Maidenhead United

Non League Day, officially better than Christmas

Maidenhead United 0-2 Bromley (04:10:10)

David Dickson

September 4th 2010. A surprisingly enjoyable and successful England fixture the night before provided football fans around the country with an empty Saturday in the football calendar, free from the distractions of the Premier League and the Championship. James Doe, football supporter extraordinaire, called on fans across the land to attend the inaugural Non League Day, and support the clubs in their local vicinity who most need our hard-earned cash. Gripped by the cause, I decided to take part.

I visited Hayes Lane, the home of the Bromley FC, many times during my youth, but never did my support of the Lillywhites extend to an away fixture. Imagine my excitement when, on Non League Day of all days, I found my hometown club would be playing away at Maidenhead United, a fifteen minute train journey from my adopted home of Reading. A match made in heaven, the cosmos colliding to create a fixture sent from above. Like my beloved Chelsea drawing Leeds in the Cup, or England facing Germany in the...well, you get my drift. So me and the missus headed on down to York Road to partake in our own little part of non-league history.

Carefree, wherever you may be, we are the famous C....sorry BFC.

Mrs Dave in Bromley ultra action.

Before setting off, I had a quick peruse of EFW's previous visit to Maidenhead, and my experience mirrored that of the lads, more or less to the letter (excluding, perhaps, their visit to The Honeypot). Upon finding little to do in the main shopping area of the town, we decided to take in a couple of beers in The Bell, a comfortable sports bar on the corner of York Road itself, filled with pool tables and Sky Sports, with a well-priced food menu. In a nice touch, and as a sign of the local reach of the club, a collection jar behind the bar implored us to donate to a new scoreboard in the ground. Well, less a 'new' scoreboard, more 'a' scoreboard.

As part of my eagerness to take in the atmosphere of the day (coupled with a completely irrational fear that the game might sell out!), we decided to make our way into the ground an hour before kick-off...

One hour early. And relax.

Of course, we were early. Very early. One of the first to arrive in fact. In a show of solidarity with the day, the club were offering a half-price adult ticket to anyone producing a ticket from the Football League this season. Despite an AFC Bournemouth ticket from the previous week residing in my wallet, I decided against taking advantage, feeling that every penny would count on a day such as this. Glowing with the feeling of my own generosity, we headed to the club bar, and found a comfortable and enjoyable environment. Whilst the pricing was not exactly competitive, the personal and smiley service which extended throughout the day stood in stark contrast to the machine-pulled pints of Stamford Bridge, and kept us coming back right up until full-time. Various club members began to arrive, the bar soon filled up, and we moved out for a well-earned (and extremely well-cooked!) burger and chips from the food bar. Fried goodness consumed, we were ready for action.

Confidence supplied by Fosters, I decided to show my support for the away side by pulling my Bromley scarf from the handbag of Mrs Dave, such is the hardcore football hooligan that I am. We experienced a key-part of any non-league game, in the excitement that the coin toss brings in its deciding of which end you will meander to before the first whistle. Setting up camp in the less attractive of the two stands, we experienced a first fifteen minutes of Bromley domination, with little to show for it. Several chances hurtled in our direction, slapping the corrugated iron behind us with venomous force, but threatening to back of the net less so. Tony Finn and the amusingly-monikered Harrison Dunk dominated the flanks for the Lillywhites as the half petered out, the game remaining goalless going into the break.

After another visit to the clubhouse, we exchanged ends with the fans of the Magpies, forcing them to drag their enormous Maidenhead United Union Jack, as seen in Italia 90, a hundred yards to the other end of the ground. Not long into the second period, the kind of form that has propelled Bromley to the top of the Blue Square South with a perfect record began to shine through, and on 58 minutes, the breakthrough came. Diminutive midfielder Wes Daly exchanged passes with Finn, before superbly crossing for striker Warren McBean to nod in the opener at the back-post. A goal worthy of any level of football to put Bromley 1-0 up.

