Travelling Hopefully

Saturday 19^th March 2016 saw me guilty of a terrible dereliction of duty. Rather than taking my place on the touchline for Winstons in our Over 40s Division 3 promotion clash against The Philadelphia, then navigating a way down to Teesside for Benfield’s game at Norton & Stockton Ancients, I decided to accept my mate Ginger Dave’s offer of taking the car to the biggest contest of the weekend. A week after watching my beloved Hibernian lose the Scotch League Cup final to a last minute goal against Ross County, we headed back across the border to Jeanette Mugabe’s Banana Republic of Chilly Jockoland, for Annan Athletic against Berwick Rangers in the basement division of the SPFL.

A random choice? Not really; my longstanding love of all things Scottish (music, literature and football in particular) sees me taking in Junior games in June each year, so nipping over to the Solway Firth was no great deal. Besides, everyone’s got a soft spot for Berwick Rangers haven’t they? I think the last time I saw Newcastle up at Shielfield was a pre-season friendly in 2003, when a young prospect called Lewis Guy hit a brace, as a prelude to a glorious NUFC career, or so I thought. It didn’t work out like that; after a reasonable spell at Doncaster Rovers, he fell rapidly through the leagues, being released by Gateshead last summer and moving on to Barrow then Chorley. Now he’s at Annan which, as a Brampton native, is reasonably handy for him I suppose. I’d also seen Berwick away from home once before; at Queen of the South in 1998, where they brought 20 fans and lost pitifully 2-0. I went to that one with 3 pals: Des, Graham and Phil. We drank Dumfries dry afterwards. Many years older and slightly wiser, I wondered if I’d be doing the same a few miles south.

In point of fact, we almost didn’t get there. Ginge hasn’t been driving all that long and he seemed to be under the impression the A69 is a dual carriageway; it isn’t and we nearly ploughed into the front of an oncoming Audi. Luckily, Ginge recovered his wits and pulled over in time, but it meant that my pressing need for a cash machine went clean out my head as we made more sedate progress from then on. Arriving at 1.45, finding out Winstons had prevailed 1-0, we parked up outside the away entrance and headed into downtown Annan for a toby about. I’d only been there once before; June 1986, on the way home to Newcastle after finishing University in County Derry. Me and Phil scrounged a lift to Carlisle from this lad Ricky from Lancashire who was a year our junior, but owned a proto people carrier. Ricky drove and we drank from door to door, stopping in Annan to replenish our carry-out, before a few pints in Carlisle and the last train home. It was the only appropriate way to celebrate our academic achievements.

Annan hasn’t changed much in 30 years; it’s still a no-horse town that probably looks down on Gretna for being too risqué. Ironically Gretna 2008, the phoenix club after the original outfit went to the wall amid bitter recriminations when Brookes Mileson’s business empire got tangled up in a whole turgid miasma of inheritance claims and counter-claims, played their first games in Annan. Not at Galabank, but at a little athletics ground, just a bit further down the road. It’s the nearest thing to a tourist attraction in Annan; perhaps that’s why Gretna were so pleased to get back to their former home, Raydale Park, that once hosted Northern League games of course. Anyway, we wandered up and down the main drag, used a cash machine (Clydesdale Bank notes, natch) and headed back to the stadium.

A week previously, I’d been in with 43,000 swaying, passionate fans at Hampden; this day I was with 1% of that number, including 16 Berwick followers in the uncovered away end, in a well-appointed, neat little ground with a bouncy 4G surface. The home entrance was by the club Portakabin; a quick skeg round, a programme for a couple of quid, a tenner in and a coffee so hot it melted the plastic lid on the Styrofoam cup. The entrance leads one into the covered home end, but without any extra charge, seats were available in the stand that went from 18 yard box to 18 yard box on one side. We took a pew in the back row (of four) on the halfway line, next to the Gretna announcer, who was Spotifying an Old Grey Whistle Test style playlist; Thin Lizzy and Be Bop Deluxe before kick-off and Jackie Humble’s favourite,  Thank You For Being A Friend by Andrew Gold at half time.

The teams were read out and not only was Lewis Guy playing, but also former Blue Star front man Peter Weatherston, who must have been in Scotland so long (he was one of ex-Ashington boss John Connolly’s Anglo revolution at Queen of the South at the turn of the millennium) that even Settlerwatch think he’s naturalised. I’d not heard of any other of the players, but Annan’s number 7 Omar got a loud round of applause, as did the number 5 Peter Watson from the elderly couple in front of us; his parents.

Berwick started off the livelier with Jedward (or bearing the location, Jedburghward) lookalike Blair Henderson up top being a handful; he put the ball in the net, but was rightly flagged offside. Peter Weatherson then hit the foot of the post with a free kick and that was about it in the first half. A bright opening on a bright afternoon gave way to a torpid, soporific encounter that looked like a pre-season friendly, not a bloodthirsty attempt at making it into the SPFL League 2 play-offs, which it wasn’t really.

