It had been a few weeks since Ironopolis had run at Ripon and we were keen to put that disappointment behind us. He is bred to get well over a mile and and with the races getting longer as the season progresses, he was entered into a ten furlong race at Newcastle on the all-weather surface.
Jen, Isla and I drove up north through the Tyne Tunnel. Isla is getting a bit old now to believe that she has to hold her breath when we drive through a tunnel, although I suspect her mam still did it at that age. Soph was telling me recently that she still gets a bit anxious when the hazard warning lights go on in a car, a consequence of me telling her as a small child that they were the warning that the ejector seats were about to activate.
The meeting was very quiet. It seemed that just about everyone there had an owner’s badge on. Maybe it’s all funded by the bookies or the racing channels rather than relying on gate money. Whilst we could have watched from the owner’s balcony, we took seats in the grandstand which was pretty much deserted.
Ironopolis ran well. He didn’t really get involved until the last couple of furlongs but then picked off all but two highly rated horses for third place. The jockey was open in his assessment, reckoning that he was difficult to steer and might win one race a year. It’s likely that he won’t run again this season but hopefully he will continue to develop and we’ll see him progress as a three year old.
Apparently this one was moved to an evening kick-off by Sky Sports as they hadn’t been able to schedule a televised fixture for Rotherham at any other date. It didn’t inconvenience me, but for those intending to travel by train it will have been another game missed. I doubt the away fans will have been too enthused by not getting home until midnight either.
In addition to having a game postponed after the Queen’s death and a minute’s silence and the singing of the National Anthem at the next one, this game featured a minute’s applause on the seventieth minute. It seemed over the top to me to have to pay our respects three times. I stood and half-heartedly clapped on the basis that I didn’t want any cap-doffers nearby getting angry that I didn’t share their royalist sympathies.
A much more worthwhile tribute came from Red Faction and their banner for Chris Kamara. He has been having a bad time of it lately and I hope the show of support from his hometown team gave him a boost.
We had finally reverted to two strikers, with Muniz and Watmore starting up front, but it made little difference to the performance. Once again it was as if the Boro players had met for the first time that day with passes frequently going astray. It finished nil-nil and the point wasn’t enough to lift us out of the relegation zone. October is when Gibson often fires his managers and with just ten points from ten games I wonder if he is already eyeing up Wilder’s replacement.
With the Boro not playing until the evening I had the chance to take in a game in the afternoon and so I went along to Beechfield Park for the twelfth-tier Wearside League Division Two fixture between Coxhoe Athletic and Ferryhill Athletic. It was two quid admission, or at least it should have been. The bloke on the turnstile told me that as I looked like a pensioner, he would only charge me a quid. I didn’t know whether to be pleased or not.
I had a few options for watching the game. There was a fifty-seater covered stand down one side, with a covered standing area nearby. On the top of an embankment behind one goal was a sort of dugout that might accommodate three or four people at a push and there a run-down covered area on the opposite side, next to the entrance. It was like a shed with a wall missing.
After watching from the rail for a while I took a seat in the stand. I got non-stop analysis from the two fellas behind me, although I wondered how good their knowledge was when with the game half an hour old, one of them suddenly noticed that his nephew was playing.
Coxhoe were in red, with Ferryhill in yellow. The visitors had some early chances, usually on the break, but with a few minutes remaining in the first-half Coxhoe squared the ball into the centre for a simple finish and a one-nil lead at the break.
Ferryhill made some substitutions in the second half and started to boss the midfield. There were two penalties in the space of four minutes, one for each side, but neither converted. The second one caused a Ferryhill player to say something to the ref that earned him ten minutes in the sinbin.
With time running out Ferryhill made their pressure count with an equalizer after one of their strikers cut inside and finished well. Both sides went for the winner and Ferryhill nicked the points with a goal two minutes into stoppage time. Quite a turnaround.
I wasn’t sure if I’d get to this game as we had a fairly tight train connection in London on the way back from our Belgium trip. It went ok though and I was back in the house by six o’clock. I picked up Harry and we were at the Riverside in plenty of time.
