Brighouse Town 4-1 Crook Town

It's Sunday morning and I'm down at my local club, setting up for my first game as manager of the Under 18s. I'll do well to get eleven out today. Last night was the Captain's 18th birthday. It was total and utter carnage. Sky TV were live and exclusive at the Queen's Medical Centre hospital in Nottingham. I watch a couple of potential patients/TV stars drink themselves into oblivion.  They celebrate late into the night at a hostelry behind my house.

Locals report it was like a scene from Malia in Crete, with teenagers spilling out of the bar into the car park and nearby road. I showed my face for a couple of hours, before turning in just before midnight. Sticky junior (my lad) staggered up the wooden hill at 3am.

My record of never having a player booked or dismissed lasts for of all of ten minutes. A lad I should  have never of signed is shown a straight Red on his debut. The visitors behaviour is appalling. One is finally dismissed, when they could have easily been down to eight men. The moron refuses to leave the technical area and causes mayhem at the end of the game. Oh well Sticky, one down, nineteen to go.

It's Friday evening and I'm scrolling down my Twitter timeline whilst downing a bottle of that bloody Rioja that is on offer again. I notice that former BBC Radio Leicester, Five Live and Sky Sports presenter Ian Payne is plugging the News at Ten on ITV. I drop him a cheeky tweet to say he's had more moves than Robbie Keane. He replies and says he 'kisses the badge of them all.'

There's a busy schedule on Saturday before the trip north to Calderdale. For those first-time (and probably last-time) readers from Brighouse and Crook, I'm Head of Talent ID for Notts County youth. I've been tipped there's a schools tournament at a village close by.

I bolt down a bowl of muesli and leave Murphy the Budgie arguing with himself in the mirror, as Brian Matthews plays the Spencer Davis Group's 1966 smash hit 'Somebody Help Me' on his Sound of the 60s show on Radio 2.

I have a ride around before parking the car on the edge of Ruddington in a deliberate attempt to stretch my legs for some much-needed exercise. As I walk through the gates I spot my Godson playing in a game. He's already signed up for Burton Albion, but still loves a kick-about with his pals. I glance across the pitch and a clock a Nottingham Forest scout with all his clobber on. Those lads love parading about in their kit. I tend not to wear mine, so not to attract attention or distract the kids playing football.

I introduce myself to the organiser of the tournament and produce my ID. I identify a player with potential. His teacher, a Notts County fan, tells me which club he plays for. I will go and watch him next weekend.

I dash home and grab a ham and cheese sandwich. Murphy is hanging upside on a clothes peg, smashing it with his beak in time to M People's 'Moving On Up.'

Manchester United have already kicked-off against Crystal Palace as I drive up the Nottingham ring road. The radio commentator had earlier in the week interviewed former Eagles striker Mark Bright. He tells the story of how Bright bagged a brace at Old Trafford back in 1989 in a 2-1 win in front of 33,000 fans. Supporters unfurled a banner after the game; daubed on it was 'three years of excuses, ta-ra Fergie.'

I leave my car at a pub close to the M1 and jump in with Phil, a coach I used to work with at Notts. It's plain sailing up the M1. Jon Moss, the referee, not to be confused with the Culture Club drummer, has refused to give a penalty at Old Trafford.

We turn off at Junction 40. Hopes are dashed of a real ale or two as Saturday shoppers clog up the roads enroute to the soulless retail parks in Dewsbury and Mirfield. The Dual Seal Stadium is tucked away from the town centre. The club are celebrating their 50th anniversary this season.

Brighouse is a town in the Metropolitan Borough of Calderdale in West Yorkshire with a population of over 30,000. The town rose to fame in 1977 with the Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band having a No.2 hit in the Pop Parade with the 'Floral Dance' - not going to mention Terry Wogan's daft version. The area is also home to Britpop band Embrace.

It's £5 on the gate and a further £1 for a programme which is a neat and tidy effort. It's an FA Cup first round qualifying tie. I adore the ground. The only thing that spoils it are the Potakabins behind the nearest goal. It's tree-lined, has hard-standing, wooden fencing and is fully-railed. The pitch has a side-slope, but looks immaculate. A big hat-tip to the groundstaff; you could play bar billiards on it. I walk to the stand on the far side. Dignitaries are sat on white tip up seats.

Crook Town are from County Durham. They caused the big upset of the previous round, dumping out Kendall Town from Evostik Division One North on their own patch 4-2. It's what's brought me here, although Brighouse have been on my radar for some time.

Over half of the 161 crowd have travelled down from the north. Brighouse play in a replica Wolves kit, whilst Crook's is like Coventry City's.

It's a breathtaking 45 minutes. The visitors are at sixes and sevens in the early stages. Ernest Boafo hits a rasping shot from the edge of the area to put Brighouse one up. Crook forward Kyle Davis  leads the home defence a merry dance. His movement and touch are mesmeric; if only he'd lift his head and release the ball. He thumps a shot into the roof of the net on the stroke of half time. Brighouse have squandered so many chances. Crook will have been relieved to hear the half-time whistle.

Pie and mushy peas are once again the northern delicacy of choice in these parts. Sticky swigs on a bottle of Becks and chats to a friendly official. I spot a groundhopper slumped in his seat studying his Sudoku puzzle, as I make my way round towards the goal that Crook will attack. Murphy has predicted a 3-1 win for the team from the north east. I have a quick chat with Lucas the dog before the second half commences.

