Discussion? Percussion? Concussion?

Bromley (A) - EFL League 2 - 15th November 2025

'Let us begin, what, where, why or when

Will all be explained like instructions to a game

See I’m not insane, in fact I’m kind of rational

When I be asking you, “Who is more dramatical?”

This one or that one, the white one or the black one

Pick the punk, and I’ll jump up to attack one’

Boogie Down Productions

I’ve no idea what KRS 1 knows about League Two football. However, opinions, eh!

A minority and somewhat negative view from the generally cheery aftermath of Grimsby was that we had simply been incredibly lucky.

Lacking creativity, the argument went, awful and too negative, a combination of fluke, guts and individual brilliance had carried us through.

I can’t say I subscribed to it, as I boarded the train at Roose in the pitch black of pre-dawn Barra. In fact, I was full of bonhomie and optimism. Second best unbeaten run in England, some great resilience, evidence of Barrow mentality, Walsall a fantastic example. Glass firmly half full.

An enjoyable train journey then ensued.

Subjects covered: Liam Hughes, Guide Dogs at protests, the unpleasantness of Macclesfield, Misogyny, Harry Potter/Star Wars collaboration, Rakeem Harper.

London always provides a frisson of excitement as we get off at Euston. We said goodbye to the shoppers and joined with the advance party.

Going underground! Saturday trippers, gym-bunnies, old advertising execs remembering the ‘90s in expensive boots and blazers abounded on the tube.

The musicality of the names; ‘Victoria Line to Brixton, alight here for Buckingham Palace. Alight at Pimlico for Tate Britain.’ I wondered if we should try this in Barrow. ‘Number Three for Ormsgill, alight here for the Asda bread aisle’.

Anyway, off at Brixton hoping for trendy food and a bit of atmosphere. London provides that but flatters to deceive at times. Tried to get breakfast that turned out to be more Bookers than Barbados and some quite decent pubs.

On days like this, you often slip on the comfortable shoes of ‘taking the piss’ out of the stupidity of beloved fellow travellers. Here are the most enjoyable three examples today:

1. ‘Ginger Beer? Is that lager?’ No, really.

2. ‘What the fuck is this red sweetcorn?’ ‘It’s pomegranate seeds mate.’

And 3. The worst one, in a Bromley pub. ‘£32.40 for an Uber to the ground, rip off bastards!’ ‘Stop, you’ve booked it for Sutton United!’ I know...I was that soldier.

So, no one is winning Mastermind this year. But most of us would have the fortunes of Barrow AFC as our specialist subject. But we weren’t really in agreement on the answers.

Are we allowing our love of battling, backs to the wall Barra to blind ourselves to the fact we are too negative and lack basic technique?

Are lucky comebacks and ten men resilience kidding us that we aren’t playing some utter rubbish?

And most controversially, ‘has the fact that Andy Whing is a good lad blinded us from poor tactics almost Cooperesque in its negativity?’ One loss in ten, though! Heaven knows why we’re miserable now.

Bromley has had a monied glow-up, a bit Fylde-like at one end but with one of our temporary stands and a new side terrace. All cladding and electronic adverts that scream ambition as much as the plooky youth thumping away mindlessly to ‘Now that’s what I call Ultras, part 22’.

The ‘game’. Well, Bromley 2025 are still Bromley. The Pillars of Hercules at the back, big, niggly and horrid. But their two midfielders looked comfortable, and they have Michael Cheek.

As the drum welcomed the mist rolling in it took on a depressingly primal feel as we booted the ball aimlessly or passed wastefully. They weren’t much better but had some sort of plan, blunt instrument though it was.

In games such as these, of course, it is as likely to be mediocrity as ability that causes a goal. This had both. An utter failure to pick up or close-down allowed Ifill to amble forward and drill a shot past Stanway.

It was grindingly poor fare. We looked hesitant and unfocused as the drum rolled inexorably on. Then, Shipley took a very sore one after being poleaxed with a raised boot.

Half time, and a word for the linesman on our side. That word is excrement. I went to chat to Lancaster Dave at the fence.

Very impressed with the understanding of Western philosophical thought displayed by your average teenager in Bromley. Very keen on shouting for Immanuel Kant, it seems. I’m more of a Wittgenstein man, myself.

On we rolled. ‘Only the fog can save us’ said a companion gloomily. But despite offering nothing previously, we had started to flicker back into it.

Rakeem Harper, who was having a bit of a stinker, had roused himself and won a couple of challenges. The ball broke to Ben Whitfield who smashed the ball into the corner from outside the box.

The drum faltered and the E numbers drooped in the home end as we defiantly stuck two fingers up at our pre-match odds of four-one against.

A bit of joy down the left flank now. Jackson, who I thought was combining well with Newby. McCann starting to gain a small foothold. Then Newby fashioned a hung up cross and Josh Gordon went close.

But Bromley are good at their jobs this year and none more than the evergreen Michael Cheek. Even having a bad day and quite well marshalled, he was classy in both touch and movement, always a nick, a thought, a dart ahead. If you play without the ball, you are reliant on your shape, organisation but especially minimising individual errors. Charles Raglan esquire had been having a decent enough game but horribly misjudged the flight of the ball. And here is one of the differences between us and Bromley currently.

Michael Cheek. Who cantered away and laid the ball on a plate for Kabamba to score. The Bromley Philosophical Society crowed and cavorted. The drum banged and that was nearly it.

Except Wyll Stanway bravely came for a cross through a crowd of rampaging giants and landed horribly on his head, requiring treatment. He still played on, despite grogginess, making a brilliant muscle memory dive to turn one away.

Bromley hailed a possible play-off charge at the end. Clapping rather grimly but in appreciation of effort, we thought about the endless journey home. Feeling less disposed toward trailing back on a Saturday night train I hailed a passing friend to take me back to where the Lakes meet the Sea.

Still, we debated as we walked back to the car. ‘Why are we clapping that?’ groaned an irritated mate. ‘I’ve watched all the games, we don’t have a plan, we are negative and it’s horrible to watch!’ In the first half certainly, it was hard to argue.

‘He’s got you all fooled,’ he continued, ‘I don’t get it, he’ll say the same thing yet again after the match and you’ll all lap it up.’

I don’t agree, but I do see the frustration. However, what I don’t understand is what the expectation is? Those of a certain vintage will remember a quote from an irritated manager Alan Durban, as Stoke were lampooned for their own ultra-defensive tactics.

“If you want entertainment, you could go out and get a bunch of clowns.”

I don’t ascribe to that either, but as Barrow fans, what are we supposed to expect? Consistent, well-planned forward-thinking football? Give over!

For every Middlesbrough, Burton and Sunderland, there were some dreadfully negative humpings under Bayles and Shez. Cooper led us to beat a former UEFA Cup winner at a delighted Holker Street before acrimony and negativity descended. Clemence will always have Chelsea and top of the league. Pete Wild was a rollercoaster of play-off charge and moribund attempts to attack. Edmo; a gritty stabilisation and monied league win to disorganisation. Paul Cox- seventeen games unbeaten, with set pieces and skullduggery, not flowing football.

Andy Whing had a somewhat rose-tinted view of the game I felt on Radio Cumbria post-match. But it was one that Mick Payne agreed with, in contrast with Craig Rutherford last week. Even the pundits don’t agree.

Semper Sursum? The car turned for home on the old A590 yet again, we are right to want and demand the best for our club and for it to progress. But mostly, it’s been all about striving. Once we’ve untied Michael Cheek, let him out of the boot of the car and lured him with half of his current wages and a warm

welcome, I’m sure we’ll climb the league.

Discussion? Percussion? Concussion?

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