Thursday 28 April 2016

From Misery to Inverness

This weekend, Hibs complete their regular season with a home game against Queen of the South, with the play-offs a definite chance to secure promotion. There's also the small matter of another cup final. Issue #12 of the utterly brilliant superb Football Pink allowed me to pen this piece on the emerald shirted sons of Leith -:


For 44 years, ever since I first clapped my eyes on the glorious emerald green jersey of Hibernian when watching highlights of the 1972 Scottish Cup final, I have been a distant though devoted supporter of Leith’s finest; despite the fact we lost 6-1 that day. I know I’m biased, but I think Easter Road is a fantastic football ground, which only Valley Parade and the original San Mames approach in terms of beauty and character. From my perspective, Hibernian are the most heroic and glamorous club in the world, who make Newcastle United seem tedious and one-dimensional in comparison. Then again, I could say the same of every other Premier League club, but we’ll not go there.

Where I do go, at least a couple of times a season, is up to Waverley, across Princes Street to The Guildford, down Leith Walk in a taxi to The Iona Bar and on to Easter Road. The anticipation, from catching a glimpse of the stadium as the train hurries into the station until pushing my way through the turnstile, is always the same and the appeal never dulls; it’s a kind of homecoming every time, regardless of the opposition. However, for reasons of aesthetics and safety, I’d not be seen dead going to a game against either of the Old Firm.

Taking the Pope’s Bhoys and Her Majesty’s Team out of the equation, my experiences of the culture surrounding Scottish football are that it is entirely different and distinctly preferable to the top levels of the game south of the border. From years of bitter experience, I have to say I do find both self-mythologising Glasgow behemoths to be entirely unpalatable: Celtic have cornered the market in self-righteous paranoia and Rangers display levels of condoned bigotry scarcely credible in a civilized society. Regardless of the team they support, Scottish friends and acquaintances of mine greeted the implosion of Rangers in 2011/2012, in the wake of a labyrinthine tax case, so intractable that it seemed like a Michael Crichton rewrite of Jarndyce and Jarndyce from Bleak House, with bounteous, boundless glee.

Their Tartan schadenfreude was measurably greater at the death of the Teddy Bears than it would have been if the ‘Tic had gone out of existence. It’s an undeniable fact that while a huge percentage of the Old Firm’s support can get slit-eyed and shirty after a few scoops, Celtic’s following can be primarily described as tediously repetitive in their monotonous references to the various sporting and social injustices they’ve suffered. Rangers, on the other hand, are largely followed by frightening Neanderthals, with a wildly unrealistic sense of entitlement and as vicious and depraved a songbook as I’ve ever heard. Their descent into the Stygian depths of the Scottish Third Division was acclaimed from Dumfries to Dingwall; not because of any pretense of a new era level playing field (even Steve MacClaren with John Carver as his assistant should win the title at Celtic), but simply because it removed the need to accommodate the Ibrox hordes twice a season.

The attendant era of calm is over and the resurrection of Rangers, under the guidance of ex-Brentford boss Mark Warburton,  allied to Ronny Deila’s hapless, shambolic reign at Parkhead, has the Caledonian media in an apoplectic frenzy at the thought of the imminent return of “the biggest game in world football” filling Scotland’s newspapers and Sherriff’s courts. Fans of the other 40 Scottish clubs simply roll their eyes and get on with the business of supporting their own team, while ignoring the hyperbolic droning of armchair and bar stool Hoops and Gers. These bores are as vacuous as the varying hues of glory hunter to be found in the pubs and living rooms of England. Thankfully, they are held in the same degree of contempt by match-attending fans in Scotland as they are down here. You see, the actual act of going to the game is where the two cultures begin to diverge and fans of almost every other club respect their fellow supporters.

Almost every fan in Scotland wears a scarf to the game; this isn’t a fashion statement, a response to the climate in chilly Jockoland (copyright Jimmy Greaves, circa 1983) or a consciously anachronistic affectation, it is the true mark of the regular attender. Replica shirts, face paint, curly nylon wigs and giant foam fingers, except for the wee bairns, are not seen as acceptable match day attire by your average Scottish football fan, unless on international duty of course, as the Tartan Army are allowed to stage Braveheart in the manner of Rab C Nesbitt.

