The Beausejour Stadium, St Lucia - St Lucia Cricket Semi-Final Soufrière v Gros Islet July 2005

It was on the last day of a family holiday in St Lucia last year when I snuck off during the mid-afternoon to the Beausejour Stadium, which is one of the Stadia used for the West Indies cricket team and the home ground of the Windward Isles. I had been dropping hints about it for nigh on two weeks to no avail so had to take some positive action of my own.

I sought out the taxi driver Starry (someone we'd used before and got to know - it seemed to be a custom at the resort to use the same driver when going anywhere) from the hut opposite our accommodation while my wife and two small boys had a siesta. I was slightly embarrassed when I asked him if he'd drive me to the stadium, hang around while I took a few snaps, and drive me back again. He said it would be no problem. I breathed easy now. The whole holiday I been worrying slightly that I might not get the opportunity, but now I was on my way. Taxis weren't cheap here and it was a good 15 miles but I thought To hell with the expense - it's gotta be done.

Starry was a interesting chap and the drive to the stadium was a pleasure, listening to him chat about island life. I could have sat

there all day. About 10 miles out of the resort you come to what in the UK would be classed as a village.You turn left here to the stadium, which is nestled is a verdant bowl. It was difficult to imagine a ground in a more scenic setting. I got my camera out and took this pic from the taxi. At this stage I was still expecting just to hop out while Starry left his engine running and furtively take a few outside shots and get back in.

Well, Carlsberg missed out on an opportunity here because it tuned out to be probably the best stadium tour in the world. We pulled up in the car park alongside half a dozen other cars to a lot of activity. Starry spotted a friend of his rummaging in a boot with cricket gear and talked to him a bit, while I hung about. It turns out we were just in time for the Island's equivalent of the Natwest Trophy - it was the semi-final between Soufrière and Gros Islet. What perfect timing! Starry asked his friend if we could come and watch. He led us through the gates quite happily. Despite this being a national semi-final there didn't seem to be anybody except the actual players and us.

In typical English fashion I was a bit concerned that maybe Starry's 'meter' was still running and this was costing me a fortune, but then again he didn't have a meter and this was the Carribean. Everything that's said about the Carribean pace of life seems to be

true. Starry led me round the pitch once and then we settled in some bright yellow seats in one of the stands. We were just in time for the two teams coming out to a total crowd of no more than 100. In  the stand to the left of us there was a posse of quite vociferous supporters, of which team I'm unsure.

Starry asked if I wanted a beer. By this time we were joined by a big rastafarian who turned out to be the ground keeper and quite patently mad as a fish. He had the biggest and most matted dreadlocks I'd ever seen, a Carribean voice as deep as Barry White and he kept up a constant commentary on the game from the start to when we left. Between overs he turned to us which now included an ex-pat called Piers and talked St Lucian, Windward Island and West Indian cricket with a knowledge and understanding that was surely the most comprehensive on the whole island, if not the West Indies itself. Listening to him with that backdrop and a beer on the go and suddenly cricket seemed a lot better in my eyes.

The Carribean is suited to the game, on account of its much slower pace of life. It don't think it works over here, with noone ever having more than a couple of hours to spare. I'd never shown much interest in the game and had only ever been to one live match, Sussex v Somerset in the early eighties. Despite Viv Richard's best efforts I never cared much for it after that. This, though, I could get used to!

The Digicel sign is where we were let in and where the players emerge from. That stand had maybe a dozen supporters in near the top. I love the roof and the little row of top tier seats underneath it.

Moving round, over on the left far side there were no stands, just the scoreboard, which is visible in the first photo. Actually the first pic gives a slightly better showing of the small stand.

 Opposite us was the small stand you can see in the photo and to the right of that the biggest stand in the ground and the most impressive looking. Apparently the Beausejour holds 15,000 spectators, all seated

This final pic shows the main stand a lot clearer. After another beer (payed for by Starry again!) and about an hour later I unashamedly asked for a group photo of (from left to right) the Rastafarian Groundsman(who's name I never got, I don't think he answered questions that weren't cricket related), Piers, Starry and myself.

