Squeaky bum time

Fresh from the disappointment of Thader gatecrashing the party, Santa Pola headed off to Pinoso to take on the local team of the same name and to reacquaint themselves with their former manager, Anselmo Serrano. Under the clubs former regime, the likeable Serrano was sacked in March 2009 after a dismal defeat away to Alone. It says much about his coaching abilities that Pinoso snapped him up almost immediately.

I quite like Pinoso, I don't think it's a small town blessed with the most attractive women, but the people are friendly, the cafeteria clientele don't gawp as though you have two heads when you walk through the door and their footy ground is quite a nice one. Situated on the edge of town, the estadio Perfect Mira is a bit scruffy but quite quaint too and probably hasn't changed much in fifty odd years. A covered stand runs the length of one side of the pitch, on the other, seperated by a concrete wall, sits a five-a-side pitch surrounded by high fencing. Beyond the smaller, plastic pitch is where it starts to get really pretty. Less than a couple of kilometres from the ground, the campo in the near distance tips up alarmingly and becomes a green hillside dotted with cottages and small dwellings. As the winter sun sinks rapidly out of sight, in the gathering gloom the hillside twinkles with lights, all of which are accompanied by wafts of smoke from wood burning fires, the smell of which is unmistakably Spanish.  Anyway, that's enough of the prosaic shit, I need to explain why I stole a phrase first uttered by Sir Alex Ferguson.

When you watch a football match involving a team you're really fond of, in my experience the match falls into one of three categories. Take for example Santa Pola, once or twice they haven't looked like winning and you resign youself fairly early on to an impending disappointment, in those kind of situations, the writing is on the wall, and, oddly you don't end up quite so pissed off. The best kind off footy watching experience occurs when your lot are playing out of their skins, the opposition are chasing their tails and being ran ragged. The first goal is quickly followed by a couple more and it soon becomes a question of how many to nil or one they're going to win by.

In some ways, group three is very difficult to enjoy. Pinoso versus Santa Pola fits neatly into that category and here's why. Two decent teams, playing attractive football, somehow, in spite of loads of chances each, the first half finished goal-less. Ding, ding, secounds out round two. More tension, opportunities for both sides, a few more outrageous saves from the home goalkeeper and, yet, Santa Pola rode their luck more than a little too. Today was the day though when centre-back Miguel decided nothing was coming past him, booming headers out and tackles that would have stopped an elephant inspired the defensive colleagues around him as Pinoso were thwarted at every turn.

With ten minutes remaining and still no score, three results were still possible and relaxation most certainly wasn't. Subconciously I'd settled for a point, with not long to go and the hard work done, there was always this nag Pinoso might steal a late winner. When that happens, trust me it's a pisser! In the end it was Santa Pola who almost broke some home hearts, Mario Fernandez rose to meet a cross which dropped behind him, on hand to lash in a shot from five yards was Santa Pola captain Monsa, somehow, Pinoso 'keeper Paco reached the fizzing ball, prevented it crossing his line AND clung on to it. Monsa stood there head in hands.

If that wasn't enough, Paco hoofed the ball upfield to set up one final Pinoso attack with seconds left, by this point I was willing, like you do, the referee to blow for time. Miguel, for about the fifteenth time in the match, made sure the ball stayed cleared by launching it out of the ground. Two consecutive Pinoso corners and a nail biting four extra minutes later, the welcome sound of three shrill whistle blasts rent the air and squeaky bums, local and visiting, settled down. Every local football club has a slightly backward gentleman who's work is to retrieve lost balls and ensure they are returned to the "Delegado" who sits pitchside at the centre line to liaise with both benches for changes etc, (in Albatera three quarters of the town would qualify for the job of retarded ball fetcher). Today, the educationally challenged chap scurried around all afternoon and was the busiest man at the ground retrieving footballs the 'Pola back line had scattered to all four corners, the kind of stubborn defending that earned the away side a valuable point.

Final score Pinoso 0 - 0 Santa Pola
Men of the Match: Paco/Pinoso - Miguel/Santa Pola

PHOTOS:
Top - Man United manager Sir Squeaky Ferguson
Middle - Paco, thou shalt not pass
Bottom - Miguel, class!!

