All Bluebirds Column #8: Wilde, Wilde, Wild

Oscar Wilde once said that to expect the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect. He clearly had never been to Doncaster on a Tuesday night, where the only unexpected happening in the insipid game was the dimming of the lights. It didn’t make the Valentine’s evening any more romantic.

If Oscar ever wagered then, I doubt he would have had Barrow AFC winning at Valley Parade in his acca. After all, look at the tale of the tape. Barrow were second bottom of the form table. Bradford City have huge resources and crowds. Their catchment is over six times the size of ours. They were managed by a Premiership winner and football icon n Mark ‘Sparky’ Hughes. Ours is a nice bloke from Oldham who coached academies.

So, to be honest, it felt unlikely we’d get anything more than a nice day on the beer, as we wended our way cross country to settle down in Bingley for a couple of hours. Subjects covered; 80s electro, surgeons, Benjamin Disraeli, and previous Barrow visits to ‘Woolopolis’.

In 2013, we were starting life back in the Conference North when we pitched up for a 2-2 draw at Bradford Park Avenue. Away support was about 100 in a crowd of 500 or so. The highlight was two Barrow lads racing each other around the running track, one pausing to throw up the contents of his pre match pints.

Ten years later- we had 511 brave souls in the football cathedral of Valley Parade in a 17,000 crowd. Our nice bloke from Oldham had a plan.

3-5-2 it was and the shape was key. Clearly set up to stifle Bradford, but to do so we’d have to execute our out of possession work to the letter. Which we hadn’t really done as well for months.

Bradford had Andy Cook; known to us all as a great goal scorer but who needs brains and legs around him to be in any way effective. He’d notched 17 goals, but was being superbly marshalled by our three centre- backs with George Ray much to the fore.

The large and mostly silent crowd had already started to rumble with discontent as Bradford centre-backs and keeper passed the ball to each other until boredom set in- then Platt and co launch it aimlessly towards our three giants.

Then it happened. Josh Kay can excite and frustrate in equal measure but he has guts, pace and skill. For our goal, he showed all three. Guts to win a tussle in midfield he was far from favourite to win. Pace, when he scorched into the area weaving to give himself maximum space. Skill, to stroke the ball home from an excellent Garner cut back.

Cue bedlam. Josh streaked away to our corner, hand thumping his chest, eyes bulging, veins throbbing, living in the moment. And we were pretty much the same. There is no other activity in the world that can produce collective moments such as this. Football, bloody hell!

Chants of Barrow swirled loudly around the packed arena. Half time came and went, and we urged the team on. Surely, big, important, Sparky led Bradford would step on the gas? No doubt they’d force a series of errors and overrun our brave resistance?

Well, no. I’m sure we’ve all derived great enjoyment from reading the online meltdown today. Step outside, cup your ear and revel in the entitled wailing blowing across the Pennines. One frustrated gent compared his side’s second half performance to pleasuring himself with a cactus while listening to Nickleback. Blimey.

If only his team showed as much creativity as the fans do online. Sure, we had to work hard, but these busted Bantams were a sorry bunch. All squawking but no end result. Paul Farman could have tied a hammock between the posts and had a snooze as the ten in front of him dominated the hosts without every really having the ball. Possession stats, so what?

How far we have come as a football club! Back to Oscar Wilde ‘to live… is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all’. Football, occasionally, gives you these moments of ‘life’. Noise swelled and grew from the away corner as the clock ran down. I could see so many I knew in that crowd, we all could- our voices defiantly raised as one towards the Yorkshire skies. Full-time.

As Hughes and the deflated home side trudged off to a combination of frustration and opprobrium, Pete and the players bounced across to exult with us and enjoy our own Wildean tribute. Ladies and gentlemen – these are the days.