City Limits - Cambridge City FC blog

Melchester Rovers, Aston Villa and the Lilywhites

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 11:38:00 GMT

When I was nobbut a lad my first footballing experience came not through my local club, the mighty Leicester Fosse but via the pages of Tiger magazine, the centrepiece of which was a colour spread of Roy of the Rovers. In those post-World Cup winning hazy days, Melchester Rovers were in the middle of a nice little 13 year unbeaten winning streak. This, coupled with the miraculous healing powers bestowed upon trainer Taffy Morgan meant that the Melchester team was seldom changed or rotated, as we have it these days.

Goal keeper Tubby Morton was an ever present, as was Blackie Gray, Chalkie White and Lofty Peake, all of whom were urged to greater heights by granite jawed manager Ben Galloway. Roy, of course, lead the line and the team and could usually be relied on to drag himself away from the armed guard of his kidnappers/off his life support machine to bang in a couple of net busters with a minute to go.

For several years I believed that all teams fielded the same eleven week in, week out. It was comforting to know that your heroes wouldn’t face the trauma of being released at the end of the season and would be raring to go on a summer tour to the USA (Voice from the crowd: “Hey Hank, did you see that guy butt the ball with this head?”) and be in tip top shape to sweep all before them in the forthcoming season.

Admittedly, Roy seemed to lose his way a bit in the mid-80s when as manager of the team, made the surprise signing of Spandau Ballet’s Martin Kemp and Steve Norman and it was probably around this time that Roy and I parted company but since I was getting married that summer, it was time to call it a day anyway.

Back in the real world, once the premier league became drunk on its Sky millions, sides could afford to buy not one but two squads of players and following your team became utterly bewildering with players arriving and departing before you could decide whether you likes them or not. When a workmate suggested that I haul myself down to Milton Road to have a look at City I thought that I might be buying into a cosy little squad of local lads. I picked the wrong time to start: 1998-99 when Andy Dewey must have been on extended hours such were the number of signings City made that year.

I was in charge of the mic in those days and frequently struggled to recognise the team from one week to the next. I believe one player was signed on the strength of a chance meeting in the bar, while an Irish lad who played a few games at the end of the season, had wandered over to the ground one night looking for a game. Neil Harvey will know the exact the number but I believe 57 players pulled on the shirt that year. So much for Roy of the Rovers. We were rubbish too.

However, life on the pitch these days is much improved, the City team operating on a squad of 19 players which according to another media outlet, might well be trimmed over the next few weeks. I know that injuries, tiredness and lack of form soon denude your squad of active players but the sooner all teams operate with fifteen players the better. And that includes Man U and Chelsea. Can you imagine the gladiatorial last-man-standing end to the season where players are patched up and sent out to do what they are paid so handsomely for – playing?

Being a wet liberal, I’d excuse those lads who had sustained multiple breaks and fractures but apart from that, there’s nothing that a whiff of sal volatile, the threat of the application to your nethers of Elliman’s Universal Embrocation and the stern warning to ‘run it off’ won’t fix. It certainly worked for Melchester Rovers and come to that, for Aston Villa who won the league in 1980-81 using just 14 players.

For those of you who didn’t know, City won again on Saturday to record their first league win of the month. A hard frost has rendered Milton Road unplayable for Saturday’s match against Truro, a game that will now be played on 25 January. That’ll be a nice Tuesday night drive from Cornwall.

This will be the last blog for a while thanks to a trip to the warmer climes of New York and the home of Soccer Brit Kickball, where Roy and his boys trail-blazed just forty years ago. Roy may be gone but some things never change: the Americans still don’t really get football. If I don’t write again before Christmas, I hope it’s a good one.

Thomas Hood and other Top Writers

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Mon, 22 Nov 2010 22:10:00 GMT

“No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,

No comfortable feel in any member--

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,

November!”

If the Victorian poet Thomas Hood had lived one hundred and fifty years later and rather than being one of the leading comic writers of his day was a staunch Shed-Head, he might have added a few lines to his famous work:

“No midfield, no confidence, no passing, no shots,

No goals, no points, no wins,

November!”

Which is a bit harsh because City have drawn a few games but to write “three points” would spoil it a bit.

Twentieth century Modernist gloom merchant TS Eliot would have us believe that April is cruellest month but he’d clearly never been to Banbury in mid-November and witnessed the hitherto winless-at-home Puritans put one over the hitherto-undefeated-away City. If he had, he would have revised his opinion sharpish and revelled in the comparative delights of April: the prospect of the play-offs, Player of the Season Awards and a couple of quiet months before it all kicks off again.

In truth, few of our great poets have embraced football with any great enthusiasm. Too oikish I suspect, though serious prose writers don’t seem to have the same problem. Albert Camus, a miserablist of such intensity that he made Morrissey look like Charlie Chuckle, was a goal keeper in addition to being a top notch Existentialist. Brian Glanville, the greatest writer on football in the last fifty years turned his hand to fiction with Goalkeepers are Different and Bill Naughton, who when he wasn’t busy helping define the 1960s with novels and films such as Alfie and The Family Way, took time out to write The Goalkeeper’s Revenge. It has to be said that football hasn’t been well served by the cinema, however, as anyone who has endured Escape to Victory will recognise. But that looked like a David Lean production when compared to the ludicrous Goal! in which the boundaries of credibility are stretched as tight as Matt Haniver’s hamstrings when a disbelieving audience are invited to accept that a) Newcastle Utd are a decent Premiership club; b) that they are chasing a Champions’ League spot and c) that they don’t choke and actually secure three points on the last day of the season against Liverpool at home. Oh, I dunno though…

Given football fans’ delight in making up chants and rhymes, I’m surprised there isn’t more interest from the poetry world in the beautiful game. Maybe Alfred, Lord Tennyson was trying to talk up the possibility of a mid-season break when he wrote, “Half a league, half a league, half a league onward.” But probably not. So hats off to Ian McMillan, the poet, broadcaster and journalist who was Barnsley FC’s first ever poet in residence, a job he now discharges for the English National Opera. Which says something.

