Hearty Celts

I went to Rangers v Hearts on Saturday. Don't panic though, it was Cove Rangers v Kelty Hearts...

Unlike some on-line performative fantasists I could mention, I actually could have played cricket or gone to watch Newcastle against Ipswich last Saturday. In fact, I could even have gone to see Percy Main fall to the foot of the Northern Alliance Premier Division when losing their final away game of the season 3-2 at Haltwhistle Jubilee or catch up with pals from North Ferriby FC who were in the Tyneside area, playing against The Specials. However, I did none of these things. Instead, I chose the road less travelled and took the opportunity to tick off my 38^th of the 42 Scottish League grounds, with a trip to Aberdeen’s second side, Cove Rangers who were entertaining Kelty Hearts. Frankly, it’s the only way you’d ever have seen me at a Rangers against Hearts game. Of course, such a fixture is impossible now as, accordingly to the natural order of things, Hearts are in the bottom half of the SPFL Premier Division, unlike their glorious local superiors Hibs. Indeed, Hibs were away to Aberdeen at the same time as I took in the Cove game, but I felt no deep longing to be there as I had groundhopping work to do.

The train up north was an LNER service, so it worked and the journey to Aberdeen was smooth and almost on time, with only a slight delay on pulling into Aberdeen station because of a failed Scot Rail train on our allotted platform. This was to become a theme later on. Having left a sunny Newcastle, things turned decidedly grim after we crossed the border. The Granite City was freezing cold, overcast and blustery, though thankfully dry. Temperatures were struggling to make double figures and my decision to wear shorts came immediately into question. However, it was what it was, and I walked from the station, stiff legged and chilled, to catch the 3A bus to Cove. It was about a 10-minute trip out to the ABZ Business Park, home to such delights as an IKEA, numerous expensive car franchises and a Popeyes chicken takeaway that improbably stated, “Welcome to Louisiana,” where the ground is situated. I wonder if the Ceasars Superdome, home to the New Orleans Saints, boasts an Aberdeen Angus Steakhouse? I ignored all retail temptations and took my usual incorrect route to any newly encountered football ground and headed directly for Lochside High School, which bordered Cove’s Balmoral Park. Unfortunately, a large and impenetrable metal boundary fence meant I had to retrace my steps. I did eventually and affected entry for the remarkably reasonable pensioners’ price of £9.

Balmoral Park has a 4G pitch, so I’d contemplated waiting until winter to visit, but if today was an example of a Highland day on the cusp of spring and summer, I doubt a sunny climate will ever be relevant round here. Instead, I bought myself a coffee, strong and thick as engine oil, and a quite stupendous chicken and haggis pie. Suitably fortified, I took up my place on the far side of the pitch to survey proceedings. The ground has nothing behind either goal, a good-sized main stand either side of the halfway line and three small, covered metal standing blocks, akin to the ones seen at West Allotment Celtic, down the other touchline. I found a spot near one of these, as it still wasn’t raining and saw a pretty good game unfold.

Kelty, backed by about 100 travelling fans, had nothing to play for, but could boast former Hibs legend and Celtic substitute Scott Allan as their playmaker. Frankly, the game seemed to bypass him, apart from the occasional raking, crossfield pass, made from a standing position, admiring those running about him. Meanwhile Cove Rangers could also boast a former Easter Road hero in Fraser Fyvie, who was the game’s stand out player. In the early stages, Kelty seemed well on top, in terms of possession at least, but created nothing. This lack of an attacking threat coast them as Cove hit them with a double blast on the half hour. Firstly, Adam Emslie turned sharply in the box and fired into the bottom corner. Soon after, a probing run into the box by Fyvie saw him unceremoniously upended and the inevitable spot kick was converted by Mitch Megginson, who’d scored when I’d seen Cove win at Montrose at the end of October.

