Newton Aycliffe 4-0 West Allotment Celtic, Northern League Division 1, SecuriCore Stadium (Moore Lane), att. 339I have been neglecting the Northern League this season. Other football. Partner. Life. The usual. I am also running out of time here in the north-east, as my partner and I have had a bid accepted on a house in the Yorkshire Pennines, which should be nice. It seems a bit unfair to force the other half, albeit through circumstance, to live in my hometown which even I don’t like.
Tonite I’ve a choice: it’s Gateshead v Yeovil in the National League, a crucial relegation clash. And, despite the athletics track, I really like going to Gateshead. Easy drive, easy parking, easy in, sit where you like, steep rake in the stand, decent atmosphere. Or Tow Law in the Northern League, perhaps my favourite Northern League ground, with its hotchpotch of stands and other buildings, chiselled high up in the Durham Pennines. But, no. With 4 games or so left, I elect for local side Newton Aycliffe, on the verge of winning the Northern League for the first time in their history. I can’t NOT go and watch the champions-elect.
As I said, Aycliffe have 4 games left to win it. Under the leadership of former Sunderland midfielder Brian Atkinson, they’re 6 points ahead of Ashington, who themselves have 2 games in hand. However, the leaders have a far superior goal difference, helped in part by their latest victory, 9-0 at home to hapless Sunderland RCA. The title, therefore, is theirs to lose. This evening’s game against 5th placed West Allotment Celtic appears to be their toughest fixture. Mind, it’s also their last at home.
Both sides are in a remarkable run of form. West have 8 wins and a draw from 9, Aycliffe 12 wins and only one defeat in 14. It promised to be a cracking match, and it proved to be so. Both sides went at each other and in an even first half, the hosts went in ahead courtesy of an early goal from Liam Jarvie, getting on the end of a piercing throughball. With a spot adjacent to the dugout, I was enjoying the away bench appeal for anything and everything, but I did have sympathy as the tubby right back got carted off after a reckless challenge right in front of me. Not even a free kick. Acknowledgement of how poor this ref is was confirmed when the bench informed us it was the same ref who’d denied them a penalty at Pickering when the defender saved it on the line. C’est la vie.
The right back, meantime, was being goaded by a couple of elders about how soft he was for ‘going off again injured.’ Turned out to be mum and dad. Second half, as I stood behind the goal, mum comes over and accuses a (big) young lad of about 18 of hitting her younger son. Fair play to the other spectators for diffusing the situation, though it did finish with suggestions to call the police if she really thought her lad had told his story accurately.
With a well-above average crowd of 339, there was a general hubbub around the ground for a change. The yoof were in the seats…maybe driving everyone else out?...singing to themselves. ‘Shoes in the air if you love Aycliffe’ was a song I never expected to hear in my life. (If you’ve ever been to Newton Aycliffe, you’d know why. Even ‘new towns’ have seen better days here in the north-east.)
The Newton Aycliffe Sports Club, is, however, a rare beacon. Big social club, numerous playing fields, and a football ground smartly enclosed by wooden fencing. There are 2 stands, both on the right touchline as you enter, small modern affairs of the type unloaded off the back of a lorry. One standing, one seating. Behind the goal are the changing rooms, a refreshment kiosk, and a grassy space for the kids to have a kickabout on (and fall out, by the sounds of it). There’s hard standing around the rest of the ground, all very tidy.
The second half is an Eddie Thomas masterclass, the Aycliffe forward hitting a hattrick of impeccable quality. The first, a half volley across the keeper as he ran away from goal was itself worthy of winning the league. The other two are proper ‘sniffer’s goals’, as they’re fired in from close range during scrambles. Surely the title is imminent?
The Damage:
£7 ent
= £7
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