#64 New Meadow, Shrewsbury Town

Shrewsbury Town 4 Bristol Rovers 0
Tuesday 17th October 2017, League One

Ahh, the great British midweek night game. What better chance for fans across the length and breadth of these green and pleasant isles to make those long and difficult trips into obscure parts in search of those all-important Super Fan Points™. My best effort so far was Bury away on a Tuesday night but this is paled by Gasheads I know who partook in feats such as 2015's infamous Hartlepool away on a Tuesday night. No, I have no earthly clue why the fixture people hate us so much. Although tonight's trip was indeed a Tuesday night game, a mere 2 and a half hour trip into Shopshire wouldn't be too much skin off anyone's nose and as my mate Matt (Gone for a Burton) had been given rare licence to roam due to it being his birthday, we decided to venture out. Joining us in the Burtmobile would be Gas girl wonder, Briony. 

We made a split-second decision to take the country roads instead of the motorway which turned out to be a prudent move as roadworks continued to wreak havoc across the midlands. This caused the cars full of other groups we knew getting caught up and arriving late, though in hindsight they might have been the lucky ones. Shropshire continues to baffle me by virtue of there being as far as I can tell no one living there. At no point did this feeling come to a head more than when we passed a lovely looking country pub with approximately one house within a mile radius of it. So either it has a lot of drunk driving patrons or is someone's personal pub. Now that's fancy living. 

The most scenic of roadside pisses.

Upon arrival in the town, we were advised by two policemen to park in a nearby garden center and walk to the ground from there, paying £5 for the privilege. As such we didn't have any time to examine our surroundings or look for pubs but it did look from our brisk walk that New Meadow is another out-of-town modern ground with not a lot going on around it. I stand to be corrected if I ever go again. As we were drawing close to the stadium, Briony announced that she had been in telephonic cahoots with none other than club president Wael Al-Qudi who was apparently waiting for us outside the away end. What a dark horse! It's true that El Presidente is no stranger to slumming it with us mortals on match day but this is the first time Matt or I had encountered him. He was a very polite and talkative chap who put up with our wide array of stupid questions admirably well. Fair play. 

As we chatted and waited for kick-off, the customary Weetabix missiles began sailing past, shattering into powdery, fibrous lumps upon contact with the cold concrete. As I can sense the raised eyebrows of readers that don't follow the Gas or Salop, allow me to shed some light on this strange practice. The Weetabix Derby as it is commonly known for obvious reasons refers in the modern era to meetings between Shrewsbury Town and Bristol Rovers, stretching back to when they were in their previous ground Gay Meadow. The story goes that a group of fans had saved their money for a coach up to an away game at Shrewsbury and ended up having a ton of money left over. The bulk of this was spent in a local pub having an absolute rager of a drinking session but after becoming hungry, the group equipped one of their members with £75 to go and buy lunch from a local supermarket. This chap's alcohol-impaired judgement somehow allowed him, so the story goes, to return to the pub carrying £75 worth of the wheaty breakfast item in question. This bounty found it's way into the ground and was promptly fed to a small flog of birds congregated by the corner flag by our venerable gaggle of pissheads. This wholesome activity gradually deteriorated into a mass food fight which was apparently an awesome enough spectacle for everyone to want to recreate this every time the two teams played each other, including during the 2007 League Two play-off final. 

The scale of the event has led to the frankly hilarious act of police and stewards searching attendees en masse to try and prevent any of the grainy contraband from being misused in the stands. Thankfully, supporters have stepped up their ingenuity and although a full-scale brawl is out of the question these days, a few projectiles are a staple tradition of the season calendar. Here's my friend Matt smuggling a few boxes in last season: 

Longtime readers of this blog will know I don't like covering new-build grounds as a rule because I always end up sounding like a mean-spirited football Luddite. Try as I might I can think of absolutely nothing to write about New Meadow which is made up of four identical stands plonked by a car park in the Shropshire wilderness. The only slight quirk would have been the circular banks of temporary seating in the far corners but even these have since been removed. This leaves New Meadow feeling like a distinctly identikit stadium in the main with little of the traditional charm of their previous home Gay Meadow, which is now a very fetching housing development. One thing that will soon set apart the ground from the rest is that Shrewsbury are about to install the first section of safe-standing in an English football ground. It's an exciting push for something that's been hankered after in the English leagues for a long time and will be an excellent home for the small gaggle of Shrewsbury ultras located to our immediate right, with their flags and their loud, ironic chants of "we are staying up!" 

