Common People

 Here's the story of two superb, successive Saturdays in the company of Morpeth Town Reserves -:

I was a premature baby, born a fortnight early. If I’d arrived on my due date, I’d have shared a birthday with Sean Connery, which would have been considerably cooler than arriving on the same day as the decidedly lame duo of Hulk Hogan and Joe Jackson. However, as my sporting DNA deigned that I should be a keeper, I am happy to note that two other distinguished stoppers, Nigel Martyn and Martin Young, also blow out their candles on August 11^th. Old Martyn was born two years after me in 1966 and has long since retired, while Young Martin made his entrance on a Monday in 1986, even if the Northern Alliance website claims he was born on January 1^st, 1970. After a distinguished playing career for the likes of Chemfica and Newbiggin, the Young’Un is now in semi-retirement, while passing on his expertise as keeper coach for Morpeth Town Reserves, concentrating his energy on a property portfolio and a blue, low slung Beemer that befits his executive status.

As part of my on-going desire to complete visits to every Northern Alliance ground, I was already aware that Storey Park was no longer the home to the brace of Alliance Division 3 sides, Morpeth FC and Morpeth Town Reserves, that exist in a parallel but unrelated universe. According to the Alliance website, they both shared Craik Park with the first team, except they didn’t; a conversation with Martin informed me that the bucolic greensward of Morpeth Common, adjacent to Craik Park, was the place they called home. For the purpose of my groundhopping activities, a club would be ticked if they were playing at the pitch, I’d first seen them at, or if they moved, I’d already been to that venue. Hence, I’m not intending to visit Newcastle East End at Millers Dene, as I’ve seen them at Stotts Road before and I watched the now-defunct Jesmond when they played at Millers Dene. Similarly, Burradon and New Fordley are playing at the Willie John Sams Centre, but as I’ve seen Newcastle BT there, as well as playing in the Over 40s there, I don’t need to revisit it.

Morpeth Common is at least 2 miles from civilisation, so I was grateful to accept the offer of a lift to and from my bus stop, courtesy of the Young lad. What made it even more alluring was the fact the game I’d selected was the big derby between Morpeth FC and Morpeth Town Reserves (MTR for ease of reference), which dwarfed the atmosphere of other titanic clashes at Goodison, Parkhead and the San Siro that were taking place on the same day.

I had a busy morning, doing stuff in town, collecting books, swapping a phone charger, catching a later bus and getting off a stop early. Luckily, Martin is a patient lad and waited for me. Both teams were meeting in the wooded glade that is the car park for the vastly improved, though locked and bolted, Craik Park. One strange happenstance occurred to me immediately; specifically, it was Morpeth FC not MTR who wore the iconic black and yellow stripes of The Dandy Highwaymen.

As kick off approached, I bowed my head to avoid errant boughs, picking my way through the thicket to the pitch. Flat, well-grassed and damp, it lay athwart a rugby pitch, against whose posts interested dog walkers took their ease and the first half of the match amidst mountainous mole hills. Rustic types in pastel knitwear that peaked through protective layers by Barbour and Hunter ambled past, taking the air and their progeny and pets for a walk. It was all very bucolic until the game kicked off. Fast-paced, furious and displaying the intensity of a Galatasary home game, the two sides tore into each other. Morpeth looked the better side, relying on diagonal balls over the top to their fleet-footed wingers, while MTR were dogged, determined and defensively minded. When they came forward it was courtesy of a solid, attritional, pressing game.  Morpeth FC make and miss several chances, while their keeper is called into action to turn a header round the post.

After an opening half hour of nip and tuck play, Morpeth FC turn on the afterburners. The opening goal sees a ball over the top finally reach a speedy winger, whose deft touch rolls the ball home. A minute later and the lead is doubled after a cross from the right is knocked home by an improvised rabona. A third soon follows; a carbon copy of the opener, except it came down the left, meaning it looks like game over as the whistle blows for half time.

The second half begins like the first ended and Martin, on flag waving duty, chalks off a dubiously offside Morpeth goal, to leave the game at 3-0 and Morpeth manager, former £1m professional Trevor Benjamin, incandescent on the sidelines. Strangely, this is the last we see of Morpeth as a coherent attacking force as the determination of MTR pushes the ostensible home side back into their own half, pulling back 2 goals, courtesy of some horrendous flapping by the lad in the Morpeth FC goal. Of course, MTR are susceptible to the pacey breaks of the home team, but nothing they create ends up in the net, by a combination of wrong options and risible finishing. They hang on though and MTR have to be content with an encouraging second half showing that rattled the ball playing Morpeth FC.  Full time sees an exchange of oath-edged talk and empty threats, but bar some posturing and pushing, it’s good natured and they all head off to the pub, except me. Martin drops me at the bus stop, and I catch a helpfully late X18 back to the Haymarket, where I begin counting down to the next game; Newbiggin Central at home to, you’ve guessed it, Morpeth Town Reserves.

A week in which Marcus Rashford humiliates the Tory elite and Martin endures another Twitter ban goes slowly by, until I find myself on the 12.30 X32 to Newbiggin. I’m by myself, other than the driver, from Ashington onwards. I alight at the Sports Centre and walk past the pitches where I saw Newbiggin lose to Wallsend Boys’ Club, in the company of Andy Hudson, about 6 or 7 years ago. Newbiggin looked rough in May sunshine back then, with assembled crowds of tops-off lager swilling radgies, several feral horses and local ne’er-do-wells on trials bikes zipping all over the place. Frankly, Newbiggin is the closest I’ve been to a poverty-ridden Romanian village on British soil. Today’s game at the Welfare, in the lee of the Grace Darling Academy, has a preludial fly past by 4 lads on beach buggies, like a kind of itinerant, sea coal foraging, problem drinking Banana Splits, before the real business gets underway.

Today’s ref is Derek Thompson, a man who former Percy Main assistant Mick Ritchie demanded be breathalysed, such was his incompetence. However, Derek is a true original; unlike many thin-skinned, easily swayed refs, he doesn’t care who hates him. He’ll ruin the game for both sides simultaneously if the mood takes him. Today, he relied on his default position of cantankerous, uncommunicative capriciousness.  MTR displayed a much changed line-up from last week, but with the same results. A soft free kick was fired into the bottom corner after 13, followed by a tap-in made possible by fatal hesitation by both defender and keeper, before a fine, curling third just before half time left MTR in the same position as last week.

After the break, there was definitely a better showing, but little reward for it. Newbiggin are a decent outfit and their number 4 was head and shoulders above every other player on the pitch. The home side made it 4-0 with a stonewall penalty, were denied twice by excellent saves by the keeper and spurned a couple of gilt edged chances. At the other end MTR were denied a consolation as the ball had supposedly gone out of play before being tapped home. A shame and a 4-goal thumping on a dreich afternoon, but I enjoyed it, especially when Martin was called a “cheating cunt” for a correct offside decision. In all seriousness, all the very best to Morpeth Town Reserves; thanks for the last 2 games and best of luck for the rest of the season. Next week, I’ll probably be at Seaton Sluice v Willington Quay Saints.