Up for the Cup

Sheffield United 3 Salisbury City 1

2012-01-07T00:56:00.000-08:00

FA Cup, third round

Attendance:10,488

Lowestranked side still in the competition. First time ever in the third round. Drawn200 miles or so away from home for the second round running. Salisbury deservedsome extra support. “Oh,” said the chap at the club, bemused at my explanation forwanting tickets in the away end and explaining why, living in York, I wouldn’tbe collecting them in person.

Youinsert your ticket into the scanner at the turnstile; no pushing a grubby notetowards an old man in a flat cap here. The only reason I bought tickets inadvance was to avoid the potential queue at the two ticket selling points atthe ground. Inevitably, this was far from a capacity match. In fact, the crowdwas about half what Sheffield United attract ordinarily and the prices were £3cheaper than the lowest graded league matches.

Theaway end was packed with 2,000 supporters who kept up the chanting rightthrough the 90 mins. Above us was a curious cantilevered red fabric awningwhich is presumably there to catch anything thrown from the tier above (emptytoday). When it was illuminated from time to time by the scoreboard the drapelooked like something you’d find inside the marquee at a wedding.

Thestand to our right was full, the stand to our left was half-full and the standbehind the opposite goal was closed and occupied only by a single ball boy whosat (I suspect purposefully) at the bottom of the ‘U’ in the white ‘SUFC’marked out in the seats. Like the Bolton/York tie 12 months previously you knewinstantly where the party was and who, a little reluctantly, was laying on thespread.

Sheffieldhad eased through the first two rounds with simple home wins against Oxford andTorquay and immediately exerted their authority over further lower levelopposition. Only some super saves from Salisbury goalie kept The Whites in thetie. (Duff nickname, by the way. Surely there must be better monickers linkedto the city’s ancient heritage or even nearby Stonehenge). Porter opened thescoring for Sheffield when, unmarked, he slotted home inside the box. TheBlades had sufficient chances to have put the tie to bed by half-time.

Salisbury– playing their sixth match in this season’s competition – came roaring outthe blocks at the start of the second half. They were attacking toward us, an inflatablesheep was pinging around and the tie finally flickered into life. This is whatwe want! The purple patch came to an abrupt end when Sheffield got the secondgoal on 60 mins, a wicked deflection off a wayward shot (above). Further misfortunefollowed when Salisbury’s Webb (son of David Webb, who scored the winner inChelsea’s FA Cup final replay in 1970) netted at his own end.

Showinggreat character, Salisbury rallied again towards the end with marauding Mackincapping a fine sub appearance by firing into the bottom left corner from theedge of the area (above). A deserved consolation but it was too little, too late, ofcourse. By now the full moon, thinly veiled by clouds, hung high above the centreflagpole on the roof of the empty stand, maintaining its pristine symmetry. Thesun had long set on Salisbury’s cup run – and mine, for that matter.

Theexperience of a professional football club made me hanker for a non-leagueground and the sense of community and occasion that goes with it when the bigmatches crop up. My mind went back to the last time I was at the same match asSheffield United manager, Danny Wilson – when he was in charge ofBristol City at Harrogate Railway in 2002. Ah, the memories. Perhaps I’mturning into an anorak but I think I’ll always prefer the third qualifyinground to the third round proper. I left my heart in Barnoldswick.

So.Salisbury plain? Well, not quite but – being the ultimate fair weathersupporter, having no connection with the city other than a school trip there c1974 and in the absence of an upset – the encounter was a little flat for me.

Happy hoppers: For another FA Cup blogger’s view of the match click here. This fella, like me, was at Barnoldswick and Staveley in the qualifiers and he’s yet to miss a round.

Programmenotes: “I’ve just been out and bought a jockstrap so I’ll pad it all up and Ishould be OK to play.” Gillingham’s Chris Whelpdale declares himself fitdespite suffering a split scrotum in a fixture against Crawley over the festiveperiod. Um, do we really need to know this? The quote was included in the‘Famous last words’ page.

TheFA Cup problem: The perennial poser of how to reignite interest in the FA Cupis like family members deciding what to do with its elderly mother when she’slost her marbles. We all love the old girl but she’s never going to be the sameas she was and we can’t just leave her alone to die. So what could be done - other than arrange for legendary players to come out of retirement to score winning goals on their returns? TheGuardian has some suggestions – and click on the thumbnail below for an amusingcollection of third round TV commentary clichés.

Alfreton Town 0 Carlisle United 4

2011-11-12T21:00:00.000-08:00

FA Cup, first round
Attendance: 1,488

“There are some things that tell you that you’re at a non-league ground” said my nephew and occasional Cup-anion Toby as he rejoined his brother Duncan and I on the terraces. “Dog footprints in the toilets”. Indeed. Welcome to the Impact Arena. Anything less arena-like it would be hard to imagine. This is a higgledy-piggledy, jerry-built ground but all the more endearing as a result of it. Only 10 years ago Alfreton were languishing in the Northern Counties League and it still shows. The narrow main stand – with three roofs at different levels – now barely has room for standard supporter accommodation. To walk the length of it is to weave in and out of the press box, Tommie Bradley terracing area and Lottie Bradley hospitality area – all shoehorned into what I imagine was previously terracing or seating. Along the way you also have to negotiate entrances to the changing rooms, bar, two hospitality suites and a sponsors’ lounge.

The opposite stand consists of thin metal poles supporting an equally flimsy roof. Behind one goal is uncovered seats plonked onto terracing and at the other end is a single, short cover that today demarked the exclusion zone between rival fans (not that it was needed). The fence badly obscured the view. Not surprisingly, the TV gantry took the form of scaffolding and plastic sheeting perched on top of one stand. Yards of multi-coloured cable festooned the terraces. Take away the breeze blocks enclosures, corrugated steel facias and hastily built brick kazis and this is a small ground inferior to most in the Conference to which Alfreton were promoted for the first time this season.

The arena (sic) is discreet within the outskirts of this north Derbyshire town (even the floodlights don’t stand out) and the muted mood matched. The Alfreton chairman described this tie as a “nice little diversion” from the fight to avoid relegation and the home fans seemed similarly unawed about the prospect of a visit by Carlisle, lying 10th in the third division. Perhaps that also had something to do with the fact that Alfreton were today appearing in the first round for the third time in seven years.

The Reds started promisingly but then conceded four goals in the second quarter of the contest as befitting the side with the worst defensive record in the top six divisions of English football. The pick of the bunch was a bicycle kick from a cross which, when I passed right in front of him, I heard the Radio Cumbria commentator liken to Rooney’s strike against Man City last season. (First goal pictured, below).

By half-time, then, it was all over bar the shouting but there wasn’t any. While understable to a degree, this was the most astonishingly quiet match I’ve ever been to. It was as if the minute’s silence for Remembrance Day before kick-off had been extended to cover the full ninety of the match. You could almost hear a poppy pin drop. Without exaggeration the players made more noise than the fans. In fact, there were more vocals at Barnoldswick back in August.

To their credit Alfreton put up a good fight in the second half. A penalty rattled the bar and the Reds tested the Carlisle goalie but it was all, inevitably, too little, too late. They deserved at least a consolation goal, though. In true non-league fashion, a woman with a peroxide beehive pushed her child around the pitch and we too were soon perambulating to the exit.

Streete map: Turning out for Alfreton was Theo Street, son of Floyd, who played for Wolves and Reading among others. Originally, I thought that it was Floyd on the pitch but he’s 52 now, as Duncan revealed from a quick Wiki. (Funny how iPhones have now completely replaced tiny, tinny trannies from Tandy on the terraces). Remie Streete, Theo’s brother, plays for Newcastle.

Stocking filler: You can buy a DVD of Alfreton’s pre-season 14-0 thrashing of a Sheffield Wednesday XI from the club shop. Now that would warm the cockles on a cold winter’s night …

Good thrashings: AFC Totton’s 8-1 win over Bradford Park Avenue was the biggest win for a non-league side in the proper rounds of the Cup for 66 years. Stranraer, meanwhile, bagged nine without return against Wigtown & Bladnoch in the Scottish Cup last month. The match was also notable not for being a rare Wigtownshire derby. Good blogtastic write-up by The Scotsman here.

My Cup doesn’t overfloweth: Faced with no suitable tie to go to in the final qualifying round, I made do with listening to commentary on Wrexham v. York. York lost having fielded a weakened team. “No matter: we can concentrate on the league” was the tenor of the post-match Tweets to the radio station. Oh, for goodness sake! Is the prospect of trips to Accrington and Torquay next season really more exciting than the potential of taking on a Premier League side (albeit their reserves) as, indeed, the Minstermen did last season? It’s a sad day for football if it is. At this rate the only knockout competition anyone will be serious about winning is the good old FA Vase.

And then there were eight: Another sign of the times is how few clubs below Conference North/South level made the first round this season: only eight (including just two from the north) out of 603 starters. Only sperm set off on a journey with less chance of reaching their goal.

Ex-pro in the news: Steve Claridge has signed for Gosport. Interesting little film about his debut here. And what a winner he scores too.

Leek Town 1 Hinckley United 2 (aet)

2011-10-18T11:59:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, third qualifying round replay
Attendance: 488

Leek isn’t the most obvious destination for a night out but for an FA Cupaholic in the Midlands on business on Cup replay day it was the only place to be. I was actually working near Hinckley so this was nearly an ‘howay the lads’ trip. The route wasn’t exactly aflutter with orange and white scarves, though, as I plied my way across the endless dark expanses of Derbyshire and Staffordshire. By the time I reached the turnstiles I was starting to question my sanity. My attendance at this tie was borne out of expedience rather than simple desire.

Harrison Park is a very substantial ground for this level with cover on all three sides plus large grandstand with paddock. The Conference-type set-up a hark back to Leek’s glory days in the nineties when they enjoyed two seasons at the top level, were runners-up in the FA Trophy and twice progressed to the proper rounds of the FA Cup. Today, languishing in the first division south of the Northern Premier League, two steps lower than Hinckley, Leek is a sleeping giant. But, attracting the division’s second highest average league gate of 371, you feel that the club could easily follow in the footsteps of Chorley, another ex-Conference side with a rowdy, resilient hardcore of youthful support you often get for one-horse town teams. I never know whether to admire these lads or take pity. The crowd was practically all male under 21s and old men and the majority of the few women I spotted were over 60 and had car rugs over their knees.

Most of the key action took place in the first quarter of the match. Leek started very positively and took the lead with a header off the post by Matty (footballers aren’t called Matthew) Haddrell. The “hurly burly striker” as the local paper call him then ran behind the goal stroking the outstretched hands of the fans (see lead pic). Love a bit of showmanship. Leek then nearly doubled the lead with a similar effort (video here). Within a minute of the re-start Hinckley had broken away at the other end and equalised through Gray. Thomas of Leek was then sent-off for lunging foul and, after that, the Lockmen – as Leek are called account of the town’s most famous resident, canal builder James Brindley – were always going to struggle much like the similarly reduced Welsh rugger side on Saturday.

I had the obligatoy leak in Leek at half-time (the bogs are of the breeze block, unroofed variety) really, really, really hoping that we weren’t heading for extra-time and penalties, mindful of my two-hour journey home. I haven’t wanted a 90-minute conclusion so much since the Harrogate/Torquay replay (goalless and Harrogate lost on penalties) when I had to be up at six the next day to catch a flight.

The rest of the contest was pretty much one-way traffic in favour of Hinckley and, but for some poor finishing, they would have put the tie out of sight. Leek had their moments – hitting the post again, for instance (video here) – but they were few and far between. Right at the start of, yes, extra-time a cross from the right was flicked in at the near post by Byrne. I was half-wanting Leek to draw level but equally wanting to put an end to what was an increasingly cold night. The temperature had dropped about 20 degrees since the previous round. As it was The Knitters retained their lead and go through to face Darlo in the final qualifying round.

I left the ground to the sounds of “the referee’s a wanker”. And so to the Silk Road (the one named just that in Macclesfield), around Manchester and over the Pennines at midnight. “Was it worth it?” the missus asked, as I stumbled down to breakfast. In truth – and in the absence of an upset – probably not but a night tie at a new venue was a novel experience.

Programme notes: Devon Gibson of Leek “appeared in the final of the Australian reality television series Football Superstar”. Umm, err. I take it he didn’t win. In the dubious crudentials stakes Devon rivals Tunji Moses of Hyde (see previous post).

Photography note: I inevitably struggled with the photography tonight and pinched the Matty and sending off pics from the local paper. No such problems for a photographer at a recent Histon match who took this cracking, atmospheric shot.

Those were days, part 203: I’ve been enjoying Sounds of the Century on Radio 2. It’s a skilful blend of archive recordings and pop from each year. Here’s a great clip of two Liverpool commentaries from 1977. In an instant you will be reminded of how tremendously exciting the FA Cup final used to be and the irreplaceable thrill of a cracky football commentary on the radio (even when the commentator misidentifies the scorer). Back then a British team in Europe was genuinely that and we were all behind it.

Liverpool commentaries 1977 (mp3)

Staveley Miners Welfare 0 Hyde FC 3

2011-10-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, second qualifying round
Attendance: 320

What’s it like to see a crowd? Well, after three rounds of decreasing sub-200 crowds, very good. I’ve reached the stage in the Cup when I select a tie based more on what sounds like a good contest rather than a grand day out. Today I watched the equal highest ranked side in the competition at this stage, Hyde (top the Conference North) hosted by newly promoted Staveley (three steps lower at the top of the Northern Counties East Premier). Both sides are unbeaten. Something had to give …

Staveley love their stripes and logo. Two helpful chaps in polo shirts bearing the logo directed me to the last space in the car park then I made my way to the turnstiles past an ostentatiously parked four-wheel drive vehicle with striking Staveley livery (like the club’s minibus at Goole two rounds ago). The full length of the clubhouse and function room on both sides is immaculately painted in blue and white stripes. Inside every table has a logo as does the extendable vinyl tunnel. Even the bins around the ground (royal blue, of course) have the logo. There are almost as many Staveley logos at Inkersall Road than there will be five rings at the Olympic stadium.

First impressions of Staveley (in north Derbyshire) is that this is a club on the up – and rather flush with it. I’ve never seen such an exceptionally smart (if otherwise unremarkable) stadium at this low level. There’s a fancy electronic scoreboard and clock and fascias on all the stands positively gleam which is more than a little to do with the fact that they – and their league, the Northern Counties East – are sponsored by Baris Fascias and Linings. Company MD and, one assumes, Staveley benefactor, Terry Damms is pictured in the clubhouse pressing the flesh with England World Cup winners, Jimmy Greaves, HRH Bobby Robson, Harry Redknapp and numerous other football royalty. This fellow is well connected.

Peculiarly, given the standard of the ground, the PA announcer-cum-cameraman has to make do with a scaffold tower away from the clubhouse (wonder if he fell out with Terry) and supplies for the barbecue are stored in a shipping container. Pity that two of the three stands are set far back from pitchside too. With temperatures up to 82F, the crowd was all baseball caps, bare chests and beer cans today. The away fans – who came in a coach rather than minibus for the first time on this season’s FA Cup trail – chanted their hatred for “Celtic”. Not the Glasgow variety but Stalybridge Celtic, their bitter Tameside rivals (as I found out in 2007).

Hyde made their superior status tell immediately. It was no surprise when they took the lead on 20 mins when a cross from the right was knocked in at the far post. Thereafter a Hyde win – their first in the competition for six years – was always on the cards. FA Cup virgins this season, Staveley didn’t have their first goal chance until 30 mins were up. Hyde extended their lead with a shot that took a wicked deflection early in the second half. Thereafter Staveley rallied well but, after the third Hyde goal, everyone was just playing for time. This contest was actually a no contest. Still I had a super afternoon in the sunshine.

Star turns: First up we have Tunji Moses, formerly of the Macclesfield Meltdown roller hockey team and FC United of Manchester and, even more notably, son of Remi Moses of Man United in the early 80s. Secondly, Matty Berkeley, the only international on the pitch having played for St Kitts & Nevis under 20s. Thirdly, Martyn Booty, an ex-Reading pro and Hyde’s assistant manager, whom I last spotted playing for Curzon Ashton.

Tunji ... Remi ... and Martin

Programme notes: “As always as a club we wish to look, listen and learn and if anybody has any suggestion as to how we may better our facilities and arrangements for you, the supporters, then please let us know. You lot are the life blood of our business here so you are very much priority as to how we look after you”. So it said in the ‘introduction’. Love it. Another indication of what sort of club this is is the fact that the chairman’s work telephone number, mobile and email are printed in the programme.

FC means sweet FA: What’s with the ‘FC’ prefix or suffix that’s in vogue at the moment? Parkgate and Hyde have both changed their names in this respect recently. The new names have all the impact of a company switching from being called Marks & Spencer to Marks & Spencer Plc. If you want to re-name then why not create an albion or wanderers? And, more meaningful than FC would be DC as in ‘da capo’, the musical notation for play again from the beginning.

TV or not TV? So Fergie thinks that telly is too influential over football. Not from where I’m standing (as opposed to sitting with a prawn sandwich). There are 82 ties in the second qualifying round and all but two kicked off at 3pm on Saturday.

Ooh-err, missus! Following news of Harrogate Town’s “new brand spanking website” (see end of previous post), I read also in the local paper that, following a victory over Scarborough Athletic in the first qualifying round, Tadcaster Albion “deserve all the plaudits not only for beating ’Boro but giving their Seadog backsides a tanning”. Is their reporter kinky, or what? Still, nothing like partisan journalism. That sort of tribal passion is what the Cup’s all about.

Parkgate FC 1 Whitby Town 3

2011-09-17T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, first qualifying round
Attendance: 116

Neither this tie nor my attendance at it were ever supposed to happen. My original plan was to see Ramsbottom v. Nantwich but I abandoned that when I learnt that the match had been switched to another ground (see below). After a hasty scan of the fixture list I selected Parkgate who had been reinstated to the Cup on Monday after their conquerors in the previous round were expelled for fielding an ineligible player. I hadn’t even heard of Parkgate before last week when, coincidentally, I chanced upon a very funny blog post about their preliminary round encounter. It told of a dead hedgehog, children watching the match via trampoline, balls being fetched from gardens by ladder and the perils of buying a cup of tea from the tea hut located behind one of the goals. If I got just half that off-pitch amusement then I was in for a treat.

So where is Parkgate? With a name like that the club could be anywhere. It’s actually a suburb of Rawmarsh which is effectively a suburb of Rotherham which – as all spectators at York v. Rotherham last season will know – is just a “small town in Sheffield”. The ground is snuck away down a lane signed only to the golf club. Had it not been for the website instructions to look out for the Wing Wah takeaway and follow the signs to the golf club I’d never have found it. Parkgate is right up there among the great hidden football grounds of Yorkshire second only, in my experience, to Emley. Having edged down a narrow lane I was assured to find the Whitby team bus among the golf buggies.

‘Park’ is very much the operative word in Parkgate. An entire side of the ground (not open to spectators) is lined by a hedge and the opposite flank backs onto conservatories, garden sheds and trellis fencing. The place is much more Diarmuid Gavin than Archibald Leitch, shall we say. The scene may be suburban but the steelworks looming in the valley behind the hedge is quintessentially South Yorkshire. One industrial structure sticking up over the hedge looks like a oil rig or Nazi look-out tower.

A polite sign says “spectators are not permitted to stand within the roped area” which refers to a grassy bank protected by a plastic chain on wooden posts. Two mean looking fellas with an Alsatian didn’t heed the instruction but no-one chose to question them. A safety notices forbids cycling around the pitch – and in these surroundings such misbehaviour isn’t quite as unlikely as it sounds.

The playing surface is absolutely immaculate which I suspect has something to do with the fact that Rotherham reserves play here and the club’s training ground is adjacent. It’s the sort of pitch that makes you long for a kick-about. One other point of note: the plastic seats are flip-down rather than flip-up so careful how you stand up from them or you’ll end up in heap on the floor.

Whitby play two divisions higher than Parkgate and it soon showed. They took the lead on 17 mins when McTiernan clipped back from the byline and Hodgson steered it home. Then, on the stroke of half-time, McTiernan controlled the ball well on the edge of the box and shot into the bottom left corner. This was reflective of their tidy, measured football which rather matched their continental-style shirts: plain white with stripes down one side and narrow numbers on the back.

I half expected Whitby to inflict on Parkgate the same sort of 8-1 drubbing that the home side dished out to Barton Old Boys last week but that didn’t happen. Parkgate came out fighting in the second half, contained the visitors and even got a goal back, a looping header from the lanky Wood. First-half showers gave way to a rich rainbow and lovely low-angled September sunshine as the ice cream van’s The Entertainer jingle wafted into the ground.

The tie was sealed when a cross was bundled in by Dunford and adjudged to have crossed the line. A possee of Whitby fans – the first chanters encountered on this season’s FA Cup trail – provided the next somewhat predictable melody: “Wember-ley, Wember-ley. We’re the boys from Whitby Town and we’re going to Wembley”. At the final whistle the bawl was: “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to see Whitby win away”.

For Parkgate the match will be remembered as the only time that they were knocked out of the Cup twice in the same season. For Whitby – and me – it was practically a walk in the park.

(I pinched this pic angle from the aforementioned blog. Looks like one side is defending three goals!)

Star turn: Whitby are bossed (love that lingo) by Tommy Cassidy, pictured, an FA Cup finalist for Newcastle in 1974.

Poor bloke: The lino was called Ian Smellie. He must’ve heard ’em all.

Poor Rammy: Ramsbottom had to relocate their keenly awaited tie against Nantwich Town at short notice because of a festival taking place on the cricket pitch next to their ground. AFC Darwen agreed to be hosts. Following heavy rain their pitch was inspected at 11am on Saturday and the match declared ‘on’ only for it to be called off later because of further deluge. It never rains but it pours. So glad I checked the match online minutes before I set off. Three cheers for the interweb.

