Dead on Arriva....

 How public transport nearly ruined my trip to Burradon & New Fordley v Seaton Delaval Amateurs....

With Percy Main somewhat inactive, having unaccountably been left with a blank weekend, despite the fact that Whitley Bay A were similarly free and have still to come to Purvis Park, I decided to make another tick in my ongoing attempts to recomplete my Northern Alliance set, on a sunny day that perhaps offered me my last chance to wear shorts to a game in 2022. As has regularly been alluded to, the rapid turnover of clubs and moving of grounds by others means completing the Alliance is a task somewhat akin to a sporting version of painting the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling with a toothbrush. On Saturday morning I was left with 3 grounds still to visit; Blyth Rangers at the Isabella Pavilion, Burradon and New Fordley at Burradon Welfare and, according to information only recently communicated to me, Hexham at Queen Elizabeth High School in the town. Predictably, the first and last of those mentioned were away and so Burradon versus Seaton Delaval Amateurs in the Challenge Cup was to be my destination. No doubt I’ll make the trip up to Burradon again with Percy Main later in the season for a league game, which will then be the third ground I’ve seen that fixture on, after Fordley Welfare and Action Park, as recently as last Easter Monday evening.

One benefit of visiting Fordley was the supposed ease of travel, when contrasted with both Blyth and Hexham; Arriva’s 52 could pick me from Four Lane Ends if I was coming from mine, or the 53 would collect me opposite New York Club if I decided to travel from Shelley’s, which is what I opted for in the end. Arriving at the designated stop in plenty of time for the 12.50 bus that would drop me directly opposite the ground at 13.30, I began a wait that predictably turned into a vigil. I realise that national politics are in vogue right now, but at a local level Newcastle Central MP Chi Onwurah is currently engaged in a series of fact-finding meetings with the top brass at Arriva, Go North East and Stagecoach to discover quite why bus services on North Tyneside are so dismally incompetent. This may be a fond task, as the services have been shocking throughout my adult life. Stood seething on Brookland Terrace, I composed many an email in my head before finally boarding the late running 13.20 service at 13.31. The 12.50 service did not operate. There was no explanation for this on social media or recognition of the fact on the Arriva website. Inquiring for a reason from the driver, I was given an insolent shrug by way of response.

Once the large knot of pensioners that comprised the vast majority of passengers on board had disembarked at Boundary Mills, the bus steadily made-up time, presumably on account of the fact that only Northern Alliance addicts or those with a strong love for Killingworth, Cramlington and environs would be likely to use this service, explaining why there were only 3 of us, excluding the driver, on board after Great Lime Road. The ground, beside Burradon Primary School, was adjacent to the bus stop, and game noises told me I’d missed kick off. Not to worry, the sounds guided me home, and I took up my place, arms resting on the permanent pitch barrier, just in time to see Delaval take the lead when a loose ball from a corner kick was swept home from inside the six-yard box. There seems to be a theme, unlike in previous years when North Shields Athletic and Cullercoats perennially struggled to avoid the drop, that whichever side falls to the bottom of the table then engages in a Lazarus-style renaissance, pulling steadily away to safety. We’ve already seen Winlaton hold us to a thrilling draw at Purvis Park, and now the other Amateurs are seemingly reinvigorated, coming into this one on the back of a 6-1 victory over Newcastle Independent.

Their opponents Burradon are a feisty set of battlers, and they came back strongly from this setback, though their equaliser on the half hour did have something of the unexpected about it. Again, a corner was not cleared properly, only this time it was a home player who swept the loose ball home. However, parity was not restored for long, as Delaval retook the lead with what turned out to be the winning goal and a fine strike it was too. A central free kick from pushing 30 yards was clipped serenely into the top corner with the Burradon keeper left vainly grasping at thin air. In all honesty, it was a fair score line at the break and a lovely piece of skill to bring us to that point.

Surprisingly, the second half produced no further goals, though not for a want of trying. In fact, a brace of well marshalled defences at either end of the pitch were profoundly on top in the contest and actually chances were thin on the ground, though the game remained compelling throughout. Despite oath-edged talk in the heat of battle, the final whistle saw good natured handshakes exchanged, just as it should be. It’s a basic facility at Burradon in terms of playing facilities, but the developments off the pitch look to be paying dividends. Sadly, I was unable to locate coffee anywhere and so took the amazingly punctual bus home with my thirst unslaked. For those who are interested in such things, the return journey took as long as Burnley did to score 4 unanswered goals on Wearside, which kept me happy and amused until I arrived home.

So, that’s another one ticked off, leaving only 2 grounds to go…

 

Ha Bloody Ha

 Humour, music and literature; a mid autumnal cultural blog....

COMEDY:

 

On Saturday October 15^th, Shelley and I had a good day out. First up, we braved wind and unseasonal hail showers to watch Percy Main win 2-1 away to Ponteland, in the company of pals John (over from county Kildare for the afternoon; I do not jest), Graham and, briefly, Phil. Following a helpful lift from Graham and a Metro into town, we enjoyed some absolutely blinding Indian street food from My Delhi on Clayton Street. Five stunning small plates and assorted dips and breads for £40, but make sure you book on a weekend, as we were exceptionally lucky to walk in and get a seat. From there, a quick beer in the Alpha Delta lounge and then on to the main part of the day; a trip to The Stand Comedy Club.

I’m really not sure why, but I’ve hardly ever seen live comedy. I really can’t believe I’ve never seen Stewart Lee live, but there you go. Hence, when Shelley expressed an interest in having a laugh on a night out, I readily concurred. Searching through the listings, I was delighted to see Dave Johns, of I Daniel Blake fame, headlining on this particular day. Tickets were bought instantly: mind, I have to say though, at £20 a pop for something that lasted for just over 90 minutes, it isn’t a cheap night out.

As regular readers know, I’m an ever expanding ball of neuroses and phobias, with a fear of crowds that gets worse by the year. The fact that The Stand is a subterranean cavern that was almost sold out on this occasion didn’t do my anxiety much good, but in the absence of a ready supply of Propranolol, I girded my loins, took plenty of liquids on board and grounded myself by taking my shoes and socks off. This relaxed both Shelley and I, allowing us to enjoy an excellent evening’s entertainment.

The Stand is a pretty regimented sort of place. They don’t allow big groups of lads, ban photography and seriously discourage heckling. Perhaps because of this, I didn’t make enough notes, so missed out on the names of the very funny compere, who lives in South Shields but comes from Jarrow (“I’ve moved up in the world to place with only 26% unemployment) or the two supporting acts; a woman from Kenton who riffed on her anxieties about having a posh boyfriend and a bloke from Manchester who was the epitome of a head-on collision between eccentricity and eclecticism. He steered just the right side of being blatantly offensive. As you’d expected, Dave Johns was great; bearded, bespectacled and sporting a woolly hat, he certainly wasn’t relying on his looks for laughter. I laughed out loud, almost continuously, at a seemingly random unconnected series of random observations that all hung together admirably. In short, a fab night out, though I don’t think I started breathing properly until I escaped the depths and stood sucking in lungfuls of High Bridge air.

MUSIC:

The main event that held my attention in the period since I last wrote about music was the long-delayed Godspeed You! Black Emperor gig at Glasgow Barras in the middle of September. Thanks to Dave, who did the driving, and Ben for being brilliant companions: in Mono for drinks and food as well as on the road and in the gig; not long until David Gedge in Gosforth eh? Unquestionably, this latest exposure to GY!BE was an incredible evening, as the venue’s decadent grandeur and ageing environs added to the atmosphere of surreal, anarchic degeneration, found in both the music and the visuals. As on every occasion I’ve seen the impossibly brilliant Quebecois post-rock nonet, the reassuring hum of Hope Drone hinted at the arrival of the wordless perfection ahead. There are no words with Godspeed You! Black Emperor because none are necessary to paint portraits in the air. I’d bought Slow Riot for New Zero Kanada from the merch stall in advance on the gig, having learned that neither Moya nor BBF3, the two stunning pieces contained therein, would be performed this time. I’ve really no idea how I’d not got round to purchasing this before. Instead, we had most of God’s Pee at State’s End, as well as a blistering Bosses Hang from Luciferian Towers and a deafeningly intense The Sad Mafioso to close proceedings. This was as immersive a gig as you could wish for: a sonic baptism in a magic, psychedelic river of ecstatic joy and unending pain. Godspeed You! Black Emperor make almost every other kind of music utterly superfluous.

