Post by gazz on Dec 4, 2013 22:22:27 GMT
Guess the County Player (before the final verse!)
hatter in macc
Poem published with the kind agreement of Mrs Macc...
Back in year Two Thousand;
I thought you were ok;
On signing from Northampton Town;
To offer some wingplay.
Your crosses were fantastic;
And made opponents puke;
As time and time and time again;
You teed up strikes for Luke.
The wife, she found you gorgeous;
And might have made a pass;
Had you not left in Two-0-Four;
And gone and joined 'The Gas'.
We bought your shirt at auction;
To stop her feeling blue;
And, Ali Gibb, when wearing it;
I've scored more times than you!
Glossop (or Glosserp in local dialect)
bringbacklenwhite
Home of only one of two teams named North End (not to be confused with the "Nob Enders from Dumpdale" a small place near Chorley). Elected to the Football League in 1898 they made it to the giddy heights of the First Division in 1899. They, boringly, changed their name to Glossop FC and remained in the League system until 1915.
The North End tag was re-instated in the 1991-92 season and the highlight of their existence has to be a FA Vase final appearance when the whole of Glossop deserted the town to descend on Wembley only to see them lose 2-0 to Whitley Bay.
One of Glossop's early homes was Pye Grove. Typical of North West Derbyshire pitches this has an infamous heart and lung busting slope. The ball has been known to roll of the centre spot without being touched at kick-off time, but that could have been the ubiquitous wind. I have experienced many a Sunday League game played here in the Longdendale League's equivalent of mud-wrestling and bog-snorkling against a variety of local (usually pub) teams.
Finest Glossop memory is of coming out for a corner to punch the ball clear only to "accidentally" make contact with the opposition centre half's nose which decided to explode "tomato-like" all over his face. "Not to worry", he said rising from the ground, "I don't have a bone in my nose in the first place". He was called Terry and built like the preverbial garden toiletshed. Needless to say I was well and truly hammered at the next set-piece. Where was Ben Burgess' Dad when I needed him ?
My nephew played for the local Queen's Arms Pub team. They called themselves - Real Queens' - and played in an ironic pink strip !
Other pitches around Glossop either sloped from end to end or side to side as most of them are constructed into the hillside, where even the local sheep have two long legs and two short ones so that they can stand spirit level straight. Oh, how I miss it. No, not much.
Gazza
gazza007
Misunderstood genius, flawed, but brilliant on his day. Many public perceptions of the man are wide of the mark, especially when you ask those that have met him in person. Generous to a fault, loves his family. He is never far away from controversy, but is always willing to help those less fortunate than himself.
I'll do Paul Gascoigne when we get to the letter 'P'.
Gannon, Jim
Sir Rog
Player, Manager, Supporter and Director.
The man who, without doubt, will lead us back to better times.
Grimsby
sandbachhatter
At home c.2008. Perhaps someone can help me with the date.
Nothing unusual about the game (although I did like the chants of "You only sing when you're fishing" and "You can stick your f***ing scampi up your arse") but the weather was worthy of note here. If anyone was sat in the Cheadle End like me, you might recall a drumming sound appearing some time into the second half. It got louder and louder but no one in the stand seemed to be creating it. Then all of a sudden the wall of rain appeared at either side of the Cheadle End as it moved it's way along the roof towards the pitch.
Wall is the only way to describe it as you could visibly see where it started.
Much in the way fans behind a goal start with an ever increasing "oooooooohhhh" prior to a goal kick, I seem to recall we had a similar reaction to the impending soaking the away fans were about the receive in the Railway End. Sure enough, the rain moved faster than they did.
Special mention to the handful of Grimsby fans who stuck it out rather than move to the Barlow (the rain was that heavy they were getting pinned face first to the steps of the Railway End and one guy got washed away under the scoreboard. Ok, I may have exaggerated slightly).
