Convocation (from): Knox, McLaren, Holder, Woodcock, Williams Sh, Cunningham, McNally, 'Matty', Fitzpatrick, Cole M, Schofield R, Livingstone
Convocation (4-4-2): Martin; McNally, Unknown, Williams Sh, Woodcock; Holder, Cole M, Fitzpatrick, Cunningham; Dillon, Poole G; Sub: Prince
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Woodcock, McLaren, Williams Sh, Stewart; McNally, Schofield R, Holder, McKendrick, Willis; Dillon; Sub: Bastow
TWELVE FOR THE SECOND TIME IN A MONTH!!! EFFIN' HELL!
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Dillon, McLaren, Williams Sh, McNally; Carnacina, Cole M, Houston, Poole I, Kirby; Schofield R; Subs: Holder, Fitzpatrick, Round
(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.
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
Convocation (4-4-2): Martin; Woodcock, Southern, Williams Sh, Fairclough; Poole G, Kay, Poole I, Prince; Schofield R, Knox; Subs: McLaren, Bastow, Houston, Holder
Feisty game, by all accounts.
Convocation (from): Martin, McLaren, Knox, Williams Sh, Southern, Kay, Schofield R, Cole B, Cole M, Kirby, Fitzpatrick, Byrne, Woodcock, Holder, Fairclough, Shanahan
Got the news in the changing rooms prior to kick off that Billy Lamb had died the previous day...
Convocation (4-4-2): Martin; Woodcock, Bastow, Shanahan, Fairclough; Holder, Poole I, Byrne, Poole G; Schofield, Appleton
Convocation (from): McLaren, Martin, Williams Sh, Poole G, Prince, Richie A, Wiggins, Cole B, Fitzpatrick, Cole M, Kirby, Bastow, Nawrocki, McNally
Convocation (4-4-2): Martin; Woodcock, Prince, McLaren, Carroll; McNally, Poole G, Schofield R, Williams M; Lamb C, Leahey; Sub: Bastow
Played at St John Bosco in West Derby. Half the opposition got stopped by the police for speeding on the way to the match, and once the car was checked for TWOC and wiped for drugs the driver was pinched.
Oh, and there was the return of the Mc.
Convocation (from): McLaren, Williams Sh, Schofield R, Martin, McNally, Cole M, Fitzpatrick, Woodcock, Carnacina, Ahmed, Cummingham, Wiggins
Convocation (from): McLaren, Cole M, Ross, Fitzpatrick, Williams Sh, Carnacina, Houston, Kevan, Holder, Kirby, Schofield R, Byrne, Martin
Convocation (4-4-2): Martin; McNally, Williams Sh, Houston, Prince; Byrne, Poole I, Kevan, Poole G; Knox, Schofield R; Subs: Round, McLaren, Willis
Convocation (4-4-2): Morgan; Cole B, Williams Sh, Southern, Houston; Carnacina, Poole I, Fitzpatrick, Poole G; Cole M, Schofield R; Subs: Prince, Holder, Knox, McLaren
Convocation (4-4-2): McLaren; Fairclough, Shanahan, Williams Sh, Schofield K; Prince, Stephens C, Welsh J, Hughes; Schofield R, Stephens A; Sub: Bastow
Convocation (from): McLaren, Kaye, Bastow, Fitzpatrick, Cole B, Cole M, Schofield R, Holder, Houston, Williams Sh, Harper P, Fairclough, Round
Convocation (from): Martin, McLaren, Knox, Schofield R, Poole G, Southern, Prince, Shanahan, Harper P, Williams Sh, Bastow, Poole I, Holder, Houston
[Brent]: "He's a fuckin' knobhead. He's a slaphead. He thinks he's Gerrard. He's shit."
Convocation (from): Morgan, McLaren, Shanahan J, Bastow, Schofield R, Prince, Harper P, Fairclough, Shanahan E, Knox, 'Ste', Holder, Barlow J, Barlow C, 'Brent'
Bobby Mimms reports
The Friendship Masters competition continued unappeasably on Saturday, and though the game was fairly entertaining albeit, mainly for reasons of farce and incompetence it would be laughable to suggest that either of these teams will be bothering the trophy engravers at the end of the season. So far, in this tournament for those on the downward slopes of life, Convo have won one and lost one in their group, but they never really looked like getting anything from this match; reciprocally, Alsop probably just edged the contest, but could be grateful that they were facing Wyncote s finest as they weren t much cop themselves.
