Ian: Paisley

 I had a wonderful weekend up in Scotland...

My New Year’s Resolution for 2020 was simple; to complete my set of Scottish league grounds by visiting those I’d not yet had the pleasure of. Before COVID-19 closed the world down in March, I’d managed the grand total of 1 new tick: Alloa Athletic. Since then, Brechin City have left the league and been replaced by Kelty Hearts, while my total of unvisited stadia remained resolutely stuck on 20. Having spent the early part of this autumn following the cricket season to its denouement, I had began tentatively planning where to watch my football as the days grew shorter. There is the small matter of my season ticket for Percy Main, who are the side I will predominantly watch, but other than that commitment, I’m free to go where I please, ticking off stubbornly unvisited pitches to complete leagues. Financially, I’m able to commit to a monthly trip away; in August that involved Rotherham 1 Accrington Stanley 2 in the Carabao Cup and October will hopefully involve see me at Barrow versus Orient. September offered me the opportunity of a double header; Motherwell hosting Ross County on Saturday 25th and, courtesy of the generosity of Matty Longstaff, St Mirren against Aberdeen at noon the day after.

Up early on the Saturday morning, pausing briefly to muse on the deleterious effects of unnecessary number of pints I’d had the night before, I made the 09.23 to Carlisle with ease, where the only on board irritation was a loud, fat woman wearing too much make-up, loudly indulging her podgy toddler. At Carlisle, I enjoyed a gorgeous latte then took the Glasgow Central service, along with a smattering of BCF oafs, who were the only ones of the train without masks which are, of course, mandatory on public transport in Jeanette Mugabe’s One Party State. This legal infraction was massively outflanked by the baldy dwarf among their number, who took delight in loudly braying “let the Taliban past,” when an Asian family moved through the train. I simply despair at this world at times.

In Motherwell, searching for Fir Park, I got predictably, hopelessly lost, despite using the Sat Nav app on my phone. Honestly, my inability to follow directions is beyond a joke and getting worse by the week. Every new trip seems to involve me wandering aimlessly down suburban streets or, as in this case, around light industrial trading estates, fruitlessly craning my neck and straining my eyes in the hope of a set of floodlights on the horizon. I’ve only been to Motherwell once previously; in August 2009 to see Teenage Fanclub, less than 3 weeks after my old fella checked out, so my memories are less than precise, although as soon as I came across the Motherwell Civic Theatre, I knew where I was, as Fir Park is only 100 yards further on, meaning even I could find the ground.

And what a ground it is too; almost as good as my two perennial favourites, Easter Road and Valley Parade, Fir Park is a combination of three compact home stands and a gargantuan behemoth of an away end that must look impressive with 4,000 bladdered neds from the gruesome twosome in there. Unfortunately, a smattering of 70 highland laddies down from Dingwall provided rather less of a spectacle: indeed, not even a monocle. Estimating the crowd to be around the 5k mark, I was vindicated to hear the actual turnout was 4,977. The vast majority in the ground, warmed up by the pre-match DJ playing classics such as Another Girl, Another Planet, Ever Fallen in Love (twice!) and The Strokes, were off their seats and cheering wildly in the second minute when ex-Southampton midfielder Callum Slattery pounced on a loose ball just outside the box and lashed a quality strike into the roof of the net. This moment of genius almost made up for the absence of the gloriously named Bevis Mugabe from the Well matchday squad.

One person who was there was notoriously loathsome Scottish Tory leader and MP Douglas Ross, who combines being complicit in the destruction of the country with refereeing duties. He was the fourth official today; I wonder if this gave him time to read the late Deborah Orr’s coruscating memoir Motherwell: A Girlhood? If so, I wonder how he responded to her remembrance of the devastation wrought upon the town by the closure of the Ravenscraig steel plant?  Who am I fooling? Tories don’t have a conscience.

After about 20 minutes of mainly Motherwell possession, Ross County woke up and suddenly seized the initiative. They pushed the home side back, crafted several chances and predictably equalised on 39 minutes when winger Reagan Charles-Cooke saw his hopeful cross into the box drift beyond everyone and nestle into the corner. It was no less than the visitors deserved, and the Staggies’ fans reacted with predictable hysteria.