My modest proposal is that either City start winning and pronto or the match reports will be written in iambic pentameter or worse still, reduced to a stark and telling haiku.* Frankly, I hope it doesn’t come to that because it’ll be a worry to find a rhyme for Kolodynski and I fear that Milton Elenge would trouble even the most comprehensive rhyming dictionary.

For sports’ fans, City lost at Eastwood in the FA Trophy on Saturday and are now free, as they say, to concentrate on the league. The glamour of the Red Insure League Cup will undoubtedly draw a crowd well into two figures at Arlesey on Tuesday night, where the Lilywhites will be defending the pot they won last April. In the event of the game lacking excitement, I suggest traveling fans should pack their favourite poetry anthology so that we can exchange cherished stanzas during the dull bits. Or we could just shout at the ref to try to keep warm. Either way, Arlesey’s not far even with my erratic and challenging navigational skills, and it’ll be nice to shout on the lads as they win 3-2 on penalties after a scoreless match.

*Anybody fancy having a crack at a haiku?

It Don't Mean a Thing if You Aint Got That Swing

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 11:36:00 GMT

Muddy Waters reminded us in in 1957 that he had indeed got his mojo working. Twenty years later, Graham Parker of the late and much lamented Rumour, insisted that it don't mean a thing if you aint got that swing. Quite what a working mojo looks like or how your swing will make life better is difficult to define but in general terms, I’ve always followed their dictums.

And right now, City have lost their mojo and most certainly aren’t playing with any discernable swing. Back in September, the Lilywhites announced themselves with a swagger and confidence that put the fear of god in their opposition. Think back to Hednesford. On the last day of the previous season they came to Milton Road and with a steely determination, turned over City with ease. When we visited them in August, City provided a performance that brushed the Pitmen aside, outplaying their opposition in every part of the field.

Perhaps a more typical was City’s home match against Stourbridge a couple of weeks later when they came out 3-0 winners having shared possession and chances. City took their chances; Stourbridge didn’t and the points stayed at Milton Road. The margin between winning and losing was actually much closer than the score suggested – but City had the ruthlessness to score at crucial times, something that has evaporated of late.

The team which excelled at the beginning of the season is pretty much identical to the side that has endured three consecutive, gritty and mainly fun-free draws. It might well be that a number of injuries haven’t helped; but what is more concerning is the drop in form of key players in the last couple of weeks. Midfield possession is being surrendered too easily and the bullets for the forwards are not being so plentifully supplied.

What doom and gloom, eh? Three draws and third in the table and City have lost it, fallen off their perch, are a shadow of their former selves.

Hardly. Football seems to be a game that is played entirely in the present tense. Tune into any of the cheap-as-chips football phone ins and you’ll find the airwaves clotted with nitwits who will insist that such-and-such a manager has lost it on the back of two defeats, despite the fact he’s taken his side up the table on a budget of seven quid. And if City had sneaked a win on Saturday – which was entirely possible – then all would be well.

Personally, I hope that the squad is neither added to or reduced. These players are fine, provided they are happy to keep adding to their games. The back four and keeper continue to be outstanding but some new tricks need to be added in midfield. And how to regain their mojo and find that elusive swing? Look no further than Gary Player who famously said, “The harder you practice, the luckier you get.”

I simply refuse to believe that any player at any level can’t develop their game – unless they’re happy to work in an unchallenging comfort zone, in which they’re not much use to City or anyone else. And this is when the management team have to earn their corn too and find the missing ingredient. No need to panic – three draws is hardly a disaster, more of a disappointment.

Let’s hope that City’s mojo is well and truly working on Tuesday evening and a little of the missing sparkle is back on show.

PS: This was written an hour before kick off outside the Banbury ground, a depressing and unwelcoming place. With its potholed car park, industrial estate architecture and dimly lit service road to the stadium, this is less of a football ground and more an urban planner’s fevered nightmare. When Gary Roberts said that this wasn’t an easy place to come and win, he wasn’t kidding. It’s not an easy place to come and watch, either.

The great Leicestershire fast bowler Les Taylor memorably described the Derby cricket ground in April as like watching a fart explode. Compared to this place, it was like Florence. Still, the football gets me and it beats watching I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here.

Elevator - Going Up?

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Wed, 10 Nov 2010 15:05:00 GMT

City are having a fine season. Second in the league, still in the FA Trophy and playing decent football. This is a side that has all the hallmarks of one which should either win the league or be handily placed in the play-offs come the end of the season.

Sport is all about winning, of course – or at least professional sport is. It would be an odd club whose ambition was to under-achieve and find a nice comfortable 12th place to nestle come the end of the season. And from the way the club has recruited of late it would appear that promotion is indeed the ambition. We have a new man on loan – Craig Hughes – and Morgan Phillips under dual registration – which indicates a strengthening of the squad.

From this level of activity and the fact that the manager has rested key players in the League Cup and the CIC, the City faithful would be right in thinking that promotion to the Blue Square South is the main priority. What could be better? Back in a bigger division, playing better sides who bring more fans with them than their Southern League counterparts. And who knows, depending on how the Conference pans out, City might be enjoying a very local derby or two from August. .

Under most circumstances, I’d be as excited as the next fan about the prospect of promotion but this year of all years, I am ambivalent. Let’s look at the benefits and drawbacks of going up. .

If we go up, we should attract more interest in the club in terms of gates, advertising, sponsorship, quality of player and column inches. Whether this remains true when we are at Newmarket is debatable. No matter which division we’re in, someone is needed to turn the handle to pull in the sponsors and the ads – does such a person exist? And here’s a thought: no matter which league we’re in, who are our potential financial supporters when we’re based outside of the city? Does anyone know how many fans will make the trip? Has anyone tried to find out from the existing hard core of supporters? Asking the members of the Supporters’ Trust would give an indication. .

If we go up, it will have cost money to do so. I have no idea of the wage bill for players at City but can only assume that it costs to bring in players rather than to ship out the best one and replace them with cheaper options. I’d hate for City to give away our best talent but equally, if they can’t be afforded then what sort of hole is being dug? .

