After a twenty-minute walk from a Metro station and several wrong turns around a housing estate, I eventually managed to track down the entrance to the Bohemian Ground, home of (breathe in) Gosforth Bohemian Garnett Amateur Sports Club (and out) exactly one minute after the appointed two o'clock kick off time. There was a padlock on the gate, a bit of mud around the pitch and not a single sign that a football match was taking place anywhere (the fact that no-one could be heard screaming the words 'squeeze' or 'lino' should have already, if I'm honest, given the game away). Not even a goalpost.
A dog cocked its leg over the sign for the sports ground, and a man across the road eyed me suspiciously as he trundled a mower around his postage-stamp lawn. I shrugged, went back home and sat through Newcastle's goalless draw with Fulham on a live internet stream that required more of my attention than the game did itself. "Not enough width," I sneezed after five minutes. Nothing had changed after ninety.
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