Brighouse blow away the visitors with some high tempo football. Pocket rocket winger Ryan Hall puts them in front on 54 minutes. Tom 'The Hitman' Matthews (46 goals last season) plays a give and go with Boafo, rounds the keeper and taps the ball into net. Crooks misery is complete with 20 minutes to go when Ben Shaw makes it 4-1.

I'm sandwiched between a couple of moaning Minnies from Durham. They unleash their frustration on the young referee. The 4-1 scoreline doesn't tell the whole story; it could have been a wider margin. Now where's that bloody budgie?

Attendance: 161

Man of the Match: Ryan Hall

Burton Joyce 2-2 Ruddington Village

 

It’s been a while since I stayed local. I spot that Sileby Town are playing host to Rothley Imperial in the Leicestershire Senior League. The Taxman picks me up on another glorious late summer’s evening. Within one mile of driving we’re pulled up stationary on Laming Gap, with hazard warning lights on, close to the village of Stanton on-the Wolds.  All the needles on The Taxman’s car are throwing a wobbly. It’s like the Clapometer off Hughie Green’s Opportunity Knocks – “I mean that sincerely folks.” At this rate we’ll be travelling like the Anthill Mob off Whacky Races.

We pull into the Memorial Ground off the Seagrave Road as the players are exiting the changing rooms. I spot the dad of a lad who I once scouted for the Pies. He’s an Elvis impersonator. He was ‘All Shook Up’ about the 2-0 reverse for his lad’s team. The highlight of the evening was another ‘Swampy’ type character shimming up a tree to retrieve another alehouse clearance. And also a superb brew, poured from a steaming hot pot. Yes, Sileby have set the mark in mashing tea.

It’s Friday morning and I’m in the zone at work listening to Colin Murray on Talksport. He’s promoting ‘Non League Day.’ I send a tweet in to say I’m off to the Notts Senior League game at Burton Joyce tomorrow. It’s read out on air. Former Arsenal striker, Perry Groves, is amused by the name Burton Joyce. He’s says it sounds like an old married couple.

 

Saturday morning is spent flying up to the north of the county, to the League Registrar’s bungalow, signing players on for the two sides that I run. We’re short-staffed and lacking playing time. I view a game up at Kimberley Leisure Centre and bump into legendary Priory Celtic secretary, John Harris. He is looking rather flash in his new Notts County sweatshirt, a birthday present from the family.

It’s The Skipper’s team’s first league game of the season. We’re light on numbers and have a few round pegs in square holes. It’s a 4-1 thumping for a sulking Skipper. I head out of Platt Lane, down Tollerton Lane and onto the Colwick Loop Road. Rugby Union is on Five Live. I switch over to Radio Nottingham – known in a previous life as ‘Radio Red, before the ‘Media Blackout.’ They’re covering Mansfield Town’s long trek to Newport County.

I turn right off the main drag, past a swanky barber's and over a railway crossing. Burton Joyce is a commuter village on the outskirts of Nottingham with a population of 4000. Coronation Street actress Sherrie Hewson and the actor Mathew Horne were both born in the village.

The teams are heading out to the far pitch. Two guys are scarifying the cricket pitch with two mowers. I slump to the ground on the halfway line and stretch my legs, as the sun lights up Colwick Woods. Jibs on the cranes, dominating the skyline, swing in the distance. The pitch is roped off, with the playing surface looking lush.

The NSL is Sticky’s favourite league. My village Keyworth are a founder member. I took in a game at their Groundhop at Selston last spring and saw a classic 2-2 draw against Wollaton. I recognise the referee immediately; it’s none other than County Councillor, John Cottee. Cracking lad John is, always lets the game flow, bet there aren’t any bookings or aggro.

Bloody hell who’s that on the phone? “Eh up Mick” (the boss). He’ll be in a good mood, the last time I checked my Twitter timeline the Notts County Youth Team were 2-0 up against League leaders Bradford City. It’s a short conversation – we lost 3-2.

Ruddington look tidy on the counter-attack. Former Leicester City Academy forward Craig McMorran has a deft touch and a sharp footballing brain. Burton Joyce have the malnourished ‘Troy’ up top; he is like a whippet and reminds me of a young Georgie Best. He’s already fluffed a few chances before finally finding the back of the onion bag after a brave block by the Rudd’ ‘keeper.

The visitors are soon back on level terms, thanks to a dozing linesman. The Ruddington forward scampers away when clearly offside. I’ve sent a few tweets about the game and hear someone from across the dugouts shout out my name. I feel embarrassed and trudge off to the Clubhouse for a mug of piping hot tea, accompanied by a Kit Kat for £1.40. I pick up a four page programme that are scattered on a table. I pass comment to the lady behind the tea bar that there are no junior games on this afternoon. She says there was a heavy game schedule earlier this morning.

Those two chaps are still mowing the wicket in tandem. Crikey, they’ve used more petrol than Sebastian Vettel. Ruddington up it gear in the second period. I take a stroll around to their dugout to see if I can discover any one-line gems. Tom Randall is one of the subs. He’s sat on more benches than Rumpole of the Bailey. The ‘Housewives Choice’ is hopeful of a run-out. Any chances of that are dashed on the hour with the Ruddington centre back netting from a set piece.

One of the visiting substitutes is former Nottingham Forest striker Adam Newbold. He describes to Tom how he scored on his debut for the Reds against Morecambe in the League Cup at the age of 19 years old. Five years later he’s playing with his mates at grassroot level. He still has the touch, but sadly not the movement anymore.

