Lowland Flings

This week, here's my blog about trips to Scotland, which can be found in issue #24 of View from the Allotment End, which you really should buy from this link: https://vftae.bigcartel.com/product/view-from-the-allotment-end-issue-24 

 Saturday 9th December: Bonnyrigg Rose 1 Peterhead 1

Before this trip, the last time I was up in Scotland was at the very end of July 2023. As part of my glacially progressing quest to do all 42 SPFL grounds, I’d seized the opportunity to tick Dens Park off the list, when the Dee hosted Inverness CT in the League Cup on a random Sunday. That was ground #27 of the current membership (Albion, Berwick and Cowdenbeath are visits I can no longer count) and for a variety of reasons, another opportunity to venture north of the border didn’t present itself until December 9th. I don’t need to tell you how wet this autumn has been, but I’ll just point out that Percy Main were washed out on 6 occasions (September 16th, October 7th, 21st and 28th, November 18^th and December 2nd) before this trip. Really, I should have made more trips up here, but engineering works, industrial action and a lack of cash conspired against me.

My travelling companion for this jaunt was my mate Gary, who is the Benfield secretary; their story is an equally wet tale of woe. While PMA were again prevented from playing our Alliance Challenge Cup tie away to Burradon and New Fordley, Benfield’s trip to West Auckland, pulled back to the Friday night by mutual consent, also fell foul of the weather. Hence, we found ourselves on the 10.41 GNER flyer to Waverley, comparing the qualities of Greggs and McDonalds’ regular lattes and instant porridge, with the US franchise winning hands down on both counts. As is generally the case, the train was rammed, mainly with day trippers looking forward to a session at the Christmas Market then as many bars as they could fall into and then out of again. Gary and I were also interested in a few bevvies, but football rather than the swally was the prime motivation for this visit.

The game of choice for me was the bottom division clash between Bonnyrigg Rose and Peterhead. Of course, with them having a grass pitch, which is becoming more of a rarity in Scotland of late, the incessant downpours could have put the game in jeopardy, which meant the second choice would have been a revisit to the mundane 4G at Ainslie Park, where I saw Edinburgh City play Elgin a few years back, but now hosts League 2 newcomers The Spartans, where Stirling Albion were the visitors. Thankfully, possibly because Peterhead had come one hell of a long way for this game, our Midlothian Question was given a positive answer, as the fixture of choice was given the goahead early and so Gary and I took the train from Waverley to Eskbank, on the fairly new Tweedmouth line, which is built equidistant between Dalkieth and Bonnyrigg.

Needless to say, Bonnyrigg is at the top of a steep hill and the rain showed no sign of letting up. Without knowledge of the local bus network, Gary and I were left with no choice but to slog it to the peak, which meant I did get my steps in for the day. We’d made a vow to stop in the first pub we passed to get out of the elements. This turned out to be Gigi’s Italian Bar and Restaurant, which was very welcoming and quite full of pre Festive lunchtime diners. It wasn’t the authentic Scottish pub experience though, so after a Cruzcampo for Gary and a Neck Oil for me, we made our way to the Bonnyrigg Rose Social Club, which was over the road and across the outdoor swimming pool of a car park, right opposite the main entrance to New Dundas Park. As a firm believer in the “when in Rome” principle, we both got on the Tennent’s, which worked out a fiver a round less than in the other place. We were made very welcome and chatted with several local fellas about the game ahead and the awful sodding weather. Topping up with a final measure of Black Bottle Scottish wine for a deoch an doras, we left the place at 2.58 and still made kick off.

Bonnyrigg, in their second season in the SPFL, sat in 5th place, while Peterhead, who have been in the league since the millennium, are second, on their first campaign back at this level after relegation last time out. The entry fee was £14, which initially seemed extortionate to me, but when you consider that’s far cheaper than Blyth Spartans, or that I was charged £22 at York City back in October, you can’t really complain. Well, of course you can, which Gary and I did loudly and monotonously, but that’s mainly because we’re a pair of miserable old sods in our late 50s.

