Convocation: Unrecorded
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Woodcock, Bastow, Williams Sh, McNally; Cole B, Cole M, Kay, Livingstone P, Schofield R; Kirby; Subs: McLaren, Poole G, Cunningham, Knox
(Played at Ramblers.)
Convocation (3-5-2): 'Ryan'; Woodcock, Williams Sh, Bastow; Roach, Housgton, Cole B, Livingstone P, Poole G; Harper P, Cunningham; Sub: McLaren
(Played at Ramblers.)
Convocation (from): Martin, Prince, Williams Sh, Bastow, Madeloso, Cole M, Livingstone P, 'Jon', Kay, Cole B, Schofield R; Subs: McLaren, McNally, Woodcock, Cunningham, Harper P
(at Solar Campus, Wallasey)
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; O'Hanlon, Williams Sh, Bastow, Madeloso; McNally, Livingstone P, Poole I, Houston, Schofield R; Appleton; Subs: Poole G, Harper P, Woodcock, McLaren
Convo were 4-0 up at half time, and 4-2 up with ten minutes to go.
| _ | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
| CONVO | PL O | PH O | LM O | GP O | RH O |
| EASTHAM | X | O | O | O |
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Madeloso, Bastow, Williams Sh, Prince; Cunningham, Livingstone P, Houston, Poole I, Schofield R; Rigoglioso; Subs: Harper P, McLaren, McNally, Poole G
Convocation (4-5-1): Morgan; O'Brien S, Bastow, Williams Sh, McLaren; Cole M, Livingstone P, Redmond, Poole I, Prince; Schofield R; Subs: Woodcock, Knox, McNally, Harper P, Houston, Martin
Convocation (4-4-2): Martin; Madeloso, Williams Sh, Bastow, Prince; McNally, Livingstone P, Poole I, Cunningham; Schofield R, Harper P; Sub: McLaren
Marcelo, the Brazilian, scored a hat trick for Hartford.
Convocation (4-4-2): Martin; Madeloso, Williams Sh, Bastow, Poole I; Rigoglioso, Houston, Livingstone P, Schofield R; Harper P, Cunningham
Convocation (4-5-1): Knox; Woodcock, Bastow, Houston, Prince; McNally, Schofield R, Kevan, Livingstone P, Poole G; Cunningham; Subs: McLaren, Harper
Convocation (4-4-2): Martin; Woodcock, Williams Sh, Bastow, McLaren; Prince, Livingstone P, Poole I, Cole M; Lamb C, Cunningham
Bobby Mimms reports
Roll up! Roll up! The circus is in town. Convo du Soleil and the Essemmay Brothers have teamed up to bring you the Greatest Show on Earth - entertainment par excellence; twenty-four carat comedy gold. A word to the wise though: ignore the tigers and elephants, the acrobats, trapeze artists and tightrope walkers (and definitely don't mention the bearded lady - not the done thing to look for amusement there anymore); instead, follow the clowns and their buffoonery. As ringmaster Andy McLaren promoted, this was "the match of comical goals."
After last week's slightly unlucky loss to Maghull Vets - the natural order of the universe restored, no doubt, in their eyes - Convocation Seconds were once again at HQ for the visit of Essemmay. It was a game the hosts won comfortably, and it was only a trio of daft second-half concessions, completely of their own (foot shooting) making, that prevented them from keeping a clean sheet. The performance of their guests - decked out in a lovely all-purple kit - was as damp as the very fine drizzle that fell on proceedings at kick off, and hinted at them having been frequenting the fleshpots of Warrington (their home these days) until the small hours of the morning.
The opening ten minutes after Essemmay got the game underway (attacking in the direction of the City Centre) on Wyncote's 4G pitch were utter dreck, with neither side able to string more than a couple of passes together, second touches being more endangered than the Yangtze dolphin, and getting into the opposition penalty area being about as attainable as ever owning your own home if you're a twenty-something. But then, following a mad scramble in the middle of the visitors' half, the ball was pinged into their penalty area, Convo forward Dave Cunningham ran onto it, and walloped the thing past the 'keeper and into the net with a composure that seemed to say, "Was that so hard?"
With the hosts lining up in a 4-4-2 formation (and once again donning their new styles - still orange, though), the scorer was paired with Chris Lamb up front (the former First Team captain was donning a pair of tights under his shorts - could it really be that Chris McNally is some sort of fashion trendsetter in Convo circles?), while in midfield Ian Poole and Phil Livingstone were flanked by Geoff Poole (l) and Richy Schofield (r). Gaz Martin retained his place between the sticks, and ahead of him the back line consisted of Sam Woodcock - who apparently runs like Ian Charleson in the film Chariots of Fire - Shaun Williams, Dave Bastow, and club secretary Ben Prince, left to right respectively.
Just before the quarter-hour mark Eric Liddell... sorry, Woodcock, was rightly done for calling out "Leave it" - schoolboy stuff - but within sixty seconds Convo had doubled their lead. The ball was sent along the inside-left channel for Cunningham to chase and from almost on the byline he put a low cross roughly along the six-yard line that Poole (G) ran onto and slotted past the Essemmay 'keeper (donning a black top, grey tracksuit bottoms and white socks - as disorganised sartorially as his colleagues would be tactically for most of the half). It was nice to see the Vice-captain use his foot to score rather than his arm, as he had done when the two teams met in Warrington just before Christmas.
The drizzle had been getting gradually stronger as the game had progressed (it was still quite light, just much more noticeable), but when Convo made it 3-0 just after the midpoint of the half all was bright and sunny. Schofield had gone close minutes earlier when he'd attempted to put a cross into the Essemmay box from down the right side of their penalty area that was headed clear back to him, allowing him to fire off a tight-angled shot straight at the 'keeper at his near post. But when the Seconds' leading scorer then chased the ball down the inside-right channel and played it back from near the byline, Livingstone ran onto it and smashed the thing into the back of the net; it's fair to say that there was a hell of a whiff of toe-pokery about the goal.
Being three down with three-quarters of the game still to go finally seemed to galvanise the visitors and over the next few minutes they had a couple of chances to net themselves. Their first of the afternoon was a scandalous waste, one of their men trying his luck from out near the left sideline, his effort dribbling harmlessly across the face of the Convo goal while a couple of understandably frustrated colleagues ran in in the middle, but moments later they went much closer. Livingstone lost the ball on the halfway line and a player in purple ran clear of the hosts' defence in possession, albeit with Schofield for company - the winger made a late lunge across the bows to block an initial shot on the edge of the penalty area, but when the ricochet returned to the Essemmay attacker his second attempt had to be stopped by (the all-in-green) Martin.
