Guilty Burdens

On Wednesday 22^nd March, my beloved Newcastle Benfield played host to Sunderland RCA in a Northern League Division One game. On an absolutely filthy, rainswept night, when almost every other non-league fixture in the region was called off because of waterlogged pitches; we destroyed an increasingly bedraggled opposition 6-0, in front of 180 fans. John Campbell was unplayable and hit 5 goals; he could have had 10, being candid. Considering the game was free to enter, on account of it being a rearranged fixture after the original was abandoned after 20-odd minutes in late January because of a frozen pitch (when the opposition were 1-0 up, ironically enough), the crowd of 180 was particularly disappointing. This wasn’t just because I was left with 40 unsold programmes, but because it curtailed our attempts at raising funds for Ward 34 of the Freeman Hospital, where our midfielder Kieran Wrightson had been successfully treated for cancer (he got the okay a few days later that he was now completely cured, wonderfully enough), over the past year. Kieran is a great player and a very popular lad, which is why representatives of local clubs Dunston UTS, Team Northumbria, Whitley Bay, West Allotment and especially his old side North Shields, with whom he won the FA Vase in 2015, turned out to help us raise £3,000 on the night, partly though a bucket collection on the gate and partly through a raffle. The turnout may have been disappointing, but those who came were generous to a fault; it really is appreciated. I’ve been critical of North Shields in the past, but I sincerely hope they win the Northern League on the back of this superb showing.

Another club I’ve often had cause to berate are Newcastle United, but not on this occasion. They had thoughtfully provided a signed shirt and Rafa Benitez took the time to give Kieran a call to wish him well; all in all, it was a highly successful evening, even allowing for the monsoon conditions. Every part of the event showed the positive side to the beautiful game, albeit at our modest level.

At full time, I headed into the clubhouse for a well-earned pint (courtesy of the special array of bottled cask conditioned brews provided for the occasion by the Newcastle University Non-League Football and Real Ale societies, who have adopted our club and have donated a sizeable sum to Ward 34 themselves, with the profits from the beer sale still to be factored in), just as Lukas Podolski fired in his spectacular winner for Germany against England. As the commentary was drowned out by the sound of the assembled throng chewing the fact about matters of mutual interest, such as the notable absence of certain friendly fans from other clubs, there was no appreciable reaction to the goal. It didn’t matter to any of us there; what mattered was Kieran’s health, the charity collection, the result of the game and just how Stan our Groundsman would ever be able to get the pitch playable before the visit of Jarrow Roofing on April 1^st.

When I got back home, I didn’t watch the international highlights; having been out at graft from 7.30 and then at the football, I decided it was time I caught up on the events that had unfolded following the attack by Khalid Masoud / Adrian Elms on the House of Commons. I watched the clearly biased and heavily Islamophobic BBC coverage with a growing sense of alarm, sadness and despair; not just at the day’s events, but at the wider picture, considering how conditions in our society had provoked such an incident. Initially, it seemed it was a road rage incident, though the murder of PC Keith Palmer that immediately followed the incident on Westminster Bridge, showed this was not the case.

Whether this seeming suicide by cop of an apparently solo deranged murderer will eventually be linked to the discovery of a hitherto undiscovered many-headed terrorist hydra, or whether the raft of apparently related arrests are part of a policy kneejerk internment by another name, I have no idea.  All I know, as a 52 year old English teacher is that, for whatever inexcusable reason, 4 innocent people were killed by a 52 year old English teacher from Kent, hell-bent on spreading even more hatred and division in a society that has already suffered repeated cultural fissures from the hatred and division inspired by Nigel Farage, another 52 year old from Kent, and dispensed by his hideous Brexit henchmen. I also know, at an instinctive, elemental level that singing Ten German Bombers is a fucking moronic thing to do at any football game, never mind at an international, in Dortmund, on the same day as the horrific incident at Westminster. To discover that the same song, together with repeated airings of Harry Roberts is our friend were part of the disgraceful scenes that marred Shildon’s 2-0 win over North Shields on Saturday March 25^th, is nothing short of alarming. Partly this is because the idea of fighting on the unsegregated terraces of Northern League grounds is anathema to all but the lunatic fringe who’ve no business associating themselves with the grassroots game and partly because it seems a less than respectful way to remember the fallen PC Keith Palmer by chanting about a police killer from the 1960s. Fair play to North Shields though; there were about 50 players, officials and fans at Benfield last week for Kieran’s game and it’s wrong to tar all their support with the same brush. Certainly I know several of their most prominent fans work for Northumbria Police, so I seriously doubt they’d be singing about Harry Roberts.

Of course the kind of Brexit voting, UKIP worshipping, Carling drinking Wetherspoons punter who donates to Help for Heroes, ostentatiously takes wearing poppies to a whole new level, wouldn’t have any comprehension of the contradictions inherent in demanding an end to immigration and the suspension of civil liberties including religious observance and freedom of speech, while simultaneously demanding the immediate release of Alexander “Marine A” Blackman.

I’ve no doubt the decision to change the crime for which Blackman was convicted from murder to manslaughter was a political decision, that will no doubt be followed by his immediate to imminent release from prison to a hero’s welcome; it’s all part of the creeping blend of authoritarian populism that venerates militarism as part of a narrative of phallocentric patriarchy. However, let’s be clear about this, the person who says “shuffle off this mortal coil you cunt” before shooting an unarmed civilian in the head is as much of a murderer, as much of a terrorist, as one who says Allahu Akhbar before detonating a bomb, wielding a knife or driving a vehicle at high speed into innocent pedestrians.

The essential difference between the two is simply that Blackman is alive to reflect and regret his crime against humanity. If he, as his apologists claim, was suffering from mental illness when he knowingly slaughtered an innocent Iraqi, how can they know Blackman is safe to return to normal society? Or, as I suspect is the case, is it that they don’t think it matters as the man Blackman slew was not thought to be of equal value to a white, British member of the armed forces? Strange how Alexander Blackman can be seen to have changed from being a murderous psychopath to a national without any sense of contrition or atonement; why wasn’t Martin McGuinness, whose philosophical volte face was considerably more profound, long-lasting and beneficial for all sectors of Irish society afforded the same indulgence?

It seems to me that a major problem with our society is the fact nobody examines the causes of events anymore, preferring just to concentrate their effects. Why is nobody enquiring why Adrian Elms changed his name and whole outlook on life after years of petty criminality? Why does nobody consider the morality of the complex series of decisions that put Alexander Blackman in Helmand Province in the first place? Are they not both victims of capitalism and British imperialism in particular? Were they not both displaying clear signs of mental illness that impaired their judgement when they committed their heinous crimes? As civilised, rational beings, we cannot condemn one and exonerate the other, without reinforcing the institutional Islamophobia that mars our society.

