Cure For Crawley

Crawley Town (A) - EFL League 2 - 28th September 2025

66, Fletcher celebrates victory

Saturday waits...in this case at Roose Station for a train to, of all places, Chorley. An hour and a bit later, via a packed Carnforth platform of Railway Children fans mobbed up for Swallows and Amazons away

As I waited at the world famous Chorley College of Music for the car, I resolved to mention neither the giant ball or airport this time and wondered how the small bands of Barrow obsessives were getting on on their way southwards.

Podcast stalwart Dave's daughter's eyebrows were arching skywards at the enthusiastic scouse bevvying at 8am on the way to Euston. All over the south our exiles began to gather, Barrow railwaymen headed through the big smoke joined by old pals from the Bayliss days.

In the car we enjoyed a wide range of topics as the car wended its merry way. Subjects covered: John Power, undertaking, parachute payments, Ben Whitfield, podcasts, Tony Bloom, areolas and Josh Kay DMs.

Settling down to the slightly pervy whispering of golf radio commentary on Radio Five we slowed considerably on the M25. So...what was Crawley famous for?

Subjects discussed: The High Weald, Stoolball, Gareth Southgate and especially the national treasure that is Robert Smith of The Cure.

Via an enclosed car park masquerading as an admittedly welcome away fanzone, there we were in the away end.

CRAWLEY SOUVENIRS bellowed the son of Satan that is their facile, deafening stadium announcer, some AI Pirates of the Caribbean pish went through Crawley's Greatest Hits. On came the gladiators who then limbered up to 'Let's Get Down to Business' at a psychotic high volume.

And we did. Clever interplay down both sides forced two corners as we made Crawley look ordinary. However, we creaked at a long ball in the gaps nearly led to that wriggly little shithouse McKirdy scoring.

But they couldn't handle our movement as our two tens and Josh Gordon intertwined and bamboozled.

Mahoney fired wide then

Fletcher looping a header which was scrambled clear.

Most of the decision making out wide was decent and a well recycled ball to the back post, then a Mahoney blaster had them on the rack.

Then fabulous movement, power and effort saw Isaac Fletcher square the ball to the livewire Josh Gordon who stroked it home. YES. And thoroughly deserved.

A long hiatus due to the keeper's dislocation didn't seem to unsettle Crawley's creaking joints, and off we set again.

This time, it was Josh Gordon turning provider getting down the side and the ball was squared by a neat and tidy Earing, to our very own Sultan of Smog Isaac Fletcher, who drilled home.

Half time, as we marvelled at Chase Homer's balletic squats and lunges, reflection. Mahoney best player of the half and conductor in chief.

We'd found little pockets to pounce in and had played the best football this season. And why was Andy Whing dressed like mad Uncle Terry at a social club post christening. A Love Cat in cream.

On we went. Though we were still dangerous, Crawley swarmed around us, playing cleverly. We dug in heroically, with Stanway making the first of a few wondersaves. Doughty bodies headed and blocked, defending the box mightily.

It couldn't last and finally the bombardment resulted in a scrambled goal from yet another cross.

Rakeem for Booty then a Stanway wondersave. Raglan, MJ Williams and Jacko were not so much under the cosh as buried beneath the blows. I was getting serious Cheltenham last year vibes.

But we were still game, breaking out for Fletcher to have his shirt pulled in the box and after great work from the bustling Barkhuizen, Tyler shot wide.

On came Innes Cameron. 'The Jordan White for the watermelon vape generation,' opined A590 Dave.

The sparse but committed away fans grew in noise as the good ship Barrow creaked and groaned.

Time slowed to what seemed a glacial pace. A last charge from Crawley and somehow, somehow the ball was kept out in a goalmouth stramash. Stanway, titanic throughout, booked.

The whistle brought a visceral bellow of joy from the 111 off the pitch and the 11 on it which was joyfully shared. It was one of 'those' Barrow away wins.

Back in the car after a few classy chats and good wishes from understandably bewildered Crawley fans, we switched on Radio Cumbria.

Andy Whing delighted but like most of the squad, unwell. His best win at Barrow...grit determination and making our luck. Throwing up at half time but we found a way.

As we hurtled up the road we enjoyed playing Carlisle Meltdown Bingo as non league reality once again bit a chunk out of Mark Hughes. Piatek must pay off, formation fury, Sparky should split and how was this possible for the self appointed best supporters on the planet?

James Philips finished it all with an acid tinged flourish as he compared Carlisle's travails against York and Rochdale to difficulty in the latter stages of the Champions League. House!

I write this as we hurtle through the darkness trying to make the second last train and reconnect with a few Inter-City Barrow at Preston

At the moment, the arrival time on the dashboard shows 10.15 on a Saturday Night. Two wins in a row.

Barrow away?

Just like Heaven.

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