With the season quickly drawing to an end, I've apparently made it my life goal to sack off revision for my exams and head back out in to the big, wide world in the search of some silly football to enjoy. I haven't yet completely given up on my future, but Saturday afternoons are certainly a decent excuse for procrastination.
With that in mind, I made up a schedule for the week. Rottingdean on the Tuesday evening, Bognor Regis on the Thursday and then leave it up to chance for my day out at the weekend. Of course, being me, the two midweek games fell out of the schedule faster that I'd added them in the first place. I just about threw off the plague to haul myself back into the football world on Saturday, with a quick glance at the fixture list taking me in only one direction, Hassocks.
With that in mind, I made up a schedule for the week. Rottingdean on the Tuesday evening, Bognor Regis on the Thursday and then leave it up to chance for my day out at the weekend. Of course, being me, the two midweek games fell out of the schedule faster that I'd added them in the first place. I just about threw off the plague to haul myself back into the football world on Saturday, with a quick glance at the fixture list taking me in only one direction, Hassocks.
I wouldn't begrudge you in immediately wondering how to achieve a Hassocks, because truthfully, I wasn't sure either. Quick research told me I was just a ten minute train ride from the little Sussex village though, so I was on my way. I arrived at just gone midday, and first impressions tell you a story. There's not a lot in Hassocks. On that basis, I took the executive decision and headed for the first, and probably only, pub in the village.
Just outside of the station, 'The Hassocks' is a lovely little family pub offering food and drink, with a beer garden and kids park on site. I decided against playground-hopping and resisted the allure of the monkey bars, before wandering indoors in search of a drink. Sadly, I wasn't able to get hold of some largely unheard of poison from central Europe, so I had to settle for a pint of Heineken instead. At £4.25 a pop, I made sure to enjoy the beer at a leisurely pace with the Old Firm on TV. Sussex prices still shock me every time. |
With not much occurring in the pub, other than the football and a dog who wasn't sure if his tail was trying to kill him or not, I plumped on heading further down the high street. My primary goal was locating another pub, but I was soon searching for anything of interest. I didn't find anything. I did, however, locate the village idiot. As I was walking back up towards the train station, keeping a close eye out for an alien invasion or something of ilk to be worth writing about, my stroll took me past the entrance of the Post Office. Now, I don't know what happens in your local area, but apparently in Hassocks it's perfectly acceptable to jump out of a doorway and shout 'Boo!' at any given passer-by. Never before in my life have I found myself that confused, stood in the middle of an unknown Sussex village looking at a bloke laughing to himself having made me jump, but there I was. I soon decided it was best to ditch my short tour of the village and head back to the pub for another drink.
The Beacon Ground is located a short walk from the station, some 5-10 minutes out of town. Simply head down Brighton Road, and you'll soon stumble across the long driveway heading up to the entrance, to the right-hand side of quite an elaborate garden centre. Not for the first time, I avoided temptation (this time in the shape of Geraniums), and headed up the pathway towards the ground. Resembling some sort of mansion driveway, I was half hoping for a limousine to pull up somewhere along the way, but it wasn't to be. |
I regularly say that clubs I visit are generally friendly, because I anticipate most clubs understand the importance of spectators wanting to spend their money with the club. On entrance at Hassocks however, I was presented with a £3 admission fee and a further £1 for a matchday programme. Having handed over a five pound note, the chap behind the turnstile gave me £2 back as change, saying 'You need all the help that you can get' with a chuckle. It's only small, and many would deem it not worthy of mention, but it's the small things that set certain clubs apart. I massively appreciated the gesture, so got myself a portion of chips and a pint to celebrate at full-time. Good clubs with good people deserve every penny.
I was told before the game that 'The Beacon Ground' is one of the best in the Southern Combination League, and that's a strong claim to go out and make. On first glance though, it was a great call. The clubhouse is a large, spacious affair, with the tea bar in the corner offering a range of hot drinks and food. Outside, the ground is surrounded by countryside, and is fantastically pretty on a sunny day. I did overhear from some of the old boys next to me that it gets a bit nippy when the wind picks up during the winter months, though.
On the far touchline opposite the dugouts, lays a seated stand, with park benches littered around the rest of the ground at random intervals, which I'm always a fan of. I took perch to the right of the dugouts for the first twenty minutes of the game, before mooching round to take a few snaps on my phone, with the quality of photo continuing to frustrate me. I'll get it sorted one day.
On the far touchline opposite the dugouts, lays a seated stand, with park benches littered around the rest of the ground at random intervals, which I'm always a fan of. I took perch to the right of the dugouts for the first twenty minutes of the game, before mooching round to take a few snaps on my phone, with the quality of photo continuing to frustrate me. I'll get it sorted one day.
With both sides sitting in mid-table and not really having anything to play for, the game turned out to be something of a mini-cracker. Gianfranco Mici twice gave visiting Crawley Down Gatwick a first half lead, with goals cancelled out by equalisers from Michael Death (Greatest name in world football) and Liam Benson respectively. Jack Rowehurst ultimately killed the game with a neat, looped finish in the 86th minute, but the points really could have gone either way. |
I spent the majority of the second half chatting with a Portsmouth fan, who proved to be interesting discussion when posing questions of my exploits in Sussex and who I believed to be the hottest prospect coming out of German football at the moment. On the field, the quotes were the best I've heard for a long time. One of the beautiful things about non-league is being able to hear the players communicating with each other, but when you turn up and you go from your regular shouts like 'Ah, get in the fucking gym', all the way through to 'Would you stop trying to play like fucking Bebeto', you know you're in for a good afternoon.
At the full-time whistle, I took one last look around before shuffling into the bar for a quick drink. As aforementioned, clubs like Hassocks deserve every penny. Finishing up, I said my goodbyes and left for town, via another pit stop in 'The Hassocks' to celebrate Brighton bottling the title on their big day. What a shame. Not.
A day out wouldn't be complete without finding myself laughing at an inane road sign, so when 'Pound Gate' came into view, I couldn't help but imagine the sort of currency scandals that just broken on the news of the resident houses. It is, after all, the silly things that keep us sane.
A day out wouldn't be complete without finding myself laughing at an inane road sign, so when 'Pound Gate' came into view, I couldn't help but imagine the sort of currency scandals that just broken on the news of the resident houses. It is, after all, the silly things that keep us sane.
From the tea man, to the old boys that had just turned to enjoy 90 minutes of football, Hassocks are genuinely one of the friendliest clubs that I've met on my travels. The people love the club, and you're given a reason to love the football yourself, even if it is only for the one afternoon. In a cracking setting, with decent entertainment on the field, and a sense of belonging in this quiet little Sussex village, it's well worth popping in to say hello.
Cheers!
Sheridan
Cheers!
Sheridan