In football, everything ends. It might be a contract or a match or a time spent playing at a stadium. Nothing exists in perpetuity. The end of the season is a godsend for some, an annoyance for others. The end of my season playing for St Andrews was something of both.
It was late in the season when we found a bit of form. Even our performance against Christ The King was much improved. Our final few results included a 1-1 draw with St Saviours, the only game we took the lead in all season. And on the final day of the season we went to Trinity and only conceded half a dozen.
That game against Trinity was a rarity, taking place in midweek rather than on a Saturday morning. It was about a 6pm kick-off, as I remember. We assembled early, some of the lads coming straight from school. The whole evening had a strange feeling to it, as though it were something more than just the season coming to a close (although I'll admit that this may be hindsight). It was a beautiful evening for playing football.
Although we were beaten, there were plenty of positives to take from the game. Our young lads had come on over the course of the season. I could measure my own progress as a footballer in terms of school playground performances, where I went from an als0-ran to one of the go-to picks over the course of the year. In year five I'd notched about a dozen goals; in year six it was forty-odd. My confidence on the ball was improving by the week, and I'd even started making clumsy tackles on the bigger lads we faced. I wasn't alone in this development. Had the team stuck together for another season I have no doubt that we'd have started to pick up some much better results. St Aidans and Ravensthorpe Mosques in particular were nothing to be frightened of, and we'd already shown we could compete with St Saviours. The end of season five-a-side tournaments ended with us putting in two good showings, including a third-placed finish in the under 12s tournament (a team in which I made a big contribution, playing every game).
It wasn't to be. After a 1999/2000 season where we earned a grand total of two points from 18 games (and been knocked out of the cup in the first round), a lot of players didn't want to play for St Andrews any more. In hindsight, it's hard to blame them, but at the time I felt betrayed by my teammates. When the time came for player registration for 2000/01, I was one of only four players who signed for St Andrews. The team - which had played in the Mirfield District Church League since the 1920s - was forced to disband.
In later years I played against some of those I played with in my St Andrews days. It was always a bittersweet experience. It was good to see them doing well playing for other teams, but I couldn't forget that these were players who had turned their back on St Andrews. When I was younger I'd wanted to play for St Andrews with a passion. I'd followed my dad and Uncle John up to Knowl Park to watch a side with my Uncle John's son, Joe, and all manner of other talented players. I wanted to be one of them. I was for a season, but I always wish that I'd played for them for longer.
But I carried on playing in the Church League. When it came to signing for another side, I knew who I wanted to move to. I went to Trinity.
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Thursday, 22 December 2011
Monday, 19 December 2011
A season with St Andrews (part three)
Playing wide on the left or up front for the worst team in the league isn't a fun experience. The number of touches I took all season could be counted up on your fingers. I certainly don't remember making any particularly telling contributions, other than trudging back to the halfway line for yet another restart after chasing back in vain.
One day I certainly didn't get a touch was when we first visited Hopton. Hopton played down beyond the primary school, at the best ground in Mirfield. Not only was the pitch itself bordered by proper terracing, but there was a little stand on some banking behind the home dugout. The away dugout was on the opposite side. There were even some proper dressing rooms and showers in a cabin a little away from the pitch. It was a rare treat to play there.
I'd been there before, when my dad took me along to the previous season's cup final. It's another case of 'don't ask me...', because I can't remember anything else about it, other than that I'm fairly certain Hopton were the side who lost to Christ The King. Losing cup finals on your home patch can't be much fun.
On this particular morning, it was raining. When the car pulled up outside the ground I was straight into the away dressing room, shielding myself from the cold sheets of rain. A gale was blowing, meaning the stuff came down in entirely the wrong direction. Reaching the warm changing room was a relief. I grabbed a shirt (14 again - it had become my number) and sat down, waiting for the word to go out and warm up. A couple more lads came in, and it looked like we would at least have a full complement (even if it ended up being a wet, miserable complement who lost 15-0, there is something to be said for having all eleven out there).
Instead, the game was postponed. In my four years playing in the Church League, it was the only postponement. The re-arranged game took place the following week, and we lost 5-1. I was absent from that side. I was ill that day, and ended up curled up at home waiting for Final Score to come on so I could find out how Town had done away at wherever we were. At church the following morning Anthony reported a good performance and a goal from Luke, the no.7 from pre-season.
Another bad day came when we played Trinity at our place. We lost (again). But the worst part wasn't the defeat. It was the day my next-door neighbour, Matthew, broke his ankle in a challenge. I'd never faced a serious injury before, and seeing him carried off wasn't a nice experience. Being on the subs bench at the time meant I was nowhere near the incident, but as I remember it he and one of our lads went into a 50-50. His ankle was caught in the wet ground and the combined weight of him and the challenger resulted in the ankle giving way. I don't think he played for Trinity again, being too old the following season.
Memories of home games from that season merge into one, but I have another memory of another heavy defeat to Christ The King which just showed us as being inexperienced and lacking that bit of spirit which would have seen us right against the better sides. We lost 14-0. Heads dropped. It's not easy for kids to pick themselves up when they're being dumped to the ground week-in, week-out, no matter how much encouragement they're given.
By this time, we had a hard-tackling midfielder in the mix. Keady was a capable player, and he went on to play for St Aidans for a couple of seasons, including their title-winning year. But he was another youngster - being 11 at the time - and Kings' older lads just bypassed him. I hated playing Kings by this point. In a league where fair play and sportsmanship were two of the main values shared by most teams, they were a bunch of arrogant, bullying toerags. They gloried in humiliating teams and didn't like it when the opposition had some fight in them. Had we any fight in us they'd have probably got nasty, but we didn't, so they just went about taking the mickey with their every touch.
The one time I worried them in that game came because they were so obsessed with playing about and humiliating the opposition they missed the little lad closing down the man on the ball. He played a short backpass under pressure, which the keeper had to be sharp to pounce on. Had this been the Trinity team I played for the following year, there would have been six or seven players appealing for the free-kick, with accompanying shouts from the touchline. As it was, only I appealed to the ref, and that was a half-hearted arm in the air and imploring look in the official's direction. He was able to wave the appeals away, despite the fact it was a blatant backpass.
My dislike of Kings was growing with every game.
One day I certainly didn't get a touch was when we first visited Hopton. Hopton played down beyond the primary school, at the best ground in Mirfield. Not only was the pitch itself bordered by proper terracing, but there was a little stand on some banking behind the home dugout. The away dugout was on the opposite side. There were even some proper dressing rooms and showers in a cabin a little away from the pitch. It was a rare treat to play there.
I'd been there before, when my dad took me along to the previous season's cup final. It's another case of 'don't ask me...', because I can't remember anything else about it, other than that I'm fairly certain Hopton were the side who lost to Christ The King. Losing cup finals on your home patch can't be much fun.
On this particular morning, it was raining. When the car pulled up outside the ground I was straight into the away dressing room, shielding myself from the cold sheets of rain. A gale was blowing, meaning the stuff came down in entirely the wrong direction. Reaching the warm changing room was a relief. I grabbed a shirt (14 again - it had become my number) and sat down, waiting for the word to go out and warm up. A couple more lads came in, and it looked like we would at least have a full complement (even if it ended up being a wet, miserable complement who lost 15-0, there is something to be said for having all eleven out there).
Instead, the game was postponed. In my four years playing in the Church League, it was the only postponement. The re-arranged game took place the following week, and we lost 5-1. I was absent from that side. I was ill that day, and ended up curled up at home waiting for Final Score to come on so I could find out how Town had done away at wherever we were. At church the following morning Anthony reported a good performance and a goal from Luke, the no.7 from pre-season.
Another bad day came when we played Trinity at our place. We lost (again). But the worst part wasn't the defeat. It was the day my next-door neighbour, Matthew, broke his ankle in a challenge. I'd never faced a serious injury before, and seeing him carried off wasn't a nice experience. Being on the subs bench at the time meant I was nowhere near the incident, but as I remember it he and one of our lads went into a 50-50. His ankle was caught in the wet ground and the combined weight of him and the challenger resulted in the ankle giving way. I don't think he played for Trinity again, being too old the following season.
Memories of home games from that season merge into one, but I have another memory of another heavy defeat to Christ The King which just showed us as being inexperienced and lacking that bit of spirit which would have seen us right against the better sides. We lost 14-0. Heads dropped. It's not easy for kids to pick themselves up when they're being dumped to the ground week-in, week-out, no matter how much encouragement they're given.
By this time, we had a hard-tackling midfielder in the mix. Keady was a capable player, and he went on to play for St Aidans for a couple of seasons, including their title-winning year. But he was another youngster - being 11 at the time - and Kings' older lads just bypassed him. I hated playing Kings by this point. In a league where fair play and sportsmanship were two of the main values shared by most teams, they were a bunch of arrogant, bullying toerags. They gloried in humiliating teams and didn't like it when the opposition had some fight in them. Had we any fight in us they'd have probably got nasty, but we didn't, so they just went about taking the mickey with their every touch.
The one time I worried them in that game came because they were so obsessed with playing about and humiliating the opposition they missed the little lad closing down the man on the ball. He played a short backpass under pressure, which the keeper had to be sharp to pounce on. Had this been the Trinity team I played for the following year, there would have been six or seven players appealing for the free-kick, with accompanying shouts from the touchline. As it was, only I appealed to the ref, and that was a half-hearted arm in the air and imploring look in the official's direction. He was able to wave the appeals away, despite the fact it was a blatant backpass.
My dislike of Kings was growing with every game.
Friday, 16 December 2011
A season with St Andrews (part two)
No one likes losing. Losing hurts. When you've given your all and still come out second-best, there is at least some comfort. But when you're utterly humiliated by a defeat there's no comfort. The result burns an indelible mark into your memory, something that will never, ever be forgotten.
My third game playing for St Andrews was the first time I experienced absolute humiliation on a football pitch, and remains my worst-ever day when playing. Whilst results weren't exactly great, there had been positives to take from early performances. We'd shown heart, not giving up even when 7-0 down against St Saviours. Some of our young players showed talent, even if because we were all young we were at a distinct disadvantage against bigger, older sides.
Unfortunately, we were beaten before we even turned up at Christ The King that morning. Our young side had its ranks depleted. Our goalkeeper - who was also our captain and most experienced player - couldn't make it. We were down to the eleven who would play the full game, with no substitutes available. Kings, on the other hand, were a big side, full of older players, reigning league champions and cup holders. They were already top of the league.