Recently, I’ve done my best to support local venues and local acts as well, with some mixed results I must admit. The first Friday in September saw me at the Anarchy Brewery on Benfield Road, near Walkergate Metro with my pals Paul and Ale. Top of the bill were Leeds band Beige Palace, who apparently supported Shellac three years back, though I have no recollection of that happening. Instead, we were really there for a couple of local bands, tangentially part of the No Audience Underground scene. This seemed to be at variance with the other acts listed as forthcoming attractions at Anarchy. Aside from the usual Oasis tribute acts, there was a band dedicated to celebrating the work of Tony Hawkes, called The 900. Now I was at a complete loss why anyone would name their band after the Metro replacement bus and sing paeans to the bloke who wrote Travels Round Ireland with a Fridge and Playing the Moldovans at Tennis. However, unbeknownst to me, it seems there is another Tony Hawks, who is an adult skateboarder and the 900 is his signature move. Well, you live and learn, eh?

First up on the night were the excellent Lump Hammer, whose singer is part of Mobius. This was a very different kind of music and almost exactly what you’d expect from a band called Lump Hammer: brutal, destructive, visceral noise. They reminded me of Earth, and I enjoyed them tremendously. The other member of Mobius was the drummer in Penance Stare: a female duo who reincarnated the sound of 1979 with some aplomb. Close your eyes and it could have been John McGeoch on guitar. I sincerely hope to see both bands again. Sadly, we didn’t hang around for Beige Palace, whose interminable sound check melted any enthusiasm we had for them.

The last Monday in September saw Shelley and I down at The Engine Rooms on the Fish Quay, to see Jim McCulloch and his Snowgoose project, with stunning vocalist Anna Shear. Both of their albums, Harmony Springs and The Making of You (the latter of which I purchased on the night), feature the likes of Raymond McGinley and Dave McGowan as guest musicians, showing that we’re geographically and spiritually on Byers Road even when they tour as a duo. Anna’s voice is comparable to, in terms of sound and quality, the likes of Lavinia Blackwall and Jill O’Sullivan. I can give no higher praise than that. It was an excellent, compelling evening of intelligent pop folk, with glorious musicianship and stunning vocals. I’ve very glad I now have both albums in my possession and can recommend then to you without hesitation. They are the kind of sounds I love.

 

I’m not really sure anyone can love 4’33” by John Cage, but that period of silence gained a round of applause when Adam Johnson (no, not that one) “performed” it during a Friday lunchtime recital at the Lit and Phil as part of the Newcastle Festival of Jazz and Improvised Music (NFJIM) on the last day of September. I’d taken a half day holiday to see this, my only experience of NFJIM ever, as Johnson, blessed with enormous feet and attired in a Geisha style dressing gown, was performing excerpts from Cage’s Sonatas and Interludes for Prepared Piano. If I’m honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but hoped that it would be something a bit silly. It certainly wasn’t. It was piano turned into a percussion instrument, or even a set of gongs and bells, that would have been ideal as part of a gamelan orchestra and Johnson, who explained it took well over 2 hours to set up a prepared piano and has been playing this piece for over 15 years, gave an effortless, virtuoso performance that left this classical music neophyte stunned by the breadth of time sequences and impact of tonality on the audience. I thoroughly enjoyed this and would in the future to hear someone perform pieces by Cornelius Cardew, another of my modern classical heroes.

Finally, the No Audience Underground took a trip to the seaside on Friday 14^th October, when Bound Books in Whitley Bay hosted a brace of duos. Firstly, Posset and Chlorine performed as Molar Crime and superb it was too. The live drumming added a compelling urgency and sense of reality to Joe’s Dictaphone tape skronk, taking it from the realms of somnolent fantasy to a hard hitting slab of the everyday life we tend to avoid. A proper collision of distinct methods produced something memorable. Top of the bill Culver and Rovalesca were more of a hand in glove pairing; a pair of synth drone manipulators taking us on a journey through euphoria to dissonance courtesy of swathes of bestial aural scree. A great night, with loads of people I knew coming out for it. I like this noise. I like this ambience. I want to be more involved in it.

BOOKS:

If I wanted to make a football analogy about the autumn’s big Scottish literary clash, I’d probably say something like a startlingly inventive Aidrie comprehensively outplayed a complacent, lacklustre Hibs, which is another way of saying David Keenan’s superb Industry of Magic and Light, the loose prequel to This is Memorial Device, is a far better read than Irvine Welsh’s formulaic The Long Knives, the latest unrealistic dysfunctional polis procedural to feature Ray Lennox, the sidekick from Filth who got his own vehicle in Crime. A key to the supposed worth of this latest Welsh tome is his injudicious comments in interviews that The Long Knives is a kind of necessary plot device linking Crime to next year’s concluding Lennox novel. In other words, I’ve lashed out £18 and ploughed through 400 pages just so a Lothian cop can hand in his notice and move south. 

We get all the usual Welsh tropes here; the kind of racist and sexist bullshit his baddies have spouted by the yard for a quarter of a century, as well as dollops of sectarian football attitudes, though I am on his side when he insists that true evil is to be found among the environs of Tynecastle. His unhealthy obsession with anal sex is a persistent stain on the narrative, which features the usual battery of seedy characters from earlier works, as well as equal numbers of cartoon wrong’uns and unidimensional goodies appearing for the first, and sometimes last, time in his fiction. It isn’t a bad read, but it isn’t a great book. Then again, has he written anything memorable since Glue or, at a push, Skagboys?

Unlike Welsh, David Keenan never stays in his comfort zone, as has been demonstrated by the massive, eclectic jumps in subject matter from This is Memorial Device, to For the Good Times, Xstabeth and, most challenging of all, Monument Maker; 400 pages down with 350 still to go, it sits stubbornly on my bedside cabinet as the foundation stone of my yet-to-read pile. Thankfully, partly because of a return to the familiar territory of bleakest Lanarkshire and partly because of a return to narrative-based fiction, rather than recondite theosophical musings that have oft left me cold, I was able to race through this one in double quick time. I love the idea of Airdrie being a kind of low-rent Haight Astbury mixed with Greenwich Village, where Avant Garde creativity, hallucinogenic drugs and a strong seam of counter culture sensibility make the place a vital, if hidden, jewel in Scotland’s alternate history. When he’s on form, Keenan makes you believe the world he describes is real and not created. You devour the pages, looking for clues and explanations for madcap events from equally mad unreliable narrators trying to recall incidents half a century ago through the refracted lens of a drug-addled and broken memory. I love it.

Perhaps the only work I’ve read recently that is of equal merit as Keenan’s, is the impossibly talented Jim Gibson’s stunning debut collection, The Bygones. Having known Jim for a decade as an editor of and contributor to publications such as Hand Job and Low Life, as well as having the honour of publishing him in glove, I have long seen him as an especial, eccentric talent. Writing from a geographically precise blasted heath somewhere in the ex-minefields of the East Midlands, Jim does enough to assuage that area of the guilt of their conduct in the 1984 strike and the subsequent formation of the home for scabrous scabs, the UDM, by showing us the place is possessed; mad, deranged, bleeding with the running sores of evil that disfigure the landscape. The Bygones, from its disturbingly beautiful front cover onwards, tells tales of ordinary madness. Poverty, drink, drugs, mental and physical ill-health, bad housing and endless, grinding poverty are the touchstones of the madness in Jim’s area. In short, The Bygones comprises a stunning set of nightmarish slices of grim, gruesome reality that read like a terrifying docudrama about a real life dystopia. The stories hit home because of the credible and crushing mundanity depicted on every page. This is absolutely outstanding work. I can't recommend it highly enough.

Elsewhere, I quite enjoyed The Persistence of Memory by Martin Cooper, who I’ve met a couple of times through cricket. The book was given to me by our mutual friend Di Brown and it tells a compelling and credible love story of outsiders in Newcastle, from Germany and London, finding romance to replace the tragic emptiness in their souls. Set from 2005 general election day until the 7^th of July bombings at Kings Cross and Tavistock Square, a seemingly improbable narrative is held together by excellent depiction of characters. I read on because I cared. Martin should be proud of this work, and I wish it was more readily available so more people could appreciate how much he has put into the book.

