No more encores, we beg
Human beings are constantly inventing colourful new ways to describe football. Famous examples include: “The Beautiful Game”; “The Fickle Mistress”; and “A Matter More Important than Life or Death”. But the most illustrative quote is one coined (apparently) by Dmitri Shostakovich - a composer and musician who called the sport “The Ballet of the Masses”.
He was right, wasn’t he? This week, in particular, has felt theatrical.
On Tuesday night, as a troupe of Spireites coaches pirouetted slowly around Mold Road - twisting, turning and touching down in the cool, white glow of The Racecourse’s mighty spotlights - you could sense a show was about to start. The sight of the away team fan buses spinning in the road, flocked by luminescent police jackets, was a reminder that the curtain was about to be pulled back at any moment, and a palpable tremor of emotion fluttered through the crowd of nearby Reds hovering in the shadows of Maesgwyn Hall.
Even in a Wrexham season where weekend productions have served up three, four and five-star entertainment, the pre-match jitters still haven’t gone away.
“Tonight, I think, we’ll see what this team is made of,” one Red said, chewing thoughtfully on his rollie and letting the blue smoke wash over him as he stared towards the hallowed stadium humming with anticipation in the chilly night.
“We’ll see whether our boys are up for it, or if they will just ‘do a Wrexham’?”
His comment was unnerving, but not unfair. Whenever these main events roll around Wrexham always seem to get crippled by stage fright.
True, we kept our nerve in the FA Trophy in 2013, and we’ve produced some wonderful showings in the FA Cup. But by and large, the Red Dragons’ results list in the National League theatre makes for grim reading.
Luton. Newport. Dag & Red. Grimsby. North Ferriby United. Bromley. All of these clubs have bested us in the big fixtures. Tuesday’s match against Chesterfield wasn’t a defining moment - there’d be no silverware or leg-ups into the Football League as a reward for winning. And it wasn’t the best Spireites side we’d ever face - they were in an awful slump, with manager Paul Cook discovering you can’t shout a football team into form, no matter how furious your face might be. But it would offer some insight as to whether our club - which is being cheered on by the whole of Hollywood and an international audience - has transformed its state of mind as well as its reputation. It was the dress rehearsal ahead of the grand finale.
That’s why such an almighty roar of relief washed over The Racecourse when Elliot Lee put us ahead after just four minutes - a reaction that left one stunned American Tech End first-timer exclaiming: “Oh my God, that noise!”. Super Sam followed up with a second and despite a late Spireites rally, we came out winners. Perhaps this was proof that our team could do it when the chips were down.
And then, things got even better. It’s-Notts-Fair County had a chance to respond on Saturday afternoon, and they fluffed their lines. The Magpies - who so desperately want to be top of the bill they’ve convinced themselves we’re being secretly helped by the stage managers behind the scenes - could only manage a draw at Bromley. And suddenly, our evening kick-off at Maidenhead gave us chance to pull even further clear and put one Welsh hand on the title.
But it went begging.
The Reds gave an uneven account of themselves in London, and Rob Lainton’s indecisive understudy Mark Howard suffered a real-life ‘trousers falling down in front of a big crowd’ moment with a 90th-minute calamity. Whilst our shot-stopper was changing his mind about whether he should rush out or remain in goal, a Maidenhead striker casually rolled the ball into the net for a simple finish, and there was no time to make amends.
2-2 it ended and our chance had gone.
As our visibly crestfallen keeper lay sprawled out on the York Road turf and the BT commentators gushed over another “big twist in the title race”, Reds fans were recoiling. That sickeningly familiar late-night stage fright - the achilles heel we thought had been combatted after Chesterfield - had reared its ugly head again.
The terrace chant of choice right now - “Ohhhhh, everywhere we go… watching Wrexham FC, putting on a show” - is testament to how well our stars have performed this season. But after watching us tour non-league arenas for fifteen years, we’re ready to move on. There are no new fancy moves we can try, and no exciting stunts to perform. The final few performances are simply a matter of doing the basics and holding our nerve.
Rival supporters seem to think that being a modern Wrexham fan involves slapping the backs of celebs, slurping magnums of champagne, and slipping brown envelopes into the pockets of referees to guarantee Pele Mullin is awarded at least one penalty per match. But in truth, we’re just nervous parents watching our beloved sons perform on stage, praying and hoping that everything goes ok.
There are 11 more shows until the curtain comes down on Wrexham’s National League season.
In an ideal world, there will be no encore.