Romeo has nothing on me
Like most married men, Valentines Day’s arrival every year in a pain in the arse. Surely we do enough to show our love to our wives/girlfriends (and husbands/boyfriends – let’s not forget many women are fans of TBIR too) without having to go overboard on one particular day. So I am about to shatter a myth which will have you re-assessing your thoughts on the 14th February. It transpires that when the Shaftesbury Memorial Monument was built in 1893 to commemorate the work of politician, philanthropist and all round good egg Lord Shaftesbury in Piccadilly Circus it is not that of Eros sitting a-top the structure firing his arrow of love but of his identical twin Anteros. You see Eros was the sad lonely lovelorn character, whilst his brother was the God of Requited Love. He is the one with the bow, firing his love arrows at people in need of some TLC or happy endings, whilst Eros was banished to Lillywhites.
If Greek mythology is your bag then you will know that Anteros, with Eros, was one of a host of winged love gods called the Erotes, the ever-youthful winged gods of love, usually depicted as winged boys in the company of Aphrodite or her attendant goddesses. Good work if you could get it, flying around as an ancient porn baron if you please. If it is not, let’s talk about Leek Town.
Leek and Valentine’s Day – two odd bedfellows. Or are they? Some eighteen years ago, The Current Mrs Fuller and I headed off on our first ever holiday, destination Leek. When I say holiday, of course I mean a weekend away. These were the days before I knew what a ground hopper was, let alone whether anywhere I went had a team and CMF was still a young and innocent schoolgirl. What attracted me to her you may wonder? Apart from the fact I never had to ask her to dress up as a schoolgirl, it was her A-reg Ford Fiesta. Did we have some adventures in that car I can tell you. But on this trip we stayed in a farm house just outside Leek, with the snow fluttering down outside. I had set a high romantic bar for years to come. The weekend ended with my bravado of trying to drive her car through a ford despite warnings that it wasn’t suitable. Of course it wasn’t and a two hour delay whilst I found a farmer with a tractor didn’t exactly fill our room with love that evening.
So this year, after being on a different continent for most of the past two weeks, I decided to get all nostalgic and take her back to the wonderful Derbyshire/Staffordshire borders for the weekend. I had planned it to perfection. A trip to a spa on Saturday afternoon, followed by overnight in The Retreat, which is described as:-
“The cosy, 2 bedroom cottage has been refurbished to a high specification. The main double bedroom has an en-suite bathroom, which comprises a Jacuzzi bath and shower, and the second bedroom, also with its own en-suite, is suitable for single occupancy. The kitchen is well appointed with oak units and granite work surfaces, wi-fi throughout and the lounge has a 42” plasma screen tv with Sky fitted for your enjoyment.”
What they failed to mention though was it was 220 yards, or 2 minutes 33 seconds walk from Harrison Park, home of Evostik Division One South Leek Town. And would you believe it, they were playing at home on the very day I had booked CMF into the Spa for two hours on Saturday afternoon. Unbeliveable Jeff. Romantic, yet selfish one one breath. As CMF loves to say, “You really are a catch aren’t you” (Note: she normally says this when I have done something wrong and tried to cover up a major indescretion with a cup of tea/biscuit/petrol station flowers).
I did tell her the lucky co-incidence on the way up. She seemed so interested in my run down of Leek’s history that she plugged in a microphone to her iPhone to record my musing – that or she was actually listening to some music, but that couldn’t be true? Leek had once played at Wembley (1990 FA Trophy Final) – “Nearly as much as West Ham then” was the cutting remark to that one. They once reached 19th place in the now Blue Square Bet Premier – “Oooh, you mean they once became the 101st best team in England”. You can’t fault her maths can you. They average about 240 at home – “So my non attendance isn’t going to break the bank then is it?”. So she had confirmed she didn’t want to come then. And finally, when I told her they used to be called the hilarious Leek Lowe Hamil she simply shook her head and looked out of the window as the passing lorry drivers on the M1.
What could go wrong? Well how about the coldest start to February since records began? Fixtures were falling left, right and centre. It would have been too easy just to not go and resort to those petrol station flowers to celebrate Valentines Day but I am not a quitter. I am Spartacus! Well, sort of. We carried on across the snowy tundra of Lincolnshire, Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and finally into Staffordshire. It is not all about football, right? (ED – So why are you writing about this on a football blog).
Leek Town P Stamford P – Harrison Park – Saturday 11th February 2012
As we headed west I kept an eye on what games were falling by the wayside. Things weren’t looking good for the Leek area. Port Vale and Macclesfield Town, the two closest league teams to Leek had given up any hope of playing 24 hours before. Early on Saturday Matlock Town and Mickleover Sports conceded defeat to the wintry conditions. However, Leek Town was still holding out. As a good boy scout I also had a reserve option lined up – Chesterfield v Charlton Athletic.
Technically I am no longer a member of the infamous 92 Club. Whilst the club has become a bit more liberal these days, and even now has a website would you believe, some of their rules are nonsensical. I actually stopped being a member some years ago when I vowed that I would not be visiting Carlisle United any time soon after they were repromoted to the Football League some years ago. No disrespect to my Cumbrian cousins but it is a long way from the South East of England and I still have the mental scars of visiting them during the Mervyn Day era. So having visited Saltergate on numerous occasions I wasn’t falling over myself in planning a trip to the new B2Net stadium which they moved to last season. It was so similar to a host of other grounds around the country (ditto my only other omission from my list, Morecambe’s Globe Arena) that it wasn’t compelling enough to make me want a special trip. However, it was perfect as a back up should the weather take it’s toll.
Saturday 11.15am. Despite temperatures falling to a very chilly minus 15 in the East Midlands both Leek and Chesterfield hadn’t called their games off. But then I got the familiar vibrate on my phone to signify a new Tweet. I am fond of saying in my Social Media presentations that you no longer have to go looking for the news, it finds you thanks to the likes of Twitter. And here was the perfect example. Both Leek Town and Chestefield had been forced to cancel their games.
I kept a stiff upper lip and said to CMF that today was all about us and there was no football distractions. She of course completely believed me. “It’s been cancelled hasn’t it?” I forget sometimes that she is a genius and has known me for nearly 20 years. “Technically yes, but it was only a diversion for our weekend away” was the only response I could give as we made our way across the snowy tundra of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire.
We stopped off at Rainsworth Miners Welfare FC and Mickleover Sports just to make sure they really were telling the truth about being off. The lush white carpet of snow at both seemed to back up the truth. At Mickleover the chairman even came out to greet us, assuming we had come from Buxton and didn’t know the game was off. “After all” he said ” why else would anyone come here on a non-match day”. Exactly….I got back in the car quickly.