Name of Cup so far: Harry Honesty, “the sort of name you might normally expect to find in a wartime ‘educational’ comic produced by the Ministry of Information” says the blogger who brought the name to my attention from his chucklesome and well observed report on Harry's fine preliminary round display for Haringay & Waltham Development, a team of British-born Mauritians.

Off the rails: Harrogate Railway's manager said ahead of their tie against Bradford Park Avenue: "I think we can get something out of it. I'm quietly confident". 'Rail got walloped 8-0! Also in the Harrogate Advertiser I read that "Town's new brand spanking website went live this week". Even more concerning is that "the club hopes to connect with more of the younger members of the community".

Goole AFC 1 Staveley Miners Welfare 1

2011-09-03T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, preliminary round

Attendance: 134

‘Did you mean Google?’ Well no, I didn’t, actually. It’s as if the world’s favourite search engine can’t imagine that anyone would be seeking information about Goole, a town in the East Riding of Yorkshire, rather than Google. For today, at least, Goole meant more to me than an e-spelling error although I will never forget (courtesy of Wikipedia) that people who come from the town are, indeed, called Goolies.

The quaint sounding (but not quaint) Victoria Pleasure Ground (VPG) is a one-shot stadium but what a shot. It is dominated by a pair of water towers, nicknamed the salt cellar and pepper pot. Built in 1926, the former also looks like a giant phallus and the latter is the largest water tower in Europe. I haven't been so enthralled by stadium-side towers since the (now demolished) giant drill bit at Glossop North End.

The pitch is surrounded by a four-lane running track, the outer lane partially covered in moss, which is never an ideal arrangement for watching football as I’m sure West Ham fans will come to realise in seasons to come although, admitedly, the Olympic stadium is a long way from the VPG.

This is not a place I’d like to come on a wet winter’s night as the wind whistles across the surrounding docks and plains. The noise of an excavator grinding and groaning in the docks drowned out the calls of the players. One chap watched from this back garden, leaning on a wall comprised of concrete planks and topped with barbed wire like a cross between Kilroy and an inmate in a prisoner of war camp. Razor wire protected the press box from interlopers.

The VPG contains two conundrums. What happened with the ‘g’ in the ‘no parking’ sign, my son Bertie wondered, and why is there a row of numbered seats facing away from the pitch (see below)? Perhaps their orientation is to facilitate prayer. There isn’t exactly a great clamour for accommodation at the VPG and certainly not for this sort of vantage point. These must be the most needlessly numbered seats in the world. Nearly as superfluous is the formidable caging around the tunnel (see earlier pic). The tune played from the tinny PA as the teams came out – that old non-league standby, ‘Eye of the Tiger’ – was the only wild thing about this encounter.

The second half was much better than the forgettable first. Staveley (from Derbyshire) took the lead on 55 mins when a striker burst through on the left and squared for Barraclough to stroke home. The visitors then looked much the stronger side and clipped the bar (see mini-movie, earlier). Meanwhile, Goole had an effort nodded off the line and then, largely against the odds and three mins from time, Martin of Goole blasted home from the edge of the box. Drat: there goes my intended witty last line about about ‘no gools’ from Goole or something like that.

Programme notes: ‘Big Mal’, editor, describes the fame that FA Cup first round glory can bring, citing a notable Cup runs for my local team: “For that season every football supporter in the country knew the name of Harrogate Town and this in turn brings notoreity to the town of Harrogate”. Mmm, err. It was Harrogate Railway, Mal. Perhaps it didn’t make their name quite as well known …

True colours: Here’s what Staveley’s ground looks like. Wow! No prizes for guessing what colours they play in …

Make a day of it: Arrive early in Goole as we did and visit the Yorkshire Waterways Museum which also runs boat tours of the docks. Goole is the furthest inland port in the UK and was purpose-built to serve the docks in the 1820s.

Star turns: Ex-Reading and Birmingham hotshot Nicky Forster and ex-Blackburn title winning defender Ian Pearce turned out for Sussex-based Lingfield in the Cup today. See here for some footage.

Ground hopper to island hopper: So much for Man U 8 Arsenal 2. The only result I heard last weekend was Frimley Green 0 Guernsey 5. I’d tuned into Radio Guernsey to hear the weather forecast while staying on nearby Alderney. The island’s football team play – or, it looks like, used to play – at his beautifully located ground. Alderney finished bottom of the 14 teams in the recent Island Games. Opposition in the group stages included Gibraltar and the Falklands. Greenland v. Menorca must’ve been a cracker.

Barnoldswick Town 0 Ramsbottom Utd 2

2011-08-20T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup extra preliminary round

Attendance: 177

As I’ve noted before, selecting a tie in the ultra-early rounds of the Cup is like picking a winner for the Grand National: just go for a funny name. There were some splendid ones to chose from this time including Greenwood Meadows, Thurnby Nirvana, Wolverhampton Casuals, Dunkirk, Bustleholme, Continental Star, Bugbrooke St Michaels and Bemerton Heath Harlequins.

No tie was more quintessentially northern-sounding than this one, though. The match had a certain symmetry for me in that my final match of last season involved Barnoldswick. The lads began the season (only their third in the non-league pyramid) at a gallop with three wins out of four and, particularly adding to the attraction, this was their first ever match in the FA Cup. Barlick, as the town’s known locally, were absolute beginners in the outer space of the competition.

Some 671 non-league clubs enter the Cup in the qualifying rounds and there are only 32 places available for them in the first round proper. The slender prospect of significant progress didn’t put off the supporters. A healthy 177 turned out for the occasion. I’m not a fan of sponsored stadia names but the Silentnight Stadium is a cracker. What a gift for journalists when it’s a boring game. (Silentnight are have been based in Barnoldswick since acquiring a mill-powered mattress factory in the 50s). It was, indeed, a pretty silent afternoon, the calls of the players much louder than the murmer of the crowd except for the spasmodic and bizarre bawl of “Sew-er!” from the clubhouse steps. Why?

Fittingly, the ground includes some old barn cues. You half expect to see a cow through a window at the end of the main stand and behind one goal is what looks like a pair of barn conversions. The view from the clubhouse end includes a rugby pitch on the top of a bank to the right (see pic, above) and a cricket scoring tower peeping over the left touchline.

These features together with the concentric rings of freshly mown grass on the football pitch really sums up how August marks the blurring of the sporting seasons. Victory Park, as the whole complex is called, is a most convivial spot for an afternoon’s sport, whether playing or spectating.

Kids on scooters and mum’s with bairns in pushchairs dawdled around the pitch. The set-up was so casual that my son, Bertie, and I were able to leave the ground at half-time for the playground and return without having so much to ask the gateman. He wasn’t there! It only cost £4 to get in – and under 16s were free.

Barnoldswick’s debut didn’t go well. They were second best from the start. They nearly went behind when the goalie dropped a ball on the line but the lino waved play on. Ramsbottom predictably took the lead on 18 mins when a free kick was pushed by the goalie onto the bar then bundled into the net. I caught it all in a mini-movie, as below. The tie was effectively ended shortly before half-time when Robinson of Rammy burst through from midfield and beat the keeper in a one-on-one.

A bright first-half gave way to heavy rain throughout the second. “Surve watterin' bass-kits,” mused the old fella behind me in an accent reminiscent of Fred Dibnah – or perhaps Geoff Boycott. It’s hard to tell in this hinterland between Yorkshire and Lancashire. The club crest bears both the white and red roses. Barnoldswick improved but it was too little, too late. The main action was the sending off of their sub, Smith, after just six minutes on the pitch for an over-the-top tackle. It all ended in tears, as my Dad would’ve said. How beat does this lad look as he leaves the pitch? The X-Factor’s back on the telly tonight and the Cup is up and running once more. Autumn is on its way.

Programme notes: Michael Saunders of Rammy is a “pocket exocet” while Phil Dean is “five foot next to nothing but has pace to burn”. Best name? Barry Shuttleworth who has “more clubs than Jack Nicklaus”.

Make a day of it: Get to Barnoldswick early and do the excellent Stream and Steam Heritage Trail then cycle for three miles south along the canal towpath to The Wharf at Foulridge for a spot of lunch. That’s what we did.

Tale of woe: Spare a thought for poor old Brodsworth Welfare. I saw them in April at the end of what was to be a winless season. Last month, in their centenary year, their clubhouse was arsoned, Featherstone Rovers declined to ground share and, as a result, Broddy has dropped out of the non-league pyramid. How sad: the local yobs see their club as more fun to torch than play for.

Close season appearance: The company I work for is carrying out extensive flood alleviation works in Banbury. My tour of the scheme included the new concrete walls we’ve built to protect Banbury United FC from the River Cherwell. Never mind the 3km bund upstream, treading the turf was the undoubted highlight for me.

Not the FA Cup and other musings on the shrinking close season

2011-07-27T00:36:00.000-07:00

I know this is hardly a new point and that I’m going to sound like an old woman making it – but the football season seems to start earlier every year. These days the play-offs dribble across May making the gap much smaller to start with. In fact, if you included non-league I reckon you could probably have gone to a play-off tie every day during the month. It would make a neat groundhopping challenge, a bit like going to a tie in every round of the FA Cup. I totally oppose the play-offs: unfair, unnecessary and going against the fundamental principal of sport – that the best team succeeds. They are like a cross between school detention and a private party which only those invited care about. The fact that the winner gets a trophy but the runner-up in the league gets nothing encapsulates their absurdity. The Conference South and North play-off trophy even mimics the FA Cup (see Farnborough lads, above)! (The good old Northern League also presents an FA Cup replica, below, but at least it goes to the champions).

I loved the old days when the complete league programme concluded one Saturday, you had the Cup final the next, then two Saturdays of home internationals and, for the really keen, the last hurrah – or should that be squeal – of the boys international. That was it until, well, the esteemed Texaco Cup.

For Texaco Cup today read Europa League, that pointless toil of Air Miles accumulation and matches against unpronouncable teams with ‘j’ and ‘z’ in their name. At this level it's more exciting to qualify for Europe than to play in it. Fulham were plying their trade in plate competition in the Faroe Islands just 26 days after the final senior match of last season, England v. Switzerland, on June 4. Take a look at the pic above. Brrr! You can fair feel the sea fret as it trickles down the neck of your cagoule. (Love to have been there. Really one to tell your grandchildren about). Four days before Fulham hit the highlands – and also while Wimbledon was on the telly – the first Scottish friendly took place involving Dundee United and Drogheda while the SPL season kicked off the day after the kids broke up. It’s what sale promoters call mid-summer madness.

Pre-season friendlies, while largely maligned, do through up some wonderfully quirky fixtures. My favourite so far has been Guernsey FC v. AFC Wimbledon (5-6 - see highlights here). Newly-formed Guernsey are making history this season by becoming the first island side to compete in an English league (in the Step 6, Combined Counties first division). A condition is that they pay for the travel of visiting teams – the might of Hounslow United, Eversley and South Kilburn among them. Hell of a commitment but I guess they’ve done the sums – and what fabulous free weekends away for the oppo. It will be interesting to see how it all pans out. Talking of high-scoring friendlies, did you see that Bangor City were subjected to a record Champions League hiding: 10-0 (and 13-0 aggregate) at the hands of HJK Helsinki? League of Wales champs? Make that chumps … (Highlights here).

While on holiday in the Scillies I read in The Cornishman about a friendly between Penzance and Liverpool in 1988. (Click thumbnail above to read). Sad to think that sort of friendly will never happen again. Premiership clubs are too pre-occupied playing for the Sanyo Masters or whatever in some replica shirt-selling hotbed of the Far East to be worried about marking the centenary of a club in the far south-west. The clipping also recalls when a Man United XI played at Mousehole, a Cornish fishing village. I can but dream …

And, finally, while I was in the south-west I stayed in Bath and spotted the beautifully located and trim rugby ground. This is a blog about football grounds but a pic of the The Rec will help fill the gap until I make my debut this season – in the extra-preliminary round of the FA Cup on Aug 20. That’s quite early enough.

More quirky fixtures: Two more wonderfully arcane pre-season friendlies to read about here. Firstly, a match at Redhill featuring the Glenn Hoddle Academy (which consists of lads who didn't make the grade at high-ranking League clubs) and, secondly, a match between Bishops Stortford and Gabala FC, the Azerbaijani club managed by Tony Adams.

Colne 1 Barnoldswick Town 1

2011-04-25T21:00:00.000-07:00

North West Counties League Premier Division
Attendance: 216

Colne and Barnoldswick are five miles apart on either side of the Lancashire/West Riding of Yorkshire border so I suppose you could call this match the Pendle derby or, if you really wanted to big it up, a war of the roses. In all other respects, though, there’s no escaping the fact that the encounter was a bread and butter step five fixture. Pretty hardcore in groundhopping terms, in fact.

So why go? Well, the Colne ground sounded worth a visit from this recommended blog, it was a nice, sunny day, and I fancied a walk with my boy around nearby Wycoller Country Park. That done we proceeded to the match.

From outside the Holt House ground looked worryingly plain: just a low-level corrugated iron compound but inside it has idiosyncracies aplenty. You enter via a single turnstile that looks older than all the other fixtures and fittings put together. The first thing that then strikes you is the pronounced slope of the pitch. The highest corner flag is 15ft higher than the lowest. The accommodation is the usual combination of rickety mismatched wooden stands some echoing like staging blocks when you walk through them. The main stand has numbered seats which you can’t quite imagine people fighting over and is so enclosed that it feels a bit like being aboard a boat.

The nautical theme is echoed by the obligatory shipping containers around the touchline, one housing the bar. There are plenty of opportunities to watch matches for free by looking over the fence and you can pass through it via a little door to spend a penny (as we saw one lad do). My favourite features, though, are the entrance to the home dressing room which looks like a sentry box and garden bench fixed to the top of a short section of terracing.

The views are great too. Roofs of terraced houses stretch into the distance on the diagonal behind the downhill goal while St Bartholemew’s Church and the clocktower of the Victorian town hall poke above the main stand and below the imposing Boulsworth Hill. Through binoculars on the far side of the valley I could make out Walton’s Spire near the summit from which (on a bike ride last month) I’d first espied Holt House.

The match was as keenly contested as you might expect from such local rivals next to each other in the league table but, in the first half, there were very few chances. The main action was concentrated in the final quarter. Barnoldswick failed to break the deadlock when a penalty was blasted over the bar and out of the ground. Shortly afterwards on 74 mins, Colne took the lead when a corner was cleared only as far as the edge of the box and Heyes shot home in front of the sheep (and I got my best goal pic of the season, below). Barnoldswick deservedly equalised six minutes later when Jordan knocked a cross in and should’ve won it at the end when Hollindrake was clean through but committed the classic ‘head in hands’ miss.

My last match of the season was very similar to my first: low-key but, as ever, providing the core of a pleasant day out. None of that protracted play-off nonesense for me (unless Reading reach Wembley, of course). Summer starts here.

Programme notes: Five new(ish) babies are announced on p18 – in a spot titled ‘Colne crêche’. Guess that’s what you call a family club. The programme also reports how two ex-players are now competing in the US for New Orleans Jesters and West Virginia Chaos, both seemingly named for the benefit of headline writers.

The rise and fall of Colne Dynamoes: Talking of great names, Colne’s previous club (which also played at Holt House) was called Colne Dynamoes. In the late 80s, backed by millionnaire chairman Graham White, they won the FA Vase, reached the semi-final of the FA Trophy and – fielding ex-Liverpool European Cup winner Alan Kennedy – secured the Northern Premier League. They were (to use my favourite football cliché) knocking on the door of the Conference but it didn’t open because the ground was inadequate. That summer White closed the club amid suspicions that the money had run out. Crawley Town take note. For the full story click here.

Breakfast with the stars: I followed local Pendle hero Chris Eagles down to breakfast on Saturday. My family and I were staying at the same hotel as Burnley FC ahead of their 4-2 win at Derby.

AFC Emley 7 Brodsworth Welfare 0

2011-04-02T21:00:00.000-07:00

Northern Counties East League First Divison
Attendance: 122

On my last football outing I saw the third best team in England, Man City. Today I saw the worst team in the top six steps of non-league football, Brodsworth Welfare. They are firmly anchored to the foot of their division having accumulated, before today, a measly two points from 36 matches and a -103 goal difference. When I first spotted their plight I earmarked a match in spring in anticipation of witnessing a double-digit hiding but, in recent weeks their fortunes have improved marginally with some fine one and two goal margin defeats and the attraction of today’s fixture was increasingly the possibility of seeing Broddy’s first victory.

Today’s opponents, AFC Emley, have already made plenty of history of their own. In 1998 this club from a former Yorkshire pit village reached the third round of the FA Cup. They played away to West Ham – Lamps, Rio, ‘Psycho’ Pearce, ’Arry and all – and lost 2-1. (Emley play, rather appropriately, in claret and blue). At the time they were riding high in the Northern Premier League. In fact, they were punching too far above their weight. Ground grading requirements led them to merge with and relocate to Wakefield from 2000. Reluctant bedfellows, Emley de-merged and returned home five years later. They were promoted from local football in their first season and have trundled along in the Northern Counties East First Division ever since. No sprint back up the table for them like other reformed clubs.

You’d think that finding a football ground in a village with a population of 1,900 would be easy – but not for my son Bertie and I. We did a couple of laps of the place and then finally spotted a narrow, unsigned passage between two buildings opposite an old market cross which ushered us through to the Welfare Ground. (You can’t rely on a torrent of fans to lead you to the ground at this level). We parked at 2.57pm and were inside the ground just as the players emerged.

On a fine spring day Emley is a pleasant, peaceful place to be and provides the best facilities in the division. The ground is three-sided, the fourth side being a fence to the adjoining cricket pitch. The view and the weather both bought the change of the sporting seasons to mind.

A crowd of a “magnificent” (to quote the PA announcer) 122 included a couple of boys in Huddersfield Town shirts, a chap sporting a wooly hat with the slogan ‘Emley – Simply the Best’ and a lady with the finest home-knitted scarf I’ve ever seen. I didn’t spot any away fans but then the crowd at Broddy’s last home fixture only exceeded the number of players on the pitch by two. Most of us sat in the large grandstand. To the right we could see Emley’s claim to fame, the Emley Tower (which we’d bagged earlier). At 330m, this is the largest free-standing structure in the UK and provides TV pictures to viewers from Darlington to Lincoln.

Coming into the match on a run of six wins and two draws, Emley were clearly the stronger side from the start but Broddy had about three good chances at the other end and went in at half-time just one goal behind and very much still in the match. Emley killed any chance of an upset with a second goal on 55 mins and at the end were – to coin a phase – scoring goals for fun with four in the last 13 mins. Broddy reminded me of kids on the beach who have built a castle to hold back the waves. To start with it’s all hands to the pump when a wave laps over the defences but, in the end, they just didn’t care and let all their earlier hard work wash away.

The Emley sub somehow missed a sitter when clean through at 6-0 then made amends to get the seventh but, tragically, hit the post with the last kick of the match. Tragic in that 8-0 would’ve been Broddy’s greatest pasting of the season and something truly to behold. Ah, well. 7-0 and a gentle afternoon with my boy in the sunshine: that’ll do nicely.

Programme notes: Botterill of Brodsworth “started pre-season on fire”. Sounds painful. I get the impression that his club’s profile was supplied as long ago. “The long-term future of Brodsworth is finally looking bright,” it concludes. I like the way that the ladies in the café were billed as “hospitality hostesses”. A hand-painted sign on one of the dug-outs (right) shows them sporting their Marigolds.

Another Wembley way?: Today Whitley Bay continued their love affair with the FA Vase (think that’s the footy lingo) by reaching a third final on the trot. I expect some fans will give another Wembley run a miss and you can hardly blame them. Bizarre for the supporters of such a low-ranked club to be in such a position. On the same topic it’s not often I agree with Fergie but I’m with him when it comes to the nonesense of staging the FA Cup semi-finals at Wembley. As he points out this season that means four sets of fans are carting down there from the north-west the same weekend as well as Liverpool fans going to Arsenal and the London Marathon traffic. Moreover, having the semis at Wembley further castrates the climax of the competition. You’ve basically now got three finals.

In the club: I’ve joined the Northern League Club. For just £10 you get a fab monthly newsletter and colour magazine, a bundle of back issues, ground guide and badge. This is better than the Tufty Club! Talking of things northern there was a great story this week about a lad who started the season with a Walker Central (who play at the level below the Northern League which is outer-space in non-league terms) and is now on the bench for Newcastle.

Name of the season: This one’s going to take some topping. Rudy Funk, appointed manager of Scarborough Athletic last week. He lost his first match 5-0.

Manchester City 1 Reading 0

2011-03-13T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup quarter-final
Attendance: 41,150

I thought my FA Cup trail had ended at Bolton but I couldn't resist coming back for this one. My hometown team were playing at a ground I'd never visited and seeking to reach the semi-finals for the first time since 1927. So, eight days on from one FA quarter-final I was at another which, while utterly contrasting, turned out to be equally enjoyable.

The broad concourse leading up to the main frontage of the City of Manchester Stadium reminded me a bit of Wembley Way. It's walls and base are painted sky blue and white (matching the sky today) and they take you up to a mosaic of Joe Mercer, so much more original that the obligatory statue and a feature that sets the tone for imaginative design of the whole stadium, particularly its exterior.

In fact, I enjoyed the buzz outside so much outside I was almost reluctant to go inside. The place has a fanzoney, Millennium Dome-like feel. I love old football grounds but even I have to reluctantly admit that places like this sort of artists impression made real represent the future. There were open air bars and cafes with tent-style roofs and giant sheltered screens on which, just as I arrived, I caught the draw for the semi-final (something not quite right there). Shaped stones provide seating and exterior elements of the stadium's superstructure complete the odd yet somehow cohesive surroundings.

I walked up a corkscrew tower to gain admission. I felt like I was entering a multi-storey car park but the ascent brought me out onto the third level of the ground. The rake of the seats was 45 degrees; one false step and you’re on the touchline. And what seats. For a bargain £17.50 I had a Royal box sort of view over what, in my experience, is the finest new stadium in the country.

