Deep into the heart of the season now. The nights were growing longer. Well, the nights had crept into afternoons. We've reached that stage where you go to work in the dark and go home in the dark. That bit in between, at work, we're usually all in the dark whether it's winter or summer, that's a given.
At this time of year the casual punter will be put off by the cold, by Christmas shopping, maybe even by their side being awful. Clubs need to get their thinking caps on to pull in the punters. Luckily, Barnet have been innovative.
First of all, they somehow bring in Dutch superstar, the dreadlocked Champions League winner Edgar Davids. Most importantly, though, they rearrange a Saturday afternoon match to a Friday night. Oh yes.
Barnet have always been one of those endearing clubs, even in their non league days, battling and losing out on the Conference title for what seemed about 52 years before Barry Fry took them up. With North London being carved up between Spurs and Arsenal - and Man Utd of course - they've had to survive on their dyed-in-the-wool fans and little else.
There's plenty going for the club though. Dead easy to get to. Chipper and I waited in the rush hour at Moorgate tube. Absolutely rammed, with no prospect of getting the High Barnet train. But just a few stairs below, the overhead line to New Barnet, virtually empty. Perfect.
Then, just by the Odeon after a short wander from the stadium, a chippy where it seems you can buy anything. A massive clump of chips and a jumbo sausage for £3.50. Blimey. Now, I could make all sorts of childish jokes about my massive sausage. Except for two things. One, I'm vegetarian. And two, I'd only be deluding myself if I did.
We make the short way to Underhill and it's as league football used to be. The stewards are human and happy to engage in a bit of chat with you. The club is a portacabin and absolutely rammed with club merchandise. We settle on a club vest. And, best of all, cash turnstiles. But then Nirvana. Just £14 secures us a spot on the North West terrace. Yep, terrace. Not seats. Oh yes. Again.
Underhill is maybe untidy and old fashioned but it's homely. An open terrace behind the goal, and covered standing enclosure. To our right was the main stand, then behind the other was a newly built stand. There's not a big crowd in but you can tell the people that do turn up have done so for decades, maybe having the same spot on the terraces for decades.
They're in trouble though. Bottom two of League 2, and in their last season before what seems to be an unwanted move to one of new all singing, all dancing, characterless stadiums to share with Wealdstone. Even with the ageing Dutch maestro, a recent 4-1 stuffing had kept the Bees firmly entrenched in the drop zone.
Their opponents tonight, Accrington Stanley, had a well documented sad past, unable to last a league season and Peel Park sold off, but an equally well known return to the pro ranks. And, of course, that poxy milk ad in between. He might have been a hell of a player, but manager Ian Rush? Who's he? Oh yeah, they guy who helped take Chester City out of the league Stanley now occupied. Karma. And chortle.
The game kicked off in front of a small crowd, although it wasn't helped by an understandably low turnout from Lancashire. They were in the lower reaches of League Two as well, and with having to take a half day off at least to make the trip, it was hardly surprising only around 70 Accrington supporters were there.
As it turned out, though, Barnet's innovation paid off. More Barnet fans had turned up then at any point bar one game this season. That wasn't all. Throughout the first half, programme sellers, 50/50 ticket sellers, and even scarf sellers, were mingling with the crowd, bringing those extra pennies in. Such an obvious common sense idea but rarely seen elsewhere.
The bit on the pitch, though, was predictable. There was an obvious lack of confidence from both sides, who seemed to be scared of making mistakes rather than going for anything. A Barnet shot bouncing off the bar and an Accrington Stanley header a foot over was the sum total of their efforts. Only a couple of players had impressed. Barry Fuller, the Barnet right back, looked tidy.
And, well it had to be, Edgar Davids. He did everything right, seemed to be in the right place and the right time on the pitch, delivering the right passes, making the right runs. A lovely foray down the left and perfect cross to the far post reminded you why he became a superstar at the World Cup in France. An absolute joy to watch. For just £14. Bargain of the season.
It livens up considerably in the second half. Nice play from Ricky Holmes, his centre is blocked, then from the edge of the area, that man Davids turns in a low, accurate shot that is well saved. Then at the other end, Graham Stack does really well to keep out a 1-on-1 shot. Except the ball parries off him, bounces of Rom Boco, and ends up in the net. That's how your luck goes at the bottom.
Stanley take control and create more chances. Barnet defenders are more jittery than a jitterbug with the jitters. It seems to be a matter of time before the game is put to bed. The home side's attacks are sporadic. Ricky Holmes, out on the touchline is given a pass that's about three feet above his head, and hit at 70mph. He shakes his head.