The game is in its dying embers. The ball falls to Matt Hayes with his back to goal, 20 yards out. He flicks it up and in slow motion both his feet leave the floor, as if he’s walking on the moon. Quick as a flash his right boot catches the ball at head height. His shot arrows into the top corner of the net. It reminds me of Pele’s overhead kick in Escape to Victory – “Come on lads we can win this one.” (Russell Osman). There’s a massive pile on. Hayes emerges unscathed.

Seven years of groundhopping. I’ve seen the likes of Lampard, Drogba and Malouda. But I kid you not, at one of the lowest levels in the Football Pyramid, me and 24 wags, dads and friends have witnessed one of the best goals we will ever see. Viva ‘Non League Day.’

Man of the Match: Craig McMorran

Attendance: 24 (head count)   

Wigan Athletic 2-1 Nottingham Forest

 

 It’s Friday tea-time, I’m sat in The Zuffler’s dog-haired covered car. We’re off to Browns for tea, just off Maid Marian Way, in Nottingham. Twenty five work colleagues pile into the dining area. Sticky jnr is amongst our brethren. He’s as happy as Larry, supping his lager and sneaking off outside for a roll-up with his workmates. I nip down the Canal House to leaving do for ‘The Horse’ who is emigrating to Australia on Tuesday. It’s an early bath for Groundhopper, though, after acute stomach pains find him on the Keyworth Connection at 21.30hrs. Junior rolls in three hours later: That’s my boy. 

My stomach is making more noise than Mount Vesuvius on Saturday morning. I’m hoping a pot of tea for one and a bowl of Frosties will restore normality. The Zuffler, Chambo, Cobman Al and a rather delicate and dishevelled looking Sticky jnr are making the 100 mile trip north. 

It’s my first look at Forest since the away trip to The Valley last season. I’m just hoping that Radi Majewski is wearing his dancing shoes for the game at the home of Northern Soul. Sticky jnr is whining that he wants Capital FM on. They only play one record – Swedish House Mafia (yawn). The Zuffler is dishing out the Werthers Originals. He reckons the best pie shop in Wigan is Greggs. There’s a lot of childish tittering and guffawing coming from the back seat, as The Zuffler tells a string of gags to the lads.

The A50 and M6 are clear of traffic. We crawl for the last three miles past a string of retail parks and supermarkets. Friendly stewards wave us into the visitors’ car park. Cobman Al parts with a fiver. We bump into ‘Homebird’ in his snazzy new BMW. The lads head off to a soulless chain pub called the Red Robin. Al fancies a pint and Dirty Leeds v QPR at the Marquee.

The rest of us take a stroll up the Leeds/Liverpool Canal. We chance upon the Orwell pub, a converted cotton warehouse. Marvin Gaye’s ‘I Heard it Through the Grapevine’ is playing in the bar. We sink a pint of ‘Gold Rush’ and bask in the lunchtime sunshine adjacent to the canal, catching up on all the gossip.

Wigan is a town in Greater Manchester that stands on the River Douglas.  It has a population of 80,000. Back in the day the town was well known for its manufacturing of porcelain and clock-making. Wigan Pier was made famous by the writer George Orwell in his book ‘The Road to Wigan Pier.’

The Northern Soul movement was centred in Wigan. Between 1973 and 1981 ‘all-nighters’ took place at the Wigan Casino. The building was demolished in 1983 following fire damage the previous year. Since 1992 the World Pie-Eating Championship has taken place in the town.

Notable people from the area include: the former Chief Constable of Greater Manchester, James Anderton, singer Richard Ashcroft from the band The Verve, former Rugby League player, Shaun Edwards, the actor Roy Kinnear, 80s singer Limahl, Everton midfielder Leon Osman, former NFFC player Danny Sonner, former Sheffield Utd manager Danny Wilson and the actor Ted Ray.

Wigan Athletic were founded in 1932 and share the DW Stadium with the Wigan Warriors Rugby League team. I recall them knocking out my team, Lincoln City, out of the Sherpa Van Trophy Northern Final back in the 80s, with the likes of Kevin Langley, Mike Newell, Steve Walsh and David Lowe starring. Former Reds Grant Holt and James Perch now ply their trade for the Latics. Notable former managers include: Larry Lloyd, Kenny Swain, John Deehan, Bruce Rioch and Steve Bruce. Most league appearances: Kevin Langley (317). Record consecutive league appearances: Jimmy Bullard (123). Record transfer fee paid: Mauro Boselli (Estudiantes) £6.5M. Record transfer fee received: Antonio Valencia £16M.

We head up the two flights of stairs to the North Stand. Over 4000 Tricky Trees pack it to the rafters. The PA announcer is already an early contender for ‘DJ of the Season.’ Smokey Robinson and Martha and the Vandellas are blasting out of the speakers. The build up to the kick off reaches a crescendo with Settle-born soul singer John Newman and his Number One hit ‘Love Me Again’ My spine is tingling in anticipation of this mouth-watering fixture between two teams bang in form. I’m disappointed at the exclusion of Darius ‘The Beast’ Henderson. He has more pressing matters to attend to (a court case).

The Latics start like a train; Forest can’t get near them. “You’re not famous anymore” roar the Wigan supporters. “You weren’t famous anyway.” Touché. Against the run of play Forest take the lead through a superbly struck free kick by Andy Reid. Why this boy is playing in the Championship, I’ll never know. He is in the form of his life.