I don't remember each and every goal. After twelve years, I don't think anyone would remember every one of twenty-six that went in. What I remember most was our best defender, John, being sent off for not having shinpads. I remember rotating our goalkeeper. I remember chasing back in vain more than once as Kings cut through a demoralised midfield and defence to sweep home yet another after drawing the unfortunate goalkeeper. And to this day I can see one of their players rolling the ball onto the line, getting onto his hands and knees and heading it over the line, our defence already making its way back into positions for yet another restart while our keeper stood, hands on hips, watching on in utter bemusement at what was going on.
Christ The King 26-0 St Andrews was my blackest day playing.
People handle defeats in different ways. Some get demoralised. Some get angry. In the short term, I grew to fear what Kings could do when they turned it on. They were miles better than us. But in the longer term, once I'd left St Andrews, that result turned into a spur. Revenge is a potent motivator before a match.
We never lost another game so heavily. Defeat was almost a formality, but never by that magnitude. A few weeks later we'd lost a couple more (to Trinity and Hopton) and found ourselves facing St Aidans at their place once again.
We were stronger than the side who had faced Kings. Our keeper was back. We'd found a midfielder who would stick a boot in. One or two older lads were playing for us. Despite quite a few defeats on the spin, we were fairly confident. We'd just faced three of the best sides in the league, and Aidans, after their promising start, had faltered. All in all, the spirit in the camp was good. We had 17 players on the day, and so we could finally play our strongest side.
We were a goal to nil down at half-time. Anthony rallied the troops, and we equalised soon after the restart. Don't ask me who scored; I only remember the order of goals. We were soon behind again, punished for lax defending. But, with only a few minutes to go, we levelled it again. The subs bench went mental. The encouragement for those out on the field was tremendous for the last few moments, and we held on for a point - our first point of the season. It was one of only three games I didn't play in that year, but it's one of my strongest - and happiest - memories of my days with St Andrews.
The following week we were dumped out of the Sonder Heating Cup by Ravensthorpe Mosques, who brushed us aside with a double-figures performance. I did play in that one.
My third game playing for St Andrews was the first time I experienced absolute humiliation on a football pitch, and remains my worst-ever day when playing. Whilst results weren't exactly great, there had been positives to take from early performances. We'd shown heart, not giving up even when 7-0 down against St Saviours. Some of our young players showed talent, even if because we were all young we were at a distinct disadvantage against bigger, older sides.
Unfortunately, we were beaten before we even turned up at Christ The King that morning. Our young side had its ranks depleted. Our goalkeeper - who was also our captain and most experienced player - couldn't make it. We were down to the eleven who would play the full game, with no substitutes available. Kings, on the other hand, were a big side, full of older players, reigning league champions and cup holders. They were already top of the league.
I don't remember each and every goal. After twelve years, I don't think anyone would remember every one of twenty-six that went in. What I remember most was our best defender, John, being sent off for not having shinpads. I remember rotating our goalkeeper. I remember chasing back in vain more than once as Kings cut through a demoralised midfield and defence to sweep home yet another after drawing the unfortunate goalkeeper. And to this day I can see one of their players rolling the ball onto the line, getting onto his hands and knees and heading it over the line, our defence already making its way back into positions for yet another restart while our keeper stood, hands on hips, watching on in utter bemusement at what was going on.
Christ The King 26-0 St Andrews was my blackest day playing.
People handle defeats in different ways. Some get demoralised. Some get angry. In the short term, I grew to fear what Kings could do when they turned it on. They were miles better than us. But in the longer term, once I'd left St Andrews, that result turned into a spur. Revenge is a potent motivator before a match.
We never lost another game so heavily. Defeat was almost a formality, but never by that magnitude. A few weeks later we'd lost a couple more (to Trinity and Hopton) and found ourselves facing St Aidans at their place once again.
We were stronger than the side who had faced Kings. Our keeper was back. We'd found a midfielder who would stick a boot in. One or two older lads were playing for us. Despite quite a few defeats on the spin, we were fairly confident. We'd just faced three of the best sides in the league, and Aidans, after their promising start, had faltered. All in all, the spirit in the camp was good. We had 17 players on the day, and so we could finally play our strongest side.
We were a goal to nil down at half-time. Anthony rallied the troops, and we equalised soon after the restart. Don't ask me who scored; I only remember the order of goals. We were soon behind again, punished for lax defending. But, with only a few minutes to go, we levelled it again. The subs bench went mental. The encouragement for those out on the field was tremendous for the last few moments, and we held on for a point - our first point of the season. It was one of only three games I didn't play in that year, but it's one of my strongest - and happiest - memories of my days with St Andrews.
The following week we were dumped out of the Sonder Heating Cup by Ravensthorpe Mosques, who brushed us aside with a double-figures performance. I did play in that one.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
A season at St Andrews (part one)
Kirklees Council called off all matches (football, rugby and otherwise) on its pitches this weekend. Rainfall over the last few days has been heavy, and pitches have become waterlogged. No player wants to play on a waterlogged pitch, especially when it's freezing, likely to rain some more, and they're likely to be in a side on the receiving end of a drubbing, so the decision makes perfect sense. I certainly wouldn't have fancied it yesterday.
But just thinking about it reminded me about my days playing in the Church League, competing against interesting opposition on appalling pitches. I spent four years playing in the Church League on Saturday mornings, turning out for St Andrews in my first year before spending three years playing for Trinity. Many of the mornings I played were cold and miserable, but I loved almost every minute I spent out there.
My dad played in the same league when he was a kid. Back then, the league was in its halcyon days. There were a dozen teams or more, with dozens of boys between the ages of 9 and 16 turning out every week. He later went on to manage a team in the league and was president by the time I started playing for St Andrews, the same team he'd played and managed. In 1999, the age was restricted from 10-14 (or year 6 to year 10 in school terms), and the league had fewer sides, though local Catholic church St Aidans were involved for the first time.
It would be fair to say St Andrews weren't very good. In fact, we were awful, and we'd been a side struggling at the bottom of the league for a decade or more. Even as a five-year-old being taken along to watch I was used to seeing eleven grey-clad players trudging off after a heavy defeat, and things had become even worse by the time of my debut. At the other end of the table, Christ The King were sweeping all before them. Trinity and Hopton were good sides, while Ravensthorpe Mosques were no pushover for the top teams. St Aidens were the unknown quantity, whilst St Saviours were the next-weakest side in the division.
I played for St Andrews for the first time in September 1999 in a pre-season friendly at St Aidans, who played at Crossley Fields. By this time the awful numberless grey/silver concoction straight from the 1980s had gone, and we wore white shirts with green trim with black shorts (provided someone had black shorts). It was a novel feeling, pulling on the no.14 shirt for my church. I felt ten feet tall. This was the moment I'd waited for since I was old enough to tag along with my dad. I was sure that I'd score. I had to, after waiting for so long.
Sadly, St Aidans weren't in a mood for indulging me in my dreams. They won 6-0. I played in midfield and barely got a touch against two bullish 12-year-olds. The lad playing alongside me - Luke, wearing 7 - was like me, a waif who couldn't play against two bigger lads like that.
Not to worry. It was only a friendly. My optimism was undimmed despite the evidence of the past ten years. I was sure St Andrews would go on to have a good season. Sadly, our side was too young. Although the aggregate age of players on the field couldn't be over 130 under league rules (meaning younger lads and older players could get a game at the same time), all the other sides were bigger and older. We were a collection of 10- and 11-year-olds who had never played 11-a-side before.
I don't remember my competitive debut for St Andrews, but it was probably a heavy defeat at home (Knowl Park). I do, however, remember playing away at St Saviours on the second day of the season. It was my first start, and it was the only time my mum came to watch rather than my dad. In later seasons they came together a couple of times (more on that later), but on this occasion it was my mum on the touchline with Anthony (the manager) and a team mate's mum (another from church). I played up front for the first time, getting my hands on the no.10 shirt for the first time.
Saviours played down in Ravensthorpe, along the road towards the old council dump. There was a grassy verge where the home manager, parents and other supporters had taken up residence, with Anthony and our contingent banished to the other side. To one end, a pylon loomed over the pitch while the road ran parallel with the other dead-ball line. All in all, a pretty typical venue for a game like that.
Saviours themselves were a side we didn't enjoy facing that season. They were a side who still wore the same shirts they had in the 80s, a red shirt with white and blue trim, one shoulder covered by a patch of white. It was hardly elegant (think of Bolton's shirt this season in the colours I mentioned and you'd not be a million miles from the mark). And apparently they bought into the 1980s lower league idea of hitting the ball as hard as they could, even if an opposition player was in the way. And their management was even worse. It wasn't a cajoling, encouraging management - it was aggressive, critical. The language they used - whilst not out of place in adult football - was appalling. And it was this language which caused my mother to confront one man in particular in what was the first notable incident of my football career.
It didn't help the result. We still got beaten 7-1. But that was nothing compared to my third game, and first against Christ The King.
But just thinking about it reminded me about my days playing in the Church League, competing against interesting opposition on appalling pitches. I spent four years playing in the Church League on Saturday mornings, turning out for St Andrews in my first year before spending three years playing for Trinity. Many of the mornings I played were cold and miserable, but I loved almost every minute I spent out there.
My dad played in the same league when he was a kid. Back then, the league was in its halcyon days. There were a dozen teams or more, with dozens of boys between the ages of 9 and 16 turning out every week. He later went on to manage a team in the league and was president by the time I started playing for St Andrews, the same team he'd played and managed. In 1999, the age was restricted from 10-14 (or year 6 to year 10 in school terms), and the league had fewer sides, though local Catholic church St Aidans were involved for the first time.
It would be fair to say St Andrews weren't very good. In fact, we were awful, and we'd been a side struggling at the bottom of the league for a decade or more. Even as a five-year-old being taken along to watch I was used to seeing eleven grey-clad players trudging off after a heavy defeat, and things had become even worse by the time of my debut. At the other end of the table, Christ The King were sweeping all before them. Trinity and Hopton were good sides, while Ravensthorpe Mosques were no pushover for the top teams. St Aidens were the unknown quantity, whilst St Saviours were the next-weakest side in the division.
I played for St Andrews for the first time in September 1999 in a pre-season friendly at St Aidans, who played at Crossley Fields. By this time the awful numberless grey/silver concoction straight from the 1980s had gone, and we wore white shirts with green trim with black shorts (provided someone had black shorts). It was a novel feeling, pulling on the no.14 shirt for my church. I felt ten feet tall. This was the moment I'd waited for since I was old enough to tag along with my dad. I was sure that I'd score. I had to, after waiting for so long.
Sadly, St Aidans weren't in a mood for indulging me in my dreams. They won 6-0. I played in midfield and barely got a touch against two bullish 12-year-olds. The lad playing alongside me - Luke, wearing 7 - was like me, a waif who couldn't play against two bigger lads like that.
