Football is football is football.
Except maybe it isn't.
The financially focused and often fractious professional game in England bears little resemblance to what I'm experiencing now. Players are chatting to fans, half time draw tickets are dispensed from a trestle table and fans are free to lounge on shallow grass banks, lean on the perimeter fence or take a seat in the stand as they choose.
There's no VAR, no soundtrack of thumping music, no logos of global corporate giants and no two tier digital advertising boards taking your eye from the game. The mood at the stadium, nestled at the mouth of a river, a stones throw from beautiful white sand and brief walk away from a distillery is calm. There's no hyperbole, no hysteria. The importance of the occasion isn't being shoved, violently in my face in lurid colours and no one is telling me how much this matters.
This is the opening day of the greatest league on earth (the Highland League) and despite the absence of a marketing machine aggressively building manufactured excitement there's a beautiful hum of anticipation. Deveronvale have been poor (really not very good at all) for a few seasons and Inverurie Locos, whilst not great last season are likely strong favourites.
There's nothing as wonderful as the first game of the new season. Everything and anything seems possible. The inevitable has not yet come to pass. Things might go your way. The table is unsullied by unsightly defeats, the goal difference column as crisp and fresh as newly washed sheets.
Banff and (very) near neighbour Macduff is a magical and strange place, it's part Scottish dour, part magical and ancient, part seaside and part heavy industry. I like it very much. If it were in Devon (instead of by the river Deveron, which divides the two towns) it would be over run. It isn't and it isn't. There are, however a pleasing number of people here for this game, a decent stand, some gentle grass banking and a selection of very well priced traybakes at the refreshment hut.
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Inverurie start with purpose and are soon on top. Then, out of nowhere... a sending off. It's a Locos player too. I have no replays to fall back on, but am fortunate that the incident is recounted by the fans to my right.
"Whit happened?"
"He git fouled and threw his hins hat him"
"Silly bastit"
"Aye. Look at it thoo, we git a red card and it's oor frae kick. Classic highland league aye"
That should even it up. Game on...
Not a lot changes though. Deveronvale huff and puff but Locos break swiftly and skillfully drawing a good save from the 'Vale keeper.
Deronvale have a wee bit of a crew. On closer examination, it turns out to be some kids who are pretty civilised and one bloke who gives it everything all game, bellowing encouragement initially, but later reaching a furious pitch that has you glancing across partly in admiration at his energy and commitment to the cause and partly in relief that he's on the other side of the ground and not in your ear.
The player who catches my eye is 'Vale's no 6, Dem Yunus, a busy deep lying midfielder who likes to carry the ball and has an athleticism and grace that not all his colleagues share. He is making his debut for Deveronvale after signing in summer from Inverurie...
It's he though who loses the ball for the first goal, trying to break, delaying his pass a moment too long and falling victim to a strong challenge, the ball is turned over, slipped forward, the keeper is drawn and the ball slid home.
'Vale don't exactly pour forward in response. In fact, Locos create more. The crowd is generally noisy enough to give the game a sense of occasion but the hush before a Locos free kick that strikes the bar is perfect, falling silent right as the referees whistle goes to his lips and staying so until the 'thunk' of the ball against metalwork and everyone, regardless of affiliation lets out a gasp of appreciation.
The second goal comes from a nothing situation, when from the left Locos cross and what initially seems a hopeful ball swirls and deceives the keeper, again the bar is rattled and it's the away side who pounce on the rebound.
All the home team can muster in response is a poor header wide and an effort from distance that is respectable enough, but never really troubling the goal.
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I don't win the half time draw.
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It felt a done thing by half time and it proves so. The line between being a good side and a poor side is narrow and it shows when the 'Vale try to pick a pass, all too often, simple balls find touch and more ambitious ones are cut out.
Beside me, two young lads chat about local football. The parade of names reminds me how much football there is, even (and perhaps especially) here on this rugged and sparsely populated coastline there's a healthy range of levels, a pecking order.
Locos keeper has an assurity about him. He's massive, has a huge kick, is vocal and deals easily with everything thrown at him. He's an ex Aberdeen player and he makes you wonder about the line between good enough and not quite making it as on this showing, he lacks nothing.
Paul Coutts once played at a decent level in England (and also for Preston North End... Boom! Tish! I'm here all week) and he's magnificent at the back, two footed and vocal, talking his side through every kick of the game.
A small girl near me has talked her brothers daft all match and as one of the Vale players comes to collect the ball for a corner, she tell him loudly 'I hope you score some goals' - he replies, in a the matter of fact manner that the Scots are world champions of, 'aye, so do I'
An older fella tells the Locos keeper 'yer taken yer time with that son' as he drags out a goal kick. 'I'm in no rush, aye' comes the response. I wish all football was played in this atmosphere.
Finally, with some subs, Deveronvale put some pressure on. The excellent Yunus is at the heart of most good things they do, driving forward, spreading play, jinking and shooting. It's not to be though. The once positive but now raging man with the scarf shouts about things being "embarrassing" but mostly people slope off with a sense that such things are to be expected.
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As I'm walking away from the ground into the sun soaked time forgotten streets of Banff a group of lads call to a friend. He hangs back and when they catch up with him, I am gifted this slice of poetry to take home with me:
Lad: "Ethan, what d'ya make of that shite?"
(Pause)
Ethan: "Shite"
Someone should frame that exchange and put it in the national football museum. It gets to the very heart of things.
The greatest league in the world. Fact.
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