North Shields vs Whitley Bay

North Shields 3-0 Whitley Bay  (8.4.2015)

By some force of unnatural magic, I have managed to escape North Shields for the past four years. But when my nomadic adventure eventually finishes, my old stomping ground will come to reclaim my soul and ambitions. Owing to a NE29 postcode, though, I had the benefits of growing up as a Whitley Bay supporter rather than the club resident within NE30. Such are the fine margins of football loyalties. Its not quite the local factionalism of downtown LA but these distinctions are still important in the northern badlands.

Throughout my life the town has gone by its own idiosyncratic rules. Aside from the weather, the settlement could easily double for the location of a Mad Max film. Just last week me and my mates were introduced to 'Big Bad John' - an OAP with surprisingly good arm wrestling skills but lacking the logical faculties when drunk to put his coat on properly. He was a nice guy.

The rough old fishing port, as ever, is going through a difficult time. The economic depression in the area has become so toxic that even the town's McDonalds branch, a mainstay of the local high street since my birth, has closed down. Amongst the usual desolation, however, lies a resurgent force in the shape of the football team, now home to a flourishing Tyneside counter-culture. This niche vibe combines unwavering left wing loyalties, alternative regional music and a growing dissatisfaction with the nefarious greed of the Premier League, as represented by Mike Ashley's regime at Newcastle United. 

A new fanzine for the semi-professional club, titled Harvest From the Deep, is devoted to this terrace ethos. Hopefully the efforts of these local writers will continue beyond their successful first issue. Home and away, the team is also backed by an ever-expanding legion of supporters. At their core is the 'Ultras', most of whom were banned from St James' Park long before the Magpies' current turmoil.

Recent results have also brought an upturn in fortunes for North Shields. Last season's promotion to the Northern League Division One has since been bettered by a forthcoming appearance at Wembley in the FA Vase Final - formerly the Amateurs Cup, which the Robins last won in 1969.

A large portion of the credit must go to manager Graham Fenton (he who famously ended the title hopes of Kevin Keegan's 'Entertainers' with two late goals at Ewood Park). Since his appointment two seasons ago, the club has been transformed with a decent footballing ethos among his players and suitable ambition from the boardroom. Nobody is getting carried away here but the Geordie's team could be a force at this level for some time. 

For this Wednesday night game, the home side faced another historic club in the derby dubbed 'El Coastico' by people who ought to know better. While Shields' fortunes have risen, the former strength of neighbours Whitley Bay has rapidly dwindled. Only four years ago the Seahorses had won their third Vase final in a row and were the region's dominant non-league side. Apparently, I was even on the front cover of their matchday programme for an entire season, although I've yet to see the evidence.

Yet, despite some investment in bricks and mortar, Whitley's riches in prize money were squandered on inflated player wages to the point of, as accountants technically describe it, 'being broke'. For the past couple of seasons, the entire squad has been uncertain of any sustainable future; star players have departed, so too the manager Ian Chandler, and replacements have been added with the brevity of a merry-go-round. Not even the most regular observer can recognise the eleven faces in the club's blue and white stripes any more.

Shields seek to avoid that example by making firm financial commitments to improving their ground with a portion of the revenues from their trip to Wembley. Ralph Gardner Park, with its two tiny terrace sheds and a changing rooms, certainly requires updating. But at least the playing surface itself is flat and free of litter. It is a clear step up from the days when the club first arrived at its modern home, in the wake of financial mismanagement bringing it to the brink of collapse. At that time players still changed in the back seat of their cars and dog turds needed to be plucked from the pitch. Even now, snacks are sold from a trolley pushed around the perimeter fence by two elderly volunteers.

As far as mid-week matches in the Northern league go, this was another scrappy affair punctuated by my own crushing realisation that all endeavours are futile. I never have been able to watch live football in the evenings without feeling gloomy. Perhaps Albert Camus' existentialist writings were inspired by similar thoughts when he played in goal.

Camus considers the virtues of playing three centre backs.

Shields proved comfortably superior. They scored two cracking goals shortly after a bludgeoned first, all before the end of the opening half. In the concluding session, the despairing visitors controlled the ball but to little effect. With plenty of fixtures still to play before their big day in the capital, Shields cruised towards the final whistle and safeguarded their advantage. Good order was maintained by a no-nonsense referee with the demeanour of a pub landlord. Aside from a couple of bookings, the derby remained an amicable occasion. 

Sporting victory for this small town is important. In this tiny, deprived, and politically ignored dump (I say with affection), a rebel voice is sounding. Long may it thrive besides a football club which truly reflects the qualities of the people connected to it, from boardroom level to fanbase. The once-almighty Newcastle United cannot say the same.