Not to worry. It was only a friendly. My optimism was undimmed despite the evidence of the past ten years. I was sure St Andrews would go on to have a good season. Sadly, our side was too young. Although the aggregate age of players on the field couldn't be over 130 under league rules (meaning younger lads and older players could get a game at the same time), all the other sides were bigger and older. We were a collection of 10- and 11-year-olds who had never played 11-a-side before.
I don't remember my competitive debut for St Andrews, but it was probably a heavy defeat at home (Knowl Park). I do, however, remember playing away at St Saviours on the second day of the season. It was my first start, and it was the only time my mum came to watch rather than my dad. In later seasons they came together a couple of times (more on that later), but on this occasion it was my mum on the touchline with Anthony (the manager) and a team mate's mum (another from church). I played up front for the first time, getting my hands on the no.10 shirt for the first time.
Saviours played down in Ravensthorpe, along the road towards the old council dump. There was a grassy verge where the home manager, parents and other supporters had taken up residence, with Anthony and our contingent banished to the other side. To one end, a pylon loomed over the pitch while the road ran parallel with the other dead-ball line. All in all, a pretty typical venue for a game like that.
Saviours themselves were a side we didn't enjoy facing that season. They were a side who still wore the same shirts they had in the 80s, a red shirt with white and blue trim, one shoulder covered by a patch of white. It was hardly elegant (think of Bolton's shirt this season in the colours I mentioned and you'd not be a million miles from the mark). And apparently they bought into the 1980s lower league idea of hitting the ball as hard as they could, even if an opposition player was in the way. And their management was even worse. It wasn't a cajoling, encouraging management - it was aggressive, critical. The language they used - whilst not out of place in adult football - was appalling. And it was this language which caused my mother to confront one man in particular in what was the first notable incident of my football career.
It didn't help the result. We still got beaten 7-1. But that was nothing compared to my third game, and first against Christ The King.
Sunday, 24 April 2011
Away at Milton Keynes
Let's be honest: it's been a little while since I wrote anything here. This is partly down to my dissertation. It's also partly down to the fact I've had nothing to write about of any interest.
So going to Milton Keynes on Friday to watch Town play in a crunch match against promotion rivals counts as interesting enough. This is not least down to the fact that in many ways it was one of the weirdest away days I've had in 17 years of watching Huddersfield Town.
First, there's Milton Keynes itself. Just how many roundabouts can they fit in a square mile? I've never been anywhere like it for roundabouts. Go a couple of hundred yards, roundabout. First exit. Another few hundred yards, roundabout. Second exit. Another couple of hundred yards, roundabout. Was it a deliberate attempt to get in the Guinness Book of Records or was it merely incidental?
Further on MK, it has this strange feel of a futuristic utopia. It's too green for a built-up area. It seems to be this collection of enclaves of civilisation connected by the many hundreds of roundabouts. I may be conditioned with a certain idea of what an English town is like, but it just felt weird. 'Pleasantville' was a word that popped into my thoughts.
We got to the ground with an hour to spare and managed to get in to the car park just outside the away end. The first thing that was noticed was that the ground wasn't finished yet. And when I say 'not finished' I mean 'where's the outside walls?'
Open plan much? Once we were in, it does have to be said the ground was very impressive. Odd as this seems, the open concourse in particular was very impressive. And when you go in it becomes apparent that the playing surface and lower tier are sunk into the ground. However, you can't escape that the upper tier seems to be some sort of homage to the famed concrete cows.
Eh? I'm all for having room for expansion, but that's taking the mick. Considering that MK currently (officially) get about 10,000 at home and on a good day that might go up to 12,000, the existing room for expansion is already enough. And I don't think anything like 10,000 turn up unless there's a good away following. That picture above was taken with about 5 minutes to go to kick-off, and it didn't get any fuller. Even allowing for 3,000 fans in the away end, there can't have been more than 9,000 there, and not the 11,800 they claimed.
Town started the game poorly and spent most of the first 20-odd minutes on the back foot. Although Dougie Thompson gave Gary Naysmith an 8 in his post-match ratings, I personally thought the Scotland international was our worst player on the day and that the winger gave him a torrid time. His error led to an MK chance inside the first 30 seconds and Bennett had to be sharp to save.
Gradually, Town came into it and scored with the first real attack mustered. Naysmith took a quick throw-in, Roberts ran at the defence and then squared it to Scott Arfield, who struck an absolute beauty from 22 yards. Cue pandemonium in the away end.
The pandemonium was stymied 4 minutes later when MK Dons won a penalty. The lad turned on the edge of the box and fell over. So the ref gave a penalty. Only the ref himself knows why. The lad just fell over. But the referee was poor all game - a couple of minutes before Town's goal he'd given MK a corner when McCombe clearly ducked out of the way of a dropping ball on the call of Ian Bennett and allowed the ball to go out - and so it wasn't too much of a surprise to see him make such an appalling decision.
Not that it mattered. Peter Leven stepped up for the MK Dons, but Ian Bennett went the right way and made a brilliant save.
Still the MK Dons came at the Town defence. Bennett made a sensational save from a deflected drive from outside the box by Balanta. What made it so remarkable was that he couldn't have seen it until it was right on top of him. Bodies had crowded the box, and it took a deflection perhaps six yards in front of him, while travelling at some speed. Quite how he made the save is beyond me.
Town successfully weathered the storm, and went 2-0 up with 10 minutes to go to half-time. The referee managed to make another cock-up by awarding Town a corner when it was clearly a Dons goal-kick. While the MK defence stood around arguing with the ref, they lost their focus. Roberts' corner found the head of an unmarked Lee Peltier who powered home his first League goal for the club on his 79th appearance.
Peltier was replaced at half-time, suffering from a knock sustained late in the first half. Danny Cadamarteri came on as his replacement, with Jack Hunt slotting in at right-back. Town were far better in the second half than they were in the first. Cadamarteri in particular took the game to MK Dons, who were pushed back far more than they had been in the first half.
After a rare MK Dons foray forward broke down, lone Town front man Benik Afobe was able to run at the Dons defence. Defender McKenzie dived in clumsily just inside the box and brought Afobe down. Penalty. Arfield had the chance to make the points safe, but fluffed his lines, proving himself to be more able from 22 yards than 12 - keeper Martin had little trouble saving the effort.
Inside moments, Town should have had another penalty. A half-cleared ball clearly struck an outstretched MK arm as the Dons desperately tried to clear their lines. The referee waved appeals away. However, the ref made up for it a little later, awarding a free-kick wide on the right for Roberts to deliver into the area. Roberts' delivery was a beauty. It had whip and pace and just the right trajectory. From the stand it looked to only take a deflection off an MK head into the top corner, but other reports have credited Danny Cadamarteri with getting a flick on the ball before the deflection. 3-0, points safe.
There was still time for the referee to make an even bigger fool of himself when booking Cadamarteri for getting hauled to the ground by Lewington just inside the area and for MK Dons to stage a late rally in which Doumbe headed home a consolation. But all in all, it was a professional display from Town at a very tough place to go. Before the second goal, MK Dons showed themselves to be a capable side who on a different day could have beaten us, had the breaks gone their way.
So going to Milton Keynes on Friday to watch Town play in a crunch match against promotion rivals counts as interesting enough. This is not least down to the fact that in many ways it was one of the weirdest away days I've had in 17 years of watching Huddersfield Town.
First, there's Milton Keynes itself. Just how many roundabouts can they fit in a square mile? I've never been anywhere like it for roundabouts. Go a couple of hundred yards, roundabout. First exit. Another few hundred yards, roundabout. Second exit. Another couple of hundred yards, roundabout. Was it a deliberate attempt to get in the Guinness Book of Records or was it merely incidental?
Further on MK, it has this strange feel of a futuristic utopia. It's too green for a built-up area. It seems to be this collection of enclaves of civilisation connected by the many hundreds of roundabouts. I may be conditioned with a certain idea of what an English town is like, but it just felt weird. 'Pleasantville' was a word that popped into my thoughts.
We got to the ground with an hour to spare and managed to get in to the car park just outside the away end. The first thing that was noticed was that the ground wasn't finished yet. And when I say 'not finished' I mean 'where's the outside walls?'
Open plan much? Once we were in, it does have to be said the ground was very impressive. Odd as this seems, the open concourse in particular was very impressive. And when you go in it becomes apparent that the playing surface and lower tier are sunk into the ground. However, you can't escape that the upper tier seems to be some sort of homage to the famed concrete cows.
Eh? I'm all for having room for expansion, but that's taking the mick. Considering that MK currently (officially) get about 10,000 at home and on a good day that might go up to 12,000, the existing room for expansion is already enough. And I don't think anything like 10,000 turn up unless there's a good away following. That picture above was taken with about 5 minutes to go to kick-off, and it didn't get any fuller. Even allowing for 3,000 fans in the away end, there can't have been more than 9,000 there, and not the 11,800 they claimed.
Town started the game poorly and spent most of the first 20-odd minutes on the back foot. Although Dougie Thompson gave Gary Naysmith an 8 in his post-match ratings, I personally thought the Scotland international was our worst player on the day and that the winger gave him a torrid time. His error led to an MK chance inside the first 30 seconds and Bennett had to be sharp to save.
Gradually, Town came into it and scored with the first real attack mustered. Naysmith took a quick throw-in, Roberts ran at the defence and then squared it to Scott Arfield, who struck an absolute beauty from 22 yards. Cue pandemonium in the away end.
The pandemonium was stymied 4 minutes later when MK Dons won a penalty. The lad turned on the edge of the box and fell over. So the ref gave a penalty. Only the ref himself knows why. The lad just fell over. But the referee was poor all game - a couple of minutes before Town's goal he'd given MK a corner when McCombe clearly ducked out of the way of a dropping ball on the call of Ian Bennett and allowed the ball to go out - and so it wasn't too much of a surprise to see him make such an appalling decision.
Not that it mattered. Peter Leven stepped up for the MK Dons, but Ian Bennett went the right way and made a brilliant save.
Still the MK Dons came at the Town defence. Bennett made a sensational save from a deflected drive from outside the box by Balanta. What made it so remarkable was that he couldn't have seen it until it was right on top of him. Bodies had crowded the box, and it took a deflection perhaps six yards in front of him, while travelling at some speed. Quite how he made the save is beyond me.
Town successfully weathered the storm, and went 2-0 up with 10 minutes to go to half-time. The referee managed to make another cock-up by awarding Town a corner when it was clearly a Dons goal-kick. While the MK defence stood around arguing with the ref, they lost their focus. Roberts' corner found the head of an unmarked Lee Peltier who powered home his first League goal for the club on his 79th appearance.