This season, I’ve seen about 70 games, including 55 in the Northern League; the only 0-0 I’ve endured was Benfield at home to Durham. This one seemed a racing certainty for a repeat, until the ineffectual Guy was replaced by the magnificently named Smart Osolador. Buoyed-up by an increasingly influential Omar, who rightly was named Man of the Match, Matt Flynn, a handy attacking midfielder, surged forward and arced a curling effort from outside the box in off the post, to give the home side a win. It wasn’t pandemonium, but it was warm applause on a decidedly staid afternoon. Very little anger. Hardly any profanity. One teenage lad marched by a steward from the stand to the home end for the heinous crime of putting his feet on the seat in front. It was that sort of place.

A good afternoon and a very relaxing day out. Next time, we’re thinking of a trip to Stranraer’s Stair Park. Full time news came through of Benfield’s score; 0-0 of course. Looks like I made the right choice. Mind Queen of the South beat Dumbarton 6-0 just up the road at Palmerston Park. Unsurprisingly, there was little match traffic and we got away sharpish, back in the house for 7.00, with plenty of time to start panicking about the Mackem game on the Sunday….

The last time I’d been to a Newcastle v Sunderland game was back in January 2009; not so much that game, but subsequent encounters had been so poisonous, so rancorous, so downright ugly that I’m glad I missed them, even the legendary 5-1. What brought me back for this one was partly the free ticket in the Platinum Club (cheers Doc J; hope you enjoyed the skiing), but mainly the appointment of Benitez. Of course he may be too little too late, but at least we have a chance with him in the dugout. 

Hindsight is wonderful; I had expected McClaren to turn us into a hard to beat, dour side. Instead, he turned out to be the crash test dummy of Premier League managers, making Carver seem like Guardiola. Admittedly under McClaren at first, we looked ok; indeed as recently as West Ham and West Brom we’ve played well, but from Chelsea onwards it has been a fiasco. He should have gone then, but typically of the club there was no communication with fans and total inaction at an executive level. It took the Bournemouth debacle to get something done. I didn’t see the Leicester game last week as I was on Tyneside Amateur League duties, but by all accounts we were no longer the shambles we had been. I honestly didn’t think we’d get beat against the mackems, though there’s nothing uglier than an Allardyce side scrapping for its life.

Ginge was again the chauffeur; parking up at The Free Trade, we wandered up into the town, allowing me to take up my usual spot selling fanzines outside the Irish Club. Around 1.00, after it became clear many of those heading for the ground had been drinking since breakfast and were in no mood to read, I packed up after distributing about 10. The last time I’d been in The Platinum Club was for the Real Sociedad friendly in 2014; it was a little busier today. The cushioned seat in the middle tier just into the Leazes half gave me a superb view of proceedings, and frankly I didn’t like what I saw in the first half.

We were fragile. We were nervous. Townsend apart, we offered nothing up front. Sissoko was lousy on the left (is it me or does he have terrible problems with controlling the ball?), Mitrovic was a jammed blunderbuss and Gini almost anonymous. To be fair, they started off very well and ended the half well on top. Credit it where’s it’s due; for an Allardyce side they played some neat stuff. Borini probed, Kirchoff ran the midfield and Defoe does what he does; he scored from out of nowhere and is probably the reason why they’ll stay up.

At half time, I feared for us, but Benitiez is no Pardew, McClaren or Carver; he earned his corn by a few subtle tactical changes. De Jong came on and showed his class, while Anita changed the game when he replaced Janmaat; to many of our fans, those two are wastes of space, but Rafa knows them as artful Ajax graduates with much to offer. Cisse was back, but surprisingly (and bravely) for Townsend not Mitrovic, which was justified by the richly deserved equaliser. Crucially, Sissoko to left back for the booked and harried Colback was a masterstroke that utterly nullified Borini’s threat; this after a shameful dive in an attempt to get Colback red carded, as the mackems ceded ground, ceded the initiative and resorted to errant play-acting and monotonous, unpunished timewasting.  That said, if Rob Elliott hadn’t made a classic one handed stop from Van Aanholt we’d have lost and been as good as relegated.  However we drew, and if we’d scored 10 minutes earlier or Mitrovic had stayed on the pitch (his removal by the medics reminded me of James Brown doing Please Please Please), we’d have won.

Sadly, the result was probably best celebrated in Norwich rather than the North East, but I still think we’re alive. There’s some hope, but we have run out of “free” games; we need something from each one and at least 4 wins. That said if we could guarantee Rafa would stay, I’d handle relegation, providing he had the final say on who stayed and who left. That, however, is for the future.

Finally, can we stop singing about Adam Johnson? It’s an absolutely shit thing to do.