TB: Inspiration in Bartlett’s butter fingers

In a previous article, I spoke of how Gavin McCallum became my source of footballing passion and interest in my first match. But, when my interest in football was first aroused at the ripe old age of 7, this was too late to instantly break into my social circle’s starting eleven as a winger and I found myself quickly put in goal. Having established that my stature and distaste for running suited the goalkeeping position, I soon turned my focus further down Edgar Street’s hallowed turf to find a new idol to look up to. And there between the sticks was a certain Adam Bartlett.

Every game onwards, I would watch Bartlett’s movements and hope to one day do the same. Where most fans would bemoan Bartlett’s erratic distribution of the leather and errors guarding the onion bag, I saw the most powerful goal kicks I’d ever seen and shot-stopping ability I hoped I could emulate when guarding the space between my junior school goalposts made out of red jumpers.

As someone sat comfortably in C Block, I think I was largely oblivious to the abuse Bartlett received from a hostile Meadow End disgruntled by repeated lower mid-table finishes and a lack of ambition, as well as his own occasional failings. When he left the club following relegation in 2012, the official response was so he could return up North to be nearer to family. But an interview given afterwards said that he didn’t want to face abuse from his own fans week in week out, and he described his departure as one for ‘footballing reasons’.

Luckily, I was fortunate enough to join Adam for his final match for the club though neither of us knew it at the time. As a birthday present, my dad had made me the mascot for the curtain-closing match of the 2011-12 season, a match supposed to be a relaxed light hearted game on what had hopefully been a slightly successful season. But, as fate turned out to be, the match was far more significant than we could’ve possibly envisioned. A must win game against promotion chasing Torquay also requiring Burton Albion to do us a favour against Barnet, to prevent the drop into the non-league pyramid once more. 

I warmed up on the hallowed turf, receiving Russell Hoult’s gloves, before visiting the dressing room and walking out alongside my hero, Bartlett. I think I said to him that I hope he had a good game and that he was my favourite player. I think we can therefore conclude that he wasn’t thinking of me when Gateshead came calling.

Anyway, as we raced into a 3-0 lead I was beside myself. It’s the only time I ever remember crying at a football match. Having not lived to see ‘97 or cared about the relief of ‘06, this match to me was the be all and end all and never can I remember being quite so nervous when Torquay pulled two goals back.

As the game finished, and the players did a lap of honour, led I distinctly recall by Bartlett, we were all nervous to hear the score from Underhill, and when the news came through that the Bees had drank a 2-1 win from the Brewers’ casket after Calvin Zola missed s penalty, I was devastated. 

As for Bartlett, he’s stayed North since leaving us, playing also for Hartlepool, Darlington and York. And even though he was far from our greatest goalkeeper, I will always fondly remember him and I hope that he is happy now and free from the pressures and strains of the Meadow End. The same cannot be said, for Calvin Zola...