TNH – The Northern Hemisphere

Alnmouth United Part 1 & 2, a fictional account as featured in issue 14 of VFTAE, also a nice piece in The Times by Henry Winter featuring this issue:

ALNMOUTH UNITED UNDER 11’s

PART 1: Preseason Training

“That’s it Baxter you run off home to Mummy and take your shitty dog with you!” The blood was now running down his leg from an open cut on his knee and collecting in the ruffles of his football socks. Wiping the tears from his face as he stands in the middle of the road outside the football club all the lads looking and laughing at him, he turns around blows a raspberry, sticks up two fingers and yells “cheating bastards!!” where is VAR when you need it?

The autumn evening sunlight is now cascading shadows as the tide gently washes onto the sand banks of the Alnmouth estuary where the river Aln meets North Sea.

This is no ordinary September Monday evening in Alnmouth, this is the first of two preseason training sessions at Alnmouth United for the Under 11’s side.

Alnmouth United’s pitch is located on the Lesbury Road in between Hipsburn Primary School and Lesbury Cricket Club. For Baxter this is a moderate walk over the bridge up the hill to one of the modest houses just before Alnmouth Golf Club. He usually jogs part of the way home reducing to a walk as a cool down after his training session. Tonight, though with his knee cut and feeling sorry for himself he can barely bring himself to walk never mind anything more exerting.

Stopping halfway up the hill to gather his thoughts he takes in the familiar view of the expansive estuary wetlands. It’s quite a drop looking down from this vantage point and he has often thought when driving home with his parents if their car went off the road it would be one hell of a ride! There seems to be a distinct lack of fencing or railings along this little stretch.

Wiping the sweat from his brow the tears have now dried up from the head wind as he walked, the stinging from his knee is numbed by the rising aroma of what can only be described as dog crap.

Looking down at his left leg nostrils flared in disgust Baxter can see a brown crustation on his upper thigh as though it is emerging from the bottom of his shorts. So how has he come to be in such an unfortunate position, glazed look on his face, nostrils flared, one soiled thigh, one cut knee and ruffled football socks?

The preseason training session began at 7.00pm sharp, the Under 11’s coach is a stickler for timekeeping. A school teacher from Seahouses who was laid off two summers ago due to local Government cut backs. Now a fully signed up agency supply teacher he travels at short notice all over the Northumberland area and sometimes further afield around the Scottish Borders. Being able to pick and choose when he works it affords him the luxury of devoting extra time to his passion as a part time football coach. Mr Jefferies as he likes to be addressed believes in discipline, respect and downright bloody hard work.

Blowing his whistle, the lads in the team know the drill and all stand in line, shuffling to get in place. Baxter kicks Tommo on the back of his calf to speed up the process.

“Right lads Welcome back! Hope you all had a good summer and ready for some hard work?” Mr Jefferies had arranged over the summer for a delivery of old car tyres from the local breakers yard to use during their training sessions.

“I want you to line up these tyres in pairs” the lads looking puzzled but too afraid to ask why, they carry out the task.

After 10 minutes of rolling the tyres into each other they finally get the tyres set up in line in pairs.

“Come on now lads form a queue” They all line up behind each other, think Tommo needs a wee as he keeps hopping from one leg to another pulling the material at the front of his nylon football shorts.

“On the blow of my whistle I want you to each in turn do the tyre run” A tyre run is a football training exercise to increase one’s agility and speed.

After picking his nose Baxter shouts out “What’s a tyre run?” Mr Jefferies explains which seems to just confuse the boys even more so he decides to give a little practical demonstration. The boys look at each other smirking as he loosens up by doing some Yoga type stretches. He takes a run up and begins the tyre run each knee seems to get higher with each tyre completed, the back of his football shorts appears to be getting chewed up in crack of his bottom. As he reaches the last pair of tyres the toe of his football boots catches on the rim of the inside of the tyre and he lunges forward, performs a kind of gymnastics stance to break his fall and pretend it never happened.

Jefferies was one of those mid 50’s chaps who let’s just say can scrape a fringe from the back of their head a modern-day comb over. During the acrobatic recovery his fringe didn’t follow suit quite so gracefully and was now flapping around in the sea breeze over one side of his face. For Tommo this amusement was almost too much for him in his borderline urination state, the hopping has become more frantic and he calls out in a high pitch voice “I need to go for a wee!!”. Excused and told to join the back of the queue on his return. The tyre run begins which looks like a scene out of Full Metal Jacket each lad taking their turn, Jefferies commanding the session with constant whistle blows and barking instructions in a military fashion feeling completely in his element.