But Convocation s form has been the very definition of a mixed bag since the start of this campaign, and this performance was actually an improvement on those of recent weeks. On a chilly, fairly murky afternoon though, there was little to celebrate in either the conditions or that so called amelioration, and their astonishing (footballing) indiscipline, all over the pitch, would surely have resulted in calls for the fire brigade and trips to A&E if repeated around bonfires and in the presence of fireworks later on that evening.
Decked out as is the norm these days in orange and black, Convo got the game underway on Wyncote s 3G pitch, attacking in the direction of Runcorn, with Jack Morgan in goal behind a back four of Paul Fairclough, Ben Prince, Dave Bastow and Arwel Jones, left to right. Ahead of them Graham Kay and Ian Poole manned the middle of their side s (in theory) 4-4-2 formation, with Richy Schofield the nearest the game (well, the outfield) got to a young buck and Simon Holder flanking them (the latter was on the right; the former remained on the left until the referee blew his first whistle). Up front, Richy Houston partnered Paul Harper, while on the bench Infamy Calling s Chris McNally waited his turn alongside Captain Andy McLaren.
It only took four minutes for Convo who ve been a bit of a collective mess for the past couple of games to fall behind. The visitors knocked the yellow ball forward and Poole, in amongst his own back line, missed an attempted clearance, allowing an opponent to run through on goal; Morgan though, made a great save at the one-on-one, pushing the shot quite wide of the target, but with himself floored and his colleagues trotting back in fatalistic insouciance, the Alsop man was able to smash home at the second time of asking from, commendably, quite a tight angle.
It didn t take long for the hosts to conjure up a chance of their own when, from an Alsop corner, they broke quickly and Harper was played in beyond the opposition back line. A great tackle on the edge of the penalty area scotched his chances of scoring, although the ball rebounded inside to the unmarked Schofield and he should really have done better than shooting over the bar, unhindered, from about fifteen yards out. During those early minutes though, many in orange seemed more interested in arguing with the referee (in the absence of the Two Phil Websters he was a new one on everyone, and looked like someone famous, but no one could quite put their fingers on whom) than focusing on the game, complaining that his top was too similar in colour to the visitors raiment of dark blue I m not changing, he growled back, on more than one occasion.
Having given the experiment a little over ten minutes Schofield and Houston soon swapped positions (!), presumably in the belief that the midfield needed some ballast, but by God, the change only went and had a near-immediate effect. The former of those two former First Team captains (there were, in total, four on show on Saturday) picked up possession in the middle of the pitch (where he wasn t supposed to be playing) and sent a lovely pass through for Harper, who ran on and fired off a shot from the edge of the Alsop eighteen-yard box. Sadly, it was straight at the opposition #1, but fortunately the hapless glover who looked very dodgy indeed batted it straight back to the Convo man and he slotted easily at the second time of asking.
At the rather unconventional juncture of the eighteenth minute McLaren decided to make a change, hooking Holder and sending the tights-wearing McNally on in his place this particular former First Team captain was still in the doghouse for a farcical attempt at a rabona inside his own penalty area at Maghull a fortnight ago, which led directly to Convo conceding; unfortunately for him, his foolhardy fortunes weren t about to improve. And his Player of the Season prospects weren t helped by the hosts going completely off the boil as soon as the substitution was made, although it wouldn t be until after the break until he really came into his self-destructive own. In the meantime, though, Morgan was required to make a couple of good saves in quick succession during a spot of penalty-area pinball, while elsewhere Schofield was upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady s chamber just not up front.
He really was flying around the pitch with all the rationale of a mad cur (a bulldog?) chasing cars, and whenever he momentarily was in position it was always because all of the other players around him had accidentally moved en masse so that he was; with the Alsop #1 hardly gobbling up the shots (to put it mildly) there was a sort of schadenfreude-esque irony in him regularly trying his luck from deep and then not being in the perfect position to capitalise on the glover s inevitable fumbles although, in fairness, Harper wasn t either. That isn t to say that Convocation weren t buzzing around and pushing forward enough, they just seldom looked remotely like scoring.
At the other end of the pitch the Convo back line wasn t playing poorly, although it s fair to say that they didn t exactly fill you with confidence either; you constantly got the feeling that a cock up was in the post. Prince and Bastow have been regular partners in the centre for some time now and you could see that they were sort of in tune with each other, while on the flanks Fairclough was putting in his textbook 6/10 performance and Jones was doing little wrong without doing much to admire either. As a whole, you were once again grateful that they were up against such limited opponents, but they were coping whenever Alsop regularly broke.
