DATELINE: Trefrew Park, Camelford, Saturday, September 14, 2019
MATCH: Camelford AFC v Ashton & Backwell United
CUP: The Buildbase FA Vase
ROUND: Second Qualifying Round
PICTURES: See http://www.facebook.com/cupfootballblogger/
THE BLOG: Football supporters often argue over who is the greatest player of all time. Modern fans wonder if it is Barcelona legend Lionel Messi or the seemingly unstoppable Christian Ronaldo? Older fans will argue a case for the likes of Sir Stanley Matthews or John Charles. Some will cite Bobby Moore or Franz Beckenbauer.
It’s all a bit of pointless argument. Not because it is impossible to really compare players from different eras but because the whole thing has already been settled. To my mind, at least. The best player of all time was Brazil’s most famous number 10, Pele. Or Edson Arantes do Nascimento to give him his, er, given name.
For a boy who grew up in the 1960s and 70s, who fell irretrievably, impossibly, deeply, head over heels in love with football as a seven-year-old watching the 1970 World Cup, there will never be a better team than the Brazilian side who won the Jules Rimet trophy in the Azteca Stadium. And the star of that side, the indisputable best player, was the great Pele. There had never been anyone like him before and there has been no one to match him since. Pele is, was and always will be the greatest.
He also coined the best phrase to describe how we all feel about this fantastic sport. There is some dispute over whether he was actually the first one to use it but the title of his autobiography summed it up perfectly: My Life and The Beautiful Game.
The beautiful game.
That’s what it is for anyone who is a football fan.
Now, it’s a long way from the arenas and rarefied atmospheres in which Pele plied his beautiful trade, like the Maracana and Wembley and even New York, to the rather less celebrated football surroundings of Trefrew Park, Camelford, but the beauty of the beautiful game is still in evidence, even at this seemingly lowly level.
For a start, especially on a beautiful late summer/early autumn day such as last Saturday, Trefrew Park’s setting is, simply, quite beautiful.
The first impression on arriving on Saturday was the gorgeous smell of cut grass, more reminiscent of a cricket ground in the spring than a football ground in September.
And then there was the view behind the top goal. Standing stark in the sharp sunshine was the granite form of Rough Tor (pronounced row, as in argument, tor), sitting proudly above the glory that is Bodmin Moor. It is the second highest point in the whole of Cornwall, standing at 400 metres (1,313 feet) above sea level, and it is magnificent. I love scenery like that and there aren’t many grounds in a better setting. Beautiful.
So, even before a ball was kicked in anger, beauty was in the air. And, as it was to turn out, a moment of pure footballing beauty would ultimately settle this hard-fought FA Vase tie. But, before that, there was a moment of no beauty at all.
It happened ten minutes before kick-off and it happened to me.
I had just walked up the grass bank to the fence surrounding the pitch and was still taking in the beautiful view when the home keeper, right at the end of his pre-match warm-up, shanked a goal-kick towards the touchline. Immediately I saw that it was heading straight for me and prepared myself for an early moment of ball retrieval glory.
I got in line, judged the bounce perfectly and, as the ball bounced over the fence, I got into the perfect position and collected the ball with both hands. Perfect.
And then I fell over.
On to the hard concrete path that runs down the touchline.
I don’t know why I fell. I didn’t need to dive to get the ball. My feet, I thought, were planted. Everything was in the correct position. Maybe I just channelled my inner goalkeeper and threw myself down but, all of a sudden I was on the ground, with a concerned Camelford player leaning over the fence, looking at me prone on the ground and inquiring in a slightly worried voice: “Are you OK, mate?”
I nodded an embarrassed yes, refused his helping hand, crawled to my feet, and threw the ball back. I felt like a total idiot, but also slightly proud that I still had hold of the football.
As the players trooped off to get ready to come back on again, I wandered around to a different part of the ground in the hope that no one would notice that I had fallen, despite the blood on my elbow and the limp caused by bashing both knees at once.
Now, as I slowly regathered my equilibrium, I must admit that much of the first 20 minutes of the game passed me by a bit. This was the first-ever meeting between the two teams and they were clearly sizing each other up in that opening period while I concentrated on a stock-take of my injuries.
