Stormtrooping

You may be surprised to learn that I’ve seen quite a bit of the European Championships; by my reckoning I’ve watched considerably more than half of the games, especially the ones that didn’t coincide with cricket or my twice-weekly 6 a sides. Some things are sacrosanct. Obviously I was supporting Ireland, with critical approval for the 4/11s of the north’s team who didn’t sing the wrong anthem, as well as Hungary and their reserve side Felvidék. After all 4 sides went out, my support transferred to Iceland (not sure whether that’s the Republic of Iceland or Northern Iceland to be honest), so at least I’ve still got an interest in the tournament.

The scheduling of the tournament was interesting, with a seemingly unnecessary break between the final group stages and the first of the last 16 ties, meaning there was no football at all on Thursday 22^nd and Friday 23^rd June, when it would have seemed eminently more logical to play 2 games on 4 consecutive days. Anyway, the effect of this sporting fermata was to focus the entire country’s attention on the EU Referendum. If you’ve read my last piece, you’ll know where I stood. Suffice to say, I went to bed on Thursday night with an aching sense of foreboding after the Newcastle and sunderland results had been declared, waking to learn that even those in Batley and Spen who had seen the future writ large by the murder of their MP Jo Cox, had voted to leave. It’s too depressing for words. Ideologically, I’m still in the same position I was last week on this issue, but with a mounting sense of alarm at the vacuous inertia on display in the Tory Party and the opportunist bloodletting in the Labour Party that seeks to undermine and destroy that fine Socialist, Jeremy Corbyn.  If it isn’t a constitutional crisis, it’ll do until one comes along. However, enough of that right now; I’ve a feeling it’s a subject to be returned to with monotonous regularity for the years to come.  Let’s talk about cricket instead.

The weather this summer has been contiguous to Othello’s description of Desdemona’s hands; Hot, hot, and moist, with most of the wetness confined to the weekend. Sadly, this means the chance of seeing much cricket this season has been as likely as Iago gaining promotion in the Venetian navy. Indeed, gondolas could be the preferred method of transport to games in the NEPL if the current forecast is to be trusted. Since I last discussed the local scene at the end of May (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2016/06/slow-play.html), there’s not been a huge amount for me to write about, though what I’ve seen has been as agreeable as ever. Friday 10^th June saw a sparking battling performance by Tynemouth in the 20/20, plundering 253/3 from Willington’s attack, before dismissing the visitors for 139, just in time as the heavens opened. A great night as ever at Preston Avenue, with some rather fetching Jennings Cumberland Ale to accompany proceedings. 

On Saturday 11^th, I took bike and ferry to South Shields, arriving fashionably late at Westoe, to see an hour’s play up to lunch, with Newcastle batting. Things were looking decidedly iffy at 108/5 when the weather intervened. I wouldn’t say it was a heavy downpour at all, but the constant drizzle that began at the break continued unabated throughout the afternoon session, meaning play simply could not restart. I called it a day when my good friend Michael Hudson suggested watching the Wales v Slovakia game in The Steamboat. How could I resist the chance of a few pints in the finest pub in South Tyneside? Just a few mind, as I still had to cycle home from the ferry. The beers that Saturday did their best, but didn’t quite make up for the lack of cricket; unfortunately, on Friday 17^th there was only beer, as a dry week was wrecked by a teatime thunderstorm causing the abandonment of the South North v Newcastle 20/20 game after 1.4 overs. The sheer volume of Friday evening rain suggested to me that Saturday would be a washout, but not a bit of it. A warm and cloudless day allowed me to examine my conscience and make a decision.