If we go up, as fans, as a club, we will feel better about life. There are many who feel that we were robbed of our place in the Blue Square South and a promotion would redress this. But if it’s beyond our finances, then it’s not sustainable. Promotion means that the club can afford to develop and pay a suitable squad for 2011-12. And not knowing what the gates will be like and how much income will be falling the club’s way makes me slightly nervous. Seeing my glass as half empty, I don’t think I’d enjoy a season at a higher level when wins were scarce and life on the pitch was a struggle. .

But who knows – a promotion and a comfortable season might ensue. But where is the money coming from to make that happen? .

What if we stay where we are? There would be a great sense of under-achievement as we faced another season in the league that doesn’t always excite. Moving out of Cambridge, lodging in a new ground and facing the prospect of another Southern League season might not quicken the pulses of fans and players. A lack of promotion might signal the end of some players’ interest in the club and may seek a higher level elsewhere and with a club with a home to call its own. .

Staying in the Southern League is the least risky option. Provided the club can retain the spine of the present squad and top it up with a couple of the present reserves and new outside talent, then there’s no reason not to do well and play attractive football. Crucially, it’s the cheapest option at a time when no-one can predict what sort of income will be generated over in Newmarket.

I have no inside track on what’s happening at City, no backdoor to the directors. I can only write what I think I see. It may be that I’m wrong and that promotion is the life blood to the club. Your thoughts, rants, ravings and views are always appreciated.

Too Much Football, Already

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 17:58:00 GMT

Tuesday night saw City embark on their defence of the Red Insure League Cup, playing over at Barton, which is just beyond Hitchin. The League Cup is a funny sort of competition, somewhat like the Carling Cup for the big teams. No-one really cares about the Carling Cup – Leicester City used to win it quite regularly for instance – but for many teams, it’s their only chance of a little glory and so it is with the Red Insure for us lesser mortals.

The problem is, it’s a competition that simply doesn’t excite the fans. And it’s a long haul to get to the final too. Last year it worked out like this: Bury Town (a) 340; AFC Sudbury (a) 177; Woodford United (a) 40; Hednesford (h) 142; VTFC (a) 131; VTFC (h) 293. Six games, four of them away. 1,123 supporters over six games.

However, other than the Cambridgeshire Invitational Cup, it’s the only pot that City have a realistic chance of securing. The league? Well, maybe but my gut feeling is that with a relatively small squad, it will be hard to sustain our current form as the pitches get heavier and injuries accrue.

Last season, the two legged final made City’s final month of football ridiculously hectic and could be held responsible for their faltering performance in the league. It’s a trophy worth winning for the prize money in the final I guess – but in terms of excitement, it’s certainly lacking.

I saw just one away game in this competition last season, Woodford away on a bitter winter evening. The official attendance was given as 40 but I believe that this is wrong. I walked around the ground and could only muster 37. However, the nice ladies in the tea bar might have been counted in, so 40 might be correct. It was a wretched evening, the cold seeping up out of the ground, the atmosphere flat and almost dreamlike. City won it 4-3, having been two down. The worry was that when the scores were tied, extra time would be inflicted. 40 people for a professional game. Madness. Even in the second leg of the final at Milton Road, fewer than 300 pitched up to City win their first piece of silverware since the 1980s.

Hednesford seemed to take the competition in the right spirit. They rocked up at Milton Road with both eyes on the league. They fielded a full side but few of them in their usual positions. It was a little like one of those ‘experimental’ difficult LPs from a band devoid of new ideas. “So yeh, we thought it would be a REAL gas if we all swapped instruments to see what would happen and yeh the result was a real surprise.” That’s to say, unlistenable. I believe the physio and goal keeper stuck to their usual roles but apart from that, we had lumbering centre halves leading the line and nippy forwards shoring up the defence. Out they went, City progressed and won the Cup; Hednesford thumped City on the last day of the season to take their play-off place. Nice work.

Tuesday’s win was a pyrrhic victory. Off went Rhys Phillips very early on and then David Kolodynski with a hamstring. However, for a manager who has to keep 17 players match fit, this competition has its benefits. The previously injured Liam Nicell was given 90 minutes, as was Joey Abbs. Fringe players also had a decent chance to play in a competitive match but best of all, it gave Ben Sawyer an opportunity to show the travelling faithful his emerging skills. Other than that, this competition is a complete bust.

At least in the early stages matches are localised; City’s next tie is in Hertfordshire. But just how many club chairmen will be offering up silent but fervent prayers not to be drawn at Truro on a wet Tuesday night later in the competition?

If the competition drew in huge crowds or rewarded teams with filthy lucre for winning matches from the first round to the final then I’d say keep it. Kick it out I say. There’s already more than enough football for everyone at this level without the further congestion of the League Cup cluttering up the fixture list. Bah and indeed humbug.

An Act of Random Kindness

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Sat, 23 Oct 2010 15:55:00 GMT

After the petulance and sulking that has dripped out of Manchester this week, I was need in something restorative. Seeing and hearing Lord Ferg behaving like a disappointed headmaster who has discovered his head boy having an illicit ciggie behind the bike sheds and then reading that Mr Rooney has had DOUBLED his pay for being half as good as he was a year ago left me feeling a little queasy.

I know it’s an easy point to make but that’s never stopped me before: two weeks of Rooney’s new salary would see City’s budget reached in a single blow. Yes, yes, yes I know that Manchester are the world’s (self-appointed) Most Popular Club and that Rooney is indeed an “icon”. By the way, I’m not an aggressive person but if “icon” and “iconic” can be used to describe someone who has been in the public eye for less than a decade and then for the wrong reasons, then I shall be forced to have a firm word with whoever it is who is grinding the English language to dust before my eyes. You have been warned.

Against this backdrop of greed and stage-managed melodrama I was delighted to see the better side of life when I trotted into University Cycles for a set of lights and a chat with Colin. Colin, sole prop of said business, is a local lad through and through and apart from his frequent trips to Holland has seldom strayed more than a mile or so of his birth place. And being local makes him a City fan, albeit one who hasn’t seen the boys in action for a year or two.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said. For one mad moment I thought it might be a bill for repairs, or a spare back light or a new tandem or something but no, of course not. He burrowed into his bike basket and produced a copy of The City Story 1908-1991.