Getting back to football, prior to events (plural) involving the pugilists at Dean Street, the only recorded incident of crowd trouble at a Northern League game I’m aware of, was the bizarre situation at Esh Winning against Penrith in April 2001, when referee Russell Tiffin, a farmer, left the field in tears after a certain Thomas Marron bellowed “I hope your animals get foot and mouth,” in the middle of said crisis. The perpetrator was arrested after a complaint was made to police, before the CPS sent the case for trial, whence Marron was bound over by Durham magistrates for the sum of £50 and banned from all football grounds for 3 and a half years. From 16 years distant, the story appears scarcely credible; did such an outburst, nasty, snide and hurtful though it was, really merit such a punitive, heavy handed, official response?

Marron’s cruel little comment certainly pales into insignificance as an example of personally offensive, targeted abuse compared to what Greg Downs suffered at St James’ Park on January 2^nd 1987. During a particularly dismal 2-1 home reverse to Coventry City, the one memory that stands out for me is of the completely bald fullback coming to take a throw in front of the Gallowgate corner and a particularly vindictive, intoxicated terrace wag bellowing “look at that twat; he’s got fucking leukaemia,” to a ripple of embarrassed laughter and the utter bemusement of the player himself, who quizzically stared at the perpetrator before turning to throw the ball in.  A decade and a half before the incident at Esh Winning, football grounds were different places and the police on duty way back then certainly had no interest in wading into the crowd to arrest the bloke. I’m certainly not adopting a sticks and stones standpoint, because words can wound, whether written or spoken and certainly the effect on the victim of mass offensive chanting can be deeply upsetting, in the same way as a co-ordinated campaign by Twitter trolls gets under the skin of anyone on the receiving end of a bully’s wrath, especially when refracted and redoubled by obsequious toadies keen for social affirmation. What I do suggest is that responses to abuse and abusive comments should be proportionate. The Coventry incident was one bloke out of 30,000, while the Esh Winning carry-on was one bloke out of 30, though both were clearly audible and both intended to offend and upset the targets of the comments.

Spring forward another decade and a half to the present day and the match day football experience is completely unrecognisable from three decades ago. Esh Winning, resolutely anchored to the foot of Northern League Division Two, may still be watched by the same 30 blokes, or their sons and grandsons, who were there when referee Tiffin abandoned the game, but there are other Northern League clubs, like Ashington or Heaton Stannington, who have supporter groups that have more in common with Stratford, Lewes or Dulwich Hamlet than Millwall. More crucially, the 50,000 at St James Park are changed utterly from the demographic who endured the Coventry defeat.

Newcastle is a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic city and football club. The transformative bourgeoisification of the city is so complete that as a place to work and live, it has more in common with Bristol, North London or Brighton than neighbouring, north eastern, post-industrial towns, which suits me just fine. Is it any wonder that unlike the depressing homogeneity of surrounding areas, the representatives of the whole world that makes up Newcastle’s population voted to remain in the EU at the last referendum?

The football club and crowd have mirrored the city’s maturation as a whole and similarly changed. While there is still much work to be done to fully recognise, integrate and celebrate the significant but underrepresented LBGT section of the support, elsewhere the inclusive and all-embracing nature of the club’s following must be noted and endorsed. Not only has the most successful and generous Food Bank at any club in the country been established, organically by supporters, but the stands are enlivened by an ever diversifying ethnic make-up. Who would have thought that 30 years ago, we’d see groups of young Geordie Muslim women in full hijabs, rubbing shoulders with middle aged Geordie blokes in the Leazes End, without a hint of suspicion or enmity on either side. This is no longer the place for the kind of vile racist chanting that Noel Blake said made Newcastle the most hostile place to visit as a black player in the mid-1980s. The people in these stands nowadays would not dream of singing a racist or any kind of offensive or abusive song directed at a minority; self-policing means such ideologically unacceptable comment would not be tolerated. That is not to say people may not think it; what remains in their heads is the great unknowable, though we can be reassured by the absence of vocalised hate.

If the entire attendance of  SJP knows what is right from wrong, as well as the overwhelming majority of non-league fans, why can’t the embarrassing element of knuckleheaded England fans who insist on singing about a conflict that ended over 70 years ago or an organisation who renounced violence a quarter of a century ago, just grow up? Easy question to ask; easy question to answer. It’s hard problem to solve, sadly, but if England and other football supporters could somehow manage to erase Ten German Bombers, No Surrender to the IRA and Harry Roberts is our friend from their songbooks, we can start to make progress as a society about learning from the stories of Martin McGuinness, Alexander Blackman, Adrian Elms / Khalid Masood and PC Keith Palmer.

Bicycle Thieves

Over the past few weeks I’ve been busy pretending to be a writer, penning sombre, pettifogging articles for the likes of Hopeless Football Romantic, The Football Pink, STAND and C-O-N, with another piece for View from the Allotment End still germinating. The thread that these prosaic purples all have in common is the almost complete absence of any Newcastle United content. Indeed, the last time I turned my gaze on events at SJP was Monday 30^th January, when I had this to say http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2017_01_01_archive.html so it’s about time I got the old hair shirt on, while recognising this piece by Michael Atkinson is the best thing you’ll read about Newcastle anywhere this season; https://medium.com/@ATKmichael/playing-to-the-crowd-ace525ae562#.vs8ww2unl 

Since the start of February, NUFC’s league record is: played 11, won 5, drawn 5 and lost 1; not bad eh? Depends who you are talking to I guess; as ever the Newcastle support is bitterly divided between the unquestioning devotees of Benitez and the jaundiced whingers who make the Arsenal Fans TV celebrities seem like the Dalai Lama. Now, with freebies thin on the ground, I’ve only seen one league game this calendar year. I found myself in a sparsely populated Gallowgate West Upper on a buckshee NUFC Foundation ticket for QPR on February 1^st, where we started off like an express train, lost our way, regained the advantage, missed some sitters and conceded a farcical sucker punch, every bit as comical as Diame’s equaliser at Brighton, to piss two points down the drain deep into stoppage time. Walking out the ground you’d have thought we’d been relegated to the Conference North, such was the ire in the voices of some oafs, including one beaut who claimed that the game had been “worse than anything under MacClaren.” You don’t even need to worry about the sanity of such chuckleheads; they can safely be ignored, though it would be nice if they could be muzzled.  Or buried in shallow graves in the Cheviots.

