Sunday 11th May 2014 was an unusual day in my life.
For the first time in decades I had fallen – ever so temporarily – out of love with football. The culprit was a man named Greg Wilkinson, a last minute extra time substitute designed to shore up Altrincham’s penalty taking team, who unexpectedly ran through on goal to secure the Robins a late, heartbreaking, extra time victory in the Conference North play off final.
Yet again Guiseley suffered a play-off heart break. Yet again we had to watch as thousands of home fans celebrated wildly. Yet again we trudged away contemplating how good fortune deserted us at the key point. This time we even had to watch our former talisman James Walshaw celebrate wildly in the colours of our opponents.
That Sunday it felt as though football had destined us to always be the bridesmaids – and quite frankly that morning I had no more time for football.
It was a temporary spat. Quite frankly, since my Dad - a hard working Scot - shared his love of the game with me as a young boy I’ve pretty much been besotted since. By 4.30 that afternoon, I was renewing my vows reading the life story of another hard working Scot - Bill Shankley - whose famous quote that football is a matter far more important than life and death is - while clearly incorrect - an indication of the passion and attachment people have to their sport and teams.
Shankley, like my Dad, escaped hard times in Glasgow to find work and success in England. My Dads career was far more modest than Shankley's - and didn't involve managing a football team. But I learnt from him that even when times were at their hardest, football offered the ultimate escape. This was something Shakley knew well and which spurred him on relentlessly to deliver success to Liverpool and the people of the city he loved so much.
But the joy football brings can only exist if there is also disappointment. And after four seasons of play off defeats it felt that Guiseley were always destined to blend joyful hope across the course of the normal season with bitter disappointment at the playoff end of it.
So it was with a sense of hope rather than belief that I, and many other Guiseley fans, entered the 2014/15 season. In the first three games the lions picked up 7 points without conceding a goal. Hope was renewed. Home defeats against Gainsborough Trinity and Gloucester City followed and we were already consigning ourselves to the long hard season of reflection ahead.
Yet we rallied and by November a quirk of the fixture schedule meant we had a double header with league leaders Barrow and the prospect of potentially taking top spot if the games went our way. Once again we were left to rue the fates that the football gods bestow upon us. We dominated the early stages at Holker Street before the customary goal against the run of play swung things in the Bluebirds favour. At Nethermoor we fell apart in an opening 45 minute debacle and found ourselves 3-0 down. Then we rallied and might have turned the game round with a scintillating second half performance. Too little too late though and we lost 3-2.
Such pitfalls are small beer in life. In early 2015 my family suffered a real setback as my Dads state of health declined. Shankley's words seemed laughable.
My Dad and I talked much about football – and frankly disagreed frequently. For my Dad direct football with tricky wingers and powerful centre forwards were the order of the day. Football should be about scoring goals in his view – not possession or ‘sideways passing’. When he watched teams deploying what he considered unadventurous or conservative play he would usually decry this as awful ‘Butch Wilkins school of football’. This related to the seventies and eighties Chelsea and England international Ray Wilkins – who my Dad considered to embody the 'terrible' habit of passing the ball sideways for fear of losing possession.
While my Dad hated possession football, I was rather enjoying it. Particularly at Solihull Moors where it was on display to great effect as the Lions racked up a valuable away victory against a strong Solihull outfit.
The playoffs were in touching distance – and the title still remained a potential dream. Once again football provided the magical distraction.
I recanted Guiseley's slick passing game and results to my Dad and he gave me a scornful look, as if to question my basic footballing sensibilities.
Then the season, and life in general, took another turn for the worse. My Dad’s condition declined drastically. He went to hospital and appeared close to deaths door. He rallied and I was eternally grateful to the hospital staff. A long trip with Guiseley followed as we went to Lowestoft. A dour 0-0 followed. More points dropped. Then defeat at Chorley. A play off place was in doubt.
