17-4-2010
On a day in which many Mancunians felt the pain of footballing heartbreak, and while others experienced the joy of victory on derby day, only 18 miles away, a smaller band Manc football fans suffered the worst feeling of all; relegation. Garforth Town earned the three contestable points, and when there are winners, there must also be losers. The match condemned Rossendale to the North West Counties League tier… provided there is a stable club willing and able to replace them!
The pace was relaxed. Garforth were comfortable, and the victory was won without leaving second gear. Neither side enjoyed many clear-cut chances, but from what they carved out, it would be the visitors that converted a pair of them to win at a canter over game, but limited opposition.
Surprisingly enough it would be Rossendale with the first glaring opportunity. Rounding the goalkeeper but being forced wide in the process, the Rossendale attacker in possession turned to fire wide and over from a tight angle. Making his first start in goal, 17-year-old Tom Taylor would not be troubled again in the match.
Greaves, fresh (or perhaps not) from a workmanlike 120-minute display on Wednesday, was played in down the left channel early on, before sending the ball inside for Harding. The veteran midfielder tried placing his finish, which struck the top of the crossbar with the keeper soundly beaten.
Greaves would trouble again; lurking as a centre back horrendously missed a through ball, Tom snatched up the chance and burst for goal. Though he evaded all the attempts to cynically clip his ankles, his shot ultimately snuck wide.
Soon after, Town found the net anyway; following a corner and some ricochets, Harding was laid off. Electing to back-heel the ball, the manoeuvre threw the defence, and created an acre of space for Adam Clayton to curl the ball with authority into the top corner of the net.
Garforth were comfortable for the rest of the half, despite some undoubtedly tired legs from the marathon cup final days before. Piper was rested, as were Nathan Kamara and Greaves, later in the second.
The second would produce more of the same fare. Rossendale were game, attempting several passing interchanges and sending up the odd speculative through ball or high pass… but to no avail. Town’s Paul Walker had several chances, being put through on the right channel, but a combination of poor decision-making and good defending thwarted him. Taxi…
It would be Walker who was felled in a cynical challenge, leading to Garforth being awarded a penalty following a period of pressure in the 71st. Liam “Brendan’s Kid” Ormsby converted well, to continue his fine penalty taking form.
Walker tried his luck once more, and Garforth earned a multitude of corner, none of which were converted, but nothing noteworthy in terms of goal scoring opportunities occurred in the final ten. A tense finale it was not.
All the very best next year to Rossendale, who somehow avoid a piss-taking here, and another ‘W’ in the wins column for Garforth, who can look to finish another cup winning season well.
Sunday 18 April 2010
Thursday 15 April 2010
Garforth Town 5 - Barnoldswick 4 AET: West Riding County Cup Final
14-4-2010
Birds are singing…. there’s dancing in the streets… the miner’s are basking in their own reflected glory… and whyyyyyy? Because Garforth Town are once again, for the second year running, the West Riding County Cup Champions of Yorkshire, hmmmbaby!
This report is dedicated to Lancaster, Halifax, FCUM, and all those other Jo Jo clubs that believe in their warped, twisted, feeble minds, that in hating the most headline grabbing futebol club at the level that they can ACTUALLY stop rock n roll. Say it aint so, daddyo… It aint so.
Here est le video of the team raising the cup. Sadly, it wasn’t filled with champagne and drank from later, but then again, I avoided the changing rooms this year.
Five four was the score, the result of brilliance and calamity, competence and incompetence, injuries and fitness, luck both good and bad. Garforth enjoyed some plain sailing with a solid midfield, and the excellent work of Liam Ormsby and man of the match candidate Dominic Blair on the wings. It would, contentiously, be Ormsby who gave Garforth the lead; free scoring forward Tommy Greaves striking the bar Yeboah style with his shot, before Liam reacted first to bundle home. Did it cross the line from the shot? Fight it out, lads. My money’s on Greaves.
Greaves and strike partner Mason would enjoy further opportunities to level, but the duo were thwarted by a combination of thick goalposts and heavy gusts of wind. Man of the match contender Greaves’ most noteworthy contribution to the game was his workrate – he ran his bobby rollocks off all night – but also that beyond his one (two?) additions to the scoreline, he struck both posts and the bar during the match. With thirty goals still a conceivable target, Town have a striker to hold onto.
(No-homo)
Barney then equalised with a miserable, scruffy effort from a questionable corner, and the game resumed level. The industrious Mark Piper got a shot away following an interchange between Greaves and Ormsby, which Carrington did well to save. Garforth reasserted their dominance, and would enjoy the lion’s share of possession for the rest of the half. Their lead too was regained; Greaves shooting low with a driven effort that beat the shot stopper, only to rebound from the post across the line. Tom’s strike partner Lee Mason gladly accepted the gift, forcing the ball in before defending interventions’ could succeed.