Subsequent to the QPR game, the magic of television has enabled me to see a further 4 contests. Wolves, Villa, Brighton and Huddersfield; we won them all, the first two scrappily and the latter two with a swagger. Wolves was plain ugly, with Mitrovic (now seemingly out of the first team picture, thankfully) lucky to still be on the pitch when he scored the decisive goal. Villa outplayed us for 40 minutes, then folded like a wonky deckchair after we took the lead, with Lansbury’s own goal a delicious bonus. Brighton was as good as we’ve played all season and it seemed destined to end in failure until Diame’s aforementioned spawny fluke, though Perez’s winner is a great shout for goal of the season. Huddersfield had more of the ball, but we kept them at arm’s length, reminding me of the second half of the Reading home game, when it all started to click and the Royals couldn’t get within 40 yards of our goal. They didn’t in the return game either, but I didn’t get to see that one.

Following the games on March 18^th, the Championship is on a little break until April 1^st. The current situation is this; with 8 games to go, Newcastle United are a point clear of Brighton at the top of the table, with Huddersfield Town a further 6 points back, though the Terriers do have a crucial game in hand against Wolves, which won’t be played until Tuesday April 25^th. By then, Newcastle will have played Wigan, Burton, Leeds and Preston at home, as well as Sheffield Wednesday and Ipswich away. If those 6 games replicate the first meetings between the teams, the Magpies will have accumulated a further 15 points to go with the 78 already in the bag. On paper, the two Yorkshire fixtures appear the most challenging of the next half dozen assignments, but that ignores two major points that deserve serious consideration. Firstly, Newcastle’s home form has been patchy of late. Secondly, it appears that Rafa’s belief in a 4-3-2-1 tactical straitjacket can often appear to be obstinate intransigence.

Before discussing those issues, I need to say that if Newcastle do secure promotion, and I believe they will do, then all I can see for next year is a dreary, attritional battle to avoid the drop, unless £200m is invested on players. I’m not even prepared to contemplate the internal politics that would come into play regarding such injections of hard cash.  Suffice to say, if we’d brought Andros Townsend back in January, we’d be over the line already.

As regards the home atmosphere, I’ve said it many times in the past, but Last Night of the Proms style semaphore displays and organised terrace choirs are just not my thing. I’m sure the Gallowgate Flags organisation and the risibly named Wor Hyem agglomeration are superbly effective at what they do, but I’m far more impressed by the efforts of NUFC Fans United, the club, the rejuvenated NUST board (now denuded of one particularly divisive influence) and the support in general for the incredible work involved in making the NUFC foodbanks initiative, in association with Newcastle West End Foodbank, such a roaring success. Losing to Fulham and drawing with Bristol City fade into insignificance when one considers what is being done to assist the most marginalised members of our society. That’s Geordie hospitality. That’s regional pride. That’s the best of my home city. Of course it’s an utter disgrace and a stain on our society that such organisations are required in 2017, but sometimes actions speak louder than principles.

The question of Rafa’s tactics in home games is coming under greater scrutiny as time goes on. At the end of January, it was my feeling that Benitez wasn’t doing well enough, considering the resources at his disposal. My particular complaint was about the seeming inability of the team to come back from going behind. Since then, I’m far more convinced he’s working for his money; the televised games and trip to Reading we’ve discussed, but in addition there was the strength to hold off a Derby side on a decent run of form, the belief to keep on plugging away at Norwich that garnered a late point and the refusal to lie down against Bristol City; eight more than satisfactory performances in a row. Of course it seems that some of the support will never be happy unless we win every game 10-0, playing a synthesis of Keegan 93-96, tiki taka and Total Voetbal. I blame Arsenal supporters for this, as there are impressionable kids up and down the country, many following my own club, who seem to want to imitate them. What other explanation could there be for a tubby, drunken little pensioner in a Hi-Viz jacket spoiling for a pagger post Bristol City? If you can’t handle not winning, then don’t follow football.

Undeniably, we were played off the pitch by Fulham, but the draw at Birmingham wasn’t a bad result in the context of Huddersfield’s thumping by Bristol City and Leeds doing a number on Brighton. Perhaps sometimes we could do with partnering Murphy and Gayle up front to try and be a bit more direct, but Rafa has never shown any inclination to look at 4-4-2. His methods have got us where we are and I’m sure he’ll see the project through; I just wish he’d react quicker to events, with tactical changes and substitutions in a timely manner.  Ironically the much vaunted Karanka who I’ve suggested could be our boss in the past, has lost his job on Teesside because of intransigence.

Undeniably, the last 2 games have made it a bit of a limp trudge into the stasis of yet another international break, but this could be all for the better; Gayle can work on his sharpness, while Clark and Hayden can get back to full fitness, as we’ll need all the bodies we can muster for the vital last 8 games. Let’s keep the faith and keep the manager; if Rafa is on his bike come season’s end, we may as well shut the club down.

"glove" #2

Well, as the first issue sold out, I thought I'd best do issue #2 of "glove;" especially as I've already accepted 2 submissions. In all seriousness, here are the guidelines for anyone wishing to have their work considered for publication in the next issue, which I hope will be out in may -:

Contributions to glove #2 are now open via email to iancusack@blueyonder.co.uk & the following points are intended as a guide for those interested in sharing their work.

-          The guiding principle for glove is that the maximum possible number of writers is included in the 40 pages of text; consequently only one poem or story per writer will be included.

-          Work must not have been published elsewhere; in exceptional circumstances previously seen blog posts can be considered.

-          Your work remains your copyright; once glove #2 is out, do what you want with your words.

-          Writers should send a maximum of 2 stories or 3 poems.

-          Stories should be a maximum of 2,000 words in length & poems 40 lines; only in exceptional cases will longer work be accepted.

-          We are really keen on flash fiction.

-          Contributions should be sent either as Word document attachments or in the body of an email.

-          To save space in the magazine, no writer biogs will be included, but a Twitter handle & / or website address will appear alongside names in the list of contributors on the inside cover.

-          House style is 12 point Cambria for body text & 16 point for headings.

-          Editor reserves the right to change minor details of punctuation.

-          It is intended that the magazine will appear in May 2017 & all those included will receive one copy in return.

-          There is no set editorial policy or ideology, but anything right wing & / or discriminatory won’t be published.

-          Ideally, you will have seen issue #1 so you know what we’re about.

-          The twitter account @GloveLitZine will announce when our deadline is up, as well as making other relevant announcements about the mag.

-          We’re really, really grateful for your interest; all contributions will be acknowledged.

Thanks,

ian cusack

editor glove

Donegall Impasse

To the acclamation of a muted trumpet’s silent fanfare and the paradiddle of a skinless drum, the 2017 League of Ireland got underway at the end of February. Now denuded of the stupor-inducing, preludial cross-border kickabout, the Setanta Cup, the 20 teams went for it hammer and tongs from Friday 24^th February onwards.  This season is another in the regular series of “transitional” ones, whereby the 12 team top flight and 8 team First Division will be evened up with 3 going down from the Premier and only one getting promotion. No play-offs either, though I’d imagine there will be twitchy arses around Merrion Square if Bohs, Pats and Sligo (having lost all their games so far) remain in the basement come the autumn.

