Gateshead 2 Brentford 2

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

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

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.