Forest continue to struggle with the pace and movement of the FA Cup holders. Honduran international Roger Espinoza is causing mayhem down the left hand flank. He skips past Henri Lansbury and USA full back Eric Lichaj with regular ease.  Lansbury suffers a headloss as things boil over. The equaliser has been coming; ironically it is created on the other wing. Marc-Antoine Fortune is upended by Hobbs after a mazy run. Darlow gets a strong hand on the penalty from Maloney but can’t keep it out.  

Wigan go for the jugular and on 34 minutes deservedly take the lead. Darlow again is unfortunate, pushing a shot onto the crossbar, only to see an alert Gomez gleefully steer home the rebound. Forest are relieved to hear the half time whistle. They are a tad fortunate to be only 2-1 down.

While Billy Davies undoes his top button, loosens his tie, refuels with chewing gum and lets rip, we are treated to Jackie Wilson, Frankie Valli and Cee Lo Green. It’s been an entertaining first period despite the performance of whistle-happy referee Craig Pawson, from Sheffield, who seems to break up play.

King Billy replaces a disinterested Guedioura, who has been coming out of a tackle waving a big white handkerchief. Lansbury protects the back four, Dan Harding comes on at left back and Cohen moves to the right of the diamond formation, in an attempt to nullify the dangerous Espinoza.

Forest’s flowing, crisp pass and move football dominates the game in the second period. Reid and Cohen are untouchable. It just lacks that killer final ball. Majewski removes his hob-nailed boots for the lighter variety. They have masses of possession, but little creativity. Halford ploughs a lone furrow. Mackie can’t get into the game. Substitutions disrupt their pattern of play. Wigan rely on the counter-attack.

Referee Craig Pawson blows his whistle for what feels the 100^th time. The game has been breathtaking, with the Reds unfortunate not to nick a point. The DJ spins one final Northern Soul classic; Frank Wilson’s ‘Do I Love You.’  

Attendance: 16,270

Man of the Match: Andy Reid
 

Rossington Main 2-3 Worsbrough Bridge Athletic

 

It’s Friday June 7^th 2013. I’m cruising down the A453 at 5.30am. I pull off the A50 and turn into Sawley Marina. The Auctioneer appears from his boat at the crack of dawn. Destination is Scarborough in North Yorkshire; or as the locals call it ‘Scarbados.’ We’re off to watch Day 3 of the LVCC match between Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire. The Auctioneer is a staunch supporter of the Tykes.

We’re parked up in the town’s North Bay at just gone 8am. Breakfast is served at a beachside cafe, as we look out into North Sea at the boats bobbing and the sun shining. We head down to the harbour in the South Bay. The Auctioneer is fagged out after a trek up to Scarborough Castle.

It’s £15 on the gate at one of the all-time-great provincial grounds. Seagulls perch on the rooftops of nearby bed and breakfasts, ready to swoop down for any unwanted food. We sink a couple of pints in a back street boozer at lunchtime. Sticky gets sunscreen stuck in his eye and is crying for most of the day.

 

Notts take a pounding in the field. 329 runs are clubbed around the North Marine Road ground for the loss of one wicket. Gale and the impressive Ballance chalk up tons. A fish and chip supper is devoured before the long trip home. We had hoped to make the return match at Trent Bridge yesterday. Another dismal batting performance by Notts scuppered any chance of that.

It’s Saturday morning. Five Live are discussing the Ashes and the shift of balance towards the Australians. The subject of ‘walking’ after hitting a ball crops up again. Former Aussie fast bowler Merv Hughes is quoted as saying: “You never walk, unless you run out of petrol."

I tune into Radio 2 for Murphy Palmer, the budgie. I leave him moonstomping to ‘House of Fun’ by Madness. Finley the rabbit has already predicted a 0-2 away win for the Briggers. He was impressed with a bedtime story from me last season, when I told him how they thumped Pontefract 3-0.

 

I leave the ‘Rolls’ in one of those Pub and Kitchens on the A610 and hook up with a lad I used to coach with. Radio Nottingham is reporting that a feminist group are demonstrating outside Tesco’s on Long Row in Nottingham. It’s called ‘Lose the Lads Mags’ and is a protest against the selling of Nuts and Zoo magazine. Bloody hell, Sticky jnr is in town and subscribes to both. I hope he doesn’t get wind of the demo and go wading in.

I flick the radio to Five Live. Sticky’s favourite commentator, John Murray, is reporting from Craven Cottage. He’s saying that Arsene Wenger has sprung a surprise by throwing 16 year old German born midfielder Gedion Zelalem, onto the bench. He was spotted playing in the USA for Olney Rovers.

The journey is plain sailing. We come off the M18 at Junction 3 and onto the Bawtry Road, passing the impressive Doncaster Racecourse. A bare-chested skinhead, swigging a can of Heineken, walks by. He’s covered from head to toe in tattoos.

 

We pull into the Hare and Tortoise, which dates back to the 1700’s, where it is rumoured that Dick Turpin once stopped. I hope he was happier with the service than I am. After an age I’m poured a pint of pale ale from the Leeds Brewery, by a lass with the personality of a plant. They should just call it The Tortoise – the service is that slow.

The bacon on my brie melt is burnt to a cinder. I plonk myself on a bench outside. The Joop half price after shave from East Midlands Airport, that I’ve squirted on, not only attracts the ladies but also wasps. After several unsuccessful swishes with the latest copy of the Doncaster Gazette, I give up the ghost and sit back inside.