There was no further scoring and little to talk about until the break. With Cove 2-0 up, I swapped sides and watched most of the second half from a spot adjacent to the main stand. At first Cove looked to build on their lead, but after squandering a couple of presentable half chances they were hit by a two-goal salvo themselves, as the visitors found some accuracy in their finishing. Firstly, Johnston reacted quickly after a rebound from the crossbar to tap in a loose ball, before Ross Cunningham ended the scoring on 68 minutes with a fine finish from around the penalty spot. One of the most pleasing things about the Northeast of Scotland, compared to the foul-mouthed Central Belt, is the almost complete absence of swearing on the terraces. The equaliser was accompanied by a stentorian proclamation of “Oh for Goodness Sake. Hang your heads in shame,” by a particularly disapproving, Presbyterian-voiced, Cove supporting observer. After that there were some almost chances, but the game dribbled away to a draw, leaving Kelty in sixth place with a game to go and Cove confirmed in a play-off spot for a chance at a return to the SPFL Championship in the post-season lottery.

As for me, I found the return bus stop far more quickly than the ground itself, caught an almost deserted 9 to Inverurie via Aberdeen and walked straight on the Edinburgh train which, once it had cleared the no-signal area around Laurencekirk, allowed me to pick up on the other scores. Well done Newcastle. Unlucky to Hibs, Percy Main and North Ferriby. Intriguingly, East Kilbride had battered Brora Rangers 4-1 in the Highland / Lowland play off first leg, for the chance to replace the 42^nd club, which will either be Bonnyrigg Rose or Forfar Athletic. If it has to be a new club, the prosaic K Stadium in East Kilbride would reluctantly be my preference over the almost inaccessible Dudgeon Park home of The Cattachs.

At Dundee, I was joined by two tremendously drunk and happy Celtic fans who had been to Tannadice, where the Tic won their 13^th title in 14 seasons, squeaking home 5-0. The fellas were 59 and 60 respectively, so we shared some football memories, and they insisted on sharing their carry-out with me. Tennents, of course. They got off at Markinch, heading for Methil and a mate’s 60^th birthday party. Fair play to them. They put me in a good mood, unlike Lumo at Waverley.

The 20.56 was cancelled. There were no Lumo staff there to explain things. A couple of dozen of us milled around, looking lost. Then a 7-seater Mercedes cab pulled up and, without bothering to ask for proof of ID or even tickets, took me and this other bloke back to Newcastle, arriving just in time to catch the last 308 home. A decent trip and now there’s only Inverness, Peterhead, Ross County and Stranraer left to do, but they will have to be next season I feel.

 

 

Guéhi / Bashing

 It's been a while, but here's my latest thoughts on #NUFC

You may have noticed it has been a while since I blogged about anything, never mind Newcastle United. Well, that Carabou Cup triumph has changed everything about the club, the support and my relationship to them, in a way I’ve struggled to put into words. The world is simply a better place and, frankly, now we’ve got that monkey off our back, we’ll never go back to how things were. It’s absolutely insane when the realisation dawns on you that the suspension of Anthony Gordon from the game at Wembley wasn’t, as we’d all feared, the harbinger of doom and the prelude to another hiding in a major final. Instead, the genius that is Eddie Howe and his equally talented coaching staff simply rewrote the manual of how to beat the best team in the country. No Gordon? No problem! Instead of winning it down the wings, we won it in midfield and that brilliant blueprint that was first tried in the scruffy, but crucial, win away to West Ham, not only secured the cup led us on to four further straight wins, which I saw every single one of, two in the flesh.

Of course, there’s the elephant in the room of the last game before I started writing this. Villa absolutely battered us, and because of other games, we’ll be fifth, not third, by the time we kick off against Ipswich at the weekend, which is a little jolt to the system after the hysterical highs on Wednesday 16 April. However, I was lucky enough not to see a second of this latest game, as I was pressed into service for Tynemouth 3s at home to South North 3s. By the time the half time whistle blew, I’d taken a blinding catch at square leg and been clean bowled after compiling a pugnacious 6, though we’d unfortunately lost by 125 or thereabouts. The second half took place while I was showering and then taxiing to La Cassetta in Whitley for a family meal. Two goals were conceded in the Uber and so I switched off my phone. Out of sight. Out of mind. 

