The anatomy of football limbs
After being locked out of stadiums for 16 long months, it was inevitable there’d be some overexcited crowds this season.
We’d missed the cold stands, the hot Bovril, and the lukewarm displays of red-shirted men kicking a bag of air around in real-time so much, even 44 consecutive 0-0s might have still gotten fans on their feet.
As it so happens, though, Hollywood Chapter One has served up enough cinematic matchdays to fill a Wrexham Classics highlight reel. To borrow from the modern nomenclature, it’s led to lots of ‘Limbs’ - untamed celebrations of various shape, size and semblance.
There have been ‘Cathartic Limbs’ - like when The Lads came to visit vs Torquay and a writhing, restless Racecourse felt like a balloon being held underwater until Harry Lennon’s strike sent incredible noise rushing to the surface.
There have been ‘Ecstatic Limbs’ - like at Halifax where Pele Mullin’s late winner sent roars rolling across the South Pennines so loud that dog-walkers stopped to record the sound.
And there have been ‘Thank God For That Limbs’ - like last weekend at Wealdstone.
Nobody is sure how we managed to win in North-West London on Saturday. Or quite how it happened. One minute we’re losing to a penalty. The next, Jordan Davies is curling a beauty into the top corner and Reece Hall-Johnson is side-footing in a 96th minute winner.
After RHJ hits that ball, it’s all a bit of a blur. There was a little glimpse of the defender racing past us with his shirt off and then it’s just bodies colliding. Elated faces. Wide eyes. Clenched fists. Torsos on the ground. Pairs of feet in the air. Crowd bars collapsing. A nightmare for any ordinary person and a football fan’s wet dream.
The only man who managed not to lose his mind in the melee was our captain Cool Head Luke, who cut the figure of a tough-but-fair school teacher as he told fans in a firm manner to “please get off the pitch, lads” whilst his teammates piled on top of one another in the background.
After we’d all finished hugging the strangers beside us, we puffed out our cheeks, mopped our brows, and picked up the contents of our pockets that had spilled out onto the steps. “How did that happen?” we quizzed one another as we waddled back to the coaches.
It had been a poor performance in poor conditions. But we still found a way to nick it.
“You are f*cking joking. Wrexham score” tweeted the exasperated Wealdstone FC fans account when the winner went in.
Adding at full-time: “This one hurts.”
Wealdstone were a hard-working, tough team and they’ll be alright. But on Saturday, the Gods were smiling on us. With another three points under our belts and a quick turnaround for the potential play-off rehearsal at a depleted Chesterfield, it felt like our luck was starting to turn…
Ball’s in our court
“Wrexham have a very good manager in Phil Parkinson. They had a very good win on Saturday and I'm sure it's a game that will draw a very good crowd tomorrow. It should be a good one.”
Chesterfield manager Paul Cook was a positive, happy chappy in his pre-match interview this week, wasn’t he?
Surprising, really, given the circumstances.
“Good” is not a word that many other Spireites found themselves uttering once these past few weeks, let alone four times in a single conversation.
The mood over on the blue side of Derbyshire has been worse than the weather, with manager James Rowe departing under a cloud, goal king Kabongo Tshimanga struck down as if by lightning, and club stalwart Curtis Weston sent off for his blustery behaviour against playoff pushers Solihull Moors.
It’s not often you get to play a promotion rival that’s lost their manager, top scorer, captain and form in quick succession, so if there was ever time for us to beat Chesterfield, it was Tuesday.
Sensing a win, half of Wrexham town clocked off early and headed east - climbing aboard an eight-strong fleet of stuffy Pat’s Coaches that spent three hours huffing and puffing through the Peak District in treacly traffic - and past scary teenagers with burger grease on their faces camped on a corner to flick V signs - reaching the Technique Stadium with just 15 minutes until kick-off.
There’d be no time for jagerbombs in the Donkey Derby pub this year, with many of the 1,800 travelling Reds queuing to get in behind the goal as the players came out. Hundreds were stood shoulder to shoulder on the steps unable to find a seat when the game began, and as fans twisted their necks in the hope of spotting a vacant blue chair somewhere, goalkeeper Rob Lainton was performing his own brand of athletics - dipping, diving and deflecting shots from Chesterfield’s strikers to keep the score at 0-0.