The playing surface wouldn’t have passed an inspection south of the border in these hysterical, prissy times, when a cloudy afternoon is enough to get a game called off. Looking at the state of the centre of the pitch, I remarked to Gary that “and Tudor’s gone down for Newcastle” would be the best way to describe how it looked, which didn’t even factor in the delicious slope of this proper old style ground. However, that was all the better as it allowed for a proper blood and thunder contest. Stood on the halfway line on a covered shallow terrace, I was immediately impressed by the metal crush barriers on a grassy bank opposite and the tiny stand behind the goal on our right, which contained the 30 or so visitors from the far frozen North. Considering the crowd was 468, there was ample space for everyone to see events unfold.

Bonnyrigg took the lead on 22 minutes, when Kerr Young buried a powerful header from a corner. However, the home support’s cheers were short lived as Peterhead were awarded a penalty for handball a few minutes later. Paddy Martin in the home goal was the hero, diving low to his right and blocking a tame attempt by Kieran Shanks. Sadly, as the pitch became even more churned up and passing football was a scarce commodity, chances were almost non-existent. On the hour though, scorer Young turned villain, giving away a free kick in a dangerous position, which Joe McKee expertly guided into the top corner of the net. Despite the further efforts of a rapidly tiring set of players from both sides, the cloying surface took the honours, and the sides were forced to settle for a 1-1 draw. It didn’t put off the Bonnyrigg Young Team who, with microphone and drum, kept up a relentless beat and an incomprehensible torrent of verbiage. This accidental take on No Audience Underground sports chanting reminded me of The Prats, that infamous pre-teen combo of Fast Records fame. Check them out here; https://www.theprats.co.uk/index1.html  

So, full time and a quick step back down the hill, followed by a short pit stop to use the facilities in Tesco. We caught the train with the Peterhead squad, which seemed strange to me as Peterhead is the football club furthest from a train station in Britain; 32 miles from Aberdeen no less. Anyway, they seemed happy enough with the Moretti carry out they’d sorted out for the journey. At Edinburgh, Gary and I sorted out ours, as well as a quick pint in The Guild Ford, which was full to bursting, before catching our train and making it home without further upset or mishap. A great day out and still 14 others to come if I’m to achieve this ambition of mine to visit every Scottish ground.

Saturday 13^th January: Kelty Hearts 1 Annan Athletic 1

As any serious ground collector knows, it’s the final furlong of the chase that is the toughest part, which is a sobering thought as I’ve now found my way into the final trimester of SPFL grounds. The only thing about the 14 I had remaining, ignoring the sole West of Scotland outlier of Stranraer, is that the ones accessible by train, other than St Johnstone (Perth), Dundee United, Arbroath and possibly Montrose, are impossible to get back to Newcastle from in one day. I think Ross County, Inverness Caledonian Thistle, Elgin City, Peterhead, Cove Rangers, Aberdeen and the almost impossible to visit Forfar Athletic, who play at Station Park even though the Beeching Act ripped up the tracks round there in the early 60s, will have to wait until after my retirement for my patronage.

By a process of elimination, I’m left with two pieces of reasonably low hanging fruit: East Fife, in the less than salubrious coastal hell that is Methil, and neophytic Kelty Hearts, formed as recently as 1975, both gettable via a train to Waverley and then a bus into the dark heart of the Kingdom of Fife. A helpful fixture list that saw Percy Main play Burradon and New Fordley on Friday 12th January, at the same time as Benfield were beating North Shields, gave Gary and I a free Saturday for further Caledonian bravery, after our pre-Festive trip to Bonnyrigg Rose against Peterhead.

