BOSTON UNITED 3 BARROW 5 UniBond League Premier Division 1 February 1997 by John Woods
I knew it was going to be one of those days the moment I noticed Bob Steed standing on my front doorstep, mobile phone in hand, about to call me to tell me he was there. Most people use the doorbell, which I have always thought is a perfectly reasonable option. Anyway, that's Bob for you. But this isn't one of those 'Day Out at Boston' articles detailing in the minutest detail everything that happened, from setting out at the crack of a sparrowfart to arriving home in the early hours of next week, more a revelation of what happened on the York Road pitch. Something that none of us could have anticipated, even in our wildest, Bateman's Best induced, dreams. For a start, Barrow were fielding a weakened team, with a number of regular faces missing through injury or suspension. And Boston themselves are not a bad side, having already won 1-0 at Holker Street in November during Barrow's 'wouldn't it be a good idea to see how many league games we can go without scoring' campaign. So the best we were hoping for was a draw in what, with Boston's games in hand, was a top-of-the-table six-pointer. And as we never seem to do well at Boston, perhaps ending the game on level terms was being over-optimistic. So the sizeable travelling contingent, still making their way towards the large terrace at the far end of the ground, were somewhat taken aback to see that Barrow's opening tactics involved going like a bat out of Hereford at the opposition. Such a hectic pace couldn't possibly be maintained for the full ninety minutes; it would surely end in disaster. Except that it was, and it didn't. Quite why the team in general, and Neil Morton in particular, were so fired up remains a mystery. Morton seemed to be on a Mission from Cowps; a one man assault on the Goal of the Month competition. Barrow could already have been a couple of goals to the good when, in the 17th minute, Morton collected the ball on the half way line and set off on his run towards the Boston goalmouth. A home defender moved across; Morton stumbled under the challenge. 'Foul...' appealed the Barrow fans, their shouts frozen in their throats as Morton regained his footing. Into the penalty area, another challenge, another stumble. 'Pen...' but again loud shouts from the terrace faded away as Morton continued, the referee busily waving play on. A swerve to the right, another defender beaten, a swerve to the left, then a shot. Bastock (owner of the most hated name in Barrow's footballing history), in the Boston goal, stood mesmerised, rooted to the spot, as Morton steered the ball into the back of the net. 'GOALLLLLL!' This time, the shouts were unrestrained. Had this match been televised, Messrs. Hanson and Brooking would be having orgasms: Jimmy Hill's chin would have been hammering into the presenter's console like a woodpecker on heat. Instead, it was one that will live for many a year only in the memories of those who were there. And there was more to come. The rest of the half was fairly uneventful, apart from being played at a frenetic pace, that is; twice the home side were saved by the woodwork, a couple of Barrow chances were cleared off the line, Bastock (owner of the most hated name in Barrow's footballing history), who was earlier seen to do an impression of the proverbial parrot in the penalty area, fell even further behind in the popularity stakes by palming the ball away for a corner, then gratefully accepting the referee's award of a goal kick. But the Barrow fans were so entranced by the quality of the team's display that their minds were completely distracted from taunting Bastock (owner of the most hated name in Barrow's footballing history), too much. There were certainly none of the evil 'You used to play for Fisher' chants we had heard in previous years. Oh, and Boston equalised. But then came the second half. The scores remained level for ten minutes into the half, and although Barrow, again, had the better of the play, the inbuilt belief in the supporters that nothing will happen quite as it is supposed to happen came into play. In other words, we were wondering whether Barrow could hang on for a draw. The team, however, had other ideas. Morton, now out on the left, sent over a ball towards the far post. It seemed far too high, a wasted opportunity... except that all of a sudden it was dipping towards the incoming Mark Grugel. Eyes on the ball, muscles taut, it was a header straight out of the coaching manual and into the back of the net. Barrow were 2-1 up, and Bastock (owner of the most hated name in Barrow's footballing history) looked mightily not very pleased with his defenders. Barrow remained ahead for twenty minutes or so before Boston equalised for the second time, which was probably not the best idea they had because it seemed to upset Morton, and he stepped up a gear into intergalactic overdrive. Within a couple of minutes of the restart, Morton headed Barrow back into the lead, a competent enough goal, if somewhat unremarkable by the standards of the afternoon. Barrow were 3-2 up and Bastock (owner of the most hated name in Barrow's footballing history) looked mightily not very pleased with Mark Grugel, who had set up the goal. Grugel had injured himself putting the cross over, a scenario which brings out the best in the Boston 'keeper, who sportingly picked the ball out of the net and hurled it at the grounded Grugel. Much to the delight of the Barrow fans, the referee reached for the inevitable card; much to the disappointment of the Barrow fans, it was only a yellow. Then with four minutes to go it was 4-2, and Neil Morton had completed his hat-trick. A week before, the Match of the Day commentators had drooled over Trevor Sinclair's excellent goal for QPR, scored with an overhead kick from thirty yards out. Goal of the season, they proclaimed, oblivious to the fact that there was still three months to run. They may have revised their opinion if they had seen Morton's third strike. Maybe it was from a slightly closer range than Sinclair's strike - like about 30 yards closer - but it was just as well executed. This time Bastock (owner of the most hated name in Barrow's footballing history) decided to vent his displeasure on Jimmy Brown, who, for once, was the innocent party to the proceedings. This time, it had to be a red card. And the cheering on the terraces was even louder than it had been for Morton's hat-trick; three years after Bastock (owner of the most hated name in Barrow's footballing history) had mocked Tim Parkin's career-ending injury, he had received his comeuppance. 'Bastock's going off' they sang joyfully; 'Three Lions' was never like this. The last minute of the game saw Boston pull one back, but Morton wasn't finished yet. Again running from the halfway line, he broke away from the home defence and advanced on the stand-in 'keeper before delicately clipping the ball out of his reach into the back of the net. What an afternoon it had been; not only had Barrow come out with their best performance since winning the Trophy in 1990, but Tim Parkin had been avenged. In years to come those who were there will be able to say 'I was there.' So will those who weren't there, of course, but they'll be lying. In the car going home, Bob Steed was continually - and unsuccessfully - trying to get a line on his mobile phone. I think he was trying to call Jamie who was sitting in the back seat. But that's Bob for you. And then the inbuilt belief in the supporters that nothing will happen quite as it is supposed to came in to play, and the team duly obliged; a 2-0 advantage at home to Gainsborough Trinity was squandered, then we lost at Lancaster and Jimmy Brown was sent off for giving someone a Liverpool kiss. Allegedly. Will we ever make a success of being top of the table? Originally appeared as 'The Boston Experience' in issue 030 - April 1997