Turmoil on the Trent

Notts County (A) - EFL League 2 - 7th February 2026

No Goal

Standards are slippery bastards. A simple-looking word on the face of it, often reached for and beloved of leaders. The right way of building or making; quality specifications, so we work safely, competently and efficiently to a chosen goal. 

Then there's standards as a framework, a shape from which to create. Mutually agreed truths. Of course there's standards of behaviour. What is expected of us and agreed upon, so we might be judged. Honesty, integrity, principles. 

Standards love a reference point: 'setting the standard', 'falling below the standards expected', 'raise the standards' and 'standard practice'. 

More on standards later. For now, Barrow AFC's never-ending story started as it often does, with the early morning call and an optimistic Ramsden Square sunrise. Not much expected given league position, but hope does triumph over expectation at Meadow Lane, or at least it has done, the 3-0 here falling under 'great days out'. 

A Paul Hornby Trilogy this year had temporarily soothed. Measured tones and reassurance, all set to maximum. Calm explanation of the processes that led us here. Underperforming under the mid-table wage bill, stats show underlying improvement on the pitch. In short, we aren't as bad as we feel we are and we aren't as good as we want to be. Some mistakes, some bad luck, no panic here. 

Hmm, OK then, fair enough. The bus was the bus, good people, pleasant chatter and driven by what appeared to be living proof that Diego Maradona had indeed risen from the grave, swapping iconic status and a life of beautiful chaos for driving a fifty-seater in the North-West of England for Reay's.

Anyway… Diego handled our travel like the genius he is (or was) and we arrowed down the motorway, swinging past the Potteries before plunging into the East Midlands and lovely Nottingham. 

Lovely Nottingham is temporarily closed for 'improvement' it seems, but we negotiated our way through garish barriers of what was once a town square as we headed for the biblically named Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, the oldest inn in the world, set within city walls and near the flowing Trent. 

'A Greene King!' snorted my discerning companion with a curl of his lip as we entered. Perhaps… but one they had yet to mess up, loads of beer and (wonder of wonders) a heated beer garden. Barrow fans came and went, some great old pubs entered, and I experimented unwisely with three starters in The Navigation. 

In the pub and walking to the ground (yes, I was walking!) conversation veered wildly as it always does, double-barrelled married names, laminated eyebrows, legends of England, misnaming partners as exes, The Prodigy, magpie etiquette and a father's fond tutorial on German beer halls for his teenage daughter. Thanks for the info, Dad. 

Niall Canavan was back as we squeezed our way into a small standing section of the vast expanse of one side of Meadow Lane. Hopefully the strong silent lawmaker type, rather than the error-strewn sent-off version. More Gary Cooper than Tommy, if you like. 

And we started pretty well. Hardworking and stuffy, the generally loathed 3-5-2 holding firm with an industrious Smith to the fore, Jack Earing looked neat and tidy. We worked the ball with a bit more pace, all encouraging stuff. 

Then of course they scored. The immutable law of the 'bad run'. A splash of structural failing yet again gave Notts, who had worked the ball cleverly, space; a decent cross/cut-back caused the usual havoc and then a shot heading Trentwards took a cruel deflection and in it went. 

The rather staid Notts County support (though very loud in odd flashes) roused themselves and celebrated. However, we gritted our teeth, rolled up our sleeves, gathered our mixed metaphors and cracked on.

Starting to get down the sides and puzzle them, we were making Notts look ponderous, though our old habit of overplaying it safe still runs through the team like a fault line. Throwing off the mental shackles for a moment, the ball worked beautifully out to Jack Earing who darted down the flank. A great cut-back and Charlie McCann, again arriving right place right time, to sweep the ball high into the net. 

Cue the customary bedlam. I hugged a complete stranger and his son (as you do) and two hundred voices were raised in triumph. Back in it and Notts looked vulnerable leading up to half-time. 

Optimistic. We had met the standards required to get out of this mess. A standard had been raised too. Even to the present day, battle standards, battle colours, are something to be defended at all costs. Last Stands: Alamo, Badajoz, Stalingrad, Thermopylae. All would pale into insignificance as we fought for at least a point. THIS…IS…BARRA!

Then the second half began. But we didn't. Once again, we switched off mentally and allowed a decent but far from unbeatable side to utterly dominate again. Backing off, we allowed them to work the ball out wide unchallenged, again. Then, we failed to stop the cross, yet again. Next, we didn't track the runners or win the second contact, again, again. All 'standard' stuff we need to do. But we don't. So MaDennis scored an easy goal. Standard. 

