Why am I here? I could be dry at home. This game doesn't even matter a tiny bit. I like that about preseason though. It's a day out without needing get all worked up about it. It's something to do. That's all that any football is to be honest. A reason to get out of bed. A reason to go somewhere. Mental that it's a multi billion pound industry tbh.
Barrow is a singular place. If you've read this blog before probably won't surprise you that I like Barrow. It's like a museum of my post industrial youth. It's like 1980s Manchester before the glass and steel turned Dickensian decay into loft apartment fantasy land. If you like the ghosts of Victoriana, (and let's face it, who doesn't?) Barrow has a lot going for it.
Lakeland hills, shrouded in cloud. Industrial estates rendered silent by the weekend and the blanket of fine rain. Piles of bricks where weeds run riot, drinking in the moisture and running their roots deeper into the thin soil. Islands. Barrow has loads of islands. It's like the Carribbean, only with a bit more red brick. I once proposed that Sunderland could be the post Brexit Monte Carlo. I still believe that and by extension, Barrow can be the post oil global travel ban Bahamas.
Maybe.
Football.
Might clap Critch. Might not. He's mighty impressive, giving all those interviews where he says "the grouppp" a lot in a meaningful way and answers questions with a kind of world weary matter of fact manner but with an occasional sprinkling of impish, twinkly curiosity. It's like he's knocking out his greatest hits in a medley sometimes. He's just so in love with us etc...
For all that cynicism. The club just feels better. I dunno, tidier. Like when you've slobbed about for a few days not giving a fuck about the consequences of anything and then you clear up the plates and the ash trays, open all the windows and run the hoover about. It's all a bit fabreze scented. In a good way.
Still cross at him though.
It stops raining.
For all that cynicism. The club just feels better. I dunno, tidier. Like when you've slobbed about for a few days not giving a fuck about the consequences of anything and then you clear up the plates and the ash trays, open all the windows and run the hoover about. It's all a bit fabreze scented. In a good way.
Still cross at him though.
It stops raining.
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First half we're indeed, very neat and tidy. Apart from a Marvin mistake and a sloppy touch from Husband we control the play entirely. Virtue scores first, doing that running on from deep thing he does well but also out muscling the defender - something that he seems more able to do since becoming surprisingly bulky. He's that big that I don't recognise him. He's like if you imagine Matty Virtue but as a big American cowboy fella.
We're soon two up as Albie Morgan crosses and Lavery nips in. Easy as you like. Morgan has a lovely touch and is forward looking. Trybull is the ideal counterweight. It's painfully evident how he was (both literally and figuratively) the player we lacked last season. Jack Moore plays well, so much so that I only realise Jack Moore is playing just before half time. He's pretty much flawless. Pennington looks really good. He can play football. No fuss. Does his job.
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We looked patient and calm but ready to pounce on any opportunity and Grimmy had absolutely nothing to do.
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Second half is all change but in a way, no change at all. Fake Gary Goalkeeper makes one excellent stop late in the half but we're absolutely rampant and it's this half that really feels enjoyable.
Sonny Carey is playing where Sonny should play. That's not ratting about in front of the back four but looking for space in behind the strikers and linking things up. He's playing very well. This pleases me no end. There's a space in my heart in a post Gaz world and I fucking love watching this lad play cos he can play. I've good company today and we share an appreciation of Sonny's ability to leather a ball into the corner of the goal without much back lift in the warm up. Once, Twice, Three times. Everyone else just looks a bit graceless when the they kick by in comparison.
Rob Apter is ghosting around and when he manifests, playing all sorts of tricks. He's a wicked little woodsprite. He should get kicked up in the air but he's far too nimble and effervescent for the lumpen rooted tree trunks in the Barrow defence to catch up with.
Norburn looks quality. He scares me slightly. I wouldn't pick a fight with him. That's a good thing. I imagine him as the kind of lad who would have no compulsion in using a snooker cue in a pub brawl and doing so with great efficiency. You want him on your side. Alex Lankshear is a physical presence but also gets down the wing well. Doug Tharme wins things in the air and has a chant about having a massive head.
The third goal is Apter trickery, Carey vision and an easy finish for Beesley. The fourth is Beesley pulling back for Carey who finishes with precision before adding a very, very late last second close range fifth which ends with him dangling from the crossbar before having a selfie with a kid who runs on as the final whistle blows.
We also miss a penalty. We also hit the woodwork (possibly twice) and we show a good deal of quick, slick and urgent forward play.
It is good to watch. The sun even comes out a bit.
Critch turns down the chance for a fist pump at the end, mouthing 'no!!' with a wry look on his face I smile to myself and then curse myself for smiling at his devilishly charming impish ways. I'm going to have to get used to this aren't I?
It's only preseason and only an idiot (hi!) gets excited about preseason but there was an organisation and purpose about us that was missing at this stage last year. I remember watching us play Fylde and wondering what it was we were actually trying to do, where as here, we controlled almost the entire 90 minutes and every player knew what their function was.
I'd say I learned that our new players look decent, some of our kids look worth a risk and that Critchball 3.0 is more about controlling a game than the more reactive Critchball 1.0 and 2.0.
It means nothing though does it? I enjoyed it mind, that means something. To me at least.
Onward!
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