Eventually we reached Leek and it would have been rude not to double check the pitch there. Alas the thick blanket of snow there with just two sets of footprints on the pitch suggested a pitch inspection had been swift and conclusive. And then I had an idea. I had a ball in the back of the car. Why not pretend the game was played with a kick around on the pitch between CMF and me? I’m not exactly sure what my wife actually said but it I definitely made out the words “going to the pub” in their amongst some expletives.
So we retreated to The Retreat no more than a goal kick away. A fantastic little cottage with a huge TV and a Wii….hold on – there was a copy of FIFA 11 there too. Second great idea of the day arrived – let’s play the game on FIFA!
It took me a good 3 minutes to catch her up walking swiftly up the hill into the town centre. Apparently it was a silly idea and it was never going to happen. Still she started to warm to the idea over a couple of Crabbies in the Black Swan whilst we watched the football world implode over a single handshake, or lack of one.
Football took a back seat for the rest of the day as we shopped, ate and drunk. The drinking was very enjoyable as we stumbled upon Den Engel, a pub with 53 different Belgian beers. The bar was run by a couple, according to Tripadvisor, were the Northern equivalent of Basil and Sybil Fawlty. They didn’t disappoint, frowning when someone asked if they could sit at their table in the bar to have their drinks. It was Saturday night at 10pm and they were sitting their in cardigans and matching slippers reading the weekend supplements. How inconsiderate. We toyed up the prospect of a trip to a nightclub, but Google didn’t fill us with confidence with the following review on the Knowhere Guide for Leek.
“Only go to these places (night clubs) if you want to take the piss out of the inbred locals; Don’t let them anger you – just laugh at how they think their nightlife is fantastic” Harsh.
There was also the Winking Man, that apparently had the highest function room in England at 1,500 foot above sea level but it closed at 12 so it wasn’t worth the trip out of town.
So we stayed in Den Engel and after a few De Koninks, some Tournay Noires, a smattering of Blanche de Bruxelles and topped off by a Franck Boon Kriek and Framboise we gingerly headed home, down a very steep hill which had a nice coating of ice. But we made it home and CMF was so chuffed with a “lovely day” so far that she said we could do whatever I wanted. She was eyeing the big jacuzzi in the bathroom. I was eyeing the FIFA11.
I set the weather conditions to snowy. I was Leek Town, although obviously EA Sports had neglected to include the Evostik League One South teams (an oversight surely that will be rectified in this year’s version?), CMF Stamford. The all blue kit of Everton doubled up as the home side, whilst the all red of Swindon Town represented Stamford.
The game wasn’t a classic. In fact after just 4 minutes I heard the familiar sound of a bath running upstairs as CMF had thrown her controller to the floor in disgust at my over physical tactics (on the game of course) which she deemed were “unnecessary” and going unpunished by the virtual referee. By this stage Ben Nixon (aka Tim Cahill) and James McCarthy (Louis Saha) had both scored for the home side. I played on until half time passing the ball around the back four, trying to tempt the Stamford players into coming forward. I heard the taps stop, the low hum of the jacuzzi starting and the music start. Let’s face it, Stamford weren’t going to come back from the two goal deficit so the game was abandoned with the Northern League immediately decreeing that the result would stand despite only 45 minutes having been played.
You see it isn’t always about football. Sometimes life needs to take priority over the beautiful game, well anyway for that two week period we seem to get every year when the weather decimates our national game. Normal service will be resumes next week I am sure, by which time I will have reminded CMF what a great husband I am for taking her away for a romantic weekend in the Peak District. Time is a great healer.
On the gravy train again – From New Eltham to New Pudsey
“Northern Steve loves gravy”…He held the T-Shirt aloft that I bought him for his birthday and chuckled a Northern laugh. My Brother-in-Law is not predictable – he is married after all to CMFS (Current Mrs Fuller’s Sister) who keeps him just enough under the thumb to ration his gravy intake. He doesn’t get much joy being a West Ham fan based in Lincoln, apart from an odd outing to see them play at the likes of Derby County. But a couple of times a year we do enough good deeds around the house (essentially meaning we buy the kids a couple of DVD’s and our respective Newtons a bottle of Lambrini) and we head off to the wilds of the Northern Non Leagues on the search of meat based products laced by rich, smooth, hot gravy.
Our last trip had been to Gainsborough Trinity back in the spring of 2011 where we had found a perfect Pukka Pie which Brian Little had his eye on – I mean he wouldn’t have been looking at us fine strapping lads would he? So we were long overdue a trip. CMF and CMFS came up with a cunning idea this year for Christmas. Or so we thought. ”Let’s not buy each other Christmas presents, but put the money towards a night away somewhere” She told me, which of course translates to, “You pay and I will drink the mini-bar dry”. I agreed, knowing the power she has over “that” drawer in the bedroom as long as Northern Steve and I could go to football.
“Of course angel. As long as Rachael and I can go shopping/to the spa/male strip club”..I cannot remember which in all honestly after she said “of course”. So we looked at venues. CMFS was set on Liverpool. Me, less so for a variety of reasons, primarily because I had heard gravy still hadn’t made it that far down the M62. So Leeds was agreed on and we fixed a date. I set off on Saturday morning, from New Eltham to Kings Cross and then onto Leeds via Newark (anagram of Wanker by the way). I met the rest of the party there and after checking into the hotel and checking out the bar it was time for some football.
And as luck (insert winkey smiley here) there were a variety of Non League options just a few minutes train ride away from the city centre. My first choice was Blue Square Bet North side Guiseley but then Hartch stepped in.
“Oh, no Stuart lad. We will be going to THE NEST” The decision had been made for Northern Steve and I. We were heading for the Throstle’s Nest, home of Farsley FC. The Villagers, as they are known, used to be better known as Farsley Celtic (and also called The Villagers), which is a bit confusing as Farsley is actually a town in its own right and was the butt of a joke in a Monty Python sketch about pink blancmange (according to my Dad anyway). Hartch had lived for many years in the car park at the Nest. Not literally, but basically where the old car park used to be.
Hartch promised a top afternoon. Northern Steve wasn’t sure but I lied and said he had laid on strippers in the Farmers Inn public house. He was as good as sold on the word “laid”.
Farsley Celtic had been a big name in these parts. They played for one season in the mid-2000′s in the Blue Square Bet Premier, and were only actually one league below Bradford City and just two away from Leeds United for that glorious period. They over gambled on what it would take to compete at the top table in Non League football and were relegated at the end of the season. The following year they started in the Conference North with a 10 point penalty for financial irregularities and by March 2010 the club had called it a day.
But with local support, the sweat of a band of volunteers and some local people with a vision, the club reformed in time for last season and won the Northern Counties East League Premier Division at a canter. This season the story had been similar as they had surged up the table of the Evostik Division One North, just one level below the Blue Square Bet North.
