Northern Leagues United:

In a matter of days, I’ll be turning 47. At my age it’s fair to say I no longer have the kind of crazy weekends that I’ll remember forever; except I did on the 9th and 10th of July 2011. Scrolling backwards from the end of the two glorious days, I recall sipping quality draught Bass in the beer garden of the Tynemouth Lodge Hotel, recovering my strength after pogoing the afternoon away in the rarefied climes of the Priory as The Buzzcocks played a killer set to close the Mouth of the Tyne Festival. Tickets cost the amazing price of £2.50, which was less than when I’d seen them in October 1978 at the City Hall, so I’d like to thank North Tyneside Council Tax payers for subsidising one of the best afternoons I’ve had in a long time. While Martin Stephenson and Neville Staple on the undercard were fine, there really isn’t anything that comes close to slam dancing with your 16 year old son to “What Do I Get?”


While I’d been an enormous fan of The Buzzcocks back in the day, I hadn’t felt their music had aged particularly well; indeed, the more famous numbers such as “Ever Fallen In Love” seemed a little shallow and one-dimensional compared to the breathtaking “Spiral Scratch” debut EP that really did change my life when I first heard it. Thankfully, both “Boredom” and “Breakdown” were given an airing, as was the classic lost gem B side “Why Can’t I Touch It?” I’d have liked “Something’s Gone Wrong Again” or “I Believe,” but it wasn’t to be, though “Orgasm Addict” was a hell of a closing encore. Three days later and I still haven’t got my voice back from shouting along.

Bearing in mind the oft repeated mantra of my mate David that “music never lets you down, football always does,” I must take issue with him in this instance as I feel that however great Sunday’s gig was, Saturday’s Northern Leagues United day at Birtley Town provided me with a sense of wellbeing that is difficult to put in to words and almost impossible to quantify. Suffice to say, as is always the case in the North East, everything good about local football has nothing at all to do with professionalism or the Premier League. The grassroots is where the game retains dignity, class and honour; all three of these concepts were in evidence on a glorious Saturday afternoon, that thankfully avoided the biblical hailstone storm that came in the early evening, but sadly failed to see Scouting For Girls struck by lightning at Tynemouth Priory.

Many words of praise have been written about the Hudson brothers who organised Northern Leagues United; none of those words do justice to the work the lads put in, both last season for Northern League Day, which raised the profile and spirits of the Northern League in general and Ryton in particular, motivating them to actually win a home game against Billingham Synners and for the July 9th event. While Ryton was for a good cause, the day at Birtley was for an impeccable one; that of raising money for Cobaltore Onagawa. If you need to know more about this Japanese team and their heroic efforts after the devastating Tsunami of March 11th, please go to this link http://northernleagueday.wordpress.com/2011/03/27/whats-the-point-of-a-football-club/

Fair play to the Hudson lads for constantly keeping this purpose clearly in focus throughout; this was about far more than a daft kickaround and a few beers on a sunny afternoon. It was about reminding ourselves of the moral obligations of the worldwide community of football fans and the ability of the global game to do good, even at a micro level. Whatever was raised was about more than just money, it was about duty and responsibility. There were only a couple of exceptions to this playing in this game; some people just can’t get it in to their funny shaped heads that their egos should be sublimated to the common good.

Personally I’d been nervous about playing; at my age the end of every season leaves one with nagging doubts about whether it is time to give up on the 11 a side game to see the war out in Switzerland on the 6 a side court. The last thing you want to do is make a total clown of yourself in front of 300 people. However, despite not knowing the names of three quarters of my team mates, and being aware that the other keeper who would play the second half was a 19 year old former Derby County youth player currently turning out in a Step 7 league while I scuffed around in Division 4 of the North East Over 40s League, I got the gloves on and did my bit.

Three minutes in, their striker tries to bend one in to the top corner; it’s a clean strike, butI catch it easily. Five minutes later, a former fanzine editor tries to go round me, but I get down low and flick the ball away with my glove, so he can’t get his shot in. I’m starting to relax, catching crosses cleanly and scooping up loose balls in the area. Indeed, at the midpoint of the half, I’m enjoying it, even if it seems like we’re dealing with waves of relentless pressure by the fans’ team. Then, they bring on a couple of substitutes; Two Pauls, Robinson and Chow. The latter took 21 seconds to open his account in the 2010 FA Vase final, but we held him up a bit longer than that.

Admittedly, he set up Paul Robinson with the opening goal after 24 minutes. Chow came down the left and cut inside; I went to near post, narrowing the angle, but he chipped up a perfect cross for an on-rushing Robbo to nod home at the back post. Seconds later we equalise with a long-range shot; get in! Game on! A minute later, they get a corner and I don’t even see Chow’s movement as he rushes to head home, much less stand a chance of saving the goal. We don’t give up and someone else I don’t know scores a delightful chip. In to injury time and we’re level, but Chow isn’t finished, as he comes through the left and I go out to try and take the ball from him. Not a chance! He’s round me and slots home, without time for a restart. My last act is to take the ball out the net.

I take my leave of the game at the interval and watch a spirited, even contest that the Fans deservedly win 6-3. The score is meaningless; the game is what matters. The post match presentations show most of us what an honour it was to be involved. Trying to get a shower immediately post match is impossible, with the changing room having more of a crowd than most Northern League games tend to get. Eventually, suffering the kind of stiffness Ben Dover utilises in his films, I get to use my Lynx gel. Scoured and pomaded, I come out the changers at the same time as the Bay superstars and they confirm to me what I’d long suspected; Paul Chow will always remember the day he scored past Ian Cusack.

Outside in the sun, I commence drinking Koppaberg and chat to a couple of dozen good people, as Birtley beat Ryton 2-1 with each goal being a smart finish. Falling asleep in the car home, I reflect on what a great day it was. Most of all, a great cause was supported. It was well worth enduring agonising cramp in my left calf for.

Bathgate no more, Irvine no more....

I first met Mickey Hydes on Saturday 13th January 1996 at Portland Park when Ashington beat Alnwick Town 5-2 and immediately liked the fellow, mainly because we shared an affection for Hibernian and Teenage Fanclub. I last saw him attempting to interview the Arthurlie goalkeeper at Dunterlie Park on Saturday 12th June 2011. When Mick moved to Scotland in 1997, first to Cowdenbeath and then to Paisley, I was able to rely upon his hospitality to regularly indulge my passion for the latter whenever gigs at Barras or Motherwell were in the offing, but not for the former. Indeed at the end of September in 2006, up for the weekend to see TFC perform Bandwagonesque at Bible John’s favourite east end dance hall, the St. Mirren v Hibernian fixture was never an option (just as well as the home side won a drab game 1-0) as our deep and abiding love for the game at the non-professional level (non-league as it is known in England and the Juniors as the Scotch call it) meant that Benburb 5 Larkhall Royal Albert 0 got the nod over the Leith Brazilians.

During Mick’s Caledonian sojourn, my visits have seen me at Hampden Park museum, Cowdenbeath stock car track and Albion Rovers boardroom, but more importantly the aforementioned Benburb, but also Pollok, Petershill, Bathgate (twice) and now Arthurlie, as I attempt to make an annual pilgrimage to see a Scottish Juniors game. Over the past few seasons, the ritual has been for me to bring down the curtain on my football watching season by heading up north after all the English games are over. Two years ago, May 30th 2009 to be precise, we took in Bathgate 6 Forfar West End 2 in a crucial winner takes it all relegation crunch clash in the ACA Sports East Superleague (I simply don’t have the time or mental capacity to explain the structure of the Scottish Junior game, other than to mention it exists in West, East and Northern sections, with 63, 64 and 35 clubs in each area respectively). The welcome at this ground was the best I’ve ever had; they invited us in for a half time cuppa and handed out free shirts and scarves, so I was delighted they won this game, but don’t fret as Forfar came back up to the top flight after a year in the ACA Sports East Premier League, below which there are North, Central and South divisions.

In 2010, Mick was required to work on the only day I had free, so Saturday 12th June, when Robert Green made his hilarious howler in the England v USA world Cup game, I headed by myself to the East of Scotland Cup Final in which Linlithgow Rose beat Musselburgh Athletic 2-1 in a tight tussle. I had no trouble finding the ground as it was played at Creamery Park, home of Bathgate Thistle! In 2011, despite the terrible winter weather, the East region closed up on Saturday 4th June, though there were some outstanding (as in remaining not brilliant) cup fixtures in the West so it was definitely a case of Bathgate no more, as Craig and Charlie Reid said back in 1987.

