Stockport County – Edgeley Park

24^th August 2012

Stockport  County 1-2 Gateshead

A first ever dip into the depths of English non-league football here, although I should imagine, given Stockport County’s long tenure in the Football League prior to their demotion in 2011, Edgeley Park is a long way from being a typical Conference Ground.  

Indeed, I would suggest, the uncovered end apart, the ground would not look out of place in the Scottish Premier League; the place resembling a cross between Starks Park and Fir Park.  Reflecting upon this fact, I hoped the ground had not served as an unwelcome reminder to Stockport Manager Jim Gannon (or James, as he has apparently re-branded himself) of his unhappy stint as Motherwell boss in 2009. 

No Scots in the home side I noted, but I did see a familiar name in the visitors’ line-up: Paddy Boyle, who I had witnessed a few times last season, floundering aboard the sinking S.S. Dunfermline.  To be fair, he actually did fine this evening.

Both clubs had made solid starts to the new season and my early impression once battle commenced, was that Stockport looked by far the likelier lot.  With their defence able to effortlessly cope with what little the Gateshead attack could throw at it, the home lads looked particularly dangerous down the flanks from where Andy Halls in particular looked a menace.  And it was as a consequence of the visitors’ inability to deal with a cross, that Stockport’s Joe CONNOR hit the opener.  A lead his side held until half-time with little difficulty,

The interval gave the opportunity to peruse the programme - a hefty 72 page affair.  A fair amount of it consisted of ads, but squirreled away within were a number of pleasingly well-written articles.  

Programmes have come a long way since the fanzine boom of the 1980s compelled clubs to move away from the dull Pravda-esque publications which used to be trotted out, but few articles I have encountered have quite captured such a delightfully surreal sense of the absurd as those lines attributed to one Orson Cartier in this evening’s programme.

Mr Cartier's handwork - I do appreciate I am
infringing copyright here, and will be
happy to remove this at the request of
anyone from Stockport FC.

The second-half looked initially to be wending its way in the direction of the first before, in a swift 10 minute spell, Gateshead scored twice through Ryan DONALDSON and Micky CUMMINS, without it has to be said really having to do terribly much.  The first benefited from a crucial deflection off a defender, whilst the second looked well offside. 

I could see the bewildered looks on the home defenders’ faces, like pick-pocket victims, asking each other “Now, how the heck did THAT happen?”

County attempted to pick up the pace but any ambitions they may have harbored to attempt to pass their way through the visitors’ defence were seriously hampered by the increasingly greasy surface caused by the now incessant rain.  

A switch of tactic involving pumping high-balls into the box, just played into the hands (quite literally) of Gateshead ‘keeper Adam Bartlett, and the visitors were able to hold onto their slender lead and send the shirtless Heed hoodlums home happy. 

Edgeley Park - Stockport County FC

Edgeley Park Main Stand - recently renamed in honour of former Manager Danny Bergara

Edgeley Park - The Cheadle End

Edgeley Park - The Railway End

Gateshead's Josh Gilles prepares to take a throw-in late in the second-half.

Gillies once more - slightly more active.

Panorama of Edgeley Park, Stockport.

   

Thornaby FC - Teesdale Park

2012

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

Teesdale Park - Thornaby FC

London 2012 Olympics - Boxing

8^th August 2012

Men’s Boxing Quarter-finals

This was the last of my London2012 sessions.  My attempt to squish a whole Olympic Games (plus a bit of sightseeing) into two-and-a-bit days had finally begun to take its toll, and I was feeling not only very tired and a touch sport-saturated, but was also sporting a whopping blister on my right foot.

However, I was quite pleased that my final session would be boxing at the Excel Arena, as this place had certainly appeared to be bouncing each time I had viewed earlier sessions on TV, so hoped my lethargy may be swept away on a tide of collective enthusiasm.  And I was not disappointed.

This particular session comprised the quarter-final stages of three of the weight classes – twelve bouts in total, although I would only hang around for eight.

First up were the Light Flyweights: little chaps whom I felt I could probably just about managed to take at a push.  That the Excel Arena appeared to be housing as many Irish as Brits told me there must be a boxer from across the Irish Sea fighting this evening.  

And so it proved; one Paddy (inevitably) Barnes delighting his supporters by giving his Indian opponent a fair old thumping.  All of the other quarter-final ties at this weight were equally one-sided, and even a novice like me found myself able to pick out the winner long before the final bell had tolled.