Warrington Town were the visitors on this cold, crisp, Yorkshire afternoon. The fifteen minute train journey had been a one can strategy and when we arrived at New Pudsey (not to be confused with that yellow bear from BBC Children in Need who is “Old Pudsey”) we were met by Hartch. ”You’re on my manor now” he said in a menacing way, not sounding dissimilar to Harold Shand in the Long Good Friday.
We stopped off at the Farmers Inn, a huge cavern of a pub, more akin to a village hall. We told Steve that the Stripper was off ill after she developed a nasty burn from taking off her nylon thong too quickly. He was disappointed, but the promise of pie, beer and lots of hot gravy soon perked him up.
AFC Farsley 0 Warrington Town 1 – The Throstle’s Nest – Saturday 21st January 2012
With the wind and rain sweeping across the ground it was no surprise that the only goal of the game can be noted with the assist from a Mr Gail Force. Ten minutes into the game Warrington’s Matty Cross took a corner that found the jet stream and smacked into Farsley’s Tom Jackson and flew into the net. The wind dominated the first period, causing all sorts of problems for the home team, especially the keeper who could hardly kick the ball out of his own area.
After ticking off the obligatory dog in a football ground, a Deputy Senior Steward (there were only two stewards in the ground) and an aging member of a 70′s pop group during the first half we headed into the bar for some warmth. In truth the weather was spoiling the game. The referee was also struggling to control the tackles flying in on the pitch, and the number of “dust ups” had overtaken corners. It was amusing to see (and hear) the managers also trying to adapt their language in shouting at the female linesman. Not that it bothered her in the least, telling them to “Shut ya trap” on a number of occasions.
The bar was packed. In fact it was strange to see so many fans in their with their Farsley shirts on watching Sky Sports News whilst the game was going on. The clubhouse is a seven day a week venue and is a key source of revenue for the club. Any move up the non league ladder is dependent on what the club can bring in off the pitch.
The second half saw the wind drop for awhile, and was replaced by rain. As Dolly Parton once said, you need the rain before you can have the rainbow and sure enough it appeared soon after, distracting most of the 229 people in the ground for a few minutes. Farsley continued to attack but they simply could not break down a dogged Warrington defence. The away fans, complete with drum, big flag and a man holding a stopwatch (who occasionally shouted out random times to the crowd around him) looked on nervously, feeling a home goal coming before too long.
With time ticking down they threw everything at the visitors. In the ninetieth minute they had a final corner. Bambrook’s corner found that jet stream again and the ball hit the post and there was a big shout for the ball having crossed the line. ”Play on” shouted the referee and a smart overhead kick from Jackson looked like it was blocked on the line by a Warrington hand. ”Play on” came the shout again from the referee but it was too late. Warrington took the spoils and the Farsley fans had to content themselves with a balm cake and a pint of Tetley. It hadn’t been the best of games (unlike the Guiseley game which had ended 4-3), but it had been a warm welcome from a club who pride themselves on being at the heart of the community.
Hartch kindly took us back into the bright lights of Leeds. The girls were already tucking into the free bar so it was rude not to join them. By 9pm we had ventured out into the city and stumbled upon the BierKeller. The place was heaving. Five hours later after an evening of Oompa music, thigh slapping and general dancing and singing to songs that would really embarrass the kids we headed home, tired, partly deaf but battle hardened. My journey to New Eltham to New Pudsey was complete.
AttacKing intent
This season it will be a headline writers dream with Steve King back in the hot seat at Lewes. After his triumphant return to the club after a three year absence in the summer, he began to rebuild the squad. The Lewes fans had been used to the revolving door during the ToSH era last season but this was more understandable as the Rooks became one of the favourites for promotion even before the fixtures were announced and a ball had been kicked in pre-season friendly anger.
“Welcome to the King dome”, “SpanKING”, “King Konga”..we’ve seen them all before but that doesn’t mean we wont see them again this season.
King had set the game up with St Neots at the end of last season when he was still with Farnborough and the Saints had been crowned United Counties League Champions. When he returned in his golden pumpkin to the Dripping Pan he simply put a call in to St Neots, and The Rooks first pre-season friendly was in the diary.
St Neots Town are no small time club anymore. The can count ex-West Ham and Northern Ireland midfielder Steve Lomas as an ex-manager (back in 2010), with another ex-Hammer Michael Hughes as his assistant. Last season they also spent and almost unheard of five figure sum on former Aston Villa forward Stefan Moore. And this season they have Gavin Strachen, son of Gordon, in the squad.
And then there was the ground. Twenty five years ago West Ham United were the visitors to Shortsands ground in a sell out friendly. But then in 1987 the ground was sold to a housing developer, which forced the club to disband after the 1987-88 season. The Saints reformed in 1989-90 to play at a much lower level in the Huntingdonshire and District Football League. During 1992, the club signed a forty-year lease on a 4½ acre site (1.82 hectare) to the east of the town. The club committee worked hard to organise fund-raising and building work, and the Rowley Park ground took shape. The Saints were re-admitted to the United Counties League in 1994-95, winning the Division One title at the first attempt and earning promotion to the Premier Division.
In April 2008 the football club held the official opening of their new ground on the Loves Farm site, located north of their previous Rowley Park ground. The stadium was funded and constructed by the site developers Gallagher Estates who also built a housing estate next door. It would have been nice if they had actually finished essentials such as pavements and roads before they started playing here.
And this is where James Boyes and I pulled into the car park after our two day road trip at the Supporters Direct conference in Chester with the rain pouring down. After all this was the middle of Summer.
We wasn’t alone. After a few months apart the Lewes Lunatic Fringe were back together. Deaks, Danny, Dave, Terry, Jason with his huge flag and of course Patrick representing the board. We met in the official Lewes fanzone in the town (aka the Pig and Falcon). I was desperate for a win. Not for King, the team, the owners or even the Rooks fans, but for me. I made a bizarre pack with myself that after our home win versus eventual Blue Square Bet South champions Braintree Town on the 23rd March, I would not have my haircut until I saw us win again. I missed the game versus Havant but fully expected three points from the Boreham Wood game. Alas it was not to be and so nearly four months later I had developed a style that Gene Hunt in Ashes to Ashes would have been proud of. Not much to ask to end my suffering was it.
St Neots Town 2 Lewes 3 – Hunt Post Community Stadium – Saturday 16th July 2011
At 2.55pm when the Lewes team consisting of ten new players and Lewis Hamilton walked out of the tunnel the sharp intake of breath from the LLF could be heard all the way down the A1, M25, M23 and A27 in Lewes. It wasn’t the plethora of new signings that caused the reaction more the AC Milan inspired home strip. It was identical bar the sponsor logo on the front, Lewes favouring the Samuel’s Childrens Charity instead of an airline. Whilst the Rossoneri may be in their training camp in the Piedmont mountains, the Rooks were preparing themselves for a stern test.