It wouldn’t be the League of Ireland if the 20 teams involved were the 20 expected to be there at the end of the previous campaign, especially in the First Division. As if by magic Waterford United, freed of the incompetent tyranny of Louis Copeland’s best customer Roddy Collins, have reinvented themselves as Waterford FC, while Wexford Youths can no longer be seen as Mick Wallace’s personal fiefdom and tax write-off project, as they’re now Wexford FC.

On the pitch, we’ve had one abandonment already. With the randy Brandywell hors de combat for 2017, on account of having the painters in, Derry are playing their games in the European Union at Maginn Stadium in Buncrana; capacity 1,500. Unfortunately, the big debut night fell more than a little flat, when the lights failed. I’d like to express my sympathy for the visiting fans from Limerick. I mean, I really would like to, but you know. Anyway, fair play to Derry for actually going ahead with the refurbishment of the Bogside San Siro, though it is strange to have 2 teams playing in Donegal.

Of course this is the last season at the old Dalymount Park for Bohemian as well. Big Club will, apparently, be moving along the road to share with Shelbourne at Tolka Park next year while the Corpy does Dalier up. Once that’s finished, the idea is Shels come along to groundshare with Bohs. It would be fair to say that supporters of the Gypsies are a little happier with proposed arrangements than th’ oul Reds, many of whom are boycotting home games in protest at the plans. Goodness knows how they felt at Belfield the other week, losing 4-0 to UCD with all the goals scored by the half hour mark…

Anyway, we’ve got until the 27^th October to enjoy this pantomime every Friday night, with the smart money being on Dundalk, as ever, winning the lot at a canter. Fair play to them; they deserve it, by being the best side in the country by miles. Cork and probably the Tallaght Corinthians will no doubt be the next 2; after that, who knows.  As regards promotion; I’d probably go for UCD, unless Longford get their act together. The biggest ask is actually getting to the end of the season with the same number of clubs as started it.

Personally, I only need to visit Cork, Cobh and Limerick to complete my L of I set, but have to deal with Junior’s graduation in Leeds on Thursday 27^th July, which might scupper my plans for Cork v Galway on Friday 28^th followed by a short hop up to Derry v Limerick on Sunday 30^th. If I went the week earlier, I could have a trip to Stab City, as Limerick host Sligo on July 22^nd, but Cobh seems impossible this year.

Meanwhile, the Allianz League is underway for GAA heads, marked by the usual indifference and lack of interest before the proper stuff starts in May with the provincials and the All Ireland.  Cork are showing no discernible signs of improvement yet; having secured D1 status by beating Galway in the hurling play-off last year, they’re second bottom, having beaten Clare first time out, then lost home to Dublin and away to Kilkenny. With Waterford and table toppers Tipp to come, a vast improvement is needed. Meanwhile in football, D2 is proving no easier; an opening draw with Galway was followed by losses to Clare and Kildare, with only a win against Fermanagh to cheer the Rebels so far. Home games with Meath and Down and a visit to Derry will all require a sea change if the indignity of a second successive relegation is to be avoided.

Meanwhile, at Congress delegates approved an experimental change to the structure of the football championship at the quarter final stage that even the League of Ireland would have rejected as too labyrinthine.  In 2018, the first year of a three-year trial period for the new format, the two groups, each comprised of four teams, will look as follows:

Group 1: Munster champions, Connacht champions, Ulster runner-up (or qualifier team that beats them in Round 4), Leinster runner-up (or qualifier team that beats them in round 4)

Group 2: Ulster champions, Leinster champions, Munster runner-up (or qualifier team that beats them in Round 4), Connacht runner-up (or qualifier team that beats them in round 4)

In the new format, each team will have a home game, an away game and a game at Croke Park. The semi-finals will be comprised of the top two teams from each group and the final will be held in mid-August. While 76% of delegates approved, coming down very much against this were the players, whose GPA association produced this withering response that expressed their opposition on the following grounds -:

1. The lack of sufficient and meaningful consultation with players regarding all aspects of the proposal.

2. The fact that the proposals offer little by way of change for lower ranked counties who are traditionally less successful than those competing at the latter stages of the championship.

3. The motivational impact for players competing at the lower end of the Championship which may be negatively impacted leading to concerns about the longer term sustainability of the football championship.

4. The fact that the proposed format will do little to alleviate the increasing gap between higher and lower ranked counties.

5. The reality that there will be no incentive for provincial winners over other teams who qualify for the quarter-final stage. Provincial winners would now have to play an additional three games in order to reach the semi-final.

Of course the way Cork are going, this will be of little or no relevance to the Leesiders, rather similar to how the future of the Six Counties could have little cause to involve the voices of Unionism, after an epochal set of results in the latest Stormont elections, as the post partition Unionist in-built majority has finally come tumbling down. The Walls of Gerrymander lost their footing at the small measure of half a billion burned on the bonfire of Arlene Foster’s vanity in the Renewal Heat Initiative fiasco. Once Lord McGuinness of Londonderry decided he’d rather be fishing than power sharing, the DUP launched a manifesto based on the single principle that you’re better off trusting a bent Prod than a straight Taig. Unsurprisingly, such an enlightened approach to cross community politics spectacularly failed, except among the hard-core support, who remain in a state of denial following the subsequent emergence of a whole new political landscape in the early hours of Friday morning.

First of all OUP leader Mike Nesbitt brought his short and inglorious tenure at the helm of the Tory Party with Sashes, no doubt handing over the responsibility for Malone Road Monkee business to Worshipful Brother Michael Dolenz and the Reverend Tork. Then the crocodiles really came home to roost when the final seat tallies were known; DUP 28, Sinn Fein 27, SDLP 12, OUP 10, Alliance 8 and 5 others, comprising 2 Green, 1 People Before Profit, 1 Independent Unionist and 1 Traditional Unionist Voice. Sadly, it wasn’t the late Doctor Paisley’s voice coach…

So, the scores on the doors see 40 non-surrenderers and 42 Croppy boys and girls, assuming PBP and the Green Party don’t wish to associate themselves with creationist theology, banning Sunday trading and the criminalisation of all non-heterosexual relationships. In addition, there are 8 Alliance Party spelky arses, running around shushing the rest of the badly behaved children like supply teachers at a sink comprehensive that’s proud to be in special measures. Don’t expect any discernible progress soon or indeed ever; Lord Hain is helpfully beseeching Theresa May to call a summit to address the Donegall Impasse, while Tiocfaidh Arlene is suggesting a way forward would be for there to be less Unionist parties in the future, having already achieved the seemingly impossible task of delivering less MLAs.