On the half-hour mark Poole (G) was replaced by the tights-wearing McNally, and he slipped with ease into a midfield quartet that was playing rather well: Poole (I), Livingstone and Schofield were all spraying lovely passes around the pitch, either for each other or colleagues further forward, and there was also the bonus that the latter of that trio was - 'low bar' ahoy - not quite his usual gadabout self. Up front, Cunningham and the Essemmay #13 spent the half kicking lumps out of each other - lovely stuff - and watching Lamb attack tantivy to terrorise the opposition back line was (and always has been) a joy to behold.
Convo's own rearguard four certainly weren't letting the side down. Woodcock and Prince were always willing to get up the lines and help out offensively without ever letting their defensive duties suffer, while in the middle Williams and Bastow always look comfortable and (mostly) composed alongside each other, the organising clout of the former keeping the others in check when needed. As for Martin, well the 'keeper didn't put a foot wrong throughout the opening forty-five minutes - God knows what was in his half time cuppa...
The unusually upright Lamb had the ball in the net with about ten minutes of the half remaining, but referee Phil Webster (donning a white woolly hat) disallowed the effort, adjudging Williams to have fouled the Essemmay #1 while jumping for a header at a corner a split second earlier; it would have stood at Luton on Friday night. Not long after that the Convo centre back had a well-why-not attempt from about thirty yards out, but his looping shot wasn't much of a threat and the 'keeper watched it sail well wide of his goal while stifling a yawn.
Having stopped a little earlier, the rain had started falling again, albeit very finely, while the sun appeared to be trying to come out; this was March weather! Convo continued to shine though, and only the heroics of the Essemmay goalkeeper in the last few minutes of the half prevented them from leaving their guests in the rearview mirror. When Schofield crossed to Livingstone in the box, the central midfielder cushioned the ball beautifully before skipping past the sliding challenge of an opponent, although his subsequent low shot from a narrowing angle was blocked by the trailing hand of the starfishing #1.
Shortly after that Cunningham won possession on the edge of his own box (after a corner) and, with the whole pitch in front of him and enough time to create a continent, he whizzed upfield and eventually knocked a clever through ball into the path of Lamb that was inches out of the forward's reach - nonetheless, it was a lovely move. The two sort-a combined again in what should have been the final minute of the half, when the former was upended on the edge of the penalty area, and the latter took the resultant free kick, spanking it against the Essemmay crossbar, causing a multitude of recently deposited rain droplets to shower off it like a garden sprinkler.
Where Mr Webster got all the first-half injury time he added on is anyone's guess, but Cunningham - who would depart at the interval to take his lad to tennis - wasn't going to waste it and had two more chances to add to his afternoon's work. Bastow hoofed a long high clearance forward from the edge of the home side's box, which should really have been bread and butter for the purple-shirted defender it reached, but he mis-controlled his attempted cushioned touch and gifted the ball to the Convo forward, but once again the Essemmay 'keeper was the equal of his pursuant shot, making a great save/block as he flew off his line.
And the visitors continued to thumb their noses at the idea of defending properly right up until the half-time whistle, with one of them passing straight to Cunningham on the edge of their area, but his subsequent shot was blocked by another opponent; he screamed for hand ball and a penalty, but the limb the effort did strike was into the player's body - no dice.
It had been a fine half's work from the home side, but from a purely entertainment perspective the real fun was just about to begin. Convo made a trio of substitutions during the break, with Paul Harper replacing the departing Cunningham (initially he was supposed to play right wing with Schofield going up front, but they swapped almost immediately), McLaren going on at right back in a straight exchange with Prince, and Poole (G) returning on the other side of the rearguard in place of Woodcock.
The third Friday in January (Friday coming) is International Fetish Day, the slogan of which is, 'Perverts wear purple', but within sixty seconds of the restart Essemmay showed that they weren't completely submissive gimps by pulling a goal back; and it was Convo who made a rod for their own backs. Possession ended up with Martin (now wearing a woolly hat of his own - it had gone very chilly), but Williams came and took it off his 'keeper and attempted to pass to McLaren out on the flank. Instead, he misdirected pretty much straight to a lurking opponent who ran on into the penalty area, squared to an accompanying colleague and, despite getting the ball stuck under his feet, he slotted. Sheet soiled.
Straight from the restart Convocation lost the ball to their guests, one of whom then ran on into the box from the left and was only prevented him from netting another by a good Martin block using his shins; the subsequent corner was half cleared and an Essemmay shot from thirty yards out just drifted wide of the target. That was as good as it got (effort-wise) for the purples though, as moments later the home side restored their three-goal lead: Poole (I) dispossessed an opponent in the process of him and his mates dicking around at the back, the midfielder then played Lamb in, who cut through the visitors' back line like a chainsaw through butter and dinked over the #1 and into the old onion bag with the minimum of fuss.
The Essemmay players kept passing to orange shirts, and if it wasn't for the fact that the home side were playing so well across the board you might argue that the visitors as a collective were their most creative player; a case in point was Convo's fifth goal. Moments after Mr Webster had been joking about getting a nosebleed if he moved too far from the centre circle he awarded the purples a corner that was absolutely rank; it didn't beat the first man. Livingstone was that man and he came out of defence with the ball and eventually laid it off to Schofield on the wing, who in turn knocked it inside to Lamb, and from about twenty-five yards out and central he found the bottom corner of the opposition goal, just out of reach of their 'keeper.
Things started to get a tad weird(er) for a while after that. Someone in the locality had it a fire and a pungent smell of smoke drifted all over the place for several minutes, while on the adjacent pitch the students started blaring Queen's Under Pressure out of some sort of a sound system; it almost felt like the game was being played at a fairground (or a circus?). Schofield had a shot from about twenty-five yards out past the corner of the Essemmay penalty area at one point, which their 'keeper caught in a dive to his right, while seconds later the Convo winger repeated the feat from an almost identical position but that one drifted high and wide of the target: "How many do you want, Rich?" the nearby Lamb asked him, the response being "I've only had two", as all across Liverpool, in unison, polygraph machines went up in flames. Moments later the striker had a chance to net again himself, having won the ball and been allowed to turn far too easily in the middle of the visitors' half, but his subsequent left-footed effort from just inside the opposition box was tame and straight at the #1.
Filthy clouds had crept across an increasingly glowering sky and you knew that substantial rain was on the way (either that or somewhere nearby a boy with three sixes on its scalp was being born), but on the pitch Convo continued to sparkle. Poole (G) won the ball just outside his own area at about the midpoint of the half and knocked it on to Schofield, who in turn played it to McLaren galloping up the wing [Subs: please check], and when he sent a beautiful inch-perfect pass through the Essemmay defence - undoubtedly the pass of the game - Harper was through on goal, but he scuffed a terrible shot just inside the penalty area that the 'keeper could have thrown his cap on had it been on target.