The starting eleven included a number of players that King had known and managed in the past few seasons including centre back Steve Robinson, midfielder Nic Ciardini and giant keeper Stuart Robinson. As if the big man upstairs knew it was time for the football to start again, the rain stopped and the sunshine bathed the ground in warmth.
The St Neots ground is smart, functional but in the middle of bloody nowhere. Whilst the railway station is next door, the walk to the ground is a trek across an obstacle course that would have put the Krypton Factor contestants to task. We grabbed a beer, went onto the terrace and knew we were back. We are Lewes, we won’t be Druv.
The first ten minutes saw the Rooks team trying to understand who did what, where and when. It was disjointed and not pretty. On thirteen minutes they gave away a silly free kick and from a very well worked set piece St Neots took the lead. Ten minutes later it got worse. Poor marking allowed the St Neots forwards to create space down the right and the ball was smashed home. Cue collective embarrassed looks at the floor. Danny Last tried to lighten the mood.
“So what is that mark there on the edge of the pitch?” pointing to a small line just behind the touchline and near the junction with the penalty area.
“That will be the ten yard dash. It is so the referee can see if a player encroaches from a corner”. Came the reply.
“Bollocks is it” said Mr Last and a furious debate about the merits of the information took hold. Wikipedia couldn’t give an answer, but the unswerving insistence on its purpose, especially from Cynical Dave meant he had to concede.
Our pontificating was interrupted when Nic Ciardini (or Jardini according to the team sheet) smashed the ball home after beating the full back. Goals always seem much better when they hit the underside of the bar and this was no exception. Two one and all of a sudden the Rooks looked like a team. The ball kept finding its way to Ciardni and he kept beating his marker and putting the ball into the area. Things were looking up and we finished the half the stronger of the two.
We adjourned to the bar whilst Danny went shopping. He went to the club shed/tea bar and bought the last (ever apparently) cork-backed St Neots beer mat. He felt guilty in the first half that his beer glass would make a nasty ring on the terrace crash barrier so he wanted to help.
Despite a couple of substitutions at the start of the second half, Lewes kept their tempo up from the first half. Players started finding their rhythm and started playing with more and more confidence. Again the outlet seemed to be Ciardini who seemed to relish having the ball at his feet. He created a couple of chances for Draycott and Malcolm before teeing up substitute Merchant whose shot from 25 yards stung the keepers hands and the ball fell to Draycott who tapped the ball home. Lewes had pulled themselves back into a game for the first time since February when they had trailed 2-0 to Boreham Wood.
It was to get even better a few minutes later. Ciardini paused, jinked passed his marker, got to the byline and then put a pinpoint cross onto the head of Draycott who scored his second. The ten or so away fans could not believe what we were seeing. Lewes not only scoring three goals, but never giving up. This is a new era, a new team and a new attitude.
So a win at last. I could breathe a sigh of relief and have my haircut. I hoped that my Sampson-esque powers would not be lost. Talk turned to next week’s outing to Worthing before the realisation of the trek back to the station across No Man’s Land. We are Lewes, we wont be Druv.
More pictures from the day can be found here.
THE ROYAL WEDDING AVOIDANCE STREET PARTY – Wakefield 0 Curzon Ashton 1
- Welcome to Monster Mansion
It is 12.30pm and we have been on the road for nearly four hours and covered over two hundred miles. We have just pulled up outside “Monster Mansion”, the imposing Victorian building that dominates the city of Wakefield. Inside these huge walls you will find over 600 of Britain’s most dangerous criminals, housed these days in single cells, with TV’s, kitchens and a range of recreational facilities on hand. Butlins has a hard job trying to keep up these days.
Why were we in the birthplace of Jane McDonald, Gail Tilsey and Henry Moore you may be wondering? It certainly wasn’t for any penal reform protests, although it was criminal to think that on such a public holiday there was no football being played south of Woodall services. Whilst the south had the Royal Wedding, the north had the final round of matches in the Evostik League One (North). Ask any respecting Englishman where they would rather be today, on a Cameron decreed day of celebration and I bet they would say Clitheroe, Harrogate Railway Athletic or even the exotic delights of Prescott Cables.
- Dave gets into the spirit of things
It took me all of 2 minutes to decide to forego my place on the sofa with the rest of the Fullers with a long trip up north when the opportunity arose over breakfast last Sunday. There I was in full rant about being forced to watch millions of flag waving foreigners thinking the Beckham’s were actually royalty when CMF said “Nobody is forcing you to watch it. Go and do whatever you like next Friday”. I do not need second invitations and with my .pink slip signed, I put a call to the Lewes Lunatic Fringe and it was three yesses from the Hove contingent for a Royal Wedding Avoidance Beano (RWAB for short). The only decision we needed to make was where we would be heading. Two options jumped out of the pages of the Non League Paper straight away. Garforth Town and Wakefield. The former would be hosting champions elect and undoubtably a few thousand travelling fans from Chester FC, whilst the latter would be saying goodbye to their modest little ground. As an added bonus for either, we would be heading straight off after the game to catch the bitter local derby in the Engage Super League between Castleford Tigers and Leeds Rhinos at the once known Jungle. So well appointed is the ground that it is known locally as Cas Vegas. Only way to decide where we would be heading. Bring out the dice!
Three was the lucky number for Wakefield FC and that is why we sat outside the biggest A-Catagory prison in Western Europe. Well, that and the fact we were looking for College Grove, home of Wakefield FC. Our initial attempt of looking for floodlights had led us to Belle Vue, home to Wakefield Trinity Wildcats. Only of course this is the Super League area, so it isn’t known as Belle Vue anymore. Why didn’t we know it was now called the Rapid Solicitors Stadium? Bloody Super League.
But we had left plenty of time to find the ground. And time is what Wakefield is famous for. We all know the story of John Harrison don’t we? The man who invented longitude and whose work is still the subject of legends. H6 is not just a road in Milton Keynes. H6 is/was his as yet undiscovered timepiece that is rumoured to exist somewhere and the sole reason why Boot Fairs still exist. That little baby is worth in excess of £10million today. The story was made famous in one of the last ever Only Fools and Horses where they find one of his other timepieces in their garage that they then sell at auction and thus become the millionaires they had always dreamed of (Fact for you. In the first ever episode of OFAH Rodney can be seen holding said timepiece and writing it in an inventory of their stock). John Sullivan, a true Comedy legend.
Anyway I digress. We were here for football and football is what you will get. Wakefield FC struggle to get attention from the local press, this being such a bloody Super League hotbed. The city has only had a football team since 2000. They were originally known and played in the local village of Emley, with its population of under 2,000. For such a small place it is surprising to see the success the club had. They climbed out of the county leagues and took their place in the Northern Premier League. They came to national prominence in 1998 when they managed to get to the 3rd round of the FA Cup after beating Morecambe and Lincoln City. A 2-1 defeat to West Ham United, then nowhere near as crap as they are today, earned the club plaudits as well as some decent cash which helped the club strengthen the squad.
