Valued Families

I hadn’t intended to blog about cricket this week, as my initial instinct suggested that a pair of visits to SJP in the last week would have been of more relevance. However, with an international break on the horizon after this Saturday’s visit of Brighton, I’ve decided to leave Newcastle United until next week. This isn’t to say that local cricket is a second choice topic, as the stuff I’ve seen so far in the month of August has involved some of the most memorable and heart-warming sporting events I’ve been privileged enough to witness in my life, and I don’t make that claim lightly.

When I last blogged about the local game (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2016/07/the-privileged-few.html ), Northumberland were handily placed at the top of the Minor Counties Eastern Division with two games to go. Their trip to Norfolk while I was in Ireland was a successful one, with a 47 run victory keeping the momentum going.  This certainly wasn’t the case with Tynemouth in the NEPL, as they slumped to a heavy loss against the Durham Academy, being bowled out for only 144 and then the week after, while I watched YMCA v Leinster at Clontarf, an opening stand of 190 and a score of 236/6 declared wasn’t enough against Chester Le Street, who won by 3 wickets with 5 balls to spare. Following the progress of those games from the Emerald Isle provoked differing responses; the Durham Academy loss was disappointing, plain and simple, but with such a low score, expectations are adjusted accordingly, so defeat is prepared for and accepted long before it becomes a reality. The Chester Le Street reverse was as hurtful as it was stunning.  Prospects of the famous victory that seemed likely in mid-afternoon began to recede at an alarming rate, replaced by fear and then realisation that Chester Le Street, the Chelsea of the NEPL, were going to win. And they did.

The first Saturday in August saw the return of the competitive football season, in the shape of Benfield’s 2-0 victory over Thackley in the FA Cup Extra Preliminary round. On account of my Benfield connections, it is the case that my attendance at NEPL games is now restricted to the final session of the day, though with Newcastle versus Tynemouth, it’s quite amazing that the game lasted until then, as at one point Newcastle were 4/4 and then 10/5, before posting 155 all out, mainly thanks to 49 from Jacques Du Toit. On my arrival, Tynemouth were heading into tea on 103/3; a foregone conclusion, or so it seemed. Consequently I engaged in enjoyable chat with West Auckland fan Duncan Wiles, who had just seen his West Auckland side triumph over Heaton Stannington at Grounsell Park in the FA Cup and was down to lend support to his mate Andrew Smith who’d taken 6/65 in the Newcastle innings.  I also had the chance to catch up with John Melville who, in another existence, I used to teach more than quarter of a century ago; a South Shields lad now happily married in Wallsend, he’s a Benfield and Bradford Bulls fan who loves his cricket. There was plenty to love in this particular game, other than the relentless, irritating distraction of a bunch of young lads kicking a football around at the boundary edge, in front of the pavilion. I truly felt for Doug Hudson in the Canute meets Sisyphus role, whose afternoon was spent in endless imprecations to them, as regards keeping the ball off the outfield.

With victory seemingly in sight, Newcastle redoubled their efforts and reduced Tynemouth to 117-7, including the prize wicket of former Pakistan test batsmen Tofeeq Umer for 52. The result now was clearly in the balance and when Finn Longberg was out to leave Tynemouth on 130/8, Newcastle were obvious favourites. Watching proceedings unfold, I was able as someone with affection for both teams to appreciate all parts of play, regardless of who had the upper hand, as well as enduring almost unbearable tension. That said, when Tynemouth secured a victory by 2 wickets, I spontaneously stood up and applauded, though I’d maintain I was applauding both teams for a titanic struggle that was as enthralling a finish to the game as Tynemouth’s heroic winning draw at South North back in July. I immediately tweeted well done lads to Tynemouth, which was picked up on by several from Newcastle; let me assure you though that if the result had been the other way round, I’d have said the same to whoever were the victors. However, seeing the look of absolute fury and desolation on Captain Du Toit’s face after the post-game handshakes, it became clear that the real significance of this game was more than a local squabble; Tynemouth’s win had probably handed the NEPL title to Chester Le Street, which was an unfortunate, unintentional consequence I’m sure.

Next morning I was up bright and early to catch the first X21 to Tudhoe, where the 2^nd XI 20/20 finals day was taking place, involving the home team, the day before’s combatants and the ubiquitous Chester Le Street. Despite leaving Tynemouth at approximately 9.00, I didn’t arrive in Tudhoe until 11.15. Now bearing in mind it’s a mile long, three streets wide village on the northern fringes of Spennymoor and I had Sat Nav on my phone, it’s an absolute disgrace I got lost, despite actually hearing a game being played.  I finally got there to see the last knockings of Newcastle’s innings against the home side, where they posted 129/8. Tudhoe, who I seem to remember losing to Bomarsund in the semi-final of the 1974 Village Cricket Cup that was won by the Wansbeck based club,  is a pleasant enough little ground, marked by a tiny outfield. There was a decent crowd present; fairly loud, quite partisan and drinking fruit cider before noon on a sunny but blustery, chilly day.  Perhaps that’s why a couple of the locals had opted for Stone Island ganseys, to keep the cold out; indeed one house just outside the ground had a coal fire going, with smoke drifting sideways out the chimney all day.