Fortunately, Alsop regularly broke at what you wouldn t exactly call pace, so their threat on Convocation s goal was little better that the reciprocal case at the other end of the pitch. That all changed with a little over five minutes to go until the interval though, when Bastow miskicked what would normally have been a fairly routine clearance for him, allowing one of the blue-shirted forwards to intercept and run past so that he was one-on-one with Morgan, but once again the keeper came to his side s rescue, saving the subsequent shot with his foot.
The closing stages of the half seemed to be played under the auspices of the Blade Runner F.A., as quite suddenly it started absolutely tipping down and everyone got drenched. There was still time for the visitors to hit the frame of the Convo goal from wide of the target, and for Schofield to win the ball on the halfway line, run on, and blast a shot low through the six-yard box from a tight angle, but seconds after that the official gave it three peeps on his whistle and it was time for the potter s wheel.
The general gist of McLaren s half-time team talk was more of the same as, a lack of positional regimentation aside, Convo hadn t done an awful lot wrong; chief pom-pommer Jacob Purcell suggested the chaps might try to overlap , but, perhaps not unsurprisingly, no one in orange was willing to pay too much attention to someone with hours of experience. Holder was sent back on (on the right wing) for the restart in place of Prince, while McNally took up the hooked vice-captain s place in the heart of the defence; the Captain s final words before everyone retook the field was something to the tune of, Nowt daft at the back , and somewhere in the distance a church bell began tolling ominously.
Barely ninety seconds after the recommencement Convo nearly took the lead, when Houston gained possession not far from the halfway line and, pretty much on the chalk in front of his own bench, pumped a long punt towards the Alsop goal that caught the wind now blowing from behind the hosts and smacked against the top of the Alsop crossbar before continuing on out of play. It was something of a Sliding Doors moment, because a little over a minute-and-a-half later his side were behind, and a veteran of the club as good as called his own retirement.
The moment in question began with another Convocation advance breaking down their passing in the final third left a lot to be desired all afternoon and the visitors playing a promising let s be generous ball forward that McNally tried to intercept by flicking out a heel as though overcome by a sudden urge to do the Charleston. It would have been much easier to stop the problem in conventional put your fucking foot through it style, but, cock up du jour complete, a guy in blue ran through one-on-one with Morgan and comfortably found the back of the net. This Convo side don t believe in mantras such as Let he who has never made a total arse of himself on the football pitch cast the first stone and made sure that the Mancunian knew of their displeasure, in no uncertain terms, after which, probably still feeling delicate following other cock up travails recently, he relieved himself of his duties.
It s been a while since this correspondent has seen a decent version of The Convo Walk and possibly most of those in orange were unacquainted with its ignominious existence, because for nearly sixty seconds the home side played on with only ten men, until eventually McLaren not exactly with his finger on the pulse noticed the discrepancy in numbers and subbed himself on. His charges were all at sixes and sevens though (although, whether that was because of the farcical nature of the previous concession is debatable), and for several minutes their guests threatened to run riot. A succession of lovely one-twos put the blues through on goal at one point, although the man left with the job of finishing fluffed his lines and skied his shot, while not long after that only another excellent Morgan save from an unmarked attempt at a cross kept the visitors out; he nearly undid all his good work with a poor punch at the resulting corner, but the subsequent Alsop effort was put just over the horizontal.
In what was turning into something of a Convocation Rubik s Cube, more and more people were playing wherever they wanted, a sure-fire recipe for disaster if ever there was, but to make matters worse they d also begun to defend poorly. Sundry faffing at one point allowed the visitors to send the mother of all inviting balls through the Convo area, although yet again the attacker on the end of the pass had his Toblerone boots on and skied his effort high over the bar from only six yard out. When the same man was sent clear once more moment later and lobbed Morgan as he advanced, it was only the carelessness with direction that failed to increase Alsop s lead, the shot bouncing just wide of the furthest upright.
Shortly before the hour mark the home side were forced into a substitution when Jones calf began tightening up and Prince had to replace him; the vice-captain s return had an almost immediate effect. Barely sixty seconds had elapsed after the change when the visitors played a lovely defence-splitting pass from the centre of midfield that sent one of their men clear through on goal, and as Morgan advanced to shorten his odds at the one-on-one his opponent scooped the ball over him, and after what felt like an eternity it eventually bounced over the goal line to make it 3-1.
There was still plenty of time for Convo to get back into the game, but such was their all at sea approach to proceedings you had to wonder whether they were capable of doing so. Alsop should actually have increased their lead at the midpoint of the half when they knocked a lovely pass out to the left for their winger, who d cleverly stayed onside ( cleverly , as in, been too slow to go too soon), and when he drifted inside and past McLaren you expected him to do better than fire (admittedly, just ) wide of the target.
