Carlisle United 2 Barnsley 3: This is meant to be a match report, and I promise we’ll get there shortly, but seriously: I won’t take it personally if you give this one a swerve. Go and read a book, scroll through Instagram, listen to a podcast series, drink an entire shelf of methylated spirits (don’t do that).
Choose life. Choose your future. Choose any damn thing except another account of Carlisle United losing a game. Shall we leave the rest of this article blank, to be filled by something else? Some nice crayon drawings, maybe? A bit of Greek philosophy? A list of your favourite 90s bangers?
Sounds tempting. And probably more enriching. By this point, let’s be honest, you’ve read everything and you know everything. Carlisle started ok, then lost. They weren’t good enough. A better team beat them. They are nowhere near a League One side.
No front pages will have been held past deadline with any of that information. Much of it wouldn’t make the news in briefs on page 23. United’s inferiority at this level is as much a revelation as the full stop that comes at the end of this sentence.
Do we know anything bigger, broader, at all as a result of Carlisle 2 Barnsley 3? Not really. United are still not at the point where they seem ready to flatten the curve of this dismal fall back to League Two. We are not much closer to knowing what the cornerstones of a better fourth-tier team will be.
We are certainly no nearer the mood-lift that a defiant finish to a bad campaign can offer, relatively speaking. We know Paul Simpson wants a summer overhaul, but again, that’s not new.
And there are nine more games to go in this slow march to the grave. Doesn’t sound much, but just watch them crawl by. Anyone not feeling worn down by this by now must be a champion of perspective, optimism, wellness.
Everyone else must be going home eroded by it. Eleven defeats from 12, three points from 36. Even if you’re at the happier end of the fanbase, who feels brighter and prosperous times are genuinely within reach under the Piataks, you cannot make the case for football’s basic value as escapism at Brunton Park right now.
Last night was far from the worst of this season, but it was also the campaign in miniature. For 33 minutes, we dreamed. Then we were awoken and couldn’t get back to the long sleep we craved.
The lowest Brunton Park league crowd of the season turned up for it, a recognition in itself of this being a story we’ve read many times before. We went through the ritual of Carlisle beginning quite brightly: Taylor Charters almost putting Jack Diamond in, then United scoring, as Luke Armstrong took advantage of some indecisive Barnsley defending to snaffle a bouncing ball before going through to finish.
Good stuff. Given it was a first goal in the first half at home since the opening day in the league, amazing stuff. And for 23 more minutes, more ok stuff. United matched Barnsley, who were not fast starters. Dylan McGeouch set a good passing tone, his deep positioning allowed Jon Mellish to raid from the left of defence, Harrison Neal went about things with his usual bite, the recalled Josh Emmanuel was persistent on the right, the retained Sam Lavelle was safe at the back.
Barnsley, as most teams do, then found a weak spot. It took Sam Cosgrove’s line-leading time to connect, and Carlisle might have had a second when Mellish whipped a cross just beyond Armstrong at the far post, but what happened next did not, shall we say, have the effect of a plot twist. United’s lead was gone by the 33rd minute as Barnsley worked the ball outside the box to Jordan Williams, who put his laces through it. The ball beat Harry Lewis’ attempted save too easily, it looked like, on its way to the top corner.
And from there…yeah. The usual. You know. Some reduced flirtations from Carlisle, including a Diamond penalty appeal which might have had legs. From Barnsley, restored confidence and a sharper tone to their play: better passing, less frilly crossing, a more recurring presence around United’s box.
Luca Connell was close with one volley, while Lewis was sharp to push a Cosgrove missile over from 25 yards. Half-time seemed timely for the Blues. Then Barnsley came onto them with extra zest. Two minutes into the second half, John McAtee almost scored; two minutes later, he did, when Connell fed Cosgrove, he dinked it across and McAtee rammed it home – the visitors ahead of United at each step, from the press to the pass to the cross to the finish.
And what more, even at this point, is there to say? Barnsley, to give them their promotion-chasing due, were good and bright now, constructive and polished in their attacks, not so much glimpsing blood in the water as seeing the carcass floating on the surface. Carlisle offered little of quality the other way. Corey O’Keeffe then crossed from the left and Jon Russell poached a header: again, United conceding three at home won’t have made the evening news.
Nor, being frank, will the sight of them going for it a little more freely when adrift. Dan Butterworth, one of a cluster of late subs, streaked through to pull one back in the 87th minute. We duly toyed with the notion of added-time drama but it wasn’t going to make any difference to the price of fish, and deep down we knew that too.
Referee Ed Duckworth blew his final whistle. Carlisle, for all their effort, endeavour, toil and whatever else, had lost. Again. And if you’re still reading by now, still with this to the very end, then truly, thank you. I could kiss you. But also: are you mad?
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