“I thought you might like it,” he said before adding a little unnecessarily, “because you’re the only person I know sad enough to want it.” And Colin knows a lot of people.

If you don’t know, The City Story does pretty much what it says on the tin. Each season is reported on, goal scorers given, results set out and final league tables reproduced. Team photos begin with being a little blurry and end with big hair and regrettable ‘taches. There are occasional match reports and where recorded, attendances. I rather favour the early method of counting: ‘Sparse’, ‘Moderate’ and occasionally and wonderfully ‘Capital.’ I think I’d like to be part of a ‘Capital’ crowd.

It’s not only a statto’s delight, it shines a bright beam of light on the club’s long history. A letter written during the Great War from club official W Kidman to the Master of Magdalene Dr S A Donaldson sought to put the academic straight about the patriotism of the Lilywhites and how thirty of his fifty players had already offered their services to the cause. Furthermore, the club had donated funds to the Prince of Wales’ Fund, the Belgian Refugees’ Fund and the Red Cross Society and that all receipts from a forthcoming Town vs Varsity match would be added to War Funds. And what’s more, he took the trouble to let the press know too. Take that, college boy.

The Second World War records remind us of just how much football was played - lots – and how good the City players were. Dixie Dean was an honorary Lilywhite. No wonder they won and by such wide margins.

The sixties saw the huge crowds and confidence that came from being the city’s top club. Three thousand, four, five would pitch up every fortnight. For us johnny-come-latelies, unimaginable support. Then the sad decline; by the ‘80s crowds of under 200. Average gates of 170. When you see those figures you wonder how – WHY – the club survived.

Which brings us to today. City have endured some pretty hairy moments in their 102 years, not the least four years ago when it was announced that enough was enough and it was time to sell up, cross the river and end it all. At that time there was a strength of feeling and hard-edged leadership among the fans that meant that City stayed at Milton Road albeit at a ground that wasn’t theirs. Today’s team is settled and doing well. But that’s not enough. In a game that will tolerate Rooney and his ilk, City occasionally appear to be too nice, too polite and too deferential to thrive. I suspect that the finesse of a latter-day Mr Kidman might be required.

I Have Seen the Future...

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Fri, 15 Oct 2010 13:48:00 GMT

Before he wore purple and announced that the world was run by reptiles, David Icke was a fine sports journalist. In 1983 he produced an excellent book entitled It’s a Tough Game, Son, in which he produced case studies of young talents whose lights had flickered brightly but briefly. Peter Coyne was the one I remember, thanks to him scoring a fabulous goal on debut for Manchester United against Leicester City which was shown on that night’s Match of the Day. The next time I saw him was for Hyde United vs Marine, around 1982 I guess.

And why mention young talent? Because on Tuesday night, Milton Road was awash with it. Seven young men stepped up from the reserves to play their part in a pulsating game against Wisbech Town in the CIC. The Fenmen, in contrast, were packed with grizzled old lads who’d served time with Peterborough, Boston Utd, King’s Lynn and the like.

In the event, our young lads more than rose to the challenge and managed to turn around a 2-0 deficit to a remarkable 3-2 win. There were nervy moment and times when their inexperience showed but for 90 minutes they played with an enthusiasm and whole-heartedness that made you proud. Now here’s the thing: just how many of these lads will progress and play for City – and beyond- in the next five years or so? In my ideal world, in two years time we’d be watching George Darling scare centre halves and Jordan Nicholson bamboozle fullbacks and who knows, if everything goes to plan, they will be. But the grim statistic is not many make it.

The seventh tier of professional football is an intriguing environment. No-one is here by mistake. There are players who have touched the hem of greatness – Ben Bowditch captained England at every level up to under-19. There are players on their way up – two Simpsons and a Harris for instance – and there are players who have spent their careers playing within a division or two of where they are right now. So where does that leave our lads who did so well on Tuesday night?

One factor in their favour is that they will very grounded by their coaches. Not for them the north London training complexes and the attendant posse of hangers-on. Just how does a 16 year old cope with being told that they are the next greatest thing, only to be released and fall through the leagues like a stone? And is football, football, football the best diet for a developing young adult? Our lads have some balance in their lives, which includes a healthy dose of education. Get some A Levels, look at Higher Education, keep playing. It worked for Robbie Simpson who combined a degree at Loughborough with part-time football at City.

At the moment, our national youth teams do exceptionally well in international competitions but don’t develop later on. And why? Might it just be that coaches and scouts STILL put a premium on physicality rather than skill? It’s one thing for a six foot 16 year old to boss a game at school boy level and quite another for the same player, four years on, to do the same in adult football. Just when will coaches start to look at potential rather than what’s staring them in the face? As long as the junior game is results driven, managers will still prefer the raw-boned forward who can bully a defence to a skilful ball player who gets buffeted around but shows a level of inspiration and awareness that needs to be nurtured.

All of which leaves the City lads in decent shape. Good athletes, slight and skilful, these boys have room to develop. Whether they will is dependent on factors way beyond any manager’s control but if they can be put in an environment where football is fun, the ball is your friend rather than an object to be hoofed over the stand and where the game is still a passion and not drudgery, then who knows?

Putting on my rose tinted glasses for a moment, wouldn’t be wonderful to be shouting on a Lilywhites side made up of young local lads in four years time at our new ground? Ah, perhaps there’s a greater likelihood of a Darling hat trick than a spanking, gleaming stadium. Better go and feed the elephant…

It had to come to an end...

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Sat, 09 Oct 2010 09:56:00 GMT

In cricket, there exists a strange phenomenon called the commentator’s curse. It works like this: a batsmen looks in good nick, is playing the ball around and is utterly untroubled. Set for the day, as they say. At this point, Aggers or CMJ or one of the other TMS home boys makes the mistake of saying, “Well, that was a lovely shot from Bell. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him play a better stroke.” The poor lad might as well declare his innings over and wander back to the pavilion because what happens next is as predictable as a George Osborne spending cut. The hitherto innocuous bowler sends down a jaffa that starts outside leg, pitches on off and uproots the middle stump. Thank you and goodnight.