Saloultras

To save putting myself through the highlights of the match, I have decided to try a different, more modern approach to reporting. Please enjoy the following off-the-cuff "vlogged" report of the action on the pitch:

With that out of the way I would also like to discuss the New Meadow pie situation, if only to fill some space. After the third goal went in I'd decided I'd seen enough and dived in to get Matt and I some vittles. In the ground they sell Wrights pastries (Wrights is a Stoke-based version of Greggs, for the uninitiated) and I settled on a pair of steak and ale numbers which went down a treat and had a pleasingly rich gravy filling. If I had to criticise I'd have to say that the pastry was, if anything, too good. As I was eating the pie in my customary fashion, bare handed like a starving jackal, I quickly ran out of structurally integral crust as it crumbled away due to it's sheer flakiness. Now I love a flaky pastry but I must admit I wouldn't have appreciated having to make a return trip to the counter to get a fork had I not been witnessing the worst half of football I'd ever seen my team play. Some constructive criticism going forward for the good folks at Wrights there.

    

So a particularly bad night on the road for Rovers against a side that look like they might be able to do the business this season. Ultimately you need nights like this so you can be an insufferable prick about it years later in the pub. 

#63 Darby Way, Bishops Lydeard

Bishops Lydeard 2 Cheddar 3
Sunday 8th October 2017, Western League Division One

You know you're about to watch an obscure side when their FCHD page only goes back to 2003-04. You'll have to forgive that very nerdy point of reference but Bishops Lydeard, newcomers to the Western League, haven't had the most celebrated history. Since being established in 1912, the little club from just outside Taunton have spent their time in the Taunton & District League and the Somerset County League, progressing slowly but surely until finally grasping that all-important promotion in the Toolstation promised land last season. Sustainable growth is really the golden standard when you're a side like this. The village has a population of less than 3,000 but Darby Way is still a tidy facility with plenty of charm, most of which comes from the breathtaking view out from the clubhouse side.

This suitably epic landscape was a fitting way to end an equally epic weekend of football and I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Chris and everyone at the Grand Days Out Network for organising the groundhop and driving us, the clubs involved for changing their schedules just so a bunch of maniacs could watch seven games in three days, Simon for giving us a lift back on Saturday evening and Daz for being sterling company as always. I'd best get on with the report before the whole blog becomes too saccharine.

Knowing that they had the double appeal of being the final stop of the weekend and the ground most likely to be a new tick for some of the more hardcore attendees, Bishops Lydeard took the somewhat extravagant measure of laying out two massive cauldrons of sophisticated looking curry to bubble outside before kick-off. As nice as this smelled I went for a classic burger. I am not a sophisticated person. Before the match I again found myself perusing Terry's Badges, just in case he happened to have one featuring Cheddar's completely mental former logo. Sadly not. 

Naturally with the sides in question this afternoon sitting at 13th and 14th place in the table, we were all hoping for a classic to round the weekend off. It would take only eight minutes for the Cheesemen to get the wheel rolling as Robbi Maggs played in Chris Coombs who shot home at an angle from about 20 yards. Shortly after this we were distracted by a small excitable child next to Daz who had somehow become wedged in the chair. Distracted in that Daz was called in to help prevent the wayward infant from losing a leg in the folding contraption and in that I was finding the whole spectacle pretty hilarious. Another notable in the crowd was a Cheddar supporting chap who, in his self-appointed role of team psychologist, would bellow things like "It's fine! It's okay! It's one of those things! It's in the past!" for about 30 seconds after his team made a mistake. That kind of unconditional support and stoicism is very rare indeed in the west county. 

