SANDBACH 7 VALE OF LUNE 25

NORTH ONE WEST

Saturday 6th March 2010

It had been a busy week for the Alies which began with a night out at The Bellingham Hotel in Wigan, the venue for the Manchester and District Rugby Union Referees’ Society Annual Dinner.

Diggler had been co-opted to drive the mini-bus with the promise of a meal, although he would have to do without a Latvian lap dancer because Gilly had drawn a blank, his only administrative slip up of the evening.

Young Diggler handled the vehicle with aplomb, a cross between Michael Schumacher and Reginald Molehusband, while his running commentary held everyone enthralled, if a slightly envious, as “Casanova” recounted some of his exploits and conquests.  

On the way back Diggler spotted a van parked on the hard shoulder that looked familiar. Yes, dear reader, it was; you are one jump ahead of me. It cost him £150 to get the vehicle back from the custodians, and another story for his repertoire.

Gilly handled the accounts for the dinner, ensuring all the cheques and cash went in the right envelope this time because last year his double entry system went a little haywire. The Press Secretary did his stint as kitty master, no problems; although Shagpile said he was parting with his last note as his well worn wallet flashed open, and with his friend, the Electrician still housebound, it looked like being a long night.

Overall it was a pleasant convivial evening, with the top brass, Fred and Reg, from the Miller Homes Leagues present it could hardly be otherwise. Jonty and Barry from Wilmslow were on the next table and the eggcitement knew no bounds. Enty, who had booked the following morning off, and the President, negotiated something approaching a sensible price for a bottle of port to follow the Major’s intriguing choice of wines.

 For the trip to Sandbach the Major was absent, saving himself for a gala evening and pressing his dickey, but it was a quietly confident group of Alies, some wearing their “lucky” underpants, who boarded Carl’s luxury Volvo coach.

Derrick was unable to provide his usual emergency rations, but the Plumber brought along a knobbly, acute Shiraz which thrust itself into all the palate’s crevices. As it warmed up the connoisseurs were experiencing, plums, prunes, burnt toast and that subtle perfume that is associated with opening the tractor shed doors.

Light traffic on the M6 ensured an early arrival at Bradwall Road. The usual debate broke out who was to be kitty master, the Plumber produced his littlered book and Entry trudged his way to the bar to order some splendid “London Pride.”  Gilly’s long hair worried the President, but he was reassured when Gilly said he still opted for a centre parting.

There was some confusion when the Solicitor dragged the Alies to form a tunnel. Clap! Clap! went the Alies when a column of red and white jerseys emerged from the changing rooms, but although the shirts looked familiar the faces did not, apart from one, Martin Lancaster.

Slowly it dawned on the Alies that this was Sefton’s second team, captained by former Vale of Lune player Martin, but after a brief pause the applause increased as a bemused group of players trotted off to take on Sandbach’s third team, eventually losing 25-13.

Sutcliffe using his considerable bulk

As the half hour approached, on the main pitch, handbags began to swing and the players waltzed their way to the touchline, the miscreants eventually spilling over the barrier where a group of Alies were standing. Accusations were made that one of the Alies had raised a foot and one was threatened with a citizen’s arrest.

While the bus passes, Nectar Cards and library cards flashed, the ones that mattered remained in referee Andy Dawson’s pockets. The President did explain that in days gone bye the perpetrator would have been labelled a malefactor and branded with the letter “m.” He then disappeared round the back of the clubhouse to give the bellows an extra pump to set the coals glowing.    

On the return journey a brief stop was made in Sandbach to drop a couple of players at the railway stain and the Alies were treated to a refreshing bottle of agreeable red by the players. After a few tales from the Potting Shed it was decided to open up the Spoof school for the first time this year.

Heskey in a wrestling contest

 But before any calls, and while Gilly was fumbling for a score sheet, the Press Secretary contacted Morse with the league results. Morse was purring his way home ready for a night on the Singer Sewing Machine after his son’s efforts had caused the gusset to split in his shorts revealing a delicate shade of big boy pants.  

Spoof followed its usual pattern with the Press Secretary struggling to add or subtract and remembering the calls and consequently lost the first two games. Eventually everything settled down. Gilly reminded everyone that should you reach the “final” never be caught with three or none in your hand. He was later hoisted by his own petard.

With the sun setting over Morecambe Bay a classic “Final” was fought out between Enty and Shagpile. The carpetbagger had stayed out of trouble all evening but he met his match with Enty. “None!” shouted Shagpile.

A smirking Enty responded with “Spoof!”

“Take your winnings off my account,” muttered his client.

In the clubhouse the Alies debated the benefits of a Care in the Community programme or whether an ASBO was just around the corner after the events on the touchline, but all agreed it had been a cracking performance against Sandbach, effectively erasing from the memory the disappointments of the last visit. There had been three quality tries from Fergus Owens, James Hodder and Darren Wilson; Neale Foster had converted all three tries and kicked a penalty goal.  