Whoops! That wasn't supposed to happen

A week or so after I counted my chickens regarding La Liga football at Hercules CF in the 2010/11 season, they, (Herc' that is), gently remined me football's a funny old game. Prior to the start, thirty points separated Hercules from Castellon in the Segunda 'A' classification, along with the rest of the divisions teams. So the scene was set then for three more points for the mighty Hercules machine as they trampled all over the bottom club from the northernmost of the regions three provinces. Unfortunately, for the Alicantinos, what actually happened was something akin to lowly Peterbrough heading off up the A1and "doing" leaders Newcastle United in the Coca Cola Championship at St.James Park.

Twelve and a half thousand odd people, a decent turn out for Spanish second divison footy, turned up to watch and ended up leaving for home mighty pissed off. Not to put too fine a point on it, how Hercules rose to the top of the table playing as poorly as this is a bit of a mystery. More to the point, how Castellon are deep in the shit trying to fend off Segunda B football next season playing this well is an even bigger mystery.

Perched pitchside, which goal to sit behind for photographs was a bit of a no brainer, top versus bottom at the Rico Perez in April last season yielded eight goals, not one of which was scored by eventually relegated Sevilla Atletico as Hercules kicked their visitors very hard whilst they were down. Before heading off to sit behind the goal of Castellon 'keeper Lledo, I rashly suggested to my one of the other photographers the score might be about to become a bit lop sided. Cock!!!

Things certainly began well enough for Herc', a competent albeit not that confident start, saw them open the scoring with a headed goal by Romanian striker Danciulescu after eighteen minutes. It was the last time they did. For the remaining seventy two minutes Castellon took the piss, starting about ten minutes later with an equalizer Roberto Carlos would have quite liked. Castellon captain, number 22 Pedro, absolutely tanked into the top corner a shot that would have broken the wrists of  Hercules goalkeeper Calatayud had he tried properly to get anywhere near it. I don't think Calatayud is stupid, the phrase "discretion is the better part of valour" immediately sprang to mind, along with the unpleasant motorcycle accident suffered by Spurs' counterpart Claudio Cudicini. At half time, the scores remained one apiece and Herc' trooped off to await the mother of all bollockings.

Whatever was said had little effect, Castellon scored again ten minutes into the half and led for the first time in the match. Then, a comedy moment none of the locals found funny. Montenegran top scorer Delibasic climbed high with visiting defender Rafita, nutted his opponent in mid-air, came off worse and was stretchered off. I think he was just about conscious enough to recongnise the red card waved at him by the referee as he lay there dazed and confused.

Very generously Las Palmas referee Hernandez Hernandez, no seriously that's his name, added on nearly six minutes with which Hercules could continue to make mistakes and give the ball away. To be honest he could have played a full thirty minutes of extra time, then had a penalty shoot out and Hercules still wouldn't have found the back of the net. Aside from a ten minute spell chasing the game near the end, they didn't come to life all game and got what they deserved. Nothing.  Full time Hercules 1 - 2 Castellon


PHOTOS:
Top - Del Olmo turns the Castellon full back
Upper middle - Castellon Captain Pedro gets in a header
Lower middle - Stretcher or not, Delibasic would soon be leaving
Bottom - So good they named him twice. Sr.Hernandez Hernandez at work

"Welcome home" said Gérard Depardieu.

A few weeks after the Santa Pola playing squad ended their work for the season towards the summer of 2009, another set of employees started theirs. That July, work started on the renovation of the Marineros home ground, the Estadio Municipal Manolo Macia in the town. Fast forward to early 2010, and the morning of Saturday January 23rd, a morning on which Mother Nature did a terrific job of disguising a bitterly cold day beneath a weak sun and blue skies.

Shortly after 12 noon, town Mayor Miguel Zaragoza Fernández and Valencian Autonomous Government Deputy for Sport, Don Bernabé Cano symbolically cut the tape and walked over the threshold, accompanied by about a thousand locals, football fans and journalists, to begin a tour of the remodelled stadium.

Inspection over, the dignatories made their way onto the pitch to officially declare the place open with a succession of short speeches and photo call with the two Santa Pola academy teams who had the honour of staging the first match on the billiard table smooth, grass playing surface.

Five hours later, and more than six months since the last competitve league game, C.D.Thader de Rojales arrived and promptly proceeded to ruin a gala day for the town of Santa Pola and it's proud football team. It seems Thader hadn't bothered to read the script or if they did, the words were studiuously ignored as the visitors romped to 0-2 victory, aided by two somewhat streaky goals.