Sadly for me, it was a Royal box view in that I could see the Royals fans in an area of the ground which was sold out when I applied for a ticket. Desperate. It was never going to be anything like the same sitting among the Mancs. I didn't bring my scarf with me to wear under my jacket while those around me wore wonderfully traditional plain blue and white scarves tied just like Roberto does.

We - oops, they - sang along to the refrain of Hey Jude (why?) and then picked up their song sheets for Blue Moon. This was hairs on the back of the neck stuff. (Strangely, though, the City fans didn't sing at all during the first half, being outchanted by the 'Ding fans and not much more choral than the handful of drunkards at Dunston last week). Soon after kick-off sections of the crowd turned to face away from the pitch, linked shoulders and jigged up and down creating a Mexican wave effect while inflatable bananas pinged around. Great wheeze. The atmosphere was by now electric and, for the first time, I could begin to understand the appeal of supporting a Premiership club even one that most epitomises its maligned moneybags image.

From the start it was clear which was the third best side in the country. City outclassed Reading and should have sealed the tie in the first half. More familiar with non-league, I was easily impressed with the quality of play. Tevez was like a terrier with a tennis ball; Silva dribbled as if the ball was stuck to his toe; man-of-the-match De Jong was a tower of strength; and Wright-Phillips (remember him?) was deservedly clapped off the pitch when substituted. I didn't think much of Yaya Toure, though, who lumbered around like Frank Bruno at the pantomime end of his career.

Reading contained City well at times and McCarthy made several great saves but we didn't make the tie much of a contest. Other than a couple of half-chances, the Reading highlight in the first half was a wave from Brian McDermott (albeit not in my direction, of course). I don't think we had a shot on target in the second half. The only way we were ever going to win this one was from one of those breakaway goals against the run of play .

Having squandered many chances City got the only goal when a Richards header from a corner flashed into the net with 16 mins to go. I have to admit that a small part of me was relieved we didn't win as it would've been agony to witness possibly the greatest victory in the club's history while sitting on my hands. I've also got my mum coming for a state visit on the weekend of the semis.

OK: what sort of fan am I? Well, I was the only one in my stand pausing after the final whistle to watch the Reading players going over to salute the fans. It was the end of the FA Cup for both of us – and, for me, nine ties and just eight miles from where it began also at a club starting with an 'M'. As I left the ground the giant screens urged City fans to return on Thursday for the visit of Dynamo Kiev. Next up for me? Back to basics with Brodsworth Welfare.

Park and walk: Determined to avoid a rip-off parking charge and massive jam to get away, I parked at Clayton Bridge and walked. I felt like I was doing one of those sponsored football fan walks when I set off in my trekking boots and cagoule, small scale OS map in hand. The two-mile route (signed to Sports City) takes 35 mins and weaves beside the River Medway in the Clayton Vale nature reserve then through Phillips Park and finally along the Ashton Canal towpath. On the road to Wembley the path to Eastlands is a pleasure.

Programme notes: Brilliantly researched programme with some fascinating archive shots and memorabilia. Smelled great too.

Name of the Round: Ruud Boffin. Sounds like a flatulating professor. He was West Ham's Belgian reserve goalie in the other semi today.

Video funny: You've probably see this but click here if you haven't – a bizarre streaker incident at Havant & Waterlooville last weekend.

Dunston UTS 1 Whitley Bay 2

2011-03-05T21:00:00.000-08:00

FA Vase quarter-final
Attendance: 1,496

I like Whitley Bay. I had a memorable foggy afternoon at Hillheads in the Cup five years ago and, when I worked for a Newcastle PR agency, sometimes stayed over in the town and had some great bike rides up the coast. But it's time they gave someone else a turn in the FA Vase. As winners in 2010 and 2009 the players have twice had the once in a lifetime experience of playing at Wembley. With so many entrants of similarly high rank, the Vase should be a competition in which, to coin a lotteryism, it really “could be you” – which means Bay surrendering one of the Wembley berths but, if their progress through this season’s competition is anything to do go by, they’re very reluctant to do so.

I have a small soft spot for Dunston UTS too. They were formerly sponsored by the neighbouring brewery which was a PR client of mine. I was once photographed holding one of its alcopops called Venom with a snake around my neck. Despite this media coup, Dunston remains considerably better known as the place where Gazza was raised and for being around the corner from the Metro Centre.

From the moment I got to the ground I realised that I was back at the raffle ticket and ice-cream tub level of non-league football. A raffle ticket was what I was handed as I pushed my way through the knee-high office block-style turnstile and a tub is where my £6 went. Entrants at the other end of the ground were administered from a bus shelter, the most resourceful use of such street furniture that I’d enjoyed since Ryton and that takes some beating. The programme was a black and white photocopied affair – but it made a nice change to get one.

Groundhoppers were much in evidence many taking pics of the clubhouse and toilet with a paparazzi-like fervour that made you wonder if His Royal Gazzaness was about to step out of the closet. They won’t have had much else to photograph for the UTS Stadium (UTS is the sponsoring engineering company, by the way) is completely unremarkable: just two short stands with corrugated steel fascias either side of the pitch which is enclosed by a rail and hardstanding. Still, I wasn’t here for the scenery on this occasion but the contest.

The hubbub of conversation at pitchside was more akin to the produce tent of the Northumberland County Show than a feisty Tyneside derby, exuding a convivial rivalry at most. In contrast to my previous outing at Chorley, there was certainly no need for segregation and the only temporary barriers in evidence fenced the route from the changing rooms to the pitch. A handwritten sign read: “Toilets Disabled + Other”. Wonder what the ‘other’ was. Women? Hermaphrodites?

The atmosphere was lacking a bit, to be honest. Newcastle playing at home knocked a few off the gate which can’t have helped. Competing in the same division these two sides know each other all too well and will be meeting again in 10 days. It was like Venus and Serena playing each other in tennis finals. Well, a teeny bit. In a Northern League sort of way. I’d much have preferred to have seen Torpoint Athletic from Cornwall sent all the way up here. This is the tie that the north-east didn’t want. You also sensed that for Bay this wasn’t exactly a big deal. Many of their fans wore their 2010 Wembley replica shirts to underline the point. In contrast, today was, according to the programme, “undoubtedly the biggest match in the Dunston’s history”. They have so few fans, though, you wouldn’t have known.

I was so desperate for a home fans buzz I stood in front of a bloke with a mini-England vuvuzela, one of about just a dozen vocal Dunston supporters. “You’re just a town with a lighthouse!” they bawled at the oppo. You could tell they weren’t used to chanting.

Dunston should’ve take an early lead with a header but did get the advantage on 35 mins when Bulford burst through and confidently beat the Bay keeper in a one-on-one. I wanted to cheer but felt a bit awkward about doing so since, at that point in the match, I was surrounded by Bay’s yellow and blue. Both sides played some quick, tidy football without creating many chances. The second half was better. On 56 mins Chow stroked the ball home from a nod-down. The match was nicely poised as it entered the final quarter and an atmosphere was building. If only Dunston could edge ahead again …

Dunston had some good pressure and chances, one effort being tipped over the bar by the Bay goalie. Then, with a degree of inevitability, at the other end Kerr flicked on to Chow who rounded the Dunston keeper and banged in the winner from a tight angle. I suppose that's what you call Chow Mean if you're a Dunston fan. Throughout Bay had more self-belief (borne from their outstanding record in the Vase) and, in the end, that was the difference between the sides.

Oh, well. Bay have applied for promotion to the Northern Premier League this season. Let’s hope they get that opportunity by winning the title and then go on to greater things – leaving just Dunston and the other small fish in the small pond.

Clips and pics: Click here for a short video. Prize for anyone who can work out what the guys behind me were saying. Being a southern woos I don't have a clue. There are some good action shots from the game here.

Nicknames of the season: Today was what must surely be dubbed ‘Clash of the tea biscuits’ in the Northern Premier League where The Gingerbreads (Grantham Town) took on The Gingerbread Men (Market Drayton Town). Just down the road is Spalding United, nicknamed The Tulips, another monicker unlikely to strike fear into oppositions’ hearts. And, while we're at, a prize for the most obvious but pertinent nickname in the land. Vase fifth rounders, Stansted? The Airportmen, of course.

Northern League Day: Coming soon ... on April 9. Click here for more info. (The bloke on the right in this pic reminds me of Frank Skinner).

Chorley 0 Chester 1

2011-02-19T21:00:00.000-08:00

Northern Premier League First Division (North)
Attendance: 3,223

On the face of it a low-level league fixture in deepest Lancashire in February doesn’t sound up to much but I’d been looking forward to this match for months. It was a great chance to see reformed Chester packing out one of the finest traditional grounds in northern England. What’s more by the time the fixture ticked round it was a second versus first encounter. Tasty or what?

I wasn’t the only one salivating. A casual check of the Chorley website on Monday revealed that it was all-ticket. Only just time, then, for an SAE order. Heavy snow in Yorkshire this morning caused another minor panic but thankfully it was clear on the other side of the Pennines.

So to Victory Park. Great name for a ground – and thoroughly worthy of being spelt out on the wrought iron gates to the club. The first part of the ground you see is a steep grassy bank backed by brambles and a big dip towards terraced houses. Men standing on a hillside gave a tribal, gathering-of-the-clan feel to the occasion. Incongruously, the bank has just a handful of sturdy crash barriers within it.

The grandstand is guaranteed to thrill the groundhopper. It’s a two-tier affair, seats above and a paddock for standing below. A pair of floodlight pylons poke through the roof like weeds growing through matting and there are two matching pylons either side of it. The underside of the corrugated roof is a lattice of rusting girders and the flip-up seats are secured with cast iron brackets. Even Millwall fans would have trouble ripping these out.

Talking of which, it all started kicking off during the players' warm-up. The two rival sets of fans were separated by two lines of temporary fencing like you get at building sites. First there was some baiting then the yobs start heaving the fences back and forth until one section collapsed and they got to trade a few brief blows with each other. Mostly, though, they were just posturing. The orange jackets (stewards) watched – as did Victor the Magpie and friend – then the yellow jackets (rozzers) stepped in to create a no man’s land. The scene was played out to the music of JLS over the tinny tannoy. (Click here for some video plus highlights of the match).

Suffice to say the whole place was now buzzing with a cup-tie like atmosphere. In fact, the kick-off had to be delayed 15 mins because of crowd congestion. Once the match was underway the queue for small bog was 20 men long and three small boys climbed up trees for a free vantage point in the corner occupied by the Victory Snack Shack. Set beneath a slate grey sky, the whole scene – and the punch-up – was a throw-back to a fourth division match in the seventies. OK: so today was obviously a big match but Chorley regularly draw crowds of 700+ for home fixtures and, with that sort of following and such a substantial ground, you can’t help wondering why they aren’t higher up the pyramid. (They had two seasons in the Conference in the late 80s). Sleeping giant and all that.

Fast and fiesty though it was, the action itself didn’t quite live up to the occasion and was rather overshadowed by the aggro. Chester were the better side. They took the lead mid-way through the second half when a defensive error by Chorley presented the ball to a Wilde who squared it to Booth to stroke home. Chester’s Horan hit the bar with a header shortly afterwards. Chorley’s best chance fell to Stepien who blasted over the bar after a team-mate had skilfully chested the ball down and crossed from the byline. The game needed an equaliser but it didn’t come.

As I left the ground I kept passing lads rubbing their eyes and complaining of not being able to see. It appears that the cause was some sort of spray the police had used to neuter the two rival groups of fans on the pitch after the final whistle. Cheaper than dogs, I suppose. One group of policemen formed a welcome party for Chester fans at the station, another group shepherded them there (circled by Chorley swarms) and, as I got into my car, a helicopter hovered, rotors whirring.

It was a vintage afternoon – as edgy as Droylsden and as grittily northern as Shildon. Well worth the wait and every penny of the £7 for that hot ticket.

Star turns: Chorley’s manager is ex-Man City and Blackburn star Garry Flitcroft. His brother Steve played for the team today. John Cunliffe, meanwhile, has an extraordinary CV which includes spells in Chivas USA, San Jose Earthquakes, Carolina Railhawks … and Rossendale United.

Big fish in small ponds: Reformed teams give such a fillip to the lower leagues as they start to paddle their way back to where they came from. Perhaps Conference sides should take it in turns to drop down a division or two as a sort of non-league national service.

Bad romance: What a shameful attendance for the FA Cup fourth round replay just down the road from Chorley between Wigan and Bolton this week. Just 7,515 showed up for the match between towns nine miles apart. I don’t like the way that most fourth round replays were played on fifth round day since the ordinary replay date clashed with international fixtures. Hope this jumbling up isn’t a sign of things to come. David Lacey wrote a very good piece about the Cup’s lack of romance in The Guardian today echoing some of the points I made in the Bolton/York blog post.

Names of the season: Nothing to do with today’s match – but let’s hear it for Robbie Crapper of Hemsworth Miners Welfare and Tyrone Crapper of Handsworth. Brothers, surely. Both clubs play in the Northern Counties League. A mention in dispatches also to Marvellous Entiriwaa of Rushden & Higham United from the United Counties League (as cited in the NLP this weekend). Finally, how many puns is it possible to get out the name of free-scoring Guisborough Town striker David Onions? Click here to find out

Bolton Wanderers 2 York City 0

2011-01-08T21:00:00.000-08:00

FA Cup, Third Round
Attendance: 13,120

The third round of the FA Cup is the last burp of Christmas. After that winter continues its inexorable descent towards its February nadir. It’s a round I haven’t experienced for some years so I felt a bit out of my depth at Bolton today. This is also the stage where the two halves of the competition meet and differing approaches to the Cup become all too apparent.

York were playing their fifth tie and their biggest match of the season in front of 4,900 travelling fans (roughly twice their average home gate). In contrast Bolton were playing their first tie and couldn’t really care less. At least, that’s the impression you got from the sparsely populated home stands and completely non-vocal support. (The total gate was by far the lowest of the season at the Reebok). Peculiarly then, there was only an atmosphere at the away end and, while good, it takes to tango and really make an occasion. It was as if Bolton had been told to host a party for a guest they didn’t know.

I suppose one day that a non-league club will again defeat top division opposition in the FA Cup but when they do I feel that it won’t quite ever be the same as Sutton overcoming Coventry, the last time this happened in 1989. Contest is all the keener and victory all the sweeter when both sides want the prize equally (just ask the England cricket team) and that just doesn’t happen in these potential giant-killing ties any more.

The stadium is impressive architecturally. It looks like a collapsing tent, the four flagpole-like floodlight stanchions in each corner leaning towards the centre of the pitch as if pulled inwards by guy ropes and in a manner that seems to defy the principles of structural engineering. Perhaps Qatar could adapt this design to look like a Bedouin tent for the World Cup. I can’t stand the name ‘Reebok Stadium’. Bolton’s Facebook identity is Reebokmen which is all the more unforgivable given they have a fine nickname, The Trotters, for this purpose. It won’t be long before clubs are even prostituting their names for sponsorship.

York started brightly and could’ve been two up in the first 10 mins. After that Bolton asserted their authority for the rest of the half without creating many chances which was a credit to York’s defence.

In the second half, Bolton manager Owen Coyle, brought on star strikers Davies and Elmander – which was a measure of how tight things were getting but, morever, an indication of the extent to which he didn’t want the nuisance of a replay a few days before hosting Chelsea. (Hospitality packages available from £85 by the way, folks). Barrett of York should’ve opened the scoring with a free header at the far post.

Then, with 10 mins remaining, he had a shot following a cross which brought a fine save from Bogdan in the Bolton goal. For us Minstermen it was a head-in-hands/‘argh!’/Keegan Spain ’82 moment … and soon became a classic ‘if only’. Moments later at the other end Parslow didn’t control a cross, the ball falling to Davies to blast home from close range. It was desperately unlucky and the resulting advantage unmerited. Elmander doubled the lead with a superb shot from the edge of the box. Plucky York were worth a replay at the very least.

After eight rounds, that’s the end of the FA Cup trail for me for another season. I’m already one station past my stop. I will return for Chorley v. reformed Chester and a perhaps some FA Vase action, two unlikely beacons in the February gloom. It’s time to get back to my grass roots.

Click here for the TV highlights.

Bad hair days: What the heck was York chairman Jason McGill thinking of when he coiffured his hair ahead of an interview with Football Focus. Did he go for the Jedward look as a bet?

A simple blowdry would’ve been more than sufficient – in the style, perhaps, of John Byrne, York marksman from the 80s, pictured in today’s programme. Well, perhaps not …

Over and out: Spare a thought for Dover, the only real minnows left in the competition. They get the worst possible sort of draw – away to a distant, unglamorous club (Huddersfield) they’re unlikely to beat – then go two down in the first eight minutes. Game over. Further adding to the anti-climax, the biggest game in their history is deemed by ITV to be worth no more than a minute of coverage at 11.30pm.

Pedant’s corner: There’s no such thing as a “potential” banana skin. All such slips – whether in an FA Cup or elsewhere – are potential.

Making a stand: I passed the home of Ripon City Magnets one recent Saturday. Sadly, no match was in progress but I couldn’t resist stopping to get a snap of the only pre-war wooden stand in the north - or something like that. (Must stop. Getting all dewy-eyed, now).

Darlington 0 York City 2

2010-11-27T21:00:00.000-08:00

FA Cup, Second Round
Attendance: 3,481

Unusually for me this round I primarily supported one of the teams and not the competition. Ordinarily I just have a curiosity for York City, my local club; following their fortunes adds a bit of interest towards the end of the football results. But I’d witnessed York’s win in the previous round and the (sort of) derby at Darlington in this round was the obvious one to pick so suddenly I found myself caught up in a mini-cup run.

It’s all rather exciting. I even bought my son a York scarf to look the part for today’s match. Nephew Toby (below) wore his York away shirt c. 1993 and I donned my repro York Y-front shirt c. 1974 – albeit it buried near the bottom of multiple layers of clothing for such polar conditions. Fair weather supporter? Well, yes and no …

The Northern Echo Arena (to give the ground it’s sixth name in seven years) is the biggest white elephant in football. It holds 25,000 but Darlo’s crowd seldoms exceeds 10% of this and the capacity is ordinarily set at 10,000 due to planning restrictions. The stadium isn’t even shared with another sport. Adding to this woe is that Darlo’s previous home, Feethams, now demolished, was one of the most characterful grounds in the north (as I discovered on a vintage FA Cup trip to see the Farnborough upset in 2003).

Construction of a new stand at Feethams almost bankrupted the club. In stepped the notorious villain George Reynolds (right) to buy the club, build the new ground and promise the Premiership. It all then went horribly wrong. In 2004, the year after the stadium’s completion, Reynolds was declared bankrupt and arrested on charges of money laundering which precipitated his departure from the club. Darlo were left with a pair of trousers frankly several sizes too big and without the receipt to take them back.

The ground may have been largely empty but the impressive 1,447 York fans still had to queue up in a snow flurry for 10 mins to buy a ticket which ‘we’ could’ve done without. The atmosphere inside seemed almost surreal. Snow which had been cleared from the pitch by fans at 5.30am this morning (thanks so much, lads) was heaped up behind some touchlines while covers, easily mistaken for more snow, were folded back behind others. The pitch still had a residual white dusting and the fading, low sunshine gave the whole scene an unusual crisp, white light. For this tie the new orange FA Cup ball wasn’t just a gimmick but very necessary. The lines on the pitch had been painted light blue too.

Oddest of all, though, was the emptiness. The home supporters were just a smear across the main stand. The closest they came to a chant was “Come on Darlo” (which didn’t even have an exclamation mark) spelt out in yet more vacant seats in another stand. In contrast, the York fans filled the away end and made a great noise from start to finish. What must it be like here for a humdrum league match when only a handful of away fans make the trip? I feel so sorry for the Quakers (at least they still have their superb nickname). They used to have a football club and now they have an out-of-town conference and banqueting facility that also runs a team. The programme plugs an endless variety of events – Burns Night, a Valentine’s Ball and car boot sales – in a seemingly frantic effort to make ends meet. (The stadium has undersoil heating but it’s not used due to cost). How I bet that the fans would swap all this for a meat pie and a Bovril on the terraces of Feethams, now merely the name for their panda mascot. The utterly sterile and identikit Northern Echo Arena (‘echo’ being the operative word) sums up the downside of the gentrification of football.

It was a pretty entertaining game. Coming into the match on three straight wins without conceding, York took the lead on the stroke of half-time when Rankine nodded on a goalkick for Sangare to leather the ball into the net on the half-volley. Darlo had the lion’s share of the second half and deserved a draw. Having been hanging on at times, York sealed the tie in injury time when, following a break, Rankine squared the ball from the right for Chambers to stroke in. He then leapt onto the heap of snow and his team-mates leapt on him. Brrrrr! I wasn’t quite so cavalier on the slow and slippery drive back to North Yorkshire.

Strangely perhaps, all things considered, this was the best outing of my FA Cup trail so far. No prizes for guessing where I’m off to for my eighth tie …

Star turns: Turning out for Darlo today was 35-year-old Keith Gillespie (ex-Man United and Northern Ireland). Paul Terry, brother of John, is also on the Quakers’ books.

Thumbs down to Stevenage: If I was the sort who started Facebook groups I’d have started one urging Stevenage to gracefully withdraw from the Cup after the first round having knocked out MK Dons and denying neutral supporters the length and breadth of the land – as well as the ITV audience – the prospect of the ultimate grudge match: Wimbledon v. MK Dons. Ah, well, perhaps in the League in a couple of seasons …

Recommended viewing: Click here for the brief ITV highlights of today’s match. And below is some cracking footage of a tie between York and Southampton in 1971. Favourite bits: the quaint picket fence all round the pitch, the marvellous lamb chop sideboards of the Southampton goalie and the classic Mick Channon hip swerve for the Saints’s second goal. Interesting cameo too from Albert Johanneson, a pioneering black winger who played for Leeds in the 1965 FA Cup final and joined York for one season at the end of his career. He died, penniless, in a high-rise Leeds flat in 1995.

