Harlequins 33 Wasps 17

Harlequins 33 London Wasps 17 (14/04/2012)

After surprising myself by enjoying a game of rugby for the first time in my life two weeks ago, I decided to give the game another go, at the much nearer home of Harlequins, The Stoop.

At just over half an hour to get there down the M3, it’s only a slight distance more than going to the Madejski. But while London Irish were also at home the same day, the lure of a sold out Stoop, plus the chance to have a peek at the nearby Twickenham, tempted me rather more easily than the prospect of a starkly two-thirds empty Madejski Stadium.

In contrast to Bath’s Rec, nestled in as an almost integral part of the historic city centre, The Stoop and Twickenham Stadium finds themselves encamped in leafy suburbia, with the incongruous sight of tiers of concrete and steel looming over Terry & June bay-windowed semis.

Unlike Bath’s Rec, The Stoop is also a modern ground, fully covered, looking somewhat larger than its 14,282 capacity. The stated capacity is listed at around 600 higher than that, but each of Harlequins’ four sell-outs this season has posted exactly 14,282 as the attendance. While not having Bath’s charm, happily each stand is different, avoiding the identikit look of many modern football grounds. The redevelopment history is somewhat sketchy, but it appears the first pro-era stand was the Etihad Stand, on the East side of the ground. This stand, for around 4000 people, is cranked into curve along one side. The roof above is oddly book-ended by angled roof sections at each end, folding downwards like flaps on a deer-stalker hat. The green, grey, sky blue, maroon and brown seated sections mimic the slightly eccentric colour scheme of the home club’s shirts.

To the south of this stand is a 4000 or so seater boxy goalpost beam covered stand, looking like an escapee from a northern football ground, with the repeated Harlequin colour scheme acting as a disguise. Behind here is the “Quins Head” beer tent and beer garden, with more food and drink options just around the corner.

They certainly have plenty of options too, with the hog roast stall, “luxury” (i.e. expensive) burger stalls, two more bars, coffee bar, Belgium waffle bar and an ice cream van all vying for trade in one the corner. All filling the air with aromas which while individually pleasant, amount to a slightly nauseating attack on the olfactory senses when combined together. At £6 for a cheeseburger, they seem to be targeting a more expensive clientele than the average football crowd too. With replica shirts in the club shop at £50, not to mention the silk ties at £65, my souvenirs of the day would be kept to a minimum. At least the beer was cheaper than what I was used to in the Madejski, but then again so is a time share in the Algarve (nearly) so that’s not saying much.

I said my souvenirs were kept to a minimum, but I did get one. Harlequins had decided to wedge thousands of free flags into the seats around the stadium. There was one for my seat – or at least there was after I nabbed one from a few seats away and put it there – so uncool or not, I was not missing out of a free flag.

My free flag, and seat obviously, were in the relatively new, even for The Stoop, LV stand. Unlike the cranked Etihad stand opposite, this stand was straight along the touchline, but was a similar size, with executive boxes lining the back. It could have done with those deer-stalker flaps too, to keep out the surprising cold wind whipping in from the north, although at least the norther corner did offer a good view of Twickenham, 400 yards to the north.

The LV stand is the new main stand, including the changing rooms. Unusually for football fans used to seeing grounds with a secure entrance for visiting teams, the arriving Wasps players just casually strolled in through the car park, through the fans, before going down the tunnel. Despite being a modern stand, the designers could have learned something from stands elsewhere about enabling a crowd – especially a crowd which is allowed to drink beer during the game – to get to the loo at half time. It was definitely something of a scrum to get in, although I guess if you are going to have a scrum anywhere, a rugby ground is as good as any.

At the northern end was the last temporary part of the stadium. This was a seated section for about 2500, with a rather flimsy looking roof supported by enough pillars to tempt me into buying a ticket in the more expensive LV stand, rather than slumming it in this section. This stand, like all the others, had the same colour scheme. There’s no way of forgetting who plays here.

With the teams coming out to the sound of Manfred Mann informing the Wasps players that they “ain’t seen nothin’ like the mighty Quin(n)” they might have had good reason to be nervous. Sucked deep into a relegation battle, with the prospect of administration hanging over them too, it wasn’t the ideal time to face the league leaders.

The excellent match programme had talk of showing no mercy to their struggling neighbours (and had also talked in-depth about the greatness of Rowntree’s producing the tube of all-blackcurrant fruit pastilles – a subject sorely overlooked by match programmes I feel) and set out to get business done as early as possible. After exchanging early penalties, another Harlequins penalty put them 6-3 ahead after just 10 minutes, and they never seriously looked threatened from that moment on. Harlequins just looked too strong.

Two tries, albeit both with failed conversion attempts, but Harlequins 16-3 ahead inside half an hour, and it was threatening to turn into a rout. Just before half time Wasps pulled a try back, when promising younger (so I read – I can’t claim to really know these things) Christian Wade somehow found a gap right through the middle of Harlequins’ defence to score under the posts. With this try converted, and the score back to 16-10, there was a bit of wonder if the two missed conversions, as well as the wasted first half pressure, might let Wasps back into the game.