When we left I think Sougrière were on top. They would meet the winnner of the other semi, which was a local derby between Castries Central and Castries South.

That's what I call a Stadium Tour!

Eastwood Hanley FC (Defunct) their home ground at dusk in september 2005

A commonly occurring conversation is what you'd do with your life after winning the lottery or, by some other means, coming into a large amount of money. Most people seem to have definite ideas about what they'd do, whereas I only had vague answers predictably and somewhat blandly involving charity and lots of lazing about.
Since returning to the resting place of the now defunct Eastwood Hanley, I now have a definite plan: to resurrect this humble club back into the non-league pyramid. I spend many an idle moment formulating the revival - applying for grants to rebuild the stands and terraces, holding open days for prospective players - hiring semi-retired scouts with an encyclopaedic who's who knowledge of the North West Counties and Midland Alliance leagues.

The first (real) incarnation of Eastwood Hanley only lasted 32 years between 1965, when they entered the Mid Cheshire League, until 1997 in the North West Counties. Their best period was between 1987 and 1990 where they played in the Northern Premier(now Unibond). I have struggled to obtain information about them, aside from their league history from a non-league club database. My work colleague, a Port Vale fan, dimly remembers a pre-season friendly against them and reckons it was a regular fixture in July; similar to the current arrangement The Vale have with Newcastle Town. As they folded just before the internet boom I guess information on them will be scarce. I would love to hear from an old fan and would love to see pics of their ground while active. Please comment or email me if you have anything on them.
 I first visited Eastwood Hanley's ground about 10 years ago, just after their demise. They are situated in an area just south of Hanley called Joiners Square, their ground running next to the disused railway line that used to connect Stoke to Leek and parallel to the Leek Road. The area used to be known as Eastwood, hence the name. Eastwood pottery was a well-known factory in Lichfield Street until it was taken over by Bridgewater in 1958. However the factory site is still known as Eastwood Works.
 I lived in Joiners Square at the time and had heard vague rumours regarding this football team. I thought they were still in existence so one lazy Saturday afternoon I set out to try to find their ground. A newsagent, who I asked very furtively, almost apologetically, told me he thought they didn't exist anymore but pointed me over the road to their ground with the look of bemusement I'd come to expect from one of my obscure football questions.
I was a sad sight that awaited me over the road and behind the trees. As I walked over a grassy mound a burnt out stand opposite came into view and remnants of a terrace on the near side. It was clearly a newly vacated site though, as apart from a slightly overgrown pitch, the rest of the ground was fairly intact. I was so disappointed as it was only a 7/8 minute walk from my flat and would have made a perfect second team for me.
It was situated in a nice location up a lane off the main A-road that almost immediately became a country track in a densely wooded area. What a shame to have left such a tranquil sylvan setting. I wondered what had been the cause of their demise and how many people in the area were as sad as I was to see their home left to the elements and to slow decay.

It was last year (2005) when I got to thinking about them again; by pure luck, I came across an old programme of theirs in a bric-a-brac shop. It was from 1989, a  Northern Premier League fixture(Unibond now), the highest league they played in. It prompted me to go to revisit their ground.
I invited Tom along, although suspected a polite refusal, thinking that despite his own love of football and football related nostalgia, this might be too extreme even for him. Apparently not. He was all too willing to see how much evidence was left of Eastwood Hanley.
 Luckily for us this area of Stoke has long been a land that time forgot with the only notable passage of time being the fading of shop signs and the crumbling of brickwork.
 Luckily for me there was still quite a noticeable bit of their ground left, so I hadn't dragged Tom half way across the city to see a patch of grass. It was only in a marginally worse state than a decade before.

A middle section of terrace was still standing and in fine fettle. It felt good standing there, imagining it being a match day for an FA Cup third Qualifying round or something. Ghosts from yesteryear seemed to hang around this structure mourning for lost football and praying to be reawakened.
 

The behind-the-goal shed was still very much in evidence, the long bus-shelter type affair made from corrugated iron, with an extremelely narrow path running behind serving as the entrance.

