Andrew's match reports 2002/03
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Thursday, 18 July 2002: Cambridge City 2-1 United
Huzzah! Normal service has been resumed. Sky Sports can start winding down their coverage of freestyle quoits and England’s cricket team following through, or whatever it is they do between rain showers. Samba football gives way once more to the Black Bottom of local lower league action. The last doggy bags have long since been carted back from Korea/Japan; the damaged gods have returned home to welcoming volleys of airborne vegetable matter; memories of exotic players named after Neil Diamond songs are already fading. Song Chung Gug, everybody knows one … Time for one last (?) journey to Milton Road. Its notorious pitch, usually as hard, bald and bumpy as Michael Stipe’s bonce, sported a lush, verdant expanse of grass more impressive than Cypress Hill’s back garden. City had even gone to the rare expense of producing a programme for their largest crowd of the season, and only managed to mis-spell six of the United players’ names. No such errors for the home squad, of which six have seen League action with their more illustrious (ahem) neighbours: Davies, Vowden, Clements, Hayes, Wilde and Gutzmore. Go on, you must remember at least one. |
The City Ground, Milton Road: lush, verdant. Photo: groundhopperunited.com
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United’s line-up on a balmy summer’s evening bore a pretty close resemblance to a first team: a 4-1-3-1-1 of Dancing Shaun in goal, flat back four of Goodhind, Tann, Eustace and Angus, the Terrier in the Wannie role just in front, Tudor, Lil’ Luke and Scully across the middle, Tiny Tom ‘in the hole’ and the Armand Hammer up front. Shaggy looked on from the directors’ box alongside his chairman, sporting a rather nasty loud striped shirt with white collars and cuffs that made him look like he was about to officiate at the Dodgers Stadium. It’s his testimonial season, he’ll wear what he damn well likes.
City sported their smart new strip, unlike their visitors who were still sporting last season’s squad numbers. The new shirts are on the way, honest … they’ll make lovely Christmas presents.
It took Dancing Shaun less than half a minute to demonstrate that his kicking is still sometimes as dodgy as a Boston United contract: his wild swing at a backpass flew off his shin for a corner that was eventually cleared after some concerted City pressure. Early days, eh Twinkletoes?
There was no lack of commitment from either team, but United initially took some time to settle into their new formation. There were far too many hopeful hoofs over the top from the back four, and for all Armand’s potential, he’s got a lot to learn about being a lone target man. One characteristic Scully run was mazier than Hampton Court, but his speculative shot failed to trouble Davies. City took the lead on 14, Angus clumsily felling the speeding Clements and Hayes confidently blasting the penalty past Marshall.
Seven minutes later United were level, Guttridge’s excellent right-wing cross finding Tiny Tom bursting past two opponents to nick it from the onrushing Davies and poke home from 15 yards. Not the last egg to be thoroughly poached by Tom this season, I’ll be bound.
The remainder of the half was busy without being particularly, well, good. Neither keeper was much troubled, and the match was more a useful training exercise to bed in the new tactics than a football spectacular. At times it had all the direction of HMS Nottingham, but this is only to be expected in mid-July. Mind you, if we haven’t improved by mid-September, start worrying. At this stage, Shaggy can afford to be like the lovely Jade, throwing caution (if not underwear) to the wind and not knowing the meaning of fear. Mind you, Jade doesn’t know the meaning of any word with more than three letters.
First half performances:
Marshall 7 – Early gaffe was not repeated and did adequately against the rather elderly City strike force.
Goodhind 7 – Calm and assured despite his preposterously Beckhamesque hedge-backwards barnet.
Angus 7 – Recovered from his penalty error well, and didn’t let the fleet-footed Clements beat him again.
Tann 8 – Radical haircut and looked every bit as good as last season. Future legend.
Eustace 8 – Like he’d never been away. Looked about six inches taller than everyone else and is exactly what our defence needs: a SHOUTER. If he proves his fitness, he’ll be in.
Tudor 6 – Quiet game from Mr Loompah. Too good not to improve. Lovely tan, though.
Fleming 6 – Did reasonably in his rather strait-jacketed interpretation of his role. Seemed afraid to venture nearer City’s goal than the centre circle.
Guttridge 7 – Ever the thrustful bustler, got involved at the hub consistently.
Scully 8 – Found a lot of space, though all too often denied the ball, but looked dangerous every time he got it.
Youngs 8 – If we stick with this formation, he’s certainly ideal for the role, shuttling between midfield and upfront as if on a bungee rope.
Oné 7 – Little evidence of any new-found fitness as yet, but then he always looked knackered anyway. Asking a lot for one so young to adapt to a new role without a lot of bedding in. Pity all our other strikers were incapacitated.
New half, new team. An entirely new 11 took the field in amber, a right mishmash of trialists, youngsters and ‘fringe’ (ie unwanted) squad members. They were shoehorned into Shaggy’s ‘new’ system thusly: ex-Charlton hopeful Martin Brennan in goal (cunningly disguised in Ron Thornton’s jersey); back four Nacca, Rush, Alcide (oh yes) and Warner; trialists Steve Searle and Justin Cochrane in the centre, flanked by youngsters Paynter and Bridges, with Prokas in the hole (?!) and returning favourite Omer Riza leading the line. Their main tactic seemed to be the lay-off from wing to centre, then return to overlapper (Nacca, Paynter or Prokas) to run on and cross. Didn’t work much, though.
This half could kindly be called scrappy, even more so when City started their mass substitutions, including the arrival of one Richard Bailey, who is reportedly Trevor Benjamin’s brother. They are certainly both built like brick outhouses, although someone seems to have sat on Mr Bailey’s head when he was young: he’s six inches shorter than Our Trev but just as wide. He did nothing to suggest that his City career will be any longer than J-Lo’s marriage.
Omer tried his best, but he is far too small and slight to carry off a job as a target man, while the promising Bridges looked rather lost out on the left wing. Best attempts at goal (clutch them straws) were hopeful long-range punts by Prokas and Cochrane, and Searle looked easily the best of the bunch. City’s winner came from Gutzmore on 65, winning a tussle with Alcide to toe-punt home from ten yards.
From there it all petered out like a Colin Montgomerie Major round, enlivened only by an excellent late point-blank save by Brennan from Matty Hann. Adam Wilde had long since departed, his stated ambition to impress United into offering him a return to the pro ranks utterly unfulfilled. As if we needed another diminutive wide midfield player.
At least the visitors didn’t miss the departed Ashbee or his magic hat; apparently a Hull fan has described him as a ‘behemoth’. My dictionary defines this as ‘From the Bible: a colossal beast, probably a hippopotamus.’ Yep, that’s him. Unless he meant a ‘beer moth’, of course: a huge, drink-fuelled pest.
People were drifting away long before the finish, but in the end City had won their cup final and United had started on the month-long road to finding a team to start the season proper. Follow the amber brick road … next stop, Histon!
Second half:
Brennan 7 – Perfectly competent, very good save late on. Possible backup if Thornton isn’t deemed ready yet?
Nacca 7 – Continues to promise much. First team breakthrough due this season, surely.
Warner 7 – Did himself no harm against middling opposition.
Rush 7 – Useful runout for young Graham.
Alcide 7 – Much better centre back than he is a left winger; could be a useful squad member if the doubters will only give the man a chance.
Paynter 6 – Bit of a step up for the youngster and flitted in and out of the game.
Searle 7 – Quite impressive in a deep-lying role, demanding the ball and showing a good range of accurate passing. Definitely worth another look.
Cochrane 6 – Not so impressive. Certainly tried hard enough – perhaps too hard – but wasted possession far too much.
Bridges 6 – We know how good he as a central midfielder or striker, but he looked hopelessly out of position stuck out on the left.
Prokas 7 – Got involved well, to his credit, and made a decent fist of an unfamiliar position.
Riza 6 – Another player we know to be excellent on his day, but also one who was woefully out of position. Try him wide, try him in the hole, but don’t try him as a target man again. It’s like asking Ole Gunnar Solskjaer to play at centre back.
New feature! Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Every match day, United’s very own Terpsichorean expert will recommend an exciting new dance to enrich the lives of U’s supporters everywhere. Today: The Peabody. ‘This is an interesting dance recommended to me by Neil Ruddock. It resembles a fast foxtrot and was created by a portly police chief called Captain Peabody who was so chubby that he had to dance at the side of his partner, creating his own characteristic style. Its long, gliding steps are reminiscent of a Dion Dublin run from deep, and dancers use many intricate quick steps set against a figure called the ‘open box’ – something with which I am very familiar, playing behind our back four! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: In days of yore, these were called Public Practice Matches – and that’s exactly what this was. Results, as they say when they lose, mean nothing. Soon we’ll be soaring upwards into the stratosphere like Gordon Taylor’s wage packet. Hopefully …
Man of the match: Scott Eustace. Great to have you back, big man. Just stay away from kebab shops this time, hmm?
Ref watch: McPherson 7. Obviously in a pre-season friendly frame of mind, he let play flow as much as possible and wisely ignored some rather feeble Rivaldoesque diving about at times. More of the same this season, please.
City sported their smart new strip, unlike their visitors who were still sporting last season’s squad numbers. The new shirts are on the way, honest … they’ll make lovely Christmas presents.
It took Dancing Shaun less than half a minute to demonstrate that his kicking is still sometimes as dodgy as a Boston United contract: his wild swing at a backpass flew off his shin for a corner that was eventually cleared after some concerted City pressure. Early days, eh Twinkletoes?
There was no lack of commitment from either team, but United initially took some time to settle into their new formation. There were far too many hopeful hoofs over the top from the back four, and for all Armand’s potential, he’s got a lot to learn about being a lone target man. One characteristic Scully run was mazier than Hampton Court, but his speculative shot failed to trouble Davies. City took the lead on 14, Angus clumsily felling the speeding Clements and Hayes confidently blasting the penalty past Marshall.
Seven minutes later United were level, Guttridge’s excellent right-wing cross finding Tiny Tom bursting past two opponents to nick it from the onrushing Davies and poke home from 15 yards. Not the last egg to be thoroughly poached by Tom this season, I’ll be bound.
The remainder of the half was busy without being particularly, well, good. Neither keeper was much troubled, and the match was more a useful training exercise to bed in the new tactics than a football spectacular. At times it had all the direction of HMS Nottingham, but this is only to be expected in mid-July. Mind you, if we haven’t improved by mid-September, start worrying. At this stage, Shaggy can afford to be like the lovely Jade, throwing caution (if not underwear) to the wind and not knowing the meaning of fear. Mind you, Jade doesn’t know the meaning of any word with more than three letters.
First half performances:
Marshall 7 – Early gaffe was not repeated and did adequately against the rather elderly City strike force.
Goodhind 7 – Calm and assured despite his preposterously Beckhamesque hedge-backwards barnet.
Angus 7 – Recovered from his penalty error well, and didn’t let the fleet-footed Clements beat him again.
Tann 8 – Radical haircut and looked every bit as good as last season. Future legend.
Eustace 8 – Like he’d never been away. Looked about six inches taller than everyone else and is exactly what our defence needs: a SHOUTER. If he proves his fitness, he’ll be in.
Tudor 6 – Quiet game from Mr Loompah. Too good not to improve. Lovely tan, though.
Fleming 6 – Did reasonably in his rather strait-jacketed interpretation of his role. Seemed afraid to venture nearer City’s goal than the centre circle.
Guttridge 7 – Ever the thrustful bustler, got involved at the hub consistently.
Scully 8 – Found a lot of space, though all too often denied the ball, but looked dangerous every time he got it.
Youngs 8 – If we stick with this formation, he’s certainly ideal for the role, shuttling between midfield and upfront as if on a bungee rope.
Oné 7 – Little evidence of any new-found fitness as yet, but then he always looked knackered anyway. Asking a lot for one so young to adapt to a new role without a lot of bedding in. Pity all our other strikers were incapacitated.
New half, new team. An entirely new 11 took the field in amber, a right mishmash of trialists, youngsters and ‘fringe’ (ie unwanted) squad members. They were shoehorned into Shaggy’s ‘new’ system thusly: ex-Charlton hopeful Martin Brennan in goal (cunningly disguised in Ron Thornton’s jersey); back four Nacca, Rush, Alcide (oh yes) and Warner; trialists Steve Searle and Justin Cochrane in the centre, flanked by youngsters Paynter and Bridges, with Prokas in the hole (?!) and returning favourite Omer Riza leading the line. Their main tactic seemed to be the lay-off from wing to centre, then return to overlapper (Nacca, Paynter or Prokas) to run on and cross. Didn’t work much, though.
This half could kindly be called scrappy, even more so when City started their mass substitutions, including the arrival of one Richard Bailey, who is reportedly Trevor Benjamin’s brother. They are certainly both built like brick outhouses, although someone seems to have sat on Mr Bailey’s head when he was young: he’s six inches shorter than Our Trev but just as wide. He did nothing to suggest that his City career will be any longer than J-Lo’s marriage.
Omer tried his best, but he is far too small and slight to carry off a job as a target man, while the promising Bridges looked rather lost out on the left wing. Best attempts at goal (clutch them straws) were hopeful long-range punts by Prokas and Cochrane, and Searle looked easily the best of the bunch. City’s winner came from Gutzmore on 65, winning a tussle with Alcide to toe-punt home from ten yards.
From there it all petered out like a Colin Montgomerie Major round, enlivened only by an excellent late point-blank save by Brennan from Matty Hann. Adam Wilde had long since departed, his stated ambition to impress United into offering him a return to the pro ranks utterly unfulfilled. As if we needed another diminutive wide midfield player.
At least the visitors didn’t miss the departed Ashbee or his magic hat; apparently a Hull fan has described him as a ‘behemoth’. My dictionary defines this as ‘From the Bible: a colossal beast, probably a hippopotamus.’ Yep, that’s him. Unless he meant a ‘beer moth’, of course: a huge, drink-fuelled pest.
People were drifting away long before the finish, but in the end City had won their cup final and United had started on the month-long road to finding a team to start the season proper. Follow the amber brick road … next stop, Histon!
Second half:
Brennan 7 – Perfectly competent, very good save late on. Possible backup if Thornton isn’t deemed ready yet?
Nacca 7 – Continues to promise much. First team breakthrough due this season, surely.
Warner 7 – Did himself no harm against middling opposition.
Rush 7 – Useful runout for young Graham.
Alcide 7 – Much better centre back than he is a left winger; could be a useful squad member if the doubters will only give the man a chance.
Paynter 6 – Bit of a step up for the youngster and flitted in and out of the game.
Searle 7 – Quite impressive in a deep-lying role, demanding the ball and showing a good range of accurate passing. Definitely worth another look.
Cochrane 6 – Not so impressive. Certainly tried hard enough – perhaps too hard – but wasted possession far too much.
Bridges 6 – We know how good he as a central midfielder or striker, but he looked hopelessly out of position stuck out on the left.
Prokas 7 – Got involved well, to his credit, and made a decent fist of an unfamiliar position.
Riza 6 – Another player we know to be excellent on his day, but also one who was woefully out of position. Try him wide, try him in the hole, but don’t try him as a target man again. It’s like asking Ole Gunnar Solskjaer to play at centre back.
New feature! Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Every match day, United’s very own Terpsichorean expert will recommend an exciting new dance to enrich the lives of U’s supporters everywhere. Today: The Peabody. ‘This is an interesting dance recommended to me by Neil Ruddock. It resembles a fast foxtrot and was created by a portly police chief called Captain Peabody who was so chubby that he had to dance at the side of his partner, creating his own characteristic style. Its long, gliding steps are reminiscent of a Dion Dublin run from deep, and dancers use many intricate quick steps set against a figure called the ‘open box’ – something with which I am very familiar, playing behind our back four! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: In days of yore, these were called Public Practice Matches – and that’s exactly what this was. Results, as they say when they lose, mean nothing. Soon we’ll be soaring upwards into the stratosphere like Gordon Taylor’s wage packet. Hopefully …
Man of the match: Scott Eustace. Great to have you back, big man. Just stay away from kebab shops this time, hmm?
Ref watch: McPherson 7. Obviously in a pre-season friendly frame of mind, he let play flow as much as possible and wisely ignored some rather feeble Rivaldoesque diving about at times. More of the same this season, please.
Shane Tudor: nice tan, Tudes. Photo: Andrea Thrussell.
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Tuesday, 23 July 2002: Kettering Town 1-2 United
The best things always come in threes. The Marx brothers were much funnier once they dumped Karl, the moody one. Geoff Hurst has made a career out of a certain hat-trick. A duo of Bruce Foxton and Rick Buckler would have had as lengthy a career as Hoddle & Waddle, albeit with fewer mullets. And who could forget that legendary Maccabi Tel Aviv forward line of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego? And now, in the space of five short days, we’ve had three away wins for the Mighty U’s. And I don’t care if they’ve been against Cottenham Girl Guides Under-11s; they all count!
Tuesday night saw win number two at Rockingham Road under Kettering's natty K-shaped floodlights (apart from the one with the knackered bulbs). Ever-thrifty United continued to use last season’s shirts, BGG Kitson wearing an old one of ‘So’ Tony Scully’s, Lil’ Luke sporting a reject one with his name misspelt Gutteridge, and Dancing Shaun donning an old No 13 jersey with the 3 crudely scrubbed out but still all too obvious. Save them pennies, boys.
A loyal away turnout of 50 saw United continue with the new system, which flows between 4-5-1 when defending and 4-3-3 when attacking. In front of the Dancemeister was a back four of Goodhind, Angus, Wanless (reverting back to his old centre-half role) and Murray, with a tight midfield three of Guttridge, Bridges and the Terrier, flank men Riza the Geezer and Tiny Tom and Kitson up front, blond thatch growing out and gradually returning to its normal carrotesque grandeur. United played uphill in the first half.
Within 52 seconds United had scythed through the Poppies’ defence like Prince Andrew through a police speed trap. Bridges’ diagonal ball over the top found Riza darting between hesitant defenders and keeper to walk it into the empty net in the twinkling of an eye. Sign. Him. Up. Wary as one is of ‘sophisticated’ tactical plans, this one seems ideally geared to the wealth of nippy littl’uns in the squad like Riza, Youngs, Tudor and Scully. And in the BGG, surely we have the ideal pivot leading the line. Within another four minutes, Riza had left the hapless Bryan Small for dead again, his cross found Kitson whose blocked shot fell to Bridges, and he was only denied a goal by the legs of keeper Bowling. More pulsating than a shiner from Dennis Wise.
Kettering gradually played their way out of shellshock, although they were nearly caught again near the quarter hour by a superb lightning break by Youngs and Riza from a home corner that resulted in a shot disappointingly wide from Tiny Tom. Marshall made his first serious save on 23 from Chris Perkins’ edge-of-area drive, palming it down rather than catching it first time, but thankfully no striker was near enough to capitalise. But it was United who continued to dominate, Wannie roaring them on from the back, Guttridge pulling the strings in midfield, the wide players wreaking havoc with the Kettering full-backs’ nerves and Kitson leading the line coolly at what seemed half his usual pace.
The hosts’ equaliser on 36 flattered them somewhat. Craig Norman’s free kick from 20 yards was admirably accurate in its execution, curling around the wall and low into the corner to Marshall’s right, but neither Dancing Shaun nor his defenders seemed entirely ready and the United No 1(3) would surely have stationed himself further to his right if he had had time. But hey, it’s only a friendly, innit? No need to get all Von Hoogstraten about it, eh?
Although we might have been a little bit unhappier had not Shaun saved excellently a minute later when Watkins burst clear in a one-on-one to be stopped by Marsh’s fast-reacting feet. Kitson and Youngs started swapping roles to liven things up, then a Wanless drive from a corner seemed to hit either the bar or a diving Kettering defender’s arm, or both. The ref played safe and gave the corner; he must work for ACAS. Small was withdrawn on 38, seemingly unable to cope with Riza’s impersonation of a cross between Roadrunner and Taz. They must feed him on roar meep (meep).
Half-time arrived with honours even and a hint of rain on the not-so-balmy summer evening air. Knew I should have brought that brolly. United resumed the second half as they had started the first, Youngs and Riza now occupying opposite wings, and within six minute were ahead again. Tiny Tom showed he’s no powderpuff by, ahem, shrugging off his marker’s attentions, and as the home ‘crowd’ appealed for the foul, advanced on goal and powered in a jet-propelled scudder that Bowling could only push out to Riza, who just beat Kitson to prod home. 2-1 to the Cam-ber-idge.
