Spartan Northern Athenians

Back in June, when the Northern League had a full complement of 20 clubs in Division 1, everyone knew the fixture list announced at the AGM would bear little resemblance to the eventual pattern of play over the coming months; cup commitments, weather issues and other factors would all combine to alter the initial schedule. What none of us considered were the effects of unexpected resignations of AFC Blyth and Team Northumbria, perforce resulting in 4 enforced blank weekends. By early December, my beloved Benfield had endured two spare Saturdays; firstly September 22^nd saw me at North Shields Athletic 3 Spittal Rovers 4, while October 27^th enabled me to watch Whitley Bay 1 Ashington 1 in the most rancid contest I’ve endured all season.

The jiggling around with games following our progress into the last 32 of the FA Vase presented another window of opportunity on Saturday 15^th December. Being gainfully employed once more and having a few bob in my pocket, I knew there was only one possible location; Scotland. Last season, I’d taken in Morton on January 2^nd, Stenhousemuir in late March and bagged my usual Juniors brace at Cumnock and Glasgow Perthshire in June. Sadly, a freakish calendar for the Festive Period has caused the SPFL to decide against a January 2^nd fixture card, so I needed to seize this opportunity.

A quick skeg of the fixture list told me of games at Kilmarnock, St Johnstone and St Mirren in the Premier League, Ayr and Inverness in the Championship, Forfar and Stranraer in League 1 and Edinburgh City, Peterhead and Stirling Albion in League 2 at places there were doors I’d never darkened. Reasons of distance ruled out Inverness, Stranraer and Peterhead. Similarly, prohibitively expensive train tickets up the West Coast line and north of Fife did for the three top flight clashes, plus Ayr and Forfar. The one that really tickled my fancy was Stirling Albion against Albion Rovers; at the time of checking, they were the two bottom teams in the division, but the predictable and indeed reliable incompetence of Berwick Rangers allowed Stirling to move away from the foot of the table. Nevertheless, the thought of visiting the Forthbank Stadium was particularly appealing, especially as I could take a photo of the nearby supermarket and truthfully say I’d been to see Stirling Morrisons…

I like to think I do my research about these trips; visiting Stirling would tick off another area of Scotland as I made it to my 20^th ground in the SPFL. However, I had made the terrible error of failing to note that Stirling no longer had a 4G pitch, having switched back to grass a couple of seasons ago. Having blithely adopted insouciant indifference to the ever more frequent and apocalyptic weather forecast for the weekend, news that an 11.30 pitch inspection was being called for set my panic levels to amber, as I took the Metro to Central Station, which began to fill up quickly with members of Ashley’s Army on their way to Huddersfield. Of course, I was left with another option; Edinburgh City, whose supposedly permanent home of Meadowbank Stadium is closed for a thorough refurbishment for an unspecified period, groundshare with Spartans at Ainslie Park in the leafy northern suburbs. It isn’t just the fact water surrounds half of the capital city, making it a couple of degrees warmer than the chilly Central Belt, but the fact Ainslie Park has a 4G surface that ensured I’d have a game to see.

An insanely packed train to Waverley meant I had no option but to stand in the middle of the carriage the whole way there, meaning I was unable to keep a check on climactic developments on my phone. Detraining just after noon brought the inevitable news, both official and unofficial, that Stirling v Albion was off because of a frozen pitch. There was nothing for it, but to head through Stocksbridge and Pilton to the capital city’s newest league side.

On a freezing but dry afternoon where dense, low clouds prevented actual daylight ever becoming an issue, Princes Street was packed; the gardens boasted a Christmas fun fair and literally thousands of happy families were making the most of time together. Despite the brutal, repressive regime of Jeanette Mugabe’s SNP controlling every aspect of their citizens’ lives, the Scotch are a joyous, unruly contrast to the Brexit ruined English, wheezing asthmatically between the Labour Exchange and Wetherspoons, exchanging Universal Credit beer vouchers for Carling, while offering unfocussed imprecations to Yaxley Lennon’s DFLA StoneIslandabteilung, begging them to evict the very foreign nationals whose labours oil the wheels of the benefits bandwagon. I mused about how the Scotch will undoubtedly have thousands of bourgeois intellectual refugees from south of the border to deal with once Yaxley Lennon’s Khmer Bleu assume control post Brexit, as I paced the solemn squares and prim terraces of the New Town, passing but not stopping in the artisan delis and craft ale palaces athwart the Water of Leith, while the biting wind bitterly assailed me. Soon, I headed out past the playing fields of Fettes College, the alma mater of the war criminal Blair, where rugby games were taking place. At the end of the greensward I came to Ferry Road, took a left, then a right past Morrisons (not Stirling Morrisons of course) and found myself at Ainslie Park.

