Connah's Quay Nomads 0 Total Network Solutions 2

23sep05
Welsh Premier League
Deeside Stadium, Connah’s Quay
att. 223

If you place the Welsh Premier League into the ‘haves’ and ‘have nots’, you would likely find that the ratio would come out at about 1:17. Certainly Total Network Solutions, commonly known as TNS (probably to the annoyance of their business benefactors), have enviable means. The only fully professional club in the League of Wales, a twinning arrangement with Chelsea, regular league-title contenders and foragers into Europe and a club with plans for a new purpose built stadium in a more populous area, albeit geographically in England, afoot.

TNS are the old Llansantfraid FC, which has since swallowed up Oswestry Town in a merger, and it is the latter town to which they plan to move to exploit a potentially higher support base than their current village home can offer. Taking the name of a business is not unusual in European countries but usually as a prefix to allow supporters to retain a geographical bond.

I guess it is not so easy in this case with Total Network Solutions Llansantfraid & Oswestry Town United FC hardly being conducive to succinct and effective chanting, not that that seems to matter on the largely lifeless terraces of the Welsh Premier League. Tis a weird one, are you supporting the team, or are you investing positive energy into the marketing of a computer hardware and systems business? I suppose if your team’s winning week-in-week-out, bagging league titles and affording European adventures, including 2 highly publicised legs against a set of European Champions forced to slum it in the following year’s qualifiers, then you’d be pretty happy to be a Total Network Solution til’ you die (or til' you get head-hunted by another club).

Today’s opposition provide, in terms of this season, quite a visible contrast, as while TNS sit top, Connah’s Quay prop them up, as well as the 16 others, which threatens their ever-presence as a League of Wales founding club. The Nomads have yet to win a game, or even get a point, so facing up to the in-form champions, even at home, is perhaps a little daunting. They needn’t be over-awed by that ‘twinned with Chelsea’ thing that TNS can boast though as Connah’s Quay have their own arrangement with Manchester United. Clearly there is good young Welsh talent on show here already on one or both of these sides as Welsh Under-21 coach Brian Flynn props himself against a pillar at the back of the stand to take in the game.

Calling the Deeside College Stadium home, despite that creating a titular falsehood, the Nomads came into being in 1946 as Connah’s Quay Juniors, taking on their new name in 1952 at which point they had only ever played their football at one home. The Halfway Ground, that a prior club Connah’s Quay & Shotton had used between 1920 and 1929, remained the Nomads home until 1998 when they christened the Deeside athletics facility. Never a leading light in the top-flight, they have stuck up there while bigger clubs like Barry Town have over-stretched themselves and departed, but this season looks as though it could be a long one.

On the face of the opening exchanges, those not in the know may have struggled to pick which team it was who stood up to Liverpool's millionaires a couple of months prior. However, it is clear that Connah’s Quay are eager to assert themselves against the pros and get their tackles in, as two early yellow cards are shown for their trouble. TNS finally breakthrough and show their extra class and fitness in the 38th minute with a nice, flowing move ending with an untidy header at the far post, causing brief commotion amongst the reasonable gaggle of away supporters. As I said, vocal support in unison is rare in this league, which is a surprise considering the predilection for choral singing in this part of the world.

The lead is doubled in the 55th minute with another far post header, this time from a corner and much cleaner in execution. 10 minutes later TNS are reduced to 10 men, a rough challenge on the no. 5, who makes the most of it up to the point the player is tunnelled. As a result his every touch is booed from then on.

At no stage do Connah’s Quay look able to make the most of their one man advantage, an advantage they lose in the 89th minute as TNS go 1 on 1 with the keeper who dives to save at feet albeit, rather unfortunately, about 8 yards out of his area. He instantly holds his hands to his head knowing his fate but feigns an injury with it in a rather pitiful plea to leniency. It holds no water and so, an outfield Nomad takes the jersey. It goes to the be-mulleted number 5, but sadly there is no time for any heroics/just desserts to be apportioned out.

Certainly not the rout that might have been expected, but at no stage were TNS truly threatened, and at no time could you say this game was in any way exciting if I'm honest. That appears to be the League of Wales' trouble, it could be a very intriguing, interesting league, but one team's dominance and abject apathy on the terraces means the marketing campaigns will have to work hard to increase the attendances that remain in the low to mid hundreds across the board.

Runcorn FC Halton 5 Prescot Cables 1

20sep05
Northern League Premier Division
Valerie Park, Prescot
att. 244

Regular readers will no doubt have spotted by now that this hobo has a preference for those games that intrigue at angles other than what will occur on the field, and so it is with this, what will be a rare Tuesday night on this season’s tread. Tonight offers a rare chance to visit Valerie Park, the home of Prescot Cables, to watch Prescot Cables play away.

At face value, this is easily explained, as last season Cables took in Runcorn FC Halton as tenants after they could no longer meet the rent payments demanded by then landlords, the Widnes Vikings rugby league side. Runcorn’s relegation from Conference North also meant that this season would see the first league fixtures between the two sides, Runcorn leading three to zero in cup tie victories. This tally though is to be expected when you note that 2005/06 is the first season that Prescot haven’t been in a lower league.

Surprisingly Runcorn are the younger team, having formed in 1918 (as Highfield and Camden Tanneries Recreation Club), whereas Prescot first came together in 1886. Despite their relative youth, Runcorn have not only been a touch more successful, but were one of the leading lights of the Alliance/Conference in it’s first decade or so, winning the top tier of non-league at their first attempt in 1982, 4 years before promotion/relegation became right and not privilege.

