FAVOURITE NON-LEAGUE GROUNDS: DARLASTON TOWN FC, 2010...

 Darlaston Town, 2009-10 season…

PROGRAMME COVER...

The experience…

The satnav muttered, confused and forced me to use my eyes to find the venue, whereupon I saw some gates, for 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. 

ENTRANCE...

UP TO THE CLUBHOUSE...

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…

BLUE & PRETENDING WINDOWS...

It was reminiscent of ones I recalled 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. 

LOO IN THE CORNER...

...BUT IT'S NOT THAT ATTENTION HAS BEEN DRAWN TO IT BY THE BLUE & WHITE STRIPES...

WHAT WAS LURKING HERE?

THE BOG WAS HANDY FOR A GOALIE...

LOVED THIS...

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… He was of course, having a whale of a time. He apparently watched Darlaston home and away and was, er, remarkable but I had the utmost respect for the loyalty of the man, if not his ability to find his mouth with reddened fries. I didn’t understand him actually but I did respect him. I’m sure I did…

BOGEY HOLE...

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. Possibly the past? I may even have encountered Doctor Who on one of his visits to 1874 A.D… 

THE SEATS...

WONDROUS 1...

WONDROUS 2...

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…

FLOOR DAMAGE 1...

FLOOR DAMAGE 2...

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 type 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 had 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 stuff…

LOOKING TOWARDS THE AMENITIES...

AUSTERE BUT INSPIRING?

GNARLED TERRACE...

I exited after managing to copy the teamsheets 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 deliveries 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.

FEARING THE WARM-UP...

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 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 had assured his players that it was f…in’ true, cuz he’d f…in’ been right f…in’ next to the f…in’ electrics as they had f…in’ been f…in’ smouldering. 

I think that’s what he said, anyway. He told one player that he’d been so bad during that previous game and had been so murdered at right-back, “It’s why you’re f…in' playin’ in f…in’ midfield today…” Cue guffaws of laughter and then he wound his team up with tactical gems like  “F…in’ gettin’ at ‘em…” or “F…in’ finishin’ above ‘em…” or “F…in’ gettin’ in there…”

HARD STANDING...

Incredulous, I watched two goals scored whilst teams were 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 he suddenly became irritated by the lack of awareness of his players. He simply bellowed out, “Anticipate it…” I wondered how you could make someone anticipate something. Surely it’s a natural ability? 

DUGOUT WITH CHAIRS.
ANOTHER DUGOUT FOR AN EXILED PLAYER... 

CLOSE VIEW BEHIND A GOAL...

LIKED THE FENCE...

It was a strange evening in a strange place but I’m glad I saw the game, the stadium and the Darlaston manager. They were all magical. 

WIDE VISION...

THROUGH A NET...

SUPPORT FOR THE CLUB?

I drove home for rehabilitation. 

It’s what I did, then…   

AH, THE ROLLER...

The game…

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 on the opportunity to rumble downhill. Both teams, indeed, netted 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, the Town manager’s pre-match team-talk was an eye-opener and the home team prevailed.

Darlaston took a surprise lead. The quick Carlton Rose and the calm midfielder King combined to feed Sean Pugh, who had pulled away to the left and his centre found Rose between defenders to head easily, possibly off his own shoulder, past goalie Rollason and off the left post into goal from 3 yards.

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

The winner for Darlaston came when Payne put Pugh clear on the left which breached Wednesfield’s offside trap and Pugh strode on to clip a 14 yard shot into the home net off the base of the left post.

Darlaston had deservedly won, for they had become more confident as the game had worn on. Craig Frost had a strong defensive second-half but Pugh was the catalyst for victory, allied to a better second period by Wayne Price, especially when he was marked by substitute Jones and not visiting skipper Onions. Rose’s pace infiltrated the evening too, albeit infrequently. 

For the guests, Sanderson had barely affected the game after the break, Mason and Mitch Fellows had tried hard but Bood’s work was often ruined by switching off at vital moments, despite his ability to run at opponents. Gloveman Rollason, despite his lack of centimetres, didn’t deserve to be on the losing crew in truth. 

I dusted the filth off my jeans, walked out into the locality, set my satnav for home and ate my Corn Flakes. 

It’s what I did back then…  

FROM THE PROGRAMME...