AFC Wimbledon (H) League 2 - 16th November 2024
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time"
Macbeth - Act 5, Scene 5
Well let’s face it, we’ve had a hell of a few weeks. Late heartbreak has strangled us in its icy grip. Is it concentration? Is it collectivity? Is it leadership?
Four goals and two wins in nine games. Derby at home, Chelsea away when top of League Two seemed an eternity away, as we shivered in the darkening fanzone, the low cloud doing little to brighten the mood.
However, there were still positives to cling to. Top half of the table, despite an awful run. A midweek ‘cup’ win over Villa’s youngsters had brought us some goals for our forwards. Dom Telford had scored with an outrageous lob and Paul Farman had made a couple of excellent saves. Reasons to be cheerful. So, despite the chilly drizzle as I wandered round to the Holker End, I felt today might be a better day.
Out, brief candle!
Reaching the garage corner, I turned to watch a standard cross bounce quickly in front of Paul Farman, who spooned it weakly towards a sleepy and unready Canavan- who could only provide the deftest of cushion headers to their striker, who accepted the gift gratefully.
The poor away support of 178 smug metropoles and one insane bald man who danced for 90 minutes, erupted into enthusiastic applause. I salute you sir.
Anyway, Wimbledon 2024 are a side of big, reasonably expensive League Two players, a sprinkling of shithousery and balls into the box. The kind you assemble as a football DIY SOS only to discard after promotion. A decent enough, but perfectly beatable unit.
One nil down we improved a bit. Farman saved a long range effort. Mike Joyce, who’s commitment to refereeing badly has never wavered, kept the tradition by turning down a blatant penalty when Vassell was hauled down.
Except, of course, we are where we are. Most Barrow attacks currently sound like this.
Yes! ( scattered clapping)
Go on…
Yes…
That’s a good run,
That’s good...
YES
GO ON, CROSS IT…
Ugh
Fxxksake
Then some luck! Wimbledon’s keeper decided to pass the ball straight to Andy Dallas, who bustled forward gratefully and lifted the ball over his head. 1-1 and all the better for it.
Half time, thawing out in the X Bar we reflected. We work hard, get down the sides and then…nothing. Pressure piles on, individual errors come in, we fail to clear, give the ball away, switch off, and lose. Maybe not today.
Second half:
Yes! ( scattered clapping)
Go on…
Yes…
That’s a good run,
That’s good...
YES
GO ON, SHOOT!
Ugh
Fxxksake
Then Wimbledon clumped a ball into the box which was flicked on. Niall Canavan reacted slower than we do to a catering invoice- and there was Stevens to trundle the ball past Farman and in.
Reeling, we watched Wimbledon work the ball down the right, a low cross hit with little conviction evades four defenders and it’s 3-1. Ten minutes or so later it’s over- to boos from sections of the ground and general frustration.
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time"
Five goals and two wins in ten games. Derby at home, Chelsea away when top of League Two seemed an eternity away, as we stomped off to the pub; the low cloud doing little to brighten the mood. Chesterfield and Bradford away next, neither easy.
Nothing is; but it’s the lack of reaction to the same things happening again and again- the same words being spoken. The same arguments, both for and against.
"Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing"
We are not a better side than last season after early promise. No amount of spin will change that. Time to face up to it, on and off the pitch. Or it’ll be a dagger we see before us.
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