York City 3 Rotherham United 0

2010-11-17T11:30:00.000-08:00

FA Cup, First Round replay
Attendance: 2,644

For a man who’s football life revolves around the FA Cup it was a distressing error. I’d set my son’s birthday party for the same day as the first round. My experience of Guiseley v. Crawley (my intended tie) was limited to a few score flashes courtesy of Jeff Stelling at a ten-pin bowling alley. It was not a happy birthday. Later, while preparing the party pizzas, I listened anxiously to the second half of Rotherham v. York. I got the result I wanted: a draw and, moreover, a replay at my local club. Second chances all round – and three cheers for the Minstermen!

The Merry Millers (sound more like a pub than a football club) come from just down the road in the South Riding, of course, but this was hardly a feisty Yorkshire derby. In fact, York haven’t had arch rivals to play on a regular basis for some years. The chants about little Scarborough seemed redundant – like when Reading sing about Aldershot.

Rotherham currently occupy a play-off berth (love that lingo) in the Fourth Division, one tier higher than York. They also boast the highest scorer in England in Le Fondre (or ‘fondue’ as we called him, notable this evening only for this orange boots) but you could hardly say that a home win would be a giant-killing.

The contest had the smell of a League match from the 80s or 90s and the tidy Boot ’Em Crescent (as my Dad used to call it) belongs in that era too. The TV gantry is a scaffold and plastic sheeting affair on the roof of one stand and you transfer to the seating below it from the home end terrace by tendering £1 to a man in a little shed with wire mesh front. The ground reminds me of Elm Park which is perhaps why I like going there and hope York doesn’t relocate, as planned, for a long time.

York’s first chance fell to Parslow (right). He went on a mazy run from the half-way line à la Maradona ’86 but fluffled the final shot. Rotherham then had three first-rate chances, the best of them a shot following a superb cushion header one-two. As the teams went in at half-time my Cup companion Toby and I wondered if Rotherham had had their moment and so it proved.

The game was going to sleep we were beginning to fear the nightmare scenario of 0-0 after extra time and York going out on penalties. But then Smith gave York the lead with a hanging header from a cross (below). Within 13 mins York were three up and it was game-over. Fyfield (or just “Jamal” as ‘we’ call him) crumpled in the box under a challenge and the Heskey-like Rankine (or rather “Ranks”: must get that into my head for the next round too) converted the penalty, celebrating with a somersault in mid-air. Ranks settled the tie when he checked back from the byline after a run and guilefully slotted the ball inside the far post from a tight angle. He then disappeared beneath his team-mates in what caption-writers describe as a “scrum of joy”. The Millers weren't so merry now.

The last occasions I’d visited Bootham Crescent for night matches were for the two-leg League Cup victories over Man United – post-kung fun kick Cantona and all – and Everton in the mid-90s. Tonight’s upset was hardly in that category but I’d enjoyed a nostalgic evening at a great family club and a game far better than the rubbish served up for the TV audience tonight by the “prat in a hat” (as the red-tops called Capello).

As planned at the draw, I shall follow the winners to Darlo in the next round on Nov 27. Now, let me double-check that. Yes: Nov 27. Definitely. Now where did I put my red and blue scarf?

Balls up?: What’s with the orange ball – dubbed the pumpkin ball – being introduced from the first round this year (although not used tonight)? I struggled to see the thing on some of the televised matches although it does bring a commendably retro feel to proceedings. Doesn’t Sir Bobby look immaculate in this pic? It’s taken from an excellent book, “1966 Uncovered” I’ve been reading.

Best name in the Cup: Swindon Supermarine are almost as notable for reaching the second round this year as their splendid name. It resulted from the club’s formation in 1992 by a merger between Swindon Athletic and Supermarine. The latter was originally the works football club for the company of the same name that built Spitfires in the Second World War.

Wot? No decent pics?: Well, no (although I’ve pinched some close-ups from the local paper). Night games are obviously difficult to get snaps at (as demonstrated, left), you can’t walk around the pitch for different vantage points and, among a crowd, I feel like a right nerd getting the camera out. So, instead, here to finish is a gratuitous pic I took of sporting action elsewhere in North Yorkshire - at Wensleydale rugby club in September.

Basingstoke Town 0 AFC Wimbledon 1

2010-10-23T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, Fourth Qualifying Round
Attendance: 1,726

Basingstoke park and ride is an unlikely spot to rendezvous with your extended family for a half-term treat but that’s how the complex arrangements for this round ended up. The girls went to a National Trust house while the boys went to the soccer.

As regular readers of this blog (if there are any) will know I love seeing reformed clubs play away – and was glad of the opportunity while down south to see the grandaddy of them all, AFC Wimbledon. About all I knew about Basingstoke was its Milton Keynes-like reputation and that it was once home to 80s songstress Tinita Tikaram (“Good tradition of love and hate”). Practically the only other luminary attached to the town is the football club’s current manager, Frank Gray. (You wonder how a Scotland 1982 World Cup veteran who forged his career at Leeds came to end up in this insignificant corner of the home counties).

As we approached the ground 20 mins before kick-off and with so few people around I wondered if I’d taken my three fellow spectators to the wrong place. “This could just be the queue for the toilets”, my brother-in-law mused as we joined a straggle of fellas shuffling towards a shed that housed a turnstile (which didn’t turn).

The only thing imposing aspect of the ground is its name: The Camrose. Like that. There’s one substantial grandstand that looks like it was made from Meccano and is beaten in stature – and almost architectural grandeur – by Toys R Us over the road. The rest of the perimeter consists of haphazard corrugated iron fencing and small stands. The gap between the long covered terrace and pitchside is broad enough to drive the team bus down. For Frank, this tatty, unappealing enclosure must seem a long way away from Hampden.

Soon after we’d taken our place behind the goal the turnstile operator appeared with a big drum and proceeded to pound it as though his life depended on it – or as if he was playing the explosive finale of the 1812 Overture. Good singing from The Stoke lads too especially given the challenges of adapting popular terrace ditties to their team’s name. “We all follow the Bay’stoke over land and sea,” then “We love you Bay’stoke, we do ...” Mmm. Try it. Just doesn’t work.

Three mascots were on parade: one for Kestrel FM and two others of contrasting credibility. The Stoke fielded a dragon by virtue of the fact that the club had nicknamed itself The Dragons “to add a bit more fire power to the squad”, so said the programme. Bit weak, honestly. And Wimbledon? What else but a Womble, the most merited mascot in the land.

The first half was scrappy, with few clear chances and evenly balanced. Low sun burst through the clouds in the second half and the tie brightened up a little too. Harris of Wimbledon scored the only game of the match on 71 mins when Basingstoke failed to clear a corner and he woofed in the loose ball. The home side missed two good chances to level and deserved a replay.

The majority of the crowd came from Wimbledon but they didn’t make the match quite as much of an occasion as fans of FCUM and other reformed clubs I’ve seen on their travels. Likewise, at the final whistle there was no wave of euphoria or much punching the air. I guess the Wimbledon fans are used to this sort of occasion by now. For them it was just another step in a decade of steps towards their real goal of a place back in the Football League – or, today, the small matter of a potential tie against the MK Dons.

Men of the match: Here’s my nomination for best Father Christmas of the round (following on from the Northern League santa previously covered on this blog). Ricky Wellard of Wimbledon also has to be worth a mention purely for his great name. Talking of smirksome names I recommend Midfield Dynamo, a football culture website full of the sort of funny things about football that Danny Baker likes. It has more top 10s than Pick of the Pops.

FC Halifax Town 4 Harrogate Town 0

2010-10-09T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, Third Qualifying Round
Attendance: 1,835

When Simon Weaver was appointed manager of Harrogate (my local club) in the summer of ’09 the first question he asked was: “How many players do we have?” Three,” the chairman replied. “The rest have gone to Halifax.” They’d followed the previous manager, ex-Leeds hard man defender Neil Aspin, who had quit after a successful spell due to the club’s lack of ambition and funds. So: a needle match today, then? Well, not really. Harrogate doesn’t do rivalry as I’ve noted before in this blog and certainly didn’t put up much of a fight today.

As for Halifax, the previous club folded in 2008 and the phoenix club is now busy paddling its way back up the leagues – very successfully, in fact, as they currently top the Northern Premier League and look odds on to swap places with Harrogate come the spring. “A Conference team for a conference town” may not be the snappy Harrogate slogan for much longer. They’ve only won two out of nine league games this season.

The Shay has changed radically since my previous visit 17 years ago and is unrecognisable from the ground that hosted the Cup giantkilling of Man City in 1980. (The YouTube footage is brilliant, by the way). Three of the four stands have been replaced and a further stand currently under construction noses into one corner. Few reformed clubs can boast such fine facilities (although they’re shared with the rugby league club).The bigger the ground, though, the bigger the crowd you need to give it some atmosphere and, even though Halifax recorded their biggest gate of the season today, there were echoes of Gateshead – literally. The vocal Shaymen in the south stand did their best but there’s only so much you can do to offset the effect on the atmosphere of two unused stands and a less than 20% capacity. There was also no opportunity to walk around the pitch, much to the dismay of my occasional FA Cup companion and nephew, Toby, and I.

The problem with this match, then, was that it didn’t feel like an FA Cup tie let alone a quirky qualifier like I’d encountered just one round previously. If you’d teleported me to the game I’d have guessed I was at a pre-season friendly for a Third Division side. I may not have known where exactly since the only reference to the town outside or inside the ground is an an advertising hoarding for MacDonalds in Halifax.

The respective plights of the two teams were reflected by the action. Halifax were superior right from the off and only several fine saves by the Harrogate ’keeper kept the away side in the match. Halifax took the lead from the spot on 31 mins either side of which Pell and Naylor of Harrogate were sent off. The word ‘floodgates’ sprung immediately to mind. Remarkably, Harrogate kept the scored at just 1-0 until just after half-time and didn’t have a single shot on target themselves throughout. Further Halifax goals duly followed, the last by Harrogate old boy Danny Holland as captured on film by yours truly (see below). There are 12 passes from one end to the other – just count ’em – preceded by a very rare Harrogate attack. (No goal, incidentally, for another ex-Harrogatian, the fabulously named ‘James Dean, goal machine’ as a banner read). You felt by the end Halifax could score as many as they fancied.

This was a pitiful and spineless performance by Harrogate that brought to mind England in the World Cup. The pink colour of their shirts (in support of a breast cancer charity) was wholly appropriate. The small huddle of away fans – whom we joined in the second half out of sympathy and local allegiance – hardly did the club proud either. They looked like a bunch of bored kids on a school outing. The only emotion they expressed was daubed on the t-shirt of one lad in marker pen: “Taxi for Weaver”. I’d just point him to the bus stop.

Chant of the match: “You’re just a small town in Knaresborough!” Commendable geography from the Shaymen. Great nickname, by the way. Harrogate desperately need one. A 1994 non-league directory describes them as The Sulphurites, a reference to the town’s spa heritage. Mmm. Think the editor made that up. How about The Waterboys?

Three cheers for Uncle Bill: Indefatigable and ever the optimist, chairman Bill Fotherby is the life and soul of Harrogate Town. He’s an old fashioned, tinted specs, wavy-haired sort of gent as summed up by this great retro-postcard-type pic from the club website.

And a boo for the Premiership: I read two stories about Manchester football clubs this weekend. One was about the debt of Man United and other was an account in the NLP of FCUM’s win at Norton & Stockton Ancients. What a great pic too (below). Now that’s what it’s all about!

Norton & Stockton Ancients 2 Leigh Genesis 1

2010-09-25T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, Second Qualifying Round

Attendance: 127

Sometimes deciding which cup tie to go to is a bit like choosing a winner for the Grand National. Just pick a good name or two - which is partly how I came to head for this encounter. In addition, the Ancients were already further than they’d ever gone in the Cup. They rarely make it through the preliminary rounds. In fact, these are heady days all round for the lads. They achieved their first promotion from the Northern League second division two seasons ago and, last season, made the quarter-final of the FA Vase.

For a man permanently infected by cup fever, though, Norton (on Teesside) felt like entering a quarantine zone. There was certainly no throng guiding me to the ground. First I turned into the cricket club and then into a car park which had signs for tennis, squash and bowls. “Is this the right place for the Ancients?” I asked a fella. “Dunno,” he said. “Come here for the rugby”. Then, 50 yards away, I spotted a small sign for the football club. For reference, head towards the garden shed (the entrance) below the tree. Parking was free and admission for the two kids and I (who contributed 2½% of the crowd) plus a programme cost a tenner. You’d barely get a couple of rounds of prawn sandwiches for that in the foreign millionnaire’s league.

The ground is diddy to say the least. It consists simply of one small grandstand and one equally trim, modern shelter around an immaculate pitch. The toilets are outside the gate while the new clubhouse - which currently looks like a modern art installation - is under construction. Houses surround the pitch and one even has a garden with arched gate that leads to the pitchside. A season ticket comes with the property, in effect. Bedrooms could easily double-up as boxes if the need arises in later rounds. I soon spotted some familiar faces from the previous round: Father Christmas among the spectators and a lino.

I hadn’t been to such a small venue since Knaresborough Town and hadn’t encountered such a muted cup mood since Newcastle Benfield. When the players trotted out I clapped but stopped after three claps feeling a bit embarrassed as I was the only one applauding. The atmosphere reminded me of playing than watching – and playing was what a group of boys was doing behind the dug-outs. Always a nice feature of the early rounds, that. Next to them was a microphone and ISDN kit of the BBC Radio Tees reporter plugged into a transmitter attached to a floodlight as far as I could tell.

There was little for him to report – or to take our minds off the hat and gloves weather – in the first half-hour but as half-time approached it all flared up. The Ancients were awarded a penalty but it was saved. Moments afterwards there was a mass brawl. I think it was all handbags (love that football cliché) but it resulted in the dismissal of a player from each side.

Leigh – who play one level higher than Norton – looked the more solid team but the Ancients gradually grew in confidence and had most chances even if they kept fluffing them. Finally, on 67 mins, they went ahead with a thumping header by Bishop from a corner. Two mins later Leigh struck back when Gleave burst through and the keeper deflected but couldn’t keep out his shot. The home side was crest-fallen but, to their credit kept at it, and were rewarded four mins from time when a cross from the right was headed in by Clarke. He stripped his shirt off but thankfully and sensibly didn’t get booked.

That was about the only exuberance of the afternoon. At the final whistle the crowd clapped for literally five seconds (I participated, gingerly) and swiftly cleared off. Perhaps they’re saving themselves for the next round: FC United of Manchester at home. I arrived a round too early.

Pre-match entertainment: I highly recommend Hardwick Park near Sedgefield. It’s a recently restored Georgian pleasure park with lots of follies. We loved it.

Sing when you’re winning: If the Ancients need a chant in a later round then what better than the refrain from Justified and Ancient by The KLF? “Alll-llll bound for Wember-ley, Wember-ley”?

Programme notes: Leigh’s no 4 was Kieran Molyneux. With a name like that shouldn’t he have been playing in the gold and black (of the Ancients). Some good pen pictures of the Ancients. David Alderson: “By his own admission is the thickest man at the club”. Richard Gaston: “Cuts his own hair to save money”. Nathan Mulligan: “Has a great engine and is a set piece expert”.

West Auckland postscript: Auckland proudly announced that they were to travel to today’s tie at Workington “in style” … on the Darlington team coach. To rekindle the spirit of their world cup wins a hundred years ago perhaps they should’ve gone in a charabanc. Sadly, they lost 2-1. Mossley are still hanging on in there, though.

For some match action click here.

West Auckland Town 3 Bradford (Park Avenue) 1

2010-09-11T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, First Qualifying Round
Attendance: 180

I love the claims to fame of small towns. As you enter Horbury near Wakefield a sign proclaims “home to the Onward Christian Soldiers” (the chap who wrote the hymn came from there) and I recently stayed in Wirksworth, Derbyshire, where government red tape was made. But those claims cannot compare with that of West Auckland. “Home of football’s first world cup” it declares on the signs that welcome you to this corner of Co Durham.

To cut a long and extraordinary story short West Auckland won the aforementioned cup representing England in 1909 and 1911. Along the way they beat Juventus 6-1. (Click here for the full story). Ahead of today’s tie a little investigation was called for.

I’d read that a replica of the cup was on display at the working men’s club. On arrival it looked closed down with nothing visible through the windows other than a “CCTV is in operation” sign. This is not a premises easily mistaken for FIFA HQ in Zurich. Phew, I thought. I can go straight to the match. Then I saw a woman enter. Oh, dear. I don’t have an excuse now – so in I go, feeling like I have the words “southern woos” tattooed on my forehead. “Excuse me. Can I see your world cup?” I ask a wrinkly old woman, the only person in an otherwise deserted reception area. “In the lounge,” she abruptly replies. I pace down a corridor and then take a right into what, thankfully, is the lounge. And there it isn’t. A chap having a drink tells me that the cup has gone to Sussex for some sort of promotional turn. What remains is an albeit impressive but notably empty glass cabinet with the words “The Sir Thomas Lipton Trophy” (Lipton Tea sponsored the competition) beneath it. What a disappointment – even though it’s merely a replica cup, the original having been pinched in 1994. I buy a booklet about from it from behind the bar and make a hasty exit.

My quest for memorabilia inside the ground is equally interesting. I ask about a club shop from the programme seller and the chap next to him leads me into and through the club house and to a cupboard which doubles up as club shop and Christmas decorations store. I buy a mug. My very own world cup, I guess. The cup icon is understandably everywhere: on the gates to the club, on the badge on the shirt, programme, etc.

As I take my place on the terraces, I pass a chap announcing the team changes standing on the terraces with a microphone. I daresay that the two lads from Wear Radio (below, right) might let him use their facilities if he needed to. Their studio is more of a booth. They stand, mikes in hand and moving around a bit, behind a window. Entry is via a double-glazed door that looks like it ought to lead to a patio. I wonder if actually they’re practising some sort of Auckland remix of the John Barnes World Cup rap rather than commentating.

The visitors, Bradford (Park Avenue) have some history of their own as well, of course, as a former league club. They are also from three levels higher up the pyramid and only missed out on promotion to the Conference North in last season’s play-offs.

Bradford take the lead after five minutes with a looping header and then, soon after, are awarded a penalty after Facey is pulled down. (He’s brother of 13-club journeyman, Delroy, by the way). “Contest over”, we all think, but the Auckland keeper saves and then, in a remarkable turn of events, his side take the lead – initially after the Bradford keeper fluffs a kick from his hands letting in the lanky Moffat and then, a minute later, when the same player converts a penalty (below).

Still very much against the run of play, Auckland extend their lead early in the second half when Banks breaks through an beats the keeper on a one-on-one. That is the last home chance of the contest until the dying minutes as Bradford pile on unrelenting pressure.

A frustrated octogenarian supporter from Bradford twice suddenly calls out as if in pain. At first I think the old boy’s having a seizure but he’s actually trying to start one of those echo chants. Most obligingly, three of his fellow fans respond, smiling awkwardly like when your grandad farts at Christmas. Another elderly gent in the grandstand (left) looked like he was there at the Sir Thomas Lipton match. Facey clips the bar right at the end which rather sums up his – and Bradford’s – afternoon.

What a cracking little match this turned out to be. You can barely call it a giant-killing as Bradford aren’t exactly giants but the roaring coming from the Auckland dressing room is fully warranted – and underlines what the cup means to non-league players.

So after something of a false start in Mossley my FA Cup trail has now taken off in style and, two months after that tournament in South Africa, I have a world cup experience to savour.

Programme notes:

- “On this day” in 1895 the original FA Cup was stolen from a shop window in Birmingham. Clearly Sept 11 is not a good day for missing cups.

- Lipton, now part of Unilever, is among the shirt sponsors. Nice touch.

- Assistant manager ‘Foss’ penned the half-time quiz. Another nice touch.

- The Auckland goalie was in between the sticks for Blyth Spartans 2008 cup run which culminated in the tie against Blackburn Rovers.

First-rate programme, incidentally, reflective of a tidy little club in my favourite league (the Northern).

Unlikely double header: I overheard a groundhopper saying that the following morning he was catching the early morning flight to Belgium to watch Sporting Lokeren v. Westerlo.

Essential viewing: The story of the first world cup is re-told in this 1982 film starring Denis Waterman and Nigel Hawthorne. It's a sort of cross between Auf Wiedersehn Pet and an Ealing Comedy. Click here to watch on YouTube (like I did on Saturday night).

Essential reading: Last year West Auckland played Juventus in a re-match to mark the centenary of their world cup win. The lads played the Juve under-19s 40 miles away from the San Siro. Click here for an account of the trip, a postscript to the original tale as sad as the theft of the trophy.

Mossley AFC 2 Witton Albion 0

2010-08-28T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup Preliminary Round
Attendance: 221

At times on my football travels I feel a bit of a sad bastard. Take today for instance. It’s a Bank Holiday weekend and I desert the family to drive 70 miles to watch, let’s face it, is a pretty insignificant match. And why Mossley (near Oldham)? Well, I’d hoped to start my season fittingly with a summers day out in the North York Moors watching the village team from Stokesley play my old cup favourites Harrogate Railway but Stokesley lost their replay in the previous round. Mossley, the next best bet, had appealed ever since I saw pics of it on this recommended blog.

I was starting to reconsider the wisdom of my selection as I descended from Saddleworth Moor (never can drive past that without thinking about the Moors Murderers) in one of the squally showers that were to persist throughout a chilly afternoon.

Surprisingly, there were spectators heading to the ground 20 mins before kick-off. Cars were parked with one wheel on the pavement and the car park was full. The distance I’d driven, the weather and the size of the crowd all hinted of a tie a round or two later in the competition rather than one which would require the winners to win another four times to make the first round proper.

Approaching its centenary, Seel Park is a quirky mix of the old, the new, the jerry-built and the yet-to-be-built and boasts a fine Pennine backdrop to rival Stocksbridge Park Steels on the Yorkshire side of the hills. A flag flew in one corner but my favourite feature was the sweet little supporters’ club shop (right) which looked like it spent its summers as a chalet at Butlins.

