Lions & Unicorns

This article must be prefaced by a dedication to the memories of John “The Undertaker” Alder and Liam Sweeney, two Newcastle United fans who tragically lost their lives in the Malaysian Airlines plane shot down over Ukraine. While I couldn’t call John a friend, I had known him to talk to for many years and although I didn’t know Liam, I know of his father Barry, a Northern Alliance referee. It goes without saying such a tragedy merits more than a paragraph like this and I will return to their deaths at a later date. Suffice to say, two unassuming NUFC fanatics making the trip of a lifetime to New Zealand ought not to have died so tragically and should be remembered.

This piece also will not talk about the gigs I attended by British Sea Power and Midlake in the past week or the Summertyne Americana Festival at the Sage, or the trip I made to see Whitley Bay v Musselburgh Athletic friendly in a pre-season friendly played in monsoon conditions. Neither will it refer to next week’s piece about my trip to Ireland and proposed visits to Wexford Youths v Shamrock Rovers B in the company of Mick Wallace TD, or the 4A qualifiers in Tullamore or the hurling quarter finals in Thurles. Instead, this week’s piece will concentrate on the sound of leather on willow, or has been the case for much of this summer, rain on the outfield, as 2014 has been my debut season as a member of Northumberland County Cricket Club.

It wasn’t quite a JFK moment, but the question of where I was when Andy Murray won the Wimbledon men’s singles title on 7^th July 2013 is easy to answer; I was bathed in sunshine at what I still call County Club on Osborne Avenue in Jesmond, watching Northumberland amass 461/9 versus Bedfordshire. Prompted by my mate and co-attendee Harry Pearson, a cricket author of some repute, it was the first time I’d watched live cricket there since the 1980s. I can dimly recall attending the Callers Pegasus one-day challenge games in 1985, where the first was rained off and the second became a contrived, truncated slog and the year before seeing Mike Gatting carting the Northumberland bowling all round the ground in a Nat West Trophy game.

These weren’t the only cricket games I attended though; coincidentally I saw Middlesex again in the early 1990s. Once Durham had become a first class county but before the Riverside was open, they toured the region for home games. I saw the opening day of a rain ravaged fixture at Gateshead Fell in 1993, where Botham was out first ball. As regards the Riverside, I’ve been once; 19^th May 1996, a fortnight after Newcastle United lost the title to Manchester United in such heart-breaking terms, saw the arrival of Yorkshire for a Sunday league game. I went along with my ex-wife, a Yorkshire native, and the day was ruined by beered up Mackems in replica football shirts singing anti NUFC and anti Keegan in particular songs, which just made me feel so ulwelcome and jarred so badly with everything cricket should be about. Even though I still call Durham my first class county, I’ve not been back. For a start £15 for 20/20 game is half the price of my annual Northumberland membership…

You see my trip to Jesmond for the Bedfordshire game was a real epiphany; returning for the final day on the Tuesday, I saw Northumberland fall agonisingly short of a win in more glorious sunshine (Northumberland 461/9 dec and 325/6 dec; Bedfordshire 317 and 283/9) and knew from then on that my real county was the one I lived in, despite what the 1974 Local Government Act says. However, things moved slowly on the supporting front, as Minor Counties East cricket is a fairly complex nut to crack. It wasn’t until April 2014 that I made the decisive step of taking out membership. A freepost flyer came through the front door advertising Newcastle Cricket Club, as County Club are now known. To be honest, I’ve always regretted not continuing my cricket career as a dismal off-spinner and cowardly lower order batsmen after University, but football and music took up so much of my free time that it was impossible to actually have any other hobbies. Perhaps because of this 28 year hiatus, I didn’t feel inclined towards following club cricket, mainly because arriving to the party so late in life (50 on 11^th August remember), I would be faced with the prospect of a steep learning curve in terms of leagues, competitions and rivalries, not to mention players, before I could adequately understand the nature of the local game. Consequently, I decided to stay at a county level and purchased Northumberland membership for 2014; price £30.

It rained a lot early in the season; the MCCA Trophy games at Jesmond against Cheshire on 27^th April and Shropshire on 11^th May were both abandoned without a ball being bowled. I didn’t even bother going to the first one, but the second saw a few infrequent breaks in the drizzle, so I headed down to collect my membership from Dave Cartwright, the cheery and personable Northumberland secretary, and then watched the Shropshire players pile into the bookies on the corner of Shortridge Terrace when play was called off around 1.30. That was the only entertainment available that day; auspicious eh?

Despite this false start, things got a little better for the opening home fixture of the Minor Counties Eastern Division. The Unicorns Championship, as it is now known, has a charmingly eccentric constitution that sees 10 teams in this league, with the occasional geographical anomaly (Cumberland are in there and play a game at Barrow-in-Furness for instance), but only 6 games are played by each county. For 2014 Northumberland chose to play their three games at Tynemouth, South Northumberland in Gosforth and Jesmond, begging the question whether any other side plays all their home games away, unless we agree to ignore that pesky 1974 Local Government Act again.

The opening fixture was at Preston Road, Tynemouth against Norfolk. After a lengthy dry spell leading up to the game, rain fell torrentially and predictably from Saturday tea-time, meaning the start on Sunday was delayed until 3pm. Cycling up to the ground, I was unsure what to expect, but I was afforded a reassuringly warm welcome, as I knew several of the smattering of spectators from the non-league football circuit and could make idle conversation on what turned out to be a pleasant Summer evening, as Northumberland made up for lost time, closing on 242/6. The batting was led by Jacques Du Toit, a South African batsmen of superb elegance and power. Formerly of Leicestershire, Jacques not only follows me on Twitter and sends score updates, but along with opener Karl Turner he makes watching Northumberland bat a truly enjoyable experience. Sadly further cloudbursts on Sunday night restricted play with Suffolk teetering on 67/5 in reply to 326 (Du Toit 118), before Monday night’s downpour was so severe that play was abandoned entirely on the final day, leaving Northumberland to collect 10 points when they ought to have won the game.

Never mind, a fortnight later we moved on to the fabulously appointed South Northumberland (South North to true aficionados) ground in Gosforth for the visit of Lincolnshire, with no rain to interrupt this one. A fabulously tight first innings saw Northumberland make 337 (Turner 175, Du Toit 84) in reply to Lincolnshire’s 325. My friend Gary, a resident of leafy NE3, had accompanied me on the Sunday, which also marked the end of South North’s inaugural beer festival; an occasion so munificent and so charitable that by 5.30 in the late afternoon, all drinks were free to enable them to close up. Perhaps it was the complimentary gallon of various real ales that did it, but Gary was back on his day off on the Monday to see Lincolnshire declare on 351/4. I turned up on the Tuesday to see Northumberland capitulate to 167 all out. It was disappointing but not a tragedy; what I love about cricket is the sporting nature and the lack of hysteria over defeat. I often think the media frenzy over Test Matches is an overspill from Sky era Premiership football and nothing to do with the game per se. Mind when I finally got to find out the result of the Staffordshire game that was played at West Bromwich between 6^th and 8^th July, I was more than a little disappointed to say the least; Northumberland 245 and 160, Staffordshire 364/8 dec and 47/0.