After 45 minutes under the cosh, the excitement fizzled into gloom in the concourse at half-time.
“What is this Wrexham group? Who are we? What’s our identity?!” honked one angry Red, deep in the throes of an apparent existential crisis.
Within a few minutes, he could have answered his own question in several ways, summarising Wrexham AFC as spirited, stoic, tenacious, or bastards.
The Chesterfield stewards would’ve certainly gone for the latter.
When Billionaire Bulldozer Ollie Palmer bundled in two scabby goals in the 58th and 68th minute to spark ‘Absolute Limbs’ (another breed of celebration seen this year), Chesterfield’s surly hi-vis staff leapt into action, visibly despising their duties of keeping the unruly Welsh fans in check. Attempts from one Red to cheer up a steward by leading her in a slow dance failed to raise her spirits.
The Chesterfield players, too, would probably agree that “bastards” summarised Wrexham best.
No matter what the Spireites threw at us in the second half, centre-backs Ben Tozer, Aaron Hayden and young Max Cleworth just wouldn’t budge. It was the kind of resolute defensive display that ex-captain Shaun Pearson - who was grinning with his hood up in the away end - would’ve been proud of. On the rare occasions the line was breached, Lainton was there to bat the effort away.
And, surely, Chesterfield fans would concur with “bastards” as an accurate definition for Wrexham.
When a shot fizzed into the away stand during the dying embers of the game, one Red gobbled up the ball - pouncing like a cat on a yarn - and refused to give it back. Fans then proceeded to volley the ball around the terrace for a good five minutes, playing keep-away from the stewards who were more irritated than us to hear there’d be eight minutes of stoppage time.
But the ball was in our court in every sense. And the night was ours. 2-0.
The players’ full-time victory lap was one of the most impassioned in recent memory; Parky enjoying a big old fist pump that delighted even his most committed critics.
To borrow from the optimistic Playbook of Paul Cook, it’s all looking “very good” right now.
There’s real belief this bunch of bastards might just be going up after all.
Taking on the Tinpots
In sport, being called “bastards” isn’t all that bad. Sometimes, it can serve as a synonym for the passionate coaches, the physical strikers, the feisty midfielders and the combative defenders. Ex-Red Brett Ormerod actually mentioned on the FiD podcast last week that the people he admired most in football were those with a bit of an aggressive streak.
But one characterisation that can never be construed as anything other than offensive in this world, however, is “tinpot” - a label many Wrexham fans have slapped on our next opponents Aldershot Town FC.
It all goes back to Mopgate - the infamous match that took place in October 2021.
The Reds had gone 2-0 up at The Recreation Ground and were strolling to victory, only for the game to be brought to a halt due to a waterlogged pitch. As Wrexham’s players desperately tried to sweep the water off the grass so the match could continue, their opposite numbers were in no apparent rush to help, perhaps excited at the prospect of returning to the warmth of their opulent Hampshire homes for an early Southern English dinner of Crab Sandwiches served on a chopping board with a side of Stilton and Grape Tyrrells Crisps. That’s what they eat down there, isn’t it?
Anyway, despite Aaron Hayden and Pele Mullin brushing and mopping with enough commitment to prove they’d have made fine landscapers in another life, the pitch was declared unplayable, and the squad was sent home with no points.
A stunned Rob McElhenney bellowed into the Twittersphere: “We need to get out of this fucking league”. Wrexham.com were so furious they could barely get their words out, with the local account tweeting: “Tinpot league. Aldershot are tinpot club.”
The rematch - which seemed destined for a defeat - actually turned out to be a justified walkover, with Wrexham waltzing to a sweet-tasting 5-0 victory.
The Shots venture up to The Racecourse on Saturday searching for a much-needed three points after going the whole of February without winning. It won’t be easy playing in front of another massive Welsh crowd - some of whom remain embittered by the abandonment back in autumn and would love to turn them over again.