But Emley couldn’t go any higher in the league structure due to the inadequacies of their ground, and of course the ridiculous farce of ground grading. Faced with significant redevelopment costs just to maintain their position in the Northern Premier League they agreed to move down the road to Wakefield, taking up residence at, you’ve guessed it, the home of Wakefield Trinity Wildcats. See, it’s all about the bloody Super League. Two seasons later they renamed themselves Wakefield & Emley FC.
In 2005 the club split after an argument about whether to show the bloody Super League in the club bar. Emley AFC headed back up the road to their old ground, whilst Wakefield FC moved across town into College Grove, the ground where we are trying to find now.
We were not going to be alone at the football that is for sure. Interest in the RWAB had stirred the interest up and down the country’s football writers. They were coming from north, south, east and west to join in our mini-Royal protest. I felt a little bit like the Grand of Duke of York, leading his ten thousand men up and down the hills. For you history buffs out there you may be interested to know that the “Grand of Duke of York” was actually Richard the Lionheart aka Richard Plantagaenet who was killed in the Battle of Wakefield in 1460. The cast of characters included:-
- Danny Last - Purveyer of all things European Football related
- Big Deaks and of course Cynical Dave
- Callum Smith - An Eastleigh fan. Of course. On a Northern roadtrip
- Andrew Gibney - Host of the Gib Football Show
- Chris Meyers - The 2nd biggest authority of Belgium football on Twitter
- David Hartrick - Part of the juggernaut that is In Bed With Maradona
Eventually we found the ground. But it was closed. Apparently they do not get many fans turning up 2 hours before kick off up here. So we hot footed it back into town and headed into Henry Boons for some excellent Clarke’s IPA, brewed no more than 100 yards away. Gib and Chris eventually found us and the celebrations began. Come on!
Two thirty arrived and we headed up to College Grove to be met with a queue. A queue? At a Evostik game? Word must have travelled that this was the last game to be played here so the hoppers were out in force.
Now, just before we proceed, let’s get something very straight. We are not hoppers. We do not keep our programmes (if we buy one) in plastic wallets, nor do we clammer for a teamsheet. Yes we like a beer, and if there is a local brew we may indulge. But we don’t take notes on said ales, comparing Burping Bottom at Worthing to Sneaky Sandbox at Retford. We don’t have a particular desire to touch the ball, or take photos of floodlights or dugouts. Hmm, getting into dangerously familiar territory now, so let’s just leave it as WE ARE NOT HOPPERS.
You would think that a bumper crowd would make the secretary on the turnstile happy, no? Not at all. “Best takings ever?” Danny quipped as he handed over £7.50. “Where the bloody hell have they been all season is what I want to know!” came the retort. “Programmes?” I asked (plastic wallet at the ready). “All bloody gone. Didn’t even save one for me”. He wasn’t a happy chappy so we let him be.
The dream team
Question: What is the difference between John Smiths Draft, and John Smiths in a can? About 70p in th Wakefield bar as Deaks and Dave found out. Dave is cynical at the best of times, but when he knows he has been cheated on beer he goes into overdrive and started drafting his memo to the Trading Standards for such blatant price discrimination.
We were joined by a few more familiar names and faces. David Hartrick, aka “Hartch”, had made the long journey down from, er, Huddersfield. Sporting a very nice New York Cosmos top if you please. Such retro culture has no place in the Evostik Division One North young man! Callum J Smith (Just in case you know another Callum Smith who wasn’t here today) on a whirlwind of a trip that would include Pickering Town and Aberdeen no less. And Graham Kenworthy who just wanted to escape his wife’s cooking.
Wakefield 0 Curzon Ashton 1 – College Grove – Friday 29th April 2011
Some may say that this was a “dead rubber”, a game with little meaning. In Italy they even have a word for such games – Biscotto. The visitors had already secured their play off place some weeks ago, but could gain home advantage and thus avoid either Chester or Skelmersdale (who had turned the game into a two horse race months ago) with a win. Wakefield could in theory finish as high as 13th or as low as 18th. Such excitement! And did it deliver? Er no.
- Low calorie dust
I can only remember two incidents from the game. Curzon scoring midway through the first half (and I nearly missed that) and then Curzon being denied a clear free kick (and a subsequent red card for the Wakefield defender) when the referee, some 40 yards behind play chose to ignore the linesman who flagged for the incident.
- They certainly like a female physio or two up here
The game was spent in a blur of conversation, of quick wit, gags and piss-takes. Eyebrows were raised by the presence of the “Best looking physio in non league football” according to someone on Twitter who will remain nameless. I had a wander around to the dugouts to take some pictures and overheard her tell a substitute that unless one of the players could lend her the use of their shower, she would have to go all the way home to get ready for the “Big Do” that evening. Form an orderly queue boys.
News of congestion, fighting Chester fans and no burgers from the Garforth game gave us a smug smile that we had chosen the right venue. Whilst there was only just over 200 in College Grove, it did underline though the dominance of Rugby League in these parts. A similar level game played at Belle Vue between the Wakefield Trinity Wildcats and Salford City Reds would attract a crowd of over twenty times this.
For the final part of the game we headed round to the “Kop”, the stand constructed behind part of the goal for no particular reason. Three steps of terracing with a scaffolding frame and covered in polythene. Good for growing tomatoes, bad for watching football.
So as the final whistle blew and the goodbyes were said, we headed off to part two of our day over at Castleford. For more of fun head on over to EFW.
- click here to see what else you missed
The fun carried into the evening with games in the car like “Guess which team I am thinking about now” (with no other clues) and “Name ten actors and actresses who were in Dallas”. We boys just know how to have fun.
More photos from Wakefield can be found here, and from Castleford here.
The curious case of Glapwell FC
In the top 10 levels of football in England there are currently 1,004 teams, playing in a total of 46 leagues. Starting at the bottom of this ladder in a league such as the Toolstation League Division One would mean some serious effort to even get to the Conference level, let alone to the Football League. No team has come from the depths of the Molton Spartan South Midlands league yet, although AFC Wimbledon’s rise from the Premier League of the Combined Counties in 2002 (level 9 on our scale), playing against teams such as Badshot Lea, Mole Valley SCR and Raynes Park Vale where attendances rarely break the three figure mark to a play off spot for promotion to the Football League, and playing the likes of Cambridge United, Darlington and Luton Town in front of selling out crowds.
Obviously football in the lower levels of the non-leagues is a constant fight for money. Clubs cannot run on fresh air and with little in the way of advertising and sponsorship opportunities, the clubs are often funded by the facilities in their grounds. Take Lincoln Moorlands Railways FC for instance. They currently play in the Northern Counties East League aka Kool Sports Premier Division. They get average attendances of 60, each paying £5 meaning match day revenue rarely breaks £250 (including concessions) which is hardly enough to pay their ample keeper’s half time snack bill.
