Back Row: Poole G, McNally, Southern, McLaren (Second Team captain), Williams Sh, Prince (club treasurer), Houston, Kay
Front Row: Fairclough, Poole I, Schofield R, Martin, Woodcock, Holder, Shanahan
Not Pictured: Bastow
(at The University of Liverpool Playing Fields, Mather Avenue)
Bobby Mimms reports
If you believe in that sort of thing then you might say that Billy Lamb was watching over them; otherwise, Convocation's Seconds did it for him on Saturday, when they won their second and the club's third piece of silverware after a rather one-sided final. At the pitchside presentation ceremony after the game Captain Andy McLaren received the victory plate and dedicated it and the triumph to the much-loved Convo legend - who died last month at the dreadfully untimely age of 65 - and despite understandable feelings of euphoria at coming first in a four-horse race, many a grown man felt a lump in his throat.
Fittingly, too, the match had already been scheduled to take place at Fortress Wyncote, where Convo were unbeaten since the New Year (admittedly, only two-and-a-half months, but still no mean feat) and where Billy had terrorised so many opposition defences down the years. It was for the least prestigious of the "Old Farts' Tournament" prizes - the Plate; "just above the teacup" as one Scottish scamp put it - but anything that requires the purchase of a bottle of Brasso isn't to be sniffed at; the winner would effectively be the best of the four worst teams in the whole competition - the equivalent of finishing seventeenth in the Premier League, but, Hey!, if Everton can celebrate it every year...
Both sides had lost plenty of games in the group stages (and yet were still in with a chance of an open-top bus parade), but even without their record-scoring talisman Convo were always going to be victorious in this one because their opponents, Ashton Masters, were awful. The only surprise at the final whistle was that Convocation didn't win by more; that said, it had only been 1-0 at the interval, and was still only 2 with ten minutes remaining, but you wouldn't have needed a man with two hands to tally up the number of chances that the (light) purple-shirted 'visitors' racked up during the course of the tie.
It had taken them only two minutes after they'd kicked off to give notice of their intention to uphold the good name of crapness. From midfield a hopeful punt was knocked over the top of their tiny and alarmingly static back line, which Simon Holder chased for Convocation, accompanied by a lone alert defender; coming the other way the visitors' 'keeper - decked out in a lime-green top and red boots; thankfully a sartorial faux pas was averted by the black tracksuit bottoms in between - reached it first and attempted to hoof a clearance back up the pitch but only succeeded in blasting it against his team mate, from where the ball rebounded back into the penalty area and a three-man stramash ensued until, eventually, the glover got the thing under his control.
South Liverpool had been deluged by a sudden downpour barely an hour before kick-off, but by the time the game started bright sunshine bathed proceedings, and despite a decent wind blowing the length of the pitch towards them in the first half, Convocation, buoyed by that early farce on the edge of their opponents' box, took control of the tie pretty much immediately. Graham Kay was the first of the hosts to fire off a shot on target (a couple of minutes after Holder had been unlucky not to get a definitive chance) when he let rip with a rasper from the edge of the penalty area that was straight at the Ashton #1, but which he still fumbled; not long after that the former First Team captain went even closer when he attempted to whip a cross into the box from out on the left but got it much nearer to the goal than he'd intended and hit the top of the crossbar (from where the ball went out). And in between those two chances Richy Schofield received possession from a throw in and decided to have a go from about eighteen yards out, but he too aimed his effort straight at the opposition 'keeper (this one he didn't spill).
Decked out in orange tops with black shorts and socks (and donning black armbands in memory of Billy), Convo lined up in a 4-5-1 formation with Gaz Martin in goal - looking, and presumably feeling, like any Irishman worth his salt should the day after Paddy's Day (his face was only marginally more colourful than the grey kit he was wearing) - behind a back four of (l to r) Shaun Williams, Jamie Southern, Justin Shanahan, and the Captain himself (channelling the spirit of John Terry?). As you might expect, bearing in mind the protocol of the competition, the midfield was a reservoir of experience, with the central trio comprising of those three old warhorses, Richy Houston, Ian Poole, and Kay, the latter having crossed swollen rivers, climbed ravines, and fought evil trolls just to be there (well, he'd driven up from Cheltenham that morning); Geoff Poole and Holder were on the flanks, left and right respectively, Schofield was the lone forward, and there were five substitutes at the team's disposal.
