Daisy Hill 3 AFC Liverpool 2

North West Counties League First Division
Attendance: 175

The Lambs (Tamworth) and the Knitters (Hinckley) take some beating when it comes to nicknames least likely to strike fear into the hearts of the opposition but I have come across an even better contender: the Daisies (Daisy Hill). Come on, let’s be honest. This monicker is only one step away from the Pansies – and, a reason in itself to make a visit to the curiously named New Sirs ground in the town of Westhoughton betwixt Bolton and Wigan. The real reason for my trip, however, is the visit of AFC Liverpool.

The club was formed this season by fans of Liverpool who had been priced out of the Premiership. They stress that they are not at odds with the parent club and, indeed, describe themselves as Liverpool's “little brother”.

The teams trot out to the tune of the Colonel Bogey March. I soon realise that the sound actually comes from an ice cream van round the corner. (I'd even wondered if it was a particularly loud ringtone). The lack of PA is confirmed when a fella walks around the pitch at half-time announcing the winning numbers of the raffle. The only other sound for much of the match comes from about a dozen AFC fans behind one goal. They are so isolated yet their song so clear they are more like drunken carol singers than chanting football fans. I like the slogan on one of the many banners: “Fate is for those too weak to determine their destiny”.

The small size of the ground and crowd (although five times larger than Daisy Hill's average) means that, disappointingly, the match has little of the cup-tie flavour that characterised my previous visits to fans clubs away: FCUM, FC Halifax, and even – it has to be said – Scarborough Athletic. AFC Liverpool doesn’t seem to have quite caught the public imagination in the way as these other clubs probably because it was formed in less adverse circumstances.

At this level groundhopping is more like pitch-hopping. New Sirs consists of a fenced pitch with cricket-style clubhouse at one end fronted by a two rows of numbered, wooden flip-up seats and a simple short cover on one of the long sides. That's it - if you exclude the dug-outs. You can even get free entry behind one of the goals where there is no perimeter fence. This is grass roots football at its grassiest. The entrance is the ground's only point of note: it looks like an 80s-style Wild West Diner – in Wigan. After the exceptional thrills of my last four matches this one inevitably felt like the morning after the nights before.

Low-key occasion, then, but what a cracking little match. The Daisies take the lead after 15 mins completely against the run of play and go two in front on the stroke of half-time when an attacker on the break draws the keeper and squares for a team-mate to slot home from the edge of the six-yard box. AFC are outraged as the goal is scored while one of their players is lying injured with what turns out to be a broken nose. AFC continue to dominate in the second-half. The Daisies keeper handles outside the box but the ref waves play on only for an AFC shot to be spectacularly saved with a deliberate handball on the line by a defender who injures himself colliding with a post and is sent off. His self-sacrifice isn't in vain: AFC hit the same post with the spot-kick.
In the last five minutes AFC finally get a deserved goal when a cross is touched home at the near post. They then level it when an up-and-under is back-headed into the goal by a towering Dominic Matteo look-a-like. We all thought we were heading for an Istanbul but, in a final twist in injury time, a Daisies attacker latches onto a long through-ball from the half-way line and, one on one with the keeper, nets the winner. Five home fans cheer.

At kick-off I was asking myself what the hell was I doing travelling 80 miles on a raw afternoon for what was only a step up from a park match but, at the final whistle, I realised I'd just enjoyed the most compelling half of football of my season.

As the players walked off at one end two AFC carol singers stayed on at the other, scarves outstretched, singing “You'll never walk alone”. Their manager, meanwhile, warmed down and, I suspect, dressed down his players in the centre circle. The club one from bottom beats the club one from the top and Daisy Hill record their first league win for three months and most memorable since, well perhaps, the Bolton Hospital Cup in 1986. A whoops-a-daisy for AFC, indeed.

For match highlights click here. (The back of my head puts in a starring performance on 32 secs).