Peltier was replaced at half-time, suffering from a knock sustained late in the first half. Danny Cadamarteri came on as his replacement, with Jack Hunt slotting in at right-back. Town were far better in the second half than they were in the first. Cadamarteri in particular took the game to MK Dons, who were pushed back far more than they had been in the first half.
After a rare MK Dons foray forward broke down, lone Town front man Benik Afobe was able to run at the Dons defence. Defender McKenzie dived in clumsily just inside the box and brought Afobe down. Penalty. Arfield had the chance to make the points safe, but fluffed his lines, proving himself to be more able from 22 yards than 12 - keeper Martin had little trouble saving the effort.
Inside moments, Town should have had another penalty. A half-cleared ball clearly struck an outstretched MK arm as the Dons desperately tried to clear their lines. The referee waved appeals away. However, the ref made up for it a little later, awarding a free-kick wide on the right for Roberts to deliver into the area. Roberts' delivery was a beauty. It had whip and pace and just the right trajectory. From the stand it looked to only take a deflection off an MK head into the top corner, but other reports have credited Danny Cadamarteri with getting a flick on the ball before the deflection. 3-0, points safe.
There was still time for the referee to make an even bigger fool of himself when booking Cadamarteri for getting hauled to the ground by Lewington just inside the area and for MK Dons to stage a late rally in which Doumbe headed home a consolation. But all in all, it was a professional display from Town at a very tough place to go. Before the second goal, MK Dons showed themselves to be a capable side who on a different day could have beaten us, had the breaks gone their way.
Saturday, 5 February 2011
Pride, passion and glory
Almost a week has passed since the midday showdown with Arsenal at the Emirates and I still haven't written a full account of the game. This may surprise a couple of people, but the almighty wrong created by this omission on my part is now being corrected.
The day started early and was long. Very long. A 4am start to get to the Galpharm and get on the coach with the HTSA at 5am was perhaps too early, especially on a Sunday. But I was there, yawning and wondering what on earth I was doing awake at that time on a weekend along with thousands of others travelling down by coach.
The early start was so the fleet of coaches could arrive at Finsbury Park by 10am. I'm not altogether sure why the coaches had to arrive with 2 hours to go to kick-off, but the point was that we had to. Our coach made it there by 9.50 and, after a walk of around half an hour - during which I saw what had become of Arsenal's old ground, Highbury - we were at the Emirates Stadium.
The Emirates is seriously impressive. People bandy around the phrase 'space age stadium' in relation to virtually all modern stadia - even when they're Riverside Stadium clones, soulless bowls with no distinguishing features save for the colour of the seats - but with regards to the Emirates they're bang on the money. From outside it dominates the surrounding area, being all steel and glass. It has the aura of a modern-day coliseum, especially with the way its external walls curve away, much like that of the Coliseum in Rome.
I'm one of the first into the ground and have a hasty (and expensive) lunch, before wandering into the arena itself.
Simply put: wow. Down in League One, with the exception of the Galpharm, you simply don't get 'wow' stadia. Instead, you get the likes of Rochdale's Spotland or Peterborough's London Road, which, with all due respect, just aren't grounds up to a higher standard of football. (And don't get me onto the roads around Spotland).
So thus far, all is good. The journey's been all right, the ground spectacular. What about the game?
For the first 20 minutes Town looked thoroughly over-awed. It wasn't quite the Arsenal first string, but the likes of Eboue, Gibbs, Diaby, Nasri, Arshavin, Bendtner and Chamakh were all playing, with Cesc Fabregas, Robin Van Persie, Theo Walcott et al on the bench. And for 20 minutes they dominated. Young Jack Hunt was making his full Town debut at right-back in a rejigged 4-5-1 system, and he struggled to get to grips with Russian international Arshavin.
Most Arsenal joy came down that right-hand side. Arshavin's miscued cross hit a post before he cut inside and struck a low effort from 10 yards that rattled the outside of the woodwork (although whether Ian Bennett was beaten or not is another matter). Arshavin then teed Nicklas Bendtner up for a horrible miss, torturing Hunt before dinking in a ball to the near post that Bendtner only needed to hit the target for. He missed from three yards, prompting jeers from the Town fans behind that goal.
Bendtner again made a horrible mess of a ball in from Nasri, managing an air shot when he again only needed to hit the target, but moments later he had Arsenal ahead in controversial fashion.
Town had pushed up and managed to clear the ball into Arsenal's half, relieving the pressure. The ball came back up to Chamakh, who appeared to control the ball with his arm before playing Bendtner in. Kevin Kilbane was caught out of position and skipper Peter Clarke could only put in a covering challenge that resulted in Bendtner's off-target shot deflecting off his upper body into the bottom corner of Bennett's net.
Being a classy individual, Bendtner decided to celebrate his goal by cupping his hand to his ear and running behind the goal, winding up the Town fans. How charming of him.
The goal seemed to act as a catalyst for Town to start playing. Where before the midfield had been standing off, admiring the Arsenal passing and movement, it suddenly started to get tight and be disciplined. And Town started to see more of the ball. After one Arsenal attack broke down, Jack Hunt was able to play Anthony Pilkington a delightful ball in behind the full-back. Pilks whipped the ball in beautifully right at the feet of Alan Lee, the lone striker, six yards out, who was only denied by a great challenge from Sebastien Squillaci. Not that the referee noticed: he signalled a dead ball when everyone in the ground could see it was a corner.
Kieran Gibbs went in the book soon after for kicking the ball away when Town were about to take a free kick. And seconds later should have been given his marching orders as he went through the back of Pilkington. It wasn't the only refereeing decision going in favour of Arsenal. In the very first minute of the game Lee Peltier - playing the holding role in midfield - had been tugged down, clear as day, by Diaby, but nothing had been given. Contrast that with the protection Arsenal's players got. Every time we got close to them, the ref blew up for an Arsenal free-kick.
Not that this stopped Town from getting a real foothold in the game. Joey Gudjonsson has been hit and miss since joining Town from Burnley, but this was a definite hit day. It was his wonderful ball into the box that Anthony Pilkington got on the end of to divert a header inches wide. And before too long he'd also cracked a 30-yard free-kick within an inch of the top corner.
Just before half-time, Town sensed blood. Jack Hunt robbed Arshavin of the ball in the right-back position and went on a storming run, beating Denilson and Koscielny before being
brutally body-checked by last man Squillaci 25 yards from goal. In a rare moment of getting the decision right, referee Clattenburg brandished red. Wenger argued after the game that it was harsh. I'm not sure how. By the letter of the law, it had to be red. Hunt was 25 yards out and storming through on goal. Squillaci took him down and paid the price, as he had to.
Arsenal managed to cling on to half-time despite Town dominating. At half-time, Wenger replaced Chamakh with Alex Song, who slotted in at centre back, switching to 4-4-1. I'm not sure whether it was the system or the fact they'd taken their eye off the ball or what it was, but Arsenal just didn't emerge in the second half.
Instead, Town came out and battered their more illustrious opponents. Alan Lee was outstanding up front with his hold-up play. Pilkington and Roberts made fools of their full-backs. Arsenal couldn't get the ball of midfielders Gudjonsson, Peltier and Tom Clarke.
Town piled on the pressure. Jamie McCombe, the big centre-half, was a threat on set-pieces, but chances were coming from open play. Joey Gudjonsson was denied by one particularly outstanding piece of defending from Andriy Arshavin. From the resulting corner, the ball was only half-cleared and Joey fired in a volley that whistled an inch past the post. Alan Lee then forced goalkeeper Manuel Almunia into an outstanding one-handed save at full stretch. The goal was coming.
And it came from Alan Lee. Anthony Pilkington pinged in a corner, and Lee attacked it to send a bullet header past the despairing Almunia. 5,188 away fans were sent into euphoria as Lee wheeled away to celebrate his first goal for the club at the twenty-sixth attempt.
Arsenal came back. Peter Clarke was at his best to block Bendtner. But despite more possession Arsenal simply couldn't break Town's stubborn rearguard down, despite the introduction of captain Cesc Fabregas.
That is until the 87th minute. Kevin Kilbane dilly-dallied in possession before playing Joey Gudjonsson a hospital pass. Joey's attempted clearance was charged down by Fabregas, who played the ball across the box... where Nicklas Bendtner fell over. Clattenburg pointed to the spot.
It was never a penalty. I thought at the time it looked soft and, having seen the replays, it as a definite dive by Bendtner. He ran into Jamie McCombe - who had an immaculate game - realised he wasn't reaching the ball, and then flung himself to the deck. Fabregas attempted to make the issue worse by throwing a temper tantrum when the ref didn't send Jamie McCombe off.
I hate to see players doing that. Fabregas is a wonderfully gifted player, yet he seems determined to blot his copybook by petty whinings and complaints at referees or to the media about the tactics of the opposition. Considering that McCombe is a player playing two divisions below he is, it's pretty low to try to get him sent off, especially after such a pathetic bit of cheating by Bendtner. But he still had the focus to send Ian Bennett the wrong way and make it 2-1 Arsenal.
It was particularly galling to lose like that. Had Fabregas picked up the ball, beaten two defenders and pinged a shot into the top corner from 30 yards you'd have just had to admire the quality that had beaten you. But we were beaten by cheating of the lowest order in football. We didn't deserve that.
Understandably, the coach back was subdued. After playing so well it didn't seem right to lose in such a way. But there was still a sense of pride in the performance and an optimism that if we play like that to the end of the season we'll be playing Championship football next campaign.
The day started early and was long. Very long. A 4am start to get to the Galpharm and get on the coach with the HTSA at 5am was perhaps too early, especially on a Sunday. But I was there, yawning and wondering what on earth I was doing awake at that time on a weekend along with thousands of others travelling down by coach.
The early start was so the fleet of coaches could arrive at Finsbury Park by 10am. I'm not altogether sure why the coaches had to arrive with 2 hours to go to kick-off, but the point was that we had to. Our coach made it there by 9.50 and, after a walk of around half an hour - during which I saw what had become of Arsenal's old ground, Highbury - we were at the Emirates Stadium.
The Emirates is seriously impressive. People bandy around the phrase 'space age stadium' in relation to virtually all modern stadia - even when they're Riverside Stadium clones, soulless bowls with no distinguishing features save for the colour of the seats - but with regards to the Emirates they're bang on the money. From outside it dominates the surrounding area, being all steel and glass. It has the aura of a modern-day coliseum, especially with the way its external walls curve away, much like that of the Coliseum in Rome.
I'm one of the first into the ground and have a hasty (and expensive) lunch, before wandering into the arena itself.
Simply put: wow. Down in League One, with the exception of the Galpharm, you simply don't get 'wow' stadia. Instead, you get the likes of Rochdale's Spotland or Peterborough's London Road, which, with all due respect, just aren't grounds up to a higher standard of football. (And don't get me onto the roads around Spotland).