So we came to the final home game of the season against Suffolk, back at Jesmond. A biblical thunderstorm on the Saturday seemed likely to wash play out and so I arranged to do my mam’s shopping and washing on the Sunday morning, intending to have a cursory look in at Jesmond, before heading down to the final day of the Americana Festival. Who the hell was bothered about Rory McIlroy and the bloody open golf? However, the NE2 micro climate came into play and Suffolk, having been reduced to 52/6, ended up on 221 all out as I celebrated with 3 very palatable pints of Banks’ New World bitter; a lovely, fresh, hoppy number. Every time I watch the cricket, I delay my drinking until at least the tea interval as on hot afternoons, the temptation would be to down too many in trying to keep cool. A large bottle of fizzy water does me until 5pm; otherwise I’d be stretched out asleep on the boundary.

Returning on the Monday, I saw Northumberland struggle to 203 (Du Toit 50), before a fabulously exciting opening saw Suffolk in all kinds of bother at 3-3, but they recovered and as I left at 5.30 to play 6 a side, they were 234-6. Later in the evening, unable to find the score anywhere on the net (am I looking in the right places?), I tweeted Jacques Du Toit to ask the score and learned Suffolk had advanced to 384/9, with Michael Comber making 194, including about a dozen 6s into the graveyard. Without being too gloomy, it looks like this one has got away from the home side and that their only chances for a win this summer are at March versus Cambridgeshire and then Sedbergh School for Cumberland in August; sadly I won’t make those games. Equally sadly, I won’t make the final day against suffolk at Jesmond as I’m getting ready to fly off to Ireland this evening.

When I look back on my experiences of watching Northumberland in 2014, I can state without any hesitation that I will renew this membership of mine, intending it now to be a lifelong commitment to the county, so much have I enjoyed being in the loose amalgam of 50 or so hardly souls watching them play. I have no criticisms of my experiences watching Northumberland, but a few points have occurred to me as I do think though that cricket at this level can learn things from non-league football.

For a start, the internet and social media; Northumberland do not seem to have a fully up-to-date website, nor any Twitter presence, meaning it can be impossible to keep up to date with scores. It’s great Jacques Du Toit sends me the close of play, but if someone could take on the responsibility of posting scores after each session, that would be so helpful not just for me, but many other followers of the game in the region and elsewhere.

Secondly, maximising income; I’m not suggesting football style souvenir stuff, but the only place I’ve been asked to show my membership card was at County club. Ensuring that a gate is charged, where scorecards and raffle tickets can be sold at the same time, will help to bring in a few extra quid. Surely that would help? Obviously this and the point about the net and social media would require input from volunteers, but I’m sure there are those willing to help. I know I would.

Finally, and I say this from a position of ignorance, would crowds not be increased and interest generated by playing the 3 day games over a weekend on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, meaning those who work would be able to theoretically see two and a bit days of cricket? Perhaps this is impossible, but it would seem logical to a neophyte like me.

However, regardless of day, location or opposition, I will be back next year, watching Jacques Du Toit chain smoking each lunch interval and manager Stuart Tiffin making endless circles of the boundary, encouraging the team, because that team, Northumberland, are my team. Here’s hoping for a miracle against Suffolk.

Safe keeping

The World Cup is over; the football season has begun!!

The football season is here again and, coincidentally, a gaping chasm has opened up in my life. For the past 31 days, I’ve dutifully recorded every one of the 171 goals scored in 64 matches by 32 teams on my World Cup wall chart. This morning, having completed it by inscribing the number 1 next to Germany and 0 next to Argentina, I’ve unpinned it from the noticeboard in the kitchen, folded the A2 sheet down to A4 and put it in the recycling ready for collection on Thursday, providing the Bolsheviks aren’t on strike again. I mean, what else can you do now the competition is over to satisfy the statistical urge? Well, I’ve started compiling a list of games I’ve attended so far in the 2014/2015 season. Currently the total stands at 2; Newcastle Benfield 2 Annan Athletic 2 on July 5^th and Newcastle Benfield 2 Darlington 1 on July 12^th, which must have been an important game as I missed carrying the UCU banner at Durham Big Meeting to go to it, with Whitley Bay v Musselburgh Athletic on the horizon for Saturday 19^th. It feels good to be back among football at the truest level known to humanity; The Northern League. First division.

Let’s be honest though, I did thoroughly enjoy the World Cup, despite my natural cynicism and urge to sneer at the professional game. It was made easier to enjoy by England’s rapid, deserved departure, with only Strurridge in the opening two games displaying anything like top quality performances. The less said about Rooney, Hart, Gerard and Jagielka the better.  In the end I’m glad Germany won; they were the best team in a competition where many countries relied on the talents of one outstanding individual, though having said that, both Neuer and Schweinsteiger are the world’s best in their respective roles. The final itself was blessed by outstanding performances by Mascherano for Argentina and Boateng for Germany, even if the latter’s importance dwindled as Argentina’s intermittent threat as an attacking force waned, once fatigue saw the game recede almost imperceptibly from the intriguing to borderline sterile. Consequently, Götze’s goal was a blessed relief on many levels; a great finish, the right result and an avoidance of penalties. Messi had been quiet in the final, but his efforts had carried Argentina to the final, though I disagreed with his award of player of the tournament; surely James Rodríguez, scorer of the competition’s best goal against Uruguay, deserved that honour. I do wish Colombia had got further in the competition than they did; they were my second favourite team in the whole World Cup and the vagaries of the draw would probably have seen them finish third by beating Holland.

Elsewhere in the tournament, I enjoyed the team ethos of both USA and Chile, both of whom relied as much on esprit de corps as flashes of brilliance. The USA’s bravery in losing to Belgium should not be forgotten; it was akin to watching a Championship side losing at home to a middle ranking Premier league club in a televised cup tie and abandoning caution in the hope of glory.  I was pleased to see Holland recover from the appalling Bert van Marwijk era, characterised by his son-in-law Mark van Bommel’s horrid influence on the last World Cup, with the demented genius van Gaal steering them to a worthy third place, following Brazil’s disintegration after the Neymar injury. Louis van Gaal will be worth watching at Old Trafford next season; the intense self-belief he exudes will force Mourinho to up his press conference games for a start.

Finally, there must be recognition for the outstanding goalkeeping we’ve seen in this tournament. Neuer we’ve already talked about, but Ospina of Colombia was another who deserved the utmost of plaudits. His faultless handling in the Uruguay game was unfussy, unhurried and eye-catchingly economical. Keylor Navas of Costa Rica was another technically superb keeper, who came up against Tim Krul’s cameo for Holland. While Krul has stagnated at Newcastle over the past two seasons, his ability to keep the ball out the net when fired straight at him is not in doubt; hence while he does not command the box in the way he should and is poor with his distribution, shot stopping is his forte. I was not surprised with his 2 penalty saves, though the sub Steven Taylor histrionics I could have done without. Tim Howard performance versus Belgium was as memorable as any I’ve seen at a World Cup, though Mexico’s Memo Ochoa’s outstanding reflexes against Brazil earned his country a notable point. I would hesitate to call Ochoa a world class keeper, as his all round game is not as impressive as Ospina or Navas for instance, but he did show incredible reactions throughout the tournament. As a particularly hopeless keeper myself (I got lobbed from 35 yards out on the touchline in Winstons’ first preseason friendly; a 7-2 win over Blakelaw on Saturday morning), I am in awe to the finest exponents of the goalie’s art.