So where do they find the money? Sure, this season they have enjoyed a meteoric FA Cup run that saw them beat Friar Lane & Epworth, Glapwell, Gresley and then get a bye (thanks to Ilkeston Town’s demise) into the 3rd qualifying round of the cup, meaning they scooped a mighty £9,750 equivalent to 1,950 people paying to watch the team, which at the current average attendance is nearly two seasons worth of gate revenue! (to put this in context Man Utd make £500m per annum out of gate receipts so it would be like them winning £1billion). However, it is their social club that keeps the club afloat, offering a 7 days a week venue for the local community including function rooms that are hired out for weddings, snooker tables and the ubiquitous big screen TV’s.
So why is all this important? Well, for clubs like Lincoln Moorlands Railways they understand the importance of not getting ideas above their station (snigger, snigger). They control their costs and have invested in off the field income streams. So with this in mind, why on earth would a club at this level go out and rent a 10,000 seater stadium when they average around 110 for each game? An average occupancy of 1.1% makes Wigan Athletic’s attendances look good. Why would a club give every one of their supporters the choice of 91 different seats EACH? And how can this make financial sense? You think I am joking right? Well read on as our friends at Beat The First Man tell us of a tale of Great Expectations.
“When a club gets relegated, one of the fears the fans have is that have to go to places they have never heard of. And the lower you go, the more obtuse they become. Forest Green, Three Bridges, Mickleover. For the record, near Stroud, near Gatwick, near Derby.
One such place is Glapwell. Exactly.
Should you, for whatever reason, ever find yourself driving in to Mansfield from junction 29 of the M1, you will have driven through Glapwell. You probably wouldn’t have noticed. It is, to all but the hardened observer, just a hill. But there, just behind the Young Vanquish pub, lies Hall Corner, home to Glapwell FC. Currently flirting with the play-off places in the Evostik Division One South, having lost in the Final last season to Chasetown. Yes, they of the FA Cup giant-killings, near Birmingham.
Since there is nothing to commend Mansfield to the nation’s hearts, other than swimming sweetheart Rebecca Adlington, and kids TV bad-boy Richard Bacon, there is even less for Glapwell to boast of. Although it did give the world Jo Guest (calm down at the back) which should in my book lead to knighthoods all round.
And as befits such an awe-repelling place, crowds at Hall Corner have not been great, despite constant on-pitch progress over the last few seasons. As with so many of the clubs around here, the heart of Glapwell was the local mining community, and when that went, the spirit in the village was ripped away. But the football clubs remained. Testimony to another time. And something for locals to rally around. Only, in Glapwell, they haven’t. Crowds have resolutely stayed in double figures, which, even spread around Hall Corner, is poor. Indeed, their attendances when battling for promotion out of the Northern Counties East League two or three seasons ago, were actually better. All of which makes their decision to play their games at Field Mill, home of Mansfield Town, capacity 10,000 earlier this season, very odd.
So let’s see what the motivation might have been, shall we kids?
The first thing you need to know about Glapwell is that it doesn’t really know where it is. Most certainly it is on the way to Mansfield. But then it is about as close to their fiercest rivals, Chesterfield. It sits in the Derbyshire / Nottinghamshire / Yorkshire hinterlands. Houses at one end of the town have a Mansfield phone code, at the other, Chesterfield. And it has a Sheffield postcode.
This lack of identity is clearly something which the powers sought to alleviate. By aligning themselves to Mansfield Town FC, they tried to signpost to the Mansfield public that Glapwell should be their second team. Something that Rainworth (pronounced “ren-uth”) might have an opinion on. Not to mention Sutton, Forest Town, Kirkby Town, Blidworth and the rest. But the proliferation of clubs round here is for a whole other post.
By using the Stags’ ground, the management instantly alienated a section of their potential support, as threads on an independent Chesterield FC site clearly demonstrated. By staying at Hall Corner, they had the opportunity to tap in to both sets of fans. The move instantly cut that potential in half.
And what of that support? If they weren’t coming to Hall Corner, why would they suddenly rush to Field Mill? Football fans do not support a ground, they support a club. And equally, they choose not to support a club too. Glapwell FC have been ten minutes away from Field Mill all their life. Fans who wanted to see them have made that journey already.
No doubt Glapwell paid for the privilege of gracing the Field Mill turf. But no-one seems able to identify how much. You would hope, for Mansfield’s sake, that it wasn’t purely a cut of the gate receipts. Earlier this season versus Lincoln United, there were 62 people through the turnstiles. At £7 a head, that’s not enough to cover, well, pretty much anything. Let alone if decimated by financial agreements. So assuming the average attendance was 80 Adults and 20 juniors their gate revenue for the season would be £10,920 per season. With Mansfield themselves losing circa £10,000 a week, and paying rent on Field Mill to the ever-vilified former owner, Keith Haslam (therein lies another tale), it is hard to imagine they extended the gracious hand of benevolence to their tenants.
Which leads one to conclude that Glapwell must have been paying out of their pockets. But whose pockets were they?
Well, the chairman is Dr Colin Hancock, a Harley Street dentist, and former Chairman of Aldershot Town. He took control of the club in 2008, and with ties to the area, he was a popular arrival. But, when the aforementioned Haslam was on his last legs, Hancock was very interested in buying the club. That he failed in his attempt could be seen as either a blessing or a curse, for both clubs, of course.
Hancock instantly gave the club a more professional outlook, appointing Kevin Gee as Commercial Director, and looking to tap in to the local community. Promotion to what is now the Evostik leagues followed, crowds were pushing 150+, and things looked rosy.
But Hall Corner was struggling to cope with this new approach. The clubhouse, despite boasting one of the comfiest sofas in all of non-league, was barely big enough to swing a cat in. Access to the ground was limited, and if you missed your space in the carpark, roadside parking an absolute nightmare. There was a collection of portakabins within the ground fulfilling a variety of functions, from PA to canteen to boardroom. Everything had the air of temporary although not dissimilar to many other non league grounds.
And with a ground that needed a fair degree of TLC, the new fans drifted away. Had Mansfield, or even Chesterfield, been doing well, you could understand this. But neither were setting either the Conference or League Two alight (prior to this season and the latter’s move to their new stadium). So where did all the fans go? Glapwell were still pushing at the top of their new division. Further proof that throwing money at the team, rather than the infrastructure, is a very short-sighted business strategy in football.
At this level, on field success does not translate into bigger crowds until you get to the upper echelons of the non league ladder. Histon have risen through the ranks with remarkable speed but their crowds have only increased moderately from their days in the Southern League. Away followings are much bigger – Glapwell only saw a dozen or so away fans visiting Field Mill for the games versus Leek Town where as Mansfield welcomed a few hundred from Barrow the weekend later.