Half time occurred, which Barnoldswick must have been grateful for, but their team talk bore no immediate results. As play resumed, Garforth went for the kill, looking to widen the gap between themselves and their plucky visitors. The tactic worked; with barely three figure second half seconds of playtime played, Greaves converted a great header from an Ormsby cross that ostensibly killed the game.
Cup football can be an illegitimate son.
Two ludicrous goals scored against our injured goalkeeper gave an undeserving side a second bite of the apple. One a lob, the other a fumble. No further comment.
Fair play to Barnoldswick, however; seemingly outgunned both on paper and in reality, yet able to claw their way back into a game that by rights should have been far beyond their presumptuous grasp. As it was, justice was apparently served as judgment day arrived; criminal activity in the Barnoldswick box left the official no option but to award a penalty to Garforth. Ormsby converted. Four-three, with only minutes to go.
You thought that was the end didn’t you? You actually thought this report was done, and if you saw the game, you thought that this was the point when champagne fell from the heavens, a chorus of angels began singing, and the Miner’s earned their stripes as County Cup champions two years running. Well ah ah, that wouldn’t be entertaining enough junior; Garforth equals buy rates, Garforth equal dramatic finishes, Garforth equals ups and downs, and Garforth equals, rock ’n’ roll!
Unjustly awarded free kick, Morgan fouled, ball fumbled in via rugby tactics, et cetera so on and so forth moving swiftly onwards ahem… We were denied rightful victory in regular time, but you can’t stop rock n roll, and you can’t stop Garforth Town in a cup tie either… so, to extra time. Squeaky bum time. Our time. Barnoldswick began diving left right and centre, utilising the most disgusting tactics imaginable, spending more time on the grass than Dutchmen, but as the Town fans sang “We Shall Overcome”, and dramatic music blared seemingly from nowhere, Blair picked up the ball subsequent to a cynical, outrageous foul. Time slowed down. Bill Conti’s “Going The Distance” trilled through the night air. Dom cut in. He shot… da da! Carrington dived… da da! Everyone who can remember the final scenes of Rocky vs. Apollo Creed 1 smiled in response to my recap of this event… da da! And then a mysterious Spanish commentator chimed in Barcelona style, as the ball evaded the keeps for a truly memorable 120th minute winner…
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL
Champagne fell from the heavens, birds began to sing, judgment day HAD arrived. Garforth were the WRCC Champions of Yorkshire, for the second year in a row daddyo! Joining the pantheon of multiple West Riding County Cup winners means Garforth join the ranks of a prestigious club; including Leeds United AFC. In 2010, the players of Garforth raised the trophy to a chorus of “Campeonés campeonés olé olé olé!” And a famous cup victory transpired thus. Put our name where it belongs Jo Jo! Stick it on the winners’ plaque baby, right now!
Congratulations to the joint-managers Steve and Rich, assorted coaching staff Vernol, Jeff and co, and the team consisting of Morgan, Morgan, Turley, Turner, Kamara, Johnson, Harding, Ormsby, Piper, Greaves, Mason, Blair. Subs: Brook, Taylor, Mhlolo, O'Neill.
Man of the Match Award: Tom Greaves and Dominic Blair, joint 1st. Both were industrious, both worked very hard, and both found the net.
Birds are singing…. there’s dancing in the streets… the miner’s are basking in their own reflected glory… and whyyyyyy? Because Garforth Town are once again, for the second year running, the West Riding County Cup Champions of Yorkshire, hmmmbaby!
This report is dedicated to Lancaster, Halifax, FCUM, and all those other Jo Jo clubs that believe in their warped, twisted, feeble minds, that in hating the most headline grabbing futebol club at the level that they can ACTUALLY stop rock n roll. Say it aint so, daddyo… It aint so.
Here est le video of the team raising the cup. Sadly, it wasn’t filled with champagne and drank from later, but then again, I avoided the changing rooms this year.
Five four was the score, the result of brilliance and calamity, competence and incompetence, injuries and fitness, luck both good and bad. Garforth enjoyed some plain sailing with a solid midfield, and the excellent work of Liam Ormsby and man of the match candidate Dominic Blair on the wings. It would, contentiously, be Ormsby who gave Garforth the lead; free scoring forward Tommy Greaves striking the bar Yeboah style with his shot, before Liam reacted first to bundle home. Did it cross the line from the shot? Fight it out, lads. My money’s on Greaves.