Let’s be honest, it’s a crying shame the marginalised and embittered Protestant working class can still only see fit to return weasel-faced crooks, whose red Ulster hands are always to be found in someone else’s till or other. However, despite the untrammelled glee of Shinners from Belcoo to Cushendun, the prospect of a border poll is as likely as the reincarnation of Roddy McCorley almost 217 years to the day since he went to his fate on the Bridge of Toome. Certainly, the discovery of many sets of human remains on the site of a former unmarried mother and child hostel in Tuam isn’t likely to endear Rome rule to the kerbstone painters any time soon.

As is ever the case, Northern Ireland remains an almost intractable problem, but the hope is demographic change. Will the evolving and liberalising multi-ethnic, multi-cultural nature of the 26 counties, depending on who gets to wear the Colonel O’Duffy replica Blueshirt after they’ve killed Kenny of course, not to mention the harsh realities of post Brexit penury for those who still want the Queen’s shillings, be attractive enough to render partition an irrelevance? Well, let’s hope so… 

Being Thankful

I simply can’t believe we’re into the third month of 2017 already.  It really is time for a cultural blog, cleaning up the back end of last year and the start of this, even if I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly seemed to have any time for culture or even the world outside my front door.  However, Laura and I stepped out on St David’s Day to see the ever brilliant Fairport Convention on their 50^th anniversary tour. Having missed visiting the Sage last year, they were back in their beloved Hall 2 for the sixth time in the last 8 years, while Laura and I were in our customary A1 and A2 of the stalls, between Ric and Simon. Superb view for a superb gig.

As ever, they played two sets; the first alternating between the new album (which I was going to buy, but missed out on as I got a dolphin hand puppet instead…. Don’t ask) and old favourites. It was especially good to hear Genesis Hall and Now Be Thankful in the flesh for the first time. After the break, it was more crowd pleasers, including a stunning Rising for the Moon, which eclipsed even Matty Groves and the eternal Meet on the Ledge. Despite their age, they’re as agile, nimble-footed and charmingly garrulous as ever. More power to their fiddlers’ elbows….

I really needed that night out, as the previous 8 weeks have whizzed by in a haze of stress and bile, on account of work. Back to graft on January 3^rd, I succumbed to a chest infection the day after; now I’m never normally off, but I had no choice with this. The sympathy from work was in short supply, as my call to the absence hot line was responded to with a text that told me my condition had caused “a nightmare” for management. My heart didn’t bleed that much I have to say, mainly because I’m fed up with the whole situation. I've been teaching nigh on 29 years and I’ve endured was the worst  half term I've known in my whole career; unceasing, unending pressure, repeated petty criticism, judgemental, inflexible micromanagement; topped off with zero support and not one syllable of thanks, never mind a hint of gratitude or praise. Treat people like dirt and, surprisingly, they don’t respond positively; it seems to me that FE is the sweatshop of education and I'm sick of it....

I’d call for a revolution, but that seems a fond hope in the current political climate. A propos last week’s pair of by-election results, I have to say I’m delighted by the Stoke result; not just because Labour held it, but because the appalling Nuttall did poorly, though it would have been delicious if he’d finished third. As regards Copeland, nobody with an ounce of compassion can ever cheer a Tory victory, but I felt this was inevitable, on account of the Sellafield factor. It’s important to recognise though, that the PLP has been denuded of two of the biggest piles of shit ever to sit on the woolsack to represent the interests of the working class; Tristam Hunt and Jamie Reed will not be missed.

Looking at the various parties in the light of the election, other than the Tories who I’ve decided not to comment on, it’s clear Tim Farron has no hope of saving the Lib Dems; they and the Greens may as well combine as some kind of Vegan Wehrmacht, as they’re both finished. The good news is that UKIP are finished too; as Brexit has become a reality, their raison d’etre has vanished and they have exhausted the seam of xenophobia and intolerance that they previously mined so well. It seems as if the supply of Islamophobic Wetherspoons drinkers has dried up, which is good. The history of British far right politics has been one of splits and fissures over ego more than ideology; expect many defections to the Tories and a new BNP / NF / Britain First / UKIP monster to evolve soon.

As far as Labour goes; sad to say it, but Corbyn is finished. The last in a series of atrocious gaffes was to insist on voting for Article 50, when all the data shows the vast majority of Labour votes voted Remain and would still do so again, given the chance.  His wrongheaded decision to insist on this may have provided succour to the political equivalent of the Flat Earth Society, the Leninist Lexit Loonies who are (thankfully) mainly outside of the Labour Party. Corbyn’s decision was as indefensible as Harman’s insistence on Labour MPs boycotting the Welfare Bill after the last election. As a result, Corbyn must go because he, together with many of his apologists, failed to see the reality; support for the Labour Party is rock solid and immovable from the sections of society who are still in favour of the old post war Social Democratic consensus.

We are not isolationists, we are not Tory light; we believe in higher taxation, extensive state ownership, and massive reductions in defence spending to provide full funding for the NHS, education, welfare state and benefits. We are tolerant, inclusive believers in a multi-ethnic, multicultural society, vehemently opposed to racism, homophobia, Islamophobia and all other manifestations of prejudice.  Crucially, we are not an insignificant number; the support for socialist Labour policies is there. Sadly, Jeremy Corbyn has failed us and must go. Who can replace him? Dennis Skinner is probably too old and after that I’m struggling…

BOOKS:

Christmas seems a long time ago, but I think back and smile at the printed presents Ben gave me; Joan Cornella’s latest collection of bizarre, unsettling, subversive and screamingly funny cartoons, SOT, proves he has found his oeuvre and he’s sticking to it. Honestly, whenever I’m really miserable, a quick flick through a Cornella book cheers me right up. Similarly Bad Graffiti, as photographed by Scott Hocking, chronicles hundreds of poorly executed and syntactically incorrect examples of “street art” in and around Detroit.  Hocking states that bad graffiti can be “vulgar, juvenile, poorly scrawled, misspelled, ignorant and ridiculous,” but it can also be “freaking hilarious” and “so bad, it’s good.” For example the tagger who for some reason took the name of “Salad” and writes it in cursive, which Hocking describes as provoking a “mystifyingly bad reaction.” Sadly Hocking’s sardonic commentary doesn’t appear anywhere often enough as a counterpoint to the truly dreadful tags, though they do speak, albeit inarticulately, for themselves.

On a totally different theme, Somerset cricket historian David Foot wrote a rather too reverent hagiography of one of the county’s finest ever batsmen. Harold Gimblett ; Tortured Genius of Cricket paints a wonderfully evocative picture of county cricket in the west Country in the decades before and after WWII, though the main subject himself, and specifically, the demons that destroyed him, remain maddeningly elusive. No doubt this was out of a sense of solicitous duty for Gimblett’s widow, who provided much of the material Foot used as a basis for his research.  