This season, Glapwell announced a partnership with a local PR company, who were tasked with increasing the profile of the club within Nottinghamshire and beyond. They also had the job of pushing season ticket sales for the new season at Field Mill. This season’s average attendance? 97 (a figure boosted no end by inviting schoolkids in for free for a game against Romulus which “boasted” 232 in attendance). Their task?
“Parker PR was chosen thanks of its local connections and knowledge of local football. It will lead a proactive marketing campaign that will focus on growing the home crowd attendances.”
Now don’t get me wrong. I am not bemoaning a club trying to better itself. But throwing money at a poorly supported club, in the form of player wages, shiny stadia, or whatever, has proved itself time and time again to be a folly. Bringing a PR company on board is a mildly creative step, and for this they should be applauded. But the people who would follow Glapwell are likely to be those switched off from the bigger game because of sterile surroundings, over-paid primadonna players who care nothing for the shirt, and Chairmen who treat the club as a play thing rather than the community asset it should be.
Football + Logic = Confusion for everyone
Earlier in the season Glapwell had taken on the mighty Derby County in the Derbyshire Senior Cup semi-final. It is not often that such a big club would come visiting so you would expect Field Mill to be moderately full? Wrong, the game was actually being played at Hall Corner, for two reasons. Firstly, Field Mill is actually in Nottinghamshire and thus cannot host a Derbyshire Senior Cup game, and secondly as part of the rent row with ex-Field Mill owner Haslam, the club had returned to their more modest Hall Corner, meaning everything you have read above is completely irrelevant, but that is what you get for being organised and preparing your work weeks in advance!
Crowds since the relocation back to Hall Corner have justified the madness in the original plan. A hundred for the game against Shepshed Dynamos has been the highpoint of April, with other gates of significantly less. For their final game of the season they entertained Belper Town. Seventy fans came through the turnstiles, although a fair few may have been curious to see a gorilla in a Glapwell scarf playing the drums in the clubhouse.
So what now for Glapwell? Will we see a return to more sensible and realistic plans next season? Perhaps if the focus this season would have been on the field rather than off it the club could have made the playoffs. But football is never so clear cut is it? Repeat after me – Ambition + Sense = Success.
17 Again…
Twenty four years ago I was in my first ever serious relationship. A lovely Welsh lass who lived opposite my school who was a year older than me and on a year out before going to university. What made the relationship perfect was her Mum taught at my school, so I knew exactly when she would be about and co-ordinated my absence from school accordingly to maximise my discovery time. I could wax lyrical about the whole affair, that lasted until I was at least 18. But you have come here for some football chat and football chat is what you will get.
The reason for the slight detour into my past is to prove a point that in twenty four years a lot can change. I’m now married to the wonderful CMF and whilst my love of the Welsh fairer sex is never in doubt, my life is very different to the one I was planning in Easter 1997. And so too is that of Retford United. Back in April 1997 they were the figment of the imagination of a group of chaps in the Half Moon pub in Retford, a small market town on the borders of Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire.
- It’s a good life in Retford
Just a few months later they had formed their own football team, naming themselves Retford United and gained a place in the Gainsborough League. From small acorns grow great oaks and the club slowly moved up the leagues, reaching the Northern Premier League (aka Unibond and now Evostik) structure in 2007. They won the Division One South in their first season but were denied promotion due to ground grading issues (because an extra 20 fans would have caused a huge problem). Undeterred by letting red tape get in their way they won the league again the following season as well as the Nottinghamshire Senior Cup, to take their place at the big boys table in the Unibond Premier League, just three steps below the Football League.
To put that in context it would be like me trading in my 17 year old Welsh girl for a stunning early 30′s part time model (hang on, I did?). All was looking rosy in the Cannon Park garden. Their first season in Step 3 of the Non League structure saw them lead the pack for some periods and as the bad weather descended on England they were still hanging on to the hope of automatic promotion to the Blue Square Bet North. Unfortunately a fixture pile up meant they missed out on the play offs by one spot. Still they dusted themselves down to fight again this season.
- Ready, steady…
Only things have gone a bit awry. The 17 year old has turned into a right old munter with six kids by six different blokes and enough ear rings to open her own branch of Elizabeth Duke. In other words the money has run out and the team are suffering. Is suffering the right word for a team that were relegated some weeks ago and have shipped over 100 goals in forty games so far this season? Ouch. As if things couldn’t get any worse last weekend the players returned to the dressing rooms at Bradford Park Avenue to find they had been robbed.
A Retford club official said “The season has been one to forget on and off the field, cumulating in our relegation, this is the last thing the players wanted at the end of a difficult campaign. The players have given their all throughout the season and it’s awful that they have to suffer this at this level of football.”
How’s your luck!
And what relevance was all of this? Well guess where I ended up on Good Friday? Hold up – don’t jump the gun back there. I was actually down the road in Newark (the only place in UK which is an anagram of the word Wanker btw) with my in-laws. Much as I love my Mother-in-Law, the thought of the re-runs of Emmerdale leave me cold so Northern Roadtrip part 2 was born. And Retford were the lucky recipients of my hard earned money for the day.
I was quite impressed as I drove through the leafy avenues of Retford. I knew the football ground was out of town but when the trusty SatNav took me out of town and into the yellow laden fields of oil seed I had to stop and turn around and head back into town, assuming I had missed the ground somewhere. But TomTom was right. A good mile out of town, with no footpaths or sign of public transport lies Cannon Park, home to Retford United and Evostik rivals Worksop Town.
- £7 worth of entertainment
With the sun shining the location couldn’t have been more picturesque. I would imagine in the midst of winter on a cold and wet Tuesday night it is a horrible place to watch a game, but for today it was perfect. And being the last home game of the season what a nice touch from the club, entry was just £5. So with a pint and a pie my total outlay for the afternoon was approximately a sixth of a ticket for West Ham v Sunderland in a month’s time.
Retford United 0 Burscough 2 – Cannon Park – Friday 21st April 2011
- 1-0 to the scousers
After 11 minutes on the clock all of the talk around Cannon Park was whether Burscough would get double figures. To say that Retford started the game poorly would be like Sullivan and Gold actually took any interest in what us West Ham fans said. They were dreadful and found themselves 2-0 to goals from Carl Gornell in the 8th and 11th minutes. This was after he had already missed two good chances. Retford’s keeper Darwent summed up the thoughts of the home fans as he bent down to pick the ball out of the net again:-
“For fook sake. Can we not just defend properly for more than 10 minutes in a game this season”
To be fair the goals shocked Retford into action. They were on a six game pointless run since they were relegated last month and had pride to play for after a difficult season that had seen most of the players out of pocket in more ways than most after they were robbed at Bradford Park Avenue last week whilst the game was going on. On twenty two minutes the referee called a halt to proceedings for a drinks break. A drinks break? It’s not bloody cricket! For the remainder of the half Willis in the visitors goal was the busier of the two, forced to make a couple of good saves.
