Airdrie United 0 Ayr United 0

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I like to think that when you ‘click’ through the turnstile at any football match, you pay your money and take your chances. As all experienced football watchers know, you occasionally find remarkable drama and excitement in the most unexpected of games, while others disappoint and never reach the boil. 

They also know that because you pay your money and take your chances, you get a proportion of 0-0 draws. We’ve all seen some goalless stinkers in our time - two languid sides, twenty-two disinterested players, a rationing of goalscoring opportunities and a forgettable atmosphere. From my experience, Boston United’s visit to Guiseley in November 2010 springs to mind, as do the goddam awful nil-nils between Walsall and Rochdale and Bolton versus Wigan last season. 

This was not one of them. As the amicable ‘experienced football watcher type’ sat next to me exclaimed on the final whistle, this was a “nil-nil hammering.” How Airdrie United won’t travel to the West coast on Saturday with a lead in this Irn-Bru Scottish First Division Play-off semi-final (phew...) tie would baffle the board of MENSA and the Guardians of Logic. 

They had a majestic goal disallowed, they had a penalty saved, they stuck the post and the crossbar, they had shots cleared off the line and they were the victim of questionable offside decisions with alarming regularity. I counted well in excess of twenty attempts on goal and, yet, the Diamonds DID NOT SCORE. 

This visit to the Excelsior Stadium was as spontaneous as it gets. Determined that my season wasn’t finished, I glanced at the night’s fixture list at five to six and was on the train to Airdrie at twenty past. Good old end-of-season play-off lottery. 

I’m not a fan of Scotland’s convoluted play-off system. Three sides from the ‘lesser’ division and the team that finished ninth in the ‘higher’ division enter the competition, which consists of two-legged semi-finals and two-legged final. What player, after a grueling season, wants to hear their coach say: “Come on lads, let’s raise it. We’re only 360 minutes away from promotion.” 

The Excelsior Stadium - reached by walking through a shady council estate - is a modern, if soulless, stadium. Home fans are situated along one side, away fans along the other, with the two ends unused. Mind you, it had all mod cons and fairly decent pies. They perhaps lacked the home-baked love of the Killie Pie but they did have more beef. It also has a plastic pitch, the first one I’ve seen since that Boston game at Durham City which was abandoned 20 minutes before kick-off. 

The crowd was good at 1,871 (including probably 300 from Ayr) and it was hard not to be swept along as the home side suffered a series of injustices to leave their Division One dreams hanging by a thread. 

First, the outstanding Jamie Bain spooned an amazing shot into the top corner from the edge of the area. It was a moment of pure delirium for hardcore and neutrals alike and we celebrated like long-lost family at a genuinely magic moment. In a brilliant provocation, the home players celebrated in the opposition technical area.  

But amidst these scenes, nobody had noticed the belated raised flag of linesman Brian McGarry. It was alleged the boot - or rather, astroturf trainer - of Airdrie’s Ryan Donnelly was too high. If I may borrow a local expression - Pish.

After an acerbic reaction from the crowd, the referee perhaps felt influenced to award a penalty ten minutes later when Donnelly went down rather too easily under a challenge. Paul Lovering’s kick was saved by Kevin Cuthbert in net. 

The second-half was, if anything, even more one-sided. Donnelly struck the bar, Cammy MacDonald hit the post and McGarry - who was having a fair crack at becoming the most unpopular man in Airdrie - continued to flag players offside. But there was an hilarious moment when a woman in front of me screamed at him: “You’re not selling our hoose (Translation: house) now, you know.” Apparently the linesman is an estate agent by day and I think he may have lost his commission on that sale. 

Normally as a neutral you sit and watch impassively but this was a rare occasion to get swept along. Rarely have I seen a team be so deserving and yet get nothing. Mind you, there is a second leg to play and Ayr can’t be much looking forward to it. 

Next Match: Hopefully before August... 

Heart of Midlothian 2 St Johnstone 0

As the May Bank Holiday weekend approached, I had a look under the bonnet of this blog to see how many matches I’d been to this season. Including pre-season, it only amounted to 44, which is massively down on the last two years and, truthfully, a little disappointing. 