Actually it was nothing like a romp for the away side, in a forgettable first half half punctuated only by a scruffy, to say the least, goal off the knee of Gerard Depardieu lookalike and occasional Thader full back Aurelio. Dear old Gerard knew nothing whatsoever about it and wheeled away in celebration, when, really he should have been deeply embarrassed and perhaps even a little ashamed. I certainly would have been.

Once the game resumed for the second half, Thader goalkeeper Toni staked a claim for man of the match on the back of about thirty five minutes of play. The battering started shortly after visiting defender Marcos was asked to leave by referee Iannopollo. Down to ten men, none of whom ventured very far forward, Thader were clinging on for grim death as Toni used various body parts, and, once or twice a couple together, to ensure his net remained intact. When your luck is out it's amazing how often two posts and a crossbar represent a far bigger target than a twenty four feet wide and eight foot high goal mouth. By now you can guess the kind of second half Santa Pola were having. It got worse four minutes into stoppage time.

The umpteenth panic stricken ball thumped out of the Thader box pitched halfway into the Santa Pola half, with perhaps the only mistake he's made all season long, the ultra reliable Carlos Fernandez conceded possession, and, while the hitherto bored home goalkeeper Pazos filled his nappy, Thader sub' Marcelino filled his size tens. And that was that!

PHOTOS:
Top - A couple of VIP's do the business with some scissors
Middle - The ugly French actor who opened the scoring
Bottom - Santa Pola players, coaching staff, the Mayor and his missus

Meanwhile, over in Alicante. Part I

Hercules CF

Estadio Jose Rico Perez - capacity 30000
Inuaguration 1974
President: Valentin Botella Ros,
Manager: Esteban Vigo.

It's still a few months yet away from what could be called the business end of the season, but so far football fans in Alicante have rather enjoyed what they've seen up to now, football fans that is, who support Hercules CF. The city has two senior teams, one of which is absolutely crap and the second that most definitely isn't.

Right now 2009/10 looks like being the season that ends Hercules five year run in Spain's national Segunda A division, it's not all bad news though, if they carry on as they are presently, Herc' will face off next year against the big boys in La Liga. Exactly half way through their forty two match campaign, "los blanquiazules" sit top of the table second division table, ten points better off than fourth placed Villarreal B and with a really sexy goal difference.

Last year, in spite of spanking Salamanca 1-5 away in the last game of the season, Herc outscored allcomers and still suffered the disappointment of finishing fourth, three points worse off than Tenerife and Real Zaragoza and a further point adrift of Segunda A champions Xerez. Curiously, the three teams who pipped the Alicantinos in 2009's close run thing are now propping up the rest of top flight, with Xerez rock bottom on a dismal eight points from nineteen matches.

For Juan Carlos Mandia, the highly regarded but ultimately unsuccessful Hercules coach in their narrow 2008/09 promotion failure, it was La Liga football at any cost. He walked out on the Alicante club last summer when Real Racing Club Santander, who liked the look of his CV, came calling. For Mandia, who had never coached at Spain's highest level, the disloyal gamble failed miserably; he was sacked in November by the Cantabrian club after a dismal start yielded a single point from five home games.

With the resentful Herculanos still simmering, the club appointed Andalucian coach Esteban Vigo to replace the departed Mandia. Clearly, Esteban Vigo Benitez learnt quite a bit during his playing days, which included a trophy laden ten years with Catalan giants Barcelona and a handful of games for the Spanish national team, that vast experience is now being put to excellent use during his second career. The foundation stone of a renewed attempt on the second division summit is a miserly defence which has conceded just fourteen goals in those twenty one starts, along the way slipping to defeat just twice, both times by a single goal. Up front Herc' aren't too shabby either, thirty two times opposing 'keepers have retrieved the ball from the back of their own net, a figure bettered only by hated local rivals Elche.

Under the tutelage of  Sr.Vigo, Hercules CF appear to have done everything right thus far. A word of caution though, for a full month after the English Premiership has been done and dusted for another year, Hercules and their rivals will all still be playing, their season continues until the third week of June.

TO BE CONTINUED........ 

PHOTOS:

Top - Ex trainer Juan Carlos Mandia, for whom only the shirts were greener in Santander.

Middle - Estaban Vigo is unveiled in July 2009 by club President Valentin Botella. (right).

Bottom - Herc defender Juanra battles Numanica's Nano (19) recently.

Albatera - don't hurry back, hurry past!

