I felt the ever coldening chill of the October evening as I walked from a prior engagement in the West End of Morecambe to the home end at the Mazuma Mobile Arena, but the brisk walk gave me some bodily warmth to start the evening off. As I met my pal M, I was feeling good; the kind of lazy optimism of the ignorant gave me some butterflies, whilst the budding statistician in me cleared their throat at the idea of the three points on offer actually being claimed.
As me and M took our place in the stand, the announcer was keen to point out the inclement temperature and wind, and how that was better motivation for us to show our appreciation of the Shrimpettes - Morecambe's cheerleading arm. The same could be said for the team; I was certainly happy to be wearing trousers and a coat and not having to run 10km in 90 minutes.
The first half was an unmitigated joy. The reds were as speedy, proactive, and organised as I'd ever seen them, sharing a pretty even possession with their counterparts, fashioning regular chances, and, helped by an assured performance by keeper Stuart Moore, were not too troubled at the back.
Looking back, I am shocked that the opening goal, coming as an own goal off Bradford's Diabate, happened in the fifth minute. It felt a lot later than that. But then, when hanging on to a single goal lead, your perception of time gets stretched all over the place. I remember the action for the goal in the Bradford box at the opposite end from where I stood. I saw that the ball was pea-rolling toward their goal line, but so slow that I just assumed that a Bradford player would clear it at any minute. Eventually, the cheers of my fellow Morecumbrians sank into my ears, and I was elated to realise we were ahead.
Morecambe were positive in their build up, and professional at the back, keeping their shape well and, amid spirited forays by the visitors, looked the better side. They may have easily converted one of the many promising moves if not for a better pass, or a slip by the Bantams.
I always enjoy watching the Morecambe young'uns practising their penalties at half time. I imagine myself at that age, what a pleasure and a privilege it would be to kick that ball into the back of the net, and I mused upon the care and professionalism that the staff show these little ones. It dawns on me, however, that even after ten minutes without chanting and clapping the cold has started to set back into my body. Come on second half, start already!
The second half belonged to Bradford City, if any team. They were much more assured in possession and grew in attacking confidence. Morecambe remained impressively resolute in defence, but their waning energy in attack - even after bringing in their number nine - felt ominous. At one point, a prolonged period of head-volleyball between the two sets of players had me cursing. 'Keep it on the deck,' I said under my breath. 'Thread it through the middle, stop overusing that right-hand side!'
Despite my amateur managerial machinations, Morecambe looked like they were going to survive Bradford's sustained periods of pressure to come away with their first three-pointer of the season. Until, that is, the 88th minute. Yet another assault on Morecambe'a goal saw Shepherd rise the highest to head the ball into the left top bin, past Moore's outstretched fingers, which had done so well in every other movement of the evening. Bradford had another couple of chances to claim three points, and Morecambe themselves had a pair of unlikely attempts themselves to write very pleasing headlines for the seaside town. As it was, though, the points were shared between the teams.
I spoke to a Bradford fan in local pub The Exchange afterwards. Whereas they felt very much that City had dropped two points against a poor team and damaged their chances in the league going forward, I felt that two sides were quite evenly matched. Perhaps a trick of biased perspective, I felt that Morecambe had slightly the better chances, but that is no consolation when you aren't taking them. Me and my mate left the stadium saying that one point is better than none, and we hope the lads and the manager are proud of their overwhelmingly positive performance. One point per match will surely become three if the tireless endeavour the Shrimps showed continues, met by a little more finishing prowess up top.
Thanks as ever to Christie.
*the last game I saw was between Morscambe and Newport County, which ended 0-1