As the sun starts to set the sky is illuminated in a wash of orange and flame red colours, the final exercise of the evening is about to begin a free for all 10 minutes kick around, if the ball goes out of play kick it back in, a mad run around of tackling, defending and shots on target.

Tommo had spent a lot longer in the toilets than anticipated due to dropping some of his paper round money in the trough then trying to figure out the best way to retrieve it after also urinating on it, so in his defence when he ran out from the toilet block and joined the kick around he had missed the rule of not to commit any fouls.

Tommo is straight into the on-field action just as Baxter gets the ball after a nifty little tackle, he runs down the right wing, with the goals in view in his tunnel vision. A stud clips the back of his heel he goes down on his right knee on to a sharp pebble his reaction to the pain makes him recoil and twist over on his left side his leg now squelching in what he now knows is dog mess.

He catches his breathe and gets himself back on his feet, he can see Tommo is still laid on the ground after his horrendously reckless sliding tackle. The red mist comes down almost overwhelmingly, in a fleeting fit of rage Baxter kicks Tommo in the side of his ribs and runs off the pitch, he can hear Tommo and some of the other lads shouting as he makes his exit out of the football ground.

Fences have now been put up around the football pitch and even CCTV installed to try and prevent the irresponsible dog walkers letting their beloved canine friends from fouling on the pitch. But unfortunately, these measures haven’t worked so it really is a case of doggy foul play!!

PART 2: The Away Day

The smell of fresh filter coffee fills the kitchen of chez Jeffries, he flicks on the radio for Saturday morning Talk Sport. Taking a deep breath in and out to clear his lungs and release the air from his diaphragm. It’s the morning of the first away game of the season a local derby against Alnwick Town AFC Under 11’s.

His managers tracksuit is washed and ironed laid out on the bed with his trusty Puma King football boots which have been with him for many a managerial season now. Faithful to the cause of Alnmouth United Under 11’s unlike his ex-wife who ran off with “Sailor Roy” as he likes to call him, Roy runs the tourist boat trips to the Farne Islands at Seahouses. She met him one Friday evening while on a hen do in the Ship Inn. Not that he is bitter at all, he was more upset she took the family cat. Harold or Harry as his name was shortened to was a large male neutered Tortoise shell, they always had a special bond together as his wife made him have the snip early on in their marriage as she definitely didn’t want any children.

He has moved on now and met other women since they divorced, the most significant relationship a local woman a bit older than him, turns out she was going through that “change” or so the lads down the local called it. After a meal one evening at her house an argument ensued about who should wash and who should dry the dishes, the situation became somewhat heated and she tried to stab him with the bread knife. Luckily for him the knife wasn’t fit for slicing a Tiger Bloomer never mind actually puncturing flesh. It did though leave a terrible hole in his favourite La Coste polo shirt, which she never apologised for or offered to replace the damaged garment. So inevitably they went their separate ways.

So, for Jeffries these away fixtures have a double element of interest, obviously his main focus is managing his football team to victory, but he also likes to keep a keen eye out for any single soccer mums on the side lines.

With that in mind he finishes his Granola and coffee and heads upstairs for a shower. His dilemma now is he knows on daily basis he needs to shave his head but he is in no man’s land and just can’t quite commit, bit like his ex-wife! With Shockwaves gel at hand he manages to cobble together a fringe from the depths of follicle hell.

Happy with his creation he dons the managerial tracksuit and with a skip in his step makes his way downstairs leaving a trail of Lynx Africa behind him.

Smelling like he has just stepped of a dance floor in a nightclub in the 1980’s he packs his car up. Fresh A4 copies of the team sheets, not really his responsibility but he likes to be on the ball from an admin point of view.

Football boots and notepad sit next to him on the passenger seat, he has been driving a relatively new Kia Sportage for the last few years, he wanted and SUV and the Sportage fits in with supply teacher sporadic salary.