So how did Runcorn come to find themselves not only down at the third non league tier but, with 7 games of the season gone, only 2 goals of difference keeping them off the foot of the table? Three instances of bad luck during the 1993/94 season can probably be pinpointed as the start of their rut, as a perimeter wall fell down during an FA Cup tie with Hull, a roof blew off a stand in high winds and the main stand was decimated by fire. The cost of repair meant that Runcorn could not afford the resources required in the increasingly demanding Conference and were relegated 2 years later.

At the end of the millennium, they took the step, in the face of decreasing crowds, of selling their Canal Street home after 82 years in residence and moving across the Mersey into the neighbouring borough of Halton to share Widnes’ 11,000 capacity all-seater stadium. To attract new supporters they suffixed themselves with the name of their new home in an attempt to represent the two boroughs, but this did not have the desired effect with fans rattling around even in the one open stand that was required. As such, the increasing rent costs became too much for them and they moved in with Prescot towards the end of last season.

So while Prescot seem upwardly mobile if, perhaps at the pinnacle of their realistic ambitions for now, Runcorn appear to be in free-fall, a desperate situation that throws up this unusual circumstance. For tonight the Prescot players must turn out on their home pitch in away shirts and occupy the mysterious ‘other’ dressing room, although I imagine the away team’s facility will tonight see miraculously working radiators and hot running water for the first time in aeons.

It is the fans who are most inconvenienced, the Prescot website stating stubbornly prior to the game that “the Supporters Club will NOT be running a coach to this match!!!”. The amount of exclamation marks there possibly implying that they had been inundated with requests, and were getting pretty sick of it. Of course, it’s probably more likely that it’s merely a signpost to an elliptical ‘arf’, but I prefer the notion of curmudgeonly grumpiness being let loose across the net.

The turnout is roughly the composite of the usual home attendance for both sides so while the terrace beneath the raised stand teems with more life than usual, it looks as though few others have been lured by the local derby intrigue. Perhaps it’s the fact that the seats in the stand appear to have seen better days, possibly at several other grounds considering the patchwork of colour on display. Whatever their origin, not enough appear to have been purloined as about a quarter of the base concrete ‘steps’ are left bare providing terracing, I can only assume, for those who not so much laugh in the face of vertigo, but stick their tongue under their bottom lip and call it ‘Joey’.

Despite being 7 places behind Prescot in the table prior to the game, it is Runcorn who start the stronger, making the most of their efforts in the 13th minute, the striker connecting beautifully to steer it past the oncoming keeper. They double the lead after 43 with a blistering strike from outside the area. Prescot’s best chance comes in the substantial (but justified) injury-time at the end of the first period, as a looping cross-cum-shot (there’s probably a better phrase for that) floats in and Robert Holcroft has to be alert to tip it over. Largely thought Prescot have been wasteful coming forward and brittle at the back.

Two minutes into the second half and a carbon copy looper occurs at the same end but Prescot’s keeper Ryan McMahon deals less successfully with the flight, slapping it with both arms into the net like a petulant child mid-tantrum, to the sound of much un-stifled laughter from the terraces. A further two minutes elapse before again there is an almighty cock-up in the Prescot defence, a header bypassing McMahon who has rushed well out of his area and, as his face goes Soviet, the ball trickles alone into the net.

On 71 minutes, Prescot finally get somewhere, being first to the ball in the box for a change and slotting home. It appears that it takes a four goal deficit to start the Prescot engine as they largely dominate thereafter. The chance to make it respectable is taken away from them however, when Runcorn catch them on the break playing some excellent passes before the defence and typically flailing keeper are danced through for a 5th to be hit.

For a club in crisis, Runcorn appear in fine fettle this evening, the support that have stuck with them through the thinning watching this evening’s proceedings with jaws dropped. Not too many nights like this these days I shouldn't wonder. Hopefully this can the catalyst for a reasonable season for them. However with the club showing no immediate sign of returning to Runcorn, and unable to afford the Halton Stadium, perhaps it’s time they changed their name again. Not back to Runcorn, too obvious. I’m thinking totally TOFFS retro style as Highfield and Camden Tanneries Recreation Club.

Now that would look pretty impressive on a modern scarf, I reckon.

Kent Spitfires v Sussex Sharks

18aug05
Totesport League Division 2
St. Lawrence Ground, Canterbury

Sussex Sharks 230-9 [45 overs] (Montgomerie 72, Adams 43)
Kent Spitfires 169 [42.2 overs] (Carberry 51, Martin-Jenkins 3-32, Kirtley 3-32)

Sussex Sharks won by 61 runs


After the excitement of the Ashes and the quite astonishing reception afforded a bus-load of shit-faced cricketers under the good eye of Lord Nelson last Tuesday, it has been perhaps easy to forget that the English summer is not quite finished yet. By this Sunday it will be, but there’s been plenty of business in the meantime. The county champions, Nottinghamshire, have since been crowned while Essex had the Totesport league sown up a while ago. Nonetheless with two divisions these days, issues of promotion and relegation were largely still to be settled. One pressing concern here was that Sussex needed to win to be sure of upgrading themselves to the Totesport top-flight.

Kent won the toss and put Sussex into bat, making an early inroad in the 4th over, with Matt Prior, the day before his call-up to the England winter touring party, caught behind by England glove-rival Geraint Jones’ county understudy (and Irish international) Niall O’Brien off Robbie Joseph for 4. After that however, Sussex captain Chris Adams joined Richard Montgomerie for an excellent partnership of 111 before both were dismissed within 7 balls of each other. I imagine that, somewhere, an old man was hopping from foot to foot.

