Binos > Brexit

I've now done 21 Scotch League grounds. Here's story of how Stirling Albion gave me the 50% mark -:

I’d like to dedicate this blog to Dave Robson, who has recently developed a far deeper interest in my writing than at any time during the past 5 years..... I'm only joking Dave!!

anyway, the question as to whether I am still barred from North Shields football ground is a complete irrelevance to me; with the greatest respect to all my Shields-supporting pals, I’ll never set foot in that ground again in my life. Consequently, I needed an alternative location for my weekly football fix, so I gave the Twitterati the choice of where I should go by putting a poll up. The four choices were; Motherwell v Aberdeen, as it looked an appealing tussle, North Ferriby v Nostell Miners’ Welfare, as it is a ground I must visit soon, Rotherham v Oxford, as I’ve yet to visit the New York Stadium, or Stirling Albion v Strathspey Thistle in the Scotch Cup.  I’m not sure how these things operate, but 72 votes were cast, and Stirling came out on top, beating North Ferriby with the other two options trailing in far behind. Certainly, this would have been my preferred option as I never turn down the option of a trip along the high road, north of the soft border, especially as this was potentially the last visit I’d make before Jeanette Mugabe declares independence for Chilly Jockoland.

In all seriousness, on a day when Comrade Oliver Letwin stuck another spoke in the wheel of the Fascist Brexit Nationalist Bandwagon who were ably assisted by half a dozen Labour quislings, including the functionally illiterate Ronnie Campbell, I felt I needed to be outside of purulent and pusillanimous Evil England, if only for a short while. Mind, I only just made it; some radgey headbangers on the tracks at Howdon delayed the Metro and I only made my 9.46 train because it was delayed until 9.54. I was riding with LNER, which is an altogether better experience than the cattle trucks of Cross Country or Northern Rail. It was express to Waverley, so I buried my head in the curate’s egg that is Mundial until stirring for the brief, heart-swelling glimpse of Easter Road that tells me we’re almost there. A quick coffee and then aboard the 11.30 to Dunblane via Falkirk Grahamston, Camelon, Larbert and Stirling; for most other passengers, lugging vast rucksacks, it was a gateway to the Highlands, but for me it was a well-known route that dripped football. Bearing in mind I would soon take my place among a crowd of 411, it was of scant surprise there were no other rail bound devotees heading to the Forthbanks Stadium.

I had been to Stirling twice previously; a summer trip out with my grandmother back in 1976, of which all I recall was the baking heat, and an open day at the University in December 1982, when I ended up rip roaring drunk on the way home in the company of various others who’d been there for the same reason that I never would get to meet again. These visits stored zero information about the place itself; luckily, as usual, I got helplessly lost and aimlessly wandered the attractive streets of a well-appointed city, where the English accents of students and academics were more than slightly prevalent. The utter lack of any river on my horizon informed me I was going the wrong way, so by the help of smartphone direction finder on spoken mode, I managed to find the correct track. Out of the charming city centre, across the eye-catching bridge that looks like a scale model of La Salve, fast by the Guggenheim in Bilbao and onto the Forth Path that skirts the demotic banlieue consisting of a Travelodge, a VUE and a Frankie & Benny’s. Once you’re past those, it’s a straight road to the ground, first left after the water treatment works; don’t you long for the days when we still had sewage farms eh?

 Next door to Forthbanks is a swimming pool and across the road is Stirling’s Morrisons; both car parks were rammed with happy shoppers and expectant families at a Gala of some sort. Football fans, bearing in mind scarves are de rigeur among every grade of supporter, were distinctly thin on the ground.  Despite today boasting the glamour of the cup, where League 2 sides join in with the survivors from other levels of the Scotch Pyramid, both senior and Junior and which had seen Bonnyrigg Rose and Edinburgh City progress the night before against Buckie Thistle and Banks O’Dee respectively, the Road to Hampden was clear of traffic.

This is when it dawned on me that Stirling Albion, formed in 1945, formerly dwelling at Annfield, where they defeated Selkirk by a margin of 20-0 in this competition back in 1984 and once managed by Bob Shankly, brother of Bill, are the very bottom team in Scotch League 2, the lowest professional division. They moved to Forthbanks in 1993, which is when Strathspey Thistle, perhaps the best tongue twister of a club name I’ve ever come across, were formed. Today’s visitors are based in the teeming metropolis of Grantown On Spey, population 2,400, and lie in 10^th place in the Highland League. They have been in that competition since 2009 after 16 barren years in the North Region Juniors. Their fans travelled in a minibus and, once affecting entrance, where free sweeties were on offer once you’d parted with your £12, it was clear only the main West Stand was open for this game.

 I really liked the ground; mirror image West and East stands and North and South terracing complemented each other and the whole place seemed distinctly well-kept, especially the pitch which is shared with Lowland League University of Stirling who were at home in the cup on Sunday against Linlithgow Rose (lost 2-0), and a source of pride to the fervent yet solicitous home support. On a day where the torrent of filth that is Brexit-enabled English racism was seen in the abandoned cup tie between Haringey Borough and Yeovil Town, not to mention the chants of Bristol City followers in their game at Luton Town, it was refreshing to sit in the cool, clear air and hear only positivity and advice, rather than antagonistic abuse. This is of course before news of Hearts fans racially abusing Moreilos on the Sunday. Stirling’s ground may not be called Ochilview, but it boasts a splendid view of the Ochil Hills to the north. For the first half, these hills were the backdrop to incessant waves of attacking play by the Binos, as Stirling are affectionately known.

After 10 minutes Man of the Match Sean Heaver ran on to a through ball and finished with aplomb, underneath giant, ponderous Thistle keeper Michael MacCallum. The custodian was required to block and parry throughout the game, mainly relying on his feet for low efforts and telescopic arms for high efforts, as diving appeared to be outside his conditions of engagement, though he was clearly the reason why a repeat of the Selkirk massacre was not likely today. After spurning several easier chances, Heaver finally doubled the Binos’s lead with a glorious bending finish past MacCallum just before the break. The 2-0 score should have been double that, but Stirling are League 2’s lowest scorers for a reason.

The second half? Not so good. News of Benfield’s 4-2 loss to Shields, Hibs conceding an equaliser at Accies and Chelsea getting the single goal necessary to beat NUFC brought my mood down a touch. Back on the pitch, Stirling missed 2 open goals than began to retreat, though the visibly exhausted Highland Laddies were nowhere near the standard required to lay a glove on them. The game turned into a midfield stalemate, when bald, burly enforcer Kevin Nicholl rescued the home time with numerous crunching challenges that would see FIFA delegates requiring smelling salts but were just played on in this game. The game petered out into a 2-0 win, but I’m glad I was sent here rather than to: Motherwell 0 Aberdeen 3, North Ferriby 1 Nostell Miners’ Welfare 0 or Rotherham United 1 Oxford United 2.

An unhelpfully slow return train got me to Waverley for 18.30, ruling out the chance of pints in the Guild Ford, so I collected some tinned Craft Ales from M&S, then took my seat in First Class (£2 cheaper than Standard for some reason) and alternately sipped then snoozed my way back to Central.  A thoroughly enjoyable day, despite other football results and the machinations of Campbell and his deceitful clowns. Scotland, I shall return.