Finally, another one of my Lit & Phil bargain books was Sally Belfrage’s unintentionally nostalgic The Crack: A Belfast Year. The fact this year was 1985 to 1986, which was my final year as an undergraduate in County Derry, makes it all the more compelling for me as my idetic memory means I remembered all the salient details. Like most people of sound mind, Sally arrived in the Six Counties with an open mind, met people from both communities and left a raging Republican. I can fully understand where she was coming from. Of course, it is hopelessly out of date following the events of the intervening period, but a superbly written vignette of yet another shameful period under Thatcher’s police state.

There are a few music books to read before we’re next here: Gavin Butt’s history of the Leeds post-punk agitprop scene, No Machos or Pop Stars, Steve Pringle’s guide to every Fall album, You Must Get Them All, as well as a couple of trips north of the border in the shape of Stuart Braithwaite’s autobiographical account of Mogwai’s life and times, Spaceships over Glasgow as well as Douglas McIntyre and Grant McPhee’s encyclopaedia of Scottish punk and post punk, Hungry Beat. I can’t wait to get dug in to that lot. I might even finish Monument Maker while I’m at it…

Denver Humbert

In advance of the Man Utd game, everything seems rather rosy in the NUFC garden, other than certain elements of the support of course. Here's a look back at the season so far -:

So far this season, I’ve not publicly spoken to the subject of Newcastle United, until now. Of course, there have been clear opportunities to do so, such as during the oddly timed international break at the back end of September or, more properly, throughout the sickening, obsequious self-inflicted period of ostentatious mourning following the death of Elizabeth Windsor. Don’t get me started on that craven example of administrative cowardice, when the whole game came to a grinding halt because of fears of a prospective media backlash, in response to the presumed conduct of one set of fans. You know, I know, everyone knows that it was fear of “football’s shame” style headlines as a result of what Celtic fans might have said or done, that caused the authorities to call all competition to a halt. Not that this had any kind of a tempering effect on the mischievous chanting of the Green Brigade at the St Mirren game when football finally restarted. As can be seen from not just the faint hearted forelock-tugging of the FA and SFA, but from so many aspects of public life, free speech is no longer a legal or constitutional right in Britain, as the law is interpreted by the forces of state repression; any deviation from the authoritarian populist line, whether it be poppy fascism or a potential disinclination to show servile deference to the established order, results in hysterical condemnation and probable legal consequences, on the grounds of a lack of respect for those who have spent the entire modern era treating us with contempt. It makes me puke I can tell you.

Anyway, conditions determine consciousness and recent events have compelled me to analyse the unfolding of the current campaign. This isn’t necessarily as a result of the first anniversary of the Saudi Arabian state takeover of a hitherto largely insignificant and deeply unsuccessful regional football club, nor is it on account of the last couple of superb results and, to an extent, performances. No, it is the further expansion of Algarve Broooooth’s savings account, following his jettisoning from The Hawthorns, having transformed the Baggies from promotion certainties to relegation fodder in just under 9 months, which is great work even for him. Not only will he be able to watch the football World Cup from the comfort of his sofa, John Smith’s and Melton Mowbray comfort foods at his elbow, he could jet off down under for the T20 World Cup, bringing back glorious memories of previous touring sides from the past that included such athletes as later period Botham and the Rubenesque off spinner Eddie Hemmings.

Revenons a nos moutons!! Undoubtedly, things are looking up for the fella who got Bournemouth relegated, though there’s a couple of testing away games to come, not to mention home contests with the ever detestable Scouse Mackems and Aston Vile to think about, so it may be politic to survey just how much distance we’ve travelled since things kicked off against Forest at the start of August, bearing in mind that of the 10 league and cup games Newcastle United have played so far, 4 have been shown live on television, though I only managed to catch 2 of those; home to City and away to Wolves. During the Forest game, I was playing cricket and only learned of Newcastle’s comprehensive win once we’d exchanged handshakes with the victors (no further comment needed). Catching the highlights later that night after Sea Power live at Cullercoats Crescent Club, it became clear why there were so many jolly, lubricated middle aged men in replica shirts stumbling around. Newcastle had cruised to victory, with a pair of stunning goals from Wilson and Schar. It’s always nice to start the season with an emphatic win.

I still haven’t seen a second of highlights from the 0-0 away to Brighton, on account of the fact Shelley and I were sunning ourselves on the terraces of Somerset Park, watching Ayr United draw 2-2 with Hamilton Accies that day. By all accounts, Pope was the main reason we escaped with a draw, proving the sense in buying an international class keeper (except when he’s playing international football that is). I mean, Dubravka was an excellent keeper, who is the best we’ve had since Shay Given, but a couple of injuries have seen him lose his sharpness and so it seemed sensible to trade up when the opportunity arose. I’m glad we sold Woodman, who never convinced, and I’m sure Darlow will be the next one to leave, unless Bedlington Terriers or someone come in for Gillespie.

I watched the City match on telly and, well, what came you say? It was a blinding game of football, with both sides producing cracking football from the off. At 3-1, I still didn’t believe we’d hold out, but I was so proud of our lot for having the best team in the world rocking back on their heels and then holding on for a point when the roared back at us. It was the kind of performance we used to see back in the day under Keegan and Sir Bobby. The fact Howe has managed to compile a team of signings augmented with previously underachieving and dispirited players who’d been ruined by Algarve Brooooth, pays enormous tribute to our boss and his squad of coaches. Just look at what Joelinton has become; he is the best example of what proper motivation and astute tactics can bring you.

The Carabao Cup isn’t the biggest draw in the world, so I had no hesitation in focussing my attention on Percy Main against Newbiggin on the same night. What a good choice that was, as the Main scored twice in the last 8 minutes to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Walking back to Shelley’s at full time, I followed the Newcastle game on my phone, seeing the predictable hysteria on social media at going a goal down that means I often factor out NUFC Twitter for the sake of my mental health. In the end, it all came good and a home draw against Palace isn’t a bad draw (well, not compared to the home draw with Palace that is coming up in a bit).

The Wolves game was the other fixture I’ve managed to see in full. Taking advantage of both the August Bank Holiday weekend and the newly reopened Lochside, Shelley went out for a few beers and to catch the game. Now I’ll admit that a busy pub and no commentary makes it tough to process events on the pitch, but I thought we did alright. Alright there were the usual grumbles about our lack of a cutting edge with Wood up top in place of the injured Wilson and Bruno also missing out, but the place was utter bedlam when ASM lashed home the equaliser. If it wasn’t for Almiron’s strike against Fulham, I’d suggest we saw Goal of the Season that day. In the end, several pints and a solid point was a good return for an afternoon out. It would have been even better if Anderson’s late effort had gone in instead of hitting the bar, but let’s not be greedy.

It's interesting to note that if Liverpool hadn’t grabbed their scruffy late winner, they’d be (at the time of writing) in 16^th place. However, and I say this through gritted teeth, we brought defeat on ourselves with some terrible timewasting, though it still feels appalling to take nothing from the game where Isak’s brilliant debut strike put us completely in control. We all know about the tight margins of VAR calls and, having benefitted from one against Wolves for a foul on Fraser, it went against us in this game with a margin so tight it is impossible to call it factual. Of course, if you thought that was bad, the goal we had disallowed against Palace on the Saturday following was one of the worst calls of the entire season. However, we can’t allow our front players to escape criticism that day; their succession of missed chances resulted in 2 points thrown away in a game we should have won at a canter. Whoever was to blame, the net result was a place in the bottom half of the table, which certainly didn’t reflect the quality of our play so far in the season. Unfortunately, it can be quite an ugly game at times.

And, suddenly, everything stopped for the most specious of reasons. A 96 year old woman died of natural causes and football sought to disport itself over her corpse and coffin in the most ostentatious of fashions, resulting in the West Ham game being postponed and forcing me to seek solace in Percy Park against Penrith. I don’t like rugby union, but I like royalty even less and so it was any port on a day too stormy for cricket. Incidentally, back in 1952 when George V died on February 6^th, a full programme of games was played on February 9^th; we drew 1-1 at Craven Cottage that day. So much for the meritocracy, eh? The British Royal Family: ruining sporting weekends since the Parisian hit in September 1997.