London 2012 Boxing at The Excel Arena

Paddy Barnes v Devondro Laishram - London 2012

Paddy Barnes v Devondro Laishram - London 2012 

Paddy Barnes v Devondro Laishram - London 2012 

London 2012 Boxing at The Excel Arena

When the first pair of Light Welterweights pranced into the arena, one could immediately see the difference in size – these lads clearly looked as if they could seriously damage pretty much anyone who irked them.  The first bout took place between a Cuban, Stolongo Iglesias and an Uzbek, Uktamjon Rahmonov, with the clash of cultures and styles played out not only in the ring but also ringside. 

For as soon as the bout commenced, there arose from the Accredited Zone an incessant shrill scattergun stream of encouragement of a pitch which appeared effortlessly to penetrate the general hubbub.  

Soon a number of amused heads were turning in its general direction, and I eventually identified the source: a tiny mite of a woman of strangely indeterminate age.  She could easily have been the fighter’s daughter, wife or mother.  Her sole competition appeared to come from somewhere behind me, as her chatter was occasionally answered by a deep booming fog-horn of a voice, almost mournfully calling out “Ooze-Becky-Staaan!! 

The Uzbek shaded the first round before, in round 2, the Cuban (either intimidated or inspired by his compatriot’s urgings) simply came out and gave his opponent a severe panelling (as we say up here).  I later noted this fighter went on to claim the gold medal – a fact which surprised me not a jot.

Briton Tom Stalker fought in the third quarter-final against a Mongolian whose name I am not even going to attempt to spell.  I didn’t think Mongolia had much of a history as a boxing nation, but I was surprised at how many friends he appeared to have brought along with him.  

And very vocal ones they were too, maintaining an odd unintelligible chant throughout proceedings.  The Excel crowd attempted on a couple of occasions to quell these interlopers with a rousing “Team GB, Team GB”, but each time this died down, there remained the little pocket of vociferous Mongolians refusing to shut up.

This was the first fight of the evening where it was impossible for me to identify a clearly superior fighter.  The Mongolian had enjoyed the upper hand early on, but Stalker hadn’t half hit him with some telling blows in the final round, and I thought the Brit had maybe done just enough.  

But there were loud groans of disappointment around the arena as the Mongolian boxer was given the verdict by a single point.  Stalker stalked off with a face like fizz to lodge an appeal against the decision, which came to naught.

The atmosphere in the arena was, inevitably, a touch flat after that decision and the fourth quarter-final was fought out in front of a generally subdued crowd.  But I had already made the decision to leave before the next selection of quarter-finals commenced, fatigue finally having caught up with me.

Tom Stalker v Munkh-Erdene Uranchimeg - London 2012

Tom Stalker v Munkh-Erdene Uranchimeg - London 2012  

The moment Tom Stalker's Olympics were over.

Tom Stalker leaves the Excel Arena following his quarter-final defeat.

London 2012 Olympics - Basketball

8th August 2012

Russia 83-74 Lithuania

Spain 66-59 France

(Men’s Basketball quarter-finals)

Basketball and I have never really got along.

My school had a team, although I seem to recall it was instigated at the behest of a clutch of alpha males in my year, rather than by the school itself.  There were never enough boys interested in the sport to allow the team to have proper training sessions, so occasionally a clutch of us slightly less un-coordinated than the rest boys were rounded up and press-ganged into playing the role of cannon-fodder. 

Now, I think the plan was for us all to crowd around defending our basket, allowing the real players to indulge in some fish-in-a-barrel target practice. 

But not really knowing much about the sport, us novices would adopt a sort of pressing man-for-man marking approach.  

This was relatively easy for the experts to deal with, as they just ran past us, but the fact we would start our defending up near their basket seemed to irk them inordinately.  “This is useless”, they would moan.  “That’s not how you defend in basketball!”  So we did it all the more just to annoy them.  From defeats are such tiny victories gleaned.

Anyway.  You can guess from the above that I didn’t care much for basketball and, if truth be told, only ended up buying a ticket for this session at London2012 ‘cause the only real alternatives were table tennis or an idle afternoon.  The session I was going to see consisted of two quarter-final ties: Russia v Lithuania, to be followed by Spain v France.

