Tuesday 31 August 2021

Repetitive Stress Idiocy

 

So, the first month of the football season is over, marked by the autumn cessation of billionaires frivolously squandering their embarras des richesses on overpriced trundlers and talentless, theatrical false 8s, 9s or 10s (we’re not talking shoe sizes here) and the 12 days of purgatory that comprise the first International break of 2021/2022, dragging on to the last syllable of recorded time. Unsurprisingly, Newcastle United find themselves in familiar territory: winless, just above the drop zone on goals scored, out the League Cup, misfiring up front and handing out penalties like new fathers used to pass around Café Cremes. We’ve been here before.

The manager continues to: pick the wrong players, adopt incorrect formations, eschew tactics, and talk up a brown streak of premium grade horseshit, while deflecting any blame due to him and the bad bastard who still owns this farcical tragicomedy of a club. Oh yes, we’ve been here before. Every August /September borderline, going back to 2008, we see a kind of annual Civil War breaking out on Barrack Road, especially as the pro-takeover baldy lads were probably hoping that we signed Anjem Choudary rather than Hamza Choudhury, not that we got either. 

The season got underway with a scintillating series of preparatory performances against Doncaster, Rotherham and Burton, showing we’re a force to be reckoned with in the League 1 play-off shakedown. Meanwhile, a dozen no-hopers were let go from the stiffs, plus the has-been quartet of Atsu, Carroll, Muto and Saivet. Interestingly, having contributed precisely nothing during their time on Tyneside, the four of them are still unattached. We’ve been here before, you do realise.  The only money that came in the door was when Le Jeune’s transfer to Alaves became permanent after a year’s loan in Vitoria Gasteiz, where he can count Joselu as a team mate. This was an underwhelming end to the NUFC career of a player who looked like a world beater at times and gave us the most ridiculous point in history with a pair of injury time scrambles at Goodison the other year. In terms of real signings, we finally got Joe Willock on a permanent deal, which is brilliant, but why the hell did it take so long? Lewis Cass is on loan at Port Vale, Kelland Watts at Plymouth Argyle and Matty Longstaff has gone to Aberdeen. Good luck to the lad; he needs to play football and the buffoon in charge of coaching at SJP has made less use of Matty’s talents than a penguin would a harpsichord. As I write, the future generation of Newcastle United stars have just been banjoed 3-0 by Sheffield Wednesday’s Reserves in the Papa John’s Trophy. Tomorrow belongs to us. 

As far as the serious stuff goes, the West Ham game came at the end of a brilliant week off work; I’d been to Rotherham United v Accrington Stanley, had a swell day out for my birthday, then won the NTCL Midweek 3rd XI title when we beat Ashington Rugby CC and I took 2 wickets. Newcastle United wouldn’t spoil it would they? Well, we’ve been here before and not really would be my answer. I should have been off to Northumberland against Bedfordshire, including members’ tea, when the heavens opened and play was washed out. It left me no choice but to watch Newcastle and, in contrast to the weather, we were treated to a bright opening that culminated in Wilson finishing Saint-Maximin’s delightful cross after less than 5 minutes. Sadly, it didn’t stay that way; Krafth, as ever, was abysmal and Woodman seemed as nervous as Darlow usually is, but we must accept West Ham are more than a decent team and this was a more than decent game. The turning point was the soft award of a penalty that Woodman saved, but had thumped back over him into the net. From then on, we died. However, I’d wager the performance should have been something to build on. 

Of course daring to have a measured opinion inflames the savage breast of the on-line Incels calling for Bruce’s head on a spike as soon as the final whistle is blown, when all that was needed was a bit of tactical tinkering; drop Krafth for Schar, Shelvey for Sean and Almiron for Fraser. These jumpy jack cretins who think that supporting the Taliban’s governance of Afghanistan is a socially progressive move that will help speed up any takeover of Newcastle United, and still boo players taking the knee, need to be weeded out of our support. There is no place for any of them in the ground, or on line. Then again, the cyber conscience of Newcastle United coughed up 1 person to attend the Black Lives Matter rally outside SJP on July 13th. I’ll leave you to work out who it was; suffice to say his initials don’t both begin with the same letter.