Presumably on account of this being the 2^nd XI finals, there was the unwelcome presence of cheesy music after every wicket, boundary and over, which was as intrusive as it was unnecessary.  Tudhoe were never in with a shout of making 129, being restricted to 91/9, as I enjoyed the slightly surreal experience of seeing Keith Brown, someone who I used to drink with 35 years ago, bowling his team to the brink of victory with 2/16 from his 4 overs.  Tudhoe amassed 91/9, thanks in part to captain Phil Hudson’s fielding masterclass, showing how the ankle is perhaps the key secret weapon when seeking to control the flow of runs…

Before the second game, I investigated Tudhoe’s wondrous tea room, for a latte and a cheese scone, seeing several families enjoying full Sunday lunches. The fact they had seemingly no interest in watching the cricket isn’t a bad thing, as their custom provides essential revenue for the club, but I do find it a shame they didn’t watch a bit of the game, especially as the vocal Tudhoe fans had drank up their ciders and headed off to watch the Man United v Leicester game at another pub. The clubhouse had Sky, but thankfully it was tuned into the England v Pakistan test match.

The die was cast in the second semi-final’s opening over when Sean Longstaff went for 18, all extras, which helped give Chester Le Street a leg-up in posting 151/8. Tynemouth never gave up and Phil Morse took my favourite wicket of the day, having the Chester opener stumped off a proper wide, in response to the batsman giving him the charge. The incidental music for that one was a 30 second blast of Sham 69’s Borstal Breakout, which intrigued the brace of middle class couples enjoying pre-prandial G&Ts while they did laps. Sadly their music knowledge was better than their appreciation of cricket, as they proceeded to stand in front of me for the next ten minutes, talking about the buy to let market in South West Durham.  I admitted defeat and moved round the ground to a perch in front of the scoreboard, at which point the restless but intrigued Newcastle team stood in front of me, awaiting Tynemouth’s response.

I’ll admit it, I was nervous and excited watching the ebb and flow of the Tynemouth innings; it seemed a tall ask and so it proved, with the Croons falling agonisingly short on 147/8. The game was effectively up when Marcus Turner, who batted beautifully and sensibly, was out for 88. Nobody else really contributed significantly. It was instructive listening to the chat of the Newcastle side; I would have thought the prime consideration when thinking of final opponents would have been your own chances of victory, meaning ABC (Anyone but Chester). However, there seemed to be a residual element of resentment towards Tynemouth from the first and second team games the day before, with some unnecessary words exchanged at one point. I wasn’t comfortable with this (it’s just not cricket you see) and it ended up making me feel, bizarrely enough, like some tug-of-love toddler in a messy 1970s divorce case, torn between the two feuding parties. In the end, I took the pragmatic approach; instead of hanging on to watch the final, won by Chester Le Street predictably enough, and journey back from Spennymoor by bus on a Sunday night, I grabbed a lift back with Vince, as there was some Sunday league cricket on at Tynemouth. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made in my cricket watching life.

Now I’ll hold my hands up and admit I’m as yet to fully get my head around the nuances of midweek and Sunday NEPL cricket, as some clubs field 3^rd XIs, while others style theirs as Academy sides. With Stockton hosting the Northern final of the national 20/20 competition, their 3^rd XI fixture against Tynemouth Academy was switched from the Grangefield Ground to Preston Avenue. It didn’t seem to matter; they’d posted 188 all out and when we arrived, Tynemouth were 74/7, so it seemed a waste of time to even get a pint in, but I’m glad I did. The last hope was club captain Graham Hallam, 7 not out at this point, who then put on 97 with Nicholas McIntyre (15), to bring victory agonisingly close.

At this point, Graham was joined at the wicket by his 12 year old son Patrick, who’d taken 1/45 in the Stockton innings. The young lad heroically blocked the rest of the over, before his dad decided it was probably best to finish things quickly and twice deposited the ball onto Percy Park rugby pitch, to finish on 101 not out and win the game by 2 wickets. The sight of father and son embracing at the end was one of the most touching sights I’ve ever seen in a sporting context and another reason why cricket isn’t just a game, it’s a state of mind, a philosophy for life and often a spiritual experience. I’d invited Laura along to meet me at the cricket club for a couple of pints and, neophyte that she is, she thought the occasion so wonderful and the atmosphere so convivial, she was at the ground the following Saturday before I was!