Early in the second half though, Harlequins powered the ball over for their third try of the afternoon, and an error strewn passage of play from Wasps allowed Harlequins to add a fourth try just a few minutes later. With both of these tries converted, and a penalty added shortly after, the score was 33-10, and for the second time I was watching a rugby match effectively over with nearly 25 minutes left. Unlike Bath two weeks earlier, Wasps didn’t give up and did manage to force a try in the corner with 15 minutes left, but never looked likely to make up the 17 point deficit in the remaining time.

With Harlequins having already earned a bonus point for scoring four tries in the game, they seemed content to hold what they had. A flurry of late substitutions – my favourite being the addition of Harlequins’ Aston Croall, with his heavy build and thick black bushy beard making him look like an evil Santa – seemed to just break up the play, and 33-17 was indeed the final score.

The majority of those in the crowd, especially those with free flags, went home happy. The home fans will be dreaming of the 400 yard trip north to Twickenham for the Aviva Premiership Final – a game I’ll also be at thanks to snapping up a general sale ticket – while Wasps will be looking nervously at what looks a relegation showdown at home against Newcastle on the season’s last day.

Brighton 0 Reading 1

Ian Harte’s free kick flashes past the keeper into the net to put Reading 1-0 up.

Brighton & Hove Albion 0 Reading 1 (10/04/2012)

There are some away wins, most in fact, that are a joy and pleasure to attend. There are others that are just 90 minutes of nail-biting tension. This game definitely fell into the second category.

My away attendance at Reading games has reduced significantly over the years, but Reading’s good form, not to mention the prospect of seeing a good new stadium, tempted me over to West Sussex on a Tuesday night.

Brighton have suffered more than most over the years with ground issues. The Goldstone Ground was sold by an unscrupulous owner, meaning exile at Gillingham for a couple of years, followed by over a decade at the dreadful Withdean Stadium, sapping support levels to a degree than even its tiny confines were usually not sold out.

All changed for the start of this season with the move to the 22000 seat Amex Stadium, meaning Brighton were at last “truly” back, rather than being back in Brighton, but having to play at a borrowed stadium that looked like it’d been built out of Lego.

All is not perfect though. The ground is in the fringes of Brighton, surrounded by countryside, which means pretty harsh restrictions on traffic to the area. This causes a reliance on public transport to get the bulk of the fans to and from the stadium. Falmer Station, next door, might have been expanded to cope with the larger crowds, but the local rail company doesn’t seem to have bothered laying on extra trains to cope with the crowds, resulting in journeys that claustrophobics and the impatient best avoid.

The ground itself is impressive from the outside. The curves of the roofs and the stone cladding on the outside avoids the “Matalan Superstore” look which blights most new stadiums, although the place could certainly do with a bit more signage to promote it as the home of Brighton & Hove Albion. A large logo on the floor to roof glass wall of the West Stand would look stunning, but instead a tiny board high up is all there is.

Once inside, it’s impossible not to be drawn immediately to the huge main stand on the West side. It is vast, holding around 12000 in three tiers, and looks like a stand of a ground fit to host World Cup matches, not games in England’s second tier. The lower tier alone is larger than many sides at newer grounds. It also seems to be the most popular part of the ground for the “hard-core” fans, as it’s the first time I’ve ever heard a main stand being the focus for the singing in a ground. Above the seats, a high arched roof hovers overhead, with translucent sheeting letting in light from the blue spring sky above.

Opposite, with a similar high roof, but with a much smaller capacity, is the East Stand. This is one tier of seats holding about 5000, but with provision to add a second tier behind. The large and high roof rather masks the obvious disappointing comparisons with the stand opposite, making it look larger than it really is.

At both ends are the most disappointing parts of the ground. Two shallow stands of around 2500 seats don’t even stretch the full width of the pitch, and almost look like afterthoughts. It’s almost as if the architects were trying to pay homage to the Withdean Stadium, by adding temporary looking stands behind each goal. Had these ends been allowed to go full width, filling in the corners, it would have looked so much better.

The small size of these ends isn’t helped by the high roof above, and in particular the plain back wall behind. An asymmetrically placed scoreboard, and a police box tagged onto the wall like a hanging ornament, don’t really help either. The ends just look incomplete.

The interesting but slightly awkward link between the West and East stand roofs, with them being of differing heights, means the end roofs slope from West to East at a diagonal angle. This gives rise to something of an optical illusion, making it look like the pitch slopes downwards from East to West, like they borrowed the pitch from Wycombe’s old Loakes Park.

Overall though, mainly because of the West Stand and the quality of the finish around the stadium, it’s certainly one of the best new stadiums in the country.

