Moving Forward?

Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Sarah Barber

26 January 2025

If I had a microlite – better still a long-distance drone – going to these games in the north-west wouldn’t be quite the drag it is. Morecambe would be four miles away; Fleetwood five; and Barrow only twelve. But imagine every game being in Hull, but without the bridge or the ferry (I still miss those ferries).

Barrow-in-Furness: as golf ruins a walk, so it's the town that spoils a lovely drive. And there was a lot of work this game needed to do. Twenty-seven months ago I dragged my germ-ridden body to Holker Street to sit in the drizzle, develop a chest infection and watch a Town defeat that Hurst described as the worst performance of the season. Every trip to the Lake District that the funny little blue car and its predecessors have made has been tainted by needing to visit its grimy underbelly. Redemption – closure – was needed.

The day started with promise. It was cold, but the sun was shining. The Main Stand, with the seats reserved for 260 hardy Grimbarians, now has cover, and in the Morson's Away section, this is a tented, canopy affair. The sun streamed through the polythene – which had survived the previous day's 77mph winds – and silhouetted the gulls perching on the stanchions.

Town's starting line-up (4-2-3-1) was from right to left: Wright; Cass, Rodgers, McJannet, Hume; McEachran, Khouri; Luker, Green, SvanǷórsson; Obikwu. On the bench were Carson, Thompson, Vernam, Rose, Ainley, Tharme and Auton.

First half: Come on Town!

What could Andy Whing, starting his coaching career in the fourth tier, expect from the visitors today? Maybe Good Grimsby: overlapping wing-play, a midfield general threading through incisive balls, and an ability to keep going and rally against the odds even into added time? Or maybe he's watched Town's play and selected a side that might counter a team that don't get players into the penalty area, are vulnerable to crossfield balls at the back, and like to build out of defence. So let's put some heft onto the field across a five-man defensive line.

There were two shouts of "Come on Town" alone with a reference to the opposition's position ten places below us. One of these was before the kick-off whistle; the other towards the end of a pretty uneventful first half. The things to note are that Town played like Town: not without promise or hope, but with their vulnerabilities on full show. Town had most of the possession, and Obikwu and Luker were lively on each wing, but most midfield runs ran into a blue wall, and on the one occasion that SvanǷórsson dribbled the ball into the penalty area no-one else was there and his shot was struck weakly at the keeper. A few minutes in, a rare (for this half) Barrow attack whistled across the face of Wright's goal from their right to left with Town fortunate no-one connected with it.

With Town easy to read, there was invariably a body or a foot in the way. That solid wall of blue could also counter-attack, and so it was with only five minutes remaining in the half (plus stoppage time) that with three taps the ball went right to left parallel with the 18-yard line and Gotts turned the ball back under Town's diving keeper. Wright had tracked the ball coming across but the defensive line were worse than static and the defenders who'd gone forward weren't fast enough to get back. A classic Town weakness exploited. Not sure how many added minutes there were in the first half: we couldn't see the board (it was sun, not tears, in our eyes) and it wasn't announced. "Come on Town: they're **** [insert your own expletive]" went up the cry. And they were. But you know what it's like when Town fall behind to a poor team…

Second half: The sun also sets

The winter sun went down behind the stands, the docks and Walney Island. It got colder. The gulls gave up hope of chips (no catering in this corner, gang). Let these symbols of coastal football be the metaphor for the second half. The intimations of the first half came home to roost (do seagulls roost?).

With Barrow gaining confidence they could afford to press forward. Denver Hume, who had taken a fair but hard challenge to his foot in the first half, suffered the same tackle at the start of the second. This time he went off and Matty Carson came on, only to pick up the ball cleanly in his own penalty area, then fail to clear and leave his foot in as Kian Spence took the ball from him. A soft error, followed, fortunately, by a soft penalty kick from Pressley which, although Wright got gloves to the ball low to his right, was looking to hit the post.

It was a long, cold, dank, dark second half from then on. A soft penalty was the first of a series of increasingly bizarre refereeing decisions. Green got himself a booking for arguing this one. Some of them defied all understanding. Free kicks; the position of free kicks; the stumbles given as free kicks and the pushes that weren't. After fewer than three minutes of play one of those 'free kicks' from in front of the Town fans on the Barrow left was floated over Town's static defence and Tyler Smith got in front of it to score number two. From where we were, Smith looked offside. But there was no flag, and no remonstration. Time to switch it up. Off came Luker, SvanǷórsson and McEachran; on came Thompson, Vernam and Rose. What followed was one of the longest 30 minutes of my life. There was still plenty of time for Good Grimsby to pull it back.

But Good Grimsby did not come out to play this day.

There was the odd Town chance, but they didn't look hungry enough to get it in the net and remained frozen in the face of the counter. In the 85th minute, two minutes after Town's last attack, Barrow had won a corner on the right. True to form, this was lofted over Town's eight-man-plus-Wright penalty area and headed in by defender Theo Vassell.

There were five minutes of added time: who cares? The totems of the funny little blue car or its canine passenger were feeble protection against the Barrow hex. Town told their opposition how to beat them and got what they deserved. It was a masochistic performance for us all and I can make fellow Grimbarians a promise: it is an experience I shall never repeat. Some pain isn't worth it.