Feature: Match in Time #2: Carlisle United, April 2006

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Feature: Match in Time #2: Carlisle United, April 2006

Post by Louis »

This feature originally appeared in Highway to Hele #3 (December 2014). Words by Ben Currie. Photo by Rob Dand.

Highway to Hele is an independent Torquay United print fanzine written by fans, for fans. It is available at selected games and online 24/7.

Current issues, related merchandise and subscription offers are available from the Highway to Hele webstore - www.highwaytohele.bigcartel.com

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THE DATE: 29/04/06

THE SITUATION: Torquay travel to Cumbria knowing a fourth consecutive win would keep League Two survival in their own hands and deprive table-toppers Carlisle of picking up the league trophy in front of their own fans. Torquay were six points adrift with five games of the 05/06 season to play. Three straight wins had given ‘The Gulls’ an implausible chance to pull off the ‘greatest escape’

THE STORY: “Good news, I managed to get the four remaining places on the coach to Carlisle” our friend said, “Will pick you up at 4am.” “That’s great,” I replied, “Should be a great day, see you Satur...wait a second, did you say 4am??”

Paignton train station: 4.30am. This should be the time a night out ends, not a day begins. The atmosphere is surprisingly upbeat among my fellow sleep-deprived comrades, no doubt looking forward to a long snooze on the coach- not an ideal mode of transport for a 16 hour round journey, but there could be worse.

‘Worse’ happens to appear when a minibus turns the corner and pulls up. With league survival at stake this trek has really captured the imagination of the travelling fan and extra demand has meant a minibus has been booked as well as a full coach, leg room is at a premium and, as it turns out, so are the extra hours sleep.

It is probably around Manchester some six hours later that I realise the ludicrousness of the day: the round journey will take roughly ten times longer than the event we are travelling to see. Torquay have struggled away from home all season whilst Carlisle have rarely lost at home en route to what will be a dominant and deserved fourth tier championship.

We arrive at our destination at 1pm and disembark the tin can on wheels- we resemble a nursing home of geriatrics on a day out complaining of tired joints and aching bones but a brisk walk in search of a pub soon irons out our grievances.

A massive clean up operation is still in force in this city after feeling the full force of recent flooding, it is only now, weeks later, that the area is getting back to some sort of normality but the signs of damage and destruction are still illuminative. This neighbourhood in particular, clearly, is not as affluent as it once was.

The nearby Rugby Club is open for business and doing a roaring trade. A lack of a seat is no problem considering I have just spent 8 hours shackled to one and the very welcome beer barely touches the sides.

The open terraced away end at Brunton Park is basic to say the least, I thank my lucky stars that the deluge of rain ceased a couple of weeks earlier. Impressively, there are roughly 300 fans mad enough to make the mammoth trek north but this pales in comparison to the bumper home crowd- over 13,000 have turned up to see Carlisle be crowned champions today and there is convivial party atmosphere prevailing.

One might accuse Carlisle of complacency in that first half, Torquay come out on the offensive and take the game to their celebrated hosts deservedly taking a two goal lead into the break with barely a shot in anger in reply at the other end.

First, Kevin Hill jumped highest, as was his trademark, to head home a precise free-kick from out wide. On that day you might say he was ‘here, there and every-blooming-where. Then, perfectly timed with 5 minutes to go before half-time, Jo Kuffour (NOT 4ft 3 and on reflection possibly NOT better than Henry) doubled the lead with a neat low finish on the turn- right in front of the jubilant away end.

League leaders and champions elect Carlisle, were booed off by their own crowd at half time.

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You only have to follow Torquay for a couple of years to know that we rarely do things the easy way. Any possibility of seeing out the second half in a controlled, relaxed manner are extinguished just 3 minutes after the restart when Carlisle pull a goal- and a poorly defended goal at that- back, and from then on the second half is absolute hell.

Whilst a draw or defeat would not relegate us today, a win would send us to the last day with the odds of survival stacked massively in our favour. A draw or defeat could plausibly undo all the good work and positive feeling created over the last few weeks, but on the other hand, any sort of survival seemed impossible 3 straight wins ago. After the previous season’s last day despair at Colchester, I would do anything to avoid the cold, clinical nature of a 46th game shootout.

All these permutations have largely become irrelevant, by now I am borderline mentally unstable as Carlisle attack relentlessly and Torquay defend deeper and deeper. Steve Woods and Craig Taylor seem to have a personal duel as to who can clear the ball furthest over the two tiered main stand, no matter how far we clear the damned thing, it keeps coming back at us.

The full-time whistle is in sight and still the away fans can not raise a smile. Heart-rates and ‘swear-o’meters’ are at a season long high- a surprise given this year has seen appearances from such footballing luminaries at Les Afful, James Sharp and Carl Priso, not to mention a cameo from 65 year old Richard Hancox.

Finally, after a half of football that feels like it lasted for an entire season, the referee brings the game to a conclusion and the three precious points have been secured. A defeat on the final day might not even see us relegated now, an amazing turnaround from Ian Atkins. For Carlisle, the Champagne was to be put on ice, they would secure the championship a week later- but not in front of 13,000 fans.

Whilst we were busy basking in the joy of an unlikely victory, a large contingent of Cumbrians had stormed the pitch and were demonstratively heading for the away end. Fearing the worst I was about to make a quick and cowardly getaway only for the amassed legion of blues to stop on the 18 yard line and applaud the away end, the rest of the ground followed suit. Confused, delighted but above all surprised, The Yellow Army returned the favour as both sets of fans recognised the achievements of the other. I have never seen that at a football ground since.

Back on the claustrophobic confines of the tin can and 8 hours until home didn’t sound too bad (I felt differently 4 hours later.) As we left the ground, Carlisle fans continued to line the roads and applaud us on our way. ‘I could get used to this sort of treatment’ I thought to myself. It didn’t last, we were relegated the following season (the ‘Chris Roberts debacle’ as I believe it’s known.)

The history books will show that we avoided relegation thanks to a 0-0 draw against Boston a week later, but I will always relate survival to the day that I travelled the length of the country to watch a 90 minute football match. It may well have appeared a pointless exercise considering that we were relegated anyway in the following season but that game remains unique for me and one that I will never forget.
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