With all of the league fixtures finishing the week before (apart from Newmacher United v RAF Lossiemouth in the twice postponed Northern Division 2 clash that ended up 4-2 to the home side), the last competition to be decided was the Evening Times Cup, a competition so labyrinthine and confusing that it could have been an element of a James Ellroy plot rewritten by Franz Kafka. The SJFA website puts it thus -:

“This is a knockout tournament played at the end of the season and features the winners of the ten West Region competitions during the preceding season. Clubs who win two or more competitions during the season enter as winners of the highest ranked tournament with runners-up qualifying from lower ranked tournaments. For the purposes of the Evening Times Cup Winners Cup, the order of preference for West Region competitions is as follows:

Order of

Preference Competition 2010–11 qualifiers

1 Super League Premier Division Irvine Meadow


2 West of Scotland Cup Arthurlie


3 Super League First Division Ashfield


4 Ayrshire Cup Auchinleck Talbot


5 Central League Cup Pollok


6 Ayrshire Sectional League Cup

no qualifier, as finalists Irvine Meadow and Auchinleck Talbot qualified through higher ranked tournaments

7

Central Sectional League Cup Shotts Bon Accord


8 Ayrshire District League Ardrossan Winton Rovers


9 Central District League First Division Kilsyth Rangers


10 Central District League Second Division Yoker Athletic






This is how the competition went (check the dates of the games):

Preliminary Round

1. Yoker Athletic 2 Ardrossan Winton Rovers 2 (8-7 pens): 28th May

2. Pollok 1 Shotts Bon Accord 2: 8th June



Quarter Final

3. Kilsyth Rangers 1 Irvine Meadow XI 1 (3-5 pens): 28th May

4. Arthurlie 1 Ashfield 1: 7th June

5. Shotts Bon Accord 4 Yoker Athletic 1: 10th June

6. Auchinleck Talbot bye

Hence, 31 years to the day since I’d seen The Clash at Newcastle Mayfair, I took a fast, packed, pricey, luxurious train to Glasgow Central and a smooth suburban one on to Barrhead, arriving under swollen, purple clouds in to the teeth of a stinging breeze slightly after noon and ran directly in to Dunterlie Park, home of Arthurlie and Mickey Hydes, notebook in hand, ready to pen his copy for the Sunday Mail.

We took a tour of the town as I searched for Bonjela to help sooth a raging mouth ulcer, realising that Barrhead is pretty much a no horse town, where the number one attraction at Rumours Nitespot that Saturday evening was DJ Nae Fitba Colours which made me glad I was here for the football and not the culture.

Mickey regaled me with a story about his role as a Community Relations Officer for the Fire Brigade in Barrhead, when he’d phoned up an elderly lady who’d won a Mothercare voucher in a tombola he’d been running. Realising that the woman was too old to need such a thing, he asked if she had children or even grandchildren who could have made use of it. The reply was she’d one daughter but “her sort don’t have children.” Further ramblings by the old dear revealed that they didn’t have girls like that when she was a lassie and that there are always programmes on Channel 4 late at night about these sorts of women, but she’d forgotten the word to describe this type of female. A deeply embarrassed Mick attempted to end the call, only for the woman to announce she’d remembered the word to describe her daughter. The word she’d been searching for was not what Mick, steeling himself for a Sapphic soundbite, had been expecting. The daughter in question was a career woman!!

Entering the ground around 20 minutes before kick off, it was clear that Dunterlie Park is an absolute diamond; a glorious 4 sided traditional ground with steep, uneven terracing at one end and a covered enclosure down one side, with a crowd of well over 700 in attendance, including about 50 malodorous English groundhoppers and one fragrant one; me.

I’d been to Irvine once before. Back in the late 80s I walked out with a young lady from Dublin who was training to be a histologist. Her clinical practice involved a stint at Ayrshire General in Irvine. The hospital may have been top quality but the town was a dump. We spent the weekend getting drunk and arguing in July 1988, so I didn’t even get to see any football. The Irvine fans here today were armed with carry outs (Tennents and 20/20 being the beverages of choice) and many were attired in that frightening Huns away shirt that looks like a Mackem one; never has a football top aroused such feelings of acute nausea in me. Therefore, bearing in mind the fantastic ground, the fact that Mickey had introduced me to Ed the Arthurlie official photographer and that the Irvine fans were scruffy sods, meant I was rooting for the home side attired in Coventry City style sky blue stripes.

After an uneventful opening 30 minutes, the Lie (sadly pronounced Lee) took the lead when Jan Koller lookalike John McLay, who was Man of the Match by a street, sidefooted home from inside the box. It seemed as if this would be the only goal, but two errors by home keeper Neil Parry, the second a foolish missed punch, late in the second period seemed to have handed the Medda, as they are known, the tie. However, deep inside the 3 minutes of additional time (after 92.56 to be precise), an unmarked Stephen McKeown lashed home a loose ball, to provoke a joyous pitch invasion by a couple ofd dozen exciteable young lads who’d kept up a series of pro Lie anti Medda songs all match. In the Juniors, extra time does not exist, so it was straight to penalties.

Happily, Parry saved 2 Medda kicks and so the Lie advanced to the final at Newlandsfield, home of Pollok FC, where they’ll play Shotts Bon Accord who defeated Auchinleck Talbot 3-1 in the other semi final on the Monday evening. As well as Bathgate no more, it was a clear case of Irvine no more, in the Evening Times Cup at any rate. I have to say the pitch invasion after the shoot-out was the most joyous celebration I’ve seen all season. This is what the Sunday Post said about the game -:

NEIL PARRY admitted he owed his Arthurlie team-mates the penalty heroics that booked their Cup Winners' Cup final place.

The big keeper denied Meadow hitmen Brian McGinty and Mick Hughes in the shootout as Lie dumped the holders in a dramatic finish.

Parry's blunder had let Hughes put the West Region champs 2-1 ahead with just a few minutes left, only for the West of Scotland Cup winners to level deep into injury time and take it to penalties.

The keeper's saves made it five stops in as many days after saving three as Sandy MacLean's Barrhead aces beat Ashfield on penalties in Tuesday's quarter-final.

Now Parry wants to sign off in style before signing for Queen's Park - by helping Lie lift the trophy in the final game of the junior season on Thursday, when they face the winners of Monday's second semi between Auchinleck and Shotts.

Parry said: "I owed the boys that after the mistake I made at the second goal.

"I shouted for it but never got near it and I should never have come for it, it wasn't my ball at all.

"But all credit to the boys for keeping going and forcing that equaliser right at the end, then it was down to me.

"I always fancy myself when it comes to penalties, I've got a decent record and it's been a good week for me in the shootouts.

"Now I want to help the lads lift the cup on Thursday. That would be a perfect way for me to bow out."

John McLay fired Lie into the lead but Meadow hit back and Hughes nodded in crosses from Keir Milliken and John Dillon. Arthurlie refused to give up and Stephen McKeown's effort took it to pens.

Dillon and Richie Barr netted for Meadow while Lie were perfect from the spot through McLay, Callan Adam, David Merriman and Andy Arbuckle.

Meadow boss Chris Strain said: "I don't know where the ref got all the injury time from."

Post match I emerged, dazed and happy, and took a direct train from Barrhead to Newcastle; a cold, deserted, freezing train that had no buffet car. All I’d had to eat that day was an Arthurlie pie which appeared to be filled with something from a Cormac McCarthy novel (Blood Meridian meets The Road I was thinking), so I dozed most of the way home and listened to Teenage Fanclub, turning my back on the evening redness in the West.

I love Scottish music and I love Scottish football; I can’t wait for my next fix of the Juniors.

Home for a while in the auld country...

My sense of timing is shit; frankly, there’s no other word for it. Despite having known for months in advance that I had Whit week off work, additionally bookended by a pair of weekends, I managed to schedule a trip to Ireland to cunningly avoid almost all the football taking place in the 32 counties at the end of May and start of June. I’d finished work on the Friday afternoon, but having booked the flights a couple of months in advance, I had simply assumed there would be some kind of footballing commitment on Tyneside that would stop me going straight away, which as it turns out would have been pointless anyway, as Thursday, not Friday or Saturday, was the scheduled night for the League of Ireland card that week.

As it happened, Saturday saw Percy Main kicking their heels as the Northern Alliance season had finished the week before, but I was still needed between the sticks for Winstons in the morning as we brought the curtain down on an inglorious campaign with a 2-1 win over The Philadelphia to finish in a less than satisfactory 11th place. I used the first spare Saturday afternoon I’d had since July 17th last year to visit my mam, before saying farewell to a couple of old pals who are off on a round the world jaunt for a year courtesy of redundancy and not having any kids. You’ve probably read the work of one of them, a lad by the name of Kriss Knights, who pens stuff as Billy Furious; if not, here’s his website http://billyfurious.com/

Half a dozen pints of Saltaire Pale Ale and the vague knowledge of the Champions’ League Final taking place in The Bodega meant I went woozily to bed. Sensible people would have got up dead early and flown to Dublin to see the Ireland versus Scotland game at the Aviva Stadium, but not me. I’d not booked a Sunday flight in case there was a final at Percy Main in the Newcastle Central Sunday Afternoon League, but there wasn’t, as these had finished the week before. Hence, I was left with a spare Sunday, which I frittered away watching Robbie Keane score the goal that defeated Scotland, and a Monday departure.

