Gary is one of the few people I know personally who have been struck down by COVID. In his case, it wasn’t just bad flu, as he’s needed a procedure to correct tachycardia, with other symptoms of Long Covid taking it out of him. Mind, his new regime, denuded of kebabs, tabs and San Miguel snakebites makes him look 20 years younger. The main problem he’s had this week has been the health of his car not himself, though he managed to get it through the MoT after some corrective measures, meaning our trip to Cleckheaton was a goer. So, Friday afternoon, after getting the green light, I got myself a ticket on-line; this was the first game I’d paid to attend in 2020/2021 and the shock of a 75p booking fee was not a pleasant one. I really hope this isn’t a precedent that won’t become a legacy in the future. Well, not the immediate future I realise.
Gary, accompanied by Martin Right Arm Rapid, collected me at 11.00 and, for the next hour, we found out that South Tyneside had transformed itself into a giant, inactive, gridlocked real life version of Escape from New York. The roadworks at Testo’s Roundabout had a catastrophic effect on all other routes heading south. The A195 was at a standstill past Lindisfarne roundabout. We essayed a shortcut via Jarrow, Hebburn, Bill Quay and Pelaw (enter at own risk), before crawling to Heworth roundabout, nipping off at the old Wardley Black Bull, heading up past Heworth Golf Club and joining the A195 at the incinerator, just as it struck noon. After such a tortuous start, the rest of the journey went swimmingly, despite regular tsunamis of rainwater, leaving residual grey lagoons of standing water on the carriageway, as we arrived at the incredibly scenic Quaker Lane ground at 1.30.
Normally,
Liversedge attract crowds of 70-80, but today was a 300 sell-out, meaning a
fella from Leeds I know from work, Eddie, missed out on a ticket. As there hadn’t
been any physical tickets, it was impossible to wangle an extra place. In fact,
the entry was very professionally handled; I had my name taken and ticket scanned,
then I had my temperature monitored, before we effected entrance. I got a
coffee, then took a seat on a park bench at the top of the hill, waiting for
kick off. Probably the most wonderful and heart-warming aspect of the whole day
was the number of players who greeted me; I might not have been around much of
late, but the lads still know me for the unstinting support I’ve always given
my beloved Benfield. In fact, this was probably the most effective thing most
of the squad did the whole day. I also managed a couple of brief, cordial chats
with members of the committee, encouraging me that one day, I may just be able
to return to my beloved club. Sadly, several of the older committee I’ve known
for years, such as Allan, Johnny and Tommy, are finding the years are catching
up on them and can’t travel any longer, which is very sad to learn.
Liversedge are at the same level as Benfield, sitting near the top of the Northern Counties East Premier Division. Received wisdom has it the Northern League, with Consett and Hebburn still waiting to contest last season’s FA Vase final, is of a higher standard than the Yorkshire-based Northern Counties East and at a similar level to the Lancashire-focussed North West Counties. All well and good, in theory, but if your side has a track record for pitifully bowing out of the Vase against supposedly weaker teams like St. Andrew’s, Chadderton, Atherton Railway, Coleshill and Vauxhall Motors, then no away tie is a cakewalk. From the very early exchanges, it seemed clear that Liversedge were far more comfortable on the heavy, sloping pitch than Benfield were. Fair play to the home team, they absolutely ran their arses off and didn’t allow us to play. It didn’t help that Joe Robson was suspended or that Richie Slaughter had to go off injured right at the start mind.
On 20 minutes, they took the lead after a bout of pinball in the box, then created and missed a couple of presentable chances. For us, Jake Turnbull went round the keeper, but hit the side netting from a tight angle. Thankfully, Peter Glen-Ravenhill brought us level with a thunderbolt from the edge of the box, meaning we went in level. After the resumption, as I queued for a coffee on the steps outside the clubhouse, all seemed right in the world as Paul Brayson put us ahead with a sumptuous chip, which settled us down and put Liversedge on the back foot. For 20 minutes, we seemed set to go into the next round as little happened, until the sky fell in after they equalised out of absolutely nothing. Other than Peter Glen-Ravenhill miskicking in front of goal, we created nothing subsequently, as they hit us with a rapid triple goal salvo; 5-2 was the final score and, while it was a fraction tough on us, Liversedge were deserved winners.
We got away quite soon afterwards, stopping to allow Martin to get his Scrumpy Jack prescription filled at Tesco. Listening to the Johnson press conference in silence, it became clear that 5 November would see the cessation of non-league football hostilities, falling victim to the Tory incompetence. As I contemplated how much I’d enjoyed my day and how much I despaired about the new lockdown, to a soundtrack of Martin’s gentle snoring, the effect on my wellbeing will be catastrophic, but what can you do? Benfield take on West Auckland at home this Wednesday, but I won’t be there, alas.
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