Something I’m incredibly proud of for 2017 has been the new Lit Zine I’ve set up; glove #1 has been flying off the shelves. At the time of writing, I’ve only a dozen of the 44 page A5 collection of 21 slices of outsider short fiction, flash fiction and poetry from contemporary writers operating outside the mainstream. You can get it via PayPal for £3 to iancusack@blueyonder.co.uk if you’re quick. One writer I was delighted to include is Gwil James Thomas; in fact his poem Stock Car Racers is the second piece in issue #1. His collection of poems Gwil v Machine is available from Martin Appleby (editor of Paper & Ink lit zine) https://www.paperandinkzine.co.uk/shop and is well worth £2.50 of your hard earned for confessional, autobiographical accounts of a life endured rather than enjoyed. There’s nods to Bukowski, Ginsberg and the Fantes, but it’s authentic and heartfelt personal torment, not imagined hardships.

As ever, I’m always prepared to read through the gaps in my knowledge, so I invested in dirt cheap Amazon bookstore withdrawn from library stock copies of A Sense of Detachment by John Osborne and Peter Handke’s The Ride across Lake Constance and other plays. The first one is an abysmal attempt to recreate Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty off Shaftesbury Avenue. Osborne was renowned as a vain, egotistical bully, with nary a good word to say to anyone once his theatrical talents had waned. This tawdry attempt at combining Brecht with The Skinhead Hamlet is without merit; zero plot, one dimensional characters and stilted dialogue shows Osborne was already into a steep descent of his talents.

I loved Handke’s novels The Goalkeeper’s Anxiety at the Penalty Kick and Short Letter, Long Farewell when I read them at university. Subsequently I came across The Left Handed Woman and Afternoon of a Writer whereby Handke’s spare prose style appeared to be descending into self-parody, such were the banal, polished minutiae of ephemeral trivia he sought to centre his work on. These plays, the first three of which predate the first two novels mentioned and the latter two which date from the period between the opening and closing pairs of novels mentioned, are baffling and maddening in equal measures. Late Beckett post language exaggerated mime and Ionesco influenced seemingly meaningless, pretentious glossolalia rub shoulders at first, before Sam Shepherd style ersatz portentousness takes over for the title play and the well-known They are Dying Out. The nouvelle roman develops stage fright as the audience falls asleep.

MUSIC:

I love David Shrigley; everything of his I’ve seen has tickled and warmed me, especially the very wonderful, though deeply unsettling, Partick Thistle mascot Kingsley. At the end of last year, my weekly email from Monorail told me of a 7” single, written by Shrigley and performed by Iain Shaw. I ordered it immediately and when Listening to Slayer arrived, it didn’t disappoint. With a kind of Jad Fair naïve artist delivery and a simple acoustic guitar backing, we learn the tale of a post-Apocalyptic future where only syrupy energy drinks and the charmless purveyors of Death Metal are able to keep up entertained. I’ve no idea what it means, and it’s a nightmare vision, but I love it.

My other two purchases are also 7” singles that ought to have been released last year, but were delayed for different reasons. Firstly Teenage Fanclub’s I’m In Love is known as the storming opening shot on last year’s predictably brilliant Here; I bought it because the b-side is Grant McClennan’s beautiful Easy Come, Easy Come given the usual sparking TFC treatment, with Gerry Love’s vocal deserving an Oscar.

The final record is Vic Godard’s I’ll Find Out Over Time, which was due to be launched last October at a series of dates that had to be pulled because of the tragic illness and death of his wife Georgie. It seems churlish to review it, but it’s important to recognise what a wonderful, Northern Soul tinged, organ driven stomper this is. An absolutely gloriously happy slice of good time 60s pop. Can’t wait to see him at The Cumberland on 8^th December.

So, future gigs include 27^th March The Wedding Present in Stockton, 8^th April British Sea Power at the Riverside and The Weddoes doing George Best at the Academy on 7^th Jun. More to be added and more to be bought, no doubt, including David Keenan’s debut novel and a Trembling Bells RSD 7”. There’s also a slight chance I might get a guestie for Shirley Collins at the Sage…

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things –

   For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

      For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;

   Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;

      And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

   Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

      With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

-          Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1877

There’s not many people in the world I can call a fat bastard, but one of them is Wayne Shaw. In case Andy Warhol’s prophecy is running slightly slow and we’re all only famous for 15 seconds now, I’ll remind you Wayne Shaw is the 46 year old former Sutton United reserve goalkeeper whose celebrity waxed in the run up to the FA Cup fifth round tie at Gander Green Lane, reached its zenith when the portly chap was pictured eating a pie in the dugout during the game and plummeted to earth once the cat came out the bag that this was some scam involving The Sun’s betting operation. Total proof that Wayne’s world had waned came on Tuesday afternoon with the news Shaw had agreed to a termination of his contract by Sutton because of the potential contravention of FA rules caused by the flutter Wayne’s pals had on him scoffing a meat and potato comestible on TV. All rather pathetic really; naturally Piers Morgan leaped to Shaw’s defence. After all, it’s not as if anyone had done anything really immoral, like hacking a murdered teenager’s phone for instance…

Sutton lost the tie 2-0 to Arsenal, not that I saw it as Newcastle’s eventually easy win over the £77m worth of talent assembled by Aston Villa provided far more compelling viewing; I wasn’t there of course, as I’m allergic to flags.  Nice to see the meritocratic principle working in The Championship though; with the best footballing side returning to the top of the division, as well as plunging the biggest net spenders into even deeper relegation trouble. It’s good that Rafa Benitez has put the whole sorry Townsend episode behind him and is concentrating on earning his dough, by coaxing points-harvesting performances at Wolves and Norwich, as well as this latest one. Admittedly Villa had the upper hand for the opening 40 minutes, but once Newcastle went a goal up, Brewse’s boys collapsed like a rickety deckchair in a coastal breeze; it could have been many more in the end. Of course, unless Bristol City are put soundly in their place at the weekend, this result won’t matter a hill of beans. It’s crucial we go into the testing away triptych at Brighton, Huddersfield and Reading in fine fettle. Get the job done in the next 4 games and a season of anxiously striving to avoid relegation from the top flight is within reach…

To return to Sutton United; they may have gained a considerable amount of prize money for their cup heroics, all well-deserved, but in my eyes they’ve gained so much more in terms of self-respect and dignity by getting rid of Shaw. Of course he’s an obese bloke in his late 40s who wants to capitalise on his seemingly bankable notoriety and I’d imagine he’ll be a Soccer AM fixture for a season or two until he drifts off into obscurity again, but any footballer or football fan giving The Sun their attention needs a severe talking to.  Every banknote News International peel from their greasy wad of avaricious amorality is stained with the blood of the 96 innocents who died at Hillsborough; that will never change, so we must neither forgive nor forget.

