Hornets head home heroes

Neutrality and football don’t really go together.

When you first start watching the game, probably at a young age, you quickly adopt a team- and, generally, you stick with that team through thick and thin. Whether they are your local side or a set of title wining giants- or, in my case, a set of gallant losers who have remained true to type for the next fifty years- you become quickly, irrevocably attached to your side, and develop partizan tendencies which are impossible to detach even when diluted by a hefty sense of realism as your heroes succumb to a thrashing on a wet Tuesday night in Hornchurch or Hull.

Other locations and wet Tuesday nights are available.

That doesn’t mean that you can’t enjoy football as a neutral. The game can still be a thrilling, entertaining spectacle, even when you have no real vested interest in the outcome. But the feeling of watching your very own side do something wonderful is unmatched. Football shouldn’t just be an opportunity to have a nice time. It should be passionate, thrilling, an occasion when you become so focused on the contest that, in the moment, you forget all of your worries and the dramas that have been keeping you awake at night, and become a living, breathing part of the experience.

I spend my time watching- and writing about- the Pitching In Isthmian League. Whether it’s a Saturday afternoon or a Tuesday night, I’ll be watching two sides I care about equally but not passionately compete in a match that I can have no strong feelings about when it comes to the outcome. When I roll up at a ground and I’m asked for a score prediction, I tend to sit so hard on the fence that I have creosote on my trousers. My stock answer is that I’m hoping for ‘an entertaining four-all draw.’ By the way, in seven years of watching only the Isthmian League, I’ve never seen an entertaining four-all draw, but I live in hope.

In short, my work forces me to be a neutral. And whilst I love it, I also find it dims my enjoyment of the game. I want to punch the air in delight when the folks around me are celebrating. I want to -in short- act like the football supporter I am, but I have to remain entirely unbiased. Even after many years, it still feels unnatural.

And that is why I love the FA Cup.

The FA Cup- and, occasionally, the FA Trophy (thank you Hornchurch)- often gives me the opportunity to watch a match and be a little partizan. I say ‘a little’ because generally I’m sat in a press box which is either surrounded by supporters or directors of both sides or, if one of our clubs reaches the latter stages of a competition, is high up in the gods at the back of a draughty old stand and detached from the action. Two years ago this week, for example, I got to watch Bowers & Pitsea travel to Lincoln City in the FA Cup First Round, and my allocated press seat was so far away from the pitch I almost got altitude sickness. I spent more of the match focused on keeping warm than I did on Rob Small’s heroes in front of me.

Today, however, was going to be different. I had passed up the offer of a seat in the press box and bought a ticket in the stand. I had purchased a seat on a supporters coach. I had left my laptop and camera at home. Today, and for one day only, I was on the march with the Lardy Army, and I was going to abandon any pretence of neutrality to roar on Horsham as they attempted to defeat League One Barnsley in South Yorkshire.

At this point, I must admit a long-term affection for all things Hornet. As a resident of Sussex for twenty three years, many eons before my Isthmian days, I watched Horsham play at ‘home’ at Queen Street, Worthing, Horsham YMCA and Lancing. Although not strictly a Horsham fan, I spent those occasions cheering on the Hornets. I’ve adopted strict neutrality since I started writing about the game as well as watching it, but over two decades I often shared joy and heartache with those who are addicted to lard. On that basis, the report that follows will be painted in shades of green and yellow, and for that I make no apologies.

Normal service will be resumed next week.

Just after eleven o clock on Friday morning, two coaches full of folks wearing yellow and green bucket hats left the park and ride opposite Horsham FC and headed north. It felt…peculiar. It is rather unnatural to set off to a football match on such a day, and indeed it was a touchy subject amongst the travelling faithful. The match was moved to Friday night on the advice of the local police force In Barnsley, and as decisions go, this one was up there with the idea that blowing a hairdryer up your nose will prevent Covid.

If you are lucky enough to be a professional footballer, playing a football match on Friday evening may be an irritant. In contrast, if you are a semi professional footballer, it may well mean you having to waste two days of your holiday entitlement. If you are self employed, it might mean that you lose two days pay. In both cases, it might mean that your family have no option but to miss watching you play in one of the biggest matches of your career.

If you happen to be a supporter, it might mean that work or school commitments prevent you from attending. Nearly a thousand people watch Horsham on a regular basis at home. Nearly two thousand turned out for their Fourth Qualifying Round win over Dorking Wanderers. How many would have travelled to Barnsley had this match been on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, who knows- but it would be worth betting that they’d have filled more than two coaches.

Barnsley supporters have been similarly up in arms about the decision, filling social media with complaints. But it’s of real credit to our Yorkshire brethren than the vast majority of those complaints have been on behalf of their visitors. Twitter (ok, ‘X’) is often a rather poisonous place, but the Tykes faithful have been both kind, indignant on behalf of the Hornets, and incredibly supportive. Mind you, whether they’d be quite so charitable at full time after a defeat…we hoped to find out!

Horsham travelled in fine form- only one defeat from their last fourteen matches across League, Cups and Trophy- and, of course, after outplaying a National League side in the last round. Their hosts, they knew, would pose a tough challenge- they sat in fifth place in League One and are on a five match unbeaten run- but the visitors will have done their homework and be aware that Barnsley’s difficulties this season have all come at Oakwell. Every time the Tykes had lost- and they’d lost five times in all competitions- that defeat had come on their own patch. Indeed, if the league table was calculated on home form alone, they’d be sixteenth.

Many of the away fans arrived at the stadium rather early, the M1 kinder than expected. The rest of the throng arrived- noisily and via a few local hostelries- in the half an hour prior to kick off. “Lardy Army,” and “ No surrender to the low fat spread,” rang out across the concourse. The home fans would need industrial strength ear protection. Once they emerged from the concourse and into the North Stand, their voices rang out across the stadium.

