Steve HILL
HILLY’S AWAY DAYS
WHAT a feast of football. Brilliant stadiums, partisan crowds, red cards, late goals, absolutely mind-bending drama. Yes, the National League play-offs have thrown up some humdingers at this perversely late stage of this unprecedented season.
The race to get in the playoffs was arguably even more dramatic, with a sensational final-day scramble that saw poor old Wrexham drop out in the dying minutes, despite scoring an insanely offside goal. It’s hard to keep count, but next season may be their 14th at this level, and one that will be recorded by the cameras of FX Networks, shining a light on Non-League for its legions of viewers in the documentary series Welcome To Wrexham. (Turn right for Chester).
The play-off eliminators were both goalfests, as was the first semi-final. Last Sunday’s semi between Stockport and Hartlepool was a more tense affair, not least because of the pending kick-off between England and Croatia in Euro2020. With my Chelsea-supporting neighbour hosting a barbecue for the latter match, I was bombarded with messages and calls while trying to enjoy the former. As extra time loomed, I faced the real possibility of dual screening both games on my own allied to the horrendous prospect of missing out on free meat and drink.
In the event, Rhys Oates’s late long-range winner enabled me to sprint gleefully across the road and take my seat in front of a sun-dappled screen in time for the national anthems. When I explained the reason for my tardiness, people looked me as if I’d missed the build-up to watch tiddlywinks (or a documentary on Wrexham). I’ve always found the snobbery of Premier League fans hilarious – lads, it’s important to remember you don’t actually play for Manchester United, you simply chose to support them because they were the most successful club.
Despite the talent on show, the England game wasn’t more entertaining than the play-off, as is often the case. For all the hysterical drama that surrounds international football, it can be mundane, something that can’t be disguised by even a remote-controlled car delivering the match ball. Also, tournament football generally takes place in high summer when it is too hot to play, or indeed watch. I was in Japan for the 2002 World Cup and had to sit through a sweltering goalless draw between England and Nigeria that was nothing less than torture, on and off the field.
People often criticise NonLeague football for its alleged agricultural approach, but anyone who watched Spain attempting to pass Sweden to death must have been baying for them to launch it into the mixer.
Intimacy
Also, spare a thought for the Wales fans in Baku who appeared to be watching their game against Turkey from the distance of almost another football pitch. Compare this to the intimacy of Non-League, where I have been known – uninvited – to tousle the goalscorer’s hair.
Back to England v Croatia, it was arguably the first game that I had been genuinely invested in since a live stream of Chester’s chaotic 3-3 draw on the frozen tundra of Bradford Park Avenue in January before the season went up the spout. As such, I appear to have forgotten how to celebrate a goal, simply going through the motions, although this may have been exacerbated by a roar from within the house two minutes earlier where the live coverage predated our iPlayer stream, a little-mentioned casualty of the digital age.
Despite the odd stinker, I do love an international tournament and am of course watching every match. But while my Sunday will involve dual screening the concluding
games of Group A, the match of the day is at Ashton Gate where Torquay and Hartlepool play for a place in the Football League. Apart from the extreme jeopardy, it’s simply more relatable, although I am still scarred by my solitary trip to Hartlepool: an endless Friday-night journey, 1-0 down in the car park, lost 3-0. Torquay’s Plainmoor has proved a happier hunting ground, more exotic than Baku, more romantic than Rome: a bit of chippy then Boots & Laces for a pint of fizzy muck. Champion.
Wall Of Sport by Steve Hill is published by Ockley Books and is out now!
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