Venue: Hall Lane, Willington, County Durham, DL15 0QG
Kickoff: 15:00 Saturday 11 August 2018
Competition: Ebac Northern League Division Two
Weather: warm, dry, sunny with occasional clouds, fresh breeze
LOCATION REPORT
Directions: see Willington AFC website
SatNav: DL15 0QG
Parking: on-street, in housing estate
Public transport: buses to Willington from Crook and Durham
Club information: Durham City Twitter
Entry: £5
Refreshments/Facilities: licensed clubhouse bar incl toilets, pitchside 'Tea Hut' snack bar
Example: cheeseburger £2.50
Programmes: none
Stands/Terraces: main fully-covered stand; covered terraces at either end; open-air 'Jackie Foster Terrace' nearest to facilities
Floodlights: 8 (4 per flank)
MATCH REPORT
Official report
Other reports:
Durham City Twitter & match-commentary
Thornaby viewpoint
Official crowd: 48
Full-time [h/t] score (colours):
0 [0] Durham City (yellow/blue)
2 [0] Thornaby (maroon)
Bookings: 1 x Durham
Sent Off: 0
NORVENMUNKI's COMMENTS
Durham City are currently without a permanent home of their own, so have been groundsharing with Willington AFC. From the main A690 road through Willington, an ex-mining community southwest of Durham, you can clearly see the floodlights of the ground looming high above. However, even though I know this area well, I still find it confusing to navigate the streets in the labyrinth of the adjacent housing estate: in hindsight, I just drove in from the wrong end! If I'd been coming directly from Durham, like a typical casual visitor, it would have been much simpler.
I park up on the street nearby. There's not much room nearer the gates and there are cones out to keep the road free. If you come by public transport, the buses along the A690 Willington High Street will drop you a short walk away.
The entrance to the ground is set to the west of a narrow street of bungalows, and the long grey afternoon shadows plunge the gate into gloom. There's a lovely feeling of nostalgia.
I'm welcomed enthusiastically by the happy chaps at the turnstile. There's no programme on offer, but I buy a raffle ticket and drop some cash into the collection tin of a polite young girl collecting for the local hospice; her sunny smile warms the heart and the older gent, possibly a grandfather, is rightly proud.
Inside, people are scattered around in clumps, enjoying the sun. There are some incongruous wooden kitchen tables set out on the gravel outside the clubhouse, a makeshift beer patio, but they're empty and all the noise comes from within.
I walk through the open-air Jackie Foster Terrace, along the side as you enter, past families with Tesco bags full of picnic.
A happy band of visiting fans are sitting in the sun outside the 'Tea Hut', a well-stocked snack point adjacent to the main changing-block on the halfway line. I had a massive lunch at home, so I just grab a chocolate bar.
I walk around to the far side, past the happy Thornaby fans who've come out to the Bob Nichols Stand, ie behind the away goal in first half.
There are fewer than twenty people in the main stand, under the shade of a mighty corrugated iron roof. A cooling breeze blows through, the weather is shifting: I might wander back out into the sunshine later, although it's the second week that I've forgotten my hat!
The teams come on, accompanied by beaming mascots from Durham City Under 12s. There's no announcement, nor programme, so I don't know much about the teams; however I did see the teamsheets pinned up on a notice board as I walked around.
The visitors from Thornaby are decked in an all-maroon scheme, which is unusual and quite attractive, whilst Durham are in their favoured yellow-and-blue combo.
The game starts. Immediately, there is lots of vocal encouragement on both sides, with some heavy early tackles and full effort from the get-go.
The range of ages and physiques on display is quite wide. I notice that the referee is easily the shortest man on the pitch.
The game is not the most stylish: it's a bit niggly, with studs being left in on tackles. The referee has a word with the portly Durham forward. There's a bit of cheekiness on both sides and the referee is rather letting it lie. Curiously, this laissez-faire approach is treated with dismay by rival benches, even though both are somewhat benefiting from it.
Against the clash of shinguards and battlecries, a solitary white butterfly flaps through the stand and out into the warm sun. A moment of inner peace.
There are several solo middle-aged men dotted around the perimeter, their arms folded, shades on, watching the game intently. Myself and one other lad are making notes as we watch.
Everywhere around is clean, painted in the blue and white of the venue-owners Willington. The covered areas on every side offer plenty of shade to the few current users, but I expect they really come into use on a rainy day!
I overhear two club officials discussing how they tried to sign a player but couldn't afford his fee: apparently it was £100/game and £10/goal. An interesting insight.
Before the breaktime rush, I grab a cheeseburger for £2.50, it's a bit small for my greedy appetite but tastes fine. The kiosk woman tells me how she often gets no time for food herself as she moves from the matchtime catering straight into the aftermatch catering. A busy lady, friendly though.
It's half-time. Goalless.
Now, the PA kicks in. I didn't realise they had one. A clear voice announces, to feeble woos of curiosity, the scores in the other League and FA matches involving local sides, including the fact that Willington are losing 1-0 away. The number for the raffle is announced, but it's not me.
For a moment, the sun has gone behind the clouds and the shadows are not so clear now.
The neighbouring houses have a great view of the pitch, so you can watch the game free from your bedroom. The closest ones run the risk of a stray ball through a window or hitting the washing-line full of underwear!
The teams are back out and the second half commences.
I'm joined in the main stand by a few more people, yet still barely into double figures.
A little swift (I think?!) is swooping around just above head-level of the players, casting a tiny grey shadow on the green grass.
On the pitch, there's a free kick to Thornaby: their striker was through on goal but dragged back by a collar grab. Durham plead their innocence, which is not really plausible, but there's no yellow shown by the lenient referee and the visitors' deadball opportunity is wasted anyway.
With fifty-five minutes gone, the deadlock is finally broken. Thornaby arrive in numbers in the home box and the Durham goalkeeper can only parry a shot into the path of an oncoming striker who taps home.
The battle-like tempo spills into a moment of madness. The burly Durham striker smacks a Thornaby defender with his flailing arm, leaving the victim with blood all over his forehead. The away bench is incensed. While he gets bandaged, and ultimately substituted, the offender takes his yellow (but not red!) card but then immediately wanders over to talk into his counterpart's face. He doesn't look very contrite. Tempers boil over. The referee stops play for ages in order to remonstrate with the away coach, telling him to calm his crew. Home fans are gesticulating to the away bench, and various people are offering each other outside! Around me, fans from both teams are simply embarrassed! The players themselves, meanwhile, are just stood waiting to restart. The bloodied man is subbed and finally we're back underway.
There's a frisson to the play now, but the electric charge is earthed after seventy-five minutes as Thornaby add a second. A quick ball from the left evades the defence and is coolly slotted home under the diving keeper: to the away bench, that's karma.
In the final stages, still the sides compete, with both keepers called upon to make saves. Durham are pushing, and win a corner in the final seconds, but the vicious far-post inswinger is headed wide. That's the last meaningful action, as six minutes of added-time ends with the ref's final whistle. 0-2.
Everyone files off the pitch in relative silence and, thankfully, there is no afters... on the pitch, at least. Nonetheless, the cheers from the away dressing-room are clearly audible from out here. The crowd disperses and the mascots are out on the pitch to have a laugh and kick about.
The sun comes back out and the mighty shadows of the leggy floodlights stretch out into the centre circle.
Should I return here for a future Quest in the name of the true home club, Willington, it may well be sometime in the winter when the weather is less balmy. These shelters will be much appreciated, I suspect.
No comments:
Post a Comment