But I excused myself through the fact that I’ve lived in four different places since that soggy summer afternoon at Tattershall Road when Boston Town sounded the first klaxon warning of Boston United’s campaign. Not only that, but I was presently working a job which stole my Saturdays - the first time I’d had to work on the traditional matchday since 2007. In the end, I convinced myself that 44 wasn’t a bad effort at all. 

With a turbulent Scottish season drawing to a conclusion, opportunities to boost that total - and, in the process, notch up my 100th football ground (Wednesday night left me on 99) - were dwindling fast. Hence this Sunday afternoon visit to the western side of Edinburgh for the penultimate round of SPL fixtures. 

My first ground visited was - naturally enough - York Street back in November 1996 and, after a rather slow start, I’ve zoomed up to a century mainly through watching the Pilgrims on the road but also through the many random games I go to - like this one at Tynecastle. 

Watching football has parallels with journalism in that it gives you reason to visit towns and areas of the country that, in the everyday course of life, you would never have cause to visit. And I’m sure I’m much the richer for it, at least in terms of geography and instinctive reading of train timetables! 

Unlike Kilmarnock the other night, this fixture still had something riding on it. These two teams had squeezed into the upper half of the post-split SPL and were squabbling over the Europa League place that comes with finishing fifth. Hearts have another shot at reaching continental competition later this month when they play hated rivals Hibernian in what is surely the most eagerly-anticipated Cup Final for many a year. 

The pride at reaching this showpiece was much in evidence around the ground prior to kick-off. The megastore, which was adjacent to the ticket office queue, was doing a brisk trade in hastily-printed cup final merchandise and the burning question on everyone’s lips was: “Have you got your ticket yet?”  

Whether the ground is Hampden or Hucknall, you can’t do much better than a seat overlooking the half-way line, and that’s exactly what I got here. Fine, it did cost my £27, which is costlier than anything I’ve come across so far in Scottish football, but it did allow a superb view of the action and was lofty enough to allow a lovely glimpse at Edinburgh Castle and the High Kirk behind it over the roof of the main stand.   

At first I wasn’t so sure. Tynecastle is plonked right in the middle of residential streets and i took at least three wrong-turnings in the maze of terraced houses and convenience stores before finding my turnstile, at which there were large queues. The seats in my section seemed to belong exclusively to season ticket holders - even the one I had been allocated, which had someone’s name printed on it! 

So, I spent the first 15 minutes of the game anxious that I might be turfed out at any moment by the real owner, or worse, that the chap had died earlier in the season and his seat was meant to be left empty as some kind of loving tribute!  

Anyway, nobody questioned my presence and, once assured my £27 leather padded - yes, leather padded - seat was indeed mine to keep, I enjoyed a good Hearts performance and, ultimately, a victory which leaves them in the driving seat for Europe. 

Last time I saw Hearts - at St Mirren in the Cup - their love for Rudi Skacel had been plain to see and at Tynecastle the Czech is treated like a demi-God. Fans on all sides of the ground waved Czech flags at him, bowing in adulation whenever he ran towards them. It wasn’t hard to see why - his strike on 19 minutes was an outstanding piece of technical skill. Ryan McGowan advanced down the right and spotted Skacel unmarked ten yards from goal - the cross was accurate and the club’s top scorer pivoted his body to finish in one smooth movement.  

The visitors from Perth, backed by probably 500 or so fans in the corner over to my left, controlled the rest of the half without troubling Mark Ridgers in the home net. A long-range tester from Jody Morris was about as close as they came. 

The contest was settled shortly before the hour mark. Hearts won a free-kick on the right flank and Danny Grainger found himself in deep conversation with teammates over the best method of delivery. Presumably at some point, someone said ‘Aim for the head of Andy Webster,’ so he did and the defender headed in. The ground again rocked to the sound of ‘Baby Give It Up’ by KC and the Sunshine Band. Oh yes.

I sensed Tynecastle must be a phenomenally atmospheric ground for big occasions, but it was lacking here. Mind you, things did get noisy when Derek Riordan, the former Hibs favourite, was introduced as a St Johnstone sub. The pantomime villain, Riordan’s every movement was heckled and he couldn’t relax in any corner of the ground. 