Barnsley informed us that they had sold five hundred away tickets. It was eventually confirmed as five hundred and thirty six. There were people in Sheffield complaining about the noise.

The hosts got us underway, and the early stages were rather cagey. The visitors had the chance to get a free kick into the box on two minutes but failed to beat the first man, and on seven minutes a smart block from Lee Harding gave the Tykes the first corner, which also came to naught. All the while, every successful Horsham pass or block was cheered as if it was a cup winning goal.

The first proper chance arrived in the ninth minute, John McAtee clearing the bar by some yards. The hosts began to dominate possession, however, without really threatening. McAtee then tested Lewis Carey, forcing a corner, and the hosts went ahead. The corner wasn’t properly cleared, the ball was recycled into the box, and Max Watters, entirely unmarked, couldn’t miss. His header rippled the net, and we heard the home fans for the first time. Watters, rather coincidentally, played for the Hornets neighbours Crawley Town during a period when they were training at the Camping World Community Stadium.

Barnsley 1 Horsham 0, 14 minutes

The match went a little flat. The Hornets kept trying to find Daniel Ajakaiye, generally without success, but his work rate remained exceptional despite the lack of accurate service, and you felt that, if he kept working, something would come his way. And then it did, and how. His own endeavour saw him emerge with the ball down the left. He charged forward, leaving defenders in his wake. His pass was perfect, Shamir Fenelon’s finish exceptional, pandemonium the result. If you could have bottled the energy released in the away end we could put British Gas out of business.

Barnsley 1 Horsham 1, Shamir Fenelon, 22 minutes

The hosts pressed. The bar was struck, and Carey made a fine save. A break, and at the other end Ajakaiye made a nuisance of himself once more. We reached the half hour mark with Barnsley on top but creating little. They did create a chance five minutes later, and looked certain to score, but Carey was again equal to their efforts. Up the other end we went, a fine pass from Harding into Ajakaiye, a terrible tackle, penalty!

James Hammond stepped up. His effort was high into the net, Ben Killip beaten, joy and disbelief the outcome. A moment that those present will be recounting to anyone who will listen for years to come.

Barnsley 1 Horsham 2, James Hammond, 38 minutes

“Small town in Sussex, we’re just a small town in Sussex.” It just about summed up the incredulity. And it was utter, unadulterated magnificence.

A minute to the break. Another chance, eight yards out. Another magnificent Carey save. And then, right on forty five minutes, a curling shot from just outside the area. Carey had little chance.

Fabio Jalo had been Barnsley’s biggest threat. This shot proved that correct- and it sent the sides in level.

Barnsley 2 Horsham 2- half time.

After a suitable break, and a half time ‘knocking balls off cones’ contest won by young Horsham fan Miles from…Sheffield, the Hornets got the second half underway, kicking towards their own supporters. “ Lardy Army,” sang the visiting fans, as Scooby Doo made his way up the steps. Luckily Scrappy Doo wasn’t trailing along behind, ready to ruin everything.

The only thing that livened up the first fifteen minutes of the second half was the visiting fans singing, “you’ve got a long drive on Tuesday.” The hosts had most of the ball, but did little with it, until a long rang effort forced another fine Carey save.

Barnsley made changes. Their fans seemed delighted- indeed it was the most animated they’d been all evening. Unfortunately the changes paid dividends, as the hosts went immediately ahead. Mael De Gevigney got the goal, ghosting in to head home a corner.

Barnsley 3 Horsham 2, 63 minutes.

In the seventy third minute the persistence of Lucas Rodrigues saw him rob a defender and burst through the middle. The defender gave chase, dived in, down went Rodrigues, “penalty “ shouted the away fans in unison, no thanks said the referee. The referee was right- it was a fine tackle- but you couldn’t blame them for trying.

Lewis Carey was inspired. With twelve minutes to go he kept his side in the match with FOUR saves in succession. Every shot had you expecting a goal, and just how valuable his efforts were was shown a minute later. Forward went the Hornets, Strange and Rodrigues combined, Tom Richards was at the far post, and, oh my goodness, it was three-three! We had nine minutes left.

Barnsley 3 Horsham 3- Tom Richards, 81 minutes.

“We’re gonna win four-three,” sang the Lardy Army. At this point it felt as if someone would. Two Barnsley corners came to naught, and we had four minutes left. And then we were into added time- but sadly, there was to be at least seven minutes of it.

Barnsley pressed, Horsham stood firm. Three minutes passed. Four. Five. I say passed, they crawled, monotonously. A shot! The net rippled- but it was the side netting. Six minutes. The visiting fans began to whistle. Every dog in Barnsley awoke and barked. Another Barnsley corner. Wasted. Surely that was that? It wasn’t. Another minute, more pressure, and then, finally, the whistle.

Final score: Barnsley 3 Horsham 3

The visiting fans and their heroes were still celebrating together ten minutes after the final whistle. Horsham boss Dom di Paola stood slightly to the side, wearing the smile of a man who couldn’t quite believe what he’d seen. We all understood that. We all felt the same way.

It’s important that we don’t imbue a draw with the qualities of a victory. It wasn’t a victory. But it felt like one, it really did. There are ninety eight places between the two sides in the pyramid, but you wouldn’t have known. The Hornets were truly magnificent. Their followers provided support which wouldn’t have been bettered had there been five thousand behind the goal.

Days like these make it impossible to be a neutral. This day will live long in the memory of those who witnessed it. But, just perhaps, Horsham haven’t finished making memories just yet.

It’ll be a week on Tuesday, but Barnsley will indeed have a long drive.

They won’t relish it.

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