St Ninians v Kings Park Baptist
St Roch's v Port Glasgow
Glasgow Perthshire v Shotts Bon Accord
Ashfield v Vale of Leven
In a couple of weeks time I embark on a cranking and football tour of Western Syria as the most interesting trains are the ones heading off to war zones, and . However, the Home Office seem to indicate that my life will be in mortal danger so I've decided to do a few of the 'things to do before you die'. Probably not on a lot of people have on their list, is to visit the Glasgow Museum of Transport and also complete the list of Speedway tracks where you can watch football. But this is what I want to take to the grave so it was the 0636 Blackpool off Sowerby.
Scenes I'll miss when I'm gone; daybreak over the Accrington branch of Farm Foods.
It was into Preston.
And over to an awaiting TransPennine Express for Glasgow. With the new Orsal Curve going through commissioning, the line was blocked at Manchester, so it had started from here today. However, the almost empty pleasure was soon shattered when the proceeding Virgin was cancelled as the crew to form it had been involved in a fatality on their way down from Scotland, so the passengers off the cancelled service all decamped onto ours.
A slightly more cherished site than the discount food stores of Pendle, is the morning sun illuminating the Lune Gorge.
Not very well spaced out signs on the UK rail network - number 1 in a series of inevitably quite a few; Oxenholme.
Into Glasgow some time down as we followed an empty stock from Carlisle. I assumed this would be the fatality set returning to depot, and sure enough, when it was looped for us at Lockerbie, there was a very human sized hole in the front of it.
More mapping shenanigans and this was my plan for today's games and moves across the city.
I was across the station to the suburban platforms, and a pair of 156s on an East Kilbride service.
I've now passed the year mark of being off the beer, with the sobriety now moving to a full callender year, then a full age year. As my birthday coincides with valentines day, that is the day I will be back on it. I cannot wait to trash a myriad of romantic meals in the Calder Valley as I try and recover lost drinking time on the very first day back on it. Anyway, one of the other reasons for heading north was to stock up on Irn-Bru xtra, which is basically the normal stuff but with chemical sweetners, in order to avoid the sugar tax. I find it nicer than the full fat stuff, and certainly better to diet Irn-Bru, and it is also a lot cheaper.
Stupid named stations, this one I always think is up there with Hall-i-th-Wood, and Besses o'th' Barn.
I was off at the next shack, Pollokshaw West.
My starting game was a morning kick off in the Strathclyde Evangelical Churches league. This normally means scruffy playing fields in a Glaswegian suburb, but instead, today the address was a mysterious Lochinch police club in Pollok Country Park.
There are various playing field in the park, and the ones that were indicated on the address of the ground indicated that it was these ones, which were spied through some woodland.
Except they were empty, apart from a lot of tape.
A hell of a lot of tape.
Seriously, these are more Turner Prize entrants than they are sporting apparatus.
So it was onto my next possibility, down a leafy lane.
Not your average Glasgow suburb.
A quick chat with this feller, with his Donald Trump hair style.
And a cut through some pretty impenetrable woodland.
Where a huge cow shit signified my arrival at the correct destination.
St Ninian's 4 v Kings Park Baptist 1, Strathclyde Evangelical Churches Football League, Athol Cup - Div. 1 Group A
St Ninians is an episcopal church in nearby Pollokshields. They state their aim is 'to explore and understand a little of God’s timelessness'. There isn't too much information about their football team, other than mysteriously 'New name for Sherwood Greenlaw as of 2008-09 season'. Sherwood Greenlaw are another church in the area, so maybe the club are the MK Dons of the Evangelical footballing scene?
Kings Park Baptist is, well, a baptist church in Kings Park, which is in Croftfoot in south east Glasgow. They state their aim 'is to show this community the living Jesus in words and deeds'. I'm writing this on the 1937 from Preston to Sowerby, which is rammed full of Burnley fans returning from Anfield. The bloke in the seat next to me has noticed I keep googling evangelical churches and is looking very uneasy, so I'll keep this short, just to say that they were formed in 1988. He now looks slightly more comfortable that I'm googling the track gauge of the Glasgow underground trains, but you have that delight to come.
The ground is a typical 3G pitch, except that it is slap bang in the middle of a country park, rather than where most of them are found, stuck out the back of a secondary school on Ofsted special measures.
The changing rooms have a viewing lounge on top and also offer some shelter as well as a terrace.
The only other structure being this particularly ramshackle TV gantry.
What requirement there is to televise games in the Strathclyde Evangelical Churches league, I'm not too sure, but I still wouldn't envy the person who is up there in a strong wind.
The groundsman's clutter was of Champion's league standards. I would like to think that this is how he travels to work.
The selection of medieval torture equipment was astonishing.
Including one that appeared to be rail based.
Even when I went for a piss, I found a selection of gas canister and a smashed turkey platter. World-class.
So to the football.
Dugouts re-created the Clough/Taylor European Cup Final vibe being open touchline benches.
I arrived with the home side 2-1 up, and they added a third.
The perils of 3G pitches mean that you have to watch the game through a myriad of kids goals.
Even behind the goal there were rugby posts to contend with, which isn't a game I'd fancy playing on 3G.
From previous musings on here, I find that Saturday morning leagues to be of a decent and ever improving standard, as it is a lot more convenient time for a lot of players. The game mirrored this, certainly being a lot better than the equivalent Sunday morning offering.
St Ninian's ended the game with a fourth.
And so a pleasant start to the days sporting offering finished 4-1.
With the game over it was out of the park and to a more mundane dual carriage way for a bus move.
Which sped me to the exotic Girvan transport Interchange.
A quick drop down stairs took me to the Glasgow Subway. This underground system is just one circle around the city, and it caters for obese dwarves as the trains themselves are absolutely tiny, running on four foot gauge track and with carriages about two thirds the size of normal trains.
However, it served my purpose of getting me to the north of the river, as I hopped off after one stop at Partick.
From there it was a walk to my next calling point, the Riverside Museum.
This houses the Glasgow Museum of Transport and I hadn't visited since it relocated to the new site. So it meant trams.
And kettles.
A police car from Taggart.
And rather strangely, an Escort XR3i.
Or more importantly, how to spot a ringer.
However, there was some sort of special kids event going on which meant the whole place was overrun by fat munchkins. If you've ever wondered what the stereotypical Scottish infant Diet of deep-fried tartrazine effects their behaviour, well, it makes them stand gormlessly and constantly get in the way of people at transport museums. My patience was tested so I had a look at the fire engines.
Contemplated buying an Irn-Bru onesie at the gift shop.
But instead headed off back the interchange.
Which rather unusually had a massive mural depicting ladies Field sports. I looked closely for someone in a balaclava wielding a semi-automatic weapon and expressing a firm sentiment about Bobby Sands but no, it appears power sharing by the DUP has replaced para-military depictions with netball.
It was onto an Edinburgh bound service.
Which was taken a couple of stops to Queen Street Low Level.
Where it was outside for some more bus action.
I'd secured TDFS* position, so was able to get a prime view of the plethora of coaches loading up to take the occupants to Parkhead.
*Top Deck Front Seat
TDFS also gave me an early view of my next adventure.
So it was off the bus.
Where apparently, it was 'game on'.
Of course I partook.
St Roch's 2 v Port Glasgow 1, West of Scotland League Central District - Division 1
St Roch's were formed in 1920s in the Garngrad area of Glasgow. This had a large Irish imigrant population so has a staunch Celtic support and with St Roch's green kit it is apparent to which side of the old firm they are allied to. They had immediate success, winning the Scottish Junior cup in the second year of their existence. They then settled into life in the junior leagues, firstly a number of Glasgow titles in the 1920s, and then more limited success in the Central divisions.
Port Glasgow is situated on the south bank of the Clyde, further down stream than the city. It grew up as it was the furthest point a lot of larger ships could navigate up the fairly shallow river. It's not the nicest of places but benefits from being located next to Greenock, so looks like Beverley Hills in comparison, though to be fair, so does Aleppo. The football club were formed in 1948 after various predecessor junior clubs in the town had folded. They joined the Central section of the Junior leagues and have had a fairly unremarkable time since. They did play at Woodhall Park, but were evicted by the council in 2002 but have finally got a ground again with the Parklea stadium that I visited in January in a Churches league game.
St Enoch's moved from Millburn Park in 1935. Originally named Provanmill Park, in 2013 it was renamed James McGrory Park after the club's most famous player, who moved on to Celtic where and scored a whopping 550 goals, the British record.
I am slightly dubious of the claimed capacity on the wikipedia entry.
Cover is limited to a lean to behind the goal, which was similar to Lochee Harps, minus the rain forest that surrounds theirs.
The far touchline appears to be going through some sort of reconstruction, the previous terracing having been replaced with a Ground Force-esque series of concrete paths and astroturf. I spent some time trying to work out what purpose the middle path serves, and why they didn't just extend the lower one to the end to connect with the others. It is quirks like this that make Junior grounds what they are. The English ground grading solution would have been to flatten the whole side and stick a tiny Atcost cover somewhere on it.
The far end had been given over to nature and there were token efforts to barrier it off.
The TV gantry sat at the top of the embankment, who's accompanying vegetation gave it the appearance of a springwatch filming location.
There were sprinkles of partisan ultra stickering around the place.
At least it fits in with the locality, on my daily commute from work, I am bewildered that Dynamo Zagreb ultras have chosen a stickering blitz on Rochdale station, a rivalry I have obviously missed. Anyway, some of these are probably of heinous and inflammatory bigotry, but I don't understand religion at all, so I'll claim complete ignorance for whatever offence they cause.
Junior football grounds are often huge relics to past glories. The fans are usually grouped together leaving swathes of emptiness, occupied by some of the loneliest spirits in mankind.
I may set up a Twitter account, @melancholysoulsatjuniorfootball
However, these are the more usual occupants, hardened supporters armed with a row of Tennant's to liven up proceedings. Football as it should be.
There was no PA around the ground, instead a mobile DJ was located outside the social system with speakers of the size and output that would shame a Notting Hill sound system. He belted an absolutely fantastic medley of pre-match 1970s/80s tunes; Pogues, Blue Oyster Cult. I'd never considered The Ramones - Baby I Love You, to be a crowd friendly tune, but played at a volume to rival a jumbo jet taking off, and most of the crowd 1.5 cans of Tennants down, there wasn't a foot that wasn't tapping away. The players enter into proceedings with forty blokes mumbling "Have I ever told you, How good it feels to hold you....".
Proceedings got underway.
The home side had most of the early play.
However, the lanky visiting forward, who until that point hadn't shown any obvious signs of being able to control a ball, had a long pass to him a way outside the area. In a move that then seemed to astound everyone in the ground, not least himself, he stopped the ball dead and simultaneously swivelled, smashing the ball into the far top corner of the goal.
I've not seen such a delayed goal celebration before, as it took a while for the player and his team mates to fathom what had just happened. It is interesting to compare this view with that of two years ago, before the dominant Red Road flats were demolished in 2015.
The backdrop to the ground was a gas holder and a steady procession of passing double decker buses. They are probably the only way I'd confuse it with the Oval.
Another great thing about junior football is that no one bothers trying to be a step 11 Barcelona. Short passing results in the player being kicked further than the ball went. Instead, it is the tactic of kicking the ball as hard as tou can in whatever direction you happen to be facing. Exactly as it should be, and it meant that I didn't have to wait long to get my obligatory 'players stood around checking watches as they wait for a clearance to rejoin the earths atmosphere' photo.
The only negative from the game was the numbering of the home sides shirts. The 14 had started the game, but 37 and 93? Numbers that belong to players with Alice bands and forged passports, not sheet metal workers from Govan.
The visitors then had another break, the forward putting the ball somewhere near the corner flag and then running in the opposite direction straight at the keeper, and throwing himself on the floor.
The referee was equally unimpressed.
The ever wonderful non-league Scotland described the social club akin to 'stepping into an East End pub'. Whether this meant there would be a good old sing song going on, or you were likely to be bludgeoned by psychotic twins who you have slurred, I wasn't sure, but a venture in there at half time was all good. Clubhouses are always good for team pictures and one of my favourite activities is looking at a players mullet develop through the 1980s. Considerately, St Roch's had put all their pictures on one display, so you didn't have to clamber around the walls, standing in the way of pensioners trying to watch Soccer Saturday.
A header saw St Roch's equalise.
A penalty from this saw the home side take the lead.
The second half didn't see many chances, though quite a few bookings.
With the game still in progress, I slipped out in order to get some bonus action elsewhere. It finished 2-1. A wonderful, wonderful ground.
Crossing the railway and as you may know, I believe that all football dugouts should have home and away signs made from car number plates (front white for home, rear yellow for away). To find that Network Rail are using them for Bridge identification plates was a welcome surprise. They really must have spunked all their budget on the Tweedbank line.
To find my next location, google maps had showed me to go through the flats shown earlier, except this was the rather impassable remains of them.
So instead, a slightly longer journey. If there was ever a sign of gentrification of the area, is that I passed two separate residents who had gone outside to smoke. Previously, it was compulsory that a fag must always be on the go when indoors, to now see smoke free houses is one step away from char grilled humous replacing deep fried Irn-Bru.
In the middle of some random estate, where the tower blocks were still standing, I was able to take in some Optare solo action.
Which dropped me off in the north of the city at Possilpark. This was previously a country home north of the city, but a large foundry was built in the 1800s. Large estates were built to house the workers, however, when the works closed in the 1960s, the area became very deprived. By the 1980s it had become the hub of the city's heroin trade, which is quite a boast, albeit probably an unwanted one. Since then, much regeneration work has been undertaken, with the slum areas flattened, new housing constructed, and a 24 hour Gala Bingo centre opened.
For some reason I thought my next game was a 1500 kick off, but this wasn't the case as loud swearing from across industrial wasteland, alerted me to a match in progress.
There was the opportunity to get acquainted with leaking asbestos.
But this glory awaited. I would point out that this is the entrance to the abandoned works, not the football ground.
Glasgow Perthshire 2 v Shotts Bon Accord 6, West of Scotland League Central District - Division 2
The Glasgow Perthshire Charitable Society was set up in 1835 in order to assist those who had ventured from Perthshire to seek employment in the capital. These days it provides the same function for those who have travelled for further education at the city's universities. The football club was set up in 1890 as a representative side of the society. They were previously a major force in the Western Junior section, including three Junior Cup wins in the 1930/40s. However, recent times were not good, including a season out of the game in 2006. However, they have since regrouped and have steadily progressed up the Central Divisions of the Western Juniors.
Shots is located midway between Glasgow and Edinburgh and is a former mining and iron works area that gave the world Hugh Dallas, the only person to have been the fourth officialat a World Cup Final and also been a contestant on family fortunes. You will probably know it as the home of the 2015 world champion pipe band, Shotts and Dykehead Caledonia Pipe Band. The football club were formed in 1950, competing in the Lanarkshire league with a good degree of success.
Keppoch Park is another extraordinarily charismatic junior ground. The club's hiatus in 2006 saw the ground in bad way, but since then, it has been considerably smartened up, but without losing any of its charm.
The previous scruffy cover has been replaced by a couple of homespun wood and metal sheeting structures.
Both of these are roughly one million times better than the souless pre-fab cack that other clubs would order from the part of the Atcost catalogue that isn't farm sheds. I would guess that these are also much cheaper.
To accompany the individuality are these quite fantastic bespoke dugouts.
Bike shed meets air raid shelter architecture giving another wonderful outcome.
And even more joy, grass banks on three sides, and no arse covering notices prohibiting spectators from going on them, or saying it is at there own risk. No, instead just trusting people to walk on grass without permanently maiming themselves.
The TV gantry was in use as a climbing frame for the kids. As was the perimeter wall.
The remaining end has had a training pitch built on it. The previous scruffy cover on the club house has been replaced by something that looks like the contestants entrance to Stars in Their Eyes.
At the far end, the neighbours have built what appears to be a gunning placement/pidgeon loft.
I'd arrived at half time and the teams emerged for the second.
With the game restarting to a backdrop to rival Runcorn.
At the far end, the high rises of Eastfield are dwarfed by the makeshift tower.
I think the home side scored, which apparently made it 1-3.
Only for the visitors to make it 1-4.
The reason for my vagueness is that I was in the midst of a hefty debate about what makes an Ironmongers independent, and isn't that a measure who's virtue is to be small rather than large? Naturally the debate was with myself, but these are the sorts of questions that need answering.
More Shott's pressure whilst a one legged sub warms up.
Someone runs.
Even better is that the covers haven't bothered with a concrete base, so you still get to stand on the grass embankment. Beyond this one can be seen the base of the previous cover.
Shotts added a fifth.
And then a sixth.
And then resorted to kicking the ball very high. An approach I naturally approved of
One of my most hated sayings in football is when referees describe themselves as 'oh, you know, I'm just a frustrated footballer'. Fuck off. I would have full respect to the if they just said 'I'm a power crazy narcissist who was bullied at school by kids who played football, so I'm seeking both revenge and perverse notoriety'. Like David Elleray. This is why linesmen in junior games are absolute legends. They don't want to be there, they don't give a fuck about running the line, and by god they are not going through any pretence to give an impression otherwise. Resolutely pinned to the halfway line, face of thunder, and the first look from the referee looking for support as to who's throw it might be, is met with such a look of disdain, that they aren't interrupted again.
I hadn't had a look in the clubhouse at half time, but did pop in during the second half to have a piss, and was I ever glad that I did. For on display was a pennant collection that I would gladly swap my house for*, from across the spectrum of junior clubs.
*None legally binding statement
There were teams with excellent names..
There were teams with intricate badges.
Including line drawings of canal bridges at night.
There were teams who's badges had been knocked up with a thirty second perusal of clip art.
Seriously Coupar Angus, couldn't you even be bothered to line up the pentagons so it even looks like a ball?
And there were teams that could probably have made more use of the extra large pennant size they chose.
As I'd missed the first half, I thought I might as well miss the latter part of the second, and get in another game. It went on to finish 2-6 to Shotts.
My next game was just around the corner
Not at the diner, but the stadium in the background.
Which led me through to here.
Ashfield 2 v Vale of Leven 1, West of Scotland League Central District - Division 2
Ashfield are one of the oldest junior clubs, dating from 1886. There early years saw them achieve their highest level success, winning the junior cup four times in the first couple of decades. Since then, they claim to have amassed over a hundred trophies in various junior football competitions. However, there was a dearth in any success from the 1960s until a march up the Central Divisions from 2006, saw the win the West league title in 2011.
Vale of Leven are from Alexandria, which is situated inland from the north coast of the Clyde, out beyond Dumbarton. It claims a strangely worded record in that it is 'reputed to be the only UK town with a railway station and a pub in the middle of a roundabout' as though there are other places challenging the claim and that it is really difficult to substantiate. Anyway, the original football club were formed in 1872, and early success saw them win three Scottish Cups and runners up in four, making them the eighth most successful side in the history of the Scottish Cup. This resulted in an invite to play leading English side the Wanderers, which they were victorious in due to the devilish new tactic of passing the ball, with their Sasenach opposition choosing individual dribbling instead, a system Nicky Forster remained true to the whole time he was at Reading. The club were founder members of the Scottish League in 1890, but a disastrous second season saw them drop out and only playing friendlies, before a return to the newly formed second division in 1905. However, their glory days were over and they had dropped down to the third by the time that was disbanded in 1926, and with the area suffering from the Great Depression, the club folded. An old boys side continued playing at a local level, and they stepped up to the Scottish Alliance in the 1930s, however, the outbreak of the war saw them switch membership to the Junior structure, where they have had moderate success in the central leagues, and in various Dumbartonshire cups.
Saracen Park was opened by the football club in 1937. In the 1940s, speedway had a short spell at the ground, but was superceded by greyhounds in the 1950s. When the latter ceased in the 1990s, speedway returned, with the dogs switching to Shawfield stadium, which was where the speedway had been.
The presence of other sports means the ground is one of the few in the junior scene to have a substantial grandstand.
Alongside is an area of covered terracing.
The two structures, combined with the flats of Eastfield Park, give a dramatic backdrop to the near touchline.
The presence of the speedway track mean a very narrow fifty yard pitch, with the dug outs on the far side.
Almost immediately there was some action on the field with a somewhat cynical tackle on a home forward.
Another opportunity to say 'duly dispatched'. Oh, and 'bulging net' as well.
Carrying on my circumnavigation of the pitch, and one of the more unusual warning signs for football spectators.
Glasgow speedway dates back to the 1920s, initially based at Ibrox, but having since had spells at Celtic Park, Hampden, White City, Shawfield, and, rather strangely, Workington. These days, they act as a feeder team to Belle Vue, which are now my local outfit, so the likes of Jack Smith, Dan Bewley and Richie Worrall are all familiar.
A major refit of the speedway part of the stadium almost bankrupted the side, and the promoters sold out to a fans consortium in 2012.
The presence of the racing does take the level of dangerous looking agricultural machinery to another level.
I'd barely got half way round the ground before their was another penalty incident.
Duly dispatched.
There was an @goalkeepers_towel present, but it was almost as far away as the one at Marseille. And was partly obscured by a step ladder and wheelbarrow, which the one at Marseille wasn't.
Toilet signage with undertones of whatever the opposite of misogyny is.
There were a number of raised viewing areas which whilst giving good vantage points, the presence of the speedway fencing obscured the pitch.
The penalties had apparently made the score 2-1.
I'm not sure what 360 degree excitement is. Either something that sounded good in a marketing brainstorm, or else a pun on some depraved activity that I can't quite work out.
I joined the rest of the crowd in the main stand.
The home side normally play in black and white but a kit clash meant they played in there change kit. This meant we were only a spawny David Narey strike away from a faithful recreation of the 1982 Brazil v Scotland world cup game.
The game finished 2-1.
Whilst the away team headed for the showers...
... the home side started taking the ground apart, ready for the evening speedway meeting.
For me, the afternoons fun was over and it was time to head for the station, which I could see but the entrance seemed elusive.
But was found eventually. Ashfield opened in 1993, when ScotRail's desire to create the least used suburban branch line resulted in new stations and a stopping service on the Maryhill line, it having previously only served by through services off the West Highland line.
In rolled my three car turbostar, one for each passenger on it.
This dropped us down to the newly electrified main train shed at Queen Street.
A walk through the centre revealed perhaps the greatest street entertainment I have ever seen and I'm pretty sure my eyes will ever witness. Basically, a pensioner in a hi-viz and hard hat, played aluminium bucket drums, to the accompaniment of 1990s rave music, and dancing cats. I was mesmerised and watch a full rendition of Altern8 - Activate, the rather down tempo Shades of Rhythm - Sounds of Eden, and was only dragged away when he started on Corona - Rhythm of the Night because it is one of my most hated songs. I'm thinking it may be worth getting married just to have 'Techno Tin Bin Man' play at the wedding, it certainly gets people dancing.
With the addition of his CD, (which was bought before I remembered I don't own anything that actually plays CDs), I ventured on to Central Station.
Virgin were still in disarray from the earlier fatality and I was grateful when my planned service was one of the few of theirs that wasn't cancelled.
It was across the Clyde for the third time of the day (equalled out by one journey under it).
Heading southward and it looked like I'd got out in time as it was hammering it down over the lower Clyde Valley.
But carrying on south, it had brightened up as the sun started to drop into the Fells around Kendal.
At Preston I left the Pendo to head onward to London.
I was over to a York bound unit. Notice on the left the group of Burnley fans travelling back from Anfield, with transport police keeping a weary eye on them on the right. On the train, as we made our way across to the Paris of Lancashire, we stopped at Accrington, to which the inevitable 'Accrington Stanley, who are they' in piss poor scouse accent quip was made. What surprised me was that it was met with guffaws of laughter? They are making a joke based on an advert from thirty years ago, about a place five miles from their home, how many times must that same joke have been made and how is it still funny. If only there was a Burnley fan with a keen interest in comedy reading this? He can then explain the glottal stops joke.
And finally back into Sowerby, at a relatively decent hour, but the dark nights now firmly here.
Well, what can I say. Western Scotland Junior grounds as absolutely wonderful as ever. Very welcoming clubs, and by god, I even enjoyed the actual football.
Oh, and the swearing. Going to bed still chuckling at the use of 'Milky faced bag of piss shite'. Good times and if ISIS do now take me, I'll die just that little bit happier.
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