Goalkeeping Gloves
bringbacklenwhite
I go back to the days of making do with what you had. None of these oversized, over-priced, sticky palmed efforts available nowadays. The modern goalie looks like a refugee from the crowd in an episode of Gladiators (thread there for someone to get their teeth into !).
No, I hark back to my first pair - my dad's old string driving gloves (complete with leather knuckles - great for punching centre-forwards in the nose with). They soaked up the water and mud effortlessly and weight the equivalent of a fat-lass on each arm by the end of the game.
I then progressed to the light weight (green) Peter Shilton Specials - only OK in light drizzle and really rubbish for North West Derbyshire pitches. I once had a pair nicked from the back of the nets by some little oik off the local housing estate in Brinnington.
Next up, the elite (string again) non-slip version complete with rubber bobbles on the fingers which made them look like a table tennis bat and had the texture of dead flesh (a bit like the keyboard on the Sinclair ZX computer).
I reckon with these new fangled gloves (and if I had been 3 inches taller) I would never have dropped a cross in my life.
Goalkeepers with County
bringbacklenwhite
Over the years County have been blessed with a number of magnificent goalkeepers.
The only player ever to be capped for England while playing for Stockport County was a goalkeeper. Henry (Harry) Hardy made his one and only appearance in an England shirt in 1924 in a game against Belgium. He kept a clean sheet too, as the national side ran out 4-0 winners.
One could argue that it is a good job that County have had this set of brilliant custodians of the woodwork given the abject defending that usually goes on it front of them.
Names that spring to mind are (in no particular order of preference, age, date or ability) Ken Mulhearn, Steve Fleet, Alan Ogley, Wayne Hennessey, John Ruddy, Matt Glennon, Paul Jones,Pegguy Arphexad, Neil Edwards, Kevin Keelan, Conrad Logan, Carl Muggleton,Boaz Myhill, Carlo Nash,Eric Nixon, Owen Fon Williams and of course Mark Halstead. (apologies for anyone feeling left out).
My personal favourites were Ken "The Cat" Mulhearn (on whom I modelled my own game) and Paul Jones - the ultimate professional. My best memory is of Mulhearn arching backwards in mid-air to claw a looping header over the bar from around knee height, truely breath-taking.
Please feel free to add to this thread with your own choices.
Golf
bigfudge
Once at Heaton Moor golf club I was playing a round with a couple of friends and later found out that not only was Michael Carrick and a few of his chums having a round, I also scored less than him, meaning in a match I would have beaten him!!
Golf - Favourite True Story
bringbacklenwhite
A colleague and I (regular golf partners) were on a working course at Garstang Golf Hotel Conference Centre. The day was absolute rubbish.
We had already booked a round to commence after the course had finished. However we bunked off at afternoon coffee time for an early start. My partner is not known for his patience and does not suffer fools gladly. So, you can imagine his displeasure when 2 "oiks" burst onto the course at the tenth in front of us.
The next 8 holes were played with him simmering and seething as the pair (dressed in cut off jeans, peaked cap on back to front and tee-shirts with motifs enblazoned across their chests) hacked their way from bunker to out of bounds and back again whilst refusing to allow us to overtake them. One of the guys insisted on holding a conversation on his mobile for 45 minutes between each shot.
At the 18th we walked down to the gate in the fence leading to the tee, arriving just as the second guy was driving off. we were stood about 40 yards down the fairway and well to their left. As he drilled the shot he unfortunately let go of his club which immediately flew our way like something out of whirly-birds, whoop-whooping as it spiralled over our ducking heads. It clattered into the tree behind us and stuck there at least 25 feet in the air.
As he marched past us we were holding our sides trying not to laugh too loud as he uttered the immortal phrase " I think you'd better play through, that cost me 169 quid" ,To which my partner replied "too f****ing true mate,you f***ing bet we are".
Neither of us could tee off properly for laughing at first. Finally we got away and as we walked down to the fairway and looked back the guy was trying to climb the tree with his mate shoving him up by his arse.