An edgy period followed, with Maidenhead winning several corners in trying to make the home advantage conjure an equaliser. However, on seventy-seven minutes, the home team were hit with a sucker-punch. A corner from Tony Finn, a key provider throughout the game, caused a scramble in the box, with club captain John Scarborough leading by example in firing home a left-foot shot to put Bromley 2-0 up with little time left on the clock. The usual substitutions and over-exaggerated injuries followed, and the remaining thirteen minutes were swallowed with Bromley in complete control, securing a seven-out-of-seven record to remain atop the division. The players trotted to our end to extend their thanks, we re-paid them in kind, and our day at York Road came to a successful end.

Man with comedy hair looks on.

Good points well made for the Bromley Boys.

A crowd of 410 attended the game, double a typical attendance and a hundred higher than the previous highest of the season. Non League Day had succeeded in this part of the country, and on returning home, I found we weren't alone in this success. The day engaged me with a different side of football, filling me with the feeling that my voice on the terrace mattered and that the game could indeed be fun. York Road may become a regular fixture on my football calendar, Non League Day or not, and Mr Doe and everyone involved should be extremely proud of their outstanding achievement and contribution to local football in the last few weeks. Without them, I may have missed out on an incredible part of the game.

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Clive Tyldesley

Clive and kicking

Clive Tyldesley has been commentating on football matches for over 20 years. He's had two stints at ITV with a four year spell at the BBC sandwiched in between.

Clive was good enough to give up some of his time to talk to EFW about his career, a new website to help budding commentators follow in his footsteps, Roy Keane, Brian Moore, Sir Alex, and of course Manchester United:

Do you have the best job in the world? It's the job I always wanted to do. According to my parents, I had my heart set on it from quite a young age. I was never ever going to be good enough to play the game to any level, so I guess that commentating is the next best thing. The perks of the job go way beyond getting the best seat at some of the very best games. You are given a pass to 'inside track', and meet players and managers on a personal level. Quite apart from the buzz of getting close to the central characters on the big nights, you get a unique insight into what makes them tick and how they approach their profession. It's that privileged information that you hope to convey during a commentary in order to try to provide the viewer with a better appreciation and understanding in addition to conveying the natural excitement and drama of live football.

You've set up a website to help budding broadcasters of the future. How is that progressing? Footballcommentator.org is in a very raw initial state. It now needs input and traffic from those interested in how football is presented by broadcasters in order to make it work. Many moons ago, I wrote letters to commentators seeking advice and encouragement. The idea is to replicate that kind of contact through a 21st century online vehicle. For those hoping to make a career in sports reporting there are all kinds of issues about choosing the right degree courses and seeking work experience. The hope is that footballcommentator.org will address some of these and provide a forum for those interested in the business.

Guardian journalist Sid Lowe recently admitted to using Panini football stickers as a way of remembering players faces at the World Cup. What's your preferred method? I did go down the stickers route a couple of World Cups ago, but I think that you can find most of what you need on a lap-top screen these days. We try to get our hands on DVD's of any preparatory internationals before a major tournament, but the players warm-up time in the hour before kick-off is the most valuable time for identifying players. Skin colour, hair colour and boot colour are probably the first three points of reference. Wrist-bands, ankle bands and head bands are all useful too. I guess we subliminally monitor players' shirt numbers because if somebody changes from their regular number it jars on your brain, but the bigger the tournament, the bigger the stadia, and numbers are not always as clear as they might be. The secret is to wait if you're not sure. It's better to identify a goalscorer late than wrongly.

How much research do you put in prior to commentating on a game? How much? Enough! People often ask me if I get nervous before games, and my answer is usually 'not, if I'm prepared'. You cannot DO too much preparation. You can USE too much of it. Sometimes, I think certain commntators are saying 'I've bloody well done this reasearch, so you're bloody well going to hear it!'. Relevance is everything. For a big final, you may do an hour's work and more on penalty stats that will only get used if the game is drawn. That's just part of the job. Don't force information on the viewer - use it where and when it illustrates a point or creates a debate.

Do you prepare many lines beforehand, or is it all spontaneous commentary during the matches? I will write scripts for pre-match stuff - team captions and presentations before anthems etc. You've got a certain amount of control over all that. Once the first whistle blows, you have got no control whatsoever. How can you script or anticpate the course of a match? A lot of the 'thinking(?!)' I do en route to a game surrounds what the particular questions and issues the outcome of the match will answer, so you are preparing scenarios and trying to cover the bases. But that's all you can do.

