Peak Practice

Radcliffe (A) - Friendly - 21st July 2026

Carling or Carling mate?

“Practice means to perform, over and over again in the face of all obstacles, some act of vision, of faith, of desire. Practice is a means of inviting the perfection desired.”

Radcliffe away pre-season. Third game in and first out of Barrow. Stupidly delighted to be ‘going away’ again, I waited impatiently for transport to arrive. I guess we need to practise too. Acts of faith take work, though optimism has peeked through this summer’s gloom.

We set off down the A590 yet again. And it was great to be back in the maelstrom of rumour, retelling and ranting that passes for Barrovian conversation on an away day.

Subjects covered: Shetland ponies, Powerball, flatbed trucks, cricket boardroom wars, the glorious shithousery of Paul Cox teams and the importance, or otherwise, of ‘Pie and Peas’.

A degree of satisfaction with ‘so far’ was also in the air as we veered towards Kerslake. North Greater Manchester is easy to get to – Radcliffe looking a lot nicer in the July evening sun than it had on a gloomy mid-season night when I’d watched us exit the Lancs Cup on pens. How (or why) we took a bus to that, I shall never know. This time, we parked up with minimum fuss and immediately bumped into fellow travellers.

Far, far more of most people's time watching Barrow has been at non-league grounds and this was a nice one, with the customary surreal flaws that have fans doing the jobs around the club they love while well-meaning folks attempt to ‘professionalise’.

We passed a load of fourteen- or fifteen-year-old ultras, one mournfully clutching a

drum, as they were being made to wait for random adults to accompany them and maintain regulations.

Clearly, as a ‘former league side’, we were currently being viewed with some trepidation about hordes descending, and were segregated. After negotiating the stewards playing with barcodes on the tickets and being told the bar was open, we went in.

What fools we were. Of course, the ‘away bar’ wasn’t open at first. No matter, we were in ‘soft segregation’, which generally means ‘not really segregation’ or ‘wait and see while we work out if you are about to eat our children’. Most just wanted a Guinness.

After a refusal to go to the main bar, entertainingly delivered through the walkie-talkie as ‘whoever’s told them they can come up, don’t fucking do it again!’, a grille opened and cans of warm piss were dispensed by a cheery local as confused as we were. He did send for someone to bring a pint of Guinness down for a thirsty companion.

Always great to see friends old and new, we watched the retired cannabis dealer hoeing the pristine pitch and speculated on the death of the unlamented Barrow Index.

‘It’s like the Miliband bacon sandwich of uselessness now,’ said a companion. Then, pausing to remind ourselves of politics, we wondered whether Ian Wood would be needed at the Foreign Office. Next up, a wayward shot took out a light fitting, which swung as dangerously as the steward making amusing attempts to sort it out.

Then we marvelled at the concretely carved name of Brian on the floor beside the bar. We hope Brian has found peace, wherever in the cosmos he may be.

We’ve recruited men. Men ready for non-league football. Which is just as well, as Radcliffe immediately provided a real physical test – all meaty challenges and some sharp elbows.

Engage Brian

Smith looked lively, as again did Walker, but equally again, we look a little short defensively on the left-hand side. Just as well we are looking, as Adam Murray has been accosting everyone within earshot with regards to this across the peninsula, with a touch of Coxian vigour in getting his point across. Still, the Stanway spending money should help.

They’d got in behind us a couple of times (see above), and a smart save was required as the drum reached hypnotic levels of irritation. We were offering a little more too, until Innes Cameron was poleaxed by a headbutt/robust clearance.

The referee, who was clearly in need of a run-out himself in terms of focus, asked the near-unconscious striker if he ‘needed medical attention’. The ref certainly needed psychiatric help as abuse rained down from sixty or so away fans, including the hardy perennial: ‘should be reffing in the Glue Leagues!’

More annoyingly, when Raglan hit the post with a header, Danny Rose cleverly headed back across and Walker forced it home, only to be inexplicably ruled out for offside. The ref apologised later, so that’s OK then.

Half-time, so a slow meander up to the other end of the ground (‘soft’ segregation had become ‘bugger all’), and we caught up with various bits and pieces of gossip. The general consensus was it was a ‘good test’ and Radcliffe possibly deserved to be in front, disallowed goal notwithstanding.

There are one or two in the side who are looking more convincing than others, but that’s early days and pre-season. What isn’t in dispute is the endeavour, though I do wonder how much grace last year’s players will get. We really will need to keep our heads.

Not that this was easy, as Tom Davies, decent at this level, and Bad Brad Roscoe crashed, banged and walloped away with varying degrees of success. We had chances too: Smith clean through and some menacing raids down the flanks, though some of the crossing was awry.

This is what it will be like, though, a lot of the time. Physical, grumpy, hard-working and lots of juddering fifty-fifty challenges. We looked more than a match for this as we slugged our way to a goalless conclusion. It looks like a sensible, tough outfit who need tweaks.

But as the quote at the start says, this season will face obstacles of ‘vision, faith and desire’. I think we seem to have plenty of the latter, and our practice matches so far have been an excellent fit for all three.

So, a good run-out. Conversationally, too, on the way back. Subjects covered: unwise behaviour in eighties Fife French classes, the decline of Judy Finnigan, and Barrow 125 progress. Just before half-eleven, we were home. A pleasure, everyone.

We are a long, long way from perfection but show plenty of desire, and it was great to see much-missed comrades while we and Radcliffe kicked seven shades out of each other. National League football snuggling over us like a warm blanket. Next up, multi-passing project football to try and disrupt. And that’s just the supporters' game at The Strawberry.

See you Saturday.

End of Season 25/26

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