Back in
June, when the Northern League had a full complement of 20 clubs in Division 1,
everyone knew the fixture list announced at the AGM would bear little
resemblance to the eventual pattern of play over the coming months; cup
commitments, weather issues and other factors would all combine to alter the
initial schedule. What none of us considered were the effects of unexpected
resignations of AFC Blyth and Team Northumbria, perforce resulting in 4 enforced
blank weekends. By early December, my beloved Benfield had endured two spare
Saturdays; firstly September 22nd saw me at North Shields Athletic 3
Spittal Rovers 4, while October 27th enabled me to watch Whitley Bay
1 Ashington 1 in the most rancid contest I’ve endured all season.
The jiggling
around with games following our progress into the last 32 of the FA Vase
presented another window of opportunity on Saturday 15th December.
Being gainfully employed once more and having a few bob in my pocket, I knew
there was only one possible location; Scotland. Last season, I’d taken in
Morton on January 2nd, Stenhousemuir in late March and bagged my
usual Juniors brace at Cumnock and Glasgow Perthshire in June. Sadly, a
freakish calendar for the Festive Period has caused the SPFL to decide against
a January 2nd fixture card, so I needed to seize this opportunity.
A quick skeg
of the fixture list told me of games at Kilmarnock, St Johnstone and St Mirren
in the Premier League, Ayr and Inverness in the Championship, Forfar and
Stranraer in League 1 and Edinburgh City, Peterhead and Stirling Albion in
League 2 at places there were doors I’d never darkened. Reasons of distance
ruled out Inverness, Stranraer and Peterhead. Similarly, prohibitively expensive
train tickets up the West Coast line and north of Fife did for the three top
flight clashes, plus Ayr and Forfar. The one that really tickled my fancy was
Stirling Albion against Albion Rovers; at the time of checking, they were the
two bottom teams in the division, but the predictable and indeed reliable
incompetence of Berwick Rangers allowed Stirling to move away from the foot of
the table. Nevertheless, the thought of visiting the Forthbank Stadium was
particularly appealing, especially as I could take a photo of the nearby
supermarket and truthfully say I’d been to see Stirling Morrisons…
I like to
think I do my research about these trips; visiting Stirling would tick off
another area of Scotland as I made it to my 20th ground in the SPFL.
However, I had made the terrible error of failing to note that Stirling no
longer had a 4G pitch, having switched back to grass a couple of seasons ago.
Having blithely adopted insouciant indifference to the ever more frequent and
apocalyptic weather forecast for the weekend, news that an 11.30 pitch
inspection was being called for set my panic levels to amber, as I took the
Metro to Central Station, which began to fill up quickly with members of
Ashley’s Army on their way to Huddersfield. Of course, I was left with another
option; Edinburgh City, whose supposedly permanent home of Meadowbank Stadium
is closed for a thorough refurbishment for an unspecified period, groundshare
with Spartans at Ainslie Park in the leafy northern suburbs. It isn’t just the
fact water surrounds half of the capital city, making it a couple of degrees
warmer than the chilly Central Belt, but the fact Ainslie Park has a 4G surface
that ensured I’d have a game to see.
An insanely
packed train to Waverley meant I had no option but to stand in the middle of
the carriage the whole way there, meaning I was unable to keep a check on climactic
developments on my phone. Detraining just after noon brought the inevitable
news, both official and unofficial, that Stirling v Albion was off because of a
frozen pitch. There was nothing for it, but to head through Stocksbridge and
Pilton to the capital city’s newest league side.
On a freezing
but dry afternoon where dense, low clouds prevented actual daylight ever
becoming an issue, Princes Street was packed; the gardens boasted a Christmas
fun fair and literally thousands of happy families were making the most of time
together. Despite the brutal, repressive regime of Jeanette Mugabe’s SNP
controlling every aspect of their citizens’ lives, the Scotch are a joyous,
unruly contrast to the Brexit ruined English, wheezing asthmatically between
the Labour Exchange and Wetherspoons, exchanging Universal Credit beer vouchers
for Carling, while offering unfocussed imprecations to Yaxley Lennon’s DFLA StoneIslandabteilung, begging them to
evict the very foreign nationals whose labours oil the wheels of the benefits
bandwagon. I mused about how the Scotch will undoubtedly have thousands of
bourgeois intellectual refugees from south of the border to deal with once
Yaxley Lennon’s Khmer Bleu assume control post Brexit, as I paced the solemn
squares and prim terraces of the New Town, passing but not stopping in the
artisan delis and craft ale palaces athwart the Water of Leith, while the
biting wind bitterly assailed me. Soon, I headed out past the playing fields of
Fettes College, the alma mater of the war criminal Blair, where rugby games
were taking place. At the end of the greensward I came to Ferry Road, took a
left, then a right past Morrisons (not Stirling Morrisons of course) and found
myself at Ainslie Park.