So thus far, all is good. The journey's been all right, the ground spectacular. What about the game?
For the first 20 minutes Town looked thoroughly over-awed. It wasn't quite the Arsenal first string, but the likes of Eboue, Gibbs, Diaby, Nasri, Arshavin, Bendtner and Chamakh were all playing, with Cesc Fabregas, Robin Van Persie, Theo Walcott et al on the bench. And for 20 minutes they dominated. Young Jack Hunt was making his full Town debut at right-back in a rejigged 4-5-1 system, and he struggled to get to grips with Russian international Arshavin.
Most Arsenal joy came down that right-hand side. Arshavin's miscued cross hit a post before he cut inside and struck a low effort from 10 yards that rattled the outside of the woodwork (although whether Ian Bennett was beaten or not is another matter). Arshavin then teed Nicklas Bendtner up for a horrible miss, torturing Hunt before dinking in a ball to the near post that Bendtner only needed to hit the target for. He missed from three yards, prompting jeers from the Town fans behind that goal.
Bendtner again made a horrible mess of a ball in from Nasri, managing an air shot when he again only needed to hit the target, but moments later he had Arsenal ahead in controversial fashion.
Town had pushed up and managed to clear the ball into Arsenal's half, relieving the pressure. The ball came back up to Chamakh, who appeared to control the ball with his arm before playing Bendtner in. Kevin Kilbane was caught out of position and skipper Peter Clarke could only put in a covering challenge that resulted in Bendtner's off-target shot deflecting off his upper body into the bottom corner of Bennett's net.
Being a classy individual, Bendtner decided to celebrate his goal by cupping his hand to his ear and running behind the goal, winding up the Town fans. How charming of him.
The goal seemed to act as a catalyst for Town to start playing. Where before the midfield had been standing off, admiring the Arsenal passing and movement, it suddenly started to get tight and be disciplined. And Town started to see more of the ball. After one Arsenal attack broke down, Jack Hunt was able to play Anthony Pilkington a delightful ball in behind the full-back. Pilks whipped the ball in beautifully right at the feet of Alan Lee, the lone striker, six yards out, who was only denied by a great challenge from Sebastien Squillaci. Not that the referee noticed: he signalled a dead ball when everyone in the ground could see it was a corner.
Kieran Gibbs went in the book soon after for kicking the ball away when Town were about to take a free kick. And seconds later should have been given his marching orders as he went through the back of Pilkington. It wasn't the only refereeing decision going in favour of Arsenal. In the very first minute of the game Lee Peltier - playing the holding role in midfield - had been tugged down, clear as day, by Diaby, but nothing had been given. Contrast that with the protection Arsenal's players got. Every time we got close to them, the ref blew up for an Arsenal free-kick.
Not that this stopped Town from getting a real foothold in the game. Joey Gudjonsson has been hit and miss since joining Town from Burnley, but this was a definite hit day. It was his wonderful ball into the box that Anthony Pilkington got on the end of to divert a header inches wide. And before too long he'd also cracked a 30-yard free-kick within an inch of the top corner.
Just before half-time, Town sensed blood. Jack Hunt robbed Arshavin of the ball in the right-back position and went on a storming run, beating Denilson and Koscielny before being
brutally body-checked by last man Squillaci 25 yards from goal. In a rare moment of getting the decision right, referee Clattenburg brandished red. Wenger argued after the game that it was harsh. I'm not sure how. By the letter of the law, it had to be red. Hunt was 25 yards out and storming through on goal. Squillaci took him down and paid the price, as he had to.Arsenal managed to cling on to half-time despite Town dominating. At half-time, Wenger replaced Chamakh with Alex Song, who slotted in at centre back, switching to 4-4-1. I'm not sure whether it was the system or the fact they'd taken their eye off the ball or what it was, but Arsenal just didn't emerge in the second half.
Instead, Town came out and battered their more illustrious opponents. Alan Lee was outstanding up front with his hold-up play. Pilkington and Roberts made fools of their full-backs. Arsenal couldn't get the ball of midfielders Gudjonsson, Peltier and Tom Clarke.
Town piled on the pressure. Jamie McCombe, the big centre-half, was a threat on set-pieces, but chances were coming from open play. Joey Gudjonsson was denied by one particularly outstanding piece of defending from Andriy Arshavin. From the resulting corner, the ball was only half-cleared and Joey fired in a volley that whistled an inch past the post. Alan Lee then forced goalkeeper Manuel Almunia into an outstanding one-handed save at full stretch. The goal was coming.
And it came from Alan Lee. Anthony Pilkington pinged in a corner, and Lee attacked it to send a bullet header past the despairing Almunia. 5,188 away fans were sent into euphoria as Lee wheeled away to celebrate his first goal for the club at the twenty-sixth attempt.
Arsenal came back. Peter Clarke was at his best to block Bendtner. But despite more possession Arsenal simply couldn't break Town's stubborn rearguard down, despite the introduction of captain Cesc Fabregas.
That is until the 87th minute. Kevin Kilbane dilly-dallied in possession before playing Joey Gudjonsson a hospital pass. Joey's attempted clearance was charged down by Fabregas, who played the ball across the box... where Nicklas Bendtner fell over. Clattenburg pointed to the spot.
It was never a penalty. I thought at the time it looked soft and, having seen the replays, it as a definite dive by Bendtner. He ran into Jamie McCombe - who had an immaculate game - realised he wasn't reaching the ball, and then flung himself to the deck. Fabregas attempted to make the issue worse by throwing a temper tantrum when the ref didn't send Jamie McCombe off.
I hate to see players doing that. Fabregas is a wonderfully gifted player, yet he seems determined to blot his copybook by petty whinings and complaints at referees or to the media about the tactics of the opposition. Considering that McCombe is a player playing two divisions below he is, it's pretty low to try to get him sent off, especially after such a pathetic bit of cheating by Bendtner. But he still had the focus to send Ian Bennett the wrong way and make it 2-1 Arsenal.
It was particularly galling to lose like that. Had Fabregas picked up the ball, beaten two defenders and pinged a shot into the top corner from 30 yards you'd have just had to admire the quality that had beaten you. But we were beaten by cheating of the lowest order in football. We didn't deserve that.
Understandably, the coach back was subdued. After playing so well it didn't seem right to lose in such a way. But there was still a sense of pride in the performance and an optimism that if we play like that to the end of the season we'll be playing Championship football next campaign.
Friday, 21 January 2011
Kneeding a break?
It's been a long day. Even more so when you consider I've not really had that much to do. Came home, called in at the grandparents, came home, went to the doctors' surgery, came home again...
But there was some news from the day that made it all worthwhile. 22 months after a serious knee injury, I practically got the all clear to go hell for leather into each and every tackle. The instability I perceived to be in my left knee came about as a result of a loose collateral ligament, rather than any real damage. No cruciate problems, no cartilage floating around, nothing.
Hopefully, after a little bit of physiotherapy, my knee will be back to what it was before I dislocated it. But it's certainly a load off my mind; the next time I go into a challenge I won't have the worry in the back of my mind that my knee will destroy itself in the collision. So I no longer have an excuse for bottling a tackle.
But I'm pleased to be, for want of a better phrase, 'fit again'.
But there was some news from the day that made it all worthwhile. 22 months after a serious knee injury, I practically got the all clear to go hell for leather into each and every tackle. The instability I perceived to be in my left knee came about as a result of a loose collateral ligament, rather than any real damage. No cruciate problems, no cartilage floating around, nothing.
Hopefully, after a little bit of physiotherapy, my knee will be back to what it was before I dislocated it. But it's certainly a load off my mind; the next time I go into a challenge I won't have the worry in the back of my mind that my knee will destroy itself in the collision. So I no longer have an excuse for bottling a tackle.
But I'm pleased to be, for want of a better phrase, 'fit again'.
Monday, 10 January 2011
Whatever Platini says...
I have nothing personal against Hull City. In fact, I'd go so far as to say most people have nothing against Hull City. Quite a few neutrals around the country will have cheered a little when they beat Arsenal at the Emirates a year or two back with that screamer from Geovanni. Part of this comes from the fact Hull don't really have any natural rivals. Scunthorpe and Grimsby are as big as Hull rivalries really get, and I can imagine that Hull fans are a bit miffed about that (especially when you consider even Torquay have cracking local derbies to get stuck into every now and then).
Anyway, I'm getting off my point already.
Hull have been in financial trouble for a while now, since Adam Pearson left them and Phil Duffen took over. Quite how they managed to get into financial trouble with 25,000 fans coming through the turnstiles every week and a further £30m incoming in TV money I really don't know. It isn't as if they spent masses of cash on players (unless it all went on Phil Brown's tan). Since their relegation back to the Football League, they've been taken over by Arabic businessmen who have, apparently, put the club back on a stable footing.
I don't know why people keep selling English clubs to foreign owners. Perhaps in the short term it reaps rewards (look at Notts County last season - from 19th in League Two in 2008/9 to champions in 2009/10, with a progressive side featuring the likes of Kasper Schmeichel), but in the longer term it's a recipe for disaster.
What emotions tie an Arabic businessman to an English football club? Precisely none. Some would suggest that this is an advantage; a business needs to be run in a certain way, and that way doesn't involve emotions ruling the roost. But unfortunately very few clubs will ever be run that way by a foreign businessman because the aim is simple: success at any cost.
Do Manchester City have a sustainable business model in their quest to win the Champions League? The answer is no. Spending £27m on Edin Dzeko this past week, plus goodness knows how many hundreds of thousands on weekly wages is just one example of the way foreign - and in particular Arabic - owners throw money at the problem in search of prestige. Foreign owners aren't interested in the team or the fans, per se, but instead are interested in their own bragging rights. Owning a successful club is a badge of honour, and that club being a sustainable business doesn't matter one jot.
Not all foreign owners are like this. Randy Lerner at Aston Villa has been a good chairman and owner. Villa haven't thrown money at players except in rare instances (wasting £8m on L**ds no-mark Fabian Delph springs to mind instantly), and have instead relied on talented youngsters. And some of these youngsters are superb. Marc Albrighton, Barry Bannan, Jonathan Hogg, Gabby Agbonlahor, Ciaran Clark and Eric Lichaj are all players with international futures ahead of them and, with the exception of Agbonlahor, all are players who have made their mark this season. The impression I get from Villa is of a side building for the future through steady, sensible progress rather than going for broke in a do-or-die scenario. In recent times, Roman Abramovich at Chelsea has become far more like this, although success is still the bottom line for him.