Shaggy started on the subs around the hour mark, Martin Brennan getting another runout in goal still clad in Rob Thornton’s jersey and Justin Cochrane replacing Murray with the ever-dependable Terrier reverting to left back. Kitson forced one more save from Bowling before being replaced by Alex Revell, sporting his radical new number one crop. Scary. Youngs now resumed as target man with Revell wide right, but the pace now began to backslide like Peter ‘I will never sell Rio to Man Utd. How much? Oh, all right then’ Ridsdale.
Riza left the fray ten minutes from the end, having delighted us with some lovely runs and touches of skill, replaced by the Armand Hammer, but nearest to a third goal was Tiny Tom five minutes from the end, Fleming’s impressive left-wing run to the touchline capped by a delicate chip on to Tom’s head at the near post, but incredibly his touch was too delicate and flew across the face of goal and wide. Cochrane also showed some neat skills before being injured right at the end and replaced by young Graham Rush.
Marshall 7 – Dealt with everything competently apart from getting caught out by the free kick.
Goodhind 8 – Grows in confidence with every match and is beginning to look worth the money now. Good defender and also uses the ball well.
Angus 7 – Unobtrusively dependable performance.
Wanless 8 – Looked like he’s played centre back all his life and was in a good position to lead his men onward. He’s already done goalie – how about trying him upfront next?
Murray 7 – Did just fine for the hour he was on.
Riza 8 – A total menace and goalscorer to boot. His nutmeg brought the house (well, away end) down. Loosen those purse strings.
Bridges 7 – More useful experience for our most promising youngster.
Guttridge 8 – Steve Spriggs reborn.
Fleming 7 – You can always rely on the Terrier. Made more good forward runs when at left-back then when he played in the middle.
Youngs 8 – One player more than any other who suits the new system. Top scorer third season in a row if he stays that long.
Kitson 7 – Back from injury and looked like he was tiptoeing through the match at times, but still showed plenty of touches of class.
Subs:
Brennan 7 – Did all he had to do perfectly well. Just wish he had had more to do so he can prove himself.
Cochrane 7 – Certainly has talent – good on the ball and a decent passer. Is there room in the squad, though?
Revell 6 – Characteristically hardworking, but with little end product.
Oné 6 – Not enough time to really get into the game.
Rush 6 – Barely enough time to get his boots on!
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun looks at the Paso Doble. ‘This is the most exciting Spanish dance around, and portrays a bullfight in which the man is the torero and the lady is his cape. I used to practise this with Xavier San Miguel, who was Under-15 regional champion back where he came from, although we got some funny looks from the other guys when they caught us in the changing room! Don’t worry boys, I said, we’re only practising for the real thing – something you lot ought to do so I don’t concede so many goals! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A useful workout against reasonable opposition that suggests that Shaggy and the Professor’s tactical masterplan might just work with the right personnel. All of the trialists came out with some credit, but one shone brighter than a thousand suns. Guess who?
Man of the match: Omer Riza. More dangerous than a vanload of Ozzy Osbournes.
Ref watch: Whitestone 4. Looked non-League and hopefully he’ll stay there.
The best things always come in threes. The Marx brothers were much funnier once they dumped Karl, the moody one. Geoff Hurst has made a career out of a certain hat-trick. A duo of Bruce Foxton and Rick Buckler would have had as lengthy a career as Hoddle & Waddle, albeit with fewer mullets. And who could forget that legendary Maccabi Tel Aviv forward line of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego? And now, in the space of five short days, we’ve had three away wins for the Mighty U’s. And I don’t care if they’ve been against Cottenham Girl Guides Under-11s; they all count!
Tuesday night saw win number two at Rockingham Road under Kettering's natty K-shaped floodlights (apart from the one with the knackered bulbs). Ever-thrifty United continued to use last season’s shirts, BGG Kitson wearing an old one of ‘So’ Tony Scully’s, Lil’ Luke sporting a reject one with his name misspelt Gutteridge, and Dancing Shaun donning an old No 13 jersey with the 3 crudely scrubbed out but still all too obvious. Save them pennies, boys.
A loyal away turnout of 50 saw United continue with the new system, which flows between 4-5-1 when defending and 4-3-3 when attacking. In front of the Dancemeister was a back four of Goodhind, Angus, Wanless (reverting back to his old centre-half role) and Murray, with a tight midfield three of Guttridge, Bridges and the Terrier, flank men Riza the Geezer and Tiny Tom and Kitson up front, blond thatch growing out and gradually returning to its normal carrotesque grandeur. United played uphill in the first half.
Within 52 seconds United had scythed through the Poppies’ defence like Prince Andrew through a police speed trap. Bridges’ diagonal ball over the top found Riza darting between hesitant defenders and keeper to walk it into the empty net in the twinkling of an eye. Sign. Him. Up. Wary as one is of ‘sophisticated’ tactical plans, this one seems ideally geared to the wealth of nippy littl’uns in the squad like Riza, Youngs, Tudor and Scully. And in the BGG, surely we have the ideal pivot leading the line. Within another four minutes, Riza had left the hapless Bryan Small for dead again, his cross found Kitson whose blocked shot fell to Bridges, and he was only denied a goal by the legs of keeper Bowling. More pulsating than a shiner from Dennis Wise.
Kettering gradually played their way out of shellshock, although they were nearly caught again near the quarter hour by a superb lightning break by Youngs and Riza from a home corner that resulted in a shot disappointingly wide from Tiny Tom. Marshall made his first serious save on 23 from Chris Perkins’ edge-of-area drive, palming it down rather than catching it first time, but thankfully no striker was near enough to capitalise. But it was United who continued to dominate, Wannie roaring them on from the back, Guttridge pulling the strings in midfield, the wide players wreaking havoc with the Kettering full-backs’ nerves and Kitson leading the line coolly at what seemed half his usual pace.
The hosts’ equaliser on 36 flattered them somewhat. Craig Norman’s free kick from 20 yards was admirably accurate in its execution, curling around the wall and low into the corner to Marshall’s right, but neither Dancing Shaun nor his defenders seemed entirely ready and the United No 1(3) would surely have stationed himself further to his right if he had had time. But hey, it’s only a friendly, innit? No need to get all Von Hoogstraten about it, eh?
Although we might have been a little bit unhappier had not Shaun saved excellently a minute later when Watkins burst clear in a one-on-one to be stopped by Marsh’s fast-reacting feet. Kitson and Youngs started swapping roles to liven things up, then a Wanless drive from a corner seemed to hit either the bar or a diving Kettering defender’s arm, or both. The ref played safe and gave the corner; he must work for ACAS. Small was withdrawn on 38, seemingly unable to cope with Riza’s impersonation of a cross between Roadrunner and Taz. They must feed him on roar meep (meep).
Half-time arrived with honours even and a hint of rain on the not-so-balmy summer evening air. Knew I should have brought that brolly. United resumed the second half as they had started the first, Youngs and Riza now occupying opposite wings, and within six minute were ahead again. Tiny Tom showed he’s no powderpuff by, ahem, shrugging off his marker’s attentions, and as the home ‘crowd’ appealed for the foul, advanced on goal and powered in a jet-propelled scudder that Bowling could only push out to Riza, who just beat Kitson to prod home. 2-1 to the Cam-ber-idge.
Shaggy started on the subs around the hour mark, Martin Brennan getting another runout in goal still clad in Rob Thornton’s jersey and Justin Cochrane replacing Murray with the ever-dependable Terrier reverting to left back. Kitson forced one more save from Bowling before being replaced by Alex Revell, sporting his radical new number one crop. Scary. Youngs now resumed as target man with Revell wide right, but the pace now began to backslide like Peter ‘I will never sell Rio to Man Utd. How much? Oh, all right then’ Ridsdale.
Riza left the fray ten minutes from the end, having delighted us with some lovely runs and touches of skill, replaced by the Armand Hammer, but nearest to a third goal was Tiny Tom five minutes from the end, Fleming’s impressive left-wing run to the touchline capped by a delicate chip on to Tom’s head at the near post, but incredibly his touch was too delicate and flew across the face of goal and wide. Cochrane also showed some neat skills before being injured right at the end and replaced by young Graham Rush.
Marshall 7 – Dealt with everything competently apart from getting caught out by the free kick.
Goodhind 8 – Grows in confidence with every match and is beginning to look worth the money now. Good defender and also uses the ball well.
Angus 7 – Unobtrusively dependable performance.
Wanless 8 – Looked like he’s played centre back all his life and was in a good position to lead his men onward. He’s already done goalie – how about trying him upfront next?
Murray 7 – Did just fine for the hour he was on.
Riza 8 – A total menace and goalscorer to boot. His nutmeg brought the house (well, away end) down. Loosen those purse strings.
Bridges 7 – More useful experience for our most promising youngster.
Guttridge 8 – Steve Spriggs reborn.
Fleming 7 – You can always rely on the Terrier. Made more good forward runs when at left-back then when he played in the middle.
Youngs 8 – One player more than any other who suits the new system. Top scorer third season in a row if he stays that long.
Kitson 7 – Back from injury and looked like he was tiptoeing through the match at times, but still showed plenty of touches of class.
Subs:
Brennan 7 – Did all he had to do perfectly well. Just wish he had had more to do so he can prove himself.
Cochrane 7 – Certainly has talent – good on the ball and a decent passer. Is there room in the squad, though?
Revell 6 – Characteristically hardworking, but with little end product.
Oné 6 – Not enough time to really get into the game.
Rush 6 – Barely enough time to get his boots on!
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun looks at the Paso Doble. ‘This is the most exciting Spanish dance around, and portrays a bullfight in which the man is the torero and the lady is his cape. I used to practise this with Xavier San Miguel, who was Under-15 regional champion back where he came from, although we got some funny looks from the other guys when they caught us in the changing room! Don’t worry boys, I said, we’re only practising for the real thing – something you lot ought to do so I don’t concede so many goals! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A useful workout against reasonable opposition that suggests that Shaggy and the Professor’s tactical masterplan might just work with the right personnel. All of the trialists came out with some credit, but one shone brighter than a thousand suns. Guess who?
Man of the match: Omer Riza. More dangerous than a vanload of Ozzy Osbournes.
Ref watch: Whitestone 4. Looked non-League and hopefully he’ll stay there.
The paso doble: a bit of a drag.
|
Wednesday, 24 July 2002: Mildenhall 0-3 United
Wednesday night saw a return to the pleasantly convivial surroundings of Recreation Way, Mildenhall, despite the original reason for the match now being a Cambridge City player, poor lamb [Matt Clements – ed].
The evening’s production of ‘beyond the fringe’ saw Brennan start in goal behind a back four of Rush, Duncan, Bourgeois and Huggins (all now possessors of squad numbers), with Alcide, Cochrane, Paynter and Nacca across the middle, Revell in the hole and Oné leading the line. A ghostly presence garbed all in white hovered by the touchline: was that the ghost of Scott Eustace? No, it was the real Scotty; only his leg was dead, hence his absence from the field of play.
Opening exchanges were notable mainly for the number of balls lost through wayward United shooting, four or five sailing through the trees to land who knows where. The hosts boasted a ‘name’ centre-forward in Roy ‘Mr FA Cup Goal’ Essandoh, last seen at Milton Road and now it seems dropping down until he finds a level that he looks good at. This didn’t look like it either, although one header from a corner forced Brennan into a decent save.
Other that than it was all rather one-sided and it was no surprise on 18 when Revell ran on to Huggins’ ball over a dozing defence to slot home easily from 18 yards past Dan Kelly (not the fat one off the radio, sadly). Ten minutes later it was two, Oné to Paynter then through to Cochrane to finish coolly and accurately into the corner from the edge of the area.
No further scoring in the first half, with every United player (especially the youngsters) looking good against opposition that could kindly be described as very modest. The second half saw more of the same, the only newcomers being a ‘Balkan trialist’ right-sided midfielder and a ‘Romanian trialist’ striker, names mysteriously withheld. Surely they’d be on a Bosman from Oakington, wouldn’t they? Or do Chivers still hold their contracts?
Only one other goal to report, an excellent cross from Huggins finding the unmarked Revell to fire home from 15 yards. Owen Paynter was unlucky to be denied twice by saves from Benstead in the Mildenhall goal when a further score seemed certain. And that was that, really. Beats walking the streets.
Brennan 7 – One decent save, otherwise little to do. Again.
Rush 8 – Impressively mature performance.
Huggins 8 – Good defending and going forward.
Duncan 7 – Nice steady warm-up for bigger games to come.
Bourgeois 7 – Useful experience.
Alcide 7 – Honest trier, although he ain’t no right-sided midfielder.
Paynter 8 – Dangerous, scurrying presence, unfortunate not to get on the scoresheet.
Nacca 8 – Here, there and everywhere.
Cochrane 8 – Did his cause no harm with some good touches, spraying it about like Brian Tindle on holiday.
Revell 8 – Busy and good to see him amongst the goals.
Oné 7 – No lack of effort but still looks no fitter than last season.
Subs:
Balkan bloke 7 – Skilful and did a decent job on the right.
Romanian bloke 6 – Struggled to get into the game. He’ll probably turn up scoring against England in Euro 2004.
Match summary: Another useful workout, this time for the reserves. Opposition did its best. Er, that’s it.
Man of the match: Owen Paynter. Almost Youngsesque at times.
Ref watch: Non-League bloke 6. Not exactly tested.
Honourable mention for Mildenhall’s excellent programme, particularly the jokes. Example: ‘My friend drowned in a bowl of muesli. He was pulled in by a strong currant.’ Well I liked it.
Wednesday night saw a return to the pleasantly convivial surroundings of Recreation Way, Mildenhall, despite the original reason for the match now being a Cambridge City player, poor lamb [Matt Clements – ed].
The evening’s production of ‘beyond the fringe’ saw Brennan start in goal behind a back four of Rush, Duncan, Bourgeois and Huggins (all now possessors of squad numbers), with Alcide, Cochrane, Paynter and Nacca across the middle, Revell in the hole and Oné leading the line. A ghostly presence garbed all in white hovered by the touchline: was that the ghost of Scott Eustace? No, it was the real Scotty; only his leg was dead, hence his absence from the field of play.
Opening exchanges were notable mainly for the number of balls lost through wayward United shooting, four or five sailing through the trees to land who knows where. The hosts boasted a ‘name’ centre-forward in Roy ‘Mr FA Cup Goal’ Essandoh, last seen at Milton Road and now it seems dropping down until he finds a level that he looks good at. This didn’t look like it either, although one header from a corner forced Brennan into a decent save.
Other that than it was all rather one-sided and it was no surprise on 18 when Revell ran on to Huggins’ ball over a dozing defence to slot home easily from 18 yards past Dan Kelly (not the fat one off the radio, sadly). Ten minutes later it was two, Oné to Paynter then through to Cochrane to finish coolly and accurately into the corner from the edge of the area.
No further scoring in the first half, with every United player (especially the youngsters) looking good against opposition that could kindly be described as very modest. The second half saw more of the same, the only newcomers being a ‘Balkan trialist’ right-sided midfielder and a ‘Romanian trialist’ striker, names mysteriously withheld. Surely they’d be on a Bosman from Oakington, wouldn’t they? Or do Chivers still hold their contracts?
Only one other goal to report, an excellent cross from Huggins finding the unmarked Revell to fire home from 15 yards. Owen Paynter was unlucky to be denied twice by saves from Benstead in the Mildenhall goal when a further score seemed certain. And that was that, really. Beats walking the streets.
Brennan 7 – One decent save, otherwise little to do. Again.
Rush 8 – Impressively mature performance.
Huggins 8 – Good defending and going forward.
Duncan 7 – Nice steady warm-up for bigger games to come.
Bourgeois 7 – Useful experience.
Alcide 7 – Honest trier, although he ain’t no right-sided midfielder.
Paynter 8 – Dangerous, scurrying presence, unfortunate not to get on the scoresheet.
Nacca 8 – Here, there and everywhere.
Cochrane 8 – Did his cause no harm with some good touches, spraying it about like Brian Tindle on holiday.
Revell 8 – Busy and good to see him amongst the goals.
Oné 7 – No lack of effort but still looks no fitter than last season.
Subs:
Balkan bloke 7 – Skilful and did a decent job on the right.
Romanian bloke 6 – Struggled to get into the game. He’ll probably turn up scoring against England in Euro 2004.
Match summary: Another useful workout, this time for the reserves. Opposition did its best. Er, that’s it.
Man of the match: Owen Paynter. Almost Youngsesque at times.
Ref watch: Non-League bloke 6. Not exactly tested.
Honourable mention for Mildenhall’s excellent programme, particularly the jokes. Example: ‘My friend drowned in a bowl of muesli. He was pulled in by a strong currant.’ Well I liked it.
Balkan bloke: did a decent job.
|
Saturday, 27 July 2002: Bishop’s Stortford 0-5 United
The pitiful figure dragged itself, panting desperately, towards the precious, lifesaving water supply. ‘Mon Dieu!’ he gasped, ‘Zis is worse zan ze Foreign Legion! I can take no more of zis unbearable heat! You work us all like slaves!’ Shaggy rolled his eyes. ‘For goodness’ sake, Armand, you’ve only been warming up for ten minutes. It’s hot for all us. And this is Bishop’s Stortford, not the Sahara. Stop being such a big baby!’
It wasn’t an afternoon to spend indoors watching the telly, despite the enticing prospect of athletics’ equivalent of the LDV Vans Trophy, the Commonwealth Games. In any case, the coverage tends to produce more questions than answers, such as ‘are England’s sprinters sponsored by RAC Breakdown Service?’, ‘isn’t it a shame we can produce such great 300-metre runners but they are forced to run another 100m, badly?’ and ‘just how camp is that diving commentator’s voice?’
So it was that the amber hordes descended on the exceedingly pleasant surroundings of Woodside Park, where you can buy a nice pint at the bar then take it outside to watch the match and top up the suntan at the same time. How terribly civilised.
No such comforts for the Mighty U’s as Shaggy played what will probably be United’s starting 11 in the League this season, with one or two exceptions. Dancing Shaun is No 1 of course, Goodhind and Murray seem set in stone as first choice full backs, while Scott Eustace got another chance to impress, this time alongside Andy Duncan. Captain Fantastic started on the bench (privilege of rank) leaving a midfield three of Bridges, Lil’ Luke and the Terrier, with wide men Tiddler Tudor and Tiny Tom and BGG Kitson up front in the now familiar 4-5-1/4-3-3. No Riza or Cochrane in sight. The hosts were newly promoted to the Ryman Premier, and very convivial they were to prove too.
United have been increasingly impressive in every game they have played, and this encouraging trend was speedily continued today. From the off their inter-passing, movement and understanding were spot on, the new system again working like a dream. Most of the shouting from the touchline was left to the Professor, in between which he jotted down notes in his notepad: ‘If (x) + (y) > (z) cubed, the knee bone connected to the thigh bone and the prevailing wind remains 31 degrees NNW, then we should score a goal every 17.356 minutes.’ Or something. The key remains the wide men, who are prime outlets for the midfield and defence when in possession, and supply the runs and crosses from which their colleagues produce the goals.
The only surprise was that it took them all of seven minutes to take their lead against their bamboozled opponents. A precise reverse ball from Kitson sent Youngs to the left touchline, and his low cross was met by Fleming ghosting in at the near post with a very tidy finish into the roof of the net from inside the six-yard box. The sort of goal that at last enables the fan to say, ‘So that’s what they do in training!’ The lead could have been doubled a couple of minutes later as a delightful crossfield ball from Guttridge found Tudor wide right and his cross was blasted wide by Kitson less than ten yards out.
The wide boys were at the heart of all things dangerous, and the doubling of the lead on 18 was less surprising than a Michael Schumacher win. Ref Yeo played a good advantage after Kitson was fouled, Guttridge found Youngs losing his marker again and Tiny Tom waltzed around keeper Hayward (must have got lessons off Shaun) to walk in a goal of intricate simplicity. The players must have been feeling the searing heat by now, and a couple of treatment breaks seemed to last just a little longer than normal while everyone took more liquid on board: Lucozade Sport for the U’s, all except Tom who had his own personal water bottle handy. Would Sir prefer still or sparkling?