Next up; Villa away, and one of several games where both clubs hold a mutual contempt, bordering on loathing,  for Steve Bruce. It was another game where he bemoaned bad luck that was actually, and unfortunately even, the laws of the game being applied correctly. Lascelles handled for their penalty and Wilson was a couple of millimetres offside. What can you say? The technology is there and has to be used. It still doesn’t explain the outrageous award West Ham benefitted from the week before mind. Then Burnley at home in the Carabao Cup and the third game in a row where claret and blue shirts got the better of us. Attending Ponteland United 1 Seaton Delaval 0, I only saw the highlights of this. Wayne Hennessey made a dick of himself on a Palace players’ night out and seemingly disappeared. Now he’s back to haunt us, pulling off numerous quality saves, including one in the shoot-out and we lose 4-3. Fair play to the 31k who were there; I’d expected it to be a social distancing exercise gone wrong.

Southampton, fresh from an 8-0 hammering of Newport in the cup, were at SJP next.  I was unable to see this, being required to turn out for Tynemouth 3s, at home to Lintz 2s, for whom I sent down an explosive spell of 4-0-21-0 and took a blinding catch at extra cover. Actually, we did win by 6 wickets; Cuddles Sturrock hitting his own maximum, just after Saint-Maximin had scored in injury time, so the handshakes, collection of boundary flags, uprooting of wickets and general tidying up deflected my attention from SJP as, naively assuming it was full time, I smiled at the pair of important wins. Only around 10 minutes later did I learn of Lascelles’s late lunge on Average Armstrong that threw two points away. Never mind the amorality of getting anything after our awful first half showing, this late equaliser hurt far more than it should have. We’re weak and panicky at the back, constantly giving away rash fouls; who on earth knows what’s in store at Old Trafford next time out, for that prancing cheat’s second coming. After that, we’ve Leeds at home and back to back away games at Wolves and Watford. If we get 4 points, I’ll be delighted, but I realistically see a return of 2 or 3 in this next sequence. Probably enough to put some daylight between us and Arsenal though…..



 


Thursday 26 August 2021

The Middle Clasico

 


I had initially intended to blog about David Keenan’s new novel, Monument Maker. However, the fact it is a bookshelf buckling 880 pages in length, means it will take me rather longer to read that I had first anticipated, so instead I return to the topic of groundhopping in my beloved Northern Alliance. This state choice of subject was made possible by the torrential rain that washed out almost all local cricket on Saturday 21 August, leaving me with a perfect opportunity to put a tick against Whickham Under 23s; one of the very few Alliance clubs I’d not yet visited. In this instance, this may have had something to do with the fact it was their debut home game, having only formed in the summer.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit the presence between the sticks of Martin Young, one of that great triumvirate of August 11th born keepers, including Nigel Martyn and me, wasn’t a crucial factor in sending me to Gateshead’s loveliest suburb for the second time in a fortnight, after my trip to Whickham 2 Consett 3 in the FA Cup. That game was a brilliant spectacle and probably the first decent encounter I’ve ever seen at The Glebe. However, Whickham first team were away to Bishop Auckland, from where they returned with 3 points, and today’s game, against former Tyneside Amateur League stalwarts Gosforth Bohemians Reserves, was a Northern Alliance Division 3 encounter, ostensibly to be played at Whickham School. Whickham against Gosforth; El Clásico Medio, perhaps.

Regular readers will be aware of my constant problems with navigational issues, on account of being unable to read a map or follow directions. After consulting the Go North East journey planner, I opted for the 97 bus from outside the Central, despite its circuitous route from the Metro Centre via scenic Bleach Green, as it is the only bus from town that goes down Fellside Road. The others use Whaggs Lane, which is great for The Glebe, but not much use for where I was going. In the event, the 97 dropped me at the side of the pitch on the corner of Fellside Road and Parklands where the game took place. It appears that Whickham School is merely the location of the changing facilities, as the 3G pitch I’d imagined would be hosting the game, is one of the very early models of artificial turf and no longer sanctioned for competitive use.

