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At the Gloaming

Whickham Fellside Greens 7 – 2 Ponteland Jaguars

15th May 2012 –PrudhoeTownAFC International Stadium

And they came from across many lands; crossing deserts, through blizzards, stone cracking heat, frozen tundra, tropical storms and coast hugging sea frets: The strong, the sick, the brave, the great, the good, the weak, the virtuous, the wise, the heroic, the bold and the slightly sarcastic on occasions. All came as one to hail their noble heroes at their final battle.

From a crowd of thousands a voice was heard saying; “Well, er I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. It even beats doing health and safety checks on the saunas atKingswoodwith some of my young female colleagues.”

Nestled beneath the high, jagged mountain peaks of Prudhoe, in the remote foothills of the snowy Tibetan Himalayas, they all converged for this final momentous match. With the sun sinking towards one last glorious sunset, throat sung incantations from the nearby Buddhist monastery echoed across theTyneValleyas did the playing of the monks’ mountain horns and the chiming of ceremonial bells.

It was getting very cold that evening but at least the chief Abbott from the monastery was selling coffees and tasty yak quarter pounders with cheese plus sweet chilli and incense relish. I brought my own sandwiches before you ask!

The battle hardened band of brothers had, through the year, endured so much: The early battles that could drain the spirit of many; the mid season struggles that were even more depressing then, finally, the first signs of hope and resistance as these boys pushed more confidently towards a better future: An epic journey from calamity to mild disappointment with the odd triumph thrown in along the way.

Most who started the season had survived and been joined by others. Whatever had been thrown at them had made them stronger. Here at this final meeting place of the 2011-12 season they faced their final opponents, Whickham Fellside Greens: there was to be no extra time; no replays; no play offs: This was it. This hardened squad, assembled. Brian presented each of the boys with a trophy monument to their season and they had their team photo taken before the match. Let us not forget their names or their deeds, which will forever be written into standard GCSE history texts.  Just for your GCSE history revision, we remember them all:

Harry - a small boy able to block just about any shot on goal and so often the team’s saviour;

Paddy – Harry’s able cover, a quick, athletic and highly effective defender;

Aaron – the captain, leader and implacable heart of the defence;

Ervin – the big defender with sharp elbows and with a surgical eye for a winning pass;

Alex – big, strong and savvy in defence and midfield with a mighty header, not to mention kick;

Enrico – fearless and getting stronger with every game. He often had opponents scattering for cover;

Peter – heroically often carrying the team in defence, attack and midfield from the start – a boys own hero for much of the season;

James – a great find in mid season; quick and well balanced: a threat in midfield and on goal;

Max – perhaps the quickest, most skilful and influential player of all;

George – Always goal hungry, quick, spirited and just a little bit mad at times;

True, some heroes had fallen along way, poor Jake fell in mid season, as did Tommy after a longer period of good service to the team. Then finally the epic explorer Jason was finally no more; attempting one epic journey too many: after his plucky but ultimately futile search to find the source of the mighty “Um Bongo” River came to nothing; he was cruelly informed on his distant travels, that it was actually a fruit combo drink made on an industrial estate in Greater Manchester. The setback finally broke the young explorer’s heart and he was never seen again.

At the ground the Tibetan monks formed a guard of honour onto the pitch for the Jaguars, with more celebratory throat singing, blowing of horns, chiming of bells and swirling of incense.  The latter proved too much for some of the team who couldn’t help “wretching” on the side of the pitch.

A somewhat bemused Fellside Greens team stepped timidly onto pitch with a collective thought: “what on earth is going on?”

The Jaguars’ seasoned survivors observed a minute’s silence in memory of their brave, fallen comrades. Their comrades had gone and this was to be their last stand together: Silence over: the whistle blew; game on.

The early exchanges were tight with few clear chances. The Fellside Greens probably shaded it but the Jaguars had their moments including a rare shot from Enrico and another from Peter. Harry kept as well as ever keeping the score nil-nil and Ervin managed a goal line clearance too.

A first half that had started with glowing sunlight that Kevin had predicted would last the entire evening, quickly descended into a hailstorm that lasted for the rest of the first half. It wasn’t the only shower to hit the pitch either:

Less than five horrendous minutes passed during which the Jaguars defence and midfield capitulated, conceding four goals softer than an eiderdown pillow. They’d gone from nil-nil to four-nil down in an instant. It harked back to memories of early season collapses. It seemed after twenty minutes of hard work the strange incense had finally kicked in – about the only thing that did for five minutes. From chasing and tackling they’d entered a trance like state of inner peace and contemplation: Not the ideal state for playing football. Defensive coach, Kevin turned to the loyal fans muttering something about defending like a bunch of *****: Possibly a bit harsh and said in the heat of the moment. Still, they’d reached half time having conceded four. That was the same as their last encounter with the Fellside Greens but it felt ten times worse. A good start to the second half would have helped but instead two more goals were leaked leaving it six-nil with nearly the whole second half left to play.

Then fortunes changed: the sun returned briefly and Peter scored following a neat exchange of passes. That was followed by one of the biggest cheers of the night when Ervin completed his first clean header of the season. If that weren’t enough, a break that, to be honest, looked a touch offside, ended with James scoring a second. It seemed like the effects of any incense or karma had worn off and they were finishing the season with a modest flourish.

The parents, with their usual impassioned range of unintended double entendres, willed the team on whilst the equally partisan Buddhist monks throat sung their support with Tibet lines taunting the bemused Fellside fans; translated, apparently to mean “You’re not throat singing any more”. What had the bewildered Fellsider parents done to deserve that? Even so, it all made for a heady atmosphere.

Alas it wasn’t to end quite so happily as the clouds glowered with falling hail around the ground, the very image of Turner’s “Hannibal Crossing theAlps”, the Jaguars conceding one last goal: a sad way to finish the season. The referee blew the final whistle: it was all over.

So it was finally done. The year’s odyssey had reached its conclusion. The trickling source of a mountain stream had wound its way slowly, meandering finally towards the bracing air and crashing waves of new seas. Brian and his coaching team shed a collective tear; in part with regret at the season’s passing but in part too from the joy of seeing the team grow from such difficult beginnings.  It was all too much. Tears welled up in the eyes of the players and their grateful parents too for the extraordinary dedication, wisdom and persistence that Brian and his willing assistants had brought to the team over the whole year.

The sun finally disappeared below the horizon for the very last time. The whole team, players, coaches and parents’ season had finally come to rest. Everyone wanted the moment to last for eternity. No one wanted to leave. But empty Jaguar stomachs interrupted this reverie with rumbles not unlike the throat sung incantations. It was time to go and find a takeaway: A team, disappointed on the night but at peace with itself:

“O spacious, tranquil peace,

So profound in the gloaming.

How tired we are of travelling.”

But there’s always next season.

(One last thank you to Alan for this match report. He has kept us entertained all season)