Post by dave on Apr 19, 2024 11:25:16 GMT
I see the News and Star are going to republish a few memories to celebrate 25 years since Jimmy Glass. But I think we fans may do better. What nostalgic anecdotes can we provide of that miserable season and that momentous finale? I was exhausted after the game but a day later managed to record my version of events and emotions. I reproduce this below in the hope that others will contribute their own memories to celebrate one of football`s greatest moments.
I was there
On Saturday May 8, 1999 I was one of 7000 at Brunton Park to watch, as we anticipated, Carlisle`s last match in the Football League.
A scrappy 1–0 victory over Brighton got our season off to a mediocre start. It soon became worse. By Christmas our dreams of promotion had vanished along with some of our best players. The tedium of each successive 0–0 draw or 0–1 defeat was relieved only by an occasional goal from an on-loan player whom we could not afford!
Fortunately, Hull were even worse. Then they put a run together and we were thankful for Scarborough. Tension mounted as Scarborough also got going. The pendulum swung with Carlisle`s win over Torquay and two defeats for `Borough. Then we drew (0-0 of course) at Hartlepool and we no longer were in control of our own destiny. The nail-biting ceased when `Borough beat Plymouth and resignation took over.
On the season`s last day we now had to beat Plymouth and Scarborough must not beat Peterborough at home.
Yes we`d be there on Saturday to take one last longing look at the Third Division, but hope had gone, along with our only goalie, leaving us with an emergency signing to guard the net – someone called Jimmy Glass!
At 3.00 pm the defiant chant was “The Blues are staying up” but we didn`t believe it. Then, 10 minutes in, the whispers of those with radios turned into a full-throated roar – Peterborough had scored. Dare we hope after all? We dared and we said so. Tracey hit the bar, another shot was cleared off the line, Dobie`s goal was unaccountably disallowed by a rubbish ref who knew nothing about football being a man`s game. Hope flooded back, the tension was unbearable. Then Scarborough equalised. And Plymouth scored! You could see the gloom descend, and the emotion of the moment drained colour from every face. A few questioned the Chairman`s antecedents but most just wanted the end. Some, to their great credit, still chanted but our hearts weren`t in it any more. Not, that is, until Brightwell scored the goal of the season…..so far! Then “Nigel Pearson`s blue and white army” sounded across the land once more. Well, more than once actually. Louder still and louder, as even the tannoy announcer broke all regulations and screamed for the Blue Army to sing it again.
The minutes past. Our game had been delayed 5 minutes after a horrific injury to a Plymouth player, so it was the last match in the country to finish. The seconds were counted down. Deep into extra time and across on the east coast another team`s loyal fans were as fraught as we were.
A corner. One last roar as Dobie`s header powered goalwards. Groans of disappointment as the ball was parried out. Then a blur of red. RED??? – amongst the blue and green? A split second of silence as we took it all in. Then I sank back on my seat and whispered my quiet congratulations “Well done Jimmy”.
At least that`s what I told my wife when I returned home hoarse as I`d never been hoarse before.
I don`t know how loud I shouted – I couldn`t hear myself. I don't know how high I jumped – all the East Stand had jumped with me. Rickerby`s green grass had disappeared. So had every player. There were only people. On my right, near the goal, was a mound of bodies higher than the rest. I guessed Jimmy Glass might be there …. but I was only guessing.
For a reason only known to that wonderful ref who had insisted on 5 minutes extra time, the match kicked off again. Just one kick, The Plymouth goalie was in the centre circle! No one else knew what was happening either. Three girls sitting near me were in tears. Then 7000 delirious fans, numb with shock, unable to believe what they had seen with their own eyes, amassed on the pitch to share their joy.
On TV later I saw a Scarborough fan on his pitch hold his head in his hands, also weeping, also unable to believe, and my heart went out to him. But that was later.
Now was relief and rejoicing greater even than our Wembley appearance. Some chanted “Knighton out” instead of savouring the moment, but that passed and happiness was unconfined. I looked back at the East Stand. There were a hundred or so Plymouth fans. They had been to Scarborough on Wednesday and up to Carlisle today, beaten both times. But they sat there and watched.