Certainly, the pitch where the game took place has a more bucolic air than a cage in a secondary school can ever have. Parklands is an unenclosed public pitch, but because of its location in leafy NE16, it is hardly likely to suffer the usual misfortunes associated with such playing fields, as your average Whickham resident isn’t the kind of chump who allows their dog to defecate indiscriminately across the turf, nor permits their offspring to own a motorcycle, much less ride one on any grass surface.  Then again, if you live in one of the big gaffes on Millfield Road, your back garden will be twice the size of a football pitch to start with, so if you’re inclined, you can have a speedway trick installed, to impress all the 2-wheeler Brexiteers out there.


Anyway, from the first whistle, Whickham were all over the visitors, which I’d half expected, having seen Bohs shade a quite awful contest against Blaydon down the bottom of the bank, opposite the graveyard where my old fella is at rest, at the end of last season. The home side had some stand out performers; the speedy number 7, the agile and powerful centre forward wearing 9 and a glorious passer, blessed with a whole bag of tricks on the wing, at 11. However, they just couldn’t score, as Bohs threw all hands to the pump to repel them. Martin was called into action after 20 minutes to superbly tip over the first effort from the visitors. The subsequent corner saw a penalty given for handball after a shot was struck straight at a Whickham defender. A bit harsh, but I could understand it and, almost unbelievably, Bohs were ahead when the spot kick was slotted home.

Whickham took a short period of time to regroup, but when they came again, their superior pace, skill and passing paid off. On 35 minutes, a good passing move saw the number 5 sweep the ball home after taking a perfect return pass. This remained the score at the break, but it was only a matter of time before Whickham wrapped things up, as the second period followed a similar pattern to the first. Two smart finishes on 55 and 58 crowned a pair of intricate passing moves, effectively ending the game as a contest and allowing Whickham to empty the bench. A late, fourth goal after a superb run from halfway, put the tin hat on proceedings and made the trip out a thoroughly worthwhile one, if only for Martin’s save for the smart phones as the clock wound down. 

The following Wednesday, I reduced my hit list to 1 of required Alliance grounds, specifically Bedlington United at Blyth Sporting Club, after a trip to Ponteland United’s current temporary home at what is presently referred to as called Ponteland Middle School, even if the said august institution has been recently reduced to a large pile of bricks. It’s almost ironic that in the most expensive area of Newcastle for real estate, eclipsing even the most exclusive nooks of Gosforth and desirable crannies of Jesmond, that there are innumerable acres devoted to the greater public good. Encompassing what, until a few years ago, was the old leisure centre, rugby club, football ground and the various schools, is a massive development combining all the educational and sporting facilities an affluent commuter village could wish for. It is particularly gratifying for this old romantic to know that the square at Ponteland Cricket Club didn’t move a millimetre during all the recent renovation, demolition and construction.


Eventually, Ponteland United will play on a ground designed for step 6 (Northern League Division 2 standard) football, but until then, one of the old high school’s pitches has been tamed and turned into a carbon copy of their original home; a huge, flat and well-grassed pitch, with absolutely no facilities to boast of, enclosed by a plain wooden fence of about 8 feet in height. This being Ponteland, graffiti and vandalism isn’t an issue, though on this particular evening, bad language was. My companion, chauffeur and local resident Graham, pointed out that people don’t pay £400k for a house to hear the language of the snooker hall for 2 hours solid. Except that they did, as Pont and visitors Seaton Delaval went through a muscular, committed game that was settled in the home side’s favour by an unfortunate headed own goal on the half hour. For most of the contest perspiration held a chokehold over inspiration, but it was such gritted-teeth doggedness that saw Ponteland home. Perhaps, when I return to their new ground, glamorous surroundings will lead to more glamorous football. Still, it could have been worse; we could have been watching Brucebollocks at SJP.

 

 


Thursday 19 August 2021

Covering New Ground

 I've just recompleted my Northern League set....


West Allotment Celtic: East Palmersville Pavilion

There are certain local non-league clubs for whom I’ve always had the greatest affection: Dunston Fed and Whitley Bay for instance. Another team I’d include among that select band are West Allotment Celtic; partly because of their indomitable spirit in keeping going against seemingly insurmountable odds and partly because of their deserved reputation for playing the game in the right way and in the right spirit.