If I’m being honest, there wasn’t a scrum to get in, and I could have killed time by watching a Spartans youth side in action on the adjoining training pitch, but the thought of a pint and a sit down appealed more than anything else, so I paid my £12 and ascended the stairs to quaff half a gallon of Caledonian Edinburgh Castle; a red ale, but without the unpleasant malt notes that normally prevents me from enjoying this kind of beer. Worth it for £3 a pint and the chance to do a double take as Jim Jeffries, the Edinburgh City Director of Football, walked past. I wondered what he’d made of the 5 goals that Hearts had conceded in 17 minutes to Livingston the night before, but lacked the courage to ask. Despite feeling like a snooze after my third beer, I wrapped up and took my place at the bottom right end of the ground, as the players emerged with the lights already on at kick off.

Ainslie Park reminds me of grounds I’ve been to in Slovakia and the Czech Republic; the club buildings behind one goal, the stand half the length of one side and nothing much anywhere else, but with modernist architectural features along the other touchline; flats, offices or possibly both. Impossible to tell as few lights came on, unlike the freeloading onlookers in the row of stone semi-detached houses behind the far goal, where several lights burned continuously from the interested residents of back bedrooms with a grandstand view.  It was a game worth watching. Edinburgh City are top of the table and Elgin offered little to stop them. Strangely, it was only 1-0 at half time, courtesy of a tap-in from a well worked move. As is the case with synthetic pitches, the home team are used to them and utilise the opportunities for slick, ball-to-feet play in a highly advantageous manner. Elgin were baffled by the true bounce, repeatedly overhitting balls and trying to lump it at any given opportunity.

The surprising thing was that it remained only 1-0 on the hour. Astonishingly it then became 1-1, when home keeper Antell got in a dreadful muddle in his 6 yard area, with the ball stuck between his feet, allowing Rabin Omar to tap in from almost on the line. Simultaneously, club volunteers were weaving in and out of the sparse knots of punters offering remaindered pies for free. Despite my misgivings, as I’m sure that are plenty of homeless back down on the Royal Mile who could have done with a bit to eat, I gorged on a chicken Balti Scotch pie. The glutinous crust no doubt stuck in the collective craw of the home faithful, as the farcical equaliser went in.

Fair play to City, they didn’t allow this setback to ruin their concentration. To the delight of the vast majority of the 258 crowd, including the seemingly compulsory pre-pubescent choir and a drummer, not to mention the de rigeur par of portly daft laddies in SI big coats, Allan Smith soon restored the lead with a sumptuous bending effort from outside the angle of the box. Elgin threw the towel in at this point; probably a bad move with sharpened bullets of rain, assisted by gusting wind, battering their faces. It proved the necessary encouragement required for City to go for the jugular and Blair Henderson helped himself to 2 further goals. The final whistle saw City 5 points clear at the top, as Peterhead were left idle by the weather.

I stiff legged it to the bus stop, caught a 28 back to town, learned NUFC had won 1-0 at Huddersfield and celebrated with a pair of blinding pints of Orkney IPA in The Guild Ford, before catching a few stolen moments shut-eye on the mainly empty train back down south. At Central, the same formerly nervous NUFC away travellers from the morning were returning, full of beer and bonhomie. I was delighted for them, but I’m no longer one of them. My home was the compulsory pint of Bass back in The Lodge and the nightcap growler of Tiny Dancer my dearest Laura had prepared earlier for me. Beer and groundhopping; the perfect ingredients for a December Saturday. Let’s hope the same can be said on February 23^rd, when I am next scheduled to be in Bella Caledonia.