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.
Saturday, 30 August 2014
Saturday, 23 August 2014
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.
Tuesday, 19 August 2014
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
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
Sunday, 10 August 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, 5 August 2014
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.
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.
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