Hartlepool v Scunthorpe United

Monday, August 29, 2005

Football League One

Hartlepool :
Konstantopoulos, Williams, Nelson, Neill Collins, Robson, Humphreys (Daly 84), Sweeney, Bullock (Clark 64), Llewellyn (Eifion Williams 60), Proctor, Boyd
Subs not used:
Jones, Provett

Scunthorpe United :
Musselwhite, Stanton, Crosby, Hinds, Williams, Taylor, Richie Ryan (Byrne 83), Sparrow, Beagrie, Keogh (Johnson 86), Sharp
Subs not used:
Corden, Parton, Capp

SULSESC REPORT

by Bob Dook at Victoria Park

THE Bob Dook Season continues with a further glimpse into the Iron's wonderful start.

Our SULSESC secretary used illness in the ranks as a reason to request a script from me, probably playing on my scorn for the northeast and thus realising some sensationalised and emotive reporting. Normally, I vent at Darlo, but Hartlepool will do.

A marginally better place, if only for the option of a North Sea watery suicide. I had driven up there from Hull, where my mother was hospitalised in the Royal Infirmary. The country roads on a Bank Holiday Monday were murder and I was pleased to hit the dual carriageway at Thirsk. A double benefit of the A19 north of Thirsk is while it offers quick access to matches, it also gives a quick exit from Slumland.

Parking up at the shed that has the incongruous name of Victoria Park, a local, abjectly bereft of intelligence (quotient estimated at less than 50) tried to explain that the parking coin machine was working incorrectly. It was pointed out to him that he hadn't put enough money in it. No doubt he believed that the Benefit System would be paying the remainder.

The game itself was a cracker. A disappointing turn-out of 500+ Iron fans nestled themselves in their seats, some in sunshine. We watched claret and blue balloons being collected from the pitch before kick-off and somewhere in there was Baraclough, collecting the practice balls. He was to be left out with the ankle injury that he suffered from that dirty **** Southwell of Forest.

The sunshine was lovely, a change from the wind, cold and wet I remember from my many visits to Hartlepool. The pie was at its usual appalling standard. The modern 'Pool side reminds me of Lincoln, only bigger. They also play hoofball. Quite how they made it to the League One play-offs, I don't know, but I suspect that teams haven't found ways of combating this style. Once they do, I can see Hartlepool returning to the basement division, where they rightly belong.

It was this aerial mode that led to their opening goal. A long throw, inadequately dealt with, saw the ball drop between our centre backs. Michael Proctor needed no second invitation.

But what joy, we equalised quickly. Beagrie met a long upfield punt from Crosby with his head. Sparrow hooked the ball in the box through to Billy Sharp, who beat the 'keeper from close in. Musselwhite pulled off an incredible one-handed save at our end, keeping out a goal-bound header low to his right.

After the interval, we attacked them with vigour and deservedly took the lead, when Billy pulled inside his marker in the box, found space and beat the 'keeper low in the corner. A short while later, Billy found himself in a similar location, but this time lifted a cross across the goalmouth for Keogh to score with an exquisite volley. Soon 'Pool were back in the game, scoring from an unfortunate rebound.

With 10 minutes to go, I left the match in order to beat the traffic and get back on the road to Hull, to make the Royal Infirmary's evening visiting hour to see mum. Listening to the last five minutes on Radio Humberside pulling out of Hartlepool was dreadful. How sickening it felt, when our experienced players couldn't play out time in the corner and allowed the monkey hangers to gallop away and be awarded a disputed penalty by the ref, who was 40 yards from the incident. While I would have settled for a draw at the outset, it felt like points lost at the end.

The football day had been going well, the sun was shining, it was warm in Hartlepool, we had played well, scored three goals away from home, the season's future looked bright, I was heading south and then it all went to pieces. I passed a sign "A66 Darlington". A stark reminder of where I was. Hell.