Going back to Hull, I fail to see how these new owners will benefit them one jot in the long term. Spending £40m on buying the stadium may endear them to the fans for the immediate future, but when they're bored and success hasn't materialised they'll leave the club to the vultures, with players on stupid wages and with a mounting debt. Sometimes this isn't the case, but because the emotional attachment isn't there why would they stay? It's not as if they were watching on from the terraces at Boothferry Park with a young Dean Windass playing for Hull, is it?
Oh, for the days of Jack Walker and Jack Hayward. Both Englishmen, both determined to see their clubs (Blackburn Rovers and Wolverhampton Wanderers respectively) advance, but never jeapordising the future of the clubs. Walker was accused of buying Blackburn the title, but if that's the worst you can say about him he did his job properly. His legacy was a club capable of sustaining itself at a high level, with the very sensible John Williams taking over. The same can be said for Hayward. Now compare Jack Walker's running of the football club with the new (foreign) owners, who are more interested in bringing in short-term prestige over long-term stability.
As a Huddersfield Town fan, I'm delighted Town aren't owned by a foreign owner with no real connections to the club. We're owned by a man with a nine-figure fortune, yes, but this is no oil tycoon from the United Arab Emirates. Dean Hoyle is a self-made millionaire, born in Heckmondwike, who has supported Town through thick and thin for 30 years. He went straight from the Kilner Bank not too far along from yours truly to the boardroom. His investment is heavy - but when we come out of this phase of investing the club will have been revolutionised and will, most importantly, be a sustainable business.
In many ways I'm an extremely lucky football fan. These days there seems to be a choice between a foreign owner with wads of cash but no emotional attachment who leaves the club in dire straits when he leaves or a succession of well-meaning but ultimately not-very-rich owners who try to keep the club on the straight and narrow. Having a fan with money and business sense in charge leaves me with the feeling that the club is in very safe hands.
Anyway, I'm getting off my point already.
Hull have been in financial trouble for a while now, since Adam Pearson left them and Phil Duffen took over. Quite how they managed to get into financial trouble with 25,000 fans coming through the turnstiles every week and a further £30m incoming in TV money I really don't know. It isn't as if they spent masses of cash on players (unless it all went on Phil Brown's tan). Since their relegation back to the Football League, they've been taken over by Arabic businessmen who have, apparently, put the club back on a stable footing.
I don't know why people keep selling English clubs to foreign owners. Perhaps in the short term it reaps rewards (look at Notts County last season - from 19th in League Two in 2008/9 to champions in 2009/10, with a progressive side featuring the likes of Kasper Schmeichel), but in the longer term it's a recipe for disaster.
What emotions tie an Arabic businessman to an English football club? Precisely none. Some would suggest that this is an advantage; a business needs to be run in a certain way, and that way doesn't involve emotions ruling the roost. But unfortunately very few clubs will ever be run that way by a foreign businessman because the aim is simple: success at any cost.
Do Manchester City have a sustainable business model in their quest to win the Champions League? The answer is no. Spending £27m on Edin Dzeko this past week, plus goodness knows how many hundreds of thousands on weekly wages is just one example of the way foreign - and in particular Arabic - owners throw money at the problem in search of prestige. Foreign owners aren't interested in the team or the fans, per se, but instead are interested in their own bragging rights. Owning a successful club is a badge of honour, and that club being a sustainable business doesn't matter one jot.
Not all foreign owners are like this. Randy Lerner at Aston Villa has been a good chairman and owner. Villa haven't thrown money at players except in rare instances (wasting £8m on L**ds no-mark Fabian Delph springs to mind instantly), and have instead relied on talented youngsters. And some of these youngsters are superb. Marc Albrighton, Barry Bannan, Jonathan Hogg, Gabby Agbonlahor, Ciaran Clark and Eric Lichaj are all players with international futures ahead of them and, with the exception of Agbonlahor, all are players who have made their mark this season. The impression I get from Villa is of a side building for the future through steady, sensible progress rather than going for broke in a do-or-die scenario. In recent times, Roman Abramovich at Chelsea has become far more like this, although success is still the bottom line for him.
Going back to Hull, I fail to see how these new owners will benefit them one jot in the long term. Spending £40m on buying the stadium may endear them to the fans for the immediate future, but when they're bored and success hasn't materialised they'll leave the club to the vultures, with players on stupid wages and with a mounting debt. Sometimes this isn't the case, but because the emotional attachment isn't there why would they stay? It's not as if they were watching on from the terraces at Boothferry Park with a young Dean Windass playing for Hull, is it?
Oh, for the days of Jack Walker and Jack Hayward. Both Englishmen, both determined to see their clubs (Blackburn Rovers and Wolverhampton Wanderers respectively) advance, but never jeapordising the future of the clubs. Walker was accused of buying Blackburn the title, but if that's the worst you can say about him he did his job properly. His legacy was a club capable of sustaining itself at a high level, with the very sensible John Williams taking over. The same can be said for Hayward. Now compare Jack Walker's running of the football club with the new (foreign) owners, who are more interested in bringing in short-term prestige over long-term stability.
As a Huddersfield Town fan, I'm delighted Town aren't owned by a foreign owner with no real connections to the club. We're owned by a man with a nine-figure fortune, yes, but this is no oil tycoon from the United Arab Emirates. Dean Hoyle is a self-made millionaire, born in Heckmondwike, who has supported Town through thick and thin for 30 years. He went straight from the Kilner Bank not too far along from yours truly to the boardroom. His investment is heavy - but when we come out of this phase of investing the club will have been revolutionised and will, most importantly, be a sustainable business.
In many ways I'm an extremely lucky football fan. These days there seems to be a choice between a foreign owner with wads of cash but no emotional attachment who leaves the club in dire straits when he leaves or a succession of well-meaning but ultimately not-very-rich owners who try to keep the club on the straight and narrow. Having a fan with money and business sense in charge leaves me with the feeling that the club is in very safe hands.
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
And in the 91st minute, they have a corner...
Something has come to bug me over the past few days. After seeing the high/lowlights of Town's 1-0 defeat down at Swindon, I rewatched the goal. It came from a Swindon corner put into the middle. Their lad outjumped Peter Clarke and powered his header down into the bottom corner. Danny Wilson will have been a happy manager with that goal.
Lee Clark, on the other hand, ought to have been very unhappy with his team's defending, not just because his captain was outjumped, but because one of the very basics of defending set-pieces was flouted to his side's cost: there was no man standing on the back post waiting to make a clearance if it came near him.
This is a problem at all levels of the game in varying forms. Bolton scored a goal on Sunday where Zat Knight flicked it on into the corner from a corner kick. Patrice Evra - the Manchester United left-back - had wandered two yards off the post he was meant to stick to like glue. The result was that he couldn't do his job properly. Lee Dixon picked up on this in his analysis of the game for Match of the Day 2, and I have to say I agree with every word he said.
When I was defending set-pieces as a kid, I generally got stuck on one post or another. In operating this system, our defence made the goals smaller by at least a yard on either post. They stuck me on a post because I was never going to outjump a centre-half attacking the ball in, but I could be of use in making the goals that bit smaller. Sometimes one would go over me because I wasn't tall enough to get to it, but that could be chalked down to just being one of those things as well as an outstanding finish.
So a man on either post makes the goals smaller. What other principles should teams observe when defending a corner kick? Well, I like to see teams leave at least one player forward. This makes sense from both attacking and defensive perspectives: it makes a break from the corner easier, especially if that lad breaking is a quick player, but it also means that the opposition will pull two players back to defend against the possibility of a counter-attack. Fewer attackers forward, a less congested penalty area, less chance of a striker giving their marker the slip in a crowd of bodies. Couple this with the men stood on the post, and you have a smaller goal, easier marking and a better chance of making a counter-attack.
I was very disappointed to read Lee Clark's comments about the Swindon goal this morning:
Lee Clark, on the other hand, ought to have been very unhappy with his team's defending, not just because his captain was outjumped, but because one of the very basics of defending set-pieces was flouted to his side's cost: there was no man standing on the back post waiting to make a clearance if it came near him.
This is a problem at all levels of the game in varying forms. Bolton scored a goal on Sunday where Zat Knight flicked it on into the corner from a corner kick. Patrice Evra - the Manchester United left-back - had wandered two yards off the post he was meant to stick to like glue. The result was that he couldn't do his job properly. Lee Dixon picked up on this in his analysis of the game for Match of the Day 2, and I have to say I agree with every word he said.
When I was defending set-pieces as a kid, I generally got stuck on one post or another. In operating this system, our defence made the goals smaller by at least a yard on either post. They stuck me on a post because I was never going to outjump a centre-half attacking the ball in, but I could be of use in making the goals that bit smaller. Sometimes one would go over me because I wasn't tall enough to get to it, but that could be chalked down to just being one of those things as well as an outstanding finish.
So a man on either post makes the goals smaller. What other principles should teams observe when defending a corner kick? Well, I like to see teams leave at least one player forward. This makes sense from both attacking and defensive perspectives: it makes a break from the corner easier, especially if that lad breaking is a quick player, but it also means that the opposition will pull two players back to defend against the possibility of a counter-attack. Fewer attackers forward, a less congested penalty area, less chance of a striker giving their marker the slip in a crowd of bodies. Couple this with the men stood on the post, and you have a smaller goal, easier marking and a better chance of making a counter-attack.
I was very disappointed to read Lee Clark's comments about the Swindon goal this morning:
"I felt that the defensive side of the game was very good on Saturday and we had to defend quite a lot as we didn't keep hold of the ball as well as we like, but unfortunately over the course of ninety minutes they will get an opportunity and their lad scored a terrific header - if any of my lads scored that goal, I would think it was tremendous. You have to hold your hands up sometimes and he beat one of our lads in the air before heading it in the only place he could to score"
Why can't he see the problem? The only reason he could score there was through a defence not taking proper responsibility. From a 91st minute corner, it's criminal.
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
Theo Robinson
Dear Town fans,
What is it about Theo Robinson that means people instantly slag him off? Is it his lack of composure in front of goal (you know, that same lack of composure that saw him score 16 goals last season), the lack of a football brain (see previous comment) or the fact he isn't very good in the air?
Whatever it is, there's a great number of you who should be ashamed of yourselves. A player who scores 16 goals in 19 starts, is only 21 and will improve isn't a bad player. I accept he can be a bit of a headless chicken, but what has he really done to make him such a pariah? Is it the umpteen chances he missed against Wycombe? Or is it just that you need a scapegoat?
Many people seemed to blame Theo for the 5-1 defeat at Everton. Right, so the fact the defence conceded 5 and could have conceded more was Theo's fault? He lost possession for the first goal, fine, but the midfield should have closed players down quicker and not allowed the ball to be worked out wide. In fact, the goal we did score - a Lee Croft cross in to Gary Roberts, whose effort was blocked by the goalkeeper only for an under-pressure Johnny Heitinga to bundle over his own line - came about because Theo got in the box and put pressure on the defender, forcing him into the mistake. Good forward play, in other words.