Being honest, a single defeat like this doesn’t ruin what has been an amazing run. Let’s have a bit of perspective eh? Villa was a bloody tough prospect, as potentially are the other trips to Brighton and Arsenal, not to mention the visit of Chelsea. I’d been in danger of allowing my imagination to run riot, dreaming that a win at the Emirates could propel us to an eventual runners-up spot. More fool me; at the current time we’re probably assured of 7th at the lowest, so let’s build on that in the 5 remaining games.

Looking back on the time after the cup win until the Brentford game, it was just like one big fortnight’s carnival on Tyneside. The incredible 300,000 turnout for the parade and the Town Moor celebration beggared belief, but that’s what ending 70 or 56 years of failure, depending how you measure it, can do to a club. Unfortunately, the very thought of standing for 7 hours without shelter or seating, in a huge crush, with the accompaniment of terrible music, kept me glued to NUFC TV for the duration (after enduring Percy Main 0 AFC Newbiggin 7 of course). My social anxiety is such these days that I simply couldn’t face going into town for it, nor could Shelley. I’m glad Ben was there, at the parade at least. It’s an event his generation will never forget. Rather like my joy at being there when Scott Parker accepted the A4 parchment for winning the Inter Toto Cup after Auxerre lost to Livorno back in 2006/2007. 

Perhaps the most Newcastle United thing about the whole celebration was the cyber meltdown as to whether we had a parade or not. There isn’t another club in the world that could have people issuing on-line death threats to people they’ve never met about proposed routes for the open-topped bus. That would all have been forgotten about once Bruno showed that, not only is he a brilliant midfielder, but also an entertainer of equal merit. If he doesn’t have ADHD, I’ll show my arse in Fenwick’s window next Christmas. He’s also the absolute antithesis, personality wise, of Tonali, but the two of them, with Joelinton, must surely be the best midfield in the country right now. All in all, the victory parade was a wonderful day, made even better by the 10,000 or so sunderland fans who made a pilgrimage to the Town Moor to pay tribute to their local rivals. It really was a lovely gesture for them all to boycott their home game with Millwall to acknowledge that had been, definitively and finally, mastered by us black and white bastards. 

And so to the Brentford game. I was elated to score two tickets for both this one and the visit of Palace, in the Leazes East corner. On an aisle as well, which made things even easier for me to cope with. Also, my Radar key that grants me access to disabled toilets considering reduces the level of stress and anxiety about being in packed concourses. It’s only over this past decade or so, since my anxiety has grown exponentially in terms of severity and frequency, that I’ve even been aware of just how crippling it can be to be trapped among huge crowds of people who are pushing in several directions at once. 

The seats Shelley and I had for Brentford gave a brilliant view, with the only drawback being the proximity of the solo Wansbeck Branch of Thomas Frank’s Fan Club, who kept up an incessant tirade of critical doom-mongering from about 20 minutes. So convinced was he we were going to lose, I checked round after Tonali’s stunning winner and, sure enough, he wasn’t celebrating and subsequently fucked off with 5 minutes to go. After that, I was worried all the way until the Palace game that he’d be there again. Spoiler: he wasn’t. Contrast that Dismal Jimmy with Shelley’s response. She was in tears of regional pride before kick-off and almost fainted when celebrating Tonali’s winner, which was right in front of us. I’ll even forgive her for wondering aloud where the commentary on the game was being broadcast from, the sweetie. 