Having seen Benfield defeat FA Vase holders Morpeth Town 3-2 in a superb game, I pedalled down the coast to see the conclusion of the Stockton game. The Teessiders must hate Tynemouth; having been restricted to 203/9, the visitors were forced to labour in the field, to the extent that the first ball I saw was the one Nick Armstrong completed his century with. At 181/1, victory was in the bag; sure enough, within 15 minutes, Tynemouth had won by 8 wickets. Despite the lack of action, I was personally content to see another victory that keeps the Croons on the fringes of the title race, behind CLS, Newcastle and South North, but the games are running out.

The games have run out and the season is over for Northumberland, but what an inspirational time they’ve had of it. Last season’s one day competition provided a fascinating run to the national final at Wormsley against Cornwall. While that weather-blighted game was lost, the chance of playing at the same venue in the 3 day equivalent against the Western Division champions was a real prospect going into the final scheduled game at home to Cambridgeshire at Jesmond. Taking advantage of the remaining aspects of my summer holiday, I managed to take in two full and one half day of this one.

Cambridgeshire batted first and amassed 228 all out, with their acquisition of a second batting point of no consequence, as only Lincolnshire could deny Northumberland the title. Four bowling points were very welcome, but having seen Cambridgeshire wobbling alarmingly at 75/5 and lunch and then 108/6, I’d say the final total was about 50 too many, possibly as a result of some weak and inaccurate bowling at a time when pressure should really have been exerted on the lower-order batsmen. Of course, Northumberland were left weakened by the absence of Sameet Brar, who’d bowled so well in the last 3 day game I’d seen, who was at a family wedding.

If the bowling could have been better, then there is little else to add about the initial batting performance as the home team were tottering on the brink at 16/3. Thankfully there’s always that fella Du Toit to rely on; he made 61 and looked untroubled near the close, before his departure sparked another flurry of wickets and Northumberland ended day one on 108/6. A series of unfortunate events kept me away for the first session on Monday and necessitated my departure at tea. Suffice to say, Northumberland were dismissed for 196 and Cambridgeshire were 65/2 when arrived. Literally the first ball I saw was Oli McGee taking a wicket, precipitating a minor collapse that saw the visitors 79/5 and then 108/6 for tea. I confidently expected to see them all out for 150 maximum and Northumberland batting before stumps. I was wrong; very wrong.

The Cambridgeshire tailed wagged ferociously and they accumulated 248, leaving a victory target of 281 that seemed a fond hope at lunch with Northumberland 77/4, having recovered from 55/4. I’ve already alluded to the importance of families in the local game; the tear-jerking Hallams, the cigar smoke and profanity swathed Hudsons and at this game, the wonderful company of the McGee family. On a baking day on Osborne Avenue, I enjoyed an almost ephiphanous afternoon with Oli, Ben and Dan’s parents that certainly must rank as the best time I’ve ever had watching the county.

 

At lunch, the received wisdom all around the ground was that if Jacques Du Toit got in and stayed in, Northumberland had a chance. The importance of JDT simply cannot be overstated; to say he is the best batsman in the NEPL is a given, but it is also his presence and aura that inspires. Physically, at the crease, he seems a giant; often unstoppable, unplayable, vicious, cavalier and elegant, he is worth paying money to watch. There is no finer sight than a hapless opposition fielder scampering off down Manor House Road in the direction of the Dene, attempting to overtake another of the South African’s awesome blows. Perhaps only the look of wonder on the face of the bowler as Jacques launches into another merciless strike over the other wall and into the graveyard could compare.

And, on this occasion, Captain Nicotine did not disappoint; to complement his 61 in the first innings, he scored a fluent, vibrant 85 that had all the hallmarks of a match winning innings. However, when he was sixth out at 155, there were still 126 runs needed. One of the ways in which Northumberland have improved so dramatically and encouragingly over the past couple of seasons is in the way other batsmen have responded to JDT’s heroics and upped their own game; Sean Tindale and Mickey Allan put on 86 runs without offering a sniff to Cambridgeshire and were seemingly ready to win the game when Allan was out for 45 with 40 runs still needed and three wickets to go. The tea interval had halted momentum and now things were getting tense.

Allan’s replacement Asher Hart supported Tindale admirably and again it seemed victory was all but assured, until Hart was bowled with the score on 266. Fifteen needed, two wickets left and the incoming batsman; Oli McGee. Tension? You have no idea. Philippa, the mam, left with young Dan, who had to be at Percy Main CC for a game. Ben was 2 days away from his A Level results and wrestling with pressure of his own, though thankfully there was a happy outcome for him on the Thursday. Oli had little or no pressure on him then; well, let’s just say he played his part with a stylish 2 not out that will no doubt have The Cricketer battering on his door for another interview. Sean Tindale saw Northumberland home and made 54 not out, as the entire ground rose to applaud a superb victory for Northumberland by 2 wickets.