A couple of those pointless Sausage dogs start a pathetic yapping at my feet while they wait for their owners to come back from the toilet. If they don’t belt up soon I’ll be launching them down the A638 with my Adidas Samba’s.  My misery is complete with a punter on an adjacent table constantly rustling a jumbo sized crisp packet whilst noisily munching his way through his snack. He’s the sort of a guy you may have the misfortune to sit next to at the cinema.

An irritated and grumpy Groundhopper makes the short trip down the road to the old pit village of Rossington. The village has a population of just under 15,000. The pit was sunk between 1912 and 1915. It ceased production in 2007.

Sat Nav has had a wobble, but I spot a cricket match in progress. A car load of Teddy boys roll up. I ask a guy who looks like Alvin Stardust if he knows where the ground is. We eventually stumble on Oxford Street – the one in Rossington, not London.

It’s £4 on the gate and £1.50 for a well produced programme. The ground is neat, tidy and blue-painted. I take a position on the far side next to the Gerry Murden Stand. The pitch is like a bowling green.

I caught both these teams last season and was suitably impressed. The visitors begin the game strongly, carving out chances from the off. They take the lead on 8 minutes. An initial shot is blocked but Podmore tucks away the rebound.

The Briggers should be out of sight by now but are wasteful in front of goal. The Blues equalise against the run of play on 36 minutes through a Ben Clark strike. I’m in the tea bar getting a brew, just minutes before half time, when there’s a huge cheer. I pop my head out of the door to see big centre forward Brandon Fallon celebrating a goal. How the hell are the Briggers 2-1 down?

Ooh, I recognise that tune blasting out of the speakers, it’s Duck Sauce’s ‘Barbara Streisand.’ I remember throwing some shapes to that one in Abersoch 2011. I have a chat with Ruby and Millie, two Boxers, who are a bit miffed to have chosen the wrong end where the goals have gone in. Unlucky lads.

The second half is scrappy, has no pattern and has minimal chances. A scruffy goal on 65 minutes levels the game for the Briggers. They finish the game stronger. Fluidity and flowing football is restored. Man of the match Adam Podmore goes down in the area, having turned his marker. The penalty is dispatched with ease.

The Briggers deserve their victory. They have a good spine to the team and play some great football. Hopefully I can catch them again later in the season.

Glasshoughton Welfare 2-3 Jarrow Roofing BCA

I’m laid out on the sofa, underneath one of Sticky junior’s Nottingham Forest’s duvets and boy am I ill. I’ve brought back some Chupa Chups lollipops for Will and Gangsta from Majorca, for babysitting my budgie, Murphy Palmer and also the Spanish Flu. I’ve got kennel cough, a high temperature and a streaming, runny nose. I can’t stand another episode of Heir Hunters or Homes Under the Hammer. Murphy sits on my pillow, reaching over now and again, to peck away the scabs from my heat rash on my arm.

The fantastic 10 night stay at the Protur Alicia in Cala Bona is a distant memory. I’d hoped to find some Nottingham Forest memorabilia on show, as it’s next to the resort where Clough and Taylor had properties in the 70s and 80s. NFFC players and staff actually learnt of promotion to the old Division One on Cala Millor beach in 1977.

On the final night in the hotel I chance upon a D***y County supporter. He reveals that Peter Taylor actually died in Cala Millor, where I walk to every day. Later on a Facebook a friend tells me there are pictures and mementos of Clough and Taylor in the Sportsmans Bar. Maybe next year I’ll take a look.

I’m still fuzzy and weak when I awaken from a deep sleep on Saturday morning. I pass a late fitness test for the trip to Castleford. It’s a pot of tea for one and cheese on toast, with a spot of brown sauce. I better get something done as I’ve been sprawled out on the couch for pretty much 48 hours.

Murphy is on his swing, swaying to Abba’s ‘Gimme a Man After Midnight’ – ‘The Skipper’ was dancing to that one on his holidays. I cut the back lawn. Finley, my rabbit, beckons me over to his cage. It’s time for one of his crap non league score predictions: “2-1 to Jarrow, marra”, he whispers into my ear. There’s just time to give both my lads a bollocking (Jack and Joe, not Murphy and Finley) before jumping in the ‘Rolls Royce and heading oop North.

The bloody Nottingham ring road is in chaos once again. It’s a nice steady drive up the M1, M18 and A1.  I messaged Trumpy Bolton, the night before, to see if he fancied a trip out; the legend is currently on the lash in Scotland for a week. He confirms that a hotel booking has been made for October 1^st when Yeovil Town entertain Leicester City.

Five Live are eulogising over those Premiership ponces. Jonathan Overend calls it “the most famous league in the world.” Steve Bower and Danny Mills are commentating from Anfield for the opening game against Stoke City. The away fans sing: “We’re Stoke City, and we pass the ball.” It’s a jibe at former manager Tony Pulis.

 

 

 

I hit the town of Castleford at just shy of 2pm. It has a population of 37,000 and is home to the Rugby League team Castleford Tigers. The town’s major employers are Allinson’s flour, Burberry clothing and Nestle. Famous folk born or raised in the area include: crime novelist Peter Robinson, the creator of Bill and Ben the Flowerpot men, Hilda Wright, ‘Spend Spend Spend’ Pools winner, Viv Nicholson and former Hull KR stand-off, Roger Milward.

