Steely Feely Nearly!

Swindon Town (H) - League 2 - 7th September 2024

About 2:45 “I’m just off to the soccer”, I shout to Mrs Punx, “I’ll be back in a bit”. I’m running a little late. It’s been a standard Saturday, boring breakfast; long life pain au chocolat and a cup of the L’Or Intense (sorry, France), a man in his mid 40s run (sorry, knees) a standard dog walk (you’re welcome, dogs) and a bit of housekeeping in the Beans office (a little bit of the home office set up for mail order, coming soon Beans fans!). So far, so yawn. I’ve thrown on a standard football outfit, shorts and a Barrow Bucket (hat), cause today it’s hotter than wiping your arse with a chilli sandwich. I make good with my legs and set a pace for Holker Street, with a slight claudication on my gait (see mid 40s run). I can’t say I’m anticipating the game too much, a home game with Swindon is about as appealing as getting trapped in a Dodgem with Elon Musk.

I’ve arrived late and missed Discoland, “let’s make some noise...FOR THE BLUEBIRDS” (I hope we’re still doing that) and the lines up. Oh well, I’m sure there’s nothing untoward and I can see who’s playing, who cares. We’re 10 minutes in and my mind is already drifting, this isn’t the attacking tour de force we’ve be treated to recently. Is that someone vaping in the Holker Street end and can we get those nets fixed so they pull up fully, they’re spoiling the view of this so far dull affair. I snap out of it when someone drops a full tub of lollies, sending the contents cascading over the terrace like grandmothers pearls. Someone mentions it’s the referee’s first Football League game, let’s hope he has a quiet 90 minutes. I have a quick glance at Fotmob  to see how many Carlisle and Morecambe are losing by, look up and the balls broke to Ged Garner, he’s spotted the keeper off his line and he’s going to fire a shot. I’m right in line from my vantage point and I’m bracing. If I time this right I can take my hat off, head the ball back into play and take in the ironic cheers. But wait it’s dipping, dipping, dipping...fuck me it’s going in. The crowd is silent as the ball floats goalwards. The net lets out a grateful and satisfying crackle as it gets in the way of my header, and it’s only a bloody goal! And an absolute belter at that. Garner has started the season like he’s wearing electric socks. And that’s that, I thought, we’ll go on and maybe get another one a two. They look about as likely to score as Marilyn Manson on Love Island. Standard Barrow win. Right?

In 2008 I’m sure Watford and Reading fans couldn’t have imagined Stuart Attwell awarding a goal that was two foot wide of the goal. Today I couldn’t have imagined finishing this game with Rory Feely between the sticks. Life has a way of sometimes throwing up the unexpected. Everything about this Saturday, up to the 42 minutes of this game, had been boring, prescriptive and predictable. That changed when Paul Farman, possibly out of boredom, decided he was going to have a go at being Terry Butcher. He’s out of his goal and he’s trying to dribble the ball, pass the ball? I don’t know, but he’s royally Paul Simpsoned it. Quick shot on goal from Swindon and he’s totally redeemed himself. A fantastic save has sent the ball bouncing over crossbar. Unfortunately he’s about 47 miles outside of his box. Straight Red (if the ball goes in, is it just a yellow, referees?). He argues with the ref, gets his bra out, throws his shirt to the dugout and sulks off. Well this is going to be slightly more difficult now, let’s see what Wyll Stanway is made of shall we? Why’s he wearing blue shorts and white socks? We running out of kit? Does he need his mam to dress him? Oh, it’s Rory Feely. Fuuuuuck!!

As bad as these are, this is not boding well. We make it to half time and he’s not had a lot to do, people around me are trying to convince themselves everything is going to be ok “he’s got a good kick on him”, yeah he’s a bloody football player. I overhear a man on the phone, he’s saying he used to play Gaelic football as a kid. Is that the one with the sticks, cause that would be an advantage. No it’s the one with the Rugby posts. Did he play in goal, is this relevant? I’ll take anything positive at this point.

The second half is underway, we’re doing alright here. How long is left now? 44 minutes. Goddamn.  But hang on, we are doing ok, 50 minutes, 60 minutes, he’s not had much to do and we are defending like Bet Lynch’s beehive depends on it.

65 minutes and Harry Smith decides he doesn’t much like Theo Vassell’s head, and tries to remove it from his body. That’s a least 5 red cards, but one does, it’s 10 each. We can’t do this, can we? 200 Swindon fans are blankly staring out of the away end like they’ve just witnessed a snuff movie. Feely is pulling off great saves. They’re attacking like a they’re trying to light a wet cigarette. Feely is announced as Man of the Match. The crowd is loud, cheering every tackle, every clearance every time Swindon give the ball away. Popular side, Main Stand, Holker Street End and Steelworks End in unison. This could be the most remarkable of victories. The players are feeding off the crowd, the crowd is feeding off the players. What was a boring, unglamorous League 2 fixture has elevated into a gladiatorial battle and Barrow are fighting to the death. We’re into the 8th minute of 8 minutes of injury time, we’ve got a corner. This is it!! We’ve done it, it has to be, they don’t even have time to ‘GET IT FORWARD’ let alone score. A victory for the ages, every player a hero. Pour me a big pint of bitter and get a massive cottage pie in the oven.

Cut to black, silence.