The latter was exemplified during their early years in the Northern League when, after years of dominance in the Northern Alliance, Terry Mitchell, now in charge at Consett of course, fashioned a side blessed with lightning pace, superb ball to feet movement and an unbreakable team spirit. The gifted Cumbrian winger Dean Douglas encapsulated all these qualities and was a joy to watch. However, alongside the on-field triumphs came administrative headaches by the hundredweight. Having left their original home, the Farm Ground, WAC used Backworth Welfare for a few years. In January 1994 they hosted Newcastle United (Malcolm Allen, Liam O’Brien and Nicos Papavasiliou included) in a Northumberland Senior Cup game. They lost 3-0, as could be expected, but the real story, as so wonderfully retold in Harry Pearson’s seminal The Far Corner, was of the pampered, Premier League parvenus travelling by coach from the changers to the pitch. That, and the fact the lack of lights meant the game kicked off at 1.30pm, showed the rustic charms of Backworth Welfare were sadly unsuited to the Northern League.

Within a decade, having firstly groundshared with Whitley Bay at Hillheads, Allotment were in the top flight of the Northern League, after signing a lease on Whitley Park in Benton, informally known as Blue Flames on account of its former status as the British Gas recreational facility. Having played both football and cricket on the bottom pitches at this complex, I can confirm the outfield is better than many squares I’ve come across and the turf flatter and truer than any 4G surface I know. As tenants of Blue Flames Social Club, Allotment made zero income from bar and food sales, only taking what they managed in gate money and from programme sales. Generally edited by the wonderfully erudite Stephen Allott, I always availed myself of a match day magazine that was replete with interesting articles from the whole world of football.

WAC often played home games on Friday nights, hoovering up fans of other clubs at a loose end and wishing to see the grassroots game, which was played to an accompanying soundtrack of cheesy 70s disco, leaking through the open upstairs windows from birthday parties held in the lounge of the social club. Around this time, the Northumberland FA had moved into a suite of offices there and, as part of the deal, Whitley Park became host for all county cup finals, bar the Senior Cup that was still held at SJP, as well as county representative games at junior and senior level. This was no great imposition on Allotment, but the ominous presence of Newcastle United, whose Darsley Park training ground adjoins Blue Flames, signalled the death knell for WAC’s tenure at Whitley Park. I don’t have a full understanding of the labyrinthine structure of U23 football in the professional ranks, but suffice to say, NUFC were keen to play half their home games at SJP and the other half at Blue Flames. Having built a covered shed behind the far goal and upgraded the lights to broadcast standards, they demanded primacy because of cash investment in the fabric of the place and insisted Blue Flames “renegotiate” WAC’s lease on less favourable terms. It was a no-brainer; the club either found a new ground or died.

Out of sheer desperation, the club moved to Druid Park. Once known as the Wheatsheaf Ground, where Newcastle Blue Star played for years in the Wearside and then Northern Leagues, it had been upgraded with lottery money, only for NBS to vacate it for Kingston Park in a doomed bid to compete in the Northern Premier League. Druid Park, with the darkest 4G surface you’ve ever seen, was home to Newcastle University women’s Rugby League team and just about nobody else. Initially it seemed a marriage of convenience that just might work, but one forgets just how far out of town Callerton Parkway is. Crowds were terrible; I went to their first home game in September 2017 and was shocked to see only 40 other souls dotted around the place. It got no better either and I was not surprised to learn in late 2020 that WAC and Forest Hall were merging, to play at a vastly upgraded East Palmersville Pavilion. Typically, COVID got in the way and the curtailment of 20/21 on the back of 19/20 (two campaigns when Allotment were streaking away towards promotion of course) meant the new ground wasn’t up and running until pre-season 21/22.