My trips back to Ireland, especially over the past 4 years, have started to be more and more frequent. It’s no secret that I’d give up almost anything, apart from those I hold dearest, to live in Ireland. Even the fact that my passport has the shameful words United Kingdom emblazoned on it makes me embarrassed to display it in civilised company. I really don’t want to be a dirty English bastard. That said, I wasn’t expecting the kind of fawning, slavering, obsequious toadying to accompany my arrival that had categorised the visits of Mrs Windsor, who singularly failed to provide a proper apology for the 842 years of social genocide enacted upon the island of Ireland by her state or Barak O’Bama, even though I was unspeakably delighted to see the Bus Eireann website proclaiming details of tours to Moneygall.

Indeed I was content to be a synecdochal version of the 15,000 bemused Portuguese football fans quizzically ambling round Temple Bar before the Europa League final, wondering why there were security checkpoints every 50 yards and the sky was dark with helicopters. Perhaps, in view of the fact Wales v Northern Ireland attracted the grand total of 529 paying spectators to the AVIVA Stadium, the next championships to be staged at the former Lansdowne Road could be the IMF NAAMA Bowl, with Portugal and Greece invited to take part. Even then I’d no doubt fly in 6 hours after the trophy was presented.

At least the good old Airtricity League had obliged me with a full fixture list for my visit. Initially I’d pencilled in Shamrock Rovers v Bohemians on the Monday, with Drogheda against Bray for the Tuesday, as it would mean 2 new grounds and the chance to see Big Club re-establish DNS supremacy over the Tallaghtfornian Halting Site dwellers in the Fair City classico. Tragically, all games were moved to the Monday to allow teams to prepare properly for the Third Round of the FAI Cup, which was scheduled for Friday 3rd June. This, naturally, was the day I was due to fly back because the Percy Main end of season do was on the Saturday night. Consequently, I was left with the stark realisation that I only had 1 game I could attend. These were my choices -:

Premier Division:

Derry City v Galway United

Drogheda United v Bray Wanderers

Shamrock Rovers v Bohemians

Sligo Rovers v Dundalk

UCD v St. Patrick’s Athletic

First Division:

Athlone Town v Salthill Devon

Limerick v Cork City

Mervue United v Longford Town

Monaghan United v Finn Harps

Wexford Youths v Shelbourne

Geography meant I simply had to discount Derry, Sligo, Limerick, Monaghan and Wexford from my calculations and I’d already seen a UCD v St Pat’s game, so that was a non-starter. A trip on the LUAS to D24 seemed the inevitable choice, almost by default, until my mate John, who was putting me up in Maynooth, County Kildare offered to take the car to the Westmeath and Roscommon border, to see the splendour that is Lissywoolen; Athlone Town versus Salthill Devon was my destination.

As someone who avoids driving at all cost, since a Tesco 18-wheeler almost made me an RTA statistic back in December 2005, I always rely on the kindness of others to fetch me places. My ex-wife Sara obliged with a lift up to the airport, where Ryan Air, despite being the Weatherspoons of flight travel, had me touching down in Dublin at midday, absolutely bang on time. Switching my phone back on, I sent the typical “arrived safely” texts then took the 747 DublinBus to Connolly, noticing the text wouldn’t send and that my phone was seemingly incapable of roaming. I took a trip to the Vodafone shop on Henry Street, where a long and frustrating phonecall to the UK support centre finally saw me having my roaming enabled, despite never having previously requested for it to be disabled. This finished, I skirted back along Talbot Street to Connolly, taking myself up to the historic site of Monto (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wny_0pi4hR4) and availed myself of the stopping train to Maynooth, via Drumcondra, Phoenix Park, Ashtown, Leixlip and so on, arriving at John’s place just after 3.

John’s the conduit for my reconnection with Ireland; I first met him in October 1993 in Newcastle. A Magpies fan since the mid 70s, he makes a few trips over a season when I put him and his son Ciaran up, so he likes to repay the compliment when I’m in these parts. He may not be the most regular of attendees at League of Ireland games, but he makes the effort when I’m about and it was his suggestion that took us to Lissywoolen for the Athlone v Salthill Devon game, having driven me to Longford v Salthill last August. Of course John is also a great guide and a skilled chauffeur, so he invited me to come west along the road on a tour that took us through Counties Kildare, Meath, Westmeath, Longford, Roscommon and back to Westmeath as Athlone play on the Leinster side. Particular highlights on the journey included the “Good Luck” Chinese in Ballymahon, the power station in Lanesboro and Douglas Hyde Park in Roscommon Town, not to mention the incessant hailstorm that we encountered just on entering Athlone.

Within 5 minutes, about 2 inches of golf ball size ice particles had gathered in the gutters, but these were soon washed away by a tumultuous downpour that made me unhappily recall the only Airtricity game postponed in the 2011 season thus far had been Athlone v Monaghan. This could not happen again could it? No, it didn’t, as while I enjoyed two magnificent pints of black porter in Sean’s Bar, allegedly the oldest pub in Ireland, the rain was replaced by glorious early evening sunshine, which continued unabated until the night arrived at almost 10pm, reminding me we were far further west than at home.

By that time Athlone Town had won 2-0, in front of 104 less than hysterical onlookers. It was a dull game in a functional stadium; one impressive stand that has probably 1,000 or more seats, housed the entire crowd, with 3 basic uncovered narrow concrete walkways on the other 3 sides. It was like a slightly smaller, slightly better kept Flancare Park, home of Longford Town, where I’d seen Salthill Devon come back from 2-0 down to draw last August. Despite the presence of two-goal hero from that night Victor Collins, Salthill had no chance of repeating that result. A fabulous bullet header of an own goal broke the deadlock on 25 minutes, before Salthill attempted to get back on terms. Their 10 minutes of semi-pressure was undone when a loose cross saw the home side break against a badly organized defence. A desperate grab of a shirt saw Kevin Williamson tumble in the box. The impressive female referee gave a spot kick, but no red card and Williamson rolled it past a keeper who’d gone the wrong way.

From then on, nothing much happened, so the lad from the supporters’ shop was most excited when I splashed out on an Athlone Town scarf for the Percy Main clubhouse wall; he even had to open up a new packet of them to flog me one. The night stayed warm and I didn’t need to wear it. We headed back to Maynooth, with Shannonside FM giving us the full time scores, depressing though they were -:



Derry 6 Galway 0

Sligo 1 Dundalk 0

Drogheda 0 Bray 1

Shamrock Rovers 1 Bohs 0

UCD 1 St. Pat’s 3



Limerick 0 Cork 0

Mervue 2 Longford 1

Monaghan 1 Finn Harps 0

Wexford 0 Shelbourne 1



So, Galway and Drogheda were bottom and second bottom, respectively, nine points below UCD. The Premier Division will be expanded to include 11 teams in next season. D1 champions go up and the bottom 2 in the Premier play off, with the losers (pay attention now!) facing the winners of the second against third play off from Division 1. At least that is what is planned, but undoubtedly Galway, currently reaping the expected harvest of Nick Leeson’s time as their financial chief executive, will struggle to get a licence to operate unless NAAMA gets involved in football. Consequently Drogheda will presumably manage to make 3 successive Houdini escapes from relegation, courtesy of the fiscal improprieties of others. Of course, in terms of crowds attending games, if this means Cork and Shelbourne go back up, so be it. Obviously, as it’s the League of Ireland we’re talking about, what this means for Division 1, already running a club light after the Fingal disaster has not been thought through as yet. Don’t even mention the possibility that the A Division is about to disintegrate either!

We got back to Maynooth in time for 4 quick pints in the New Town Inn, before I went off visiting on Tuesday, while still assuming the role of an unabolished Domhnall Og Buachalla (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domhnall_Ua_Buachalla) . John fetched me out to Tallaght so I could take a look at Shamrock Rovers’ very impressive stadium, paid by South Dublin County Council, which is affectionately known as the Halting Site for the Tallaghtfornian Corinthians. I took the LUAS (aka the world’s slowest train) in to town, met Declan on Jervis Street, skirted Smithfield, marvelled at the Private Shops on Capel Street, then embarked on a tour of pubs; The Halfpenny Bridge, the Foggy Dew, The International Bar, Grogans, the Lincoln and then back to Little Britain, or Dalkey as it is known, for some time with the quality, including a take-out curry laced with sleeping tablets that finished me off by 9.30.

I’d vaguely kept an eye on the news that day, which was full of stories talking about the presumed reintroduction of a version of domestic rates, or a property tax of some sort, and water charges, that will end up being metered. Apart from remarking this latter charge will probably be of little concern to those west of the Shannon, I found it wryly amusing to observe the level of anger at these charges, especially as I’m shelling out £130 a month in council Tax and Water Rates.

