Bovey Tracey 4 Foxhole 1

[Darin Morse]

Saturday 3rd August 2013
Bovey Tracey 4 Foxhole 1

Dear reader, it was by no means certain that I'd be able to post this report given the issues I had with my rather ageing computer during the last turbulent week. Typically, an afternoon spent trying to get some sense out of the idiot manning the helpdesk failed to satisfactorily address the problem, although it would have helped my case if I'd at least have rung the correct number as initially I got the amputee helpline, but I was soon cut off. The chap I eventually spoke to gave the impression his knowledge of silicon chip technology amounted to having read one more page of the manual than me. He asked me if I'd tried disabling cookies. I said I'd once bitten the legs off a gingerbread man. I finally gave up on his advice when he suggested turning my computer off, and then on again.

Still tinkering with my computer on the morning of the match meant I was running really late by the time I set off for my first ever visit to Bovey Tracey. This did not, however, prevent me from offering my assistance when, within a few miles of joining the A38, I came across a broken-down Fiat, beside which a gorgeous young lady was struggling with a puncture.
"Screwdriver?" I asked.
"Why not?" she said. "I'll never change this tyre."

This made me even more late and I approached Bovey Tracey with no idea where the ground was. I parked and knocked on the door of a house so old the policy sellotaped to the front window confirmed it was insured against invasion by the Normans.
"Can you tell me the quickest way to the football pitch, please?" I enquired of the sweet, if somewhat confused, woman who lived there.
"Are you walking or driving?"
"I'm driving".
"Good", she said. "That's definitely the quickest way".

On discovering that, after all, I had time to kill before kick off, I decided to explore the town on foot. It was immediately apparent that Bovey had a certain Olde Worlde charm, appearing to possess the world's largest range of Morris Minors per capita. I passed a garage sale where a small group of men were eagerly searching through a pile of Betamax video tapes resting on a trestle table until, on hearing an aeroplane, they all stopped and pointed to the sky.

I'd heard that Bovey Tracey possessed a terrific music shop, but I had no idea where it was, and soon got lost in the maze of sidestreets. Luckily I had a compass, so at least I could draw perfect circles. Realising I had to swallow my pride and ask for directions I spotted a chap lying on a bench and approached him eagerly. His dress sense suggested he may recently have raided the wardrobe of Boy George but it soon became apparent he was actually fast asleep, a clipboard tucked under his arm. A woman then walked by, and mentioned to me that she had seen him earlier conducting a sheep census. Further down the road I met a younger man who, it transpired, had until recently been a soldier. He told me in halting tones that he'd seen active service in Afghanistan, Iraq and Beirut. He was visibly shell-shocked, and explained to me that he still got nightmarish flashbacks to his time growing up in Bovey Tracey. He said he was now a professional counterfeiter and had the certificates to prove it, before pointing me in the right direction for the record shop.
"Have you anything by The Doors?", I enquired of the bored-looking shop assistant there.
"A bucket of sand and a fire blanket", she replied and I went on my way.

At least the gardens at Mill Marsh Park were looking nice, its distinctiveness and vibrancy reminding me of Portmeirion, the Welsh village that had provided the colourful set of 60s drama The Prisoner. However, after having wandered around for only a few minutes I then couldn't locate the exit. In a mild state of panic as kick off time was fast approaching, I was able to empathise with Patrick McGoohan's character, a lone male unable to escape a strange world inhabited by quirky middle-aged people speaking in riddles. While I was momentarily distracted by the beauty of the begonias, a bowler-hatted man on a Penny Farthing bicycle stopped and asked me furtively, "Who is number two?".
"I really don't know for sure", I answered, "but I expect Faircloth will play right-back today".

In fact, Killen lined up on the right of a very youthful Foxes defence and he had his work cut out dealing with the excellent wing play of Kelly, who had swapped flanks soon after brilliantly setting up the opening Bovey goal on ten minutes for Rowe to smash home from twelve yards. Prompted by the elegant Smyth, the home team were playing some great stuff, ensuring Foxhole suffered in the heat for needlessly losing possession cheaply and being unable to support the eager Vincent. On thirty-two minutes Rowe outmuscled Morecroft, an early replacement for Laughton, before planting the ball into the corner, but Couch should have reduced the arrears almost immediately, finding only the legs of Brooks from a tight angle, with the unmarked Vincent waiting in vain for a tap in. Nine minutes later, Kelly's strong run from half way culminated in the third goal but the determination displayed by the visitors, and their willingness to accept the ball in tight areas, was rewarded when Morecroft's fine centre was headed home by Rosevear.

The second half saw Foxhole at least the equal of their premier division opponents and, had Williams and Bullen shown greater composure when well placed, may have returned home with a creditable draw. Their more aggressive approach appeared to upset the hosts, who rarely threatened after Rowe had somehow squandered the opportunity to complete his hat-trick. Their fourth, twenty-five minutes from time, came against the run of play, when Dicken ruthlessly punished Morecroft's error.

On the way home, I had to answer a call of nature and stopped by a roadside toilet. On returning to my car, I was shocked to discover a crude message written on my windscreen in pink lipstick, offering me intercourse "without commitment" at her home. I looked around but could see no-one; she had left her mobile number but she was clearly a nutcase. I mean, you should have seen the state of her bedroom.

Bovey Tracey (3-5-2): Tom Brooks; Lee Pascoe, Ryan Stanbridge, Kai Fisher; Tom Kelly, Aaron Cowell, Dan Taylor, Lee Smyth, Lewis Plackett; Hayden Rowe, Harry Scatchard.
Subs: Tom Arnold, Luke Holman, Sam Dicken, Liam Moyle.

[TheolderIgetthebetterIwas]

SHE'S a nutcase !!!!!!!!

[unitedrhino2]

Brilliant Darren, back on form, let the season commence, I will look for all your reports, no doubt the only comfort I am going to get on a Saturday this season.

[WendronOfficial]

Was the match that dull? How are Watts and Flack getting on up there? Any chance of a Foxhole line up?

Cheers

[midlandlilywhite]

Great article Darin. I look forward to reading more of these this season. Good luck to Foxhole, your boys played with plenty of spirit against the Lillywhites a few weeks ago

[truros mr mourinho]

Great article Darin. I look forward to reading more of these this season. Good luck to Foxhole, your boys played with plenty of spirit against the Lillywhites a few weeks ago

what vodka or whiskey .