In the 28th minute a similar strike to the first goal was deftly kept out by Bishop's keeper Sam Carreau as he dived in the nick of time to make a one-handed save in the bottom corner. Minutes later Carreau was forced to rush out of goal to tackle Cheddar's Sam King, who was in a one-on-one situation that Carreau himself had created with a bit of dodgy distribution. However he compounded the problem when he went to ground with his tackle but failed to relieve his attacker of the ball in the process. His blushes were spared when the resultant shot sailed wide of the post, the Fuck-up Fairy having gotten bored of him and settled on King's shoulder instead.

Very much against the churn of the game so far, Bishops Lydeard clawed back an equaliser in the 39th minute as Charlie Wilson wriggled free on the left-wing and sent a cross into the box which James Quick smashed into the roof of goal from point plank range. This caused absolute disarray in the Cheddar ranks, evidenced by the fact that Quick's corner in the last minute of the half was missed by everyone in a yellow shirt and fell to Ben Hebditch to Caerphilly slot into goal to put his side ahead at the break. (I'm done now, sorry). After an opening 45 minutes full of decent chances for Cheddar, I imagined they'd be entering the changing rooms anticipating a grating from their manager. (ARRRGH).

Back out for the second half Sam Carreau continued to be an absolute Don between the sticks for Lydeard, making two vital saves for the home team right off the bat. One of which, if you believe Cheddar's website was "a save more akin to Gordon Banks of World Cup fame!" I wouldn't go that far but he was having a good game. All this pressure eventually led to Cheddar giving away a penalty as Nathan Best pushed Quick in the box but the lackluster strike pinged off the post and into Liam Kingston's grateful hands. This filled Daz and I with childlike excitement, as it was rapidly turning into a game that had everything. 

Tiptoeing back from the precipice of gifting their opponents the three points, Cheddar regroup and force a number of saves and even score an offside goal before finally getting their deserved equaliser via a delicious Adam Jones volley in the 63rd minute. A point each would have been about fair but positively foaming to make up for missed chances Cheddar continued to turn the screw and in the 74th minute pulled ahead through Ricky Bennett who fired a powerful shot from midfield that Carreau got a hand to but couldn't prevent from bobbling into goal. A heartbreaking blow for our hosts but not altogether unexpected as Cheddar continued pelting the side netting throughout the final minutes, even managing to miss another open goal! Truth be told if both teams had taken all their chances it could've been 10-3 to Cheddar but football rarely works like that and the Western League new boys can be proud of a robust performance against an established side going forward. For us though it was time to head back to Weston-Super-Mare and hope that Daz's car was still there.

#62 West Shepton Playing Fields, Shepton Mallet

Shepton Mallet 4 Brislington 1
Sunday 8th October 2017, Western League Premier Division

Today was never likely to be easy. After a long Saturday evening of footy where we saw some classic battles in the form of Odd Down vs. Bitton (2-2), Hengrove Athletic vs. Hallen (3-3), Tom & Daz vs. Pints (24-0) and Tom vs. Fridge Door (0-1), we were perhaps understandably tired and feeling a considerable amount of regret. The hop stops for no man however, so it was time to get in my car and pootle off to darkest Somerset for round three of the Western League marathon.

It was always going to be a struggle to get to the game on time but it didn't help that we'd read the wrong time off the website so once we arrived we'd missed the first half an hour and two goals, one being scored mere seconds before our entrance judging by the roar of the crowd as we walked up to the ground. Luckily Duke (who seems to turn up at every ground I go to these days) was on hand to clue us in. Dressed resplendently in khaki raincoat and cap, fresh from his morning hike up Glastonbury tor and looking somewhere between Swedish backpacker and Polish hooligan, he explained that the goals were nothing too special and as I can't find any match reports online that'll have to do.

