“To see ourselves as others see us is a most salutary gift. Hardly less important is the capacity to see others as they see themselves.”
― Aldous Huxley
“I’m not going, it’s going to be carnage- there’s police all over!’ There is nowhere quite like Barrow, for over-egging a potential issue and a football ‘derby’ offers up more opportunities for that than nearly anything I can think of. The day had come. Social media was awash with claim and counter claim – the taxi driver was already poised with lurid descriptions of the post apocalyptic city centre scenes I was about to witness. It was 9.30am.
And yes, the policing did look a lot like that. No-one could be in any doubt that a FOOTBALL GAME was taking place of some significance. Cumbria’s finest law- enforcers had descended on the town. A jamboree unprecedented in the history of local football policing and a chance for the locals to see not one but two dog handling units. Callow faced recruits marched hither and thither, confidently controlled by older policemen, practising their ‘incident stances’ in colourful caps.
Not that the objects of their concern were complaining. There’s nothing quite as exciting as a ‘heavy police presence’ for your average young Millennial. Up for breakfast, top on, badge in, quick photo and down to meet mates in town. Early teens roamed the town centre in packs, hoping for a filmable moment of excitement. Heavy handed policing? Yes please!
They were cleared as Carlisle’s ‘train’ arrived and two options were presented to the Cumberland hordes who decanted. Wetherspoons echoed to an unconvincing ‘If you hate the f-ing Carlisle have a go!’ as their teenagers arrived and other Carlisle fans were kettled into the Duke of Edinburgh, doubtless to marvel at the cost of a pint of Blueberry Weissbier and an artisan home reared pork bap. Nae luck charvers.
While any mutually assured daftness was occurring ‘in town’ the rest of both supports avoided it all and got on with previewing the game. Barrow: Season done and shot shy -but very much looking for redemption for the Brunton Park bashing and a positive result in front of a big local crowd. Carlisle: Season not done and staggering slightly- but more concerned with holding on to what still might be automatic promotion with an away win.
The fanzone was packed, as DJ tunes thumped pointlessly around the ether and locals nodded at the ‘one mate at at work who supports Carlisle’ slipping quietly into the home turnstiles. Tills were ringing and anticipation grew. Which version of ourselves would turn up? Why did one woman in the queue sound like she’d just brought a flock off a fell? Where would our goals come from? Why has Josh Gordon got a dreadlocked version of Ruth Madoc’s haircut in Hi-de-Hi?
It was all cheerily raucous on both sides of the Holker End fence as both sets of fans competed with chanting and fans offered the opportunity for the Police cameraman to have a day out. Pete Wild, bounding out as per, all tracksuit Tiggerish bounce while Paul Simpson strode to the away dugout like a golf club bore at the first tee, a study in smug smart casual. More of them later.
First thoughts were that Carlisle were a very solid unit defensively. More direct than Barrow and controlled effortlessly by Huntingdon. Gordon ran the channels effectively from them, ours was a ball of energy battling away for an opening. Harrison Neal was everywhere- outshining the excellent Moxon as we tried to get it out wide and unsettle them with pace- ably assisted by Robbie Gotts.
And so the Lord Sayeth ‘the eleventh commandment in League 2 shall be that you must defend set pieces robustly’ EFL Chapter 2 Verse 1. And we didn’t, a bit of barging, a bit of flapping, a bit of forcing and the ball nestling in the Barrow net. Predictably, the Carlisle end went wild and the posturing and bragging ramped up. We would have done the same.
But there wasn’t much in it. They settled down to hold what they had and we shook ourselves and started to find little pockets of space around their defence. Newby was bright and to the fore at this point, although he faded. There was a penalty shout as a defender got a bit handsy.
So 1-0 at half time and I amused myself watching like minded middle aged men leaving the stand with their kids mouthing the words to ‘Sally Cinnamon’ from the PA and reflecting on a time when waistlines were narrower and jean bottoms were wider. Rave On- but only after you’ve been to the loo and had a Cornish Pasty. We speculated if Ray Maguire’s birthday would be ‘sponsored by Ray Maguire!’ and waited for combat to recommence.
We began brightly and were troubling them. Ben Whitfield was felled by a stray arm- the lack of sanction causing fury, as was either linesman’s complete inability to understand any of the rules of association football- worse was on Mclelland first half. We were now slightly the better side but credit to them defensively; their blocks were superb as Whitfield and Brough drives came to naught, as did a superb threaded ball by Canavan.