Poole (I) was replaced by Woodcock with a little under twenty minutes remaining (his brother moved into centre mid and the incomer went to left back), while McLaren, having felt a slight twinge, would have been subbed in a straight swap with Prince at the same time, as had been planned, if he hadn't been taking the bloody throw-in (the Captain had earlier been penalised for a foul throw); they finally did switch the next time the ball went out of play. The Treasurer must have wondered what he'd wandered back into, as within sixty seconds the visitors scored again, in the most comical of fashion: Schofield took a throw-in near his own corner flag and got possession back immediately from the nearby Martin, but then promptly hoofed an attempted clearance up the pitch straight to an unmarked man in purple in the 'D', who simply side-footed first time into the unguarded nets.
The visitors' big forward (#19) was finding it impossible to stay onside and it's fair to say that he didn't bring much to the party - someone on the Convo sideline made a slightly unfair comparison to Darwin Nunez - but he was hardly the only man in purple disappointing. Their #14 never stopped moaning throughout the match, and was at it again when his side lost the ball in the middle of their own half, screaming for a foul he was never going to be given; instead, Schofield ran off up the wing in possession and put a lovely low cross through the Essemmay box that the inrushing Lamb looked like he only had to touch to score, but the opposition 'keeper made a great save to deny him his hat trick.
He got it moments later, though. The hosts hoofed a long ball forward, way over the top of the Essemmay back line, which the #1 claimed right on the edge of his box (and to certain correspondent's eyes it looked like he may have carried it out) - from there he kicked it straight to Lamb, in the middle of the visitors' half, and in what was becoming something of a leitmotif for the game, the Convo forward immediately sent it back into the open goal to make it 6-2.
His reward was to be immediately substituted - job done: he didn't care - with Poole (I) going on in his stead (Poole (G) went up front), and shortly after that the pitch's floodlights snapped on to "Wooooo!"s from all around - grown men, there. An Essemmay player blasted over the Convo crossbar from about twenty-five yards out shortly after that, and moments later, up the other end of the park, Schofield fired a shot straight at the opposition 'keeper from the 'D' having embarked on a mazy (not quite Villa-esque) run from out on the wing to do so. But then, with what should have been eight minutes remaining, the visitors scored again, and once more the goal was sugar coated in farce: McNally exhibited some excellent defending (not a sentence you write every day - he was having a good game, though) to shield the ball back to Martin on the edge of the Convocation penalty area, but then the #1 passed the bloody thing straight to a purple-shirted player in the middle of the half, who immediately lobbed him to find the empty net.
It would have been too late for an unlikely comeback even if Darth Webster (who had a very quiet game by his standards) had played the full ninety minutes, but two after that Essemmay goal the home side scored again and, for once, common sense prevailed. Schofield gained possession out on the wing and near the halfway line and passed it on inside to Harper, and when he slipped Poole (G) through (he was definitely onside, but that didn't stop the faulty Essemmay back line screaming foul play) the forward ran on and blasted past the opposition #1 for his second of the game.
There was still enough time for the visitors to spoon a peculiar shot miles over the Convocation crossbar - someone joked that he'd been trying to lob the goal line-bound Martin - but that was the last action of the half, and Mr Webster called it a day two-or-three minutes early (by your correspondent's calculations).
This was a very good performance by the Seconds, and not even the trio of daft second-half concessions can take the gloss off it; that said, you do have to take into account that the visitors were not much cop and Convo would have had to be dreadful not to win. You can only beat what's put in front of you, though, so...
It's a return of the mysterious ED Trophy next week, with the Wyncote boys well placed to progress in that - perhaps; no one seems to have a clue how it works - but, when they travel over to the Wirral, they may be well advised to leave the cirque nouveau act at home.
Man Of The Match: Everyone in orange played well on Saturday, but for his hat trick it's got to be Lamb.
Convocation (4-4-2): Martin; Woodcock, Williams Sh, Bastow, Prince; Poole G, Poole I, Livingstone P, Schofield R; Cunningham, Lamb C; Subs: McNally, Harper P, McLaren
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Cole B, Williams Sh, Bastow, Prince; Cunningham, Poole I, Cole M, Fitzpatrick, Schofield R; Kirby; Subs: Ross, Harper P, Knox, McNally, Woodcock, McLaren (unused)
Convocation (from): McLaren, Williams Sh, Poole G, McNally, Prince, Cole B, Fitzpatrick, Bastow, Cole M, Schofield R, Schofield K; Subs: 'Ryan', Harper P, Fairclough, Woodcock, Kirby
Convocation (from): Martin, Jones A, Williams Sh, Prince, Cunningham, Kay, Harper P, Woodcock, Bastow, 'Neil', Schofield; Subs: McLaren, McNally
Played at Simpson Ground, Hillfoot Road.
Convocation (from): Martin, McLaren, Bastow, Cunningham, Williams Sh, Livingstone P, Prince, McNally, Schofield R, Houston, Poole I; Subs: Edwards, Woodcock
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Woodcock, Williams Sh, Bastow, McLaren; Cunningham, Byrne, Livingstone P, Poole I, Poole G; Schofield R; Subs: McNally, Ross, Prince
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Woodcock, Williams Sh, Livingstone P, McLaren; Prince, Fairclough, Schofield R, Poole I, Poole G; Cunningham; Subs: Harper P, McNally, Bastow
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Wiggins, Bastow, McLaren, 'Big John'; Cole M, Fitzpatrick, Hays, Schofield R, Cole B; Harper P; Sub: Cunningham
Bobby Mimms reports
Eighteen months. That's the gestation period of an Asian elephant - not necessarily because they're bigger than pretty much anything else on Earth, but due to a hormonal mechanism not seen in any other species of animal that causes their calves to develop slower. Similarly to that extended pregnancy, Friendship Masters Cup holders Maghull Vets hadn't lost a game in a year-and-a-half before Convocation rolled into town on Saturday, but then, at the worst possible time for the home side, Nelly started to give birth - and it wasn't going to be pretty.
Apart from the result, there was little pleasant about the afternoon. It was a gloomy, overcast day all round, typical of this period in early November when people in Britain become nostalgic about burning Catholics (despite it still being daylight - well, what passes for daylight at this time of year - someone in the locality was setting off fireworks just before kick-off), and it drizzled more-or-less constantly throughout the game; a Mancunian erstwhile First Team captain would later describe the pitch, somewhat over-exaggeratedly, as "heavy-to-aquatic going." Also not to anyone's liking, or at least so the impression was given, was the non-arrival of the match official the hosts had (supposedly) booked and they grumbled and woe-ed-their-luck prior to the start; one of their men would have to referee, a state of affairs that didn't seem as unfortunate as the Maghull players - no actors they (the Lady doth protest too much, and all that) - were making out, and a fairly regular occurrence at this particular venue that a more cynical person than your correspondent (snort) might suggest has contributed to that long, unbeaten run they were on.