Jeffries bought his two-bedroom terrace on Main Street Seahouses about 8 years ago. After the divorce went through, they sold the marital home and split the money. The house is quite a way back up Main Street away from the hustle and bustle of the small harbour town centre of Seahouses. The property has some nice views of Seahouses Golf Club some of the more obscure holes set to challenge the higher handicapper. As an avid golfer himself and a member of the golf club the location is perfect, he over the years more so after the divorce managed to get his club handicap down to 19. He tries to play most weekends and actively participates in the medal competitions, never quite securing a win he has come a close 2^nd and 3^rd a few times now there has been talking in the locker room of some inter club “banditry” within the Rabbits division, surely not? These are all upstanding members of the local community!

This first away fixture of the new season is amusingly only a 25-minute drive via Beadnell and down the A1 to St James’s Park, not the home of Newcastle United but home to Alnwick Town FC.

He has calculated his journey to perfection allowing him enough time to pick up another coffee from the lovely Salt Water Café in Beadnell. He parks up near the Craster Arms and takes the short walk over to the café. Being a Saturday morning, it is always busy with a mixture of locals and tourists. It has a nice welcoming relaxed vibe to the place. The staff know him as this coffee stop forms part of Saturday morning football routine during the season. He always orders the same, an Americano with a splash of milk.

“Coffee to go” he sets off on the road again to Alnwick, it’s a grey cloudy morning but he is pleased the first away game of the season won’t be played in the rain. There will be plenty of time when the rain, frost and snow will see many a match postponed leaving a headache later in the season to fit in the abandoned fixtures usually midweek at short notice with little time to prepare or train his young team, which in past seasons has led to some strange but often entertaining results! For and against.

Arriving at Alnwick Town FC he pulls into the busy carpark, senses in overload he spots the opposing team manager. Tommo is also getting out of his mum and dads’ car, but where is Baxter??

His last know sighting was on the Lesbury Road doing a reverse victory salute after a run in with Tommo during preseason training.

A screech of car brakes, dust cloud, pebbles flying as Baxter’s dad’s car makes a late arrival into an already busy car park. The passenger side door flings open a sports bags hits the pebbled concrete floor, out steps Baxter hair like Boris Johnson football boots on but unlaced.

Jeffries breathes a sigh of relief and lightly ruffles his heavily gelled fringe, little beknown to the rest of the team he regards him as one of his best players. An attacking midfielder with a forward-thinking vision when on the ball and still only 10.5 years old. In contrast Tommo is a formidable force in the defensive role, to have them both arrived safely is good news for him.

Baxter’s dad finds a parking space and parks the car, gets out looking like he took full advantage of 5-7pm happy hour at the Black swan down by the harbour in Seahouses last night. It doesn’t take a genius to equate to the fact Baxter is fashionably late due to Baxter senior not waking up on time.

Mrs Baxter works part time at the crazy golf in Seahouses her shifts are Saturday, Sunday and bizarrely Thursday mornings. It gets really busy during the height of the summer but it is just easing off now for the tale end. Her lack of presence on a Saturday morning to get the boys up and ready has been noted previously last season.

Both teams and managers are now on the pitch going through their pregame warm up routine, a series of stretches and moving the ball around. With now only 10 minutes to kick off the tension is mounting around the ground.

A decent turn out from the home and away supporters, made up of overly zealous and somewhat over protective parents.

Jeffries taking up his managerial position on the side line notepad in hand commandeering his team gets a concentration breaking pleasant smell of perfume from behind him, curiosity gets the better of him and he manufactures a drop of his pen and spins round on the pick up to face the away fans.

Auburn hair with ever so subtle blonde highlights, not quite so subtle with the makeup, plenty of eyeliner and a bright red lipstick. She smiles and gives him a wave and a coy “Hi”.

Its Tommo’s mum Janice, they went to school together. Janice left at 16 and went away to study at nursing college. She now works at Rothbury Community Hospital.

He always had a soft spot for Janice and often wondered what might had happened if she hadn’t gone away to college and met Tommo’s dad.

Through the football team they had become friends again, nothing beyond chatting at games about her son’s progress and performance. But for her husband with the knowledge of them growing up together this sparked a rage of jealously inside him that sometimes he struggled to contain.

For Jeffries the smell of her perfume took him back to a dance floor he probably never wanted to leave in the 1980’s.

As they made eye contact, he replied and said “Hello Janice, you ok?” she replied in a voice that could if you wanted to describe a slightly flirty “Yes, fine thank you love”. Tommo senior picks up on this and growls like a constipated Rottweiler. Jeffries smiles back much to his disgust.