Being the last home match of the season, the customary lap of honour followed the final whistle. Skacel delighted the stand away to my left by tossing his shirt into the fans - a nice memento for somebody. In reality, however, the real highlight of the season is yet to come for Hearts. 

Next Match: Opportunities for football this season are starting to run out, so this could well be the last entry for 2011-2012. But hopefully not!    

Kilmarnock 0 St Mirren 2

With stories falling through left, right and centre, it had been an ominous start to the week at the Mail on Sunday’s Scottish fortress. A night’s escapism was desperately required to re-focus the mind and a mid-week programme of SPL fixtures duly obliged. 

The sun has almost set on the Scottish season and this match at Rugby Park was akin to a fumble around for the light switch in the dusky twilight - searching for illumination and something to look forward to over the dark emptiness of pre-season. 

Absolutely nothing was riding on this fixture, excepting the dubious honour of topping the post-split bottom sextet of the league, but I managed to select my football wisely for once and saw a game of passable entertainment. 

While not quite understanding why I wanted to go 40 minutes out of Glasgow to watch a random match with zilch riding on it, my lovely colleague Fiona kindly offered to give me a lift. And so I duly added the town of Kilmarnock to the mental bank of places that I’ve been to, had a look at and - while not wishing to condemn or criticise it in any way - would not be rushing back to. I’d done something similar with Warrington last week. 

Rugby Park - a surprisingly large ground - was the fifth I’ve been to in Scotland to date and I noticed when I added it to the useful Football Grounds app that I’m one shy of a century visited, not a bad milestone considering 95 per cent have been done in the last four years. The magical mystical football tour continues apace. 

Out of those one hundred, I’d wager the pies at Kilmarnock are among the top five. The Killie Pie was so renowned it came with its own full-page advert in the programme with its slogan written in three languages! So who was I to question such international standing? I wasn’t disappointed - lean, boiling-hot meat was encased in crumbly, flaky golden brown pastry and sloshed within a lip-smacking gravy. 

Subserviently, I scoffed the first and ambled back for a second, which I half-ate and then tweeted a picture of to Andy Picken, my Saints-supporting colleague who was absent through man-flu. He claimed the pie looked disgusting in my pic. Sacrilege and jealousy, I say!

Bizarrely, a flock of hungry-eyed seagulls circled my section pre-match, wheeling around and occasionally dive-bombing for an errant flake of Killie Pie. The gulls surprised me as I’m fairly certain Kilmarnock is landlocked...

As the two sides trotted out to little fanfare I suspected the birdlife might be the better entertainment. I was wrong as an excellent first-half packed with chances unfolded. The visitors from Paisley took the lead on their first foray forward - Stephen Thompson (not to be confused with team-mate Steven Thompson) flicked a long-ball on to Paul McGowan, who lurched clear. 

Still with a lot of work to do, McGowan was aided when Killie’s two centre-halves humorously tackled each other and finished past keeper Cammy Bell from close range. The 500-odd from Glasgow over to my right burst into song but quickly remembered the lack of occasion and piped down. The home faithful around me moaned audibly. 

They should have leveled almost immediately, but Craig Samson pulled off an improbable double save from Gary Harkins and Jamie Fowler’s easier-to-score-than-miss follow-up. At the other end, Bell denied Nigel Hasselbaink twice in quick succession but St Mirren were having so much joy attacking down the left that further punishment was inevitable. Killie’s right side were busy with a 45-minute daydream. 

It was two on the stroke of half-time - the lively Jeroen Tesselaar once again skipped clear down the left and delivered on a plate for Thompson to score with a clinical volley. The locals slinked off for another helping of pie. 

I didn’t join them and instead stayed seated for one of the better half-times I’ll ever see. First, Killie skipper Manuel Pascali was paraded out to announce the signing of a new four-year contract. He mustered something in broken English cliche about wanting to win more trophies (Killie won the League Cup this season) and was rewarded for his loyalty by being asked to draw the raffle. 

After some cheerleaders, a bloke came mighty close to pocketing two grand by hitting the crossbar from 50 yards. Then the home mascot - Nutz the Squirrel - cavorted along the touchline to some Lady Gaga before, inexplicably, pointing into the crowd, raising his right arm and goose-stepping along. I think Nutz may be a closet racist!