I got to see it nearly full too, which is so much more important in a seated stadium than one with terraces. The Brighton fans were in good voice early on as the home team took advantage of the patched-up Reading midfield to look really threatening. It was Reading who struck first though, with an Ian Harte free kick deflecting into the far corner past a helpless keeper.

It took Reading a long time to settle, although it was still Brighton who had the best chances, including hitting the crossbar from close in, and there’s no doubt Reading would have gone in at half-time much the happier team.

At half time I felt Reading would need to score at least one more to win the game, as we’d be very lucky to survive another 45 minutes of the same without conceding. Clock-watching for 45 minutes is agonising, so I just went back to my seat taking each five minutes in turn, get through this five minutes, then the next one.

Reading didn’t even manage one five minute chunk though. A loud penalty appeal was waved away, only for another, just a few seconds later, to be awarded. With the way Brighton were playing, I couldn’t help but feel we’d be very lucky to escape with a 1-1 if Brighton scored from the spot. We don’t save many penalties, and Brighton’s Ashley Barnes doesn’t miss many, but on this occasion Federici dived low to his right to palm away Barnes’ effort.

It was a key turning point in the game. Not only because it kept the score at 1-0, but because it seemed to signal the moment when Brighton lost a big chunk of belief, as if they felt in their hearts that it was just going to be “one of those nights”. Sure, Brighton had loads of possession still, and probably had the most shots after that, but most seemed to be shots without conviction, as if the strikers themselves didn’t believe they’d score.

Reading were having breakaways, plenty of them, but it wasn’t quite clicking up front, and many good opportunities went begging.

Despite Brighton having the better of things, it was actually Reading who came closest to adding the game’s second goal. A thundering header from Alex Pearce rocked the underside of the crossbar, before somehow bouncing to safety. It would have settled the jangling nerves in the subdued Reading end, not to mention the match, but Reading held out anyway, to the relief of the players and the travelling fans. Now it was a case of trying to get a train back from Falmer Station. With the long snaking queues outside, the away win started to look like the easy part.

Marlow 0 St Neots 0

Marlow 0 St Neots Town 0 (07/04/2012)

Having seen fourteen goals in the previous two St Neots Town games I’d been to, this wasn’t the most obvious candidate for a 0-0 draw. St Neots were still top, three points clear and pushing for promotion. Marlow were rock bottom, fourteen points adrift of safety and facing the impossible task of winning their last five games to have any chance of staying up.

With two coaches of fans and probably two-thirds of the crowd, everything looked to be in the away side’s favour. Truth be told, despite Marlow being quite local, I was sneakily hoping to see the league leaders add a few goals while putting their hosts out of their misery.

If Marlow were to go down today, at least their highest crowd of the season, 274, would be there to see the off. If they drop to the Hellenic League, they’ll certainly have one of the better grounds. The focus of the place is the very old-looking wooden main stand. Seating 250 atop the club bar, this offers a great view of the pitch, and the dog-toothed wooden fascia and white wooden walls offers a view of what all small stands were like 80 years ago. The small glass windows of the screen ends do mean the view isn’t perhaps so great from some of the seats – which look to be backless cast-offs from the old Wembley – but with current crowd levels, it’s not a problem.

Opposite is a terrace cover about 40 yards long. The terracing at Marlow, quite deep for this level, hints at the better times of the past, although rather over-zealous health & safety measure bar people from using the grass banking behind. Stern warnings about standing on the grass banking being against ground regulations abound on all sides. Maybe people live in mortal fear of the dangers of standing on gentle grass inclines in these parts, but it seemed a tad over the top.

To the right is another covered terrace, about the width of the penalty box, with a solid-looking roof covering the four steps of terrace behind this goal. On the fascia of this roof, an advert which once read “For the best report on this match read the Maidenhead Advertiser on Friday” had the “on Friday” part removed. Whether the paper is no longer produced on a Friday, or they wish to encourage people to purchase it on other days of the week, is unclear.

The other end is a narrow open terrace, with all-weather pitch-cum-car park behind. The changing rooms are in the corner between that end and the main stand, as is the turnstile. A few late-arriving St Neots fans ingratiated themselves with the home support by sneaking past this turnstile to get in without paying. They did bring a lot of fans, but that extra £50 or so counts at this level.

It has to be said that while the size of the St Neots turnout was impressive, the attitude of some of their fans – and it was only some – left something to be desired. One of the pleasures of non-league football is the relaxed atmosphere, well away from the antagonism of league football. It’s not hugely edifying at league grounds, but when you have fans at this level singing “Your support is fucking shit” and other such “banter”, it comes across as about as crass as belching along to abide with me at a funeral. Because of that I changed my stance. Rather than hoping for a goal glut, I wanted Marlow to win.