As previously alluded to, for the first quarter-of-an-hour-or-so Ashton steadfastly refused to pull up any trees and the game was played almost entirely in their half, so much so that the Convocation players must have wished they'd brought a Calor gas stove out onto the pitch with them considering just how much they were camped out on the edge of their opponents' area. But then, as the opening forty-five entered its middle third, play became very scrappy and both sides began demonstrating some of the many ways the ball can be given away unnecessarily; the only real entertainment for about five minutes was when the slimmed-down-but-still-not-slim McLaren and a behemoth in light purple (everyone at distance originally thought Ashton's kit was navy blue until corrected) 'spooned' a 'battle of the bellies' at a throw in, their two-man conga extending further, back to front, than most five-men ones would.
Nap over, pretty much slap bang at the midpoint of the half Convocation nearly took the lead. An Ashton defender passed back to his 'keeper - who did not look comfortable on the ball (unless he was carrying it out of his area while kicking from his hands, a la Pepe Reina, something he appeared to do on multiple occasions) - and immediately Holder and Schofield closed down him and any team mates he passed to until, almost inevitably, the former of those two Convo players disposed the #1 and played in the latter, who was unmarked about ten yards from goal. Amazingly though, when the former First Team captain (another one) shot, a covering defender managed to be in the right place at the right time and kneed a clearance off the line.
Within seconds (but unconnected) Holder was hooked in favour of Chris McNally (yet another former First Team captain), alongside Poole (G) and McLaren, for Paul Fairclough and Sam Woodcock respectively, and the changes gave the impression of doing the trick a couple of minutes later when Convocation did at last take the lead. Ashton won a free kick in the centre circle and lumped it forward into the packed Convo area where Shanahan headed away - his clearance reached Houston, just outside the 'D', and he knocked a long pass forward to Schofield on the halfway line, who ran on, with a defender on his shoulder, and eventually slotted low past the 'keeper just inside the nearest post from a narrowing angle. There was a little under twenty minutes of the opening half remaining.
Pretty much straight from the restart the game reverted to being scrappy for some time, and though the ball seldom reached the final third at either end in that period what happened in between was quite unremarkable as well. Poole (I) had a fairly decent game, all round, but continually gifted possession to purple-shirted players during this mini-stagnation; he's nothing if not tenacious though, and was impressively good at winning the ball back within seconds, while 'alongside him' Houston's movement was something to behold, in that he seemed determined not to stay put in central midfield, although he could get away with his peregrinations due to the shoddy state of the opposition. Unsurprisingly, as he was the youngest of the trio, Kay was the most energetic in the middle, and his thrusting and surging looked the most likely source of Convo creating chances, with McNally nearly benefitting, through good runs of his own, from Geordie-esque balls on a couple of occasions; on the other side of the pitch Fairclough seemed more defensive-minded, but again he didn't have too much to combat.
The final ten minutes of the first half were undoubtedly Ashton's best of the game, and during that period they twice went close to scoring, in fairly quick succession. A lofted long ball forward chased by two men in blue/purple along with Shanahan and Southern seemed determined never to be controlled until, eventually, after a whole lot of after-you-Claudery, one of the visitors turned the latter of those two Convo players and smashed a shot into the back of the net off the underside of the crossbar. On the sideline the visitors' bench celebrated and their counterparts on the other side of the pitch groaned, until after a few seconds it dawned on everyone that the effort had actually cleared Martin's horizontal and netted in a second goal immediately behind the first. Oh, how everyone laughed...
Moments later Poole (I) lost the ball in midfield and his attacking dispossessor fired off a dipping shot from about twenty-five yards out that the surprisingly agile (for one so crapulous) Martin punched over his horizontal at full stretch. The resulting corner shall never be mentioned again...
After that, and despite the visitors' clear improvement (and possibly because of a sudden ennui developed by their hosts), the half pretty much fizzled out, which didn't prevent referee Phil Webster from playing one unnecessary minute of added lull before blowing for the break. Somehow, it was only 1-0.