Glossop North End 5 Marske United 2

FA Vase, quarter final
Attendance: 1,120
“No idea who they’re playing. Doesn’t really matter anyway.” That was the in-depth analysis of the opposition supplied by the chap in front of me at the car park ticket machine.

The FA Vase is, indeed, a curious competition. Even at the quarter-final stage the groundhopper usually needs to consult his road atlas. Pretty much any of the clubs that enter can make it this far given that that the highest ranked of them come from one of several regional leagues. No chance of Premiership-type domination in the national minnows knockout cup. The other odd thing about the Vase is that it has two winners. The truly once-in-a-lifetime experience (for these lads) of playing at Wembley is the real prize; lifting the trophy just makes for better pics to remember the day by. So we do care and we don’t care …

Exactly a century ago Glossop (near Manchester), competed in a quarter-final replay of the FA Cup, losing to Everton. With a then population of 17,000, Glossop became – and will, I guess, always remain – the smallest town ever to play in the the Football League first division (for a single season in 1899-1900). Remarkably, they played against Arsenal, Man United, Chelsea and, yes, even that other North End (after which they were named). They dropped out of the League after the First World War and, as you can guess, there was only one way they could go after that.

A piece in the Glossop Chronicle romantically recalls the days when supposedly “a heady mixture of cigarette smoke, steam from hot beef extract drinks and the aroma of embrocation filled the air”. The aroma today came from the barbecue and it certainly filled the air around the corner flag. So much so, in fact, I’m surprised it didn’t asphyxiate the players. I hadn’t seen so much smoke since those flares at European Cup finals in the eighties.

The ground is wonderfully delapidated in a Pontefract Collieries sort of way. The rickety main stand looks like it would blow down in a puff of wind and the perimeter is a seven-foot blue breeze block wall. The beer tent was absolutely heaving, something to do with the Vase being sponsored by Carlsberg, I suppose. The finest facility, though, was the gents which was a shipping container. This is the first signed kazi I’ve come across that you use not by entering (I did try) but going behind.

We were three matches but still a long, long way from Wembley. But where the Surrey Street ground can compete with the national stadium is in the structure that looms over it. A steel chimney extends like a giant drill bit from the shell of a ferrous alloys plant under demolition. If there is a taller and thinner structure beside any other ground I’d like to know about it. It’s eye-catching wherever you are in the town but, viewed from within a football ground and so close to it, the chimney inexplicably delights all the more.

The Marske fans gave the match another unlikely Wembley connection by being decked out in the Flag of St George to reflect their side’s strip. Their support contributed to a cracking atmosphere but was soon muted as the Hillmen (great old fashioned nickname, by the way) went 2-0 after 13 mins. Markse kept their tails up and the tie could’ve taken on a whole new complexion had their striker scored from a free header at 1-3 down with 5 mins to go before the break. Once Glossop got the fourth the contest was effectively over although Markse continued to plug away. It was real end-to-end stuff on a gluepot of a pitch and climaxed in a pitch invasion (my fourth on the trot). The presence of security men and their Alsatian seemed a bit heavy-handed in the circumstances. The only pitchside pooch necessary here was the Marske bulldog mascot. We all shuffled out through the only exit – a metre-wide gap in the wall. A Wembley way? Perhaps. Glossop’s never seen anything like it. Well, at least, not for a very long time.

Some more history: Glossop’s early success resulted from the efforts of benefactor Sir Samuel Hill-Wood. The son of a local cotton baron, he attracted the top players in an Abramovic sort of way. On one occasion Glossop fielded a forward line with an amateur international from each of the home countries plus the Republic of Ireland. Sir Sam later became chairman of Arsenal and his great grandson, Peter Hill-Wood, is the current incumbent. (The story of Glossop is fascinating. Read the relevant chapter in the highly recommended book by David Conn of The Guardian).

And finally: I love this old boy masquerading as a pundit alongside the High Peak radio commentator. Must be the Hillmen’s oldest fan. Are those headphones he's wearing or ear muffs? I look forward to seeing him on the MoTD couch soon.