Within a minute of the home side getting the game underway, attacking the canal end, Convo could have had the lead. There can't have been fifteen seconds gone when they forced an opponent to concede a corner and, after much faffing around with randoms on the Maghull sideline, John Redmond put the ball into the mixer, whereupon the #1 - decked out in bright orangey-red - took the Jack Douglas approach to goalkeeping and nearly fumbled the thing into his own net, pouncing on it at the second time of asking, just before it did.
Almost immediately the home side attacked down their inside-left and one of their men burst into the eighteen-yard box and fired off a wicked shot that required Convo 'keeper Ste Livingstone to make a fine save/block at his near post - the subsequent corner came to nothing. It was an explosive start to the game, one that, give-or-take a few more minutes, the boys from Wyncote would find to their liking. By the eighth there'd been plenty of probing by both sides - as you do - but then suddenly the orange-shirted visitors advanced down their right flank - actually on the right sideline, right in front of their substitutes - and nearby Maghull sorts claimed the ball had gone out of play and stopped; it hadn't. Richy Schofield, in possession, carried on, slipped in Dave Cunningham not far from the opposition penalty area, and he ran on into it and fired low past the advancing #1. Showing the same 'not our fault' attitude that they would double down on later in the afternoon, the men in yellow, unimpressed with the Convocation bench's (correct) lack of a flag, claimed foul play.
Convocation had turned up in L31 with fifteen players at their disposal, and began the game in what appeared to be a 4-5-1 formation, with Shaun Williams, Phil Livingstone, Dave Bastow and Paul Fairclough in the rearguard quartet ahead of Livingstone (S). Ahead of them Cunningham and Schofield manned the flanks (in theory - you know), left and right respectively, with Redmond, Ian Poole and Dave Byrne in between, and Paul Harper was the not-so-lone-in-reality forward ahead of them. There were four substitutes, Captain Andy McLaren amongst them.
It would be unfair to suggest that the frenzied start was a bit of a false dawn, as even at its least dramatic the game never lacked entertainment, but for the ten minutes after Convo took the lead there was little to report in the manner of goal scoring potential. That all changed when Cunningham fired a low shot into the home side's side netting that the 'keeper - who was exceptionally nonchalant all afternoon - did little to suggest he was worried about.
Shortly after what should have been the midpoint of the half though, there wasn't much he could have done when Convocation doubled their lead. A Livingstone goal kick reached Redmond on the halfway line and he took off on a diagonal run in possession, riding challenges that suggested he would have been a natural on Gladiators back in the day, before running into the Maghull penalty area and smashing a shot into the top corner of the goal that left Mr Nonchalant completely motionless. You didn't need Frank Carson to tell you that the goal was a cracker.
Immediately, Convo made a pair of changes, with Sam Woodcock going on in place of Bastow (Williams moved into the centre of defence), and Chris McNally - returning to the scene of his rabona infamy of last season - replacing Cunningham in a straight swap.
Woodcock, and Fairclough on the opposite side of the back line, had little to do throughout what remained of the half except stay level in order to play the offside trap, which they both did without fault, superbly marshalled by Williams and particularly Livingstone (P) inside them; the two centre backs looked as if they'd played with each other for years - what a sight! Up front Harper wasn't really getting into the game, other than to keep the Maghull defence on its toes with his mere presence, which allowed deeper players in orange to benefit - Byrne and Poole's industry was of the quiet (but certainly not invaluable) variety, while Redmond looked a constant (and growing) menace, his eye-catching performance eclipsing his more restrained midfield colleagues.
It shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who's lived in Britain on Bomby Night (or at least, the day before) to learn that it was bloody chilly, and those on the Convo sideline could only look on enviously at the regular trains, passing on an embankment looming over the pitch, and the relative warmth of those inside. Their charges on the pitch though, showed no sign of being bothered by the frigidity and were humming like a finely-tuned barbershop quartet; Maghull, on the other hand, appeared to be playing from memory, and more interestingly were starting to lose it with each other.
Eight minutes before what would turn out to be half time Harper ambled off - saying he was knackered and needed a breather - and was replaced by Cunningham, who would be instrumental in the visitors claiming their third, moments before the interval. In what was a terrible call by the referee, Schofield was pulled up for offside when trying to get onto the end of a lovely pass from midfield, and the Maghull 'keeper trotted out of his goal to take the resultant free kick himself; he was about ten strides outside the corner of his penalty area, not the place for a spot of defensive muck-aboutery. He played it to a colleague in the middle of his own half who was immediately closed down and dispossessed by the reintroduced Convo forward [Cunningham], who then knocked the ball to the nearby Redmond, and from thirty yards out he struck a low shot that eventually bobbled/trickled into the unmanned nets.
Convo were in Dreamland, Maghull Slumberland, and within sixty seconds of the restart the ref blew for half time, having played forty-three minutes (no one knew whether it was supposed to be forty or forty-five).
In a way it is an unenviable position to be in, being well ahead at half time of a team pretty much everyone expected to win, because you can only assume that they can't be so poor again once the game restarts, but McLaren assured his charges that if they went back out and put in the same performance they could have no regrets at the end, whatever subsequently happened. He also made two changes for the resumption, sending Gaz Martin on in a straight swap with Fairclough, and reintroducing Bastow in centre midfield, for Poole.
It didn't take long for Martin to have an impact on proceedings. Five minutes after the restart the home side played a number of nice one-twos to eventually wriggle through into their guests' area, but the player with the final touch got his angles slightly askew and fired low but just wide of the target. Moments after that, with Maghull on another attack, the new Convocation right-back (accidentally?) clipped the heels of an opponent just outside the corner of the eighteen-yard box and sent him tumbling to the ground - this did not go down well with the man in yellow, who sprung up like a jack-in-the-box and threw his hands up in the direction of his adversary's face; he can be grateful that the Irishman did not retaliate, and that the referee was his mate, because a proper official would surely have sent him off for violent conduct. The subsequent free kick then came to nothing.
In perfect examples of a bad workman blaming his tools, the hosts had begun regularly complaining about the ball being flat - remember, they were the home team - but even though it was the same for both sides Convo didn't appear to be having too many problems with it. Redmond slipped Cunningham through with another lovely pass at one point, but instead of having a crack on the edge of the Maghull 'D' the forward appeared to be trying to get possession onto a favoured foot and was pushed wide of the target to a much less-favourable shooting position, and his subsequent effort was befittingly poor; not long after that he began almost teasing the yellow-shirted defence by playing one-ones with himself on the halfway line.