The picture is not great as dusk was descending more rapidly than I anticipated, but I like the big factory buildings you can see in the background, which I think provide a fitting backdrop to a team who's name only really lives on in the pottery industry.

The other side had deteriorated the most since my last visit. I have vague recollections of a reasonably sized stand sitting there before, but now there is just a bare frame left of what was once there. Again, apologies for the quality of the photo.

Behind the other goal I suspect there was only a bar and single step path to begin with. There are certainly no remnants of anything bigger, and with a wall not far behind space was at a premium.

  With it being in one of the renewal areas now it probably won't be there for too much longer. See it while you can if you like your ghost grounds. I expect it will become a city-centre-living urban box type thing before long. It was standing in the middle of the pitch taking photos that I'd decided exactly what to do with a few million - resurrect this football team that had been left behind the main road and ignored for 10 years. Donations welcome!

Market Drayton FC vs Oadby Town FC (Midland Alliance)

From the Premiership to the Midland Alliance within the space of three weeks. A discount of eight divisions and £27 on the entrance fee. The Midland Alliance is the sort of league where chants of There's only four of you singing and There's no-one there, there's no-one there...are more likely to be just statements of fact rather than derisive taunts between fans.

Despite the eight league difference I was as excited about this game as I was Man City three weeks hence. I'd never done a Midland Alliance fixture before so engaged in a bit of research in the week. The Polymac Services Ltd Midland Football Alliance is at the fifth tier of non-league football (with the Conference being the first tier). Promotion would be to either the Southern League Midland division or the Northern First (Unibond). They have some of the most enchanting sounding team names that would seem more apt in a Charles Dickens novel than a league table: Boldmere St Michaels, Friar Lane & Epworth, Romulus, Quorn, Biddulph Victoria and today's visitors Oadby. Is Oadby willing?

I picked up Tom on the way, fellow non-league aficionado and grounds connoisseur, who's home town of Leamington were, coincidentally, a long way top of the Midland Alliance. We drove the 22 miles, much of which was among pleasing woodland with overhanging trees forming natural tunnels, down to the 8th century market town and spiritual home of gingerbread. It struck me as a pleasant, affluent little town that rarely wakes. As we entered its borders it opened a sleepy eye, viewed us with avuncular benevolence and went back to its slumbers.

Finding the ground is always tricky at this level - there are no floodlights looming majestically on the horizon anywhere, no throngs of people with replica shirts shuffling their way in the same direction. We had gone in and out of the town centre before Tom's keen vision spotted a couple of small pylons that could be floodlights. We headed in their direction through a new housing estate and down a one track lane to the ground. It was in a nice sylvan setting with the small car park betwixt the ground and a cricket pitch.

We entered Greenfields Park, no turnstile, just a man who told us it was £3 and handed out some free raffle tickets. We bought a programme each too. Greenfields is a tidy little ground. There is one stand (pictured above). I counted 108 seats, six seats up in two blocks of nine. They looked more like pews than your normal stadium seats. Maybe they had done a swap with the local church which now had lurid red flip-down bucket seats! Next to the stand was a portacabin from which they sold refreshments and club merchandise. Apart from this there was just the standard issue railing separating pitch and spectators, but it was gleaming with fresh paint.

Radio 5 live was playing loudly from the PA system which was an unexpected treat. We went round to the main area to buy coffee, and continued around the ground. The floodlights were appealing, cute even; small metal simple constructions with a protective wooden sheath round the bottom, a square hole had been cut into the wood through which we could see some switches!

Apart from the obvious, there were two things about this experience that were markedly different from a premiership game. First, the coffee was 3 times cheaper, just as nice if not nicer, and there was no queue. Secondly, as the game kicked off it occurred to Tom and I that we didn't know which team was playing in which colour. We remained ignorant for a further two minutes; I proposed the theory that Market Drayton had a blue sounding name. I was wrong. The programme revealed that Oadby were in the all blue retro Italian style kit and Market Drayton were in the red.

