Never Mind The Polloks....

The only footballing benefit provided by the terrible winter we endured, is the attendant fixture pile-up that offered opportunities to see games until the very last possible dates. In the North East, this meant that after whinging about Benfield’s utterly exhausting closing schedule, I was able to forget my principles and enjoy several more games in lower level leagues. Obviously, there were the two Tyneside Amateur Cup finals where, in preparation for stepping up to the Alliance, Stobswood Welfare won them both. They defeated fellow promoted side, TAL champions Ellington in the first, then Jesmond in the second. Meanwhile, in the Northern Alliance, I saw Killingworth YPC effortlessly take down Hazelrigg Victory, to win the First Division title. Rather a strange postscript to that game; Killingworth YPC have now merged with Killingworth Town, while Hazelrigg will be starting 2018/2019 under the relaunched Newcastle Blue Star name.

Also, in the Alliance, I saw games on adjoining pitches at the Barking Dog on a sunny Wednesday evening, where Wallsend Community defeated Red Row 3-0 in the middle division, while Spittal Rovers travelled down from Berwick and battled their way to a tenacious 2-2 draw with Willington Quay Saints in the basement. Great to see Keith Scoffham and Peter Osgood refereeing the respective games in their usual inimitable style. Spittal were involved in my final English game, winning 2-1 at Wideopen, which was a new ground for me in my 94^th game of the season. However, I wanted more and that meant cross border raids.

Regular readers will be aware that nothing ends each football season more appropriately for me than a trip or two to the Scottish Juniors. Having first dipped my toe into this wonderful, parallel football universe in September 2006 with a visit to Benburb’s decrepit and subsequently demolished Tinto Park for the home side’s 5-1 thrashing of Royal Albert, I have returned on a further 15 occasions to sample the delights the Juniors have to offer. Since May 2009’s trip to Bathgate Thistle for a quite astonishing 6-2 demolition of Forfar West End, my adventures have been almost exclusively at the very end of the season. With typical cussed eccentricity, the UEFA imposed May 31^st deadline for all winter leagues is dutifully ignored by the West, East and North Regions, who decree that the Junior AGM on the third Saturday in June is the deadline for when all fixtures must be completed.

Of course, in years that have had mild winters this has meant a desperate scurrying around to find appropriate fixtures that fulfil the sole criterion of taking me to a new ground, even though I’ve twice been to Bathgate’s Creamery Park and twice to Pollok’s Newlandsfield. Luckily, a combination of the Beast from the East and a bewildering plethora of cup competitions, in the West at least, made the compilation of 2018’s itinerary a reasonably easy task. However, this may not always be the case in future; firstly, the increasing incidence of 4G pitches in the Juniors, which is something to be applauded, will result in less games called off because of waterlogged pitches. Secondly, and of considerably more significance for the East Region, the decampment of 24 of the 60 clubs who have competed this season to the senior ranks in the East of Scotland League for 2018/2019, to follow in the wake of Kelty Hearts who left the Juniors last year and were crowned champions this May, really does threaten the strength and quality of the Junior game on that side of the country. While it is encouraging to see clubs wishing to better themselves by moving within the glacially evolving Scotch pyramid, the burden of trying to get many ramshackle Junior grounds up to minimum standards will be an onerous and costly one. The 36 remaining East Region clubs will be split into a Premier, North and South 3 division structure, which will at the lower level, though perhaps not in the top flight, address the geographical difficulties of having teams spread out from as far south as Dunbar United to as far north as Montrose Roselea. In the West, geographical isolation is not as great a problem, because of the proximity of so many teams, not to mention a better standard of transport and road infrastructure; a testament to the legacy of community inclusion and provision provided by successive Labour local authorities in the days before the Tartan Tories under Jeanette Mugabe discovered their hitherto dormant sense of social justice.