The shell-shocked hosts’ first chance finally came on the half hour, a Eustace slip letting Trevor Paul in on goal but Duncan getting back superbly to enable Marshall to collect safely. Other than that, it was the visitors who continued to menace: Tudor running on to an excellent Fleming pass to force Hayward into a reflex block, Bridges set up by Kitson but placing an over-deliberate attempted curler into the keeper’s grateful arms, and a low Youngs cross narrowly evading both the ginger and the orange one. While the hapless Stortford players melted into a sticky puddle of confusion, the wicker men of Cambridge resolutely refused to burn in the relentless heat. Cool.
Half-time afforded a welcome respite from the elements for audience and players alike, with frenzied refuelling on all sides. Most poignant sight was that of Neil Mustoe, now an unemployed ex-CUFC footballer, still turning up like a lost puppy when he should be at least trialling somewhere else (sack your agent!), although he did emerge from the bar cradling a pint of nothing stronger than orange juice and lemonade. Either that or it was the largest vodka and orange seen since the heyday of Merson and Adams. Good luck Muzzy.
The good Captain was permitted to join in the fun for the second half in place of Lil’ Luke, but to their credit Stortford restarted in positive mode and Troy Braham fizzed one narrowly over from 20 yards. Soon the substitutions started in earnest, and their eventual effect was a revised line-up of Marshall; Nacca, Tann, Warner, Murray; Wanless and Fleming holding midfield with Scully just ahead; wide men Revell and Tudor; target man Oné. Stortford did likewise, including the introduction of a couple of interesting characters: one Joel Marie-Sainte, sporting waist-length locks which made him look like the long-lost third member of Milli Vanilli, and Onaldo Peixoto dos Santos, a Brazilian snapped up from Irish non-League who likes to be known just as Onaldo. Hmm … does he have friends called Ivaldo, Uninho and Ele? His teeth weren’t big enough to be convincing anyway.
Tudor and the Armand Hammer linked up well together, one cross finding the big Frenchman’s head for an effort narrowly over (no, really), and another Tiddler pass setting his colleague up for a power drive from 15 yards that nearly knocked Hayward into his goal as it rebounded off his chest.
This new double act finally produced a goal on 64. Hayward’s feeble goal kick was acknowledged by his bellowed ‘F***ing Hell!’ as Oné controlled it in the centre circle, waiting for Tudor to make the run then putting him in goal as he easily outran the defence to drive powerfully across the hapless custodian and into the far corner of the net despite the Stortford No 1 getting a hand to it. Hilarity behind Hayward’s goal, from the cruel away contingent, was unconfined. Just wait until the next goal …
An injury to Marie-Sainte (dislocated dreadlock?) allowed everyone to take more drink on board, but Stortford were now seriously beginning to tire, and any remaining resistance was broken ten minutes from the end with an early contender for funniest goal of the season. No danger threatened as a long ball was casually nodded back to his keeper by Anthony Ormond from the edge of his area. Tragically, he had failed to notice Hayward advancing from his goal in anticipation of collecting the very same ball, and the header slipped past his despairing dive and trundled inexorably and inevitably into the empty net as both players watched aghast and mocking Cantabrigian laughter echoed around Woodside. Even some home supporters joined in.
Now it was just a question of how many more United would add before the end. They even gave the hosts a chance by withdrawing Murray with a minor injury and not replacing him. Number five came three minutes later, Tann’s header from a corner blocked ten yards out but rebounding to him to coolly rifle into the bottom corner for his first senior goal. And I thought we might have had another Jerry on our hands. Four minutes later, good interplay between Oné and Nacca sent Tudor away, but his ambitious lob landed on the roof of the net.
So ended a perfect day in the summer sunshine. The new tactics work a treat against non-League opposition; hopefully they’ll now get a tryout against the rather more demanding Millwall on Tuesday. Should be interesting. Now where’s that after-sun?
Marshall 7 – Not a great deal to do except top up his tan, but did it safely.
Goodhind 7 – Nice easy game for Wazza.
Murray 8 – Also had a comfortable time and linked well down the left with Youngs then Tudor.
Duncan 7 – Another who had a comfortable stroll in the sun.
Eustace 7 – Looked fine apart from one minor slip-up. Surely worth a punt.
Guttridge 8 – Excellent range of long and short passing. The heart of the team.
Fleming 9 – Another full 90 for the Terrier and how well he used it. Vital if unshowy cog in the machine.
Bridges 7 – Young David’s now becoming quite a regular. Solid rather than spectacular.
Youngs 9 – Playing as well at the moment as he ever has. In his element in this position.
Tudor 8 – Got better as the game progressed. Another one perfectly suited to the new system.
Kitson 8 – Crucial pivot up front. Only worry is who could replace him if injured (again).
Wanless 7 – Authoritative in the middle as ever.
Scully 7 – Played ‘in the hole’ and made a decent fist of it.
Oné 8 – Pleasant surprise: a dynamic physical and skilful presence, he seems to be learning all the time.
Warner 7 – Let no one down in rare centre-back role.
Tann 8 – Added another string to his bow with his menace at set pieces.
Nacca 7 – Great to see a promising youngster settling into the first team squad.
Revell 7 – Ran around willingly. He’s good at that.
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun looks at the tango. ‘You really need a cool drink on a day like today! I’m kidding, of course – the tango is perhaps the most sensual and suggestive of all dances ever since its origin in the barrios of Buenos Aires. Its wide expressive range leaves great room for improvisation; it can be fast or slow, like a fight or like a tender embrace. In his great film Scent Of A Woman, Al Pacino said: ‘The tango is the easiest dance. If you make a mistake and get tangled up, you just tango on.’ Sounds like he’s been watching my back four! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Love me, love my dogma. Shaggy and the Professor’s masterplan just looks better and better as the hot weather produced a tornado of exciting passing football that swept their opponents away more ruthlessly than El Nino. If it works against Millwall as well, we could have quite a season in store. Get your season tickets now!
Man of the match: Terry Fleming. Unsung hero who popped up here, there and everywhere as well as displaying some hitherto only hinted-at passing skills. Who’d have thunk it?
Ref watch: Yeo 6. These friendlies really are a doddle, aren’t they?
The pitiful figure dragged itself, panting desperately, towards the precious, lifesaving water supply. ‘Mon Dieu!’ he gasped, ‘Zis is worse zan ze Foreign Legion! I can take no more of zis unbearable heat! You work us all like slaves!’ Shaggy rolled his eyes. ‘For goodness’ sake, Armand, you’ve only been warming up for ten minutes. It’s hot for all us. And this is Bishop’s Stortford, not the Sahara. Stop being such a big baby!’
It wasn’t an afternoon to spend indoors watching the telly, despite the enticing prospect of athletics’ equivalent of the LDV Vans Trophy, the Commonwealth Games. In any case, the coverage tends to produce more questions than answers, such as ‘are England’s sprinters sponsored by RAC Breakdown Service?’, ‘isn’t it a shame we can produce such great 300-metre runners but they are forced to run another 100m, badly?’ and ‘just how camp is that diving commentator’s voice?’
So it was that the amber hordes descended on the exceedingly pleasant surroundings of Woodside Park, where you can buy a nice pint at the bar then take it outside to watch the match and top up the suntan at the same time. How terribly civilised.
No such comforts for the Mighty U’s as Shaggy played what will probably be United’s starting 11 in the League this season, with one or two exceptions. Dancing Shaun is No 1 of course, Goodhind and Murray seem set in stone as first choice full backs, while Scott Eustace got another chance to impress, this time alongside Andy Duncan. Captain Fantastic started on the bench (privilege of rank) leaving a midfield three of Bridges, Lil’ Luke and the Terrier, with wide men Tiddler Tudor and Tiny Tom and BGG Kitson up front in the now familiar 4-5-1/4-3-3. No Riza or Cochrane in sight. The hosts were newly promoted to the Ryman Premier, and very convivial they were to prove too.
United have been increasingly impressive in every game they have played, and this encouraging trend was speedily continued today. From the off their inter-passing, movement and understanding were spot on, the new system again working like a dream. Most of the shouting from the touchline was left to the Professor, in between which he jotted down notes in his notepad: ‘If (x) + (y) > (z) cubed, the knee bone connected to the thigh bone and the prevailing wind remains 31 degrees NNW, then we should score a goal every 17.356 minutes.’ Or something. The key remains the wide men, who are prime outlets for the midfield and defence when in possession, and supply the runs and crosses from which their colleagues produce the goals.
The only surprise was that it took them all of seven minutes to take their lead against their bamboozled opponents. A precise reverse ball from Kitson sent Youngs to the left touchline, and his low cross was met by Fleming ghosting in at the near post with a very tidy finish into the roof of the net from inside the six-yard box. The sort of goal that at last enables the fan to say, ‘So that’s what they do in training!’ The lead could have been doubled a couple of minutes later as a delightful crossfield ball from Guttridge found Tudor wide right and his cross was blasted wide by Kitson less than ten yards out.
The wide boys were at the heart of all things dangerous, and the doubling of the lead on 18 was less surprising than a Michael Schumacher win. Ref Yeo played a good advantage after Kitson was fouled, Guttridge found Youngs losing his marker again and Tiny Tom waltzed around keeper Hayward (must have got lessons off Shaun) to walk in a goal of intricate simplicity. The players must have been feeling the searing heat by now, and a couple of treatment breaks seemed to last just a little longer than normal while everyone took more liquid on board: Lucozade Sport for the U’s, all except Tom who had his own personal water bottle handy. Would Sir prefer still or sparkling?
The shell-shocked hosts’ first chance finally came on the half hour, a Eustace slip letting Trevor Paul in on goal but Duncan getting back superbly to enable Marshall to collect safely. Other than that, it was the visitors who continued to menace: Tudor running on to an excellent Fleming pass to force Hayward into a reflex block, Bridges set up by Kitson but placing an over-deliberate attempted curler into the keeper’s grateful arms, and a low Youngs cross narrowly evading both the ginger and the orange one. While the hapless Stortford players melted into a sticky puddle of confusion, the wicker men of Cambridge resolutely refused to burn in the relentless heat. Cool.
Half-time afforded a welcome respite from the elements for audience and players alike, with frenzied refuelling on all sides. Most poignant sight was that of Neil Mustoe, now an unemployed ex-CUFC footballer, still turning up like a lost puppy when he should be at least trialling somewhere else (sack your agent!), although he did emerge from the bar cradling a pint of nothing stronger than orange juice and lemonade. Either that or it was the largest vodka and orange seen since the heyday of Merson and Adams. Good luck Muzzy.
The good Captain was permitted to join in the fun for the second half in place of Lil’ Luke, but to their credit Stortford restarted in positive mode and Troy Braham fizzed one narrowly over from 20 yards. Soon the substitutions started in earnest, and their eventual effect was a revised line-up of Marshall; Nacca, Tann, Warner, Murray; Wanless and Fleming holding midfield with Scully just ahead; wide men Revell and Tudor; target man Oné. Stortford did likewise, including the introduction of a couple of interesting characters: one Joel Marie-Sainte, sporting waist-length locks which made him look like the long-lost third member of Milli Vanilli, and Onaldo Peixoto dos Santos, a Brazilian snapped up from Irish non-League who likes to be known just as Onaldo. Hmm … does he have friends called Ivaldo, Uninho and Ele? His teeth weren’t big enough to be convincing anyway.
Tudor and the Armand Hammer linked up well together, one cross finding the big Frenchman’s head for an effort narrowly over (no, really), and another Tiddler pass setting his colleague up for a power drive from 15 yards that nearly knocked Hayward into his goal as it rebounded off his chest.
This new double act finally produced a goal on 64. Hayward’s feeble goal kick was acknowledged by his bellowed ‘F***ing Hell!’ as Oné controlled it in the centre circle, waiting for Tudor to make the run then putting him in goal as he easily outran the defence to drive powerfully across the hapless custodian and into the far corner of the net despite the Stortford No 1 getting a hand to it. Hilarity behind Hayward’s goal, from the cruel away contingent, was unconfined. Just wait until the next goal …
An injury to Marie-Sainte (dislocated dreadlock?) allowed everyone to take more drink on board, but Stortford were now seriously beginning to tire, and any remaining resistance was broken ten minutes from the end with an early contender for funniest goal of the season. No danger threatened as a long ball was casually nodded back to his keeper by Anthony Ormond from the edge of his area. Tragically, he had failed to notice Hayward advancing from his goal in anticipation of collecting the very same ball, and the header slipped past his despairing dive and trundled inexorably and inevitably into the empty net as both players watched aghast and mocking Cantabrigian laughter echoed around Woodside. Even some home supporters joined in.
Now it was just a question of how many more United would add before the end. They even gave the hosts a chance by withdrawing Murray with a minor injury and not replacing him. Number five came three minutes later, Tann’s header from a corner blocked ten yards out but rebounding to him to coolly rifle into the bottom corner for his first senior goal. And I thought we might have had another Jerry on our hands. Four minutes later, good interplay between Oné and Nacca sent Tudor away, but his ambitious lob landed on the roof of the net.
So ended a perfect day in the summer sunshine. The new tactics work a treat against non-League opposition; hopefully they’ll now get a tryout against the rather more demanding Millwall on Tuesday. Should be interesting. Now where’s that after-sun?
Marshall 7 – Not a great deal to do except top up his tan, but did it safely.
Goodhind 7 – Nice easy game for Wazza.
Murray 8 – Also had a comfortable time and linked well down the left with Youngs then Tudor.
Duncan 7 – Another who had a comfortable stroll in the sun.
Eustace 7 – Looked fine apart from one minor slip-up. Surely worth a punt.
Guttridge 8 – Excellent range of long and short passing. The heart of the team.
Fleming 9 – Another full 90 for the Terrier and how well he used it. Vital if unshowy cog in the machine.
Bridges 7 – Young David’s now becoming quite a regular. Solid rather than spectacular.
Youngs 9 – Playing as well at the moment as he ever has. In his element in this position.
Tudor 8 – Got better as the game progressed. Another one perfectly suited to the new system.
Kitson 8 – Crucial pivot up front. Only worry is who could replace him if injured (again).
Wanless 7 – Authoritative in the middle as ever.
Scully 7 – Played ‘in the hole’ and made a decent fist of it.
Oné 8 – Pleasant surprise: a dynamic physical and skilful presence, he seems to be learning all the time.
Warner 7 – Let no one down in rare centre-back role.
Tann 8 – Added another string to his bow with his menace at set pieces.
Nacca 7 – Great to see a promising youngster settling into the first team squad.
Revell 7 – Ran around willingly. He’s good at that.
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun looks at the tango. ‘You really need a cool drink on a day like today! I’m kidding, of course – the tango is perhaps the most sensual and suggestive of all dances ever since its origin in the barrios of Buenos Aires. Its wide expressive range leaves great room for improvisation; it can be fast or slow, like a fight or like a tender embrace. In his great film Scent Of A Woman, Al Pacino said: ‘The tango is the easiest dance. If you make a mistake and get tangled up, you just tango on.’ Sounds like he’s been watching my back four! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Love me, love my dogma. Shaggy and the Professor’s masterplan just looks better and better as the hot weather produced a tornado of exciting passing football that swept their opponents away more ruthlessly than El Nino. If it works against Millwall as well, we could have quite a season in store. Get your season tickets now!
Man of the match: Terry Fleming. Unsung hero who popped up here, there and everywhere as well as displaying some hitherto only hinted-at passing skills. Who’d have thunk it?
Ref watch: Yeo 6. These friendlies really are a doddle, aren’t they?
Armand Oné: dynamic.
|
Wednesday, 31 July 2002: Soham Town Rangers 0-4 United
Children gambolling gaily through the grass. An old tractor rusting in the corner. The fresh, balmy Fen air carrying just the merest hint of fertiliser. Locals sporting Norwich and Ipswich tops without any apparent shame or irony. O to be in Soham now that pre-season is upon us; well at least their pitch doesn’t resemble Parkside pool. And nary a Pish shirt in sight! (Get well slowly, Leon.)
Wednesday night at Julius Martin Lane, and Soham Town Rangers, so good they gave them two names, were the United first team’s consolation prize after missing out on a visit from the cheery Millwall mentalists the previous night.
Martin ‘Feed the Goatee’ Brennan celebrated his signing of a one-year non-contract with a full run-out in goal behind the now-familiar 4-5-1/4-3-3: regulars Goodhind and Duncan joined by Scott ‘Three Kebabs’ Eustace and Phil Warner at the back, a mini-three in midfield of Lil’ Luke, Tiny Tom and the Terrier, Tudor and Riza wide and BGG Kitson up top. It seems Messrs Oné, Tann, Angus, Murray and of course poor old Chilli are crocked already. Also present were a few United old boys in the crowd: Dave ‘og’ Thompson, Colin Vowden, and – once again – the team’s very own stalker, Mr Mustoe.
The visitors started like an allotment shed on fire, the wide men again a primary source of menace, and it was Dangermouse Riza himself who produced the first goal in barely three minutes. He picked up Kitson’s flick wide left and with a blinding turn of pace he was past the hapless full back, then the centre back, and the ball was steered into the net past keeper Ben Webster before he could blink. Looks like roasted defence on the barbie menu tonight.
It was Riza’s oppo, Tudor, who almost doubled the score a couple of minutes later after good work by arch-creators Kitson and Youngs, but this time Webster was equal to Oompah’s slightly over-deliberate shot. Once again the new system was working well, the tight midfield three bossing the centre, the wide men a constantly available outlet and Kitson leading the line like he was to the manor born. And no hoofing out of defence by the back four with a choice of five teammates all within passing distance.
It was 2-0 on 13, Guttridge’s free kick won decisively by the colossal Eustace, Kitson flicking it on, and there was Dangermouse to blast high into the net from close in. What had been a bit of a nervous blind date for U’s fans was beginning to look like it was going to yield a lorra, lorra goals, eh our Graham?
Barely 20 minutes had passed when it was three, Goodhind finding Tiny Tom being given far too much space in the area and punishing the Rangers with a superbly placed effort into the far left corner from 18 yards. And Soham had thought the floods were on Tuesday night.
It’s not exactly a familiar phrase to use in connection with the Mighty U’s, but it was almost too easy. Cruise control was engaged and the hosts, to their credit, didn’t let their heads drop for a second. All the chances remained United’s: Eustace was unlucky to see his flick at a corner hoofed off the line, there was some wild finishing from Tudor, who seemed determined to score a spectacular 30-yarder or nothing at all, and Fleming was robbed by an outrageous offside flag when gaining possession with a least two defenders goalside, bursting through from the centre circle and rounding Webster. Kitson might have been off, but the kick was given from where Fleming got the ball. And what a pleasure it is at these non-League grounds to be able to tell an official, up close and personal, exactly what one thinks of their myopic decision-making, and know he can hear every well-chosen word. You don’t get that at Old chuffing Trafford.
Fleming should have scored on the 40-minute mark, Youngs and Riza’s interplay seeing the Terrier skimming through the grass like a Thorpedo and his effort at the end of his run being very well saved by the increasingly impressive Webster. Not long after came a heart-in-mouth moment for Goatboy Brennan as he sprinted from goal to clear a long Soham welly, was surprised by its bounce and shuffled the ball away with his left hand as surreptitiously as he could manage. The lino spotted he was well outside the area, and there were a nervous few moments as he consulted with a ref who had already shown an officious streak in lectures to Guttridge for a mistimed lunge and Riza for protesting about a supposed push on his marker while attempting to shield the ball. But this time Mr Lewis (isn’t it time that he was out on his own? – name that song lyric) showed that referees are sometimes almost like real Earth people and gave the free kick without any further disciplinary action. Nothing came of the kick, and the break came with no further incident.
The same line-up started the second half for the visitors, although Riza and Tudor now swapped wings, the cunning devils. Soham continued to provide spirited resistance while never threatening to score themselves. Most United danger still came from the wide men, both forcing good saves from Webster after cutting in from their wings and firing low across goal. Interest levels began to drop as the away contingent began to realise their team weren’t going to shoot double figures and the match increasingly had all the allure of a lecture on shin pads from Howard ‘Mogadon Man’ Wilkinson.
Soon the substitutions started, and when the Fen fog had cleared United were playing good old-fashioned 4-4-2 with an unchanged defence, a midfield quartet of Revell, Nacca, Wanless and Scully, and Kitson and young Owen Paynter replacing Tiny Tom up front. And you’d have to say that notwithstanding the slightly inferior personnel, it didn’t look half as good as the previous formation. Scully was his usual frustrating self, numerous exciting runs failing to result in good crosses, just the odd corner, brightest spark being Paynter with some lively, alert runs. Was it time to go yet? I hear there’s a new branch of Turnip-U-Like just opened in Soham town centre that’s worth trying.