Then Dad's condition worsened still – and on the 8th April 2015, he died. Still numb I travelled to the local derby with my brother. We were convinced football would provide some comfort – and were optimistic that a resurgent Bradford Park Avenue would dish up a classic derby encounter. Football would provide some minor respite surely at this time.
An even more turgid 0-0 draw followed. It was a truly terrible game on a terrible surface. It was like watching 22 blindfolded men playing in a sandpit with a beach ball.
Perhaps this was no time for football.
Optimism was in short supply when Chorley arrived at Nethermoor. The Lions needed a victory while Chorley had already twice beaten Guiseley this season. Thankfully, Guiseley rallied and a 2-1 victory was enough to secure a play-off berth with other results working in our favour.
Two more meaningless defeats in meaningless games followed, leaving Guiseley in the last play-off spot. This meant they would face AFC Fylde, who had finished in second place after just losing out on the title on the final game of the season.
A packed Nethermoor saw a wonderful performance from Guiseley secure a 1-0 first leg lead – Jake Lawlor the unlikely goal scorer. Possession football and cool heads saw the Lions recover from conceding in the first minute in the return leg. Sideways passing and incisive finishing were the order of the day as Danny Boshell and Andy Holdsworth produced superb goals to secure the place in the Vanarama Conference North Promotion Final. It was a two legged victory that Butch Wilkins himself would have been proud of.
Then came the final. After the years of heartache, all were praying for a change of fortune. We felt Chorley were a beatable side but on the day we all too soon felt that the fates were yet again conspiring against us.
Once more the Guiseley play off curse seemed poise to strike. Traffic chaos led to the team arriving late. The pitch was hard and uneven. The home crowd were large in number and vociferously began urging on the Magpies to victory.
Guiseley didn’t get out of the traps well. The first corner led to a Chorley goal, then a second followed. The Lions passing game couldn’t thrive on the uneven surface and even led to key man Ollie Johnson suffering an injury. My Dad would have chuckled – I could hear him taunting me “you’ll never win anything playing that Butch Wilkins school of football son.”
Just as things seemed at their worst the tide slowly turned. Johnson’s injury led to a tactical masterstroke – but not one that anyone instantly recognised. Mark Bower used the opportunity to introduce Liam Dickinson – whose spell with the club since joining from Stalybridge Celtic had been marked by a distinct lack of goals and a sending off that led to a four match suspension. Dickinson is the sort of powerful centre forward that my Dad would approve of direct, physical, and strong. The half time break arrived and Chorley lost their talismanic centre half Andy Teague to a head injury. Two more Magpies would fall foul of injury, including goalkeeper Sam Ashton.
The second half started in earnest when Danny Boshell lobbed the ball over the back four and Adam Boyes was quickest off the mark to tuck the ball under the goalkeeper and into the net. The Lions had a foothold.
The game then transcended into a strange dream as Steven Drench lofted a free-kick into the Chorley area and Liam Dickinson nodded home.
The dream continued as Nicky Boshell turned in Adam Boyes’s cross to complete the turnaround and put Guiseley 3-2 ahead.
Chorley rallied and it seemed that Adam Mather had equalised late on, but his header struck the underside of the crossbar and away. I – like all Guiseley fans – were sure that the fates would yet conspire against us. So when the final whistle eventually blew there was a sense of disbelief, no one could have anticipated what we had witnessed. Few believed it was possible at half time.
And throughout the post match celebrations I kept thinking of my Dad. I could imagine him telling me that he told me so. Not that Guiseley would win - but that we needed to get the ball forward to a big striker and stop tapping the ball about with no purpose (like Butch Wilkins of course). The game was the ultimate vindication of his football philosophy.
Of course I loved our second half direct display of football. Not that I would want to see it week in and week out but it showed that all styles are have their time and place.
I hope we return to playing our brand of the Butch Wilkins school of football in the Vanarama National next season. However, in my mind, the Promotion Final was the perfect moment to have my Dad's football sensibilities so spectacularly justified. And in the most crucial game of all in this of all seasons. It felt a fitting send off.