Do not be mistaken; Sutton United aren’t a struggling gaggle of part-time misfits. In reality they’re a successful club from the affluent Surrey stockbroker exurbs. They are doing well in the National League and reaping the rewards of the astute business decision to lay a 4G pitch, which provides a constant source of revenue all year round.  Let’s be honest; they don’t need Rupert Murdoch’s minions hanging round the place. We should remember Sutton for the right reasons; Coventry in 89 and Leeds in round 4 this year. The only time I’ve ever seen them was when they pulverised Gateshead 9-0 in the late 80s; curiously, they went down that year while Gateshead stayed up…

Interestingly, the 4,308 who took in Wrexham v Aldershot in the National League were part of the only non-league crowd higher than the 3,161 who broke the ground record at Mariners Park as South Shields blasted Newport Pagnell Town 6-1 in the FA Vase quarter final on Saturday just gone. If ever there was evidence of a team on the up, it is South Shields, whose chairman and benefactor Geoff Thompson has ploughed a small fortune into his hometown club. Almost certainly, they will be promoted from the Northern League, though possibly not as champions as North Shields are still winning every game in sight to keep ahead at the top of the table. The Mariners do have games in hand of course, including one against Benfield on Wednesday night, which was moved back from Saturday on account of the Vase tie. I wonder if our modest ground record of 927, set against York in the FA Cup in 2006, will be beaten. I sincerely hope so, as a payday like that could keep Benfield in operation next season by itself.

As we didn’t have a game on Saturday, I took myself off to see Blyth Town hosting Alnwick in Northern League Division 2. Partly this was because it was a venue that had eluded me, since it was a playing field in the Northern Alliance and partly because with Michael Riley, Jack Errington, Gary Day and Dean Walker at South Newsham, it was almost like watching Benfield old boys.  In the event, Blyth won a less than compelling game 3-1, in front of about 120 people I’d estimate. It’s a neat and tidy set up, with room for expansion if needed. They’ll almost certainly break their attendance record against Blyth Spartans tomorrow night in the semi-final of the Northumberland Senior Cup. I know that at first, they were contemplating sticking the prices up to £8 entry for that game, on the somewhat specious grounds that it’s a tenner to get in to see Spartans, but the suggestion created a social media shit storm, so they may have rowed back on it to avoid bad publicity. I’m not sure either way. Their website and Twitter account are resolutely unhelpful on this matter.

If they have put the prices up, I can understand why, but it is a bit of a shady thing to do. Rather like South Shields not handing their abandoned Vase tie to Morpeth, I’d want my club to do the right thing if that we were the ones in that situation. Then again, the news from Percy Main that I mentioned last week and the noises coming out from Hebburn Town prove that there isn’t an inexhaustible fund of cash, time or goodwill to share around, so you can’t really condemn a club for making hay while the sun shines. Can you? On a positive note, I was delighted to see 283 there for Hebburn v Team Northumbria I must say. Let’s hope plenty of them stick around to help the Hornets out. With Norton and Stockton Ancients already gone, I would hate to think that the Northern League would be weakened by the loss of another club.

Money; it mightn’t make you happy or morally sound, but it certainly keeps non-league teams in business. Cash from almost anywhere, unlike a pie in the dugout, is not to be scoffed at…

Every night before I rest my head

See those dollar bills go swirling 'round my bed

I know they're stolen, but I don't feel bad

I take that money; buy you things you never had

-          Patti Smith, 1975

Percy Maintenance

Benfield are my team. I must admit I’ve not followed the Walkergate Brazilians from birth, mainly because we weren’t formed until 1988. In fact I first saw us in action at home to Newcastle Reserves in the NFA Senior Cup in February 1995; we lost 3-0 and I didn’t set foot in Sam Smith’s Park for another 8 years, until we joined the Northern League. However, the 4-1 win over Thornaby on 27^th September 2003 made an indelible impression on me and I was hooked on The Lions from then on. I love the club and I’m proud to say I am the programme editor, as I intend to follow Benfield for the rest of my life. On Saturday 11^th February 2017, on a filthy afternoon, I saw us go 2-0 up away to Bishop Auckland, concede 4 in 8 minutes, then grab a point with an outrageous fluke and an unfortunate own goal. It was a magical afternoon; Newcastle’s subsequent 1-0 win away to Wolves later on was a good result, but it didn’t have me punching the air the way the Benfield game did.

If you’re in any way romantically inclined, or believe in sport as a force for good in the community, you really should be following a non-league side. We all know the reasons why, but suffice to say the intangible emotional rewards you feel once a club gets under your skin make it all worthwhile. Certainly nothing in the sporting arena will ever compare to the joy I felt on Tuesday 5^th May 2009, when Stephen Young’s 86^th minute winner in the last ever game at Penrith’s old Southend Road ground put us top of the table for the first time that season as we clinched the Northern League title.  Mind I didn’t go for a pint to celebrate as Penrith used to go back to the local Conservative Club; you know what I’m saying, right? The double was achieved 10 days later on the ground of our old rivals West Allotment Celtic, when keeper Andy Grainger produced the finest performance I’ve ever seen by a Northern League keeper, to foil Penrith as we ran out 2-0 winners on another amazing night.

Somewhat ironically, that final was the last I saw of Benfield on a regular basis for around 4 years, though my plan had been somewhat different. In summer 2009, after Newcastle were relegated, my dad died of cancer the day after Bobby Robson. My son was then a devoted egg chaser, whose games would now be on Saturday afternoons rather than Sunday mornings. Consequently, the 3 season tickets I had maintained at SJP all seemed somewhat superfluous, so I decided not to renew. I haven’t had one since and I never will again, though I still go to the odd game (4 cup ties and 3 league games in 2016/2017 at the time of writing). The idea had been to follow Benfield home and away, but then fate intervened.

As well as Benfield, I’d developed a soft spot for Percy Main Amateurs of the Northern Alliance. As they played, effectively, 3 divisions down from Benfield, there was little if any chance of divided loyalties, so when Benfield were away somewhere inaccessible, I used to take myself down to Purvis Park. The first time I’d been to see Percy Main was in May 2005; Benfield’s season had ended the week before and Newcastle weren’t playing until the Sunday, so a little bit of groundhopping was in order. Living in High Heaton, one of the closest teams to my house was Heaton Stannington. I’ve never really supported them, though I’d been to Grounsell Park to see them a few times; this was my first away trip. On a pleasant, sunny afternoon, they won 3-2 in a decent game, played in a relaxed, end of season way. The next encounter between the two teams was very different in every imaginable way.