Anyway, once the whole circus restarted, Newcastle were blessed with a trio of seemingly easy games, involving the visits of Bournemouth and Brentford, as well as a trip to Fulham, that would no doubt have had members of the Bender Squad, Gremlins and NME feeling their pulses racing at the thought. Unfortunately, all the first game produced was the first murmurings of discontent of 2022/2023. Now, nobody can pretend that it was either a good result or an impressive performance against Bournemouth. Truly, the best part of the game was Isak’s magnificently placed penalty, but the injury list that saw ASM, Bruno and Wilson in the treatment room was explanation enough for the less than perfect result. However, such rational thinking was not enough to subdue the bellyaching of immature hotheads who slunk away from the ground screaming about the imminent relegation battle that the coming months would bring us. You know, at times, I think football banning orders should be handed out for being a miserable sod or for rank stupidity. At least there was an international break to cool some fevered brows following this one.

The day of the Fulham game, we were at Percy Main where our game kicked off at 2.30, so by the time our lot were having their half time oranges, Newcastle had the 3 points safely tucked away, courtesy of a very nasty foul and some very nice finishing. I was delighted to see Sean notch one today, as he’s been really upping his game this season. Almost enough to keep the whingers and moaners quiet, but not quite. Same goes for Almiron; the lad has done my head in since he arrived, but he’s finally showing the quality he really has. Not a second too soon either.

Brentford saw us at Percy Main again and a brief flurry of worry surged through the crowd when they “scored,” but a correct offside flag tempered our ardour, and this became as much of a procession as the 1993 clash that ended with the same score but shouldn’t have, on account of the scandalous decision to disallow Robert Lee’s famous 60 yard finish. However good Newcastle were that day, the first XI of 30 years later is growing up to be a far greater beast, such has the game moved on in the intervening decades. Now, we do have to accept Brentford gave us 3 goals (poor Ethan Pinnock was probably on suicide watch for the whole weekend), but a Bruno inspired NUFC did exactly what I’d hoped we would; eviscerated an honest, open attacking side that lack the flashes of genius that pepper our side.

One year on from the takeover, whose morality I still question, Newcastle are a team on the up. We have better management, better players, better motivated players and a fanbase prepared to shut its eyes. It seems to me the only alternative on offer is Denver, the Humbert Humbert of Vitoria-Gasteiz and his half a dozen frothing at the mouth socially inadequates Shachtmanites, reciting What We Stand For outside The Strawberry, so I’ll stick with Purvis Park and a semi-detached critical love of the club. It’s Man United in a non-televised game on Sunday. Let’s travel hopefully eh?

 

 

Deprogrammed

 I'm still knocking out articles & match reports for the Percy Main programme. In fact, here's what I've had published from the Newbiggin game on August 24th to the Winlaton one on October 8th -:

Percy Main 4 Rutherford 1

 Percy Main bounced back from an opening day reverse at the hands of title favourites Blue Star, with an emphatic and completely merited win over Rutherford. The visitors themselves had started the season in eye-catching fashion with a decisive victory over Killingworth and showed great attacking intent in the opening period of this game, as their physically dominant front pairing of Liam Heenan and Stephen Hall caused all manner of problems for the Main defence. Thankfully, home keeper Callum Elliott was on top form and the three top drawer saves he made from efforts by the two strikers and a stunning tip around the post from a dipping volley by Romario Karabina, kept the visitors at bay. That said, the Main ought to have been ahead in their first game at the palatial, newly refurbished Purvis Park within seconds of the start when Josh Nicholson broke free into the area, only for Grant Scott in the Rutherford goal to distinguish himself with a fine, sprawling block.

Indeed, the two keepers were the crucial factors in keeping the score blank for the opening 30 minutes. When the deadlock was broken, it was courtesy of a fine, composed finish into the bottom corner by Alfie Livermore, son of the legendary Dennis. This goal saw the balance of play swing decisively in favour of the Villagers and within 7 minutes, it was 3-0. Firstly Carl Collins saw his powerful effort from distance palmed down by Scott, only for Jordan Stephenson to recycle the loose ball, allowing Rob Ridley to nod into an empty net from inside the 6-yard box. The third goal was an elegant, sidefoot effort by Livermore that nestled in the bottom corner, far beyond the grasp of the despairing Scott.

Straight from the restart, Livermore almost had his hat trick, as he was denied by a point blank reaction save by Scott. Indeed, until the hour mark, Percy pinned Rutherford back, playing pleasing possession football, whereby the young team showed their confidence on the ball with a series of sweeping attacking moves. Thus, it was something of a surprise when Rutherford pulled one back Ant Ridley conceded a foul from near the touchline and an astutely delivered free kick was helped into the net by Hall, whose tireless graft on a sweltering evening deserved this reward. From this point, Rutherford came again with renewed belief and fresh impetus, but ultimately their possession did not create tangible chances. It was left to Main substitute Lewis Howes to complete the scoring with a thunderous low finish from the edge of the box on 80 minutes, which wrapped up a superb victory that was warmly appreciated by another 3-figure crowd at Purvis Park.

Whitley Bay A 1 Percy Main 2

After tasting defeat in their opening two away games at Newcastle Blue Star and Haltwhistle Jubilee, Percy Main Amateurs recorded a notable victory on the road at Hillheads Park. For the second season running, the Villagers defeated Whitley Bay A by a score of 2-1. In truth, this was a highly assured and comfortable victory that would have been more emphatic if not for the agility and anticipation of home keeper Craig Towart, who produced several crucial interceptions in the second half when the Main relentlessly pressed the home goal.

The opening period saw Percy Main in the ascendancy from the off, with Alfie Livermore proving himself a constant threat with his astute movement up front. The young striker shaved the outside of the post on 13 minutes after Towart had blocked an initial effort with his legs. Rob Ridley was, as ever, the lynchpin in the centre of the park for Percy Main and he opened the scoring on 23 minutes with the deftest of touches at the near post, squeezing home despite the best efforts of Towart. Jordan Stephenson almost made it 2-0 when ghosting in at the back post, but he was deceived by the extra bounce of the ball and accidentally finished it with his hand, for which he was unlucky to be yellow carded. There was no doubt about the legitimacy of the second goal on 38 minutes. Livermore showed great determination to get between two hesitating home defenders and tenacity to get the ball under control, before firing home from the edge of the box with trademark accuracy, to make the half time score Whitley Bay A 0 Percy Main Amateurs 2.

One notable fact about this game was the return from suspension of Mark McDonnel, who was making his 100^th appearance for The Main. Another important event saw Dean Ellis, 13 years from his debut, returning to the claret and blue for his third spell at the club. Without question, the experienced and skilful midfielder was an absolute asset to the team, never wasting a single scrap of possession in the 45 minutes he was on the pitch. Whitley Bay, inspired by former Newcastle United striker Kurtis Russell, tried to get back in the game, but the Percy midfield kept them at arm’s length and the Villagers could, and indeed should, have extended their lead on several occasions. However, this wasn’t to be and the consolation goal by Bay after a goalmouth scramble deep in injury time, was only that, as the game had barely restarted when the final whistle blew on a fine win and solid performance.

Ayr B&B

A couple of weeks back, I noticed that Terry had put a call out on social media to all groundhoppers out there, asking them to get in touch and try to explain not what their hobby involves, as that’s almost self-explanatory, but why exactly they do it. I’m not sure if he had any replies, and I don’t think I fit the strict definition of a groundhopper, which is someone who doesn’t follow a particular team, but spends every week trying to visit as many different new grounds as possible, but I do like visiting different places. I suppose you could call me a ground collector. This season I’ve got my eyes on 3 or 4 new Alliance venues; Blyth Rangers, Hazlerigg Victory and Heddon United for definite, with Burradon a possibility, not to mention 2 new Northern League grounds for Chester Le Street United and Washington, but my real passion, and it may take me several years to complete this, is the Scottish League.

At the start of the season, with Bonnyrigg Rose replacing Cowdenbeath, I had been to 26 of the 42 venues. Strangely perhaps, only 2 of those were in the West, namely Ayr United and Stranraer, with the rest in the East and Highlands. For many years, the delights of ramshackle, nostalgic Somerset Park had beguiled me and, when searching for a place to book for a short holiday for my partner Shelley and I, the obvious choice was an Ayr B&B (geddit?), to find out if The Honest Men had a women’s team called The Bonnie Lasses (I’m such a card, I really am), as Ayr United were hosting Hamilton Academicals on Saturday 13 August.