There were few chances in the first half. Mossley took the lead 10 mins before half-time when Hampton was put through by Rowney, had his first shot saved then put away the rebound. In the first 15 mins of the second half Witton (near Northwich, also in Cheshire) made three substitutions and then McPherson went off injured. Demonstrating the ‘you play better with 10 men’ theories and spurred on by some vocal support, Witton laid seige to the Mossley goal. They deserved at least an equaliser but, most unjustly, the only additional score came at the other end of the pitch with just minutes to go. Man of the match was Watson of Mossley. With his bald pate and upright stance and sporting a white jersey with black stripes down the sleeves he looked like Attilio Lombardo playing for Real Madrid. Witton have an equally tenuous connection with Barcelona; a charity (Help for Heroes) benefits from their shirt sponsorship.

That was about it, really, other than to mention that I caught the ball for the first time in my spectacting career. There will be more remarkable occasions to come on the FA Cup trail this season, I feel sure.

Tadcaster Albion 2 Hemsworth Miners Welfare 1

2010-04-27T23:00:00.000-07:00

Northern Counties East League Division One
Attendance: 452

Tadcaster Albion is about as unfamiliar with promotion as Rochdale. Taddy have been the the lower of the two divisions of the Northern Counties East League since its formation in 1983. They last went up – from Yorkshire Division 2 to 1 in 1977 – and haven’t won anything of note since their formation in 1892 as the football team of the John Smith’s brewery. What better way to round off the season, then, than a trip to watch potential history in the making? A win tonight would see them not only promoted but also as champions. Anything less and it’s yet more of the same.

Taddy – aka The Brewers – are managed by Paul Marshall (PM, top pic) and with the backing of business coaching guru Rob Northfield. The pair was behind Harrogate Railway’s first great FA Cup run in 2002. I once hailed a taxi from York station to find PM behind the wheel. I was pathetically beside myself with excitement and felt like pretending I lived further away to prolong the conversation. I knew his brother when we both worked at Nestle Rowntree (he was a security man) and my nephew’s friend once played in goal for Taddy. If you get the impression this is a villagey level of football you’d be about right. Tadcaster (population 7,000) play in the sixth of the seven levels of the non-league pyramid. Two rungs lower and you’re in the park. PM remarked in the local paper that his skipper had been “immense on and off the field even going home and washing the kit after the games”.

Hemsworth is a town betwixt Barnsley and Pontefract and had something to play for in that win would secure a top six finish and a place on the starting grid for next season’s FA Cup.

The atmosphere inside the stadium before kick-off was, to say the least, muted. Middle-aged blokes murmured over their pints. “Thought I’d see you here” and “Me? Regular, mate!” They were nearly drowned out by the birdsong at dusk. The only clues that a big match was imminent were the fact that programmes were sold out long before kick-off (a familiar scenario at these big little matches) and the sight of an old man in a blazer and tie nursing a black bin-liner in which, one assumed, was the championship trophy.

The smoke from the barbecue rose to half the height of the chimneys of the brewery that looms over the main stand. The opposite touchline is backed by a perimeter fence which is actually a flood prevention wall. Waterlogging from the Wharfe has been been frequent.

The sprightly lady referee (Jane Simms, warming up to run the line at next week's FA Women’s Cup final) led the teams out. PM flicked on the floodlights, pulled the dressing room door to and we were off. Well, Hemsworth were certainly off. They scored a goal after 90 secs when Liddle lobbed the keeper on the break. “That’ll liven things up a bit,” the lino turned to say to us. The away side saw another shot curl over the bar and one of their strikers missed a half-volley from yards out. Taddy were living dangerously and – despite having the lion’s share of possession – not creating many chances.

The second half picked up where the first left-off. Taddy’s fortunes were fading as the sky turned inky blue and dew descended creating a pitchside smell like inside a marquee at an agricultural show. The squib was getting damp in more ways than one. Taddy had scored in every league game this season and tonight wasn’t a good time for a first duck. Then, on 65 mins, a Taddy cross from the left was headed in at the far post by Pitts. At the other end Hemsworth had a shot cleared off the line and then, with five minutes on the clock came salvation. The Hemsworth keeper flapped at a long range shot and sub Brathwaite hacked in the dropped ball. PM swung for joy on the dug-out and then said “I’ve got some defending to do” before sprinting off to behind the Taddy goal from where he watched the remainder of the contest alone leaning on the rail. Technical areas? Pah: you can’t stop a manager from mingling with the crowd even when one isn’t there.

After an endless four minutes of injury time it was all over. There wasn’t so much a pitch invasion as a few lads taking a leisurely short-cut to the bar. I took my place alongside the press photographer to get some snaps. I was so close to the action I could smell – and, if I’d opened my mouth ¬– taste the champagne. Sport doesn’t get much more inclusive than this. After some slightly sheepish “champee-oh-neh!” jigging (let’s face it – they haven’t had much practice) Taddy filed up to an occasional table placed on the turf to collect their medals and the trophy. (I was right about the bin bag man). No stage, no sponsors logos, no fireworks, no deafening “We are the Champions”. This is as far away as you can get from the foreign millionnaire’s league and that’s the way I like it. Completely Corinthian.

Thereafter players, friends and fans mingled on the pitch creating an atmosphere like a wedding reception. The whole evening was so cordial. The party was just beginning but for me – as I set off on the 20-minute drive home along dark country lanes – it felt like the party was over. Until next season, at least.

Wot? No Gary Mac? Last month Taddy announced that they’d “signed” Gary McAllister to make a possible star turn at the end of the season. PM had met him in the bar after a veterans game. “I’ve signed Gary Mac for a pint of John Smith’s and a bottle of Lucozade!” he quipped. Nothing came of it. “Since the stuff went in the paper he hasn't answered his phone to me,” said PM last week. Oh, well. We didn’t need a star in the end. From beer to Lucozade to champagne in the space of a month.

Pen pictures: The Qs & As with the Taddy players on their website are LOL funny. Pitts’s “favourite place visited” is his girlfriend’s knickers and Farthing’s favourite newspaper is “the one that keeps the fish and chips warm”. Also check out Elliker’s answers to the “most embarrassing” and “dislikes” questions ...

Click here for the BBC report on the match complete with interview with PM conducted by Barry Parker, Radio York football correspondent, whom I spotted sneaking in at half-time without paying and wearing a huge rucksack as if he'd just come off the hills.

Rochdale 1 Northampton Town 0

2010-04-17T21:00:00.000-07:00

Coca Cola League Two
Attendance: 5,025

Spotland. When football fans quiz each other about ground names the home of Rochdale invariably springs first to mind but in most other respects the club comes near the bottom. It’s been in the fourth division continually since 1974 (usually in the lower echelons) and, from a personal point of view, it’s practically the only ground in the north I’d not visited – not even when a student in Manchester in the early 80s. Keen to correct this woeful omisson, the spring sun shining and the bunting out for Rochdale’s first promotion party since 1969, I set off to gatecrash.

Dale should’ve secured promotion weeks ago. They started today’s match having got no goals and just one point from the last four matches. They weren’t so much stumbling at the finish line but lying face down in the mud, arms and legs flailing. Requiring only a draw last Saturday they got tonked 5-0 at Torquay and then faced bottom-placed Darlington at home on Tuesday. A home banker, to be sure, you’d have thought. There was a victory and a club changed divisions – but it was Darlo who scored the only goal and were relegated to the Conference because of other results while Dale were ignominiously knocked off top spot for the first time since Dec 1. The Dale fans are used to the agony having missed out on promotion via the play-offs for the last two seasons. So was it to be third time lucky, twice over?

Expecting queues I got to the ground at 2.15pm – spotting the Mark ‘Clem’ Clemitt (right) of the BBC Football League Show outside – and walked straight in. Even at kick-off there was plenty of space given that the capacity is over 10,000. Half of one of the side stands was closed and the other half was about 30% occupied by away fans.

Disappointingly, Spotland isn’t half as singular as its name (which derives from its neighbourhood). In fact, the ground is so plain it could almost be complete new build. Three of the stands are very similar, each with a facia in blue (but not the shade of the team colours) and, equally curiously, no club name emblazoned on them. The only feature which reflects tradition are the tower floodlights (dating back merely to 1992, as it happens) in each corner which reminded me of those halcyon days at Elm Park. The feel of the place is similar to Bootham Crescent.

The Cobblers (as good a name as Spotland, has to be said) got off to a lively start and Davis nearly scored a sensational solo goal after a 50-yard mazey run. Dale took the lead midway through the half when a corner wasn’t cleared and O’Grady woofed in the loose ball. It was end-to-end stuff with lots of chances and some tidy football. Dale nearly settled it in the second half when a header spun up from the bar and then Thompson's half-volley was charged down. At the other end Northampton continued to do their best to spoil the party as the match edged to an edgy conclusion.

The four minutes of injury time seemed to last forever. By this stage we’d all amassed at the front of the stands, some even being allowed to encroach onto the pitch. Such a sensible approach by the stewards. Why spoil the fun – and just postpone the inevitable?

And on we rushed. As I’ve said before in this blog, there is something extraordinarily exciting and privileged about going onto the pitch. It’s like you’re seeing the place from the inside out. We waited for the lads to emerge in the directors box and sung along to “Wonderwall” on the PA. I stood beside a shaven-headed, bare-chested fella wearing a gold chain around his neck. He sported an equally bare-chested lady tattoeed on one pec and a full Rochdale crest on the other and dabbed at his eyes with his replica shirt.

“Dale are going up! Dale are going up! And now are you going to believe us?” Well, OK then.

Programme notes: Great programme especially the fans tales from the Dale invasion of Torquay. An impromptu match between rival fans was likened to the kickabout between the trenches on Christmas Day 1914 which I thought was stretching things just a tad. There was also a great Q&A with the ultimate non-glory hunting fan. Step forward one Jarle Gunstad from Norway who took to supporting Dale when they narrowly missed being voted out of the league in 1978. Daresay he’s disappointed they’ve now gone up. The Norwegian branch of the Rochdale supporters club has 25-30 members, Jarle reports.

Fashion notes: The goalies looked like highlighter pens. Dale’s sported fluorescent orange and Northampton’s a similarly gaudy hue of green.

Optional extras: Well observed story here (from The Guardian) about Rochdale’s season. And below is a good film of the pitch invasion from the opposite end to where I stood. Start watching from about 2:15.

Shildon 1 Whitley Bay 5

2010-02-27T21:00:00.000-08:00

FA Vase quarter-final
Attendance: 1,505

So much for winter breaks in the football season. Mine had gone on too long. The gap between the second round of the FA Cup and the quarter-finals of the Vase is always testing. My wait for a match was nothing, though, compared to Shildon’s wait for a home tie in the Vase. Astonishingly, they have been drawn away on the last 18 occasions, the odds for which are 264,000 to 1.

I arrived early to get a feel for the place by visiting Locomotion, a satellite of the National Railway Museum, along with a couple of scarf and hat clad Whitley Bay fans. (The world’s first steam-powered passenger train set off from Shildon in 1825). The museum wasn’t busy and neither was the town exactly buzzing with cup fever. In fact, it wasn’t buzzing at all. Shildon seemed deserted of people and cars and the only sound was church bells. I wondered if I’d got my days mixed up and it was actually Sunday until I turned the last corner and saw the queue for the turnstiles stretching 50 metres back past Eric’s Fish Bar. (He can have never had it so good. The number of people eating his wares brought to mind the biblical story of loaves and fishes). The kick-off was delayed by 15 mins – not something that I expect happens a lot here.

Stepping inside was like going back in time and set the scene for my most quintessentially northern football experience since Ryton/Halifax. Gluepot of a pitch, leaden skies and run-down ground in a post-industrial town: I was in my element. Not a hint of Handshakegate here. Children were lifted up to watch proceedings from bedroom windows while blokes nursed beer cans as they peered through caged windows of Portacabins also known as the Bill Aisbitt Hospitality Suite. I've seen more welcoming jails.

The dominating main stand is more of a giant roof with (what I assume to be) an original grandstand below. Terraces are separated from seats by a line of breeze blocks and, most incongruously in the middle, a domestic wooden banister painted in gloss black. The pitch is enclosed by rusting metal poles supported by crumbling concrete posts and faced with warped wooden hoardings decorated in a peeling paint and various fungi.

Shildon dominated the first half-hour and deservedly took the lead when a shot was pawed out and the rebound knocked in from close range. Whitley Bay then got a penalty when a Shildon player stamped on one of their attackers and was also sent off. The penalty was converted (see video clip at end of post) and the dismissal proved to be the turning point of the contest. It was also the point at which I realised which team was which. Easy mistake to make: the impressive turn-out of Bay fans was sporting blue and white which matched the colours of Shildon. Further confusing things, the only livery in the stadium was a course of alternate red and white (Shildon’s old colours) bricks above the turnstile – and Bay’s away strip was yellow.

At half-time the fella next to me swigged from his hip flask and a couple of other lads tucked into their sandwiches and cracked open the Thermos. Ah, it was bliss to be back at a real football match. Whitley Bay took the lead after the re-start with a header from a cross and on 74 mins it was game over when another header ricocheted in off a Shildon defender. Soon after a second home player was sent off (and Bay had a man dismissed too). Cue max exodus of Shildon fans with the zeal of Premiership box holders heading for prawn sandwiches – or, in these parts, seconds from Eric’s. The squib was already damp without them wetting if further. I felt very sorry for the players. Here they were playing their first home Vase tie for five years and the locals couldn’t even be arsed to stay until the end and applaud the lads for their six-win cup run and their greatest since 1959 (when they made the quarter-finals of the FA Amateur Cup). Bet Shildon wish they were playing away again.

I felt sorrier still for Shildon when Bay started scoring goals for fun to give to make the final score misleading. We’ve all been there as kids: you’re tired, your shoulders are slumped, the opposition’s running rings round you and, frankly, you just want to get back inside for tea from your Mum. The town of Shildon had won my sympathy from the moment I’d read in the museum about the closure of its rail engineering works in 1984 and the feeling was back again at the end of my visit as the

crowd almost shrunk to the size associated with Northern League matches, the sun at last shyly shone and the final goal was greeted with a ripple of applause more appropriate to a boundary at cricket. Like the month that starts on Monday, Shildon arrived like a lion but left like a lamb. The Railwaymen had reached the end of the line. The one away tie they longed for – at Wembley – was not to be.

Little known fact: Shildon was home to a major fake fur factory. Customers included the British Winter Olympic team of the 1950s, members of the British Antarctic expedition from the same era … and Sir Bruce Forsyth and Danny La Rue.

On the trail: Among the crowd was a group that is following the FA Vase 'From Welfare to Wembley' in aid of the Alzheimers Association. To see some more pics of the match (and others from their trail) and give them a few quid click here.

Leeds United 5 Kettering Town 1 (aet)

2009-12-08T23:00:00.000-08:00

FA Cup second round replay
Attendance: 10,670

Initially, I was struggling for a second round tie. The only remote viability was Stockport/Torquay which hardly got the pulse racing and was postponed anyway. Then came the final match of the weekend (Kettering v. Leeds), the final goal (Leeds’s equaliser), the third round draw and the last ball out of the venerable velvet bag (the one part of the cup tradition that even the FA doesn’t dare meddle with). The winners of Kettering/Leeds would go to Man U. For me it was a winner in extra time: I just had to be there for the replay – and I had to be in with the Kettering lads. Such gate-crashing is known as “doing a Motors”, a phrase coined by a friend, Nick, after he snuck in with the Vauxhall Motors fans for a replay at QPR. It’s huge fun. You’re an honorary fan for the day. I’ve been in with the Tamworth lads at Hartlepool and, most memorably, with the Farnborough fans at Darlo (Rocky Baptiste, snow, orange ball, upset and all).

I’ve always found Elland Road a forbidding place even on low-key nights like tonight. You can’t help feeling on edge from the moment you park your motor on a trading estate (for £3 to a yellow jacket: wonder where that money actually goes). That moronic, monotonic “Leeds, Leeds, Leeds …” chant kinda like sums up the atmosphere.

The Cup starts to lose its innocence in the second round proper. All about were Burberry baseball caps, mounted police, and bald, rotund security men wearing over-large orange jackets and Bluetooths standing in the shadows of Howards Way (great name for a part of the stadium, incidentally). That sunny day at Bridlington Town seemed a long, long way away. About the only cosy thing about this occasion was a chap – wearing a red and white Kettering hat easily mistaken for a Santa hat – laying out swathes of flags before kick-off (pictured top) with the care of a mother hanging out the bed sheets on wash day. The guy in front of me bought his sandwiches and a flask, the last dying ember of non-leagueism on this season’s FA Cup trail.

The bustle outside contrasted with the emptiness of the ground inside. “Your ground’s too big for you!” the 1,365 Poppies fans chanted and, indeed, I hadn’t seen so many empty seats since, well, the previous round and let’s face it that would take some beating. To be fair to Leeds the Cup is obviously not top priority and they had hosted Huddersfield only three days previously. The lower tier of the away stand was full, though. “You’re not famous any more!” we sang before launching in to “Stand up if you hate Diamonds!” (Took me a few renditions to make that one out).

Leeds tore at Kettering straight from the off. They played some lovely smooth football full of slick one-twos and off-the-ball movement, Beckford gliding and pirouetting around the pitch with great grace. I bet he’s a good dancer. Kettering’s goal led a charmed existence – as it did throughout the match. I haven’t seen so much domination of a match without goals since England/Poland in ’73. Leeds had 44 goal attempts in all (and hit the woodwork four times) compared to Kettering’s six.

Leeds took the lead on 20 mins with a Becchio header from a cross. It triggered a one-man pitch invasion from our end by a bloke who was grounded just as he was hurdling the advertising hoarding which must have hurt. Purple jackets this time: ‘Response team’, they call themselves. Somehow Kettering managed to go in at half-time with no greater deficit. They went from lucky to plucky in the second half and enjoyed a most unexpected purple patch culiminating in a goal. Heslop burst through the Leeds defence down the middle, pushed the ball out wide to Richie Partridge (fab name) who crossed to provide Elding with an unmissable header. “We” went potty. My ears were literally ringing with the racket. The Kettering support was brilliant.

And so to extra time – and yet more Leeds dominance. Time and time again we turned our heads to the giant video screen to see in disbelief exactly how Leeds had failed to score at the far end. Finally, at the start of the second period of extra time they got a breakthrough when Grella blasted in from six yards. The until now mute Leeds fans didn’t so much cheer as let out a huge gasp of collective relief. The killer third goal followed a minute later and by the final whistle it was five. A cruel end to the tie perhaps but any other outcome would’ve been a travesty.

So for Leeds it’s off to Man U as, indeed, it is for the zeitgeist of the whole competition. I shall leave it there.

Some more extra-time:

- Tonight I saw the Poppies and I’ve previously seen the Lambs and the Daisies. But even these can’t compete with the nickname of Market Drayton Town: the Gingerbreadmen. And I point all this out as a fan of the ertswhile Biscuitmen ...

- The more I write this blog the more I’m reminded of the BBC’s slogan for its coverage a few seasons ago: ‘One cup, a thousand stories’. Sums it up so well.

- Click here for a clipping from the Guardian about the longest ever FA Cup tie – which went to six matches. It was a fourth qualifying tie in 1971. Ah, those were t’ days.

- Check out this "miss of the century" from the aforementioned Rocky Baptiste. Click here.

- And finally for now, here’s a picture of a windmill beside a football ground in Milton Keynes. Nowt to do with the Cup but somehow pleasing all the same. I’ve pinched it from this recommended blog.

Gateshead 2 Brentford 2

2009-11-07T21:00:00.000-08:00

FA Cup first round
Attendance: 1,150

Many years ago when I lived near Brentford my flatmate went to Griffin Park to buy a ticket for a big match. “Can you prove you’re a supporter?” he was asked at the ticket office. What was he supposed to do? He told me he nearly broke into a chant of “Deano, Deano!” (aka Dean Holdsworth). There was no need for such tests of allegiance for today’s tie. Gateshead is a long way from London for a start and, being playing in the vast international athletics stadium, there was plenty of room at the match for everyone including my son and mascot, Bertie, and I.

In fact, I’ve never been in such a woefully empty stadium for a match (see video at end of this post). It must feel a bit like this playing behind closed doors. Never mind having a row to yourself; you can have a block to yourself and I’m sure (if you know the right people) you can have a private stand. There was swathe upon swathe of empty red seats. Most clubs change the colour of their seats to match their strip but Gateshead ought to do the switch the other way round. The pitch is surrounded by a running track, of course, and three sides are unroofed. The all-seater set-up further dampened the atmosphere and, in the first half at least, gave the tie the sterility of a match from the foreign millionnaire’s league. At a time when most clubs are looking to move into 11,000 all-seater stadiums Gateshead want – and, moreover, desperately need – to move out of one and, last week, announced proposals for a ground of their own after next season. About the only reason for a football club to share an athletics stadium is that the giant digital stopwatch can double-up as a scoreboard and countdown clock (pictured below with goat mascot).

“He’s gone to the posh match,” I overheard one supporter saying to another, a reference to the other game taking place at sportsdirect.com@StJames'ParkStadium (think I’ve got the punctuation right there) and perhaps also to Newcastle’s opposition, Peterborough. We’d seen some of their fans on the way up, ‘Posh’ scarves fluttering from car windows. (This wasn’t the first time that Gateshead had had their thunder inadvertantly stolen by Peterborough as the club replaced them in the Football League in 1960). With Sunderland only a few miles away, Gateshead are always going to struggle to attract support. It’s not that locals don’t care; it’s just that they’ve got other priorities.