The mood darkened in the away end and Notts had the freedom of Meadow Lane as tempers rose and heads dropped. Two unbelievable misses, again from failing to defend the box, and somehow the score was still 2-1. 

The thing about situations like this is somehow you've got to work your way through matters. But both the team and support are currently brittle. The team is poor, and some of them know this could be the last chance saloon in EFL football. Bad defending sure, but poor decision-making in general, especially when trying to make a positive move. Forget box entries for crying out loud. Pass it quickly, try things, drive. 

The trouble is we get sucked into a vortex of negativity in our play. Just one small example. Elliot Newby, who works hard and quickly but whose decision-making is questionable even on a good day, passed the ball back to Charlie McCann, who has a bit more nous, then showed for the return ball. McCann slips it through… but Newby has stopped, inexplicably. McCann throws his arms up theatrically; Elliot Newby hangs his head. 

This happens with every one of our attacking players again, again and again every game. Jack Earing's extra touches. Conor Mahoney's craven checking back, Tyler Walker returning, failing to read the game, stay onside. Last week it was the embarrassing 'ghost tackle' from Rakeem Harper. 

"F**k off out of my club you s**t useless c**t!" "You wouldn't get near a team on f***ing Tummerhill!" 

"Just f**k off Walker, stay onside, you are a f***ing waste of space!"

"Ian Wood, you fat c**t, just f**k off."

"YOU ARE S**T! Fucking S**T! How are you a footballer?" 

This is also happening. And I get it, to an extent. Folk are disappointed and hugely fearful. They are very angry with the players whose poor play they feel have accounted for several managers now and are on good money. 

These were the best players at their school, in their county, the ones who went to the academies and strutting around town in their club-branded tracksuits on decent wages. They are everything most small boys and girls dream of being when they first pick up that precious ball, and deep down, many always will. They are footballers. 

This isn't right. This isn't the bargain you make internally with yourself of paying your money, singing, shouting, following, sinking your wages and relationships (sometimes) to follow a League Two football team. Standards. Basic standards. They love Barrow AFC, but they hate what they see. 

But that's not how it always works. 

Despite all this fury, we were still actually in the game somehow. And Notts, who will be a bit too nervy to avoid the play-offs on this showing, looked vulnerable. And then, we were back to Lady Luck and decisions. A shot flashed towards the Notts County goal. Over the line! That was over the line! Was it over the line? Not given. 

From being almost in line and in a better position than the ref probably, I wasn't sure it had crossed. But I've seen 'the photo' too. It certainly wasn't that clear-cut from where I was, general consensus was 'probably not'. 

But on a good run, we get that goal. We get the goal against Crawley. We don't lose a deflected goal early. 

Thus, it ended in a mixture of stoicism, anger and sadness. But it isn't over. I'm not overly keen on Paul Gallagher so far, simply because I have massive David Dunn vibes. His reaction to questions on the formation was that of a professional, cultured ex-player who didn't feel that those 'in the professional game' should be asked by those who didn't. 

Against that to be fair, he gets the idea of basic standards. Tracking back, following a plan etc. Of giving all you've got. 

And as things stand, this is what we've got. 

Which brings me back to us. During a 'frank' but mostly respectful (once tempers had cooled) discussion on the bus, whilst I get our frustrations… what about our own standards? 

Our beloved Barrow AFC are in a right state, ladies and gents. Whilst my overriding wish is to grab, say Connor Mahoney by the throat and shake him like a rat (metaphorically, natch) as well as six or seven others, will it really help us stay up? What has suggested (as we've had a go at full-time with these) that it will?

And raw survival takes organisation and guts. It takes turning up and putting our anger to one side for a couple of months, then we can jettison some whose memory will be but a distant shudder. 

I'd like to think we might have a poor team at present, but we have better support. So instead of online 'I told you so' onanism and self-righteous explosions, we need to channel the spirit that kept out a liquidator. That stayed up in the Conference with local lads. 

That kept up a team of truly, deeply terrible footballers under Ady Pennock in the Conference and turned up in at least some numbers to Workington Away on the Boxing Day (the lowest we went, what happened to them?) That sang their absolute hearts out at Walsall this season. 

And if we drag ourselves off our knees, maybe the team will too. What else can we do? What happens if we don't? 

Raise the Standard.

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