This time, our destination of choice was the SPFL League 1 encounter between Kelty Hearts and Annan Athletic; two sides whose places in the professional game may be regarded as having as much to do with the incompetence of their local rivals Cowdenbeath and Gretna, as with their own sporting prowess. Gretna went bust in 2008 in the litigious aftermath of former benefactor Brookes Mileson’s death, to be replaced by Annan, and Cowdenbeath lost their place in League 2 after losing a play-off against Bonnyrigg in 2022. To be honest, once East Stirlingshire took the tumble, the Blue Brazil were inveterate lanternes rouges in the basement division. Since Scottish football embraced the concept of a pyramid a decade or so back, former SPFL clubs East Stirlingshire, Berwick Rangers, Cowdenbeath, Albion Rovers and a reformed Gretna have ended up in the Lowland League and Brechin City in the Highland League. This has seen Bonnyrigg Rose, Cove Rangers, Edinburgh City, Spartans and Kelty Hearts gain admittance to the SPFL. As Cove, Edinburgh and Kelty have all been promoted at least once, it shows that the pyramid is generally working well, though none of the relegated sides have shown any inclination to return to former glories, which is sad. Then again, the likes of Albion and Cowdenbeath, despite storied histories, play in shambolic grounds, largely unfit for purpose.

Gary and I boarded the largely deserted 09.46 Newcastle to Waverley express, intending to catch the X56 to Kelty at 12.15. Everything was on course until, just before 11.00, the train pulled to a shuddering halt in Drem, a rural, semi commuter station in the environs of North Berwick. A goods train had broken down ahead of us, blocking the route to Waverley and all we could do was wait until a replacement engine arrived to tow it away. This took over an hour, proving that Nancy Whiskey told us a pack of lies all those years ago, but it did mean that the train tickets would be refunded in full of course. For no readily apparent reason, our delay was exacerbated after a change of trains as ours headed back south, and we embarked upon the next one. Plans were hurriedly ripped up and, with minutes to spare, we caught the slightly delayed 1.15 X56, heading north across the Queensferry Bridge into the Kingdom, skirting Dunfermline, whose home game had been postponed because of a waterlogged pitch, surprisingly enough, as it was a dry and breezy day, before dumping us in the two-street former pit village of Kelty a little before 2.30.

We still had time for a pair of pints, Tennents of course, in The Kings Arms, before paying a hefty £16 to enter the tidy and well-appointed New Central Park, where we took our places in a crowd of 422; fewer than had been at North Shields 1 Benfield 2 the night before. One of the reasons for the low gate could well have been the abysmal standard of football on display. Mid-table Kelty were expected to dismiss bottom side Annan with the minimum of fuss. Ironically, the one thing that had decided us upon Kelty, namely the 4G surface that pretty much guaranteed a game during the wet months of Winter, was what spoiled proceedings. An overly bouncy pitch and a swirling wind meant neither side could control the ball effectively, endlessly surrendering possession cheaply and seeing it roll harmlessly, if frustratingly, into touch on a far too regular basis. This didn’t seem to bother the 30 or so Annan Ultras who were having a fine time, and engaging in sporadic singing, while the home support shivered beneath their overcoats and seemingly ubiquitous maroon scarves.

A desultory cheer rang out from the home terraces when Alfie Bavidge won and converted a penalty, awarded for a clumsy trip, in the 16th minute. However, this was not a signal for an improvement in fortunes, as the game was as frustrating as our train journey had been. The Club Shop offered little solace either. I’d wanted to get my partner Shelley a Kelty snood to keep out the chill during our Sunday walks, but none were available, so I bought some of last season’s socks, which seemed the best option available. I think I left them on the X56 when I got off at Edinburgh, sadly. We nipped into the Social Club for a half time pint where, if we’d been able to see the pitch from such a vantage point, we probably would have stayed. Of course, you can’t drink alcohol in sight of the pitch in Scotland, so back out into the elements we went, watching Annan’s Benjamin Lussint controlling the game and helping to bring about a smartly executed equaliser by substitute Tommy Goss in the 73rd minute. This was greeted with hysterical joy in one small corner of the ground and mute acceptance in the rest. The rest of the game saw Annan well on top, but no chances worth mentioning were forthcoming and so the game ended in less than satisfactory stalemate.