Gateshead did all they could to boost the attendance. The car park was free (a nice gesture) and accompanied under 16s could get in for just £2. A couple of lads approached me asking if I could usher them through but, as I was trying to work out the feasibility of this, the two fellas in front adopted them for the purpose. The hosts also tried – rather sneakily, by all accounts – to get the match switched to Sunday in the hope of attracting other local supporters but Brentford objected. The outcome was another lowest gate of the round for Gateshead who only avoided the ignominy of a three-figure crowd thanks to the huddle of Bees fans (see pic above). God, they must be dedicated. They sat at the back of the opposite stand like hardy hikers on a hill top.

The first half wouldn’t have taken their minds of the five-hour plus return journey. It was dire. The match finally burst into life 10 mins into the second half when the Brentford goalie flapped at a corner and conceded an own goal. “Heed Army, Heed Army!” we called and jabbed. North-east passion was aroused. The home lead was short-lived, however, as Newcastle reject Carl Cort soon equalised with a header and later Brentford took the lead. Two mins into injury time, though, Heedgates (as Bertie called them) scrambled in an equaliser and the players collapsed under a scrum of joy.

So it’s back to Griffin Park for a replay. A more homely occasion for all concerned, I’d have thought, if not quite as novel. Today’s match was one for the FA Cup connoisseur, to be sure.

Two links: Click here for an excellent BBC blog about the travails of Gateshead and the club’s social context. The blog also has a link (also here) to some archive footage of the club’s 1953 FA Cup quarter final, worth watching if only for the vintage intro music, the baggy shorts and the cheery, rattle-waving fans. You can practically smell the Bovril and cigarette smoke …

Royals connection: Ex-Reading manager Terry Bullivant is now assistant manager for Brentford. Remember him?

Hendon 0 Woking 5

2009-10-24T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup fourth qualifying round
Attendance: 528

And so my FA Cup trail finally leads me to Wembley. Not Wembley stadium, not even Wembley FC but to see a tie at their ground, Vale Farm, which the club shares with Hendon. The road to Wembley was torture – which wasn’t a reflection of my three previous ties but the horrendous traffic in the town. I had more than enough time to admire the window displays of Primark and the 99p Shop on the High Street. Fine emporiums. The 11-mile drive from where I was staying with family to the ground took 70 mins. My brother-in-law, nephew (pictured above) and I heard the whistle blow as we jogged from where we parked and got into the match just in time to see Woking take the lead which set the scene for the contest (more of which later).

As it turned out, there would’ve been no point in getting there much earlier to soak up the atmosphere. There was none. The crowd was the second lowest of the round. I guess in London that there’s less of the ‘town turning out to cheer on their lads’ and since Hendon weren’t even playing in their own borough the support was even less passionate. It felt like we were in the second qualifying round rather than just one win from the big time. Echoes of Newcastle Benfield Bay Plastics, in fact.

The ground is ramshackle. I suspect that the formidable head-to-toe turnstiles (perhaps the idea is to keep fans in) came from Wembley stadium or arena and the giant clock over the tunnel looks like it originated at one of the nearby stations. The dug-outs are literally just that – but the players sat on a little wall in front of them which rather defeated the purpose of the excavation. On the opposite side of the pitch you could see where the old dug-outs used to be, the empty holes gaping like cavities left by removed teeth. Most satisfyingly, you can see the Wembley stadium arch from pitchside. Vale Farm – where England trained before the 1966 World Cup – even has an arch of its own. Predating the more famous arch, it used to span the path leading up to the turnstiles but is now fixed to a board above them.

Next door is the Fantasy Island Play Centre. I could see various chaps watching the game from the top of a slide which stood proud of the perimeter wall. Somehow several ball pool balls had found their way behind a goal. They caused an incident – not quite of beach ball proportions – in the form of a one-man pitch invasion of sorts. A Woking fan called Jim, fag hanging from his smirking mouth, collected them all up during the second half – not to take home for his child as I’d expected but to feebly toss at the Hendon goalie. Hardly throwing darts at Schmeichel at the Den, is it?

Woking had the big boys swagger about them. Prior to last season’s relegation they had been in the Conference for 17 years and the gulf in class was immediately apparent. They were two up in 20 mins (see pic, below) and it was game over. I’d spent some time convincing my relatives of the unique appeal of the FA Cup qualifiers and I could see them wondering what I was on. The Cards – as in Cardinals – then went three nil up and suddenly I had renewed hope: were we about to witness a cricket score?

I rejoined the lads after my customary circuit of the pitch. I found them behind the Hendon goal, of course, as there was no doubt where the action was going to be. They even picked the right post to stand beside. The fourth goal was drilled in just inside it, the hapless keeper made some great saves in our direction, one shot zoomed overhead like a torpedo and a penalty also rattled the said woodwork. (Harry Arter and Giuseppe Sole, both on hat-tricks, had been debating who should take it). At the other end Hendon also hit the frame of the goal from the penalty spot (their only chance in the second half) and there were a couple of sending offs into the bargain. Five minutes from time Harry got his hat-trick.

No cricket score then but the biggest thrashing of the round and, in the end, a more than satisfactory first FA Cup qualifier for my companions. We equally enjoyed our afternoon under the arches.

Programme notes: Programmes have sold out at both of the last two ties I’ve been to. Come on, club secretaries: print a few more! I so miss my essential bedtime reading.

Click here for 10 mins of highlights. I love the way the commentators voice suddenly hushes when someone scores a goal. In the Cards’ next match Sole got both goals in a 2-0 win over Dover. Headline writer’s dream, or what?

Ilkeston Town 1 Eastwood Town 1

2009-10-10T00:28:00.000-07:00

FA Cup third qualifying round

Attendance: 1,128

Ilkeston and Eastwood do things together. The towns are just five miles apart, separated by a railway line, the Derbyshire-Nottinghamshire border and the Erewash river and canal. They were both promoted from the Northern Premier League to Conference North last season and today found themselves up against one another in the cup. The Erewash derby, I suppose they call it.

The first – and only – thing you notice on entering the New Manor Ground is the new stand in the corner. It's immaculate: the finest piece of modern, non-league stadium architecture I've encountered. A short elevated, single-tiered stand leads to a double-faced clock tower, the clocks mounted on the sides of a sort of Checkpoint Charlie-type tower with open viewing area. On its tidy little roof is a weather vane with the silhouette of a 50s footballer and the initials ITFC above the NSEW. A lovely touch.

The match kicked off at noon kick-off to avoid a repeat of the crowd trouble at last Easter’s promotion clash but the early start didn't catch Ilkeston napping. They created – but missed – five good chances in the first 20 mins. Ricketts of Ilkeston was then sent off for raising an arm and dissent and, as we were all kind of expecting, Eastwood then took the lead with their first shot on goal from Ndwike. The match entered the doldrums until Robinson of Eastwood was sent off with 20 mins remaining for scything down Ilkeston's man-of-the-match, Morgan-Smith, as he was turning his way and that in the box. The penalty was duly converted (see clip below) and Ilkeston nearly took the lead with a shot minutes later.

At last the home crowd burst into life. This match didn't have the "electric" atmosphere predicted by Eastwood’s manager and the gate was half the size of the Easter match. The mood was almost cordial in a way that reminded me of the Harrogate derby three years ago. "You're not singing any more," sang Eastwood's Badger Boys when their team took the lead but the Robins fans hadn't even started at that point. Disappointingly, the Badgers didn’t boing either as they had done so gleefully in that vintage cup clash with Wycombe last season.

Full marks, though, to one Ilkeston fan who turned out with a fantastic home-made sort of FA Cup teddy. In fact, his upholstered trophy looked more like a floppy sausage with long loopy handles, a nipple at the top and a sort of tumour coming out of its bottom. I love the idea of this guy ritualistically dusting off his cup every September then putting it away for another season – or perhaps tucking it up in bed – as the evenings draw in. That’s what the FA Cup is really all about. A draw is never a satisfactory outcome for a cup-tie (and this was my first in 13 ties) but a further outing for the sausage was well warranted. The mothballs can wait until Tuesday at least.

Faces in the crowd: At half-time I spotted Ilkeston-born actor Robert 'Wolfie Smith' Lindsay. He posed for pics as he made his way over to the kiosk for chips. Ilkeston's coach is ex-Tottenham and Reading midfielder Darren Caskey. The third notable was actually a look-a-like: Eastwood's unused sub, Dion Chambers, has an afro that is surpassed only by Everton's Fellaini. Cushion-headers come naturally to this fella.

North Ferriby Utd 0 FC United of Manchester 1

2009-09-26T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup second qualifying round

Attendance: 838

Talk about Groundhog day. Another Cup tie, another beautifully sunny day (so much for the last round marking the end of summer) and another trip to the East Riding. I was again close to water too: not the sea but the River Humber. The Humber Bridge looms behind one of the goals at North Ferriby United’s trim little ground near Hull. Surprising, then, that the structure doesn't feature in the club's nickname. They are known simply as the Villagers but, as I came to realise, the monicker couldn't be more fitting.

You approach the ground down a lane beside allotments which extend right up to back of the terraces. There's a gap in the terrace wall, today manned by a security guard, presumably to provide a short-cut to retrieve the ball. Great looking pumpkins, by the way. An arable field lies immediately behind one of the corner flags and a church steeple pokes above the main stand. The players emerge from beneath a lean to which gives the stand a cricket pavilion appearance. "The pitch could be the village green," my nephew and occasional FA Cup companion Toby observed. The ground isn't in a particularly scenic or remarkable location but somehow the ambience of its immediate environment creeps over the stands and onto the pitch especially on a sunny day. North Ferriby began life in the East Riding Church League in the 1930s and, in spirit, it's as if they never left.

Into this idyll come the boisterous hoards from the big city. Four coach loads of away supporters is unusual to see at this level of football as was the large police presence. The FC fans outnumbered the home fans by about 5 to 1. I like the way they bring a sense of occasion to every match they play especially a cup-tie like this and I'm sympathetic to their ethos. "Our club, our rules" was the slogan on t-shirts while the banner attached to the scaffolded FC radio commentary gantry on the main stand read "New Order". Sadly no sign of the "Dad and Lad Together" banner from the Wakefield game, though. Classic, that one.

North Ferriby start at a heck of a pace, nearly scoring in the fourth minute and having a goal disallowed shortly afterwards. FC have plenty of chances too. The match disintegrates as half-time nears and, to be honest, becomes a pretty scrappy encounter. FC dominates in the second-half and scores what turns out to be the winner when a cross from the left is bundled in at the near-post. A messy goal that reflects the match. North Ferriby's cup campaign goes up in smoke rather like the bonfires on the allotments behind the goal they defend as swallows swoop and a plane lazily burs by.

At the final whistle the FC fans and players roundly applaud each other in a corner of the pitch. In itself this is hardly a momentous victory but – and despite FC’s poor league form – you do get the feeling that they are marching inexorably towards the first round proper for the first time in their short history.

Toby and I returned to the car via the Humber footpath, the evening sun at its most golden. Three lads were having a barbecue on the shore and pointed out a seal.

Common grounds: Stuart Pearson, Man United star of the 70s, opened the main stand at North Ferriby in 1985. He originally played for Hull who use the ground for reserve matches. Phil Brown lives in the village. He can keep an eye on the new lads and have a pint at his local all in the same evening.

Programme notes: This (right) is Nick Swirad of FCUM. Now if his nickname isn't Babyface it should be. The lad’s practically embryonic.

Bridlington Town 0 Whitby Town 1

2009-09-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, first qualifying round
Attendance: 370

Guaranteed fine weather, the kids to entertain and the FA Cup qualifiers. There was only one thing for it. Bursting with anticipation we slung our cozzies in the car, put on "Here comes the Sun" (what an uplifting song that is) and headed for the great Yorkshire coast ding-dong derby between Bridlington Town and Whitby Town. An hour and a half later the kids were playing in the sand and I was in a deckchair reading the latest edition of Groundtastic. Bliss.

We continued to bask in the glorious 72-degree sunshine for the main event at the Queensgate Stadium. A seagull called as it dipped over a crossbar and, as the teams trotted out, the tinny tannoy played that really kitsch version of the Match of the Day theme tune. Boy, it felt so good to be back on the FA Cup trail. My season starts here ...
Brid is a relatively sizeable regional centre so should really have a football club in a division higher than Step 5. As it happens it's remarkable in a way that Brid has a club at all. In 1993, under the ownership of new moneybags chairman Ken Richardson, they won the FA Vase and had lofty ambitions. A year later Richardson had disbanded the team and the club folded. It returned in the form of a pub side using the stadium and quickly climbed up the rankings only to plummet back down again with two recent consecutive relegations and another exodus of players along the way. Ironic, then, that they are now landlords to similarly afflicted, reformed and resurgent Scarborough Athletic.
The ground is very well appointed for this level. The main stand – a positive legacy of the Richardson era – includes a players' balcony, tidy little announcer's box, sections for the visiting directors and, most remarkably, a hospitality suite. Even more remarkably it was in use. Now that's how to really impress a client. As I passed at half-time I could see through the glass eight blokes, heads bowed presumably in silence, as they troughed pie and mushy peas that looked suspiciously like the fare served up at the snack bar. For the really keen the hospitality possibly extends to a caravan sited behind one of the goals. I daresay the sponsors, caravanchris.co.uk, have something to do with it. The ground's most distinguishing features, though, are a short section of cover which looks like a an old railway platform canopy and, looming behind it, a giant gas tank.
Brid have vocal fans too. "Seaside mafia, I said a seaside mafia", was one of their chants. 'Seaside' and 'mafia' somehow don't seem to go together and, with both clubs nicknamed the Seasiders, the chant seemed less menacing still. "Super, super Brid; super, super Brid; super, super Brid; super Bridlington Town" didn't really work either. Sorry, lads. My favourite remark from the crowd followed confusion between the lino and the bench about a substitute's shirt number. "Come on, referee," one fella shouted. "This is a football match, not a fashion show!"

It was a lively, tight game, full of chances. Brid had the edge over their near neighbours two divisions higher up and should've gone in at the interval a goal or two up. The second half followed a similar pattern. The stuffing was knocked out of the home side, though, when on 73 mins Gildea of Whitby burst through a square defence to beat the goalie in a one-on-one. With that Brid went out of the Cup - and we went back to the harbour for an ice cream and a quick go on the dodgems before driving back towards the setting sun. We never really said hello to the summer this year but the kids and I made a fine job of saying goodbye.

Star turn: The Whitby no 8 was Tony Hackworth. His claim to fame is that he came on as a sub for Leeds in a Champions League group match against Barcelona in the Nou Camp in 2000, the first of just three appearances. He was also implicated but acquitted in the infamous Lee Bowyer punch-up outside a nightclub in Leeds. A career defined by two periods of less than 20 mins.

Daisy Hill 3 AFC Liverpool 2

2009-03-28T22:00:00.000-07:00

North West Counties League First Division
Attendance: 175

The Lambs (Tamworth) and the Knitters (Hinckley) take some beating when it comes to nicknames least likely to strike fear into the hearts of the opposition but I have come across an even better contender: the Daisies (Daisy Hill). Come on, let’s be honest. This monicker is only one step away from the Pansies – and, a reason in itself to make a visit to the curiously named New Sirs ground in the town of Westhoughton betwixt Bolton and Wigan. The real reason for my trip, however, is the visit of AFC Liverpool.

The club was formed this season by fans of Liverpool who had been priced out of the Premiership. They stress that they are not at odds with the parent club and, indeed, describe themselves as Liverpool's “little brother”.

The teams trot out to the tune of the Colonel Bogey March. I soon realise that the sound actually comes from an ice cream van round the corner. (I'd even wondered if it was a particularly loud ringtone). The lack of PA is confirmed when a fella walks around the pitch at half-time announcing the winning numbers of the raffle. The only other sound for much of the match comes from about a dozen AFC fans behind one goal. They are so isolated yet their song so clear they are more like drunken carol singers than chanting football fans. I like the slogan on one of the many banners: “Fate is for those too weak to determine their destiny”.

The small size of the ground and crowd (although five times larger than Daisy Hill's average) means that, disappointingly, the match has little of the cup-tie flavour that characterised my previous visits to fans clubs away: FCUM, FC Halifax, and even – it has to be said – Scarborough Athletic. AFC Liverpool doesn’t seem to have quite caught the public imagination in the way as these other clubs probably because it was formed in less adverse circumstances.

At this level groundhopping is more like pitch-hopping. New Sirs consists of a fenced pitch with cricket-style clubhouse at one end fronted by a two rows of numbered, wooden flip-up seats and a simple short cover on one of the long sides. That's it - if you exclude the dug-outs. You can even get free entry behind one of the goals where there is no perimeter fence. This is grass roots football at its grassiest. The entrance is the ground's only point of note: it looks like an 80s-style Wild West Diner – in Wigan. After the exceptional thrills of my last four matches this one inevitably felt like the morning after the nights before.

Low-key occasion, then, but what a cracking little match. The Daisies take the lead after 15 mins completely against the run of play and go two in front on the stroke of half-time when an attacker on the break draws the keeper and squares for a team-mate to slot home from the edge of the six-yard box. AFC are outraged as the goal is scored while one of their players is lying injured with what turns out to be a broken nose. AFC continue to dominate in the second-half. The Daisies keeper handles outside the box but the ref waves play on only for an AFC shot to be spectacularly saved with a deliberate handball on the line by a defender who injures himself colliding with a post and is sent off. His self-sacrifice isn't in vain: AFC hit the same post with the spot-kick.
In the last five minutes AFC finally get a deserved goal when a cross is touched home at the near post. They then level it when an up-and-under is back-headed into the goal by a towering Dominic Matteo look-a-like. We all thought we were heading for an Istanbul but, in a final twist in injury time, a Daisies attacker latches onto a long through-ball from the half-way line and, one on one with the keeper, nets the winner. Five home fans cheer.

At kick-off I was asking myself what the hell was I doing travelling 80 miles on a raw afternoon for what was only a step up from a park match but, at the final whistle, I realised I'd just enjoyed the most compelling half of football of my season.

As the players walked off at one end two AFC carol singers stayed on at the other, scarves outstretched, singing “You'll never walk alone”. Their manager, meanwhile, warmed down and, I suspect, dressed down his players in the centre circle. The club one from bottom beats the club one from the top and Daisy Hill record their first league win for three months and most memorable since, well perhaps, the Bolton Hospital Cup in 1986. A whoops-a-daisy for AFC, indeed.

For match highlights click here. (The back of my head puts in a starring performance on 32 secs).

Glossop North End 5 Marske United 2

2009-02-28T21:00:00.000-08:00

FA Vase, quarter final
Attendance: 1,120
“No idea who they’re playing. Doesn’t really matter anyway.” That was the in-depth analysis of the opposition supplied by the chap in front of me at the car park ticket machine.

The FA Vase is, indeed, a curious competition. Even at the quarter-final stage the groundhopper usually needs to consult his road atlas. Pretty much any of the clubs that enter can make it this far given that that the highest ranked of them come from one of several regional leagues. No chance of Premiership-type domination in the national minnows knockout cup. The other odd thing about the Vase is that it has two winners. The truly once-in-a-lifetime experience (for these lads) of playing at Wembley is the real prize; lifting the trophy just makes for better pics to remember the day by. So we do care and we don’t care …

Exactly a century ago Glossop (near Manchester), competed in a quarter-final replay of the FA Cup, losing to Everton. With a then population of 17,000, Glossop became – and will, I guess, always remain – the smallest town ever to play in the the Football League first division (for a single season in 1899-1900). Remarkably, they played against Arsenal, Man United, Chelsea and, yes, even that other North End (after which they were named). They dropped out of the League after the First World War and, as you can guess, there was only one way they could go after that.

A piece in the Glossop Chronicle romantically recalls the days when supposedly “a heady mixture of cigarette smoke, steam from hot beef extract drinks and the aroma of embrocation filled the air”. The aroma today came from the barbecue and it certainly filled the air around the corner flag. So much so, in fact, I’m surprised it didn’t asphyxiate the players. I hadn’t seen so much smoke since those flares at European Cup finals in the eighties.

The ground is wonderfully delapidated in a Pontefract Collieries sort of way. The rickety main stand looks like it would blow down in a puff of wind and the perimeter is a seven-foot blue breeze block wall. The beer tent was absolutely heaving, something to do with the Vase being sponsored by Carlsberg, I suppose. The finest facility, though, was the gents which was a shipping container. This is the first signed kazi I’ve come across that you use not by entering (I did try) but going behind.

We were three matches but still a long, long way from Wembley. But where the Surrey Street ground can compete with the national stadium is in the structure that looms over it. A steel chimney extends like a giant drill bit from the shell of a ferrous alloys plant under demolition. If there is a taller and thinner structure beside any other ground I’d like to know about it. It’s eye-catching wherever you are in the town but, viewed from within a football ground and so close to it, the chimney inexplicably delights all the more.

The Marske fans gave the match another unlikely Wembley connection by being decked out in the Flag of St George to reflect their side’s strip. Their support contributed to a cracking atmosphere but was soon muted as the Hillmen (great old fashioned nickname, by the way) went 2-0 after 13 mins. Markse kept their tails up and the tie could’ve taken on a whole new complexion had their striker scored from a free header at 1-3 down with 5 mins to go before the break. Once Glossop got the fourth the contest was effectively over although Markse continued to plug away. It was real end-to-end stuff on a gluepot of a pitch and climaxed in a pitch invasion (my fourth on the trot). The presence of security men and their Alsatian seemed a bit heavy-handed in the circumstances. The only pitchside pooch necessary here was the Marske bulldog mascot. We all shuffled out through the only exit – a metre-wide gap in the wall. A Wembley way? Perhaps. Glossop’s never seen anything like it. Well, at least, not for a very long time.

Some more history: Glossop’s early success resulted from the efforts of benefactor Sir Samuel Hill-Wood. The son of a local cotton baron, he attracted the top players in an Abramovic sort of way. On one occasion Glossop fielded a forward line with an amateur international from each of the home countries plus the Republic of Ireland. Sir Sam later became chairman of Arsenal and his great grandson, Peter Hill-Wood, is the current incumbent. (The story of Glossop is fascinating. Read the relevant chapter in the highly recommended book by David Conn of The Guardian).