At Northern League level, the outstanding keeper for most of the past decade and beyond is Andrew Grainger of Newcastle Benfield. The Walkergate Brazilians came into the league in 2003 and Andy has been the regular keeper for all that time, winning 3 Northern League Cups and 1 Northern League title; the 2009 League Cup win over Penrith and the 2011 over Spennymoor were down to him. I missed the 2011 one, when Andy saved a penalty, as I was at work, but the 2009 double winning game at West Allotment saw the absolute best performance I’ve ever seen by a keeper at this level, beating the late Steve Tierney’s singlehanded rebuttal of Ashington for Horden in an FA Vase game in 2002.

Andrew Grainger is an interesting character; a former pupil of RGS, who was replaced as school keeper by Fraser Forster, he joined Darlington on a one year contract after his A Levels instead of opting for Higher Education. Sadly, he was released after a season, but he did then become England’s beach football keeper, earning 63 caps and saving a penalty from Eric Cantona no less. I found out all of these things when interviewing Andy for the programme I edited that was on sale at his testimonial against Darlington.  In the end, it was a great day; the sun shone, Benfield won 2-1 and my programme was complimented by everyone at the club, which augers well for my new role as Benfield’s programme editor.

Heaton Stannington may not have gained promotion to Northern League Division 1, but I did. While at this point I’d prefer not to go into the minutiae of my switch from Grounsell to Sam Smith’s Park, I’d like to wish assistant manager Geoff Walker and all the players at Heaton Stannington the very best for the coming season. I’ll be keeping an eye on their results; in fact, they’re away to Team Northumbria in the big NE7 derby on my birthday, so I may well be there. I enjoyed my time with The Stan and feel I’ve learned many lessons from it, but Benfield were the team I watched almost exclusively from 2003 to 2009 when I joined Percy Main. Even then, I still saw as many Benfield games as I could.

This season, my intention is to watch every Benfield home game and as many of the away games as I can manage, as well as keeping my largely ceremonial role as chair of the Tyneside Amateur League and co-editing the new A5 old-school Newcastle United fanzine, “The Popular Side.” No adverts. No merchandise. No website. Just wall to wall brilliant writing. Out for Man City. Only £1.

Mediocrity Kills....

This article is a little out of date. I wrote it for issue 4 of  #9 fanzine, the on-line only publication. Unfortunately it has failed to appear, so I'm putting this piece out there now as it'll be utterly irrelevant by the time NUFC's new print-only fanzine The Popular Side launches at the Manchester City game. The Popular Side will be an old school fanzine; A%, price £1, sold in bars and on the street rather than in shops. No website. No merchandise. No adverts. Instead, it will concentrate on excellent writing from cover to cover. More details from @PopularSideZine

Sunday 11^th May and, as the curtain is rung down on the atrociously unsatisfactory second act that concluded the genre-busting tragifarce of Newcastle United’s 2013/2014 season, I found myself in a predictable, boiling impotent rage at the fortunes of my sporting heroes. However, the cause of my ire on this occasion was not, for a change, related to Newcastle United but the Northumberland County Cricket team. In an attempt to display two metaphorical fingers to the farce that will be Brazil 2014, other than hoping social unrest in that country will see mass working class action against the forces of repression and the imperialist juggernaut that is FIFA, causing the tournament to be abandoned, I’d bought membership for the Minor Counties East championship. Thirty quid gets you free entry to, theoretically at any rate, three home fixtures at Tynemouth, South North and County Club and a pair of preliminary one-dayers, also at Jesmond.

Unfortunately, torrential rain saw the cancellation of both limited overs contests, at the end of April against Cheshire and, on the day Newcastle closed their campaign, when Shropshire were the visitors. Thus, as the drains and gutters of Osborne Avenue struggled to cope with the torrential downpour that drove the opposition players into William Hill’s on the corner of Shortridge Terrace rather than into bat, I seethed underneath a tree opposite Rehill’s, gripping a take-out Latte rather too tightly, and allowed my thoughts to turn to events taking place at Anfield.

A few weeks previously, it had all the hallmarks of a tumultuous contest, with the prospect of Liverpool winning the title against us. In those circumstances it was hard to deny the logic of several of those amongst our support who’d contemplated selling their tickets to Liverpool fans for a massive profit. Unethical though that may have been, the chance to claw back some of the huge outlay spent on following NUFC on the road must have been appealing, especially if you got caught fleecing a gullible out-of-towner and suffered a banning order from SJP as a consequence. In the current climate, that’s a win-win situation I’d have thought. However events beforehand conspired against this, as Liverpool imploded and handed the title to Massive Club citeh, which I didn’t mind as I love Pellagra’s hair.

Despite denying Sky Sports the opportunity to refer to the game as Destiny Teatime or something equally nauseating, what this fixture did was hand Newcastle fans the opportunity to rub Liverpool’s face in it, as memories of 1974 never mind the consecutive 4-3s are still too raw to suggest there can ever be any realistic common ground between us and them. However when some of those on social media suggested a mass “Poznan” in the away end to try and wind the home fans up, I recoiled in horror. How appalling would that look; how doomed to failure would such a proposal be, similar to the stillborn Toon Poznan against Ashley that was promised, but failed to happen against Arsenal in August 2011. Even though someone set up a Twitter account and a Facebook page for that protest, the TPAA had about as much impact as NUST’s disastrous intervention into the Cardiff protest with their ill-judged hijack of a genuine, spontaneous, organic, grassroots campaign, in favour of their proto-Leninist, dirigistic 69 minute walkout, whose autodidactic provenance was ignored by the overwhelming majority of the crowd who either left earlier or stayed to the end. The only statistic that matters is that 46,000 matchgoing Mags stayed in their seats beyond 69 minutes; we need to remember that when discussions about fan unity are in the air.

In the event, no “Poznan” took place at Anfield and the game acted as a synecdoche of our season. At encouraging opening was supplanted by a pitiful collapse in the second period, though a measure of solace could be gained by frustration at an appalling refereeing performance by Phil Dowd. He may have given Titus Bramble first use of the Lynx Peace in the 5-1 on Halloween, but he made up for it by sending Shola off for insolence, in what has turned out to be his final appearance for us, and Dummett, who appears to have become as much of a hate figure as Ashley for the sort of late 30s supporter who says he takes “the Metty” home after the game, for nothing. Thankfully the latter card was rightly rescinded, meaning the overwhelming analytical mood surrounding this game, once the immediate sense of rage at the incompetence of both Pards and Dowd had died down, was one of profound dissatisfaction, with the grudging acceptance that catastrophe had somehow been avoided, with Stoke’s winner at West Brom dropping NUFC to tenth which was the bare minimum required for Pards to pocket his much derided bonus. Such an attitude must also be the judgement handed down to the club as a corporate entity and, in my opinion, NUST, with the unequivocal announcement that everyone must do better in the future if a complete meltdown is to be avoided.

I don’t believe for one moment that the Newcastle United Fans Forum will prove to be a revolutionary conduit leading to regime change at the club, especially as NUST’s avoidable breach of protocol resulted in their heavy-handed exclusion from the Forum. I do accept that my standpoint that we need Ashley OUT and 100% Fan Ownership IN, though I’m prepared to accept 51% Fan Ownership as a transitional demand, will not be brought to fruition at one of these talking shops. However, I’m as much of a pragmatist as I am an ideologue and I understand the need for the Fan Forum to continue and I place my unswerving loyalty and trust in NUFC Fans United and all of the other representatives who attend these meetings, undoubtedly displaying the very best of intentions.