After that though, the visitors started quite noticeably tiring (and accruing minor injuries) and most of the rest of the game was played in their half of the pitch. Houston went close with a looping effort from thirty-five/forty yards out, while not long after that Kay picked up possession not far outside of the Alsop penalty area and went dribbling towards it until he was eventually upended by an immoral challenge in the D ; for some reason his thrall to gravity seemed to wind up his assailant, who suggested that he d gone to ground a little easily, and then gave advice to the former First Team captain about how to take the ensuing dead ball, suggesting, Bender! (well what else could he have meant?). As it happened the miscreant needn t have worried about his foul costing his side a goal as the defensive wall did its job i.e., the ball hit it but that was hardly unexpected seeing as how Schofield aimed the free kick straight at the thing.
Kay shot wide from about twenty yards out after a spell of good one-touch football from the hosts, but when they did get their efforts on target Convo were still putting them straight at the extremely fortunate #1 (he could barely cope with those; it s unlikely he d have had the wherewithal to keep anything out if he d actually had to make proper saves). An excellent example, although with a slight twist, came fifteen minutes from the end when a Houston long punt sent Harper through on goal, and as he approached the edge of the Alsop area he attempted to tap the ball past the advancing keeper, rather than shoot, but even then kicked it directly at his shins. Moments after that the forward was played in again, although this time his gloved opponent came out and forced him wide, eventually to the point of overrunning the touchline.
For the final ten minutes-or-thereabouts the visitors, due to injuries and a lack of substitutions, had to play a man down, but on the whole they weren t disadvantaged. Indeed, not long before the final whistle they nearly made it four when Poole lost possession in midfield (fairly although he claimed he was fouled) and, having advanced up their right, they put a low cross in towards the edge of the Convo area which was met by a shot that struck the foot of one of the uprights before rebounding out of harm s way.
It was the hosts who had the final word though, when sixty seconds before the end of the tie they were awarded a penalty. They d knocked the ball forward towards Holder on the edge of the D and he d flicked on a header that Harper went scampering after into the eighteen-yard box, but the pitiful Alsop keeper was having none of that malarky and came haring off his line and barged the Convo man flying; the referee who moments earlier had, miracle of miracles, finally got an offside call right had no hesitation in pointing to the spot. Schofield took the kick and scored, earning himself a reward he didn t really deserve for his ambulatory afternoon.
Full time was called moments after the restart, leaving Convocation ruing missed chances and the failure to take advantage of a fish-in-a-barrel-esque opportunity to make some headway in their group. If memory serves from last year the Friendship Masters is something of a school sports day competition, in that it is almost impossible to get knocked out of, but surely these two won t be getting anywhere near the proper silverware and will have to settle for certificates for the fridge door.
The game itself was certainly not a damp squib pardon the pun and actually quite enjoyable to watch, and as previously mentioned the collective performance was an improvement on previous weeks, even if only because it was poor rather than dreadful. Baby steps, and all that
Man Of The Match: It s tempting to give it to McNally for the sheer entertainment value of his ridiculous faux pas, but sensibly it can t be anyone other than Morgan. The goalkeeper made half-a-dozen-or-so very good saves, and without him Convo would have lost heavily to a very, very average side.
Convocation (4-4-2): Morgan; Fairclough, Prince, Bastow, Jones Ar; Schofield R, Kay, Poole I, Holder; Houston, Harper P; Subs: McNally, McLaren
Convocation (from): Morgan, Fairclough, Williams Sh, McLaren, Holder, Carnacina, Houston, Schofield R, Dillon, Harper P, Knox, Prince, Nawrocki, Welsh A
The McNally rabona game.
Convocation (4-4-2): Morgan; McNally, Williams Sh, McLaren, Prince; Holder, Lamb C, Poole I, Dillon; Bennett, Harper P; Subs: Carnacina, Round
Convocation (4-4-2): Morgan; Bastow, Southern, Shanahan, McLaren; Hunter, Houston, Poole I, Welsh A; Schofield R, Knox; Subs: Holder, Bennett, Williams Sh, McNally
Convocation (4-4-2): Morgan; Cole B, Southern, Bastow, Holder; Dillon, Cole M, Fitzpatrick, McNally; Harper P, Lamb C; Subs: McLaren, Knox, Prince, Carnacina
Convocation (4-4-2): McLachlan; Prince, Bastow, McNally, McLaren; Holder, Kay, Poole I, Poole G; Harper P, Schofield R; Subs: Houston, Woodcock
Convocation (4-4-2): Knox; Fairclough, Bastow, Cole B, Holder; Fitzpatrick, Cole M, Poole I, Poole G; Harper P, Carnacina
Convocation (4-4-2): Jago; Fairclough, McLaren, Bastow, Holder; Cole M, Fitzpatrick, Kay, Poole G; Lamb C, Harper P; Subs: Carnacina, Bailey, Cole B, Knox
As in previous years, Convo had the honour of being asked by Ramblers to play in the annual match played in memory of Steve Hooper as a curtain-raiser to a new season.