Skirting train strikes is something of an art these days, meaning we were almost forced to travel up on Friday 12 and back on Wednesday 17; only 5 nights away, but that’s more than all the other nights away from home since the pandemic started combined. The journey up was utterly unremarkable until we hit Glasgow Central, as the train down the coast, via Irvine, Troon and Prestwick was absolutely rammed, mainly with kids enjoying the last of their summer break (Scottish schools are back now) by indulging in the time old tradition of taking a huge carry out down to the beach for a bevvy and a fight. Coppers lined the platform at Irvine and Troon, confiscating boxes of Tennents and flagons of Buckfast from those without ID. Soon we arrived, totally sober in Ayr and took a taxi to our splendid harbourside apartment, driven cautiously by an old fella who would probably be better off in a hearse than a cab, whether at the wheel or being chauffeur driven to his final destination.

After a quick shop to stock the fridge and shower to freshen up, which each involved a totally sober Shelley taking tumbles and sustaining some awful bruises, we headed out on the town, or as much as you can in Ayr. The first bar we found, Wee Windaes on Newmarket Street, had 6 customers, no real ale, only took cash, had a sign behind the counter stating NO RIFF RAFF and shut at 9.00pm on a Friday. Ayr is not Amsterdam, but it’s a charming, old-fashioned sort of place.

From there, we found Tam O’Shanter’s Inn. As you could probably guess, Ayr is pretty much a Robert Burns theme park and this bar was dedicated to the narrative poem I was forced to learn by heart for my O Level. The Moretti was decent though and, feeling a bit peckish, we searched for food. Now, in all seriousness, if you ever need a curry in Ayr, go to The Rupee Room. The chicken dopiaza I had was cooked to perfection; chicken breast meat, and lots of it, lightly spiced and with a generous amount of sauce, while Shelley’s chicken tikka masala was as far from the rancid pink gloop so common down south, as you could wish for. Additionally, the garlic keema naans and mushroom pilau were both of top quality. A bit steep at £40 for a carry out, but a glorious feast, nevertheless. Shame I got us lost on the way home and we had to take a taxi, but that’s all part of the holiday adventure, I guess.

Saturday morning was hot. Scorching in fact. We took a slow, cautious walk up to the town to rehydrate and refuel, before crossing the bridge and heading north east towards Somerset Park. I noticed that football jerseys were as popular here as in any other town, although I didn’t see any Ayr United ones. Rangers, in a staunch and loyal town that has oft returned Tory MPs and has the remnants of fortifications constructed by Cromwellian forces in 1654 as the old town walls, are the team of choice of 90% of those wearing football colours. Celtic make up the rest, which probably reflects the demographics of this part of Ayrshire. I’d wager not one of the replica shirt wears regularly sets foot in Ibrox or Celtic Park, of course.

Our sedate walk through the indomitable and affluent northern suburbs took us past Ayr racecourse on roads that were almost deserted. I realised that neither Ayr nor Accies were the best supported of sides, evidenced by the two sides drawing 1,504 and 941 to their clashes at Somerset Park last season, but surely there had to be someone going? Finally, we turned the corner and, in near 35 degree heat, saw plenty of fans milling around, many decked out in the traditional Scottish, woollen scarf in respective club colours.  Loyalty defeats fashion every time up here.

In the end, a game that had been designated a family fun day, on account of free face painting and a couple of mascots in fancy dress, was watched by a healthy 2,014. Considering that the minimum requirement to be in the Scottish Premier is a 5,000 all-seater stadium, it seems unlikely that promotion to the top flight is on the cards or even a stated ambition for The Honest Men. Sadly, I found no evidence of an Ayr United women’s team, which I’d hope would be called The Bonnie Lasses in a nod to Burns’s near ubiquitous poem.

Unlike other games I’ve been to in Ayrshire, at Irvine where I was stood next to the man with the worst case of Torette’s I’ve ever encountered, this clash was played in a positive and almost respectful atmosphere, with only Shelley getting carried away and using oath-edged talk. Throughout a pacey, intense encounter that swung one way then the other, Ayr’s support stayed with the team. Afolabi Akinyemi opened the scoring for the home side within three minutes, as they began at a high tempo. This wasn’t to last though, as Akinyemi then saw a generous spot kick saved, before Andy Winter drew Accies level before the interval, with a fine curling effort.

Worse was to come after the break for Ayr, as despite dominating proceedings, they fell behind when Dan Reilly then put Accies in front. Akinyemi’s luck really was out as he touched in a loose ball in the box, only to be flagged offside. However, there was a degree of redemption, when Andy Murdoch scored a late equaliser with a glorious, dipping volley, to salvage a point for The Honest Men. The ground, which is 75% covered terracing and one small stand, largely went ballistic with this strike, other than the 150 or so Accies followers whose hopes were crushed. But it had been a fine game on a glorious afternoon and we wandered back to the apartment in a contented frame of mind, amused by news of Sunderland’s concession of a 94^th minute leveller by the QPR keeper. A check later on found that Ayr United sit third in the Scottish Championship, one point off the top, while Hamilton are seventh. I now need to plan my autumn trips north of the border, for ground collection not ground hopping purposes of course.

 Percy Main 2 AFC Newbiggin 1

If ever a contest deserved the epithet “a game of two halves,” it was this one. For almost the entire opening 45 minutes, Newbiggin pinned Percy Main Amateurs in their own half, carving out numerous chances as they did so. It was to be to their ultimate cost that the team from South East Northumberland only took one of the half dozen or so more than presentable opportunities they created in the first period. Tormentor in chief for Newbiggin was burly target man Bradley Higgins, who proved himself a nuisance from the very first whistle. While the first clear opportunity came for the home side, when Oliver Emmerson had his low shot turned smartly round the post by Nathan Sharpe, most of the other chances fell to the muscular Higgins. A deft back header from a hanging cross into the box brushed the outside of the post, before Main keeper Steven Dewar distinguished himself by blocking another effort with his legs. The goal, when it came, had an element of controversy about it. Higgins tussled with a retreating Dean Ellis and managed to win the ball, some said unfairly, after a robust challenge and then slipped it casually home past the advancing Dewar. Whatever the arguments, the goal was given, and the Villagers went in a goal behind.

After the interval, play continued in a similar vein to the opening period, until the introduction of Percy Main’s own barrel-chested battering ram up top. Nicky Whitelaw came on just after the hour and effectively changed the game with his relentless movement and never-say-die attitude, working as part of an excellent double act with the admirable Jay Ellington who had impressed all game. After being in total control, Newbiggin lost their hold over the game as wave upon wave of Percy attacks comprehensively altered the destiny of the points. Whitelaw went close with a spectacular bicycle kick that Sharpe palmed away at full stretch. However, with the game going into the last 10 minutes, Percy were still behind and so, in a calculated gamble, manager Gavin Hattrick brought himself off the bench to effectively create a front three. The effect was instant, with a visibly panicked Newbiggin defence struggling to contain the triple Percy threat. Whitelaw was barged over in the box and a penalty was the inevitable result. Sadly, the hushed crowd watched in disbelief as Mark McDonnell lashed the spot kick over the bar on 82 minutes.

At this juncture, it would have been very easy to accept defeat as inevitable on a bad night all round, but not these brave Percy Warriors. McDonnell redeemed himself on 84 minutes with a pinpoint corner that arrived at the feet of an unmarked Jordan Stephenson on the 6-yard line, who made no mistake. Despite the imprecations of some in the crowd to settle for a point, the Villagers sensed Newbiggin were spent and moved in for the kill. Ellington came so close to the goal his performance warranted when he fired in a scorching shot from the angle that Sharpe could only parry, whereupon the onrushing Hattrick lashed the ball home with some aplomb, ensuring a second successive home win for the Villagers, much to the pleasure of the watching multitude.

The Most Beautiful Game

I sincerely hope those of you reading this see a cracking game between Percy Main and Killingworth. Unfortunately, I’m not here today, as I’ll be participating in the sport and for the club that I really believe saved my life a few years ago. I’ll be trying to hide in the outfield and batting at 11 for Tynemouth Cricket Club 3s away to Lintz 2s in Division 5 South of Northumberland and Tyneside Cricket League.  

The point I have to make is that, given the choice between grassroots or professional cricket and professional football, I would opt for the sound of leather on willow every single time. Always at the amateur level, of course. Now, there are many reasons for that, both aesthetic and ideological, but I’ll try to sum the differences up in a single pretentious phrase; to me, cricket is poetry, while football is prose. I’m attempting to communicate the idea that cricket, when played properly (i.e. not The Hundred or a boozy T20 game) is beautiful, elusive and almost always a distinctly personal pleasure, whereas football is solid, down to earth and, except in rare moments of sublime aestheticism by the likes of Messi, Cruyff or Pat Heard, easy to comprehend.