Greaves and strike partner Mason would enjoy further opportunities to level, but the duo were thwarted by a combination of thick goalposts and heavy gusts of wind. Man of the match contender Greaves’ most noteworthy contribution to the game was his workrate – he ran his bobby rollocks off all night – but also that beyond his one (two?) additions to the scoreline, he struck both posts and the bar during the match. With thirty goals still a conceivable target, Town have a striker to hold onto.
(No-homo)
Barney then equalised with a miserable, scruffy effort from a questionable corner, and the game resumed level. The industrious Mark Piper got a shot away following an interchange between Greaves and Ormsby, which Carrington did well to save. Garforth reasserted their dominance, and would enjoy the lion’s share of possession for the rest of the half. Their lead too was regained; Greaves shooting low with a driven effort that beat the shot stopper, only to rebound from the post across the line. Tom’s strike partner Lee Mason gladly accepted the gift, forcing the ball in before defending interventions’ could succeed.
Half time occurred, which Barnoldswick must have been grateful for, but their team talk bore no immediate results. As play resumed, Garforth went for the kill, looking to widen the gap between themselves and their plucky visitors. The tactic worked; with barely three figure second half seconds of playtime played, Greaves converted a great header from an Ormsby cross that ostensibly killed the game.
Cup football can be an illegitimate son.
Two ludicrous goals scored against our injured goalkeeper gave an undeserving side a second bite of the apple. One a lob, the other a fumble. No further comment.
Fair play to Barnoldswick, however; seemingly outgunned both on paper and in reality, yet able to claw their way back into a game that by rights should have been far beyond their presumptuous grasp. As it was, justice was apparently served as judgment day arrived; criminal activity in the Barnoldswick box left the official no option but to award a penalty to Garforth. Ormsby converted. Four-three, with only minutes to go.
You thought that was the end didn’t you? You actually thought this report was done, and if you saw the game, you thought that this was the point when champagne fell from the heavens, a chorus of angels began singing, and the Miner’s earned their stripes as County Cup champions two years running. Well ah ah, that wouldn’t be entertaining enough junior; Garforth equals buy rates, Garforth equal dramatic finishes, Garforth equals ups and downs, and Garforth equals, rock ’n’ roll!
Unjustly awarded free kick, Morgan fouled, ball fumbled in via rugby tactics, et cetera so on and so forth moving swiftly onwards ahem… We were denied rightful victory in regular time, but you can’t stop rock n roll, and you can’t stop Garforth Town in a cup tie either… so, to extra time. Squeaky bum time. Our time. Barnoldswick began diving left right and centre, utilising the most disgusting tactics imaginable, spending more time on the grass than Dutchmen, but as the Town fans sang “We Shall Overcome”, and dramatic music blared seemingly from nowhere, Blair picked up the ball subsequent to a cynical, outrageous foul. Time slowed down. Bill Conti’s “Going The Distance” trilled through the night air. Dom cut in. He shot… da da! Carrington dived… da da! Everyone who can remember the final scenes of Rocky vs. Apollo Creed 1 smiled in response to my recap of this event… da da! And then a mysterious Spanish commentator chimed in Barcelona style, as the ball evaded the keeps for a truly memorable 120th minute winner…
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL
Champagne fell from the heavens, birds began to sing, judgment day HAD arrived. Garforth were the WRCC Champions of Yorkshire, for the second year in a row daddyo! Joining the pantheon of multiple West Riding County Cup winners means Garforth join the ranks of a prestigious club; including Leeds United AFC. In 2010, the players of Garforth raised the trophy to a chorus of “Campeonés campeonés olé olé olé!” And a famous cup victory transpired thus. Put our name where it belongs Jo Jo! Stick it on the winners’ plaque baby, right now!
Congratulations to the joint-managers Steve and Rich, assorted coaching staff Vernol, Jeff and co, and the team consisting of Morgan, Morgan, Turley, Turner, Kamara, Johnson, Harding, Ormsby, Piper, Greaves, Mason, Blair. Subs: Brook, Taylor, Mhlolo, O'Neill.
Man of the Match Award: Tom Greaves and Dominic Blair, joint 1st. Both were industrious, both worked very hard, and both found the net.
Thursday 8 April 2010
Garforth Town 3 - Halifax Town 4
8-4-2010
Seven hundred supporters saw a scrappy spectacle, but one that entertained, literally, until the very last. Seven goal thrillers are sweeter when you’re on the right side of them, but in this case, Garforth have nothing to be ashamed of, having secured a two-goal advantage only to be undone by dubious officiating and a numerical disadvantage on the field. Either way, despite the scoreline, both sets of fans were enthralled by the contest (though I personally wish I had a £ for every retarded thing I heard shouted from younger members of Halifax’s moronic, monosyllabic and unintelligent fanbase).