That said; I do not accept the Fans Forum is the appropriate realm for the club’s chief executive to announce with bland finality that the cups will be treated with utter contempt in 2014/2015 and that Pards will remain in post, having achieved the bare minimum required to achieve his agreed bonus. Charnley blithely brushed off any criticism about any perceived lack of ambition among the club hierarchy regarding future plans and transfer targets, in much the same way as NUST ignored any criticism of their 69 minute walkout and the offence it caused so many fans.

Frankly, and I hold little hope of this happening, both NUFC and NUST’s board need to take time this summer to have a long, hard look at themselves. While Ashley, Charnley and Irving have a far longer to do list, from spending £40m on the team to merely stand still (Dan Gosling RIP) to having some vague awareness that their dismissive, smirking contempt for the fan base will eventually clear the stands of SJP, it is true that NUST need to meaningfully engage with their members and the wider support on a regular basis, as ignoring the need to grow the organisation will result in atrophy and death. Surely all involved must realise this and accept that positive change and activity is an absolute imperative.

Eyes & Ears II

Here we are then; 2014 moves into its seventh month and it seems time for me to discuss this year’s cultural meanderings for the second time. This juncture seems particularly appropriate as we’re now at the start of football’s pre-season and the summer gigging frenzy (Ouseburn, Mouth of the Tyne and Americana outdoor festivals, not to mention performances by Midlake, British Sea Power, Death Shanties and The Mekons in the next few weeks). Not only that, I’ve got my annual leave to look forward to and the chance to catch up on some reading. I’ve still not seen any telly, bar the World Cup, so we’ll stick to sounds and the printed word…

Books:

 

Obviously the most important book to have been published so far this year for persons of my taste and demeanour is Irvine Welsh’s latest novel, The Sex Lives of Siamese Twins. It is his first since the magnificent Skag Boys in 2012 and frankly it wasn’t worth waiting for. Welsh doesn’t so much phone this one in as Instagram or, more damningly, Snapchat it in to his readers. This is Welsh by numbers. Multiple narrators? Check.  Vicious attacks on consumerism and consumption? Check. Grotesque vignettes? Check. Massive plot holes? Check. Lucy Brennan, the primary narrator, is a thoroughly detestable narcissistic fitness trainer in South Beach, Miami, who becomes a hero when she disarms a gunman. This makes her a star on local news and inspires pudgy loser Lena Sorensen to track Lucy down the following day.

When Lena turns out to be an artist who constructs distorted human figures from animal bones, it seems we have a stalking narrative on our hands, but it's personal trainer and all round body fascist Lucy who gradually becomes obsessed with Lena, and specifically with carving the fat off her. She drugs Lena and imprisons her in an empty apartment building, where Lena at last loses weight. This intriguing concept is spoiled by inappropriate narrative choices. For a start Lucy is boring as well as unsympathetic, though I suppose it's reasonable to suppose that a South Beach fitness trainer would tediously count calories, itemise her meals, and assess everyone by their physical appearance. For light relief, Welsh introduces the less loathsome and more convincing shy small town girl Lena as the secondary narrator. However her sheer ordinariness makes her less than believable as the world-class artist we're told she is, much less as the focus of a stranger's obsession.

Rather like the earlier Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs, this novel is simply frustrating. It could have been a powerful and profound book, with just a bit more thought. One reads it wishing vainly for Welsh to humanise some of Lucy's reactions; to motivate some of Lena's decisions; to allow any character the range of expression of Welsh's best creations. Most of all, The Sex Lives of Siamese Twins would have been a great read if it were narrated not by Lucy and Lena but, as in the highly effective Florida based novel Crime, by Irvine Welsh himself.

On the day Hibernian were relegated from the Scottish Premier League I met Sandy McNair, the man who is Boswell to Welsh’s Doctor Johnson and wrote a kind of biography of their formative years in Edinburgh, entitled Carspotting. For the most part it is a readable and accessible contextualisation of Welsh’s formative years with a low-rent Gonzo feeling to it. However the endless accounts of bevvy sessions can get a little repetitive. There’s a whirlwind of weeks, months and years squandered away mindlessly in bars and clubs in the company of an assorted cast of geeks and weirdos, while people get chibbed, nicked or die. 

Carspotting could have been a true coming-of-age tale, but there is absolutely no moment of epiphany, perhaps because any biography of a famous author that’s written by a good friend will always be unreliable and hagiographic.  Welsh becomes famous and rich almost incidentally, leading one to wonder just when he sat down and wrote his books. Perhaps the mainly bolloxed Sandy just didn’t notice him putting in the graft and honing his craft, which is really rather sad. In the end, after the dizzying uppers and horrifying downers, the pervasive emotion of Carspotting is not of a life well spent in reckless hedonism, but of one wasted in all senses, leaving the reader and narrator with a sense of estranged loneliness.  

I came across Crap MPs by Bendor Grosvenor and Geoffrey Hicks in a 10p bargain book bin at North Tyneside General Hospital when I was in visiting my mam. This short, less-than-taxing little hard back kept me entertained for the 25 minute journey home on the 309 when we were kicked off the ward at 7pm. It is a book that ‘outs’ the forty worst Members of Parliament in British political history. This book is not about shaking the foundations of Parliament; instead it is a well-researched, intelligent and amusing little pamphlet.

The format sees a list of MPs, presented in descending order of crapness. Each MP gets a glossy photo, a brief textual explanation of why they are considered to be crap and visual icons indicating such things as ‘Dodgy Friends’, ‘Sex’, ‘Inappropriate Animal Behaviour’ and  ‘Nutter’. The raison d’etre of this small book comes from flitting through the entries and sardonically chuckling at the arrogance, deceit and / or incompetence that leads to each individual’s downfall. You get to read such gems as the MP who collected horses’ ears (cut from the still living horses), the politician who simply couldn’t resist the temptation of pick pocketing his fellow members and the cross eyed MP who had difficulty catching the eye of the Speaker. The entry for George Galloway reads ‘George Galloway is very litigious. But we still think he is a crap MP.’ Certainly this was a case of two bob well spent.

In one of those strange twists of fate, I’ve found myself playing Over 40s football for a team connected to the world famous Wallsend Boys’ Club. Not only that, we won the double last season and had the trophy presented to us by Alan Shearer on Football Focus; pretty good eh? This is why I was delighted to take possession of a copy of The History of Wallsend Boys’ Club by my former colleague Margaret Scott, ostensibly co-written with Vince Carrick (father of Michael) and Michael McGill. Several years in the making, the book is already out of date as it does not mention the demolition of the Boyza in 2013 after a storm took the roof clean off. The story as to why it wasn’t insured is another matter entirely…

Anyway, the book is told with the help of articles from the local press and the personal recollections from the public and founding members. It goes back to the original Swan Hunter apprentice club, on a site in Station Road, in 1904 and then on to the formation of Wallsend Boys’ Club on a different site in Station Road, in 1938. From the 1960s onwards football, rather than gymnastics or Am Dram, became a much bigger part of the Boys’ Club’s activities, producing a host of leading professional footballers such as Shearer, Beardsley, Carrick, Bruce, Steve Watson and Lee Clark, with more than 50 ex-members going on to play first team professional football in the English and Scottish football leagues. It’s an interesting slice of local history and, if the launch hadn’t been botched in such a ham-fisted way, it could have been a lucrative source of income for WBC, but typically the book dribbled out apologetically late with no real fanfare. This is a shame, especially for Margaret who did a great job making the text a lively, intriguing, chronological read.

