Stalybridge Celtic 2-6 Bury, Thursday 1st January 2026

Stalybridge Celtic 2-6 Bury, Northern Premier League West, Bower Fold, att. 2,114

It’s New Year’s Day. Do I go and see my own team at Wigan, on my lonesome cos nobody else wants to go, or jump on a train 3 stops and see a local non-league derby with my mate Kev? Well, my own team have been pretty poor of late, but Wigan’s stadium (whatever it’s called this week) isn’t my favourite. Empty, devoid of atmosphere, a long walk from town. And I’ve been waiting for my chance to visit Stalybridge, by train, so the ales can flow. Plus it’s Big Team Bury. Bound to be lively.

I get off at the station and meet Kev. Did I imagine the first 5 or 6 buildings outside the station being pubs? Some are not even closed down, and a couple are even open now. So we start off with a crap lager in some downtrodden place I forget the name of. Even the Guinness is off, it’s that downtrodden. (Not a problem for me, it’s undrinkable.)

The two places we most fancied a drink in haven’t opened today, which is their loss. So we call in at the Wetherspoons to find it full of Bury. No seats for the middle aged (us) so we go outside in Winter. But Kev does spot that Wetherspoons now have a Top Trumps on sale (proceeds to charidee). They’ve sold out, but he’s on the case next day at his local ‘spoons. Good man.

Bower Fold is quite a walk from the station, but there’s another couple of pubs on the way up, but we save them for later. We’ve a social club to put some money behind the bar thereof. I’ve got digital match tickets (home end) as I was given the impression tickets had to be bought by midday. Thus, I’m disappointed to find I could have had a paper version in my grubby paws had I bought at the ground. Nevermind. Programme bought, we’re in. Where’s the social club?

We entered at one corner. A large terrace (the ground holds 6,500...’allegedly’ as the joke goes) is on our right, and the social club on our left. The queues are crazy. Despite arriving early, I’m sure the teams must be out by now. I leave Kev in the queue – hey, it’s his round – and step outside. The game has already kicked off and Bury have a free kick on the edge of the box at the far end, in front of their own support. Straight over the wall and into the net, the first touch I’ve seen. Several minutes pass before Kev makes his entrance. Much appreciated.

We head to the terrace, but there’s some yoof with a drum. Let’s not stand there. We perch on the edge of the terrace, our beers perched on the crush barriers. (Out of interest, when is a crush barrier not a crush barrier?) Bury run riot and, despite the two sides being in a play-off battle, go four up after 21 minutes. This is harsh on Celtic, who miss chances of their own. Half-time is 0-4 and could easily be 3-4.

We let the half time rush die down, then go get a another beer before returning to the stand opposite the social club. Being a further walk, it’s less populated than the Main Stand adjacent to the social club, but probably a better view, as the front portion is already high up off the ground. How many will Bury score this half?

The answer is ‘only two’, with a pair for Celtic too. Actually, why are Celtic playing in BLUE? I thought they played in green and white hoops? Isn’t that the POINT? (Later, I see an older home fan with a green and white scarf.) But the stands are painted blue, so maybe they’ve had those colours for a while. It’s been an entertaining game and the Bury fans are certainly happy with today in a packed away end. The Celtic programme congratulates themselves being more than half the 2,000+ crowd at neighbours Mossley on Boxing Day (nil nil) but today the boot is on the other foot.

The drinking isn’t over though. We call in at the second pub on the left and end up chatting to a Celtic sponsor. He’s carrying a small pile of programmes (to hand out willy-nilly) and he kindly gives me one. What had I done with mine? Musta lost it somewhere. I definitely bought one. Then another beer near the station...that was a nice pub too. So nice I cut it too fine with my train and got to the platform as it shut its doors. I rang Kev. ‘You’ve missed your train haven’t you?’ ‘Fancy another pint?’

Happy New Year!

