FLASHBACK TO 2010: DARLASTON TOWN 2-1 WEDNESFIELD TOWN... Article and images by THE MOWDOG...

Back-To-Back Darlaston Lists With Age…

The gates, the chalk-board, the way in...

The satnav muttered and abandoned me to my eyes, whereupon I saw some gates but Darlaston’s football ground was hidden between ageing dwellings, like a courtyard between back-to-back Victorian houses. I chose, because I could see no car-park, to leave my car in a side-street, opposite a church and actually behind one goal. A gate offered a view of the playing area, which boasted a considerable slope, which rose away towards a clubhouse at the opposite end of the rectangle, seemingly at the top of an escarpment, for that slope was memorable. Blue and white paint had been daubed on the clubhouse, on outbuildings, on the grandstand and even on a small creation in one corner of the ground. I thought it might have been used as an alternative entrance at some point in time but it turned out to be a roofless urinal.

The bog in the corner...

The neighbours are in position behind net-curtains to investigate the peeing chaps...

It was reminiscent of ones I recall at Walsall’s old Fellows Park ground and I simply had to urinate there, into the dry, leaf-clogged gutter, noting a vertical piece of unconnected piping at one end and the side of a neighbouring house towering above, through the bedroom window of which, with a turn of the head to the right, a view of peeing men would have been possible. 

The paint is designed not to attract attention to the use of the pokey hole...
Not...

Joy. Wonder what caused the yellow features?

My nostalgic relief was followed by a scouring of the perimeter of the remaining two sides of the ground but the entrance had been between two houses and the first person I had spoken to after paying my cash was a bespectacled, backpacking Darlaston fan, clutching a bag of chips to his chest, sporting a polo-shirt stained with red sauce and which covered, well, blubber… He was of course, having a whale of a time; he apparently watched Darlaston home and away and was, er, remarkable. I had and still have respect for the loyalty of the man, if not his ability to find his mouth with reddened fries. I didn’t and don’t understand him but I did and do respect him. I’m sure I do…

Between the houses...

My garden shed is bigger than this...
Man with a cuppa awaits a few mugs to pay for entry...

In awe of the standout blue and white paint, striking against terracotta housing and Black Country green grass, which camouflaged the uneven surface, I climbed steps to walk across the front of the grandstand, a mainly wooden structure, which of course, spectators smoked in… There were holes in the planking near the front. Really. Health and Safety would have had a field day. The gods only know where I would have fallen to, should I have misplaced a step: the past? I may even have encountered Doctor Who on one of his visits to 1874 A.D… 

Grandstand...

Spot the black hole...

This leads to the trenches at Ypres...

There were no seats, either, just basic blue blocks, like the ones school choirs sing upon. And they were filthy. I later wiped a space for my buttocks and stared in wonder at a delicious row of seats in each dugout opposite. I had bench-bum by 9.35pm and I was in agony. 

Pleasant view...

Lots of blue...

And more blue.
I reckon Italian World War 2 prisoners were still inside...

Picnic tables, incongruous in Darlaston, lay on a patio of sorts outside the clubhouse, on a bank behind a goal-frame and a few people actually sat there to watch the game. They probably knew about the bench-bum. An elderly lady emerged from the aptly named ‘Fingles Bar’ with a pint of mild or stout beer in her hand. It was a dark concoction of some sort, anyway…. She assured me I could buy a cup of tea inside, something confirmed by a voluminous chap in a checked shirt and white cap. He was the Darlaston manager, as it turned out. I thought he was the janitor… Inside, another woman was sitting next to a slot-machine, knitting, I asked for tea and was served a mug of murky liquid, as the woman in charge suddenly revealed a serving hatch, adjacent to the bar. Spooky.

Elizabethan clubhouse...

Roller awaits precariously, ready to tumble down the slope...

I exited after managing to copy the team-sheets down and the Darlaston goalkeeper was going through his paces: of chasing the ball. He was supposed to be catching crosses from one of the substitutes but the two centres I saw, drifted behind the goal-frame and I suggested to the ‘keeper that he should stand there instead… He laughed. The server didn’t.

Looks like someone's broken femur...

Uphill for a cuppa...

Tight behind the goal...

Ready for Darlo's assault-course training.
Or for fans to exit quickly...

The bog enables a player to pee before taking a corner...

