WHERE HAVE ALL THE SOCCER PLAYERS GONE?
BROUGHTON PARK 30 VALE OF LUNE 26

The little orange tractor awoke to a crisp, sunny morning with mist caressing the distant Pennines. His bodywork gleamed as his trembling chassis awaited the turn of the key, because Kubota, that was his name, knew that there was work to do before the Vale of Lune arrived.

Kubota liked nothing better than purring up and down and showing off all his accoutrements. Today his task was to sweep the main pitch and soon the featherlike bristles were gently caressing the surface. How he enjoyed scattering the players who were trying to warm up. "Can you finish before the kick off?" "Yes I can!"

The sight of this perfectly formed piece of machinery had the Alies, those that were members of the "Grand Cru," frothing at the mouth, pinching themselves, pointing at the padded cushion seat, and wondering if it had powered steering and a transmission of the hydrostatic variety.

Eventually the reverie was broken by the stirring strains of the ring tone on the Major’s mobile phone. It was physio Colette who was having trouble in picking up the A5103 after coming off the M60. Once again the Major’s military training was put to good use, all those night exercises in the Cold War were not wasted.

Calmly he talked Colette in. "Can you see a large cemetery on your left?" "500 metres on your right, is a church with a large tower." "Now there should be football pitches on your left." "Turn left at the lights and look for the Broughton Park sign." "Over and out."

All the time aeroplanes were taking off and landing at Manchester Airport and it would have come as no surprise if the odd Boeing had not taxied to a halt in the car park.

As the Alies entered the modern clubhouse complex their collective egos were boosted when a Broughton Park committee man asked them where their kit was. Suddenly the "Park Six" had credibility; a front row of The Major, Benny and Gilly, with The Plumber and Enty in the second row and the Press Secretary whipping them along. Such are dreams made of.

Everyone was brought down to earth as more important things had to be considered, like who was to be kitty master. Lyn Morgan was on hand to meet and greet everyone and then explained the bar would be opening shortly. By the time Enty had been lifted from the floor there was music to his ears, the sound of the shutters rolling up and ice cool Marston’s gurgling through the pipes.

The Plumber and The Major went off in search of food; Gilly was going fifteen rounds with the doors as he tried to go onto the balcony and once there began chuntering into his pint when he saw two of the Vale’s props taking kicks at goal, he started muttering about hamstrings. His concerns were echoed by the man who had set out the wrong knife at breakfast, before he ambled off to the far side of the pitch to watch the game in an envelope of studied contemplation broken only by a volley of constructive advice to anyone within earshot.

In the Vale’s last visit to Houghend Crescent in March 2007 they were undone in the opening minutes by John Clifford and his merry men after they had missed tackles and given away possession. It appeared that lessons had not be learned or inwardly digested because the home side’s tries were scored using a similar template. A hard and fast rule when facing the current Broughton Park side, and let’s face it they are an exciting outfit when in full cry, don’t give them time and space or they will punish you.

As it happens the Vale took their medicine well, and this time around they traded blow for blow by matching Park’s four tries, so the traffic was not just one way.

Neale Foster scored a twinkling, silky try, in addition to converting three. The eagle eyed Danny Lin peeled away from a maul to leave everyone trailing in his wake, David Schuyler’s quick thinking and lightning reflexes was rewarded with a dash over the line and James Bryan was back to his courageous best when he battled his way over for the final try late in the game. Debutant, Carl Lamb, after an all action pinballing display was named Vale’s man of the match by the hosts.

During any break in the action Park’s hooker, Andy Wilson went through a repertoire of ball juggling skills that Cristiano Ronaldo would have been proud of. Perhaps Andy has answered the question at the top of this piece.

For those who remember playing soccer on Houghend during the sixties when every pitch was in use, the sight of not a game being played came as something of a shock. The goal posts stood unetted in an eerie silence, sentries on duty awaiting the arrival of the combatants. Had they all taken up the oval ball game or were they at the Trafford Centre, on their way to the United v Arsenal clash or enjoying a skinny latte on Deansgate?

As the Vale made their way to the coach for the journey home a familiar melody, with new lyrics, could be heard wafting over the still, frosty night from the direction of Kubota’s cabin.

"Will the Vale do it?"
"Yes they will!"

Vale of Lune: N Bennetts (Capt); A Richards, A Garnett (Rep A Bolsover 76), C Orrick, J Bryan; P Jackson, D Schuyler, A Sutcliffe (Rep D Halliwell 65); L Farnworth, D Perry; C Lamb, D Lin, G Barton (Rep M Speight 81).