Fearless in devotion… and everything else
Halloween is a holiday that our transatlantic chairmen would probably get more excited about than the average Joe Welshman. They really push the boat out for big pumpkins and elaborate pranks over there, and October 31st is taken far more seriously in Tinseltown than Tanyfron. But as the three worlds of America, Canada and Wales continue to intertwine, it seems that spooky season has come to Wrexham after all.
You can bet your bottom dollar, or quid, that hundreds of youths will be banging on doors in North Wales this week dressed in Deadpool costumes for Trick or Treat. But traditions aside, the otherworldly essence of Halloween appears to have also seeped into the football club itself.
Consider the hex on our beloved Aaron Hayden, who seems to fail fitness tests mere days after he returns to action. Someone somewhere must also be pushing pins into a voodoo doll of Jordan Tunnicliffe, who was raring to go against Notts County only to be yanked from the lineup as swiftly as a jack-o’-lantern from a window on November 1st. And then there’s the curious case of Billy Waters - who disappeared down the tunnel against Swindon and hasn’t been seen since, vanishing into the night. Did he ever even really exist?
In a former life, this unsettling chain of scenarios might have been enough to send shivers down the spines of Wrexham AFC supporters. But Parky’s unwavering nonchalance in the midst of all these unfortunate events has been like watching a horror movie with your old man: You look to your side and see he’s not scared, so you don’t need to be either.
Parky’s Wrexham is a fearless entity. If it was plonked in that Will Smith Hollywood film where monsters sniff out terror, it would merrily skip right on through and perhaps pause en route for a little lie down in the park, whilst the creatures looked around and scratched their heads in confusion. Thankfully, back on Planet Earth, the closest our squad has come to an encounter with any unnatural beings is a visit to Birkenhead for that Tranmere game, and for the most part, the bravery has been about finding a way to win, whatever dread might befall us.
We keep finding ways to do it. Even when we were out of sorts against the league’s basement side Sutton last Tuesday, we still managed to pull out some fireworks to scare them off and steal the points.
Halloween horror is shifting away from the paranormal and into digital territory now, with malicious AI pushing the poltergeist off centre stage as the most evil thing we could potentially encounter in the modern world. And indeed, Reds fans could be forgiven for feeling terrified on Saturday morning that they were stuck in some sort of scream-worthy Black Mirror time warp. We were playing Notts County, our old foes from last season, yet somehow everything looked exactly the same. We were both breathing down each other’s necks at the top of the table… but we could have sworn we’d already won this promotion battle six months ago with the Hand of Ben?
Alas, it turned out this was purely a familiar reality and not a sweat-inducing simulation designed by some twisted tech antagonist who delighted in stuffing us through a never-ending emotional wringer. Wrexham and Notts were jousting at the summit in waking life - only in a higher league.
That realisation was reassuring until the team sheets were distributed on social media later in the afternoon. The nervous chatter that punctuated Nottingham pubs when the infographic appeared on screens was followed by Reds tugging on their collars and biting their nails. The lineup looked lop-sided, with a surprise start for the forgotten Andy Cannon. And if we weren’t worried enough, Jordan Tunnicliffe didn’t appear on the field when the game began, having been quietly replaced by the out-of-form Ben Tozer following an injury in the warm-up.
It all felt a bit “off”. We knew Notts would come to play - and there was every chance they could turn over this unfamiliar Wrexham team. They had the perfect chance to really shit us up ahead of Halloween. And they knew it.
At kick-off, big BOOOOOO’s rang out at our lads from the oldest set of supporters in the country - a club so ancient it could easily be haunted. But not a single Red on that sun-kissed Meadow Lane pitch so much as blinked.
Not Jacob Mendy, who calmly went out about his business out of position against a terrifyingly talented Jodi Jones. Not Tozer, who dexterously snuffed out the snake-like movements of Notts’ Pound Shop Mullin, Macaulay Langstaff. Not Cannon, who battled with defiance in the middle against any midfielder who popped up like a jump-scare in his field of vision. And certainly not Ollie Palmer - who panicked badly on this same patch of grass last year with a hatful of missed chances. On this occasion he simply slotted the ball home and charged across to the sideline: A pumped fist from our striker told us that we would be ok, now. And we felt courageous enough to croon: “Notts are falling apaaaaart again!”
We had won again and all was well. There was nothing to be scared about.
Hopefully, once Halloween has been and gone, Hayden will overcome his curse, Tunnicliffe will be liberated from his hoodoo, and an apparition of Billy Waters will appear in cup competitions, bang in some goals, shrug and ask: “What were you all worried about? I’m sound, la”. But even then, there will be more disquieting encounters for the Red Army to face.
There will be the match at Accrington Stanley, who are like butchers with their thumbs on the scales charging us an extra fiver for tickets and just hoping we didn’t notice. There will be more absenteeism. And there will be bad results and setbacks. But it should be ok, whatever happens.
Why? Because Wrexham has shown itself to be, as the battle cry goes, Fearless in Devotion.
And indeed, just plain fearless.