Sadly Lincolnshire’s victory over Staffordshire earlier in the day made the win academic, as they had clinched the title by virtue of their superior run rate. It would be churlish to affect disappointment on a season unbeaten in the 3 day game, with 5 victories and 1 rain-ravaged draw. This praiseworthy achievement represents progress and momentum, which should be built on. No longer do players appear for Northumberland out of a sense of duty; it is now an honour. How I wish the County Board could harness the potential by promoting the games more widely and even produce some merchandise; a Northumberland CCC sun hat would be a treasure to own, especially when the hottest day of the summer is also the best day of the summer.

 

Enthused by the sheer joy of that victory, I began to plot a series of cricketing adventures to grounds I’d not been to before, aware that time was running out, with the season ending on Sunday 11^th September. First up was to be the Banks Cup final between Whitburn and Sacriston 3^rd XIs on Friday 19^th August. Just as I was about to unlock the bike, it began to train; incessantly. Game rescheduled for Friday 26^th August. Saturday 20^th August, with Benfield away to Padiham in the FA Cup and my presence denied because of Over 40s commitments, I intended to take in Hetton Lyons v Tynemouth; the rain came just after noon and didn’t stop. Game abandoned. I took in Whitley Bay 3 South Shields 3 instead; what a great game it was too.

At least Sunday 21^st August began in glorious sunshine. The NEPL website told me of Sunday games at Sunderland, Bournmoor and Washington. With the Mackems hosting Boro at 1.30, a trip to Wearside was strangely alluring, not least because Ashbrooke is an absolutely beautiful ground. The number 9 bus from North Shields to Park Lane remained sparsely populated throughout its journey, with no-one on board seemingly headed for SoS. However, once we passed Fulwell windmill the pavements were thronged with those heading for the game. From The Grange to The Wheatsheaf, across the bridge and as far as The Lambton Worm, thousands upon thousands of red and white shirted home fans marched purposefully to the ground. They may not have been my demographic, but they’re no different from football fans anywhere; loyal, embittered, disappointed, exploited, balancing optimism with experience as they prepare for another season of frustration.

I knew just how they felt when I arrived at Ashbrooke; a ground that must hold 10,000 and makes Gateshead Fell’s spacious outfield look like a pocket handkerchief was deserted. Eppleton had conceded, but nobody had thought to tell me, or even put it on the web. However, the NEPL site had been updated to include details of Brandon’s concession to Washington, saving me a trip to Harraton. Plan B saw me take the 78A from Park Lane to Stanley via Chester Le Street, alighting yards before the County Durham border at the interface between Shiney Row and Burnmoor / Bournmoor (signs at either end of the village spell it differently), who were supposed to be hosting Mainsforth. Another deserted ground and another concession. Improbably, a bus to Heworth was due and I knew from Twitter that Felling were hosting Hetton Lyons.

Almost an hour later, I found myself walking up High Heworth Lane just in time to see the final ball of the Felling innings as they were dismissed for 133. At that point, I’d been out the house for 5 hours, spent most of that time on the bus, been in 3 cricket grounds and seen 10 seconds of play. Indeed, I was also 7 weeks late for Sharon Campbell’s 50^th birthday party at the same venue, which was hosting a rather large Christening do; none of those there seemed at all interested in the game, preferring instead to focus on creating that unique ambience of seething, drunken menace I always associated with public celebrations in the NE10 area during my far distant youth. Mind the Felling Twitter person was AWOL, posting pictures of pints from The Duke of Wellington and Monkey Bar.

About a dozen of us watched Hetton amble to victory by 8 wickets, playing mainly tip and run, with the odd lusty blow from Felling’s obliging and alternately early teenage or late middle age attack. When the snack bar shut with 18 runs needed, the white flag was run up and I headed back to the Metro, passing Heworth cemetery where my maternal grandparents are buried and The Swan, which my Uncle Harry managed for many years. They’re as close to Felling Cricket club in death as they ever were in life, which is a shame as they missed out on so much. That said, my maternal grandmother was a sour faced old boot who never had a good word to say for anyone.

Twitter told me Newcastle v Benwell Hill was still in play, so I alighted at Jesmond and arrived to see Newcastle 103/9 needing another 99 runs to win. The posh young lads in the home dressing room took defeat with amused equanimity, while the last wicket pair put on an unbeaten 55 and I left in the warmth of an August Sunday evening a slightly better person than I’d began the day, happy to have spent yet more time in the midst of the family and fraternity of north east cricket.