Thatto Heath Crusaders Amateur Rugby League Football Club recently had a £900,000 make-over. A brand and indeed spanking new clubhouse overlooks the new playing facilities on Close Street just off Elephant Lane, and provides a top class setting for amateur rugby league.
I feel something approaching shame that I had never been to see Thatto Heath Crusaders play before now. I've lived there for almost my entire life but while they have been toiling away on the amateur scene, I have been hob-nobbing it with the superstars at Knowsley Road. Not that I haven't enjoyed it. Saints' first Super League title in 1996 was one of the greatest days of my life. So too the Challenge Cup final of that year and the so-called 'Ultimate Comeback' from 26-12 down at half-time to beat Bradford Bulls. Having college friends in the team at that time helped make it even more special and anyway, supporting St.Helens or any other sporting club is not just something you can turn on and off. I'll always consider myself a Saints fan first. Yet it's all very well picking up Super League rings and Challenge Cup Winners medals year after year, when is someone going to get their hands dirty?
In actual fact, watching rugby league at National Conference level and seeing for yourself how good these amateur players are only makes you appreciate further how good the blokes at the top level must be. This is a very fine standard of rugby league so it only serves to demonstrate the excellence of the professionals battling it out three levels above.
But back to the Conference, and the visit of Wath Brow Hornets all the way from Cumbria. Remembering that this game is a 7.00 kick-off on a Wednesday evening you can only admire their commitment and willingness to get bashed around for 80 minutes. A place in the team for this fixture must mean at least an afternoon off work and a very late night ahead of the next day's shift. Yet the Hornets played with bags of enthusiasm and no little skill in what turned out to be a heavy defeat.
The 56-6 scoreline was a little harsh on the visitors. For large parts of the game they had good possession and territory but the Thatto Heath defence scrambled well to defend an early 12-0 lead. The dam eventually broke but Crusaders managed to score in the next set and from then on never looked in any real danger of losing the game. Four of five of the tries were run in late on against an understandably tiring Wath Brow defence to give Thatto Heath their first win of the league season in this their second match of the campaign.
While the rugby league was entertaining and highly watchable, the facilities were also hugely impressive for a club this size. There is no opportunity here for me to bleat about disabled access (I'd probably just find a way to blame it on Northern Rail anyway), and my only minor quibble is that the viewing balcony railing is a little too high. Most wheelchair users will find themselves watching the game between the gaps in the railings, so this short-arsed one was always going to have to do so. There is a lower level, but again it looks as though the fence that stretches around the perimeter of the field would provide a similar obstacle.
One thing that seems to be the same at all levels of the game is the witty banter among the spectators.
"Oi you!" shouted one in the general directon of another.
"I hope you haven't been putting any more of those lovey dovey comments on your Facebook. What was it again?.........I love you like Jelly Tots? Bloody Hell I was nearly sick!"
Also in attendance was a great big Saint Bernard dog. Not like the giant man-in-a-costume fiasco you see at Knowsley Road, but a real St.Bernard dog. I don't know if it was a reference to the dog's breed or to the Saints themelves, but it wore a black bib with the words 'Ain't No Saint' emblazoned in pink across the front. I wondered if it was some sort of mascot for the club, or whether it's owner was just killing time. It disappeared just before kick-off, which was a slight disappointment but at least it left everyone to concentrate on what was a great night of real sport.
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Fantasy Football
I used to watch football for sporting reasons. Not at the ground, obviously. Paying £45 a throw to watch a team with whom my links are tenuous at best is not really for me. However I do confess to being a Liverpool fan and a fan of the game in general, and so watch as much as possible of the endless tripe served up by our friends at Sky Sports.
But my reason for doing so is changing quickly. For the last three seasons I have been watching my football with half an eye on my Fantasy Football team. It was just a passing interest at first, but it has gone so far that this past Sunday I found myself willing Manchester United to keep a clean sheet at Fulham. That they not only failed to do so but also conceded a last-minute equaliser irritated me greatly. Yes there was the consolation of knowing that their glory-hunting fans would be suffering, but what about the points lost for my team by Edwin Van Der Sar?
I now participate in five Fantasy Football Leagues and have become alarmingly competetive. The above is just one example. You should have heard my reaction when I learned half an hour before kick-off that Wayne Rooney would not be playing due to a stomach bug. I hate Wayne Rooney. Ok, maybe hate is a strong word, but I have little time for anyone who kisses his badge one minute and then swears at his fans the next. Rooney's foul-mouthed tirades against anyone who gets in his way on a football field show him up for the poor role model that he is. And he looks like a cross between Pob and an ape. But he is, or was this week at any rate, my Fantasy Football captain and his points would therefore have counted double. But two times nothing is nothing!
So far this season I have managed to avoid choosing anyone for my team who was playing against Liverpool. But this is not, as you may have hoped, because I don't want to have my loyalty tested, but more because of the difficulty ordinarily provided by playing Liverpool. Seasoned Fantasy Leaguers know there is little to be gained from players faced with a trip to Anfield or a visit from Roy Hodgson's side, even allowing for their recent decline. Far better to pin your hopes on a Chelsea player at Wigan or an Arsenal star at home to Blackpool. That way lies points, and points are all that really matter. As it turns out I could have thrown my lot in with Manchester City in last night's game and done quite well out of it, but the 3-0 drubbing they handed out to Liverpool was a result that few Fantasy League players will have seen coming.