As darkness descended, the second-half was pretty bland. Killie threatened intermittently and stuck gamely to their passing game. It was more tick-tock than tiki-taka, but it did result in a penalty when McGregor handballed, only for Dean Shiels to see his ruler-straight spot-kick repelled by Samson’s legs. Not a bad night out. 

Next Match: Another new Scottish ground in Tynecastle as Hearts face St Johnstone on Sunday.      

  

  

  

FC Halifax Town 3 Boston United 2

The great Pete Townshend of The Who once penned a B-side called ‘Instant Party Mixture.’ It’s not an especially memorable song, especially in the context of the golden 1960s, but the title summarises this away trip perfectly. 

Of course, back then, young manhood would great a Bank Holiday by popping a couple of ‘Blues,’ ironing the creases out of their zoot suits, flooring their Vespa all the way to Brighton and having a ruck on the beach with some Rockers. 

Nowadays, you neck a couple of cans of supermarket lager, pile into the back of a minibus, drive to a non-descript northern town, pile out into the nearest boozer, neck a couple of pints of marginally better lager. Then you go to the football, meet your mates, unhinge your vocal chords and let rip for 90 minutes in belly-wrenching support of your team. Instant. Party. Mixture. 

I had a solitary pint all day and spent nine lonely and miserable hours on trains, but I’d have no hesitation in ranking Halifax Away ’12 up there with the very best trips pursuing United across the country. 

The result was incidental. We had nothing to play for - we can’t go up, we can’t go down - but every single one of the lads gathered at the back of the Skircoat Stand sang their hearts out like we were chasing the Treble. We haven’t seen it as much this season, but this was the rare hair-brained, absent-minded loyalism that reminds me why Boston United means so much. 

Of the 165 travelling supporters housed in this vacuous, all-seater stand - seemingly a million miles away from the woefully silent home fans - only about 60 were actually studying the game. The remainder - the ever-presents, the regulars, the hardcore, the Ultras, the Yoof Ultras, the exiles and a few assorted extras - paid little attention, too busy bouncing, standing on the seats and singing the Darts song for reasons long since forgotten. Oi Oi Oi. 

Lo and behold, the Yoof managed to get Depeche Mode’s Can’t Get Enough going, something I’d been trying and singularly failing to do since Solihull last March. It sounded tremendous echoing off the rust-covered roof, as did everything else that left our lips. Lawson Jr wasn’t allowed his drum in - the gulf in decibel levels between the two sets of supporters was enormous as it was. With a thudding drum as well, it would have been embarrassing. 

The singing started in the back room of The Three Pigeons beforehand - with pints of the divine Yorkshire Blonde ale sloshing all over the place - and continued unabated until the squad completed their warm-down at ten past five. No wonder I was struggling to speak at work the following morning. 

FC Halifax did well to cling on to the grand old Shay stadium after their reformation, but for now it is comfortably bigger than their needs. The crowd was just shy of 1,600, a few hundred more than average but empty space was evident on all four sides. 

The newish main stand is a fine example of what can be built, but it didn’t help the atmosphere that the home fans were in a terrace 100 yards away from us. Even the blue and white bunting in the other terrace was missing. 

On the pitch, in classic Yorkshire wet, United started with the desire of a someone wanting to spend his Bank Holiday weekend watching all the James Bond films back-to-back but has been ordered to box in the pipes in the bathroom, hoe the garden and grout the kitchen tiles. 

In the first few minutes, Bradford City loanee Ross Hannah slithered past Tom Ward and Gareth Jellyman to finish past Ricky Drury in net. Bazza remains sidelined with bronchitis, which wouldn’t have been helped by the teeming rain. 

James Dean (no, not that one) had a goal disallowed from a corner, to our great delight, but Halifax continued to stream forward and gained an inevitable second when Hannah finished from close range after some more powderpuff defending. 

We briefly entered stunned silence when Dean scored a third, moments after Lee Gregory had rattled the post, and with Halifax making us look amateurish, there were very real flashbacks to Altrincham back in October. 

