Men Behind The Wire

 In the week the European Super League was born and died, I'm here to eulogise over the Northern Alliance..

You know what? I was bored by all this European Super League horseshit before I went to bed on Sunday night; both the bare faced greed of the participants and the crocodile tears of those opposing it. The sheer predictability of an underhand money grab by a collection of avaricious bastards once UEFA hinted at a rejigging of the already unwatchable Champions’ League may be an outrage, but it’s been in the post for years now. Don’t you dare allow Newcastle United supporters to take the moral high ground over this; nothing is more certain than they would have been demanding a spot in this whole new ball game if the Saudi blood money injection had come to pass. The Premier League may well be corrupt, but at least it is transparent in its greed.

The thing that really did tickle me was the utter hilarity of inviting Spurs to take on the role of continent-wide Lanterne Rouge, matched only in base avarice by the hand-wringing and breast-beating by Sky Sports Haw Haws Carragher and Neville. The thirty-year Faustian pact between the top division and the broadcasting cash dispenser feared being blown out of the water this potential parting of the ways. Fear not kids; as Gerry Adams so memorably quipped “they haven’t gone away you know.” In about a year’s time, after months of Camp David style negotiations, UEFA will bend over backwards to give “the Big Boys” what they want; a hermetically sealed, midweek footballing IPL that nobody with any romance in their soul will pay attention to. The product will, of course, be hidden behind a pay wall that will take your eyes out to view it. Just as the Premier League is currently doing, strangely enough.

Meanwhile, to return to the subject of football, the Northern Alliance has returned and I have drunk deeply from this fountain of footballing purity. While the Northern League decided to abandon any thoughts of organising a compensatory end of season kickaround, presumably because the absence of fans meant an absence of income, the Alliance stood up for grassroots players and fans across the region by reorganising their 4 divisional cups into mini-leagues. Additionally, the Northumberland FA decided to persevere with the Benevolent Bowl and Minor Cup, which is what took me to Seaton Sluice’s Crag Park on Easter Saturday for an NFA Minor Cup third round clash with North Shields Community Christians FC.

Having cycled up from Tynemouth, past the homes of Cullercoats and Whitley Bay Sports Club, where zealous volunteers were assiduously tending to the hanging of goal nets and correct placement of corner flags, the frisson of excitement enacted by the return to competitive football was maintained when my first game of 2021, at a new ground to boot, kicked off on a sunny and breezy afternoon, perched atop a cliff face overlooking St Mary’s Lighthouse, under the solicitous gaze of ref Chris Seach.  There were uncontested walkovers elsewhere, most notably by Wooler, meaning that Seaton Sluice was my final destination in my desire to complete the full Alliance set, but this tie was played at a furious tempo, though with little discernible skill on a bobbly, windswept pitch, other than from ex-Percy Main left back Rob Watson for NSCC, who looked imperious at this level.

Despite it being Easter, it was the Christians who handed out the crucifixion, outclassing the home side from the very start.  In front of about 20 spectators, which was perfectly legal on this patch of common, unenclosed land, the visitors took the lead from a free header at a corner just after the half way point of the first half. Within 10 minutes, the game was brought to a grinding halt with the arrival of the Tynemouth Volunteer Coastguard helicopter, which had winched a foolhardy rockhopper who had fallen and twisted his ankles while the tide was out. Soon Crag Park was thronged with the kind of simpleton rubberneckers who wave at trains, watching the shamefaced patient being wheeled to a waiting ambulance. Drama over, the emergency services and interested observers melted away, leaving the same couple of dozen zealots to watch the Christians complete a routine win with another sloppy goal from a corner. It wasn’t a classic, but it was good to be back.

 

Game two saw me take the bike to High Flatworth, the current home of one of my favourite Alliance teams, Willington Quay Saints, who were hosting Cramlington Town in the Alliance Amateur Cup. I’ve always had a soft spot for WQS since one of my former students, Jon Ellis; lead the line for them when they reached the NFA Minor Cup final, only to lose 1-0 to Alnwick Town in 2007. Back then they played at the Barking Dog, which I consider a far better pitch than Flatworth. However, WQS are one of several sides who have changed their home pitch since I first saw them, so they required a revisit.

I arrived at 18.07, moments after kick-off, in time to see WQS take the lead with a chip that outstripped Phillippe Albert’s effort against Man Utd. There were very few there to celebrate on open parkland, while the road up through the deserted and closed Tyne Tunnel Trading Estate was half full with parked cars. A blanket of low, grey cloud on a freezing evening suggested there was no chance of the Coastguard stealing tonight’s show. Instead, North Tyneside’s parking enforcement Sturmabteilung cast a menacing shadow over proceedings, backed up by the incompetent, institutional muscle of the local Peelers in a transit. Fifteen minutes into the game one of the Wehrmacht Wardens wandered across the pitch and informed the ref all cars on the pavement needed to be moved or they’d be impounded. Like a scene from The Firm, players abandoned the pitch at full pelt, to rescue their cars.  The tin hat was put on proceedings when the plod in the van put his flatfoot to the metal and unintentionally rammed a WQS player’s car; the shuddering sideswipe almost certainly wrote the vehicle off and eventually, to ironic cheers, the car and the meat wagon were carted off on a low loader.  Meanwhile, on the pitch, WQS remained in control throughout and eased to a 4-2 win, with a couple of fine strikes for either side, as well as a goalmouth scramble that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Eton College in the mid-Victorian Era. The parking interregnum saw the game finish in sub-zero temperatures in near darkness. I pedalled creakily home, cursing my failure to don a second pair of socks.