One of the great things about the FA Vase is that players and supporters get the chance to watch someone new, teams that they would never normally have the chance to see. Camelford play in the Kitchen Kit South West Peninsula League Premier Division West. Ashton & Backwell play their football at the same level, Step Six, but this time in the Toolstation Western League Division One and the two clubs’ paths had never crossed before. This was an intriguing tie, not only for the faithful followers of The Camels and The Stags, but also for the neutral observer – which was me.
However, I must admit that I was not entirely neutral. I have lived in Cornwall for almost a decade now and a little bit of Cornishness has seeped into my soul. So any contest between a team from the Duchy and a bunch from “upcountry” will see my sentiments lean towards the Cornish club.
But, still stronger than my Cornish soul, is my London one. That’s where I am from, where I grew up, and anyone who has ever read this blog will know that Millwall is my team. So when a team rocks up in what they describe as “maroon and blue” but which actually looks like the red and blue stripes of the hated Crystal Palace, I let irrationality take over and generally take against them. Ashton & Backwell United, The Stags, looked too much like The Eagles for my liking. That’s football fan logic for you!
Mind you, there wasn’t much to dislike about them in the first half. After the hosts dominated the first ten minutes, A&B United took control and really should have been ahead by half-time. However, their neat and tidy tippy-tappy football lacked a cutting edge and the chances they did create were wasted. For that, they were to pay a heavy price.
Half-time came with the game goalless and then something else beautiful happened. I got a free cup of tea.
This was given to me by the club secretary who I believe to be called Hilary. I never actually asked her name during our half-time chat but I found her name in the programme later. Apologies if I have got that wrong. Everyone else in the ground would have known who she was, though, as she has served the club for 30 years. Camelford is that sort of club. Manager Reg Hambly – the team is sponsored by Reg Hambly Insurance Brokers – is now in his 29th season as the gaffer. It is a beautiful place so, once you are there, why rush to leave?
Another beautiful gesture was to provide the visitors with a cream tea to enjoy. “We wanted them to have something special, something Cornish,” said the secretary. “And we wanted them to know the right way to do it too, with jam on first.” Turns out it was a beautiful gesture with a point!
What wouldn’t have been beautiful for me would have been a goalless draw to add footballing insult to my actual injuries, but fears of that disappeared early in the second half.
Camelford were awarded a free-kick on the edge of the box, the direct shot from it was parried by the Ashton goalkeeper and Camels’ captain Adam Sleep was on hand to knock home the rebound – so 1-0 to the home side.
Ten minutes later, Camelford won another free-kick in an almost identical position. This time, though, taker Bobby Hopkinson needed no help to extend the lead. He curled an absolute beauty into the top corner, giving the keeper no chance and putting the hosts 2-0 up.
It really was a special moment. A lot of players at a much higher level would have been proud of that strike, of its precision. What a goal. Hopkinson just stood there with arms outstretched and soaked up the adulation of his team-mates and the crowd. Beautiful.
The Stags, though, were not done yet. They still believed that they could get back into the game and, with about 15 minutes to go, they were awarded a penalty after a trip in the box and halved the deficit with the spot-kick.
There then followed a properly nervy and frantic final few minutes as a real cup tie broke out. It had been a bit of a slow burner but now it really caught fire. Even I grew nervous, catching it from the jumpy people around me, I reckon, while the secretary said afterwards that she couldn’t watch the second half at all. Football really does matter, you know.
Ashton and Backwell gradually abandoned their short passing style and did what any self-respecting side should do when trailing late on in a cup tie – they lumped it forward into the box and hoped for the best. Now that’s proper football. But, however hard they tried, the boys from near Bristol could not find the goal to take the tie into extra-time and The Camels claimed their place in the next round.
Both sides were applauded off at the end, a beautiful moment at the end of a beautiful cup clash in a beautiful place on a beautiful day.
The beautiful game? Pele was spot on about that.
POST SCRIPT: Ashton and Backwell United was only formed in 2010 as the result of a merger between Backwell United and the senior and youth sections of Ashton FC. While writing this blog I saw a message on Twitter from Ashton Football Club, which said: “It is with great sadness to hear of the loss of Ashton Boys FC founder Terry Hazel today. Terry founded the club 25 years ago, something 100s of boys and girls still enjoy. Our thoughts are with all his family, friends and the football community in general. RIP Terry Hazel.” I echo those sentiments.