Post by Deleted on Jan 3, 2013 22:20:08 GMT
You often hear about the dubious pleasures of visiting the seaside on a wet bank holiday. Well, the New Year bank holiday is always something of a hangover day with few people about and very little open. And, if your chosen destination is Ashton-under-Lyne, you may not have too many expectations about seeing it at its best.
Ashton, to the east of Manchester, has two senior football clubs: Ashton United and Curzon Ashton. All you need to know about Curzon Ashton is that they knocked Exeter City out of the FA Cup a few years ago. And, whereas some clubs wait years to see off a Football League club, I believe Curzon did it the very first time they reached the first round of the cup. It really was a big one as they were so lowly-ranked at the time.
Ashton United are the more senior of the two and play in the Northern Premier League's higher division. On Tuesday they played out a goalless draw against Stafford Rangers watched by a crowd of 163. Not the first time I'd watched Stafford Rangers on a bank holiday having seen them against Torquay United one Easter in our Conference days. Bloody hell; that seems an eternity ago.
Hurst Cross is a decent enough ground: a main stand; a covered standing area along one side and bits of terracing behind both goals. There's a reasonable-looking social club and a tea bar. The club shop, as is common at this level, is located in a container box-like structure. Ditto for the toilets which border on the rudimentary with range of aromas to match. As for cleaner air, there's a smashing view of Hartshead Pike on the distant hills and, from the main stand, a glimpse of the dreaming spires of Oldham. Oxford eat your heart out.
Nine quid to get in, a tea for a quid and an impressive A4 size programme for £2. Indeed such a mightily good publication that you wonder how they manage it - and why they really bother - as they're highly unlikely to even sell a hundred copies. But hats off to them. I'm glad they make the effort.
Tuesday was a grubby day but not a bad game in the circumstances. It could have gone either way but didn't. Ashton are doing better than Stafford but I doubt if they'll end up too far apart with neither making the play-offs. I guess my afternoon amounted to watching a workaday match in workaday surroundings. Another example of football being battled out - as it has been for over a hundred years - in a place many of us have barely heard. Ashton is a pretty big community but Ashton United draw some of the lowest crowds in their division. With the exception of one season in the newly-formed Conference North, now is pretty much as good as it gets for the club.
I chose to sit in the main stand where I was treated to a somewhat strange conversation between a man and a teenage girl. He had a propensity to talk about his dog left at home for the afternoon; she a tendency to reply the same way to everything he said:
He: "I expect to go home and find a puddle on the floor."
She: "I know."
Bless 'em. They moaned about the game but they clearly enjoyed it all the same. And I wonder if she knows that Ashton United were called Hurst until 1947 which was about the time they made a forlorn application to join the Football League.
Or, indeed, that Dixie Dean apparently played for them until WW2 intervened?
Ashton, to the east of Manchester, has two senior football clubs: Ashton United and Curzon Ashton. All you need to know about Curzon Ashton is that they knocked Exeter City out of the FA Cup a few years ago. And, whereas some clubs wait years to see off a Football League club, I believe Curzon did it the very first time they reached the first round of the cup. It really was a big one as they were so lowly-ranked at the time.
Ashton United are the more senior of the two and play in the Northern Premier League's higher division. On Tuesday they played out a goalless draw against Stafford Rangers watched by a crowd of 163. Not the first time I'd watched Stafford Rangers on a bank holiday having seen them against Torquay United one Easter in our Conference days. Bloody hell; that seems an eternity ago.
Hurst Cross is a decent enough ground: a main stand; a covered standing area along one side and bits of terracing behind both goals. There's a reasonable-looking social club and a tea bar. The club shop, as is common at this level, is located in a container box-like structure. Ditto for the toilets which border on the rudimentary with range of aromas to match. As for cleaner air, there's a smashing view of Hartshead Pike on the distant hills and, from the main stand, a glimpse of the dreaming spires of Oldham. Oxford eat your heart out.
Nine quid to get in, a tea for a quid and an impressive A4 size programme for £2. Indeed such a mightily good publication that you wonder how they manage it - and why they really bother - as they're highly unlikely to even sell a hundred copies. But hats off to them. I'm glad they make the effort.
Tuesday was a grubby day but not a bad game in the circumstances. It could have gone either way but didn't. Ashton are doing better than Stafford but I doubt if they'll end up too far apart with neither making the play-offs. I guess my afternoon amounted to watching a workaday match in workaday surroundings. Another example of football being battled out - as it has been for over a hundred years - in a place many of us have barely heard. Ashton is a pretty big community but Ashton United draw some of the lowest crowds in their division. With the exception of one season in the newly-formed Conference North, now is pretty much as good as it gets for the club.
I chose to sit in the main stand where I was treated to a somewhat strange conversation between a man and a teenage girl. He had a propensity to talk about his dog left at home for the afternoon; she a tendency to reply the same way to everything he said:
He: "I expect to go home and find a puddle on the floor."
She: "I know."
Bless 'em. They moaned about the game but they clearly enjoyed it all the same. And I wonder if she knows that Ashton United were called Hurst until 1947 which was about the time they made a forlorn application to join the Football League.
Or, indeed, that Dixie Dean apparently played for them until WW2 intervened?