Special Draws

I don’t mean my lucky undies, but days like Saturday, when a season can be captured in one performance, when the frustration at the sheer ineptitude of the 11 donkeys in front of you is replaced by a deep super white love for each and everyone of them. That was Accrington.

I took the train. At half time this felt like a mistake. A long journey back to Lime St with unhappy Rovers supporters wasn’t something I was looking forward to. A fair number of Rovers supporters at Lime St braving the lottery like timetable of Northern up to Preston. Then the connecting service from Preston, where the numbers of Rovers supporters doubled and the singing got louder.

I confess, for reasons I don’t understand, that I like Accrington. There’s nothing to it really but it’s a friendly sort of town. It’s not that the pubs are ace, they’re adequate, just that the place is friendly, welcoming. And Stanley’s ground, the only one named after an 80s pop duo, is nice enough. Friendly staff, friendly stewards, nice pies. 

First half was a disaster. Connor Woods, who has been improving game on game, was floundering around like Bambi. Chris Merrie, much improved in recent weeks, seemed unable to handle the Accrington midfield. And Connor Jennings just missed a bit of vim. Maybe it was the absence of Cam Norman, on  paternity leave for the afternoon, that made us look disjointed (congratulations on the new arrival Mr & Mrs Norman). The referee didn’t help and at half time the mood amongst some supporters was turning ugly.

Woods had been substituted in the first half and at the break Davison and Morris joined the game. We looked better but not outstanding. It seemed clear that Accrington were happy with a three goal cushion. Rovers huffed and puffed but they didn’t even rattle the door frames. It took the introduction of Sam Taylor and Zak Bradshaw to make the difference. And Tom Davies suddenly seemed to have rediscovered his inner Beckenbauer having come on after half an hour to replace Woods.

Into the last 20 minutes and the game finale. Just like our season, everything happened late on, and what came before can almost, almost, be forgiven. Omari Patrick struck a sweet free kick to make it 3-1. Game on. Taylor was getting down the right, Patrick was causing headaches on the left. Hendry and Finley were dominating the middle. 3 minutes before the end and Kris Dennis hit a great shot into the net. 3-2. Hope. 

Hope rose further when the 4th official indicated 11 minutes of injury time. We kept pushing forward. Luke McGee even left his goal unoccupied in open play just to add to the urgency. This wasn’t football this was Bedlam! And then, almost at the death, that man Omari Patrick strikes a worldy and levels the match. As good as the goal was, the joy was unbounded. Grown men cried, the SWA were in ecstasy. This felt huge, massive.

Moments later the final whistle. Players, supporters celebrating like we had won. It was joyful. A few babies may have been conceived in the moments after, and the unity, the sense of disbelief meant that the missed train back to the Paradise Peninsula was the least of our worries.

And now, the morning after, the grins. We didn’t win, but the years of supporting Rovers, watching the team perform like 11 strangers, are compensated for by afternoons like yesterday in Accrington. Football is a cruel mistress, but sometimes there is nothing better.