The home side continued to find fault with the car rather than the driver, but rather more worryingly they had started to lose it and were getting a little nasty, and there were concerns on the Convo bench that someone in orange might end up getting hurt. With a little over a quarter-of-an-hour of the half having been played though, they went the closest they'd gone to scoring up to that point, moments after McNally had curled a shot over their crossbar from a short distance outside the area. One of their men gained possession out on the wing and smashed a long-range effort against the Convocation horizontal, from where the ball bounced down and out to another man in yellow, running in, who inexplicably sliced across the face of the goal. There then followed a mad scramble in the six-yard box until eventually the danger was cleared by the visitors.
They had another opportunity to score not long after that when they benefited from Williams slicing an attempted clearance to set up one of their men who'd run in, but he could only fire over the crossbar. McNally, who'd been down injured while that previous move had unfolded (and who had earlier in the game been described as "a spot-the-ball-setter's wet dream" due to his unorthodox playing style) was subbed off as the (theoretical) midpoint of the half neared, with Poole returning in his place (Bastow moved back into defence, Williams shifted back out to left back, and Woodcock pushed up onto the wing) and within two minutes the former First Team captain must have felt a little pleased for himself from the sideline as Maghull finally pulled a goal back with a near-post glancing header at a corner; the marking was very poor.
Having played about twenty minutes, Martin decided he'd had enough and was replaced at right back by Fairclough; he rejoined a rearguard that was suddenly under increasing pressure, although Bastow and Livingstone (P) at its heart looked rock solid. In midfield, Redmond, Byrne and Poole were doing their bit to try and alleviate the stress, although sloppy passes occasionally undid some of their good work, while Woodcock on the flank was much more involved having been pushed forward.
Livingstone (P) had to call it a day with what would turn out to be seventeen minutes remaining, a dead knee he'd been trying to run off since the first half doing for him; McLaren went on in his place, at left back, while Williams - who seemed to getting repositioned every time the ball went dead - moved back inside to centre back. Maghull's in-game shithousery took a new turn at about that time as well, as it became obvious that their players were hurling themselves to the ground whenever they got near the Convo penalty area; they didn't need to be so desperate mind, as Williams was suddenly having a bit of a 'mare and, upon slicing another clearance and then being dispossessed in the 'D', a man in yellow was sent through, although he fired wide from about twelve yards out.
The misfiring defender was much more his usual self not long after that though, when he executed an excellent tackle (from behind) inside his own eighteen-yard box to dispossess an opponent, a tackle that had to be perfect to prevent him giving away a penalty - that really would've set the cat amongst the pigeons had it happened. How much the referee was itching to award one will never be known, but his less-than-impartial colours were soon evident when he disallowed a thoroughly legitimate Redmond goal (which would have been his hat trick) for offside with about five minutes remaining. Not following their hosts' lead, the Convo players took the slight on the (collective) chin.
After that, Maghull's aggro-ometer began giving off some rather worrying readings as they first of all had a kick off amongst themselves on the sideline, and then, in the dying moments of the game when Convocation attempted to catch them out on the break their 'keeper flew out of his goal almost to the halfway line and quite deliberately handled the ball as Cunningham attempted to dink it past him and score a fourth; for that - surprise, surprise - the glover didn't even receive a yellow card, although he did get involved in a bit of a spat with his Convo adversary and they had to be split up. When the final whistle went after forty-two second-half minutes the two participated in another pub-carpark-infused carry on and had to be separated again.
It might be a little mean to suggest that the Maghull players were bad losers as they were perfectly hospitable when everyone retired to the cricket club for a pint and some curry and rice, but they did seem to have a sort of football entitlement about them that spoke volumes; presumably, not losing for a year-an-a-half will do that to you. It would also be unfair to suggest that the result was a consequence of them having an off day, because Convocation were excellent on Saturday, especially in the first half when their hosts had no answer to their inventiveness and energy.
The Seconds are a team that is forever landing on the ladder or the snake, and never any of those dull squares in between, and after this performance it would be just like them to go and get a pasting of a team of cloggers in their next outing. With a couple of games remaining there's still a chance of them finishing in the top two in their group and thus qualifying for the cup semi finals (rather than one of the lesser competitions) - for that to happen though, they must continue to eat the elephant one bite at a time.
Man Of The Match: Livingstone (P) had a fine game at the heart of the defence, while Redmond was unfortunate that the referee deprived him of a hat trick, and he did score the goal of the game. Cunningham just edges it this week though, as he was a massive pain in the butt for the Maghull defence for the entirety of his time of the pitch, he scored and got an assist, and he managed to get under the skin of Mr Cool in the opposition nets.
Convocation (4-5-1): Livingstone S; Williams Sh, Livingstone P, Bastow, Fairclough; Cunningham, Redmond, Poole I, Byrne, Schofield R; Harper P; Subs: Woodcock, McNally, Martin, McLaren
1-0 to Convo at half time. Then 2-0. Sandbach's first goal was a lob.
Convocation (4-4-2): Schofield R; Woodcock, Bastow, Lloyd, 'Sandbach Steve'; Ross, Redmond, Cole M, Fairclough; Horrocks Dan, Harper P
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Woodcock, Williams Sh, Bastow, Welsh A; Prince, Poole I, Houston, Kay, Poole G; Schofield R; Subs: McLaren, Cunningham, Ross, McNally
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Williams Sh, Bastow, Shanahan, McLaren; Poole G, Houston, Cole M, Kevan, McNally; Schofield R; Subs: Woodcock, Ross, Harper P
Convocation (4-5-1): Martin; Byatt, Bastow, McLaren, Woodcock; Poole G, Schofield R, Poole I, Fairclough, Connor; Cunningham; Sub: McNally
Played at South Liverpool F.C., Jericho Lane.
Convocation (from): Martin, McLaren, Shanahan, Bastow, Williams Sh, Cole M, Poole G, Poole I, Schofield R, Houston, Kirby; Subs: McNally, Fitzpatrick, Carnacina
Bobby Mimms reports
There can't have been many Convocation players down the years that have scored hat tricks on their debuts (and stuck around for more than a couple of weeks after they realised how much of a delusion they were in danger of falling for - i.e. a club at which hat tricks appear to be the norm), but on Saturday young(ish) Rob Lamont (a pal of Chris Lamb) did just that in an entertaining four-all draw, and could justifiably argue that he was unlucky not to net more. Whether or not he returns in the future to prove his feat wasn't a flash in the pan remains to be seen.