Fan Salute to Retiring Dan

Outside of rugby union, sport in New Zealand rarely reaches a glorious conclusion. The end to Daniel Vettori’s career, after nearly twenty years as an international cricketer, was never going to be showered in the cool splashes of celebratory champagne. The Kiwis had a World Cup for the whole nation to be proud of but, when their Hollywood moment finally arrived in the March final, the richer, more powerful, and glamorous Aussies (as ever) broke hearts across the Tasman Sea.

As such, the Black Caps’ most successful spinner never had his rose-sprinkled final bow. Instead, his farewell from the sport was more typical of a New Zealand sportsman – modest, understated and with a faint whiff of a John Ford western; the quiet, unrepentant hero riding alone into the sunset.

If it had not been for the unrepeatable exploits of Richard Hadlee, his bespectacled successor in the Kiwi test match side would surely be regarded as the greatest cricketer New Zealand has ever produced. Few pundits speak of the veteran left-arm spinner as one of the sport’s dominant figures but for me, as a teenage fan spellbound by his team’s plucky spirit during their 2008 tour of England, he can be rated as one of the greats, even beyond his peers from the Antipodes islands.

Having made his debut for the Black Caps as a seventeen year old, Vettori went on to claim a staggering 705 wickets across all forms of the game spanning over 300 total appearances. After years of batting at the bottom order, he also developed into a consistent all-rounder, amassing 4531 Test runs, including six centuries.

Even in his 37^th year, the returning stalwart played a key part in his team’s path to the World Cup climax, not for the first time proving to be one of the world’s most economical bowlers. Although his career Test bowling average of 34.46 may seem inflated to modern fans, considering he spent almost two decades toiling through long spells in often unfavourable conditions for his orthodox turn, and without consistent support from a frontline pace attack, his statistics clearly do not tell the whole story of his contribution at the crease.

As captain from 2007-2011, his successes were more limited, especially in the longer format. Nevertheless, compared to arguably higher achieving skippers such as Brendon McCullum and Stephen Fleming, Vettori could marshal his colleagues to dare for over-achievement against any of the seemingly stronger nations.

Without ever gaining a reputation for a troublesome personality, Vettori’s naturally outspoken competitiveness allowed him to cause a stir when his squad were treated with injustice. One such occasion was a heated exchange from The Oval balcony after a controversial (that is to say unsporting) run out after a trip by England’s Ryan Sidebottom. Too often the supposed minnows of sport are meant to suffer wrongdoing in silence, yet this strong-willed leader was stubborn enough to cry foul against the ‘big boys’.  

After resigning the burden of captaincy, Vettori’s later efforts were curtailed by chronic injury. If it had not been for these setbacks he could have easily become the first New Zealander to achieve the combined landmark of making 4000 Test runs and 400 wickets.

Wisden may never fully acknowledge Vettori’s steady contribution in the early twenty-first century, particularly when pitted against the likes of Shane Warne and Muttiah Muralitharan in the typically pointless Best XI lists, but he is a character who leaves the sport weaker without him. Vettori’s country will never again produce another cricketer of his sort, calibre and style. That final match in Adelaide merely serves as the last ‘if’ moment in his phenomenal, though unrewarded, career.

Cheltenham Town vs Plymouth Argyle

Cheltenham Town 0 - 3 Plymouth Argyle   (28.3.2015)

From the old wooden seats of the Jelfry stand any distracted spectator can look out over the lumbering slopes of Gloucestershire fields. Fans of Cheltenham Town may be forgiven for staring into the surrounding cider country more so than at the sport being played for their pleasure this season.

With one win in ten games, the Robins find themselves at the bottom of the Football League. “We’re all in this together,” reads the sign outside the railway station, accompanied by a photo of the players in a team huddle above the ominous slogan. Another billboard in sight of Whaddon Road boastfully declares “Better than Manchester United – at least we beat Cambridge.”

These adverts were paid for by supporters but if the descent towards the Conference continues few individuals will feel their investment was well spent. At the relatively cheap price of £9 for a student ticket, the club already seem rather desperate for bodies to fill the ground.

With fellow strugglers Hartlepool United resurrected by a miraculous run of form in recent weeks, Cheltenham seem doomed to a period of exile from the prestigious 92 for the first time in 16 years. At least this genteel community can realistically survive the dip in soccer pedigree, whereas the likes of other League Two minnows would find the experience socially crippling. This spa town, of course, can still attract annual visitors and the hubbub of an active sporting life through its races, boarding schools (rugger and jolly hockey!) and calm pastoral hinterland. The likes of Tranmere cannot compete with that.

