Love Will Tear Us Apart — Again
- 36 minutes ago
- 3 min read
Harrogate (H) - EFL League 2 - 17th February 2026
When routine bites hard and ambitions are low
And resentment rides high, but emotions won't grow
First, I was going to write this in the form of complaint to the Local Trading Standards Office, citing that we had as a football club supporters have been mis-sold faulty goods who were unable to perform the basic functions of football and were therefore in breach of the Sale of Goods Act.
But that wasn’t sufficient to describe the biblical agony of watching us attempt to beat Harrogate Town on a Tuesday night in February in League Two of the EFL.
Another possibility was consideration of the match as part of five stages of grief, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. These stages are not linear or universal, but rather a framework for navigating feelings of shock, pain, and eventual adjustment.
However, though we are way past denial and bargaining, anger is still very much a part of the makeup, though it isn’t directed at the new manager, who is attempting to put lipstick, not only on a pig, but on a huge stinking sow languishing in it’s own garbage with no plan to rouse itself any time soon. Hence the need to take off two players, before half- time.
Trying to cheer myself and us all up, I wondered if we could try the medium of Monty Python’s surrealist physical comedy. While it sums up the basic ‘defending’ for the Harrogate goal and our attempts to deliver crosses into the box after any sort of endeavour: it allows us to enjoy caper pointlessly as an activity in itself; therefore neatly summing up our forward play in season 2025-26.
Next up, the opening Trainspotting scene, which would enable me to list shortcomings of the choices we make to watch this. Choose Sh*te. Choose attempts to beat the press with a languid chip in your own half. Choose jogging amiably alongside runners. Choose standing in misery while a small knot of middle-class teaboys sing ‘how s**t must you be?’ for the third time this month and unveil the poorest protest banner ever seen on this septic isle.
Why is the bedroom so cold? You've turned away on your side
Is my timing that flawed? Our respect runs so dry
Yet there's still this appeal that we've kept through our lives
I could go all literary. WB Yeats ‘The Second Coming’ although it isn’t a poem about our obsession with resigning players or potential relegation but rather delves into the hopeless atmosphere through apocalyptic imagery. ‘The centre cannot hold’; ‘ the worst are filled with some sort of passionate intensity’ ,‘Things fall apart’ ‘And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Fleetwood to be born?’Â
Then, rousing myself into some form of action, I wondered if it was time for some kind of psycho-sexual Arab Spring moment in Barrow Town Centre. Would inserting a pineapple as an anal probe while screaming ‘shoot, f**king shoot’ outside Greggs provoke sufficient outrage for a turnaround in form? Could civil disobedience in the form of a Town Hall sit in, or worse yet, denying the players entry to Costa on the rare occasions they deign to come to Barrow be sufficient?
Song lyrics? Pink Floyd’s ‘Comfortably Numb’ describes our midfield accurately. ‘ Slide Away’ from Oasis any remote chances if we can’t string a run together. ‘I think I missed again’ well, I don’t have to name names, what’s the point?
You cry out in your sleep, all my failings exposed
There's a taste in my mouth as desperation takes hold
Just that something so good, just can't function no more
Accepting the premise that we are honest triers (no, we can) we could go all Reverend Mother in ‘The Sound of Music’, with Paul Hornby in a nun’s habit singing ‘Climb Every Mountain’ in a velvet soprano on Radio Cumbria. Although we’ve had our metaphorical pat on the head for 2025.
‘Meet the Board Night’ could become a Jeremy Kyle type event. ‘Come back after the break, where the DNA test reveals who really is responsible for the worst recruitment since HM Government signed Prince Andrew as trade envoy’. Andy Whing rushing in shouting and pointing at Ian Wood, while Paul Gallagher is tearfully interviewed backstage. Mind you, he’d have to travel for it.
This is what happened. Two dreadful League Two sides low on confidence played. One was a lot more ‘up for it’ initially and capitalised on a dreadful error. Then everyone flayed about to no great effect and as Barrow improved somewhat, we missed our few opportunities. It was cold, rubbish, devoid of artistry, skill and drive. I wished I’d brought gloves.
Depressing? It was Harrogate, ladies and gents. See you on Saturday for a lovely trip to the seaside. Again.Â