Our return journey was a breeze; a punctual X56, pints in The Guild Ford, a carry out and a punk rock singsong on the deserted 20.00 from Waverley saw us back in town for 21.30. East Fife has to be my next trip.

Drowning

Newcastle United; things have been better...

Did you enjoy the FA Cup quarter finals? Great, weren’t they? A set of (mainly) superb games, all on ordinary telly, that seesawed in both directions; fantastic grit from Coventry to come again and see off Wolves (not that I saw that one live as Percy Main v Seaton Delaval obviously took preference), some of the most hilarious errors I’ve ever seen on a football pitch, in the shape of Disasi’s own goal and Sterling’s rib-tickling free kick (he gets paid £300k a week to do that you know!!), as Chelsea put in a bid to be the Premier League’s version of Billy Smart’s Circus against Leicester and Klopp’s famous tactical acumen enabling Liverpool to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory against probably the most mundane Manchester United side I’ve seen in half a century. Indeed, the only damp squib of the whole weekend was Newcastle’s predictably tame exit to a restrained Man City side who sleepwalked their way into the semis without breaking sweat. Far more energetic than anything on the pitch was the predictable wailing and gnashing of teeth on social media, when the endless calls for Howe’s head on a stick that cluttered up cyberspace were curiously absent at the game itself. Indeed, I don’t think there has been any audible dissent against the Newcastle management team in a stadium this season. However, this may yet prove to be the case, unless there is an upswing in fortunes between West Ham at home at the closing trip to Brentford.

Despite enormous pressure to do otherwise, I’ve done my best to keep my cool and remain positive about Newcastle United’s fortunes since the still, baffling exit from Europe before Christmas. However, it’s becoming more and more difficult not to want explanations, as that silly and avoidable defeat to Milan, as well as the wholly preventable loss on penalties to Chelsea in the League Cup, have acted as unfortunate harbingers of the disasters to come. As we endure the final international break of the season, we remain in the top half of the table only by the skin of our teeth. With 10 games left, even a place in the Europa Conference League looks a fond ask, considering the form we are in. It is, therefore, now time to ask those who constantly harp on about how much progress we’ve made in the last two years to finally face reality. Not only has this season, from December onwards, been one, long, sorry tale of regression in terms of results, the unpalatable truth is the football we are playing these days is possibly only a degree or two less awful on the eye than the regular doses of abject surrender Steve Bruce inflicted on us. Having based our success last season on an intense high press, we now appear to be sluggish, one-dimensional and utterly unable to respond to any sort of misfortune or drawback. Losses away to Arsenal, Chelsea and Man City, especially in the manner the points were surrendered, could have been overseen by any of Pardew, Carver, MacLaren, Benitez or Bruce. So much for progress, eh?

Another red herring proffered by those wristwatch-obsessed podcasters seemingly happy to unquestioningly back the ownership and management, is the intractable and interminable injury situation, whereby any defeat is attributed not to individual error, managerial stasis or a grossly incompetent transfer strategy, but solely to the fact Elliott Anderson or Matt Targett have been unable to take the field on a regular basis. Being objective, I can accept that Joelinton and Pope have been massive misses, as well as Botman, whose return to the team has seen him operating at only about 25% capacity of what he’d shown previously, but as for the rest; well, when have we ever been able to rely on Callum Wilson to regularly show up? It is abundantly clear that any properly organised top-flight club with European ambitions would have had a crisis meeting before the clocks went back to establish short, medium and long term plans to deal with both the effect of swathes of unavailability on the current playing staff and addressing the competence of the medical team dealing, or not, with those injuries. Unfortunately, Newcastle United are not one of those clubs, as organisation seems to be a dirty word around SJP and any planning is done by the seat of our pants. At times, it appears that the only way to fight fire in a treatment room that was standing room only for most of the season, was to panic like Corporal Jones in Dad’s Army, while searching for the magic sponge and screaming GET SOME WATTER ON!! like Sunday morning bucketmen of yore.