City suffered the equivalent of the CC at the weekend. On the Friday the skills and miserliness of their defence had been described with fulsome praise in a well known daily local paper. On Saturday, after 91 and half minutes of pretty undistinguished football, our visitors Chippenham scored with an effort that appeared to catch everyone – fans included – off guard. And that was that. Undefeated record gone, run of clean sheets ended and the prospect of crowing away supporters to endure. All in all, not a lot of fun.

And speaking of not a lot of fun, let’s think about Tuesday’s trip to the west Midlands where the Lilywhites took on Halesowen. I make few away games but it happens that I was able to cover the same game last year where I encountered one of the oddest atmospheres I’ve ever come across at any sporting event. The fans were on strike, protesting over the way in which the then owner of the club was running affairs. This meant that the voluntary helpers on the turnstiles, the programme sellers and tannoy announcer were all absent. And when the ‘crowd’ rocked up, it was given as an optimisitic140 of whom about 30 were from City.

Despite the grimness of the surrounding, the Yeltz put out a decent side that made City work hard for a 1-1 draw. An unexpected highlight was meeting the two local stringers who had a Hancockian lugubriousness about them and who, happily, were on duty again when I pitched up. If anything, the club was in an even greater mess than last year, they said. Crowds were down (only slightly higher than when they were on strike, if that makes any sense), players were being shipped out to be replaced with younger, less experienced lads and the stadium looked tired and grimy. The hoarding offering the services if The Drain Doctor was immediately alongside a puddle that ran the length of the stand.

The Lilywhites met a team that had lost their last five league matches; the local press boys were anticipating a huge defeat, a six or seven goal whacking. In the event, it was a game that hardly moved out of second gear. The Yeltz weren’t great but then again, neither were City. Stunning shots that worried their keeper? On the lower end of the 0-1 scale. Goal line clearances by City and ‘proper’ saves from Zac Barrett? Around three. So you can see, it wasn’t the most engaging of encounters…and yet…and yet…we won.

The performance was ordinary; the spark and verve in attack missing; the guile and cleverness in midfield AWOL. But it was a win, away from home and three, fat, juicy points have been banked.

I’m writing this before City’s FA Cup encounter down at Dover, where they will play a side far better equipped than Halesowen. Last year at this stage, City drew a similar team at home – Hinckley - and were comprehensively thumped. I have everything crossed for a better performance today. Tune in next week when I’ll either be anticipating further progress in the FA Cup or our home tie against Wisbech in the CIC. Halesowen last week and Wisbech at home the next. Now there’s glamour for you.

Moving on

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 21:02:00 GMT

Mark Smith update: still in fine form but unable to stop the juggernaut that is Cambridge City from sweeping his Hitchin boys aside to record a 2-0 win and progress to the next round of the FA Cup, where Dover will await on the coast.

City weren’t wonderful but, as they say, did the job. In the great scheme of things, it worked out well. Our new striker Craig Hammond was suffering from a back twinge and wasn’t called upon the play; Liam Nicell was injured and Ashley Fuller dropped, meaning that three lads who are usually on the bench played a full 90 minutes. A decent win, a chance to see old City players in action against us and more prize money.

This event signals the closure of the Mark Smith Desk.

There has, of course, been a sizable elephant in the room that is Milton Road for a few years now. Simply put, City don’t own their own ground and according to plans drawn up by the directors will be playing at Newmarket next season. This is something we’ve all known for a long time but somehow the excitement of winning matches, enjoying being top of the table and watching new talent develop all push the impending homelessness issue to one side.

What made people sit up and think about the future was the Trust meeting earlier this week, chaired by Sam Tudor and attended by directors of the club and the manager, Gary Roberts. This was an opportunity for members of the Trust to ask questions to the board about future plans and to Gary about the team. The latter was pretty easy. Unbeaten, top of the league and in the cup…thank you very much. Next!

What followed was far more complex to describe and discuss. Plans to move were confirmed, promises made that finance was in place, assurances made that should the team be promoted, that the new ground would be able to host the matches at that level. Land and planning permission for a new ground will be sought within the city of Cambridge. All this confirms what we already knew. So why the frantic traffic on the City message boards since then?

I think it’s partly to do with the vague glimmer of hope that we might have another season at Milton Road being extinguished. It’s also to do with the harsh finality of upping sticks and saying goodbye for the very last time. And it’s also bound up with the fear that comes with a whole set of ‘what if’ questions.

What if the cost is beyond us? What if the building work isn’t completed? What if we get there and we don’t like it? What if we go there and no-one turns up? What if the players don’t fancy it?

These are all the questions that always plague us when we’re on the point of change and often when the answers appear, they are often reassuringly banal. But the point is, they need to be discussed and planned.

I have terrific respect for the board and know that at heart, each is a City fan first and director second and I’m sure that they have the move in hand. But for us rank and file supporters, we’re like kids about to start a new school, needy of basic information and wanting to see the bigger picture. Right now, I think we want to hear about the vision for the club and be inspired. I want to have ‘Hopefully we will be…’ turned in to “Follow me and we will…’.

I want to hear of the plans to make it easy for fans to get to Newmarket and of how we can help with that; I want to know about reaching out to new supporters in Burwell and the villages around our new ground – and our role in that. I need to hear about how we are keeping a base in Cambridge – a pub, a bar, anywhere that acts as a meeting place around which we can run our social events. I need a bit of vision sharing with us all. Vision motivates, energises and excites. Whatever City fans thought of life over the A14 in previous years, Histon could never be accused of having a lack of vision, ditto the rugby club. And yes, both are currently in the mire but the point remains, people were engaged and energised.

Why didn’t I bring this up on Wednesday? Well, because like on so many occasions, I think of the killer riposte or question on the bus home two hours after the event. On Wednesday night the directors fronted up and gave the facts, and good on them. But now I need to get excited and feel we’re being lead to a new future.

And think: If a five year plan of ground sharing leading to permanent relocation excites me, what is it likely to do to potential sponsors, advertisers and other investors?

The clock is running down and opportunities to rally the troops are limited. Now’s the time to pull together and ensure the club has a strong enough heartbeat to see it through our time in Newmarket.