Number four finally came ten minutes from time, Paynter brought down untidily by Michael Simmons and Captain Fantastic stepping up to drive decisively low to the left of the excellent Webster. There was still time for Wannie to miskick when unmarked ten yards out following a typical run from deep, Scully to cut inside for a change and have a low drive blocked near the line, and Paynter to shave the outside of the near post in meeting a Revell cross on the half-volley, then the excitement was finally over. Five away wins in a row. Bring on the Spurs Under-11s!
Brennan 7 – Again not tested much, but did all he had to do well apart from the handball incident. Splendid kicker.
Goodhind 8 – Faultless and had the demeanour of a future captain when Wannie eventually hangs up the hobnails.
Warner 7 – Nice’n’tidy.
Duncan 7 – Smooth, in-control performance.
Eustace 8 – Still has undeniable presence and was dominant both at the back and at the occasional set piece. Welcome back, big man.
Tudor 7 – Threatening as ever, although seemed to want more icing on his cake than Mr Kipling.
Fleming 7 – Unobtrusive but vital cog, as ever.
Guttridge 8 – Ran the show for an hour. How quickly he’s become a regular starter.
Youngs 7 – Showed his versatility in a more withdrawn role. Watched by his chubby lookalike brother.
Riza 9 – Sharper than a Stanley knife that’s joined Mensa. Sign up, Omer, you know you want to.
Kitson 7 – Still playing well within himself, just lacking that finishing touch.
Scully 7 – Trademark scurrying runs but not enough decent crosses. In a competition with Riza, no contest.
Nacca 7 – Slotted in comfortably.
Wanless 7 – Never lets us down.
Paynter 8 – Revelation of the night, enlivened increasingly tedious proceedings late on.
Revell 7 – Always willing, but what is his best position really?
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Hustle. ‘Visiting quaint little towns like Soham often sets me to thinking of times gone by, especially when I’ve got nothing to do but warm the bench. The Hustle is an ‘old skool’ disco dance which originated in New York in the early 1970s, and it has branched off into all sorts of variations since then: Latin, Spanish, Street or Swing, solo, partnership or line. It’s great to have Scott Eustace back at the club because he’s the best disco dancer I’ve seen since the halcyon days of Alan Biley. The ladies just flock to him when he hits the floor in his white suit and loafers – and so do some of the guys! Only joking, Scotty. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A good half-hour workout followed by an hour’s gradual warm-down against a spirited and determined Soham side. Like the home side’s floodlights, United did their job without being especially illuminating.
Man of the match: Omer Riza. Come on down.
Ref watch: Lewis 5. Not a difficult match to control, but did his best to show that he was In Charge. Who was he trying to impress, his girlfriend?
Children gambolling gaily through the grass. An old tractor rusting in the corner. The fresh, balmy Fen air carrying just the merest hint of fertiliser. Locals sporting Norwich and Ipswich tops without any apparent shame or irony. O to be in Soham now that pre-season is upon us; well at least their pitch doesn’t resemble Parkside pool. And nary a Pish shirt in sight! (Get well slowly, Leon.)
Wednesday night at Julius Martin Lane, and Soham Town Rangers, so good they gave them two names, were the United first team’s consolation prize after missing out on a visit from the cheery Millwall mentalists the previous night.
Martin ‘Feed the Goatee’ Brennan celebrated his signing of a one-year non-contract with a full run-out in goal behind the now-familiar 4-5-1/4-3-3: regulars Goodhind and Duncan joined by Scott ‘Three Kebabs’ Eustace and Phil Warner at the back, a mini-three in midfield of Lil’ Luke, Tiny Tom and the Terrier, Tudor and Riza wide and BGG Kitson up top. It seems Messrs Oné, Tann, Angus, Murray and of course poor old Chilli are crocked already. Also present were a few United old boys in the crowd: Dave ‘og’ Thompson, Colin Vowden, and – once again – the team’s very own stalker, Mr Mustoe.
The visitors started like an allotment shed on fire, the wide men again a primary source of menace, and it was Dangermouse Riza himself who produced the first goal in barely three minutes. He picked up Kitson’s flick wide left and with a blinding turn of pace he was past the hapless full back, then the centre back, and the ball was steered into the net past keeper Ben Webster before he could blink. Looks like roasted defence on the barbie menu tonight.
It was Riza’s oppo, Tudor, who almost doubled the score a couple of minutes later after good work by arch-creators Kitson and Youngs, but this time Webster was equal to Oompah’s slightly over-deliberate shot. Once again the new system was working well, the tight midfield three bossing the centre, the wide men a constantly available outlet and Kitson leading the line like he was to the manor born. And no hoofing out of defence by the back four with a choice of five teammates all within passing distance.
It was 2-0 on 13, Guttridge’s free kick won decisively by the colossal Eustace, Kitson flicking it on, and there was Dangermouse to blast high into the net from close in. What had been a bit of a nervous blind date for U’s fans was beginning to look like it was going to yield a lorra, lorra goals, eh our Graham?
Barely 20 minutes had passed when it was three, Goodhind finding Tiny Tom being given far too much space in the area and punishing the Rangers with a superbly placed effort into the far left corner from 18 yards. And Soham had thought the floods were on Tuesday night.
It’s not exactly a familiar phrase to use in connection with the Mighty U’s, but it was almost too easy. Cruise control was engaged and the hosts, to their credit, didn’t let their heads drop for a second. All the chances remained United’s: Eustace was unlucky to see his flick at a corner hoofed off the line, there was some wild finishing from Tudor, who seemed determined to score a spectacular 30-yarder or nothing at all, and Fleming was robbed by an outrageous offside flag when gaining possession with a least two defenders goalside, bursting through from the centre circle and rounding Webster. Kitson might have been off, but the kick was given from where Fleming got the ball. And what a pleasure it is at these non-League grounds to be able to tell an official, up close and personal, exactly what one thinks of their myopic decision-making, and know he can hear every well-chosen word. You don’t get that at Old chuffing Trafford.
Fleming should have scored on the 40-minute mark, Youngs and Riza’s interplay seeing the Terrier skimming through the grass like a Thorpedo and his effort at the end of his run being very well saved by the increasingly impressive Webster. Not long after came a heart-in-mouth moment for Goatboy Brennan as he sprinted from goal to clear a long Soham welly, was surprised by its bounce and shuffled the ball away with his left hand as surreptitiously as he could manage. The lino spotted he was well outside the area, and there were a nervous few moments as he consulted with a ref who had already shown an officious streak in lectures to Guttridge for a mistimed lunge and Riza for protesting about a supposed push on his marker while attempting to shield the ball. But this time Mr Lewis (isn’t it time that he was out on his own? – name that song lyric) showed that referees are sometimes almost like real Earth people and gave the free kick without any further disciplinary action. Nothing came of the kick, and the break came with no further incident.
The same line-up started the second half for the visitors, although Riza and Tudor now swapped wings, the cunning devils. Soham continued to provide spirited resistance while never threatening to score themselves. Most United danger still came from the wide men, both forcing good saves from Webster after cutting in from their wings and firing low across goal. Interest levels began to drop as the away contingent began to realise their team weren’t going to shoot double figures and the match increasingly had all the allure of a lecture on shin pads from Howard ‘Mogadon Man’ Wilkinson.
Soon the substitutions started, and when the Fen fog had cleared United were playing good old-fashioned 4-4-2 with an unchanged defence, a midfield quartet of Revell, Nacca, Wanless and Scully, and Kitson and young Owen Paynter replacing Tiny Tom up front. And you’d have to say that notwithstanding the slightly inferior personnel, it didn’t look half as good as the previous formation. Scully was his usual frustrating self, numerous exciting runs failing to result in good crosses, just the odd corner, brightest spark being Paynter with some lively, alert runs. Was it time to go yet? I hear there’s a new branch of Turnip-U-Like just opened in Soham town centre that’s worth trying.
Number four finally came ten minutes from time, Paynter brought down untidily by Michael Simmons and Captain Fantastic stepping up to drive decisively low to the left of the excellent Webster. There was still time for Wannie to miskick when unmarked ten yards out following a typical run from deep, Scully to cut inside for a change and have a low drive blocked near the line, and Paynter to shave the outside of the near post in meeting a Revell cross on the half-volley, then the excitement was finally over. Five away wins in a row. Bring on the Spurs Under-11s!
Brennan 7 – Again not tested much, but did all he had to do well apart from the handball incident. Splendid kicker.
Goodhind 8 – Faultless and had the demeanour of a future captain when Wannie eventually hangs up the hobnails.
Warner 7 – Nice’n’tidy.
Duncan 7 – Smooth, in-control performance.
Eustace 8 – Still has undeniable presence and was dominant both at the back and at the occasional set piece. Welcome back, big man.
Tudor 7 – Threatening as ever, although seemed to want more icing on his cake than Mr Kipling.
Fleming 7 – Unobtrusive but vital cog, as ever.
Guttridge 8 – Ran the show for an hour. How quickly he’s become a regular starter.
Youngs 7 – Showed his versatility in a more withdrawn role. Watched by his chubby lookalike brother.
Riza 9 – Sharper than a Stanley knife that’s joined Mensa. Sign up, Omer, you know you want to.
Kitson 7 – Still playing well within himself, just lacking that finishing touch.
Scully 7 – Trademark scurrying runs but not enough decent crosses. In a competition with Riza, no contest.
Nacca 7 – Slotted in comfortably.
Wanless 7 – Never lets us down.
Paynter 8 – Revelation of the night, enlivened increasingly tedious proceedings late on.
Revell 7 – Always willing, but what is his best position really?
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Hustle. ‘Visiting quaint little towns like Soham often sets me to thinking of times gone by, especially when I’ve got nothing to do but warm the bench. The Hustle is an ‘old skool’ disco dance which originated in New York in the early 1970s, and it has branched off into all sorts of variations since then: Latin, Spanish, Street or Swing, solo, partnership or line. It’s great to have Scott Eustace back at the club because he’s the best disco dancer I’ve seen since the halcyon days of Alan Biley. The ladies just flock to him when he hits the floor in his white suit and loafers – and so do some of the guys! Only joking, Scotty. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A good half-hour workout followed by an hour’s gradual warm-down against a spirited and determined Soham side. Like the home side’s floodlights, United did their job without being especially illuminating.
Man of the match: Omer Riza. Come on down.
Ref watch: Lewis 5. Not a difficult match to control, but did his best to show that he was In Charge. Who was he trying to impress, his girlfriend?
The Hustle: as practised by Scott Eustace.
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Saturday, 3 August 2002: United 5-1 Tottenham Hotspur XI
Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder. Millions worldwide extol the charms of Jennifer Lopez, not least J-Lo herself. Who would not sing the praises of the Taj Mahal, a particularly lovely restaurant. King’s College Chapel? Not a bad little shed.
But today saw the bar raised one notch higher; there is a new kid in town. The South Stand at the Abbey has risen from the foetid depths of the allotments and now stands proudly for all to gaze and wonder at, a seductive modern Venus in amber and black that screams ‘Come on big boy! Love me! Worship me! Oh YEAHHH!’
Or perhaps that’s just me. Any road, ’twas time at last for the first home game of the new season, the Abbey radically transformed by the aforementioned edifice, empty today save for a few artfully slouching ballboys. Just imagine our favourite arena with another, even better version at the other end. Sven will be on the phone looking to stage England games there like a shot. Pleasantly balmy weather, a decent crowd in the circumstances, time before the match to relax and peruse all the new reading material on offer: smart new look programme with a strangely familiar title, a spunky new fanzine and, best of all, the CFU’s magnificently sumptuous souvenir brochure for Shaggy’s testimonial season. Worth buying for the hilarious haircuts alone.
The time for experimenting was over. The United line-up was near as dammit that which will start the new League season next week, apart from an injury or three. And it looks like the 4-5-1/4-3-3 system is here to stay. Dancing Shaun was resplendent in a new red kit so deafening that earplugs come with it as standard issue; Phil Warner depped for the injured Goodhind; Freddie Murray was back on the left; and centre backs Duncan and Angus will compete with Adam Tann for starting duty. Of the rest of the team, only Captain Fantastic looks to have any chance of dislodging any of the in-form midfield trio of Tiny Tom, Lil’ Luke and the Terrier, while front three Tudor, Riza and Kitson pick themselves. If, please Jah, Omer signs up.
The opposition was a trifle less familiar; in fact most were introduced solely by initial and surname as if even Spurs hadn’t even heard of them, except for the man in charge, veteran centre back Colin Calderwood. Intriguingly, in the programme Shaggy revealed that he had ‘had them watched’ in their win at Southend last week, which for a friendly is taking thoroughness to frankly worrying lengths.
United began as they meant to (and would) continue, taking the game to their young, illustriously garbed foes with characteristic flowing, passing football. Shane Tudor in particular was as mercurial as the contents of a thermometer, and within two minutes he had galloped on to a Fleming through ball and made Burch in the Tottenham goal show his mettle with a rasping drive from wide right that he had to tip over. Perhaps a cross to Kitson or Riza might have been a better option, but let’s not get pernickety here.
It was soon apparent that one area in which the U’s have improved immeasurably (plenty of choice after last season!) is in crossing; with two natural wide players plus the full backs and an exceptionally mobile midfield, they soon came thick and fast, almost all along the floor and thoughtfully placed. This time last year saw more hopeful high hoofs than the Grand National … but the present team is utterly unrecognisable from JB and Igor’s last hurrah, and what an entertaining spectacle they make too.
Five minutes in, and it was 1-0. A Kitson layoff to Tudor, another superb run leaving his marker for dead and a delightful curling cross right into the danger zone that was met by the BGG in full Houchenesque diving header mode. A glorious goal with which to baptise the new stand. United didn’t let up, their fluidity, movement, passing and understanding a joy to behold. The midfield snapped and scurried, crosses flew in, the wide men terrorised the full backs and Tudor peppered the goal with the odd long-range blaster. The visitors’ defence was under more pressure than George Michael’s career.
The 16th minute saw the second United goal. Tudor’s reverse ball to the overlapping Warner, another probing, pacy low cross across the area, and there was Riza ghosting in at the far post to poke home, more predatory than a golden eagle that’s been ordained as a Catholic priest. It was almost 3-0 a minute later as Kitson set up Youngs with a typical flick, but this time Burch blocked at his feet.
Shellshocked Spurs slowly, painfully tried to get into the game. On 23 John Sutton actually gave Marshall something to do, diving well to his left to stop a low drive headed for the bottom corner. The same striker blasted his next chance unconvincingly wide, then long-tressed Mark Hughes (not that one) burst clear wide left and forced an excellent reflex save from Dancing Shaun at his near post. Sadly for the visitor, ref Thorpe failed to spot Marshall’s touch and gave a goal kick. More boo-boos where that came from …
Two minutes later, in fact, as on 38 Sutton dribbled into the box to be robbed by a sliding tackle from Murray. The man in black, ignoring Freddie’s playing of the ball, gave an undeserved penalty although tellingly, there was not one appeal from the Spurs players. Sutton’s spot kick low in the corner to Marshall’s left was faultless, despite Shaun’s brave dive.
The goal only served to make United redouble their efforts, and it took them a mere two minutes to make it 3-1. Tudor once again set things up, crossing for Kitson to find that man Riza. He jinked inside one defender, then another, then despatched coolly into the bottom corner from 15 yards past the helpless Burch. How this one-man goal avalanche has struggled to find another club is a bigger mystery than the real ingredients of a McFlurry. Though I’m sure there’s some eye of toad and wing of bat in there somewhere.
Tiny Tom was denied a deserved goal by Burch’s save from his header, then came a contender for should-have-been goal of the season. Fleming found Tudor midway inside his own half, his stretch for the ball serving to dummy his marker and, needing no further bidding, he set off on a determined solo run for goal. He sprinted at full pelt past two defenders, an obliging ricochet helping him on his way, then after 70 lung-bursting yards there was only Burch to beat as the big keeper advanced from his line. Shane, cool as a cucumber wearing Raybans, chipped him from 25 yards, and the Abbey roared as one to acclaim a truly classic goal … until the ball cannoned against the far post and into the arms of the relieved Burch. No one merited a goal more.
We wished the first half would never end, but the break came with the home fans sated and elated at what they had just witnessed: a glorious, flowing display of exciting passing football as good as has been seen at this venue, well, ever. The tireless running and probing of Fleming and Guttridge, the vision and cunning of Youngs, the explosive pace and skill of Tudor, the touch and power of Kitson, the sheer prowling menace of Riza … these are a few of my favourite things. Beat raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens hands down.
The second half resumed with no changes in personnel or pattern. Spurs had obviously been so terrorised by Tudor, they now put two men on him in a vain bid to staunch the flow. They failed dismally. On 51 the Loompah was away again down the right wing like a guided missile, Kitson, Youngs and Riza almost falling over each other to get into the danger zone. Almost inevitably, Omer was the Riza-sharp one, rifling home from ten yards out.
Then it was the BGG’s turn to go through his paces, wrong-footing the defence on the edge of the area with some delightful body swerves to create a shooting opportunity from ten yards, only to spoil things by getting the shot all wrong and wellying into the boards. He almost redeemed himself with a headed goal from a corner on 56, but ref Thorpe whistled for pushing even as the ball entered the net. Spoilsport.
Two minutes later came another contender for almost-goal of the season, this time a team effort. Andy Duncan started it in his own corner, beating his challenger with a neat turn then finding Fleming who beat his man with a neat side-step and found Youngs in the centre circle. Tom sent Tudor away down the right wing once again, and as he cut inside with Kitson and Riza both screaming for the ball in the six-yard box, he instead cut it back to the Terrier, who had arrived on the edge of his area. His half-volleyed screamer was headed for the top right corner until batted away instinctively by Burch with another superb save. Breathtaking stuff.
More excitement on the hour as Kitson’s intelligent lay-off from the penalty spot found Youngs evading his marker in the left-hand corner of the six-yard box. Burch started to move to cover a shot across him, then adjusted magnificently when Tom struck instead for the near post. The young keeper’s lightning-fast tip over was his best save yet.
The game couldn’t possibly have sustained this sky-high level of quality entertainment, and on 65 it was time to send in the clowns. Dean Marney clattered Fleming from behind on halfway, then in sheer frustration pushed out at the Terrier as he rebounded to his feet. Terry, naturally, took umbrage at this unprovoked attack and after a mass ‘handbags’ session Mr Thorpe took the errant young man to one side. He deserved to be sent to bed without any tea, or at least get 100 lines, but was fortuitously let off with a little lecture. Stupid boy.
Things quietened down for a while, so Marshall thought he’d enliven proceedings with a vintage brown-shorts moment. Angus’s backpass was to his left side, so he tried to bring it across to his kicking foot only to be robbed by the piratical Smee, who squared it to Sutton 18 yards out. Faced with an open goal, his prod was blocked heroically by Duncan, and eventually Dancing Shaun somehow found the ball in his arms. Nurse, my inhaler, please.
At the other end, Youngs was denied a blatant penalty as the ref ignored a defender trying to change shirts with him well before the end, and Kitson essayed an adventurous 20-yard looping header that Burch clutched fairly comfortably. As the last quarter of an hour approached, substitution time beckoned, and after a dizzy five minutes of toing and froing, an almost completely transformed United lineup emerged of Marshall; Huggins, Bourgeois, Angus, Rush; Paynter, Fleming, Bridges; Revell, Oné, Scully. Spurs had made only two changes, but then they were playing two other matches simultaneously in other parts of the country. Their ticket office must have been empty today.
Main threat to the visitors’ tiring legs was now United’s very own Nortonalike, and one scampering run on 82 flashed across the goal to Revell at the far post, who somehow contrived to clear the ball on Spurs’ behalf rather than steer it five yards into their net. Three minutes later it was one-man resistance Burch’s turn to keep the score down single-handedly again with another acrobatic save from a Bridges 18-yarder. But his heroic rearguard was finally breached again two minutes from time: Scully again broke, dithered when he should have shot, retrieved the ball on the touchline and scooped a backward diagonal ball to Revell whose 15-yarder skimmed across a crowded goalmouth and into the bottom left-hand corner. 5-1, if you’ve lost count.
There was still time for United to be denied another penalty after a Calderwood push on Scully, a Bridges header to glide across goal and narrowly wide of the far post, and for Marshall to give us more palpitations in hesitating to come out to meet a Spurs break, eventually blocking with his feet and the rebound curled past his back stick. A thrilling end to a riveting encounter.
