GROUNDHOP DAY

Gateshead 1-3 York City. Vanarama National League. 18/03/2025.

‘It wasn’t the burger I had fantasised over on the drive up, but the fact that we were served anything at all made me realise that the real Angel of the North works behind a till, serving absolute worldie last-minute Chicken Tikka Masala pies and chips…’

Five games, five away wins. If it wasn’t already confirmed, I’m one hundred per cent a curse to the home team. No matter who I see, no matter what form they’re in, if I rock up to see them, they lose. The world hasn’t seen a curse this bad since Madam Zeroni cursed Elya Yelnats for not returning for her in the movie Holes. For the sake of future teams I visit, I hope it won’t last for always and eternity like it did for him. The only plus side this time was that I had mixed things up a bit and decided to visit as an away fan…

The North East of England holds a small yet important place in my heart. It’s where some of my friends and family live, it’s where I’ve seen some of the best gigs I’ve ever been to, and it’s also where I first discovered there is such a thing as a shopping centre theme park – or at least there was, until the Metro Centre closed Metroland in 2008; RIP. As I looked through the Good Friday fixtures, my eye was drawn to one in particular. The team I had spotted is located just around the corner from the Angel of the North – no, not Michelle Keegan – they play in white and black, and they have an incredibly loyal fanbase. Yes, you guessed it, Gateshead! Oh, sorry, were you thinking of someone else?

I had wanted to go to a York away game all season – I was due to go to Boston in January, but we had just got a puppy – and Gateshead were one of only a handful of options in the northern region of England. I will, of course, be visiting the South of England for games in the future, but with the greatest of respects to York and the rest of the National League, I will likely save those trips– at least for the short term – for Football League games. It just so happened that Gateshead was an ideal away day, as my good friend Jake lives there. We were long overdue a catch-up, and what better way to do that than to have a day out supporting his local team? By supporting his local team, I mean force him to pay twenty-two quid to sit with the away fans, despite living five minutes down the road.

After stopping off for a brew at Jake’s and being jumped on, licked and dry-humped by his dog, we made the short drive to the carpark, which was only a few minutes’ walk from the stadium. The weather outside was surprisingly warm for the part of the country we were in – thirteen degrees, peak summer for Newcastle. The walk from the car to the stadium was a straight and direct path, which cut through the estate of flats and apartments we were in. Gateshead Way, Jake called it. It wasn’t quite as long or emphatic as the real Wembley Way I had walked down a month or so ago, but I could see the resemblance, kind of.

The first thing I noticed as we stopped at the traffic lights opposite was how surprisingly modern the Gateshead International Stadium actually looked. The entrance to what I believe was the hospitality area was a grey building with tall and striking glass – reminiscent of the college I used to attend in York. The main stand looked well kept, and the ‘Gateshead International Stadium’ sign on the front looked pretty smart. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so surprised; it is a multi-purpose athletics facility as well. Then I saw the barbed wire. My eyes instantly glanced clockwise, and I saw a battered prison-like concrete wall surrounding the outer side of the south side of the stadium. Appropriate to the Easter weekend it was, I thought to myself, ‘Jesus’.

We noticed a group of York fans walking around the north side, so we gravitated towards them and followed them around. Perhaps it was better on the other side? It wasn’t. If anything, it was worse. The stadium had peaked with its front on, entrance view. Everywhere else looked sad, worn down, and, to be honest, a bit intimidating. As we walked behind two police officers, I felt like we were actually being guided to a cell to be locked away. I’d cursed at some wanker who cut me off on the way up the A1(M), but I didn’t think it was worthy of a sentence.

There was an abundance of crows sitting directly on the barbed wire and circling the stadium like vultures waiting for you to wilt away. It almost felt as though they were judging you, saying, “You don’t belong here, mate. Go home.” As we headed for our stand – which was now visibly in sight up a steep-looking stairway – we passed through an astroturfed carpark. My first thought was, “Why didn’t I park here?” My second was, “Why is there a random corroded (and very wonky) NFL post tucked inside the outer hill?” The grass on the hill was even more patchy than my garden’s grass after my dog had pissed on it; again, it needed a bit of TLC. Or did it? Was it, in fact, these exact elements that were making it such a bizarre, yet cool, entrance? Without them, it would just be a small stadium with an athletics track. With them, it seemed much more. Besides, it wasn’t like I was turning my nose up at any of it. I’ve seen some sights in my time; I grew up near Selby and Goole. You know what they say, ‘One man’s trash is another man’s treasure’, and I think that was genuinely the case for myself and Jake. Many would automatically associate the barbed wire walls and incredibly worn-down outer fences and grass as a bit of a shithole, but we loved it. I was slightly concerned at what the inside would be like, however.

Just as bad, the answer. Or just as brilliant. That being said, I was pleasantly surprised at the view of the pitch when we walked in, considering how far away we seemed due to the track. For all I usually hate multipurpose stadiums with athletics tracks, it actually added to the charisma of this one. However, I definitely feel that the further down you sat, the worse the view would likely get. As it was, we decided to stand at the back and lean against the railings, perfectly positioned on the halfway line. We were surrounded by roughly 1,500 other York fans; an incredible turnout for an away game in the National League. Although it is technically one of their closer away days, there are still eighty-six miles – and a two-hour drive – between the two places. Say what you like, but that’s commitment at this level; again, with all due respect.

