Mind, Shields are no mugs. Full-time professionals, they even include a player (Conor Newton) who once scored the winner in a Scottish League Cup Final – in 2013, for St. Mirren. OK, a long time ago, but still. Up front today is Dylan Mottley-Henry, a former player with my team, Barnsley (Games: 1). At the age of 25, he’s hanging on to his ‘professional footballer’ status. Or is he still finding his level? I’m disappointed that Scunny don’t include former Reds legend Jacob Butterfield, a delightful midfielder capable of scoring from distance with his trusty left foot….well, at least until Dirty Leeds’ Michael Brown broke him with one of his typical challenges. It’s been a painful 11 years since, watching his career slide. Coulda been a contender.
I park up in the adjacent Simonside industrial estate and enter via a QR code on my phone, a novelty for a non-league team. Whatthehell does ‘QR’ stand for? I’ve no idea. The home turnstiles are in one corner, inbetween the new stand and a tiny covered terrace of a couple of steps. Through the latter, smartly attired on the back wall with Shields’ flags, I head towards the clubhouse. The best thing about non-league is the ability to drink alcohol within view of the pitch and the best thing about Sjhields is the sheer varierty of bevvies available. I plump for a Beavertown Neck Oil, down it on the terrace, but when I go back for another one, word has got out; this isn’t allowed today, it’s the FA Cup. Any more alcoholic beverages will have to be consumed within the clubhouse.
I then debate where to view the game. The paddock in front of the old main stand looks ideal. However, the roof support is right in my vision, so, despite seeing the mascot, Sandy (folk from South Shields are known as ‘sand dancers’), I retreat to the area in front of the main stand, by the pitchside fence. It’s from here Shields take the lead, early from a corner. The ball is clicked on to the backpost where Mottley-Henry (who else?) heads into an empty net.
Half-time and I use the movement of the crowd to head towards the far end, next to the Scunny fans. That way I’d be able to hear the ‘bantz’ between them and the vocal home support behind the goal. Alas, any banter is one-way, as the Scunny lot have the grizzled look of Vietnam war veterans. Perhaps they will wake up screaming in the middle of the night, PTSD from watching their side plummet from Championship in 2011 to getting beaten by Northern Premier League upstarts now. Come to think, I bet Butterfield played against them that season.
Scunny apply more pressure this second half, but never really look like scoring. I’m most amused / irritated by the booking of the home goalkeeper for timewasting on 65 minutes. The next time he gathers the ball, he holds it for 11 seconds. When will referees ‘grow a pair’, or, at the very least, uphold the laws of the game? Shields see the game out comfortably before I head to the toilet in time to see part of the (brand new) door frame fall off and hit an old bloke on the head. Thankfully, he’s alright, but I’ll take it as a metaphor for Scunthorpe’s present predicament.
The Damage:
£12 ent
£3 programme
£4.20 Beavertown Neck Oil (pint)
£2.20 Beavertown Neck Oil (half)
= £21.40
The Tunes:
BBC5 Live
BBC Radio Newcastle
Wet Leg (Wet Leg)
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