A quick glance at the team news revealed that Roberts was still in goal, so presumably Steffen wasn’t yet fully fit. I was happy enough with that as Roberts has done well in the games that he has played. The other talking point was Wilder’s persistence with McGree in the number ten role. I sort of understood this when the transfer window was open, if he was trying to make a point that we needed another striker. However, with the deadline passed it’s time to revert to his regular system of two hard-pressing strikers that are replaced by another two front men when they tire.
The first half performance was flat, so flat that we went in at the break three-nil down. We had plenty of possession but never looked like creating anything worthwhile whilst Cardiff seemed likely to score whenever they broke up field.
A few people around us left at half-time and others followed them early in the second half. Watmore added some urgency to proceedings when he came on and notched a consolation with fifteen minutes to go. Muniz then quickly added a second goal and suddenly it was game on. We pushed for an equalizer, but Cardiff held on for the points.
Bruges is an enjoyable city to visit. It’s got all the old stuff to look at when you are wandering around and lots of bars and restaurants. Jen and I stayed in the centre for three nights and whilst there were some hen and stag parties going on, there was always a friendly vibe about the place.
Drinks were expensive, particularly in the touristy squares, but they seem expensive everywhere these days. Besides, I’ve always been able to put the cost out of my mind when the bill is in a foreign currency. It’s different rules as well when you are on your holidays.
As you may have expected I checked the nearby fixtures and the game with the timing that suited me best was a top-tier game between Cercle Brugge and Royal Antwerp at the Jan Breydel Stadium. It’s a ground that Cercle share with Club Brugge and the difference in the popularity of the two Brugge sides is reflected in their average attendances. Club usually have around twenty-five thousand fans cheering them on whilst Cercle are lucky if they get a fifth of that.
The ground was three quarters of an hours walk from the centre, although not many fans seemed to be making the journey on foot. Plenty of cyclists passed me though as I headed out of town and on arriving at the stadium, I noticed the abundance of bike racks. I’m not sure if getting there on a bike is an option at the Riverside. If not, I’d like to see it implemented.
With the attendances so small for Cercle games I hadn’t bothered buying a ticket in advance and I walked around the entire stadium looking for the ticket office. Eventually I asked someone where I could buy a ticket only to be told that none were available on a match day as, due to the rivalry that visitors Royal Antwerp have with Cercle’s fellow tenants Club Brugges, this fixture was deemed a ‘risk match’
Bugger. I wasn’t going to give up without trying to get in though and I started asking around for a spare. Everyone was very sympathetic and one fella even tried to buy one online for me before learning of the matchday sale restriction.
As the game kicked off I was still stood outside one of the entrances asking latecomers if they had a ticket that I could buy. Eventually a smartly dressed bloke told me that he might be able to help as he had five season tickets but didn’t know if the others had all been used. He made a quick phone call and a few minutes later his nephew came running down from inside the stadium with an unused card. I was in.
The smartly dressed fella, who looked a bit like Rav in his heyday, wouldn’t take any money on the basis that he hadn’t paid for the tickets anyway. He told me that he was an agent and was there to primarily meet up with a couple of his players after the game, hence his lack of concern at missing the kick-off.
I sat with him and his party in the first half. When he learned that I was a Boro fan, he remarked that fellow agent Zahavi had done plenty of business with us. It’s a world that has in the main, passed me by. I remember Ingle getting involved with players over the years and acting on the fringes with boot deals for youth players but I’d no real idea what it involved. ThIs fella reckoned that with the transfer window now closed his main role was to find out if the players were happy and if not, address whatever issue was eating away at them.
At half-time I said my goodbyes and shifted seats to get some photos from a different viewpoint. I wasn’t able to get a drink as I didn’t have the stadium specific pre-loaded card necessary. Clearly groundhoppers weren’t given much consideration by whoever thought of that system.