There looked to be around 100 fans in the ground, possibly more. We spotted someone who was undoubtedly 'one of us' and he meandered furtively round with his camera poised, eyes betraying a childish excitement. I was interested to know how many away fans there were from Oadby. With no fan segregational at this level the only way to tell was to see who celebrated when they scored or eavesdrop on conversations.

The idea of chanting between fans at this level amuses me. A friend went to watch Alsager Town vs Castleton Gabriels a few years back and claims there was one away fan, an old gent with a pipe who regularly shouted 'Play up the Gabs!' If he really was the only one he could've sung:

I thought you were shit - I was right! or Come and join me, come and join me, come and join me over here!

I think there were four definites from Oadby. I spied them as their team took the lead around the half hour mark. A good run down the right and a firm, accurate cross was met perfectly by their number nine who poked it into the back of the net. There was only one pocket of fans celebrating; the four of them positioned by the pristine wooden dug outs on the far side 'went off' like a dud-bomb. It got me wondering whether celebrations at this level of football were more muted on account of self-consciousness rather than lack of passion.

Oadby deserved their half-time lead. It hadn't been a pretty first half but they'd been a bit more slick and looked the more confident of the two teams. A lot of hoofing, thudding and misplaced passes made it fairly unmemorable. It was easy to drift off and admire the crisp autumn sky and stillness of the location.

The second half saw a much more resurgent Market Drayton who, while maybe not any more skilful, certainly looked more up for it. After hitting the bar once and a fierce drive deflecting on to a post on another attack, the equaliser finally arrived. The Oadby keeper could only parry a header to the awaiting number 7 who chested it down before banging it in the net from 6 yards.

The polite applause had barely died down when a long Oadby ball down the middle found the number 9 onside in a swathe of open space. He skilfully hooked the ball over the onrushing keeper and, with time to spare, stroked the ball in for 2-1. The Oadby faithful went off again. How I wished that they'd start singing with arms pointing at us, now stood behind the Oadby goal:

Will you come to Oadby Town! Will you come to Oadby Town! Who are ya? Who are ya?

Alas, they remained quite. The home fans started to find there voice, though, encouraging their team to search for the equaliser. After a few near misses a last ditch effort in injury time resulted in an almighty scramble, the ball headed back into the six yard box into a sea of legs and after some pinball the ball was kicked out by an Oadby defender but it only got as far as an oncoming red-socked shin and back into the net for 2-2. Tom and I joined in the celebrations, a deserved end to all their efforts.

There was only time for the restart before the ref blew for full time. The Oadby captain's scream

 of FUCKING BOLLOCKS soared out into the crisp Shropshire air as we all ambled out very happily from a most pleasing afternoon's entertainment.

Will the last person to leave the ground please turn the floodlights out!

  Manchester City 2 West Ham 0 (The Premiership)  23 Sep 2006

            In September my Dad came up for the weekend, and as is the norm these days, we took in a new football ground. It was his suggestion to do Man City. It was a new one for both of us and would complete my Manchester set of league grounds. I was thinking more along the lines of Stafford Rangers or Tamworth but The City of Manchester Stadium was fine, it looked a bit different from the usual boxes that are erected nowadays - it was designed by the same architects that did the Kirkless Stadium in Huddersfield and Bolton's Reebok, so I knew it was worth seeing.  My hunger to 'clean up' the non-league grounds of Staffordshire would have to remain unsatiated for today.

Tickets, please

Trying to buy a ticket for a Man City game turned out to be unimaginably complicated. By the Thursday of the week before the game, and after me and my Dad had both registered against our will with the Man City website, it went into Monty Python territory. We gave up, having been told (finally) that they sell tickets on match days at the ticket office at the ground and there would be some available.

My Dad and I got the train up from Stoke to Manchester Piccadilly. It was standing room only. It occurred to me on the train that this was going to be a bit of a nostalgia trip for my Dad as he studied French at Manchester University in the mid fifties and hadn't been back since. I guessed that maybe this was the reason he had chosen Man City for the venue today, even if it was only subconscious on his part.