There had been absolutely no evidence that we would get anything out of the game, but when goal machine Marc Newsham pulled one back just before the break, hope sprung eternal. The hinge on my seat strained as I stood on it to conduct everyone in the 36th rendition of Ring of Fire. It was Newsham’s 20th goal of the campaign and secured him my vote for Player of the Year. 

Chastened but encouraged, United were a different proposition in the second-half. The nightmare of Altrincham was replaced by memories of glorious comebacks, made all the more vivid when Josh Burge pulled another back when goalkeeper Simon Eastwood failed to grasp Ben Milnes’ low shot. 

With every sweeping United counter-attack, we raised another guttural roar, but an equaliser wasn’t to be. Ian Ross came within inches, striking the crossbar from wide on the right. Everyone gasped for breath as the curling cross-cum-shot flew in, exhaling in exasperation as it grazed the woodwork. Halifax had just done enough to keep their promotion bid on track. 

But there was no shame in this defeat, on what was a superlative and unforgettable away day. 

Next match: The sun is setting on the Scottish football season, but I hope to get to some post-split SPL fixtures and some new grounds soon. 

    

   

Hibernian 1 Motherwell 1

It may well have been Easter, but the occasion had completely passed me by. I didn’t scoff a single chocolate egg, I didn’t go to Church, I didn’t watch any James Bond films on ITV4. I worked Good Friday and then spent Easter Saturday crawling in ankle-deep mud somewhere in the back o’ beyond near Perth trying to reach someone’s house for a story.

My one concession to this year’s Christianical resurrection ceremony was a trip to Easter Road for this Scottish Premier League encounter. It was through no religious devotion, it happened to be the only match in the country on my day off. The name was pure coincidence. 

This was the ultimate fixture before the SPL’s bewildering and pointless split. Like the Red Sea, the table divides in opposite directions as the church bells ring out for Easter and we found our two protagonists at opposite ends. 

Motherwell were still busy harassing Rangers for second place, despite the inevitable psychological damage caused by their Cup exit the last time I watched them. With Rangers‘ future still blowing in the wind, Motherwell are set fair for a maiden appearance in the Champions League, barring a late collapse which could allow St Johnstone or Dundee United to profit. 

Their fortunes contrasted with those of Hibernian, who sit second bottom grateful for the fact that there is a worse team than them in Dunfermline, who have - dismally - not won a home game all season. Having said that, Hibs - or the Handies as I never knew they were nicknamed - had won just the one! They do however have a Cup semi-final to look forward to with Aberdeen - conquerors of Motherwell as readers will know. 

I was en route to knock on a door for a story in Edinburgh when I caught sight of the cantilevered stands of Easter Road and, realising it was within a 20-minute walk from Waverley, promised myself that I’d pop back soon. 

In journalism, you often depend on the kindness of complete strangers and, to my pleasant surprise, the same thing happened here. Twice. 

Anxiously glancing at my watch in the chaotic ticket office queue 15 minutes before kick-off, I was approached by a season ticket holder who wasn’t attending the game and was only too happy to lend me his seat for free. He waved away my numerous offers to pay him. Twenty-two quid saved in a stroke, thank you very much kind sir. Memories of the same thing happening to Andy A and I at Walsall. 

Weirdly, I’d already been offered a ticket in the queue by another fan who looked a bit shady, but it transpired to be a concessions one so I turned it down. I mean he wanted some money for it, for goodness sake. Pift. Besides, I’m 23, six foot five and look about seven years older, so it wasn’t going to happen. There’s an obvious joke here about Hibs being so poor they can’t give their tickets away, but I don’t want to make it...

Inside the stadium, I found myself next to another kind soul who, quickly noticing my predicament in knowing zilch about Scottish football, took it upon himself to describe the pros and cons of every Hibs player, where they were brought in from and what (if anything) they had done for the cause recently. It was a crash course in green and white, a genuine education and, again, if this other anonymous person is reading, thank you!

My tutor bounded to his seat in fluorescent running jacket and white trainers, thought nothing of climbing over the barrier to reach his spot and, while not talking to me, spent most of the game on his feet, imploring another few moments of effort from his side or yelling unrepeatables at the referee. Excellent entertainment, a one man show.