Cercle were in green and black with league leaders Antwerp in white. The visitors had taken the lead with the first attack of the game and whilst I was still stood outside trying to buy a spare. They doubled their lead midway through the second half with a glancing header from a corner. It stayed that way and Antwerp took the points. Their fans who were up in the top corner to my right sang in English that “Brugges is a shithole, I wanna go home”. On that basis, I think I need to visit Antwerp.
There was an added Boro bonus when former Middlesbrough player Viktor Fischer came on for the final five minutes. I doubt his time at the Boro was particularly enjoyable as his one season was Karanka’s Premier League campaign. He did ok in the time that he had in this game, nominally playing wide, I think, but drifting inside to try and get involved.
At full-time I walked back into the centre, reflecting on my good fortune that someone was decent enough to inconvenience himself to help a stranger.
After three days in Luxembourg Jen and I caught the train back to Belgium. It was easy and cheap, with five hours of first-class travel from Luxembourg city to Ostend costing just over thirty quid each. It’s the same price whether you book on the day or in advance and there were plenty of seats.
We broke our journey at Bruges to check into our hotel and drop the bags off before continuing on to Ostend. It’s only around fifteen minutes further down the line. Once there we caught a bus from the station to the Diaz Arena.
Getting tickets for the top-tier game between Oostende and Eupen proved to be more of an arse on than the travel had been. When we eventually found the ticket office, they wanted ID. Fortunately we both had passports with us. Then we had to pay with cash only. I had about sixty-five euros in cash on me and with tickets at thirty euros a pop we were down to small change. Fortunately, we had time to nip to a cash machine around the corner.
Security was tight and we were thoroughly searched before taking our seats in the main stand. The next difficulty was getting a drink. Whilst I now had a wallet full of euros, they were no use inside the ground where everything had to be paid for using a special pre-loaded stadium card. I joined the queue for food whilst Jen got into line for obtaining and then adding cash to the card.
The Diaz Arena dates back to the 1930’s. Apparently it was done up a few years ago, but it is still an interesting ground. Each side has a separate stand, apart from the one opposite to us that seemed to have three different areas. There was also a decent view from the block of flats behind the stand to our left.
The capacity is around eight and a half thousand, but this was more than enough with it being less than half full.
Oostende were in red and green with Eupen in black. The home side looked to have taken the lead not long after the half-hour when a cross from the right was neatly tucked away. They have VAR in the Belgian top-tier though and it was soon ruled out for offside.
At half-time we tried to get a couple of cokes but at two and a half euros for a 250ml bottle, we were twenty cents short on the card, necessitating another top up in a different line. I can see the benefits of the card if you are a regular but as a one-off visitor it was more work than I wanted.
The royal death a couple of days earlier was marked by the playing of God Save the Queen during the interval. The Sex Pistols version. I bet it’s a while before I hear that at an English stadium.
Oostende opened the scoring not long after the restart with a shot from the left. They then had a fella sent off for a second yellow in a game that had become increasingly niggly. Eupen were more in control with the extra man but couldn’t make their possession count and Oostende held on for the win. We got lucky with the timing of the bus but then had to wait nearly an hour at the station for the next train back to Bruges.
Jen and I had nipped across to Europe for a week as she had to formally re-enter the UK as part of her visa process. We’d taken the Eurostar to Brussels and after a night there headed down to Luxembourg. I’d planned to take in games in both countries but unfortunately all the matches in the early rounds of the Luxembourg Cup that I’d identified got shifted at short notice.
We had nothing planned on the Friday afternoon though and so I drove for an hour into France to Sedan with a plan to take in their third tier Championnat National game against Avranches.
The opposition name seemed familiar and I eventually remembered that I’d been there when hitching round France as a sixteen year old. I’ve no recollection of Avranches but the photographic evidence suggests that we were headed in that direction.
We got to Sedan a couple of hours early so that we could have a wander around Sedan Castle. It was interesting enough, with cannons, some underground rooms and a few of those curly staircases that favour whichever swordfighter has the higher ground.
