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Wednesday, 2 October 2024

Match Report: Morecambe v Bradford City 1.10.2024

As a relatively new follower of Morecambe Football Club, I haven't seen the best of them in terms of results lately. Five league games in a row losing by one goal to nil*, is going to be, well, frustrating for even the most hardened fan. Yesterday's game against Bradford City, however, was a fine advert for the league, and football as a whole.

I felt the ever coldening chill of the October evening as I walked from a prior engagement in the West End of Morecambe to the home end at the Mazuma Mobile Arena, but the brisk walk gave me some bodily warmth to start the evening off. As I met my pal M, I was feeling good; the kind of lazy optimism of the ignorant gave me some butterflies, whilst the budding statistician in me cleared their throat at the idea of the three points on offer actually being claimed.

As me and M took our place in the stand, the announcer was keen to point out the inclement temperature and wind, and how that was better motivation for us to show our appreciation of the Shrimpettes - Morecambe's cheerleading arm. The same could be said for the team; I was certainly happy to be wearing trousers and a coat and not having to run 10km in 90 minutes.

The first half was an unmitigated joy. The reds were as speedy, proactive, and organised as I'd ever seen them, sharing a pretty even possession with their counterparts, fashioning regular chances, and, helped by an assured performance by keeper Stuart Moore, were not too troubled at the back.

Looking back, I am shocked that the opening goal, coming as an own goal off Bradford's Diabate, happened in the fifth minute. It felt a lot later than that. But then, when hanging on to a single goal lead, your perception of time gets stretched all over the place. I remember the action for the goal in the Bradford box at the opposite end from where I stood. I saw that the ball was pea-rolling toward their goal line, but so slow that I just assumed that a Bradford player would clear it at any minute. Eventually, the cheers of my fellow Morecumbrians sank into my ears, and I was elated to realise we were ahead.

Morecambe were positive in their build up, and professional at the back, keeping their shape well and, amid spirited forays by the visitors, looked the better side. They may have easily converted one of the many promising moves if not for a better pass, or a slip by the Bantams.

I always enjoy watching the Morecambe young'uns practising their penalties at half time. I imagine myself at that age, what a pleasure and a privilege it would be to kick that ball into the back of the net, and I mused upon the care and professionalism that the staff show these little ones. It dawns on me, however, that even after ten minutes without chanting and clapping the cold has started to set back into my body. Come on second half, start already!

The second half belonged to Bradford City, if any team. They were much more assured in possession and grew in attacking confidence. Morecambe remained impressively resolute in defence, but their waning energy in attack - even after bringing in their number nine - felt ominous. At one point, a prolonged period of head-volleyball between the two sets of players had me cursing. 'Keep it on the deck,' I said under my breath. 'Thread it through the middle, stop overusing that right-hand side!'

Despite my amateur managerial machinations, Morecambe looked like they were going to survive Bradford's sustained periods of pressure to come away with their first three-pointer of the season. Until, that is, the 88th minute. Yet another assault on Morecambe'a goal saw Shepherd rise the highest to head the ball into the left top bin, past Moore's outstretched fingers, which had done so well in every other movement of the evening. Bradford had another couple of chances to claim three points, and Morecambe themselves had a pair of unlikely attempts themselves to write very pleasing headlines for the seaside town. As it was, though, the points were shared between the teams.

I spoke to a Bradford fan in local pub The Exchange afterwards. Whereas they felt very much that City had dropped two points against a poor team and damaged their chances in the league going forward, I felt that two sides were quite evenly matched. Perhaps a trick of biased perspective, I felt that Morecambe had slightly the better chances, but that is no consolation when you aren't taking them. Me and my mate left the stadium saying that one point is better than none, and we hope the lads and the manager are proud of their overwhelmingly positive performance. One point per match will surely become three if the tireless endeavour the Shrimps showed continues, met by a little more finishing prowess up top.

Thanks as ever to Christie.

*the last game I saw was between Morscambe and Newport County, which ended 0-1

Sunday, 26 February 2023

Can You Feel It?

You may think that I had forgotten it was Twin Peaks Day (the day that Special Agent Dale Cooper arrives in the eponymous town of Twin Peaks for the 'first' time in the seminal TV 'documentary' series (I have to put that in inverted commas because it's 'not true')) on the 24th, merely based on the fact that I had forgotten.

But had I? A number of phenomena I experienced will tell you otherwise.

In fact, I had the theme tune playing in my head for most of the afternoon. Okay, you're not convinced. You say, quite rightly, that I could have had any number of the show's songs as an earworm, any day of the year, and it proves nothing.

What about the fact that I decided to treat myself and make a 'proper coffee' before work? Of all the days I've been wanting to do it, on Friday it just felt right somehow, like I was being called to do it from someone or something beyond the sycamore trees... Still not having it? Well, at least I can tell you that it was a damn fine cup of coffee.

Okay then, how about the fact that, in the middle of my shift that same day, everybody stopped and went silent, and a mysterious giant appeared to me in a beam of silvery light. A sound, as of Tibetan meditation bells rang out, and he implored me, "It is happening again. It is happening - again." Yeah, explain that one.

So I'm sure we can now all agree that there was definitely something here that the FBI will want to investigate and designate a Blue Rose case. But for now, let's gas up the jet and fly away from this bizarre little digression.

Take care, and remember: the owls are not what they seem.

Sunday, 20 November 2022

 I am genuinely only posting this because I haven't posted in so long that I feel that I'm going to lose the ability forever.

How are you folks?

 

All the best,

 

M

Monday, 4 July 2022

Unlocked

 
Inside the safe, they are shelling.
The distance between me and the safe is about two metres.
The shelling intensifies.
A wind picks up, and some of the smoke -
hardly kaleidoscopic in grey, blue, and black -
escapes the leaden box.
Inside, one of them waves at me.
Inside, one of them waves to me.
Inside, one of them stops waving.