Sometimes, when you've walked into a smoky pub and then left, your clothes smell a bit rank don't they?, well Albatera is a bit like that - you drive home thinking "what the fuck is that smell" At this point I need to extend a profuse apology. To the people who frequent smoky pubs!

Albatera is a small town just about twenty kilometres from Elche, as shit holes go it's quite a bad one, barely worth four lines on Wikipedia. Ten thousand odd poor souls, (although arse holes would have done just as well), live there and of that five figure number, approximately eighty five per cent are inbred. It shows. Manchester City striker Carlos Tevez isn't the most handsome chap is he, try finding his 2010 calendar, compared to a typical Albatera resident though, Snr.Tevez is most definitely Hollywood 'A' list.

Inbred number one, who, I think goes by the name of Gregorio, (initially I mis-heard and thought it was Prickorio), works in the football club ticket office at the ramshackle El Calvario stadium, which, if it existed in the United Kingdom would have been condemned some time ago. Dear old Gregorio it seems, has only one mission in life, namely to take ten Euros from anyone who passes within fifteen yards of his glass window. Aided and abetted outside on the gate by the ninety four year old bastard son of two cousins, G even tried to gently coax the Santa Pola Club de Futbol players and their Delegado, Rafael Fuentes, into parting with a few quid, (can you call Euro's that?), before letting them in to take part in the game. Next time, I'll suggest they call the dumb cunt's bluff, don't pay up and let Albatera C.F. explain to the Federation why the game couldn't take place. It's well worth mentioning that on the afternoon Gregorio tried in vain to trouser some cash from the Santa Pola players and technical staff, the visiting coach broke down en route and everyone aboard the stricken bus was mighty pissed off when they eventually arrived and in no mood for that old malarkey.

Eventually, just in time for the scheduled 1600 kick off, Santa Pola had cobbled together eleven players, some managerial types and a subs bench who were allowed in and a game of footy took place, granted not a particularly good one but ninety and a bit minutes of soccer nevertheless. Santa Pola scored first with an outrageously streaky free kick from German, who only has one modus operandi, kick it fucking hard and hope it hurts the goalies hands. Today, as it happened, the bloke in the green shirt was also the bloke in the photo on the homepage of this blog. Choki is his name and he made a bit of a pigs ear of fielding German's free-kick pile driver thingy, the ball bounced off his chest and in, 0-1. Sorry, don't care who you shout at, it's your fault sonny!!

Urged on by quite a few local spectators, who very publicly demonstrated their complete lack of understanding of the rules of football as only the truly ignorant can, Albatera were much better in the second half, a goal down at the break they emerged for the second half and took Santa Pola apart. Despite their dominance, the yellow shirts could only manage a single goal and the match finished one apiece. A cheery middle finger goodbye to the educationally challenged Gregorio and we were on our way. Ideally, Albaterta, who are a shit football team in a shit village of a small town will be relegated this season and replaced by a team from a town where the inhabitants don't hump family members to perpetuate a freakish bloodline, Full time 1-1

We'll see.

PHOTOS
Top - the City of Manchesters resident knuckler scraper
Middle - the excellent German
Bottom - Carlos Teves' most recent one night stand - his sister!!

Even the facking lino' had tights on!!

When you think of Spain what comes readily to mind, gorgeous ladies? San Miguel? the European cafe-culture, sun, sangria and some humpty on the beach? Well, for most of the year nearly all these things are freely available, although, there is a bird in my local Dia supermarket with an amazing arse but a face like Rowan Atkinson. Right now though we're in the middle of the period when a little bit of nookie outside is probably not a smart idea and if you decided to risk it you'd need some protection for your fingers too, gloves! Unfortunately, and unlike the poofters in Germany and Sweden, football in Spain doesn't have a mid-season break, this means those who take part expect people to come and watch it.

So it was on the Costa Blanca's coldest day since about 1973 that Santa Pola headed off to San Vicente to take on Preferente strugglers Jove Español. It's probably just me but on those kind of occasions 'Pola always end up playing away at the bleakest and most windswept grounds imagineable. In the above photo, concentrate not on the football action, but the six or seven people huddled together next to the bar. These are in fact, random strangers who had never previously met, but, through necessity, chose to share body warmth to ward off the clear and present danger from hypothermia. I don't think the icy wind and freezing cold temperature agreed with the home side because they were absolutely crap, they eventually lost 0-1, but really, they should ought to have been at least four or five goals worse off.