Without doubt, however, there is no way to disguise the disarray of this once-stalwart football team. So far this season it’s seen three managers at the helm, over 40 players used in total and yet, despite a six game unbeaten run at the start of August, all have failed to steer the ship from perilous inadequacy. After 39 games, the team’s top scorer still only has four goals to their name.

Whaddon Road’s pitch is also making no effort to hide its tired wear. Both goalmouths, evidently feeling the effects of another year groundsharing with Gloucester City, have the look of sandboxes. A resultant drop in revenues from relegation would only deteriorate the condition of the turf further next year. After five seasons of the neighbouring rivals staking a joint claim on the stadium’s modest resources, it looks like the uncomfortable cooperation between clubs will continue indefinitely.   

By late March, the usual point when fans resign themselves to disappointment before the inevitable optimism of the summer holidays, the atmosphere in the stands has settled into the pangs of lethargic hopelessness. With solid professionals of proven lower league calibre like Matt Richards on the books, the side can appear deceptively competent for long stretches. Once they are faced with any amount of skill, though, the red and white shirts flounder. Such was the case when Plymouth defender Carl McHugh strolled through a number of sleeping opponents to slide Ruben Reid through to score with the simplest of passes. As the group of typical terrace blokes sitting behind me pointed out, travelling teams such as Argyll can snatch the points at this beleaguered site without straining above third gear. A double from the muscular centre forward was enough to destroy any confidence remaining among the home side, leaving substitute Zak Ansah to mark a resounding victory with a deft header as the final whistle beckoned.

A three goal margin showed the Devon side handing their south-west counterparts the dreaded Black Spot, much to the amusement of a spiteful minority amongst the massive away support (1400 in all – covering over a third of the total attendance) who chanted “You’re going down” to no tune in particular. Lone voices offered the only retort to the Green Army’s taunts. A plain fact is hard to argue with, I suppose.

Indeed, the spirit of Cheltenham’s advertised rallying call was lost on the disaffected home mass, which appeared largely docile across the ninety minutes. A year outside the pyramid has seemingly been accepted as a certainty. Even so, at least the club’s board remain fighting – appointing ex-Yeovil boss Gary Johnson as manager within 48 hours of the defeat. If, for the sake of pragmatics, this friendly community club does get relegated, they will have to prepare for a long struggle in the wilderness. They need only ask fans of Wrexham, Lincoln and Grimsby how that feels.  

Bristol Rovers vs Lincoln City

Bristol Rovers 2 - 0 Lincoln City   (7.2.2015)

It has been an age since my last post on football in this cosy corner of England. Part of the blame lies in my increasingly manic workload. Who knew learning to teach could be so tough? On the other hand, Rovers have been starved of a game at the Mem' for an inconveniently long time. The lower down the divisions you go, the more fractured the fixture list becomes, as can be testified by a run of three away matches for the Pirates on the trot.

Despite their recent travels, the Gas remain on full throttle, slowly pulling back Conference leaders Barnet after remaining unbeaten for 16 games. So far the divide between the two league leaders has been reduced to five points.

At this stage of the season, Darrell Clarke's side deserve to overtake their London rivals. Their level of play is a step above this division and another comfortable victory on Saturday afternoon showed how wide that margin of superiority has become. 

At no stage did the journeyers from the eastern shires threaten an upset. Whereas earlier in the year, the Rovers players might have been thrown  by typical non-league plodders, they now gobble up this type of opposition with confident ease. 

Although the Lincoln 'keeper managed to produce a series of miraculous saves worthy of Gordon Banks across the ninety minutes, he could do nothing to stop a brilliant set piece goal from Lee Brown and a Nathan Blissett tap-in. Whether by shin, heel or a full-facial block, the Imps' man between the sticks did his all to keep the ball out of his net. Yet by half time the result had effectively been decided, leaving Lincoln to limp aimlessly onwards after their return to the field.

I saw the visitors, a former league club (there are few teams in the Conference who weren't members at some point in their history), ten months ago against Gateshead. Over that period of time, they have not improved in the slightest. If anything, they were poor then and even more lacklustre now. Based on my observations, therefore, Grimsby are Lincolnshire's only hope of a return to the glitzy world of the 92, where a visit by Mark Clemmit or Manish Bhasin acts as a ceremony of supreme soccer status.