Marshall 7 – Mostly comfortable, some good shouting, but a couple of sticky moments that he’s hopefully getting out of his system now before the real stuff starts.
Warner 8 – Comfortable defensively and some good overlaps and crosses.
Murray 8 – Also looked at home in the new system.
Duncan 8 – Skipper for the day and always in control.
Angus 8 – Old head on young shoulders.
Tudor 9 – Simply unstoppable. Four goals resulted from his runs and he dominated the field of play for his 75 minutes.
Fleming 9 – Unsung hero. First to cover if United were short at the back, all over the midfield and supported the attack too.
Guttridge 8 – Excellent display at the heart of the action.
Youngs 8 – Most advanced of the midfield three, he was everywhere.
Riza 9 – Goal machine. More dangerous than a dozen Saddam Husseins.
Kitson 8 – Perfect focal point for the new system, his subtle lay-offs were a delight.
Scully 7 – Can be so dangerous, if only he wouldn’t pick the wrong option so often.
Bridges 7 – Already an established first-team squad member, can only go from strength to strength.
Oné 7 – Got involved in his unique way.
Revell 7 – Nice goal, but is his best position really wide?
Paynter 7 – Good experience for another promising young talent.
Rush, Huggins, Bourgeois 7 – Useful ten-minute run-outs for the three youthful defenders.
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun looks at the Cha Cha. ‘This Cuban classic originated in the 1950s, evolving from the Mambo. It was originally called the ChaChaCha, but lost a ‘Cha’ somewhere along the way. It’s an easy dance to pick up, and is fun and lively with a teasing interplay between man and woman. My back four aren’t so keen on my ‘teasing interplay’ when I do one of my trademark miskicks, but I only do it to keep them on their toes … they’d only get complacent otherwise! Only kidding, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United’s ‘total football’ won its spurs against the Tottenham youngsters in exhilaratingly convincing fashion. Everything clicked and only the visitors’ exceptional goalkeeper stood between them and a double-figure mauling. Here’s hoping it works against the real thing next week. Perhaps some of the ‘away’ supporters might have been persuaded to come and see their local team too … ?
Man of the match: Shane Tudor. On fire? He was a towering inferno, having a hand in all of United’s goals while he was on the pitch and so unlucky not to score himself. Don’t peak too early, Shane, there’s plenty more defences to traumatise this term.
Ref watch: Thorpe 3. Pretty woeful stuff from the myopic man in black, missing and misinterpreting incidents mere yards away.
Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder. Millions worldwide extol the charms of Jennifer Lopez, not least J-Lo herself. Who would not sing the praises of the Taj Mahal, a particularly lovely restaurant. King’s College Chapel? Not a bad little shed.
But today saw the bar raised one notch higher; there is a new kid in town. The South Stand at the Abbey has risen from the foetid depths of the allotments and now stands proudly for all to gaze and wonder at, a seductive modern Venus in amber and black that screams ‘Come on big boy! Love me! Worship me! Oh YEAHHH!’
Or perhaps that’s just me. Any road, ’twas time at last for the first home game of the new season, the Abbey radically transformed by the aforementioned edifice, empty today save for a few artfully slouching ballboys. Just imagine our favourite arena with another, even better version at the other end. Sven will be on the phone looking to stage England games there like a shot. Pleasantly balmy weather, a decent crowd in the circumstances, time before the match to relax and peruse all the new reading material on offer: smart new look programme with a strangely familiar title, a spunky new fanzine and, best of all, the CFU’s magnificently sumptuous souvenir brochure for Shaggy’s testimonial season. Worth buying for the hilarious haircuts alone.
The time for experimenting was over. The United line-up was near as dammit that which will start the new League season next week, apart from an injury or three. And it looks like the 4-5-1/4-3-3 system is here to stay. Dancing Shaun was resplendent in a new red kit so deafening that earplugs come with it as standard issue; Phil Warner depped for the injured Goodhind; Freddie Murray was back on the left; and centre backs Duncan and Angus will compete with Adam Tann for starting duty. Of the rest of the team, only Captain Fantastic looks to have any chance of dislodging any of the in-form midfield trio of Tiny Tom, Lil’ Luke and the Terrier, while front three Tudor, Riza and Kitson pick themselves. If, please Jah, Omer signs up.
The opposition was a trifle less familiar; in fact most were introduced solely by initial and surname as if even Spurs hadn’t even heard of them, except for the man in charge, veteran centre back Colin Calderwood. Intriguingly, in the programme Shaggy revealed that he had ‘had them watched’ in their win at Southend last week, which for a friendly is taking thoroughness to frankly worrying lengths.
United began as they meant to (and would) continue, taking the game to their young, illustriously garbed foes with characteristic flowing, passing football. Shane Tudor in particular was as mercurial as the contents of a thermometer, and within two minutes he had galloped on to a Fleming through ball and made Burch in the Tottenham goal show his mettle with a rasping drive from wide right that he had to tip over. Perhaps a cross to Kitson or Riza might have been a better option, but let’s not get pernickety here.
It was soon apparent that one area in which the U’s have improved immeasurably (plenty of choice after last season!) is in crossing; with two natural wide players plus the full backs and an exceptionally mobile midfield, they soon came thick and fast, almost all along the floor and thoughtfully placed. This time last year saw more hopeful high hoofs than the Grand National … but the present team is utterly unrecognisable from JB and Igor’s last hurrah, and what an entertaining spectacle they make too.
Five minutes in, and it was 1-0. A Kitson layoff to Tudor, another superb run leaving his marker for dead and a delightful curling cross right into the danger zone that was met by the BGG in full Houchenesque diving header mode. A glorious goal with which to baptise the new stand. United didn’t let up, their fluidity, movement, passing and understanding a joy to behold. The midfield snapped and scurried, crosses flew in, the wide men terrorised the full backs and Tudor peppered the goal with the odd long-range blaster. The visitors’ defence was under more pressure than George Michael’s career.
The 16th minute saw the second United goal. Tudor’s reverse ball to the overlapping Warner, another probing, pacy low cross across the area, and there was Riza ghosting in at the far post to poke home, more predatory than a golden eagle that’s been ordained as a Catholic priest. It was almost 3-0 a minute later as Kitson set up Youngs with a typical flick, but this time Burch blocked at his feet.
Shellshocked Spurs slowly, painfully tried to get into the game. On 23 John Sutton actually gave Marshall something to do, diving well to his left to stop a low drive headed for the bottom corner. The same striker blasted his next chance unconvincingly wide, then long-tressed Mark Hughes (not that one) burst clear wide left and forced an excellent reflex save from Dancing Shaun at his near post. Sadly for the visitor, ref Thorpe failed to spot Marshall’s touch and gave a goal kick. More boo-boos where that came from …
Two minutes later, in fact, as on 38 Sutton dribbled into the box to be robbed by a sliding tackle from Murray. The man in black, ignoring Freddie’s playing of the ball, gave an undeserved penalty although tellingly, there was not one appeal from the Spurs players. Sutton’s spot kick low in the corner to Marshall’s left was faultless, despite Shaun’s brave dive.
The goal only served to make United redouble their efforts, and it took them a mere two minutes to make it 3-1. Tudor once again set things up, crossing for Kitson to find that man Riza. He jinked inside one defender, then another, then despatched coolly into the bottom corner from 15 yards past the helpless Burch. How this one-man goal avalanche has struggled to find another club is a bigger mystery than the real ingredients of a McFlurry. Though I’m sure there’s some eye of toad and wing of bat in there somewhere.
Tiny Tom was denied a deserved goal by Burch’s save from his header, then came a contender for should-have-been goal of the season. Fleming found Tudor midway inside his own half, his stretch for the ball serving to dummy his marker and, needing no further bidding, he set off on a determined solo run for goal. He sprinted at full pelt past two defenders, an obliging ricochet helping him on his way, then after 70 lung-bursting yards there was only Burch to beat as the big keeper advanced from his line. Shane, cool as a cucumber wearing Raybans, chipped him from 25 yards, and the Abbey roared as one to acclaim a truly classic goal … until the ball cannoned against the far post and into the arms of the relieved Burch. No one merited a goal more.
We wished the first half would never end, but the break came with the home fans sated and elated at what they had just witnessed: a glorious, flowing display of exciting passing football as good as has been seen at this venue, well, ever. The tireless running and probing of Fleming and Guttridge, the vision and cunning of Youngs, the explosive pace and skill of Tudor, the touch and power of Kitson, the sheer prowling menace of Riza … these are a few of my favourite things. Beat raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens hands down.
The second half resumed with no changes in personnel or pattern. Spurs had obviously been so terrorised by Tudor, they now put two men on him in a vain bid to staunch the flow. They failed dismally. On 51 the Loompah was away again down the right wing like a guided missile, Kitson, Youngs and Riza almost falling over each other to get into the danger zone. Almost inevitably, Omer was the Riza-sharp one, rifling home from ten yards out.
Then it was the BGG’s turn to go through his paces, wrong-footing the defence on the edge of the area with some delightful body swerves to create a shooting opportunity from ten yards, only to spoil things by getting the shot all wrong and wellying into the boards. He almost redeemed himself with a headed goal from a corner on 56, but ref Thorpe whistled for pushing even as the ball entered the net. Spoilsport.
Two minutes later came another contender for almost-goal of the season, this time a team effort. Andy Duncan started it in his own corner, beating his challenger with a neat turn then finding Fleming who beat his man with a neat side-step and found Youngs in the centre circle. Tom sent Tudor away down the right wing once again, and as he cut inside with Kitson and Riza both screaming for the ball in the six-yard box, he instead cut it back to the Terrier, who had arrived on the edge of his area. His half-volleyed screamer was headed for the top right corner until batted away instinctively by Burch with another superb save. Breathtaking stuff.
More excitement on the hour as Kitson’s intelligent lay-off from the penalty spot found Youngs evading his marker in the left-hand corner of the six-yard box. Burch started to move to cover a shot across him, then adjusted magnificently when Tom struck instead for the near post. The young keeper’s lightning-fast tip over was his best save yet.
The game couldn’t possibly have sustained this sky-high level of quality entertainment, and on 65 it was time to send in the clowns. Dean Marney clattered Fleming from behind on halfway, then in sheer frustration pushed out at the Terrier as he rebounded to his feet. Terry, naturally, took umbrage at this unprovoked attack and after a mass ‘handbags’ session Mr Thorpe took the errant young man to one side. He deserved to be sent to bed without any tea, or at least get 100 lines, but was fortuitously let off with a little lecture. Stupid boy.
Things quietened down for a while, so Marshall thought he’d enliven proceedings with a vintage brown-shorts moment. Angus’s backpass was to his left side, so he tried to bring it across to his kicking foot only to be robbed by the piratical Smee, who squared it to Sutton 18 yards out. Faced with an open goal, his prod was blocked heroically by Duncan, and eventually Dancing Shaun somehow found the ball in his arms. Nurse, my inhaler, please.
At the other end, Youngs was denied a blatant penalty as the ref ignored a defender trying to change shirts with him well before the end, and Kitson essayed an adventurous 20-yard looping header that Burch clutched fairly comfortably. As the last quarter of an hour approached, substitution time beckoned, and after a dizzy five minutes of toing and froing, an almost completely transformed United lineup emerged of Marshall; Huggins, Bourgeois, Angus, Rush; Paynter, Fleming, Bridges; Revell, Oné, Scully. Spurs had made only two changes, but then they were playing two other matches simultaneously in other parts of the country. Their ticket office must have been empty today.
Main threat to the visitors’ tiring legs was now United’s very own Nortonalike, and one scampering run on 82 flashed across the goal to Revell at the far post, who somehow contrived to clear the ball on Spurs’ behalf rather than steer it five yards into their net. Three minutes later it was one-man resistance Burch’s turn to keep the score down single-handedly again with another acrobatic save from a Bridges 18-yarder. But his heroic rearguard was finally breached again two minutes from time: Scully again broke, dithered when he should have shot, retrieved the ball on the touchline and scooped a backward diagonal ball to Revell whose 15-yarder skimmed across a crowded goalmouth and into the bottom left-hand corner. 5-1, if you’ve lost count.
There was still time for United to be denied another penalty after a Calderwood push on Scully, a Bridges header to glide across goal and narrowly wide of the far post, and for Marshall to give us more palpitations in hesitating to come out to meet a Spurs break, eventually blocking with his feet and the rebound curled past his back stick. A thrilling end to a riveting encounter.
Marshall 7 – Mostly comfortable, some good shouting, but a couple of sticky moments that he’s hopefully getting out of his system now before the real stuff starts.
Warner 8 – Comfortable defensively and some good overlaps and crosses.
Murray 8 – Also looked at home in the new system.
Duncan 8 – Skipper for the day and always in control.
Angus 8 – Old head on young shoulders.
Tudor 9 – Simply unstoppable. Four goals resulted from his runs and he dominated the field of play for his 75 minutes.
Fleming 9 – Unsung hero. First to cover if United were short at the back, all over the midfield and supported the attack too.
Guttridge 8 – Excellent display at the heart of the action.
Youngs 8 – Most advanced of the midfield three, he was everywhere.
Riza 9 – Goal machine. More dangerous than a dozen Saddam Husseins.
Kitson 8 – Perfect focal point for the new system, his subtle lay-offs were a delight.
Scully 7 – Can be so dangerous, if only he wouldn’t pick the wrong option so often.
Bridges 7 – Already an established first-team squad member, can only go from strength to strength.
Oné 7 – Got involved in his unique way.
Revell 7 – Nice goal, but is his best position really wide?
Paynter 7 – Good experience for another promising young talent.
Rush, Huggins, Bourgeois 7 – Useful ten-minute run-outs for the three youthful defenders.
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun looks at the Cha Cha. ‘This Cuban classic originated in the 1950s, evolving from the Mambo. It was originally called the ChaChaCha, but lost a ‘Cha’ somewhere along the way. It’s an easy dance to pick up, and is fun and lively with a teasing interplay between man and woman. My back four aren’t so keen on my ‘teasing interplay’ when I do one of my trademark miskicks, but I only do it to keep them on their toes … they’d only get complacent otherwise! Only kidding, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United’s ‘total football’ won its spurs against the Tottenham youngsters in exhilaratingly convincing fashion. Everything clicked and only the visitors’ exceptional goalkeeper stood between them and a double-figure mauling. Here’s hoping it works against the real thing next week. Perhaps some of the ‘away’ supporters might have been persuaded to come and see their local team too … ?
Man of the match: Shane Tudor. On fire? He was a towering inferno, having a hand in all of United’s goals while he was on the pitch and so unlucky not to score himself. Don’t peak too early, Shane, there’s plenty more defences to traumatise this term.
Ref watch: Thorpe 3. Pretty woeful stuff from the myopic man in black, missing and misinterpreting incidents mere yards away.
The South Stand: look at me.
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Tuesday, 14 January 2003: Millwall 3–2 United
‘Indeed, my master, we will once more bring you safely home today. Yet the hour of your death is drawing near; and it is not we who will be the cause of it, but a great god and the strong hand of destiny.’ Thus spake Xanthus, horse of Achilles, to his master as they traversed the imposing Tunnel of the Black Wall en route to their latest battle against the fabled Pearly Hordes in their quest for the Magickal Cup of the Association of Ancients.
‘Nay, noble steed,’ retorted the brave warrior. ‘The Hordes were most fortunate to escape from the Fortress Abbey after our last encounter. I have planned our tactics down to the slightest detail. Verily, our wing backs shall smite them down both flanks while the flame-haired giant will lay waste to all who oppose him, while our assassins in the centre will slay the Poison Dwarf who leads the Pearly Hordes with such malice and venom. And behind them all, our Son of Terpsichore will stop all that they can throw at us!’
‘Indeed, master. But what of our hidden weakness? Have they spies in our camp? Do they know of our vulnerability to the vile harpies known as the Set Pieces?’ Achilles snorted. ‘They will not concern us. This is our destiny. Now come to heel, Xanthus. And call me Shaggy!’ ‘Heel, Achilles? That rings a bell.’
Tuesday night saw the first of three January midweek trips down the Smoke, presumably so called because it’s grey and dirty and it smells. Those of nervous disposition on the supporters’ coaches were first comforted by the presence of a blue-flashing outrider escort all the way from the Blackwall Tunnel, then enervated all the more by the manic breakneck speed at which they were forced to travel through red lights and narrow, crowded streets, missing the odd London bus by inches on occasion. Looks like Erik Estrada’s in charge of the Met’s motorbike section these days.
Once through the unlovely streets of Bermondsey and all points east, we were relieved to find no gangs of rampaging casuals pogoing through the night (they’re all too busy writing their autobiographies), although we were ushered to our own sealed compound, aka the away end, past the faintly hostile stares of the locals lurking in the Den’s car park. The ‘New’ Den is of course infinitely less forbidding a place than its predecessor, the grimmest nightmare of corrugated iron and barbed wire since Colditz. What it lacks in character it makes up for in comfort, four near-identical stands soaring up into the darkening sky with what must be the steepest gradient in the League. Sherpa Tenzing was the last man to reach the summit of the North Stand.
On the plus side, the view is perfectly unimpaired, although binoculars might be an idea, while the luxurious giant TV screen in one corner provides excellent instant replays of the crucial action. Beer was available down below, and the chips were particularly crisp and tasty. No sign of proper local cuisine, though; where were the jellied eels and pie & mash? What a two and eight!
Millwall’s attendances are well down on last season due to their membership card scheme, and the cavernous, sparsely populated stands did not exactly radiate Cup Fever, although the amber invaders did their best to remedy the situation and create some kind of atmosphere. The noise rose as the teams came out, but most of the cheering came from the Tannoy as the intro to the hosts’ signature tune, Let ’em Come. No, not by Chas and Dave. Thankfully.
Shaggy and the Prof made two changes from the first ‘leg’, youngsters Bridges and Nacca replaced by the more experienced Fleming and Murray, but they stuck to the wing back system introduced in that game with Shane Tudor ‘in the hole’ behind Tiny Tom and the BGG. Millwall were missing Neil Harris but welcomed back that nice Dennis Wise in midfield, the youthful Kevin Braniff partnering Sir Steve Claridge up front. The Abbey legend would, inevitably, turn out to be their best player on the night. As Anna Nicole Smith would say, you can’t beat a good old ’un. The excellent, chunky programme revealed that Stevie’s home kit is sponsored by the Bermondsey Male Choir; their new CD is out now, featuring Nessun Dorma, Abide With Me, You’ll Never Walk Alone and of course You’re Going To Get Your F***ing Head Kicked In. Lovely old traditional tune.
United had the first pressure, forcing a corner in the first minute, then the hosts retorted with two of their own. Wise was the man to take them, and responded to the U’s fans’ predictable abuse with a cheery thumbs-up. Somehow I think he’s heard it all before. Millwall don’t miss a trick with their big screen, flashing up CORNERS SPONSORED BY … whenever appropriate, and a similar message for their goals. We were waiting for MR WISE’S CLATTERINGS SPONSORED BY … but presumably no one could afford that level of funding. In fact, Wanless got his foot in first with an early ‘tackle’ on young Dennis that sent him flying; fortunately for Wannie, ‘Dirty’ Danson didn’t get into card mode (and how!) until the second half.
The match settled down and was remarkably subdued for the next half an hour. United’s system was effective in closing Millwall down, but at the expense of any great creativity up top, their passing too often inaccurate and disjointed, the wing backs rarely getting beyond the halfway line and Tudor wasted in the centre. The hosts were little better, relying on hopeful balls over the top for their front two to chase and usually gobbled up by the visitors’ back three. Main danger was Paul Ifill, so effectively man-marked by Franco Nacca at the Abbey but given more space by Freddie Murray, with no-one funnelling back to help when Ifill got support to outnumber him.
United were restricted to hopeful long shots by Wanless and Kitson while Millwall created even less, Marshall just beating Braniff to a Wise free kick. The striker had a better chance on 25, but his close-range header was well over when he should have done better. His shooting was equally wayward, missing twice when well placed with shooting dodgier than the Queen’s knee. His header from Wise’s cross on 37 was no more accurate.
The game desperately needed a fillip as both sides struggled for inspiration. Almost inevitably, the catalyst was Claridge, who set previously flatlining pulses racing on 40: Ifill beat Murray down the right, got to the touchline and dropped an inch-perfect cross to the Lions’ No 36 inside the six-yard box. He headed powerfully for goal and was about to start celebrating until Dancing Shaun twisted in mid-air to tip brilliantly over for the corner. From the resultant flag kick the ball was hoofed clear towards Tudor on halfway, and it took a wicked bounce to completely clear Lawrence and leave the Tiddler with a clear run on goal from 40 yards out. As the away support rose to acclaim their lead, he scuffed his shot disappointingly across goal and well wide of the far post from just inside the area.