It was ex-England temp Martin Saggers that did for Monty in an awesome second spell of 2 overs for 3 runs and said wicket, which followed another fairly economical first spell of 5 overs at the cost of 16 runs. His 3rd spell was a touch different, but certainly spectacular, the 12 balls seeing a run out, and Mushtaq Ahmed caught off the final ball of the innings, yet also 27 runs heaved to all parts of the St. Lawrence Ground as Sussex finished a bits and pieces effort from the middle order with a spirited flourish. Nothing spectacular from the Kent bowling all told with the numberless Totesport debutant Neil Dexter being particularly comfortably dealt with.

Dexter’s day continued in an ignominious vein when, opening the batting for Kent, he was bowled 5th ball into (England temp 2003 vintage) James Kirtley’s opening wicket maiden. This set the stall out for an afternoon of Kentish struggle with the top order collapsing in quick succession. The main catalyst came at first change, with Robin Martin-Jenkins replacing Kirtley at the Nackington Road End. While his first two deliveries were both carved to the boundary by Matthew Walker, his 3rd and 4th did for the Spitfires skipper, caught going for a 3rd big shot which wasn’t really on, and Darren Stevens first ball caught behind by Prior.

6 overs later and come Martin-Jenkins’ 3rd wicket, Kent found themselves 48-5 and pretty much out of it. Michael Carberry had a crack at making things interesting scoring 51 before falling leg before to the final ball of Kirtley’s second spell. Niall O’Brien kept him company for the best part of an hour for a solid 28, while Simon Cook and Robbie Joseph managed a final death rattle to keep things from being too embarrassing.

All in all it was the bowling what won it, with particularly good stuff from Kirtley and Rana Naved-ul-Hasan, whose one wicket was not suitable reward for a tight, consistent spell that asked many questions of the Kent top order.

So not a tight finish, but some excellent stuff to watch from the Sussex attack, and in particularly nice surroundings. The St. Lawrence Ground is yer more old fashioned county ground with a higgledy-piggledy mix of different stands named after county legends (Colin Cowdrey, Stuart Chiesman, Frank Woolley), hospitality chalets and a good deal of tip up seating spreading most of the way around the remaining boundary.

It used to be the case here of not being able to see the leather on wood for the tree on the Dover Road side, the famous old lime occupying the best seat in the house, often from within the boundary rope depending on which pitch strip was in play. Had it survived the storms last January, it would have been outside the field for today’s game and indeed its thick surviving stump has been moved outside the advertising hoardings, and replaced with a younger model. It isn’t quite the same really, but give it time and another of cricket’s eccentricities will be back in full glory.

The presence of a tree, any tree, still seems to hold mythical qualities for the Kent support despite the sunrise/sunset passage of time, one supporter telling us he always ends the last home game of the season with a touch of the tree for luck, before doing just that.

Others are less respectful, using it as a makeshift wicket for their post-game knockabout.

Oh and for ‘others’ you can read ‘me and my mate Chas’.

Yeading 2 Havant & Waterlooville 0

17aug05
Conference South
The Warren, Hayes
att. 199

The close season always sees non-league teams fighting to attract the professional clubs to their patch for a friendly fixture. Usually the big boys turn up with a gaggle of academy starlets, sidewardly mobile stiffs and the terminally injured to entertain what, more often than not, ends up being merely the diehards and those without shopping to do.

This summer Yeading got to play Newcastle. The first XI. At Newcastle. Can't be bad.

Of course, this all came about as a result of Newcastle exiting the Inter-Toto early, needing a fixture and wanting to keep a promise made after the two clubs had met in the 3rd round of the FA Cup back in January, a Yeading home tie that had to take place away from the Warren at QPR’s Loftus Road. Coming here today and noting the facilities, which don’t actually meet Conference standard, it is obvious that a competitive fixture against a Premiership side could never have happened here. I believe they have 3 years grace now to get things up to scratch if they want to keep their place in the Conference South.

Yeading’s big star of that Toon game, DJ Campbell, has moved onto bigger things at Brentford (finally, after many year’s trawling the London semi-pro circuit). The other stand out that day was keeper (by day a mild mannered civil servant) Delroy Preddie, who kept out the Premiership attack for 51 minutes, possibly motivated by The Sun’s incentive sponsorship that saw each quarter hour of clean sheet rewarded with increasingly exotic prizes. As it goes he manages a clean sheet today but aside from any bonus written into his contract, is some warm appreciation from we visiting fans, which is made all the warmer by the fact that nearly all his team-mates are the focus for some severe Hawk bile before and after the final whistle. More on that later.

Preddie was probably quite grateful for our applause, as despite the high profile live-on-BBC1 cup-tie, Yeading cannot boast a high support base, and those that do show up make little in the way of encouraging or celebratory noise. With so many clubs compacted together in London, there just isn’t the support to go around. Hayes, also of Conference South, are only 2 miles away, and despite recent history in the top flight of non-league football, attract only a few more each week than Yeading. The option to fly in some support exists, what with Heathrow just down the road, planes descending in quick succession behind the goal at the far end.

That has been the downside of the restructuring of the non-league pyramid for me. While travel costs are down for clubs, and we are arguably in a higher profile league now despite being at the same rung of the ladder, those of us fans who enjoy a good beano miss the big away days to the Midlands to take on comparatively well-supported outfits like Hednesford Town, Kings Lynn, Stafford Rangers and Burton Albion. More often than not good-natured rivalry and banter took place, but that was certainly not the case today.