Dean Winnard comes over to take the throw in for Accrington. The ball's about two yards away from him. He stands there, shouting angrily at a ball boy. The lad is a good 20 yards away from the ball. The lazy knacker, shouting at a 10 year old like that. He deservedly gets dog's abuse from the terrace, all a lot closer to him than the ball boy is. He looks startled.
A few minutes later, he stumbles over himself and starts to limp. That's Karma. You f***ing twat. Behind him, Ricky Holmes again makes a run into the area. There's the merest of contact, a bit of a shove, and he's actually playing on. It was done, though, right in front of the ref. Soft penalty, yes. But definitely a penalty. The Stanley defenders shout at the culprit rather than the ref. Chortle.
Mark Byrne steps up to take it. Chipper and I have a great view of it, level with the penalty spot. He steps up. As does the Stanley keeper. It's low and to his left. He makes a great save. There's a scramble. The lino, we both spot, is waving his flag furiously. He's still near the goal-line. My first thought is that he's going to give a free kick.
The ref goes over, has a word, then points to the penalty spot again. Loud cheers. Again, no complaints. We'd seen the keeper off his line, but it happens so often. It seems the match officials want to make their name. Nobody's worrying at the moment though. Byrne steps up again. Whacks it in the same place. But this time in the back of the net. Game on.
It's now anyone's game. The Stanley left winger gets by Davids near the area. He trips him. Yellow card. At that point, Accrington make a substitution. James Beattie comes on. Yes, that James Beattie. Accrington Stanley's James Beattie comes on as Barnet's Egdar Davids is booked. You can't get any more surreal than that.
Well, you can. Davids and Beattie go for the ball in the centre circle and push into each other, a proper 50/50 challenge. The Dutchman comes away with the ball. Then the ref's whistle blows. The Stanley players run in and surround the ref. But they needn't have bothered making themselves look like playground kids having a tantrum. His mind is already made up. Edgar Davids is sent off. Ridiculous.
He's given warm applause by the crowd. He hasn't wasted a single pass, hasn't made a single unnecessary run. He's been the quickest player on the pitch. And by some distance the best I've seen this year. He struggled at Palace desperately last year but, even at 39, he's light years above League Two. A real privilege to watch.
The game fizzles out. Neither team done anything much to deserve the win, but no side deserved to lose. The draw temporarily lifts Barnet out of the relegation zone and puts Accrington Stanley four points clear of it. There's been far worse ways to spend a Friday evening. That we are about to find out.
Plenty of tubes at High Barnet. We get on. As does a bag lady. Literally. She has half a dozen filled up Tesco carrier bags. She stinks of fish or something. And, below her chinny chin chin. She has a beard. This is beyond surreal. But the smell was beyond description. I need a shower just by being in the same hemisphere as the bag lady.
On the train back to the Bay are two pissed up City workers. They talk loudly about the North London derby and slag off a Spurs player who they claim is on £70,000 a week and never does a job for them, with AVB never picking him. I'd say it's more to do with him actually playing for West Ham, but that's just me being picky.
He then claims he's the manager of a women's football team that's top of the table. Which is coincidental as I spoke to the manager of that club earlier in the day. Unless they've suddenly secured 15 points today they're not top. And unless the guy's put on three stone, and had a face lift to age him by a decade, he's not the manager either. But again, it's probably just me being picky.
I reach the Bay just after midnight, tired but glowing after the pleasure of a Friday night out with Edgar Davids. Barnet have another Friday night next month. We might just have another night out with Eddie and the boys. Providing he can last the full 90 minutes.
And so to bed.
Barnet 1, Accrington Stanley 1
.
At this time of year the casual punter will be put off by the cold, by Christmas shopping, maybe even by their side being awful. Clubs need to get their thinking caps on to pull in the punters. Luckily, Barnet have been innovative.
First of all, they somehow bring in Dutch superstar, the dreadlocked Champions League winner Edgar Davids. Most importantly, though, they rearrange a Saturday afternoon match to a Friday night. Oh yes.
There's plenty going for the club though. Dead easy to get to. Chipper and I waited in the rush hour at Moorgate tube. Absolutely rammed, with no prospect of getting the High Barnet train. But just a few stairs below, the overhead line to New Barnet, virtually empty. Perfect.
Then, just by the Odeon after a short wander from the stadium, a chippy where it seems you can buy anything. A massive clump of chips and a jumbo sausage for £3.50. Blimey. Now, I could make all sorts of childish jokes about my massive sausage. Except for two things. One, I'm vegetarian. And two, I'd only be deluding myself if I did.
We make the short way to Underhill and it's as league football used to be. The stewards are human and happy to engage in a bit of chat with you. The club is a portacabin and absolutely rammed with club merchandise. We settle on a club vest. And, best of all, cash turnstiles. But then Nirvana. Just £14 secures us a spot on the North West terrace. Yep, terrace. Not seats. Oh yes. Again.