I clock the Glasshoughton Centre to my right. To the left is the Xscape SNO!zone. I park the ‘Rolls’ to the rear of the Glasshoughton Working Men’s Club. They’re advertising a ‘Meat Loaf Tribute Night’ and a ‘Talent Competition.’ Flipping heck, it looks a bit tasty in there; think I’ll give it the swerve and take a stroll down ‘Charlie’s Chippy’.

 

The shop is about to shut. I grab the last portion of chips and batter bits, accompanied by a can of Coke. I’ve had bugger all to eat for the last few days. There’s a sign outside to ‘ring Jean’ if you want to join Slimming World. I might have to after wolfing down that ‘Glasgow Salad.’

As I stroll through the gates on the Leeds Road I notice a cricket match about to re-commence following a short shower. A heavily built lad steams in from the Leeds Road end and raps the pads of the left handed batsman. After a huge pause the umpire raises his left index finger. The disgruntled batsman shakes his head and gives the man in the white coat a disgruntled look, as he trudges back to the pavilion.

I pay £6 on the gate and a further £1 for a programme. To my left behind the nearest goal is a covered stand; on the far side is the main stand with blue tip-up seats. There is further cover behind the far goal, with the Welfare Centre, a brick building, running along the nearest touchline behind the dugouts.

Jarrow is a town in Tyne and Wear with a population of 27,000. It was once famous for shipbuilding and was the starting point of the Jarrow March, a protest at unemployment and shipyard closures in 1936. Notable people from the area include: Steve Cram, Catherine Cookson and Frank Williams. It featured recently in BBC1’s Working Britain, with Paul O’Grady spending time with the locals.

Glasshoughton play in the NCEL Premier Division, whilst their opponents are in the Northern League Division Two. Welfare are sporting a replica QPR blue and white hooped strip. They look much younger than their counterparts, who start sluggishly, following the 100 mile bus journey south.

The home side take the lead on 37 minutes with the unfortunate Kirkup finding his own net. The response is immediate, Kirkup makes amends by nodding a free kick to the back post, the ball is played back into Stu Nicholson who fires into the corner of the net.

Bloody hell, what’s Swampy doing here?  What a cracking set of dreads he’s sporting. I’d have thought he would have shimmied up a tree by now to get a bird’s eye view.

I have a mosey about the Welfare Centre at the break. The bar is bustling. I grab a coffee and notice replica framed football shirts on the wall. They are gifts from former Glasshoughton players Martin Woolford (Millwall) and ex Grimsby Town winger Nick Hegarty.

I check the half-times. Forest are beating Bolton, whilst Notts County and Walsall are yet to break the deadlock at the Banks’s Stadium. Pat Murphy, the Radio 5 cricket correspondent has replied to a tweet I sent him regarding the form of England prospect Ben Stokes, who has just bowled a hostile spell for England Lions against Australia at Northampton.

I don’t know what they’ve put in Jarrow’s tea but you could march to London on it. They come out for the second half totally energised. Chances go begging before the game is put to bed with two goals in as many minutes following some Laurel and Hardy defending by Welfare.

Glasshoughton pull a goal back following a cleverly-taken corner to set-up a grandstand finish. The visiting ‘keeper comes for a cross and gets nowhere near it. “You were cleaning windows there ‘keeper”, remarks Sticky. He turns and smiles at me. It captures the spirit the game has been played in. Even a senseless and silly sending off at the death for Jarrow doesn’t ruin the day. A lovely ground, well kept pitch and two good sides. All for £6. I can’t arf pick em! 

Man of the Match: Swampy

Attendance: 75

Alsager Town 2-5 Witton Albion

I’ve made a crazy decision. I’ve coached ‘The Skipper’s’ under 16 team for a number of years now, but I’ve pretty much lurked in the background when it’s come to Sticky junior’s team, preferring to watch when I can Anyway, who in their right mind would want to run an under 18 team? Er, well me, actually.

I took both teams down the Trent Embankment the other Monday evening. Twenty four rocked up in the sizzling heat as we played 12 a-side with jumpers for goal posts. Supper was wolfed down at McDonald’s on Radcliffe Road, opposite Trent Bridge cricket ground. The lads were as good as gold. The team-bonding evening worked a treat. I’ll keep you informed with the trials and tribulations of the season ahead.

Friday evening is spent relaxing on the patio, tucking into a special offer Cote Du Rhone, recommended by The Zuffler on our weekly sojourn to the Ruddington Co-op. Finley sits on my knee, letting me brush his fur, as I wade my way through Stuart Maconie’s brilliantly written Hope and Glory. Finley asks if he can shout up one of his crap non-league predictions. He says Witton will win 2-0 at Alsager. I think it will be more convincing than that, son.

I rustle up poached eggs on toast and have a little chat with Murphy the budgie. He’s already packing his case for his holiday at Will and Gangsta’s crib. I’ve got to be in Grantham for 10:00. Notts County under 16s are taking on Grantham Town under 17s.

I scroll through my Twitter timeline and notice that Notts CCC overseas player David Hussey has had a social media spat with Derbyshire’s Dan Redfern. It’s clearly some sort of overspill from the shortened 20/20 game at Trent Bridge the other night.

Danny Baker on 5 Live has deserted me for Florida, as I drive down the A46 and onto the A52. Greg James and a huddle of bloggers waffle on about the Ashes series. I pull into the Grantham Meres Leisure Centre. A parent kindly buys me a cup of coffee as we catch-up with all the gossip.