Saturday was Ramblers' annual Simon Hooper Memorial game for their former player who died far too young, several years ago, but while the bouncy castle outside the clubhouse may not have been what you would normally expect to see when visiting Moor Lane, it certainly wasn't the only irregularity. The Crosby team have sold the land bordering the main road to a housing developer and properties were in the full throes of construction on what used to be the car park; that was now situated at the back of the club's acreage, where the overgrown tennis courts had once been, and a decrepit old outhouse that appeared to have succumbed to nature as well, and which must have been there all the time, was now revealed beyond there. It certainly was all change at Ramblers, but how would that affect the footballing vibe...?
(For the record, the bouncy castle was for the kids of those who'd come along to support the charity afternoon, and not some sort of pre-match capability test for the players - can you imagine...?)
Decked out in orange tops, with black knickerbockers and stockings, Convo began the game in their customary 4-4-2 formation with Captain Andy McLaren in goal, behind a back four of Shaun Williams on the left, the (bloody confusing if you're making notes) JS pairing of Jamie Southern and Justin Shanahan in the middle, and Dave Bastow out on the right. In midfield Ian Poole and Richy Schofield were flanked by Lamb (who was having a piss in the bushes during the pre-match minute's applause) and Geoff Poole (r), while up front Paul Harper partnered the guy who was about to take the club by storm (sorta), Lamont. There were four substitutes.
On one of those days when it seemed cloudy and cool one minute and sunny and warm the next, Convocation got proceedings underway attacking the old tennis court end, but which now just reminded you of Stamford Bridge in the Seventies. And it took Lamont less than sixty seconds to give notice of how most of the following seventy-nine minutes were going to pan out by having a whack from the edge of the home side's area, the effort sailing wide of the target by inches. Not to worry though because before there were five on the clock Poole (G) sent him off down the inside-right channel, and after running on into the eighteen-yard box, shimmying near a defender for no apparent reason, and drifting slightly wide of said fellow, he cracked a low shot past the green-shirted Ramblers #1 and into the net via the far post. That's how you enter a room!
It was also pretty much as good as it got for the visitors for roughly the next quarter-of-an-hour, as most of them decided taking such an impressive early lead warranted a little nap; the only ones who looked to be really trying were the occupants of the back line, but, unfortunately, they seemed to be involved in some sort of private wager with each other to see who could slice clearances from the edge of the penalty area the most alarmingly. Ramblers - wearing... well you don't really need this correspondent to insult your intelligence, do you? - probably felt like kicking themselves when they fired a dead ball from about twenty yards out through a defensive wall that was as compact as Antony Gormley's Another Place, but still missed the target, while not long after that another effort from mid-distance was straight at the red-topped McLaren, or "Safe Hands" as he was being referred to on the bench; a third opportunity for the home side moments after that... well, move away Sir/Madam, there's nothing to see here.
There was no doubt that Convo were riding their luck at the back - you could almost hear the carnival music (although, in midfield, they seemed to have Bucks Fizz on their minds, with regular calls to "slow it down" followed almost immediately by another to "speed it up") - but at the other end of the pitch they looked like they'd finally taken off their sleep(walking) masks. Lamont tried his luck from about thirty yards out but his effort was straight at the Ramblers #1, while Poole (G) almost scored directly from a corner, only being denied by a desperate scramble from under his crossbar by the aforementioned glover; a couple of minutes earlier the Vice-captain had made a fine defensive block on the edge of the box, although unfortunately it had been from a Schofield shot at the Ramblers goal.
A little later than the usual twenty-minute mark (play wouldn't stop for ages) Convo made their first changes of the afternoon, with Bastow going off for Sam Woodcock, Lamont being replaced by Chris "Is there any fucking need for those boots?" McNally, and Poole (G) taking a breather while Ben Prince had a run out. And the club treasurer made an impressive start to his time on the pitch, firstly somehow aiming for Alpha Centauri when the chance to shoot from the edge of the home side's box arose moments after he'd gone on, and then nobbling the Ramblers left winger (to the extent that he couldn't continue) not long after that. In between those two showcases for Player of the Year, another corner for the boys in quarters was only headed half clear and then returned from the eighteen-yard line with venom, but luckily for the visitors, it too was wide of the target.
As the half hour came and passed the sun came out properly for the first time, and the game was held up momentarily because of a pitch invader - but for fans of Erica Roe (or that bearded fella with the copper's helmet over his... well, helmet, if you're so inclined) it was only a toddler who'd managed to escape the internment of the bouncy castle.
Convocation had certainly grown into the game after the false-ish dawn that was their early goal, and Ramblers were no longer bossing the middle of the pitch as they wanted. That's not to say that everything was smelling of roses in midfield, as Lamb had been peripheral to proceedings for most of the first period (both positionally and metaphorically), Schofield was, as usual, showing all the positional discipline that you'd expect from an unmanned fire hose on full blast, and as for Poole (I), well didn't H. G. Wells write a book about him once? Up front, Harper and Lamont both looked alert, but for the time being chances were few and far between.
The back line continued to look as jittery as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, although it did appear most of the time as if Lady Luck had a crush on one or more of them. Williams is wasted out on the flank and regularly drifted inside leaving gaps down the left (which Ramblers were either oblivious of or incapable of profiting from), while both the JSs persisted with the joke-losing-its-appeal that was slicing and miskicking clearances; Woodcock was quiet - which is not to be sniffed at - out on the right, but unfortunately for him the Ramblers goal that was in the post would come from his side of the pitch. None of them were playing badly, they just weren't playing together.
Ramblers should have scored three times in the final five-or-so minutes of the half; that they only got one was more to do with poor finishing than anything Convo were doing right. When a corner was only half cleared and then flicked back in, one of their players headed against the top of one of the visitors' uprights from close range, while moments after that, when Schofield broke clear from another home side quadrant kick but then lost possession near the halfway line, the subsequent re-attack ended with a skied shot over the crossbar from yards out. It was a terrible miss, but its mere existence emphasised that the visitors were looking looser at the back than a laxative-spiked beagle.
That said, there was more than a little good fortune about the goal that the hosts did score, in the moments immediately before the interval. They attacked down their left and from out on the sideline put a cross into the box that, surely, was never intended as a shot, but from the second it left the Ramblers player's foot it looked to be going in. The complete misdirection of the punt caught everyone in the middle out, and the back-pedalling McLaren - or Jordan McLaren, as he was about to be referred to on the bench - tried to punch clear from underneath his crossbar, but that was just as bad as the initial not-so-out-swinger and he simply plopped the ball at the feet of a nearby striker, who slotted easily from six yards out.
