Time After Time

Colchester United (H) League 2 - 9th November 2024

November 9th. Barrovians have tricked and treated their way through All Hallows Eve and lit the sky with fireworks that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an armed conflict. Nights darken, a chill descends, and Christmas seems far away. A time to stick the coat collar up, and face into the wind.

Faces were not so much lived in as hewn- a craggy Mount Rushmore of pursed lips and frustrated bellows. One couldn’t blame them as a reasonable crowd shuffled into Holker Street hoping for a break from the groundhog of frustrating late concessions. A change of luck. 

Of course- also a time for respect. A great presence from cadets and veterans alike on the pitch, with honours and buglers to remember the fallen. Remembrance well observed- and rightly so. Lest we Forget.

Our soldiers make their oaths to the King but Holker Street also has a Queen, and she defies time itself. Only the indefatigable, legendary, Margaret Cooksey could break her hip at Chelsea, insist on seeing the game, then have a complex operation in London and be back at the football under fifty days later. There she was, in the Steelworks corner, chatting to a delighted host of well-wishers passing by. Welcome home.

Best get on and describe the game. Well, the first half was bright enough. We made headway down both flanks, the crosses better (if not decisive) and Colchester didn’t look keen. The midfield had shuffled forward and Gotts and Campbell were a solid base for a barnstorming run from Eccleston and some neat interplay within the Newby and Jackson partnership. 

Colchester burst forward into the box and Wyll Stanway did well to get down and turn away a fierce drive low down to his right. 

Some decent football saw Kian Spence free in the box, but he leaned back, mistimed his shot and skied it miles high. Brilliant for us but something doesn’t feel right- being asked to create too much? Is he too advanced? He still contributes, as a feverish exchange saw him battle his way into possession we had no right to win. We aren’t lacking effort- that’s for sure and he typifies that. 

Then a precious goal. Elliot Newby scorched out of defence like one of The Incredibles, weaving this way and that with lumbering Colchester midfielders in his wake. , Mahoney on to Eccleston and a viciously whipped ball back in the box for him. Smash. Bang. Wallop and universal joy for a well-deserved lead. 

Time for the second half. Meh…not so much. We had a shot from distance but Colchester were more in the ascendancy with another good save at the near post. Kian Spence dallied on some intricate drag back nonsense when he could have shot. 

Time ticked on. Colchester’s subs had made a difference and ours were on too. We had been reasonably comfortable, with Canavan marshalling matters, but sat too deep. Ninety minutes had passed. Five to go. Surely…surely…surely? Not this time. Not again? 

Yes. Last time Theo Vassell tumbled, it was the invisible sniper from the Paddock at Carlisle- this time a ghostly wind appeared to buffet him earthward. He wasn’t fouled, he felled, mutely appealing to the football gods as the Colchester nine zipped past gratefully, squared and, of course, in it went. 

A collective visceral groan emerged from a few thousand throats. There still was time for Popov to charge through on a superb Robbie Gotts pass only to fall over. The whistle went and the groans rumbled into boos in parts of the ground. 

I just felt uncomfortably numb. Six weeks ago we wrote about a lightness of spirit Stephen Clemence had brought- that seems very far away as he groped, honestly and painfully, for explanations regarding mentality. Testing times.

Barrow in November. Time for the Big Coat; some big performances from big personalities in the dressing room to carry us through. Otherwise, permafrost might set in.