The Damage
£12 ent
£2.50 prog
£4.60 beer x 2
£11.70 train
= £35.40

Clitheroe 3-3 Sporting Khalsa, Tuesday 28th October 2025

Clitheroe 3-3 Sporting Khalsa, Northern Premier League West, The Loom Loft Stadium (Shawbridge), att. 44

I’m on my lonesome tonite. Kev’s being treated on his birthday (surely an evening in Clitheroe would’ve been better) while Moll is feeling under the weather. Thus, I plump for a ground that neither might have chosen. Clitheroe. Somewhere up there in Lancashire. (I admit, I had to look it up). Drive up a road that bisects those loving neighbours Blackburn and Burnley and it’s there, after several signposts to Accrington. Indeed, Stanley are at home tonite. Is this why Clitheroe posted a season-low crowd of 442?

The satnav was on for this one and it found the ground right enough. The only problem was it was about 100 metres away and I was stuck in some new estate bedeviled with cul-de-sacs. I couldn’t even just park up and cut through a ginnel/snicket/alleyway, as there were none. Admitting defeat, I put the name of a street the other side of the ground into the satnav. Even getting out of the estate was a mission.

I found a car park. Why would Clitheroe need a car park? It was free after 6, and it was after 6. I was halfway to the ground when I thought I’d better check my wallet. A fiver. Here we go, back to the car for change, but luckily there was a cash machine at the Tesco over the road. (As it was, the turnstile took cards, as did the social club.)

Up a cobbled street, of course, towards the ground’s entrance. Once inside, programmes were available (woo hoo!) and then a little walk around to the halfway line as the teams were due out. Tonite’s visitors were Sporting Khalsa and this was their longest journey of the season, unsurprising really, since they’d come all the way from Walsall. This is their first season in the Northern Premier West, laterally moved from the Midland division, their more natural home, and probably where they’ll be back to if the right teams get promoted/relegated. Both sides began in the bottom half of the league.

The teams out, I popped to the social club behind the goal for a beer. Despite its size, and toilets, ambitious plans are afoot to knock it down and replace it with something which includes a ‘second floor viewing gallery’. Can’t wait! An adjacent covered outdoor area also had a small bar, as well as picnic tables. More picnic tables were to be found at the opposite end of the Topside terrace. Be nice when the sun’s out.

This terrace contains most of the ground’s capacity, a frugal 2,500. The 4 steps have cover most of the way along the touchline, save for a gap in the middle. One thing I did like was the odd beer barrel intermittently placed on the terrace, handy for putting your pint on. And my Bavarian Pilsner was so nice I was tempted to have a second, but I resisted the temptation. Driving. As for ‘Topside Terrace’, the pitch has one hell of a slope on it, from one side to the other. So much so that in the gents’ toilets a ‘UAV Mapping and Topographical Survey’ showed the heights above sea level of each corner. It ignored the hump in the pitch where each goal was. I’d wager the crossbar is lower in the middle of each goal.

The far end also had small cover over the central bit, as well as a couple of steps of terracing. A couple of stewards and the youth were the only occupiers, though the latter didn’t have a drum like everyone else and just kept themselves to themselves. Indeed, what chants there were came from a few middle aged blokes near the halfway line. Clitheroe ‘is full of tits, fanny and castle’. I didn’t know it had a castle. Must come back sometime.

Opposite sat the main stand, which occupied one half of the side of the pitch rather than be sat on the halfway line. 260 seats and high enough up that they probably had a decent view. Further along was a smaller social club, the 1877 Suite, or somesuch, named after the year Clitheroe first had a football team (but not this one). The programme had an excellent piece on both sides’ histories, and I was bemused to see them claim 1877 as Clitheroe FC’s founding date, when the programme then admits it was no such thing. Odd types, these Lancastrians. A small viewing gallery offered the best view of this, or any match. No wonder they want more of it in the new social club.

Finally, the Bar Side, behind the goal, where you enter via the turnstiles. Half a dozen seats in one corner, and a couple of steps of terracing. Cosy. A scoreboard in the corner completes the scene. A side in the 8th tier of English football with a better scoreboard than my beloved Barnsley. Good on ‘em. Cracking little stadium too.

The match was marvellous. Clitheroe were on top first half and went 2 goals ahead. Despite looking comfortable, they then conceded a goal just after the half hour, then an equaliser on the stroke of half-time as the keeper went wandering. Second half, much more even, Sporting scored a super 3rd, as the right back cut inside from the left to drill home from 25 yards before leggin it to the half dozen Khalsa fans on the Topside. However, with time running out, Clitheroe pressure paid off as their right winger whipped in a cross which eluded everyone and landed in the far corner. The least the home side deserved. A cracker.