Let's throw another consideration into the mix: playing with one up front. Theo is not a lone striker. He works best with a partner, and it's certainly a bad idea to lump the ball in to him for him to hold up because he can't do it, so why was the whole gameplan in the second half lump it up for Theo to hold up? Is it Theo's fault he isn't a big burly six-foot-three striker who can do the job? No. And why the criticism for him not closing down every defender and allowing them to bring it forward? The system we played - 4-5-1 - meant that if he did do it, there wasn't a second striker putting pressure on the other central defender so it was a straightforward pass for the centre-half to make, so his mate could saunter out of defence under no pressure instead.
A confident Theo is a goalscoring Theo, and we haven't seen that this season because he a) hasn't been given minutes and b) hasn't been confident. I hope we see him in a Town shirt again because he is unpredictable and because he hasn't been given a chance by the people who are supposed to get behind him. If he doesn't come back to Town after his loan spell at Millwall, I hope he has a great career scoring goals at clubs who appreciate him.
What is it about Theo Robinson that means people instantly slag him off? Is it his lack of composure in front of goal (you know, that same lack of composure that saw him score 16 goals last season), the lack of a football brain (see previous comment) or the fact he isn't very good in the air?
Whatever it is, there's a great number of you who should be ashamed of yourselves. A player who scores 16 goals in 19 starts, is only 21 and will improve isn't a bad player. I accept he can be a bit of a headless chicken, but what has he really done to make him such a pariah? Is it the umpteen chances he missed against Wycombe? Or is it just that you need a scapegoat?
Many people seemed to blame Theo for the 5-1 defeat at Everton. Right, so the fact the defence conceded 5 and could have conceded more was Theo's fault? He lost possession for the first goal, fine, but the midfield should have closed players down quicker and not allowed the ball to be worked out wide. In fact, the goal we did score - a Lee Croft cross in to Gary Roberts, whose effort was blocked by the goalkeeper only for an under-pressure Johnny Heitinga to bundle over his own line - came about because Theo got in the box and put pressure on the defender, forcing him into the mistake. Good forward play, in other words.
Let's throw another consideration into the mix: playing with one up front. Theo is not a lone striker. He works best with a partner, and it's certainly a bad idea to lump the ball in to him for him to hold up because he can't do it, so why was the whole gameplan in the second half lump it up for Theo to hold up? Is it Theo's fault he isn't a big burly six-foot-three striker who can do the job? No. And why the criticism for him not closing down every defender and allowing them to bring it forward? The system we played - 4-5-1 - meant that if he did do it, there wasn't a second striker putting pressure on the other central defender so it was a straightforward pass for the centre-half to make, so his mate could saunter out of defence under no pressure instead.
A confident Theo is a goalscoring Theo, and we haven't seen that this season because he a) hasn't been given minutes and b) hasn't been confident. I hope we see him in a Town shirt again because he is unpredictable and because he hasn't been given a chance by the people who are supposed to get behind him. If he doesn't come back to Town after his loan spell at Millwall, I hope he has a great career scoring goals at clubs who appreciate him.
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
Insert Z-Cars theme here
Last football blog for a while, promise.
Town play in the second round of the League Cup tonight. After a 1-0 win at Carlisle a couple of weeks ago, thanks to Jordan Rhodes' 90th minute strike, we drew Premier League side Everton away. Initial feelings of 'great draw, we can win that' have drifted away over the past couple of weeks to being a feeling of 'we're going to get hammered'. Anything other than a 5-0 walloping will be celebrated like we won the World Cup. With Kevin Sharp in the team.
I'm looking forward to the trip over, if I'm honest. Goodison Park is a ground I haven't been to yet, and, by my reckoning, will be the 45th ground I'll have seen a match at. By all accounts, it's a proper old ground, creaking and full of character. It's no Saltergate, seeing as it hosts Premier League football week in week out, but it's probably the only ground around to have a church in one corner.
I like grounds with character, or at least with something different. St James' Park, Newcastle, is a brilliant ground for being something different, modern as it is. The Riverside Stadium, Middlesbrough, is on the opposite end of the scale, being an identikit stadium. You can change the colour of the seats and be in the Walkers, the Keepmoat, the Liberty Stadium, the Cardiff City Stadium... You get the point.
Our own ground, the Galpharm, is nothing like the above, thankfully. It's been imitated, but never bettered. The Galpharm can legitimately lay claim to be one of the most important grounds in football history, as it dragged ground architecture away from the post-Hillsborough depression and into the 21st century. At least, until whoever decided to build the Riverside made it a soulless bowl that everyone would copy. The arches on the roofs of the stands are iconic at the Mac (as I still call it), and the way the stands are shaped like segments of orange makes it instantly recognisable.
Going back a year or two (or 16 and a bit, seeing as that's when the last match was played there), Leeds Road was the first ground I ever took in a match. Town played Plymouth Argyle. We won 1-0, courtesy of a man I would see score a few times more: Andy Booth. The ground itself was, by that point, falling down. It had virtually none of the splendour that had seen it become one of the leading grounds in the country. It was still an awesome arena in its size; apart from a roof over the East Terrace, it was essentially still the same ground that 67,037 had crammed into in the early 30s to watch a Cup match between Town and Arsenal (Town suffered the usual big crowd nerves, and went down 1-0). But only 6,000 were in the ground on this day, making the terraces quiet. If I had one wish, it would be to see Leeds Road at its best, when 40,000 would regularly go through the turnstiles and when the East Terrace was somewhere the noise would be unreal (according to my dad, Simon Inglis, and the Old Grounds website). The first night of the Denis Law lights, v champions Wolves, would be a good one to pick.
Anyhow, moving back on to this evening's match. Everton are a good team. In fact, Everton are a very good team. They're the highest-ranked side in the competition at this point, and Town have our work cut out just to not get hammered. On the other hand, we have a strong spine and have enough in the tank to cause an upset. Gary Naysmith's return from a ban will balance the back four. Roberts will most likely return to the left wing. We can cause an upset if we believe it.
I'm setting off at 4.30 for the 8pm kick-off. With me will be food, an iPod, and Old Man's War. See, I linked it to writing (sort of).
Town play in the second round of the League Cup tonight. After a 1-0 win at Carlisle a couple of weeks ago, thanks to Jordan Rhodes' 90th minute strike, we drew Premier League side Everton away. Initial feelings of 'great draw, we can win that' have drifted away over the past couple of weeks to being a feeling of 'we're going to get hammered'. Anything other than a 5-0 walloping will be celebrated like we won the World Cup. With Kevin Sharp in the team.
I'm looking forward to the trip over, if I'm honest. Goodison Park is a ground I haven't been to yet, and, by my reckoning, will be the 45th ground I'll have seen a match at. By all accounts, it's a proper old ground, creaking and full of character. It's no Saltergate, seeing as it hosts Premier League football week in week out, but it's probably the only ground around to have a church in one corner.
I like grounds with character, or at least with something different. St James' Park, Newcastle, is a brilliant ground for being something different, modern as it is. The Riverside Stadium, Middlesbrough, is on the opposite end of the scale, being an identikit stadium. You can change the colour of the seats and be in the Walkers, the Keepmoat, the Liberty Stadium, the Cardiff City Stadium... You get the point.
Our own ground, the Galpharm, is nothing like the above, thankfully. It's been imitated, but never bettered. The Galpharm can legitimately lay claim to be one of the most important grounds in football history, as it dragged ground architecture away from the post-Hillsborough depression and into the 21st century. At least, until whoever decided to build the Riverside made it a soulless bowl that everyone would copy. The arches on the roofs of the stands are iconic at the Mac (as I still call it), and the way the stands are shaped like segments of orange makes it instantly recognisable.
Going back a year or two (or 16 and a bit, seeing as that's when the last match was played there), Leeds Road was the first ground I ever took in a match. Town played Plymouth Argyle. We won 1-0, courtesy of a man I would see score a few times more: Andy Booth. The ground itself was, by that point, falling down. It had virtually none of the splendour that had seen it become one of the leading grounds in the country. It was still an awesome arena in its size; apart from a roof over the East Terrace, it was essentially still the same ground that 67,037 had crammed into in the early 30s to watch a Cup match between Town and Arsenal (Town suffered the usual big crowd nerves, and went down 1-0). But only 6,000 were in the ground on this day, making the terraces quiet. If I had one wish, it would be to see Leeds Road at its best, when 40,000 would regularly go through the turnstiles and when the East Terrace was somewhere the noise would be unreal (according to my dad, Simon Inglis, and the Old Grounds website). The first night of the Denis Law lights, v champions Wolves, would be a good one to pick.
Anyhow, moving back on to this evening's match. Everton are a good team. In fact, Everton are a very good team. They're the highest-ranked side in the competition at this point, and Town have our work cut out just to not get hammered. On the other hand, we have a strong spine and have enough in the tank to cause an upset. Gary Naysmith's return from a ban will balance the back four. Roberts will most likely return to the left wing. We can cause an upset if we believe it.
I'm setting off at 4.30 for the 8pm kick-off. With me will be food, an iPod, and Old Man's War. See, I linked it to writing (sort of).
Saturday, 21 August 2010
Further to yesterday's blog...
We lost. We were 2-0 up, Smithies made a mistake and we ended up losing 4-2.
Oh well.
It does have to be said that Down At The Mac is practically in meltdown about it. Why is it so hard to get perspective into Town fans? Yes, we lost, but we did lose to a good team with three very talented players up front. We won't go up against a more talented front three all season. We still have some very good players even if they had an off-day. We are still only 3 games into the season, with 43 to play.
But no, according to DATM the manager has to go (even though the players were at fault for the goals), we need to be nastier, we have to sacrifice style, we have to bring in a target man, McCombe isn't good enough, we're exposed without Naysmith at left-back, Pilkington only gets in the team because he's a manager's favourite, Theo should have come on...
Watch us win in midweek against Premier League Everton and all the cracks be gone and for us to be marching to the title again.
Congrats to Peterborough, by the way. Sounds like the better team won over the course of 90 minutes.
Oh well.
It does have to be said that Down At The Mac is practically in meltdown about it. Why is it so hard to get perspective into Town fans? Yes, we lost, but we did lose to a good team with three very talented players up front. We won't go up against a more talented front three all season. We still have some very good players even if they had an off-day. We are still only 3 games into the season, with 43 to play.
But no, according to DATM the manager has to go (even though the players were at fault for the goals), we need to be nastier, we have to sacrifice style, we have to bring in a target man, McCombe isn't good enough, we're exposed without Naysmith at left-back, Pilkington only gets in the team because he's a manager's favourite, Theo should have come on...