In a frantic finale to the half, Tudor shot wide again then, at the other end, Steven Reid burst clear to leave United’s defence more exposed than the Stamford Bridge pitch, but Marshall stayed on his feet and blocked superbly. There had been more excitement in the last five minutes than in the previous 40 put together, but the home fans were rather less than gruntled as they made their feelings known when the interval arrived. Mr McGhee was already warming up the hairdryer. For United, satisfaction at the even scoreline was tempered by the knowledge that they hadn’t actually played that well and the nagging feeling remained that Millwall were still there for the taking with a more positive attitude. Part two would bring more drama than a double episode of Coronation Street.
Meanwhile, the caterers had run out of all hot food except chips at the away end, which minimalism brought to mind the name of the curry house we had passed on the way: Chutney. You can imagine the warm East End welcome, can’t you? ‘So what’s on the menu? Curry? Bhajis? Poppadoms?’ ‘Nah mate, just chutney. How do you want it? Sandwich? Bagel? Chutney surprise?’ ‘What’s that, then?’ ‘We tip the chutney over your head. You got a problem with that?’ ‘Err, I’ll be off, thanks.’ ‘What’s the matter? Don’tcha like chutney?’
McGhee’s gentle words of encouragement had the desired effect as Millwall exited the traps at full pelt on the restart. There was more pressure on the United defence than on Leslie Ash’s lips as they were pinned back into their own box. Braniff’s inventive lob was well tipped over the bar by a back-pedalling Marshall, then he met Wise’s corner with a stooping header that flashed low across the six-yard box, somehow just evaded Claridge’s boot and cannoned off the foot of the far post and away.
As the visitors wobbled, Braniff latched on to another ball over the top on 54, this time avoiding the offside, and Marshall again stood up and blocked magnificently; this time the rebound fell back to the home striker, but as he rounded the Terpsichorean custodian he rushed his shot from the angle and rammed it against the same post he had hit five minutes earlier, with Duncan rushing back to cover on the line. Murray, tiring after so long on the sidelines, was replaced by Nacca on 57.
Remarkably, after this early onslaught it was United who took the lead on 58. Fleming’s free kick to the far post found Wanless in his favourite position, he nodded it across the six-yard line and there was Kitson to hammer a volley against the bar. With supreme alertness and strength, he outjumped a sea of defenders to nod the rebound home from almost under the bar. 1-0! Now the fun really started.
Millwall responded in kind, streaming forward again and the ever-crafty Claridge nicked a couple of yards to waddle clear of the United back line into the penalty area. Angus’s panicky lunge was mistimed and he felled the best-selling author for a stone-cold penalty. Stev was mercifully only booked, and Stevie took the kick himself. Marshall guessed right and for a split second we thought he’d saved it, but it just squirmed under his body and into the net. Claridge had scored at exactly the same point in the match that he had scored in the first game at the Abbey: what were the odds on that happening?
Unbelievably, the U’s roared straight back and scored again within another minute. Excellent work wide left by Kitson saw him beat his man and cross temptingly into the heart of the box; keeper Warner appeared to be favourite to come out and collect, but somehow Tiny Tom got there first to dance around him and poke gleefully home into the empty net. Quite extraordinary.
Millwall responded by replacing Braniff with Peter Sweeney on 62, the latter stationed wide left while Ifill moved in from the right, then Hearn replaced Ryan on 68. Just before the second sub, the effervescent Claridge evaded the United offside trap with a wily run across the line to go one-on-one with Marshall from the left wing. Just as Shaun braced himself, the cavalry arrived in the form of Stev Angus, showing all his explosive pace and defensive prowess to block remarkably as the veteran striker shot for goal. You’ve gotta be faster than that, old man.
Marshall performed wonders again on 69 with a tip round the post from Reid’s power drive, but from the ensuing corner, centre back Paul Robinson rose above the pack to nod home from six yards. A disappointingly simple way to concede an equaliser after all those near misses, but the home fans didn’t care, regaling us with their favourite gesture of arms outstretched. They were either boasting about the fabulous chub they’d caught that day or were offering us a nice, comforting East End cuddle out of sympathy. Probably.
Unfortunately Kitson sustained a painful rib injury in the melee and was unable to continue, Riza The Geezer coming on to form what was most likely the shortest front line ever seen at The Den. Although Eidur Gudjohnsen will probably give you good odds if you want to dispute that.
What would be the next turn of fate on this dramatic night? It was provided on 77 by the linesman: Nacca appeared to win the ball in a crunching tackle on Reid wide right, Danson did nothing, but the lino chose to raise his little flag to the surprise of just about everyone. ‘Dirty’ even had the gall to book Franco, one of six mostly needless cards he threw around in the half. And wouldn’t you know it, from the set piece Sweeney’s kick found the head of Ifill, totally unmarked six yards out to glance his header comfortably into the net past the helpless Marshall. Valid free-kick or not, the goal was uglier than Tony Blair’s purple suit from the viewpoint of United’s sloppy defence.
In a final throw of the dice, Chillingworth replaced Tann and United went to 4-4-2, but the wingers looked subdued and Warner remained untroubled. Wanless finally got his booking on 85 for a foul on Sweeney, much more innocuous than his early challenge on Wise, and Reid’s resultant free-kick was well palmed away by Marshall as it fizzed towards the bottom corner. The signal of four minutes’ added time caused this battling United side to stir themselves one more time, flooding forward in numbers.
Youngs ran at the Lions defence, flicked towards Riza from the edge of the area and saw the ball blocked by what many saw as the hand of Reid almost on the penalty spot. Danson saw nothing, so it was probably a definite pen. Still the amber tide swept forward, one final run from Tudor down the left leading to a dangerous low cross that Warner just claimed at full stretch as Youngs and Riza lurked.
The home reaction at the final whistle was primarily one of relief, coupled with generous applause for their defeated foe. United knew they should have won it at the Abbey, and could still have won it at The Den even if the Lions had had the majority of the chances. But there’s no point in dwelling on might-have-beens; the big games are coming thick and fast now. Rushden, Brentford, Hartlepool … the season starts here! Brace yourselves.
Marshall 9 – A one-man Save of the Season contest, he looked more impassable than a dozen Schmeichels in one-to-ones and was let down by his defence for the goals. Awesome.
Tann 7 – Still adapting to the wing back role, he was caught out of position at times and didn’t get forward enough in the first half. A player of his quality will soon adapt, though.
Murray 6 – Torrid first-start return after months out, he didn’t mark Ifill nearly as closely as Nacca did and was exposed all too often until withdrawn. He’ll get better as his match sharpness returns.
Duncan 7 – Tough scrap for our toughest scrapper. No-nonsense defending let down only by occasional poor distribution.
Goodhind 8 – The fulcrum of the back three had an excellent game, never giving the opposition time to settle.
Angus 8 – His speed and vision were vital tools in United’s resistance. Just needs to learn that nice as it is to play it out from the back, the big welly is occasionally the better option.
Wanless 7 – Gave as good as he got, clobbering Wise early and keeping him quiet for the rest of the match.
Fleming 7 – Used his pace and experience to patrol in front of the back three and keep the Lions at bay.
Tudor 7 – Not at his best in a central role, fluffed his chances with some below-par shooting.
Kitson 7 – Well shackled in the first half, blossomed forth in the second until unfortunately crocked.
Youngs 8 – Busy, buzzing and always involved. Super goal.
Nacca 7 – Slotted in well for Murray.
Riza 6 – Surprisingly subdued and struggled to get into the game.
Chillingworth 6 – Came on when United were rather desperately chasing the game and saw little of the ball.
Soundtrack of the day: Electric Six/Danger! High Voltage!
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Lambeth Walk. ‘Gor blimey luvaduck, guv’nor! Gertcha! Half a sixpence, Mary Poppins! This typical Cockney banter is all double Dutch to a simple Norfolk boy like me, and I’ve picked a real Cockney dance too after our trip to the East End. It dates from the Limehouse of the late 1930s, and is a jaunty, swaggering, strutting step, walking with the thumbs tucked into the sleeve of your ‘barrow-boy’ waistcoat sleeves and punctuated with sporadic shouts of ‘Oi!’ for dramatic effect. I’m sure you all know the song from the musical Me And My Girl and it really is a great, fun dance to join in with at a party, all in a line, slapping your knees and jerking your thumbs. I think that’s what my defence was doing last night when Millwall scored their goals! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A tepid first half boiled up into a seething second-half cauldron of hot Cup action as United slugged it out toe-to-toe with their more illustrious opponents, only to be undone by a familiar aerial set-piece vulnerability. After their dominant showing at the Abbey, this was a tie that got away, but the U’s players and supporters can still hold their heads up high after this season’s epic six-match campaign. And we’ve still got the the LDV!
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. Such is the Dancemeister’s towering presence now, we almost expect him to produce wave after wave of wonder save every time. A legend is being born before our very eyes.
Ref watch: Danson 4. At least he’s predictable. All the inconsistency and poor decision making of the first game were displayed again for our unwilling edification.
‘Indeed, my master, we will once more bring you safely home today. Yet the hour of your death is drawing near; and it is not we who will be the cause of it, but a great god and the strong hand of destiny.’ Thus spake Xanthus, horse of Achilles, to his master as they traversed the imposing Tunnel of the Black Wall en route to their latest battle against the fabled Pearly Hordes in their quest for the Magickal Cup of the Association of Ancients.
‘Nay, noble steed,’ retorted the brave warrior. ‘The Hordes were most fortunate to escape from the Fortress Abbey after our last encounter. I have planned our tactics down to the slightest detail. Verily, our wing backs shall smite them down both flanks while the flame-haired giant will lay waste to all who oppose him, while our assassins in the centre will slay the Poison Dwarf who leads the Pearly Hordes with such malice and venom. And behind them all, our Son of Terpsichore will stop all that they can throw at us!’
‘Indeed, master. But what of our hidden weakness? Have they spies in our camp? Do they know of our vulnerability to the vile harpies known as the Set Pieces?’ Achilles snorted. ‘They will not concern us. This is our destiny. Now come to heel, Xanthus. And call me Shaggy!’ ‘Heel, Achilles? That rings a bell.’
Tuesday night saw the first of three January midweek trips down the Smoke, presumably so called because it’s grey and dirty and it smells. Those of nervous disposition on the supporters’ coaches were first comforted by the presence of a blue-flashing outrider escort all the way from the Blackwall Tunnel, then enervated all the more by the manic breakneck speed at which they were forced to travel through red lights and narrow, crowded streets, missing the odd London bus by inches on occasion. Looks like Erik Estrada’s in charge of the Met’s motorbike section these days.
Once through the unlovely streets of Bermondsey and all points east, we were relieved to find no gangs of rampaging casuals pogoing through the night (they’re all too busy writing their autobiographies), although we were ushered to our own sealed compound, aka the away end, past the faintly hostile stares of the locals lurking in the Den’s car park. The ‘New’ Den is of course infinitely less forbidding a place than its predecessor, the grimmest nightmare of corrugated iron and barbed wire since Colditz. What it lacks in character it makes up for in comfort, four near-identical stands soaring up into the darkening sky with what must be the steepest gradient in the League. Sherpa Tenzing was the last man to reach the summit of the North Stand.
On the plus side, the view is perfectly unimpaired, although binoculars might be an idea, while the luxurious giant TV screen in one corner provides excellent instant replays of the crucial action. Beer was available down below, and the chips were particularly crisp and tasty. No sign of proper local cuisine, though; where were the jellied eels and pie & mash? What a two and eight!
Millwall’s attendances are well down on last season due to their membership card scheme, and the cavernous, sparsely populated stands did not exactly radiate Cup Fever, although the amber invaders did their best to remedy the situation and create some kind of atmosphere. The noise rose as the teams came out, but most of the cheering came from the Tannoy as the intro to the hosts’ signature tune, Let ’em Come. No, not by Chas and Dave. Thankfully.
Shaggy and the Prof made two changes from the first ‘leg’, youngsters Bridges and Nacca replaced by the more experienced Fleming and Murray, but they stuck to the wing back system introduced in that game with Shane Tudor ‘in the hole’ behind Tiny Tom and the BGG. Millwall were missing Neil Harris but welcomed back that nice Dennis Wise in midfield, the youthful Kevin Braniff partnering Sir Steve Claridge up front. The Abbey legend would, inevitably, turn out to be their best player on the night. As Anna Nicole Smith would say, you can’t beat a good old ’un. The excellent, chunky programme revealed that Stevie’s home kit is sponsored by the Bermondsey Male Choir; their new CD is out now, featuring Nessun Dorma, Abide With Me, You’ll Never Walk Alone and of course You’re Going To Get Your F***ing Head Kicked In. Lovely old traditional tune.
United had the first pressure, forcing a corner in the first minute, then the hosts retorted with two of their own. Wise was the man to take them, and responded to the U’s fans’ predictable abuse with a cheery thumbs-up. Somehow I think he’s heard it all before. Millwall don’t miss a trick with their big screen, flashing up CORNERS SPONSORED BY … whenever appropriate, and a similar message for their goals. We were waiting for MR WISE’S CLATTERINGS SPONSORED BY … but presumably no one could afford that level of funding. In fact, Wanless got his foot in first with an early ‘tackle’ on young Dennis that sent him flying; fortunately for Wannie, ‘Dirty’ Danson didn’t get into card mode (and how!) until the second half.
The match settled down and was remarkably subdued for the next half an hour. United’s system was effective in closing Millwall down, but at the expense of any great creativity up top, their passing too often inaccurate and disjointed, the wing backs rarely getting beyond the halfway line and Tudor wasted in the centre. The hosts were little better, relying on hopeful balls over the top for their front two to chase and usually gobbled up by the visitors’ back three. Main danger was Paul Ifill, so effectively man-marked by Franco Nacca at the Abbey but given more space by Freddie Murray, with no-one funnelling back to help when Ifill got support to outnumber him.
United were restricted to hopeful long shots by Wanless and Kitson while Millwall created even less, Marshall just beating Braniff to a Wise free kick. The striker had a better chance on 25, but his close-range header was well over when he should have done better. His shooting was equally wayward, missing twice when well placed with shooting dodgier than the Queen’s knee. His header from Wise’s cross on 37 was no more accurate.
The game desperately needed a fillip as both sides struggled for inspiration. Almost inevitably, the catalyst was Claridge, who set previously flatlining pulses racing on 40: Ifill beat Murray down the right, got to the touchline and dropped an inch-perfect cross to the Lions’ No 36 inside the six-yard box. He headed powerfully for goal and was about to start celebrating until Dancing Shaun twisted in mid-air to tip brilliantly over for the corner. From the resultant flag kick the ball was hoofed clear towards Tudor on halfway, and it took a wicked bounce to completely clear Lawrence and leave the Tiddler with a clear run on goal from 40 yards out. As the away support rose to acclaim their lead, he scuffed his shot disappointingly across goal and well wide of the far post from just inside the area.
In a frantic finale to the half, Tudor shot wide again then, at the other end, Steven Reid burst clear to leave United’s defence more exposed than the Stamford Bridge pitch, but Marshall stayed on his feet and blocked superbly. There had been more excitement in the last five minutes than in the previous 40 put together, but the home fans were rather less than gruntled as they made their feelings known when the interval arrived. Mr McGhee was already warming up the hairdryer. For United, satisfaction at the even scoreline was tempered by the knowledge that they hadn’t actually played that well and the nagging feeling remained that Millwall were still there for the taking with a more positive attitude. Part two would bring more drama than a double episode of Coronation Street.
Meanwhile, the caterers had run out of all hot food except chips at the away end, which minimalism brought to mind the name of the curry house we had passed on the way: Chutney. You can imagine the warm East End welcome, can’t you? ‘So what’s on the menu? Curry? Bhajis? Poppadoms?’ ‘Nah mate, just chutney. How do you want it? Sandwich? Bagel? Chutney surprise?’ ‘What’s that, then?’ ‘We tip the chutney over your head. You got a problem with that?’ ‘Err, I’ll be off, thanks.’ ‘What’s the matter? Don’tcha like chutney?’
McGhee’s gentle words of encouragement had the desired effect as Millwall exited the traps at full pelt on the restart. There was more pressure on the United defence than on Leslie Ash’s lips as they were pinned back into their own box. Braniff’s inventive lob was well tipped over the bar by a back-pedalling Marshall, then he met Wise’s corner with a stooping header that flashed low across the six-yard box, somehow just evaded Claridge’s boot and cannoned off the foot of the far post and away.
As the visitors wobbled, Braniff latched on to another ball over the top on 54, this time avoiding the offside, and Marshall again stood up and blocked magnificently; this time the rebound fell back to the home striker, but as he rounded the Terpsichorean custodian he rushed his shot from the angle and rammed it against the same post he had hit five minutes earlier, with Duncan rushing back to cover on the line. Murray, tiring after so long on the sidelines, was replaced by Nacca on 57.
Remarkably, after this early onslaught it was United who took the lead on 58. Fleming’s free kick to the far post found Wanless in his favourite position, he nodded it across the six-yard line and there was Kitson to hammer a volley against the bar. With supreme alertness and strength, he outjumped a sea of defenders to nod the rebound home from almost under the bar. 1-0! Now the fun really started.
Millwall responded in kind, streaming forward again and the ever-crafty Claridge nicked a couple of yards to waddle clear of the United back line into the penalty area. Angus’s panicky lunge was mistimed and he felled the best-selling author for a stone-cold penalty. Stev was mercifully only booked, and Stevie took the kick himself. Marshall guessed right and for a split second we thought he’d saved it, but it just squirmed under his body and into the net. Claridge had scored at exactly the same point in the match that he had scored in the first game at the Abbey: what were the odds on that happening?
Unbelievably, the U’s roared straight back and scored again within another minute. Excellent work wide left by Kitson saw him beat his man and cross temptingly into the heart of the box; keeper Warner appeared to be favourite to come out and collect, but somehow Tiny Tom got there first to dance around him and poke gleefully home into the empty net. Quite extraordinary.
Millwall responded by replacing Braniff with Peter Sweeney on 62, the latter stationed wide left while Ifill moved in from the right, then Hearn replaced Ryan on 68. Just before the second sub, the effervescent Claridge evaded the United offside trap with a wily run across the line to go one-on-one with Marshall from the left wing. Just as Shaun braced himself, the cavalry arrived in the form of Stev Angus, showing all his explosive pace and defensive prowess to block remarkably as the veteran striker shot for goal. You’ve gotta be faster than that, old man.
Marshall performed wonders again on 69 with a tip round the post from Reid’s power drive, but from the ensuing corner, centre back Paul Robinson rose above the pack to nod home from six yards. A disappointingly simple way to concede an equaliser after all those near misses, but the home fans didn’t care, regaling us with their favourite gesture of arms outstretched. They were either boasting about the fabulous chub they’d caught that day or were offering us a nice, comforting East End cuddle out of sympathy. Probably.
Unfortunately Kitson sustained a painful rib injury in the melee and was unable to continue, Riza The Geezer coming on to form what was most likely the shortest front line ever seen at The Den. Although Eidur Gudjohnsen will probably give you good odds if you want to dispute that.
What would be the next turn of fate on this dramatic night? It was provided on 77 by the linesman: Nacca appeared to win the ball in a crunching tackle on Reid wide right, Danson did nothing, but the lino chose to raise his little flag to the surprise of just about everyone. ‘Dirty’ even had the gall to book Franco, one of six mostly needless cards he threw around in the half. And wouldn’t you know it, from the set piece Sweeney’s kick found the head of Ifill, totally unmarked six yards out to glance his header comfortably into the net past the helpless Marshall. Valid free-kick or not, the goal was uglier than Tony Blair’s purple suit from the viewpoint of United’s sloppy defence.
In a final throw of the dice, Chillingworth replaced Tann and United went to 4-4-2, but the wingers looked subdued and Warner remained untroubled. Wanless finally got his booking on 85 for a foul on Sweeney, much more innocuous than his early challenge on Wise, and Reid’s resultant free-kick was well palmed away by Marshall as it fizzed towards the bottom corner. The signal of four minutes’ added time caused this battling United side to stir themselves one more time, flooding forward in numbers.
