CATCH ME THERE , BY THE DUG-OUTS

Those steadfast individuals, those whose lifelong devotion to one particular club bears not a single dent of wavering, know their place.

They’ve occupied their favourite vantage point (or vantage points) for countless years past and will do so for countless years to come. You’ll find them stood or sat in the same spot match after match after match.

Elsewhere, those numerically literate groundhoppers have their own criteria for determining their preferred lookout at an unfamiliar ground. Quite often, it will be the spot closest to the tea hut. Well-seasoned in the art of queue avoidance, this lot.

And then there are those of us unaffiliated types who also like to flit from ground to ground, but who haven’t developed the urge to count up or catalogue our away days. We too have our favourite spots from which to watch. Well, I do, at least.

Argy-bargy

If one team goes into the half-time break in a dominant position, perhaps a goal or two to the good, I’ll spend the second-half close to the end they’re attacking, so as to maximise the chances of seeing more goals from closer quarters.

For the first half though, I’ll unfailingly take position between the two dug-outs – right on the halfway line and equidistant from either management team. My neutrality is writ large.

But my choice of location isn’t entirely motivated by me wanting to be the objective observer, to be Switzerland. After all, I could simply stand at the halfway point on the opposite side of the pitch. No, being on the side of the dug-outs is paramount.

It’s an insurance policy. If the match isn’t the most refined example of the sport’s beautiful arts, then the cabaret of the touchline will offer due compensation. Indeed, the scrappier the match, the more frustrated the coaching staff, the more colourful the cabaret.

Last weekend, I was at a Step 6 match which was the absolute antithesis of how the Oxford English Dictionary would define the word ‘classic’.

Woeful control, woeful distribution, woeful shooting. But the potty-mouthed entertainment offered by both managers was absolutely first-rate.

The highlight was the away boss digging a defiantly oldschool epithet out of the archives when he branded the linesman on the far side a “sh**house”. My 12-year-old learned a new swear word that afternoon.

These two managers were united in their frustration with the unevenness of the officials’ decisions and, on the final whistle, demonstrated respect and sympathy for each other.

But the best entertainment, of course, is when opposing managers go hammer and tongs, and this is usually when the dug-outs are located in close proximity. That’s when the real fireworks – the highly explosive rockets and bangers, as opposed to the tame sparklers – are set off. Admit it. Who doesn’t like watching a little argy-bargy from behind the safety of a low boundary wall?

Eavesdrop

When the dugouts are – perhaps wisely – set further apart, those fireworks don’t tend to fizzle and soar. It’s hard to get in someone else’s face when the opposite technical area is 30 or 40 yards away. But, in such circumstances, the touchline cabaret often features cameo appearances from other quarters.

There are the officials, of course. The ref is the target of most of the attention, but the linesman patrolling the dugouts’ side of the pitch spends 90 minutes (plus stoppages) with one side’s manager, coaches, physio and subs constantly in his ear, usually a torrent of anger, bemusement or sarcasm. How the official chooses to react – with belligerence or banter – is always fascinating.

Then there are those ongoing slanging matches between coaches and opposing players. They’re the gift that keeps on giving, as they tend to simmer all the way to the final whistle and often beyond. And then there’s the interaction between frustrated backroom staff and amused spectators.

At a match earlier this season, the latter’s merriment grew in equal measure to a physio’s four-letter fury. When he threw a mug of tea to the ground, but the unsmashed mug simply bounced back up, a dozen grown men dissolved into giggles.

But it’s not all about entertaining otherwise bored spectators. The dugouts can also be a revealing place for the amateur anthropologist. At football’s top tiers, you can only second-guess the motivations and strategies of the bench.

Down here at Non-League level, you can eavesdrop on conversations with ease, allowing you to more reliably judge a club’s vibe, observe different management styles, fine-tune your own tactical nous. Believe me, you will learn plenty by keeping your eyes and ears open.

Whether for simply amusement or a deeper understanding, there are plenty of reasons for not budging an inch.

If you want me, I’ll be by the dugouts…