Despite the superb rail infrastructure in the Central Belt, asthmatic, elderly coaches are the preferred mode of travel for most fans. This is because the traditional network of supporters’ clubs, mainly official, which exist as a distribution and support network for away tickets and travel, has retained a level of popularity unheard of in England, where even League 2 clubs come up with usurious membership schemes, requiring character references and a DNA sample before you can sign up for a stake in the away ticket ballot.  As a result, many Scottish fans not only travel together and sit together, they socialize together, at regular meetings and events, where the football club often sends former and indeed current players to meet the fans; imagine that in England eh? The result of such customer care is that the Scottish game breeds the kind of inter-generational devotion to your club that the Sky billions has all but eradicated from the higher levels of the English professional game.  In short, many clubs are poor but happy.

Don’t forget; England and Wales have a combined population of 58 million for their 92 professional clubs, while Scotland has 42 clubs and 5 and a bit million in a much smaller pool. If you also consider that 100,000 of those who attend games once a fortnight follow the Tims and the Huns, there are not a huge number of fans left to go round. Using relative success as a yardstick, counting downwards, a list of the other big clubs (I use the term advisedly) in Scotland would look something like: Aberdeen, Hearts, Dundee United, Hibs, Motherwell and then we’re struggling, though the Highland aggregation of Inverness Caledonian Thistle has done well to cement a place in the top flight and win last year’s Scottish Cup since arriving in the professional game 20 years back. While those listed previously can call upon a fan base of approximately 10,000, such an attendance cannot be guaranteed every home game. Partly that’s economics and partly it’s because there aren’t a great number of trophies to go round. The century-long Weegie duopoly has resulted in wins by other clubs being remarked upon mainly because of their rarity value; Dundee United won their first Scottish Cup in 1995, while Hibs haven’t won it since 1902. You hear what I’m saying?

However, the great thing about Celtic’s approach to the post-Rangers SPL era has been the utter disinclination to accept the seemingly obligatory trebles on offer each season. Ok, so the title has been a permanent feature on Janefield Street since the Inland Revenue fixed its gaze on Edmiston Drive, but in the past 4 seasons only the 2013 Scottish Cup (Hibs thrashed 3-0) and 2015 League Cup were adorned in green ribbons. Hearts took the 2012 SFA Cup, won subsequently by St Johnstone in 2014 and 2015, while the League Cup was taken in turn by Kilmarnock, St Mirren and Aberdeen in the period 2012-2014. One of the fascinating things about 2016 is that the Scottish League Cup will be won twice in one calendar year; the 2016-2017 final will be played in November, though the 2015-2016 competition was to be decided at Hampden Park on March 13th.

Hibs haven’t had much luck in the League Cup since beating Kilmarnock 5-1 in 2007; I wasn’t at that one, nor was I at the 1972 win over Celtic, though I did see the 1991 victory over Dunfermline, courtesy of the legendary Keith Wright. A quarter of a century later, a strong series of cup performances saw us beat Premier League teams Aberdeen, Dundee United and Inverness in the semi-final, a game played at Tynecastle, the home of our dear rivals Heart of Midlothian. My joy at reaching the final was selfishly tempered by the thought of Celtic being odds-on favourites to beat Ross County in the other game, at Hampden the next day. Despite going a goal down after 35 seconds, the Staggies from Dingwall recovered to win 3-1.

This was good news on two fronts; firstly they wouldn’t wipe the floor with us the way Celtic could and secondly, I had a decent chance of a ticket, on account of the fact Ross County’s Victoria Park holds 6,500 and Dingwall itself has a population of 5,500. In the end, Hibs were allocated 30,000 tickets (the average crowd at Easter Road is a shade over 9k) and the Staggies got 15,000; the rest would be placed on sale on the day itself, for neutrals and “other interested observers” as the SFA’s website phrased it. Luckily, my good mate Graham, who edits the Hibs fanzine Mass Hibsteria was able to secure me a ticket in our bit, right on the halfway line, for the scarcely credible price of twenty five quid.

In England, the League Cup is viewed with contempt until the semi-finals by most clubs; not just European competitors, but the Premier League also-rans and Championship play-off hopefuls, trying to clear unwelcome additions from their fixture list. This year’s final saw Manchester City overcome Liverpool on penalties, whereby Willie Caballero’s agility was described as a “fairy tale;” do me a favour! At least in Scotland, the League Cup is genuinely valued and sought after by all clubs. Even the sides put out by Lennon and Deila that have so conspicuously underperformed should have been good enough to beat the opposition; though in 2015 they only won the thing after holing their opponents Dundee United under the waterline by signing their two best (cup tied) players a few weeks before the final.