The Captain isn't normally one to hide from his mistakes, but on this occasion he deflected attention away from his Pickford-esque handiwork the minute the half-time whistle went by telling Harper, Schofield and Shanahan to ride some pine; due to some sort of amaranthine niggle, Southern called it a day altogether. Poole (G) and Bastow returned in defence - the former at left back and the latter at centre half (with Williams moving inside as well) - and Lamont went back on up front (with McNally dropping to left wing and Lamb moving inside); meanwhile, for fans of amateur footballers who frequently dress like they've just walked off the set of Miami Vice there was a treat, as Colin Knox deigned to put some time in, also up front, alongside the debutant.
The second period began with said debutant getting his second of the afternoon. And that's all you, dear reader, are getting to know about the matter, because you should have been there cheering on Convo in person, and those that were were jangling on the sideline and missed it. Pulitzer Prize, please!
Like the wind, Convocation were much more on the up at the start of the second half (it was getting a little chilly), and though their hosts were slightly on the back foot they were certainly not being overwhelmed. For a while the game was very back-and-forth without really getting too near either of the penalty areas, and though nothing particularly exciting happened during this period, for those with their misplaced-passes spotter cards at hand it truly was a golden age.
But then, ten minutes after the restart and moments after a McNally throw-in near one of the Ramblers corner flags was hurled straight out of play for a goal kick without the orb going anywhere near another player, the quarter-shirts equalised again, thanks in no small part to some typical Convo defending. They sent the ball down their left flank in the direction of the new car park and everyone bar one of their men stopped, assuming that the thing was going to run out of play - but it didn't. The subsequent cross from the byline was met on the penalty spot by an unmarked header that found the bottom right-hand corner of the goal (as the scorer would have seen it).
Unsurprisingly for such a collection of old farts, there was more and more economy of movement as the game wore on, particularly in the not-exactly-flying-around-everywhere-in-the-first-place middle third of the pitch. Lamb and Poole (I) were coping in the centre without ever looking like setting proceedings alight, while after his incendiary entrance before the break Prince had otherwise been quiet. On the other flank McNally was, as ever, entertaining even when doing bugger all, and the moment he began checking the pitch for the bobble that wasn't there after he'd kiboshed a promising move with a misplaced pass was the latest doozy from his clowning canon.
Midway through the half – the hour mark – Convocation made more substitutions, with McNally, Williams, and Poole (I) all making way for Harper, Shanahan, and Schofield respectively (quite where Harper went is anyone's guess, but the latter two pairs were straight swaps). And the changes had an almost immediate effect (although none of the re-introductees - is that a word? - had anything to do with the subsequent goal): an indirect free kick in the Convo half was hoofed forward, and with the Ramblers back line defending as if they were coning off a section of the M57 Lamont was able to run clear through and slot past the forsaken #1 for his hat trick.
Within seconds of the restart the visitors should have doubled their lead. Attacking down the right, Knox got to the side of the Ramblers penalty area and squared a pass to Harper who, from a little inside the box, hit a first-time rasper that crashed against the crossbar, bounced down and then out, and a defender then cleared the danger; the 'keeper might have got his fingertips to the effort, but nonetheless the Convo Sonny Crockett was adamant that the ball had been a fair way over the goal line - where's a Russian linesman when you need one?
The non-award of a goal would come back to haunt the Wyncote side within seconds, because Ramblers went straight up the other end of the pitch and equalised for a third time that afternoon. And that, dear reader, is all you are getting... blah, blah, blah. Would it be greedy to expect a second Pulitzer...?
As the final ten minutes loomed over the horizon the game was still anyone's for the taking. Ramblers had a spell in the ascendency that culminated in Shanahan taking one for his team by taking one in the 'nads, when an opponent had a crack from the edge of the area, and then McLaren making a double save, albeit from efforts straight at him, which in a wussy kind of way he somehow made look like he was dancing the Charleston. Moments after that Lamb tried his luck from about thirty yards out at the other end of the pitch, but it was an agnostic effort - no belief - and bent well away from the target, while Lamont had a chance to net a fourth but his shot (from a tightish angle) was deflected wide of the home side's goal by, that man again, Shanahan.
With five minutes remaining the home side finally took the lead for the first time in the game. Moments beforehand they'd wasted a golden opportunity - well a yellow-ish one - when one of their ilk had placed a tame unmarked header from twelve yards out straight at McLaren, but, lesson learned, when an almost identical chance arose seconds later they found the net, albeit following a major whiff of offside in the build up.
Williams returned for the crocked Woodcock for the final few minutes, but the back line were untroubled for the remainder of the game, their opponents apparently having settled for what they'd got, hoping it would be enough for the win. It wasn't. Lamb was played in inside the Ramblers eighteen-yard box and, upon feeling the breath of an opponent in his vicinity, "went down like a double scotch", and the referee assumed the position; there was contact but... well, let's just say that it was 'a Lamby special' - you never lose it. Schofield took the penalty, the 'keeper never moved, and when the full-time whistle was blown about thirty seconds after the subsequent restart the game had ended honours even.
The draw was probably a fair result as neither team really dominated the other for more than a few minutes here and there, and they were actually quite alike. That said Convo can be grateful that they had Lamont on their side as without his goals they would surely have lost, the assumption being that whoever would have led the line in his place wouldn't have netted a hat trick; he did though, and could turn out to be this season's 'find' if he comes back for more.
But will he, though?
Man Of The Match: There were a few decent performances elsewhere on the pitch, but it's got to be Lamont. Even if it wasn't for the debut hat trick he had this peculiar ability to constantly look like he was losing it (as in 'the plot') when he never was. A joy to watch.
Convocation (4-4-2): McLaren; Williams Sh, Shanahan, Southern, Bastow; Lamb C, Poole I, Schofield R, Poole G; Lamont, Harper P; Subs: Woodcock, McNally, Prince, Knox
Steve Bloomer Reports:
"Retro Convo" proclaimed Andy Mac, as the squad arrived at Sandy Lane playing fields for their second game of the season. He was referring to, firstly, the sausage king of Convocation, Si Stanforth, who was donning the shirt for the first time in 11(?) years, and secondly, John 'Macca' McLachlan - the former first team 'keeper had made a brief appearance in the friendship cup last season, but otherwise had been away for a similar amount of time. As has been said before, once you've been touched by Convo...
The game was played on what was purported to be the hottest day of the year (although anyone who ran out at Queens Park the week before would dispute that) so, while the notice informing the chaps that the showers were out of order, was not ideal, it was especially devastating for the aforementioned Stanforth, who announced he had date straight after the game - a quick post-match spray of Lynx Africa probably wasn't going cut it.
