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.