Dino, oh Dino. Vibes are back
- 3 hours ago
- 4 min read
Colchester (H) - EFL League 2 - 14th February 2026
Today I will walk in the sun. I will simply walk in the sun
Charles Bukowski
Three boxes of Give 'em Beans! have arrived. I've had the notification. I return from work Friday evening and there they are in the hallway. It's always an exciting moment, sliding a knife through the brown tape, ripping off the plastic wrap and seeing people's hard work and dedication in physical form. They've arrived early this time, so Saturday's plans change. And already a lot has changed since the thing went to the printers. Such is life producing a Barrow AFC-focused fanzine.
I don't know about you, but I like to kick off my weekend with a legal obligation. With the sun cracking the corners of the bedroom, I throw those curtains wide. Coffee, croissant, post office. After a lifetime of persistent precipitation, a promenade into town to deliver a copy of Beans to the British Library (those freeloaders) gives some time to gather one's thoughts. Ormsgill Reservoir is tranquil as I stride out, a placid canvas on which to write Paul Gallagher's epitaph. His name not so much writ in water as exhaled in mango vape. Barely enough time to merit one line in Wikipedia. Leaving us having had as much impact as a soft-close drawer. If a Barrow gaffer is sacked in the woods, does anyone hear his departure? Five minutes between announcing his shit-canning and unveiling Dino. That's one minute of respect for every defeat in his short stint. I can't muster enough energy to feel sorry for him. The wrong man at the wrong time, left to fulfil his potential as a set-piece coach at Bamber Bridge.
And then there's Dino. It's hard not to get carried away with his energy and enthusiasm. Even the most jaded Barrow fan, of which there are many, and I include myself, can't help but feel a vibe shift. An expectation that he's going to start tearing new arseholes and ceremoniously burning snoods at one minute past nine Thursday morning. Getting a tune from our busted organ. Putting some energy into this team of wet cigarettes. Of course that's not what happened, but his record of polishing loose stools is available for anyone with an internet-connected device to see. As one Rob Kelly once said, winning League Two football matches is easy, which for him was a truism but for our succession of gaffing gaffers (Pete Wild excepted) has proved as easy as watching Michael McIntyre.
Maybe it's the vitamin D in the February sun, or there's a microdose of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors in the water, but I'm feeling somewhat optimistic as kick-off approaches. Though I'm not sure if that's just a feeling of 'we can't be any worse'. I'm willing to believe. Gallagher stood on the touchline like he was playing the bandit in Wetherspoons in his M&M Sports casual attire, with all the authority of a Ladbrokes dad putting on an unlikely acca. Dino is already a bundle of energy, animated like an electric whippet. It feels like a reset. With Valentine's Day in the air and bellies full of lasagne, the players and fans are in the mood to kiss and make up. A call to arms has been issued and the Holker Street end obliges with some full-throated songs, willing to back the team one more time.
In recent games our defence has pulled apart like wet tissue and our attack has been as potent as a flaccid Rollover hotdog. What price a goal and a clean sheet today? Dino has kept faith with the Canavan-Raglan twosome in the centre, but deeper and more compact. The much-maligned three at the back, tweaked with Jackson and Thompson playing behind Barkhuizen and Newby respectively. The latter switches flanks early in the game. Barkhuizen seems determined to make the shit you can't see into the shit you very much can see, although he improves as the game goes on. We can't expect instant perfection. Danny Rose has taken the 'proper shift' instruction to the next level, running his legs into nubs, defending from the front. Dino says it's the least we can expect, but his work rate is impressive and takes some pressure off our midfield. Rekeem Harper is having what is possibly his best game in a Barrow shirt, very much optimising the shit you can't see role, breaking up play and chasing down. We have some good spells of possession in the first half without really creating a great deal. We're still very much a work in progress, but we've limited a strong Colchester side to a few scraps.
Colchester start the second half strongly, with Stanway called into action on numerous occasions, cementing his man-of-the-match performance (although Rose runs him very close). Colchester have the ball in the net on 63 minutes, but the previously flag-shy linesman remembers he actually has a job to do and gives offside. Phew.
There's probably not a person in the ground who isn't thinking a nil-nil would be a good result at this point. Progress. Something to build on. But this is to be Barrow's day, Dino's day, Canavan's redemption moment. On 86 minutes, a McCann free kick is floated into the box. Colchester fail to clear and the ball falls beautifully for Canavan to awkwardly shank it into the net, giving William H. Macy no chance. YESSSS! Barrowvian bedlam, Maamria madness, Canavan chaos, Cowley crying. Get that right up ya, you weasel-faced big girl's blouse.
We are living through a rare moment this season, one where we can wake up Sunday morning with a smile. It would be unavailing to over analyse the performance, suffice to say it's a major improvement over previous offerings. I'm happy to embrace the vibe, putting a Dr Marten on the footplate Dino train and squeezing on the levers of hope.
We hold on for the remaining nine minutes. Was it ever in doubt? Mood lifted, optimism replenished. We aren't there yet, but Maamria has worked a minor miracle in two sessions. The team huddle at the end, Dino clapping the fans and refusing the fist pumps. Leaving Holker Street ebullient after a proper shift, leaving it all on the pitch, and three precious points.
I'll raise a big fat slice of lasagne to that.