And finally: I love this old boy masquerading as a pundit alongside the High Peak radio commentator. Must be the Hillmen’s oldest fan. Are those headphones he's wearing or ear muffs? I look forward to seeing him on the MoTD couch soon.

For another blogger's view of the occasion click here.

Droylsden 2 Chesterfield 1

2008-12-23T23:15:00.000-08:00

FA Cup, Second Round replay
Attendance: 2,824

“It’s the same programme as last week,” said the old man who sold me one. “That’s OK,” I said. “I’m a new boy”. It felt like that. This has been an epic cup-tie. A quick re-cap for those who haven’t been paying attention. Match 1 at Chesterfield: abandoned because of fog with Droylsden 1-0 up. Droylsden not happy. Match 2: Re-match ends 2-2 with a controversial goal. A Droylsden player is injured so the ball is kicked into touch but then Jack Lester of Chesterfield (more of him later) scores from the throw-in. Whoops. Chesterfield allow Droylsden to score without resistance. Match 3 at Droylsden: replay abandoned because of floodlight failure with Chesterfield 2-0 up. Recriminations and conspiracy theories ensue. Match 4: All back to the Butcher’s Arms …

Great name for a ground even though the said pub is no more of a landmark that many other groundside hostelries. More eye-catching is a new office block incongruously sited on the other side of the main stand (see top pic). Executive boxes – formed by arranging chairs behind the first floor windows – presumably come with the tenancy.

Droylsden opened the scoring with the first real chance for either side. Sean Newton (pictured right) weaved through challenges on the edge of the box before unleashing a drive into the bottom right corner. Cue manic bundle in front of the home dugout. Chesterfield levelled with a freak goal (here we again, we all thought) when a clearance by the Droylsden keeper cannoned back into the net off the backside of, who else, that man Lester. How he loved running in front of the home fans, hand cupped to his ear.

He should’ve had a penalty at the start of the second half (Chesterfield’s second sound claim of the evening). Soon after at the other end, a Droylsden striker was pulled down from behind and Newton converted the spot kick. Chesterfield thought they’d equalised again but, when the melée cleared, it appeared the goalie had saved and there was similar fogginess at the far end (but without fog this time) when Lester was sent-off apparently for elbowing an opponent. With the pantomime villain finally slain the Bloods started to believe they would live happily ever after.
The final whistle triggered a pitch invasion. Remarkably, this was my third invasion in as many cup ties. When I next go to an ordinary match I must remember to leave the way I came in. The Droylsden hoodies (no Santa hats here) raced straight past the players and over to where the Chesterfield fans were housed to bait them which says a lot about where we were, both in terms of stage of the competition and location (a 'town' buried in the eastern suburbs of Manchester). Bit sad, really. The police and stewards prevented an attack, though. Four lads instead concluded their evening’s entertainment by playing a rave version of Jingle Bells in their souped up hatchback at full volume with the windows down as they cruised away down Market Street.

It had been a slightly edgy experience all round. Earlier, I’d been terrified of treading on someone’s toe and getting an elbow in the face as nephew Toby (pictured below) and I squeezed back to the covered terrace after a trip to the pie stand. The bouncing bonhomie of the Badger Boys when the second round started nearly a month ago seemed a long way away.
So The Bloods (good nickname too) made it safely through to the third round for the first time ever and we made it safely back to North Yorkshire. A good result for all – and another cup shock to savour. I’ve been so spoilt this season.

Epilogue: Astonishingly, that wasn’t the final chapter in the saga. Droylsden were thrown out of the competition six days later for fielding a banned player, Newton. They could hardly argue he hadn't affected the contest and I don't think another re-match would've gone down too well. Droylsden manager Dave Pace's post-match comments about the Chesterfield manager now makes for wincing reading: "As far as I'm concerned, it's now war between me and him. I've never wanted to win a game as much in my life as I do tonight's."Pace also claimed he'd throw himself of a bridge if Droylsden were expelled. A tie that had more ins and outs than the okey-kokey at office Christmas party ends up as a pub quiz question: Which club played nine FA Cup matches in one season without defeat but didn’t win the competition? As for Chesterfield they went out 3-0 to Ipswich in the next round.
For more pics click here.

Eastwood Town 2 Wycombe Wanderers 0

2008-11-29T21:00:00.000-08:00

FA Cup Second Round
Attendance: 1,955

At times this FA Cup trail feels like an expedition and I was certainly dressed for the part today. With temperatures hovering around freezing I togged up in a jacket, three shirts, a sensible jumper, wooly hat, scarf, pair of sausage-finger gloves bought for climbing Kilimanjaro and, over my trousers, a pair of salopettes last worn on a skiing holiday in the eighties. You could’ve rolled me to the turnstile. I love the way that the appeal and appearance of the Cup gradually changes with the seasons but today was all extremes.

The area behind the Eastwood goal was packed – and I wanted to cross it to reach the less populated terrace on the other side. “We’re gonna boing in a minute …” sung the lads as I pushed my way through. And, yes, in a minute I was involuntarily boinging. Then one of them pinched my hat and passed it around. I was dreading one of them turning it inside out and asking questions with hard-to-shorten answers about why it had a Reading badge. I burst out of the other side of the melee, practically gasping for breath. A near-birth experience, in fact. “That was like the bad old days!” said a fellow escapee. More like the good old days, if you ask me.

For a club that was an average league gate of 400, Eastwood had first rate support today. Right from the start they had lots to cheer about. Their team hit the bar from a header after a free-kick in the second minute and, soon after, Wycombe rattled the bar too. The exchange set the tone for a cracking ding-ding encounter.
Ten minutes from the break Eastwood took the lead with a well placed curling shot that went just inside the post from the edge of the box. The Badgers’ tails were well up (do Badger have tails?). Wycombe had their moments in the second half most notably in a spell in which a big bouncing shot was headed off the line, a penalty appeal turned down and the Eastwood goalie made one of several good saves. “One-nil to the Badger boys” the home fans sang as the fog blew across the tight little ground, the tension mounted and we began to fear an Inzaghi moment (not often Wycombe get compared to AC Milan).

At the other end Eastwood’s Meikle burst through for a one-on-one with the keeper. “Go on!” I bellowed, “History!” said the guy next to me … but Meikle blasted over the bar having had probably too much time. A similar chance came in the third minute of injury time. Todd charged down a Wycombe clearance and squared the ball inside to sub and prison officer Knox who rounded the goalie and clinched the tie with his first kick of the match in front of the home fans.

It doesn’t get much better than this (but then I thought that after a similar moment at the climax of the Curzon tie). To put things fully into perspective, Wycombe top the Fourth Division, are the only senior side in Britain not to have lost in the League this season and, until today, had only conceded two League goals away from home. The final whistle triggered the inevitable pitch invasion and yet more “boinging”, this time with the players. Eastwood, not Wycombe, should have had ‘Dreams’ on their shirts. I followed up the upset of the first round with the upset of the second. For £10 I couldn’t have had a more thrilling afternoon’s entertainment.

On the way out of the ground I bought a commemorative Eastwood/Wycombe scarf for a fiver. Well, it would’ve been churlish not to – and I’d only come with one scarf after all. My neck was lovely and warm on the long drive back up the M1.

Some geography: Where is Eastwood? Good question – almost as apposite as where is Curzon. It’s a town near Nottingham that’s claim to fame is that it’s the birthplace of racey novelist D H Lawrence.

Programme note: Thanks to the programme editor who followed up the email I sent him and gave this blog a plug. If you logged on as a result I hope you enjoyed the read.

Not much opportunity for good pics this round, I’m afraid. It was very foggy, Coronation Park is unremarkable, I wanted to watch the game and, as you’ll have gathered, movement around the ground was limited. But I did get a mini-movie of the post-match celebrations (see below). This, for me, encapsulates what the Cup is all about. A point for each badger you spot (easy), three points if you can spot a lad running away with a replica of the Cup (one of two) and a bonus if you join in the song. For a few seconds of the actual pitch invasion click here (but I'm not expecting any Oscars for this one) and for match highlights click here.

Curzon Ashton 3 Exeter City 2

2008-11-08T19:00:00.000-08:00

FA Cup First Round
Attendance: 1,259
“Fancy seeing you again” I thought as I arrived for what was to be a cup classic. I previously saw Curzon playing at Stocksbridge back in the no man’s land of the Second Qualifying Round. What a difference three rounds make. Then it was a beautiful late summer’s day and the outcome of the match wasn’t of any great consequence. Today we were into autumn and Curzon played the biggest match in their 43-year history. This is the first time they’ve ever reached the First Round Proper, they played League opposition and there was only one lower ranked club left in the competition. On top of that their ground was acclaimed as the best new non-league ground by the esteemed Groundtastic magazine in 2005. A tasty tie, or what? I simply had to be there.
If ever a team needed a Cup win to put it on the map this is it. Curzon play at the Tameside (which no-one’s heard of) Stadium; some home fans wear Man City hats; the stewards come courtesy of Oldham Athletic; and the local town is actually Ashton-under-Lyne. The map on the AA website confused me further. It sent me to the old ground and only after asking at a ten-pin bowling alley did I finally arrive. The ground is very smart and well appointed if rather characterless (inevitable being so new) but then I’d had plenty of scenery at the two previous venues in this season’s FA Cup trail.
Whatever you call it this corner of the industrial north it seems a long way from Exeter. ‘Lyme Regis Grecians’ it said on one banner. What a lovely place to be a football fan – and what a genteel bunch Exeter are. One chap drank out of a hip flask, their Michael Stipe look-a-like manager wore a cravat and two ladies in the grandstand wore headgear the like of which I last saw at Elm Park in the 70s (when I was probably wearing it).
So to the match – and what a match. Exeter hit the post before Curzon open the scoring. The home side extend their lead in the second half with a stunning goal from James Ogoo, a carbon copy of that Justin Fashanu finger-in-the-air volley. The boys collapse in a scrum of joy in front of the dugout. When Exeter hit the bar we kinda know it isn’t going to be their day even though they continue to plug away. Bursting with confidence and playing some great football, Curzon make it 3-0 when Norton finishes off a mazy run just as it looks like he’s held on to the ball too long. Full marks to the Curzon goalie, incidentally. He performed heroics throughout.

The final 10 mins are thrilling. Exeter get a goal back. (“Deserved consolation”, we all think) then have a player sent off. Deep into injury time Exeter leather in a second goal. (“Ooh-err”, we all think). The final whistle soon blows, there’s a pitch invasion (commendably ignored by the stewards) and Ogoo is chaired off. All that’s missing is a few Parka anoraks à la Hereford 1972. These are the things that dreams are made of. There will be dancing in the streets of Curzon tonight – in a “dancing in the streets of Raith” sort of way.

Programme notes:
Commentators could get tongue-tied if Curzon draw Arsenal in the Third Round. James Ogoo could be up against young Gunner Abu Ogogo. Remarkably, the programme listed an even more impressive name than James’s. On the bench for Exeter was was the jaw-dropping Emmanuel Ugochukwa Ezenwa Panther. Or Manny Panther to his friends (and ex-York City team-mates). He’s Scottish, of course. Great story about the origins of the club too. It’s forerunner was established in 1955 by lads from Hurst Wesley Sunday School. The now vice-chairman Ronnie Capstick and Chalky White of the groundstaff (both setting a club precedent for fine footballing names) together with co-founder Gordon Taylor (current PFA chief exec) raised money for the first kit by chopping up firewood and selling it door-to-door. (Cue Hovis music). The team changed its name to Curzon Road Methodists after the Sunday School was re-named and, when players left the school, became just Curzon Road. The club merged with Ashton Amateurs in 1963 to become … yes … Curzon Ashton. So now you know who they are and where they are.

Forever autumn:

It seems fitting that the first round of the FA Cup and Remembrance Sunday share the same weekend. Something, perhaps, to do with them both being about tradition, camaraderie, supporting “our” boys against the odds, and blood, sweat and tears. For once a minute’s silence before kick-off couldn’t have been more fitting. For me the second weekend in November is the essence of the English autumn and I absolutely love it.
See it for yourself:
Click here for 2½ mins of ITV highlights and here for my exclusive footage.

Belper Town 4 Prescot Cables 1

2008-10-11T19:30:00.000-07:00

FA Cup Third Qualifying Round
Attendance: 437

In photographic terms, Christchurch Meadow, home of Belper Town in Derbyshire, is a one-shot stadium – but what a shot. The majority of the pitch perimeter is either open or lined with modern stands but behind one corner loom the striking North Mill and Christ Church. The mill (which I visited earlier) forms part of a complex originally built in the 18th century by Jedediah Strutt, most famous for inventing a way of making stretchy socks that stay up. The church was built in 1850 by his grandson.

If the TV cameras ever come to Belper the commentator will have all sorts of pun fun: “divine intervention”, “trouble at mill” or even “pull their socks up” if he’s done his homework. Then there’s Belper’s nickname to play with, The Nailers, reflecting the town’s history of making blacksmith’s nails. The TV scene would be completed by youths peering over the iron railings at the end of the footpath alongside the church and other freeloaders watching from the houses on the hillside behind one of the goals.

Prescot Cables (from Liverpool) have their own industrial heritage too. ‘Cables’ replaced ‘Town’ in the club’s name in 1928 in an early form of sponsorship when BICC Cables donated a stand. The firm’s first insulated cable was amber and black which also determined the club’s colours.

The match kicked off a minute before the church clock struck three. I was checking my watch again 20 minutes later when Belper opened the scoring with a fizzing free-kick. Two minutes earlier and I’d have won the Golden Goal competition. Practically on the chimes of four at the start of the second-half Prescot equalised when Belper failed to clear a corner. Belper regained the lead with a shot that took a wicked deflection and were similarly lucky when a Prescot clearance richoted back into the goal. The Nailers secured victory just before the final whistle. Two Prescot lads were sent-off but it wasn’t clear what for.

So, the leaves are falling, the competition steps up a gear and Belper are into the Fourth Qualifying Round for only the third time in their history. Tragically I won’t be joining them as I’m away at a family gathering but I will at least be back for the climax of the Cup three weeks afterwards – and, you never know, perhaps that fantasy Match of the Day Live (or whatever ITV call it).
Programme notes: Great line in the manager’s notes in which he chastises away supporters in a previous fixture for throwing a cup of tea over the Belper goalie as he was taking a goal kick. Elsewhere young Nailer Aaron Pride lists his ‘toughest opponent faced’ as “Michael Ricketts’s nephew”. Is he trying to impress us? Disappointingly, the only other old pro connection today was Karl Connolly, ex-Wrexham and QPR, who played for Prescot. No: I don’t remember him either.

In the book: I’ve just bought an excellent book by a Dutch photographer of lower league football matches and their settings. And, would you believe it, one of the pics shows a ground overlooked by a church (see below).

Stocksbridge Park Steels 1 Curzon Ashton 2

2008-09-27T20:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, Second Qualifying Round

Attendance: 150

I’ve wanted to visit Bracken Moor, home of Stocksbridge Park Steels, ever since I read a description that said that the main stand looked like Inspector Clouseau’s gendarme hat (the overhang looking like a peak). I had to wait a while for the opportunity, though, since the Steels have been drawn away from home for five out of the last seven times.

What a great name for a club too. If I told you they play in Yorkshire you’d guess the nearest city in one. Yes: Sheffield. “Corus –the future in metal” proclaims the Clouseau stand, itself made of the product as is the players tunnel, the most formidable structure of its type this side of Galatasaray. I can’t think such enclosure is necessary. In contrast, the stand has quaint wooden tip-up seats from Hillsborough that would look more at home around a bandstand in a park on sunny afternoon which, as it happens, would have a similar appeal to today’s occasion. Sheffield Wednesday’s reserves play here too. The turnstiles bring you out beside the clubhouse on top of several steep tiers of corner terracing. One side of the ground adjoins a cricket pitch and is even more eye-catching despite being empty on account of the superb view it gives to the other side of the Don valley. This is a ground that’s really embedded in its locality.

Amidst this Yorkshire footballing idyll an FA Cup tie was taking place although you’d hardly have guessed it from the size of the crowd (150) or its noisiness. In fact, the only chanting came from a couple of lads standing behind a feeding baby. There was one pretty big cup cue, though: a replica of the grand old pot itself. I deplore the way the real trophy is passed around between every Tom, Dick and Harry these days but sidling up to a copy isn’t too hypocritical I told myself as I had my picture taken with it. Juvenile, I know, but I couldn’t help myself.

The opposition, Curzon Ashton, came from the other flank of the Pennines and, for the most part, the contest lived up to a War of the Roses billing. After just two minutes Anelka-like Edghill burst through the Steels defence to score. The Steels deservedly levelled following an error by a Curzon defender. Curzon were marginally the stronger, though, and got the winner mid-way through the second-half. So the Steels go tumbling out of the competition once again. Good job I made it today, then.
Coaching tip of the day: From Gary Lowe, Curzon gaffer, when his team was time-wasting in injury time: “Stop taking the piss and get the ball!”

Programme notes: Among the pen pictures is the line: “Chris Worsley often arrives unannounced in the box”. What does he expect? A butler-type calling out his name and the opposition forming a wedding line? Nippy Gambia international James Ogoo has a name just made for chanting in a “Roo-ney, Roo-ney”-type refrain.

Royals reunited: Curiously each of my matches this season has featured an ex-Reading player. Ricky Newman coached Aldershot; Tony Barras played for Halifax; and today 37-year-old Martyn Booty – who had 70 games for the Royals in the late nineties – popped up for Curzon.

Ryton 0 FC Halifax Town 4

2008-09-13T18:00:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, First Qualifying Round
Attendance: 384

The last time I saw Halifax play there was a man in the bottom legs of a pantomime horse passing around a bucket for donations. That was back in 1994 and the occasion was Halifax’s final game before folding – or so it appeared at the time. Last season Halifax did die – to be re-born as FC Halifax Town and plonked in the Unibond League First Division. I was there at the “death” and I was there today soon after the “birth” – at a cup-tie against Ryton (near Newcastle).

The first task was finding the entrance. There was just one – beside a shed named Danny’s Den and without so much as a turnstile. The first you thing you notice in the ground is a row of seven bus shelters forming a stand of sorts. It’s one of those idiosyncrasies that the FA Cup trail is all about. If you don’t understand why then groundhopping’s not for you. Above the two small stands on the far touchline the view extends to the other side the Tyne valley. Even though the ground was built just 10 years ago it has bags of character and a great rural setting. The two coaches that brought the away fans were parked – or rather stuffed down – a country lane.

The programme was a hoot. Parts of it read like sequences from Michael Palin’s Ripping Yarns. Ryton replaced Prudoe & Wylam Co-op in the Northern Combination League; they progressed with a loan of £12 10s from the Ryton Social Club; and used to change on matchdays at Crookhill Labour Rooms or the Crookhill Store Room.

Four seasons ago Ryton weren’t even in the non-league pyramid and only six months ago Halifax competed in the Conference. You don’t get many minnows/giants clashes in the First Qualifying Round but this was one of them. Where Ryton can compete with Halifax is sponsorship. The Shayman’s plain yellow shirts were as notably bereft of sponsors as West Ham’s today. Two of the Ryton lads, meanwhile, are sponsored by a plasterer and Sleepy Dreams quality beds (because the player’s always caught napping a the back?)

The Shaymen brought a fair few fans with them. “My garden shed is bigger than this” they sung (to the tune of “When the saints go marching in”). In the second half they were singing so loudly they were told by a steward to quieten down as the players couldn’t concentrate.

They had plenty to cheer about. Halifax took the lead on the half-hour then got another before half-time (see pic, below). The third goal went in almost immediately after the re-start and it was game over. Ryton had their chances, though, and rallied well in the middle of the second half showing more passion that I expect King Kev’s ex-charges could muster a few miles down the road in that other Yorkshire/Tyneside derby of the day.

With a place in the next round secure Halifax made

a couple of veteran celebrity substitutions. First on came skipper Tony Barras, pictured right, (ex-York and Reading donkey) then assistant player-manager 17-club journeyman Nigel Jemson left, now 39 (who’s “fine cup pedigree” as Motty would describe it includes scoring the winner for Nottingham Forest in the 1990 League Cup Final). Today, he is blonde and tubby and, all in yellow, reminded me of Tomas Brolin playing away for Leeds.

Mention should also be made of the king of the international groundhoppers, Leo Hoenig, who I spotted in the crowd. This man has been to more grounds than I’ve had hot dinners.

So. A great ground, a rib-tickling programme, a couple of celebrity cameos and four goals into the bargain. My FA Cup trail is off to a fine – if belated – start.

Caption: No purchase required. (You can see this unofficial spectator in the shot of the goal).

Website of the moment: Check out this site for some outstanding pics of minor football grounds in Europe in their settings. Something to aspire to: http://www.hansvandermeer.nl/

Accrington Stanley 0 Aldershot Town 1

2008-08-09T12:04:00.000-07:00

Coca Cola League Two
Attendance: 1,805

It’s the start of the season and starts don’t come much bigger than this (or so I initially thought): a match between two clubs that famously folded mid-season finally meet once more in the Football League*. On top of that the game marked the 40th anniversary of Stanley’s reformation and was a top of the table clash (by virtue of both sides’ names beginning with ‘a’). The fixture then fair jumped out of the list. The first day is always sunny too like FA Cup Final day, I thought, as I put the date in my diary. Except this one wasn’t. It lashed down.

I struggled to keep hold of my umbrella in the wind as I began my Stanley heritage experience by checking out the club’s former League home, Peel Park. Today the site of the ground is a primary school playing field (below). There is a mural (above) depicting the club on the playground wall and you can easily make out the shape of the pitch with an embankment on one side denoting a terrace. Above the door of a small brick building is a plaque (below). I think the players changed here and the pupils do now.

Afterwards I visited an exhibition at the town’s library entitled “Accrington Stanley: the club that wouldn’t die”. I expected some artefacts from the former League days – a pair of baggy shorts or something – but just about all I got was a plaque presented to the club by the National Sports Council to mark a tour of Barbados in 1995 and panels full of text lifted straight from a (recommended) website. At least it was free.