Sunday morning March 13th and I’m up early to catch an absolutely rammed cross country rattler up to Edinburgh. It’s a swaying, heaving mass of good natured sporting humanity. In kilts. With posh voices. Bouffant hair. BarboursAberlour hip flasks. Murrayfield is hosting Scotland against France in the Six Nations and half the crowd appear to be on my train. Earphones in, I doze off, waking as a flash of green to my right shows Easter Road in the distance and I stumble awake as the magnitude of the day ahead kicks in. While 90% of my travelling companions exit the station for Rose Street boozers, I stay dry and catch the next one for Queen Street. It’s half full, but better dressed. More earthy. Green scarves. Green Aquascutum jackets. Green Stone Island. Green Spezials. Green tins of Heineken and Carlsberg. There’s a lid on the excitement and anticipation, but the roof comes off Queen Street when we arrive and the singing starts. Oblivious to my accent I join in. Out onto Buchanan Street and the crowd melts away to the myriad variety of Merchant City bars. Ignored by Sunday shoppers, I walk to Central, where I meet my mate Davey from Leith (who supports Livingston and is in the Ross County end). We grab a train to Mount Florida in the shadow of Hampden and take a few wet ones in a delightful Celtic-minded boozer called The Old Smithy.

Half an hour to kick off, we make a move. Only when we turn the corner to face Hampden, having been swept down the road on a chanting tide of green, do we see the first Ross County fans. There’s not a scrap of tension or bother. Just happiness. Singing. Scarves everywhere. I take a half tour of the ground, then enter the North Stand. Hampden used to be a slum, but now it’s great; perfect access and perfect views. I find my seat within seconds, shake hands and exchange hugs with Graham, Jenny and Sandy. Hail! Hail! The Hibs are here! All for goals and glory now!

Two years ago, in the same company, I watched Hibs (managed by the appalling Terry butcher) lose a relegation play-off on penalties to Hamilton Academicals, after being 2-0 up from the first leg. It was a stunning capitulation in a season when we’d won 1 of the last 18. Butcher left and Alan Stubbs came in.  We may not have been promoted, but the good times are back. The ball is on the ground and flowing football, the Hibs way patented by Willie Ormond and Eddie Turnbull, is on the agenda. Jason Cummings up front, John McGinn in midfield and the Celtic loanees Liam Henderson (what a player he’s going to be) and Anthony Stokes should win the game for us. Sadly, McGinn is quiet and Stokes ineffective, despite the best efforts of the other pair to prompt them into action.

In the event Liam Fontaine, an acceptable centre half signed from Fulham, has the crucial impact. After 25 minutes his attempt to tackle Michael Gardyne in the box sends the ball past keeper Mark Oxley for a simple tap-in. The cheers from the Staggies are barely audible, but our deflation is. It’s soon replaced by rancour; Hibs have some of the most impatient fans in the world and the extreme Tourette’s victim behind is taking this personally. He’s away for a pie when Fontaine atones by lashing us level from a corner right on the interval. The sheer joy and hysteria greeting the goal is like static going off in your head. I’m hugging people I’ll never meet again.

Second half, it’s all us; Cummings and Stokes repeatedly snatch at half chances and their keeper makes a couple of sound stops. Finally, Fontaine intervenes again; 89.25 on the clock when his attempt to cut out a cross puts the ball on the plate for Shalk two yards out. It’s a dagger blow to the heart. Half the support disappears. Extreme Tourette’s goes into overdrive. I can hear him cursing as he heads for the exit. The rest of us are too upset to watch. We should have won this. We almost draw when Fontaine (again!) has an 18 yard bicycle kick tipped over. Then we lose. We leave on the whistle. Proud, but vanquished.

Heading up to Mount Florida for the train, cops on horseback shout instructions through megaphones, block streets, send us round the houses and generally appear to be rehearsing their tactics for the upcoming Old Firm SFA Cup semi-final. It’s totally disproportionate to the event; we’re no fuckin’ Milwall ya bam explains one exasperated Hibee. The train to Central, the walk to Queen Street and the train to Waverley are glum, silent, orderly. The capital is full of lawyers singing Flower of Scotland and La Marseillaise. I cross Princes Street and hit The Guildford; the celebration was supposed to be here, instead I rapidly down half a gallon of 5.6% Orkney IPA, get myself a carry-out and take the last train back south. My heart is broken as The Proclaimers sing in our anthem Sunshine on Leith; that’s me, alone and in my cups after losing the final. However, Hibs are my team and we shall be back.