For another blogger's view of the occasion click here.

Droylsden 2 Chesterfield 1

FA Cup, Second Round replay
Attendance: 2,824

“It’s the same programme as last week,” said the old man who sold me one. “That’s OK,” I said. “I’m a new boy”. It felt like that. This has been an epic cup-tie. A quick re-cap for those who haven’t been paying attention. Match 1 at Chesterfield: abandoned because of fog with Droylsden 1-0 up. Droylsden not happy. Match 2: Re-match ends 2-2 with a controversial goal. A Droylsden player is injured so the ball is kicked into touch but then Jack Lester of Chesterfield (more of him later) scores from the throw-in. Whoops. Chesterfield allow Droylsden to score without resistance. Match 3 at Droylsden: replay abandoned because of floodlight failure with Chesterfield 2-0 up. Recriminations and conspiracy theories ensue. Match 4: All back to the Butcher’s Arms …

Great name for a ground even though the said pub is no more of a landmark that many other groundside hostelries. More eye-catching is a new office block incongruously sited on the other side of the main stand (see top pic). Executive boxes – formed by arranging chairs behind the first floor windows – presumably come with the tenancy.

Droylsden opened the scoring with the first real chance for either side. Sean Newton (pictured right) weaved through challenges on the edge of the box before unleashing a drive into the bottom right corner. Cue manic bundle in front of the home dugout. Chesterfield levelled with a freak goal (here we again, we all thought) when a clearance by the Droylsden keeper cannoned back into the net off the backside of, who else, that man Lester. How he loved running in front of the home fans, hand cupped to his ear.

He should’ve had a penalty at the start of the second half (Chesterfield’s second sound claim of the evening). Soon after at the other end, a Droylsden striker was pulled down from behind and Newton converted the spot kick. Chesterfield thought they’d equalised again but, when the melée cleared, it appeared the goalie had saved and there was similar fogginess at the far end (but without fog this time) when Lester was sent-off apparently for elbowing an opponent. With the pantomime villain finally slain the Bloods started to believe they would live happily ever after.
The final whistle triggered a pitch invasion. Remarkably, this was my third invasion in as many cup ties. When I next go to an ordinary match I must remember to leave the way I came in. The Droylsden hoodies (no Santa hats here) raced straight past the players and over to where the Chesterfield fans were housed to bait them which says a lot about where we were, both in terms of stage of the competition and location (a 'town' buried in the eastern suburbs of Manchester). Bit sad, really. The police and stewards prevented an attack, though. Four lads instead concluded their evening’s entertainment by playing a rave version of Jingle Bells in their souped up hatchback at full volume with the windows down as they cruised away down Market Street.

It had been a slightly edgy experience all round. Earlier, I’d been terrified of treading on someone’s toe and getting an elbow in the face as nephew Toby (pictured below) and I squeezed back to the covered terrace after a trip to the pie stand. The bouncing bonhomie of the Badger Boys when the second round started nearly a month ago seemed a long way away.
So The Bloods (good nickname too) made it safely through to the third round for the first time ever and we made it safely back to North Yorkshire. A good result for all – and another cup shock to savour. I’ve been so spoilt this season.

Epilogue: Astonishingly, that wasn’t the final chapter in the saga. Droylsden were thrown out of the competition six days later for fielding a banned player, Newton. They could hardly argue he hadn't affected the contest and I don't think another re-match would've gone down too well. Droylsden manager Dave Pace's post-match comments about the Chesterfield manager now makes for wincing reading: "As far as I'm concerned, it's now war between me and him. I've never wanted to win a game as much in my life as I do tonight's."Pace also claimed he'd throw himself of a bridge if Droylsden were expelled. A tie that had more ins and outs than the okey-kokey at office Christmas party ends up as a pub quiz question: Which club played nine FA Cup matches in one season without defeat but didn’t win the competition? As for Chesterfield they went out 3-0 to Ipswich in the next round.
For more pics click here.