With five minutes to go in Chadderton v Burscough, the score still 0-0 and a big chunk of the Atlantic Ocean seemingly pouring from above, I am sure I was not the only one wondering why I was still there. At least this person had some protection. I notice the title of the post might also refer to the netting, which I have included mainly because it seems to enhance the rain effect. Did I mention it was raining?
I do generally limit the number of football shots published on here but after having had a couple of extra days to think about it, I do think this is the most pleasing shot I captured today. The view from the terrace at the Giant Axe (the name of Lancaster City’s stadium) encompasses both Lancaster Castle and the railway station — though I never captured the money shot, including both the ball and a train.
This shot was better than the match itself, which finished 0-0. In fact, the shot of Clapham Common two weekends ago was of a match that also finished 0-0. I doubt this coincidence is a meaningful one however.
I pick this shot for the colour palette mainly — the blue of of his jacket works very well. It is taken from inside the ground, as the reversal of the lettering makes evident. As you can also see — it is raining, a lot. But the game behind me did manage to reach a conclusion. Nothing to do with Keighley Cougars, a rugby league club (you have never seen rugby league depicted on here, and unless I radically change in my remaining years, you never will) — the owners of that club decided they fancied a football team as well so simply bought one, Eccleshill United of Bradford, and teleported them here for as long as they feel like dabbling in another mode of football.
This shot somewhat misrepresents the day’s weather, as for most of my time in Solihull today (near Birmingham, and making its debut on the blog) I walked and sat in quite pleasant sunshine. But not from between about 2.30 – 2.50pm. And the seats for the match to come were not under cover. Fortunately, it stopped, and two other big fat thunderheads that looked like they were later coming in also passed us by.
The first part of my day was spent up the hill in the background, Ward Hill: not an easy lump of sandstone to get up or down, thanks to its steep sides (evident in this shot), but worth the bother. The second part of my day was spent at the easier-to-reach environs of Stromness FC, members of the Orkney ‘A’ League, and their match against Dounby (here in blue). I couldn’t decide which one was worth making Pic of the Day so let’s just choose one that accommdates both these pleasures.
I was taking a shot of the dog, when the guy turned around as well to finish it off. Yes, the 2025-26 football season — at least, some its ‘pre-season friendly stage’ — is up and running…
Half an hour into the Yorkshire Amateur League Cup Final in Bradford (well, how do you spend pleasant, sunny Friday evenings towards the end of a season?) and Berry Brow’s no. 11, Kyle Walton, dinks the ball over the Ryburn Utd keeper for a 1-0 lead. Having spotted my camera, this was his chosen means of celebration. And it was kind of amusing, so I’ll let him off the need to wipe the lens clean afterwards. They went on to win 2-0. (Clare insisted I use this picture today, and who am I to argue.)
I pick this one today because I think it’s a nice portrait, though I don’t know these gentlemen and so can’t be sure it captures some kind of essential quality about them. But I see a lot of football these days — the game mentioned in the post title was my 80th of the season and I intend to do a few more yet before it’s over — and I see a lot of people like these, as we’re all in it together.
Sometimes there is no better place to spend a glorious evening than somewhere like Marsden FC. Not quite perfection — there were too many insects buzzing around for that — but not bad, not bad at all.
The theme continues into Sunday morning, but this time with more action. Also with less regard for clashes of kit or the integrity of the pitch boundaries. The result was the same though: 1-0, this time to the blacks, if you can tell the difference. But it mattered to them.
Being 42 