Carlisle struggled a little with our movement around them but for all our waspish interplay we weren’t getting far. Simpson swapped some experienced and expensive strikers and Patrick went on a mazy lope which was shaping up as a threat before Neal snuffed him out with a meaty tackle the sound of which thundered around the surrounding hills.
Then came, for me, the single worst decision of the game. Ben Whitfield had finally battled and wriggled free of a couple of Carlisle giants as our press worked and was bearing down on goal as the ref blew for what I can only imagine was a bet on how ludicrous a decision he could make. We’ll never know what would have happened, but it’s the worst decision I’ve seen this season and that’s from a large field.
The Carlisle support inexplicably worked their way through Tranmere’s generic song back catalogue. If you’re going to copy folks, at least choose something original! Josh Kay, on too late for my money, carved out an opening and rattled a drive off the upright. Farman followed up by invading their penalty box. We gave it a right go and deserved a point, but that’s football.
So their’s was the victory and they celebrated mightily, no doubt all the way back to Carlisle and the next hurdle.
Derby day is all about perceptions rather than perspective. None more so than post match.
Perceptions 1: To read the online comments with regards to both the game and the hysterical online outpouring from a passer by filming Carlisle coming past the Legion on the way to the station, it was indeed the cultural raw meat that warranted the fuss. Two tribes had been to war. Facebook outraged, police overtime banked, kids off home to pester for another CP next birthday and regale mates over any perceived manhandling. Job jobbed: same time next year? Thirteen arrests: thirteen more than a full scale scrap and mini riot at a rugby game here a few weeks ago. But then that’s a ‘family sport’. TV hadn’t asked for the footage of that.
Perceptions 2: While all the attendant nonsense above was taking place downtown, the two managers squared off in the post-match interviews.
Ladeez and Gentlemen!!!
In the Barrow Corner: operating out of a straight shooting Lancastrian background and boasting a record of getting pretty cross when disagreed with- employing a cannonade of angry emotional hyperbole…boasting a record of Barrow’s best position for half a century and a questionable forward line…Peeeeeete Wild!
Pete’s perception was that a player had been knocked down with a ‘forearm smash’ .Barrow had battered them in parts, the referee was awful and ‘process did not always equal outcome. This, by all accounts, was witnessed under the thundering glare of BBC Carlisle shill and ex centre half Chris Lumsden.
Was it a foul? Yes. Was it a forearm smash? Not really. Did we batter them? No, we didn’t but we caused them plenty problems and another day could have won. Did process not equal outcome? Agree, we deserved a point. Was the ref awful? In parts, sometimes for both teams. The Whitfield decision was criminal.
There was then a fantastic interlude as a dishevelled James Phillips was rescued from a locked toilet to howls of derision from those lucky enough to witness the moment in the fanzone. Scant reward but probably in years to come one of the main takeaways.
In the Carlisle Corner: operating out of an experienced background of humblebragging his way around the North- West with varying success… and masterminding his home town resurgence- employing passive aggressive irritation, back handed insults and downright tall tales…it was Paul! the Prince of Pious- Simpson!
Paul’s perception was that a defensive Carlisle had ‘got the job done’ and gone about their business in a professional calm manner. All the while irritated that ‘their bench’ had the temerity to question decisions, whereas St Paul and co calmly went about their business. He then reached for his own ‘Doors of Perception’ with what sounded like a hell of an acid trip where Paul Hornby was dancing around the director’s box at Grimsby on a Tuesday night. Finishing with a stylishly unpleasant barb about ticket sales and crowds.
Had Carlisle got the job done? Yes. Had Huntingdon been outstanding? Yes. Was the ref consistent? No way. Was Paul Hornby grooving away (now there’s an image) at Blundell Park on news of Carlisle’s demise? No of course he wasn’t, and you knew it you soft-shoe charlatan. For someone who clearly thought going to Barrow was beneath him it was cheap.
Give me Pete Wild any day, though neither covered themselves in glory it has to be said. The videos bear his version out more.
Is there any other activity apart from football that could provoke such a noisy kerfuffle from morning till night? It is a blessing and curse. Both doomed and delighted to be different, but also treated differently. The most public place for private emotion. Where truth is in the eye of the beholder, unless there’s bragging rights to be had. Where the Doors of Perception open in a thousand different hearts, all watching the same game.
Saturday was such a day. And, in all it’s stupid beauty and passion- it was glorious. Were you not entertained?