The stands of the ground are greatly varied in terms of both age, size and shabbiness. When we got into the ground we immediately took up position in the standing section opposite the main stand, a modern curved cantilever roofed contraption that kind of reminded me of the weird, new-age motorway services they have in Gloucester. No really. It has two levels to watch from and some Blackthorn adverts running along the back, the latest attempt from the ailing company to win back the crown from Thatchers in this all-important constituency. The adjacent main stand is a big rickety corrugated iron beast with the same traditional wooden steps we saw yesterday at Radstock but this time with and black and white plastic chairs tacked on in an effort to move with the times. These chairs also featured in the noticeably squat team shelters, which Jack expressed a dislike to as in his own words: "You don't want separate chairs on your bench. Not at this level. That's Tory. You want a good socialist bench that everyone can share." Whatever that means.

Maggie's very own technical area.

A sign that Mallet had their gaze firmly on the stars was the small square of metal cut out at the back of the main stand ready for the inevitable day the TV cameras roll in. The stand extends back so far that the tree branches and fence behind combine to form a little tunnel that you have to pass through to get to the rest of the ground. The only other structure in the ground apart from the clubhouse is a squat little modern seated stand called "The Dean Gregort (Gregsy) Memorial Stand" [sic]. This sits to the side of the near goal and has room for about 30, plus 2 if you count the tiny stone bench right next to it. Spoilt for choice this lot.

West Shepton Playing Fields is another lush, conifer entombed arena rich in small west country town sleepiness and hearty, full-blooded (and often slightly unhinged) Western League football skirmishing. It might just be because I was feeling quite sensitive to noise that morning but the game did strike me as the most ill-tempered of the seven matches, with plenty of inter-team mate bickering and general effing and jeffing. This intensity extended even to the crowd, none more so than a lone gentleman stood in front of us, freshly purchased copy of Western League: the First 125 Years tucked under his arm who was keeping a forceful, mumbled commentary to himself, seemingly not supporting either team but encouraging violent play and admonishing any and all referee interference in typical old guy footy fan fashion.

Looking resplendent in their black and white quartered shirts it was the home side that were really dominating proceedings, in more ways than just their two goal advantage. The Mallet looked stronger, better organised and more up for it on the day, possibly due to the inflated attendance. Shortly into the second half Mallet added a third goal, as a player took the ball down the wing and round the back of the defenders to put in the cross. Unfortunately no one got on the end of this for the easy tap-in but it eventually did fall to Ash Willmott who lobbed it back into the box for James Billing to nod in to the bottom corner.

Brislington do finally pull back a consolation goal in hilarious fashion as an ambitious bicey fails utterly but the resultant stray ball is tucked away but another forward, who might have just preferred a simple pass, was facing in the correct direction. Mallet reassert their dominance very quickly through a lofted through-ball on the break which Billing raced forward with until it was one-on-one. Full of confidence, the forward stuck it into the top of the net from 18 yards to complete his hat-trick.

Of the three new grounds on this trip I'd have to say West Shipton Playing Fields was my favourite. A nice easy-to-follow one-sided game in the sun was a great way to blow off the cobwebs of the morning and get warmed up for what would be the most thrilling game of the seven later on that afternoon.

#61 Southfields Recreation Ground, Radstock Town

Radstock Town 1 Oldland Abbotonians 0
Saturday 8th September 2017, Western League First Division

[Disclaimer: Due to the sheer amount of football and beer Daz and myself consumed over the last 72 hours, I have a lot of posts to write and a lot of the finer details of the actual matches have sort of merged into one. As a result expect the following three posts to be shorter and crapper than you're used to.]

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It's that time again ladies and gentlemen. After some very memorable trips together, including a weekend in the west midlands, the Ireland, Northern Ireland, England and Wales (kind of) extravaganza and last year's Bristol and Clevedon bank holiday bash among others, it was time for my friend and rival Daz Knapton and I to hit the road once more. This jaunt was to be our most voluminous yet as we would be joining the Grand Days Out Network's Western League groundhop and attending seven games in just three days. We'd be visiting a fair amount of old favorites as well as three new grounds for myself and five for Daz. As a warm-up on the Friday I returned to Ashton and Backwell to watch the Stags overcome Bishop Sutton 2-1, you can read Daz's report of that here. The next morning we got up bright and early and headed to Weston to grab the coach. While we were waiting we encountered one of Weston's many and varied drunken eccentrics, a chap named Wayne who had wandered into the hotel from the street and proceeded to spend five minutes forcing us to guess his name via the medium of charades. A hearty sigh of relief was sighed by both of us when we didn't get on the bus.