Bristol Rovers are now daring to dream of a return to that glorious pyramid, having finally found the right recipe for scoring goals. An ability to kill teams off is still a missing ingredient but, in the energetic Clarke, the club has a manager well-versed in simple logic. This is his side now and they are beginning to play with a professional swagger too often lacking outside of the top tiers.   

Finding a strategy in the signing of Jermaine Easter, however, is a harder task. If failure to attain promotion strikes (always a possibility in the unpredictable play-offs) then the gamble on wages for this new intake could be shown up as plain, unsustainable arrogance. Is it even possible for a non-league club to make a marquee signing? It certainly looks that way.

In their humiliated opposition, Rovers can see how easy it might still be to dwell in the lower rungs without any hope of a foreseeable exit.  

Bristol Rovers vs Welling United

Bristol Rovers 2 - 0 Welling United   (29.11.2014)

You won't hear any more moaning from me. No way. Not at all. Nada peep! On Saturday afternoon a fresh and confident Bristol Rovers team swept Welling aside in a performance of total dominance. After a frustrating goalless opening 45 minutes, Darrell Clarke's introduction of Nathan Blissett and Angelo Balanta sparked the Pirates into some bouts of thrilling football.

Like Elizabeth Taylor in her prime, Rovers' play had an awesome glamour which consumed the crowd in appreciative gasps. For the first time this season, the Blues looked like they deserved to play in a higher division. In the face of this flirtatious onslaught, Welling's tired defenders had nothing to offer in return.

Both substitutes combined to open the scoring when Balanta played a perfectly-weighted pass behind the opposing back four. Blissett charged onto the through ball and bundled the ball beyond the 'keeper. Welling's misery was compounded a few minutes later when Jake Gallagher was shown a red card for a rough foul on Lee Mansell. From then on, the Kentish club were powerless to restrict the home side's controlling play. A Matty Taylor penalty effectively ended the contest inside the last 20 minutes and only then did the pressure begin to ease on the visitors.

The deficit remained two goals through mercy more than anything else. Once again the strict conversion of goal opportunities eluded the Gas, in particular, Taylor failing to complete his brace when gifted a one-on-one chance.

Suddenly, from perpetual doom and gloom, a buoyant sense of optimism has nested itself in North Bristol. One defeat in their last sixteen league games shows that even without reaching top gear, Rovers are a dominant team in this league. Now, with a lethal burgeoning pairing of Blissett and Taylor up front, they could take this competition by storm. Balanta and Lyle Della Verde - a loanee from Fulham - are also a step above this level and could prove to be major assets.

In the aftermath of Tuesday's downpour, the sun is shining on the Memorial Stadium. Will it last? Until Santa has been and gone over the next month, it is too hard even for my mystical powers to foresee.

Bristol Rovers vs Barnet

Bristol Rovers 2 - 1 Barnet   (25.11.2014)

Lashings of rain beat down on the Memorial Stadium for a game of football which could have come straight out of a kitchen-sink drama. Domestic sport does not get any more dramatic than this brilliant encounter. With a minute to go, the atrocious weather looked set to be nothing more than pathetic fallacy and a tormentor of we humble supporters. That is, until a last minute winner sent the soaked anoraks of devoted disciples into a frenzy of commotion. Bristol Rovers, that perennial outfit of misfits and hoofers, had actually managed to claim a crucial victory. Barnet will still win the league at a canter but, by God, these lads pulled the rug from under their feet with relish.

Few fans were perturbed by the cold when Rovers made a rip-roaring start that saw the home side take the early advantage against the runaway Conference leaders. Barnet's defenders were all at sea when a slick pass through to Matty Taylor saw him crash the ball under the away 'keepers flaying legs.

For the rest of the  half, the Gas dominated the Bees with miraculously flowing football, despite the monsoon conditions. It was the most enjoyment I have had at a match in years. There was a real "oof" to the atmosphere and for once the players in blue and white did not disappoint. But by half time the weather worsened and a series of controversial incidents looked to overshadow a rollicking 45 minutes of fierce competition.

When a Rovers corner came sweeping into the box, a looped shot sent one of the Barnet defenders sprawling back towards his goal line. A desperate swivel of the body diverted the ball away from the net. Was it by head or hand? Referee said yay to a penalty, while his linesman - to the home support's apoplexy - said nay. The assistant won the argument and play resumed without the obligatory spot-kick and sending off. On first witnessing it, my instinct said head. But the more I think about the way the defender's arm waved in front of his face, I have to question my reasoning. Either it was a blatant act of cheating or the greatest defensive header I have ever seen. Without a television replay, who can know for sure? Certainly not a guy with rain-smeared spectacles and a notorious lack of awareness.