The day had started clear and bright, but turned cloudy and dank, to the extent that the floodlights were on for the second half. Other than Tony Watt striking the bar with a header, there was nothing other than the superfluous lighting to focus on as a second half utterly devoid of wit or invention drew interminably on. Then, out of absolutely nowhere, a glorious through ball by Rikki Lamie set Watt away and his unerring finish across the keeper ensured the points were claimed by Motherwell. Not the greatest of games, but a great ground and an equally praiseworthy community club, proving that once you leave the Old Firm behind, Scottish football is an absolute joy and endlessly rewarding to visit.

At full time, I counteracted my directional illiteracy by following the crowds. I had hoped to serendipitously come across The Electric Bar, but when I stumbled upon Airbles station, I cut my losses and took the slow train into Glasgow, alighting at Argyll Street for a brief saunter to Central Station and a fast train to Paisley Gilmour Street. Almost amazingly, I found my hotel without trouble, booked in and watched Sportscene. Checking out the hotel bar, I noticed a pump for Estrella Galicia, one of my favourite Spanish beers. Too good to be true; it was off. Instead I had a Belhaven Heavy, which was lifeless and malty, and a microwaved meal of Richmond bangers and reconstituted mash I could have made a better version of myself, before heading out to meet my pal Mick, once described by Donald Pleasance atop of hill outside Hereford as “a fine boy who will go far.” I suppose he has been a resident in Paisley for almost 20 years now, in Gabriel’s Bar, opposite Paisley nick that inspired the late, lamented XS Discharge’s anthem for doomed youth, “Lifted,” released on Groucho Marxist Records on the “Ha! Ha! Funny Polis” EP over 40 years ago (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRaO6sc78t0 ). We stayed until closing and, on returning to the hotel, I was asleep within about 10 seconds of entering my room.

Awaking in time to watch the Match of the Day rerun, when Sean Longstaff proved himself my Saturday hero, I got a message during the programme from Matty Longstaff who I nominate as my Sunday hero, telling me to pick up some free tickets from the main reception at St Mirren for that day’s game. I rendezvoused with Mick and his retired greyhound Milburn by Gilmour Stree stationt, keeping a discreet distance from Tandoori Express on Old Sneddon Street, whose forecourt was knee-deep in undigested tikka masala and regurgitated jalfrezi, fringed by fragments of a smashed Buckfast bottle. After returning Milburn to Mick’s house and leaving my bag there as well, we made the 5 minute journey by foot to the SMISA Stadium which, though still almost new, gives off the aura of being loved by supporters in the same way that Fir Park does. There are good clubs all over Scotland; just not on Janefield Street and Edmiston Drive. The ticket office staff were superbly efficient and the tickets, back row in the middle, among a hugely impressive and seemingly female-dominated away following who must have been up before dawn to get here for a noon kick off, gave us a perfect view of a tumultuous game of two halves.

In the opening period, despite St Mirren taking an early lead from a slightly deflected shot, the home side were utterly woeful and lucky to go in only 2-1 down after Scott Brown and Christian Ramirez, the latter with a blinding, diving header, hit back for The Dons. Frankly there was only going to be one winner, until Aberdeen’s Jenks was shown a second yellow for a reckless stamp on a St Mirren defender on 53 minutes. It is fair to say the Aberdeen support are ambivalent as regards the supposed talents of manager Stephen Glass and he singularly failed to cover himself in glory in this instance. The obvious tactical move was to withdraw the largely ineffective Johnny Hayes and introduce Matty, in order to tighten things up by going to a 4-4-1 to protect the lead. Instead he did nothing and within 8 minutes, St Mirren were 3-2 ahead, courtesy of one fine finish and one catastrophically cowardly piece of goalkeeping by Joe Lewis when Curtis Main loomed over him.

After going behind, Aberdeen capitulated; they offered nothing and could easily have conceded again. Luckily for Glass, the vast majority of their support voted with their feet and only a few desultory boos accompanied the final whistle, while understandably jubilant St Mirren players and fans danced jigs of delight. I’d have loved a penny for Matty’s thoughts as, once again, the lad who beat Man Utd, remained an unused sub, which is beyond baffling.

All there was left was a quick stop off to pick up my bag, a wander to the station where it became clear Paisley as no supermarkets in a central location, then efficient trains that brought me to Central for 7.30. It was another brilliant weekend in Scotland and frankly, I can’t wait to travel up again. There are 18 grounds to go; 4 in the West (Airdrie, Ayr, Kilmarnock and Stranraer) and 14 in the East (Aberdeen, Arbroath, Cove, Dundee, Dundee United, East Fife, Elgin, Forfar, Inverness, Kelty, Montrose, Peterhead, St Johnstone and Ross County), so plenty to choose from.