A friendly against Northern League Division 2 side Newcastle University on July 17th caught my attention and I cycled up after work, stopping off in the local ALDI for a bottle of water and a sandwich.  I’ve been to this ground before, watching both Forest Hall’s Alliance side and a short-lived reserve team that played in the Tyneside Amateur League on separate occasions, but that was a while ago. Now, the main pitch has been made immaculate by Jacka, Tynemouth CC’s groundsman and peripatetic surface maintenance expert and the whole ground brought up to scratch by the installation of floodlights, not that they were needed on a mid-July Wednesday evening, two small seated stands on the top touchline and a covered standing shed behind one goal. There is still a second pitch, though the Alliance team, now called Forest Hall Celtic, will share the main one with WAC. Sadly, the famed West Allotment Celtic Match Day Command Centre at Blue Flames has been downgraded to a Portakabin, prosaically named The Office. Cloth being cut according to means I’d wager.  The whole site is protected by vandal proof green metal fencing, that also affords a free and unhindered view of the pitch, as enjoyed by a couple of residents of the adjoining retirement bungalows, pints in hand. Beer, hot drinks and food are available from the eponymous East Palmersville Pavilion, which is also on site, next to the 6-a-side 4G pitch that rakes in a few bob. A few fellas I know play there every Friday night, so the place does get used.

Entering the ground, it was the usual delight to see the Northern Alliance’s superstar officials Keith Scoffham and Barry Sweeney; I can’t imagine any other setting whereby linesmen are applauded onto the pitch, except when these lads are about. It was also good to see the West Allotment committee still in good order, though their venerable ages mean I’m often minded of the line from And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda that remarks year after year, their numbers get fewer; soon there’ll be no-one to march there at all.  I sincerely hope this isn’t the case as the club have performed miracles to get to this point and, they’ve got their best side, now rightfully promoted back to the top flight of the Northern League, since Terry Mitchell’s 2003 outfit. Even Jack Errington looks composed, committed and up for the challenge.

 The game began at a good lick, almost as if the players were making up for all the lost time when they couldn’t play. As with any game involving the University, there was the jarring sensation when local accents of the home players were contrasted with the far flung speech patterns of the visitors. It was the University, having spent 15 minutes on the back foot, who opened the scoring when a loose ball out from the back was returned with craft and guile from 35 yards, leaving the home keeper Finn Hodgson a detached observer. However, this Allotment side are full of running and intent; they equalised within 5 minutes with a close range finish after a fluent passing move. Both sides kept up their hard running, quick passing, high tempo approach until the break, by which time WAC had taken the lead with a towering header from a corner.

After the interval, heat, fitness and earlier exertions took their toll as the pace visibly slowed. Allotment made the game safe with a clever, curling finish from the edge of the box. As the whistle blew, I reflected on a good game, in good company and pleasant surroundings. No doubt I’ll be back here this season several times.


Redcar Town: Vitality Doors Mo Mowlam Stadium

Taking a flyer from work, I caught the Metro into town and then the Northern Rail 17.42 to Liverpool. Just as we pulled into Chester le Street, an alert on my phone told me Durham had knocked off the required 281 to beat Surrey in the Royal London Cup semi-final. As a reward, they faced Glamorgan in the final; not at Lords on the second Saturday in September, as is traditional, but at Trent Bridge on the Thursday, two whole days later. Meanwhile The Hundred staggers on, like a Championship relegation battle IPL, as the England test team disintegrates and the rest of the domestic game gets shoved to the back of the pantry like so many tins of unpalatable comestibles, bought on a whim at knockdown prices from a budget mini mart.

Anyway, I changed at Darlo for the rattler down to Redcar, which stopped at two of the least used stations on the entire British Rail network; Teesside Airport, isolated and ignored in some farmer’s field at the end of a runway, and Redcar British Steel, still extant in an eerie, post-apocalyptic alien landscape, devoid of humanity. Nobody got on and nobody got off at either halt, but the train still arrived on time, which is more than could be said of me, which is usual in these parts. You see the last time I found myself in Redcar was to see Redcar Athletic hand out an 8-0 coating to Brandon United. Unfortunately, my utter inability to read maps meant I didn’t get to the ground, despite relying on my phone’s sat nav, until the home side were 2-0 ahead. It wasn’t as bad as that tonight, but I did initially read the map the wrong way up, resulting in a short, circuitous detour through housing near Redcar Central train station, before getting on the right road out of town, past the College, the local park and rows of substantial pre-war semis, arriving at my destination as the teams came out.