When was the last time you paid to see a match? I take my 15 year old son to Reading maybe half-a-dozen times a season, but he is as interested in Premiership rugby (his sport at school). I feel a bit strange going to watch a game without a professional purpose. I'll happily go to watch a 'non-league' team ahead of a live FA Cup tie or something, but if I'm at a game it's usually for a reason rather than pure pleasure.

How much football do you watch each week? I watch an awful lot of television football. I record hours and hours and work my way through it at times when it does not impinge on my family and social lives. Part of my job is to be 'better' informed than the average viewer so it's important that I'm abreast of most of the football that is out there.

Are you one for collecting football memorabilia, and if so, what is your most treasured item? I will keep programmes and entry passes from major games and tournaments that mean something special to me and my career, but no more than that.

You spent four years at the BBC during the 90's. Was that an ultimately frustrating time given that you couldn't shift Motty and Barry Davies for the big gigs? Not really because they were both way ahead of me in terms of experience, know-how and probably talent. I had always, always wanted to work for the Beeb so those four years represented a dream come true. They were among the most enjoyable and instructive years of my career, and I look back on them with great fondness. I suppose the day the Commentators' Rota for Euro'96 was published, and I had one live game, on a Friday afternoon between Turkey and Croatia... I kind of knew that I needed to move on if I was to get on, and that is when ITV came calling.

ITV was your home before then, and has been since, are you happy with their football coverage as a whole? I'm very proud of most of what we do. I think we have suffered as a result of one or two headline mistakes beyond our control, but in editorial and production terms I firmly believe we are at very least the equal of any other broadcaster. But it's for the public to judge us, not me.

What gets you more excitable these days - is it big Champions League nights, or is the World Cup still the holy of holies? Both, thankfully! The day I turn up for any game without feeling a buzz of excitement, I'll know it's time to pack in. Champions League is the choice of many professionals now as the best standard of football, but nothing mobilises public support or draws viewers like top-class international football. The last World Cup was a better experience than it was a football tournament, but the scale of it remains far greater than anything else in the game. The world watches a World Cup.

You've been "reduced to stutters" by stares from Roy Keane. Has anyone else come close in terms of being an intimidating interviewee? Nobody quite as unpredictable. An angry Fergie is a challenge - particularly if you've been instructed to ask him a question you know he won't like. His head tilts to one side halfway through your question and his eyes widen. You end up asking the longest question in broadcasting history, and he offers the shortest answer.

Far be it for me to want to dip in to your after dinner speaking routine, but do you have a favourite Brian Moore story? When the late great BM retired in 1998, ITV threw a dinner for him and sat his young(ish) successor down next to him. A couple of bottles of red wine later, he leant over quietly and said to me, 'there are only two things you need to remember.' Frantically I tried to clear my head of grapes and concentrate on the commentating gems he was about to bestow on me. 'Be on time and be warm enough,' he said sagely. My interpretation of that was 'if you're there, and you can speak without your teeth chattering, it's up to you'. He never complicated the straightforward.

Were ITV right to sack Big Ron as a co-commentator after his racist outburst against Marcel Desailly. Not my decision, and I would hate to have been the man that had to take it. I know Ron and he is not actively racist.

You were commentating the night of the Heysel disaster. Are you still haunted by the events of that day? Haunted would be an overstatement, but I went to Brussels to commentate on a football match and ended up counting the first dead bodies I'd ever seen in my life. It's not something you forget.

You've covered a number of other sports in your career. What is your favourite sport other than football? I'm a big golf fan. I'm fascinated by the contrasts between team and individual sports. Playing golf with my 15 year old son is the biggest single pleasure in my life.

Be prepared to roll your eyes - do you actually support Manchester United? I was a home and away United fan in the seventies, I think i missed four games in the Second Division season. They were my dad's team, I'm from Bury, and he took me to watch them. But when I started to work in local radio and got to know the Forest players I was reporting on as friends my perspective changed. I'm lucky to have a lot of genuine friends and associates in and around the game, so my primary allegiances are to them and ITV's best interests in any game. England are the only team I feel passionately involved with now.