A first half decision to send off H&W striker Rocky Baptiste, who has been a revelation since joining to fill the massive shoes left by Dean Holdsworth’s departure to Derby County, for raising an elbow caused some consternation amongst the away support, although some thought he should go, the rally of punches thrown by the Yeading no. 9 in retaliation getting merely a yellow however brought about very overt rage amongst my brethren.

Sadly, with this continuing on for ages afterwards with hostile words exchanged with Yeading fans at half-time and a volley of swearwords cast, most upsettingly from our younger followers (very much pre-teen and very much potty-mouthed), I didn’t feel proud to be a Hawk today. The game at this level is as much about the atmosphere as it is about the football; usually it is a passion that doesn’t spill over into unchecked fury. Usually.

I do realise though that people only get het up about decisions they feel are unfair because they care and while football at this level might seem small beer, to fully partake in it is just as intoxicating as the over-indulgent stein of the Premiership or the frothy pint of the old Divs 1-3. To be passionate about one's club is surely preferable to offering nothing in the way of encouragement. I love to sing up for my club, I hate to sing about how crap the opposition is. That latter caveat is not one that is shared by all.

My only issue with it is when caring about percieved injustice goes too far, and becomes a far bigger flame than the spark should really have caused, killing the relationship that non-league fans should instinctively have. We support our clubs in the absence of glamour, and are kindred in that if nothing else. I guess that’s how it is though. Your football club is like your family, you can’t choose who else is involved. Certainly some football fans thrive on angst but we cannot all be cut from the same cloth.




I can, though, take a defeat like this. Shit happens, and the performance was not all that bad considering the 1 man disadvantage. Although I am getting a little concerned, after the played 8, lost 6 record in games I attended last season, this is not an auspicious start to my Hawk calendar for 05/06, particularly coming after 4 on-trot wins where, by all accounts, some delightful football has been played, creating a positive, hopeful atmosphere not seen as West Leigh Park since the FA Trophy and FA Cup runs of the 02/03 season.

Ah well, it happens to be FA Cup time next week as we enter it at the second qualifying round stage. Maybe it’ll be us playing Newcastle come January. We can but hope. Such is the lot of the sad non-league bastard.

Bookending

If you'll pardon the self-indulgence, now follows three parts of a kind of personal history of my association with cricket.

A tale of a love found, lost and regained between two very distinct landmarks.

This Ashes summer has been a very emotional rollercoaster, and sport can have a weird and profound effect. This series certainly has on me, particularly in the manner with which it has enveloped my life pretty much for the last 2 months and as such has inspired this biography of my relationship with the gentleman's game.

To make it easier to digest, it is in 3 parts but you can still scroll down from here to read them.

Or link from here

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

meanwhile, an appraisal of the Ashes achievement occurs here

Bookending: a cricket experience pt. 1

Sport at its best, at its most thrilling, is all about how you experience it. Memories entrenched by the manner in which you feel victory or defeat. I can still remember clearly the last time I went through all this. I was 8 and in my first year at Bidbury Middle School and I was sitting cross legged in assembly unusually facing the windows at the entrance (where we used to face the curtains blocking off the corridor). As we listened to whichever teacher was taking the assembly, the aging 3rd year teacher Mr Harrison rushed in behind us clearly, now I think of it, from having sneaked off from assembly to tune into TMS in the staff room.

We all turned round, and he asked us all if we liked cricket. Everyone, as kids do, replied ‘yeahhh’, trailing off in that manner which suggests you wish to impress but are not entirely confident of what indeed you do think on the subject. I’ll be honest, and at that point of my life, I don’t think I had given cricket that much thought. Nevertheless, when Mr Harrison, a gracious but strict man probably in his early 60’s, told us that England has won the Ashes, I was not alone in cheering with confused delight.

Something must have clicked that day, or set some kind of train in motion as I was certainly more aware of players like Ian Botham and Mike Gatting from then on. Interest turned to love though during the 1988 West Indies blackwash, so you can’t say my full baptism was a result of quasi-nationalistic fervour or media hype, as that and the following year’s Ashes were largely a shambles, a myriad of captains and largely unsuitable players got through in a period of chaotic indecision. Nonetheless I was inspired to take up the game starting with Havant Colts, through to the Warblington Secondary School team finishing, far too prematurely I now regret, at the age of 16 with a 1994 club cricket season with Bedhampton Mariners.

I began as a medium pacer, switched to orthodox finger spin (just to be different, as always) and ended up a pretty reasonable fast bowler (best school figures 3.5o-2m-2r-6w, best club figures are lost in the scorebooks of time but it was, I think, a 4-fer v Hambledon 4ths) once I’d passed 6 feet in height. I opened the batting in Boycott/Hoggard style for the school XI, but was found out on Saturday afternoons, propping up my ten team-mates as a pretty useless jack, cross batting the odd four back past the bowler before usually getting skittled through a wide, flapping gate.

I couldn’t have been somebody. Not a chance.

That’s why I savour these memories and wish I hadn’t done the all-too-teenage thing of losing interest once beer and women were discovered. Music can also shoulder some of the blame.