Both Redcar Town and Horden Community Welfare are new to the Northern League, having been promoted at the end of last season from the North Riding and Wearside Leagues respectively. They are also fairly new clubs, with Redcar spending a few decades as a Junior set up before launching a Senior Men’s team as recently as 2014, while Horden CW formed in 2017, after the demise of their predecessor outfit, Horden Colliery Welfare, also in 2014. Horden play at the capacious and venerable Welfare Park, nestled in amongst tight rows of terracing at the bottom of town, on the way to the reopened train station and the vast, grey North Sea. Redcar Town’s Mo Mowlam Memorial Park (aka the Vitality Doors Stadium) is a newer, work-in-progress affair. At the moment the ground, named after the town’s late MP, best known for her stint as Northern Ireland Secretary during the first Blair administration, is on the tidy side of basic. There are floodlights, a tiny covered shed at the corner by the entrance and the foundations for a covered stand that looks like it will be bolted to the front of the roomy and welcoming clubhouse. I didn’t get any food tonight, but the local mosquitos and midges made a meal of me, to the extent I was massaging in ointment and swallowing antihistamines ten minutes into the game. It’s not often I say this, but if I ever go back it will be in winter, when the insects are all asleep or dead.

Around ten minutes in, after a series of early exchanges, there was a lengthy stoppage as the Redcar number 9 injured his ankle in a seemingly innocuous fall. His screams of agony told of the level of pain he was enduring. Having been helped from the pitch, he lay prone beyond the touchline until an ambulance arrived about an hour later. Following this injury, the game became a largely subdued affair with little penetration for the first 30 minutes. Horden twice had the ball in the net, but both were correctly ruled out for offside, though the growing dominance enjoyed by the visitors seemed certain to bring reward and so it did on 39 minutes, when an eye-catching outside of the foot through ball left the home defence flatfooted, allowing Liam Dunn to convert with some style.

It was a deserved lead, but it could have been erased seconds later when Redcar smacked the upright with a towering header from a corner. It wasn’t to be and the score remained 0-1 at the break. So it did when I departed on 80 minutes, determined not to miss my train and so it did at full time. I was informed of this by John Dawson, King of the Groundhoppers, who arrived at Redcar Central just as the train did. I caught it and merrily scratched my insect bites on forearms and exposed leg, until we arrived at Central, musing how pleasantly surprised I was to see how well Horden were adjusting to the higher standard of football, as well as how Redcar needed to display both patience and guile if they wished to breach defences at this level.  



Sunderland West End: Ford Hub Sports Complex

After Tuesday night’s fun down in Redcar, I was itching for more. That may just have been the aftermath of the insect bites, but it was enough to keep me off the sofa and out the house, ready to recomplete my whole Northern League set with a trip to Sunderland West End versus Tow Law Town. It was only once I got on the Metro that I realised the enormity of my 26-stop odyssey to deepest, darkest South Hylton; literally, the end of the line. I’d been here before, back in West End’s Wearside League days for a cup final on a blustery May Day against Redcar Athletic and I’d remember just what a hike it was to the ground. However, that was for an 11.00 kick off not 7.45, so I’d not noticed most of the journey was without any form of street lighting (columns and lanterns as my old fella used to call them); the thought of trying to scrabble my way back in the dark was unappealing to say the least. That’s why I was delighted to see Gav and Glenn from Ashington, as they promised to give me a lift to Pallion Metro at full time, fending off the inevitable broken ankle a return trip on foot would have involved.

On my previous visit, this place was still known as Ford Quarry; a set of windswept pitches on top of a spit of land at the edge of a vast chasm, hewn from the rocks of the real Wear Valley. It was the northern fringe of what was the huge and hideous Pennywell Estate, near where Wearside Jack Humble had scribbled with his poisonous pen and recorded his bilious hoaxes on top of stolen Andrew Gold cassette singles that had sent George Oldfield mad and to an early grave, to meet Barbara Leach, Marguerite Walls and Jacqueline Hill whose deaths were enabled by Humble’s handiwork.