Before the break Barnet reaped the rewards of their fortune. A free-kick from twenty yards was comfortably stroked into the bottom corner, with the Pirates' goalie Steve Mildenhall relegated to the role of a helpless observer.

At that stage there was no escape from the downpour. Those of us in the East terrace were drowning under the deluge, so much so that by the ninetieth minute fans around me were hoping to skip the necessary injury time and get home that extra few minutes earlier. By the end they were all glad they stayed. Another corner fell into a blundering melee in the Barnet box. Somehow - and I really am clueless as to how it happened - the ball crossed the line. Damp celebrations ensued before the final whistle blew moments later.

Of course, by then the game's early promise had totally disappeared, the second half being an ugly scrap where neither side looked bothered to run into the heavy rainfall. All I wanted to do was find the nearest towel and burrow deep into its soft lining. Alas, the almighty, in his incomprehensible wisdom, continued to urinate on his flock. At least, that is what I think causes rain.

It was a night of amazing triumph for this motley Rovers team. Perhaps this will inspire them to future success. In new addition Nathan Blissett, they at least have a striker who could work in tandem with Taylor, running at the opposition with pace and power. For them it was a great three points, and for me, the start of a terrible cold. Oh well.

Bristol Rovers vs Kidderminster Harriers

Bristol Rovers 1 - 1 Kidderminster Harriers   (15.11.2014)

The Memorial Stadium is soon to be a fitting name. If I could care to be pretentious, I might even call it ironic. When the bulldozers have completed their work and a monstrous supermarket is erected over the rubble, a memory is all that the stadium will be.

Unlike such lost arenas of sporting inspiration as Ayresome Park, Roker Park and Boothferry Park, this rectangular patch of grass is enclosed by a beautiful structure, a pillar of local identity; a lost relic to the days when football was about something more precious than money. It has not been a happy home for Bristol Rovers but many a classic rugby union battle has been fought on its turf. Alas, no longer.

Sadly, once the football ground is gone, my favourite part of living on Gloucester Road will be snatched away. After much thought, over many a long walk, I have decided that I do not like the area. In the early days I kidded myself about its cosmopolitan vibe; a sort of British San Francisco, as I naively claimed . It was on this road that I first saw a same-sex couple holding hands as they walked along in daylight. It is also the scene of my first conversational encounter with Pidgin English. These are things that I embrace wholeheartedly with delight.

Yet, the illusion has finally been eroded away. Every day I walk past depressing, disappointing, despairing social wrongs. Over a two mile stretch I pass countless Big Issue sellers. I hate to ignore their polite pleas but I simply don't have the time or money to help them - even if it is only to buy a magazine I will never read.

They are what I would call the legitimate beggars, though there are plenty who request money without valid reason. A number of people in perfect health, with permanent homes nearby, stop me and state their case. Each time I say no. One man, who lives in my sector of the street, has asked me over ten times for spare change. Does he have no memory of my answer the last time we talked? And why me? On a cold day, when I had no coat and he was well-wrapped in multiple layers, he asked me. In times when I have been standing amongst a group, he has asked me alone. When I am in the laundrette, and have clearly spent a fortune in coins on the dryer, he still asks me. How is anyone meant to make sense of that? Karl, Che', Malcolm: what is to be done?

The football is unique in bringing out salt of the earth sorts. Standing on the terraces, anonymous in the crowd, I feel more at home among them than wandering in this postcode. Our cultures are different but I know enough to blend in. Stokes Croft, Redland, Cotham and Clifton, on the other hand, remain inscrutable.

Without becoming a total disaster, Saturday's game remained a poor outcome for the Gas. A familiar pattern of early Rovers' pressure, then loss of confidence when scoring looked unlikely, and a sloppy goal concede from a set piece, was followed predictably. Matt Taylor (the centre forward, not the rocket scientist with a controversial taste in fashion) saved his team's blushes by equalising from a skidded low cross. Space on the left wing was there to be exploited, and this was where Kidderminster's defence crumbled under a late raid from the Pirates. It was good football, the best I have seen this season, in all fairness. Nevertheless, it still took Darrell Clarke's team over an hour to realise that their long ball tactics were proving counter-productive.

Despite the result, this strong late showing sent the home fans back to their dwellings in good spirits. Back on Gloucester Road - that most strange of thoroughfares - the Royal Oak pub (a quiet middle class establishment with inflated prices) displayed a sign which read 'Home fans only'. How odd. Are Kidderminster's small assortment of travelling support likely to make a scene? In this division you would be lucky if you got 50 away fans, nevermind enough to cause a serious civil disturbance.