Russia v Lithuania, North Greenwich Arena, London2012

Russia v Lithuania, North Greenwich Arena, London2012 

Russia v Lithuania, North Greenwich Arena, London2012

The Spanish and French sides warm-up before their quarter-final tie.
Note the preponderance of empty seats - a recurring theme at London2012

Russia v Lithuania, North Greenwich Arena, London2012

Panorama of North Greenwich Arena - London Olympics 2012

Panorama of North Greenwich Arena - London Olympics 2012

Upon arrival, I discovered I had missed the first quarter of the opening match due to the extra-time at the Handball earlier in the day, so took up my seat in the North Greenwich Arena with the Ruskies ahead 17-10.

This was the first time I had ever attended a basketball match, and it quickly became apparent that Locog had made the decision to ensure the event resembled as much as possible an NBA-esque experience.  

For during any breaks in play we were either bombarded with snatches of clichéd rock music, or had to endure such lowest common denominator tripe as a Kiss-cam, or a Bongo-cam.  Mexican Waves were encouraged, and even during the time-outs (which lasted less than a minute), there were snatched interviews with grinning half-wits from the crowd.   

All of the above was compered by some loud, vacuous oaf, who was clearly of the opinion our experience at the event would somehow be incomplete without his incessant inane gabble.  It really was so dispiriting.  And, of course, my mood was hardly helped by being sat next to two excitable Americans who in three hours grazed their way through what looked like the weekly calorific intake of a medium sized family.

In the match itself, both sides appeared happy to trade points with almost profligate generosity, with the Lithuanians never quite succeeding in drawing level.  They did at one point manage to reduce the deficit to a single point, but it seemed to me that the Russians just stepped on the gas and effortlessly rebuilt their lead.  The outcome, from my novice perspective, never really looked in any doubt, and Russia finally ran out victors by 83-74. 

The second quarter-final of the session, France v Spain, thankfully got going pretty swiftly after the first finished, but I soon lost interest as basket after basket plop, plop, plopped in.  And I began to wonder: how can anyone find any sustained excitement in a sport which routinely has 80-100 scores?  It can surely only appeal to folks with the attention span of a goldfish.

As France and Spain battled things out down on the court, I briefly considered sneaking downstairs into one of the many vacant expensive seats, or even just catching up on some sleep, but eventually decided that by half-time I had reached my life-time’s saturation point with basketball, so left.  I was surprised, although upon reflection perhaps not, to note I was only one of a steady trickle of equally jaded looking individuals leaving the venue.

No.  Basketball and I just do not get along.

This is what the foot of those pylon thingies supporting
 the roof of the O2 Arena look like.

The North Greenwich aka The O2 Arena nee The Millenium Dome

This was perhaps the real reason I left the basketball early.
I wanted to miss the queues for the Emirates Air Line cable car across the Thames.

The North Greenwich Arena taken from the Excel Arena,
showing the Emirates Air Line cable car.

London 2012 Olympics - Handball

8^th August 2012

Hungary 34-33 Iceland

(Men’s Handball quarter-final)

I was quite looking forward to the Handball at London2012.  I could remember watching the sport on TV perhaps a couple of times over the years – probably at previous Olympics.  It always struck me as an odd combination of football and basketball – one in which being a goalkeeper looked no fun at all.  He/She being condemned to flail around like a Wizard of Oz scarecrow to minimal effect, as the ball flew past with dispiriting regularity.

The London2012 Handball tournament began in The Copper Box, but once the group stages were complete moved to the larger Basketball Arena….or The Mattress, as it had been nicknamed.  And it was as I was approaching the white fluffy-looking structure that I first became aware of a number of folks holding up hastily scribbled messages on newspapers, pieces of cardboard, anything to hand really.

Investigating I discovered these were people looking to exchange Handball tickets.  The majority of these individuals, who numbered in the dozens rather than hundreds, appeared to be either French or Swedish, and a glance at the group standings board for the Handball tournament swiftly told why.  

Iceland, very much against the form book apparently, had succeeded in topping group A ahead of the joint favourites Sweden and France.  Consequently a large number of supporters of these two sides, who had plainly bought their tickets assuming (or at least hoping) their side would be in this particular quarter-final, now found themselves clutching briefs for an Iceland v Bulgaria tie.  Hence the desperate desire to swop.

It set me thinking that such instances must occur all the time, particularly at large tournaments such as the World Cup and The Euros, and really must be a tout’s wet dream.  

