A chilly Saturday night made way for a chilly Sunday morning and the Valains turned up for the magic of the cup… could they have their names inserted into the anal of history by progressing into the third round of a organised cup competition? Well I didn’t think so but that’s only my humble opinion but I’ve got out of my sorry pit anyway to bring you this report. The match was yet another home match, with the pitch, twixt jungle and construction site, now starting to feel like home after a couple of good results and some expansive football. The absence of toilet and shower facilities however would forever leave it a definite second behind the Vale’s spiritual home The Shire, currently being eyed up by a mean spirited developer for 237 two and three bed apartments from £190,000 come and see our show home.
The Opposition? Tenbury Mares, and by the look of it they’ve got a lady coach… you’ve gotta feel for them. They’re normally quite screechy aren’t they? Well I’m sure this one can’t be too bad. Off kicked the match and how wrong I was. Smudger started by getting to know his centre back… the usual “how ya doing” and “how many brothers and sisters have you got” quickly turned into the “whats she like then?” and the answer said it all. “I’m totally f*cking scared of her”. The Vale knew they were in for a hard game as the earplugs were passed around.
The Vale were, as usual, slow off the mark. Like a sleepy sloth woken by the first warm day of summer they crawled out of the tree, scratching their collective arses and stretching those aching muscles. The Mares had an average age of three however and bounded out of the blocks, albeit in a slightly disorientated and wobbly way. Early pressure from the youngsters resulted in an spectacularly flash reaction save from the Sofa but the defence were still napping and it fell to a Mare who shot… Camo, like a shining beacon of steady, reliable defensive force popped up to clear off the line. The scare was there and the Vale finally took out the teabag from their wake up cup of tea and, well, woke up, finally looking like a team who wanted to claim their second cup scalp of the season.
And off it went, like a top to toe examination by an all too familiar doctor it was end to end stuff. The Vale made a few chances, looking fairly relaxed in the middle of the park but it was the Mares that drew the first blood… no you misunderstand… it’s not Dan’s haemorrhaging nose again but a goal at the Vale end. The ball was played into the box, first shot blocked, back out to their midfield, ball played in, out, in, out, Camo gave a shout. Then another pinball effort fell to one of the mares who popped it home. 0-1.
The Vale had been here before… they knew that a quick response was needed to stop the visitors getting on top. Luckily the king of quick responses was on form. Steve received the ball from Gerry and ran full speed at the defence. Due to a localised time dilation hole, Steve’s velocity was much faster than expected and he ended up running straight into the defender. Several apologies later and Steve came out with the ball by some miracle. A quick look up and a precision cross to Laan was eagerly lapped up with precision and a precision strike from the scoring machine ended the precision move with precision. 1-1.
The delight of the earlier football soon started to fall apart, with hospital balls across the pitch. Andy popped a short ball out to Pedro, unfortunately thirty yards behind him, which barely made it out of the box. Alex was struggling to get rid of the ball on the right and as Laan and Andy gave him a double team bollocking he proceeded to dance round five players, race for the bi-line, then trip over his own shoelaces. “[well done Alex]” said the beloved Vale keeper quietly. The Mares came on the attack again but a well timed tackle by Brew stopped them in they’re tracks, but no what’s this? The player decided to scream a bit and the poshest referee of the season took pity and pointed to the spot… where Brew had tackled him, free kick. An easy take for the Sofa was soon booted out and shortly afterwards the first period buzzer went.
Inspirational chat at half time was met with positive body language and good mental wellbeing as the lads pranced back onto the pitch. Off kicked the Mares and the Vale went on the attack keen to break the deadlock. Unfortunately the Mares again were first to tweak the pert nipple. A long ball over the top was met by Camo but a Mare striker bore down on him out of the sun as the ball bobbled up and a despicable challenge left our leader on his arse as the Mare passed to his filly mate who slotted home to regain the lead. 1-2.
Bob Dylan said times were a changing, but Camo decided that the team should be a changing. Savo came on for Alex and proceeded to work his magic. Laaner received the ball from the midfield and seeing some room in front he picked up pace. Challenges reigned in but he rode them all (rode – mares gettit?) and finally slotted a ball across to the Savster, who happened to be right alongside so could not possibly be offside, but the flag went up and the ref’s cursed whistle peeped its poisonous note and the resulting goal was disallowed.
More chances came and went for the Vale, little Sav again coming close and expelling an audible profanity following his poor strike. Danbo found some room but having played too much golf, his deftly chip ended up 16 inches from the pin on the fifth. Suddenly the game changed, dark and difficult times lay ahead for the boys. The Mares started to get a bit shirty and mouthy. Brew was called a f*ckin c*nt, and the typical Brew response was met with “Leave him alone you big bully” from the Mares. A quick step towards the cowering lad and flicker of the eyelids was all Brew needed, and the stench of partially digested farley’s rusks was noted by all. Danbo received a flying sandwich... and I don’t mean an early lunch. Poor sportmanship carried on with the ball being kicked away several times. “Thanks, no really thanks” said Pedro in his big boy voice, then finally pushed to an uncharacteristic bit of rag losing with a “Come on mate… it’s been a really nice game and then you have to go and do that, you nobhead”. Then with five minutes left the Mares finished the Vale off. A couple of quick passes down the left found a lad on the edge of the box. Quick closing down was not quick enough and a lovely measured strike popped into the top right corner past the stranded Sofa. 1-3. The dream was over. Eleven wives and girlfriends screamed in delight at the prospect of an extra Sunday to take their men shopping. Back to the league next week with yet another home match. Lads, you really need to sort out a portaloo.
Attendence 21
The Nibbler