I will admit that during the late 90’s my love for the game dipped significantly, possibly because I was no longer involved, possibly as a result of a feeling of ennui surrounding the game in England at that point. I think it was reborn in the middle of 2003, despite regular annual trips to watch Hampshire at Northlands Road, the United Services Ground in Portsmouth and the Rose Bowl and regular reading of scorecards in the paper. It was the first test of Michael Vaughan’s captaincy after Nasser Hussain’s sudden departure. England were getting hammered at Lords and clearly about to lose by an innings to South Africa, but yet Andrew Flintoff was bashing them around and out of the park in Custer-like fashion for 142. I found the whole thing quite emotional and it kick-started a realisation that I had missed the game.

More than it has missed me, no doubt.

Bookending: Part 2, Part 3

Bookending: a cricket experience pt. 2

The following summer (2004) living in Leeds, 25 minutes walk from Headingley helped firm up my rediscovery of cricket, taking in 3 of 5 days of the New Zealand test that, like many others in a whitewash summer, still had everything to play for on the 4th day, so it was certainly not about any lack of quality in the opposition, but about the quality within the England team, a quality that won a very tough series in South Africa at the turn of this year.

Like at Headingley last year, I was accompanied by my old school XI mate Sheep for the 2 full days of this year’s Durham test against Bangladesh, which really was the calm before the storm. “There’s nothing like good quality Test cricket”, said someone once, and this certainly was nothing like good quality Test cricket, but with plenty of skill to admire in the England batting, such as Bell getting his summer’s worth with a big 150, and Graham Thorpe playing out his unfortunately rather subdued last hurrah, it was pleasantly relaxing, which cricket can be a lot of the time.

Now I’m getting a touch older, the slower pace and more tactically intriguing nature of the long game becomes all the more alluring, and while this year’s Ashes was like 25 tight one-dayers, there is certainly room for heart-pumping gung-ho behaviour and boundary-edge snoozin’ within this romance I have rediscovered. Two sides of the same coin, for sure.

With the Ashes Tests theoretically sold out, my H&W comrade Shaun managed to get 6 tickets for the first England/Oz clash of the summer, in the first Twenty20 international in this country. At one stage, Australia, chasing 179 were 31-7. This was, looking back, an early warning shot across the bows, and provided a taste of the kind of atmosphere that would be passed around our international grounds for England’s Big Summer, as was billed.

‘Best. Series. Ever’. That was the text I got from a clearly giddy Andrew ‘Chas’ McDevitt at quarter to 3 on the Saturday of the 2nd Test Match at Edgbaston. A perfectly reasonable emotion considering all that has gone on since July 21st. You have to remember though that this text was sent before the 2-run squeak the following morning, the titanic last day pursuit of 10 Australian wickets at Old Trafford, the nervy run chase at Trent Bridge and the see-saw high-scoring draw at The Oval.

Like I said at the start of the first part of this piece, sport is all about how you experience it, and I have been incredibly lucky in that respect. The last 2 months of my life have been heavily punctuated and on some days carried along by the Ashes, attempting to do what one can to be witness the whole thing.

Bookending: Part 1, Part 3

Bookending: a cricket experience pt. 3

The first day of the series coincided with the failed follow-up bombs on the London underground. I had been travelling through the capital home, but entirely missed the texts and phonecalls from concerned folks simply because I was firmly plugged into TMS describing England bowling out the Australians early and cheaply. Sadly, we could not capitalise, and the following weekend, a stag weekend in Newcastle, saw many a mute telly stared up at, usually while drink was being taken.

The unfathomable Sunday morning at Edgbaston was witnessed in a chalet with one of those very stags as we metaphorically held onto each other for strength while awaiting the start of our mutual friend’s beautiful wedding. I was nervous enough as it was about having to deliver a speech. Australia taking it down to that kind of margin did not help.

I have also been fortunate that my boss is understanding, and a cricket fan himself, often getting updates from TMS (via the Sports Extra net stream) and the Times Desktop Scorecard via myself, largely to the bafflement of our non-sporting colleagues. Otherwise, taking the Monday off after a 6 day holiday in Edinburgh (during which time, several pub telly’s were sought out between Fringe shows) to attempt to take advantage of the fact that Lancashire CCC didn’t sell 5th day tickets in advance for the 3rd Test, may be considered a little cheeky. Sending an email saying in essence, “Fuck it, I’m off to the Ashes” may have warranted disciplinary action elsewhere.

Up to 5:30pm the previous night, I remained under the impression that the live Ashes experience was only something that happened to other people, but getting up at 5am to queue up outside a cricket ground about 50 miles away was certainly worthwhile.

That might seem to be the pinnacle, but there is something to be said to walking around Edinburgh (again) constantly with a long-wave radio sticking out my back pocket as was the case for the 4th Test. Another exciting climax meant I needed to find me a television, but England’s stuttering pursuit of 129 meant I was in the Royal Mile pub for far longer than expected, a ticket for a Fringe show finding itself in pieces in the ash tray. However by the end I was surrounded by people, and to experience that in their company was rare indeed. People I am unlikely to pass, let alone recognise, again – but I shall think of them as friends.

It all appeared as though the final test would be a damp squib in comparison as my attempts to get the day off for the final day were scuppered by a long-standing commitment at a training course in Manchester. That said, the first two days were a treat, as Leon’s rising interest in the game meant I was on call the answer technical queries about the game by email, which was great fun. Trying to succinctly sum up the bizarre rules of this sport was a very pleasant challenge.

To finish off this summer of chance and good fortune, the training course leader spotted me and let me know that I had pretty much done all of the exercises on another course earlier in the year, and was happy for me to go home at lunchtime if I so desired.

If?