More importantly, the Irish presidential election was starting to take shape. With Mary McAleese coming to the end of her second term, the race to get the cushy sinecure and the big house in Phoenix Park was starting to hot up. While Labour and the Blue Shirts were being courted by the minor league great and the good, all wanting a party machine to help with their publicity once they’d found a ticket of convenience, and Dev’s Diehards were furiously looking at their shoes to avoid the poison chalice of candidature, the frontrunner was David “Dottie” Norris, who has one hell of a story to tell. Born in what is now the Congo, while it still had its Belgian prefix, to an English father who died when Norris was an infant and an Irish mother, Norris was a lecturer in English Literature at Trinity College until 1986. Since then he has been famous for being a campaigner for Gay Rights, which lead to the liberalization of Irish homosexuality laws in 1988, and an ardent campaigner for social justice. His sexuality is seen as being of little impediment to his political career, as is his membership of the Church of Ireland, even if he has gone perilously close to being culturally off message as regards 1916 and other sacred Republican and Patriotic cows. What may finally scupper his chances is the publication of a 2002 interview in which Norris makes clear his understanding of the ancient practice of pederasty, which in post Artane Ireland is inextricably linked to paedophilia. It seems as if the spectre of his hero Oscar Wilde is looming large over Norris and his ambitions.

Next morning, suitably refreshed after a grand night’s sleep, Declan and I headed up to Belfast, for him to meet with someone from work and me to hook up with Peter, a fellow Teenage Fanclub devotee, for lots of beers, to mark the centenary of the Titanic’s launch no less. As Ronnie Drew remarked; “sightseeing’s grand, but it’d give you an awful thirst.” We stopped being thirsty in The Kitchen, The Garrick, The John Hewitt, Whites, The Duke of York, The Morning Star and The Northern Whig, before being poured on to the train. The fact John then took me to the New Town after I staggered in to Maynooth around 10 was something I’m rather ashamed of. Still, I slept well.

Thursday saw me delicately head to town for a look around the National Museum’s 1916 exhibition, before taking coffee with Declan and the LUAS to Tallaght. John had noticed Shamrock Rovers Under 17s were supposedly at home to Drogheda U17s at the scenic location of Carolan Park on Kiltipper Road up in the mountains past Tallaght, which despite its reputation as hell on earth is really nothing compared to Ballymun or some of the places on DNS in Dublin itself. Indeed Kiltipper Road is a glorious country lane, but Carolan Park was little more than a field with posts in it, with no sign of a game, though some Shamrock Rovers youths were getting set for a training session. It seemed as if Drogheda hadn’t made it this far, so consequently I was limited to a single game during my visit.

We called it a day and headed back to Maynooth, for pints for John and Diet Coke for me in O’Neill’s, The Roost, where Longford’s superstar Keith Gillespie ended up on Saturday night apparently, and the New Town. The weather on Thursday and Friday was as glorious as any we’d had all year (no sign of hailstones), so I felt somewhat rueful getting on the plane just as 12 of the 16 scheduled FAI Cup 3rd round games, as well as the inaugural conference of the Irish Atheist Federation, were kicking off.

I arrived in Newcastle just in time to collect the scores, discovering the only major upset was Wexford beating Derry 4-1, the only draw was a 0-0 between Longford and Finn Harps (De Town won the replay 1-0) and the only non-league side to win were FC Sheriff (the ones from Fairview not Tiraspol in Moldova), who beat Salthill. It seems as if Victor Collins had almost as poor a footballing week as I did. No matter, I’ll be back in August; the question is, will Victor?



Season 2010/2011 Awards: Percy Main Amateurs version

 

Well, the 2010/2011 season finally ended at Purvis Park with our awards evening on Saturday 4^th June, when we gave out the following awards -:

Top Goalscorer – Malky Morien

Young Player of the Year – Dean Ellis

Players’ Player of the Season – Michael Bowman

Overall Player of the Season – Tony Browell

Many other websites and most newspapers have been handing out their own awards, so I thought I’d get in on the act and appropriate the same categories as the ultra-right wing, anti-Tyneside rag The Grauniad had used, mainly because I couldn’t think of any better ones, based on my football watching in 2010/2011.

Player of the Season – Jonathon McEnaney; a revelation in midfield and not a single head-butt all season.

Opposing Manager of the Season – Nicky Gray, Seaton Delaval Amateurs;  a truly good footballing outfit who took defeat in the Benevolent Bowl with good grace.

Goal of the Season – Matty Dunn v Wark, April 30^th; mainly for the sheer joy he displayed on slotting the ball home.

Match of the Season – Percy Main 9 Rutherford 0 on May 21st, for obvious reasons, but just shading the superb 2-2 at home to Ashington Colliers on April 23^rd.

Signing of the Season – Michael Bowman; has to be with a dozen goals, though many others such as Ashley Smyth and Matty Dunn are also in there with honourable mentions.

Flop of the Season –Hendrix Ekwen and Salim Husseine; who can forget their substitute sub appearances at Harraby? Mind, 11 players made a total of 5 appearances between them and, discounting Graeme Cole because of injury, 16 players made 20 appearances in total.

Gripe of the Season – The postponement of the Shankhouse home game on January 15^th a mere 7 minutes before kick-off really grated.

Pundit of the Season – Bill Gardiner the Alliance Press Secretary died in January 2011; RIP to a true gent.

Innovation needed for next season – Either more frequent programmes for opposition clubs, as only Rutherford, Harraby and Walker produced them this year, or a Northern League style postponements line.

League of the Season – Northern Alliance Premier Division; no contest!

Shadowplay

When it comes to the content of my many blog posts and articles for the Percy Main programme, I must admit to a degree of deliberate devilment in my mischievous desire to adopt consciously controversial and often intellectually indefensible philosophical positions for the sake of provoking debate. As the former chairman of the US Federal Reserve Alan Greenspan once said; “if you think you know what I’m talking about, then you clearly didn’t understand me in the first place.”

My last Percy Main article of the season, “Touching From A Distance,”in the Rutherford programme was an account of how I’d avoided watching Newcastle United for the vast majority of the 2010/2011 season and affirmed that it was my intention to avoid ever seeing them live again. To be honest, that was absolute nonsense as I’d spent the week leading up to the publication of that article exploring every possible avenue for a West Brom ticket, short of going to the ground and buying one of course. If I can be truly serious for a minute, I do object to giving any of my money directly to the current ownership of the club for a list of reasons so exhaustive than going in to them would require a novel rather than article. When it comes to helping someone out by buying a ticket that would otherwise go to waste, I have no problem handing over the cash that has indirectly ended up in Ashley’s pocket, although to be fair I’m a tight bugger so getting a freebie is always my preferred option.

Courtesy of the generosity of Percy Main assistant manager Graeme Cole’s next door neighbour, I came up trumps in winning the raffle for one of the best seats in the house for the West Brom game; G94 in the top tier of the New Stand, as was, or East Stand as it is now known (though it’s amazing how much upset you can cause by simply referring to it as the Mike Ashley Stand). On an aisle, in the front row of the block, right on the halfway line; you would struggle to find a better view in the whole ground and it didn’t cost me a penny piece; for an hour on Sunday May 22nd, it was almost football heaven.

As I’m out of practice in attending league games, I got to town as early as I get to Purvis Park for a Percy Main game ; about 90 minutes before kick off. However, I wasn’t required to make the post match bait or take the team sheet in to the referee’s room, so I found myself slightly superfluous to requirements. Obviously I could have gone to the pub, but as I was here for a game of football and not a skinful, I ignored that option and instead took in the Bobby Robson Memorial Garden, which is almost diagonally opposite the Irish Centre on Gallowgate. Five carved granite blocks depicting Bobby Robson’s life and football career stand as a fitting memory to a true gentleman of the game, who of course died the day before my dad in Summer 2009 (July 31st Bobby; August 1st Eddy) and I don’t mind admitting I shed a couple of tears. The Memorial Garden was as popular with The Baggies fans, who uniformly demonstrated that stonewashed Wranglers are always in fashion down Sandwell way, as it was with Newcastle fans. Let’s hope it is respected by all.

I entered the ground at 3.30, procured an expensive and bland cup of instant Nescafe then found my seat. I don’t intend to say much about the game, suffice to say that it fitted the Newcastle United season pattern exactly, with one third being outstanding, one third being acceptable and a third stinking to high heaven. Until their first goal, I had not heard a single proper gripe all game; admittedly Shola’s uniquely individual approach to leading the line was greeted with almost affectionate world-weariness. For the most part, the spirit of Taylor, the running of Simpson and Ferguson and the slick passing of Barton and Guthrie garnered warm and appreciative comments.

Things changed as soon as Tchoyi sidestepped a lame attempt at an offside trap and dragged them back in to the game. Suddenly the level of unease increased exponentionally, exacerbated by the arrival of Alan Smith from the bench , presumably to make someone other than Shola the target for abuse. Indeed such was the widespread rancour cast in his direction that I thought Michael Owen or Michael Ashley was the player entering the field. Tchoyi’s second, stepping away from a lame and cowardly challenge by Coloccini made things even worse. However it seemed as if the victory was assured when injury time approached, only for the entire back four to switch off and allow Tchoyi to complete his hat trick.