  I stretch my legs around the athletics track. Cornershop’s ‘Brimful of Asha’ is playing on the Gingerbreads public address system. I’m hardly dressed for the occasion. I look like the man from Next, with my white cotton shirt and cream shorts. Mick, my boss, won’t be impressed with the flip flops either.

I spent three cold and wet Saturday mornings at this venue last season running my eye over a player. We finally offered him a scholarship in the spring time. His name is Jordan Richards. His dad was the late, great Pedro Richards, who made 399 appearances for the Pies in the 70s and 80s.

I sit in the dugout with former Notts left back Darren Davies. Grantham’s boys tower above ours. We never look in trouble for the first 20 minutes, retaining possession and passing crisply. Costly errors gift the home side a 3-0 half time lead. It’s probably best to bail out; Mick and Darren aren’t going to be too happy with the sloppy goals we’ve conceded.

A few years ago I went to watch Uppo’s Dunkirk against Grantham in the FA Cup. It was at the time the Boatmen had the “Three Degrees’ up top. The Gingerbreads conceded two late goals which resulted in a replay. Grantham fans were gutted to have only drawn against a ‘pub team.’ Three days later Dunkirk won the replay 3-2, scoring in the dying embers of the game. “3-2 to the pub team” didn’t go down too well on the messageboard.

I head west, towards Derby. I hit Stoke at 1pm and navigate onto the A500 and A34 towards Congleton. I’m soon pulling up at Robinson’s public house called the Red Bull in the village of Church Lawton. It’s situated on the Trent and Mersey Canal.

The service isn’t particularly efficient. The landlady is an age on the phone. She reminds me of Sybil off Fawlty Towers. I’m finally poured a pint of golden ale called Cumbria Way. I find a picnic table next to the lock and watch a procession of barges chugging down the canal.

The town of Alsager is only a few miles up the road. It’s to the north west of Stoke and east of Crewe. It has a bustling high street with a hotchpotch of shops. The Wood Park Stadium is situated in a ‘tasty’ part of town. The car park is already full.

Two old ladies are walking down the road, dawdling behind them is an ageing dog. “Never misses a game” one of the women tells me. “What’s your dog called ladies?” enquires Groundhopper. “Tom Tom” replies one of the old girls.”Did he manage to find the ground okay?” Neither of them bats an eyelid.

It’s £5 on the gate. No programme is issued today. A proper groundhopper would be in a flood of tears after that bad news. Portakabins are at the top of the steps. In July 2011 the old clubhouse caught fire.

That cheese and onion sandwich I ate at the pub has caused a right old thirst on. I call in at the Tea Bar and bag a bottle of ice cold water. A guy wearing some FA clobber is tucking into a pie and mushy peas. It’s a bit hot for that delicacy pal. I take a position up to the right of the Alsager dugout.

Alsager Town play in the NWCL (Step 5) while Witton Albion, from Northwich, ply their trade in the Evostik Premier League (Step 3). Former notable players to have played for Witton include: the comedian John Bishop, Nicky Maynard, Geoff Horsfield and Mike Whitlow.

Witton look more athletic and fitter than their opponents. They are soon knocking the ball about and carving out chances. The visitors are 3-0 up at the break. The first goal was hotly disputed by the Alsager bench. The poor young girl ‘liner’ got some grief. The second goal is well-worked.

I get chatting to a guy who has his little boy in toe. His lad is wearing a green Plymouth Argyle shirt with Ginsters splattered on the front and 27 Gurrieri printed on the back. He tells me that he saw Pascal Chimbonda turn out for Market Drayton during the week. Paul Jewell’s old sidekick, Chris Hutchings, is helping out there with the coaching.

I’m intrigued by the Alsager manager’s half time pep talk. He says to his players that they are not in Afghanistan and are not going to get shot (well definitely not by their strikers). He encourages them to play without fear and to try and enjoy it.

They play with more spirit and belief in the second period. One or two start to get noticed. ‘Angelo’ and ‘Leigh’ combine well. Both sides convert penalties in an entertaining 45 minutes. All I can think about, though, is whether Tom Tom can find his way home.

Footnote: The Alsager Town manager was Andy Turner who has played for a host of clubs including: Spurs, Portsmouth and Rotherham United. In 1992, at the age of 17, he held the record, for that time, as the youngest ever goal scorer in the Premier League. He hasn’t lost his appetite for the game, despite his brush with fame.

Man of the Match: ‘Tom Tom.’

Selby Town 2-3 Marske United

The sun is blazing in our back garden. Sticky’s got his feet up on the patio, and is sinking a Stella or two. I’ve got a few days off for the Ashes. Half a mile down the road, TV cameras are filing into the car park at Plumtree Cricket Club, where my two boys used to play.

The breaking news story is that Trent Bridge has banned Boring Billy and his bloody trumpet from the Ashes first Test. The Barmy Army are crying into the beer down at the PCG as they lock horns with their Australian counterparts in a 20/20 game.

I get little sleep, as I’m so excited. Dafty picks me up at just gone 8 am. We drive through Tollerton and down the Melton Road. Trent Bridge is a hive of activity. The place is absolutely buzzing. We park up on Henry Road and walk down the Avenue. Tim Abraham from Sky News is wandering down the road towards Cafe Nero, a haunt of Wee Billy Davies and his motley crew.

We waltz through the doors of the Southbank Bar on Trent Bridge. A band strikes up a tune, a guy starts rapping. He aint no Dizzee Rascal folks. Dringy is tucked away in the corner of the bar studying his correct score matrix. We shout up a coffee and a tea. Most of the boys are already on the lash. It’s not even 9 o’clock yet.