One for the FA to consider

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Mon, 27 Sep 2010 22:17:00 GMT

I was pretty effusive in my praise for Mark Smith in last week’s offering. For new readers, Mark is the former City defender who at 42 can play the socks off lads half his age, as he proved on Saturday when he not only marshalled the defence but had the presence of mind to open the scoring and almost steer his Hitchin team to a deserved win against the less than almighty Lilywhites.

In the event, City sneaked in an equaliser in the 91st minute setting up a replay on Tuesday night. Much as I love cup football, I’m no fan of extra time, mostly for deeply practical reasons. After a long day down in the East End - Brick Lane on this occasion – I’m more than excited about 90 minutes of football. But another 30 minutes? No, enough already and besides, I have a deadline to meet. In what is laughingly called my media career, I have to file 450 breathless words by 10 pm that capture the thrills and spills of the game and to be frank, extra time creates a bit of unnecessary pressure to the task. And beside, I usually want to go home to a welcoming milky drink and a Sherlock Holmes short story under the winter duvet.

And it is Sherlock from whom we draw our inspiration. Not the metrosexual Cumberbatch Sherlock, all digital hand-helds and flashing eyes, but the pukka Conan Doyle creation who could solve any problem with nothing more than a burst on his violin, a nice line of Colombian and a fine set of side whiskers. Last week I was re-reading The Sign of Four for the hundredth time, the one in which the murders are committed using poisoned darts propelled from a blow pipe. So here’s my modest proposal, the second this month, as it happens.

Within each squad there is a designated crack marksman who will be supplied with a blow pipe and ten darts. (Incidentally, can ‘crack’ be applied to any other occupation? Crack lorry driver? Crack tree surgeon? Crack crack cocaine dealer?) The darts will be tipped with a potent neuroleptanalgesic – Immobillon is the drug of choice among my elephant tranquilising friends – a potion of such strength that on impact, will render any beast insensible.

Come extra time and in my scenario, the golden goal rule comes into play, but to hurry things along, each marksman has ten chances to reduce the opposition to a state of paralysis. For me this has many sensible advantages. Players who begin to lumber about will almost certainly find a little extra life as they run hither and thither to make themselves a harder target. Managers will be encouraged to put a premium on speed and nippiness, so out will go ponderous centre halves and carthorse forwards and in come the chippy ball players. And I rather like the idea of hyper-active goal keepers bouncing around the box and doing a bit of work for a change, rather than just standing in the D and shouting “Free header!” and “Squeeze!”. And with the threat of a dart in your gluteus maximus at any moment, teams will want to get the game over as quickly as possible and attack, attack, attack.

There will be the odd do-gooder and slave to health and safety who might want to pick the odd hole in what I feel is a dramatic and worthwhile development, but until anyone can find a better way of ending a game quickly enough to make sure I can get my job done, then this is the way forward. I should also mention at this point that the physio will have a key role to play in reviving stricken players using an etorphine reversing agent such as Revivon or Naveon. And I’m not using the word ‘reversing’ lightly here either. Any lack of urgency will have managers making some fairly wholesale changes to his squad for the following Saturday. And think of the inconvenience that will cause for programme editors who have to create a new set of pen portraits.

Until the FA wake up and see sense, we’re stuck with the same old 90 minutes/extra time/penalties/get home late scenario. Actually, on this occasion I won’t really mind how City do it, so long as they win. Perhaps knowing that they’re only in the tie by the skin of their teeth will be sufficient motivation for them to go out and do what they usually do and that for this match at least, the Amazonian blow pipes can be left at home.

The Picture of Dorian Gray - welcome back Mark Smith

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Thu, 23 Sep 2010 20:03:00 GMT

On Saturday, Hitchin pop along to the Theatre of Dreams to play City in the big one: the Second Qualifying Round of the FA Cup. Win this one and two more and we’re in the First Round. Win that and two more and we can draw Man U at home and raise all the cash we need in one game to pay for the season and more. It hardly needs mentioning that the routine win against the self-appointed World’s Greatest Club (excluding Inter Milan, Real Madrid, Juventus and Barcelona) will clear City’s path to inevitable Wembley glory.

For Lilywhites’ fans, it’s pretty much a perfect draw: it’s at home; it’s against a decent side who are a league below us; and they will bring a number of players who have strong City connections. They are managed by former City fave Charlie Williams while Tom Pepper, John Frendo and Mark Smith have all played at Milton Road in the recent past and all being well, will be lined up come 15:00 on Saturday.

Of the four, it is Mark Smith who from my point of view is the most admirable. Not only is he just one middle initial shy of having the coolest name in sport*, he embodies everything I wish I could still do. When Mark joined us in the 2009-09 season it would be true to say that he was experienced. It would be even truer to say that he was 41, an age when most men settle down to a life of exchanging tales of minor ailments with their mates, rather than running the back four of a semi-pro football team.

Whereas I still fantasise about turning out silky performances, Mark actually does so. During long, cold, winter evenings, my restless mind often finds solace in improbably sporting scenarios: a series of age-defying performances in which the Boy Austin comes to the aid of his country. To wit: On the eve of the first Ashes Test, the England middle order is in complete disarray. Jonathan Trott is trapped down a 90 foot fissure caused by his endless scratching at the crease; Ian Bell has been mistakenly sold as a novelty key ring and KP’s head has literally exploded after he tried to hold two thoughts at the same time. But wait! The selectors meet…

“We’re in a pickle lads but I’ll tell you what. I’ve heard good things about Camden Third Eleven’s occasional Number 11 batsman. Apparently he thick-edged a scratchy one past square leg for a nice little single last season…I think he’s worth a punt at three.”

And so it comes to pass that the Brisbane Test sees an unlikely hero walking to the crease. The first innings is a sketchy 50 (best not to peak too soon in your fantasies, so to speak) but a match winning unbeaten hundred in the second innings secures the win. From then on it’s back to back centuries, a five-nil England whitewash and the certainty of an MBE on Jan 1st.

All of which illustrates why I admire Mark Smith so much. I dream about sporting prowess whereas twice a week he competes as a professional footballer, playing with the élan of a man half his age. I took a sneaky look at his pen portrait on the Hitchin website and detected flecks of grey, so at least we have something in common. Except my flecks are brown, the grey having taken over.