That one act of scoring a goal dropped Newcastle United from 9th place to 12th, costing not just a place in the top half of the table and two points but approximately £3.5m in prize money, or the price of a half decent squad striker or left back. If Newcastle United were a normal club with normal directors and management, this would be seen as completely unacceptable and utterly unprofessional. Pardew would be brought to book for his idiotic substitutions (why take Guthrie and Ferguson off?) that allowed the Baggies to drive on against a fragmented midfield and lop-sided attack and Ashley would see the shortcomings of the squad at first hand. Of course, Newcastle United are not a normal club; seemingly only the fans could see the ludicrous state of affairs that had unfolded.

At full time I had no intention of staying for a lap of honour or whatever it was called, as we were eating at 7pm and I needed to make tracks. However the vast numbers of plastic seats that were springing up as disgruntled punters stormed out for pints or buses, showed that less than a quarter of the crowd had stayed behind. Is this, as has been suggested elsewhere, a sign of “short memories” bearing in mind the events of the last two seasons? I don’t think so; there were plenty of things to praise in this game, but plenty of things to criticize in the closing period. Those who remained are often the same people trumpeting the line that finishing 12th is better than 9th as if we’d ended up top half, Ashley would have rested on his laurels. Frankly those who think Ashley’s thoughts concerning the club have any bearing on the final league table or indeed a shred of quantifiable logic to them are living in cloud cuckooland.

Obviously finishing 12th has allowed sunderland to maintain their grip on the non-existent title of North East Top Dogs, which was first invented in 2000. Well done them, especially as they were apparently one player short of a Champions’ League spot in early January. Their 10th place finish has coincided with one of the most spurious of internet urban myths ever, that of the supposed creation of a banner by an unnamed supporters’ group or fanzine, to be unfurled before kick off, celebrating Newcastle claiming superiority over sunderland by means of a (presumed) higher placed finish. Obviously the inspiration for this errant untruth was the Old Trafford “Always In Our Shadow” banner, which could be directed at either the Mickeys or Massive club citeh equally. The only problem with the crudely photshopped image of the Newcastle banner that flew around internet messageboards in the immediate aftermath of Sunday 22nd’s results, is that it has been grafted on to a photo from the Hull City game, which took place on September 13th 2008, when the “Cockney Mafia Out” banner got its first airing. Take a look at the two photos; the crowd is identical!

Iinitially I struggled to find the motivation to write this piece, but once the season finally ended with Heaton Stannington’s deserved victory over Ashington Colliers in the Northern Alliance’s George Dobbins League Cup, I got on with it. Typically enough Newcastle United refuse to stand still, or even take a few days off from creating unwanted headlines, so my initial optimism on reflection at the quality of some of the play i’d seen, has been replaced by the usual despondent blanket of cynicism that settles over me whenever prolonged thoughts about Newcastle United cross my mind. While Shefki Kuqi and Sol Campbell’s departures will be celebrated mainly for the £40k a week it saves the club, there are still plenty of problems elsewhere with the playing staff. Firstly, we’ve the Jose Enrique situation; will he go or will he stay? If he goes, what next for Coloccini and Guttierez? In addition, Tim Krul sounds off in the Dutch media about refusing to be number 2 at Newcastle; rash words if true. Look at Ben Foster; a far better keeper but playing in the Championship now. If Tim wants to be first pick in the top flight, it may have to be Eredivise and not the Premier League. Better to keep quiet and learn to catch crosses, as the only area Newcastle United have anything resembling strength in depth is between the sticks. More worrying is the news, brought out by the eternally charming Willie McKay, that Joey Barton is leaving Newcastle next summer as the club have reneged on the promise of a new contract. I don’t like Barton as a person and I have to say that for 3 seasons, including a fairly ineffectual time in the Championship, he was an absolute joke of a player. Admittedly he has been, along with Nolan and Tiote, the reason why Newcastle did reasonably well after the Carroll departure. He deserves a new deal, albeit on less monety as we are living in different times to 2007 when he arrived, but if one isn’t available he should be asking for one not announcing he’ll be off next summer. I suspect this one will run and run, with the losers being Newcastle United fans, as usual.

Speaking of which, one final knee in the unmentionables by the club that they’ve no doubt tried to sneak under the radar in the non-playing silly season, is that the so-called Ultras from Level 7’s singing section, won’t be allowed to transfer en masse to the Leazes Level 4 section, as they’d though. Apparently this will be kept for matchday sales, no doubt meaning those in the Bar 1892 semi-posh seats won’t have to listen to Mad Darren ov Fawdon repeatedly announcing that all he cares about is NUFC while waving his trainers (Nike) above his head. Instead, this lot are going to decamp to The Strawberry corner of the Gallowgate (aka Sports Direct Stand) and turn that in to a singing section. At least I’ll know where to avoid if I go to any games next year.

Roll on August 13th eh? That’s when the Alliance starts again.....

The Wind that shakes the Barley

Touching From A Distance

(First published in Percy Main v Rutherford programme 21st May 2011)

Well here we are at the end of another season. While Percy Main may be ringing down the curtain on a modestly successful first campaign back in the Alliance Premier Division today, tomorrow sees the last big game in this area of 2010/2011; I’m obviously talking about Byker Key Club against The Turbinia in the Newcastle Central Sunday Afternoon League President’s Trophy at Purvis Park, kick off 2.30.

Many of you may have thought I’m talking about Newcastle United versus West Brom which kicks off at 4 and costs the thick end of £30 to attend. The strange thing is that only 2 years on from emerging from 20 wasted years as a season ticket holder and a year on from still catching a dozen games (most of them on freebies), I’ve only seen the Magpies in the flesh 4 times this season and not at all in 2011. The sad facts are that, having seen home losses to Blackburn (I only went because West Allotment v Benfield was called off that night), Arsenal in the League Cup (I took the bairn as a supposed treat) and Man City on Boxing Day (the ticket was a Christmas present), the 0-0 draw against Fulham, the day the Main’s trip to Amble United in the League Cup was rained off, is my season highlight as a Newcastle fan of 38 years standing, as it’s the only one we didn’t lose. Apart from those 4 games, I also watched the opening day battering at Old Trafford in the pub and caught up with the new-fangled concept of internet streaming to watch the frankly astonishing 4-3 win at Chelsea in the League Cup, to make it half a dozen times I actually watched the side I still nominally follow, in real time.

Ignoring tomorrow, Newcastle have played a grand total of 41 games, meaning I’ve missed seeing them on 35 occasions. As Percy Main’s fixtures clashed with the Mags 14 times, including seeing half an hour of the Wolves away game on dodgy TV in The Hastings after Delaval away, but not the glamorous League Cup tie away to Accrington Stanley (the only away game I could possibly have imagined attending), this left 21 Newcastle games and, almost unbelievably, all bar 5 of those were on television. This handful of games is easier to account for; as they crashed 5-1 at Bolton on November 20th, I was at Benfield v Stokesley, while the Spurs away game over Christmas coincided with my Over 40s team’s annual game on Longsands. On January 5^th I broke with tradition to listen to the 5-0 battering of West Ham on local radio. I did the same for the draw at the Mackems and in mid-February I played 5 a side when they won at Birmingham. The difficult task was avoiding the 16 televised fixtures.

Long before I jacked in going to SJP, I’d grown sick of televised football via satellite, so I cancelled my Sky Sports subscription back in about 2006 and I must admit I’ve not regretted it. I also don’t regret not watching Newcastle United in the pub as the variety of saloon bar cretins who know nowt about the game makes those who attend the game seem like Brian Glanville clones; hence I’ll do anything to avoid having to listen to the inanities of those who feel that the more Fosters they drink, the more valid their opinions become. When Villa were beaten 6-0, Laura and I were at the North Tyneside Horticulture Show at The Parks. Her Uncle Bill and Auntie Linda took us out for Sunday lunch when Stoke won 2-1 at SJP. The loss at Man City and the win at Arsenal took place while I was doing my mam’s garden. While the Mags came from behind to win at West Ham, I watching Doncaster beat Sheffield United on BBC2; good game it was too!

Surely I would have made efforts to see The Halloween massacre of the Mackems? Well, not really; Laura and I were in Tynemouth market during the game, but I knew the score and we got to the Oddies just in time to see Darren Bent making it 5-1; great timing or what? I was back also looking at second hand books and records when Chelsea escaped from Tyneside with a point and Christmas shopping in town when West Brom gave Chris Hughton his P45. When Roy Hodgson moved closer to his as Liverpool were blown away in Pardew’s first game, I was in Glasgow; Partick Thistle v Ross County and Teenage Fanclub at the ABC were far preferable. I was out for Sunday lunch when Newcastle won at Wigan on Jan 2^nd and visiting my mam during the Stevenage debacle and the Villa loss. Despite being offered a freebie for Man United, I opted for Whitley Bay 0 South Shields 0 and was at the Sunday afternoon finals at Purvis Park for the Liverpool and Chelsea games of late.