Back home then as quick as the Transpennine could carry me and another afternoon of feeling positively sick. Before it finally happened. Perhaps aided by the nature of the final exchanges, I felt quite subdued, because I had been really living these Ashes for the last 8 weeks, and I have certainly not been the only one, and now the anticipation just drains away into a warm satisfied feeling.

Certainly I have to thank all of those with whom I have shared the excitement of this series in these varieties of ways, from the strangers and friends in Edinburgh and Newcastle bars, to Messers Woolhead, McDevitt, Milling, Tricker and the Sheep himself now in Canada by phone, text and email, to the commentary teams of TMS and Channel 4 and to the gaffer, mainly for relaying a message to me on the final day of the series as I journeyed back from Manc, ‘don’t come back to work, find a bar to watch it.’

It all neatly ties up my experience of cricket thus far. It all began with an England Ashes win and, finally, 18 years later, here we are again. A new beginning then, all round.

Bookending: Part 1, Part 2

Catches win Ashes

“Best. Series. Ever. That was the text I got from a clearly giddy Andrew ‘Chas’ McDevitt at quarter to 3 on the Saturday of the 2nd Test Match at Edgbaston. A perfectly reasonable emotion considering all that has gone on since July 21st…[but] remember though that this text was sent before the 2-run squeak the following morning, the titanic last day pursuit of 10 Australian wickets at Old Trafford, the nervy run chase at Trent Bridge and the see-saw high-scoring draw at The Oval.”

Perhaps it’s a trifle arrogant to quote a post of my own in advance of its publication. 'Bookending: a cricket experience', available from all good web-browsers from Thursday, hopefully. Consider it Hobo Tread exclusively serialised in Hobo Tread, if you like.

I use it because there is no more succinct way to describe this remarkable, unreal series, the like of which we are unlikely to see again. Never has a sporting encounter given me so much joy, or made me feel quite so sick. This series has played on the nerves and, aside from England’s Lords death-throes and the bizarre Oval wind-down, the initiative has passed between England and Australia with astounding regularity. England though, since Lords, have remained largely in control of the music while passing around the parcel. We have not battered anybody but have sat heavily down on the see-saw more often than we have been catapulted into the air. The tactical battle was brilliantly won by English cricket’s awesome asset that is the Fletcher/Vaughan combination, and the majority of the titanic individual performances came from those clad in those 3 lions.

Part of the magic has been just how much this has meant to both sides. The spirit of the England side is inspirational and could teach our pampered footballers a great deal, while Australia never said die at any stage. The Ashes could have been retained until about half an hour into the final session of the final test. Let us not mock the Australians as they have played their part in the scintillating action. Indeed we should not forget that in 8 tests between them during this series, the twin geniuses of Warne and McGrath have taken nigh on 60 English wickets.

With so many catches dropped by both sides, it may be considered that this was not the ultimate display of professional cricket, but for me this was indicative of how MUCH it mattered, rather than an indication of any lack of skill in the field. The number of shelled chances from otherwise safe hands, like those of Flintoff and Warne, has contributed to the unbelievable drama.

KP, honest, is no slouch in the field but dropped all 6 that came his way. I’m sure all will be forgiven now he has contributed a maiden test century when it really, really mattered (during which of course he was put down thrice). It was the final show of brilliance required to tie up what the team of 11½ (no disrespect to Paul Collingwood, whose hour with Pietersen was more vital than may be remembered in the record books) who worked so beautifully as a solid unit.

I wrote a week and a half ago that I genuinely believed that Hampshire would win the C&G Trophy and that England would win the Ashes. I say this not to boast as prior to the series I was hedging my bets at a 2-2 Aussie retention. This wavered further after the Lords defeat, although even when Australia only needed 10 to win at Edgbaston, I still thought we’d win that game, so it wasn't all pessimism. I wasn’t quite as convinced when it was down to 3, I will admit.

In addition I’ve been banging on all summer, more in hope than expectation, that the King of Spain would score an Ashes 100, mainly cos I remember Jack Russell getting a ton back in ’89 and I believed a decent non-specialist would get something big, possibly in a lost cause. Surely Asher G’s quite brilliant, expertly paced 59 was the equal of a century, given the circumstances.

During the summer my confidence has built mainly through the quality of the England performances such as Gilo’s unpretentious displays, the manner in which I have seen them (which I will discuss in future posts), and some excellent early fist-pumping colour commentary from my chum Mr McDevitt.

The drama of it would have been unscriptable, and I think the spectacle of it, and the humour which has pricked the tension throughout, has benefited from Mr. Brent Bowden’s authoritative but perfectly eccentric participation in 3 of the 5 encounters. Some people think his signalling is too off the wall, but you need characters like him, particularly in a game as odd as cricket. Part of the reason I like him is that when asked why he hooks his finger when giving a batsman out, he replied that it was partly down to arthritis, and partly the entertainment aspect of the game.
You can understand his bounding 6 signal, crumb-sweeping 4 and, errr, fellating call for drinks playing to dramatics, but a hooked finger? I can only assume it’s his joint agony manifesting itself at 45˚ whereas a jaunty 90˚ with a kink is the full showbiz, but you’d have to ask him where pain stops and vaudeville begins. It would not have been the same without him though, or Messers ‘Message to you’ Koertzen and Steve Bucknor and their slow-death efforts, or indeed the farcical, but certainly sweet, ceremonial removing of the bails at the end of the final Test.

It has all combined to make my summer. A Test season that ends as a cartoon Richie Benaud waves goodbye at the climax of Channel 4’s 7 years upping the ante of cricket broadcasting, which was quite emotional in itself.