Despite the obvious gulf in finances, not ot mention abilities if the league table is to be believed, then Marlow should really have got that win. On a pitch that was more like solidified porridge than a bowling green, passing football was never going to be easy, but at no stage did St Neots look the better side. Perhaps early on they had a slight edge, but they had very few clear chances all game, and if one team was going to nick it, Marlow actually looked the more likely. They should definitely have scored in the first half, when a cut back from the byline found a target on the edge of the six yard box. A lack of composure, and balance for that matter, saw him slip like Bambi on ice while attempting an unnecessarily acrobatic looking tap-in.

Marlow should probably have had a penalty too, with a fouls that looked well inside the box being leniently awarded right on the edge. St Neots’ shots might have been more numerous, but all presented a danger only to cars parked behind the goal.

The second half was much the same. St Neots had plenty of wasted corners and shots that would have shown up on the Heathrow control Tower radar, while Marlow seemed to be getting nearer and nearer that breakthrough.

With St Neots pushing up for the winner they needed, Marlow exploited the big gaps at the back time and time again. Each time though, the finish wasn’t quite there. A header was easy for the keeper. Another shot was scuffed, allowing the keeper to get across to save. In the last-minute a shot on the turn was struck hard and low, but the St Neots keeper got down well to parry the goal-bound ball away, and the last chance had gone.

So no goals, and no win for Marlow. The result might have confirmed relegation for the club, but despite not getting the win they probably deserved, they can at least hold their heads up high. Keep up the same level of performance next season, and their stay at the lower level should be a short one.

Bath 6 Northampton 26

Bath Rugby 6 Northampton Saints 26 (31/03/2012)

I’ve never been a fan of rugby. I think it dates back to my schooldays, associating the sport with cold and wet Monday mornings, wishing I could be anywhere but on that miserable muddy school playing field, doing my best to fake participation in a sport I had no interest in.

Things didn’t improve as I got older. To many football fans, rugby suffers from an image problem, with the typical fan being portrayed as a plummy-voiced public schoolboy type, who’d grate within seconds of hearing their received pronunciation vowels.

Despite that, here in Bath, I was not only about to go to a rugby match, I was really looking forward to it.

There were two reasons for this. One was that I wanted to have a look round the city of Bath, one of the best preserved Georgian cities in the country. I’d been to Bath before, to see Reading play at Bath City’s Twerton Park many times, when the Bristol club were exiled there not so long ago. Twerton Park is well away from the centre though, and while the surrounding area is hardly the ugliest location for a football ground, it’s not exactly the area that brings thousands of tourists to the city.

The other reason is Bath’s ground, “The Rec”. It’s no amazing stadium, but if any ground in the country has a more attractive location, I can’t think of it. Just across the river from Bath Abbey, reached by crossing the 18th Century Pulteney Bridge, it’s surrounded either by parks or historic buildings, creating an ambience as far removed from a modern identikit stadium as you could get. If you placed the same ground in some edge-of-town retail park, it’d be pretty dispiriting, just as it is for football, and would get slated as a cheap temporary ground. Where it is though, it just works.

The oldest part of the ground, currently renamed the Wadworth 6X Stand, runs alongside the River Avon, spanning around two-thirds of one side. Originally having just eight rows of seats, this stand has been extended forward with another ten or so rows, only a few of which are covered by the flat propped roof. A tv gantry and press box slung below the roof probably do little to aid the view of those at the back.

Alongside this stand, to the right as seen from inside, is a covered temporary seated stand, going by the name “Ringside 2″. To the left is a small open terrace, with some open seats in front of it.

To the right, behind the goal, is a stand like petite posh version of the old Clock End at Highbury. Two stories of hospitality boxes, shielded from the elements by white tent style roofs, sit above a few rows of shallow seats. The more affluent nature of rugby supposed clientele might explain why the relative poor view these offer can still command prices up to £46 a go.

Opposite is a large temporary stand, with around 6000 dark green seats. This structure, only allowed to be erected during the rugby season due to The Rec being a public recreation ground, is uncovered, but offers the best view of the city centre beyond the main stand.

To the left is an open terrace holding perhaps 1500. This is another temporary structure, and does really look like it in parts, although the view from the back is decent enough. Behind here is the large clubhouse and bar, where fans mill about pre-match. Loads wore fancy dress, but doing so elicited no response from most people, as if having fans watching the game in laurel wreaths dressed as Romans is the most natural thing in the world.

To be honest I didn’t totally believe the “rugby fan” stereotype, although going to rugby did feel slightly like being tempted over to the dark side. It evoked visions of entering the rugby-watching world, where I become someone who spent Sundays playing golf with a guy called Gerald and have a glass of wine at half time.

Of course it wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t go up to the tea bar and find the prices were listed in guineas. I don’t think I even heard a single “posh” accent. What I did notice was just how much more relaxed everything was. I’d seen Northampton fans (and even a  couple of players) on the Bath tourist trail earlier in the day. I’d seen many fans drinking in bars, both in the city and around The Rec. But there was no sense of fans getting tanked up or confrontational. I don’t think there was any police presence at the game or in the area, and just no sense that one could possibly be needed. It was just very relaxed, with everyone there to have a good time, whatever the result.