Anyway, on to the football. McLaren gave his team-talk while the home side were posing for their annual club photograph and, formalities over, the game started with Convo defending the goal in front of the playground equipment (yes, yet another ground with swings and roundabouts - very retro Convo). The first few minutes were pretty even - both teams having a decent share of the ball, while not really looking too dangerous. That was until a Convocation attack broke down on the edge of the Sefton penalty area, the clearance sending the ball spinning - seemingly innocuously - into the middle third of the pitch. The right winger for Sefton, however, beat Prince in a footrace to the loose ball, and from then on the Convo back line was outnumbered by the swift* counter, and despite valiant efforts from both Shanahan and McLachlan, the ball ended up in the back of the net. 1-0.
Oddly, this seemed to knock the stuffing out of the home team rather than the other way around (maybe they thought this would be a walkover, so took their foot off the gas) but whatever the reason, Convocation suddenly started to look more dominant. Debutant Luc Bostock was having some joy down the left and McNally was making his usual, lolloping forays on the opposing wing. Ian Poole and Fairclough, although outnumbered, were winning the midfield battle, while Geoff Poole was linking up well with the midfield and Paul Harper was keeping the Sefton Vets back line busy with his quick feet and movement off the ball.
Drinks were taken after 20 minutes, but unlike the previous week, this did nothing to break the rhythm of the visitors. Stanforth replaced the lively Bostock, and play continued with Convo marginally the better side. Harper hit the bar after good work from Poole, and the Sefton 'keeper made two or three good saves, including clawing a goal bound corner out from under the cross bar, and blocking a one on one, apparently with his face, after Geoff Poole** was played through.
At the other end, Prince, Shanahan, Bastow and McClaren were coping well with the Sefton Vets' forwards, and on the odd occasion they were breached, McLachlan was there to make the saves - one in particular after a Sefton forward found himself with space in the 18 yard box, and the Convo #1 made himself big (even bigger!) and pushed the goal-bound shot wide. The first half came to a close with Convo behind but in the ascendancy.
Half Time Sefton Vets 1, Convocation FC 0.
The second half started with neither team really dominating and much of the play in the middle third of the pitch. Convocation were playing a slightly risky high line, but the back 4 remained disciplined and vigilant, and it was working. Sefton couldn't spring the trap and were getting frustrated. Even when they did sneak through, Shanahan was inevitably sweeping up, while McLachlan never really looked in any trouble. As Convo started to grow into the half, the equaliser came. Passing out from the back, the ball was played across to Prince on the left, who first cut inside, then played a ball wide to Stanforth and into the Sefton half. His pass forward to McNally was blocked on the edge of the box by a combination of the onrushing keeper and a Sefton defender, and as the ball broke loose, back in the direction of the advancing Stanforth, he hit it first time over everyone, and into the gaping net from about 25 yards. 1-1.
Just when you think Convo have turned the tide, they conspire to bring the opposition back into the game - Retro Convo - and so it was this afternoon. Sefton brought on a couple of subs, and looked to take the game to Convocation - after an attack broke down, and under minimal pressure from the forward line, the ball was lobbed out to Prince on the left who, in trying to bring it down on the move, failed to account for the onrushing Sefton forward, who nicked the ball off his toes and all of a sudden it was four on three. A couple of passes later, and the ball was in the back of the Convo net. Well worked by Sefton, but easily avoidable. 2-1.
By this time Martin had been on in defence, (blocking and generally disrupting Sefton's play while trying his best to endear himself to the referee) then off again, and Bostock had replaced Fairclough, resulting in a minor midfield re-shuffle. Despite being behind, Convo heads failed to drop as they continued to battle on in the heat, looking for an equaliser (not very retro Convo!).
Following the 2nd half drinks break, McLaren changed the formation, going with 3 (himself, Shanahan and Prince) at the back and pushing Bastow into a 3 man central midfield. It worked. All of a sudden Sefton couldn't get the ball, and Convo started to build the pressure. As the game entered the last 10 minutes or so, Harper timed a bending run to perfection, and the through ball from Stanforth left him with just the 'keeper to beat. The finish was hard and low to the 'keeper's right who, this time, had no chance. 2-2.
The final change saw Martin come back on for a tiring Prince and, rather than merely see the game out for a well-earned draw, Convocation continued to press for a winner. It nearly came. Bostock was put through in the inside left position and, a la Geoff Hurst, tried to blast it hard into the top left corner. Hurst has reportedly said about his hat-trick goal in '66, that he was just trying to waste time and leather the thing as far as he could***. It appeared Bostock was invoking the 'get the ball into the stand' (or in this case the playground) sentiment a little too much, and sliced his effort woefully wide. He had a similar chance soon after, this time drawing a comfortable save out of the keeper, and shortly after that the whistle went for full time.
The changing rooms, complete with broken showers, were housed in a shipping container next to the main pavilion. A dark metal box, with no windows and the hottest sun of the year beating down for several hours, was no place for 13 exhausted and heavily perspiring chaps. 'Ripe' doesn't begin to cover it. While some braved the 'atmosphere' most decided to change al-fresco, on the convenient benches and behind a well placed timber screen. Fortunately for everyone (and probably most of all, for Si's awaiting suitor), the showers in the adjacent pavilion were working, so with everyone freshened up, it was back to Maghull Cricket Club for a de-brief.
Another solid performance by the 2nds. The usual odd mistake, but some nice football played at times, and everyone 'putting in a shift' in tough conditions resulted in a decent draw against a physical side who also like to get the ball down and play.
MOM: Notable mentions to Macca, rolling back the years and pulling off some quality saves, Paul F having a great game back in the middle, Si Stanforth with his goal and assist (all very retro-Convo!) and debutant Bostock with some quality moments going forward, but the stand-out player was Shanahan. Despite being 'ghosted' by The Bear in the 2nd Team WhatsApp group earlier in the week, his refusal to be ignored paid dividends, as his pace, reading of the game and distribution were second to none on the day.
Sausage Stats:
A hearty post-match carb-load was supplied by the local chip shop but, sadly, no accompanying sausages. Sausage score - 0.
Line-Up (4:4:2):
McLachlan; Prince, Bastow, Shanahan, McLaren; Bostock, Fairclough, Poole (I), McNally; Poole (G), Harper. Subs: Martin, Stanforth.
* "swift" is a relative term, and while McLachlan commented on the surprisingly fast pace of the game, this has to be taken with a large pinch of sun-baked, middle aged salt.
** This was some distance from your correspondent, so could easily have been Paul Harper.
*** I'm paraphrasing Sir Geoff
Convocation (4-4-2): McLaren; Woodcock, Prince, Williams Sh, Fairclough; McNally, Schofield R, Poole G, 'Big John'; Harper P, Cunningham; Sub: Martin