Life is hard for Retford's stewards
As I have mentioned, it is rather rural around Cannon Park, with low fences all around. Non League players aren’t subtle when it comes to clearing the ball so the ball spent more time out of the ground than it did in play. Still it kept the stewards busy for most of the time.
The second half saw more effort from the home side. The best chance fell to Turner who skipped around the visitors keeper in the 60th minute and then planted a shot with such power that when it hit the post, it rebounded out of the penalty area without bouncing. The miss caused one of the Burscough players to drop his pies and peas, an event the unfortunate fan said was like “shagging a girl only to find out she played bingo with your Gran”. That scouse wit!
Despite their efforts, Retford couldn’t get that goal their play deserved. With a dry and dusty pitch and the sun beating down, you can understand that their short passing game was not working. Time was up for another season for Retford at Cannon Park. This season they had welcomed big name visitors such as FC United and Halifax Town. Next season it would be local derbies against Carlton Town, Lincoln United and Glapwell.
We all remember what it was like to be 17 with so many options in the world, but the reality is that when you are 41 you will take whatever you can get.
More photos from the lovely sunny afternoon can be found here.
Marine Corp
Following on from our theme about change in Non League football, Andy Ollerenshaw, author of fabulous From Wick to Wembley and one of the best football photographers in the land,David Bauckham travelled north to visit Marine and understand what they are trying to do differently.
The scene for the first time visitor as you reach the crest of the dunes that protect Crosby from the Irish Sea is both surreal and breathtaking in equal measure. One hundred cast iron men dot the length and breadth of the beach, staring silently away from the mainland and out over the waves. This is Antony Gormley’s acclaimed public art ‘Another Place’, his life size figures cast at foundries in West Yorkshire and West Midlands and transported to a two mile stretch of Sefton sand. Two miles behind and inland, nestled in amongst the houses in Crosby’s College Road sits the football ground of Marine AFC. In the same way that Gormley’s men have their sights focussed on more than just their immediate surroundings, Marine AFC is a football club whose focus is set way beyond the boundaries of its compact Arriva Stadium. This is the tale of a trip north to see and hear at first hand how Marine take pride in their community role and the parallels with another coastal football club some 230 miles south.
The Northern Premier League encounter between Marine and Matlock Town was the motive for our visit to Merseyside, a journey instigated by Eastbourne based photographer David Bauckham. This late February tie was an important fixture in the quest for a valued play-off place. The League’s top two goal scorers were on view, one from either side, and both teams were in the middle of a good run of form. It was little surprise that we witnessed an entertaining affair, with the Derbyshire visitors ending the afternoon with a 4-2 win and a three point boost. Matlock’s Ross Hannah netted three times to take his season’s total to a quite staggering 42.
If the game was good, the welcome and hospitality we received at Marine was even better. Marine is a community club in every sense and was voted Football Foundation Community Club of the Year in both 2009 and 2010. This is no mean feat as the non-Leaguers rely on the same customer base as their more illustrious red and blue Premiership neighbours. The tangible sense of pride at the club’s place at the heart of Crosby, and the hinterland beyond, was evident from the moment we met lifelong fan and dedicated club man Barry Lenton. Using the word ‘dedicated’ seems rather inadequate. Lenton, who has been involved with Marine since 1963 in a variety of guises and roles, is the club’s Community Officer. He is the quintessential non-League volunteer, of whom there are many throughout the pyramid, but his daily commitment and loyalty to the club over a period spanning six decades is impressive by any measure. As a youth Lenton spent the summers building up the ground’s terracing “laying sleepers for a free shandy”. In 1968 he established Marine’s first supporters’ club and for many seasons ran the coaches to away games. In fact he has turned his hand to most things, whether its painting terrace walls, collecting used football boots for an African charity, overseeing the knitting of team scarves for the club shop or arranging local school penalty shoot-outs on match days. The list appears endless.
In a typical self effacing manner, it is not Lenton’s own contribution to the club that he feels important but Marine’s place in the community and the sense of family. This he cherishes and holds dear, a sentiment echoed by other club committee members including Chairman, Paul Leary, who Lenton cites as playing a significant role in developing the strong community ties. Pressed on why Marine and the community mean so much to Lenton, he keeps it simple: “Marine feels like home, it’s a family, it’s unique.”
The Football Association has a formal scheme that recognises work done by football clubs in the community. An extension to the FA Charter Standard, the FA Community Club award is given to clubs that “offer opportunities for players irrespective of age, gender, religion and ability”. Bauckham, my travelling partner for the day, has strong ties with another community club, Eastbourne Borough. The parallels between the south coast club and Marine are striking. Eastbourne Borough is a relatively new club, founded by youth team members as Langney FC in 1964. The Sussex outfit is an FA Community Club; what’s more they are one of a very small and select band of football clubs who are formally registered as a Community Interest Company (CIC). In 2008 they were the first CIC to be officially recognised by the FA. A CIC is a limited company created for the use of people who want to conduct a business or other activity for community benefit, and not purely for private advantage. This is achieved by a “community interest test” and “asset lock”, which ensures that the CIC is established for community purposes and the assets and profits are dedicated to these purposes. Other CIC clubs in the country are Bishops Lydeard, Canterbury City, Prescot Cables and Stenhousemuir. Bauckham feels that both Marine and Eastbourne have much in common, yet could also learn from each other’s approach; thoughts of a ‘twinning’ opportunity may yet come to fruition.
Bauckham talks discerningly about topophilia, the love of place or location. In the psyche of the committed football fan this connection is manifested through the club’s ground, the permanent feature that provides a stage for supporters to bond with their team. Managers, players and owners may come and go but the terrace where you stand, the tea hut where you buy your Bovril and the clubhouse where your friends gather, they all remain. Marine, Eastbourne Borough and other community clubs in the country not only recognise this but actively manage it as an important facet for survival. Placed at the centre of the community, thriving football clubs understand the value of using the club facilities for more than just the round ball game. Surviving on crowds of a few hundred or less alone makes life unsustainable for many non-League clubs – Leyton and Windsor & Eton recently testify – and there is a view that the community model that anchors a club firmly into its locale, and taps into a rich and vibrant community, is a financially more stable model.
Quite fittingly, within days of our visit, Marine was granted FA Community Club status. I got the impression that the previous lack any official FA recognition didn’t weigh heavy upon Marine but the club has since acknowledged that this latest award has given them “a major boost”. The accolade, which will now sit alongside those from the Football Foundation, will I’m sure be received with a large spoonful of humility. That’s just the way they are at Marine.
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