On the pitch, Motherwell were immensely disappointing. They were languid in possession, reluctant in committing forward and roused themselves for one effort on goal in an hour-and-a-half. Unfortunately for deserving Hibs, this was a late equaliser from Nicky Law and it wasn’t half bad either - a dipping, steered volley from 25 yards. 

Hitherto, Hibs, who were vocally backed by a noisy posse over on the far side to me, had been superior, taking the lead through Gary O’Connor’s superlative free-kick on the half-hour. As my tour guide correctly told me, he was best known for his days at Birmingham City before returning to his original club via lovely Barnsley. 

Despite enjoying basket-loads of possession, Hibs lacked a bit of confidence in getting a shot away and too many attacks came to naught. They weren’t aided by the performance of official O’Reilly, who immediately attracted the ire of the home support with some off-key decisions. They believed he was playing up to the ESPN cameras. 

But, on this evidence, they’ll stay up. I certainly hope so, after a very enjoyable afternoon out in Leith. 

Next Match: The Bank Holiday Monday trip to FC Halifax Town to watch Boston. 

St Mirren 0 Heart of Midlothian 2

24 hours after my trip to Hamilton came another great opportunity for football. While the previous evening had been spent with Andy Pickwell, this one at St Mirren was with the similarly-named Andy Picken, who is Political Editor of the Scottish Mail on Sunday and a dedicated Saints fan. 

We’d watched the initial sixth round tie between these two sides while covering the SNP Conference at the SECC a fortnight earlier - it ended two-apiece - and he kindly agreed to take me to the replay at New St Mirren Park. In my quest to cram in as much Scottish football as possible in my six months here, I wasn’t about to turn down the offer.

Little did he realise though that he’d be spending the day in London, hob-nobbing with a welter of Scottish MPs and the Westminster press pack and watching George Osborne deliver the Budget, but the inconvenience of being 400 miles away didn’t phase him and our trip was on. 

Of course, the train was delayed and I spent an anxious half hour shuffling around on the Glasgow Central concourse watching the connections we needed to get out to Paisley move across the departure board. The 7.15 passed, then the 7.20. By the time the 7.25 disappeared I was getting restless and so went to Burger King for some onion rings. When I returned, the last hope of going by train had vanished. As Andy jogged through the ticket barrier at twenty to eight, our hopes of making kick-off rested in the hands of a cabbie. 

In the event, we missed only about ten minutes and after throwing £15 at the ticket booth, took up our seats in the corner of the main stand. I was struck that the ground, which has been open just three years, was compact and well-designed with just the right capacity at 8,000. It certainly seemed full on this occasion, with the only visible empty seats far away to our left in the ‘Railway End.’ The home section of the side opposite was full and sweeping away to our right was a sold-out bank of about 1,300 Hearts fans, who created some decent noise. 

Hearts entered the match on a high having won the Edinburgh Derby on Sunday but were quickly on the back foot as St Mirren peppered their goal in the opening 25 minutes. Nigel Hasselbaink - nephew of Jimmy Floyd - looked lively and forced a save over the top by goalkeeper Jamie MacDonald. 

The bright start culminated with yet another moment of huge contention - my third in three games. Graham Carey had delivered a teasing ball and Hearts defender Marius Zallukas clearly handled under pressure. The referee failed to respond and Hasselbaink headed into the goal to scenes of jubilation around the ground. But no. Referee Stevie O’Reilly saw no advantage and inexplicably pointed to the penalty spot, ruling out the goal. With a depressing sense of inevitability, Carey’s penalty was saved by MacDonald. 

St Mirren crumbled thereafter - the confidence drained from their play, passes were always the wrong option and they seldom got a shot away. Gary Teale - who with his colourful boots looked likely to create something, as he often did when I watched him at Sheffield Wednesday last season - suddenly looked lost.

Jamie Hamill fizzed a shot against the base of the post, but the Edinburgh side wouldn’t be denied for much longer. The ball was given away to Danny Grainger, who advanced and fed Hamill to fire an accurate low shot past Craig Samson and give them the half-time lead. 

The second period was tame by comparison and only Hearts looked like scoring. Rudi Skacel, who I’m told always scores against St Mirren, forced a superb one-handed save from Samson. But the Czech, whose name was sung with great passion by the Hearts fans, wouldn’t be denied and secured passage into the semi-finals for his team with a close-range finish late on. There wasn’t enough time to mount a comeback and few home fans remained until the final whistle on a disappointing night.

