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 11^th 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.