The best thing about the castle was a working trebuchet. As only Jen and I were nearby at firing time I was allowed to have a go on it. The lady who was dressed up as a monk wouldn’t let me aim it at the buildings opposite which seemed a bit mean, but understandable I suppose as the cannonball was made of plastic rather than iron and there’s always the risk that an angry householder might stick a knife in it.
After we were done with the castle we parked up at Stade Louis Dugauguez and called into a nearby bar for moules frites. My French is rubbish and usually lapses into Spanish half-way through a sentence, but it was sufficient on this occasion to get us fed.
We then wandered around to the ticket office where we bought seats down the side for ten euros a pop. I’m not sure if the ends of the ground were open and the only other option was the stand opposite for twelve euros.
Our timing worked out as well as it could have done as the moment we stepped into the ground, the rain started. It continued heavily until midway through the second half and with some wind in the air we moved higher in the stand to keep dry, settling in the end for back row sets.
The stadium holds around twenty-five thousand in theory, but there were fewer than four thousand braving the conditions for this game. Most were in our stand, with a home singing section in the corner to our left. I didn’t see any away fans.
Sedan, in green and black, were second to bottom of the table with just two draws to show for their efforts to date. By contrast, Avranches, who were in red and white, were second from top. However, it was difficult to tell which was the better team in the first half as neither side created much.
The game opened up in the second half with neither side putting much effort into defending. It boiled over a couple of times and whilst the ref frequently flashed his yellow card, he didn’t ever seem in control.
Despite all the missed chances it looked to be heading for a goalless draw until a converted penalty seven minutes into added time took the points for the visitors.
It’s been a frustrating start to the season with points dropped to late goals in games where our performances have generally been good. The transfer activity was mainly done early on, and the window closed without us recruiting a replacement for Tav or any of the expensive strikers that we had been linked with.
Nevertheless, I was confident that we’d have sufficient quality to beat Sunderland in a game where most pre-match discussion seems to revolve around whether or not it’s a ‘derby’. I don’t really see why the label matters. There’s certainly a north-east rivalry with bragging rights between neighbours and workmates and that’s enough to give it an extra edge over a game against the likes of Reading or Cardiff.
Harry and I were there reasonably early and stopped to look at the statue of George Camsell. I was impressed with it. I also like the idea of celebrating our history with statutes as when you’ve only ever had one trophy in the cabinet the players who’ve performed for us fill that gap to an extent.
I’m not sure about the placement though, I think it makes the area near to the gates look cluttered. I’d prefer to see the statues placed around the stadium perimeter, perhaps supplemented by a few more. Rioch and Todd in their shorts in a dugout would be good, as would one of Jackie collecting tracksuit tops whilst smoking a cigar. Maybe a horizontal Massimo heading that goal that took us to Eindhoven.
The other main talking point was the return of Tony Mowbray as the new Sunderland manager. He gets a lot of leeway from me and he’d probably have to start molesting cats before I’d consider he’d tarnished his legacy. He stayed fairly low key, but got a chorus of ‘He’s One Of Our Own’ from the South Stand. It wasn’t on a par with the reception that he received when he returned with Ipswich as a player, but that was a high bar. Despite his current job I’d keep him on the statue list.
It went well on the pitch. Dael Fry came back in and showed why he should be the first name on the team sheet and Isaiah Jones looked to be getting back to his best. Liam Roberts commanded his box well and made the case to keep his place when Zak Steffan regains fitness. The single goal meant that we could never relax until the final whistle, but for a change we held on to take all three points.
Durham City have been having a bad time of it lately. They were relegated from the Northern League to the Wearside League in the summer and any hopes of consolidating at the slightly lower level had been dashed by losing all of their eight fixtures to date whilst conceding an average of more than nine goals a game.
Jen and I watched them ship eleven goals without reply in their fixture with Hartlepool a few weeks ago. They have changed a lot of their players since that one and it’s difficult to establish any sort of pattern of play when you’ve got new players coming in each week.