Well trodden linesmen's path...

The Darlaston warm-up was leisurely, let’s say, and the manager’s pre-match team-talk was a classic, the best ever. He stood, large as life and every now and again his Black Country accent sang with speedy f-words, punctuated by actual words. It appeared that a previous game against visitors Wednesfield had been abandoned due to faulty wiring, yet the opposition had been doubtful about that and thought that the Darlaston manager had pulled a fast one but the boss assured his players that it was f…… true, cuz he’d f…… been right f…… next to the f…… electrics as they had f…… been f…… smouldering. I think that’s what he said, anyway. He told one defender that he’d been so bad during that previous game and had been so murdered at right-back that, “It’s why you’re f…… playin’ in f…… midfield today…” Cue guffaws of laughter and a wind-up for his men of things like: f…… gettin’ at ‘em, f…… finishin’ above ‘em, f…… getting’ in there. You know, tactical things…

May God be with Darlaston Town...

Undulating, or what?

Bogey-hole...

World War 2 blackouts still in position...

Incredulous, I watched two goals scored whilst attacking up the sloping hillside and I heard one of the best comments by a manager, ever. The Wednesfield coach was so angry with the referee anyway but was suddenly irritated at the lack of awareness of his players. He simply bellowed out, “Anticipate it…” I wondered what, exactly. 

My favourite view...

The warm-up...

Real arse-relieving chairs...

This was a strange evening in a strange place but I’m glad I saw the game, the stadium and the Darlaston manager. They were magical. I drove home for rehabilitation. It’s what I do…   

Time to play...

"Good day, Sir, my name's Theodore Bott..."

Someone places a foot on the ball in case it rolls goalwards.
The gods forbid, if the ball rolls goalwards...

Below is my match report, for those with nothing better to do than to read on...

 Darlaston 2 Wednesfield 1

Att: not many…

This full-blooded encounter, despite the fact that the end of the season was nigh, was fought on the incongruously green slopes of the Black Country and yet neither team was able to capitalise much on the opportunity to rumble downhill. Both teams, indeed, netted a goal whilst playing uphill and within the abject ordinariness, one or two players stood out, either through strength, speed, or moments of skill, generally spoiled by a lack of athleticism, or a poor pass on the shockingly uneven surface. The Wednesfield manager took out his frustrations on the small frame of the referee, whilst the Town manager’s pre-match team-talk was an eye-opener and the home team prevailed.

Home defender Forward poked the ball, er, backwards at his goalie, who was rushing out of the penalty-box to clear Fellows’ pass through the centre and only just managed to hack the ball away then striker Pugh, who foraged hard throughout with sensible movement for Darlaston, moved the ball inside for skipper Follows and he drove a fine effort at goal from 21 yards, which small Wednesfield goalie Rollason tipped over his crossbar. The ‘keeper was all at sea with Price’s corner however and sturdy defender Carter was forced to head clear for another, wasted corner. Sanderson was looking likely in the visitors’ midfield but he faded badly during the second-half, yet on one occasion, he, wearing 6, started a movement, which involved, in chronological order, 7, 8, 9 and 10… Nothing came of the attack. Just thought I’d mention it.

Sanderson took a long free-kick by Carter on his chest, maybe 16 yards from goal, turned and struck a decent shot off the foot of the left upright and the home defence was looking shaky, despite the advantage of the considerable slope. Wednesfield left-winger Mason, who showed flashes of ability but not of a clean pair of heels, was unable to capitalise upon the rebound but soon, around the 23 minutes mark, Darlaston took a surprise lead. The quick Rose and the calm midfielder King combined to feed Pugh, who had pulled away to the left and his centre found Rose between defenders to head easily, possibly off his own shoulder, past Rollason and off the left post into goal from 3 yards. The two home strikers were working fairly well as a pair but the visitors’ centre-forward, Fellows, who was experienced, was really struggling to blend with the lean youngster Stevenson, who at least was eager, chased a lot and was able to compete aerially.

The equaliser was also something of a surprise and stemmed from a nutmeg by Mason on Halil, who lasted less than 45 minutes. The left-winger ran across the field and squared the ball to Onions, whose cross was accurate, allowing Sanderson to reach the ball before goalie Nye, who was denied the chance to clear as Sanderson headed the ball firmly into the right corner of goal from 7 yards. 

