‘A Thorn-aby in our side’
Thornaby v Chester Town
16th Feb 2019
The Long trip down the A19 awaited The Cestrian Masses. The winter had abated for a brief few days allowing a Spring Time feeling to blossom amongst us.
A Barmy 12 degrees C would have the lads sweating their nuts off today.
Would February hold great things for The Cestrians, or would we fall flat as pancakes🤔
After our early week defeat in the cup against formidable opponents we would need to lift ourselves.
I was feeling a bit like singing ‘Up where we belong’.
I have been known to sound like the gravel toned Joe Cocker on occasion, especially after a Saturday visit to Moor Park to sing and shout voraciously, topped off with a Maximus Kelly froth session.
My dulcet tones have been known to be sensationally transformed into Cocker-esque crooning🤨
The Captain and a Gentleman Maz would be on the bench today, rested for the very important Cup semi final match on Tuesday 19th.
It was tactical, a sacrifice, an opportunity, and a worry, considering the opposition we were about to face, but totally understandable.
Thornaby were 2nd in the league and riding high…
‘In Wakey we trust🙏’
The Chester Faithful held their breath as we took on The Stocktonian might.
The lads came out to the blaring tune of The 633 Squadron, Would we crash and burn or land a victorious 3 points.
Only time would tell if the opposition be a thorn-aby in our side😳
The Old River Tees babbled Close by like an old dodderer who’d lost his teeth in a terrible skoal bandits spitting disaster.
The whistle sounded, with Northallerton breathing down our necks, 4th place in the league, Chester needed a quick start.
Crouchy McBan had some massive boots to fill today but he was ready to do just that.
The team sheet had a smattering of familiar names of old, injured Gladiators from 2018 making their Phoenixian returns to the Blue and White hooped Cestrian Army!!
The Chester Faithful rose in their thousands to salute these men of steel,
Imagine the dark days of injury for these Olympians of Football.. they deserved their moment of acknowledgement 🙌
HMS Clarkson sounded his air horn as he floated onto the Thornabian turf…
After a full refit at North Tyneside docks
over the last 6 months, The HMS Clarkson had awaited Prince Phillip’s arrival patiently.
As the esteemed Royalty lined up, only the sound of a Moet bottle smashing against HMS Clarkson’s bow was to be heard, and then The Tug Boats sounded their horns in retort, the crowd cheering wildly as HMS Clarkson left his moorings splattered in champagne, surrounded by the ticker tape celebrations….
His course set for The Victory Straits 🙌
Jack The Cat was between the sticks today after a long sabbatical away from the posts.
He walked tall, assured, confident and ready to prove Wakey’s confidence in him was rightfully appointed.
The game finally under way, after a 1000 words.😳
The battle was very intense, but neither side could break down their respective defensive walls.
Thornaby went for the jugular and almost succeeded, the counterattack from Chester was borne…
20mins in and Harry Wood was vibrant after having received his deed poll letter officially changing his name to
Mr Harry Hollywood🤔
Mr Hollywood then started his run down The Green Boulevard, would it be a star-struck journey or one of broken dreams.
As he jinked powerfully passed 3 Thornabian tackles, The Chester Massive rose to their feet to see the bullet shot fly goalward, as it rose just millimetres over the bar!
Again The determined Woodsman made an incisive run towards goal, 26 yards out he was felled like a great Oak.😳
The Candyman lined up the ball and sent a perfect ball into HMS Clarkson,
as he was rising up into the dusky skyline I saw a silhouette not unlike that of Shearer,
his head firmly contacted the ball but a gust of wind cruelly pushed it just wide, ooohhh so close man!
Rhys Turnbull took his position in defence and showed his class,
Raising a few eyebrows in the process,
None as impressive as his own of course.🤣
Salvador Dali could only pray to produce Art to compete with the like of the Arced Turn-Brow beauties 🤔
The Undertaker was imperious as always, burying anything down field and clearing his lines with aplomb.
Greavesy and Dicka The Destroyer owned the defensive lands, shepherding any dangerous balls and setting up new counterattacks.. a clean sheet assured🤔
40mins in and Mr Hollywood crossed perfectly to Elvis who sniffed out the ball like a hound dog, but unfortunately his confident header was just wide.
Half time… 0-0 and stalemate,
we could accept it with quiet satisfaction, but we had been the better side.
Only a femoral, pulsing, nagging pain in my psyche betrayed my feelings of satisfaction,
Inviting the thought that maybe, just maybe we could have been one up at least🤔
The Smoggy Cheerleaders left a lot to be desired, one dancer, and I use the description under advisement, even had a small portion of Parmo concealed on her person as she danced out of time to a very loud Lionel Ritchie’s ‘Dancing on The Ceiling’.
Ronnie’s ears were ringing, but thankfully he and Joe had been to Cestria Health Centre for their jabs, not the one associated with the influenza virus mind, but the radiation jabs most Military personnel get before tours of duty in far flung anarchic kingdoms, we were in Smoggyville after all🤔
The whistle blew for the action to start.
Captain Crouchy McBan was like The Spitfire of Old, The 633 squadron,
The Battle of Britain, it was air domination, anytime a ball was seeking entry into Cestrian airspace, up stepped The ‘elongated one’ to dispatch it up field out of harms way.
We looked to build on a strong first half,
The temperature had dropped now, the barmy 12c had become more like my beer laden American fridge around 4 or 5 degrees..
Jack ‘The Cat’ Wilson came to the rescue on 57 minutes… he was ‘the beans’ today, Brave and unflinching after his nasty ankle breakage last year, he was like Heinz, he had 57 varieties of save in his locker🤔
The Thornabian striker was coming in at speed, ready to break Our Cestrian hearts.😳
10 Yards out The Cat leapt into action
as if a big ball of fluffy wool was incoming, deflecting danger and the leathery sphere to safety.. Tremendous!! and breathe😔
HMS Clarkson had played a good 60 mins and contributed much to the game before Wakey sent in the tug boats to retrieve the striker…
The Flying Scotsman coming on with steam gushing from his mouth…😤
69mins in and The mighty Hepp came on for The Candyman, he had terrorised the Thornabians for long enough.
The Thornabians looked to dominate as a young upstart smashed a shot just over the bar, looking for the 3 points and to break the resolve of The Cestrians.
We were Resilient, we were Resistant,
like a wall of Durham Cathedral Stone against The Viking hordes, we stood strong.
A dangerous corner launched into the box caused chaos as a Missed header at the front post was comedically converted by a Thornabian head, who had no idea of its arrival, whilst it settled in the bottom corner of The Chester goal,
The Cestrian Massive gulped the cold air into their lungs in collective disappointment, 1-0😫
This counterattack was borne from a hopeful Chester attack and a golden opportunity to score, as Steva lined up to shoot from the edge of the box, the ball cruelly ended up in Thornabian possession and throttling towards our own goal.
Steva came off and Olaf The Great steadied himself as he moved into position up front, could he restore parity?
The referee tried to help our plight with around 27mins of injury time, but alas no goal and no points.
Gutted for the lads after such a staunch effort.
Thanks to Sir Joe Burlison for his big caveman thumb activity on the Twitter feed and to
Mr Keith Ban-Barrington-Smythe McDad for his wonderfully informative texts of hope…
The Cestrian Prayer
‘Bring your heart and soul,
support them on the battlefield,
Bleed Blue for them,
utter your loyal cries and give all of your breath,
leave it all at Moor Park,
as they would do for you,
for there is nothing more a man can ask’
(The Reverend CJ Sharp)