(One of aforementioned Halifax fans)
Garforth took the lead with a well taken goal; after a passing interchange out on the right wing, Riordan brought the ball inside and threaded a lovely incise pass for Lee Mason to tuck home in the thirty fifth minute. Halifax were dejected; the goal occurring after a spell of earlier pressure that did not come to fruition. Town held onto their lead, and went in at half time on top of the game, on top of the visitors, on top of the title chasers.
To the bar, comrades; one in which very few Halifax fans decided to wet their throats in, despite the business of alcohol supply responsible for being vital lifeblood of clubs at our hierarchical position in the football leagues. For shame, you teetotal boycotting Pharisees…
The second half ebbed and flowed for fifteen minutes, before livening up once more with some, ahem, spirited challenges, and full-blooded midfielding. Sadly, a terrible goal regained parity for the misfiring visitors; a shot bobbled in the Garforth box, Ellison fumbled, and the resulting messy rebound was converted by Michael Wilde, which sent a few hundred in attendance wilde, wilde, wilde… and we had to come on and Feel the Noize… Slim Shady of the coaching staff behaved himself this time, but the rest of their fans decided to bang the dugouts regardless.
The joy of animals is often short-lived, as other instincts swiftly come into play; namely the desires for feeding and reproducing. In this case, the joy of animals was cut short when Paul Walker burst through from the wing, up the channel, before slotting in Ormsby. Liam did the rest with a placed finish, and this time the Garforth dugout was banged only for ironic purposes…
After spectacularly dreadful football was offered by Halifax in the ensuing ten minutes, from the Garforth perspective a substitution was made in which Dominic Blair replaced the injured Craig Ellison. Blair was to have a very busy five minutes on the field.
However, first things first. I’ll not be sidetracked from the linear progression of this report, so light your crack pipe, stick your feet up and be shocked and horrified at the tale of Ellison’s injury, my faithful readers. It transpired thus; Craig bravely leapt for the ball, only to be hospitalised due to the dastardly, cowardly atrocity inflicted upon him by a Halifax assailant that shall not be named. That man may as well have been standing on the grassy knoll, for he assassinated both Ellison’s evening, and ultimately the game itself from the deserving hometown boys.
May he contract syphilis in the near future.
Now then, to the subject of Dominic. I hereby christen what befell him and us as “The Blair Switch Project”, as through the tyranny of disgusting prison guard failed athlete officials, Blair was switched and exiled, and Town were left up the Cadbury creek. Firstly; Clayton broke away, and sent the ball across to Blair. A cool finish later, and Town were 3-1 up with only nine minutes of play remaining. Gigity gigity, bitches…
Blair was booked following a “hand to ear” gesture delivered to the crowd. This was reportedly in response to racial abuse that Blair had received. Not to mention that the booking was somewhat inauspicious to begin with. Subsequent to this, the metaphorical grassy knoll; Blair-gate. Blair was grabbed, and the natural reaction was to shove back to escape contact. None of that, in any case, was made to the head or face area, yet Blair was shown his walking papers by the Paris-1975-esque law enforcer in the black. And then it happened.
Actually, I’m not giving the events from minutes 87-94 any degree of sensationalism, because they don’t deserve it. Basically, Halifax scored three crappy goals, and won the game. One stemmed from a move in which the ball had gone out of play, another saw a controversy arise as to whether the ball had crossed the line, and yet another was waved offside by the linesman’s Hitler Salute, but the referee overruled this decision.
Garforth were robbed, scammed worse. This will sit in the archives of sporting robbery along with Leeds against Bayern in Paris, with Roy Jones Jr outscoring his foe 83-37 and losing the Olympic final in Korea, with Lyoto Machida conceding four out of five rounds to Mauricio Rua and keeping his UFC light-heavyweight championship belt. It was a travesty.
And the scenes around the dugout proved one indisputable fact; football provides a vehicle for soft people to pretend they are big men, or that they can fight… some truly, truly pathetic people. Worse, it wasn’t the old guard shaven headed forty year olds, but emo looking kids with pretentious haircuts. People who scream obscenities then avoid eye contact. People who ask the rhetorical question “what?” and then retreat back into the mob. Join a boxing gym, you silly wankers.
Football has produced more fucking twats than emo music.