But are Aldershot really as shoddy as some suggest? After all, they’ve been in the Football League more recently than we have - even making the League Two play-offs in 2010. They’re still averaging gates just shy of 2,000, too, which isn’t bad considering the miserable season they’re enduring.
To get a more balanced perspective, I consulted a friend who hails from Guildford - a neighbouring region of Aldershot - to give his two cents.
“It’s a squalid town full of knobs! More like Aldershite!” he replied.
That very droll and insightful observation about Aldershot was probably still nicer than some of the comments coming out of North Wales, mind.
So, that’s this weekend: The Bastards vs The Tinpots. Should be a fun one, eh?
Scraps from the fryer
Barriers are down, doors are closed
Torquay United fans are another group labelling their opponents “tinpot” this weekend - with their scheduled match at Wealdstone abruptly going behind closed doors due to safety issues.
The perimeter fencing at Grosvenor Vale collapsed under the weight of Wrexham’s ‘Thank God For That Limbs’ on Saturday - and the damage has proven far more crippling than Wealdstone might have feared.
The Stones posted a statement on Thursday saying the club was “surprised and disappointed to receive a letter from the local council with a prohibition notice informing us that home matches must be played behind closed doors, with no spectators admitted, until the remedial works to replace the entire Pitch Perimeter Barrier have been completed.”
The Wealdstone board’s frustration appears to be primarily directed at the local council as opposed to the Reds - with their stadium pitch barriers having already “failed” once before back in January.
But the Gulls that had been preparing to flock to Grosvenor Vale tomorrow were angry - squawking about the fact they’d already booked travel. Stones supporters, too, were considerably pissed off - lamenting both the state of their stadium and the council’s handcuffing response, with Wrexham’s exuberant celebrations recognised as the coup de grace for an accident that was just waiting to happen.
The only fanbase that seem happy about the whole situation are Barnet, who have taken a perverse pleasure in their neighbour’s predicament.
As one Bee stated: “[That’s] karma for your fans smashing up our ground!”
The best? Depends who you talk to…
Just think about the hundreds of players who’ve pulled on the famous shirt in the 14 years since we fell out of the EFL trapdoor. It’s a diverse list, alright, ranging from decorated winners of English League Cups (Frank Sinclair; Matt Jansen), Scottish Premier Leagues (Marvin Andrews) and Olympic Gold Medals (Patrick Suffo) through to squad members who vanished without a trace (anyone remember Théophile N'Tamé? Theo Bailey-Jones? David Brown?).
But then, there have also been a few superb talents to grace The Racecourse pitch since 2008. The kind of names we loved to see on the team sheet. The sorts of players who were often worth the price of admission alone.
Local publication The Daily Post ran a poll this week inviting readers to name the greatest Wrexham player of the non-league era and the winner emerged as Louis Moult - the charismatic striker who went on to tear it up at Motherwell before moving to Preston North End and later Burton Albion.
Moult - who has maintained a strong bond with Wrexham fans since leaving North Wales seven years ago - called the achievement a “huge honour”.
In the days afterwards, a second poll followed on RedPassion which intriguingly produced a different set of results.
Moult - at the time of writing - came third place in this ballot. Midfield maestro Glenn Little ranked second, whereas the best player of non-league by an absolute country mile was Dean Keates - taking around 30% of the vote.
He was never the most popular manager for Wrexham - even over two spells. But the way in which Keates repeatedly defied his diminutive stature to boss the midfield from 2010-15 has clearly lived long in the memory.
A special mention also goes to the Coedy Assassin Jordan Davies - who trumped the likes of Neil Ashton, Danny Wright and Curtis Obeng in votes despite the fact he only re-signed back in 2020 - and many of his appearances took place in COVID when fans were banned.
Whilst it’s interesting to see how results differ for each poll, let’s just hope this year’s team are the final set of contenders for the best players of Wrexham’s non-league years. That’s what we’re all dreaming of, aren’t we? A time when we can look back on non-league as an era. Rather than a life sentence.