Venue: Doctor Pit Park, 21 Park Road, Bedlington, Northumberland NE22 5DP
Kickoff: 3pm Saturday 15 September 2018
Competition: Buildbase FA Vase 2nd Qualifying Round
Competition: Buildbase FA Vase 2nd Qualifying Round
Weather: sunny, mild, very light breeze
LOCATION REPORT
SatNav: NE22 5DP
Parking: limited on-street (note: residential neighbourhood)
Public transport: buses to Newcastle
Club information: Twitter @BTFCOfficial
SatNav: NE22 5DP
Parking: limited on-street (note: residential neighbourhood)
Public transport: buses to Newcastle
Club information: Twitter @BTFCOfficial
Entry: £5
Refreshments/Facilities: licensed clubhouse bar, pitchside snack cabin
Programmes: £1 (quality glossy publication)
Refreshments/Facilities: licensed clubhouse bar, pitchside snack cabin
Programmes: £1 (quality glossy publication)
Stands/Terraces: Covered main stand, all along one flank (including 2 x seats blocks for 100+ plus plenty of covered standing too for 100s more); handstanding and lean-on barriers to all sides
Floodlights: 10 (5 per flank)
MATCH REPORT
Official crowd: 70
Full-time [h/t] score (colours):
2 [1] Bedlington Terrier (red)
0 [0] Redcar Athletic (blue)
Bookings: 1 each
Sent Off: 0
0 [0] Redcar Athletic (blue)
Bookings: 1 each
Sent Off: 0
NORVENMUNKI's COMMENTS
The football grounds may be the star attraction on each adventure, but I do like to mix a bit of non-football into the trip. So my journey today took in an impromptu stop at Northumberlandia, a giant country park-cum-cultural installation based on reclaimed quarry lands just off the A1. It's an interesting place, and the views from the summit are wonderful.
However, league business is not important today as this is the famous FA Vase: the official national FA knockout competition for Non-League sides.
A nice cool breeze wafts through and the sun glasses come on.
A giant electronic scoreboard is somewhat incongruous compared to these flaky buildings. It hums constantly, presumably from a fan whirring internally to keep the electrics cool. There's a concrete hut beside it, where the board operator keeps the controls. I wonder what cachet there is to that job?
After 36 minutes, the deadlock is finally broken and it's Bedlington who score. A relieved round of applause washes over the watching throng like a Mexican wave, followed by PA announcing the scorer. Delightfully, the fancy electronic scoreboard gets updated by the man in the pitchside hut: 1-0.
Arriving in town, after a drive through the twisting roads, I also grabbed some cash in Bedlington Front Street, popped into Morrison's for a drink and went for a haircut: which is all probably more information than you care for?
Bedlington is easy to find and worth the trip, not least for the symbolism as this is the northernmost outpost in either division of the Northern League. I've already been to the southernmost (incongruously called NORTHallerton, around 70 miles south of here), so I suppose from now on everywhere else will certainly be closer to home.
From the road that snakes out of town, it's not obvious where the ground is because it's tucked behind a cluster of terraced houses, but there are small signs for Doctor Pit Park if you pay attention.
It's named after the Doctor Pit Colliery, which was sited until 1967 on nearby land now forming Gallagher Park. There's a great club history on their website.
It's named after the Doctor Pit Colliery, which was sited until 1967 on nearby land now forming Gallagher Park. There's a great club history on their website.
So let's just get it straight about the club name: the Bedlington Terrier is a small dog that resembles a lamb. They were originally bred to hunt vermin in the local mines, although before the early 19th century they were known as Rothbury terriers.
A relation to the whippet, it's also known for dog racing and apparently they are very good swimmers too.
A relation to the whippet, it's also known for dog racing and apparently they are very good swimmers too.
I promise to resist the temptation for peppering this piece with plenty of corny canine metaphors, but I'm straining at the leash.
For a while, the club was owned by an American food-product billionaire with ancestry in the area and a portfolio of other sports investments in the States but alas that era is no more; not even the shirts are sponsored any longer, although the scoreboard still bears his name.
Today's visitors, Redcar Athletic, were promoted from the Wearside League (Step 7) at the end of last season, so I actually went there in the previous level of my Quest - and will do so again soon to remark on any difference since gaining promotion.
Bedlington have enjoyed 100% home form recently, having only played two at home so far this season but winning both. The rest of their games have all been away, with no wins.
However, league business is not important today as this is the famous FA Vase: the official national FA knockout competition for Non-League sides.
The old chaps at the gate are very friendly, and I cherish by wee admission ticket. I buy a programme, which is a superb glossy publication that's probably the best quality I've seen thus far on my Quests!
The talk around here is about recent vandalism at the ground and the costs of repair. Such a shame that such mindlessness should spoil the innocent enjoyment of the community.
The stands run along one side, the western side, and a substantial length is covered, with room for hundreds either seated or standing. In addition, there are big open areas and plenty of space all round. The northern end, nearest the gate, is largely tarmac - with excited little ones having a kickabout and others playing hide and seek - whilst the opposite end is grassed, overgrown with weeds, some very high. If the ball lands here, it'll possibly be invisible or at least buried in knee-high stinging nettles: they should really do a bit of weeding.