I love football but, at various times and in various ways over the years, it has come close to killing me, whether that be the severe battering I took at the hands of Merseyside Police in The Stanley Park next to Goodison before a 4-0 trouncing in February 1985 or becoming so irate at Newcastle United under Mike Ashley that I almost blew a gasket. By contrast, cricket saved my life. I don’t mean to exaggerate the importance of Tynemouth CC in life, but when I mentally reached rock bottom in 2015 and felt like suicide was the only way out of the stagnant pond of despair I was drowning in, the comradeship and support of people I’m now very proud to call some of my closest friends and, quite remarkably, team mates as well.

Initially, emerging from the clutches of an utter emotional breakdown, from the start of the 2015 season, I sat alone, spectating on the far side of the ground from the pavilion at Tynemouth, observing the complexities and intricacies of the game at close quarters. It was wonderful to be back. As a kid, I loved cricket, supporting Leicestershire because Carlisle United’s Chris Balderstone played for them; they won the County Championship in 1975 when I was 11 and, the next year I started playing for my local side, Felling, who I stuck with until I went to university in 1983. Choosing to study in County Derry was perhaps not the wisest move for my cricketing career, but at least the utter indifference of local students and the attendant shrinkage of the pool of potential players ensured I got regular games for our woeful varsity team. After graduation, I rarely played again for 30 years, though I always missed it. Being frank, I wasn’t any use as a batter but having been captivated by watching Indian slow bowlers on their 1974 tour, I desperately wanted to be a spin bowler. I suppose I still do. I did buy a few wickets in the dim and distant past, but I’d assumed those days were gone.

At the end of that first season, I headed to Eppleton in the wilds of County Durham on a glorious Sunday afternoon to see Tynemouth play in the Banks Cup final. We lost, badly. I went by bus. It took almost 3 hours, door to door. Perhaps the best news that day was, as the clock reached 7.30 on an early September evening, a car pulled up to offer me a lift. Now, as you’ll remember if you knew me that back then I had dreadlocks down my back and a beard Topol would have been proud of, which meant I was difficult to miss. That said Vince Howe, a former Percy Main footballer back in the day and Tynemouth’s Director of Cricket, didn’t need to offer me a lift, but I’m so glad he did. Despite the season ending that day, his friendly overtures gave me the confidence to take my place in front of the Pavilion with the regular gang from the start of 2016 and I’ve not moved on Saturdays from April to September since. Until this year at least…

For two years, I was simply a spectator and then, having taken voluntary redundancy from my job as a lecturer, I ended up working behind the bar until I got fixed up with something permanent. I loved the atmosphere and the laughs when serving pints, which is probably why, when a midweek social side was set up, I volunteered immediately. I still couldn’t bat and sometimes I couldn’t bowl, but I loved it. The feeling of taking 4-19 (all bowled) against Benwell & Walbottle will never be bettered, but just having a laugh with the lads made it all worthwhile. Of course, it couldn’t last and the effect of COVID and family commitments meant many players, often turning 30 and discovering parenthood for the first time, had to give the game up. It meant the midweek team folded, but it also gave me an opportunity to play even more, as the Saturday 3s were left short of players.

At the time of writing, I have played in 13 of our 17 games which, considering I turned 58 on 11 August, is pretty good. Unlike my average, which is just under 2, only on account of several not outs, but as any good batter will tell you, it’s all about the red inkers. On the positive side, I hit a boundary this summer; my first one this millennium. I’d like to pretend it was a flashing square cut, but it wasn’t. A tentative prod to a bowler so fast I didn’t even see his deliveries, saw the ball hit the edge and fly over the slips. Rather better was my “mystery ball” against Civil Service, so called as it is a mystery to everyone how it doesn’t get clattered into the next county every time, where my victim took a huge swish, missed the thing and saw it hit middle stump halfway up. I’d like to pretend it was my googly, but it wasn’t. I did enjoy him skulking off and moaning that I was bowling too slow, mind.

Perhaps my finest moment this season was being asked to play for the first XI in a Friday T20 game away to Shotley Bridge: the home club of the great Paul Collingwood no less. Having lost a player to work commitments, it was either me or the skipper’s 72-year-old mother who made up the numbers. I got the nod as the game was in coloured clothing, and I turned up in a pair of New Balance that matched our dark blue kit. Not that I had any kit of course. I ended up squeezed into some cast-offs that fitted me like a Cotton Traders gimp suit. However, ensconced at short fine leg, I fielded the ball once and manage to remain relatively inconspicuous as we roared to a 10-wicket win in double quick time. Well, 9 wickets actually, as I’d taken the precaution of retiring out, just to be on the safe side. In all seriousness, this was one of my most precious sporting memories; the night I was a teammate of former Ireland and Durham player, Stuart Poynter.

As I’ve said, I still love football, but from mid-April to mid-September every single Saturday, weather permitting, I dedicate to cricket. Roll on Burradon & New Fordley, as our last game of the season at home to Newcastle on 10 September is the same day as Chemfica are the visitors

Unwelcome Matt

While the team may be languishing in lower mid table, mainly on account of repeated VAR related misfortunes and a lengthy injury list rather than any major tactical errors by the fella who got Bournemouth relegated, it is fairly exciting being a Newcastle fan at the minute. The football is creative, the team is hard working, and the ground is energised by the positivity surrounding the club. Alright so there’s still a bit of disquiet about the actual level of the club owners’ hands-on involvement in human rights abuses in Saudi Arabia and the genocide in Yemen but, as any fule kno, you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs; am I right?

On a local level, there is evidence that John Spence High School deserves some kind of award for fostering local, NUFC related talent in the sporting and musical spheres. Not only did the school produce Tynemouth CC’s opening bowler and explosive middle order batter Sean Longstaff who, much to the chagrin of mean-spirited cynical social media begrudgers everywhere, has now clocked up over a century of games in central midfield for the Magpies, but also Norman de Bruin’s drinking buddy, tunesmith Sam Fender. Those following developments in the local music scene will no doubt be aware that Sam is playing a headlining gig at SJP next summer on the 9^th of June. Could anything be more appropriate than the return of a local hero on Blaydon Races Day?

And yet, while all in the garden seems rosy, there is still the foul stench of rancorous frustration to be perceived amid the undergrowth. About 10 years ago, Sam’s older brother Liam was spoken of most approvingly in folk and roots circles. A far less commercial singer / songwriter than his sibling, Liam sought not to create populist anthems that appealed to those partial to slices of Clash / Oasis / Springsteen flavoured bluster, but to set his cap firmly in the direction of Bob Dylan and the electric folk of Neil Young. Sadly, Liam’s star waned and, despite seeming well placed for breakout success, he remained undiscovered and, by all accounts, bitter beyond words. No doubt his young’uns mega success has been a tough one to take.

As we all know, Sean has a brother operating in the same field of dreams as well; brother Matty who, according to received wisdom back in the day, was nailed on to be the more successful of the two. You never know; this may still end up being the case, but it seems almost inevitable that Matty’s next shot at fame and fortune will be away from Tyneside and that really is a shame. In fact, it is almost unbelievable when you recall that Matty burst onto the scene by scoring the winner against Manchester United at St James’ Park on his debut less than 3 years ago. Remember that stunning strike? It was voted Goal of the Month and he almost matched it for quality twice more that season: firstly, putting us 1-0 ahead at Old Trafford on Boxing Day and then almost taking the pegs out at the Leazes End when we banjoed Rochdale in an FA Cup replay. Indeed, Matty was on a right roll, playing 8 games off the belt until COVID hit in March 2020.

For whatever reason, though Bruce’s complacent incompetence is  doubtless a major contributory factor, Matty’s progress was halted by lockdown, as he played only 3 further games after resumption. We lost them all. Though he’d been rewarded for his initial brilliant performances with a 2-year contract, in the face of interest from Serie A and other Premier league rivals, there was to be no celebratory renaissance in 2020/2021 either, as he failed to develop as a player; 5 games between November and January, with the solitary point amid a raft of losses, coming from a dogged, backs-to-the-wall showing in a 0-0 at home to Liverpool. Rock bottom had been reached when ace tactician Bruce, having already conceded defeat in the press conference the day before, left Matty and Isaac Hayden hopelessly outclassed and outnumbered away to Man City on Boxing Day, telling them at the break; “Don’t worry about it, lads. This lot are brilliant.” Thank goodness Eddie Howe has abandoned such a defeatist mindset.