Full time saw us celebrate the win with a few scoops of Two by Two in The Mean Eyed Cat, where I was amused to note a bong-eyed, woman-hating, t-shirt salesman racing out the back door with his arse winking. Actually, there were quite a few of the old celebrity fans there tonight. I was delighted to catch up with Bill Corcoran and Gordon Poad (over from Denmark for this game) before kick-off. I spotted Michael Martin, who was looking very healthy with his new bins on. I wouldn’t say the same about the clearly impecunious Mug Punter Mag, supping Madri on his tod at a refreshment stall. Social media also told me of the presence of a certain glory hunting performative narcissist who’d returned to the NUFC fold after the cup win. Quite incredibly, he's bagged 3 freebies in Bar 1892 in successive games and counting, no doubt with his eyes peeled and conscience clear when looking for an Ipswich spare rather than showing his devotion to The Specials against Ferriby at the same time.

The following Monday night saw our trip to Leicester. To be honest, this was possibly the most mundane victory ever. They had a shot on 12 seconds and by 10 minutes we’d won the game at which point Jacob Murphy had already bagged a double. I do wish Schar’s effort had gone in for the second, but Murphy’s half a dozen touches to put in the rebound was amusing enough in itself. Barnes, who has been getting better every game, finished well to end the scoring and from that point on, I don’t really recall watching the utter non-event of the last hour and a bit. Wilson came on and ambled around like a labouring cart horse after too much ket, while Osula did his usual Lua Lua for the Tik Tok generation effort. With Willock missing because of concussion protocols, it’s always nice to see Johnny Johnny Johnny Johnny Johnny Ruddy on the bench, on the bench.

The terrible news before the Man Utd game that Eddie Howe wasn’t present on the bench, on account of being hospitalised with a bout of pneumonia was quite worrying. The Mackems showed their usual class by posting comments on OTB wishing death on him. What else do we really expect of them? However, leaving that aside, this was a tremendous result. Every single post-match conversation I had about this began along the lines of “weren’t they terrible?” They were and, other than Fernandes who might make the bench, not one of their players would get into our side, but we need to recognise just how good we were. Tonali, Barnes and Murphy have all been revelations of late and they tore Man United into little pieces. Goodness, remember for how long and how far they ruled over us? That’s no longer the case. We cuffed them aside by a margin of 6-1 this season, completing our first double since 1930. That, as well as claiming the Carabao Cup, is a measure of how far we’ve come.

What the Palace game proved is that I still know nothing about football after all these years. I’d predicted a narrow 1-0 win where our high press would be nullified by their quick breaks. In the end, once Eze had blown his chance from the spot with a soft and silly penalty, we could have crushed them in the manner of Sheff Wed in 1999 or Sheff United last season. Sadly, perhaps, we only dished out a bashing and not a ritual humiliation, which they deserved. Palace, like Brentford, are a decent side, but I thought Hughes was dreadful tonight and Wharton ever worse. All he wanted to do was run around and kick people. As for Guehi, the Premier League’s most high profile, vocal homophobe was hung out to dry on the day the Law Lords backed the right of unstable transphobes to spread hate speech on social media. Two days before Easter, he was crucified by Harvey Barnes, forced into conceding his second own goal of the season against us. If we’d signed him, he probably wouldn’t have got that many at the other end. 

As far as we’re concerned, I’ve run out of superlatives for Tonali. His pass to Barnes for the third, and the kind of finish he wouldn’t have been capable of a month earlier, just shaded Murphy’s goal and his immaculate ball onto Schar’s head for the fourth, as the moment of the match. Isak’s finish after the break wasn’t half bad either. Now, if I’d written this blog after the Palace game, I might be ridiculously giddy and wildly optimistic. True enough, but I’m still feeling good after the Villa defeat. Five games to go and if the results from earlier in the season are matched, we’ll get 7 points. Not bad, but I’m hoping for 3 home wins and a pair of away draws; 9 would do nicely, if we are to finish 5th and get Champions League. 

Rentrez a nos moutons, as the French say. Let’s get a win against relegated Ipswich under our belts this Saturday, while I’m up in Scotland at Rangers v Hearts… Cove Rangers v Kelty Hearts that is.