In June
2001, aged almost 37, I believed I’d completed my final season of 11-a-side
football. Having spent two academic years working in Slovakia, and more
importantly keeping goal for the expatriate Bratislava Academicals club, I’d
decided to return home. Of rather more immediate concern was securing paid
employment in the day job than finding a team to play for, though I did pick up
a couple of regular 5-a-side kickabouts each week, topped up with infrequent
challenge matches at work.
Consequently
it was something of a bolt from the blue when my mate Hezza asked if I fancied
a game in the North East Over 40s League in late summer 2005, as his team’s
regular keeper was on holiday. Formed in 1979, the league consists of 5
divisions of 16 teams, extending from Richmond in North Yorkshire to Ashington
in Northumberland, giving well over 1,000 blokes in their 40s, 50s, sometimes
60s and very occasionally 70s, the chance to play competitive football at 10.30
every Saturday morning for 8 months of the year, with the only concessions for
age being 5 roll-on / roll-off substitutes and a truncation of the game to 80
minutes. It’s a deadly serious business;
you have to provide your passport as proof of age before you can be
registered. Ringers and wrong’uns, as
well as culpable secretaries, get sine
die bans if caught.
So it was on
Saturday 20th August 2005, over 4 years since I’d last stood in
front of a full sized set of goals in a properly competitive context, I made my
debut for Heaton Winstons (aka Wallsend Winstons aka Wallsend Boys Club
Veterans) in Division 4 of the Mill View WMC Over 40s League, away to The
Welcome Inn at Blue House Fields in Hendon, Sunderland (the original home of
SAFC in 1879 no less) and conceded half a dozen unanswered goals. We changed by
the side of the pitch. New players were introduced to old campaigners in the
warm up. The only person I knew was Hezza. I was a bag of nerves, but couldn’t be blamed
for any of the goals as the opposition, a right bunch of hairy arsed Mackem radgies,
steamrollered us. At full time, everyone paid £4 subs. I loved every second of
it, despite the result.
The
following week, with John the regular keeper still away, I kept my place as we
went to top flight Cramlington Burton House in the whole league Villa Real Cup.
This time I felt a little less terrified about playing, partly because we took
the lead after about 15 seconds; I can still see skinny Robbie Morrow, a
whippet of a winger, scampering down the touch line, then slinging in a cross
for Brian Jones, a secondary school deputy head rather than his more exotic,
iconic namesake, to power a header home from the penalty spot. I made a couple
of really smart stops, but class told and we eventually lost 3-1, which was no
disgrace.
Week 3; we
are away again, this time in the League to Hartlepool Navy Club on a pitch
absolutely decimated by mole activity. John the regular keeper is back, but
it’s agreed we play a half each. Tim, our bouffant-haired professional
trombonist left back, takes a free kick on the halfway line. It sails into the
box, lands on a molehill and proceeds to die, scuttling along the floor and
apologetically dribbling into the net. We’re still giggling about it at half
time when we change round a goal up. I go off for John, who proceeds to concede
3 absolute jokes in 10 minutes, before we get a late consolation. The full time
inquest concludes that, as we’ll be back to full strength next week as the
holiday season is over, there’s no need for panic; especially as our manager
Ash is heading to Spain for a month. This means our secretary steps in as boss;
he’s called Dave and is a solicitor. John the keeper is a solicitor as well.
Perhaps that’s why he shrugs off his howlers. Consequently, I got 2 more games
in goal that whole season when John was on his February skiing break, though I
found myself playing in a variety of outfield roles as an emergency substitute
when we were severely depleted, on about a dozen occasions. That becomes my
signature role; unused spare keeper, flag waving assistant ref and bit part sub.
Meanwhile m’learned friend in nets concedes an average of 3 goals a game, at
least one being a lob and another at his near post.
We finished
4th bottom that year. In 2006/2007 we secured the antepenultimate
berth. Thereafter, we went on a recruitment drive and signed some less than
terrible players, to finish 6th in 2007/2008. The tough thing about
the bottom division is that each season a couple of new clubs, often from
sizeable communities, generally consisting of Sunday morning teams who have
grown old together, join and more often than not, run away with the league,
while teams higher up find they’re just too old and pack in. As a result
occasionally more than 3 teams are promoted to fill up the gaps; in 07/08 the
top 5 went up. We missed out by a point and it looked like our ship had sailed,
as in the following years we finished 8th, 9th, 11th,
12th and 9th again. In all those seasons, bar an extended
run in 08/09 when John was out injured from January onwards, I played a maximum
of 6 games a season, but remained involved as webmaster, treasurer and
linesman. I was the archetypal clubman; the spare keeper at one of the worst
sides in the region.
However,
summer 2013 saw a revolution at Winstons. We moved pitches from the sometimes
swamplands, often dustbowl Paddy Freeman’s pitches in High Heaton, where one
end of season home game had to be postponed when we discovered the council had
rotovated the goalmouths without telling us, to the Bigges Main home of the
legendary Wallsend Boys’ Club. A subtle change of name from Heaton to Wallsend
Winstons enabled us to recruit half a dozen top quality, youngish players;
blokes I’d paid money to watch in the Northern Alliance and Northern League.
Fellas who’d turned out for my club Newcastle Benfield in the past, like Tom
Rantoul who got 46 goals that season, the same as his strike partner Chris
Arnott. Wallsend lads, who looked upon
it as an honour to represent their home town.