They're in trouble though. Bottom two of League 2, and in their last season before what seems to be an unwanted move to one of new all singing, all dancing, characterless stadiums to share with Wealdstone. Even with the ageing Dutch maestro, a recent 4-1 stuffing had kept the Bees firmly entrenched in the drop zone.
Their opponents tonight, Accrington Stanley, had a well documented sad past, unable to last a league season and Peel Park sold off, but an equally well known return to the pro ranks. And, of course, that poxy milk ad in between. He might have been a hell of a player, but manager Ian Rush? Who's he? Oh yeah, they guy who helped take Chester City out of the league Stanley now occupied. Karma. And chortle.
The game kicked off in front of a small crowd, although it wasn't helped by an understandably low turnout from Lancashire. They were in the lower reaches of League Two as well, and with having to take a half day off at least to make the trip, it was hardly surprising only around 70 Accrington supporters were there.
The bit on the pitch, though, was predictable. There was an obvious lack of confidence from both sides, who seemed to be scared of making mistakes rather than going for anything. A Barnet shot bouncing off the bar and an Accrington Stanley header a foot over was the sum total of their efforts. Only a couple of players had impressed. Barry Fuller, the Barnet right back, looked tidy.
And, well it had to be, Edgar Davids. He did everything right, seemed to be in the right place and the right time on the pitch, delivering the right passes, making the right runs. A lovely foray down the left and perfect cross to the far post reminded you why he became a superstar at the World Cup in France. An absolute joy to watch. For just £14. Bargain of the season.
Stanley take control and create more chances. Barnet defenders are more jittery than a jitterbug with the jitters. It seems to be a matter of time before the game is put to bed. The home side's attacks are sporadic. Ricky Holmes, out on the touchline is given a pass that's about three feet above his head, and hit at 70mph. He shakes his head.
Dean Winnard comes over to take the throw in for Accrington. The ball's about two yards away from him. He stands there, shouting angrily at a ball boy. The lad is a good 20 yards away from the ball. The lazy knacker, shouting at a 10 year old like that. He deservedly gets dog's abuse from the terrace, all a lot closer to him than the ball boy is. He looks startled.
Mark Byrne steps up to take it. Chipper and I have a great view of it, level with the penalty spot. He steps up. As does the Stanley keeper. It's low and to his left. He makes a great save. There's a scramble. The lino, we both spot, is waving his flag furiously. He's still near the goal-line. My first thought is that he's going to give a free kick.
The ref goes over, has a word, then points to the penalty spot again. Loud cheers. Again, no complaints. We'd seen the keeper off his line, but it happens so often. It seems the match officials want to make their name. Nobody's worrying at the moment though. Byrne steps up again. Whacks it in the same place. But this time in the back of the net. Game on.
It's now anyone's game. The Stanley left winger gets by Davids near the area. He trips him. Yellow card. At that point, Accrington make a substitution. James Beattie comes on. Yes, that James Beattie. Accrington Stanley's James Beattie comes on as Barnet's Egdar Davids is booked. You can't get any more surreal than that.
Well, you can. Davids and Beattie go for the ball in the centre circle and push into each other, a proper 50/50 challenge. The Dutchman comes away with the ball. Then the ref's whistle blows. The Stanley players run in and surround the ref. But they needn't have bothered making themselves look like playground kids having a tantrum. His mind is already made up. Edgar Davids is sent off. Ridiculous.
The game fizzles out. Neither team done anything much to deserve the win, but no side deserved to lose. The draw temporarily lifts Barnet out of the relegation zone and puts Accrington Stanley four points clear of it. There's been far worse ways to spend a Friday evening. That we are about to find out.
Plenty of tubes at High Barnet. We get on. As does a bag lady. Literally. She has half a dozen filled up Tesco carrier bags. She stinks of fish or something. And, below her chinny chin chin. She has a beard. This is beyond surreal. But the smell was beyond description. I need a shower just by being in the same hemisphere as the bag lady.
He then claims he's the manager of a women's football team that's top of the table. Which is coincidental as I spoke to the manager of that club earlier in the day. Unless they've suddenly secured 15 points today they're not top. And unless the guy's put on three stone, and had a face lift to age him by a decade, he's not the manager either. But again, it's probably just me being picky.
I reach the Bay just after midnight, tired but glowing after the pleasure of a Friday night out with Edgar Davids. Barnet have another Friday night next month. We might just have another night out with Eddie and the boys. Providing he can last the full 90 minutes.
And so to bed.
Barnet 1, Accrington Stanley 1
.
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