Meanwhile, the East of Scotland League will operate with 39 teams in 3 parallel, loosely geographical “Conferences,” named A, B and C, in 2018/2019, with the winners of each progressing to the Lowland League, no doubt following a tortuous and exhaustive set of play-offs that will require all league games to be over by the end of April; a time of the year when significant numbers of Junior sides still have half their league games to play ordinarily. In the West, which seems to me the real citadel of the Junior game, there is far more brand loyalty, with only Dunipace, geographically anomalous as they hail from Denny between Falkirk and Stirling, of the 64 clubs quitting for the EoS. There will be some tinkering with the structure of the current 5 divisions (Premier, First, Central 1, Central 2 and Ayrshire) for next season, but let’s get this campaign out of the way first.

And so to June 2018’s expeditions. The dying embers of the East Region offered 4 league games on June 2^nd, none of which seemed to boast compelling locations, while the following Saturday saw only the East of Scotland Cup final at Linlithgow’s glorious Prestonfield, where Penicuik were to beat Tranent 2-0. Therefore, I decided to leave my East Region collection at 4 (Bathgate Thistle, Linlithgow Rose, Newtongrange Star and Thornton Hibs) and set my eyes on the beguiling pleasures of the West Region, intending to improve upon the total of 10 grounds I’d already ticked (Arthurlie, Beith, Benburb, Clydebank, Irvine Meadow XI, Kelloe Rovers, Maryhill, Petershill, Pollok and Shotts Bon Accord since you asked). Like so much else in Scotland, Junior football and the associated profane language, public intoxication and obsessive need to view life through the prism of late 17^th century Irish politics, is so much more intense in the West than the East. Without wishing to denigrate the burghers of Ayrshire and Lanarkshire, there really is something curiously compelling about the sheer vitriol at the heart of everything they say or do and the one fixture that stood out above all others on the first Saturday of the month, did not disappoint.

Somewhat strangely there is a direct train that goes from Newcastle to Kilmarnock three times a day. Other than me in early June each year, I am unsure who would choose to journey beyond Carlisle, when travelling either from the north or east. The recondite pleasure of the route does have the effect of making the tickets competitively priced and so for £24, I booked a return to deepest, darkest Ayrshire; to the home of Auchinleck Talbot (“the Bot”), who had come back from 2-1 down in injury time in the Scottish Junior Cup Final the week before to defeat another Ayrshire side, Hurlford United. If the Bot could win their final game, away to despised local rivals from 3 miles down the road, Cumnock Juniors, marooned in lower mid-table with seemingly nothing to play for, the West Region Premier Division title would be theirs. Anything other than a victory would hand the title to Beith, who were strolling to a 6-0 home win over bottom placed Girvan as the drama unfolded in Cumnock.

The irony was, I got off the train in Auchinleck, where I was collected by the admirable Davey Stoker, because there’s no station in Cumnock, though there is one in New Cumnock, where Glenafton play. Got that? Great stuff. Like many of these former Ayrshire mining towns, there’s not a great deal to recommend Auchinleck in terms of architecture or culture, though it is positively bucolic, festooned as it is in black and amber bunting that represents the Bot’s colours, when compared to the austere, grey, Presbyterian uniformity of neighbouring Cumnock. Davey parked up in Cumnock ASDA and we took in the sights for 10 minutes, which basically consisted of repeated gable end graffiti that told us how was a Junkie, House Tanner, Thief and other such pleasantries. It was a relief to pass through the turnstile of the well-appointed Townhead Park, where a crowd significantly in excess of 1,000 had gathered, including my friends Jonathan Hope and Euan Ramsey down from Glasgow. Because of the numbers attending, the enmity between the teams and the importance of the game, a kind of loose segregation policy was in place, with both sets of fans allocated an entrance and two sides of the ground each. Of course, the toilets and snack bar had no such regulation and the two tribes mingled with little visible or audible confrontation, though it’s always hard to be sure of this as even babes in arms in Ayrshire sound like Mick McGahey in a particularly belligerent mood.