Behind the northern end, there are six mighty telegraph poles that evidently used to be draped with netting, to prevent wayward shots going out of ground and into the adjoining terrace streets. Yet, this netting is completely collapsed now and totally useless, although the shreds and poles remain!
I sit on some benching under the roof of the Jack Carter Stand, and am disappointed there are no pictures of Michael Caine around.
A nice cool breeze wafts through and the sun glasses come on.
These buildings are a hotch-potch of crumbly old clubhouse, scattered outbuildings and a row of portakabins. There's an upstairs veranda on the clubhouse: is that for special use only?
A giant electronic scoreboard is somewhat incongruous compared to these flaky buildings. It hums constantly, presumably from a fan whirring internally to keep the electrics cool. There's a concrete hut beside it, where the board operator keeps the controls. I wonder what cachet there is to that job?
The PA system kicks up with customary crackles and puffs into the mic.
The teams appear to the blast of "Who Let The Dogs Out". That's not MY corny canine reference, that's theirs.
The cockney accent of the PA man is unexpected and lends a pseudo-cosmopolitan air.
The teams appear to the blast of "Who Let The Dogs Out". That's not MY corny canine reference, that's theirs.
The cockney accent of the PA man is unexpected and lends a pseudo-cosmopolitan air.
Handshakes - and we're game on.
The under-11s and other kids' teams scream "Let's go Terriers, let's go!" These lads were the mascots today, but clearly many are not really bothered with the game and are just larking about. Others are sitting calmly, watching. They roost on top of a metal rubbish bin, kicking it with their heels giddily: the metallic clang echoes around the stand, adding some bass notes to the treble of their young voices.
After 10 minutes, the PA kicks-in again to announce the "special guests of the club today - probably the most successful managers in the club's history: Keith Perry and Tony Lowery". I sm surprised that there's not even a ripple of recognition from the locals, so I hope these dignatories weren't expecting any applause.
Around me, I recognise some of the visiting fans from my previous trip to Redcar.
They watch as the ball is cleared into the crowd and cannons off the underside of the corrugated roof and crashes into the back of the stand right next to me! I was busy note-taking and it momentarily scares the shit out of me, like a boom right next to my head. There's a dose of chuckles all round - and from me too - but a foot closer and it would have smashed me in the head, so that probably would have been much less funny.
They watch as the ball is cleared into the crowd and cannons off the underside of the corrugated roof and crashes into the back of the stand right next to me! I was busy note-taking and it momentarily scares the shit out of me, like a boom right next to my head. There's a dose of chuckles all round - and from me too - but a foot closer and it would have smashed me in the head, so that probably would have been much less funny.
There's a quarter gone. The sky in the distance is turning dirty grey. I wonder if the rain is coming?
The sun has gone in now and the shades come off with normal specs on now.
The sun has gone in now and the shades come off with normal specs on now.
Back on the pitch, there's a Redcar attack but the shot sails high, wide and not-so-handsome into an adjoining street. As expected, the shredded netting was completely useless.
After 36 minutes, the deadlock is finally broken and it's Bedlington who score. A relieved round of applause washes over the watching throng like a Mexican wave, followed by PA announcing the scorer. Delightfully, the fancy electronic scoreboard gets updated by the man in the pitchside hut: 1-0.
Edging towards the break, there's a yellow card for Bedlington in the final seconds of the half. The referee's patience was bound to break eventually after several bursts of angry backchatting from both teams.
Half-time. 1-0.
The crackling cockney PA man announces, for the benefit of the uninitiated - like myself, that if the score is tied at full-time today then there'll be 30 minutes of extra time played, then if still drawn there'll be a replay at Redcar. So, no prospect of a penalty shootout today then.
Weather update: now, reassuringly, the clouds seem to have rolled away to the east. The blue sky bursts through like a warm bath appearing through disappearing bubbles.
The teams back out and the second half begins.
I've taken a wander around to another viewpoint. From behind me, a small ball comes bouncing onto the pitch from the little boys playing on the tarmac, despite being told repeatedly to be careful. As a dad, I can relate to that; it's pretty typical. Swiftly, an older lad hops over and rescues it quickly before anyone gets into trouble. Hero.
As the clock ticks towards 53 minutes, the Terriers attack, with a jiggly run into the box from their left-winger. He overtly invites the tackle: an invitation which the Redcar defender accepts, clumsily but no malice. So I do get to see a penalty for sure. It's scored: 2-0.
Now, with 73 minutes played, a Redcar man goes into the referee's book. It could be for persistent niggly fouls or persistent backchat, either would be merited.
Only 8 minutes to go and Bedlington almost grab a third. There's a desperate melee on the line and a corner is forced. A feeble patter of applause sneaks out from the quietening crowd, as if everyone is tired now. There is a growing rump of people gravitating slowly towards the exit.
Game over. 2-0.
The boys from the mighty Redcar are knocked out, but the mighty Bedlington Terriers scamper on to the next stage: ie the 'first round proper' of the mighty FA Vase. The home team leave the field to applause and pats on the back as they pass through to the changing rooms, humorously nicknamed 'The Kennels'!
The crowd ebbs out, past the playground at Doctor Pit Park itself next door. There are various men in club ties milling around outside making arrangements for evening hospitality.
This late afternoon has stayed dry, surprisingly the rain never came. Another tick on the Quest list. For sure, it's all south from here!
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