My intention is to go through all of 2011 without seeing a Newcastle game. The reason being is, this season when I watch they average 0.25 point per game and when I don’t, this climbs to 1.3 points. If I keep away forever, Newcastle might win something!!

2008/2009

(First published in "Toon Talk" issue 5, May 2011)

It’s taken a while for me to finally sit down and pen this article, which is a change from the normal state of affairs. Generally, as soon as I know our deadline, I crack on with the business of doing the season’s review, but not this one. However I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of mental wreck who is still scarred by the events of this train crash campaign; it’s just that I wanted to see how things panned out in 2010/2011 before I committed myself to paper.

Well, I’m writing this in the midst of another abject 1-0 loss at Villa Park on a sun-drenched afternoon, when Newcastle failed to trouble Brad Friedel at all. The difference being that this time, albeit with half a dozen games to go, Newcastle are sitting 7 points about the drop zone in a seemingly comfortable 9^th place, with 39 points and a plus goal difference. Those facts are no particular reason for open top bus parades or brass bands going down Northumberland Street, but the weaknesses of others should mean there’s another white-knuckle top-flight dogfight to look forward to in 2011/2012.

Looking back from only 2 seasons distant, the events of 2008/2009 seem even more of a farce from beginning to end and as preventable as a Shakespearean tragedy than they did while they were taking place. You know, whenever I go and see “Macbeth” and the Thane of Cawdor and his missus are about to engage in a brutal killing spree that will totally destabilise the Scottish realm, the temptation is always there to stand up, tell the characters to stop what they are doing and consider the eventual results of their actions. With the benefit of both hindsight and a time machine, the urge to do this to the players, owners and management of Newcastle at any time in 2008/2009 is a compelling one. None of this shit needed to happen.

It all seemed to start off so adequately. Keegan was in charge, and while no one deluded themselves that the fella had anything other than the instinct for a good player and boundless enthusiasm to keep us going forwards, the end of the previous season had seen us make progress on the pitch. Alright so there was no chance of his three transfer targets of Schweinsteiger, Lampard or Thierry Henry joining us, but never mind we got Coloccini, Gutierrez and Guthrie instead. They helped us grab an opening weekend point at Old Trafford and then beat Bolton at home, courtesy of Kevin Nolan. He wasn’t playing for us of course, but he missed a penalty for The Trotters, which was probably the best thing he did for us all that season.

On the Wednesday afterwards, we went to Coventry and played a blinding League Cup tie; twice ahead, we were pegged back in injury time at the end of each half, before Owen grabbed a winner in extra time. Typical Keegan cavalier stuff; this was what everyone wanted to see – entertainment! It was also James Milner’s last game, as he was sold to Villa the day after. While Keegan pretended the deal was his choice, his body language said otherwise and we slipped to a humiliating 3-0 crushing at the Emirates on the Saturday, when Bassong made his debut.

By the Tuesday, transfer deadline day had seen us bring in the football artiste Francisco Jimenez Tejada (aka Xisco, a bloke who’d struggle to get on the bench for my Over 40s team on a Saturday morning) and Nacho Gonzalez, who none of us could pick out from an ID parade, even if he lined up with the 7 Dwarfs. These two charlatans were signed not by the manager, but by a cabal of Wise, Llambias and whoever the hell Jeff Vettere was. As a result, a fatally undermined Keegan walked. Now a court has spoken as regards the whys and wherefores of those events and I don’t think it is profitable to examine old ground, but if he’d stayed, we’d not have gone down and he should feel some guilt at the events that followed. Instead, Chris Hughton was given the gig as caretaker.

After the international break, we lost at home to Hull, with sex criminal Marlon King getting both their goals and Guthrie breaking Craig Fagan’s leg, then lost away to West Ham, at home to Spurs in the League Cup and at home to Blackburn, before the Cavalry in the shape of Sergeant Tourettes Kinnear arrived. Rather in the way our parents generation knew where they were when Kennedy was shot, I know where I was when Simon Bird’s nemesis was somehow given the job of keeping us up; I was at my aunt’s post funeral wake at The Pack Horse in Burnopfield. The news of Joe’s arrival didn’t lighten the occasion.

In retrospect, the craziest decision of this insane year was giving Kinnear a job, but things didn’t immediately get worse. We fought back from 2-0 down to get a point at Goodison, and then matched Man City in a 2-2 at SJP. Admittedly we did lose on Weirdside for the first time since 1980 on Kinnear’s watch, but back-to-back home wins over West Brom and Villa saw us up to the dizzy heights of 14^th. A 2-1 loss at Fulham saw the dreaded Cacapa reappear to hand them the points, while suicidal late defending gave Wigan a share of the spoils after we’d come back to lead in injury time as we went on a run of draws, with 0-0s at Chelsea and Smogland to follow, before the highlights of the season; a cracking 3-0 demolition of Pompey at Fratton Park and a glorious last second winner by Duff at home to Spurs saw us 12^th at Christmas. If only the season had ended then.

Boxing Day saw us lose at Wigan, with Ryan Taylor scoring a free kick, as usual and earning a move to us, with N’Zogbia sulking the other way. Liverpool battered us 5-1 at home, which saw Shay Given decide he couldn’t take any more nonsense on Tyneside, as he put in the performance of his life and still conceded 5. Losing Given to the Manc Mackems saw my love for the club die more than at any other time in the past 38 years. Hull put us out the cup 1-0 at home in a replay, before Andy Carroll got his first ever goal for us, rescuing a point at home to West Ham. Blackburn trounced us 3-0, Citeh did us 2-1 and a Shola penalty after a Steven Taylor, Oscar nominated dive grabbed a point against the Mackems.

At the start of February, we went to the Hawthorns in desperate need of points. Kinnear was taken ill on the morning of the game and never managed us again. Hughton was back in charge and Lovenkrands, signed on a free from Germany, inspired us to a 3-2 win in our only double of the season. We were sitting in 13^th but this was a false position of supposed security. A 0-0 at home to Everton, where Nolan was sent off for clattering Anichebe was followed by home losses to Man United and Arsenal, an away one to Bolton and a dire point at Hull, as we’d dropped to 18^th by the end of March.

On April Fool’s Day, Ashley made a last desperate bid for salvation, by appointing Shearer as boss until the end of the season. Great player he may have been, but as a manager Shearer was a disaster; combining the man management of tough-guy Souness with the tactics of Allardyce, he was worse than Kinnear in terms of results. Admittedly the players, especially Owen, Viduka and Martins, simply did not want to know, but the incessant changes in formation and personnel counteracted all the supposed benefits of making the players wear suits and switching their mobiles off.

We lost at home to Chelsea, drew at Stoke courtesy of a steepling Carroll header, lost at Spurs, drew with Portsmouth, as Owen missed a double hat trick of chances and got thumped 3-0 at Liverpool, where Barton was sent off. Shearer accused him of taking the piss out of the city and the club; well, two years on Barton is the player of the season and Shearer is back on the MOTD sofa making inane comments with Lawro. Go figure…

The last 3 games began with a Monday night visit of the Smogs. Despite a Beye own goal in the opening seconds, we crucified them with Taylor, Martins and Lovenkrands relegating them and opening the trapdoor for us. In retrospect, one single point would have saved Newcastle and the Fulham home game is the one where it ought to have been gained. Despite Kamara putting them ahead, I still see Viduka powering home a header at the Gallowgate, only for Howard Webb to blow for a non-existent foul. Then in injury time, Nicky Butt, unmarked 10 yards out, shoots straight at Schwarzer and we lose, as a thunderstorm of Biblical proportions appeared from nowhere. The loss at Villa was a certainty from that point on.

However, as 2009/2010 proved and as I’ll show in the next issue, relegation was nothing to be scared of in the end. That said, I don’t want another helping any time soon.

On The Road

(First published in Percy Main v Killingworth programme 11/05/11)

Well, that’s all for this season folks! Not my rambling or even the programme as there’s still Rutherford to come, but away games; Monday’s trip to Stocksfield was our last road trip of 2010/2011. I can’t really comment on the match as firstly I’m writing this before the game takes place and secondly I’m not going to be able to get there anyway. However I did get to 17 of the 22 other away games we played this campaign and so here is my mini travelogue of 2010/2011.

Back in July we began with a 2-0 friendly win over East End, played at the Langdale Centre. Jason was in goal, but as I was sunning myself in Bilbao, I can’t comment on his performance. Norman and I made the next friendly, away to Pelton Buffs and a good performance on a gloriously sunny night saw us beat a strong team 3-1. The competitive stuff started in mid-August with a 1-1 draw at Killingworth, when I managed to pour milk in to my Bovril; not nice, but better than the rancid coffee I had instead. The Saturday after saw the legendary backs to the wall 1-0 win away to Carlisle City, which is just about the proudest I’ve been to follow Percy Main. As a non-driver I rely on lifts a lot and Geordie Mooney is often my saviour; he took me to Delaval the next week for my first visit in a 2-2 draw and what a lovely ground it is too.