It possibly helped that these were real rugby people, not just types that latched onto England during moments of glory, singing “Swing Low” with all the hand gestures, which typically merit hand gestures of a different kind from anyone else who can see them. These were just ordinary people in a town where the rugby club’s success far outstripped the football team.

And having only heard tv pundits’ polite platitudes before concerning rugby, it was interesting to hear a few more “honest” opinions. The matchday programme was liberally sprinkled with references to bad luck, nearlies, and oh-so-closes. The terrace comments told a different tale, of sloppy play, poor organisation, and the resigned dissatisfaction in a disappointing season coming to an end. That this game would be Bath’s heaviest league defeat of the season hardly helped matters.

In fact moans started direct from the kick off. I’ve known a few “glass half empty” fans in my time watching football, but I’ve never seen anyone moan about the very first kick of the game before. This one though saw Bath concede possession poorly, and it really set the tone for the game.

I can’t really talk about the match in detail. Most of the points in any rugby match seem to be scored from penalties, and I’ve never been able to fathom the infringements which lead to a penalty. Every so often bodies from both teams collapse in a heap on the ball, and sometimes this is fine, and other times it’s a penalty. Even from the replays on the giant screen to my left, I was none the wiser.

Mind you, as much of a rugby novice that I was, it wasn’t hard to see that Northampton passed the ball far better than Bath did. and when the ball was kicked long for territory, Northampton kicked into a space that allowed a chase, while Bath seem to just kick it anywhere, resulting normally in an easy take for Northampton.

The game started with the home side under serious pressure, forced back to near their own try line. A long series of scrums eventually resulted in some Bath infringement which allowed the referee to award a penalty try. With that converted, and a penalty also kicked over soon after, Bath were 0-10 down without even threatening to score themselves.

Bath managed to pull back to 6-10 with two penalties of their own, after getting back into the game, but other was missed. It would have made it just a 1 point deficit shortly before half-time, but Northampton made them pay, with another penalty and a drop goal before the break, to make it 6-16.

Early in the second half, another Bath penalty miss, and two more “nearlies”, with one attempted try being ruled out for not making the line, and another disallowed for an earlier infringement, meant that the gap stayed at 10 points.

Yet another missed penalty seemed to break the back of the home resistance, and Northampton took the ball to the other end and got one of their own. If the fat lady was starting to sing with the score at 6-19, she was doing an encore medley with 15 minutes left, when Northampton powered over the line to record their second try. 6-26. It really was game over, and just a case of seeing what the final margin would be.

However disgruntled fans may have been from this very disappointing game, there was no booing or anger that you might get at football. The Northampton renditions of “when the saints go marching in” provoked no response bar one fan who’d had a little too much to drink. He did get gently reminded that he “wasn’t at the football” and it has to be said he didn’t really look angry at all. In any case, it’s hard to really envisage anyone causing crowd trouble while dressed in a toga.

While some fans did leave early, many others saw this premature end of the game as a chance to head for the bar rather than the car. With them returning to the terraces with pints, or sometimes double-sized pints of beer, they were clearly happy to stay and enjoy the evening.

Even a few pitch invaders were regarded with a “grr….you little scalliwag” kind of approach from the stewards. One other toga-clad fan, who decided to join the Northampton players on the pitch in their post-match warm-down, was only removed with polite persuading, rather than the headlock he’d have got at a football ground.

Having never been anywhere else it’s hard to tell if the Bath experience is normal or unique. What does seem clear is that rugby at Bath isn’t just about the game. It’s the stroll through the historic centre, having a beer and a meal in the city pubs and bars, the walk to the ground beside the river or over Pulteney Bridge, meeting up with friends in the bar, before settling back to watch the game, surrounded on all sides by handsome Georgian limestone buildings. I may not be a rugby fan, and I can’t imagine watching the Irish at the Madejski being in any way similar, but for a social and sporting occasion, a game at The Rec is hard to beat.

Afan Lido 2 Port Talbot 2

Afan Lido 2 Port Talbot Town 2 (23/03/2012)

When people think of the great and bitter derbies of the British Isles, Afan Lido v Port Talbot probably doesn’t spring readily to the minds of most. Sure, it doesn’t attract large partizan crowds or have a long history, but with their grounds only 350 yards apart they are certainly closer than almost all others. And judging by the game I saw it certainly has enough needle between the two teams, even for their seventh meeting of the season, to make you almost glad crowds aren’t bigger.

Certainly the Afan Lido goalkeeper wouldn’t be welcoming the Port Talbot fans back. In a previous fixture, one of them was alledged to have urinated in his water bottle, before returning it to the unsuspecting keeper. Despite the dubious claims some odd people have for the healthy benefits of sampling that particular aqua vitae, that action had prompted Afan Lido to ban spectators from behind one goal.