Youngs ran at the Lions defence, flicked towards Riza from the edge of the area and saw the ball blocked by what many saw as the hand of Reid almost on the penalty spot. Danson saw nothing, so it was probably a definite pen. Still the amber tide swept forward, one final run from Tudor down the left leading to a dangerous low cross that Warner just claimed at full stretch as Youngs and Riza lurked.
The home reaction at the final whistle was primarily one of relief, coupled with generous applause for their defeated foe. United knew they should have won it at the Abbey, and could still have won it at The Den even if the Lions had had the majority of the chances. But there’s no point in dwelling on might-have-beens; the big games are coming thick and fast now. Rushden, Brentford, Hartlepool … the season starts here! Brace yourselves.
Marshall 9 – A one-man Save of the Season contest, he looked more impassable than a dozen Schmeichels in one-to-ones and was let down by his defence for the goals. Awesome.
Tann 7 – Still adapting to the wing back role, he was caught out of position at times and didn’t get forward enough in the first half. A player of his quality will soon adapt, though.
Murray 6 – Torrid first-start return after months out, he didn’t mark Ifill nearly as closely as Nacca did and was exposed all too often until withdrawn. He’ll get better as his match sharpness returns.
Duncan 7 – Tough scrap for our toughest scrapper. No-nonsense defending let down only by occasional poor distribution.
Goodhind 8 – The fulcrum of the back three had an excellent game, never giving the opposition time to settle.
Angus 8 – His speed and vision were vital tools in United’s resistance. Just needs to learn that nice as it is to play it out from the back, the big welly is occasionally the better option.
Wanless 7 – Gave as good as he got, clobbering Wise early and keeping him quiet for the rest of the match.
Fleming 7 – Used his pace and experience to patrol in front of the back three and keep the Lions at bay.
Tudor 7 – Not at his best in a central role, fluffed his chances with some below-par shooting.
Kitson 7 – Well shackled in the first half, blossomed forth in the second until unfortunately crocked.
Youngs 8 – Busy, buzzing and always involved. Super goal.
Nacca 7 – Slotted in well for Murray.
Riza 6 – Surprisingly subdued and struggled to get into the game.
Chillingworth 6 – Came on when United were rather desperately chasing the game and saw little of the ball.
Soundtrack of the day: Electric Six/Danger! High Voltage!
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Lambeth Walk. ‘Gor blimey luvaduck, guv’nor! Gertcha! Half a sixpence, Mary Poppins! This typical Cockney banter is all double Dutch to a simple Norfolk boy like me, and I’ve picked a real Cockney dance too after our trip to the East End. It dates from the Limehouse of the late 1930s, and is a jaunty, swaggering, strutting step, walking with the thumbs tucked into the sleeve of your ‘barrow-boy’ waistcoat sleeves and punctuated with sporadic shouts of ‘Oi!’ for dramatic effect. I’m sure you all know the song from the musical Me And My Girl and it really is a great, fun dance to join in with at a party, all in a line, slapping your knees and jerking your thumbs. I think that’s what my defence was doing last night when Millwall scored their goals! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A tepid first half boiled up into a seething second-half cauldron of hot Cup action as United slugged it out toe-to-toe with their more illustrious opponents, only to be undone by a familiar aerial set-piece vulnerability. After their dominant showing at the Abbey, this was a tie that got away, but the U’s players and supporters can still hold their heads up high after this season’s epic six-match campaign. And we’ve still got the the LDV!
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. Such is the Dancemeister’s towering presence now, we almost expect him to produce wave after wave of wonder save every time. A legend is being born before our very eyes.
Ref watch: Danson 4. At least he’s predictable. All the inconsistency and poor decision making of the first game were displayed again for our unwilling edification.
Xanthus yesterday.
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Saturday, 18 January 2003: Rushden & Diamonds 4–1 United
Welcome to the inaugural meeting of the CUFC First Half Club. Later on we’ll be enjoying videos of the first half of England v Brazil from last year’s World Cup and our LDV final against Blackpool, as well as the first disc of The Clash’s Sandinista! album, the first three Star Wars films and a look back at the first period of Radiohead’s career. But first of all, let’s have a look at the first 45 minutes of that game at Rushden again …
The 1,400-strong amber hordes descended upon Irthlingborough in good spirits, buoyed by the two four-goal tonkings dispensed to their ragged-troused millionaires earlier this season. Reason, however, dictated that a hat-trick would be rather more difficult to achieve, a glance at the League table showing that they can’t be as mediocre as the rabble that shambled around the Abbey back in the autumn.
You certainly can’t argue with the scale of the operation at Nene Park. Built just outside the tempting fleshpots of glamorous downtown Irthlingborough itself. on a sprawling estate of former farm land (and the original Diamonds’ old ground), it’s not so much a football ground as a leisure complex, the venue joined Wigan-style by the Diamond Centre venue, a training ground, Doc Martens building and a Sports & Exhibition Centre at the back, as well as a vast car park and other training pitches. The good folk of Northampton, who once rejected Max Griggs’ overtures, must kick themselves hourly.
Nene Park itself is a pleasant, if surprisingly small arena, with its own ‘Doc Shop’ and radio station, and ornate model owls in club colours stationed in each corner on the top of the stands. The away end is much the largest of its four sides, although it seems that only half of it is allocated to travelling fans of further-flung opponents, while the opposite end is a covered terrace, flanked along either side by stands which boast all of seven rows of seats each.
No doubt there will be funds to expand capacity if required, and it would be interesting to find out just who their supporters are, anyway. Rushden Town and Irthlingborough Diamonds both had followings of two men and a dog called Colin, so where did they come from? Perhaps they’re all Doc Martens employees, or Mr Griggs’ millions have been secretly funding a clandestine cloning operation. There are rumours that Irthlingborough is twinned with Stepford, USA. Whatever, they seemed a fairly harmless lot; they could hardly claim to be lifelong supporters or sing about great matches in the club’s history, could they? Not that that’s important these days: just ask an Accrington Stanley or Bradford Park Avenue follower.
Diamonds boss Brian Talbot was downbeat to the point of suicide in his programme notes: ‘Fifty points? Well we’re safe from relegation now. Life? Don’t talk to me about life …’ The same august publication revealed that the lumbering Barry Hunter has collected three red cards already this season, while Onandi Lowe had nine yellows, presumably most of them for diving. The biggest, heaviest player on the pitch, and he falls to the ground more often than a supermodel in a hurricane. The United players’ profiles were enlivened considerably by amusingly tongue-in-cheek comments from CFU’s Graham Whiting, and this doesn’t get a mention just because he mentioned your humble writer therein. Goodness me, no.
Shaggy and the Prof made just one change from the Millwall line-up, replacing Freddie Murray with Riza The Geezer and reverting to good old 4-4-2, Stev Angus filling in at left back. Diamonds, far from full strength, fielded a makeshift midfield, ex-Saffron Walden Town superstar Stuart Wardley having gone down with an upset stomach to add to existing injury problems. The absence of our favourite headbanger, Duane Darby, meant Paul Hall was pushed up front with fellow Reggae Boy Lowe. Their tactics remained familiar, relying on the lofted ball over the top for Bell, Lowe or Hall to run on to.
Play commenced in bright sunshine, occasioning much shielding of the eyes for the away contingent, who were facing right into the sun. Rushden started slightly the better, Bell firing wide from 25 yards in the first minute and Hall missing from close range not long after. But United were also looking lively, and on six they even produced a half-decent free kick routine for the first time this century when the ball was touched to Terrier Fleming just outside the area to blast towards the top corner, only to be foiled by Billy Turley’s excellent dive and tip over. Diamonds responded three minutes later with a right-wing Bell cross that found Lowe outjumping the much smaller Tann but heading ineffectually well over the bar.
The next 15 minutes were to see the United attack conduct an examination of the Rushden defence more searching than a police rummage through Matthew Kelly’s video collection. Once again, the home defence proved utterly unable to cope with the pace, movement, passing and dribbling skills of the visitors’ front four; the only difference this time was that somehow no goals ensued. Tudor started the spell on 13 with a typical left-wing run, ghosting past defenders then stinging Turley’s fingers as he tipped his daisycutter around the post. Ninety seconds later, Kitson sent Riza away with one of his defence-splitting passes, Omer cut inside but with only Turley to beat, his left-footed shot was disappointingly weak and comfortably smothered.
Best chance of the lot came a minute later, Tudor wreaking havoc down the left again, sliding it inside to Kitson, his prod came back off Turley and with the entire goal at his mercy less than ten yards out, Riza miserably failed to hit the target, trying a ridiculously ambitious curler into the top corner instead of whacking it into the bottom corner, and missing the target altogether. More frustrating than having to decline an invitation to play cards from Michael Owen. The BGG had the next chance a couple of minutes later, a fantastic take and turn leaving Hunter baffled, but with the goal at his mercy, he too missed the target, firing wide from 12 yards in again going for a spectacular net-bulger rather than just concentrating on hitting the target.
Next minute, Riza sent Youngs away with a penetrating through ball, but with only Turley to beat, Tiny Tom decided against his usual tactic of waltzing the ball into the net in favour of a shot from the edge of the box that the home keeper blocked with his legs for a corner. Duncan had a header punched away from the resultant corner, Riza had a goalbound effort blocked by Hunter and somehow Rushden survived the melee with goalmouth intact. Riza had another effort comfortably saved on 22, but the spell was over, and somehow the score had remained at 0-0. Regrets? We’d have a few …
Diamonds’ revival began with a dipping 25-yarder from Bell on 25, always going over as Marshall watched it go, and two minutes later Lowe’s free kick from almost the same position was fizzing under the bar until tipped over by the Terpsichorean custodian. The lumbering giant bullied his way past Duncan and Goodhind on 32 to run in on Dancing Shaun from the centre circle, but England’s No 1 advanced from goal and diverted his shot past the far post from 15 yards out. Super save.
Kitson tried a long-ranger on 35 that threatened the corner flag more than the goal, but it all went really wrong for the visitors on 39. Bell, having a nippy game on the right wing, confronted Angus in the corner, and with the aid of a couple of fortunate ricochets off his shins was able to progress along the goal-line as the stand-in left back tried to regain his feet. Too late. Bell’s low cross flew across the six-yard box, and lurking at the far post was Stuart Gray to poke home unchallenged. A sucker punch that reflected the balance of play as well as a broken mirror. Without the seven years’ bad luck, hopefully.
United responded spiritedly. Kitson released Tudor, getting clattered in the process, and the Tiddler went on one of his characteristic runs half the length of the pitch to gain a corner, after which the BGG’s assailant, Bell, was rightly booked. Turley fumbled the corner but it was scrambled away by the giant egg whisk of Diamonds’ massed defence. As half-time approached, Kitson went on another mesmeric run, beating three men as he approached the penalty spot then tumbling under Burgess’ challenge as he was about to pull the trigger. A pretty convincing penalty claim in Cantabrigian eyes, but not in those of ref Warren. If only Kits had shot earlier.
So arrived the interval, the amber hordes almost incredulous that for all their chances, they were one down. The hordes then discovered that for all the away stand’s tidiness, it could not cope with a large number of them wanting to use the lav at the same time, and the queues snaked around into the early minutes of the second half. But the question that occupied most of the lizard-drainers was whether this would be Hartlepool all over again, or could United keep up the good form this time and respond in kind? ‘We’re going to win 4-1,’ they had sung, but more in hope than expectation. Anything could happen in the next three-quarters of an hour …
Now first impressions aren’t always an accurate indicator of a fellow human being’s state of mind. But the United side that trooped out for the second half did not exude a vibe of determined, up-and-at-’em confidence. Rather, they seemed subdued, jaded, apprehensive even, and their hesitant demeanour and lack of movement left us wondering just what was in the half-time tea. Perhaps the card school had been scooped by ‘So’ Tony Scully. Opening exchanges were tentative, Diamonds giving the impression that they would be happy to time-waste their way through the half almost from the start, while United seemed to lack the sparkle of that first-period purple patch.
Duncan picked up a booking on 55 for a petulant shove on Hall in the centre circle which nearly provoked a mass melee until the Terrier, of all people, calmed Hall down. But the game continued to drift aimlessly like the live hairdressing on Channel 4 until just before the hour mark, the time of a Steve Claridge goal in United’s last two games. It was no less calamitous this time: Riza’s wretchedly misplaced pass on halfway sent Bell racing away down the middle, and despite Angus’ pursuit, he evaded all challenge and fired home from the edge of the area. A disastrous goal for Omer, for Stev and for the whole defence, which just opened wide like a ticklish oyster and yielded its precious pearl to all and sundry.
If things were bad, they became calamitous within another minute as Tudor set off on a mazy run from the restart, got all the way to just inside the box then stopped abruptly, clutching his thigh and hopping off the pitch in distress. Hamstring. After some considerable attention, he was passed unfit to continue and in a bold double substitution, both he and Riza were replaced by Chillingworth and Guttridge, Chilli joining Kitson up front, Tiny Tom going wide left and Lil’ Luke wide right. Riza’s removal was a little surprising, but that disastrous pass following his sub-standard shooting in the first half must have persuaded Shaggy that here was a man severely lacking in either form or confidence.
Wozza Goodhind tried to galvanise his faltering team out of its coma in winning two tough tackles in the middle then galloping towards goal, blasting just wide from 25 yards, but although United tried to respond, their game had disintegrated, with far too many misplaced passes, inaccurate crosses and hopeful high balls. After 15 minutes of honest but fruitless toil, Shaggy went for broke and introduced David Bridges for Angus, flooding the midfield and leaving just three at the back. Within a minute United came their nearest to scoring in the second half, Chillingworth battling past Bignot by the goal-line, with more than a hint of handball from the Diamonds full-back just inside the area, and Chilli’s pull-back found Guttridge galloping in ten yards out, but under pressure his left-footer flew over the angle with Turley helpless.
United rallied, putting Rushden under more pressure than Fatboy Slim’s marriage for a few minutes but failing to find the final killer ball that would unlock the home defence. The hosts correspondingly found more space on the break as the U’s committed men forward, the dangerous Hall streaking clear of Goodhind on 82 and thrashing the ball against the bar with a rising thunderbolt. Something had to give, and again it was United who weakened first as Diamonds scored the sort of goal that their visitors had threatened to score in the first half. That man Hall latched onto a long ball, brought it down and simply ran at the United defence; once again, it parted like the Red Sea, Goodhind again beaten by a little shimmy, and this time the Jamaican’s aim was true, firing powerfully low into the bottom corner. Are you watching, United strikers?
The U’s went for the jugular from the restart, Kitson picking up a through ball and dancing through the middle of the Diamonds defence, only to be clumsily brought down from behind by Mark Peters. Penalty, although puzzlingly not so much as a yellow card for the defender. Up stepped Captain Fantastic, one of the more consistent performers on the day, to slide coolly home past the wrong-footed Turley; 3-1, two minutes plus four added to go. Was there a miracle in the offing? Does Gazza have a career in League football? Apart from a trial spell in Albania with Red Star Gilly-Gilly-Ossenfeffer-Katzenellerbogen-By-The-Sea, that is.
United tried spiritedly, but to no avail, and in the dying seconds it was Hall who gave the score a decidedly lopsided look with a last-minute-let’s-have-a-swing-and-see-what-happens effort from 20 yards that caught Marshall unawares, getting a touch but only able to help it into the net. Mr Talbot then demonstrated his pessimistic side again, wasting the remaining seconds with three pointless substitutions with the game won, although as one was his son, perhaps he was making sure he gets in enough appearances for a championship medal. Bless.
So, as so often happens in football, the United fans’ chants of ‘4-1’ at the beginning returned to haunt them at the end. One each, but we won the play-off (4-0 in the LDV). The injury to Tudor was a worry, as was the fact that this was a fifth game without a win, although two were against Millwall. Even more concerning was the listless first half-hour of the second half and Riza’s confidence-shattering day, with Brentford then Hartlepool looming on the horizon like giant cumulonimbuses about to rain on United’s so-far enjoyable parade. This month is the greatest test of the season by far for this promising young team. Let’s hope that they pass like we know they can.
Marshall 7 – Can blame his defence for the first three but will be disappointed by the fourth. Usual smattering of good saves, though.
Tann 7 – Decent, reliable performance.
Angus 6 – Incapable of a bad game but full back is definitely not his best position.
Duncan 6 – Robust battle with Lowe in which he gave as good as he got, but must look to do more than just hit-and-hope up the field every time he gets possession.
Goodhind 7 – Good defensive display, although even his distribution lacked quality at times.
Riza 5 – One to forget for the Geezer. Missed a stone-cold sitter then gave the ball away for Diamonds’ second goal.
Fleming 6 – Lost the midfield battle to Rushden’s youngsters.
Wanless 7 – Never stopped pushing his men on in true leaderly style.
Tudor 7 – Constant thorn in the hosts’ side until hamstrung.
Youngs 7 – Most consistent forward, always buzzing and probing.
Kitson 6 – Excellent first half, inexplicably faded in the second as he seemed to hold back and wish to play deeper. Feeling his injured ribs?
Chillingworth 6 – Encouragingly busy and looks to be building up to his old form at last.
Guttridge 6 – Got involved well in an unfamiliar wide right role.
Bridges 6 – Little time to make much of an impression in a lopsided formation.
Soundtrack of the day: The Libertines/Time For Heroes
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Charleston. ‘This fun dance rose to prominence in the Ragtime era of the 1920s, although similar dances (notably the Branle) had been around for a lot longer. It originated on the island of Charleston in South Carolina around 1903 and had made its way to the Harlem stage ten years later. It exploded when performed in the Ziegfeld Follies in New York in 1922 and took off from there. Bizarrely, many waiters and waitresses had to be able to do the Charleston during their job, so it became a vital step to learn! It was soon, however, overtaken by the Black Bottom and the Lindy Hop, which did in fact integrate many Charleston steps into its movements. The most famous legacy of the Charleston was the name given to the girls who did it; they were called Flappers because of the way they would flap their arms and walk like birds in doing the dance. Many of their male partners would stylishly sport raccoon coats and straw hats, the sort of 20s peacock equivalent of Warren Goodhind! Only joking, Wozza. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A game that could have been won in the first half-hour was lost through wasteful finishing and woeful defending. The season’s half-term report reads ‘Mostly good, but must do better if they wish to achieve anything of note this year.’ Keep looking and learning, boys.
Man of the match: Paul Wanless. Kept going for the full 90 where many colleagues faded after that sparkling first-half spell.
Ref watch: Warren 6. Mostly satisfactory, although Cantabrigian thoughts will stray back to their penalty appeals and it would have been nice if he had shown the cheating Lowe the yellow card his outrageous theatrics deserved. The home fans gave him some stick as well, so he can’t be all bad …
Welcome to the inaugural meeting of the CUFC First Half Club. Later on we’ll be enjoying videos of the first half of England v Brazil from last year’s World Cup and our LDV final against Blackpool, as well as the first disc of The Clash’s Sandinista! album, the first three Star Wars films and a look back at the first period of Radiohead’s career. But first of all, let’s have a look at the first 45 minutes of that game at Rushden again …
The 1,400-strong amber hordes descended upon Irthlingborough in good spirits, buoyed by the two four-goal tonkings dispensed to their ragged-troused millionaires earlier this season. Reason, however, dictated that a hat-trick would be rather more difficult to achieve, a glance at the League table showing that they can’t be as mediocre as the rabble that shambled around the Abbey back in the autumn.
You certainly can’t argue with the scale of the operation at Nene Park. Built just outside the tempting fleshpots of glamorous downtown Irthlingborough itself. on a sprawling estate of former farm land (and the original Diamonds’ old ground), it’s not so much a football ground as a leisure complex, the venue joined Wigan-style by the Diamond Centre venue, a training ground, Doc Martens building and a Sports & Exhibition Centre at the back, as well as a vast car park and other training pitches. The good folk of Northampton, who once rejected Max Griggs’ overtures, must kick themselves hourly.
Nene Park itself is a pleasant, if surprisingly small arena, with its own ‘Doc Shop’ and radio station, and ornate model owls in club colours stationed in each corner on the top of the stands. The away end is much the largest of its four sides, although it seems that only half of it is allocated to travelling fans of further-flung opponents, while the opposite end is a covered terrace, flanked along either side by stands which boast all of seven rows of seats each.