I hope Hitchin enjoy their time a Milton Road but half as much as the Lilywhites’ faithful. I love a good FA Cup tie and it’s a feeling shared by many. I know that those snooty sorts in the Premier League simply wouldn’t understand what the competition means to non-league fans, so maybe I should remind them. It’s a wonderful chance to play different teams; progress brings in £££££s; and for nitwits like me, it fuels the dream of that 11th hour inclusion in the City squad prior to taking on Arsenal in the Third Round. If Gary needs a comfortably proportioned, out of condition never-has-been to nullify the threat of Walcott, he knows my number…

* Mark E Smith of course. Totally Wired.

Milton Road: The Final Frontier

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Sun, 19 Sep 2010 22:47:00 GMT

The club have decided to target the Freshers’ Fair in order to attract some student interest in table-topping tip top tastic Cambridge City. And good for whoever thought of it.

I’ve just returned from Sheffield, where I have delivered my oldest in to the arms of academe and the promise of a nice little debt to pay off once he’s graduated. Happy days.

While I was busy fretting over whether he had enough underpants to see him through until Christmas (answer: Yes, so long as he's not too bothered about the state they’re in) an incredibly ancient Welsh youth of some 19 summers knocked at his door to introduce himself. I knew he was Welsh because he was carrying a rugby ball, as you do. Being a second year, he knew the ropes and would, I believe, make an ideal candidate for Master Mind so long as his specialist subject was Cheap Places to Drink in Sheffield. During his three minute monologue he gave my lad a comprehensive run down on how to achieve the maximum level of out-of-it-ness on the least amount of money possible. During his impromptu lecture I began to wonder when he'd get round to mentioning the library, or perhaps it was like Brigadoon and was only visible once every hundred years.

But then the cogs turned. Very slowly. When we’re wowing the Freshers, let’s put football to one side. From what I can make out, the two great questions students ask are: Is it free? And is alcohol involved?

So, my modest proposal is that Milton Road should be marketed as less of a football club and more of a drinking club. Come and watch the football for free but you HAVE to buy a couple of drinks at the bar. It might be crazy (and almost certainly, wildly irresponsible) but it just might work.

However, what must be factored in is the astonishing timidity of many students. Having spent a gap year bothering the locals in all four corners of the earth, they pitch up in Cambridge and get windy if they stray more than 400 yards from their college. Get this: a mate who was at Jesus College for three years, never EVER ventured to Mitcham’s Corner. If he had left Jesus by the back gate and turn left instead of right, he could have bought half a pound of bacon at Waller’s, flicked a glance across the top shelf at the news agents next door, bought a set of bike lights from Colin and wondered why the Jolly Watermen was empty and all within 300 yards of his home patch.

Getting the self-same students who just a few months before had crossed the Andes with nothing more than their Dad’s Platinum Card for company to visit the wilds of Milton Road might be a little bit of a challenge. But being a public spirited sort, I’m quite happy to don a high visibility jacket and pied piper-like trot from college to college on a Saturday afternoon to lead the cream* of British youth to our theatre of dreams.

Do you reckon it might work?

*Thick and rises to the top. Just kidding. Maybe.

Oxbridge Blues

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 18:33:00 GMT

Another day, another clean sheet, another win. On this occasion the joint attraction of Oxford and Cambridge’s second best professional football teams amounted to a whopping 146 souls, of which around 40 had made the journey from the Fens, to whom I tip my hat.

But 146. Just over 100 folks in the whole of Oxford wanted to turn out and shout their boys on, had the motivation to have a look at two new signings, wanted to see their lads win one and move up the table.

You’ll be delighted to read that match attendance, like most other topics of the day, from the Pope’s visit to why my tomatoes haven't thrived this year, is something about which I have a view. Actually, in this instance, that view more or less belongs to Simon Kuper and Stefan Szymanski, co-authors of the thought-provoking if sometimes flawed offering Why England Lose.

It goes like this: When professional football really took off in the latter decades of the 19th century, it found a foothold in those cities that were rapidly industrialising, environments that experienced an astonishing growth from small towns to centres of heavy industry within twenty or thirty years. And what’s that got to do with football? It turns out that the mill and factory owners saw the benefit of football as a way of keeping their workforce fit, occupied and motivated. And the city fathers also saw that by promoting their local team they could help give their community and identity and a focus.

Meanwhile, Oxford and Cambridge’s characteristics were already firmly in place: university centres that catered for incomers. No need for professional sport in these places, thank you.

To their theory I would add the following. Cambridge as city of in-comers, is full of football fans whose first and most influential memories were of being taken to the Hawthorns, Filbert Street, White Hart Lane or Upton Park. And not Milton Road. They have kids – but they don’t have the memory of being taken by their dad to watch the Lilywhites and don’t instinctively connect with the club.

As an in-comer, albeit one who has spent nearly 25 years here, moving to a new place is a challenging experience. To start with, you’re never sure if you’ll be here for long – maybe the next job will take you miles away – so putting down roots isn’t necessarily an option. But as time rolls on, life changes. My kids were born here, attend the local schools. Life isn’t just work but a whole raft of activities – including for me, football.

During the summer, I was part of a dining group that included City historian Neil Harvey. Our conversations were almost exclusively about City and its history. As a relative Johnny-come-lately, I didn’t have much to share and I envied Neil when he had, for want of a better phrase, A Moment.

“If I could be anywhere – ANYWHERE – right now it would be…standing on the terraces of the old ground,” he said. To me that shows roots that us incomers will never experience.

And that told me everything I needed to know about the future of the club. Of course it resides in our children and their friends. In forty years time I want my littlun to say: “Remember when we saw Sheringham score a hat trick with his head?” Or “Wasn’t it great when we romped home in the league in 2011?”

Let’s remember that we are a family club and have to develop that strand of our support. Because if we don’t, us old geezers can’t be expected to hang around for ever and anyway, I want someone around in the future who is passing on the torch to his children.

The Magic of the Cup (TM)

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Sun, 12 Sep 2010 07:35:00 GMT

The Magic of the Cup fleetingly cast its spell over Milton Road at the weekend. Very fleetingly, as it turned out. On the face of it, the conditions were perfect for a fabulous afternoon of football: bright sunshine, a verdant pitch, City at (almost) full strength and an opposition from a lower division in Long Buckby who really wanted to progress in this competition.