Vale of Lune: M Stevens; J Hodder, A Macluskie, F Owens, T Finau (A Richards 47); N Foster D Wilson; J Hesketh, A Powers, A Sutcliffe; L Acton (Capt), D Perry; A Garnett, D Lin, S Wallbank (F Spavin 51)

Man of the Match: Darren Wilson 

I’m afraid that my attempts to provide the photo of the 100% bust up beteen the teams met with failure. There must have been  a bug in the picture. However a certain Mr Higgin seemed well to the fore.

Tony Norths pictures of the leadups to the tries are now becoming a feature of the articles.

Not only being terrific photos but having the patience to wait and take hundreds of photos on the off chance shows the calibre of our own photographer. Excellent.  

RR

Vale of Lune 8    -   Lymm 25

North One West

Saturday 27th February 2010

The Lymm troop were up at the crack of dawn, burnishing their good conduct badges, polishing their woggles, pressing slacks, aligning neckerchiefs, dubbining boots, waxing legs, preparing peanut butter sandwiches and checking the mechanism of their Swiss Army knives, in particular that dangerous implement for taking hedgehogs out of horses hooves, ahead of their adventure “up north.” 

Eventually the scout’s mini bus glided onto the car park at Beechwood and was loaded up; crates of Dandelion and Burdock, plus Guinness for Tommy, incontinent bags, maps, compasses, the odd Wainwright guide and ski poles just in case someone fancied tackling the slopes above the East Terrace at The Lane.

But these lads were not scouting for boys they were off on their long planned expedition to Powder House Lane. The Beaver Patrol arrived at the Vale in good time, which suited their driver who driven the last few miles with his legs crossed!

 The Alies had gathered early in readiness to greet the Lymm contingent. Enty was breezing around, organising the tables, but of course took the usual flak about attending a pre match lunch. No, he informed Muggy, he was not on a freebie, in fact he was paying for the Plumber, but he was right to be concerned about a seat for lunch.

Morse and family had made a block booking ahead of the wedding of daughter Jennifer to Ross, but he need no have worried because Derrick and his efficient staff quickly whipped out the linen and cutlery and laid an extra table; enough room for Jim, Tommy, Peter, Gordon, Akela, Baloo, Shere Kahn and Mowgli to tuck into their Lamb Henri or fish pie.   

Earlier in the week Morse had been researching the definition of the word “Alickadoo.”  One meaning caught the eye, “they are now retired and stand on the touchline giving the wrong tactical advice to the players…. implicit also is the notion that the Alickadoos now have some power in the rugby club, without bothering to inform themselves about the way the game is now played.” Now we know! There was nothing about offering the referee their wisdom with their encyclopaedic knowledge of the laws, however.  

 After the match there was the usual mad dash to claim a table ahead of the England Ireland game, with the Alies being spread all over the place, but all within semaphoring distance of the bar staff.

The Alies were quite excited, because they would be setting off on Tuesday for the Manchester and District Referees Society’s annual dinner, always a highlight in their packed social whirl. A driver had been sorted out for the trip to Wigan, none other than one of the promising young Alies, Diggler, who had taken on the role of touch judge in the absence of Tony. “I will do the job ref,” he said, “but I will cheat!”

There were the usual debates about dress code for the diner. The Plumber was advised it might be a sensible idea to have the Vale’s badge sewn on his blazer rather than residing in his top pocket, and the Consultant had purchased a club tie from the Club Secretary, who was spotted on a number of occasions fumbling in his pockets for a red card in a busy clubhouse.

The England Ireland game had Tommy dib dib dobbing throughout, until his fellow countrymen settled the issue and his wager of black stuff was safe. There was still enough time remaining to give the bar tab another seeing to before the Lymm Alies meandered to their mini bus, toilet stops suitably highlighted after their team had taken a positive step towards promotion in a season when they are celebrating their 50th Anniversary.

Unfortunately the day was overshadowed by the news that one of Lymm’s stalwarts and a real friend of the Vale, Keith Etherington, was in hospital after suffering a massive stroke. But on Monday the sad news was received from Cameron Haworth, Lymm’s Secretary that Keith had passed away.

The Alies have known Keith for many years; he always greeted the Alies at Beechwood with a merry quip while sorting out the beer, although they did catch Keith out on one occasion when they travelled down to Lymm for a second team fixture. Relaxing at home Keith received a phone call that the Vale Alies had arrived mob handed, slippers were kicked off, cigar stubbed out and he was soon bounding up the clubhouse stairs before the first pint had been supped.

Keith will not only will he be missed by friends and family and the rugby fraternity at large, but by a group of kindred spirits in North Lancashire who were privileged to have known such a kind hearted and generous gentleman.

Vale of Lune: M Stevens;   J Hodder, T Finau (A Macluskie 45), F Owens, A Richards;   N Foster, D Wilson;   J Hesketh, A Powers, L McLoughlin (A Sutcliffe 25);   L Acton (Capt.), D Perry;   L Ford, D Lin, L Leaumoana (S Wallbank 43)

Replacements: A Macluskie, A Sutcliffe, S Wallbank