Come the start of 2021/2022, with Bruce still doing Ashley’s bidding, Matty made what seemed to be an astute move, heading on loan to Aberdeen. New Dons’ boss Stephen Glass was presumed to be a breath of fresh air and player coach Scott Brown possessed exactly the kind of tenacity and flair Matty could learn from. After initially impressing, it simply didn’t work out; Glass played power games with the board, saying he’d not wanted to sign Matty in the first place. He appeared in a mere 5 games, twice from the bench, and only once after October. He was back on Tyneside at Christmas, with Glass out the door a matter of weeks later. At least there was to be a silver lining for Matty, in terms of a loan move to Mansfield, under the auspices of that quietly spoken true football man, Nigel Clough. Matty played 18 times for the Stags, propelling them up the table with 13 wins and 6 goals in that time. Indeed, he was only twice on the losing side. Sadly, the latter occasion was the play off final at Wembley, when Port Vale pummelled them 3-0 and ruined a potential fairy tale, though at least Eddie Howe rewarded Matty’s efforts with a further 12-month contract.

Back on Tyneside and appearing miles away from even a place on the bench, it really was a no-brainer that he went out on loan again. Barnsley was mentioned as a potential destination and I felt that would be a great move for him to join a side renowned for playing decent football. Instead, out of nowhere, came a deadline day move to Colchester, though his debut was far closer to home in a 1-1 draw away to Hartlepool. The move is only until Christmas, presumably to get him some game time, with the hope of a move to a more prestigious club in the January window. I know little or nothing about Colchester, but I feel Matty is better than League 2 and I certainly hope he can show this in the months to come.

 Percy Main 1 Burradon & New Fordley 0

On account of the huge turnover in players for almost every club in the Alliance each season, it is often hard to effectively compare performances from year to year. Suffice to say, seasoned observers of the local game at our level would suggest that Burradon are probably second only to Blue Star in terms of strength, which was clearly borne out by the league table prior to kick off that showed Burradon top of the pile with a 100% winning record. That said, Percy Main are turning into a very different outfit than the sides we’ve seen over recent seasons, especially at home when Rutherford, Newbiggin and Killingworth have all been recently blown away to Gavin Hatrick’s comeback kings. Today, we saw a very different Percy Main way of winning; competitive, combative, dogged and determined, aided by as reckless and foolish a piece of self-destructive play by opposition substitute Ian Lee that you’ll see all season.

The first half, from the very off, was a tight, combative affair of few chances and much thoughtful possession-based play. Neither side could ever claim to be in the ascendancy and both teams fashioned only the slightest of chances. For Burradon, JJ Waugh was always a nuisance and he fired in a low effort that Callum Elliott did well to hold on 13 minutes. At the other end, Dillon Blake showed himself to be a handful and caused Tom Shanley some discomfort, requiring the Burradon keeper to make a sprawling stop at the foot of his near post, before clutching an attempted curler from Oliver Emmerson. The last chance of the half saw Burradon’s Joe Besford profiting from a rebounded clearance and moving into the box, only to fire wide. The last action of the half saw Percy Main’s Dean Ellis forced off the pitch with a head wound after a collision from a corner in the opposition box. His replacement, the more naturally attacking Jordan Stephenson, was to prove crucial after the break.

Whether it was the effect of the Main’s tactical reshuffle or just greater momentum from the visitors is a moot point, but the second period began and continued with far more pressing from Burradon. While the introduction of Liam Hudson brought the visitors up a level in terms of attacking play, the Villagers remained indomitable, with Stephenson and fellow sub Jay Errington taking the game to the visitors on the break. The breakthrough came on 70 minutes when Shanley was seemingly distracted by the need to straighten his socks and failed to adequately deal with a through ball, miscuing his fly kick, providing Blake with the opportunity to head the ball into an unguarded net. It came out of the blue and resulted in a passage of play that could only be described as frenetic. In one crazy 30 second burst, Stephenson set Errington away with only Shanley to beat. Unaccountably, the Main forward’s legs gave way under him and the ball was cleared to the other end of the pitch where a melee in the box saw Burradon denied what appeared to be the clearest penalty for handball seen all year. No VAR in the Alliance and we played on.

Soon, Burradon played their final card; the veteran Ian Lee has been a pantomime villain in the Alliance for nigh on two decades, including a brief spell at Purvis Park. His returns, from a particularly unpleasant occasion in the colours of Whitley Bay A in December 2009, until the present have often been shrouded in controversy. So was it again today when, barely a minute after joining the fray, he lost the run of himself after a minor skirmish and headbutted both Rob and Ant Ridley, necessitating the issuing of an inevitable red card. Much to Burradon’s credit, the rest of the team condemned Lee’s senseless behaviour. Sadly for them, the momentum they had was lost and Percy Main saw the game through for another excellent 3 points.

The Collapsing Pyramid (Pt 1)

At the next level up from Percy Main in the non-league pyramid, things appear to be in a state of constant flux. The unavoidable result of teams such as: Consett, Dunston, Hebburn, Morpeth Town, North Shields and Shildon migrating upwards to the Northern Premier League in the last couple of seasons, not to mention the disappearance of Durham City, Jarrow Roofing and Ryhope CW, is a changed and somewhat volatile constitution of the previously unchanging Northern League monolith of the Mike Amos years. For a start, the league is down to 40 clubs from 44 and it seems likely that the promotion of each season’s champions and the opportunity for runners-up to follow them via play-offs, means that both a geographical increase in the league’s footprint (Pickering Town are newcomers this season, with hints that Harrogate Railway and Knaresborough are likely to follow in the future) and a dilution of the quality of competing teams. This is especially true of the bottom of Division 2, where up to 3 sides are liable for relegation, to be theoretically replaced by one from each of the feeder leagues, in the shape of the Alliance, the Wearside and the North Riding League.

Recently, the Alliance has provided the Northern League with a rebuilt Blyth Town, now free from any malign external influences, Newcastle University and their landlords Prudhoe YC, managed by Kennie Melia, ex of Chemfica of course. All 3 clubs are doing well. The North Riding League has only offered 1 new team; Boro Rangers, who are apparently a dynamic and well run club with dozens of teams from U7 upwards, in the process of building a new facility within the town. Unfortunately, in the interim, their ground is New Ferens Park, once home to Durham City (RIP); formerly, this was a splendid arena, but a decade and more of neglect leaves it looking tired and unkempt. Thankfully, it is only a temporary base and Boro Rangers, like their South Tees neighbours Redcar Athletic and Redcar Town, will soon be a credit to the league. The one blot on the landscape for Teesside is Billingham Synthonia’s enduring ground issues since leaving venerable Central Avenue for Norton and Stockton’s old place.

As regards new clubs from the Wearside League, revived Horden, energetic Jarrow and community-based Sunderland West End are all doing well, even if the latter play at the most soulless 4G cage I’ve ever had the misfortune to visit, at Ford Quarry on the South Hylton / Pennywell interface. This was where Washington, who’ve never been a settled outfit since leaving their original home at Albany Park (now houses) for the Nissan Complex, played while waiting for their new ground to be completed, of which more in a bit. Somewhat appallingly, it is also where last season’s Wearside League winners Chester Le Street United, not to be confused with the original Chester Le Street Town team of 50 years standing, will now play their games.

In the Alliance, we are used to teams coming into the league, then discovering they lack the infrastructure, talent or enough volunteers to keep going, and subsequently disappearing into the ether after a single, inglorious season. However, this has not been the case in the Northern League, until now. Chester Le Street United were formed in 2020, as an outlet for young players studying BTEC sport qualifications at Park View Academy in the town. Yes, a glorified college team. There’s nothing wrong with that of course, as Marc Nash with Shields and Ian Bogie at Gateshead, used to harvest the best young talent at Tyne Met College for their teams. The problem is when a team entirely composed of college players, who will possibly stay only for 2 years maximum, has to deal with a fallow crop. Like a Corinthian Athletic Club, instead of only signing those born in the Basque Country, they only sign lads barely old enough to shave. Fair play to them for winning the Wearside League, which is a tough competition with little room for sentiment or compromise, meaning they are in the Northern League on merit. Of course the elephant in the room, and the reason that the wider Northern League community is up in arms, are the ground issues surrounding this club.