Sunderland West End played on a north south railed pitch with zero other facilities. Once promotion to the Northern League was assured, they decamped to Nissan, to groundshare with Washington, to allow for the construction of the Ford Hub. Now the complex is complete, boasting 3 or 4 floodlit 4G pitches, Washington share these facilities. As is always the case with such grounds, more pleasure can be found by those training or playing than the average spectator. Clean and bright though the Ford Hub is, I’ll not be in a hurry to get back. Partly that was to do with the palaver involved trying to effect entrance past the Checkpoint Charlie style front desk security. Once you’ve got in, you still have to pay when you get to a separate turnstile by the pitch. Either that or save yourself a fiver and watch it through the fence for free.

The game attracted a crowd of 92 to the three-sided, windy complex. Tow Law, attired not in their traditional black and white but rather in an apologetic dark blue and white number like an anaemic West Brom top, were beyond awful, offering absolutely nothing and creating less throughout the game. West End weren’t much better, insisting on belting the ball forward as high and hard as they could manage, almost as a gesture of contempt to the perfect 4G pitch beneath their feet. That said, they scored 3 unanswered goals; a tap in and a 20-yard curler in the first half and a very late and very soft penalty after the break. So much for aesthetics eh?

Well, that’s the Northern League up to date; now my attention turns to Bedlington Sporting, Ponteland and Whickham U23s, which I need to mop up the Alliance. It’s a hard life, but someone has to do it.

 

 



Friday 13 August 2021

Bronx Cheer

My birthday treat was a trip to Rotherham United v Accrington Stanley


One of the greatest benefits of working in the Further Education sector was the frankly outrageous summer holiday entitlement. Though not as generous as school teachers’ annual leave, the 5 weeks paid vacation in July and August gave one more than enough time to recharge the batteries. Nowadays, while in normal employment, the shorter allocation of time off is probably even more cherished because of its brevity. With my birthday falling on August 11th, I always take off the week in which it falls, which meant finishing on Friday 6th and heading straight to Whickham against Consett in the FA Cup Extra Preliminary Round at the Glebe Ground. I arrived in the nicest bit of Gateshead with time to spare, so I hit the One Eyed Stag micropub on the main drag, where I enjoyed two fabulous pints of Two By Two Simcoe at only £3.60 a go; absolute nectar and then the game, enjoyed in the company of Harry Pearson and Joris Van de Wier, was utterly superb. Two footballing sides going at it, end to end, from first whistle until the last; keeping the ball on the deck, utilising flicks and short passing. After twice being behind, Consett got themselves level and won it 3-2 in the last couple of minutes. If only all football was as good as this game.

Saturday was forecast to be a complete washout, which meant I’d made tentative plans to take in Whitley Bay against North Ferriby, with View from the Allotment End editor Matt Kempson. Surprisingly, it stayed dry and so I was in situ for the whole of Tynemouth’s loss to Chester le Street by 42 runs. Thankfully, after a 1-1 draw at Hillheads, Matt came to visit me and saw the dying embers of the cricket, as well as picking up a couple of copies of glove #8. Unfortunately, because I’m stupid, I didn’t realise I’d left 4 tickets for Durham’s 50-over game against Essex on the Sunday inside one of the fanzines. Matt pointed this out to me as soon as he realised. Unfortunately, this was not until he got home. Never mind eh? At least they were freebies, so I didn’t lose anything, and, more importantly, Durham won without my patronage.

As you’ve probably realised, my week off was developing a strong sporting theme. Obviously, there was my regular game of 6-a-side on Monday to enjoy, but also, I’d decided it was time to go out into the wide world again and ground hop. My initial plan was to do two Carabao Cup games at previously unvisited Football League grounds on successive nights. I quickly identified Birmingham City against Colchester United and Burton Albion’s clash with Oxford United as the ideal choices, mainly because I’d already decided my blog about the trip would be called Brum and Bass. No sooner had I start planning trains, accommodation, and tickets than news came of a rescheduled Tynemouth Midweek XI fixture. If we went to Ashington Rugby CC on Thursday 12th and won, we’d be champions. As a result, I decided I couldn’t do two nights away and, instead, began looking for a day trip. 