Music:

I don’t allow myself to go on www.discogs.com too often, as I’d spend my life savings on cluttering the house up with 7” singles from the 77-81 period. However, I finally relented when I accepted that I was never going to see the copy of IRT by Snatch that I loaned to Don in September 1981 and so bought what my Ben had intended to make as my 50^th birthday purchase.  I even managed to move it up a notch by replacing my 1978 UK Lightning re-release with a 1977 US original on Bomp. Judy Nylon and Patti Palladin’s languid delivery of this proto-lo fi tale of paranoid trips on the New York subway is as magnificent today as it was when I first heard it. File alongside Piss Factory, Roadrunner, Shake Some Action, Marquee Moon and Blank Generation in the annals of vital US punk. The attitude and insouciance still knocks spots of the cartoon UK version of 77, Wire and Spiral Scratch excepted…

 

The other 7” I bought was Trembling Bells with Bonnie “Prince” Billy doing bassist Simon Shaw’s keyboard-driven stomper New Trip on the Old Wine, which is both a radical departure and a thoroughly entertaining release. It came out on Record Store Day 2014 and was one of the few products associated with that debased feeding frenzy that didn’t seem to be a grotesque cash in. It’s great to see Trembling Bells recording again and I have strong hopes that they’ll produce a new album to tie in with their rake of live appearances across Europe and North America. Mind I’m also looking forward to seeing Alex’s free jazz project Death Shanties at the Bridge on 5^th August for a slight change of mood.

Two nights after the Death Shanties gig, we’re down to The Cluny 2 to see The Mekons doing an acoustic night. This replaces the Three Johns tour that had to be cancelled which John Hiatt was diagnosed with throat cancer, from which he is making a good recovery. Last year Jon Langford came to The Sage for Americana, played a blinding set and sold Laura a painting for £200. This year, I dipped my toe into the pool of www.pledgemusic.com to sign up for an autographed copy of his vinyl release Here Be Monsters, which was a richly rewarding experience.

Since his earliest days in the Mekons, there's always been a compulsory aura of ragged amateurism in Jon Langford's music, as the rough textures and blunt corners reflected the hard lives and mean circumstances of the people he most often wrote about. Here Be Monsters is, like many of his albums before it, a snapshot of the world at the time it was made, and once again, Langford and his crew have offered us a handful of well-rendered sketches of young men waging war like it's a video game, older men making a fortune from life and death conflicts, regular folks struggling to get by as mere survival becomes a greater burden, and the despair or casual hopelessness that sinks so many.

The messages on Here Be Monsters are painful and timely; this is smart, dynamic indie rock, mature but passionate and unpretentious, with Langford and his partners bringing a tough but artful sound to the state of the world in 2014. Langford's ideological standpoint may not be optimistic, but Here Be Monsters never strives to be despairing, simply honest, and the music is rich and pleasurable while carrying messages more people need to hear.

Back to Record Store Day and, with the shocking news that they’ll be by-passing Newcastle on their autumn tour of Watusi and Mini, the only product that The Wedding Present will be releasing this year is the follow up to French and German language releases on RSD in 2012 and 2013 restectively, with the Welsh 4 Can EP. What does it sound like? Basically, a barrel being scraped. There’s Meet Cutie from the last album Valentina and 3 tracks that came as part of the supposed bonus package EP, released only for those that stumped up £100 to help the Weddoes record that album. The sad thing is that these 3 tracks are utterly unremarkable and frankly dull. It makes this concept truly seem to have run its course. Faithful rehashes of less than wonderful songs with different vocals isn’t the greatest of concepts and I’m wondering if I’ll ever get to listen to this limited to 1,000 copies 10” clear vinyl EP again. Certainly it seems to scream EBay at me every time I look at it…

 

However, there was one sublime jewel from Record Store Day; legendary laze rockers Bardo Pond’s 2 track album Looking for Another Place is my favourite release of the year. Side A is a cover of the minor Velvet’s classic Ride Into The Sun, while Side B features Brian Eno’s solid gold masterwork Here Come The Warm Jets in Bardo Pond’s inimitable feedback and shimmering guitar post-rock style. I adore it. This is an inspired release as the group produce brain-melting élan that builds to an apex of slow peaking ecstasy. A timely reminder that Bardo Pond remain the kings of contemporary fuzz.

When it comes to live music, I should be reviewing 2 gigs, but in the end I only made it to 1 of them. The local Election Day on 22nd May was both taxing and tiring. Alongside doing a normal day’s work, I was at the Polling Station from 7am and then again from 5pm until they closed. On the Friday, I did a half day at work, and then went to the Civic Centre for the count. All that out the way, Laura and I headed off to The Forth for pints and tapas. Senselessly, I didn’t have my ticket for The Swans with me so, refreshed and somnolent, I headed home for it. I was in the house for 7.30 and they were due on at 8.45. I shut my eyes for 5 minutes and woke on the sofa at 11.45, had a slash then went to bed and slept until 7.30, by which time it was almost departure time for Scotland. Hence I missed Michael Gira et al.

Having seen The Swans 4 times previously (deafened in successive nights at the Riverside and Leeds Poly on the Children of God tour in October 87, charmed on the Love will Tear Us Apart tour at the Riverside the next year and pompously lectured at in 92 when they played Middlesbrough), I wasn’t heartbroken about this, but it was irritating and a total waste of £20. Nice kip mind and I wouldn’t have missed the cider battered black pudding at The Forth for anything…

 

We had some lovely bait before our last gig as well; in Artisan at the Biscuit Factory, we celebrated Ben’s 19^th with North Shields sourced fish soup and sea trout and fennel with the poshest cheesy chips in the world; French fries in Gruyere. Nice. Then indie mam and dad took the bairn to The Cluny to see The Pastels. Last June I’d seen them in Glasgow at the CCA on Sauciehall Street and they were awesome in the midst of a large and partisan hometown crowd. In front of a much smaller gathering on Tyneside, they were simply wonderful, but in a much more charming and traditionally foppish way. While the set was mainly reliant on the brilliant Slow Summits album, such unexpected joys as a tearjerking Different Drum and an endearingly shambolic Speeding Motorcycle made this a wholly glorious evening. Though the most memorable moment was Stephen dedicating Baby Honey to Ben, which seemed to truly make his night and that of his parents.

Music? It never lets you down… Roll on the summer gig season…

 

Fake Footballers

A few weeks ago, I was contacted on Twitter by someone from http://www.fakefootballers.co.uk/ who asked if I could pen some semi believable profiles for made up footballers. Having done this before, by getting the idea Newcastle United were signing the wholly fictitious  Nilos Khadout from FC Charleroi in 2008 into the pages of The Sunday Sun, I was happy to give it a stab. Since then, the website has not been updated and I had no acknowledgement of anyone reading my email. Oh well; no bones broken as it's possibly the worst thing I've written in a long time. However, here goes...