It was behind the other goal that once stood the old Afan Lido swimming pool and leisure centre, from which the football club was an offshoot. It burned down after a fire in 2009, and has since been demolished. The hoardings round the demolition site necessitate a long walk round to the turnstiles should anyone be foolish enough to park in the car park next to the main stand, thinking you’d be able to get in from there. As if anyone would be daft enough to do that.

If that little detour wasn’t welcome,  a detour to the tea bar certainly was. Here it seemed to be about 1982, where cheeseburgers can be had for £1.30 and hot dogs at just 80p. OK, it perhaps wasn’t the best cheeseburger I’ve ever had, tasting about as meaty as a Ryvita cracker, and oddly watery, as if it was boiled rather than fried, but you can’t complain too much at those prices.

The tea bar was one of a collection of untidy buildings behind one goal, housing also the club bar, the changing rooms and a strange tall and narrow two-storey building which looked like some kind of hospitality suite. In the centre of this end was an open paved area for people to mill about, and sit at pub-style trestle tables if they wish. Between this patio and the goal was a high mesh fence, whose multiple untidy repairs gave an impression that Welsh League strikers possess very hard (but woefully inaccurate) shots.

To the left was the new main stand. This was a smart, if not exactly wonderfully ornate structure straddling the halfway line, with eight rows of red seats in three blocks. This was the viewing point of choice for the Port Talbot “ultras”, who sang away for most of the game.

More popular for home fans was the stand opposite, perhaps one of the most unusual stands I’ve seen at any ground ever. Presumably once a standing enclosure, this had maybe 120 seats on three shallow rows, the lowest of which struggled to see over the dug-outs directly in front. The sides of this short stand were splayed out at 45 degrees, with frosted glass panels, two each side, built into the same grey brick of the type that doesn’t exactly exude charm around the town. High above, seemingly too high, is a corrugated iron roof, on top of which sits the newer structure of a tv gantry. If the dug-outs weren’t enough of a visual impediment, this gantry required the addition of three hefty steel supporting pillars in front of the stand. “AFAN LIDO” is picked out in letters on the back of the wall, on squares looking like letters from an old half-time scoreboard.

The far end, where the infamous water bottle incident took place, is merely a footpath behind the goal. A slight slope leads to the back gardens of more grey houses. One unusual feature here was a severe slope at one corner, where the edge of the pitch perimeter rose like a carpet trapped by an ill-fitting door, making the corner flag not only lean inwards at a drunken angle, but also be several inches higher than pitch that surrounded it.

Whatever home advantage a distance of 350 yards – not to mention the three square metres of serious slope – gives, it was the away side who came out more determined at first. It took them just ten minutes to take the lead, heading in powerfully from a corner at the “water bottle” end. Cue more singing from the boys in blue and white in the main stand.

The game started to turn feisty just after half an hour. Accusations of an Afan Lido elbow being thrown threatened to escalate into 20 man brawl. When an uneasy truce was restored, the reds did indeed see red, as one player was booked and another sent off as a result of the incident. They were the third and fourth cards of the half, which would see another just a few minutes later, on a night which would see no fewer than seven dished out in all.

The second half saw Port Talbot more content to sit on their lead with the man advantage. Afan Lido weren’t really threatening, and Port Talbot looked useful on the break. They had a few very decent chances to put the game to bed before they eventually did go 2-0 up, with just fifteen minutes left. A Port Talbot attacker had been upended by an “enthusiastic” attempt at a tackle, and the curling free kick that resulted deceived the home keeper to creep inside the near post. The team ran to celebrate round the bench, and must have thought it game over.

Instead it was merely the start of a frenetic finish. Four minutes later a corner was scrappily turned in at the second attempt by the home side, and the whole mood of the game changed. The man advantage counted for nothing as Afan Lido threw everything forward in search of the equaliser. One shot had been hit by a player already seeing the morning headlines, being shanked out for a throw, before a defence splitting through ball was chipped through for Afan Lido defender Carl Evans. How a defender finds himself the man furthest forward on a break is unusual itself, but the composed chipped finish would have pleased strikers at many a level higher.

An Ex-Port Talbot player himself, he ran shirtless across to where the main Port Talbot contingent were stood, milking the moment, and earning his side an unlikely draw. It also earned him the seventh card of the game, but I doubt he minded too much.

Bridgwater 2 Clevedon 1

Bridgwater Town 2 Clevedon Town 1 (20/03/2012)

A tense local derby. A big crowd. A cracking game, and no less than nine goals! Yes, that’s what I would have seen had the original plan to see Alfreton v Mansfield been stuck too. Instead, circumstances dictated a trek through rural West England to see another local derby, although this one had six fewer goals and drew the home team’s lowest crowd of the season.