On to September and we had a cracking win over Ponteland in the Challenge Cup, that I managed to get to after playing at Billingham in the morning. Good job my over 40s side has some posh lads playing for it who live Darras Hall way and could give me a lift. At Rutherford at the end of September, I made it to see Ashley Smyth’s debut winner courtesy of Wilka, who saw me struggling up Lobley Hill with my bag of dirty kit and took pity on me. Thanks Shaun!

Geordie Mooney took me to Ashington Colliers, where we won 2-1 while listening to the crowd chanting as their first team stuffed Bishop Auckland 4-0. I missed my first away trip of the season to Alnwick on the weekend the clocks went back, taking in Heaton Stann’s 3-1 win over Ponteland instead. It was frustrating, but so was the weather after that as snow, ice, rain and whatever stopped us playing until early January. On the 8^th, we won 4-2 at Killingworth in the Challenge Cup and instead of Bovril I drank a McDonald’s coffee, courtesy of Geoff. At Seaton Delaval a fortnight later we lost on penalties in the Cup semi-final. I’m glad it went to extra time as a delayed bus meant I had to take a taxi, costing £13, in order to see this game. I didn’t get to Amble the week after, being forced to watch Willington Quay Saints 3 Red House Farm 5 in the Alliance Division 2, as the weather put paid to all other local fixtures. Great game it was too!

The trip to Harraby was a long one and we were well beaten, but there was great hospitality and truly terrible Scotch pies, which is why we never saw Hendrix Ekwen again I suppose. I didn’t make it to Blyth Town, watching Team Northumbria trounce Hebburn 4-0 instead, but I was at Shankhouse for the amazing 6-4 win in the kind of fog that Basil Rathbone inhabits. The game was so good we didn’t even watch the young leotarded ladies in the Zumba class in the adjacent community centre, which provided a joyful Salsa soundtrack to our win. I missed the victory at Wark to watch Newcastle University defeat Heddon in the Combination Cup semi, then nipped down for the second half of Benfield 4 Jarrow Roofing 0.

In April, the games came thick and fast. We lost 3-1 at Heaton Stann in the cup and I paid £5 for two, admittedly very nice, coffees for Geoff and me from the nearby Dean & Daniela Italian bistro. Nine days later we lost 2-1 in the League and I arrived at half time, missing all our best play. At Ponteland, I saw evidence of the kind of underage drinking problem they have in those parts, with empty bottles of pink Cava strewn around, rather than white cider so popular in these parts. Geordie took me to Cramlington and I wish he’d not bothered, though they sold lovely coffee in the clubhouse. At Walker the post-match buffet was like a wedding reception and made us forget about the match as we munched on white chocolate millionaire shortbread, while at Murton we turned up before they had unlocked the ground and I had to ask the ref if I could use his loo as there weren’t any others!

So, there you go; 2010/2011, the highs and lows of travelling to watch Percy Main. Roll on 2011/2012.

Another Niall In The Coffin

(First published in Percy Main v Alnwick Town programme 07/05/2011)

When I was young, April 23^rd was notable for being both Shakespeare’s birthday and death day (1564 and 1616 respectively), as well as St. George’s Day. This year, it was also marketed as Easter Eve (a phrase I’d never heard before), the second session of a four day public holiday weekend bender, by both pubs and supermarkets, concerned with turning Easter in to another orgy of overindulgence in glasses and on plates. I didn’t realise just how much binge drinking had touched the national consciousness until I met my mate Mackem Steve for a pint that early evening.

I came back from Percy Main after our thumpingly good 2-2 with Ashington Colliers, while he returned from sunderland, to meet for a few beers and watch Chelsea v West Ham. Well, that was the plan, but the bar was heaving with the wrecked fallout of all day sessioners; blokes bladdered on Carling and women slaughtered on ice cold Rose wine, which appears to have supplanted alcopops as the drink of choice for the undiscerning female palate, while tired and bored children screamed and whinged. The place was in uproar, which was good in a way as Steve couldn’t tell me about the Mackems trouncing Wigan 4-1.

Given the choice I’d rather have met him the week after, when Fulham banjoed them 3-0, but I’m not telepathic enough to pick out their unexpected home defeats and arrange my social life round them. To be fair to Steve, he isn’t one of the bitter Mackems, having been watching them long enough to remark when Bob Stokoe was appointed in autumn 1972; “we should never get a Mag to manage us.” Perhaps if he’d said this in 1987 when Stokoe took over from McMenemy to pilot their drop in to the third division, rather than 7 months before they won the FA Cup, he could have been right.

Interestingly, the caution Steve espoused as an 8 year old is accepted as truth by most Mackem supporters these days. Lee Clark, Don Hutchison and now Steve Bruce are seen as being the evil offspring of McMenemy and Stokoe, who are regarded a collection of vindictive, vengeful Mags only interested in destroying sunderland. As the annual clamour for “lifelong black cat fan” Martin O’Neill to take over at SoS grows ever louder, it is interesting to remember just how fickle these lot are, not just in their crowds, but in their affections. Back in 2009, Darren Bent was seen as being the saviour of the club and Steve Bruce (or Brewse as they would have it at the time) was no longer a Geordie from Walker, but a Northumbrian from Corbridge as that’s where he was born. Now the fact he was safely ensconced in the parental home on the Fossway by 5 days old is shouted loud whenever Corbridge is mentioned. Also, Ellis Short is regularly exhorted to do the decent thing and sack Bruce and, almost astonishingly, Niall Quinn as well, as the genial lush is seen by many red and whites to be problem drinking in the last chance saloon of their affections.

Quinn, the £1m per annum man of the people is an interesting case. When I saw the Mackems lose 1-0 to Norwich in the second ever game at SoS in August 2007, Quinn was hated by the fans. The chanting against him was savage, relentless, personal and xenophobic; in a sense when he said he “despised” sunderland fans earlier this year, he was only echoing their previous and current opinions of him. Strangely they temporarily came round to him, like they did with Bob Stokoe, and then venerated Quinn when, in the company of a collection of discredited Irish property speculators, he bought the club from the hated Bob Murray, who in the Mackem universe is now rebranded as a proper local fan.

It’s all swings and roundabouts with that lot; if the Mackems get more points than Newcastle over these last 3 games, Bruce and Quinn will be heroes again. If they don’t, the summer of discontent on Wearside will be a fraught one. At least Newcastle fans are constant and reliable; 40,000 season tickets sold by the end of April and everyone hates Ashley and Pardew. Loyalty and consistency; two words the Mackems just don’t get.

Dyer Era

(First published in Percy Main v Seaton Delaval programme 04/05/11)

My mate Phil’s a right contrary so and so; the two football teams he hates the most are Stranraer, as he once spent 8 hours there waiting for a ferry to Larne in January 1984, and Norwich City, mainly because of all the patronising guff about everyone liking them; you know On The Ball City and Delia Smith haranguing the crowd after a crate of cooking sherry. Now I’ve no opinion about Stranraer; certainly I wasn’t prepared, as Phil was, to have a weekend up in Aberdeen supporting The Dons when they took on Stranraer in the Scottish Cup a few years back, but I have to say I like Norwich. As I write this they lie second in the Championship and may well be promoted, unlike their local rivals Ipswich, whom I developed a fairly strong antipathy towards a while ago.

When I was growing up Bobby Robson’s Ipswich were a side I enjoyed watching; they, like QPR, played open, attacking football and were a model for other unfashionable clubs in the 70s and early 80s. After Sir Bobby left, they drifted in to the doldrums, apart from a spell under George Burley. They seemed ready to implode when Royston Maurice Keane walked in to Portman Road the other year; how I enjoyed his volcanic rage on the touchline as Newcastle demolished then 4-0 during the Magpies’ Championship gap year. After 18 months of aggressive press conferences, fallings out with the playing staff and pitiful home defeats, Cork’s favourite dog walker was on his bike and the archetypal Scouse charlatan in a track suit, ace chancer Paul Jewell was appointed. He’s doing a great job, as their 5-1 home massacre by Norwich proved only too well. Of course, his side may have done better if their star loan signing from West Ham hadn’t limped out of the warm up injured.

In last week’s Shankhouse programme I touched on Twitter and Michael Owen’s inability to grasp either the genre or the effect his words were having. Likewise, team mate Darron Gibson quit the social networking site after 2 hours because of some negative comments from United fans. Just imagine if either Newcastle or West Ham fans were able to put their thoughts across to Jewell’s injured match winner in waiting; one Kieron Dyer.

Dyer cost West Ham £6m from Newcastle in summer 2007 and is widely regarded as the club’s worst ever bit of business. In that time, while failing to score a goal, he has made 15 starts and an equal number of substitute appearances, but only played the full 90 on 3 occasions. He has now been released from a contract that has cost the Hammers an eye watering £23m . Ever wonder why the modern game is in such a state? Fear not though, Paul Jewell is ready to step in and offer Dyer a 2 year deal back at his home town club Ipswich, where Dyer started off, as “ he still has a lot to give and is just the sort of experienced head we need to act as a good influence on the younger lads.” I’m not making this up you know.