Watch us win in midweek against Premier League Everton and all the cracks be gone and for us to be marching to the title again.
Congrats to Peterborough, by the way. Sounds like the better team won over the course of 90 minutes.
Friday, 20 August 2010
Oh when the Town...
A couple of years ago I went down the A1 to watch Huddersfield Town take on Peterborough. Town had suffered a shocking start to the season under Stan Ternent. We were battling at the bottom, despite a summer spending spree which had brought in 11 players and seen much of the previous season's deadwood shipped out. Posh, on the other hand, were going well with their talented side, and were on the fringes of the play-offs.
What unfolded that afternoon is something nightmares are made of. In almost 17 years of watching Town, I've yet to see a side with less passion, less fight, less ability. Peterborough were a decent side, granted, but Town were simply awful. Part of this is down to the team selection. We played 4-5-1, with Liam Dickinson as a lone striker, Jim Goodwin at right back, Andy Holdsworth on the right wing and Matt Glennon in goal. We were shapeless and disorganised, and we paid for it. We lost 4-0.
It's hard to think about days like that when you're a football fan. They inspire a dullness in the pit of your stomach. Saying it feels like a death is going too far, but certainly games like that have you on the edge of tears just thinking about the state of the team you love. Looking back, there are very few games where I've felt anything similar. Losing 4-1 at Oldham 6 months previous to the Peterborough game was one of those days. A few days later, manager Andy Ritchie had got the sack. Macclesfield away, another 4-0 gubbing, is another occasion, although Town reacted to this and went on a run of just 4 defeats in 26 matches, eventually winning promotion via the play-offs.
Peterborough away is one of the top 3 for awful afternoons watching Town. Misery was compounded in the dying seconds when Chris Lucketti was sent off for a professional foul, and manager Ternent came out at the end with his now-infamous Christmas dinner statement. A 0-0 draw on the Tuesday to Yeovil and a 3-2 win over basement side Crewe weren't enough to save the Turnip's job, and he goes down in Town folklore as probably the worst manager the club has ever had.
But my point is that since that day Town have progressed beyond recognition. Two weeks after Ternent left, caretaker manager Gerry Murphy guided Town to a magnificent 2-1 victory at local rivals Leeds, a result that set Town on the winning trail. Eventually, Lee Clark was appointed manager, and guided Town to 9th that season.
Several notable incomings and changes were made between Ternent's departure and the end of the campaign. Goalkeeper Matt Glennon was dropped in favour of hot prospect Alex Smithies - who hadn't even been on the bench under Ternent. Holdsworth reverted to right-back, Goodwin to central midfield. Michael Collins returned to the first team and hit 10 goals from midfield. Incoming was wingman Anthony Pilkington for £500,000 from Stockport. In my opinion, this boy is the best player in League One. He's two-footed, powerful, blessed with great vision and technique.
Last season, even more progress was made. Town finished 6th and lost in the play-offs. The squad was so different from the Ternent days that it's hardly believable that under 2 years were between the end of last season and Ternent's departure. Right-back Lee Peltier, central defender and captain Peter Clarke, strikers Jordan Rhodes and Lee Novak are just a handful of examples of where the club has progressed in its playing staff.
Tomorrow, Town go to Peterborough for the first time since that 4-0 thrashing. The side will have only one survivor: winger Gary Roberts. 1-11, Town are stronger, and Peterborough will be a real test for the new team. Luckily, even if we do get thrashed 4-0, we won't have the sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach reserved for hopeless situations. We've progressed to the point where we're unrecognisable from the perpetual underachievers of the last decade. This is a team ready to go back to the Championship.
Come on, Town!
Now, back to the writing.
What unfolded that afternoon is something nightmares are made of. In almost 17 years of watching Town, I've yet to see a side with less passion, less fight, less ability. Peterborough were a decent side, granted, but Town were simply awful. Part of this is down to the team selection. We played 4-5-1, with Liam Dickinson as a lone striker, Jim Goodwin at right back, Andy Holdsworth on the right wing and Matt Glennon in goal. We were shapeless and disorganised, and we paid for it. We lost 4-0.
It's hard to think about days like that when you're a football fan. They inspire a dullness in the pit of your stomach. Saying it feels like a death is going too far, but certainly games like that have you on the edge of tears just thinking about the state of the team you love. Looking back, there are very few games where I've felt anything similar. Losing 4-1 at Oldham 6 months previous to the Peterborough game was one of those days. A few days later, manager Andy Ritchie had got the sack. Macclesfield away, another 4-0 gubbing, is another occasion, although Town reacted to this and went on a run of just 4 defeats in 26 matches, eventually winning promotion via the play-offs.
Peterborough away is one of the top 3 for awful afternoons watching Town. Misery was compounded in the dying seconds when Chris Lucketti was sent off for a professional foul, and manager Ternent came out at the end with his now-infamous Christmas dinner statement. A 0-0 draw on the Tuesday to Yeovil and a 3-2 win over basement side Crewe weren't enough to save the Turnip's job, and he goes down in Town folklore as probably the worst manager the club has ever had.
But my point is that since that day Town have progressed beyond recognition. Two weeks after Ternent left, caretaker manager Gerry Murphy guided Town to a magnificent 2-1 victory at local rivals Leeds, a result that set Town on the winning trail. Eventually, Lee Clark was appointed manager, and guided Town to 9th that season.
Several notable incomings and changes were made between Ternent's departure and the end of the campaign. Goalkeeper Matt Glennon was dropped in favour of hot prospect Alex Smithies - who hadn't even been on the bench under Ternent. Holdsworth reverted to right-back, Goodwin to central midfield. Michael Collins returned to the first team and hit 10 goals from midfield. Incoming was wingman Anthony Pilkington for £500,000 from Stockport. In my opinion, this boy is the best player in League One. He's two-footed, powerful, blessed with great vision and technique.
Last season, even more progress was made. Town finished 6th and lost in the play-offs. The squad was so different from the Ternent days that it's hardly believable that under 2 years were between the end of last season and Ternent's departure. Right-back Lee Peltier, central defender and captain Peter Clarke, strikers Jordan Rhodes and Lee Novak are just a handful of examples of where the club has progressed in its playing staff.
Tomorrow, Town go to Peterborough for the first time since that 4-0 thrashing. The side will have only one survivor: winger Gary Roberts. 1-11, Town are stronger, and Peterborough will be a real test for the new team. Luckily, even if we do get thrashed 4-0, we won't have the sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach reserved for hopeless situations. We've progressed to the point where we're unrecognisable from the perpetual underachievers of the last decade. This is a team ready to go back to the Championship.
Come on, Town!
Now, back to the writing.
Monday, 16 August 2010
Previously on Battlestar Galactica...
It would be fair to say that it's a wee bit warm today. I've just been sat out in the garden reading the opening of The Bourne Identity and I've had to come in to cool down. Fortunately, we have a seat in the shade in the garden as well as a seat in the sun, so I'll be out there after I've finished writing this and done a bit more work on The Ambassador. However, as a Yorkshireman, I was designed to not get on with the sun, and my days would be better spent down a pit where it is at least cool. Ee by gum!
This weekend's been fun. Most notably for Town's miserable 0-0 draw with Tranmere, in which Gary Naysmith was sent off. First booking, on second viewing, is fair enough, but for the second he got the ball clear as day. Unfortunately the ref was of the usual League One standard and decided that, although two-footed lunges aren't worth a talking-to, perfectly timed challenges are bookable offences, so off went Naysmith. The ex-Hearts, Everton and Sheffield United left-back misses next Saturday's match at Peterborough - hopefully Celtic loanee Graham Carey will be able to step up as he deputises, although he has a tough task against George Boyd, who may have stupid hair but is just a bit good.
Yesterday was better. Despite having a knee that Ledley King would be ashamed of, I ended up playing football with Chris and realised that my old football needs replacing. Chris can hit a ball, and when I was in net the ball was moving wickedly thanks to two deep cuts in the plastic covering. More than once it dipped or swerved dramatically at the last minute, leaving me looking a grade A prat. In fairness, I saved a fair few of these (which is more than Scott Carson managed for West Brom at the weekend - Fabio, are you watching?).
I also got a reading list for Law and Literature next year. Anything that tells me to read Ursula Le Guin is always going to go down well, and it has me hoping that for once something literature-related in academia isn't going to be snobbish when it comes to SF. I could go off on one here about how academics seem to think literature can't be SF and SF can't be literature, but it really isn't worth the effort right now. All I will say is that The Road is SF whether they like it or not. It might also be worth pointing out it's actually pretty unoriginal SF into the bargain and not the wondrous thing they proclaim it to be, but that's just me being petty to a point.
Right, back outside it is. It's still sunny, and by fair northern skin might just go a delicate shade of lobster, but it's worth the risk. And then pub quizzage this evening. Huzzah! Wonder what insanely offensive name Chris'll come up with this week...
This weekend's been fun. Most notably for Town's miserable 0-0 draw with Tranmere, in which Gary Naysmith was sent off. First booking, on second viewing, is fair enough, but for the second he got the ball clear as day. Unfortunately the ref was of the usual League One standard and decided that, although two-footed lunges aren't worth a talking-to, perfectly timed challenges are bookable offences, so off went Naysmith. The ex-Hearts, Everton and Sheffield United left-back misses next Saturday's match at Peterborough - hopefully Celtic loanee Graham Carey will be able to step up as he deputises, although he has a tough task against George Boyd, who may have stupid hair but is just a bit good.
Yesterday was better. Despite having a knee that Ledley King would be ashamed of, I ended up playing football with Chris and realised that my old football needs replacing. Chris can hit a ball, and when I was in net the ball was moving wickedly thanks to two deep cuts in the plastic covering. More than once it dipped or swerved dramatically at the last minute, leaving me looking a grade A prat. In fairness, I saved a fair few of these (which is more than Scott Carson managed for West Brom at the weekend - Fabio, are you watching?).
I also got a reading list for Law and Literature next year. Anything that tells me to read Ursula Le Guin is always going to go down well, and it has me hoping that for once something literature-related in academia isn't going to be snobbish when it comes to SF. I could go off on one here about how academics seem to think literature can't be SF and SF can't be literature, but it really isn't worth the effort right now. All I will say is that The Road is SF whether they like it or not. It might also be worth pointing out it's actually pretty unoriginal SF into the bargain and not the wondrous thing they proclaim it to be, but that's just me being petty to a point.
Right, back outside it is. It's still sunny, and by fair northern skin might just go a delicate shade of lobster, but it's worth the risk. And then pub quizzage this evening. Huzzah! Wonder what insanely offensive name Chris'll come up with this week...
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