Initially, Chester Le Street United intended to play their games at the rear of the Riverside cricket ground. Having been there several times outside of the normal cricket season, to watch Tynemouth CC in the All England Indoor 6-a-side regional qualifiers, I’ve noticed a couple of football pitches; one grass and one 4G. As these visits have been on a Sunday morning, I didn’t notice whether there were any floodlights. I never even thought to check for cover, seats or hard standing. Apparently, the place was in order though, as it passed an advisory ground grading inspection, allowing the club to be promoted. As the deadline for any works to be completed is September 30^th after the season starts, there is nothing that can be done to prevent Chester Le Street United abandoning this ground to use the Ford Quarry hub in Sunderland. The main issue with the Riverside is that the floodlights only focus on the 8-lane athletics track surrounding the pitch, as the requisite bus shelter style covered seating and standing is in place. The 4 games they played at the Riverside were all on Saturday afternoons, so the lighting was not as issue. However, Durham CCC and the local council have no plans to upgrade the lighting at this stage, meaning the decampment to Pennywell may be at least in the medium term, if Chester Le Street United continue beyond this season of course.

Meanwhile, one success story is that of Washington FC. After almost two decades of rootless wandering and a hand to mouth existence, they are now a fully-fledged community club, where the first team is the top of a pyramid of teams from U7 to adult. Their new home is at the Washington Hub, formerly known as the Northern Area Playing Fields. I took a trip there on a freezing, rainy Friday night to see them host Redcar Town. I have to say that the ground isn’t really finished; no food, no bar and no inside toilets, but it will be great when it is ready. The lack of lighting in the car park from the main road to the entrance could be a serious health and safety issue on dark nights as winter bites. By far the best thing about this facility, is the superb pitch: wide, flat, well grassed and a delight to play on. While Redcar’s 1-0 win from a late rebound wasn’t the best of games, to the extent it had me asking myself after an hour whether I really liked football anymore, the decent crowd of 180, including proud home supporters and optimistic Redcar followers, enjoyed proceedings. I doubt it is an experience to be shared by those who follow Chester Le Street United any time soon…

 The Collapsing Pyramid (Pt 2)

Last week, I discussed the new teams in the Northern League and so, this time, I’m about to discuss what has been happening in the Alliance? Prudhoe YC have moved upwards, as has already been noted, while Cullercoats have thrown in the towel, meaning Cullercoats Reserves are now called Cullercoats, AFC Newbiggin are at Hirst Welfare not People’s Park and Burradon are back at their original ground of the Welfare. AFC Newbiggin Central are now known as Ellington, whose original teams have left the league. In the bottom flight, there are 10 new teams in a division that is running one club short; Amble (the High School), Blyth Rangers (Cowpen Park), Cramlington Blue Star (Action Park), Gateshead Redheugh 1957 (Eslington Park), Hazlerigg Victory (Dinnington Welfare), Heddon United (Walbottle Campus) and Stocksfield (Cricket Ground) we’ve seen before in various iterations, while the U23 sides of Wallsend Boys Club and West Moor and Jesmond are of no surprise. Hence, the only truly new club is Benton, who are based at Churchill Playing Fields. For me to recomplete my Alliance set, trips to Burradon, Blyth Rangers and Hazlerigg Victory were required. While a home fixture for Blyth is still awaited, I’ve pencilled in Burradon v Seaton Delaval when the Main don’t have a game on October 22^nd, while I decided on visiting Hazlerigg at their new, albeit temporary, base at Dinnington Welfare while PMA were away to (whisper it) Wallington on September 24^th.

Having been frozen, soaked and bored at Washington 0 Redcar Town 1 the night before, I needed some excitement to fall back in love with the game. This was initially lacking as stress became the primary emotion, as it took me 4 kinds of public transport to reach Dinnington from High Heaton. I should have taken the bike. Anyway, wandering down sunlit and deserted streets in a sleepy hamlet adjacent to the airport, I soon located Dinnington Welfare. This is better. This is the kind of place I want to spend my leisure time. A scenic welfare ground in a somnolent village on the far fringes of the city, which is where Hazlerigg are playing until their new facility, paid for and to be constructed by the developers who are building 570 bespoke detached homes on former greenbelt land in the village, is finished, which could be at least a year away. However, in their defence, at least Hezzy (as they are uniformly known) and the man who makes the club a reality, Mark “Bully” Bullock, have a realistic, time-specific, manageable and costed plan for the future. The village needs a football team and Bully will ensure it has one.

One can but hope that Hezzy’s new changing facility is closer to the pitch than Dinnington’s. In a show of utter indolence, half a dozen players drove from the changers, in an attempt to conserve energy I presume. It worked, as Hezzy tore into the visitors, West Moor and Jesmond U23s from the off. As I caught up with Bully and his assistant Andy, who I’ve known for a decade or more but not seen in ages, it became clear why West Moor had lost all of their previous games and why Hezzy are near the top of the table. The home side made and missed several gilt-edged chances, before ruthlessly pouncing twice in a minute before the 20 minute mark. This really should have been game over, but a hilarious piece of comedy defending, whereby the Hezzy keeper came flying out of his area and completely missed the ball, allowing the West Moor lad a chance to tap in to an empty net, made the game a contest again. Before the break, Hezzy restored a 2 goal lead with a great low finish, then the keeper messed up another clearance, hitting his defender on the back, but breathed again as the lad who tapped it home was miles offside. Strolling round the well-grassed pitch, observing the various locals walking their dogs or pausing on bike rides, I had a strong sense of calm and relaxation. This, to me, is football: community based and played for the love of the sport. It almost stopped me pining for cricket. Almost anyway…

After the break, the ref gave a soft penalty each; West Moor scored and Hezzy had theirs saved, but class and fitness told in the end as West Moor ran out of legs and Hezzy relentlessly cut through a stretched defence and punished them ruthlessly. The final score was a scarcely believable 9-2, but it was, sadly, a fair reflection on the game. At the end of September, dappled sunlight and decaying leaves were the appropriate garland for such a game. I’m glad I was there. I’m glad I sponsored the match ball, and I can’t wait to visit Blyth Rangers.

Incidentally, last week Hezzy beat Heddon 4-2 at home and things got no easier for poor West Moor and Jesmond, who lost 20-0 at Wallsend Boys Club.

Percy Main 1 Cramlington Town 2

 

The Main’s 100% home record came to a juddering halt in the first ever contest between the two sides, through a combination of poor finishing, bad luck, inspired keeping by visiting goalie David Hansen, a pair of world class finishes by opposition players and unsympathetic officiating. On another day, the Villagers could, and should, have notched half a dozen against a cautious Cramlington side, who rode their luck and lustily celebrated the three points at full time.

Anxious to get the previous week’s heavy loss at Wallington out of their system, Percy Main began at a high tempo, taking the game to their opponents. In particular, Dillon Blake and Alfie Livermore were the epitome of all-action attackers, constantly harrying the Cramlington back line and creating several presentable opportunities. Blake ought to have opened the scoring on 15 minutes when he miskicked in front of goal after a surging Rob Ridley run and pinpoint cross had left him clear in front of goal. Moments later, a quick break from the back left Blake racing into the area, only for a retreating Cramlington defender to unceremoniously sweep his legs from under him. From his position in the centre circle, the referee deemed the challenge to be a fair one and played on. Almost inevitably, this led to Cramlington taking the lead when Ryan Smith connected perfectly with a loose ball 30 yards out and arrowed his shot into the postage stamp between bar and post with Callum Elliott left a bemused spectator.

A certain equaliser was denied when Hansen made an incredible block from point blank range as Jordan Stephenson prepared to celebrate tapping in from almost on the line from a perfect Blake cross. Unfortunately, further bad luck dogged Blake who was forced to spend a period in the sin bin after questioning the reason behind a series of decisions that saw a breakdown in communication between the referee and his pavilion side assistant. Despite being a man down, the Villagers continued to push their opponents back, without finding a breakthrough and going in a goal down.

The second period began with Percy still denied the services of Blake and, from absolutely nowhere, Andrew Anderson exploited this deficit by thundering an unstoppable second goal for Cramlington from wide on the right. This was the cue for Blake to return to proceedings, but he was no luckier than before, launch a good opportunity miles over the bar with his first touch. A further penalty appeal for a shove in the back was ignored and substitute Matty Nesbitt rattled the bar with a clean strike from 20 yards, before the realisation crept in that this would not be our day. When Matty Nesbitt pulled a goal back with a shot under Hanson in injury time, it wasn’t even a consolation, as the final whistle went soon afterwards, leaving Percy Main to reflect on what could and should have been.