Santa Pola full back Dani notched the only score and it was quite a good one, usually when defenders get forward and have a shot the ball ends up in the adjacent postcode, not this time. Our hero started and finshed the move, leaving the grunt work in the middle to midfielder Emilio and centre forward Mario Fernandez, who set him up with a deft flicked header into space. From just inside the box, Danny Boy slapped in a lobbed shot someone like Glenn Hoddle or CR9 would have been quite proud to claim ownership of and in the process grab all three points for the visitors.

As luck wouldn't have it, the goal occurred fairly early on in the first half so everyone present had to hang around at Ice Station Zebra for at least another hour. The half time interval didn't really help either, normally it's an opportunity to grab a coffee, not to drink mind you because nine times out of ten it tastes horrible, but to wrap my fingers around to thaw them out. This time the mid match beverage was served up in something only an Action Man could have made use of, so no help there then.

It was one of those games where only the really hard men choose the short sleeved shirt and most of the players wore gloves, as did the referee, for sure John Barnes from years gone by would have feigned injury.

Talking of match officials, the ref's assistant running the line on the dug-out side of the pitch did well to make do without any gloves but rather ruined his macho image by sporting a natty line in black tights. Presumably he did ask the missus before rummaging around in her smalls drawer.

PHOTOS; Top - some strangers becoming acquainted
                  Middle - Dan the man
                  Bottom - the cross-dressing assistant referee

Crappy New Year

Full credit to the lads and lasses of easyJet, their collective efforts managed to get me and the good lady home to Spain in time for the first Santa Pola fixture of 2010. After the misery of our outward journey, we could have been forgiven for worrying about the fact we only had about nineteen hours between our scheduled departure time and kick off. I did have a contingency though, this involved either walking or grabbing a taxi direct to the game from Alicante airport, thankfully neither were necessary which was quite a relief because I didn't really fancy lumping a big old black suitcase around with me pitchside.

Had I known two important things, for sure I would have extended my UK stay into the following week, in this order, those two things were; (a) the game wasn't taking place at the remodelled Estadio Manolo Macia and, (b) Santa Pola would lose to league leaders Horadada despite a terrific team effort that posed the visitors quite a few questions. In the end, both happened and more by outrageous luck than judgement we avoided the UK's worst winter for ages which left everywhere buried beneath a foot of snow for at least a week and would have delayed our late return home by a further fortnight.

For the first time in twelve days I didn't need a huge coat and gloves, a scarf was sufficient together with a light fleece, Sunday January 3rd was the date and for a week or so after the game I wished I was somewhere else because unfortunately Santa Pola lost. Credit where credit is due though, Horadada are a decent football team and their position at the top of the charts most certainly isn't some kind of fluke. So far this season teams have been nicking points off each other all over the place, not many though have taken on Horadada and emerged with very much at all.

For eighty minutes Santa Pola gave them a stiff test and looked good value for at least a point, unfortunately, football is played over an hour and a half and the final ten proved crucial as the visitors scored two unanswered goals. Both teams were mighty impressive for the duration, shifting the ball about quickly and with intent, frequently a single touch was enough to put both defences on red alert. At the mid-way point, both goal-keepers had warmed their hands without being required to bollock the centre-back as they always do once a goal has been conceded.

Sometimes you enjoy a first half so much that the second is eagerly awaited and disappoints, for sometimes, read 'today'. Horadada continued where they left off and Santa Pola didn't seem able to continue their high tempo. Visualise a Tug of War with eight muscle bound hard men on each side, the red tape in the middle of the rope barely moves, but then slowly, imperceptibly one side gain an advantage and from that point on the momentum shifts, thereafter the winners become obvious. Santa Pola got to that point at about seventy five minutes. For the home side minutes eighty to about ninety three or four contained two goals, zero points, fourteen crestfallen players and about three hundred and fifty disappointed locals as 2010 began with a defeat.

I think, after about five months, I've got it sussed. Santa Pola are a good football team and play extremely well against outfits with technique and fitness, but when it comes to the crunch against cack teams they're found wanting and get dragged down to a level beneath them, a bit like Liverpool and Reading in the Cup.

Actually, it wasn't such a crappy New Year in fairness. So what, 'Pola lost but after a two week break it was right nice to be amongst familiar faces, all of whom were there for the same reason. Full time Santa Pola 0 - 2 Horadada.




PHOTOS;
Top - some ropey old weather in the UK
Middle & Bottom - no quarter asked or given when these two squared off