Hunting Grounds

Author:

By Gary Sutherland

Format:

Paperback (Paperback)

Availability:

In print, usually dispatched within 3-4 days.

Price:

£9.99

Tagged with:

Football, Groundhopping, Grounds, Stadia

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Further Details

• Published: 1st Sep 2007
• ISBN: 1841585866
• Pages: 208
• Size: 216mm x 138mm

From the Publisher:

Some people bag Munros; Gary Sutherland hunts grounds. Come rain, shine, sleet and snow, he visits each of the 42 football grounds in Scotland during one season, documenting the singing, the swearing, the sheer nonsense of what occurs every Saturday afternoon (and sometimes Sundays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays too). Planning this as both an alternative travelogue to Scotland and a social commentary on Scottish football, Sutherland systematically explores the character of each ground, and how it is reflected in the town, team and the fans.

All aspects of the grounds are covered, from the practical factors like public transport and facilities, to the more the more important things like snacks and pubs. Bets are placed, buses are missed, tears are shed and pies are scoffed. Join him to re-live the glorious Scottish football season in its entirety.

From the Book:

“Game On: Arbroath A East Stirlingshire A

Swept away!

Report Card: It is blowing a gale at Gayfield. No waves crash-landing on the pitch from the swollen North Sea but the Angus air is turbulent alright. This here is a mighty wind. Hurricane-like, if you like. And the oddest thing is that Arbroath and East Stirlingshire are trying to play football. The key word there is 'trying' because they can't. It is so windy the gulls are flying backwards. One corner flag is bent nearly horizontal by the buffeting. Out of the corner of my eye, I am sure that I see a cow pass up into the clouds. It looks confused and no wonder. Bovine intervention is a terrible thing.

For special effects, you can't beat Gayfield in a maelstrom. You know the film Twister? Triple it. Maybe it is like this every time Arbroath play a home game. I wouldn't know because this is my first visit and I can't wait to come back. I recommend everyone catch a match contested in a squall at some point in their lives. This is brilliant!

Of course the regulars seem to be taking it in their stride. As they struggle to remain on their feet, teetering on the brink of falling over.

'It's a wee bit windy,' notes one Arbroath fan.

'Breezy', offers another, who won't buy windy.

'There's nae wind a ta,' scoffs a third who just has to be kidding himself.

One of the three regrets aloud not bringing a hat and the other two laugh at him. A hat? Imagine that.

Instead of a kick-off, it is blast-off. This is football in another dimension. The ball is a balloon. Certainly, it is displaying the properties of a balloon. It is all over the place as 20 men chase after it. None of them are having much luck. The team formations have gone to pot. More than is normal at this level. It is like watching primary school football. Players all bunched up, in one corner of the pitch.

Here is an illustration of how windy it is when Arbroath and East Stirlingshire try to play each other at football. Arbroath win a free-kick and two Arbroath players are required to take it. While one prepares to take the free-kick the other crouches down and places a finger on the ball to hold it in place and prevent it from blowing away. His finger is withdrawn seconds before impact so that it isn't staved or kicked clean off. Timing Is Everything.

The best thing about Arbroath and East Stirlingshire trying to play football is the East Stirlingshire goalie. The worst thing about Arbroath and East Stirlingshire trying to play football is being the East Stirlingshire goalie. The Arbroath keeper is coping okay considering the circumstances. Perhaps he is accustomed to keeping goal during a perfect storm.

In stark contrast, the East Stirlingshire goalie is struggling. He is having a terribly torrid time of it, and the couple of hundred Arbroath fans behind him aren't helping. Nor are they offering much in the way of sympathy. Instead they put the boot in big time and revel in the goalie's strife. They howl with laughter at his ridiculous predicament as the East Stirlingshire goalie tries (in vain) to tame the balloon. You'd think a goal kick would be the least of a goalkeeper's worries but you would be wrong about that.

He plants the ball on the edge of the six-yard box and retreats a few paces - while the ball rolls 10 yards to the right. Flustered - and why wouldn't he be? - the East Stirlingshire goalie chases after the ball to retrieve it and puts it back where it was. He makes a tentative retreat in preparation for a second attempt at a goal kick but the ball is off again, on its wind-propelled journey. This slapstick routine is repeated three times with the home fans hooting sarcastically and the referee giving the poor goalie a hurry-up-will-you look. When it is hardly the goalie's fault.

