All Bluebirds Column #12 – Harrow Grate
Harrogate away. Again.
How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I think it is fair to say it is not a favourite trip across the looping winding hills of North Yorkshire. A lot of us have been quite a few times and the football is invariably dull, where we are generally ratted and rattled out of the game by nippy midfielders versed in the dark arts, with some enormous extra from Sons of Anarchy barrelling around up front. Even the 3-3 in the FA Trophy was a mess.
The customary welcome itself best described, as ‘net curtain Yorkshire’. Over the years pettifogging council rules, over-zealous stewards, bizarre and shifting club regulations have abounded. If Harrogate was a relative, it would be a fascistic maiden aunt you were forced to visit once a year. Woe betide you, if you didn’t’ take off your shoes on the Axminster.
Last years’ wheeze was refusing entry to a distraught ten year old and his family. This time, they had switched focus to parking even the elderly in some Leisure Centre fifteen minutes away. At least common sense policing got that overturned- it was to be our only victory.
The pre-match was more pleasant than usual, as we settled down in Knaresborough for an hour or two. Subjects covered; old friends won and lost; converted centre forwards, printing; play-off contenders. Lovely beer, lovely company and we’ll be back. We left in a warm, happy mood. They haven’t won at home in seven. We are unbeaten in five, with only one goal conceded. It might be better- it could be better- heck it will be better!
No, it won’t. I have avoided the inevitable mention of the game as long as I can. Well, it was one of those Barrow days. You know the ones, where the football resembles some slightly inept wrestle and you tell yourself, ‘well, if we step it up a little, we can sneak a win.’ Half –time comes, our performance deteriorates from mediocre to outright bobbins and we lose.
Ok, ok. We had a speculative shot from Jake Young, then they rattled the bar. We had a free kick turned away. Half-time.
Falkingham sounds like a Dickensian undertaker and began to take care of our demise with minimum fuss as they began to win the ball with ease and hit Armstrong. A ridiculous back heel from Josh Gordon, which set up an attack for the hosts, offered a warning that went unheeded.
It’s not like we weren’t trying. We changed shape and brought on Josh Kay, whose shot from the left was parried up to Billy Waters, who couldn’t get over the ball and fluffed his lines. Then we switched off when Falkingham took a quick free kick and before we got our shape it was worked to the edge of the box, an inch of space, touch-goal.
Collective gloom descended; so thank goodness, Simon Weaver was around to assist with the officiating as the game trudged on. At least we could vent our frustrations at the home dugout, the referee, the unbearable bleakness of existence as we hurtle towards inevitable environmental destruction…at least the chilli con carne was excellent.
In both senses, the result confirms we go there again next year- a depressing thought as we trudged out while cavorting teenagers celebrated by going through the ‘Now that’s what Youtube calls ultras’ volume 53. A couple of ours pointlessly hurled some stick in our side’s direction. To be fair, we had brought good numbers, spent money and it had been really a crap game- but not crap, preceding month. Perspective.
A very frustrated Pete Wild’s assessment was right. We just didn’t make anything happen- nothing, nada, zip. The water in this godforsaken spa town seems to contain Kryptonite for Barrow AFC teams. Fifteen games without a win at Wetherby Road. Hasta la Vista Harrogate. Unfortunately.