When compared to West Ham’s experiences, Newcastle fans saw the Golden Era of Kieron Dyer’s career, though it didn’t feel like that very often. Arriving from Portman Road for £6m in summer 1999, Dyer was seen by many fans as the natural replacement for Peter Beardsley, though he was no doubt rocked back on his heels by the sacking of Ruud Gullit after the infamous monsoon loss to the Mackems when Dyer scored his first goal for Newcastle. He made nearly 40 appearances that year in all competitions, scoring blinding goals at home to Spurs and away to Everton, during what in many ways this was his best season. The year after (00/01) he scored 6 goals, but was injured from February onwards, not appearing again until December 2002.

During this period, the rot set in. While injured he negotiated the infamous “60 clicks” contract, giving him £60k per week basic. Generally this was paid to him for doing nothing as his incessant injuries kept him out the team. Returning to occasionally score a brilliant goal before hobbling off, it was clear he could no longer pass, shoot, head or tackle; all he could do was run. Added to this the infamous treatment of Sir Bobby with the incident involving the captain’s armband after Dyer had refused to play right wing at Boro, followed by the on field brawl with Lee Bowyer, for which Dyer got off scot free, meant he was a busted flush by 2005. Amazingly he hung around another 2 seasons, scoring a career best 7 goals in 06/07, but he left as universally reviled as Michael Owen among the Magpie faithful. Of course, with all the money he has earned, Dyer won’t care less his career has been a resounding flop and that he is held in utter contempt on Tyneside. Disgusting isn’t it?

Final Score

(First published in Percy Main v Wark programme 30/04/11)

Arsene Wenger; don’t you just love him? With his cheeky smile, wry sense of humour, selective myopia and pathological paranoia whenever decisions go against him, you can understand exactly why Kenny Dalglish exchanged such pleasant banter with Arsene after Liverpool’s 102^nd minute penalty equaliser at the Emirates the other week. Wenger, having seen his side meekly surrender the Carling Cup to Birmingham and tumble out of the FA Cup and Champions’ League with barely a whimper has now seen his Arsenal side show a streak of cowardice a mile wide in failing to be credible contenders for the Premier League title. Yes Arsene, it’s tough at the top.

However, it’s also tough at the bottom. The Northern Alliance Division 2 may not be the bottom rung of the football ladder, but it is an exacting place to run a team. This season, the Alliance was proud to have 17 teams in each of the 3 divisions, strength of numbers that demonstrates the beautiful game at our level in this region to be in decent health, or so we supposed. Since the campaign kicked off last August, we have seen 4 teams go by the wayside. First to disappear were Chopwell Officials Club from Division 1. We played them twice last season, shading it 2-1 at home because of a keeper error and drawing a highly competitive encounter 2-2 at their place last April. Despite this positive showing, they called it a day less than six months later. Like so many teams at this level, the management did everything from marking the pitch to washing the kit and after a while, even the most indefatigable of willing horses will rear up and throw its increasingly burdensome cart. Their geographical isolation did not help either I’d guess.

However, it is the second division where club resignations have been the most common. Firstly Amble, facing an enormous backlog of matches, a shrinking pool of players and questions over the availability of their pitch at Red Row, threw in the towel in the midst of the November and December freeze, citing the clear knowledge that they’d struggle to fulfil their fixtures as a reason to resign. They were followed by Newcastle BT, who played at the superbly appointed Willie John Sams Centre in Dudley, but simply didn’t have enough bodies to keep going, before Cullercoats Custom Planet exited stage left. Their former manager Tony Fawcett decided to go to University as a mature student (fabulous English teacher he had mind…) and stepped aside, citing work pressures; sadly there was nobody willing or able to sort out the administration and practical requirements of the team, so after a protracted series of postponements, they too withdrew. The word is that Whitley Bay Town will also disappear at the end of the season, meaning only 13 will make it through to 2011/2011, at best. Who knows which other teams will find the slog of Saturday Monday Wednesday games for 5 weeks, as well as Sunday Tuesday and Thursday for their pub sides, on pitches that are rock hard, rutted and bare of grass, too much to cope with?

Yes, is this a new phenomenon? Checking back over the last decade, it seems not to be the case. While Ryton and the Coach Lane triumvirate of Benfield, Team Northumbria and West Allotment have moved up to the Northern League, with Alnwick seemingly on their way to join them, as well as Easington who have achieved promotion via a sideways move to the Wearside League, there are many other sides who have disappeared. Up in the borders, Spittal Rovers and Highfields became Berwick United, while Winlaton Hallgarth, Bedlington Terriers A, Walker Fosse, Haydon Bridge, Newbiggin CW, Cowgate Sports, Stobhill, Otterburn, The Wincomblee, The Birds Nest, Eppleton CW, Alnmouth, Felling Willows, Prudhoe RTH, Swarland, Daisy Hill, Wallsend, Penrith United, Lowick, Sport Benfield, Jesmond, Felling Fox, Blaydon and Westerhope, have all left the league. I’ve counted 24 teams there; accepting I’ve probably missed a few, as well as ignoring the mergers apart from the Berwick United one, it’s the case that with the exceptions of Walker Fosse and Wallsend, none of these teams were forced out of the Alliance. It is simply the day to day hard slog of running a team that gets people down and caused them to leave of their own volition.

However, there are apparently six or seven sides who’ve expressed an interest in joining the Alliance for 2011/2012, which just goes to show clubs may go, but the game and the Northern Alliance go on. Thankfully.

140 Character Assassination

(First published in Percy Main v Shankhouse programme 27/04/2011)

Brevity is the soul of wit, states Polonius in Act II Scene ii of Shakespeare’s Hamlet and this phrase has been taken to heart by Geoff since he took over editorial duties on the programme, limiting me to 1 page of this nonsense each edition. When Andy was putting the thing together, he let me ramble on like Jerry Garcia during the last encore of a Grateful Dead show at the Frisco Winterland in 1971, but I’ve learned the value of keeping my missives short.

Possibly that’s why I’m enjoying using Twitter so much these days; search for me as PercyMainFC at www.twitter.com At first the only followers I had were Geoff, Norman, Laura and Cola, so everyone was either watching or playing in the match when I updated the scores, though now we’ve got plenty of followers from the on-line cyber blogging community who seem so at ease with social networking sites. Almost all Northern League clubs use Twitter to update during the game, but I think it’s only we and Chemfica from the Alliance who have accounts. It’s the future, I’m telling you. Mind Laura suggests I should restrict myself to putting only Percy Main related stuff on there, rather than listing what gigs I’m going to or giving marks out of ten for the various Real Ales I’ve been quality testing. Then again I wouldn’t be the first person involved in football to come to grief because of troublesome tweets, would I? Only this week, Kieran Bowell of Berwick Rangers was sacked for making disparaging remarks about the letter bombs Neil Lennon received.

I think I first became aware of Twitter when Darren Bent engineered his move from Spurs to the Mackems in 2009 via the 140 character microblogging format, via his DB_TheTruth account. He’s gone strangely silent since his disappearance off to Villa mind you, though there are still probably a few thousand unread messages from cyber toughies with FTM73 as part of their log-in name waiting for when Bent has his next shufty on line.

Obviously Carlton Cole has just been fined for his tasteless remarks about the Ghana fans at Wembley in the recent friendly international, while Jack Wilshere was called to the headmaster’s office at the FA for whining about a penalty Newcastle got in the 4-4 with Arsenal in February. Mind, like the teenage tearaway offspring of the problem family at the bottom of the street, how can we expect Wilshere to know better or show any respect the way his manager has brought him up?

However what has really amused me of late has been Michael Owen’s amazement at the negative reception he got at SJP last week, when a storm of boos greeted his every touch. The horse racing obsessive with all the personality of John Major on lithium used Twitter to make the following ill-judged comments: Got a poor reception off the home fans which was disappointing... Knew I would get booed as that's what a lot of fans do but if they knew the facts then they may have a different opinion... For the record, I tried my best in every game for Newcastle. Under KK I played well and I’ll never forget the 2 I scored against Sunderland…When I meet Newcastle or Liverpool fans they all respect what I've done for their clubs. In stadiums it changes, 1 boo and the rest follow… By the way, I’m not looking for sympathy. As long as my family don't boo me when I walk through the door I couldn't care less.

Now I wasn’t at the game, having turned down a freebie to see Whitley Bay 0 South Shields 0 instead, but I would have booed Owen relentlessly, remorselessly, especially as he had the audacity to SELL not give his helicopter to the North East Ambulance Service, after the millions he earned for precisely nothing in 4 years on Tyneside. While I find the idea of arrogant, deluded multi-millionaire sportsmen having on-line implosions very amusing, I have to say that Michael, you can rest easy tonight; I don’t despise you any more now you’ve left Newcastle United than when you played for them. As one Tweet said; you were a shameful disgrace in black & white and symbolise why I hate the modern game. Well said that man!