The second match of the trip was another familiar ground in the form of Welton Rovers, where the boys in green won a 3-1 victory over Keynsham Town in their bid to re-enter the Western League Premier. A quick minibus jaunt later and we were in the home of Welton's arch-rivals Radstock Town the Southfields Recreation Ground.

When we arrived the clubhouse was already a hive of groundhopping furor, with badge and programme swapping galore and reams of peculiar old gentlemen crowding the doorways to meticulously note down the line-ups. After grabbing a pint and a new Rovers badge off the venerable Terry's Badges, I meandered out into the bright autumn afternoon. Radstock, like their Coalfield Classico counterparts have been in the Western League since time immemorial but Welton get bragging rights for not falling into the Somerset County League for a decade like Radstock did in the 90s. However neither team have ventured any higher than the Western Premier in 130 years. Welton groundshared with Radstock for one season in 1961 while West Clewes was having it's pitch leveled. 

Without diving into some very dusty, specialist Western League tomes I couldn't tell you how long The Miners have been at their current digs but by the look of the grand old wooden stand that makes up the only covered viewing area in the ground, I'd wager it's a pretty long time. The stand is made up of six large wooden steps that you can sit or stand on, enclosed by brick sides and a corrugated iron roof. The whole thing is held up by mighty metal girders painted bright red, the club colour. If old pictures are anything to go by then the stand has had a bit of an update in the last decade to make it less ramshackle but is still a lovely traditional centrepiece. I say centrepiece but the stand is really all there is to the ground, aside from a tiny bit of shelter overhanging the clubhouse exterior.

The ground was a picture of autumnal beauty in the early afternoon sun. The leaves that covered vast swathes of the pitch probably weren't conducive to a slick-passing playing surface but they certainly looked sweet. I was starting to get too pissed to care about the quality of football anyway. Much to the chagrin of our coach-mate Willie, who would tut patriarchally every time he clocked Daz and I staggering about with a fresh pint. In fairness to the chap I did manage to make a twat of myself early doors by sitting on the white wall by the pitch to get a side-on picture of the action, not realising it had been painted for the occasion and spending the rest of the day with an even whiter than usual arse. I'd like to give a shout out to the facilitator of this drunken horseplay, the lady on the bar who was working it on her 40th birthday. A true legend of the non-league.

Other than that, the only other recountable feature of the ground is the fact that if you want to stand behind the far goal, you have to in fact leave the ground and go behind the chain-link fence of the neighboring park. I discovered this when I struck up a conversation with a chap in a Rovers jacket from about 20 feet who I initially thought was just getting a sneaky free show. We mutually expressed doubt that Rovers' international duty back-up defenders would stand much chance away at Northampton that day. Jokes on us though because they won 6-0.

The main reason for this chat was probably the fact that the game unfolding before us wasn't exactly a classic. In fact the single goal of the 90 was an admittedly impressive own goal from Oldland, the result of an outfield player responding to a ball bouncing slowly into the 6 yard box by rushing back and panickedly lobbing it into the roof of his own net. Other than that the only other action was a Radstock player getting absolutely munched right in front of us in the second half with a turf-ruining slide tackle.

With nothing much else to say on this one, I'm going to dive right into the tomfoolery. During the first half, a lady came round with a bucket and asked Daz to draw the raffle. This was awkward as even with the much-inflated attendance of 213, it seemed a distinct possibility that he was going to draw himself and be forced to sheepishly carry a prize four pack of Thatchers back to his seat past the accusing eyes of everyone in the ground. Fortunately, he pulled out the ticket of the bloke sat directly behind us so instead we were momentarily very popular. Also the ref had bleached blond hair like he was in a 00's nu-metal band.

All-in-all another good addition to the old Western League tally and the mere tip of the iceberg for this long weekend of Somerset silliness.

Because there is always a playground at a Western League ground.