On the other hand, as well as a comedy own goal and a comedy miss in the match itself, the journey to/from our game allowed us to take in Stonehenge at 70 mph, and appreciate army manoeuvres on Salisbury plain. We also had the unexpected treat – clearly sometimes I’m easily pleased – of pulling up directly next door to Bridgwater Rugby Club’s ground. The most unexpected part of that was the sat-nav saying we’d reached our destination. A reasonable non-league venue it certainly looked, but the H shaped goalposts clearly indicated this, despite the sat-nav’s insistence, was not our venue for the evening.

Playing at the 5th level of rugby in England, the rugby club had the better ground. It only had two stands. One was a tall, seating perhaps 600 above dressing rooms and offices, with a standing area in front. Opposite is a short covered standing area. Looking across the ground towards the football club floodlights, barely 30 yards away from the rugby pitch, it seems like madness that the two couldn’t come to some agreement to enable better facilities for both. Instead they stand back to back like sulking siblings, prepared to put up with anything rather than wanting to share.

Bridgwater Town’s ground was actually tucked away round the corner, squeezed between the rugby club and the busy artificial pitches of the college next door, as well as the GWR main line along one side. The sound of Inter-City 125s hurtling by would be the soundtrack of the evening.

The main stand at the football ground was like a scaled down version of the rugby club’s one. Rather than sitting atop the dressing rooms here though, only a small tractor for mowing the pitch was underneath this one. It did offer a good view, so you can’t complain. Opposite was one of those ubiquitous Atcost stands, found everywhere where clubs have to add seats irrespective of need. They always look like they could be bought in a flat-pack from B&Q, and typically are so shallow that they offer a worse view than the terracing that was there previously.

Half of one end was a covered terrace with three steps of terracing. At the far corner of this terrace was a tiny two-seater press box, more akin to a slightly large school desk. Wherever the press watched from on this evening, it wasn’t from here. The other half of that end was taken over by temporary huts for the dressing rooms, as well as the canteen. No tea bar this. It had tables for you to sit down at, and had a pleasant “welcome to the 1950s” ambience, very much in fitting with the countryside en-route.

Opposite this end was a short cover over two steps of terrace. The terrace roof, possibly designed by Ronnie Corbett and his shorter brother, had roof supports so low that virtually anyone out of short trousers would feel the need to duck when walking underneath.

All in all it seemed a very friendly place, with a “nothing is too much bother” attitude among the volunteers helping out. It’s just a shame that there were more people over the college side of the fence, around their pitches, than the pitch here.

The game itself was fairly routine. Not great, but not bad either. The pitch was so bobbly in parts that you wondered if the tractor beneath the stand had been set to plough rather than mow at times, but both teams just about coped. Clevedon looked more of menace going forward, but the tricky flicks and turns of the front two just seemed to fall at the final hurdle. Despite perhaps getting forward less, Bridgwater actually looked more likely to get shots in. They did too, taking the lead halfway through the first half with a shot that came down off the crossbar.

Good chances were difficult to come by, so Bridgwater probably figured the game was as good as over with a gift of a goal midway through the second half. A long punt upfield was met by a defender determined to head it away. He misjudged it badly though, as his unintentional looping back-header only managed to arc into the back of his own net.

Clevedon had to push forward now. Right back Henry Muggeridge was pushed up front to try to get some change out of a defence of Alpine height, that had been an equally mountainous barrier to Clevedon pressure all night. Muggeridge, despite having a name that should belong to someone in their sixties, was a loanee from Bristol City’s youth team. The young Joe Absolom lookalike looked a very useful player, as he had done at Hungerford a few weeks back, and indeed got the goal he was pushed forward to get. A cross wasn’t cleared and he was able to hit a low volley into the net from 12 yards.

That ended the goalscoring for the evening, although it shouldn’t have done. In injury time, with the Clevedon keeper over-committed, the ball was squared to a Bridgwater forward six yards out. All he had to do was put it beyond the despairing reach of Clevedon defender on the line. He did that alright, but side-footing it about five yards over the bar perhaps wasn’t what he had in mind. About a minute late the final whistle blew, no doubt to his very great relief.

Neath 0 The New Saints 1

Neath 0 The New Saints 1 (17th March 2012)

“Nice Legs, Shame About the Face” sang The Monks in 1979, and “Nice Ground, Shame About the Game” rather sums up this trip down to the other end of the M4. Like The Monks’ song, this too was something of a “one hit wonder”, with TNS’ winner being perhaps the only shot on target that wouldn’t require generosity to be described as such. The were even some nice legs too, in stilettos no less, in the shared Neath RFC/FC bar. The girl with the nice legs though (no caveat about her face required) seemed to have the good sense to be in the bar to watch Wales win the Grand Slam, rather than watch Neath FC play TNS at football.