Nilos Khadout is a fictional attacking midfielder/ right winger from Accra in Ghana, who attracted the attention of former NUFC Director of Football Dennis Wise in summer 2008. Born on 5th September 1989, Khadout was taken to Belgium as a child and broke into the FC Charleroi first team aged 17. Signing a 4 year deal on his 18th birthday, Charleroi's relegation from the Jupiler League caused Khadout to ask for a move, alerting those on Tyneside. Sadly a ruptured achilles in August 2008 meant the deal was not concluded and Khadout was forced to spend a lengthy period in recuperation. When his deal with Charleroi expired, Khadout's record of 18 goals in 74 first team games saw him sign for FC Troyes in France on a one year contract, where he rebuilt his reputation as a highly-skilled passer of the ball, though lacking in pace. A two year extension saw him remain in France until summer 2014, but he has shown no indication of wishing to remain in France when his deal expires with Troyes. Khadout has gone on record as saying he wishes to play in England, with Blackburn apparently ready to offer him a 2 year deal....

Ruud Noyes is a mythical centre half who combines cerebral ball playing skills with a monomaniacal belief that referees are de facto in the wrong, whatever their decision. Noyes came through the ranks at the famed Vrouw Haverkamp youth academy in Enschede in the mid-90s, signing a contract with Willem II that enabled Noyes to complete a Bachelor’s degree in Cultural and Communication Studies at Tilburg University. Having starred in the Willem II side that competed in the Champions’ League in 1999/2000, Noyes surprised the Dutch football world by turning down a big money move to Borussia Dortmund, preferring instead to sign for FC Coimbra in Portugal, who were supportive when Noyes stated his desire to study for a Masters degree in the Cultural Theory of Film and Visual Arts at the renowned Coimbra University. Following 2 seasons in Portugal, where Noyes graduated magnum cum laudae, played 47 times for FC Coimbra and endured a 13 game ban for suggesting in a post-match television interview that an assistant referee had missed a clear offside because they moved “like a Bela Tarr protagonist on ketamine,” he made another surprising move, signing a 5 year deal with Patrick Thistle. This moved enabled Noyes to complete his doctoral thesis on humour in the films of Ken Loach at Strathclyde University, as well as accrue several convictions for public order offences in the Maryhill area that form the basis of his debut novel Ah’m no fakkin steamin ya radgey wee bassa that was shortlisted for the Whitbread Prize. Returning to his native Holland, Noyes has accepted a teaching post at Utrecht University, which he combines with the role of player coach at Utrecht FC, touchline bans notwithstanding.

Sean O’Hare is a belligerent, invented, skinhead, midfield enforcer for Derry City. Provocative, prodigiously talented and blessed with a pathological hatred of the British state, O’Hare was talent spotted playing for Armalite Juniors in the 32 County Republican Youth League. A trial with Wolverhampton Wanderers ended badly when O’Hare denounced the legitimacy of any judgement made by the club’s reserve team manager. Returning home via a spell on remand for alleged firearms offences, he signed for amateur side Bogside Dissidents before signing on a one year deal for Celtic. Sadly for O’Hare this wasn’t the famous Glasgow outfit, but West Allotment on Northern League Division 1. Following a 60 day protest on the blanket, he was released from his contract and now plies his trade for “Free” Derry City, regularly falling foul of referees when refusing to give his name after being booked for one of his regular kneecappings of opponents.

Annette Kürten chimerical goalkeeper for FC Baader-Meinhof Frauen. Living according to her club’s motto Protest ist, wenn ich sage das gefällt mir nicht. Widerstand ist, wenn ich dafür sorgen, was nicht gefallen mir tritt nicht mehr (“Protest is when I say this does not please me. Resistance is when I ensure what does not please me occurs no more”), Kürten has singlehandedly repulsed all attacks on her goal by any means necessary for the past 3 seasons. They shall not pass. They shall not shoot. Annette will though….

Curriculum Vitae 2013/2014

On account of me not getting to another Scotch Juniors game after Linlithgow Rose versus Bo'Ness United, football ended for the season on May 31st 2014. The publication of STAND #8 last week marked the end of the written football season, though with an awful lot of exciting print ventures in the pipeline. Consequently, as I've yet to appoint my own personal Boswell, here's my published fanzine CV for the season just ended. I've not included the 50 Northern League programmes I had pieces in, as most of those were for information only. From next week, I'll close the door on the campaign to blogging some unused pieces that I feel merit some attention.

Duck #4 (Stoke City): Geordie Unsure

Duck #5 (Stoke City): The Atkinson Diet

Duck #7 (Stoke City): We’ll Always Have Burslem

Kinnear’s on the Moon #1 (Newcastle United): All Fans Together

Mudhutter #43 (Wigan Athletic): Toon Charm Me

Number 9 #1 (Newcastle United): Herding Cats

Number 9 #2 (Newcastle United): Beginning to See the Light

Number 9 #3 (Newcastle United): A Club to be Proud of

Stand #7 (General): The Cult of the Personality

Stand #8 (General): An Interview with David Peace and Harry Pearson

Stand Out! #3 (General): View from the North East

West Stand Bogs #1 (Barnsley): Parrot Fashion

West Stand Bogs #2 (Barnsley): Darkness at Noon

West Stand Bogs #3 (Barnsley): On the Road

An Interview with David Peace and Harry Pearson

Very soon, issue #8 of Stand fanzine will be available from this link; http://www.distantecho.co.uk/t/stand-amf-fanzine Having read it, I think it is a superbly informative publication. I'm delighted to having this article in there, with enormous gratitude to both David and Harry for sparing their time and providing such excellent answers....

On Tuesday 25th March, Huddersfield Town drew 2-2 with Middlesbrough, to leave the teams in 16th and 15th positions respectively in The Championship, as we must now call it. The crowd that night was, improbably enough, 11,999; two men who weren’t in attendance were David Peace, author of such football themed literature as the exploration of Brian Clough’s ill-starred tenure at Elland Road, The Damned United and the passionate and detailed account of Bill Shankly’s life at Anfield and subsequent retirement, Red or Dead and writer Harry Pearson, still a regular columnist for When Saturday Comes, but particularly  feted for his wonderful book The Far Corner; subtitled “a mazy dribble through north east football.”

Despite regular trips back to his native West Yorkshire, David Peace has been mainly resident in Tokyo since 1994; consequently, his part of the interview was conducted via email. In contrast, Harry Pearson lives in the scenic Northumberland National Park, but tends not to watch Boro these days, preferring to visit either Carlisle’s Brunton Park or various local non-league games for his football fix. I took the opportunity to meet up with him at Ryton and Crawcrook Albion’s Kingsley Park ground when my team Heaton Stannington visited for a Northern League Division 2 fixture on Saturday 29^th March. While my side relished the task, by winning 4-0, I asked Harry the same questions David had answered the day before.

Ian Cusack (IC): What level of interest did you have in the Huddersfield versus Boro game? Had you made a prediction to yourself in advance? Did you follow it on-line, via broadcast media or just check the score at full time? How did you reflect on this result and what it means to your club?

David Peace (DP): Well, it kicked off before 5 in the morning here in Tokyo, but I was up then, anyway, as my son was watching the United-City game. And so yes, I was also following the Town game on the live text update from the BBC website. To be honest, though, I wouldn’t have got up specially to do that. And, as always, I’d thought we were going to lose, especially after the Blackburn and Blackpool results. However, when we were winning at half-time, I was obviously then disappointed with the draw.  But while bitter experience as taught me never ever to believe Town are safe until the last whistle of the last game, it just feels like this season is already over and so I’m already hoping for better things next season. Again.