At the start of the cricket season, I’d made a vague promise to myself that I’d either emulate my pal Gary’s visits to all Northern League grounds in 2015/2016, or my mate Phil’s similar journeying to half of them by public transport, by getting to, preferably, all of the NEPL grounds in both divisions, or visiting those I’d not yet had the pleasure of experiencing. The best laid plans eh? By the middle of June I’d only ticked off Boldon and South Shields, accompanied by the nagging feeling of guilt you get from ignoring the team(s) you actually follow. In some ways, I’d love to be neutral, but there is within me a need, whatever the sport, to find a reason to follow one of the sides involved in any game I see. As regards local cricket, Newcastle in bohemian Jesmond, South North in affluent Gosforth and Benwell Hill in the multi-cultural west end of the city, all gained an element of my stock of support for varying reasons. Similarly, Felling and Gateshead Fell are well regarded as they’re close to where I was brought up. However, for most of the week anyway, Tynemouth is my home as so that’s where my affections are leaning further and further towards. And yet…

Looking at the games on Saturday 18^th, I saw a plan; cycle up to leafy NE3 first of all and see what’s happening against Stockton. South North is an absolutely immaculate ground; 150 years of history are clearly present in about 60% of it, while the rest is new build. Of course selling the land to build houses on has secured the financial stability of the club, but it makes the romantic in you aware of the fact you’re watching the Chelsea or the Manchester City of the NEPL. They bowled out Stockton about 20 minutes after lunch for 133, from 47 attritional overs. It wasn’t as bad as watching paint dry, but it was in that general area. Time to split; I got on the bike and headed to Jesmond, where Newcastle were looking to get 154 to beat bottom club Gateshead Fell. They got them for the loss of 2 wickets well before tea, courtesy of some flashy, punishing batting that held the right amount of glamour and panache to make me regret not having been here all day. There is something in the Newcastle ethos that requires entertainment and bravado to be at the heart of their play. This attacking philosophy and the charming, decadent grandeur of the ground make Jesmond a wonderful place to watch the game.  At some instinctive, elemental level County Club, as was, feels right. Indeed it feels almost like home.

I was back there on Friday 24^th to see the crucial 20/20 between Newcastle and Tynemouth. Agnostically, I speculated as to whether this game would tell me exactly which of the two clubs I supported. But it didn’t; each run, each wicket, for each team felt alright with me.  I was delighted that Tynemouth qualified for the quarter finals of the 20/20 (I’m really looking forward to Friday’s home tie against Felling) and I was pleased Newcastle won the game on run rate; the home side posted 109/9 from 18 overs and Tynemouth reached 59/4 after 13 when the rains came, which was 20 runs less than they needed at that point. Sadly for Newcastle, me and the best of both possible worlds, South Shields won their 20/20 away to Willington, with a 6 off the last ball, to qualify in second place from the Group of Death. This disappointed me, though I was happy to be able to savour a few pints of the magnificently kept Thwaites Wainright Bitter and to enjoy a chat with Newcastle spinner Oli McGee, who took the time to thank me for doing my bit to publicise local cricket. It was a very humbling thing to hear. This is why, as yet, I can’t decide whether I’m a Newcastle or Tynemouth fan, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

And so to Saturday 25^th; Tynemouth home to Whitburn on a glorious sunny day. The visitors dismissed for 52 and a 9 wicket win wrapped up by early afternoon. I wasn’t there. Newcastle away to Chester Le Street and the game abandoned after 24 overs. I wasn’t there either. Instead, I’d decided to visit Blaydon, who play in Winlaton, where they were hosting Seaham Harbour. The decision was made partly to see a different ground and partly in the hope of seeing Blaydon’s historian Jack Chapman; he was a colleague of mine in marking GCSE exam papers back in the early 90s, before that he was Gary’s English teacher at Hedworthfield, after that he used Phil’s local history department in the Central Library to research his books that he recently sent to Harry. None of the rest of them could make it, but I didn’t see him anyway, which sort of summed up most of my day.