One of the things I’ve not done during this lockdown has been to visit my old fella’s grave since before Christmas. When I saw that both Winlaton and Blaydon were at home on Saturday 10^th April, I saw this as a perfect opportunity to kill 3 birds with one bus ticket. Travelling by public transport from Tynemouth to Blaydon, I found myself on the 45A sat in front of Dora Jakab, the Hungarian female referee who was to take charge of the Blaydon versus Gosforth Bohemian Reserves Neville Cowey Cup game. Somewhat to her consternation, I identified myself with a jaunty Hiszek egy Magyarorszag, making me appear to be Viktor Orban in the guise of a groundhopper. Perhaps it was an ill-judged conversational gambit I mused, as I bought flowers to lay atop Eddy’s tomb, that appeared utterly untouched since my last visit in the late Autumn.

 

From Blaydon Cemtery, I took a 49A up the hill to Winlaton, where the Vulcans were hosting Blue Star in the Challenge Cup. Considering the home team are the successor outfit to the woeful Ryton and Crawcrook Reserves, who scraped along the bottom of the Tyneside Amateur League, their development has been spectacular. Their ground, in the rugby complex that I’d seen the Thunder’s reserves have their collective arses handed to them by a pub team from Dewsbury a few years back, is well developed too. Of course, being located behind wire fencing, it isn’t public land, so those of us who came to spectate, including 50 or so vociferous Blue Star Ultras, who appear to have taken up the ideological baton from the retired Ridges reprobates, were directed to a spot adjacent to the complex and were consequently obliged to squint through the gaps, in order to see the game unfold.

Not only was the protected pitch appreciably better than anything I’d seen thus far, so was the standard of the game, with both sides looking sharp and incisive. Winlaton took the lead after a flurry of short passes and a precise, low finish into the corner. Blue Star, taking over the mantle of Northern League galacticos slumming at this level from Killingworth, are no slouches and a formidable front pairing of Josh Scott and Andrew Bulford fired in a quickfire double to put the visitors ahead. This was greatly appreciated by their followers, who were rocking the 80s vibe of football behind a fence, even if stood in a bucolic copse, and attempted a few desultory, slurred songs in a raucous, tuneless style. Great to see somebody watching and caring about football at this level, though I’d imagine they’ll be in the Northern League next season.

As soon as the whistle for half time went, I was off to catch the bus back down the hill, to see the second half of Blaydon versus Bohs Reserves. It was, as I quickly found out, a terrible game on a terrible pitch, with an excellent referee. In fact, Dora Jakab was the most competent performer by miles, though it wasn’t a bad tempered game by any stretch of the imagination. Blaydon, the younger side, brought the play endlessly towards the Bohs goal. The aged and almost entirely bearded visitors eventually cracked on 75 minutes, when a looping header from a corner dropped in at the back post. Despite their best efforts, neither side created further chances worthy of the name, as perspiration won out over inspiration. That said, I felt much more at home with the honest endeavours of the lads at Blaydon, than up the hill where NBS eventually prevailed 3-2.

 Having decided watching 2 games was the way to go, I found myself at Chemfica Amateurs v North Sunderland in the Neville Cowey Cup on the grass and Newcastle University A hosting East End on the 4G in the Amateur Cup at the Longbenton Sports Ground at the top of Coach Lane on Wednesday 14^th April. I had originally intended to take in Ponteland United against Percy Main in the Challenge Cup, but the home side’s temporary home at the High School is apparently a maximum security facility. Rather like most of the residents of NE20, Ponteland have adopted a “get off my land” stance when it comes to being Covid-secure. I’m not sure if they actually employ armed guards to secure their property, but the message they sent me on Twitter was unambiguous; hence my search for another game, or games as it turned out. 

In the Corinthian corner were Chemfica Amateurs, who put in a really spirited and encouraging performance against a North Sunderland side that must be commended for travelling 50 miles down the coast for an almost meaningless midweek game. The visitors scored the only goal of the game from their sole clear cut chance with 10 minutes to go. Chemfica, dignified in defeat as ever, took defeat philosophically and didn’t display any petulance at their unfortunate fate. In contrast, poor old Chris Seach had a hell of a job with the hotheads from East End, who disputed every decision and tried to kick their way to revenge as the University Reserves breezed past them by a wholly unflattering 4-0. In fading light and falling temperatures, I cycled home, musing on the fact that good guys don’t always win, but neither do bad guys either.

 

In fact, sometimes nobody wins. Having decided against a double header in Daisy Hill, opting out of the second round of East End versus the Uni A at Miller’s Dene, the only ground where I’ve ever seen someone ride a horse across the pitch at half time, and East End Reserves hosting dear old Bohs Reserves at Stotts Road, my choice of Newcastle Independent’s top of the table Amateur Cup tie against Gateshead Redheugh ended in a 1-1 draw. Frankly, it was the least appealing game of any I’ve seen since the restart and that wasn’t just because I got there at 18.29 to find it had kicked off at 18.15, with both goals coming in the opening few minutes. My main grouse was the reluctance of both sides to use the lush pasture of Coach Lane’s immaculate 4G, preferring to hoof and chase.

Redheugh were a decent set of lads but, despite repeatedly breaching the Independent centre back pairing in the opening period, never seemed likely to score again. The home team were on top for all the second half, but simply couldn’t force the ball home and so the two of them play each other in the last group game on Saturday 24^th, when I’ll be at the cricket; Tynemouth v Felling.