If I’m being
honest, there wasn’t a scrum to get in, and I could have killed time by
watching a Spartans youth side in action on the adjoining training pitch, but
the thought of a pint and a sit down appealed more than anything else, so I
paid my £12 and ascended the stairs to quaff half a gallon of Caledonian
Edinburgh Castle; a red ale, but without the unpleasant malt notes that
normally prevents me from enjoying this kind of beer. Worth it for £3 a pint
and the chance to do a double take as Jim Jeffries, the Edinburgh City Director
of Football, walked past. I wondered what he’d made of the 5 goals that Hearts
had conceded in 17 minutes to Livingston the night before, but lacked the
courage to ask. Despite feeling like a snooze after my third beer, I wrapped up
and took my place at the bottom right end of the ground, as the players emerged
with the lights already on at kick off.
Ainslie Park
reminds me of grounds I’ve been to in Slovakia and the Czech Republic; the club
buildings behind one goal, the stand half the length of one side and nothing
much anywhere else, but with modernist architectural features along the other
touchline; flats, offices or possibly both. Impossible to tell as few lights
came on, unlike the freeloading onlookers in the row of stone semi-detached
houses behind the far goal, where several lights burned continuously from the
interested residents of back bedrooms with a grandstand view. It was a game worth watching. Edinburgh City
are top of the table and Elgin offered little to stop them. Strangely, it was
only 1-0 at half time, courtesy of a tap-in from a well worked move. As is the
case with synthetic pitches, the home team are used to them and utilise the
opportunities for slick, ball-to-feet play in a highly advantageous manner.
Elgin were baffled by the true bounce, repeatedly overhitting balls and trying
to lump it at any given opportunity.
The
surprising thing was that it remained only 1-0 on the hour. Astonishingly it
then became 1-1, when home keeper Antell got in a dreadful muddle in his 6 yard
area, with the ball stuck between his feet, allowing Rabin Omar to tap in from
almost on the line. Simultaneously, club volunteers were weaving in and out of
the sparse knots of punters offering remaindered pies for free. Despite my
misgivings, as I’m sure that are plenty of homeless back down on the Royal Mile
who could have done with a bit to eat, I gorged on a chicken Balti Scotch pie.
The glutinous crust no doubt stuck in the collective craw of the home faithful,
as the farcical equaliser went in.
Fair play to
City, they didn’t allow this setback to ruin their concentration. To the
delight of the vast majority of the 258 crowd, including the seemingly
compulsory pre-pubescent choir and a drummer, not to mention the de rigeur par of portly daft laddies in
SI big coats, Allan Smith soon restored the lead with a sumptuous bending
effort from outside the angle of the box. Elgin threw the towel in at this
point; probably a bad move with sharpened bullets of rain, assisted by gusting
wind, battering their faces. It proved the necessary encouragement required for
City to go for the jugular and Blair Henderson helped himself to 2 further
goals. The final whistle saw City 5 points clear at the top, as Peterhead were
left idle by the weather.
I stiff legged
it to the bus stop, caught a 28 back to town, learned NUFC had won 1-0 at
Huddersfield and celebrated with a pair of blinding pints of Orkney IPA in The
Guild Ford, before catching a few stolen moments shut-eye on the mainly empty
train back down south. At Central, the same formerly nervous NUFC away
travellers from the morning were returning, full of beer and bonhomie. I was
delighted for them, but I’m no longer one of them. My home was the compulsory
pint of Bass back in The Lodge and the nightcap growler of Tiny Dancer my
dearest Laura had prepared earlier for me. Beer and groundhopping; the perfect
ingredients for a December Saturday. Let’s hope the same can be said on
February 23rd, when I am next scheduled to be in Bella Caledonia.
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