But here were clearly true supporters, and I could not help but feel rather sorry for these folks who had travelled so far to support their own country, yet were ending up having to watch another.  A few approached the ticket booth seeking help, but I could tell from the shaking heads that the staff were not interested.  

Surely, I thought, it should not have been an insurmountable task to have introduced a little Multi-Coloured Swop-Shop booth in the Olympic Park somewhere to facilitate genuine ticket trades – I later saw the same hopeful faces and pleading notes outside the Water Polo and Basketball venues.  

Yes, it would have been a pain in the neck for Locog to organise, but would it really have been so difficult to go this extra mile to help out fans who had travelled not inconsiderable distances to attend.  Surely 3 or 4 friendly Games Makers could have been freed up for such a service.

Whether many of these folks successfully managed to trade I do not know – a quartet of yellow-shirted Swedes who were looking to exchange tickets for a later quarter-final I know were unsuccessful, for I saw them inside.  

In the seats next to mine, I watched two French girls writing their plea for a semi-final tickets exchange on the backs of their white t–shirts; one was offering kisses to help sweeten any trade.  It did make me wonder what may later have been on offer, once the deadline for the French semi-final approached.

Hungary v Iceland - London 2012 Handball 

Hungary v Iceland - London 2012 Handball 

But for neutrals, like me, who ended up being compelled to watch this match we were certainly treated to some riveting entertainment.  

Hungary, who had only just scraped into the quarter-finals with a narrow win over Serbia, swiftly built up a 5-1 lead before being equally swiftly pegged back to 6-6.  Iceland briefly led 12-11, but the Hungarian lads hungry for points (oh dear) stepped up a gear, and found themselves with deserved lead of 16-12 at the break.

The Icelandic goalkeeper (are they called goalkeepers in Handball?), had been becoming more and more agitated with each goal he conceded, so that towards the end of the first-held he had begun to resemble nothing so much as a blond Basil Fawlty throwing a wobbly.  The poor chap (Bjorgvin Gustavsson, I think he was called), was mercifully replaced during the break.

The second half produced more of the same with Iceland doggedly chiselling away at their opponents’ lead, even occasionally drawing level, but inevitably conceding once more almost immediately.  

As play swung dizzyingly from end to end, I began to realise just how important it was to score when one had the ball.  Possession which ended with an unsuccessful attempt on goal appeared at times to raise a greater cheer than an actual score, such was the importance to the ebb and flow of proceedings.

Iceland finally succeeded in regaining the lead 27-26 with just two minutes remaining, and when with just 15 seconds left they were awarded a penalty that looked the end of that.  

But not only did Hungarian ‘keeper Nandor Fazekas save the penalty (an outcome extremely rare in Handball, I am guessing), but he had the presence of mind to set up colleague Mate Lekai to equalise with just three seconds on the clock.  Phew!!

They play two periods of 5 minutes extra-time in Handball and then, if scores are still tied, a further 2x5mins before moving to a penalty shootout.  A bit convoluted I thought, and even the arena announcer seemed unsure of exactly how the format panned out.

We had a flurry of scores during the first 10 minutes, it being the Hungarians’ turn to miss a penalty and, as the scores finished 30-30 we were treated to yet another 10 minutes.  And it was during this final period that Hungary’s Laszlo Nagy came into his own, scoring a hat-trick in a four minute spell to help guide his side to an eventual 34-33 victory.

At time-up the Hungarians hugged and cavorted around as if they had won the title, the distraught Icelanders were left to rue that missed penalty, whilst us mere spectators were relieved just to sit back in our seats for a few moments to catch our breath.    

Hungary v Iceland - London 2012 Handball 

Hungary in white defend.

Time-up

Panorama of The Basketball Arena, Olympic Park, London

Athletics

7^th August 2012

Olympic Stadium

There was, of course, never any possibility that “Turbo-charged Tuesday” (as the announcer was proclaiming this evening’s athletics session) could ever scale the heights of Super Saturday; the session three days earlier when Team GB had won three track & field gold medals.  That night was very much a once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

That being said, there was plenty of British talent on show this particular evening and, as it transpired, even another medal to celebrate.  But events did appear to conspire to make even the Team GB successes this evening feel slightly anti-climactic. 