The game, played on a 4G pitch at a relentless pace, was of an excellent standard; certainly, it was the equal of a top-end Northern League Division 1 game. Cumnock started quickly and were denied an early penalty after what seemed a clear trip in the box. Following that scare, Auchinleck took a deserved 2-0 lead, courtesy of two close-range, flicked headers from fast, accurate crosses either side of the break; though there was a suggestion the Nock keeper could have attempted to claim the ball on both occasions. However, despite Beith’s efforts, it seemed as if the title was heading to Auchinleck, until Cumnock woke up and turned the whole game on its head with a quickfire brace of goals just past the hour mark. Firstly, a goalmouth scramble saw the loose ball turned in, before an accurate long pass left the Nock left-winger in acres of space at the edge of the box. With no little bravery, he drew the keeper, held his nerve and slotted home. Pandemonium. This was the cue for 25 minutes of full-blooded, end to end jousting, with numerous chances squandered by both teams. After 5 minutes of injury time, partly as a result of an injudicious knee-high tackle by a frustrated Bot player that resulted in an inevitable red card, the game end level, meaning that Beith were champions. Cumnock’s players appeared to have won the Champions’ League themselves, such was the provocative cavorting they engaged in for the benefit of disappointed Auchinleck fans.

As we queued to leave, the two sets of players became involved in skirmishes on the curiously designed bridge, which looked like something from a willow pattern plate, that takes players from pitch level up to the changing rooms. Meanwhile home fans shook fists, waved V signs and issued innumerable volleys of profane abuse in the direction of their neighbours from down the road. After a significant wait to get out of the ASDA car park, we made it back to the functional Station Bar in Auchinleck, for a quick drink in the company of oblivious locals, before I took my train and headed away, frantically refreshing the forthcoming fixtures section of the SJWRFA website as the train headed for Tyneside.

On Saturday 9^th June, I had accepted the offer to read one of my pieces of short fiction at the launch event for Razur Cuts magazine in Falkirk. Initially, I had hoped that local side Camelon would have a game, but as pointed out, the East Region had only a cup final at already visited Linlithgow on offer. Even Stenhousemuir Cricket Club were away. Thankfully the wonderful Mr Stoker came again to my aid, by offering to collect me in Bathgate, drive to a game, and then drop me off in Falkirk for the evening do. This widened the possibilities available for potential visits. Games at Irvine Meadow (the Ayrshire Cup final between Largs Thistle and Kilwinning Rangers) and Yoker (who share with Clydebank) against Wishaw were discounted for the reason I’d already been there. Initially, having surveyed the abbreviated fixture list, I expressed a preference for the Central First Division contest between already relegated Thorniewood United and Shotts Bon Accord. Having sampled Ayrshire football the week before, I thought Lanarkshire deserved a chance to impress me with its take on profanity and belligerence. Davey wasn’t keen, pointing out that such was the irrelevance of the game, the crowd would be minimal and the standard abysmal. I took his word for it.

The game Davey suggested was Cambuslang Rangers against Hurlford United in the West of Scotland Cup quarter final. I was prepared to bow to his superior knowledge, until circumstance threw us a curve ball. On June 2^nd, the Central League Cup quarter final between Rutherglen Glencairn and Pollok had been postponed because of a “police incident;” a drug related murder in the early hours of Saturday morning. The winners of the replayed game, Pollok by 3-0, were scheduled to play Glasgow Perthshire in the Central League Cup semi final on Saturday 9^th. I’d seen Glasgow Perthshire once before; losing the 2013 West of Scotland Cup final at Pollok to Glenafton Athletic. Their support had been incredibly drunken, foul-mouthed and seemingly stoned that day, judging by the fug of skunk that hung low in the enclosure at Newlandsfield. I knew they played in Possilpark, the most dangerous and poverty-stricken suburb of Glasgow, and so I beseeched Davey into going there. As Jonathan, Euan and other pals including Mickey Hydes were intent on heading for this game at Keppoch Park, how could he refuse an afternoon amid the social deprivation, substance abuse and ingrained sectarianism of North Glasgow? Byres Road it ain’t.