One of the
new arrivals was former Percy Main keeper Ian Hall; a fitness fanatic who
dominated his area and specialised in top drawer saves. I couldn’t hold a
candle to him. Sometimes you just know when it is time to go and I prepared for
retirement. Suddenly John the keeper announced he “wasn’t standing on the
touchline for anyone” and transferred to Mill View WMC, meaning I resumed my
place as back-up keeper. Except Hally then broke his foot in our season-opening
cup tie win over South Shields Catholic Club. The result was I was back between
the posts for the next 8 games. As a keeper I’ve always prided myself on good
reactions, safe handling and decent kicking, but I’m lousy in the air when it
comes to crosses and ponderously slow. Despite this, we won every one, scored
loads and I had virtually nothing to do as we roared to a league and cup
double, winning the league by 27 points. The trophy was presented live on
Football Focus, in a special edition from Wallsend Boys’ Club. To paraphrase
Larkin, I’d never known success so whole and unexpected. Hally would go off for
me whenever the game was clearly won; I really appreciated the way he thought
about me. It hadn’t been like that before.
In
2014/2015, we missed promotion by 2 points, but won the higher divisional cup.
In 2015/2016, the cup remained in our possession and we eased to promotion as
runners-up. In the last game of the season, I played instead of Hally, keeping
a clean sheet in an almost unheard of goalless draw. For the first time ever, I was named Man of
the Match. During the summer, I celebrated my 52nd birthday and the
club changed its name to Wallsend Boys Club Over 40s. With Hally on his
jollies, I joined the hallowed ranks of Alan Shearer, Michael Carrick, Steve
Bruce, Lee Clark and Alan Thompson, debuting for “the Boyza” in a 2-1 loss to
Newton Aycliffe Cobblers’ Hall in the Villa Real Cup. Neither goal was my
fault.
August 20th
2016 marked the 11th anniversary of my first appearance; things had
changed a bit in the interim period in terms of playing strength. We went in
8-0 up against Gateshead Team Club, so I came on for Hally as part of wholesale
changes to give everyone a run out. The final score was 10-0 and, in all
honesty, I didn’t even touch the ball. I remained sub not used in subsequent
weeks as we defeated Pelton Crown 4-2 away and Hartlepool Catholic Club 4-1 at
home on the first Saturday in September, but didn’t worry as I knew Hally was
away for the following weekend we were due to play North Shields Pineapple.
I’d not been
well in the week leading up to the Hartlepool fixture; the tail end of a summer
cold had given way to a chest infection which, allied to my constant
intimations of mortality, in the shape of clicking, arthritic knees and
incessant lower back pain from a dodgy SI joint, had me beat. I’d come in from
work on the Friday, worn out and struggling for breath as I sat down to take my
shoes off. There was no other explanation for my decrepitude; I was actually
feeling properly old for the first time in my life. Allied to that, I somehow
managed to forget my boots that morning and had been forced to root through the
bag of abandoned kit for a pair that were almost the right fit. Half a size too
large, they chafed my heel, leaving a blood blister that lasted the following
week.
Limping back
to the changers, manager Ash introduced me to Davy, a decade my junior, 4
inches taller and 5 stones lighter, who I was told “will be playing in nets
next week.” Three years on from my presumed retirement, this time I knew the
game really was up. Clubs at our level don’t have third choice keepers, so I
shook hands and wished him all the best, before announcing my immediate
retirement, except in dire emergencies.
This
decision wasn’t a strop or a sulk; it was made in the best interests of the
team. It was also a decision made for my best interests, as I realised the
process of ageing catches up on us all. In my 11 years with Winstons, I must
have played with the thick end of 100 players; only 1 of them (no names, no
pack drill) I really didn’t get on with. In all that time Ash has been the manager,
while only 4 of us who played against The Welcome Inn still show up now. Aidan,
still getting his game in centre midfield, is 56; Rod is 67 in November and
will always make himself available when we’re short, while Trev is 61 and made
2 appearances last year but still comes along to watch. Like the latter pair,
I’m still determined to follow the lads representing the club I’ve been proud
to call my own for more than a decade.
In contrast
to my first appearance, Davy saved a penalty as we won 4-1 against North
Shields Pineapple, but was on the line the week after when we went joint top
after beating Darsley Park 3-1. I saw both games, held the flag, kicked every
ball and punched the air when we scored. It’s in the blood you see.
I haven’t
retired from playing completely; 6-a-sides on Monday and Thursday will continue
until I physically can’t play any longer. There are still 2 pairs of £50 keeper
gloves and a brace of proper keeper tops and bottoms to get full use from.
However, I have rationalised and thinned out the amount of kit in the bottom of
the wardrobe. Rolls of tape, spare laces, boot spanners and a plethora of half
empty tubes of tiger balm; all gone to charity, recycling or land fill. In some
ways it reminded me of emptying my dad’s wardrobe after his passing. The essential difference between death and
retirement, is that my departure from the 11-a-side game is both voluntary and
without regrets.
Over 40s
football gave me not only 3 winners’ medals (my only previous one was from the
D&P Garages Trophy from Sunday football in 1993), but endless glorious
memories (penalty saves against Willow Pond in 2008 and Darsley Park in 2013, a
goal as an emergency striker versus Peterlee Helford in February 2007) of minor
triumphs, close friendships, endless mickey taking, lots of serious drinking
and an unbreakable bond of belonging that I’ll take to my grave.
Winstons, I
gave you everything for 11 years, but I gained an infinite amount more in
return and for that I’m eternally grateful.
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