Wednesday 16th March, Scottish Cup quarter final replay; Caledonian Thistle 1 Hibernian 2. Dundee United in the semi-final. A victory on penalties and the Huns in the final. Yaaassss!! As Craig and Charlie almost said We’re on our way from misery to Inverness…. Glory! Glory to the Hibees!



Monday 18 April 2016

Secrets & Lies

The new issue of Stand is out now. You should buy it, of course. I am delighted they gave me the opportunity to pen this piece about the implications for sunderland AFC about the Adam Johnson trial. I note Johnson has appealed. I also note the judge's comments, when handing down sentence, of Johnson's utter lack of concern for the impact of his actions on his victim....


A couple of years back, an earnest, young, would-be entrepreneur of my acquaintance, fresh out of University and brimming with idealistic innovations, came up with the idea of launching a football magazine that would cover the whole North East region, from the Premier League to Sunday morning stuff. As part of his publicity strategy, he wrote to the 3 main clubs in the region, asking for their thoughts and comments about his proposed publication. Middlesbrough were full of support, wishing him all the best but asking, reasonably enough, that he refrain from trying to sell the thing on club property. Newcastle United, fairly typically, didn’t bother to respond. Sunderland on the other hand, replied with alacrity, though tellingly via their solicitors, who sent a strongly-worded cease and desist letter, which was enough to make our nascent tycoon ruefully abandon the project altogether, his enthusiasm conspicuously dimmed.

I’ve recounted the above story many times to NE football fans, who uniformly regard the responses of the various clubs as both predictable and par for the course; Middlesbrough are renowned and respected for being community-focused and outward-facing, while Newcastle United share their opinions on any subject about as frequently as a Trappist with laryngitis; as for Sunderland, well I’d best be careful what I’m saying here. You see the Wearside club have a reputation for being prone to consulting with M’Learned Friends at every possible opportunity. Thus it is no surprise that such a litigious lot had as their recently departed chief executive Margaret Byrne, a trained criminal lawyer.

Ms Byrne has not recently practised her trade, having left behind the role of a duty solicitor in north London when she took the job of company secretary with Sunderland in 2007, before her rapid promotion to the role she occupied until recently. That said, she no doubt retains sufficient knowledge of current statutes to enable her to speak with confidence and authority on matters of law. Certainly, as was stated from the witness box at Bradford Crown Court, since Byrne was made aware of the child sex offences Adam Johnson committed and has been convicted for, not only by the former footballer himself, but also by investigating officers from the Durham Constabulary, her continued employment with the club was rendered untenable. From the moment those claims made on the stand by the club’s former employee were proven true then, regardless of the content of any weasel-worded apology, Sunderland as an institution and Byrne in her role as a senior executive of the club, were guilty themselves of having betrayed the support, the city, the club’s proud history and traditions, but most of all, they have betrayed a 15 year old victim of the predatory paedophile they paid £60,000 per week for the 11 months after his initial arrest until his guilty plea. This is even before one considers the impact of allowing Adam Johnson to play in the Premier League after Byrne, who herself earned £663,000 basic during the period February 2015 to March 2016, was given full transcripts of the 843 Whats’App messages between Johnson and the 15 year old victim of his child sexual abuse.

Let there be no doubt about this case; the 15 year old girl, a devoted Sunderland fan who idolised Johnson, is a victim, who deserves not only our sympathy and her inalienable right to the privacy required to rebuild her shattered life and demoralised self-esteem confidence. She also warranted, as an absolute minimum, a full, frank and sincere apology from Sunderland FC, not only for the abuse she endured by one of their employees, but the scarcely credible situation of allowing  Johnson to turn out for the club, despite the knowledge of his sexual offending that Byrne was aware of. Her subsequent comment that she was ‘astounded’ when Johnson pleaded guilty simply does not square with a trained criminal lawyer’s understanding of the implications contained in Johnson’s statement containing. 