Pugh pulled away to the left again and Payne and Price, a fair left-sided pairing, worked the ball out to him but Halil missed the ensuing cross then miskicked rather when the bouncy Rose retrieved the ball on the right. Price fed Pugh, whose 18 yard effort was wide of the right upright then the slow and cumbersome Wednesfield left-back Thomas was robbed by Halil but when he attempted to feed Rose, the striker’s touch was poor. Busy striker Fellows chased the energetic but uncreative Warren’s pass and bullied Payne off the ball but struck an 18 yard shot wide of the left post then at the other end, Pugh and Rose combined well but the latter fell and the chance was lost. 

The limping Halil was replaced by Stanton and right-back Coyne moved into midfield to accommodate the substitute and as Pugh continued to be a threat for Darlaston, Warren was cautioned for dissent. The visiting manager then intimidated the officials and escaped punishment, before, from Mason’s free-kick, Bood was unable to turn and the ball rolled back out to Mason for a 26 yard shot, which flew past the right upright. Warren fed Fellows but the striker’s awful left-footer was dragged well wide of the right post from 20 yards, inside-right channel and as the half ended, Fellows robbed home defender Frost, catching him cold, the ball rebounded to Stevenson and the striker smashed a fine volley from 23 yards, which careered against the stanchion past the right post.

An even contest, sprinkled with runs from Bood, Mason’s ball-play, Pugh’s movement and Rose’s pace, had entertained, to my surprise but the solid defences of flesh and hack were there to enjoy too. Both ‘keepers were to impress after the break but Darlaston were to secure an unlikely uphill victory, although to be fair, the visitors had moved the ball slightly better thus far.

Forward blocked a 22 yard drive, following a run by Fellows but Darlaston nearly netted a second goal when Price sent Rose scampering away in the inside-left slot but Rollason was quickly out to block well at the striker’s feet. Fellows’ wasteful finish brought groans from a few Wednesfield fans then Onions and Bood set up Mason on the left but his 18 yard volley soared too high. Again Rollason came to Wednesfield’s rescue with a fine save, again from Rose; Nye’s long clearance was flicked on by Pugh and Rose was away on the right side of the penalty-box but Rollason leapt right to parry the striker’s angled effort. Stanton fed skipper Follows but Rollason held the resulting 20 yard shot low to his right then Price’s later 24 yard free-kick was almost launched into orbit.

Fellows then showed his fallibility in front of goal after working so hard to force home defender Frost off the ball, following Holdcroft’s long clearance. He drew the goalie but struck the ball straight at him then allowed the recovering ‘keeper to deflect his rebound effort for a corner. Mason’s flag-kick was headed back across goal by Stevenson, Warren couldn’t reach it and after head-tennis, the ball bounced off Forward to goalie Nye. Jones replaced the tiring Thomas for the visitors, Follows back-heeled smartly to Coyne, whose centre was claimed by Rollason then Payne put Pugh clear on the left and Wednesfield’s offside trap had been breached, also by the supporting Rose but Pugh strode on and clipped his 14 yard shot into the home net off the base of the left post, to claim the victory for Darlaston.

Mason jumped up and down like an angry child, after being dispossessed, Pugh caused more problems but the more lively Price’s shot struck Carter, before Allan replaced Coyne, totally slicing his first two touches straight to, er, team-mates… Rollason raced from goal to deny the sprinting Rose, Price’s diagonal pass allowed Pugh a shooting chance from 18 yards, which rose too high and after Bood’s header, Stevenson passed to Fellows on the right but from a promising position, the hard-working striker drove his cross too far. 

The game ended and Darlaston had deservedly won, for they had become more confident as the game wore on. Frost had a strong defensive second-half but Pugh was the catalyst for victory, allied to a better second period by Price, especially when marked by substitute Jones and not visiting skipper Onions and Rose’s pace infiltrated the evening too, albeit infrequently. Sanderson had barely affected the game, after the break, Mason and Fellows had tried hard but Bood’s work was often ruined by switching off at vital moments, despite his ability to run at opponents. Rollason, despite his lack of centimetres, didn’t deserve to be on the losing crew, I dusted the filth off my jeans, walked out into the locality, set my satnav for home and ate Corn Flakes. It’s what I do…