Saturday 29th August 2020
Pre-Season Friendly
at Walesby Lane
Ollerton Town (1) 3
Gav King 27, 86
Ben Partridge 71
Nostell Miners Welfare (2) 2
By and large the recent saturation coverage of behind closed doors football on TV has done absolutely nothing for me whatsoever, apart from getting my back up when bumbling idiot politicians tried to convince Joe Public that live sports broadcasting is all about raising morale and keeping people's spirits up, when all that was really happening is that money's talking even more loudly than usual as big business conglomerates were applying pressure and making demands, while holding the game to ransom over it's contractual and financial obligations.
And don't even get me started about those gimmicky fake crowd noises that 'enhanced' our pay per-viewing time. The novelty factor of that particular 'innovation' wore off fairly quickly, especially when I picked out the strains of: "City Ground, oh mist rolling in form the Trent", at annoyingly regular intervals, during the screening of one of the earliest 'restart' games, namely: West Bromwich Albion v. Birmingham City, two clubs whose supporters have particularly well-known anthems that are unique to their own club and fans... and neither of who play home games anywhere near the River Trent.
Even the syncing of the 'oohing and aahing' in response to any near misses in the FA Cup final itself, was delayed by up to around three or four seconds, which made the crowd noise-on option (there wasn't an off option on the BBC) more of an irritating distraction than anything even slightly resembling an optional extra. Live TV, along with I-Follow packages and internet streaming (two more options that having been cashing in on supporters who want a football fix) might be seen as an operationally equivalent alternative to some, but even as a temporary stop-gap, they're nowhere near acceptable as a replacement for the real thing.
One truth that the OTT-TV regime exposed, was the way that 'Hawkeye' goal-line technology and VAR is phasing out decision making by actual match referee's in the higher echelons of the game. Take as an example events at Villa Park, where Sheffield United, who were chasing a place in Europe, visited Aston Villa, who were desperate for any kind of positive result to help them salvage something from their season as they tried to claw away from the Premier League relegation zone. All which meant that there was a lot at stake for both sides when, three minutes before half-time, Oliver Norwood’s free kick was (very) clearly fumbled over the line by the Villa goalkeeper Orjan Nyland.
But although it was clear to anybody viewing the incident with the naked eye, that the Blades had taken the lead, because the referee, Michael Oliver, hadn't received a signal to his watch confirming that ball had crossed the line, regardless of what he, his assistants, the players and everybody watching the game on television saw, he had to follow protocol and not award a goal.
For his part, you can't point the finger at Mr Oliver, who was just following the rules (even though in this most blatant of injustices, the law was an ass) and protocol...
and for their part in the shenanigans, you can't blame Aston Villa either, or accuse them of cheating, because they didn't actually do anything wrong, even though they benefited from a very fortunate and timely technical glitch (if the 'Hawkeye' equipment had actually been switched on during the first-half). But when the game finished 0-0, meaning that Chris Wilder's side had been robbed of two points, Dean Smith's struggling team gained a point that they should never have had... and then they went on to finish the season one point above relegated AFC Bournemouth, who had a better goal difference than Villa. Imagine being wrongfully relegated through such a scenario... the ramifications for the Dorset club have proved to be enormous, but the decision still stands and the developers of the 'Hawkeye' technology won't suffer as a consequence.
To her enormous credit the most tolerant wife on the whole planet (and probably all of the other planets put together too), went out of her way to recreate an authentic match day atmosphere for me on one of the rare occasions that there was a game worth watching on TV. I arrived home that particular night to find two scruffy looking teenagers stood on my driveway: "50p to look after your car mister... each!", I laughed at them, told them to "Eff off!" and went indoors. It started well enough, when she shoved me behind an old fireguard out of the shed, to cage me for the duration of the game and further restricted my view by rotating the angle of the screen, so that I had to crane my neck to see approximately 60% of what was happening. Before she confiscated my drink because it was against league rules to consume alcohol within sight of the pitch. But then things started to get silly, even though, at the same time, they were all too familiar, commonplace and very realistic.
Every time there was any goalmouth action, she stood up, blocking my line of sight completely, waving to an imaginary friend across the room and telling "Woo-hoo! I'm sat over here can you see me!?" into her mobile phone. The local kids from up t'road were armed with a bag full of loose change to launch in my direction, while they chanted "Wanker!", "You fat bastard!" and "You're gonna get your f*ckin' head kicked in!" at me.
After receiving a cut above my left eye that was going to need a couple of stitches later on, I reverted to type and retaliated to their taunts, making a finger across my throat type gesture and trying to scale the fire-guard to reach them for a bout of fisticuffs... but I was promptly marched into the hallway by Mick McManus lookalike (younger viewers, ask your parents/gandparents*) wearing a fluorescent green vest, who threatened to eject me from the house if I didn't calm down and woe betide me if he needed to talk to me again.
At half-time, I got up to nip to the loo, but McManus was stood across the foot of the stairs with his arms folded to make his biceps look bigger and an angry scowl across his face, as he told me: "You can't come this way son... you'll have to go to that old outhouse at the bottom of the yard, or tie a knot in it". I explained that this was my house and I paid the water rates and... he stopped me short: "I've heard all of the sob stories and excuses in the world before, so save your time, stop wasting mine and f*ck off or I'm summoning a policeman to escort you from the premises"... bloody hell! She's got the away fans enclosure Elland Road and their shithead rent a mob security staff off to a tee here. I compliment on your fine research work Mrs W.
