Given that my two previous visits to the worst stadium in the National League had resulted in two losses by a combined score of 11-1, and the Magpies had managed just one point (conceding an equaliser to Braintree's ten men) from the five games since the shock win at Oldham, it's safe to say that I was – once again – questioning my life choices ahead of this weekend, especially as Macleod (M) and I had decided to fly up to Newcastle while sat in the pub before the Magpies' 4-0 thumping at Altrincham in mid-January ... the price having risen by nearly 50% compared to when I'd first proposed the idea between Christmas and New Year; anyway, after a lift to Terminal 5 for Macleod (M), Rainey and me in Dad's Taxi (failing to find the free remote drop-off, so resigning ourselves to paying the £6 fee), we enjoyed breakfast and pints (well, Murdo and I had pints) sat next to Sparkes (K) and Sparkes (D) in Spoons ahead of the 09:45 flight (with Phil W. moving to sit next to Murdo) that was, judging by the sound of his voice, captained by Philip from Rising Damp
After dumping our bags at the Premier Inn close to the airport, we dashed for the Metro train, with Rainey staying on (as he was meeting an old colleague for lunch in the Schooner Fog on the Tyne), while the rest of us disembarked at Gateshead and headed down West Street (as squalid as Maidenhead's High Street), towards the four pubs (three of them micro) recommended on a Reddit thread I'd seen in the preceding days; it was just before midday but, unlike the furthest away (Axis), Microbus was open, so we started there, and it was great: quirky decor (the owners are campervan enthusiasts), an excellent drink selection (my Cushty Peeve by Carlisle Brewing Co. was solid), a free-to-play retro arcade machine with hundreds of games (albeit I couldn't work out how to start Street Fighter II), and good conversation (topics included 'Working for British Airways' and 'Lost pubs of Maidenhead')
To Axis (now open), where Macleod (M) was pestered for beef-flavoured crisps by a gorgeous black Labrador, I enjoyed perhaps my favourite ale of the day (DEYA's Magazine Cover), and Phil W. (who had rejoined us after a detour to his B&B in West Jesmond) got stuck into a third of 10%-proof stout ("pre-emptive, ahead of the likely football result"); next was The Central, with Chris Rad. in tow, where an Elliott Smith song somehow sparked a heated debate between Macleod (M) and me about 80s music and 90s music (it was more nuanced than 'which was best', but you can probably work out the gist)
East, Station completed the set of pubs, where we learned the team news (no Reece Smith, Alan Massey or Miles Welch-Hayes; Remy Clerima back from the dead – metaphorically speaking – to make his 249th MUFC start but only his second in the league this season; and a previously unannounced new signing on the bench) before a truncated walk to the ground past a massive, seen-better-days steel factory (under threat of closure) and some fella with a makeshift stall selling unlicensed NUFC League Cup Final tat (which probably would've pissed me off if I were a Gateshead fan); the home side dominated possession from the start, but it quickly became apparent that their relatively poor recent run had sapped confidence, and this wasn't one of their slick 'sexy football' outfits that had carved us open at will in previous encounters, especially not with a 15th-minute looping header from Manny Onariase giving the visitors a lead to defend
Surprisingly, I think Craig Ross ('Snood' to our friends at Sutton) had only one save of note (which he made – with his legs – look more awkward than it perhaps needed to be), and I'd argue the Magpies had the better opportunities to double their advantage, with the Heed looking uncertain every time we had an attacking set piece; a bumper home crowd was getting (1) increasingly restless and (2) out-sung by the Berkshire horde, but it wasn't until the 84th minute – and following a horrendous gaffe from their defence – that Shawn McCoulsky, who would later spurn a one-on-one, scored a game-clinching second, sparking wild, almost disbelieving Maidenhead celebrations (on and off the pitch – I think our entire bench bar Alan Dev joined the bundle in front of the travelling fans!)
Hat tip to all the players and coaching staff, but a special shout out to Remy, aka the King of France, who rolled back the years ("He's 31 again!" #IYKYK) with a masterful display as the sweeper in a back three – each of those wearing purple deserved their names sung loud and proud long after the final whistle had sounded, but the away support (officially 33 in number) dissipated quickly at the end, which was a shame; although Phil W., Macleod (M), Chris Rad. and I were still humming "Number 30 for Maidenhead is Manny O" to the Supergrass tune as we stopped off at a heaving McDonald's on the walk back to the pubs
East, Station again (Murdo ordered "pints of Southend," which tasted too sour even for me; we checked the National League scores, and discussed other unusual pubs), then The Central (which was great: my sour cherry cider went down a treat, as did helpings of the complimentary mushroom and potato stew, as we sat in a different but more ornate room with the TV showing a stadium of people belting out La Marseillaise ... presumably in honour of Remy), Microbus (packed, with a Northumbrian musician – vaguely resembling the much-missed Scouse Mick – performing decent versions of Delilah, A Day in the Life, Stairway to Heaven, etc.), and Axis (where the hat-wearing barman from earlier in the day proactively mentioned our win, and I enjoyed an expensive half of 6.5%-proof Holy Goat Blood Orange Crusher Sour), before we walked under one bridge (the High Level) and over another (the Swing), to the Toon for drinks in the Crown Posada (a GMOSC Pub of the Year in 2018, but not nearly as good this time, with a disappointing drink selection and frequented by people who think Maidenhead is in either Kent or Essex), and an all-too-brief stop at the Bridge Hotel, where Macleod (M) realised he and I needed to get the next Metro train from nearby Central Station, as that was the last of the night going all the way to the airport (and our hotel)
A relatively decent night's kip preceded a short morning stroll to the airport, a much smoother and quicker security check than at Heathrow, a meal deal from Boots, a chat with a friendly retired couple who were off to Belfast for a city break, photos of Phil W. and Macleod (M) with some black and white balloons (a nice gesture by the airport to put them up for us), jealous complaints about Wealdstone (coming back from three down against Eastleigh, signing Mustapha Carayol, having a council that doesn't hate them, etc.) and our flight home (much busier, with the only spare seat being the one next to Murdo; photos of Maidenhead in the distance as we passed overhead); then Macleod (M) and I caught the No. 7 bus to Slough station via Langley (which was an experience!) for the Lizzy Line back to Maido and a tired walk home (to catch the second half of Arsenal vs Chelsea and hear the welcome news that MUFC Women had won the Berks & Bucks Cup for the first time)
Despite the fact it sounds cliched, this game was one of those that reminds us why we bother; however, as good a win as it was, it needs to be the start of a decent run of results – with in-form Aldershot at York Road on Tuesday – rather than a flash in the pan, otherwise relegation is still the likely outcome ... and I want to return to those pubs (the real Fab Four) in Gateshead next season!
Deserved to beat us and the 30 odd fans made some good noise
— C (@Dec6666) March 15, 2025