The schlepp from Tynemouth to Winlaton was one of those frustrating journeys by public transport; missed one metro, the next one was late, same with the buses. As I made my way tortuously south west on a massively delayed 49A, torrential rains came as we crawled through Dunston. By the time we commenced our climb in Swalwell, the drains were overflowing and the roads had turned into canals. The bus displaced a wave of dirty water higher than its roof as we forded Shibdon Bank. By the time I disembarked, in what is laughingly known as the centre of Winlaton, the monsoon had slowed to a dull, insistent drizzle. More out of hope than expectation, I turned the corner into the pretty as a picture Dene Bank ground, to see a blank scoreboard and impatient players fiddling with iPhones or staring bleakly into the slate grey skies above.  I overheard a shout across the ground saying play before 3 would be a miracle. However, I’m never short of a back-up plan.

Drifting about on the internet a few weeks ago, I found myself researching just how low the rugby league pyramid went on a national basis. The answer was Conference Division 3, which is step 7 of the rugby league pyramid. In descending order there’s the Superleague, the Championship, League 1 (home of Newcastle Thunder), National Conference, then Conference Division 1, 2 and 3, which is where Gateshead Storm find themselves. Being a summer sport, they are able to utilise an established rugby union venue for their home games. Rather serendipitously, they groundshare with Winlaton Vulcans and the aptly named Storm just happened to be at home to Dewsbury Moor Maroons on Saturday 25^th. It was less than 5 minutes’ walk from cricket to rugby, so I really couldn’t pass up the chance of a potential sporting double is what sent me to the furthest heights of wet, western Gateshead, when I could have seen Tynemouth win then got home for the Poland v Switzerland penalty shoot-out.

It would be fair to say that Gateshead Storm v Dewsbury Moor Maroons wasn’t a huge draw; the crowd was approximately 30, including half a dozen zealots from West Yorkshire. Mainly those gathered were the families and friends of players, though I did spot a couple of rugby league groundhoppers by the unfeasibly large number of metal badges on their lapels. I’m no rugby league connoisseur, but this wasn’t the highest class of the art you could hope to see. That said, these young men were determined, mustard keen and I applaud them for such dedication. Of course I was also delighted to see some form of team sport that I’d never experienced before. Clearly I was supporting Gateshead, but it became obvious after a close opening quarter that saw both teams get close to the try line after 5 tackles, then fail to kick and collect, and thus surrender possession, that the side from Yorkshire were several tactical and ability steps ahead of the home side. Two converted tries and a drop goal saw Dewsbury turn around 13-0 ahead. The weather had abated and a clear sky brought forth a warming, drying sun. Sadly, the weather didn’t help Storm any, as they conceded another 2 converted tries and an unconverted one to trail 29-0 going into the last five minutes. Suddenly, a flurry of late local pride saw a brace of unconverted tries make the final score 8-29, each one met with whoops of pleasure by the home side and anguished disgruntlement from the visitors. The game wasn’t a great spectacle, but I’m glad I was there and I applauded both teams off the park.

The choice now was to either take the next bus back to town, to get home for Wales v the North, or see what was going on at the cricket. I am so glad I took one last glance down at Blaydon, as the game was now in play. The home side probably wished it wasn’t as they were in a bit of bother at 40-5 when I arrived. Things didn’t get much better as they subsided to 111 all out in charming, undulating surroundings, with a fair few more than had been at the rugby league in attendance. Sadly, the last wicket partnership had eked out a dozen or so runs in gathering gloom to establish vague respectability in three figures, with a downpour soaking the ground in the time it took the players to get off after the last dismissal. In the distance, all I could see were brooding clouds of black and purple. There was a bus due. I caught it. Twitter told me the game was abandoned before I’d reached town. However, I’m delighted to say I’ve seen cricket at Blaydon. Only another 3 grounds in the top division and 8 in the second to go until I’ve completed my set.

So where now? Potentially a busy weekend; Tynemouth v Felling on Friday 1^st July in the 20/20 quarter final, Gateshead Fell v Benwell Hill for the Ponces’ Picnic on Saturday, before a journey out to Bon Sunday for Northumberland v Bedfordshire. In an unstable world, the safety and order of cricket will work to keep us all civilised.