Keeper Glass an instant legend

Sunday May 9, 1999 - by Patrick Collins

Jimmy Glass hit an injury-time goal to save Carlisle United's Nationwide League status - and claim his place in football folklore. The 25-year-old on-loan goalkeeper, allowed to play only by special dispensation, raced upfield at a corner as it seemed the Cumbrians were about to be held to a 1-1 draw by Plymouth. That result would have seen Scarborough survive and Carlisle drop out of the League. But Glass hammered home the winner with 10 seconds remaining to provoke a joyous pitch invasion. He said: "I've no skill, no ability but I couldn't miss from two yards."

Carlisle chairman Michael Knighton added: "I believe in a Methuselah, Frankenstein, alien beings, flying saucers and the hand of God. But, most of all, I believe in on-loan goalkeepers from Swindon who score goals in the dying seconds."

Glass fibre saves Carlisle's status

As the city of Carlisle abandoned itself to ecstasy last night, a bewildered young goalkeeper tried to come to terms with the Miracle of Brunton Park. Ten seconds of this traumatic match remained when Jimmy Glass, on loan from Swindon Town, loped the length of the field in a final attempt to preserve Carlisle United's 71-year existence in the Football League.

Plymouth, the visitors, seemed to have settled for a goal apiece, but over on the Yorkshire coast Scarborough had just secured the point they thought would be sufficient to relegate Carlisle, where it had to be victory or the anonymity of the Conference.

So up ran Glass for the Carlisle corner, which Graham Anthony swung on to the head of Scott Dobie. The header was parried on the line by Plymouth keeper James Dungey, but the ball fell to the feet of Jimmy Glass. He swung a boot, made thumping contact and the ball billowed the net as the city went instantly insane. There was an immediate pitch invasion, the fans capering on in gleeful profusion, and Glass disappeared in the crowd. "What was I thinking at the time?" he said "I was thinking 'Oh my God, I'm buried under 2,000 people'."

And he beamed at the glorious unreality of the situation. It was one of the most astonishing escapes that the English game has ever known. And Glass was its hero. He came to Carlisle only last month, the FA sanctioning the loan transfer even thought the deadline had passed. This, he admitted, was almost certainly his last game for Carlisle, and he was "dead pleased for the lads that it went so well." He had moved upfield for the excellent reason that "There's always goals in the six-yard box" You felt that he couldn't quite believe what he found himself saying.

But if Glass was splendidly gleeful , then we may only imagine the feelings of Mr. Michael Knighton. He was due to go to his grave as The Man Who Made A Prat Of Himself At Old Trafford, after he juggled a football in front of the Stretford End to mark his ultimately unsuccessful attempt to buy Manchester United. Until those last 10 seconds, this hard-won title was destined to be usurped by The Man Who Did For Carlisle.

Naturally, the chairman would plead only the best of intentions, just as he did when he made himself manager for half of last year's relegation season. Indeed, only a day before the most critical match in his club's history, it was revealed that Carlisle made a profit of £1.4m last season, more than the likes of Liverpool, Leeds or Spurs.

"Most companies in Carlisle would give their left arm for results like these", said Knighton, thereby missing the point by about 1.4million miles. You see, the Carlisle faithful, in that eccentric way of football fans, value points rather than profits. When they noted that the club received £2.12m in transfer fees while spending just £100,000, they grew distinctly peeved.

Some of their anger took sinister shape. On the previous evening, Knighton claimed that his daughter had been physically attacked while waitressing in a local pub, while his son had been bullied out of private school. If true, it is patently deplorable, but even neutrals could scarcely hide their smiles yesterday when Knighton took his seat at three minutes to three and was greeted by the booming choruses of "One Greedy Bastard!" earlier in the week, Cumbrian Police had been asked to provide match-long protection for the chairman. With an admirable sense of intelligent priorities, they declined.

To understand what a football club means to a town, you need only listen to the results on Sports Report each Saturday evening. No matter how keen your ears, you will find no mention of Gateshead, Maidstone, or Workington. All are gone, and a little of their towns' legitimacy has gone with them.

So it would have been with Carlisle. Take away the football club and you would have been left with a tidy Border town which contains several fine pubs, a sturdily impressive 12th-century cathedral and the last proper railway station before Scotland. So the football public of Carlisle needed no warnings of doom as they strode down Warwick Road on the way to Brunton Park. The Plymouth fans understood. They stopped to buy Carlisle lottery tickets because they wanted to make a gesture to a club in trouble. "All the best" they said to the ticket seller, and they sounded as if they meant it.

A man hurried past holding the hand of a small boy in Carlisle blue: "He's the official mascot today, our Michael is," he declared. And the lad smiled with pleasure and pride. He would never forget the afternoon which stretched out before him. There was much sentiment, talk of the Cumbrian legends like Stokoe and Train, Balderstone and Broadis, and those dizzy days of '74, when they actually perched on top of the entire League.

But mostly it was worry; simple worry that the end was nigh. Again, you could understand it when you watched the football. Mediocre stuff, for the most part, played by men of poor touch and indifferent fitness. There were roars of hope after seven minutes with the news that Scarborough were a goal down. There were groans of despair when the bar was struck and half-chances were squandered. There was a period of decent silence just before half-time when Plymouth's Paul Gibbs plunged into a tackle and a sickening crack signified a broken leg.

Spirits were raised during the interval only by the outrageously optimistic announcement that second prize in the raffle would be "a VIP day out at Brunton Park". With a splendid sense of gallows humour, the crowd roared its derision.

There were despairing moans just after half-time when Lee Philips gave Plymouth the lead, and hopeful roars in the 66th when David Brightwell's optimistic drive delivered equality. But all was being prepared for those final 10 seconds, and the incredible denouement did not disappoint. "Strange thing", said Jimmy Glass, "You come here, play for a few weeks, then something like this happens and you're on your way again". But would he really not stay after what he had done, he was asked. "I dunno," he said "but I'll tell you this, some very funny things happen in football".

Scarborough despair

As relegation stories go, there can have been few more cruel than the one that consigned Scarborough to non-league football next season. For a full eight minutes after holding Peterborough to a draw, chairman John Russell, radio inseparable from his right ear, was beaming in the belief that a Football League place had been retained. Then came the news of Jimmy Glass' incredible rescue act for Carlisle.

Goalkeeper Glass was signed controversially on-loan after the transfer deadline - and got a winner to bury Scarborough's hopes. The irony was not appreciated by Scarborough captain Jamie Holland who said "Apparently their keeper had special dispensation to play, so thanks very much to the Football League!"

Distraught Russell said "It was so cruel, our fans don't deserve that, but we will fight back from this".

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