Finally – a Win!

It's been a tumultuous few months at AFC Tattenhall: the deposition of former manager Chris Noden, replaced by Man of Steel Oliver Sayles caused quite an upheaval within the squad. The old guard with their roguish ways and airs and graces have gone, and a new breed of footballer has arrived. Thoughtful, elegant and quite nice actually. Over the course of the season Sayles has been gently cultivating a squad with a blend of youth, experience, grit, grizzle, flair and flexibility. There have been highs, there have been lows, and everything in between.

The stunning opening day victory over Saughall Colts was a false dawn, a short lived 'new manager bounce'. That was way back in August; in the following 4 months, we've had 2 monarchs, 3 prime ministers, 1 goalkeeper but 0 points. There have been own goals, red cards, broken ribs, broken egos, referee meltdowns, kitchen sinks, tears, tantrums and hospital visits in 2 different countries. But the long and short of it is, we were struggling. Before football began its mindboggling journey to Qatar, Tattenhall remained at home, and threatened to put something together which might resemble 'form'. An unheard of Sunday League scoreline -- a 0-0 stalemate versus Upton Youth Centre -- was preceded by a phenomenal victory over second placed Tarvin Rex. So phenomenal it was that this November morn will forever be shrouded in a mystifying fug of glory, and words on this page cannot do it justice.

But then football as we knew it stopped. As AFC Tattenhall prepared for a mid-season break, people abandoned their values to flock to the Middle East to celebrate 'the beautiful game' whose only remaining beauty lay deflated in the gutter, looking up as this greedy and corrupt juggernaut sprayed dirt in its face. David Beckham left his place in The Queue to visit his favourite spice market, and the pockets of the powerful bulged, leaving behind a disdain for humanity. Football isn't football anymore, until Sunday that is.....

Following last week's bitterly disappointing 2-1 defeat to Straw Hat Athletic, Tattenhall welcomed Great Sutton to the Flacca, with the visitors still bottom of the league, but with a creditable draw in the bank when last these two met in October.

Sunday was the 275th anniversary of 'the biting of John Harris'. (better known as 'Mad Allen' -- whose cave can still be found up in the Bickerton hills). According to legend, Mad Allen was bitten by a werewolf while holidaying in nearby Coedpoeth, and subsequently became the infamous Bickerton Werewolf who would go on to strike fear into the hearts of all who stood before him! (and presumably all those who never met him as well)

Although they didn't know it yet, this nugget of history had startling similarities to Sunday's events. Starting with 10 men, Great Sutton were the underdogs, and throughout the first half, Tattenhall huffed and puffed, but unlike the Bickerton werewolf of the 18th century, fizzled out and failed to kill off their foe. The Werewolf was seen throughout the late 1700's across the Sandstone Ridge, terrorizing the local peasants, preying on the weak, and destroying people's livelihoods. The front three of Tattenhall possess the ability to replicate the monster's destructive nature, but also rely on a full moon for them to wreak untold havoc.

The wolves of Tattenhall thought they had blown little pig's house down in the 63rd minute when Sayles set Mutete free down the right flank, who chipped in a delightful cross for top scorer Withe who volleyed the ball against the woodwork. The home crowd howled in anguish as the clock ticked agonisingly towards the 90 minute mark. The game was scrappy, tempers flared and things were getting gnarlier by the minute. Not the kind of gnarly you'd find on a Californian beach either, more the thing you'd find growing out of an old tree stump. It wasn't pretty. But, just because it wasn't nice to look at, doesn't mean it wasn't beautiful. And boy was it beautiful! Cooke tossed his opponent to one side like a bad pancake, fed Touray (the ball, not the pancake) who played in Sayles, to tee up Mutete whose looped cross to the back post was met by the beautiful head of the youngest man on the pitch, and Morris only went and nodded it into the bloomin' net! 1-0 and that was that! Despite a late flurry of attacks from Great Sutton, the most handsome defensive threesome in the land of Skip Wetherby, Dale Young and new signing Dennis Nielsen (not that one) repelled each wave of attacks, ensuring that those little pigs returned to their flimsy straw house, their curly tails between their legs, unable to keep the wolf from the door.


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