Was 'that night in Barcelona' as good as football gets? It wasn't much of a final until the last ten minutes, but it was a big night for my career. It was the first season after Brian Moore's retirement, and I got to commentate on all the big games in the Champions League and FA Cup campaigns in United's treble. Barcelona produced a memorable finale to that first year, and I got the scorers right, and said a couple of things that United fans still remember. But the extent to which I refer to that game is ridiculously overstated. It's all a bit of a cliche now, and a long, long time ago.

You must have been chuffed coming out with the words "....and Solskjaer has won it" at that pinnacle moment? It's woven into the minds of all United fans watching that night on television I'm sure. The best thing I did on the night was to shut up for a few seconds after each United goal. It allowed the moments to speak for themselves and gave me a bit of thinking time. But Solskjaer's goal is what is woven in the memories, not my soundtrack to it.

Is it easy to remain impartial as a commentator? Unless England are playing, and then I don't even try. Objective? Yes. Impartial? How?

The line "How must Lothar Mattaus be feeling?.....well with the greatest of respect, who cares?" didn't go down too well with my German friends over hear that night. Heat of the moment stuff? People remember these lines better than I do. I don't remember saying it. My biggest soundbite recollection was Fergie's 'football... bloody hell.' Said it all.

You have a popualr Twitter account. Is that something you enjoy or is it a bit of a time waster? I honestly don't have time to waste. I value time like little else. Twitter is a modern means of communication, and that's my business. I prefer Facebook because it's more personal and friendly.

Do you have any broadcasting ambitions left? I'd love to interview either or both of my children about something they achieve in the future.

Fancy yourself as a commentator? Think you can do better? Got any thoughts on commentators? Then head along to footballcommentator.org

Clive Tyldesley's Blog

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CFR Cluj

Give us a Cluj

CFR Cluj 2-1 Pandurii Târgu-Jiu (28:08:10)

This is the part of the show where I get to take a back seat, and let someone who knows how to write take to the stage. Today, making his EFW debut is Nick Ames. Nick's day job is as a writer for Arsenal Football Club.

The waitress in balmy Piata Muzeului bears a striking resemblance to Jelena Dokic – and without the unnervingly obsessive father, you’d assume. My chances of finding out for sure are nipped in the bud fairly decisively. “You go dancing this evening?” she enquires in thick-frosted English. “Perhaps,” I reply evenly, “but I’m going to watch CFR first, so we’ll see.”

“You have come to Cluj to watch football....?” She tails off, says nothing more, regards me with the concerned disgust you might usually reserve for someone who leaves a copy of ‘A Journey’ open at May 12, 1994. She places my bottle of Ursus in front of me, frowning slightly. Twenty minutes later, her male colleague ventures forth to collect my six lei.

Perhaps I’d sold myself short. In a day and a half I’d already thoroughly combed Cluj-Napoca’s pleasant mixture of pretty churches, side streets and museums, all accompanied with the requisite sprinkling of dreadful Communist ephemera. I’d been down a salt mine and hiked 15km towards, up and back from a mountain gorge near the town of Turda, subsequently feeling pretty akin to the name. A chance meeting with some Americans had resulted in generous Ursus consumption, just five minutes from this very square, the evening before. So what could be done when there was just one thing missing?

I assume that the taxi driver is having me on when he responds to my request for the Dr Constantin Radulescu Stadium with a deadpan “You know there’s not a game on?” I demur, he persists – and this rather hollow stand-off only ends when, ten minutes later, we see a sullen-looking gaggle of maroon-clad figures loitering outside the ticket office of Tribuna 3. “It must be a friendly then, I hope you don’t get bored,” smirks my cocksure cabbie before speeding back into town.