Fletch
Seven hundred supporters saw a scrappy spectacle, but one that entertained, literally, until the very last. Seven goal thrillers are sweeter when you’re on the right side of them, but in this case, Garforth have nothing to be ashamed of, having secured a two-goal advantage only to be undone by dubious officiating and a numerical disadvantage on the field. Either way, despite the scoreline, both sets of fans were enthralled by the contest (though I personally wish I had a £ for every retarded thing I heard shouted from younger members of Halifax’s moronic, monosyllabic and unintelligent fanbase).
(One of aforementioned Halifax fans)
Garforth took the lead with a well taken goal; after a passing interchange out on the right wing, Riordan brought the ball inside and threaded a lovely incise pass for Lee Mason to tuck home in the thirty fifth minute. Halifax were dejected; the goal occurring after a spell of earlier pressure that did not come to fruition. Town held onto their lead, and went in at half time on top of the game, on top of the visitors, on top of the title chasers.
To the bar, comrades; one in which very few Halifax fans decided to wet their throats in, despite the business of alcohol supply responsible for being vital lifeblood of clubs at our hierarchical position in the football leagues. For shame, you teetotal boycotting Pharisees…
The second half ebbed and flowed for fifteen minutes, before livening up once more with some, ahem, spirited challenges, and full-blooded midfielding. Sadly, a terrible goal regained parity for the misfiring visitors; a shot bobbled in the Garforth box, Ellison fumbled, and the resulting messy rebound was converted by Michael Wilde, which sent a few hundred in attendance wilde, wilde, wilde… and we had to come on and Feel the Noize… Slim Shady of the coaching staff behaved himself this time, but the rest of their fans decided to bang the dugouts regardless.
The joy of animals is often short-lived, as other instincts swiftly come into play; namely the desires for feeding and reproducing. In this case, the joy of animals was cut short when Paul Walker burst through from the wing, up the channel, before slotting in Ormsby. Liam did the rest with a placed finish, and this time the Garforth dugout was banged only for ironic purposes…
After spectacularly dreadful football was offered by Halifax in the ensuing ten minutes, from the Garforth perspective a substitution was made in which Dominic Blair replaced the injured Craig Ellison. Blair was to have a very busy five minutes on the field.
However, first things first. I’ll not be sidetracked from the linear progression of this report, so light your crack pipe, stick your feet up and be shocked and horrified at the tale of Ellison’s injury, my faithful readers. It transpired thus; Craig bravely leapt for the ball, only to be hospitalised due to the dastardly, cowardly atrocity inflicted upon him by a Halifax assailant that shall not be named. That man may as well have been standing on the grassy knoll, for he assassinated both Ellison’s evening, and ultimately the game itself from the deserving hometown boys.
May he contract syphilis in the near future.
Now then, to the subject of Dominic. I hereby christen what befell him and us as “The Blair Switch Project”, as through the tyranny of disgusting prison guard failed athlete officials, Blair was switched and exiled, and Town were left up the Cadbury creek. Firstly; Clayton broke away, and sent the ball across to Blair. A cool finish later, and Town were 3-1 up with only nine minutes of play remaining. Gigity gigity, bitches…
Blair was booked following a “hand to ear” gesture delivered to the crowd. This was reportedly in response to racial abuse that Blair had received. Not to mention that the booking was somewhat inauspicious to begin with. Subsequent to this, the metaphorical grassy knoll; Blair-gate. Blair was grabbed, and the natural reaction was to shove back to escape contact. None of that, in any case, was made to the head or face area, yet Blair was shown his walking papers by the Paris-1975-esque law enforcer in the black. And then it happened.
Actually, I’m not giving the events from minutes 87-94 any degree of sensationalism, because they don’t deserve it. Basically, Halifax scored three crappy goals, and won the game. One stemmed from a move in which the ball had gone out of play, another saw a controversy arise as to whether the ball had crossed the line, and yet another was waved offside by the linesman’s Hitler Salute, but the referee overruled this decision.
Garforth were robbed, scammed worse. This will sit in the archives of sporting robbery along with Leeds against Bayern in Paris, with Roy Jones Jr outscoring his foe 83-37 and losing the Olympic final in Korea, with Lyoto Machida conceding four out of five rounds to Mauricio Rua and keeping his UFC light-heavyweight championship belt. It was a travesty.
And the scenes around the dugout proved one indisputable fact; football provides a vehicle for soft people to pretend they are big men, or that they can fight… some truly, truly pathetic people. Worse, it wasn’t the old guard shaven headed forty year olds, but emo looking kids with pretentious haircuts. People who scream obscenities then avoid eye contact. People who ask the rhetorical question “what?” and then retreat back into the mob. Join a boxing gym, you silly wankers.
Football has produced more fucking twats than emo music.
Fletch
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