If Adam Johnson had worked in a job whereby a criminal record check by the Disclosure and Barring Service was a condition of employment, standard safeguarding policies would have unquestionably ensured he was suspended without prejudice as soon as he was arrested.  This suspension, without prejudice, would have continued until such time as the case was concluded. Obviously in an instance like Johnson’s, the employee would have been summarily dismissed for gross professional misconduct the moment a guilty plea was entered. Additionally, bearing in mind the nature of Johnson’s offences, an internal investigation would have taken place from the start of his suspension, rather than after the fact when the truth of the club’s Machiavellian malfeasance came out. In any major public sector inquiry, those at the top would be held accountable, despite Sunderland’s risible insistence the blame lay primarily with Johnson, who "very badly let down" the victim by "his despicable actions."

Contrast the essential and rigorous approach of the public sector with Sunderland’s cynical method of dealing with the case. While Johnson’s contract may have stipulated he could only be suspended for a period of 2 weeks, there was absolutely nothing in it to suggest he was guaranteed a place in the side. However, he continued to play, week in, week out; indeed, on the Saturday before the trial began, Johnson scored a goal at Anfield as the Black Cats came from 2-0 down to rescue a precious draw. It may be the point that keeps them up, which is the whole sickening, tawdry reason why Sunderland needed Adam Johnson in the period between arrest, being charged and the trial. It is impossible to conclude that Sunderland’s actions in repeatedly fielding Johnson were based on anything other than fiscal considerations; £3.2m is a hell of a lot of money to give to someone you know has sexually abused a child while an employee of your organisation, but it’s small beer compared to the riches available from Premier League membership. Just exactly how did the conduct of the club she supported make Johnson’s victim feel?

The lack of understanding shown by many people regarding the mechanism of the legal system in this country is depressingly predictable. Those claiming Johnson was “innocent until proven guilty” failed to understand the detailed investigation the police undertook, as well as the Crown Prosecution Service’s deliberation as to whether there was enough evidence to suggest a realistic possibility of conviction and whether it was in the public interest. Consequently, the absence of a guilty verdict is a red herring when assessing the morality of Johnson’s continued presence in the Sunderland side. There had been many, many meetings, interviews and statements taken before Johnson appeared in the dock. Margaret Byrne knew this. Despite Byrne’s insistence to the contrary, I find it inconceivable that she would not have advised the club’s owner Ellis Short and the then manager Dick Advocaat about the nature of Johnson’s conduct, though Sam Allardyce claims he was not informed about the detail of the Johnson case when taking over the manager’s job.  One wonders if he would have played Johnson if he’d been fully conversant with the facts; it would be a good thing to know, when judging the conduct of the club in totality.

As a trained lawyer Margaret Byrne should have understood every single implication of the case, from the probable dates of pre-trial hearings to the potential sentence that could be handed down. However, in the wake of the verdict, Sunderland FC have opted to admit as little as possible, which is simply not acceptable, not least for the sake of the victim and her right to justice and closure. The first mealy-mouthed statement released by the club after the verdict was as semantically mendacious as it was amoral.

Ignoring the fact that Durham Police confirmed what was said during Johnson’s testimony from the witness box, namely that the club were fully aware of what Johnson accepted had happened between him and the victim, as well as the narrative of their contacts on social media, Sunderland sought to distance themselves from any accusations of unethical conduct by claiming they sacked Johnson as soon as he entered a guilty plea. This may or may not be true, but it does not alter the fact that the club, in the shape of its chief executive, were aware of what Johnson admitted had occurred between him and the victim; conduct that would see him required to sign the Sex Offenders’ Register and be imprisoned.  To know this and then say they believed Johnson would plead not guilty is contemptible. Did Byrne take Johnson to one side after the meeting and say “this is our secret?” If she did, she has belatedly done the right thing. If she did not, and did share her knowledge of Johnson’s offences with others at the club, then she has been cast in the role of sacrificial lamb. Please don’t have any sympathy for her though. Basically, Sunderland were only concerned with ensuring their continued place in the Premier League. Having a £10m winger who scores and creates goals, even if he is a paedophile, increases the chances of Sunderland staying in the top flight.

What will happen next is educative when considering the base amorality and utter absence of ethical business practice in the professional game in this country. The PFA’s ungracious press release made it clear that their loyalties lie with the disgraced former footballer. As a trade unionist myself, I see the fundamental need for unions to represent their members and support them when appropriate, though I find it inconceivable that the National Union of Teachers , for instance, would seek to defend one of their members convicted of child sex abuse. Similarly the Premier League will not wish to get involved with Sunderland, as any whiff of scandal may tarnish the sales potential of the brand on a global basis. Rather they will seek to abrogate responsibility to the club, for whom it was “an internal matter.”