In typical Convo fashion, chaos isn t away and this time the national rail strikes had their ultimate impact stranding Andy the gaffer in Rhyl of all places ( I look forward to the media attack dogs using this stick to beat Mick Lynch with).
In the time of need though, Richy Scho stepped in as gaffer to look after every aspect of the game . His pre-match speech was truly inspirational based on the fact that Convo weren t that fit, it was the first game of the season, the pitch was hard and it was hot - so keep the ball and don t charge into the Ramblers half to chase it down. Suitable inspired, Convo lined up with Jack Morgan in goal; a back four of Fairclough, McNally, Holder and Stewart; Kaye, Schofield, Poole and Jago in midfield, with Harper and Lamb up top. Carnacina was on the bench with Jamie Long
Convo kicked off and in true despite his team talk about respecting the ball, Richy hammered his first touch miles up the pitch to no-one
Despite that, Convo then played tight and although sitting back invited Ramblers pressure, Jack wasn t really called into action though Ramblers finishing was a bit poor with shots going wide. Credit has to go to the back four though who by and large, kept it tight.
After this start, Convo started to play further up the pitch. Poole and Schofield got more of the ball in midfield with Ian spraying some lovely passes out to the wings. After around a half an hour, this pressure nearly paid off with Richy hitting the bar from outside the area.
By then, Convo had made their first subs with Iacapo coming on for Timbo and Long for Kaye.
Then after 35 minutes, Ramblers scored. A long ball to the back post floated over the Convo defence and was met by a Ramblers player at the back of the 6 yard box and floated the ball over Jack into the goal. Ramblers had had most of the game so perhaps the lead was deserved but it was a disappointing goal to lose.
At half time, Schofield kept it calm and stressed doing the same again. The pitch was bone hard so important to keep the passes short but this half, push up on the Ramblers defence a bit more. The second half saw a different Convo. They pushed and harried and on a number of occasions got behind the Ramblers defence. Holder was playing brilliantly bringing the ball out of defence, Long was putting in some lung-bursting runs out on the right and really turning the Ramblers midfield and Lamb and Kaye (who had come on for Harper) beat the offside trap and got shots away. Lamb could easily had three goals in the first 20 mins of the second half one of the chances coming after an end -to end passing move involving 5 players.
it was important to keep the ball at the other end as by then, Jack had pulled his calf muscle and was hobbling around. However, he decided it was safer to play on one leg than let Timbo in goals so bravely stayed on
The Convo pressure continued. A decent penalty claim was turned down (by the admittedly excellent referee) and a clever move by Long and Harper just saw the ball go wide.
This pressure finally paid off as after 73 mins, a long ball from Iacapo looped over the Ramblers defence and Lamb sprung the offside trap to fire the ball into the corner of the net. No more than Convo deserved. More chances followed with Schofield shooting wide and the keeper pulling off another good save from Lamb.
The last 7 mins of the game saw both teams going for the winner but Ramblers began to get on top. They headed over the bar and missed an easy short range chance and when the did get through, a last ditch tackle from Holder saved a certain goal.
Then after 77 mins, Ramblers scored what turned out to be the winner as a ball was fizzed across the box and the Ramblers forward scored from short range down to Jack s right.
A disappointing end for Convo who had fought for the full 90 mins despite injuries to 3 players during the game. But credit to everyone who played. Special mentions to Holder who was great in defence, Schofield who led the team well and played with his usual energy, Long with his runs from deep out of defence and to Lamb up front who on another day could have 4 goals.
But this was a true team performance and given the circumstances and the important meaning of the game, everybody should take credit for a great game played in a good spirit by both sides and the referee.
A special word for post match catering in 28 years of playing for Convo, this was your correspondent s first post match meal involving grilled halloumi cheese! You don t get that at Buckley Hill
Morgan: Fairclough, McNally, Holder, Stewart: Kaye, Schofield, Poole, Jago: Harper, Lamb Subs. Carnacina, Long