I’d seen on social media that a dozen or so players had been let go in midweek and the talk amongst the handful of Durham fans that were there to cheer them on was that they had done the right thing in shedding those without the right attitude.
In Durham’s previous game they had arrived with just eleven players and played most of the game a man down after one of them just walked off the pitch and headed home. For this game Durham had again turned up without subs and with four new signings making their debuts.
It was three quid in and I reckon the crowd probably peaked at around twenty-five. I watched the first half from the only seating available, a bench that may have served six at a push, under a covered area.
Gateshead Leam Rangers were probably not the opponents that Durham would have wanted in that they went into the game in second place in the table having won six and drawn two of their ten games.
The home side, in a Norwich-style kit, were patient in their build ups and quick to counter. It paid off with three goals in the opening quarter of an hour. Steady pressure extended the lead to six-nil by half-time.
One of the Durham fans near to me was invited to training on Wednesday by a member of the coaching staff as the teams headed to the changies. Even if he proves to be useless it’s worth doing when you can only raise a match-day squad of eleven.
The goals kept coming in the second half, with Gateshead reaching nine with still twenty minutes to play. At that stage the Durham goalie indulged in some timewasting, probably a first for a team that far behind, and pissed off the home side causing a few of them to bring it up with the ref.
Injuries reduced the visitors to nine men in the final stages as the goals rained in with Gateshead adding another five to nick a fourteen-nil victory.
The score line made me think of the only other time I’ve been at a game with a fourteen-nil result. It was back in 1978 when I was keeping goal for Barmoor Boys U14s and Stockton West End rattled all fourteen past me at the Norton Cricket Club pitch. I think that game might only have been thirty-five minutes each way. Just as well really.
Harry and Isla had gone back to Teesside ready for the start of the new school year, leaving Jen and I with a few days left in The Lakes. I’d noticed that the Ennerdale Show was taking place and so we thought that we’d have a wander along. There were various competitions such as best pair of carrots, best set of three hounds, a bit of horse parading and even some fell running. We didn’t enter anything.
The dog was soon bored with looking at beagles that were half his width and so we left after a couple of hours and went for a walk at Ennerdale Water. There were far fewer people around and with a free car park and well signposted walking trails I was surprised that it wasn’t more popular. Perhaps everyone was at the show, focusing on winning Best Six Peas in a Pod.
That evening we called in to Egremont for a Wearside League Premier Division game between Windscale and Richmond Town. I know Egremont pretty well, or at least I knew it well thirty years ago when working at Sellafield. Thursday nights frequently culminated in the Old Hall nightclub for what was known as ‘Grab a Granny’ night. Looking back, it seemed like anyone in their thirties was considered a granny those days and it may very well be that some of them were.
Jen and I still had Henry with us and that caused a problem when I noticed the sign at the Falcon Club entrance prohibiting dogs. It’s a reasonable restriction as I’m sure plenty of dog owners would just bring their pooch for a walk, perhaps when a game wasn’t taking place, and then let it piss or crap on the grass.
Jen very kindly offered to skip the delights of eleventh-tier football and take Henry for a walk around the neighbouring estate. There was nobody taking money at the gate and probably around fifty people lined up around the perimeter fence.
If you look at the map of Wearside League teams, Windscale are the only one on the west side of the country. The rest are, well, in or around Wearside. I’ve no idea how Windscale ended up in a league that otherwise comprises clubs from a small part of the north-east and I doubt that it’s a popular journey for visiting teams and officials.
Windscale were in blue, with Richmond Town in red. The visitors had the best of the play for most of the first half, but it was Windscale that took the lead half an hour in with a well-directed header from a free kick. They could have doubled their lead just before the break when a shot from the edge of the box hit the inside of the post and somehow bounced out rather than in.
Henry and Jen completed their walk and returned to the car park during the half-time interval. That was my cue to call it a night and follow the remainder of the game on Windscale’s twitter feed. It took them until added time to notch a second goal and seal the points.
Trail of the Lion King 