11/04/2023
If you walked down the High Street last week, you might have smelt something in the air. Not something you can necessarily put your finger on, but something exciting all the same. Is it the smell of the freshly baked cakes wafting from Alison’s Country Kitchen, or the aroma of a fragrant curry coming from Tattenhall Spice? Is it the dawn of spring, the wild garlic snaking through the spinney, or the pungent cheese from Morton’s deli counter making it’s way into your nostrils? Maybe so, but something else. Something magical, something fizzing and crackling, an energy which puts a spring in your step, and drew hundreds of people to the Flacca on this beautiful Sunday morning. Tattenhall were on the brink of making their first cup final for 30 years. The fans filed through the turnstiles and into Fortress Flacca.
Great Sutton - today’s opponents – had been worthy adversaries throughout the season, with a 2-2 draw and a tight 1-0 defeat to show for their games against Tattenhall so far. Despite being rooted to the bottom of the league, Great Sutton had somewhat of a revival of late, having beaten Horse and Jockey, and then AC Innovent on penalties in the quarter finals.
The referee and his two henchman welcomed the teams to the field, he parped his whistle bang on 11 o’clock, then the game began. It was a raucous affair; the Easter eggs left in their boxes as the players bit into each other instead. Withe and Mutete started together up front, in what was a delightful performance from the pair, twisting and turning their way through the Sutton defence time after time like a Cyndi Lauper Helter Skelter.
Sutton won a free kick deep in their own half, and from that long punt upfield, a defence in disorder, and a glancing header from a Sutton Shielder, the visitors took the lead. The rallying cries from the touchline rejuvenated Tattenhall, and Joe Clarke, tenacious to a fault - having previously shaken off a dizzy spell - tracked back Sutton’s winger, slid in to win the ball with a glorious challenge, and then glided upfield, weaving between defenders until he was dumped to the ground with a challenge so naughty that the referee tried to bleep it out with his whistle (or just award a freekick, I’m not sure). From that free kick - a similar long punt upfield, a similar defence in disorder, a similar glancing header, but this time from Tattenhall Trickster James Withe, who jumped highest to nod home the equaliser.
With 15 minutes to go until the interval, Great Sutton pounced on some indecisive Tattenhall defending, and the striker prodded the ball past keeper John and it agonisingly rolled over the line. Barely a minute had passed, and some clever play between McKew and Menzies – a feature of the first 70 minutes of the game, M&M dovetailed with the skill and dexterity of a master cabinet builder – fed Morris, who took one touch to set himself, before unleashing an absolute thundercustard of a thwack into the far corner of the net. Kaboom! We’ve got a Desmond on our hands now*, and the whistle blew for half time.
It is exactly 217 years since the birth of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, a man who shot to fame with the Thames Tunnel, but really made his mark on the Industrial Revolution with the construction of the Clifton Suspension Bridge – often thought of as the turning point in the history of engineering. Could Tattenhall’s own Brunel engineer a victory today?
Manager Oliver Isambard Sayles needed to bring wisdom and experience to proceedings and - talking of immovable objects that span generations and gorges - was able to bring on Tattenhall’s very own suspension bridge, Damon Smith. He, along with Pete Harper, brought calm and cunning onto the pitch, slowing the game down where necessary and putting the fear of gosh into their opponents with their fearsome and grizzled visages.
The second half wore on, although both sides were pushing for victory, they played the game with more tentativeness than before. It wasn’t quite a revolution, though the language was certainly industrial on both touchlines (it was so exciting having linesman, but they did cop a few ear-swears from overenthusiastic fans throughout the game). The suspense grew and grew like the span over the River Avon as the game approached it’s conclusion.
With 5 minutes remained, Sutton worked the ball out from left to right, to the edge of the area where the right back swung an enormous leg, connected beautifully with a volley heading into the top corner. What he and the rest of his teammates hadn’t counted on was the incredulous agility of Tattenhall’s net-tender Arron John. Diving up to his left, he turned into Mr Tickle for a moment, to stretch his left paw out beyond normal range, suspended in mid-air for a second longer than you’d have thought was possible, to tip the shot onto the bar and out for a corner. It is no coincidence that this shot-stopper has exactly the same number of syllables in his name as that of ex England net-bouncer Gordon Banks, no coincidence at all. What a save!
And that was that, the referee had had enough, popped his whistle into his sweaty chops and blew with all his might. But no one was going home, it was penalty time!
Skip Wetherby stepped up first, fresh from a man of the match performance we have come to expect from a man who grabbed the game in his fist and only released it when he hu**ed the ball past the keeper to make it 1-0. Sutton’s goalscorer made it 1-1. Green for 2-1, Sutton for 2-2, Morris with a howitzer of a pen to make it 3-2, and then up stepped the Sutton substitute.
Arron John paused on his line. Staring straight into his enemy’s eyes, he teased him, took him on a torturous journey deep into his soul, until he could take no more. He struck the ball well enough, but the mind had beaten the body, and John dived down to his right to parry the ball away. Advantage Tattenhall. Withe stood up with a chance to put some daylight between the teams, and calmly stroked the ball out of the keeper’s reach into the corner. 4-2. Sutton’s keeper now took centre stage, and boffed the ball down the middle to give them a glimmer of hope.
But we now find ourselves in the hands of Tattenhall’s own fish-and-chip-monger Sadi Ramazi, who was not initially going to take a penalty. Until he uttered these immortal words… “If you let me take a penalty, I will score, I will not let you down”. If we cannot trust our local proprietors, then who can we really trust anymore? It takes real pollocks to take the deciding penalty, and Sadi has them in abundance, so up he stepped, battered the ball into the net, catching the goalkipper hook, line and sinker!
Oh. My. Cod.
Tattenhall are through to the final!
*Tutu. Desmond 2-2.