I polish off a huge ‘Big Breakfast.’ It’s piled high with chips. We cross the Radcliffe Road. Alan Brazil from Talk Sport limps over the road towards Ladbrokes. He’s just hosted a show from the ‘World renowned ‘Trent Bridge Inn. I’m with legendary leg spinner Jitz Jani. He clocks a group of Aussies and offers them some banter “4-0 to the India” is met with stony faces. Aussie don’t like it up em!

I’ve shelled out £80 for the best seat in the house (thanks Dringy). We’re on the top deck, with the wicket to our left. The flag of St George is rolled out. National anthems boom out of the speakers. The Red Arrows roar overhead. Let the drinking commence.

Sticky rekindles his love affair with Stowford Press cider at nearly £4 a pint. It’s £36 per round; that’s drinking, not golfing. The ball is swinging around like an Olympic hammer thrower. Cook and Root look set but both are back in the hutch before lunch. I miss the dismissal of KP as I’m drinking and chatting outside the TBI.

A doner kebab with Big Bobby Baker is a lifesaver at tea. It allows me to push on with the booze fest. I collect my winnings from the lunchtime to tea-time session runs prediction.

England collapse like a deck of cards. Swann and Broad don’t have the stomach for it. Broad, mysteriously fails to show up for a bowl. It’s left to Finn and Anderson to show some fight. I peer through my binoculars as a ball from ‘Jimmy’ nips back and clips the top of Michael Clarke’s bail.

We drink long into the night. I have a few Berlusconi’s (real ale) from Holden’s Brewery in Dudley, at the Stratford Haven and Monkey Tree. I stumble into a black cab at just gone 10.30 pm. I don’t want the day to end.

Two days later and once again I’m wandering out the ground. I punch out the numbers to our landline, as Mrs P’s mobile is going to straight to voicemail. It’s bad news folks, Mrs P has left her index finger in the food blender, with the power on. I inform the TCCB that she’s unable to replace umpire Dar on the fourth day.

It’s Saturday morning, it feels strange that I’m not off to the Test. The last three days, meeting up with my best mates, in tropical conditions, has felt like a three day bender in Ibiza.

It’s a big day in Sticky jnr’s calendar. Budgens wall is shut for the day to all dossers, as they are all up the Keyworth Show. I remind him of his drinking exploits the previous year: “yeah Dad, I was an inexperienced drinker back then.” He’s 18 in November.

I meet one of the lads who snouts about for me close to the M1. There are long delays on the A1, so we plump for the M18 and M62. We’re soon on the A19 and stop off at a delightful roadside inn, the Wheatsheaf, a mock Tudor building in the village of Burn, just outside Selby. ‘Heart Skips a Beat’ by Olly Murs, not forgetting folks, Rizzle Kicks, is on the kitchen radio, as Chef knocks Sticky up a Ploughman’s Lunch, which is washed down with a pint of Ashes Ale from the York Brewery. We sit in the back garden, basking in the sunshine, admiring the flourishing, colourful hanging baskets.

Selby is a town situated in North Yorkshire, 14 miles south of the city of York, with a population of 13,000. It once had a large shipbuilding industry. The Selby Canal brought trade in from nearby Leeds. It was once a market leader in coal mining. Wistow Colliery, which was part of the Selby Coalfield, holds the UK’s record for most coal mined in a week, with an astonishing 200,000 tonnes being produced. Former Grimsby Town and Watford goalkeeper, Steve Sherwood, was born in the town.

I take a stroll around this delightful little market town, with its striking church spire and bustling crowds. We pop into the back yard of the Griffin Hotel in Micklegate. Folk are crowded around the TV watching the cricket. I can’t bear to look at the score. It’s like watching every episode of Heartbeat, and then missing out on the last one.

It’s £3 on the gate. No programme is issued today. The clubhouse is to the left, with the dugouts over yonder.

The Rigid Group Stadium is the home of Northern Counties East team, Selby Town. The visitors are Marske United, which is situated near to the seaside town of Saltburn on the north east coast. The teams stroll out to the Pick of the Pops theme tune. The crazy DJ keeps shouting out “Shabba.”

There’s rustic feel about the place, with its perimeter red rail and parched playing surface. There’s a rickety old stand behind the nearest goal. I plonk myself on a wooden bench, gasping for air, trying to fathom out how the players can perform in this stifling heat.

The visitors, in a Sheffield Wednesday replica kit, are well drilled and technically superior. They play out from the back and from side to side. They overcook it in front of goal, passing it to death. The Robins do well to be still in the game at the break.

I meet a guy at the break who is an aficionado of the Northern League. He follows Marske, amongst others. “We’ve eight missing today”, his face is bowed and covered in disappointment. His passion and love is beautiful and heart-warming. The DJ comes good with The Specials greatest hits. Selby’s captain’s little boy throws a few shapes to ‘Rat Race.’

Selby play a better game in the second period and are unfortunate to fall behind to three quickly taken goals. They claw two back and are desperately unlucky not to equalise in the dying moments.

There’s just time for me to poke my head into the cosy social club. Pendants and pictures are hung on the wall. A TV is blaring out. There’s not a soul in sight. I have to dash back home to Nottingham; Mrs P’s finger wants dressing.



Man of the Match: 6 jacket for Marske

Attendance: 65 (Head count)