My Dad was in Manchester in the Busby Babes era, he used to watch Mans Utd and City every week. He told me on the train about being at Maine Road for a local derby with 82,000 others. Apparently in those days Man City were extremely erratic and their matches often high-scoring. Man Utd were a bit more predictable. He lived on the edge off Rusholme and remembers the first Indian restaurant opening in the area which is now renowned for it. All these memories brought to mind a better era in football, and maybe in life too. Or did my Dad have a spare pair of rose tinted specs? Who knows?

Alighting©

We alighted at Piccadilly (when did trains patent the word alight?) and wandered out of the station. My dad looks around and recognises nothing from his student days. As I, too, look around it dawns on me that I remember little from coming here just 5 years ago! Manchester appears to be turning into London from what I can see. The relentless noise of buses, the background chatter of too many people, pneumatic drills and east european accents. It must be heaven if you own a scaffolding company. As we walk down from the station I was heartened to see that the Blood Donor centre was still there in all it's bland glory.

We lunched near a plaza-type area near the Bus Station before getting a bus to Ashton via Eastlands, situated in an area called Sports City, which was home to the Commonwealth Games. Sports City had a good atmosphere about it and I even liked the peculiar piece of sculpture entitled 'B of the Bang', a rusty looking spiky ball on a pole. We get to the ground which reminds me from a distance of the Mexican Hat ride you get on fairgrounds. Closer inspection reveals a very aesthetically pleasing piece of architecture, even reminding me a bit of Gaudi. If Gaudi designed football stadia then this would be the closest approximate of what you'd get.

I was particularly intrigued by the four walkways at each end of the ground which looked like walnut whips, spirals of smooth access to the middle and upper tiers of the ground. They teetered on the precipice of being eyesores but they just stayed the right side of it and actually worked. You can see three of them in the above picture, although I have to say the picture does not do them justice.

Oh, I wish I'd gone to Droylsden, yes I do

Having suffered the embarrassment of wasting time trying to give a premiership club money in the week, by means of buying a ticket, we had a contingency plan in case of any more needless red tape and bureaucrasy in the name of watching a bleeding football match - and that was to hotfoot it to nearby Droylsden for their Conference North game. I thik we both wished we'd chosen Droylden from the beginning anyway by this point

Well, we joined a queue for tickets on the day...then had to join another (of course) for tickets for non-something-or-other-members (jeez - they were pernickety bastards) and by 2.45 realised that it was probably too late for Droylsden but that we were really pissed off by now. The speed of the queue suggested that they were fingerprinting everyone, photocopying their passport and birth certificate and then running a check on previous convictions and any leanings toward extremist terrorist groups. I don't exaggerate - it was a ludicrous situation and made me angry, kind of sapping all the fun out of a fun day out.

As I neared the ticket booth I vowed that this would be my last dalliance with the Premiership. Within seconds though, Villa Park and Goodison Park had appeared in my mind looking indignant at my thought. If they were people rather than stadia they would be chastising me for my lack of faith, eschewing their Archibald Leitch stands just because of a bit of over-zealousness in the organisation of modern football. The thought made me smile. They were right. I couldn't miss out on the beauty of these grounds just because of what the premiership had done to football. I should rise above it - after all none of it was Archibald Leitch's fault.

Curves

The ground was nice, impressive even. It looked smaller than from the outside. It was difficult to imagine 48,000 in here. It was a much sexier stadium for having the curves and the disparity of three tiers on two sides and two on the others.

The match was OK. It wasn't great though, certainly not £30 worth of great, but the individual performance of Georgios Samaras was almost worth it in himself. He was outstanding from start to finish and certainly shined in a first half of extreme lack of self confidence from both sides. He scored both goals in a 2-0 win too. He was the only one I saw who was of an obviously better class than the usual dross I'm used to with Brighton.

The day was good and topped off by alighting (there's that word again) at Longport and walking to Burslem's finest alehouse for a couple of pints of Titanic and then on to the Elms for a curry. Man City's stadium is a beauty but the difficulty with which to watch them is a serious problem and probably explains their 8,000 shortfall on capacity at most home games to some extent.

I can't wait now for Market Drayton vs Oadby in the Midland Alliance - back to proper football and none of this sitting down nonsense!