibson’s it was the vultures of the North West Counties Football League that posed a problem. By waving wads of cash at Gibbo’s star men, paying clubs scuppered any chance of Abbey’s talented team of youngsters from realising their potential. In just a matter of weeks the dynamic class of 2013 side that Barrie Walker had nurtured and moulded was unfairly torn apart. 
Secondly both managers have approached their new positions with a long term view in mind and a commitment to continue to place trust in young talent. At Old Trafford Moyes has thrown Belgian starlet Adnan Januzaj into the action at every opportunity. His faith has been repaid as among his side’s up-and-down performances, Januzaj’s have been the ones that have consistently stood out. At the AbbeyStad too we have seen Gibson give the nod to up to three or four home grown players at a time in an attempt to acclimatise them to life in the Premier Division. 
Results so far have been mixed for both bosses with each recording slightly more defeats than they would have liked. But to suggest either man is any where close to being on the ropes at this stage is utter lunacy. The hierarchy and fans at both clubs recognise the size of the task that lies ahead and have given the pair a solid platform on which to work their magic.
The problem is that we live in an impatient world where instant success and fame is expected without realising that sometimes things just take time. Luckily in the cases of Gibson and Moyes that is exactly what they have. I wish them well.

Wigan Robin Park (NWCFL Premier Division)

Just behind the clubhouse side of this ground is a cycle path. I’m sure many of you are familiar with it. The lad who sometimes cycles to the match with his missus almost certainly is. I’ve become very familiar with it of late as I’ve developed a completely unexpected love of life on two wheels. Let me tell you how it started.
We were visiting friends in Dalston, north London, a few weeks ago. We’d been on the beer all day and had had a nice curry to round things off. At about 1am we were sitting about with a few can of Red Stripe listening to music when one bright spark came up with an idea. A bike ride. Now. Around London. 
We thought he was joking but as others piped up and voiced their enthusiasm the absurd proposal suddenly became very real. Three slightly worse-for-wear lads on the wrong side of 30 were soon pulling bikes out of a shed and heading out onto the road without helmets or lights.
I went mental quoting alarming statistics of London cycling casualties but my warning fell on deaf ears. Two hours later they returned having covered some 30-odd kilometeres and visited all the main tourist spots. Photographs of the pissed up trio on London Bridge confirmed this. I was livid but also a tiny bit jealous. 
Relaying this tale to my old man a few weeks later he pointed out that he had a bike that was gathering dust in his garage. It was a Peugeot racer that hadn’t been out in ten years. I was welcome to borrow it. Having not been out on a bike myself in over 20 years I was apprehensive. But after some careful planning and the purchase of a few cheap cycling accessories I set out on the aforementioned cycle path also known as The Fallowfield Loop.

And what a ride it is. A thin eight-mile linier park stretching from Gorton in the east all the way to Chorlton in the west. The gateway to south Manchester if you will and a leafy world away from red brick madness. I find myself on it most weekends and by the time you read this I’ll have probably already done a good 30km.

If you’ve access to a bike then why not give it a go. I recommend getting on at either Abbey Hey or Ryder Brow and heading west towards Fallowfield. Come off at St Werburgh’s Road Metrolink station in Chorlton and head through the four banks in central Chorlton onto Manchester Road, down Kensington Road towards Stretford.

From there you’re in easy reach of cycle-friendly Old Trafford and Manchester’s stunning waterfront at Salford Quays with all its attractions. Last week’s ride took me to the Imperial War Museum North. A world class museum that costs nothing, save for a donation, to visit.

With parts of this year’s Tour de France taking in the north of England there’s never been a better time to be showing an interest in pedal pushing. I draw the line though at wraparound sunglasses.