The facts are these: the blame for Newcastle United’s season disintegrating so appallingly should be shared between a hierarchy who have promised so much and delivered so little, especially in terms of recruitment and retention and a team management who have been found wanting when the hard work really started. Eddy Howe may be a great bloke and a quality motivator when things are going well, but he’s certainly proved himself a conspicuous failure when the chips are down, though whoever had the ultimate responsibility for allowing us to enter a pivotal season with only two senior strikers on the books, both of whom with appalling fitness records, needs a good hiding. Unfortunately, it isn’t just up top we’ve been found wanting. If I was asked now to name my players of the season, it would be a toss-up between Gordon and Schar, with honourable mentions for Livramento and Miley. However, even that quartet are starting to look jaded. The players, generally, look shot; exhausted, timid and lacking form and inspiration. This is why internet hot heads pour down scorn and ire on Murphy, Miggy and Sean. Be reasonable; it isn’t their fault we have a squad ill-suited to the purpose of advancing Newcastle United’s cause, both domestically and in Europe, though the latter probably won’t be an issue in 2024/2025.  

The shortcomings and limitations of the squad are well-known, but it bears repeating that Tonali’s recruitment smacks of incompetent research, Barnes was only sourced when we couldn’t get Maddison from Spurs and Lewis Hall appears to be as baffling an acquisition as Xisco or Saivet during the Ashley years. With signings like that, what hope did we have or repeating last season’s heroics when things got tough? It would be nice to pay tribute to Howe’s daring innovation in throwing Matt Ritchie on to grab a point at home to Bournemouth, who did win 3-0 at Old Trafford it should be remembered, but such a miniscule crumb of comfort isn’t worth the bother of acknowledging. In terms of recent results, the crushing of Wolves is a real outlier, especially considering the Molineux outfit, confidently predicted by so many to be a basket case this season, have climbed above Newcastle in the table. Considering we have Bruno and Isak, not to mention Gordon and Botman, this really isn’t a good enough return on our investments. You have to wonder what the club will need to do to persuade them to stay on Tyneside next season.

This brings us to tough questions regarding the remainder of this campaign and moving forwards to next year. As I said before, if this club is serious about wanting to progress, without any apologists for the Saudi regime ostentatiously bellyaching about financial fair play, or professional voices of the fans howling in outrage about ticket allocations for away games they’ve not attended in the thick end of three decades, there must be meetings going on now to set out a future strategy. Dan Ashworth, whatever his worth, is history. Is he being replaced? Well, is he? The truth of the matter is we need two strikers, more options in midfield and a new centre back, as well as bidding a series of fond farewells for those who have no realistic future at a top-level club. But the biggest elephant in the room is this; how poor a set of results between now and mid-May will it take for Howe’s tenure to be terminated? Tough question: he may still have credit in the bank, but a spring debacle could be a fiasco too far.

Do I want him sacked? On balance, probably not yet, but I am aware that a poor start to the next campaign will see him out the door by mid-September and another season’s blueprint torn to shreds before the ink is dry. I don’t have a credible alternative to him either, nor do I have a list of players we need to sign. I sincerely hope that someone has and that, in the fullness of time, Newcastle will be able to compete properly and for a sustained period of time, with those we are currently a million miles behind, on and off the pitch. We need to end with a flourish to banish the blues, recruit wisely and hit the ground running next season, or the whole thing could go to hell in a hand cart.

