Swindon Town (A) - League 2 - 18th January 2025
“History repeats itself, the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce.” Karl Marx
'Swindon Away' has always felt unloved; January in Swindon even more so. Add in the last Barrow ‘performance' and even more so than that.
Still, hope springs eternal and all that. We had made some new signings and jettisoned others. 'Things' had been done. Swindon themselves have been rank rotten all season. We aren't Carlisle-Gateshead.
Off we went in the comfort of a car with hopeful intentions. Long journeys make for good conversation. Subjects covered: Whether the BAE plane could be used in Narcos, Kneecap, Local Government Reform, cathartic showering in a submarine and the perfidy of Marc Goodfellow.
Avoiding Swindon as usual, we settled in Cricklade. Well-heeled matrons and their offspring eyed us dubiously as we plonked ourselves down in the bistro for a Saturday morning breakfast. On to some decent pubs, working our way back to the car, the warm glow of optimism and malty beer settling inside.
Those who have been to Swindon know that the welcome is usually petty and unpleasant so we were stunned to have had the Away bar opened, with sensible stewards and an actual choice. You could even order half-time drinks and wonder of wonders, be nearer the front.
Why were we in green? As just under a hundred brave fools gathered. 'Fanfare for the Common Man' was cranked up as a knot of apple-munching Swindon mutants, who have never known the touch of a woman, questioned the success of this correspondent's weight loss regime. How rude.
Goodness knows what formation we were lined up in. Duru, Pressley and Fletcher all on. We looked hesitant and confused with no width whatsoever. Perhaps the idea was to leave a clear pathway for Jackson and Duku to 'bomb on'.
Anyway, we blew ourselves on but on eight minutes Oforboh was allowed the freedom of Swindon to drive a speculative shot past a slightly flat-footed Farman. The home of XTC played 'Senses Working Overtime' over the tannoy. My own senses were deadened and numb- new people, more promises, same outcome.
As a dull, mistake-strewn League Two game rolled ponderously on, we attempted to work out what Stephen Clemence had asked the team to do. Were we bypassing the midfielders to hit Pressley or Aquah? Was the compact midfield an attempt to 'control the football'? Was there any point to anything? Was Tyler Smith fit?
Aaron Pressley ran around unconvincingly, Duku more effectively. Fletcher had the air of a sixth former who had been prepared for a test by an especially poor teacher; his physical presence and effort blunted by the fact that no one knew what they were meant to be doing. Kian Spence has been possessed by some malevolent spirit who had forgotten how to play the game. In some small part of his stolen consciousness, a footballer is screaming.
Half time we reconvened under the stand like an embattled German battalion being pushed back from Stalingrad. At least we settled on the midfield shape. Not a diamond, not a box, not flat, more of a distended central rhombus' . This may be our contribution to international coaching. Not exactly tika-taka. If this was the reaction to Harrogate, it was an allergic one.
We were a tiny bit better in the second half. Pressley was getting into better positions but then inexplicably turning back inside. Fletcher's misery was ended and he was replaced, with Tyler Smith, Newby and others coming on. Everyone trudged on through a swamp of ineptitude as I was reduced to marvelling over the shininess of the linesman's head reflecting from the Wiltshire floodlights.
Then the farce. Elliot Newby rather weakly had his pocket picked and away went Harry Smith. Farman raced out blindly, attempted a 'tackle' with little conviction and Smith lumbered through to score into an empty net.
The final whistle brought misery and anger as the players attempted a perfunctory clap and were roundly told where to go. But most of the ire was directed at the Head Coach. Put simply, despite a lot of support with signings he cannot get a tune out of these players.
Back in the car, we listened glumly to the interview and were treated to a muted version of the 'greatest hits' of excuses. Stephen Clemence wanted to do well and was a decent bloke. But he has repeated the mistakes of his time at Gillingham and probably won't get another go at the role at this level.
If it's true he was sacked on the bus, I thought we had a bit more class than that. But sacked he had to be. Iain Wood will come in for deserved flak- it's the Director of Football's job to set the weather and create the conditions for success. This ain't it, and, as usual, it'll all cost money, there goes half of Chelsea cash, which feels years, rather than months away.
Time for the players to take a long hard look at themselves. On paper, a pretty decent squad. But currently fearful, unfocused and lacking character. That's on them as much as Clemence, and how we react now as a support, that's on us.
Outwith all the noise though; we are the ones who will be there for every twist and turn.
Dogs bark. But the caravan moves on.
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