While in national terms this was a table-topping premier league fixture, without being too unkind, The Welsh Premier League probably has more in common with the Rymans and EvoStik versions than the English behemoth. Neath had averaged around 440, the second best in the WPL, but the conflict with the rugby being played at the same time meant this would be Neath’s lowest crowd of the season – just 217. A surprising large number of those had appeared to have travelled down from around Oswestry too.

Clashes with imminent success in Wales’ national sport aside, Neath’s fortunes have prospered since arranging to groundshare with Neath RFC at the delightfully named “The Gnoll”. They had previously played at a modern, but rather characterless sports academy. There was a definite case of serendipity as WPL requirements saw this ground as inadequate, and a groundshare at the 125 year old Gnoll, with its Neath RFC owners was the outcome. It is without doubt one of the best “old skool” grounds in the UK, and it’s a joy to watch from, even without the crowds to come even close to filling it.

In fact for football matches only the main stand is in use. Richly painted in black – both Neath RFC & FC play in all black and have incredibly similar Maltese Cross club badges – it is a throwback to the stands of old. About ten rows of faded red seats, with “Neath” picked out in black, sit below a rusting propped roof and an oversized and overhanging tv gantry.

The stand is split into two by an oddly placed large exit gate about two-thirds along. Above the gate sits a messy and cramped-looking press box, with newer red and blue seats from here towards the corner. The large gap between the front row of the stand and the pitch is marked by an unusual fence, looking like it is made from scaffolding poles, just before the pitch starts.

Around the corner is a terrific home terrace – if you can overlook the small detail that no fans, home or away, can actually use it. With its high black propped roof, echoing the style of most of the main stand, and substantial depth, it’s like walking into football ground nostalgia. In an age when fans are getting used to dull identikit stadiums, and looking at photos of grounds of the 80s and before and wishing they could have been around to go to grounds like that, here’s a ground that is still “like they used to be”.

Allowed onto this terrace to take a few pictures, its impossible not to imagine how good this terrace would be, packed for a big game. A real home end.

Opposite is another terrace. This is uncovered and not quite as big, but still bigger than found at most non-league grounds. A large exit tunnel leaves a tiny corner of terrace almost stranded at the far side. The terrace does not quote go the full width of the pitch as the rugby club bar fills the corner.

Opposite the main stand, blocking the view of the small cricket ground next door, is a new “temporary” stand. Seven rows of green seats under a white roof that would look more at home on a wedding marquee fill this side in a much better way than they really should. Undulating Welsh hillsides dominate the view beyond.

Topping it all off, the real cherry on top, is an old-fashioned set of four corner floodlight pylons. I can almost feel myself growing an anorak and plastic wrapped notebook as I type that, but there is something deeply satisfying about them that just cap off a “proper” looking ground, in a way that other kinds of lights don’t.

So, as I was saying earlier “nice ground…..”

I suppose when crowds are no better than Rymans League levels, it shouldn’t be expected that the football on show should exceed that standard either. Without seeing other Welsh Premier games – and this match wasn’t really the best advert for making you consider doing so – it’s hard to know how typical this game was. It wasn’t actually a boring game. Both sides showed attacking ambition. It’s just that both sides showed an unswerving knack of finding an opposing team’s player with virtually every attempted through ball or cross.

The pitch didn’t help. While very green, the grass just camouflaged a surface lumpier than school dinner mashed potato, and the regular clouds of dirt the puffed up hinted at the impact the dry winter has had. Even so, both teams were hugely wasteful, and even with the almost total lack of pace on display, speed of foot won over speed of thought nearly every time. Lee Trundle, Neath’s big name (and often big-boned) striker showed flashes of being able to drag the game up, but as well as he could retain possession under a flurry of attempted tackles, he often lacked the speed or the passing range to do that much with the ball. That the first half ended goalless wasn’t a huge surprise.

The game potentially opened up slightly, for TNS at least, with a Neath player seeing a second yellow fairly early in the second half. Neath actually played a bit better with ten men rather than eleven, and fashioned a few opportunities, sadly all wasted.

The New Saints weren’t exactly looking like a team hoping to return to the top of the table. A few dangerous balls were put in, but the few shots they were having would have been more appreciated had the Neath RFC goalposts been in place instead.

I’d taken a fair number of “action” (in its loosest sense for much of the game) pictures during the game, which is usually a bad sign as far as quality of the game goes. So when The New Saints mounted a forray around the edge of the box, and the game stubbornly 0-0, I decided my only option if I wanted to see a goal was to temp fate. I turned my camera off.

Sure enough, after an unelegant stumble through the Neath back line, a thumping shot from twelve yards gave the Neath keeper no chance, tucking into the corner of side and back netting before he could even move.

This prompted a spell of real urgency for Neath, but they never really looked like creating a decent chance, let alone scoring. The contrast between the loud cheers from the rugby fans in the clubhouse, and the silence of the home fans drifting away, was pretty marked. One set were hailing the clinching of a championship. The others were witnessing the probable end of a chance of theirs. That “big game” for Neath FC will have to wait.