Harry Pearson (HP): Being completely honest, my interest level was limited. I was out that night and the bloke sitting next to me had an iPhone. When I saw he was checking the Premiership scores I asked him about Boro. After that he insisted on updating me every five minutes – which annoyed everybody at the dinner table, including me. Normally I’d have 5Live on (I have to have something to yell at while I’m doing the washing up – and Alan Green is hard to beat if you want irritating) or I’d look at the BBC website. If I’d made any prediction it would be that Boro would continue the rich vein of not scoring they’ve struck recently. I was oddly disappointed they found the net. Failure has an allure. As to what it means: not much really. Fans are already talking about next season, which in March is not a good sign.

IC: I know I’m testing your memory here, but how would your answer have differed if I’d asked you the previous question 30 years ago, when Boro and Huddersfield were both in Division 2 in 1983/1984 season? That was also a 2-2 draw, interestingly enough….

DP: I’ve a lot more interest now than I had then; from about 1982 until 1987, I was much, much more interested in music than football and had pretty much stopped going to any games. It wasn’t until I moved to Manchester, and was living near Maine Road, that I started going regularly to any football again and then, after seeing a lot of games at City, including them beating Town 10-bleeding-1, going back to Town again.  

HP: Probably about the same, really. When Punk happened I got really into bands and in those days music/football seemed an either/or thing. I was living in Maida Vale, then. One of my flatmates was an incredible glamorous German girl, so I spent most of my time hanging around Soho with her and various members of The Stray Cats, The Cure or whichever other hipster in eyeliner had fallen under her spell that week. For some reason I found it hard to pay attention to Joe Bolton under such circumstances.

IC: Does your answer say more about how you or how the game has changed over the past 3 decades?

DP: I think more about me, and my own circumstances, to be honest.

HP: More about me, I think. The game is the game, as Omar Little from” The Wire” might say, and our reaction to it changes with age and circumstance. At the moment I feel deeply disillusioned with the upper levels of the professional game, but as a man in his fifties that applies to quite a lot of other things, too.

IC: As supporters of provincial, second tier teams, though both with proud histories, you can view the upper echelons of the game dispassionately and, in David’s case, from a great geographical distance. How do you view the current state of English domestic football? Are you optimistic or pessimistic about the future of the game, at all levels?

DP: Not to sound like I’m sitting on the fence, or being contradictory, but a bit of both, Ian. On the one hand, and as everyone reading this knows only too well, the sheer all-pervasive dominance of the Premier and Champions Leagues, and the almost unimaginable sums of money involved, and then the sense of exclusion for everyone else, particularly on local levels, and especially for kids, either as players or supporters, means you can’t help but feel pessimistic if all you can hope and pray for is some foreign multimillionaire to come and pluck your own club out of the wilderness. But all that said, thankfully many, many folk don’t give up; over eleven thousand still watched the Town-Boro game on Tuesday night; then there is the work that people like Robert Gillan do setting up the Glenbuck Football Academy; the example of FC United; and as you well know Ian, there is still a thriving (and it seems to me) still growing fanzine culture. And so when the money runs out, and it all comes crashing down, which it will do, then the grassroots will still be there and will be ready to save the day and the game. 

HP: I've started to feel about football like I do about music - I've got my memories and I can let the young folk worry about what's going on nowadays, albeit while shouting "This sounds just like the Buzzcocks" occasionally. Top level football is now so divorced from the rest of the game they are more or less separate entities. One thing I have discovered is that I regard football as a live event. I can't be arsed to watch it on TV. It's all the stuff that surrounds football that I like - the smell, the PA playing “Sex on the Beach” in February, the angry men with bad hair howling abuse - rather than the actual game. I'd rather go and stand in the paddock at Carlisle on a rainy afternoon, than sit and watch Barcelona in the comfort of my sitting room.

IC: We have a World Cup this summer; I’m supporting Iran as DPRK didn’t make it this time round. Do you see it as a potential feast of all that is great about the game, a gross, consumerist fiasco or something in between? How do you feel about England? Will you support them? How do you think they’ll perform?

DP: Again, mixed feelings, Ian.  And also about England. I’ve only seen them three times, in their group games in Japan in 2002, and I’ve no interest in ever going to an England game again. But I still end up watching every game they play on the telly. And will do again this summer. Then again, I can’t see them hanging about in Brazil for too long. Japan might well do better.

HP: I always enjoy the World Cup. It has elements of a soap opera, and Fifa's insistence on commercializing it has turned it into a sporting equivalent of “Dynasty” (Ronaldo is Joan Collins, obviously). I support England, though in pretty much the same embittered way I support Boro. My hope is always for success, or totally humiliation.

IC: To conclude, since you both missed the obvious highlight of this season’s football calendar at Huddersfield, to make up for it; if you could attend 1 game, anywhere in the world, what would it be? Why would you pick that one?

DP: Town’s first home game of next season and I plan to be there. It’s like church on Easter Sunday, or the Durham Miners’ Gala. Dare to dream, Ian, dare to dream.

HP: Roma v Juventus in Rome. I've not been to a football in Italy since the mid-eighties and I recall those trips with great affection, especially as a man came round the curva selling brandy and coffee from a tray; imagine that in England! Also, Andrea Pirlo is one of my all-time favourite players, the Italian fans are indecently good looking and Roman life is a big performance that I like watching.

With that, the full time whistle blew and The Stan remained in 5^th spot, just outside the promotion places. A cursory glance at the full times in Ryton’s clubhouse told us Huddersfield had drawn at Reading and Boro had drawn at Reading. With a warm handshake, Harry was away for the number 10 bus, with a copy of Stand  6 to read during the journey and I was away too, with the warm feeling a thumping away win always gives you. Sometimes, it is a beautiful game.

Junior Showtime

In 2003 Arthurlie came out on top away to Pollok on a cold February afternoon. In 2006, October was ushered in by Benburb thrashing Larkhall Royal Abert at the now defunct Tinto Park in Govan by 5-1.  In 2007, Petershill found their new 4G pitch wasn’t easy on the Peasy as Cumbernauld stole the show the July evening the ground was opened, the away eam winning 2-1. In 2009, Bathgate trounced Forfar West End 5-2 in a winner takes all relegation tussle. In 2010, back at Creamery Park, Linlithgow Rose saw off Mussleburgh United 2-1 in the East of Scotland Cup final. In 2011, Arthurlie came back from the dead to defeat Irvine Meadow on penalties after a 2-2 draw in the Evening Times Champions’ Cup semi-final. In 2012, Hannah Park was rocking as Shotts Bon Accord went up and Girvan went down in a breathless 4-3 home win in the West Super League First Division. In 2013, Glenafton beat Glasgow Perthshire on penalties in the West of Scotland Cup final at Pollok after a 2-2 draw and Yoker Athletic ended the season on cruise control, overcoming already relegated Kello Rovers 4-2. I’m talking about the Scottish Juniors again and my fifth annual end of season pilgrimage north of the border to have a cultural delve into pre Independence grassroots Caledonia.