 

Leven Early

I celebrated Eddy Cusack's 90th birthday by attending East Fife 3 Dumbarton 2 -:

Saturday 9^th March would have been my auld fella’s 90^th birthday. It also marked 50 years since the infamous Newcastle United v Nottingham Forest FA Cup sixth round tie. I remember that game like it was yesterday; Newcastle were 3-1 down after 56 minutes when Pat Howard was dismissed by referee Gordon Kew of Amersham for disputing a penalty, resulting in almost the entire Leazes End entering the field of play to discuss matters with the official who was away down the tunnel with the 21 remaining players pretty sharpish. Order was eventually restored, and an incredible turnaround occurred, with Bobby Moncur tapping home the winner in injury time, to give Newcastle a 4-3 win. One hell of a game, even if the spoilsports at the FA almost immediately declared the victory null and void, resulting in a replayed win at Goodison Park, of all places.

Sadly, I can only recall the events surrounding the first game at second hand, after watching the highlights on Shoot the following afternoon, because I was strictly forbidden from going to the game as I was only 9. On reflection, I think the auld fella just wanted a celebratory day on the gargle with his brother Brian and brother-in-law John. According to family legend, Eddy and John were debating the stupidity of the pitch invaders and asked Brian for his opinion, only to see the latter’s back as he retreated from view, storming across the pitch, pinstripe Oxford bags flapping in the breeze and SJP clarts adhering themselves to his mauve and tan platform shoes. Considering Brian looked and acted like Rodney Bewes in The Likely Lads (long leather car coat, sideburns etc), it’s no wonder it still gets brought up at infrequent family gatherings, which seem solely to consist of funerals these days, as every one of Brian’s siblings and their spouses have shuffled off this mortal coil.

To celebrate Eddy’s 90^th, I decided to take myself off for a spot of quiet contemplation, by availing myself of competitively priced train tickets and even cheaper bus fares that enabled me to head for Methil and East Fife v Dumbarton in SPFL League 2 for my 30^th tick of the 42 grounds that make up the Scottish set. Having enjoyed a mini crawl around Cullercoats the night before, I awoke with a bit of a sore head, no doubt occasioned by the poor quality of the beer in the Crescent Club, but still managed the bus and train connections, taking me effortlessly to Waverley. Unlike my last couple of trips to Bella Caledonia, I was not accompanied by Gary, whose secretarial duties for Benfield meant he had to deal with a home game against Shildon. Percy Main were away to Chemfica, ironically the third closest ground to my house, but I needed to be away and alone on this day. I know it is 15 years coming up since Eddy checked out, but certain anniversaries seem more poignant than others. Whether this has anything to do with my imminent 60^th birthday is a moot point.

Anyway, my travelling time was spent reading the end of Witch Hunt and the start of Bleeding Hearts by Ian Rankin, though the books were initially published under his nom de plume of Jack Harvey. I’ve set myself the target of reading all of Rankin’s books in 2024 and I’m now left with 14 of the 23 (soon to be 15 and 24) Rebus books to complete this task. As part of this undertaking, I’ve been required to read the non-Rebus part of his oeuvre, which veers wildly in both style and quality between brooding, literary novels such as The Flood to espionage yarns like Watchman. I’ve enjoyed them all, to a greater or lesser degree, but it’s the scabrous, psychological police procedurals that I like the most and, like the labyrinthine plots of those books, I’ve needed to make the occasional trip to the Kingdom to tick off grounds in my other quest for Scotch completism. Thus, having started the ball rolling at Raith Rovers versus a Faroese team in the UEFA Cup in 1995 and Cowdenbeath’s home loss to Dumbarton in 1997, I was at Kelty Hearts in January with Gary and here I found myself, completing the Fife ration, on a painfully slow moving, delayed X60 from Edinburgh, crawling through the uniquely named but rather quaint Coaltown of Wemyss, en route to Leven for Methil. Sometime in 2025, Leven train station will open, slashing journey times from the capital in half. It looks pretty good, located just on the Leven side of the river (Leven and Methil are the Buda and Pest of this part of Fife) and will be even better when the track has been laid.

