Tangerine Screams

Around 5.30pm on Saturday 17th August, I approached the wicket at Greenside CC. As I took guard, my team, Tynemouth 3s, were 70/9, chasing an improbable 226 for victory. It would be fair to say that I’ve not been in the best of nick with the bat this year, or at any time during my entire life to be fair, having notched a mammoth 2 runs in 4 previous visits to the crease in 2024. With a season’s best of 1*, the chances of knocking off the 156 required from a shade under 15 overs were minimal at best. However, it’s points that make prizes and, in our desperate struggle to avoid relegation from the Northumberland and Tyneside Cricket League Division 5 (South), we’d already secured 5 of them by bowling out Greenside, my contribution being 3-1-10-0. To gain a potentially batting point, we simply needed 10 more runs and, my goodness, we somehow managed it. Ed our skipper, having already registered 3-11 from his 9 overs, was in great touch, thankfully. In fact, his 26* was one short of his all-time best score for Tynemouth, while I’d made sedate progress to a season’s best 3, when a fall came after such questionable pride. At 86-9, the 29th over began with a slow, wide attempted bouncer down the leg side. Having scored 100% of my runs this season on the posh side, I tried to unleash my inner Ricky Ponting, essaying an ungainly hook shot. The ball didn’t get up above shin height. My crude swipe missed it by miles. The umpire signalled wide. I slowly fell over, in an appallingly ungainly fashion. I landed on my hip, cursed loudly, and felt like I’d broken something. In actual fact, I hadn’t, as an x-ray on Monday proved, but my game had run its course. It took me a good couple of minutes to regain a semblance of an upright posture and, using my bat as a walking stick than an implement of reform, I missed the next ball (a straight one) and the game ended. There were smiles, handshakes and the proffering of soothing Ralgex cold spray as I hobbled off.

The pain really kicked in when I crawled out of Ed’s car. Saturday evening was spent chaining Panadol Extra and wincing on the sofa. I was in a hell of a state. I slept badly, fitfully, and woke groggy, suffering severe leg and lower back pain. This was clearly not the most auspicious of occasions to be on the 8.44 out of Central Station, heading for Dundee (United) and my 32nd Scottish ground, Tannadice, for the visit of St Mirren. However, it had to be done. 

Having managed Dens Park last season on a Sunday when both city clubs were given home League Cup group ties on the same weekend, a similar occurrence in the last 16 of the same competition favoured me again this year, as St Mirren’s place in the UEFA Conference League knock out round, meant they’d played (and lost) on Thursday, causing this game to be put back a day. What a fortuitous happenstance, eh? The pain I was suffering was impacting on my ability to walk at any pace, so to avoid a desperate hobble from the Haymarket to Central, I got a taxi rather than a bus, then took a seat in the quiet coach of the almost deserted train to Waverley. The only real noise was my moaning whenever I moved my leg a fraction. Time sped by as I lost myself in Irvine Welsh’s latest, Resolution. It’s not a bad serial killer procedural, but not a patch on his earlier work; there’s a decided lack of tension throughout. Thanks to the good work of LNER and ScotRail, this was also true of my journey, as I pulled into Dundee after a totally untroubled trip, bang on time. The game was a 2pm kick off and, at the pace I was moving, I’d be lucky to scale the 50% gradient to Hilltown before half time. Hence, the only option was a taxi from the station, which dropped me off at the Club Shop, enabling me to augment Shelley’s already expansive collection of SPFL themed fridge magnets.

Tannadice and Dens Park are incredibly close to each other, perhaps as near as 100 yards at one point. Incredibly, there is also space for a third ground in the area; Dundee United’s youth teams are based at a small 4G cage, with a decent sized stand on one side, just across from Tannadice, hidden down a back entry behind the Club Shop. As I was in the area, it would have been rude not to take in a wee bit of Dundee United U18 v Motherwell U18. It was goalless during the time I was there, but the visitors absolutely bossed the game in every section of the pitch. Make of that information what you will.

Presumably because of the effectiveness of the Ibuprofen 400s running through my system, I now felt capable of moving sedately around the area. I took a wander round the outside of Tannadice, past the Jim McClean Fair Play Stand, which was closed for this game, the Jerry Kerr Stand that housed the 582 visiting Buddies and to far the end of the George Fox Stand, where I had a seat in the lower section. Row T, seat 127, right on the aisle; just where I like to be. It also afforded me a decent view of the Eddie Thompson Stand, where the remaining Arabs were congregated, making for a total crowd of 4,285. However, because of how hemmed in the home support was, from my vantage point, it seemed to be a good atmosphere and that there were far more present than that. It also helped to sweep me up in the whole affair and I was a confirmed Arab within a few minutes of kick off. This was also assisted by the fact St Mirren were in their change kit and not black and white stripes.

To be frank, it was a decent enough game. Like Dundee v Inverness last year, the home side won it with a single goal; Ross Graham powered home a close-range header after 34 minutes. The busy Craig Sibbald, who was my man of the match, earlier hit the bar with a good, long-range effort and substitute Louis Moult smashed a wonderful effort against the underside of the bar, as United passed up loads of chances to put the game beyond a lethargic and uninspired visiting side. In the end, a goal was enough, and I did some literal groundhopping as my painkillers wore off, limping downhill to the station and grabbing a quick Tennents in The Star & Garter, before snoozing all the way back to Edinburgh. Instead of heading The Guildford, as usual, I got a 4-pack and the next train south, reasoning that I’d never manage Waverley Steps in my condition. A third taxi took my home and straight to www.thetrainline.com to plan my next trip north. I’ll keep you posted…