One of the strangest (but coolest) parts of the stadium was the desolate and ghost town nature of the North and South stands. The home and away fans – which were parallel to one another – were surrounded by empty seats. That in itself isn’t particularly unusual – it’s a weekly occurrence at the Etihad – but it was more the empty seats combined with the general aesthetic of the stadium that made it feel almost like a deserted ruin. Having said that, when the game first started, the York fans weren’t much louder than the empty seats either side of them. They had made a two-hour trip to be here; I thought they’d be massively up for it. Potentially, it was the realisation that it was likely going to be play-off football instead of automatic promotion; maybe that had taken the sting out of the occasion. Whatever the reason, it just felt flat. It didn’t go unnoticed, either. A bloke a few rows down from where we were stood decided to take it upon himself to rally the troops. “COME ON, MAKE SOME NOISE. WE’RE NOT HERE TO WATCH YORK; WE’RE HERE TO SUPPORT THEM,” he screamed aggressively. I was glad we were above him at this point, or we would have likely been showered with his spit. Ironically, there was a silence directly afterwards; no-one quite knew how to take it. That was until another bloke shouted, “Yeah, what he said.” Eventually, they started to pick up, and so did the football.

Unfortunately for us, however, it was Gateshead that took advantage of one of the many counterattacking opportunities they would be presented with in the first half. 1-0. As I turned to my left, there was the tiniest of smiles from Jake, who I think had now realised he actually did want Gateshead to win; either that, or he was just pretending in case one of his neighbours spotted him fraternising with the enemy. At this point, I also thought to myself, ‘typical’. The first time I’d decided to sit (or stand) in the away end, the home team scored. Just after the half-hour mark, York equalised with one of the scrappiest goals I’ve ever seen. The fans didn’t care though, and neither did I. At last, after four games (not including Wembley), I could finally celebrate a goal with fans around me.

I had been chatting about the game with my father-in-law the previous night and told him how many York fans were expected to make their way up, one of whom was a family friend (Gary). He said he’d give me twenty quid if I managed to bump into him and get a selfie; a weird bet, considering I had him on Facebook and would quite obviously message him when I was there. As the half-time whistle sounded, that’s exactly what I did. Gary thought it was just as bizarre as I did that I was potentially going to get paid twenty quid for getting a photo, but in the spirit of wanting to see his mate out of pocket, he happily obliged. Did my father-in-law pay up, you ask? Did he fuck. The selfies didn’t stop there. Just before the second half began, I managed to grab the York mascot, ‘Yorkie’, for a quick photo. In fact, that’s a lie; it wasn’t quick at all. I had handed over my camera to Jake, and he couldn’t for the life of him fathom it out. Despite it being a point-and-shoot, he was flapping around more than Onana in the Utd goal. It almost ruined my first mascot selfie, but he got there in the end.

Back to the game, and York largely dominated the second half. There were a few feisty moments throughout; a shoulder barge from York’s Ollie Pearce left one of the Gateshead players on the floor, which in turn sparked a rather unusual response from a fan. “Stop squealing, you big pig.” Erm, ok. Perhaps it was the same pig that Elya Yelnats carried up the mountain before being cursed for always and eternity by Madame Zeroni? Sorry, talking about Holes again, aren’t I? It was definitely one of the weirdest shouts I’ve ever heard at a football match, but I rated his enthusiasm and the passion he delivered it with.

York would be rewarded for their impressive performance with two goals in the last fifteen minutes, which secured an important 1-3 win. I’m still not entirely sure whether this means that the curse has been lifted or not, as the home team still lost. However, with me being in the away end on this occasion, I didn’t really care. The mighty York City had won, and it would be a happy drive home.

The day wasn’t over yet, however. Seeing as though I was visiting his neck of the woods, Jake and I thought we might as well make an afternoon of it. The first thing on our minds after the footy was food. In preparation for coming to Gateshead, I had been following an incredible-looking takeaway called ‘La Cucina’ on Instagram for a couple of months. I’d drooled over their burgers for long enough; it was finally time to make a visit. As we walked through the door, we noticed a waitress putting chairs on the table. We were quickly informed that they were closing in two minutes due to it being a bank holiday. Panic-stricken, we asked if they had anything left. Was I going to miss my chance to finally stick my teeth into their delicious grub? I even pulled out a sob story that I’d driven all the way from York. Thankfully, they had a few bits left. It wasn’t the burger I had fantasised over on the drive up, but the fact that we were served anything at all made me realise that the real Angel of the North works behind a till, serving absolute worldie last-minute Chicken Tikka Masala pies and chips.

We then headed back to his house to collect his sex pest of a dog and take her for a stroll around the local park. The first thing I clocked for when entering – other than the beautiful views – was a group of grown adults playing Frisbee in a cult-like circle. Luckily for them, there was nobody in a wheelchair to hit, and nobody had an aim like Will McKenzie. We left them to it and continued making our way around the stunning park and the ridiculous hill inclines it had to offer, stopping off for an ice cream on the way.

Overall, a great day out. A long overdue catch-up with a mate, a good game of footy, some delicious scran, and another stadium ticked off my list. You could say, a very Good Friday.

Stadium: It’s a marmite stadium; there’s no doubt about it. Some will look at it and think it’s run down and a bit of a shithole. Others (like me) will look at it and think these very things bring it to life. I didn’t go there with any real expectations, but I was massively surprised at how much I liked it. It’s incredibly photogenic, which is more than I can say for a lot of stadiums out there. It’s a strong three. Just remember to take a rain coat if you’re in the away end…

Location: I don’t remember seeing a pub or takeaway within a reasonable walking distance (although I could be wrong). Even though we parked a few minutes down the road, it’s in the middle of nowhere really.

Atmosphere: The York end (once it picked up) was fairly rowdy. However, the home end was pretty dead. It says it all when we took up two-thirds of the capacity.

Mascot: For all I got a selfie with ‘Yorkie’, it’s not him I’m rating, it’s the Gateshead mascot. ‘Rooney the Goat’ deserves a three, he’s super random, but quirky. It’s just a shame he’s called Rooney, otherwise he might have got a four.