I’m not suggesting Sunderland be deducted points or fined, as that will not serve as adequate restitution for the victim in this case by any stretch of the imagination, but it would be nice to think Sunderland could spend maybe a fraction of the £3.2m wages Adam Johnson earned between arrest and dismissal, to fund a programme of counselling, or even just a phone line, to provide support and assistance for other victims of child sexual abuse, to help this poor, injured individuals come to terms with their ordeal and hopefully move on with dignity. I sure as hell hope Adam Johnson’s victim can do that, as Sunderland FC certainly won’t, despite sacking Margaret Byrne. The club’s name will forever be associated with the venal greed that has disfigured our game. Twenty five years ago, Sunderland used to describe themselves as “the caring club;” no more. Never again.




Monday 11 April 2016

The Dandy Highwaymen

The latest issue of Hopeless Football Romantic is out. I've got this piece in it, celebrating Morpeth Town's achievements in reaching the FA Vase final, which is almost a given for the Northern League each May -:

It’s hard to believe, but over half of the 92 current teams in the top 4 divisions have spent at least 1 year in the Premier League. To me this shows that, despite the generally static nature of the highest echelons of the competition (which is why we’re all Leicester City fans on the sly this season); the meritocratic principle is alive and well in the professional game. However in the semi-pro world at Steps 5 and 6 (Northern League Divisions 1 and 2 in normal speech), there is profound disgruntlement south of Northallerton at the perceived paralysis of the grassroots, exemplified by the virtual stranglehold on the FA Vase enjoyed by Northern League teams over the past few seasons.

Basically, since the FA did away with the distinction between gentlemen and players in 1974, causing the death of the Amateur Cup, non-league sides have played for either the FA Trophy or the FA Vase, depending on their place in the pyramid. The Trophy is for clubs at Steps 1-4, meaning the north east representatives are Gateshead of the Conference (Step 1), Blyth, Darlington and Whitby in the Evostik Premier (Step 3, though Blyth are in prime position for promotion to the Conference North, at Step 2) and Spennymoor Town in the Evostik North (Step 4).

As the name pyramid suggests, at each Step down, there are more and more leagues feeding upwards, which is why 236 clubs entered the FA Trophy this year and 564 entered the FA Vase. While the demarcation between the two knock-out competitions is clear, to the extent that both finals will be played on 22nd May at Wembley, like so much in the semi-pro world, there are exceptions to seemingly every other rule; promotion can only be gained if the club seeking advancement can pass a rigorous ground grading inspection. If a champion club fails to meet the necessary grading, the offer for promotion can be extended to the runners-up or even a third place team. That said, there is no obligation to be promoted, as to be considered in the first place, clubs must make their interest known by 31st December previously.

In the North East, clubs previously progressing up the leagues have had varying degrees of success; Gateshead and Blyth Spartans are doing well, as are the reformed pair of Darlington 1883 and Spennymoor Town, while Whitby (FA Vase winners in 1997) have remained stable since promotion in 1998. However, there is no mad rush from Northern League sides to emulate those who’ve gone before, as the past has salutary lessons to teach us; Whitley Bay, Bishop Auckland and Durham City all endured ignominious relegations, while Newcastle Blue Star followed the route of North Shields before them and went out of existence. The original North Shields club perished after selling their old Appleby Park home and the current team that play at Gardener Park and won the FA Vase in May 2015 are a phoenix outfit.

Regardless of their lineage, North Shields ensured that the Northern League had a side in the FA Vase final for the seventh straight year when they faced Glossop North End at Wembley. Whitley Bay, who had already tasted victory over Tiptree United in 2002 at Villa Park while Wembley was undergoing its makeover, started the current run in 2009, ironically also against Glossop. They came back the next year to rout Wroxham 6-1, with Paul Chow grabbing the quickest ever final goal after 21 seconds, completing a hat-trick of successive wins 3-2 over Coalville in 2011. The next year West Auckland, winners of the first ever World Cup, the Thomas Lipton Trophy, beat them en route to the final, but came up short, losing 2-0 to Northern League rivals Dunston UTS. Spennymoor Town did the double of Vase and Northern League in 2013, seeing off the challenge of Tunbridge Wells 2-1. The only blemish on the recent record was West Auckland’s second loss in the final, 1-0 to Sholing in 2014, before North Shields brought the FA Vase back home last year.