Shara Proctor competing in the women’s long-jump qualifiers, probably surprised even herself with an initial leap of 6.83m, which immediately qualified her for the final.  Job completed, that was rather disappointingly, the last we saw of her as she toddled off home.  

I had hoped to see Jessica Ennis compete in the 100m hurdles but she, quite deservedly, had decided to take the rest of the week off after Super Saturday, so were left to cheer on Tiffany Porter who agonisingly missed out on a final place by a whisker.

Even Robbie Grabarz’ bronze medal in the High Jump lacked any real drama.  Robbie had sailed over the bar with his first two jumps, but stalled at 2.33m, and looked to have exited the competition.  I don’t know a whole lot about high-jump technique, but it looked to my untutored eyes as though he kept jumping fractionally too soon, then clattering the bar on his descent each time.  

Perhaps nerves got the better of the lad.  But as opponent after opponent failed, it became apparent Grabarz’ faultless attempts at heights below 2.33m had earned him a bronze alongside two others.  The gold was eventually won by the charismatic Russian Ivan Ukhov, who had to overcome a lost vest in the process. 

The biggest cheer of the evening, (Garbarz’ two successful jumps apart) was for Andrew Osagie in his 800m semi-final, where he barnstormed up the final stretch to claim second place, and a slot in Thursday’s final. 

Rather less heroic was the performance of Team GB discus thrower Lawrence Okoye, who looked woefully out of form.  Had he been able to reproduce his personal best, he would have claimed silver behind German Robert Harting.  The German’s victory celebrations were one of my personal highlights of the games: he first ripping off his shirt a la The Incredible Hulk, before rounding off his lap of honour with a remarkably agile skip over the hurdles freshly laid out for the women’s 100m final.

Once Harting had finished playing with the hurdles, the ladies were let loose on them with Australian Sally Pearson taking gold in an extremely close finish.  The Thames-wide grins on the faces of the two other medallists Americans Dawn Harper and Kellie Wells were a delight to behold – in stark contrast to the sour-faced strops seen by certain other athletes at these games, when their medal turned out not to be of their preferred colour.

The last action of the evening had the Algerian Taoufik Makhloufi strolling off with the men’s 1500m gold medal, having made a suspiciously remarkable recovery from the injury which led to him dropping out of his 800m heat the previous day.

French long-jumper Eloyse Lesueur flies through the air with the greatest of ease.

USA high-jumper Jamie Nieto distraught after his all-or-nothing failed attempt at 2.36m.

The Men's 800m Olympic Semi-final - London 2012

The Women's 200m Olympic Semi-Final - London 2012

The Men's 1500m Olympic Final - London 2012

So, an entertaining rather than unforgettable evening in the Olympic Stadium, although simply to be present at all was a privilege.

That being said, it was not a cheap evening.  Having missed out on the early allocation of sensibly-priced tickets, I had to wait to pick up one of the resale ones – which tended to be in the A category, costing a whopping £450.  

It is hard really to justify the range of ticket prices available for this session.  At most sporting events there will always be a range of ticket prices available, but generally the top prices tend to be around double the cheapest.  Here I paid 9 times more than those in the cheapest seats.  Was my experience 9 times better?  I doubt it very much. 

I had rather naively assumed that my class A priced ticket would have me seated along the home stretch somewhere – perhaps even close to the finishing line.  But no, I was not even on that side of the stadium.  

I noted that no member of Joe Public actually appeared to enjoy seating at the business end of the races – presence in this section seemingly reserved for either The Olympic Family or the assembled media.  Which made it feel a bit as if the races were being run primarily for the benefit of these exclusive groups, whilst we proles in the crowd had just been allowed in to provide atmosphere, backdrop and noise.  And to finance the whole business.

Ultimately, I suppose, one could argue that I had a choice.  That if I did not wish to pay £450 to attend this session, I need not.  No-one was forcing me to come along, after all.  But I did want to attend.  Very much.  I felt my trip to London 2012 would not be complete without at least one athletics session.  And, regretfully, the only way I could reconcile myself forking out such a huge sum, was to tell myself I was buying from a tout.  And that £450 was his going rate – take it or leave it.

I have bought tickets from touts in the past – but never before from one with a peerage.

The Olympic Stadium, London.

The Olympic Stadium, London.

The Olympic Stadium, London.

The Olympic Stadium, London

Panorama of The Olympic Stadium, London.

The Olympic Stadium, London