On the radio, I hear mangelwurzels are the new superfood.
The Primer Minister has eaten them,
says he credits his success to their vibrancy.
That, and cheating at Whiff-Whaff.
It's a choice between the radio and the safe.



[I wrote this poem in a Quiet Compere workshop, and performed it at a Quiet Compere poetry showcase.]

Thursday, 30 June 2022

Beyond Compere

Right, I'm not going to start this post off by saying how busy I've been, and how time has flown (over six weeks ago? Really!?!). I'm not going to do it. You deserve better. Anyways, way back on May 14th, I had a lovely day. Sarah L Dixon was back in town with her Quiet Comperetour, so the day started with a workshop - led by the Quiet Compere herself - had the addition of another cup to Liverpool's cabinet in the middle, and in the evening ended with the Quiet Compere's poetry showcase. It was so good to be guesting again. Last time I was on the bill, hmm, when would that be? Probably Peter Barlow's Cigarette, but how many years ago I dread to think. I can't explain why it means something to me. Maybe it's about validation on some level, but it doesn't feel like that. It's more likely that being billed increases the pressure and feeling of scrutiny, you know, you really want to give your best, whereas if it's an open mic, I feel a bit more like I can take a liberty or two. Well, one or two more liberties (we are talking about poetry here!). Speaking about being on the bill, though, I really like the Quiet Compere's philosophy that no names are bigger than any other. She doesn't give any lengthy intros that list achievements, it was purely and simply the artist's name, and getting on with the readings.

The showcase began with an open mic session, and this exemplified the quality and diversity over the whole night (this is what's so exciting to me - all these different styles and themes all rubbing up against one another!). A number of my friends read out - Jim, Voirrey, Matt, and better-half-Becks, who were all great performers with wonderful material - and a few others, Griff Jones, who I've seen on the local circuit before, and a student Clodagh (who was at the workshop at the Nib Crib, too), who really impressed me by performing from memory an experimental piece with a complex interweaving of repetition and progression. The future's bright with such stars around.
 
I enjoyed the second half of the evening as well, which featured the featured writers. Even all this time later, I remember fondly how Zoe Lambert made us laugh with her keen observations of what it's like to grow up and discover oneself. Peter Kalu was great, and tackled big themes with warmth (and encouraged us to throw money at him, which was something new). JJ Journeyman really got me thinking. I suppose I normally regard 'character poets' with a bit of suspicion ('can't it just be about good poetry' is my usual thought), but his performance broke through my cynicism, made me laugh and think, and I'm gutted that I overthought the throwing of his bear into the suitcase (nope - not going to give you any context for that). Sarah Corbett was great, too, and her pieces felt very finely crafted, with a magical music in them (reminds me, I must look at getting a book or two of hers...). Big Charlie Poet was good, too, what I'd describe as 'rawly personal', having written touching work about, for example, depression and relationships.
 
Sarah's post here tells the story of the night better than I could, making my whole post here rather redundant:

Check out the rest of the tour here (next one on the July 1st!): http://thequietcompere.co.uk/events-organiser/ 
 
Look out soon, as I'm going to post one of the poems I wrote at the workshop, which I also performed at the showcase.

Saturday, 7 May 2022

Event Incoming!

One week today ( :O ), The Quiet Compere comes to Morecambe on her 2022 tour!

First, she will be facilitating a workshop at the dear old Nib Crib at 5 West Street, Morecambe (1530 - 1700hrs).


Later (1900 - 2130), she will be compering a night of poetry performance at the West End Playhouse, around the corner on Yorkshire Street. There'll be open mic slots to begin with, and then featured local poets, of which I am one.


I was hoping to have a picture of me in my snazzy Quiet Compere tour t-shirt, but I'm waiting to get it off a friend. Incidentally, t-shirts are still available to order, and a selection will be available to buy on the night.

Hope to see you there! :)

This is the Morecambe page, btw:

And the overall Quiet Compere 2022 Your page:

Tuesday, 15 March 2022

Friends

I was talking to a friend the other day about mental health. He's someone who is quite sensitive, too, and it was refreshing to have a conversation about it. Surprising, also, that he's had such similar experiences to me. The world can make you feel alone when you're not - not really. I suppose I'm writing this now so maybe other people think, "Yeah, that happens to me, too!"

One of the things we talked about was people who say they're there for you and aren't. I don't mean to make any of this sound easy, because at the minute it isn't. It will get easier, but it depends on how people in wider society act, how normal things become. It's getting better, and I know I need to work on things as well as others.

We've had people saying to us, "Here if you want to talk," like that's it, job done. I've been in relationships where it's been such a passive 'believe I care for you because I'm telling you I am'. For so many people, maybe men especially (because of the traditional roles and stigmas), it takes a huge deal to open a door and let someone in. I've done this before, tried to talk about what's on my mind, have told people how depressed I am. I wasn't asking them to fix everything for me, but when that person you've opened the door door interrupts you time after time, doesn't acknowledge what you've said, or even asks why you're not doing anything about it, the door you've opened for them closes a little bit more each time.

Then they say it again. "I'm here for you." Where? Where are you? Outside. You have the address, but not the key. I was letting you in, and you didn't step inside. That's fine. I've dealt with that from many people. It still hurts, but life is suffering. The question is now, how to deal with it again?

I'm glad at least I can sometimes get to talk to this friend of mine, but I wish I had someone there regularly, someone who said they cared and showed it. Anyway, I'm sounding maudlin now... I also want to help myself to trust more, to be more emotionally available, and hopefully in the future have more tools to be able to use in relationships - platonic or romantic - where this happens.

I hope if you're reading this that you're well. Please take care.