I arrived at the ground planning to go in with the Shots lads but when I saw that admission to the away end incurred a £3 surcharge and that it appeared to be open to the elements my new found loyalties were tested. As it happened, there was shelter around the corner.

As a fan of Aldershot’s traditional local rivals, Reading, I felt like a real interloper. The sprinkling of ex-Reading players mentioned in the programme – most notably the player-coach Ricky Newman – and the similarity of the away end to the Tilehurst End at good ole Elm Park connected me to my roots. I later even spotted a fella in a Reading shirt. It was rather quaint last season when the Reading fans at Middlesbrough chanted “You’re so quiet you sound like Aldershot”. That’s an unfair allegation now. Two drums made a great noise. The Shots fans need all the rhythmic guidance they can get given the problems of devising chants for teams that have three syllables in their name. Just try it: “We love you Aldershot, we do …” and “Aldershot are back, ey-oh, ey-oh …”

The kick-off was preceded by a minute’s silence for the mother of Jimmy, Stanley’s assistant manager. Whatever next? A minute’s applause for the kitman’s hamster?

The Shots got the only goal of the game two minutes before half-time, a Beckham-esque curling free-kick into the top corner. The scorer of their first goal back in the League was Donnelly who also scored the goal that took them into the League. They could’ve wrapped it all up in the second half but a shot from a breakaway hit the post. Stanley piled on the pressure towards the end with their gangly Nigerian sub blowing a couple of good chances.
Despite being a reasonable match I felt disappointed. The occasion wasn’t special or historic but then it was probably never going to be and my expectations had been too high. Getting into the League is little more than promotion from the Fifth Division these days and nothing short of the rebuilding of Peel Park would have satisfied my yearning for an impossible return to that black and white footballing world. Still, as wet afternoons in Accrington go, it was a cracker.

Talking of wet afternoons in Accrington, the above pic is one of my all-time archive favourites. It shows the first Stanley's final non-league game (against Glossop) in January 1966. Oh, to have been one of those boys on the wall ...

* They only met once previously – in 1961. Stanley went bust and left the League the following year and Aldershot in 1992.

Click here for that Stanley milk ad.

My other first game of the season: While playing tennis at Aldborough one club night I spotted a team in red and white hoops – and, moreover, spectators wearing replica shirts – playing AFC Boroughbridge on the football pitch around the hedge. Yes! It was a Doncaster Rovers XI playing the West Yorkshire League’s finest. Donny won 3-1, I think. I watched the last 20 minutes.

Pontefract Collieries 1 Scarborough Athletic 2

2008-04-12T03:16:00.000-07:00

Northern Counties East League, First Division
Attendance: 270.

Pontefract Collieries are not having a good season. They are the lowest ranked club in non-league football in Yorkshire, have garnered a mere nine points and haven’t won in the League since the opening day. If ever the season needed a highlight this was it and the final home fixture against Scarborough Athletic – or the continental-sounding “Scarbourgh” as the programme insisted on called them – provided the opportunity.

As FC United of Manchester are to the likes of Wakefield and Leeds are to Cheltenham so are Athletic to Collieries: unsually celebrated visitors. Athletic were formed at the start of the season following the folding of Scarborough of Football League fame. The original club’s passing was a low-key affair, media-wise, at least. I recall that the Yorkshire Post ran a picture of a young lad supposedly playing his drum outside the chained gates for the last time. He looked far from distraught though; as if he was in the paper for finding a lost dog than illustrating the demise of a football club.

Stewards were on hand at Pontefract to wave me to a free parking place and when I tendered a £20 to the sole turnstile man he commented on “how they’re rich in Scarborough” before giving me £16 change. After that it seemed churlish not to buy a raffle ticket to add to that which served as match ticket. The turnstile man naturally assumed I was from the seaside since Collieries average home attendance is seldom more than double the number of players on the pitch and Scarborough usually bring 300 or so with them.

The ‘hospitality room’ looked anything but hospitable – more like a torture chamber, in fact (see pic). The heavy steel door spoke volumes of the security problems encountered by the Colls. Their ground has a history of theft, arson and vandalism. It can only be a matter of time before the seats in the main stand (which came from Maine Road) are lifted. To add to the problem, subsidence from a colliery causes one of the perimeter walls to lean outwards. The club’s roots are more obvious in other ways. There’s a spoil heap behind the main stand and, high above the opposite touchline, long, eeriely creaking freight trains pass by periodically. In the old days they would’ve transported coal to the power stations at Ferrybridge, the cooling towers of which you can see in the far distance behind one of the goals.

As for the game, Athletic scored two early goals and I expected a cricket score but it never happened. Colls got one goals back and could’ve levelled it had they taken two guilt-edged chances. Meanwhile, at the other end, their goalie made three great saves. Two sendings off, one for each side, added to a first class afternoon’s entertainment. Colls went down yet again – but they went down fighting. Still, at least they don’t have relegation to worry about. Scarborough, meanwhile, can look to Aldershot – after today just one point from a return to the League – as a role model.

Top hats: “Whitby are one down if anyone’s interested,” announced a Seadog to his mates. I wasn’t – but was interested in a score update from Reading (also 1-0 down - to Fulham) offered to me by a man with a radio who had spotted my Reading wooly hat. “What are you doing down here?”, he then asked. Difficult to sum up, really, without sounding like a complete nerd (I already looked like one). I thought I had the most unlikely headgear in the ground until I saw the Colls coach sporting a Miami Dolphins pom-pom hat. Macho and unmacho at the same time.
For video clip plus three large pics click here.

Wakefield FC 3 FC United of Manchester 2

2008-04-05T03:41:00.000-07:00

Unibond League Division One North
Attendance: 1,378

In retrospect, the origins of FC United of Manchester look a bit peculiar. The club was founded three years ago by supporters in protest over Malcolm Glazer’s acquisition of Man United and all that would entail. In fact, it turned out not to entail very much, outwardly at least. For Man U it was a case of more big business as usual and the supporters of FC, I imagine, soon became united not by a hatred of Glazer but a new-found love of the beautiful non-league game as summed up in four words by one of the banners.

While FC have downsized Wakefield – surely the biggest city (population: 76,000) in England without a club in the top seven divisions – are desperately trying to go in the other direction. The programme decried the poor support and recalled the FA Cup tie between Emley (which Wakefield took over) and West Ham 10 years ago in the manner of the MK Dons getting misty-eyed over Cup final victories over Liverpool.

Ludicrously for such a small match (relatively speaking) parking was a nightmare largely on account of the ground being near the Pinderfields hospital. FC fans are no doubt used to this from the old days and are now probably getting used to changing ends when the ref signals which side is kicking in which direction. But they certainly can’t be used to heaving themselves over the fence to get into the ground like some did – to the amusing strains of “We can see you sneaking in.” Someone commented on how “they would’ve been paying £50 at Chelsea a few years ago”. The official admission was a mere £7.50 and a bloke who’s garden overlooked the ground was charging £3 with presumably extra for a place leaning on his wheely bins.

In a hailstorm many of us transferred to terraces covered by a plastic tarpaulin and scaffolding to join five fellas in big headphones (see pic), one of whom was commentating on the match for the FC website with a stack of hardware beside him on the terraces. “What are you lot doing in here?” he said, on air. “Get back in the rain!”

FC (strange abbreviation, that – just “Football Club” – but then it’s a strange name) had most possession and opportunities but Wakefield took their chances to win the game. FC faltered – much like, after two successive promotions, they are faltering in the Unibond First Division. When I first earmarked this fixture I expected that it would come at a time when they were just passing through the division but now any promotion will be via the play-offs.

The closing stages had the feel of a cup-tie about them as FC pumped up the pressure seeking to make it 2-2. When Wakefield took a 3-1 lead no doubt the home fans could’ve sung “We can see you sneaking out!” but there were hardly any of them. In fact, I only realised that there were any home fans at all when I spotted a group of about 30 jigging up and down between the main stand and the row of Portaloos to celebrate that third goal. FC came back to 2-3 in the about the fourth minute of injury time. “Have you got Fergie’s watch, ref?” called a fan. Then the whistle blew. It was a sheepish victory.

On the way back to the car I passed a metal figure depicting The Jolly Pinder, a beefeater-like chap who in the olden days rounded up loose cattle and later joined Robin Hood’s merry men, the plaque explained. Now there’s a gift of a mascot for Wakefield, if ever there was one. But it’s FC that merited – and could’ve done with – a mascot today.

Programme note: Pen pictures often raise a chuckle and this description of FC’s David Chadwick had me laughing out loud: “Upon signing Chadwick, manager Karl Marginson said he was the sort of player who would put his head through a brick wall if you asked him to. Although he’s not had to prove that boast so far the club captain has certainly lived up to his reputation and is a true leader on the pitch.”

For video highlights of the second half (containing all but one of the goals) see here. The site also has highlights of the first half if you're really keen. Note the barn noises from the main stand and the crackly PA sound like something from a country show. Finally, click here for larger versions of the best two pics from above.

Harrogate Railway Athletic 2 Mansfield Town 3

2007-12-02T08:35:00.000-08:00

FA Cup, Second Round proper
Attendance: 1,486
Talk about déjà vu. Not many once in a lifetime experiences actually happen twice but watching Harrogate Railway in the second round of the FA Cup is one of them. Five years ago I saw them against Bristol City and today they were up against Mansfield. These days Rail are a division higher and Mansfield languish a level lower than Bristol were at the time - at the foot of the Fourth Division (can’t stand that ‘League Two’ nonesense). Played on a sloping pitch in great slide-tackle weather, the tie had upset written all over it.

I paddled in the quagmire between the Portacabins in my walking boots and overtrousers. The bird next to me insisted on keeping her umbrella up for the first 20 mins of the match. “Mary Poppins” she was dubbed by someone stuck behind her. Good gag. The best waterproofs were sported by the cameramen on scaffold towers around the pitch. Yes – again just like last time – the match was on telly but this time BBC rather than Sky. Commentator Jonathan Pearce and Mark Bright were accommodated in a bird hide-type cabin which sadly obscured Rail’s smart new stand while the pundits – “Lawro”, Ray Stubbs and Carlton Palmer – shelted under a blue gazebo (see top pic).

Rail had a storming opening 15 mins creating several chances and hitting the bar. Mansfield gradually got into the game, though, and took the lead shortly before half-time. When they added to it after the re-start we expected a Rail collapse but it didn’t happen. In fact the lads twice came from two goals down to narrow the gap showing tremendous resilience and stamina. How we bayed for a last minute equaliser.

At the end a bare-chested Rail player flung his arms round his girlfriend standing behind the advertising hoardings as if he was a returning soldier, muddied but unbowed (and from “’Arrogate Railway's barmy army …”, I guess). Neither she, I suspect, nor we will be back for the next match: a West Riding County Cup tie against Tadcaster Albion on Wednesday night. The same probably goes for Barmy, the Beaver, Rail’s mascot, who was making what will surely be his only appearance before going back to the costume hire shop.

And so, my FA Cup trail sadly comes to an end for another year. It practically started with Rail back in the sunshine in September and finishes with them in the rain in December. “There aren’t any interesting teams left now,” mused my nephew Toby (over again from uni in west Wales for the match). My thoughts entirely.

Now that’s what I call a “journeyman":. The 39-year-old Mansfield goalie, Carl ‘Mugs’ Muggleton, clearly can’t settle. He has turned out for 16 different clubs. Just count ‘em by clicking on his name.

Altrincham 1 Millwall 2

2007-11-10T02:25:00.000-08:00

FA Cup, First Round proper

Attendance: 2,457

The first round took me back to where it all began. My fascination with non-league football, that is. I was at university in Manchester in the early eighties and, while the other students were heading off for Old Trafford or Maine Road, I was was pedalling off in the opposite direction to Moss Lane. Always was a bit of an odd kid.

Reassuringly, the ground is pretty much the same as I left it other than one new small stand, a giant mobile phone mast and a new turnstile block that was built by the Alty left-half only last week. The most notable addition to the groundscape was the TV cameras. A gantry was hung from the roof of the main stand with a ladder leading up to it and a lone cameraman stood on a scaffold tower behind the Millwall end. What crap away fans, incidentally. Hardly any of them and very unvocal. "Where's ya famous Bushwackers?" indeed.

Millwall started brightly but Alty took the lead against the run of play on the stroke of half-time with a Goal of the Month-contending volley from Senior (cue "Senior Service" headlines) which fully merited the Romario baby-rocking celebration. Was Alty about to add to its record-breaking tally of 16 League scalps?
Sadly, no. Millwall equalised from a penalty when an Alty defender accidentally handled on the line trying to keep a shot out and was sent off. It was the turning point of the tie and, even more significantly, the point when I made my long-awaited debut on MOTD. I was the man lurking behind the goal to the right of the red card as the ref held it up. When I saw the clip I was beside myself with excitement. It almost beats appearing on Top of the Pops next to Kid Jensen as he introduced Billy Ocean c. 1980.

The Millwall winger with bandy legs and red boots (Simpson, an Arsenal loanee) was causing havoc with his in-cutting runs. The Lions were threatening to eat up and spit out the Robins and they soon got a second goal from Hoskins, a good East End name. At the end the Alty goalkeeper went up for two late corners. "Go on, Stu!" we all urged as he checked the clock with the bench.

The final whistle blew. "Oh, well. We won the first half," said the bloke next to me, as we turned and headed towards the smell of Barney's fish and chips. Not quite the same though, is it?

How not to report the Cup: Refer to Harrogate Railway as "Harrogate Motors" as Talk Sport did.

How to report the Cup: "Sixteen of Non League's finest fought their way into the second round draw to keep our flags flying high - and the League's big boys sweating" - from the front page lead of the Non League Paper. That's more like it.

Harrogate Railway Athletic 2 Harrogate Town 1

2007-10-27T10:21:00.001-07:00

FA Cup, Fourth Qualifying Round
Attendance: 1,286

This was a home fixture in more ways than one. Home for me since I only live nine miles away, home for Town since their ground is a a mile away and most definitely home for Railway who hosted the occasion. In fact, it was all a bit too homely. The local paper tried to bull up the match as "The Battle of Harrogate" but it was more like a cordial meeting of two old friends at the famous Betty's Tea Rooms down the road. I've seen greater passion displayed by a Betty's diner complaining about the late arrival of a Fat Rascal. The fact was that most supporters of whichever team was to lose were going to be back to cheer on their vanquishers in the First Round proper in the event of a home draw. We're like that in Harrogate. This wasn't City v. United.

A few things had changed from my last visit to Station View. The ground has a couple of flags, a tiny new stand (easily mistaken for a large dugout, see pic above) and a "media centre" (that will be the cabin with the phone, then). Town have changed too. Their shirts now have names on their backs. "That Danwood is all over the place", said my nephew before we realised than Danwood was the sponsor. The Town fans also have a new identity, TITS, which stands for Town Independent Travelling Supporters. Ha, ha, ha. Standing in shredded Yellow Pages (handy tickertape substitute when your team ordinarily plays in yellow and black), they hung their banner over the advertising hoardings. At Premiership grounds these days the hoardings are electronic; at Station View some need another lick of paint just to make them visible.

The match started with Town hitting the bar and Railway narrowly heading over. Railway took the lead against the run of play with a header from a corner. Soon after Town replied with a goal from a free kick (see above). They had bossed the game (to use pundit speak) but had also played cultured football to the point of being arrogant and profligate, taking pot shots when they should have worked the ball closer to the target.

Just as we all thought it was back to our place (or was it 'their 'place?) for a replay a Town defender shinned in an own goal from a cross. The 10-men of Railway (someone had been sent off) were in front with minutes to go. Deep into injury time Town equalised only for it to be disallowed. And so it was that Railway knocked out the team 53 sides above them and became the lowest ranked side still in the competition.

The Railway lads clenched their fists and shook hands with the younger fans from the opened windows of their Portacabin changing room (not a scene you're likely to see at Old Trafford two rounds hence). Their delight will have been tempered by the draw made minutes later. Railway are at home ... to Droylesden. Should they and we cheer or not? It was a feeling that had persisted throughout the afternoon.

Men of the match: My nephews and ertswhile FA Cup Trail companions, Toby and Duncan Stirke. They came back from the game from the university in Aberystywyth and Oxford respectively. Commendable insanity, I call it. It was like old times: we were all together for the Bristol City match at Railway five years ago.

Two mentions in dispatches: Firstly, to the red nosed, holdall-carrying and Railway-baseball-cap-wearing old boy who I recognised from the Railway tie at Chester-le-Street in the First Qualifying. It wasn't difficult: there were only 1oo of us there. Secondly, to the lino who I recognised from the Dinnington tie in the previous round. I really felt among old friends at this one.

Dinnington Town 1 Bradford (Park Avenue) 7

2007-10-13T11:20:00.000-07:00

FA Cup, Third Qualifying Round
Attendance: 518

As I entered the ground I wondered if I'd entered a timewarp too and and was heading backwards on my FA Cup trail. Just a round after being among a bumper crowd at the splendid Stalybridge Celtic stadium I had arrived at diddy Dinnington Town in South Yorkshire. They're from the lowest division that affords entry to the competition and it showed. The modern ground was more of just a pitch enclosed by a concrete fence with three small corrugated iron sheds as stands. The only thing that made me think of Celtic were the green and white hoops of the opposition.

If, by some miracle Dinnington (let's call them The Dinners) were to win two more matches and reach the first round proper to play Leeds at home then the match would have to be switched. It's a miracle, in fact, that they were at the third qualifying round given their lowly status. Their FA Cup journey started a day before everyone else - at a Friday evening kick-off in the Extra Preliminary Round against Maltby Main. It was broadcast live on Sky partly because of the local rivalry but also, I presume, because it was the Dinners' first ever FA Cup tie. Now this was the biggest game in their short history.

Avenue, in contrast, have a rich heritage, their shorts proudly proclaiming their centenary. They were a League side until 1970 and peaked in the Cup with a quarter-final replay against Birmingham in 1946, reaching the later rounds many times in subsequent years. Current day riches stretch to a pair of liveried minibuses with "Mark 'em tighter!" on the side and "Ahhhh!" on the back.

Avenue are only two divisions higher than Dinnington but it seemed like much more. They soon exerted their superiority. "England are three up," said the girl next to me to her friend. "Same as here". With 10 mins until half-time I was starting to wish I was at home watching the international and the photographer from the Dinnington Times was already editing his pics on the laptop (see below).

The Dinners team half-time team talk didn't work. Straight from the kick-off the nippy Avenue No 7 curled in a corker to make it 0-5. Worse was to come when a second Dinner was sent off in a baffling Graham Poll-ian card trick. The home side got a deserved consolation before Avenue concluded with a seventh. "Bradford Park Sevenue!" was the headline in the Non League Paper.

So: 7-1. Not bad for an afternoon's entertainment, you might think. But, given the totally unremarkable ground, only the magic 10 or, better still, a single goal victory for the underdogs would've made this a vintage FA Cup experience.

One for the boys: What makes a moderately attractive young woman want to spend an afternoon jigging up and down, pony-tail swinging this way and that, in front of a bunch of wolf-whistling reprobates in a former mining village on a drizzly Saturday afternoon? A lino was a lady.

Programme note: The Avenue goalie "has been at Huddersfield". Probably just passed through there on the train.

Stalybridge Celtic 1 Hyde United 0

2007-09-29T11:35:00.000-07:00

Attendance: 790

FA Cup, Second Qualifying Round

Goodness gracious. Only three ties into the FA Cup trail - and fully three wins from the first round proper - and I think I've come across a big match. I can actually identify where the game is taking place from the people milling around; the ground has stands on all four sides; fans wear replica shirts; and, horror of horrors, there's a foreign name on the team sheet: Celtic's No 11 is Carlos Roca.

Only the gents (an open air, painted wall and trough job), the clicking of the turnstile beside it as I widdle and a goalkeeper called Paddy Gamble assure me that I'm not going to be suffering altitude sickness from having gone too far up too soon.

The crowd soon disperses - or rather changes end as happens at non-league games. The Hyde fans leave the Joe Jackson stand (surely not named after the eighties pop star) and head past the Lord Tom Pendry stand to the other end. Their journey isn't much further than their trip to ground - a mere four miles. I am at the other Manchester derby - or, more strictly speaking, the Tameside derby. Celtic are, according to their fans' scarves, "the pride of Tameside" after all.

Apart from me I reckon there are probably only two people inside the stadium (one of my all-time scenic favourites - see pinched pic above) that have come from the other side of the Pennines. They are Neil Tolson and Chris Brass, both formerly of York City. The programme's reference to Brass is euphemistic. "Has managerial experience with York" it says. More precisely, in his one and only full season as player-manager the then 27-year-old presided over a spectacular post-Christmas collapse in form that saw York drop out of the league on the final day of the season. And so to Harrogate Town, Southport, Bury and Hyde United ...

Five years on you can't fault Brass's application. He was kicked around the park all afternoon and required three visits from the physio. In fact, the whole match was played in a highly competitive spirit and was nip and tuck from start to finish, Gaby. Celtic took an early lead with a slick header from a cross and, surprisingly, that's the way it stays despite loads of chances and a late rally from Hyde.

I ended the match with the smells from the ground's Indian restaurant wafting past while standing on the terrace with spaces for those in wheelchairs. The only user today was a young father sat next to his son in a pushchair.

After the final whistle the Celtic players punched the air and came over to clap their supporters. Outside the Hyde fans spat out "Oh, Stalybridge is full of SHIT!" with such venom that I thought that a most enjoyable afternoon was going to be capped with a punch-up. (It wasn't).

The result, even at this early stage of the competition, clearly mattered. Second Qualifying Round? Second Round Proper, more like.

Historical footnote: Hyde's ignominious claim to fame is that the town's former club was on the wrong end of the biggest thrashing in English football history - 0-26 against Preston North End in an FA Cup tie in 1887.