A memorable event in a long list of my true golfing stories that I am compiling in a book called "Faffarsing A Round"- course golf as played by course golfers".
hatter in macc
Poem published with the kind agreement of Mrs Macc...
Back in year Two Thousand;
I thought you were ok;
On signing from Northampton Town;
To offer some wingplay.
Your crosses were fantastic;
And made opponents puke;
As time and time and time again;
You teed up strikes for Luke.
The wife, she found you gorgeous;
And might have made a pass;
Had you not left in Two-0-Four;
And gone and joined 'The Gas'.
We bought your shirt at auction;
To stop her feeling blue;
And, Ali Gibb, when wearing it;
I've scored more times than you!
Glossop (or Glosserp in local dialect)
bringbacklenwhite
Home of only one of two teams named North End (not to be confused with the "Nob Enders from Dumpdale" a small place near Chorley). Elected to the Football League in 1898 they made it to the giddy heights of the First Division in 1899. They, boringly, changed their name to Glossop FC and remained in the League system until 1915.
The North End tag was re-instated in the 1991-92 season and the highlight of their existence has to be a FA Vase final appearance when the whole of Glossop deserted the town to descend on Wembley only to see them lose 2-0 to Whitley Bay.
One of Glossop's early homes was Pye Grove. Typical of North West Derbyshire pitches this has an infamous heart and lung busting slope. The ball has been known to roll of the centre spot without being touched at kick-off time, but that could have been the ubiquitous wind. I have experienced many a Sunday League game played here in the Longdendale League's equivalent of mud-wrestling and bog-snorkling against a variety of local (usually pub) teams.
Finest Glossop memory is of coming out for a corner to punch the ball clear only to "accidentally" make contact with the opposition centre half's nose which decided to explode "tomato-like" all over his face. "Not to worry", he said rising from the ground, "I don't have a bone in my nose in the first place". He was called Terry and built like the preverbial garden toiletshed. Needless to say I was well and truly hammered at the next set-piece. Where was Ben Burgess' Dad when I needed him ?
My nephew played for the local Queen's Arms Pub team. They called themselves - Real Queens' - and played in an ironic pink strip !
Other pitches around Glossop either sloped from end to end or side to side as most of them are constructed into the hillside, where even the local sheep have two long legs and two short ones so that they can stand spirit level straight. Oh, how I miss it. No, not much.
Gazza
gazza007
Misunderstood genius, flawed, but brilliant on his day. Many public perceptions of the man are wide of the mark, especially when you ask those that have met him in person. Generous to a fault, loves his family. He is never far away from controversy, but is always willing to help those less fortunate than himself.
I'll do Paul Gascoigne when we get to the letter 'P'.
Gannon, Jim
Sir Rog
Player, Manager, Supporter and Director.
The man who, without doubt, will lead us back to better times.
Grimsby
sandbachhatter
At home c.2008. Perhaps someone can help me with the date.
Nothing unusual about the game (although I did like the chants of "You only sing when you're fishing" and "You can stick your f***ing scampi up your arse") but the weather was worthy of note here. If anyone was sat in the Cheadle End like me, you might recall a drumming sound appearing some time into the second half. It got louder and louder but no one in the stand seemed to be creating it. Then all of a sudden the wall of rain appeared at either side of the Cheadle End as it moved it's way along the roof towards the pitch.
Wall is the only way to describe it as you could visibly see where it started.
Much in the way fans behind a goal start with an ever increasing "oooooooohhhh" prior to a goal kick, I seem to recall we had a similar reaction to the impending soaking the away fans were about the receive in the Railway End. Sure enough, the rain moved faster than they did.
Special mention to the handful of Grimsby fans who stuck it out rather than move to the Barlow (the rain was that heavy they were getting pinned face first to the steps of the Railway End and one guy got washed away under the scoreboard. Ok, I may have exaggerated slightly).
Goalkeeping Gloves
bringbacklenwhite
I go back to the days of making do with what you had. None of these oversized, over-priced, sticky palmed efforts available nowadays. The modern goalie looks like a refugee from the crowd in an episode of Gladiators (thread there for someone to get their teeth into !).