However, on this occasion our visitor’s ambitions weren’t matched by their skills, which made for a somewhat fractious and scratchy match in which both teams cancelled one another out for long periods. Supporting a team in the seventh tier of organised football hardly gives me the right to pass judgement on other sides but, being as kind as possible, the Bucks weren’t much cop. Organised, yes. Busy, yes. But able to fashion out chances that really threatened our main man Zac Barrett? No. But without them, it would have been a dull old afternoon.

I’m close to be as effortless patronising about them as a friend was about City on Saturday morning, so I shall be careful. Listen to this though. The schools are back in session and with that comes all the other activities in which our children take part. Saturday means tennis for Austin Minor, an event that runs from 2.00-3.30. Hence being on the phone first thing on Saturday morning to arrange a lift share so that I could be comfortably ensconced at the Theatre of Dreams for kick off and not haring around on the tennis run.

“And would you mind dropping him off at Milton Road so that he can see the second half?”

“Oh do you STILL go there?”

“Yes, of course…and we’re doing well – unbeaten this season.”

“Hmmm, you might well be but that doesn’t really say much about the quality of the game does it?”

It was at this point that tongues were bitten, deep breaths taken and the decision not to try to explain was made. But it niggled away at me and put me to thought.

How about this? The same person rings me and the following happens:

“Oh hi…wondered if you and the Memsahib want to join us to eat tonight in town at the new place on Regents Street?”

“Hmmm…dunno really…not sure about the quality. It’s local you see and I really only like to eat at the The Ivy…I mean, I’m sure they wash their hands and everything…but it’s a bit LOCAL isn’t it?”

Or:

“How about going to the Mumford Theatre next week to see an amateur production of Annie Get Your Gun?”

“Amateur you say? At the Mumford? No, no, no. Bound to be awful. I doubt if they’ll have even learned their lines. No siree bob, it’s the West End or nowt for me.”

Now my friend is not a bad person or wilfully malicious – merely misguided and uninformed. For her, the only football she understands is the Premier League and I’m not talking about the Stoke and Wigan end of the equation either. Football equals Man U and Chelsea, where branding and public awareness are as important as the style of football that is played.

But if you were to apply the same rule to say, literature, and insist that the only books worth reading were those at the top of the Best Sellers’ List, then she’d be condemned to a deeply troubled life of having to read Dan Brown and that would never do. Or if the only films that were allowed to watch were mega budget block busters? No The Illusionist or Tamara Drewe for you, lady.

Back to the football. But you get my point.

As it happened, there were few magical moments during this tie but when one did occur, late in the game, it was of such quality that it left you catching your breath.

At 2-0, the game was won and our manager took the opportunity to give the subs an outing. On came our new man Ryan Wade, a prolific striker at a level lower than the Southern League but nevertheless, a chap who was no stranger to finding the net. And so it proved when on the 82nd minute he collected a little flick from Neil Midgley, lined up his shot and unleashed a swooping, sweetly struck drive from what – 35 yards? – that thumped into the back of the net.

The Magic of the Cup indeed.

It's their Wembley you know...

nick@sparrowhawkandheald.co.uk — Thu, 09 Sep 2010 21:27:00 GMT

On Saturday City embark on their FA Cup odyssey at home to the relatively lowly Long Buckby, a team about whom I know very little other than they play in a division a few rungs below the Southern League Premier.

Football, being a desperately hierarchical game organised as it is in a pyramid, gives everyone a precise measure of their relative worth, which encourages fans to look up the big boys and down on the minnows. This is all relative of course. Within the region, Luton are comparatively big fish, having until recently been a fixture in the upper echelons. Nationally, they wouldn’t feature on the radar of the bigger clubs. City play in the seventh tier of the pyramid, so are hardly members of football’s elite, yet on Saturday when our visitors pitch up, one of the Lilywhites’ faithful will say – and in all seriousness too - “Well, of course, this is their final, you know.”

I give fair warning now that if this is said within my earshot that I shall administer a very stern look. Perhaps it’s superstition that drives folk to repeat old saws. And it’s superstitions that caught my attention earlier this week. Just how many do we have? And why do we stick with them when we know that they can’t really make a difference to the outcome of a game. If they did, why would managers assess the opposition and prepare their teams and why would players bother working on their skills and keeping fit…? It’s the Thursday evening training session and our very own Fabio is getting his team ready for Saturday’s match…

“Right lads, it’s like this. I’ve had a look at them and they’ve a couple a strikers who are a right handful so I’ve decided to leave Chaffs and Theo out.”

“Yer wot?”

“No listen, the way I see it is like this. Keith’s wearing his lucky socks which have worked perfectly well all season, we’re unbeaten aren’t we? So – take a break lads and let the lucky socks work their magic again. Now, I notice that they’ve only conceded two goals all year, so I was thinking about playing three up front but then I remembered Derek and his winning underpants, so Kolo, you can stay at home. By the way, I think Derek is taking it a bit too seriously. If anyone sees him let him know that he’s allowed to change them between games, all right, just so long as he’s wearing them on match days.”

“Now then, according to the stats, they must be fit because they score a lot in the last ten minutes. Usually I’d order extra training but I reckon we’ve already got it covered off.”

“How do you mean?”

“Craig, you HAVE been sitting in your lucky seat on the bus haven’t you?”

“Yeh… but…”

“And every time Burkey’s got on you’ve made the same joke about his dodgy haircut haven’t you?”

"Yeh…but…”

“Yeh but nothing. So long as you keep up that sort of 100% effort I can’t see this lot giving us the run around. Right, take the rest of the night off and I’ll see you at five to three on Saturday. And don’t sweat it, I’ve already talked to Avesy about him taking his lucky route to the ground.”

And don’t forget, if our superstitions work for our team, then by the same logic, they must work just as well for the opposition too. So nobody’s team ever loses, right? However, if we’re 3-1 down with five minutes to go on Saturday, do feel free to summon up what ever assistance you feel necessary. Leave the voodoo dolls at home though…