Having returned from my route march to have a piss, I waited patiently outside the kitchen for twenty-five minutes, missing the start of the second-half as a consequence, but he door was slammed shut in my face and I was dismissed with a mocking taunt from behind it of: "There's no food or drinks left, you should've got here earlier... you could do with going on a diet anyway fat-boy". On the way back to my seat McManus growled, "Sit down! There's no standing up allowed during the game" and the gremlins who'd now run out of coins were gleefully chucking buckets of freezing cold water at me, while a bank of oscillating fans were pointing my way and blowing so hard they made my nipples hard.
"You said you were adamant that football should be a Winter sport and not a Summer game, so here's the seasonal weather for you". The attention to detail and authenticity ticked every single box... and in a perverse sort of way, I appreciated the effort that my good lady had gone to on my behalf.
McManus reappeared (Jeez, how much is she paying this guy for a performance like this?) carrying a loud hailer: "Would the owner of a royal blue Ford Mondeo, registration number RW-66-POW (slightly amended for the purposes of spinning a yarn or two) return to your car immediately. Two teenage hoodlums have scratched a cock and balls picture on the bonnet and set it on fire and you need to call the fire brigade as soon as possible".
Possibly some of the above is slightly exaggerated, perhaps all of it is completely fabricated, but I would gladly have put up with much worse to gain access to some of the games that we've all been locked out of in recent times. Be honest lads (and lasses), it's our often masochistic rituals that we've been missing out on just as much as, if not more than, the actual games themselves.
There were no surly stewards, in fact everybody at Ollerton Town FC was extremely friendly and welcoming, there were no mouthy kids throwing missiles, no inconvenience as regards going to the toilet or getting a warm drink, the car was parked up safely and the sight-lines weren't obscured or impeded in any way whatsoever (except for when my glasses steamed up due to the temperature drop, or needed windscreen wipers fitting).
The followers of both clubs had a cheery demeanour towards each other and the afternoon was as serene an occasion as your ever likely to experience, unless you've sniffed a whole bottle of Tippex to yourself... but by heck! I kid you not, the bloody weather was character building stuff.
When Scott of the Antartic, Bear Grylls and their pet Polar Bears jumped back into their car and buggered off sharply, back up the A614 as the heavens opened, it was probably a good time for all of those of a nesh, Walter Softy disposition to take cover... but us true hardened football thrill-seekers were never going to let the imminent onset of a full-scale Tsunami come between us and another ninety minutes of pre-season fare.
Roy, a jovial chap who'd travelled down from West Yorkshire, asked, right on cue: "Where's that King bloke who used to score a lot of goals for these?".
As a reward for braving the elements, we were rewarded with five goals and a game that could've gone either way, with both teams, from the EMCL and NCEL respectively, enjoying spells when they were on top of things.
The players... all of them, deserve a lot of credit to sticking to their task and soldiering on, when the British Summer weather was trying it's damnedest to ruin the game as a spectacle.
The game was only four minutes old when Charlie Thompson spanked the ball into the bottom corner of the home sides net from the edge of the area, as Levi Owen got down to his right and probably would've kept it out if he'd been wearing bigger gloves. And then things began to look a bit ominous for Ollerton, as Ash Austin turned his marker inside the area and finished well to double Nostell's lead.
"There he is look, down the other end of the pitch, steering the ball past your goalie from an awkward angle". Gav King is back at 'the Lane' and doing what it is that he does best again it would seem. King is definitely one from the 'never be afraid to miss' old school production line of strikers and that was his fifth goal of pre-season so far.
With just four minutes remaining, Partridge broke free on the right and delivered a low cross towards King, arriving at the back stick, who provided the final touch to seal a victory for the hosts that had never looked likely when they had fallen two goals behind during the first half.
After reaching the interval with their lead intact, Nostell found 'Town' to be a more difficult proposition after the restart and looked vulnerable to the piercing forward runs and pace of Ben Partridge when he pushed forward on the right for the Nottinghamshire side.
It was fitting then, that when Ollerton drew level, it was Partridge who found the net, albeit at the second attempt, after his initial effort from the D on the edge of the visitors area was charged down, but he managed to reach the rebound and got his shot away at full stretch, falling backwards to the ground as the ball reached its intended target.
Right at the death, King spurned a gilt edged chance to claim a hat-trick, when he got too much of a touch to the underside of the ball and orbited it over the crossbar. But hey! He'd already made a telling contribution to a back from the dead win.
And besides, it had been such a closely fought game at times, that neither side really deserved to either win, or lose, by a two goal margin.
Even though we'd spent the entirety of the game under the roof of the 'Des Walker Stand', the swirling wind and rain, that seemed to be coming straight at you wherever you happened to be in the ground today, still managed to get at us, but the occasion was still far more enjoyable than watching any other kind of game on the telly or a laptop screen.
And if you opted to stay at home watching a behind closed doors game instead of venturing out today, then that's your loss... and it will serve you bloody well right when the devil that is pay per view TV steals away your soul forever.
Next up on THE66POW. Tuesday: FA Cup Extra-Preliminary Round: AFC Mansfield v Sherwood Colliery (all-ticket).
