Here’s to them.'
When I think about James Clarke, a series of vignettes cross my mind - a flicker of cinefilm story. We’ve watched James Clarke change in front of our eyes.
Click.
March 2007. Stafford at home. A buoyant Oxford crowd watched the ceremony of end of season awards. Optimism in the late spring air. A play-off semi-final around the corner. After a long season in this league it felt like a return to The League would happen after all. The youth team all-conquering - and when the young player of the season was announced, it was a name unfamiliar to most of the crowd.
‘Don’t look so shocked Jamie!’ Peter Rhodes-Brown laughed over the P.A.
What can put this defender ahead of the rest of a talented team? A shy smile. Gentle applause from the crowd. A passing thought as to whether we’ll ever see the boy on this pitch again. And then thoughts returned to the play-offs.
Click.
A cold Aggborough, away to Kidderminster - seven months and a season later. It could have been a lifetime. Still in this league. Still not in The League. A snarling Oxford crowd shut up in one end of the ground - the season spiralling away from them. On the pitch the team clinging on. In the stands men climbing a gantry to bang metal against metal. Willing a campaigning spirit to materialise. The sense of something primal in the air.
And in this atmosphere, James Clarke made his first-team debut.
Oxford defending for their lives. Oxford undeservedly two goals up. The game turns on a contentious sending off. Clarke the player on the ground. The referee adjudged an elbow to have knocked him down. James Constable sent off. Kidderminster incensed. Fingers point. Accusations made. Clarke has feigned the incident. Clarke’s to blame. Cheat. Oxford indignant. The boy’s a young debutant. He’s too young to do that. Too inexperienced. Ranks close. The match a fractious quarrel. Clarke's team mates did what they could to help him through the alley of taunts and studs, spittle and spite.
The final whistle brought relief and victory. The players taking the applause of the fans in the away end - Billy Turley knowing that the acclaim is as much for Clarke’s debut as the team performance. He pushed the young man towards the Oxford supporters behind the goal. Clarke reluctant - shoulder blades shoot back under the pressure of Turley’s shove towards the wall of sound from the terrace.
‘CLARKEY! CLARKEY! CLARKEY!’.
A slight smile. Hands raised briefly to return the applause - then quickly turned and jogged after the rest of the squad. Uneasy in isolation.
‘CLARKEY! CLARKEY! CLARKEY!’.
Click.
The campaigning spirit arrived too late.
Games passed with little purpose. Still in this league. Still not in The League. But amongst this a young defender’s reputation growing. A tackler. A confidence with the ball. But most of all the look in the eye.
And a new aspect to the way he plays?
Burton at home. The winger goes past Clarke. The balled fist goes out - grabbing. The man goes down and Clarke’s game is over.
Innocence and experience?
Click. Click.
July 2008. Court Place Farm. A pre-season game with no edge. But Clarke fighting. Fighting for a place on the team. An unfamiliar left back - but exuded seniority in a second-half team of youth teamers and trialists. And the scales falling from my eyes. His game all pushes and pulls. Shirts. Shorts. Get the man. Stop him. Eyes squinting to see the play. Fingers pointing. Sort them out. No one gets past. Was this always there? Did I choose not to see it? Innocence and experience. Experience from innocence.
Click. Click. Click.
Barrow, away. Oxford kick off another season - still in this league. Still not in The League.
Clarke's fought for and won his place on the team. No innocence. Just experience.
Chest out.
No one. Gets. Past.
The ball falls loose. Get there. The tackle goes in.
Clarke’s game is over.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
A new scene. Hayes in the cup. The game won. No one got past.
The tackle goes in.
Clarke’s game is over.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click...
Desire drives a boy to become a man. Desire takes him from innocence to experience. Desire makes him who he becomes.
Here’s to the desire of James Clarke.
[Ed.: This piece has been planned for a little while, but it seems appropriate to post it now. Get well soon Clarkey: I see in you the ability, but more importantly the character, to become the sort of man who could define the spirit of an Oxford squad.
All images in this post courtesy of Steve Daniels/Rage Online, reproduced here with kind permission.]
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