These aren’t the happiest of times at CFR Cluj, so perhaps the general shiftiness regarding their existence isn’t a huge surprise. Traditionally the city’s second club behind rivals Universitatea, significant investment midway through the decade sprang them from their lower-league perch and – incredibly - resulted in two league titles, three domestic cups and a maiden Champions League campaign. Last season’s ‘double’ ensured more of the latter for 2010/11, but the whiff of fairytale has gone. The most recent successes are despite, rather than because of, Italian coach Andrea Mandorlini, so it goes – with the weight of talent at his disposal tending to tip the odds in CFR’s favour even when performances were turgid and shape stagnant. The side wasn’t without luck with late penalty awards in crucial games, either. A dreadful start to this season has smacked slightly, I’m informed, of chickens coming home to roost – and last weekend’s appalling 3-0 defeat at newly-promoted Sportul Studentesc, explained away by Mandorlini as the result of training too hard, is perhaps a nadir for these times of plenty.

As such, it’s clearly not going to be a huge turnout in this three-sided arena – one that would draw predictable comparisons to the Kassam Stadium if it wasn’t quite so metallic. The two newest stands are spacious, neat and clearly comfortable, but inspecting their underbellies and – later – pounding their gangways yields the alarming feeling that they’re little solider than the temporary structures that non-league sides might erect for FA Cup paydays. This said, the overall effect is smart and shiny. There’s just a part of me, be it romantic or dinosaur, that pines for one of the horrifying concrete bowls so beloved of the old Eastern Bloc, and my mind flits back to an uncomfortable March afternoon spent stalking around OFK Belgrade’s Omladinski Stadion last year as I pick up my accreditation from the security guard at Tribuna 2 and head into the warm, trophy-studded foyer.

Mine's a league and cup double. Trophy-studded foyer - tick.

A warm welcome from the Kassam Stadium?

Dr Constantin Radulescu I presume?

I’m not really doing this ‘properly’, you see. Having discovered during another branch of said Serbia trip that producing evidence of my day job mistakes me conveniently for a visiting scout, I’ve flourished it a few days in advance this time and now find myself pounding the stairs towards the press box - via an item-by-item tour of a trophy cabinet that definitely didn’t exist five years ago. The early-arriving fans, meanwhile, bundle into the only pre-match pub in sight – a place that, by day, appears to be somebody’s house. And well they might, because it’s soft drinks all the way inside Dr Constantin Radulescu Stadium. I thank my stars that my brief is to be smart and sensible this evening.

The press box fills far more quickly than the stadium. Each Romanian match is screened, live, at a different time across the weekend, so this occasion is its own set-piece even if it’s not especially merited on paper. In town are Pandurii Targu-Jiu, old acquaintances from the lower leagues who gained a stay of execution from relegation last season due to the demise of International Curtea de Arges, relegated three divisions after their owner withdrew financial support. Not unpredictably, they’re bottom this time around – so it’s generally assumed to be the ideal fixture for a floundering giant to, at very least, paper over some cracks. The one element of doubt: CFR have not lost a home match since April 4, 2008 – easily a Romanian record. The winners that day? You got it.

And so we begin, to the smack-smacking of lips on cheeks in front of me – directly beneath the press box, the late-arriving CFR WAG corps files in haphazardly. Pandurii are small, neat, inventive – rarely using high or long passes and boasting a couple of tricky midfielders in Claudiu Voiculet and the balding left-sider, Daniel Orac. To the eye, CFR are a different specimen entirely. They’re far bigger and stronger, enough to keep most Pandurii incursions at arm’s length, but not as fluid and rather more direct. You sense that they’re going to be the more efficient of the sides, though. Tall holding midfielder Gabriel Muresan begins the match as he finishes, the outstanding player on the pitch, while Juan Culio aids and abets, working tirelessly to turn around possession at either end of the pitch.

CFR use a 4-3-3 that turns, resolutely, into a very flat 4-5-1 when the smallest sniff of defensive responsibility arises. It means that wide attackers Emmanuel Kone and Ioan Hora are rarely high enough up the pitch to express themselves or link with lone striker Cristian Bud, who would clearly be more comfortable with a partner. Injuries and suspensions – the latter applying to the closely-scouted Lacina Traore – have played their part in depleting CFR’s attacking resources, but little about their offensive setup really announces itself as a good fit.

Team sheet with additional code that only Nick and Arsene Wenger understand - meh. Having said that, note circling of Pandurii No.9 Bogdan Apostu, and get me the News of the World on the line whilst you're about it.

Security was tight for the, ahem, zero away fans.