Arriving at 2.30, I didn’t have time for sightseeing, so headed for New Bayview Park, along with 570 others. I’d been outside of the original Bayview Park back in 1995, but nothing remains of that ground, since the newish ground was built in 1998. Having initially had my ticket refused as I’d inadvertently tried to access the away section of the single stand that comprises the facilities, I entered the right one and immediately joined a queue for a pie and a Bovril, which consisted of an Oxo cube semi-dissolved in a mug of scalding water, with predictable results upon the relative strength of my beverage as I made my way down the cup. Unable to locate a programme, I bought a fridge magnet and took my seat on an aisle in the back row of Block B, parallel with the 18-yard line.

Bayview Park is similar in many respects to Dumbarton’s ground, though without the imposing Rock behind it, but with the sea almost lapping the far end. The essential difference is that Dumbarton faces west and East Fife, unsurprisingly, faces east. The biting, incessant gale off the water is a common factor for both, it must be noted. Also noteworthy is the incredible selection of music East Fife’s matchday DJ provided us with; a full, unedited Stairway to Heaven was followed by the Immigrant Song, suggesting this corner of Fife is still in thrall to hard rock, though this idea was partly quashed by the run-out music. I’d not heard Telstar by The Tornadoes in a couple of decades or more, but Joe Meek’s finest moment was loudly hummed along to by the 500 diehard regulars in yellow and black. It got even more surreal at half time, when Rick Astley was quickly supplanted by the whole of Love Will Tear Us Apart. Staring into the bleak, grey, broiling Firth of Forth, never has the song sounded more poignant, nor the listener felt more chilled, by climactic as well as cultural phenomena. Before then, we had some football to watch.

East Fife recently appointed legendary former Arbroath boss Dick Campbell to the manager’s position. He’s a pretty imposing figure and continuously patrolled the touchline, unleashing barbs of bile-inflected encouragement to his team who, cowed or inspired, took the game to Dumbarton from the off. The home side went ahead on 3 minutes when Man of the Match Nathan Austin touched in a loose ball at the back post. From then on, it was entirely one way traffic as East Fife, aided by a howling gale at their backs, overran the visitors and twice struck the frame of the goal. Somehow, the Sons kept the deficit to a single goal and remarkably found themselves ahead after a brace of unexpected goals. The first was a decent strike by Gray and the second a simple tap-in for Hilton, after some comedic defending. East Fife weren’t done, and veteran centre back Brian Easton nodded in an equaliser after 56 minutes. It had been a breathless start to the second period and Dumbarton adopted self-preservation mode, seeking not to lose the game and began an irritating amount of time wasting.

I hate leaving games early, but with my only guaranteed connection for the 19.00 from Waverley being the 16.55 from Leven, I felt I had no choice but to vacate my seat on 80 minutes. Typically enough, a muffled roar that was almost drowned out by the pneumatic hiss of the opening doors of the X60, signalled that Austin had popped up again, three minutes into stoppage time, to nod in the winner. Dumbarton had lost badly 5-0 at Stranraer in the week, but this defeat must have felt even more crushing. They still occupy the final play-off spot, but East Fife are within 6 points and don’t bet against Dick Campbell exhorting them to even greater wins than this.

All in all, a lovely ground and a great (sober!) day out, with all connections caught and only 12 grounds left to do. I’m hoping for St Johnstone or perhaps Dundee United next, though once Leven station opens I may visit Methil once more.

 

 

 

 

Cricket Books For Sale

Below is a list of cricket books I'm selling to try and raise funds for Tynemouth Cricket Club. There's no price on any of them, so it is donations only. However, the cost of postage means I'm looking for £3 or thereabouts for me sending a book, though if you wish to collect them from the NE29 area, I'm happy for that to happen as well. Ideally, I'd like PayPal donations to iancusack@blueyonder.co.uk & you can send email questions to that address as well -: