Kickoff: 14:30 Saturday 14 April 2018
Competition: TWR Wearside League
Weather: sunny, mild, clear, dry, light breeze
LOCATION REPORT
SatNav: CA25 5HP
Staff: gate hut steward + clubhouse staff
Parking: on site car park, 30+ spaces (plus overflow onto adjoining service road)
Public transport: buses 21, 31, 32 to Maryport or Whitehaven
More information: Wikipedia
Entry: £2.00
Refreshments: fully licensed bar and meals/snacks in the main clubhouse building
Toilets: in clubhouse
Stands/Terraces: small sheltered terrace, plus metal lean-on barrier around 3/4 of pitch
Programmes: no
Floodlights: yes, 3 per flank
MATCH REPORT
Approx crowd: rising to 100+ around the pitch (initially dozens inside looking through the three big windows from the upstairs lounge)
Full-time [h/t] score (colours):
2 [1] Cleator Moor Celtic FC (green/white hoops)
0 [0] Sunderland West End FC (red/white stripes)
Bookings: 2 (Cleator Moor)
Sent Off: 0
NORVENMUNKI's COMMENTS
Following several weeks of poor weather, the outlook had belatedly turned more clement and so I chose to set forth to make the long long journey to McGrath Park, the furthest venue at this level from my home.
Today's quest is to witness top-of-the-table Cleator Moor Celtic for the first time this season. They've been setting the pace consistently for most of the season, and have just a few remaining games to claim their title.
Today's quest is to witness top-of-the-table Cleator Moor Celtic for the first time this season. They've been setting the pace consistently for most of the season, and have just a few remaining games to claim their title.
Today's visitors, Sunderland West End, have travelled even further than me. For them, this match will define whether they have any pretensions of breaking into the top three. They have four games in hand on their hosts and, at start of play, are sixteen points behind; an away victory today will really mix it up at 'the business end' of the season. Their cup exploits have seen them progressing to the final of three separate knockout competitions, but the League may yet prove one challenge too many.
The winding trip through the Cumbrian countryside is interrupted by numerous tractors and juggernauts, but eventually I see signposts for Cleator Moor and the farm lanes empty into the residential estate of this hillside town.
Arriving in the vicinity, I parked on the main road, as the car park and approach road looked busy. As I walk around to the gate, I realise that I was correct.
There's temporary fencing everywhere, and it looks like they must be busy with more redevelopment as there are pipes and metal poles scattered in piles of builders' materials.
A neat concrete perimeter path runs along the main side and far end of the pitch, evidence of ongoing investment and maintenance. At some recent grounds, the facilities are dilapidated and dangerous, but not here, it's being cared for.
Arriving in the vicinity, I parked on the main road, as the car park and approach road looked busy. As I walk around to the gate, I realise that I was correct.
There's temporary fencing everywhere, and it looks like they must be busy with more redevelopment as there are pipes and metal poles scattered in piles of builders' materials.
A neat concrete perimeter path runs along the main side and far end of the pitch, evidence of ongoing investment and maintenance. At some recent grounds, the facilities are dilapidated and dangerous, but not here, it's being cared for.
The gate man is a jolly fellow, very welcoming. He's busy chatting to two old ladies who seem like regulars.
As a Wigan Athletic fan, I am aware of our ex-goalkeeper Scott Carson having been a Celtic youngster. I wonder if these old-timers watched him in those days, or perhaps are even related? It's a heck of a presumption, but you never know.
Over to the west, the ground empties into a field with a row of trees hiding a mini industrial estate.
To the east, a high fence separates us from neighbouring bungalows off Birks Road. Way off in the distance, the rolling Cumbrian landscape is awesome: what a beautiful vista.
I walk round to the far side of the ground, taking a few photos of the main building and surroundings. I notice that someone is hanging out of an upper window in the house behind me, overlooking the pitch. I guess they have a prime free view!
As a Wigan Athletic fan, I am aware of our ex-goalkeeper Scott Carson having been a Celtic youngster. I wonder if these old-timers watched him in those days, or perhaps are even related? It's a heck of a presumption, but you never know.
Over to the west, the ground empties into a field with a row of trees hiding a mini industrial estate.
To the east, a high fence separates us from neighbouring bungalows off Birks Road. Way off in the distance, the rolling Cumbrian landscape is awesome: what a beautiful vista.
I walk round to the far side of the ground, taking a few photos of the main building and surroundings. I notice that someone is hanging out of an upper window in the house behind me, overlooking the pitch. I guess they have a prime free view!
From this position, I'm looking South and it's nice to have sun in my face and to need my shades on. The sky is totally clear and blue; it's a beautiful day! There are fantastic shadows cast across the pitch by the perimeter fence and corner flags. The sheltered terrace fills up as the game commences, with a dozen gentlemen nursing beers from the club house.
The home side kick off. Oddly, they choose to blast it immediately goalwards, but it flies wide of the West End goal, giving an instant goal-kick to the visitors.
The early pressure is from Cleator Moor. After six minutes, the first of a succession of hacking West End tackles floors a Celtic midfielder. The home supporters jeer and shout for justice, but there's no card and the free kick leads to nothing. Shape of things to come, I wonder ?
Soon after, another obstruction foul, this time the other way. West End moan a lot but the referee isn't influenced, leaving West End incensed. The temperature is definitely rising on this warm spring afternoon.
The early pressure is from Cleator Moor. After six minutes, the first of a succession of hacking West End tackles floors a Celtic midfielder. The home supporters jeer and shout for justice, but there's no card and the free kick leads to nothing. Shape of things to come, I wonder ?
Soon after, another obstruction foul, this time the other way. West End moan a lot but the referee isn't influenced, leaving West End incensed. The temperature is definitely rising on this warm spring afternoon.
Moments later, it's the other way round. A diving tackle from a Celts defender is somewhat reckless and takes his opponent out. Despite the screams of the away fans, who are convinced that it was two footed, I personally can't tell from here.
There's a yellow card, probably deserved, albeit West End call for red. I think to myself that the Mackem swearing sounds familiar. Still, the fallen man is up and sprinting within seconds, so he's evidently not crippled nor milking it. As expected, it's niggly and full throttle: no quarter given, either on the pitch or sidelines.
There's a yellow card, probably deserved, albeit West End call for red. I think to myself that the Mackem swearing sounds familiar. Still, the fallen man is up and sprinting within seconds, so he's evidently not crippled nor milking it. As expected, it's niggly and full throttle: no quarter given, either on the pitch or sidelines.
The ball is cleared into touch, and goes over a neighbour's fence. A busy club official identifies which garden, aided by the person from the overlooking window. Then three young lads retrieve it. I bet they've done that a few times before?!
We're now midway through the first half, and West End have their first corner. It cuts through the disorganised Celtic defence but, to their relief, the Sunderland forward puts it over the bar from eight yards out. That could yet prove a big waste, and was somewhat against the run of play.
After several fouls and plenty of foul language, the referee stops the game and calls two West End guys over to tell them to keep their mouths shut and show respect to the linesman. He can't really do anything about the spectators though.
After several fouls and plenty of foul language, the referee stops the game and calls two West End guys over to tell them to keep their mouths shut and show respect to the linesman. He can't really do anything about the spectators though.
After thirty minutes, another chance for the home side. Some sloppy defending lets the Celts man clean through, but Sunderland's keeper turns it round the post. The corner comes in from the stand side, and is turned wide again. Then a second corner, this time from my side, sees a shot drilled in but it skims over the bar. That's a let-off for the visitors; the home side's pressure is slowly building.
Instructions from both dug-outs remark how the ball is spending much of the time in the air: in this light breeze, the general opinion is that it's better to get it down and play.
Instructions from both dug-outs remark how the ball is spending much of the time in the air: in this light breeze, the general opinion is that it's better to get it down and play.
Breakthrough. A Celtic forward collects the ball confidently whilst facing his own goal, turns and runs down left flank, twists and pulls the Sunderland right-back out of position to tackle him, sends a pass into acres of space on the right for his oncoming team-mate.... who cuts inside his tackler and slots adroitly into the far corner. 1-0.
To the continued cheers of the home faithful, another Celtic attack mounts shortly after. It ends with a weak shot but at least it's on target, with the West End keeper turning it round again. Corner number one is unproductive, and corner number two ends with the ball coming out to the edge of the Sunderland area but the Celtic shooter blasts his volley high over.
Breaths gathered, there's another tackle which seemed innocuous. A West End man is down, the referee is unimpressed and no physio comes on; the stoppage ends with a drop-ball back to the away keeper.
Breaths gathered, there's another tackle which seemed innocuous. A West End man is down, the referee is unimpressed and no physio comes on; the stoppage ends with a drop-ball back to the away keeper.
A group of primary school lads swing on the barrier and chat giddily. The one who rescued the ball earlier shares his moment of fame. One of them - correctly - remarks to another that there's a lot of swearing going on today. "It's bad manners" they all concur. Well observed, young men.
Half-time. 1-0.
I tuck into a sandwich that I brought with me, whilst most others disappear into the clubhouse. I sense a fair amount of imbibing, but I'm not that bothered to know what kind of banter is being shared.
In the sunshine, I can feel the heat upon my face.
In the sunshine, I can feel the heat upon my face.
Players out, play resumes.