From somewhere (the beach?) a bucket of sand is handed to the harassed goalie. It should help. Otherwise we will be here all day. The goalie goes back to the edge of the six-yard box, ball in one hand, bucket of sand in the other. He makes a nice little molehill out of the sand and presses the ball down on top.

'Build us a sandcastle!' shouts one Arbroath fan.

The goalie ignores this request, and gears up once again for the goal kick that should have occurred several minutes ago. Mercifully he succeeds. Sort of. The ball shoots high in the sky. Less like a balloon and more like a kite. It pauses in mid-air for a moment and then it starts spiralling backwards towards the penalty box. The goalie is forced to defend his own goal kick. Somehow he succeeds and the next goal kick he nearly concedes for a corner.

Such a crazy state of affairs except that it's so much fun to watch. It is almost as if the gods are having a game of blow football using Gayfield as the table.

There had been an indication of what was to come during the warm-up when I watched an East Stirlingshire player boot the ball vertically upwards. It may have been that he wanted to see if the ball would come back to him. It didn't. It bounced over a team-mate, over the crossbar, over the crowd and the roof of the stand and clean out of the ground. It brought fresh meaning to the old football maxim about keeping the ball on the ground. During the match, several balls go similarly AWOL because they are not kept on the ground.

Arbroath endure the first-half playing into the eye of the storm, but there is no discernible advantage for East Stirlingshire. When one of their men tries a short pass, the ball speeds 30 yards beyond the intended recipient. Are they playing shite? Is the harsh weather exacerbating the level of shiteness? Or are they playing brilliantly but the weather is making them look shite? I start to wonder if Cristiano Ronaldo would cope in these conditions. Would he perform in his usual manner, with the ball seemingly attached to his boots, or would he display the touch of an elephant and be firing frequent balls into the sea? You'd have to send him to Gayfield on a loan deal, say six months, and I say such an intriguing scenario should be arranged as soon as possible.

After 75 minutes of Arbroath and East Stirlingshire trying to play each other at football, and neither side looking as if they will score before the cow comes down from the sky, the referee blows his whistle to signal an end to this absurdity. Match abandoned. It is a miracle it went on for so long. Or plain stupidity. The game should never have blasted off but I am so glad that it did. I would not have missed it for the world. Archie MacPherson would have been swept away. We were all nearly swept away.

This is a surreal end to my odyssey. To have Gayfield as the finishing post except that the match does not finish, bringing my ground hunting to an abrupt end. End of the road but no final whistle. Perhaps the perfect ending is no ending. Unless I come back for the replay. Bugger that. The lines of Arbroath fans and ten or so East Stirlingshire fans shuffle out of the ground. Some supporters are muttering about the abandonment. Others are laughing at the lunacy of the 75 minutes of football we have been treated to. The teams have had all the rough treatment. Especially the East Stirlingshire goalie. It is time to call it quits. It is time for that last and final pint in Tuttie's Neuk before I head home.

Going For Gold: I never thought it would end like this. I am blown away by it. 10 gold stars, what the heck. It has been a huge amount of fun Galefield.

Fanfare: I don't catch much of the chanting what with the wind blowing in my ears. The Arbroath fans try a chorus of 'We are Arbroath, super Arbroath, no-one likes us, we don't care, we love Montrose, handsome bastards, and we chase them everywhere.' Then there is the one Arbroath fan who goes it alone with 'ooh ah, ooh to be, ooh to be a Red Lichtie!' Brilliant.

Music To My Ears: Blowin' In The Wind? Catch The Wind? Wind Beneath My Wings? When Smokies Sing? Nah, none of those happen. But Yellow Submarine fits in with an aquatic theme.

Declassified Information

Log On: www.arbroathfc.co.uk

Who You Gonna Call: 01241 872157.

Word Up: Arbroath Football Club, Gayfield Park, Arbroath, Angus, DD11 1QB.”