They`d seen our little bit of history being made, they`d been part of it and I hoped they shared something of our joy. Scarborough, Plymouth, Carlisle – there is a brotherhood of fans in the lower divisions and in football`s outposts who will know the feeling – I was there.
I was there
On Saturday May 8, 1999 I was one of 7000 at Brunton Park to watch, as we anticipated, Carlisle`s last match in the Football League.
A scrappy 1–0 victory over Brighton got our season off to a mediocre start. It soon became worse. By Christmas our dreams of promotion had vanished along with some of our best players. The tedium of each successive 0–0 draw or 0–1 defeat was relieved only by an occasional goal from an on-loan player whom we could not afford!
Fortunately, Hull were even worse. Then they put a run together and we were thankful for Scarborough. Tension mounted as Scarborough also got going. The pendulum swung with Carlisle`s win over Torquay and two defeats for `Borough. Then we drew (0-0 of course) at Hartlepool and we no longer were in control of our own destiny. The nail-biting ceased when `Borough beat Plymouth and resignation took over.
On the season`s last day we now had to beat Plymouth and Scarborough must not beat Peterborough at home.
Yes we`d be there on Saturday to take one last longing look at the Third Division, but hope had gone, along with our only goalie, leaving us with an emergency signing to guard the net – someone called Jimmy Glass!
At 3.00 pm the defiant chant was “The Blues are staying up” but we didn`t believe it. Then, 10 minutes in, the whispers of those with radios turned into a full-throated roar – Peterborough had scored. Dare we hope after all? We dared and we said so. Tracey hit the bar, another shot was cleared off the line, Dobie`s goal was unaccountably disallowed by a rubbish ref who knew nothing about football being a man`s game. Hope flooded back, the tension was unbearable. Then Scarborough equalised. And Plymouth scored! You could see the gloom descend, and the emotion of the moment drained colour from every face. A few questioned the Chairman`s antecedents but most just wanted the end. Some, to their great credit, still chanted but our hearts weren`t in it any more. Not, that is, until Brightwell scored the goal of the season…..so far! Then “Nigel Pearson`s blue and white army” sounded across the land once more. Well, more than once actually. Louder still and louder, as even the tannoy announcer broke all regulations and screamed for the Blue Army to sing it again.
The minutes past. Our game had been delayed 5 minutes after a horrific injury to a Plymouth player, so it was the last match in the country to finish. The seconds were counted down. Deep into extra time and across on the east coast another team`s loyal fans were as fraught as we were.
A corner. One last roar as Dobie`s header powered goalwards. Groans of disappointment as the ball was parried out. Then a blur of red. RED??? – amongst the blue and green? A split second of silence as we took it all in. Then I sank back on my seat and whispered my quiet congratulations “Well done Jimmy”.
At least that`s what I told my wife when I returned home hoarse as I`d never been hoarse before.
I don`t know how loud I shouted – I couldn`t hear myself. I don't know how high I jumped – all the East Stand had jumped with me. Rickerby`s green grass had disappeared. So had every player. There were only people. On my right, near the goal, was a mound of bodies higher than the rest. I guessed Jimmy Glass might be there …. but I was only guessing.
For a reason only known to that wonderful ref who had insisted on 5 minutes extra time, the match kicked off again. Just one kick, The Plymouth goalie was in the centre circle! No one else knew what was happening either. Three girls sitting near me were in tears. Then 7000 delirious fans, numb with shock, unable to believe what they had seen with their own eyes, amassed on the pitch to share their joy.
On TV later I saw a Scarborough fan on his pitch hold his head in his hands, also weeping, also unable to believe, and my heart went out to him. But that was later.
Now was relief and rejoicing greater even than our Wembley appearance. Some chanted “Knighton out” instead of savouring the moment, but that passed and happiness was unconfined. I looked back at the East Stand. There were a hundred or so Plymouth fans. They had been to Scarborough on Wednesday and up to Carlisle today, beaten both times. But they sat there and watched.
They`d seen our little bit of history being made, they`d been part of it and I hoped they shared something of our joy. Scarborough, Plymouth, Carlisle – there is a brotherhood of fans in the lower divisions and in football`s outposts who will know the feeling – I was there.