Billingham Synthonia v Durham City

Hosts: Billingham Synthonia FC

Venue: Norton (Teesside) Sports Complex, Station Road, Norton, Stockton-On-Tees, TS20 1PE

Kickoff: 3pm Saturday 22 September 2018
Competition: Ebac Northern League Division Two

Weather: dry, sunny but cold (11°c), light breeze

LOCATION REPORT

SatNav: TS20 1PE
Parking: large on-site carpark (drive around the complex, following signs for Squash Club)
Public transport: buses along A1027 to Billingham (15 mins walk)
Club information: Twitter @Synthonia

Entry: £6
Refreshments/Facilities: clubhouse with food point (NB: cricket club bar nearby if you want a pint)
Programmes: £1

Stands/Terraces: Covered main stand with seats for c150 + covered standing at one end; open hardstanding and lean-on barriers all round

Floodlights: 8 (4 per flank)

MATCH REPORT 

League Official Record

Official crowd: 72

Full-time [h/t] score (colours):

2 [1] Billingham Synthonia (green,white quarters)
3 [1] Durham City (red/black stripes)
Bookings: 2 each
Sent Off: 0

NORVENMUNKI's COMMENTS 

Over the past few years, I've been to watch The Synners a number of times. I was always impressed by their old stadium at Central Avenue, with its mighty cantilever stand (once the largest in England) and athletic track.

Once linked with the ICI works that employed thousands locally, and named after a fertiliser product called Synthetic Ammonia, Synners represented a community club from a bygone era surviving under contemporary pressures. The friendliness was everywhere and, even without any Quest at the time, I'd often make a special trip to support one of my adopted teams.

The recent story of Synners is one of decline and rebirth. Vacating Central Avenue due to the burden of financial overheads, they have settled in nearby Norton and utilise the venue previously home to the dormant Norton and Stockton Ancients club.
They now have a new chairman/manager, ex-Middlesbrough midfielder Jamie Pollock, who nowadays runs an academy in his home town but will forever be remembered in football folklore as the scorer of one of the craziest/most-costly own goals in history, which effectively condemned his Man City side to an ignominious drop into the third tier for the only time in their history (they've bounced back ok, I guess?)!

The main car park is down a lane beside the Norton cricket club and sports charity building. There's are cricket and  bowling pitches plus squash club and athletic club next door...although today there doesn't look like there's anybody using any of them.

Beyond the perimeter wall and through the gate past the ticket hut, there are lots of peeling signs still around for the Norton Ancients.

Both of today's teams are out doing prematch training. I take a wander around and some photos.
There's a random pile of plastic drainpipes lying on the ground.
The site is backed onto by surrounding houses, some with gates in garden fences straight on to the outer field. Any balls going out of play will likely roll under the spiky hedgerow.

The main stand is decked with yellow and black seating, which was the colour scheme of the Ancients.

Today is sunny, so I'm wearing shades even though they make me look like an out of place tourist. Yet, there's a nip in the chill air, so I find a convenient spot in the sunshine. Maybe I'll go under cover later?

Before kick-off, I go grab and some food from the Club Room. The food is good and good value (£2.60 for a cheeseburger etc). The friendly ladies tell me a tale about someone forgetting the keys to the till and having to remember not to let it slam shut and locked!

Football Focus (or is it Final Score?) is on tv in the Club Room, with Martin Keown saying something about Man City. Seems you can't avoid Pollock connotations.

A train trundles by, presumably chugging towards Stockton.

The teams are out. The youthful referee looks about twelve! Jamie P is pensive, waddling to his seat on the dugout bench. Game on.

It's full-blooded from the off. After 6 minutes, a heavy Synners tackle flies in. There's no card, just a talking to, and the man in red gets treatment but is soon up and running.

Fans are scattered around on all sides, as many in the stand as in the open breeze.
The wind picks up: my hands are cold, so I go sit down and eat my scoff. Dads with youngsters are dotted around, including a toddler with a tiny ball who is full of energy!

On 12 minutes, an opener: 1-0. The Durham defenders are in disarray,  their keeper goes to ground and a Synners forward rifles into the open goal. Durham argue with each other. They are unsettled and need to get composed. They conceded eight goals last week!

By way of a non-football aside, I am joined by a tiny resident who is no doubt curious about the noise above his house....a mouse, who appears from under the stand and then, after a few whisker wobbles, he scampers off back underneath. He keeps coming back, but every time I try to film him, he runs away.

I go for a wee. I wouldn't normally share that kind of information, but it's notable that the handbasin water is piping hot, so that thaws my hands a bit.

With the break approaching, the home keeper attracts my attention to ask how many minutes we've played! There's been a lot of stoppage, so my answer of 36 minutes is fair but probably not much indicator of what's actually left.

On 41mins, they're all square. The Synners defence is silent and they lose their man, as the Durham striker taps in from six yards out: 1-1.

Soon after, on 43 minutes, we get the first card; to Durham for a two-footed lunge. It was coming, there's been a lot of clumsy tackling. Someone shouts to the ref that he's 'set the standard now'. Expect less tolerance in second half maybe?

Hark, the half time whistle. It's bang on 45 minutes, despite the goals and stoppages! The teams trudge off. Jamie P cuts a disconsolate figure. Cheer up, man.

I go for a coffee and a chip butty. Very good for £2.60.

The second half begins. The sun breaks through, so I'm back out in the clear sunshine again and I might need to put my shades back on.

After 50 minutes, it's 2-1. A Synners through ball is turned in calmly. The home side reestablish their advantage.
Jamie is off the bench - effing big style, screaming at his defenders to "effing defend right"!
They are leading again, but you'd think they were behind. Seemingly, conceding immediately after scoring is a known weakness to the home bench.

On 54 minutes, a Synners sub, a new right-back.
Then, on 57 minutes, a clumsy last man tackle gives away a penalty to Durham.
Evidently, Jamie's fear was well founded. Scored: 2-2.

The game is scruffy now. It's peppered with late tackles and wayward passes, crude swipes at clearances that could go anywhere. You get the distinct feeling that one late mistake may yet prove the clincher. Heads are being lost and formations are melting.

With 6 mins to go, there's a pointless scuffle over the ball after an innocuous tackle. The referee serves up yellows for both sides. Who can stay focussed enough to see the game out?

Instantly, the answer comes. The Synners defence is abject and concede another penalty!
It's coolly slotted home, left-footed into the corner to the keeper's left: 2-3.
Jamie is silent but clearly seething internally. The other Synners coach is going ballistic: if he screams any higher, his voice will break a window.

The final seconds now and Durham go forward, walking it into the corner. It's frantic now. Synners respond by piling on what pressure they can muster whenever they grab possession, twice they are frustrated as the away defence clears off the goal line and several Synners' shots are desperately clambered away.

Game over. The Durham players are incredibly happy, they go mental in the changing room, you can hear them from far away, as if they just saved the world. I learn that this is their first league win of the season: no wonder they're so happy. The visiting fans are happy too.

Meanwhile, the Synners trudge off. Their weaknesses exposed. Locals fans are unimpressed, grumblings amongst the faithful.

The shadows yawn and the sun dips beyond the fence for a siesta. The distant rumble of the A19 is constant. Before they head north for home, a group of away fans make their way next door to the cricket club clubhouse for a celebratory drink.