Turning back around as kick off is literally only minutes away he can feel the proverbial daggers from her husband burning holes in the back of his football shirt.

Both teams take their positions as the whistle blows to get the game under way. First 15 minutes are very uneventful, the most exciting incident was Peggy from the local newsagent spilling her hot cup of Bovril down her brand-new beige Burberry mac. By all accounts the villagers have never heard her swear like that before.

30 minutes into the first half and Boris, sorry I mean Baxter picks up a loose pass from the centre half, lands nicely balanced at his feet though. On the move now down the centre of the pitch the away fans go wild, well Baxter senior at least. Getting over excited and still probably slightly fuelled from the Seahouses happy hour he launches into “Come on son into these Bastards!!” The other parents look at him and each other in disgust, some of their little boys have never heard such terrible language and by the looks of it some of the posher parents faces they may not have done either.

A comment is made from another out spoken but slightly posher parent “Hey Sir, no need for language like that in front of the children”. Baxter senior already on a short fuse due to his hangover and failed alarm call this morning, Mrs B had already sent him 5 texts as she had found out via the ever-faithful soccer mums they had arrived late.

The lingering feeling of post night out beers get the better of him, if only he hadn’t had that Jameson’s at closing time as he shouts out rather unpleasantly “go fuck yourself, SIR!!”

The fellow supporter gasp in shock, hands over their mouths, but attention needs to be drawn back on the football pitch as Baxter slots a lovely shot into bottom right hand corner of the goal, the keeper completely misreads it and dives left.

The problem is none of the parents have seen the goal. Jeffries is on his feet jumping up and down like a mad man little respect for his comb over. “GOAAAAAL, what a goal!!”

Baxter is on his knees with Tommo draped around his neck hugging him in adulation.

One nil Alnmouth United, the ball is respotted and play resumes. All attention again seems to focused on the crowd, Tommo senior has squared up to Baxter’s old man and has him by the throat accusing him of flirting with Janice. Baxter senior has absolutely no idea what he is talking about and no idea what is going on. He thought he had taken offence for the “Bastards” comment.

The whistle blows for the end of the first half and Jeffries claps his team off and pats Baxter on the back as they get water and oranges. A positive team talk from the manager sees them ready to for the second half.

As the lads walk back out onto the pitch Jeffries hears Janice call him over, his ears prick up, shoulders back her perfume still smoulders in his nostrils. Tommo senior is no where to be seen. Has Janice sent him home after his altercation with Baxter’s dad?

“Hi again, did you see my stupid husband and Mr Baxter? He had him round the throat accusing him of looking alluring at me” she says with pouted red lips.

“No, I was too busy watching his son score the goal” Jeffries replies.

A flutter of her eyelashes and an almost embarrassed looking stare she admits that her husband has had the same optician’s prescription for the last 6 years, ignoring their letters for an eye test.

Looking more and more confused and trying to keep a fully focussed eye on the football match barks a valid question at Janice “what has that got to do with me?” She replies “Well I think my husband thought Mr Baxter was you”.

Dazed and confused, or just dazed by the time he focusses his attention back to the football the match is on the 81^st minute. Feeling guilty that he has not given the game his full managerial attention he looks down at his notepad and the his guilt is even more compounded the only notes he has written from the match are “must find out what perfume Janice was wearing” no formation changes, no substitution ideas or in play tactics.

All of a sudden, the whistle blows, looking up shocked he claps and smiles like has given this game his full attention. Shaking each of his players as they come of the pitch tired, mud splattered but emotional in victory it’s been an eventful ending in a 1 nil win to Alnmouth United the first away game of the season.

The parents disperse, some glad in victory, some still concerned about the blasphemy they may or may not have heard. Part of the managerial role is to stay back and help the home or away staff tidy up the locker rooms and pack away the kit bags. Saying his farewells and high on victory he ignores the comments from the Alnwick back room staff on the stuffing in the rematch.

The skip of this morning’s match day excitement had evolved into a satisfying and almost confident stroll back to his car, a result for him all round. His beloved team had won and he had a flirty encounter with Janice.

There are only three cars left in the car park his Sportage being one of them as he gets closer, he can see his front right-hand tyre is flat, the dust cap laid on the car park floor nearby.

Was Tommo senior’s vision suddenly restored to his correct prescription or did pouting Janice tip her husband off. The plot thickens in the first away game of the season.

By Michael Conboy