The train up was a bit of an eye opener; packed to the gills with tattooed, middle aged, alpha male rock chicks, en route to the Rolling Stones at Murrayfield. They filled the journey by alternately swearing, vaping and glugging down gallons of Strongbow Dark Fruits. I kept my mouth shut and head down. The Waverley to Bathgate leg was utterly uneventful; soon Davey had collected me, and we were heading way out West, seeing the sights on the way. Depending on which way you’re travelling, Harthill Royal FC are the first or last team in the East. Standing almost on the Lanarkshire border, this is a village that definitely remembers 1690. We drove past but didn’t visit Gibbshill Park. Indeed, we didn’t stop until Glasgow, where we did a bit sightseeing at the old site of Petershill FC. In seems astonishing to think I was at the opening of their new ground 11 years ago now. From Petershill, we took in St Roch’s; there’s not much to see from outside but I really fancy seeing a game at Jimmy McGrory Park, preferably when Larkhall Thistle are the visitors, for cultural reasons of course. Finally, we saw Ashfield’s ground, which seems to have been colonised entirely by the Glasgow Tigers speedway team. Frankly, I can’t think of a more tedious sport than motorbikes chugging round a cinder track, while educationally subnormal lorry drivers cheer then on.

Ashfield’s ground actually borders Glasgow Perthshire’s Keppoch Park, but the confusing one-way system and endless series of blocked roads in the vicinity meant it took us another 15 minutes to get parked up between the Masonic Social Club and Needle Exchange Centre in the sociologist’s paradise of G22. After the intensity of Saracen Street and its environs, the spartan Keppoch Park was almost a tranquil oasis in comparison; well, until kick off it was any road. A sizeable crowd, including the venerable, petit bourgeois Pollok following of well-heeled gentlemen attired as if for golf of games of bowls, was swelled by many English and one Kiwi (hello Katie!) groundhopper, meaning the home side should have made a few quid at least. Of course, there were no badges, programmes or any other memorabilia available; unlike Maryhill, where I’d seen a club clock for sale.

I’d expected Pollok to stroll this about 4-0 and it seemed likely to go that way when Stefan McCluskey popped in the loose ball after home keeper Chris Calder had saved from Adam Forde in the third minute. However, Perthshire were made of sterner stuff and within 90 seconds, Baboucarr Musa equalised with a precise lob. It was a feisty and enjoyable first half where I found myself willing the home side on, partly because they boasted the best two players on the pitch; the aforementioned Baboucarr Musa and manbun-sporting Lee McLelland, who’d gained fame by calling Davey a “fat pudding” on Twitter a few weeks previously and partly because it almost seemed to be a clash of the social classes, with the underprivileged facing down the elite. Sadly, all of Perthshire’s endeavours were undone when, early in the second half after Pollok’s Nicky Little had grabbed who would be the winner with a smart turn and finish, both McLelland, for two fouls, and Musa, for foul and abusive language, were sent off. Perthshire tried, but with a two-man disadvantage, that was the end of their chances and Pollok really could have scored more. Their progress to a Central League Cup final against Cumbernauld United was relatively untroubled in the end. On reflection, I found the game exciting, but of a much lower standard, possibly akin to the Northern Alliance Premier Division, than the Ayrshire Civil War the week previous.

So, the full-time whistle brought down the curtain on my 2017/2018 season; 96 games at 50 different grounds, including 4 new Scottish visits. I’d enjoyed myself tremendously as ever, but it was time to read fiction and drink deeply in Falkirk. I had a brilliant night to match the two brilliant afternoons I’d spent with the Bot and Nock in Cumnock, then the Lok and Shire in Possilpark. My love for Scotland and Junior football remains undimmed; I’ll be in those parts again next season, of that there can be no doubt.