On Saturday 11^th February, while Benfield were losing 2-1 away to Squires Gate in the FA Vase and Newcastle were winning 2-1 at Aston Villa, there was little in the shape of live, local football to keep me entertained. In those, heady pre-internet days, fixtures below Northern League level were almost impossible to source, so it was only walking past Grounsell Park and seeing the corner flags in place that told me there was a game on. The visitors? Percy Main. The attendance? About a couple of dozen. The score? 0-0.

However, that doesn’t tell the full story; on 86 minutes Percy Main’s legendary hard man Alan Ryder became involved in a pitch side altercation that soon developed into the kind of scrapping you’d normally see in a taxi rank on Christmas Eve at chucking out time. When the 21 man brawl had been underway for the best part of quarter of an hour, as the sound of fist on face mingled in the frozen air with oath-edged talk and grunts of anger and endeavour, the referee abandoned the game. Being a lifelong coward and pacifist, I watched in disbelief as what has become known as the Battle of Grounsell Park unfolded; utterly unbelievable. A bloke near me looked on in even more wide-eyed astonishment, shaking his head in horror at the raging torment in front of us. He was Norman de Bruin; one of the finest men I’ve met in my life, not to mention the long-time secretary of Percy Main Amateurs FC and the bloke who got me involved with the Villagers.

When I became chair of the Tyneside Amateur League in 2014, I maintain it is because fixture secretary Paul Mosley couldn’t think of anyone else who’d do the job. Similarly, when I was asked to become Assistant Secretary at Percy Main in summer 2009, I have no doubt it was because I was stood around doing nowt, rather than because of my fantastic administrative and interpersonal skills.  The reason I took on the job was because it was nice to be asked, though Benfield vice Chair Dave Robson immediately tried to poach me as soon as he’d heard, but I refused as I’d given Percy Main my word. It is a decision I’m glad I made, but I’m delighted that I could finally come home to Benfield.

I had 4 seasons with Percy Main Amateurs which, on the whole, I fully enjoyed. Almost immediately I learned that to cope as a non-league club volunteer, you need to develop a thick skin and never expect any thanks for what you do. You have to be prepared to muck in and do your best; sometimes that’s good enough, but sometimes it isn’t. As time went on, I realised my skillset, such as it is, was not what was required by the Villagers.  During my first season, 2009/2010, a revitalised Percy Main team won promotion to the Alliance top division, finishing just behind champions Rutherford, lost in the final of the Northumberland FA Minor Cup to Morpeth Sporting Club and, in the last game of the season on 28^th May, won the Combination Cup. All of those events are included in a book I wrote about Percy Main, Village Voice, which I had vainly hoped would raise enough funds to help pay for the redevelopment of the pavilion at Purvis Park. Sadly, I barely broke even and still have about 200 copies of Village Voice left in the spare bedroom. Drop me an email if you’d like a copy, free, gratis and for nowt.

Being selfish, I am delighted that I have had a book published, though I do recognise that the kudos associated with this event is greater for me than for Percy Main Amateurs.  As my time with the Villagers drew on, there was an unspoken realisation on both my part and the rest of the committee, that I wasn’t really much help or much use. Percy Main didn’t need a wordsmith or scribe and, though I was happy to write the programme and do the match reports, it became clear my activities were of minimal relevance to the club in the grand scheme of things. I was, frankly, more of a hindrance than a help and when I moved on, to take on the role of Benfield programme editor, it was of benefit to all 3 parties involved.  What PMA needed was either a skilled craftsman, preferably a roofer, tiler or electrician, to keep the ground in decent nick, or a proper administrator, who understood the labyrinthine rules relating to applications for funding from outside agencies. They still do. If such a person is you, please read on.

You see, there is an essential difference between Northern League clubs and almost all of the Alliance sides; in the Northern League, there are established clubs with grounds, some historic, some pristine new, all with seats and covered sheds, with floodlights, clubhouses and supporters. Not only that; many clubs have substantial numbers of volunteers on their committee, who do an array of tasks, from the practical to the prosaic. Everyone has their part to play and does it in a way that plays to their skills. When you’re getting a few hundred through the gate, you need a social media contact and press officer. In the Alliance it is different; with a few notable exceptions, the participants are sides and teams not clubs. By this I mean that often a team will hire a pitch and name themselves after sponsors, or the first team will be the product of a junior side that has grown up; all well and good in both instances, but there isn’t a great deal of history there. Rutherford may well be the oldest club in the north east, but they are also the pivotal point in a network of youth and community sides, all of whom are maintained by a combination of subscriptions and grants. Frankly, it’s more about participants than spectators at this level, as almost all of those volunteering have had some family or other long term connection with the club.

Without being controversial, I look at the Alliance and see 3 clubs that stand out from the rest, because they have their own, wonderful, grounds and exist purely as  first XI football teams, not the apex of a community development project. The three clubs are; Seaton Delaval Amateurs, Wallington and Percy Main Amateurs. You could do a lot worse than taking in games at Wheatridge, Oakford or Purvis Parks; three of the most atmospheric, scenic and historic grounds in our region.  Hopefully, they’ll all still be in use this time next year, but the signs aren’t good.

On Saturday 11^th February, 11 years to the day since the Battle of Grounsell Park, Percy Main’s home game against Rutherford was called off because of a waterlogged pitch. Later that evening, without warning, the club posted an alarming statement on their website warning that almost 100 years of tradition and memories, having been formed in 1919, could be consigned to the dustbin of history. If new blood wasn’t forthcoming to help behind the scenes, either as a match day volunteer, or as the kind of bureaucratic whiz kid who can open the lid of the money pot that’s so closely guarded by the FA and other outside funding agencies, then the club would cease to exist at the end of the current campaign. See for yourself; http://www.pitchero.com/clubs/percymainamateursfc/news/percy-main-amateurs-fc-face-possible-imminent-clos-1753081.html

This is quite alarming as Percy Main are a club utterly without enemies; everyone has a good word to say about the Villagers. However, it is action that is needed. The irony being that the club isn’t skint; it could continue along in the current fashion for a while yet, but to secure the long-term future of the club, the ground and specifically the pavilion, needs a major injection of cash to take it to the next level. The club have arranged an open meeting in the clubhouse on Sunday 26^th February at 6.00pm and all interested parties are asked to attend. Encouragingly, the first few days have seen a flood of offers of help, some more practical than others. If you have a practical skill or a practical mind-set, please consider giving a bit of your time over to one of the best football clubs in our area; you won’t regret it and your efforts will be appreciated, just don’t expect to have your ego massaged and prepare yourself for some incredibly bad language on a regular basis.