Somebody's house? Nope, it's the only pub in sight around the good Doctor's stadium.

But, as expected, it’s the efficiency that counts. When CFR score they score twice, and quickly. In the 19th minute, a challenge from a left-sided corner falls to Kone, who scores unfussily. Five minutes later, a flag kick from the same side is scuffed, but Culio has the presence of mind to backheel across the box to the impressive centre-back, Hugo Alcantara, whose finish is clinical. Orac remonstrates angrily with his defence; nobody acknowledges him with as much as a glance.

The supporters, who have probably scraped the 7,000 mark and include precisely no obvious followers from Targu-Jiu, have woken up now – around 150 ultras in the corner leading an impressive series of flag-waving displays. Then, to my astonishment, the entire stadium joins in with a chant that can only be likened to Emilia’s ‘Big Big World’, a track that not even Scooter could redeem. In accompaniment, each supporter pounds his feet on the metal beneath him and adds perfect substance to the impression that our eyrie really is rather fragile. Equally as strangely, it never happens again.

CFR could close it all out before the break, but the otherwise underwhelming Rafael Bastos is denied brilliantly. The second period is fairly sterile; CFR (pronounced ‘Chay-Feh-Ray’) are pretty happy to go with what they have while Pandurii, for all their continued earnestness and ease on the eye, have no serious central attacking threat and don’t look remotely likely to score. That is until they do, six minutes from time, when nimble substitute Florian Hidisan is – perhaps – felled in the box and the mercurial Voiculet converts. Suddenly the Pandurii bench comes alive, for the first time. Ionut Badea, your staple Eastern European jeans-wearing coach, springs from side to side, mirrored more gauchely by a bulky moustachioed assistant, urging his troops forward. They oblige, CFR having long since retreated into their shell, but can’t muster the point they probably deserve. Give these guys a focal point in attack and they might not end up the lost cause that, probably, they will prove to be. CFR haven’t been impressive winners, but the standard of the match has beaten my expectations.

One of the last off the pitch, having assiduously hailed all three sides of the ground, is CFR substitute Sixto Peralta, who is clearly popular among the faithful. He’s as good a reason as any for me, a son of Ipswich, to be here this evening. His loan spell with the Portman Road side, as a young Inter Milan midfielder, came during the unspeakably disappointing 2001/02 season, but his twinkle-toes and can-do demeanour dealt him full-time cult status in Suffolk. Today, he’s leggier than I remember and spends 20 minutes doing simple things. Having been an important figure in his first year or so at CFR, he’s clearly on the fringes of Mandorlini’s plans – with a wage that, by Romanian standards, shouldn’t be sat on by a substitute. It’s a wage Ipswich could afford though, and I idly wonder at the fate of a player who never quite finished his business in East Anglia as I clang up the metal steps and out.

This taxi driver is taciturn. We exchange not a word, bar the address of my accommodation – all adding to the strange sense that CFR occupy a realm quite separate from conventional everyday life in Cluj-Napoca. To me, they’re the unspoken success story. Perhaps it’s their rapid rise, so scorned by fans of olde worlde Universitatea, or maybe the behemoth that is Steaua Bucharest still holds primary sway nationally. I’ve time to think on it because there’ll be no dancing for me today I’m afraid, Jelena. A quiet beer in the hostel it is, as I’m due on the train to Sighisoara just after 9am and it’s well after midnight.

In my compartment is a guy of about 20 – a Steaua fan, no less, who studies drama in the capital. He was staying close to the stadium last night, asks me about the game, listens as I speak warmly of the greatly appreciated hospitality and welcome I was given by all at CFR. “I was interested in the game but we have better things to do on a Saturday night,” he says. “I’ll get a ticket to Steaua v Liverpool in the Europa League, I hope, but a night in Cluj isn’t for football!”

I don’t particularly agree. The following day, as I’m touring near-deserted Saxon villages in a 4 x 4, I reflect that it’s not really been your typical football weekend – but that a match in the curiosity of CFR’s sleekly-appointed surroundings is a must-see if you’re there. Just make sure you don’t tell Cluj-Napoca’s bar staff where you’re off to, because the night’s yet young.

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