Mo Surrender

Montrose 0 Cove Rangers 2; here's all you need to know about it. Links Fahren, as they say in Kinnegad...

I’m definitely making progress, ticking off the grounds on my quest to complete the whole of the SPFL. In a bit I’ll tell you about my trip to Montrose 0 Cove Rangers 2, but there’s also St Johnstone against Hibs on 2^nd January and Stranraer versus Spartans on 1^st February booked in. In addition, there’s an even money chance I’ll be sampling a bridie at Station Park in Forfar before Christmas, though that’s a bit up in the air at the moment.

So, ground 33 of the current 42; Links Park, Montrose. After an ill-advised impromptu sampling evening on Belgian brown beers and Chilean red wine, I still got up in plenty of time to make the 09.43 train but made catching it an unnecessarily hair-raising experience by accidentally booking an Uber going to Tynemouth Cricket Club rather than the Central Station. Luckily, the driver saw the funny side (not) and after a bit of App juggling, I was on my way, only £10 worse off than I expected to be. Worse news greeted me at the Central; Costa was closed for refurbishment and Greggs, whose coffee is appalling anyway, was queuing out the door. I settled for a litre of Brecon Carreg from Boots. Sensibly I kept some back, to rinse away the taste of an ill-judged coconut latte from Costa at Waverley. Never again.

With it being half term, the trains were packed and having to take 3 to Montrose (Newcastle-Edinburgh, Edinburgh-Dundee and Dundee-Montrose), the best things I can say about the outward journey is that the trains were warm, on account of the number of punters on board, and punctual, as we arrived in Montrose on time, at 13.35, saying farewell to a couple of carriage loads of bevvying Arabs en route to Pittodrie for their 17.30 kick off. Having both sampled the demon drink rather too liberally the night before, the demon drink was the last thing on our minds. The gusting wind off the sea at Montrose Basin, which is possibly 10 yards from the up platform at helped clear the cobwebs, as did a pleasant saunter through the well-tended streets of what appears to be a genteel, well-heeled former seaside resort. The charming main street is still home to several independent small shops, to the extent that a visitor from Tyneside would be struggling to find the three essentials of life, according our local retail outlets; vapes, tattoos and a spray tan.

After about 15 minutes, we came to the entrance of Links Park and, eschewing the last potential port of call for a drink, the adjoining British Legion, we went through the turnstile. Obviously, I was subject to a highly intimate body search, in case I was carrying “alcohol or pyrotechnics” as the stuffy little man in a hi-vis informed me. Being without fireworks or hooch, entrance was afforded me and I took in the miniscule club shop, where a braying Cumbrian groundhopper was hectoring the lassie behind the till regarding the authenticity of the club crest on the pin badges. I got a programme (dull) and a drinks coaster (no fridge magnets), before exiting and contemplating the need for refreshments.

For me, food was a priority and, all praise to Shelley, she had prepared me an awesome, healthy lunch; bulgar wheat and feta salad. It was gorgeous and so much better than the hideous looking ball of battleship grey rendered fat that was the mince pie at Links Park. The stained enamel greased (in)edible pipework that comprised the filling of the other option, a macaroni pie, was even more offensive to look at. Indeed, the taste was confirmed by Big Gary as being worse than the look. Nice coffee though; Douwe Egberts no less.

At about ten to three, the teams finished their warm-up and headed back inside for their final instructions. For the first time since we’d entered the ground, the voluble DJ fell silent. After an ominous pause, The Clash’s Should I Stay, or Should I Go? was the prescient song of choice, before silence descended once again and the teams emerged to the desultory clapping of what was later revealed to be a crowd of 691 resolute punters.

 

Of the two starting XIs, I only knew of one player on each team: the veteran former Staggie, Michael Gardyne, for Montrose and the could have been ex Hibby Fraser Fyvie for Cove. It was the latter who made an impression on the game and ended up on top. The first half veered between sterile and unwatchable as neither side was able to create a meaningful attack or exert any pressure on the opposition. Stood on the far, uncovered side, we had a good view of the imposing main stand and charming covered shed of a home end. The rest of the ground was two sides of shallow, uncovered terrace; decent enough in this weather, but I’d imagine it to be torture in the depths of winter, especially as Links Park boasts a 4G surface that doesn’t succumb to intense downpours or frost.

At half time we changed sides, to the standing section in front of the pie hut, between the stand and the covered end. Certainly, a different location seemed to do the trick in terms of improving the standard of play, as the game opened up and became considerably more adequate. This was no doubt helped by Cove taking the lead soon after the break when the splendidly named Mitch Megginson rolled a pass into the path of Michael Doyle who hit it hard and true into the bottom corner from the edge of the area. A very good finish and enough to stir Montrose from their lethargy. However, despite the best efforts down the left of both the veteran Steeves and the youngster Lyons, Cove repelled every Montrose attack, often by deploying a big boot down the middle to release the pressure.

As we became more emotionally invested in proceedings and the mutterings of the home crowd grew more intense, Cove effectively ended the contest with a lightning break from defence, which saw Fyvie squaring for Megginson to sweep home. Another good goal and sufficient to ensure the vast majority of the crowd instantly melted away, cursing darkly in the gloaming, as I reflected this would probably be the last time I left a football ground in daylight for the next 4 months or so.

By the time we got to the station, the lights of the departing 17.06 to Edinburgh ensured our journey back was a long one; 17.55 to Dundee, 18.47 to Edinburgh, 20.56 to Newcastle and a correctly booked Uber to the door. Thank goodness for the clocks going back after that. Roll on St Johnstone, Stranraer and hopefully Forfar. After that, the real work begins on the inaccessible Highland 6.