OK, so it’s only the Macron Cup, the league cup for the teams in the North West Counties League (situated at the 9th and 10th levels of English football): but after beating West Didsbury and Chorlton 3-1 at Accrington Stanley’s ground this afternoon, AFC Liverpool have won more trophies this season than their senior city cousins are going to. So some celebration is well deserved.
At some point in the future — and it may be next week, next year or whatever — there will come a day on which, at the end of it, I will be forced to admit to myself that I have taken no photos worth publishing. Today was nearly that day. Blue plastic seats (specifically at the West Riding County FA headquarters, on the edge of Leeds) won’t raise it for most people, artistically or spiritually. And even if there’s a certain interest in the repetitive pattern my shadow spoils the composition.
But enough apologies! Look, the numbers are in a random order. Which is why I took the shot in the first place, I suppose…
Why the fans of Ashington FC turned up at today’s game (at Brighouse) dressed as chickens is a story I was told, but in some ways it is far too tragic to relate here: let us just say that it was to do with a practical joke from the past that may have gone wrong. Beyond this you do not want to know, trust me. Connection corner: this is the second time Ashington FC have made it onto tbe blog and, as the visiting team on both occasions, they were just as successful as last time — this is also the second time that, at Brighouse, there has been a picture of a grown man dressed as a chicken. What this says about me, Brighouse Town, and non-league football generally, I know not.
Some leagues get themselves wrapped up early, like the Northern Counties East League, which has already reached its play-offs. These are fans of Beverley Town, the home team. There are about 10 minutes to go on the clock at this point (though what they don’t yet know is that the ref is going to keep things going for about 20) and the 1-0 lead is going to be retained, don’t worry folks — although if you ask me most of them are looking at their phones at this point.
Never let it be said that I am closed to new experiences, particularly not when they are suggested by the wife, so behold — my first ever ice hockey game. Manchester Storm, in the dark kit, beat Dundee Stars 5-1.
I chose this shot because it illustrates one basic characteristic of the sport, at least from my perspective as a rookie spectator. For a significant slice of the playing time I wasn’t completely sure where the puck was, partly because the sightlines from our seats meant one whole side of the rink was obscured and partly because it just zips around without much pattern or relationship to how the players are moving. I acknowledge the skill, balance and athleticism of the players but based on my having seen some games on TV in the past (particularly in Toronto, where it’s kind of unavoidable) I have previously described ice hockey as ‘like watching a bunch of wasps buzz around in a bottle’. My first experience of watching it live has not changed that opinion.
Five minutes into the second half of tonight’s game at Brighouse Town, half the lights went out. At that point, this picture was taken. About a minute later, the remaining lights went out too, and the game was abandoned: as a football fan, my third ever abandonment, one of them because of a serious injury, one because of rain (at Accrington Stanley) and now tonight. Brighouse have been rather inept on the pitch lately, so perhaps this off-pitch ineptitude is all just part of the bigger picture.
One could speculate as to just what it is that drives these two guys out on a Sunday morning to spend 90 minutes watching unimportant sporting events but, of course, these days I am just like them. In the background, Wainhouse Tower, apparently the world’s tallest folly, makes its fourth appearance on the blog, allowing this shot to be pinpointed to Halifax. No one was coping all that well with a strong wind, which is why this latest cross has gone over harmlessly and miles off target.
Not necessarily the kind of thing one expects to see on opening the curtains in the morning, but I guess that’s what happens when one’s room overlooks the gym of the hotel next door. This is the first time boxing has been depicted on the blog actually in progress, but the tags allow me to connect this with a group of Albanians seen some 12½ years ago…. whither them I wonder?
The players of AC Soulseek ponder the 45 minutes that are to come, though not without unhappiness, as they are 3-1 up at this point. Wasn’t I here basically a year ago? Yes, but I cannot honestly think of a more agreeable place to spend a Sunday morning in London — as long as it isn’t raining.
On the basis that no fewer than 23 people (because you do need a referee) can be gathered in each area of space that comprises a Saturday afternoon football match, then there must have been at least a quarter of a million people in the UK doing what this guy was doing at the same point in time, 3.20pm. That’s just the people on the pitches, too. At least 30 other people, including substitutes, coaches and slighly weird people (like me) were also persuaded that watching Sheffield Union v Thornbridge Villa in the 12th tier of English football was the best way they had of spending Saturday afternoon. So add another million or two for all of them…. it can’t be completely wasted collective effort, can it? At this level it’s certainly not about making any money.
Being 42 