It had begun clouding over some time before the interval, and by the outset of the second half the wind had got up and it was spitting; someone, somewhere, was having a barbeque. Convocation made multiple changes for the restart, the most notable being Poole (G) returning up front in a straight swap with Schofield; elsewhere Poole (I) took a breather and was replaced by Holder, while Shanahan and Southern were hooked in favour of Dave Bastow and Williams (moving inside), with Fairclough dropping into the left back berth, and his spot on the wing being filled by the Queen Mum of Convo, Ben Prince. Capeesh? On the other side of the halfway line it was much more simple, as Ashton, treating the final like a pre-season friendly in Thailand, substituted their entire team bar their somewhat erratic 'keeper.
The visitors' totally new line up was more to do with having ridiculously bloated ranks than anything tactical, and within three minutes of the second period getting underway they proved it. One of their defenders passed back to his #1 and Poole (G) gave chase; perhaps a little admirably, several Ashton players attempted to knock the ball between themselves as the Convo man scampered around the area after it, although more foolhardily they continued to do so when Kay came and joined the fun, and when he forced a mistake and won possession he laid it off into the middle of the goal for his colleague, who in turn blasted into the back of the net from seven or eight yards out, with the 'keeper actually diving out of the shot's way.
For a while after that it was all Convo and they played some lovely football, although in fairness they were made to look good by the wretchedness of their opponents, who were even worse that their alternatives had been before the break. The rain was getting heavier, but that couldn't dampen the spirits of the home side as they pinged passes around the pitch, seemingly without any sense of jeopardy and at times accompanied by "Olé"s; eventually, with the players in purple exuding the air of strangers who happen to have stepped onto a lift together, the ball ended up with Houston on the edge of the visitors' area, and it was only a fraction too much elevation on his shot that prevented him from furthering his team's lead.
At the other end of the pitch Martin was practically a spectator in the Convo nets, and if he'd nipped off to the Storrsdale for a quick pint it's debatable whether anyone would have noticed. And on the rare occasions that the visitors did make some sort of attacking effort the orange-shirted defenders were more than a match for them - Williams made a great last-ditch block on the edge of the six-yard box to deny Ashton one of their few real chances of the second period, after one of their players had gone on a nosebleed inducing run down their left flank. The centre half's partnership with Bastow looked rather imposing, although - again, the caveat - it was seldom put to the test, while Woodcock and Fairclough's full-back performances couldn't be faulted and could best be described, through no fault of their own, as 'going through the motions'; the good interplay of the latter of those two with Prince, on the wing ahead of him, was also pleasing on the eye.
As the hour mark passed there was an increasing disquiet on the Convocation bench concerning referee Webster and whether he was still on the pitch, because he was very uncharacteristically keeping his beak out of proceedings. But then, from the halfway line, one of the visitors knocked the ball back to his 'keeper who picked it up, and the official blew for a back pass and inevitably got involved in a spot of quarrelsome blustering with a couple of their players who - possibly under the impression that it was still the 1980s - disagreed. Surprisingly, Convo's subsequent indirect free kick was rather well thought out, it being played back to the totally unmarked Kay a little outside of the area, although his subsequent shot was not so stellar, being straight at the Ashton 'keeper (who, also uncharacteristically, managed to make his stop/intervention look competent).
Moments after that Houston tried his luck from halfway and, like the visitors in the first period, managed to find the goal behind the goal, but then Poole (G) was hooked with Schofield returning, and he was in the thick of the action immediately. Kay played a long ball over the top of the Ashton ranks that the incomer ran onto, and from about twenty-five yards out shot, straight at the #1; but once again his block looked less than assured, and he needed the help of 'the goalkeeper's silent friend', his woodwork, to keep the effort out. If there is one criticism of Convocation on Saturday, though, it was that most of their corners were woeful, and this subsequent one, like so many others, was sent far too deep into the box and thus straight out of play.
It was absolutely tipping down by the midpoint of the half when Convo made Ye Olde Quadruple Substitution: McLaren, Poole (I), Shanahan and Southern all returned, although the latter of those managed to injure himself before the game even restarted and so Williams, who had left the pitch on the assumption he was being retired for the afternoon, immediately trotted back on; Woodcock, Fairclough and McNally were also withdrawn. And where the hell anyone was playing after that... god only knows!