No, I hark back to my first pair - my dad's old string driving gloves (complete with leather knuckles - great for punching centre-forwards in the nose with). They soaked up the water and mud effortlessly and weight the equivalent of a fat-lass on each arm by the end of the game.
I then progressed to the light weight (green) Peter Shilton Specials - only OK in light drizzle and really rubbish for North West Derbyshire pitches. I once had a pair nicked from the back of the nets by some little oik off the local housing estate in Brinnington.
Next up, the elite (string again) non-slip version complete with rubber bobbles on the fingers which made them look like a table tennis bat and had the texture of dead flesh (a bit like the keyboard on the Sinclair ZX computer).
I reckon with these new fangled gloves (and if I had been 3 inches taller) I would never have dropped a cross in my life.
Goalkeepers with County
bringbacklenwhite
Over the years County have been blessed with a number of magnificent goalkeepers.
The only player ever to be capped for England while playing for Stockport County was a goalkeeper. Henry (Harry) Hardy made his one and only appearance in an England shirt in 1924 in a game against Belgium. He kept a clean sheet too, as the national side ran out 4-0 winners.
One could argue that it is a good job that County have had this set of brilliant custodians of the woodwork given the abject defending that usually goes on it front of them.
Names that spring to mind are (in no particular order of preference, age, date or ability) Ken Mulhearn, Steve Fleet, Alan Ogley, Wayne Hennessey, John Ruddy, Matt Glennon, Paul Jones,Pegguy Arphexad, Neil Edwards, Kevin Keelan, Conrad Logan, Carl Muggleton,Boaz Myhill, Carlo Nash,Eric Nixon, Owen Fon Williams and of course Mark Halstead. (apologies for anyone feeling left out).
My personal favourites were Ken "The Cat" Mulhearn (on whom I modelled my own game) and Paul Jones - the ultimate professional. My best memory is of Mulhearn arching backwards in mid-air to claw a looping header over the bar from around knee height, truely breath-taking.
Please feel free to add to this thread with your own choices.
Golf
bigfudge
Once at Heaton Moor golf club I was playing a round with a couple of friends and later found out that not only was Michael Carrick and a few of his chums having a round, I also scored less than him, meaning in a match I would have beaten him!!
Golf - Favourite True Story
bringbacklenwhite
A colleague and I (regular golf partners) were on a working course at Garstang Golf Hotel Conference Centre. The day was absolute rubbish.
We had already booked a round to commence after the course had finished. However we bunked off at afternoon coffee time for an early start. My partner is not known for his patience and does not suffer fools gladly. So, you can imagine his displeasure when 2 "oiks" burst onto the course at the tenth in front of us.
The next 8 holes were played with him simmering and seething as the pair (dressed in cut off jeans, peaked cap on back to front and tee-shirts with motifs enblazoned across their chests) hacked their way from bunker to out of bounds and back again whilst refusing to allow us to overtake them. One of the guys insisted on holding a conversation on his mobile for 45 minutes between each shot.
At the 18th we walked down to the gate in the fence leading to the tee, arriving just as the second guy was driving off. we were stood about 40 yards down the fairway and well to their left. As he drilled the shot he unfortunately let go of his club which immediately flew our way like something out of whirly-birds, whoop-whooping as it spiralled over our ducking heads. It clattered into the tree behind us and stuck there at least 25 feet in the air.
As he marched past us we were holding our sides trying not to laugh too loud as he uttered the immortal phrase " I think you'd better play through, that cost me 169 quid" ,To which my partner replied "too f****ing true mate,you f***ing bet we are".
Neither of us could tee off properly for laughing at first. Finally we got away and as we walked down to the fairway and looked back the guy was trying to climb the tree with his mate shoving him up by his arse.
A memorable event in a long list of my true golfing stories that I am compiling in a book called "Faffarsing A Round"- course golf as played by course golfers".