Remember, you can check the Aussie perspective, on what must seem a huge calamity for them after talk of 5-0 from Thomson and McGrath, at these sites.

Edinburgh City 4 Gala Fairydean 1

27aug05
Scottish Qualifying Cup (South) Preliminary Round
City Park, Edinburgh
att. 40 (approx.)

Since Meadowbank Thistle mutated into the upwardly mobile Livingston franchise, Edinburgh City have been resident at the Meadowbank (formerly Commonwealth) Stadium out to the east of the city. Quite a handsome facility for the East of Scotland league, their 16,000 seats possibly a little over-pampering in comparison to nearby Spartans, who have squat (which, incidentally, is one of the few options of stance left open to attendees).

It is, though, to the home of Spartans that Edinburgh City are forced to decamp for today’s cup tie. You can blame the creative reunion of Kim Deal and Frank Black for this, as a Pixies concert takes precedent at Meadowbank, the football team, err…, de – based for the weekend. City Park is not the foreign territory it might be though as it was once their home, the ground’s moniker providing the inspiration for their generic suffix. Today would be Edinburgh City’s first home match at City Park since 1947.

That said, the current ‘Edinburgh City’ isn’t quite the same club as was back then, the club that knocked around the lower reaches of the national Scottish Leagues between 1931 and 1949 in a hapless manner rather akin to East Stirlingshire’s recent notoriety. That entity ceased to be in 1955 and the current Edinburgh club formed in 1986 when the board of directors of Edinburgh City Football Club Ltd. approved the use of the usage of the name by East of Scotland league members Postal United.

The very essence of Edinburgh City seems to have been transient, with the original club swanning around several grounds, and this entity seemingly carrying on the tradition of road-testing grounds for future league rivals, with the pitches at Saughton Enclosure (now home of Lothian Thistle) and Paties Road (Edinburgh University) having hats laid upon them prior to the hire of Meadowbank in January 1996. This is the hobo club, so it seems entirely fitting for this one to join them while they on the road yet still very much ‘at home’.

Today’s fixture sees the Premier Division of the East of Scotland taking on Gala Fairydean who occupy the division below having been relegated last season. Gala are probably one of the more well known names of Scottish non-league, particularly outside of the comparatively high profile Highland League, having dominated in the East of Scotland during the 70’s and 80’s.

In Scotland, like in England, one way for smaller clubs to get a bit of cash and attention is to reach the flagship cup competition. The Scottish Cup system though works in a slightly different way to England as two qualifying cups are played in the north and south of the country. The clubs that reach a certain stage of the competition go on to play in the Scottish Cup proper, but also carry on the Qualifying Cup to produce a winner, so its kind of FA Cup qualifiers and FA Trophy in one.

Edinburgh City have recently come up against Dunfermline and Partick in the cup proper while Spartans did particularly well a few seasons back giant-killing twice before coming unstuck at home to premier side Livingston. It is difficult to see how they accommodated a game against a Scottish Premier side as not only are there no seats at City Park, there is precious little hard-standing, and most of the pitch is surrounded by steep grass banks creating not so much a natural amphitheatre, more a natural green velodrome. All very well on a reasonably warm day like today, but I guess those turning up to watch Spartans in a typically Scottish winter would be die-hards indeed, possibly unintentionally invading the pitch during particularly fierce downpours.

City score first after 10 minutes, a decent one-two springing the defence, the ball calmly curved around the oncoming keeper by Adrian Nieto Gonzales, a 22 year old Spaniard currently trying to catch the eye of the Scottish professional clubs having plied his trade previously for Cultural Leonesa and S.D. Compostela in the Spanish second division.

His roots are betrayed by around 15 minutes later as twice in not too long he writhes around in agony at the slightest of challenges receiving a sly tap in his back from a Gala foot. As he gets up the opposition ask “why ya holdun yer stomach, ya teht” and an argument ensues. The soft-spoken female assistant ref’s attempts to mediate are less ignored as they are unheard. On his second screaming fit, the ref makes sure to acknowledge that he is making a bit of meal of things, while continuing to book the disbelieving Gala midfielder.

From virtually nowhere Gala equalise in the 33rd minute but are in deficit again 2 minutes later as 20-yard Craig Young shot bounced off the flailing keeper Chris Anderson’s chest into the path of the ever alert Gonzales. Half an hour later the tie is pretty much killed off as Anderson is softly lobbed by Dougie Gair, his finger tips not enough to prevent the ball from bouncing slowly inside the side netting.

It is at this point that it becomes clear that there are a smattering of away supporters amongst the assembled few as Anderson gets roundly and irately barracked. It cannot be easy following a team with such a name, a handle born out of nursery rhyme folklore or possibly in description of a posh night out that descended (ascended probably better) into high camp. Sadly, despite the ground-breaking work heard from the Queens Park mob 3 weeks prior, a chant of “Come on you ethereal sprites” is unforthcoming.

In the final minute, Edinburgh City have netted a flattering 4th, the ball cleverly and patiently passed across the box despite elements of ping-ping serendipity. They are calm and send it goalwards only when the proper chance comes which is certainly admirable when snatched shots often abound (and continually rebound) at this level.

So onward march City and they won’t be the only Capital side to make it through to the next round with Spartans winning 4-2 at Glasgow University and Edinburgh University scoring 3 from the 88th minute onwards to despatch Burntisland Shipyard.

Look out Alloa then, for from the tip of Arthur’s Seat they descend.