Normally, I insist on a game every Saturday from mid-July until the end of May; in 2013-2014, the blank weekends were July 13th (Durham Miners’ Gala), January 25^th (my Uncle Harry’s funeral) and May 17^th (Winstons post Billy Lorraine Cup final success day on gargle in York). Most years, local climactic conditions have intervened to allow me to see north east games until the last Saturday in May, but not this year. The Northern Alliance George Dobbins League Cup final between Shankhouse and Chemfica at Seaton Delaval on Friday May 16^th was the last game in my region. Consequently, I had two trips to Scotland to prepare for.  The fact is, with slightly better attention to detail I could have found myself with 4 trips to fit in, as the final game of the season will be at Linlithgow on June 14^th when the East of Scotland Cup final takes place, but I was at Linlithgow on May 31^st; if I’d thought about it sensibly, I would have gone to Arniston Rangers on that date. You live and learn. The game for June 7^th is an East of Scotland Cup semi-final at Camelon versus Sauchie, but I’ve bravely decided not to attend because of the Over 40s AGM on Thursday, the Tyneside Amateur League AGM on Friday and Northumberland v Norfolk in the Minor Counties East at Tynemouth on Sunday. I’ve got to empty the cupboard under the stairs and do my mam’s shopping for her at some point; it looks like being Saturday…

I know 4 exiled Geordies in the West of Scotland; 3 of them came to Maryhill versus Larkhall on Saturday May 24^th for an absolutely meaningless Central First Division game between the sides that were to finish 9^th and 7^th respectively. With nothing riding on the fixture, it was the kind of occasion the exiled Newcastle fans could appreciate; Alan, originally from North Shields but having spent the last 27 years in Drumchapel, Jonathan, eminent Shakespeare scholar and Professor of Literary Linguistics at Strathclyde University and Mick, 17 years in Cowdenbeath and then Paisley, discovering that his home town of Ashington isn’t so bad after all, and the person who got me into the Juniors, who was there in a professional capacity, doing the match report for the Sunday Mail, none of whom knew each other, all came down to meet up. Sadly Mick’sSunday Post colleague Chris, another resident of Paisley who hails from Ashington (I’m not making this up) was required at the West of Scotland Cup final at Pollok, where Auchinleck Talbot saw off Troon 2-0.  Just in case Alex Salmond is reading this, I do know some Scotch folk as well; Graham Ewing, my Hibs supporting pal who lives out in Carluke and was providing me with a bed for the night and Donny, the jack of all trades at Maryhill, who works tirelessly and devotedly for the club’s cause and whose acquaintance I first made at Shotts two years ago, introduced by Mick of course, were both there and I’m proud to say were in my company.

Maryhill’s ground is an absolute treasure; it isn’t beautiful or luxurious and it is set in an area of intense social deprivation, but it is just the kind of slightly eccentric venue that makes the Juniors such a joy to investigate.  The first thing I saw advertised in the club shop cum snack bar was a Maryhill Clock. If it had been slightly less than £15 I may have opted for one. While Lochburn Park doesn’t boast the massive covered enclosures of Pollok, Shotts or Benburb, it has an incredible 15 feet drop between terracing and the pitch. The only time I’ve seen such a thing is at Alnwick Town’s top end, but that is a car park. This is a walled terrace that gives the impression of looking down into a swimming pool, which may explain why rain often causes 

postponements on this pitch.  The weather was grey and chilly today, but it wasn’t cold enough to forgive the indulgence of that famed Scottish player Trialist (actually NjabuluNdlovu) from turning out in gloves this late in the season. However someone else in gloves was Larkhall’s keeper David McEwan, who made some great stops. Nobody would have been calling him soft, especially as he had NO FEAR tattooed across his shaven head, specifically at the place where his hairline was; not the sort of bloke who you’d push in front of in a taxi queue late on a Friday night.

Maryhill, as well as the guesting Ndlovu, had a cosmopolitan line-up with an English keeper and an Italian, Simon Rossi, who was playing his last game for them before returning home as his University course has now ended.  Their chairman is the fabulously named Freddy Duda Junior, son of a Polish immigrant; he gave us all a complimentary post-match Scotch pie, which was as healthy a treat as ever. The game, as was to be expected, was fairly low key; Larkhall took the lead in the first half and Maryhill equalised in the second. The two club linesmen stood immobile on the halfway line, signalling throw ins only. At full time, we adjourned to the clubhouse, where I had the pleasure of seeing Younger’s Tartan on draught for the first time in more than quarter of a century. It still tastes like flat blackcurrant juice, but it made for a nostalgic and freezing toast to all those who’d made the effort to come down and enjoy a pleasant afternoon in pleasant company.

According to UEFA, the domestic football season ends on May 31^st, except in countries that play summer football; as the Scottish Juniors are an entity distinct from the interests of Monsieur Platini, May 31^st was just another Saturday in a season that must end before the third Saturday in June, which is when the AGM takes place. Linlithgow, birthplace of James V and Mary Queen of Scots, is a very different place to Maryhill and apparently out of step with most of West Lothian. A prosperous, spruce market town with many independent traders and a couple of real ale pubs; a well-heeled settlement that boasts a cricket side, showing signs that it really is a civilised location. While the much-vaunted Platform 3 was disappointing, the Four Marys was having its own real ale festival, with over 20 guest beers. Shamefully, I spent the pre match in a bar opposite, drinking Belgian beer, with Livingston fan and groundhopper of my acquaintance, David Stoker and his Dundee supporting driving instructor.

It’s a decent walk to Prestonfield, the home of Linlithgow Rose, but it is well worth it to see one of the most well-appointed and comfortable grounds I’ve been to in a long while. Certainly the middle-class nature of the town is reflected in the almost suburban nature of the enormous hedge that surrounds two sides of the pitch and main stand that looks as if it could be a cricket pavilion, even if the bogs were a traditional brick wall and slit trench affair. This game, which attracted a crowd in excess of 1,000 and saw me having my bag searched by cops before I could gain entrance, could have been the title decider in the McBookie.com East Superleague, but Bo’ness United, from the adjoining settlement of Borrowstounness, had wrapped up the title on the Wednesday with a 5-1 pummelling of Lochee United and went into this game an unassailable 6 points ahead.

Bo’ness rubbed it in, with 2014 Champions t-shirts as warm up kit and on the backs of the overwhelming majority of the crowd, who had travelled to this game to gloat at their rivals.  However, once the game kicked off, it was the home side who were by far the better outfit, racing into a 3-0 lead. The third goal by McKillen was possibly the best effort I’ve seen in this season; a corner played out beyond the edge of the box saw a venomous, rising first time effort off the outside  of the foot flash into the top corner before the keeper could move. Superb technique and enough to basically put the game to bed. In the second period, Bo’ness made a fight of it and pulled one back, but a late Linlithgow effort made for a comprehensive looking score line and added spice to the up-coming Fife and Lothian Cup final between the two sides on June 6^th at Bo’ness. If only it had been on the Saturday!!

Post-match, in the company of 100 Grounds club members James, Katy and Lee, we tested the Four Marys, took a train back to Waverley and had a quick one in the Halfway House on Fleshmarket Close at the back of the station, before I caught a deserted 18.30 back to Newcastle. Another great game, great ground, great beer and great company; why don’t I watch this sort of stuff all the time? Well, £40 a week on train fares for a start….