The second half starts much like the first, with Celtic asserting dominance. They are defending their slender lead from the end where I am standing. For the first time, I realise that the home keeper is a big unit! Respect to the athlete in all of us!
The second half starts much like the first, with Celtic asserting dominance. They are defending their slender lead from the end where I am standing. For the first time, I realise that the home keeper is a big unit! Respect to the athlete in all of us!
Unlike earlier, the ball is on the ground more now, from both sides. Just like before, the action is end-to-end.
An unremarkable tackle gets the away fans going bonkers at the young linesman. (He looks so very young, actually: he must be eleven!!?) To be frank, they really are a disgrace some of these muppets. I've heard it time and again with West End fans: maybe it's the same bloke?
Celtic go on the attack. Their right-sided midfielder pulls into space but his cross-cum-shot bounces off the top of the crossbar and safely into touch.
Then, at the other end, a break from Sunderland leads to a chance, but the striker can't get a clear shooting opportunity and Celtic scramble clear. Two resultant corners come to nothing.
Then, a separate attack, in which the defender cuts down a West End man from behind. It's a clear free kick, but no card. The free kick is rifled in sweetly but goes just above the bar. Again. A young fan behind the goal is centimetres away from getting his head knocked off! His dad just smiles.
Then, at the other end, a break from Sunderland leads to a chance, but the striker can't get a clear shooting opportunity and Celtic scramble clear. Two resultant corners come to nothing.
Then, a separate attack, in which the defender cuts down a West End man from behind. It's a clear free kick, but no card. The free kick is rifled in sweetly but goes just above the bar. Again. A young fan behind the goal is centimetres away from getting his head knocked off! His dad just smiles.
After a spell of deep defending, Celtic mount a counterattack and come close to snatching a second. The momentum is mostly with West End now, but Cleator Moor are defending stoutly. Still, you feel the dam could break at any time. Another West End free kick goes over. Frustration is etched on the Sunderland faces, but they are busy and full of ideas. Another long range shot comes in, and the deflection by the Celts centre-half creeps around the post with the home keeper stranded.
Yet another corner. An equaliser seems inevitable by the law of averages!?
Yet another corner. An equaliser seems inevitable by the law of averages!?
It's full-blooded now from both sides. A mélange of well-timed tackles, mistimed tackles, one touch triangles and close control calmness.
Then, a fantastic chance arrives for West End as their striker arrives unmarked on the penalty spot, but he skies it: a shocking miss.
A minute later, they rue their wastefulness.
Then, a fantastic chance arrives for West End as their striker arrives unmarked on the penalty spot, but he skies it: a shocking miss.
A minute later, they rue their wastefulness.
A quick green break down the right delivers a deep cross, which is met at far post and drilled under the West End keeper. 2-0.
Cue massive home celebrations. The crowd chant "Celtic ! Celtic!" That's actually one-hundred league goals scored for this season now, with five games yet to play.
Cue massive home celebrations. The crowd chant "Celtic ! Celtic!" That's actually one-hundred league goals scored for this season now, with five games yet to play.
The visitors are shell-shocked. Celtic are turning the screw. A home free kick on the edge of the visitors area could be decisive, but it sails over wastefully.
Impressively, Sunderland are still in this and getting men forward even more. Will Cleator Moor exploit the inevitable gaps at the back? Tense!
Time and again, West End push on but with no end result. Cleator Moor's own occasional breaks forward either clatter the steel fencing or crumble into losing possession - with the big home keeper screaming at his forwards to run it into the corner!
Impressively, Sunderland are still in this and getting men forward even more. Will Cleator Moor exploit the inevitable gaps at the back? Tense!
Time and again, West End push on but with no end result. Cleator Moor's own occasional breaks forward either clatter the steel fencing or crumble into losing possession - with the big home keeper screaming at his forwards to run it into the corner!
There's late action in the Celtic box, but West End can't fumble a foot to it and the chance goes begging. The luckless visitors just can't get that killer touch.
Cleator Moor break from left to right, their right-back smashing it over. That's the last action.
Cleator Moor break from left to right, their right-back smashing it over. That's the last action.
Game over. 2-0.
The terrace explodes into song: "Celts are having a barney and West End's in the bin!" Chants galore. It's like they have an entire catalogue of fan songs, delivered in fine style whilst banging on the corrugated roof of the sheltered terrace.
It's like there are thousands of fans here: top local atmosphere.
It's like there are thousands of fans here: top local atmosphere.
The players trudge off. Handshakes and emotions bottled until they get into the changing room. Meanwhile, a huddle of local lads run on to the pitch to take penalties in the early evening shade.
A rooster crows in an adjoining allotment. I contemplate the two-and-a-half hour journey home. Still, unlike the returning Sunderland crew, for me this was mission accomplished.
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