Road to Hampden:
Scottish Cup
F: Gretna 1 Hearts 1 [Hearts win 4-2 on pens] (att. 51,232) [BBC]
SF: Gretna 3 Dundee 0 (att. 14,179) [BBC]
5R: Gretna 1 St. Mirren 0 (att. 2,850) [BBC]
4Rr: St. Mirren 3 Spartans 0 (att. 3,612) [BBC]
4R: Spartans 0 St. Mirren 0 (att. 3,346) [BBC]
3R: Spartans 3 Queens Park 2 (att. 711) [BBC]
2R: Lossiemouth 0 Spartans 5 (att. 420)
1R: Spartans 1 Berwick Rangers 0 (att. 343) [BBC]

Scottish Qualifying Cup (South)
2Rr: Spartans 3 Edinburgh City 1
2R: Edinburgh City 1 Spartans 1
1R: Edinburgh City 7 Hawick Royal Albert 0
PR: Edinburgh City 4 Gala Fairydean 1

Links:
Edinburgh City website
Gala Fairydean history

Scottish Saltires v Derbyshire Phantoms

26aug05
Totesport League Division 2
The Citylets Grange, Edinburgh

Scottish Saltires 179-7 [38 overs] (Watts 71*, Welch 2-21)
Derbyshire Phantoms 164-7 [31.3 overs] (Stubbings 75*, Watson 3-31)

Derbyshire Phantoms win by 3 wickets (Duckworth/Lewis method)

The Grange at Raeburn Place is the home, not only of Grange CC, but of Scottish cricket. Sounds quite grandiose, but the reality is a little more ramshackle: plastic chairs upturned so as not to collect water; a single marquee set up to house the players in the absence of an adequate dressing room; and ugly metal fencing keeping one half of the boundary free of spectators. Not that there are many considering it is a working Friday, and it's wet. Although I'm sure they're used to that up here.

It's scruffiness is supplemented at the moment as the not yet complete dismantling of the temporary seating set up for the completely washed out tie with Australia 2 weeks ago makes the scene all the more forlorn. Considering it was a 4,500 sell out and Scotland's biggest tie since the 1999 World Cup, one may feel a great deal of sympathy with Saltire-clad supporters.

It can't be easy to drain The Grange either, considering it lies in trough within Edinburgh's climbing urban relief. However this makes for a fine view from the Rugby End, as from here Edinburgh Castle sits atop the ascending skyline.

The peculiar pavilion just to it's right, as I view it, makes for quite a contrast. It is box-like but nonetheless features a roof terrace, gable and even a small spire. It is at once both ornate and dilapidated in a ground that appears a little unloved but quaint (in it's most utilitarian sense). With that in mind, and the fact that the Scottish Saltires are facing their 3rd successive basement finish in the Totesport Div 2, means it is no surprise that the Triennial experiment will cease this year.

However the Grange (Citylets Grange to you, son) will still see top level cricket as Scotland, along with the Irish, have survived the minor county cull in the C&G Trophy. The occasional home international against touring nations like Bangladesh can also be expected.

Just prior to the 1pm start, a downpour hit Edinburgh, delaying the start of the game by half an hour which reduced it to a 42 overs a side game, however a further shower after 38 overs meant the show ended there.

Derbyshire Phantoms had won the toss and elected to field, and Paul Hoffman clearly wanted to make an instant impression and use of the fielding restrictions. As such after 3 dot balls, he welted a 4 then a 6 and then promptly skied one to short fine leg. A potted display of batting in the first 6 balls of the day. Clearly he thought it was a beer match, and with regular showers forecast it may well have turned out that way and so it was probably best to fend off the twin spectres of Messers Duckworth and Lewis early on.

The tumultuous start merely inspired the bowler in question Graham Welch, who proceeded to take a further wicket in the next 5 overs for only a further 2 runs off the bat, eventually finishing with 2-21 from 9. The Scots innings was much of a muchness from that first over, with wickets falling regularly and the wet outfield making for a slow scoring affair. Fraser Watts remained at the crease from start to finish for a mere 71*, while in the lower order Douglas Lockhart allowed a partnership to develop while pinch-hitter Yasir Arafat plundered a few late boundaries, 69 coming from the last 10 overs.

As Scotland hadn't expected their innings to finish at 38, the Duckworth/Lewis method instructed that Derbyshire's target was to be 186 initially, but after a further 23 minute delay, the target became 161 from 32. With Stephen Stubbings leading the show with 75*, and opening bowler Hoffman getting tanked for 42 off 5 overs, all appeared to be going fairly swimmingly for Derbyshire at 119-2 from 23. Scotland tried several bowlers for one over at a time at this stage (Arafat having been bowled out for 1 for 17 off 7, skipper Craig Wright similarly good with 1-20 off 7), before they found some stability from Cedric English and Ryan Watson who took some late wickets to apply pressure and induce some panic into the Derbyshire tail.

17 needed from the last 3 overs looked easy, 15 off 2 less so particularly as the 7th wicket fell in the penultimate. However a boundary and some quick running eventually left a requirement of 8 from the final over. After a single for Mohammed Sheik, the tension was taken out of the game a touch by Stubbings hosing a massive 'fuck-this-then' 6 off Watson who, after a bad first over, had bowled exceptionally for the following 4 taking 3 wickets for 10 in that crucial time. Demoralised, the next ball was again easily dispatched to the boundary for 4 sealing a 3 wicket win for the Phantoms.

Credit to Scotland though, as 4 of their 7 bowlers performed very well, but in the end that they couldn't remove the man who had taken the first ball of the innings was ultimately their undoing.