Almost as if someone had simply clicked their fingers, the deluge ended in seconds, but conditions underfoot would be a tad demanding until the final whistle. That was no excuse though, for Kay going on a spree of deliberate body checks and opposition upendings, including one (after several in quick succession) that should really have been followed by a flash of yellow; it'll be a long time before you see a less subtle foul again. Not long after that Ashton managed a shot on goal - yes, they did - but it was larruped well over from about twenty-five yards out, and nothing to trouble the horses, while moments later Williams - possibly having got a whiff of whatever had sent Kay off on one - channelled his inner Dave Mackay and absolutely wiped out an opponent with a chopping slide challenge to concede a free kick on the corner of the Convo area that ultimately came to nothing (the defender had the chutzpah to get up after the foul-cum-assault claiming that, in fact, he'd been elbowed in the collision - like Kay several minutes earlier, he was a little lucky that Mr Webster was having a peculiarly lenient afternoon).
With a fraction over ten minutes remaining a huge goal kick from Martin found its way to Schofield, deep in the opposition half, and having given their back line the slip - natch! - he ran on but, for once, the Ashton 'keeper did himself proud and made a great save/block at the one-on-one.
But any slim hopes that the visitors may have still had were taken out back for a date with the bolt gun moments later when, at their own throw-in, they lost the ball on the edge of the Convo penalty area, Houston moved out with it and then sent Schofield through again (when he received the ball he was still in his own half), and this time he made no mistake - with the Ashton defence once more displaying all the resistance of a damp tissue the forward, ahem, 'sprinted' on and clipped a shot over the #1 and into the net from about twenty-five yards out.
All over south Liverpool people started getting out the bunting and trestle tables, but before the street parties could get underway there was still the business of dotting the 'i's and crossing the 't's for Convocation to take care of. Poole (I) returned in a straight swap for Houston, while McNally did likewise for Prince when the club treasurer was wiped out charging down an Ashton clearance on the edge of their penalty area, taking the thing full in the snout. And in between those two substitutions there was a little bit of housework for the hosts to undertake in the own box when their opponents attacked down their left and Martin was called upon to make a close-range stop, with Williams (again) contesting for the subsequent loose ball with an opponent at the back post, his last ditch block deflecting against the foot of the nearby upright and rebounding fortuitously into the goalkeeper's grateful arms.
When a couple of defenders in purple became embroiled in an exchange of views that was never going to lead to them offering each other their last Rolos, it was the cue for Webster to do what Webster does, and, having appeared completely indifferent to proceedings all afternoon, he finally came alive and booked them both - never change, Phil. After that Shanahan nearly put a gloss on the final scoreline that it definitely deserved when, receiving the ball from a throw-in, he hit a rising shot from the edge of the Ashton 'D' that smashed midway up one of the posts and rebounded away to safety.
Convo would get that deserved fourth though, in the final minute, when the ball was played out of the back to McNally and he sent Schofield (in his own half) through once again; having run on he then dinked over the advancing 'keeper for his hat trick, and to groans from all round the parish.
Woodcock returned immediately for Williams, but it was a bit of a waste of time as the final whistle was blown thirty seconds after the restart and, quite comprehensively, Convo had won the Plate.
In fairness, they couldn't help but do so against such dire opponents, and, again, they should be scratching their collective head as to how they only managed to score four against such a dreadful defence. But enough of the killjoy vibe, because there won't have been a cow milked in Convocation on Saturday night - the University side were thoroughly deserved victors and champions and can turn a blind eye to any miniscule faults.
The typically capricious March weather rather reflected the Convo players' feelings, no doubt: happy and yet sad at same time. They were undeniably overjoyed at having got their hands on more silverware, but clearly still mourning the recent loss of their mate.
They did it for him.
Man Of The Match: Team award.
The Scorers
............
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Williams Sh, Shanahan, Southern, McLaren; Poole G, Kay, Houston, Poole I, Holder; Schofield R; Subs: Woodcock, McNally, Fairclough, Prince, Bastow