The Damage
£11 ent
£2.50 prog
£5 ABK Bavarian Pilsner
=£18.50

Mossley 1-0 Hednesford Town, Tuesday 10th September 2024

Mossley 1-0 Hednesford Town, Northern Premier League West, Seel Park, att. 312

I’ve been looking forward to visiting Seel Park. Mossley is about 15 minutes away by train and, having been through it, looks to have a pub or 3. So obviously I drive there. How am I going to save the world if I insist on getting the car out? Door to door with the car (I parked 50 yards from the ground) or a 10 minute walk to my local station? Besides, driving the car is free, right, since it’s taxed and the petrol tank is full.

Kev is meeting me there. It’s walking distance from his house (so he got a bus). ‘Didn’t wanna be late’. Good man. We have a pre-match snifter in The Fleece. Beer choice not great but there were plenty in and the atmosphere was convivial. Ideal for Seel Park, 5 minutes away. While relieving myself, I was asked if I was off to the football. ‘Certainly am. You?’ ‘No.’

The entrance to Seel Park is pretty grand, especially the gates. ‘The cream of the Pennines’ it declares, and who am I to argue? The hills rise up beyond the far side and gives one something to marvel at beyond where the hell is Hednesford, tonite’s visitors. (I’ve since googled it; that and Cannock appear to merge together. I can’t believe it’s so close to Lichfield, where my in-laws live. I’ve never seen a sign for Hednesford. Cannock, however...)

Having got a drink from the large social club (‘capacity 120’ the programme tells me) we step out onto the terrace outside and appear surrounded by Brummie voices. It’s the away contingent, and one follower of the Pitmen collars us. I know he’s a fan of theirs cos he has a helmet on with ‘The Pitmen’ scrawled upon it. Nice touch. He knows we think they’re buying their way to promotion and expects Mossley to kick them all over the park ‘like they did last year’. Kev is quick to defend our position as neutrals, as fervent as Peter denying Jesus (have I got the right Biblical story there?) I was quite happy to be mistaken for a Mossley diehard. There’s worse things in life to be. And I don’t know about buying their way up, but it seems only yesterday Hednesford was a Conference side and in the FA Cup 4th round. ‘Yesterday’ turns out to be the late 1990s.

We’re on a decent sized terrace. In fact, Seel Park has a quite a few steps of terrace everywhere and could easily hold 6,000+, though official capacity is 4,500, with 200 seats. We’re in the open, but to our right is a covered terrace 10 steps or more high. Opposite is another covered terrace, slightly smaller and maybe half the length of the pitch, straddling the halfway line. Attendance here is sparse, as most home fans settle on this side, including the stand, high up behind a paddock. The far end is open, but is also a decent sized terrace. Everything here is a ‘decent size’. I bemoan (bewonder?) to Kev how a side like Mossley have a better ground than his (former league) side Darlo. He knows.

Another thing Mossley have in their credit is one of the most undulating playing surfaces I’ve seen in a long time. It’s all over the place. Up a bit here, down a lot there. Never change it. And at least it’s grass. And it didn’t stop the only goal of the game, a quite frankly absolutely brilliant half volleyed screamer into the top(ish) corner from 20 odd yards. Even better, we were right behind it. The kind of goal even opposition supporters would applaud, though none did. 37 minutes was the golden goal. Kev had 90, sold to him by the smartest looking steward I’ve ever seen. Fair play to the Mossley chairman for getting his hands dirty and mucking in, encouraging people to buy a programme or a golden goal ticket. I liked the cut of his jib.

At the opposite end of the enthusiasm spectrum was the match announcer. What a barrel of laughs he must be. He puts the ‘dead’ in ‘deadpan’, though until tonite, I’d never known I needed to know the half-time Clitheroe score. Now I’m not sure I can cope with going to a game and not being given it.

It’s end to end, with both sides missing chances, balls cleared off the line, saves by the keepers. We wonder how it remains at one-nil, but it does. Oh, and the train home? Next one after full-time was 22:15. I was home by then. Vroom vroom!

The Damage:
£10 ent
£3 prog
= £13