Next Match: Hoping to take in another Scottish game before travelling to Halifax to watch Boston on Easter Monday.  

Hamilton Academical 3 Dundee 1

A quick scan of the fixture list, a check on the train timetables, a text to Andy Pickwell and a prompt departure from work meant this Tuesday night match, my second in Scotland, was a goer and, more importantly, very little effort. 

Andy - whom you already know as the genius behind Ravings of a Boston Boy - happens to live and work in Glasgow at the moment, though his passion for football seemed to be on the wane and he hadn’t attended a match since January or even watched Match of the Day.

 In fact, he’d planned to spend this particular evening stargazing in a local park until the typically cloudy Scottish weather put paid to the Astronomy Society’s plans. But it was fine, since the lure of New Douglas Park, Hamilton is obviously much stronger than the majesty of Orion’s Belt or that plough thing. 

Hamilton’s home since 2001, the ground couldn’t have been better located - a five minute walk down a back alley from Hamilton West station, an easy 20 minute ride from the city centre. It has handsome, permanent stands on two sides and a small, temporary stand on another, though the ground didn’t feel like it was lacking anything by not being fully enclosed. Behind the goal to our right was a small astroturf training pitch which was pretty smart but mysteriously bushy in appearance - not sure how that works with an artificial surface!

Admission was £16, which I’m guessing is fairly par for Irn-Bru Scottish League Division One football. It’s certainly reasonable when compared with the equivalent league - the Championship - in England. One great joy of living here is that Irn-Bru practically flows from the taps. It was my soft beverage of choice even in England, so now I’m in tangy, orangey, girder-y heaven. 

Naturally I parted with £2.50 for the programme but was somewhat bemused that the team line-ups (which also included Saturday’s fixture with Queen of the South) had no shirt numbers and there wasn’t a single page devoted to the visitors for either game! The editorial content includes two pages on ticketing arrangements for the Scottish Challenge Cup final against Falkirk, which is being played at Livingston’s ground next weekend. The rest was just advertising, including ones for Alcoholics Anonymous and Gamblers Anonymous to add to the massive suicide hotline sponsorship board I saw at Motherwell. 

I can only assume that sides in Scotland play each other so regularly across the season that all the supporters have memorised their opponent’s squad, meaning pen pics aren’t necessary! It’s a neutral’s nightmare, however. 

Both sides have played in the SPL in the not-too-distant past but this was a low key affair, despite being entertaining enough to restore Andy’s faith in football. Dundee brought about 200 supporters, including a few kids who tried to generate an atmosphere and marked kick-off by doing the Poznan for some reason, but they looked very lost in the big away stand. 

Dundee started at a pedestrian pace but, as so often happens, found themselves in the lead against the run of play. There was a warning salvo when Ryan Conroy struck the upright with a whipped free-kick, but it would be another set-piece from which they took the lead. Striker Conroy sprinted on to a Jake Hyde flick but the ball ran away from him after a sloppy first touch. Accies goalkeeper David Hutton gathered on the floor as Conroy slid studs-first into him. A certain free-kick. Nope, not according to the referee, who bizarrely awarded a penalty. After a prolonged protest, Conroy dusted himself off to score. So that’s two absolutely baffling decisions I’ve seen in two games in Scotland. 

But unlike at Motherwell, it didn’t prove costly. Accies equalised six minutes later when ‘keeper Rab Douglas spilt a corner and Mark McLaughlin poked in the equaliser. Justice had been served but it didn’t stop the majority of the crowd howling with derision at the officials at half-time. The linesman on our side, who looked as though he would struggle to pass any kind of fitness test, had also made some dodgy offside decisions. 

The second-half belonged to the home team, who gained a moderate amount of revenge for their 6-1 thumping in the last meeting here between the sides. From another corner, the ball was worked across goal and Jon McShane popped up at the back post to head in on 50 minutes. Mark Stewart then scorched through to make it 3-1 with a composed finish. A very worthwhile night under the lights. 

Next Match: St Mirren v Hearts in a Scottish Cup sixth round replay.