This year, the flag-bearers for the region are Morpeth Town. Having disposed of holders North Shields and fancied parvenus South Shields, they beat Bristol Manor Farm 2-0 in the 6th round in front of 750 at their charmingly rustic Craik Park ground on the edge of Morpeth Common, to set up a two-legged semi-final with Essex Senior League outfit Bowers & Pitsea, which they navigated to set up a final tie on May 22nd against the reborn Hereford FC.

Now, looking at the Northern League’s record of success in the Vase and factoring in the utter disinclination of member clubs to seek promotion with all of the attendant costs involved in terms of ground improvement, additional travel and increased players’ wages, can you imagine how clubs in Yorkshire, Lancashire and the Midlands are feeling? Despite the geographically disadvantageous hand Northern League clubs have been dealt, the FA has bowed to pressure from other Step 5 leagues and is engaged in a ‘consultation exercise’ with clubs, about potentially changing the structure of the Evostik League from a Premier Division supported by North and South Divisions below, to having three feeder divisions: Midland, West and East. Obviously, this plan would require more participating clubs. Hence the FA’s hinted solution seems to be that anything up to 6 Northern League clubs will be invited to apply for promotion to the East Division; if not enough are so inclined, the prospect of enforced promotion has been mentioned. Presumably, ground grading will not even be a consideration when the FA starts looking at potential members for the 2017/2018 season.


When one considers the adoption of such proposals would mean the clubs affected being required to make journeys as far south as Sheffield, rather than Teesside as at present, and that they will only be allowed to participate in the FA Trophy, it seems like a policy decision based on calculated spite, aimed at emasculating the power of one of the oldest and more successful football leagues in the world. This is why I’m rooting for Morpeth Town in the FA Vase; The Highwaymen aren’t just representing a charming Northumberland market town, but the hopes and aspirations of their colleagues at the 43 other clubs in the Northern League.

Friday 8 April 2016

20/50 Vision

I was going to post a cultural blog this week, but I'm so enjoying the book I'm reading that I'd like to include it in my next musings. Instead, here's a response to a request in the monthly email I get from Fairport Convention. Next year marks their half century and they are seeking to compile a set list for the attendant celebratory Wintour, voted on by fans. To this end, Fairporters were asked to email in their Top 20 songs from any point in the band's career. Here's my (slightly nostalgic) selection, together with brief comments about each one chosen -:


Fairport’s Top 20

1.       Who Knows Where the Time Goes? Sandy Denny’s finest moment and the song that made me fall in love with the band.
2.       A Sailor’s Life. Beautifully structured, anthemic, uplifting and intense.
3.       By the Banks of the Sweet Primroses. The live version at the LA Troubadour with Swarb on vocals knocks spots off the Shirley Collins interpretation and almost matches the grace of The Copper Family’s take on it.
4.       Farewell Farewell. Just a beautiful song.
5.       The Hexhamshire Lass. Bob Davenport may be an egotistical narcissist, but he pointed them in the direction of this gloriously fun number.
6.       Matty Groves. What a story…
7.       Si Tu Dois Partir. The sound of a band having an enormous amount of fun.
8.       Now Be Thankful. Maidstone 1970 version is the epitome of summertime.
9.       Breakfast in Mayfair. An understated classic, with a superb pay off in the lyrics.
10.   Time Will Show the Wiser. In the history of Fairport, the contributions of Ian Matthews and Judy Dyble in the early days should never be forgotten.
11.   Morning Glory. The finest recorder solo of the 1960s.
12.   Meet on the Ledge. Richard Thompson’s enduring legacy to the band, even if he disputes its worth.
13.   Red and Gold. A sentimental, naïve depiction of a time long ago.
14.   Come All Ye. Almost a call to arms; powerful stuff.
15.   Polly on the Shore. Delicate and poignant.
16.   Tam Lin. Has to be in here somewhere; forceful and feisty.
17.   Sir Patrick Spens. So evocative in terms of time and place.
18.   Fotheringay. A beautiful eulogy about one doomed lady by another.
19.   Walk Awhile. Joyful, upbeat and optimistic.

20.   Reynardine. Fairport’s greatest moments all start and end with Sandy Denny.