The obvious choice was Rotherham United against Accrington Stanley. This wasn’t my first visit to The Millers, as I’d twice visited their former ground of Millmoor, firstly for a 5-1 win by Newcastle United in September 1982, in a transit van full of loonies, driven by a psychopath who drank a full bottle of Beefeater gin, neat, on the way down and got us into a potential battle with a load of Leeds United psychos in a pub in York afterwards, resulting in my sharp exit to jump a 125 back to the Central. Secondly, for a 3-3 draw with Maidstone United in September 1991, with my friend David Brewster from University, who I lost touch with in 1996 and who I recently learned had passed away at Easter this year. RIP Dave.

While Millmoor still stands and hosts youth football, Rotherham have not played there since 2012, when they moved into the New York Stadium, on the other side of the River Don and railway line from their former home. Having secured a match brief for £13 after registering on the web site and booked a reasonably priced train ticket, I headed off on Tuesday afternoon, arriving in Rotherham about 17.30, following an uneventful journey. Frankly, as a town, Rotherham has little to recommend it, though it isn’t unpleasant either, being relatively untainted by hideous concrete monstrosities. No doubt the proximity of the hideous Meadowhall shopping complex explains the lack of any real shops in Rotherham town centre. Either that or the endemic poverty. Anyway, I managed to waste an hour in aimless wandering before heading to the ground.

The New York Stadium is one of my favourite of the new grounds I’ve been to, and I’m fully aware I need to visit another dozen of them (Brentford, Brighton, Cardiff, Coventry, Man City, Millwall, Oxford, Shrewsbury, Spurs, Stoke, Swansea and West Ham, if you’re interested). It reminds me of a smaller, more compact Doncaster Rovers. The tight corners keep the sound in to create a decent atmosphere, even with a paltry 3,131 in the ground, including a couple of hundred over from Lancashire. Thankfully I’ve got an aisle seat, so I’m unlikely to get anxious and can enjoy a 1998 era playlist of Brimful of Asha followed by Right Here, Right Now, rather more than the deplorable body odour from the stereotypical Yorkshire bloke in a nylon polo shirt to my right. 

The Rotherham team includes a couple of familiar names; ex-NUFC players Dan Barlaser, who has an utterly anonymous first half before being hooked at the break, and Shane Ferguson, who is as timid and ineffective as he ever was. The game, seemingly typical of most contests at this stage of the competition, is tame to the point of somnolence, until Accrington take the lead on 37 minutes. Dion Charles got on the end of a long punt forward, did a little shimmy in the box, before finishing strongly across the keeper and into the bottom corner. On the balance of play, it was deserved.

In the second period, Accrington continue to look the better team, but don’t appear that keen on increasing their lead. They have an organised high press and seem intent on slowing the game down, frustrating the home team and fans. It gets worse when the Millers bring on Smith for Ladapo up top, when strongarm tactics become the order of the day, to the extent of incurring 2 bookings for scything challenges in 45 seconds. From the second of these assaults, Sadlier fires in a glorious free kick from fully 30 yards on 75 minutes, which totally changes the dynamic of the game. Both sides go for it, and we have 10 minutes of end to end mania. Just as I’m checking later trains back, Stanley pinch it.  On 86 minutes, Viktor Johansson palmed a shot straight up in the air and Colby Bishop nodded the loose ball home.

Cue a Stadium of Light style fire drill as the ground empties to a chorus of grumbles. The whistle goes in an almost empty bowl and I head up back to the station to catch an earlier train, containing a smattering of Blades, celebrating their 1-0 win over Carlisle by singing the Greasy Chip Butty song in a desultory manner. I change at Doncaster and turn 57 just south of Darlington. An hour later I’m asleep in bed after a damn fine day out.


Oh, just to say we beat Ashington Rugby CC by 7 wickets on the Thursday and so are the champions. Modesty prevents me mentioning my 2-25.


Monday 2 August 2021

2020/2021 Football Fanzine CV

 


And year after year, their numbers get fewer… 

Hopeless Football Romantic #9: Curious Orange, my love affair with Luton town’s 1974/1975 shirt.

Hopeless Football Romantic #10: Cornering, a comparison of The Far Corner and The Farther Corner by Harry Pearson.

View #3: Racist Friends, an expose of racist attitudes in the Northern League

View from the Allotment End #16: The Wettest Corner, watching Northern Alliance games with Harry Pearson.

View from the Allotment End #17: Taking the Knee, an article in favour of this.