Similarly, if I have considered but decided against selecting a Liverpool player for my team I will become angry if they do well. I wouldn't pick Dirk Kuyt for a park team, but if I know a league rival has him in his or her side I will curse furiously if he then goes on to do well. All of which all but eliminates the former joy I would have felt at seeing my team score. Thankfully, I don't expect Dirk or Liverpool to get that many this season on the evidence of the City debacle.
Of course the other major factor in Fantasy League is that it has no respect for gender. Professional football is very definitely a man's world but when it comes to Fantasy managers the ladies can be as good if not better. Not that I am the Fantasy League equivalent of Brian Clough or anything, but I was beaten by a female last season and I feel no extra shame. Only the shame I feel anyway at being bested by my office colleagues. The physicality of real football is removed here, so that anyone with a reasonable knowledge of the game can be competetive. So long as they remember to make their alloted transfers before the 11.30 am Saturday deadline.
Today is Tuesday and so there is another round of this madness looming in just four days. I just know that rivals everywhere are studying their team, going over possible permutations in their minds. Who to bring in? Who to leave out? Who's going to get a hatful against Wigan this week? Can they afford to bring in Theo Walcott now his value has shot up with that hat-trick against Blackpool? Yet nobody will make any changes, not yet. There are Carling Cup and European games for Premier League players to get through in midweek, and nobody can risk any of their choices getting injured. Otherwise they will end up with a Rooney situation, feeling disappointed that someone that they would otherwise loathe is unable to contribute to their points tally.
And for what? Bragging rights. That's it. No money, no prizes, certainly no extra kudos with the opposite sex (in fact considerably less if anything because you're now officially a geek), no nothing. Nothing but the right to say to your mates that you are better than them at predicting who might score, get an assist, save a penalty or get a clean sheet on a given Premier League weekend.
But my reason for doing so is changing quickly. For the last three seasons I have been watching my football with half an eye on my Fantasy Football team. It was just a passing interest at first, but it has gone so far that this past Sunday I found myself willing Manchester United to keep a clean sheet at Fulham. That they not only failed to do so but also conceded a last-minute equaliser irritated me greatly. Yes there was the consolation of knowing that their glory-hunting fans would be suffering, but what about the points lost for my team by Edwin Van Der Sar?
I now participate in five Fantasy Football Leagues and have become alarmingly competetive. The above is just one example. You should have heard my reaction when I learned half an hour before kick-off that Wayne Rooney would not be playing due to a stomach bug. I hate Wayne Rooney. Ok, maybe hate is a strong word, but I have little time for anyone who kisses his badge one minute and then swears at his fans the next. Rooney's foul-mouthed tirades against anyone who gets in his way on a football field show him up for the poor role model that he is. And he looks like a cross between Pob and an ape. But he is, or was this week at any rate, my Fantasy Football captain and his points would therefore have counted double. But two times nothing is nothing!
So far this season I have managed to avoid choosing anyone for my team who was playing against Liverpool. But this is not, as you may have hoped, because I don't want to have my loyalty tested, but more because of the difficulty ordinarily provided by playing Liverpool. Seasoned Fantasy Leaguers know there is little to be gained from players faced with a trip to Anfield or a visit from Roy Hodgson's side, even allowing for their recent decline. Far better to pin your hopes on a Chelsea player at Wigan or an Arsenal star at home to Blackpool. That way lies points, and points are all that really matter. As it turns out I could have thrown my lot in with Manchester City in last night's game and done quite well out of it, but the 3-0 drubbing they handed out to Liverpool was a result that few Fantasy League players will have seen coming.
Similarly, if I have considered but decided against selecting a Liverpool player for my team I will become angry if they do well. I wouldn't pick Dirk Kuyt for a park team, but if I know a league rival has him in his or her side I will curse furiously if he then goes on to do well. All of which all but eliminates the former joy I would have felt at seeing my team score. Thankfully, I don't expect Dirk or Liverpool to get that many this season on the evidence of the City debacle.
Of course the other major factor in Fantasy League is that it has no respect for gender. Professional football is very definitely a man's world but when it comes to Fantasy managers the ladies can be as good if not better. Not that I am the Fantasy League equivalent of Brian Clough or anything, but I was beaten by a female last season and I feel no extra shame. Only the shame I feel anyway at being bested by my office colleagues. The physicality of real football is removed here, so that anyone with a reasonable knowledge of the game can be competetive. So long as they remember to make their alloted transfers before the 11.30 am Saturday deadline.
Today is Tuesday and so there is another round of this madness looming in just four days. I just know that rivals everywhere are studying their team, going over possible permutations in their minds. Who to bring in? Who to leave out? Who's going to get a hatful against Wigan this week? Can they afford to bring in Theo Walcott now his value has shot up with that hat-trick against Blackpool? Yet nobody will make any changes, not yet. There are Carling Cup and European games for Premier League players to get through in midweek, and nobody can risk any of their choices getting injured. Otherwise they will end up with a Rooney situation, feeling disappointed that someone that they would otherwise loathe is unable to contribute to their points tally.
And for what? Bragging rights. That's it. No money, no prizes, certainly no extra kudos with the opposite sex (in fact considerably less if anything because you're now officially a geek), no nothing. Nothing but the right to say to your mates that you are better than them at predicting who might score, get an assist, save a penalty or get a clean sheet on a given Premier League weekend.
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