No doubt there will be funds to expand capacity if required, and it would be interesting to find out just who their supporters are, anyway. Rushden Town and Irthlingborough Diamonds both had followings of two men and a dog called Colin, so where did they come from? Perhaps they’re all Doc Martens employees, or Mr Griggs’ millions have been secretly funding a clandestine cloning operation. There are rumours that Irthlingborough is twinned with Stepford, USA. Whatever, they seemed a fairly harmless lot; they could hardly claim to be lifelong supporters or sing about great matches in the club’s history, could they? Not that that’s important these days: just ask an Accrington Stanley or Bradford Park Avenue follower.
Diamonds boss Brian Talbot was downbeat to the point of suicide in his programme notes: ‘Fifty points? Well we’re safe from relegation now. Life? Don’t talk to me about life …’ The same august publication revealed that the lumbering Barry Hunter has collected three red cards already this season, while Onandi Lowe had nine yellows, presumably most of them for diving. The biggest, heaviest player on the pitch, and he falls to the ground more often than a supermodel in a hurricane. The United players’ profiles were enlivened considerably by amusingly tongue-in-cheek comments from CFU’s Graham Whiting, and this doesn’t get a mention just because he mentioned your humble writer therein. Goodness me, no.
Shaggy and the Prof made just one change from the Millwall line-up, replacing Freddie Murray with Riza The Geezer and reverting to good old 4-4-2, Stev Angus filling in at left back. Diamonds, far from full strength, fielded a makeshift midfield, ex-Saffron Walden Town superstar Stuart Wardley having gone down with an upset stomach to add to existing injury problems. The absence of our favourite headbanger, Duane Darby, meant Paul Hall was pushed up front with fellow Reggae Boy Lowe. Their tactics remained familiar, relying on the lofted ball over the top for Bell, Lowe or Hall to run on to.
Play commenced in bright sunshine, occasioning much shielding of the eyes for the away contingent, who were facing right into the sun. Rushden started slightly the better, Bell firing wide from 25 yards in the first minute and Hall missing from close range not long after. But United were also looking lively, and on six they even produced a half-decent free kick routine for the first time this century when the ball was touched to Terrier Fleming just outside the area to blast towards the top corner, only to be foiled by Billy Turley’s excellent dive and tip over. Diamonds responded three minutes later with a right-wing Bell cross that found Lowe outjumping the much smaller Tann but heading ineffectually well over the bar.
The next 15 minutes were to see the United attack conduct an examination of the Rushden defence more searching than a police rummage through Matthew Kelly’s video collection. Once again, the home defence proved utterly unable to cope with the pace, movement, passing and dribbling skills of the visitors’ front four; the only difference this time was that somehow no goals ensued. Tudor started the spell on 13 with a typical left-wing run, ghosting past defenders then stinging Turley’s fingers as he tipped his daisycutter around the post. Ninety seconds later, Kitson sent Riza away with one of his defence-splitting passes, Omer cut inside but with only Turley to beat, his left-footed shot was disappointingly weak and comfortably smothered.
Best chance of the lot came a minute later, Tudor wreaking havoc down the left again, sliding it inside to Kitson, his prod came back off Turley and with the entire goal at his mercy less than ten yards out, Riza miserably failed to hit the target, trying a ridiculously ambitious curler into the top corner instead of whacking it into the bottom corner, and missing the target altogether. More frustrating than having to decline an invitation to play cards from Michael Owen. The BGG had the next chance a couple of minutes later, a fantastic take and turn leaving Hunter baffled, but with the goal at his mercy, he too missed the target, firing wide from 12 yards in again going for a spectacular net-bulger rather than just concentrating on hitting the target.
Next minute, Riza sent Youngs away with a penetrating through ball, but with only Turley to beat, Tiny Tom decided against his usual tactic of waltzing the ball into the net in favour of a shot from the edge of the box that the home keeper blocked with his legs for a corner. Duncan had a header punched away from the resultant corner, Riza had a goalbound effort blocked by Hunter and somehow Rushden survived the melee with goalmouth intact. Riza had another effort comfortably saved on 22, but the spell was over, and somehow the score had remained at 0-0. Regrets? We’d have a few …
Diamonds’ revival began with a dipping 25-yarder from Bell on 25, always going over as Marshall watched it go, and two minutes later Lowe’s free kick from almost the same position was fizzing under the bar until tipped over by the Terpsichorean custodian. The lumbering giant bullied his way past Duncan and Goodhind on 32 to run in on Dancing Shaun from the centre circle, but England’s No 1 advanced from goal and diverted his shot past the far post from 15 yards out. Super save.
Kitson tried a long-ranger on 35 that threatened the corner flag more than the goal, but it all went really wrong for the visitors on 39. Bell, having a nippy game on the right wing, confronted Angus in the corner, and with the aid of a couple of fortunate ricochets off his shins was able to progress along the goal-line as the stand-in left back tried to regain his feet. Too late. Bell’s low cross flew across the six-yard box, and lurking at the far post was Stuart Gray to poke home unchallenged. A sucker punch that reflected the balance of play as well as a broken mirror. Without the seven years’ bad luck, hopefully.
United responded spiritedly. Kitson released Tudor, getting clattered in the process, and the Tiddler went on one of his characteristic runs half the length of the pitch to gain a corner, after which the BGG’s assailant, Bell, was rightly booked. Turley fumbled the corner but it was scrambled away by the giant egg whisk of Diamonds’ massed defence. As half-time approached, Kitson went on another mesmeric run, beating three men as he approached the penalty spot then tumbling under Burgess’ challenge as he was about to pull the trigger. A pretty convincing penalty claim in Cantabrigian eyes, but not in those of ref Warren. If only Kits had shot earlier.
So arrived the interval, the amber hordes almost incredulous that for all their chances, they were one down. The hordes then discovered that for all the away stand’s tidiness, it could not cope with a large number of them wanting to use the lav at the same time, and the queues snaked around into the early minutes of the second half. But the question that occupied most of the lizard-drainers was whether this would be Hartlepool all over again, or could United keep up the good form this time and respond in kind? ‘We’re going to win 4-1,’ they had sung, but more in hope than expectation. Anything could happen in the next three-quarters of an hour …
Now first impressions aren’t always an accurate indicator of a fellow human being’s state of mind. But the United side that trooped out for the second half did not exude a vibe of determined, up-and-at-’em confidence. Rather, they seemed subdued, jaded, apprehensive even, and their hesitant demeanour and lack of movement left us wondering just what was in the half-time tea. Perhaps the card school had been scooped by ‘So’ Tony Scully. Opening exchanges were tentative, Diamonds giving the impression that they would be happy to time-waste their way through the half almost from the start, while United seemed to lack the sparkle of that first-period purple patch.
Duncan picked up a booking on 55 for a petulant shove on Hall in the centre circle which nearly provoked a mass melee until the Terrier, of all people, calmed Hall down. But the game continued to drift aimlessly like the live hairdressing on Channel 4 until just before the hour mark, the time of a Steve Claridge goal in United’s last two games. It was no less calamitous this time: Riza’s wretchedly misplaced pass on halfway sent Bell racing away down the middle, and despite Angus’ pursuit, he evaded all challenge and fired home from the edge of the area. A disastrous goal for Omer, for Stev and for the whole defence, which just opened wide like a ticklish oyster and yielded its precious pearl to all and sundry.
If things were bad, they became calamitous within another minute as Tudor set off on a mazy run from the restart, got all the way to just inside the box then stopped abruptly, clutching his thigh and hopping off the pitch in distress. Hamstring. After some considerable attention, he was passed unfit to continue and in a bold double substitution, both he and Riza were replaced by Chillingworth and Guttridge, Chilli joining Kitson up front, Tiny Tom going wide left and Lil’ Luke wide right. Riza’s removal was a little surprising, but that disastrous pass following his sub-standard shooting in the first half must have persuaded Shaggy that here was a man severely lacking in either form or confidence.
Wozza Goodhind tried to galvanise his faltering team out of its coma in winning two tough tackles in the middle then galloping towards goal, blasting just wide from 25 yards, but although United tried to respond, their game had disintegrated, with far too many misplaced passes, inaccurate crosses and hopeful high balls. After 15 minutes of honest but fruitless toil, Shaggy went for broke and introduced David Bridges for Angus, flooding the midfield and leaving just three at the back. Within a minute United came their nearest to scoring in the second half, Chillingworth battling past Bignot by the goal-line, with more than a hint of handball from the Diamonds full-back just inside the area, and Chilli’s pull-back found Guttridge galloping in ten yards out, but under pressure his left-footer flew over the angle with Turley helpless.
United rallied, putting Rushden under more pressure than Fatboy Slim’s marriage for a few minutes but failing to find the final killer ball that would unlock the home defence. The hosts correspondingly found more space on the break as the U’s committed men forward, the dangerous Hall streaking clear of Goodhind on 82 and thrashing the ball against the bar with a rising thunderbolt. Something had to give, and again it was United who weakened first as Diamonds scored the sort of goal that their visitors had threatened to score in the first half. That man Hall latched onto a long ball, brought it down and simply ran at the United defence; once again, it parted like the Red Sea, Goodhind again beaten by a little shimmy, and this time the Jamaican’s aim was true, firing powerfully low into the bottom corner. Are you watching, United strikers?
The U’s went for the jugular from the restart, Kitson picking up a through ball and dancing through the middle of the Diamonds defence, only to be clumsily brought down from behind by Mark Peters. Penalty, although puzzlingly not so much as a yellow card for the defender. Up stepped Captain Fantastic, one of the more consistent performers on the day, to slide coolly home past the wrong-footed Turley; 3-1, two minutes plus four added to go. Was there a miracle in the offing? Does Gazza have a career in League football? Apart from a trial spell in Albania with Red Star Gilly-Gilly-Ossenfeffer-Katzenellerbogen-By-The-Sea, that is.
United tried spiritedly, but to no avail, and in the dying seconds it was Hall who gave the score a decidedly lopsided look with a last-minute-let’s-have-a-swing-and-see-what-happens effort from 20 yards that caught Marshall unawares, getting a touch but only able to help it into the net. Mr Talbot then demonstrated his pessimistic side again, wasting the remaining seconds with three pointless substitutions with the game won, although as one was his son, perhaps he was making sure he gets in enough appearances for a championship medal. Bless.
So, as so often happens in football, the United fans’ chants of ‘4-1’ at the beginning returned to haunt them at the end. One each, but we won the play-off (4-0 in the LDV). The injury to Tudor was a worry, as was the fact that this was a fifth game without a win, although two were against Millwall. Even more concerning was the listless first half-hour of the second half and Riza’s confidence-shattering day, with Brentford then Hartlepool looming on the horizon like giant cumulonimbuses about to rain on United’s so-far enjoyable parade. This month is the greatest test of the season by far for this promising young team. Let’s hope that they pass like we know they can.
Marshall 7 – Can blame his defence for the first three but will be disappointed by the fourth. Usual smattering of good saves, though.
Tann 7 – Decent, reliable performance.
Angus 6 – Incapable of a bad game but full back is definitely not his best position.
Duncan 6 – Robust battle with Lowe in which he gave as good as he got, but must look to do more than just hit-and-hope up the field every time he gets possession.
Goodhind 7 – Good defensive display, although even his distribution lacked quality at times.
Riza 5 – One to forget for the Geezer. Missed a stone-cold sitter then gave the ball away for Diamonds’ second goal.
Fleming 6 – Lost the midfield battle to Rushden’s youngsters.
Wanless 7 – Never stopped pushing his men on in true leaderly style.
Tudor 7 – Constant thorn in the hosts’ side until hamstrung.
Youngs 7 – Most consistent forward, always buzzing and probing.
Kitson 6 – Excellent first half, inexplicably faded in the second as he seemed to hold back and wish to play deeper. Feeling his injured ribs?
Chillingworth 6 – Encouragingly busy and looks to be building up to his old form at last.
Guttridge 6 – Got involved well in an unfamiliar wide right role.
Bridges 6 – Little time to make much of an impression in a lopsided formation.
Soundtrack of the day: The Libertines/Time For Heroes
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Charleston. ‘This fun dance rose to prominence in the Ragtime era of the 1920s, although similar dances (notably the Branle) had been around for a lot longer. It originated on the island of Charleston in South Carolina around 1903 and had made its way to the Harlem stage ten years later. It exploded when performed in the Ziegfeld Follies in New York in 1922 and took off from there. Bizarrely, many waiters and waitresses had to be able to do the Charleston during their job, so it became a vital step to learn! It was soon, however, overtaken by the Black Bottom and the Lindy Hop, which did in fact integrate many Charleston steps into its movements. The most famous legacy of the Charleston was the name given to the girls who did it; they were called Flappers because of the way they would flap their arms and walk like birds in doing the dance. Many of their male partners would stylishly sport raccoon coats and straw hats, the sort of 20s peacock equivalent of Warren Goodhind! Only joking, Wozza. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A game that could have been won in the first half-hour was lost through wasteful finishing and woeful defending. The season’s half-term report reads ‘Mostly good, but must do better if they wish to achieve anything of note this year.’ Keep looking and learning, boys.
Man of the match: Paul Wanless. Kept going for the full 90 where many colleagues faded after that sparkling first-half spell.
Ref watch: Warren 6. Mostly satisfactory, although Cantabrigian thoughts will stray back to their penalty appeals and it would have been nice if he had shown the cheating Lowe the yellow card his outrageous theatrics deserved. The home fans gave him some stick as well, so he can’t be all bad …
Andy Duncan: robust
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Tuesday, 21 January 2003: Brentford 1-2 United
They were a motley crew, indeed, in their garb of blue and yellow, as they roamed through the land in search of their lofty goal. Already had they evaded the clutches of the rogue diamond trees of the sinister Dr Martens, and so nearly fallen into the trap of the ghostly creatures from the Six Fields, before being wounded by the dark riders of Lune Town and only saved by the magical Golden Ball of Luke the Strider. But now their greatest challenge was upon them: more dark riders faced them on the foulest of nights, wind and rain howling through their inadequate scarves and headgear.
They could almost hear the cackles of the riders’ master, Sauron Noades, as he whipped up the elements with his evil concoction of eye of toad, wing of bat and horrific hot dogs ’n’ onions of death. But nothing would deflect them from their task; the gleaming prize was almost within their grasp, shining in their mind’s eye with its mystical inscription on the side, the letters inscribed on purest silver: L.D.V.
Our favourite tournament has taken us to many old friends this season, and none more so than dear old Brentford, once a rich man’s plaything, now a discarded novelty slung into the back of the toy box. Tonight might have been our last ever visit to Griffin Park if dear old Ronnie has his way, thwarted with his cunning plan to move to Woking, now angling for Kingston, much to the chagrin and alarm of the locals who can see another Wimbledon looming while they have come up with a much better alternative just up the road. That’s the danger of allowing one man and his ego too much power at a football club, which thankfully has never happened to such an extent at the Abbey, and the best of luck to the good folk of TW8 in their battles to come. Shame, it was much more fun when we hated each other...
Predictably, GP hasn’t changed since we last visited in the late summer sunshine last season. United were again allocated the open former home terrace and a cosy little corner of adjoining covered stand, while the Bees didn’t bother to open the New Road stand, leaving their sparse following in two thirds of the opposite stand and the Brook Road Stand with its unusual combination of bottom-tier terrace and top-tier uncovered seating. The latter was definitely not the place to be on this dark and rainy night. The amber hordes were tempted by the respite in the day’s rain and £5 entrance fee on to the terrace rather than the dearer seating; seemed like a good idea at the time. How we regretted those neglected swimming lessons later.
Walking on to the away terrace at five to seven was an eerie experience indeed: silence all around, barely a soul to be seen. Had we arrived on the right night? The locals obviously hadn’t taken the LDV to their hearts like we have, as was later evidenced by the size of the crowd, which would have been of similar size to our Youth Cup game last week if not for the 500+ travelling army.
It didn’t take long to read the skimpy eight-page pamphlet, sorry programme, although it did inform us that we have the most enlightened non-sexist recruitment policy in the League with the appearance in the squad of the lovely ‘Francesca Nacca’ at number 17. The PA eventually trundled into life with, ulp, a Status Quo rock ’n’ roll medley, and highlight of the, er, eclectic tune selection was the airing of Kajagoogoo’s seminal poodle pop classic Too Shy … not once, but twice! Really, Mr DJ, you shouldn’t have. No, you really shouldn’t have.
Shaggy and the Prof made three changes from Saturday’s shambles at Irthlingborough, reverting to the wing back system with the injuries to Tudor and Angus and dropping to the bench of Riza The Geezer. Never afraid to experiment, the new back three comprised Duncan, Goodhind and Freddie Murray, with Tann and Fleming at wing-back, Captain Fantastic and Li’l Luke in the centre, Tiny Tom ‘in the hole’ (stop sniggering) and a front two of Kitson and Chillingworth. You’d have to call it an essentially defensive set-up, opting for solidity but sacrificing the sparkling wing play that has been such a highlight of United’s season. Tann and Fleming ain’t no Riza and Tudor, although they can at least tackle. Brentford’s team is unrecognisable to the untrained eye these days, all the expensive players long gone as Noadesy pulled the plug, but we did recognise the galumphing Devon Whitealike Mark McCammon up front from his brief, temperamental sojourn at the Abbey. If he’s a first team regular, times really must be hard for the Bees.
The pitch was wet but playable as the game commenced, only deteriorating later as the rain returned, and a sophisticated total football fest it was not, Brentford charging up and at ’em with many a cross aimed at McCammon’s head and tackles flying in more thick and fast.than George Dubya Bush on a bungee rope. The linesman on the populated side of the ground, Mr Chittenden, soon attracted our attention as he appeared to be utterly exhausted after about five minutes. He answered our cries of, ‘Oi, lino! You look knackered!’ with a disarming ‘I am!’ to cheers as he tottered back up the pitch through the churned-up mud. What a nice boy. The hosts had most of the early pressure, numerous crosses flying across the box without finding a red-and-white head or boot, and Dancing Shaun’s first serious save came on nine as he parried Steve Hunt’s low drive around the post.
Mark Williams then fired wide from 18 yards, but the United back three/five were snappy in the tackle and cleared all danger. United’s front men were somewhat short of service early on, Youngs managing a decent run on 17 but finding only keeper Paul Smith with his cross. A minute later McCammon appeared to be in the clear as he ran into the middle to latch on to Rowan Vine’s cross, but a superb challenge by the speeding Murray nicked the ball off his toes eight yards out. Brentford kept the pressure on as Hunt tested Marshall’s gloves on 20 and the Terpsichorean custodian pawed Vine’s shot around the post three minutes later, taking no chances when faced with more slippery balls than the average rugby scrum.
United did get the occasional chance, Kitson setting up Chilli on 26 but his ten-yard shot was always too close to the keeper. Now the rain returned in earnest as umbrellas, hoods and anything else to hand went up and the torrent got gradually harder and harder as if someone was ever-so-slowly turning a giant tap. This didn’t exactly help the players’ increasingly vain attempts to play football, the BGG again setting up Chilli on 33 but his miscued effort sailing on to the top of the net.
Play remained scrappy and chances were few and far between for the rest of the half, Kitson nearest with a close-range header claimed by Smith. United’s travelling hordes were now thoroughly drenched and the handicap of the weather coupled with a lack of acoustics made for a fairly quiet atmosphere by recent standards. Well, have you ever tried singing underwater?
Just as it looked as if the half would be goalless, the deadlock was broken two minutes before the break. Hunt slalomed round some rather feeble challenges by Tann and Guttridge, and dinked up a delicate little cross into the six-yard box right on to the head of McCammon, who had the simple task (even for him) of nodding down past Marshall and into the net.
Half-time came as a undoubted relief to the soaked, mud-caked players, and as the downpour increased in intensity again, those nice Griffin Park people took pity on the sodden (I think they said sodden) away fans and invited them into the stand at no extra cost. Mr DJ joined in the fun by playing It’s Raining Men (at least it wasn’t the Geri version) as we trooped into the relative dry, leaving around 100 brave and frankly insane souls to tough it out in the wet. Reckon there’ll be more sniffles round Cambridge way this week than in the average nightclub cloakroom.
Not only were most United fans now in the dry (if still wringing wet), they now had a roof to bounce sound off, and the singing and chanting now commenced in earnest. But it was Brentford who started the second half the better, mounting a sustained early assault on the United goal with a parade of crosses and corners. Marshall and his defenders were equal to everything thrown at them, however, as the Bees couldn’t find that final ball or decisive shot. The ball pinged around the United area to assorted oohs and aahs, but to no avail.
Just before the hour a rare United break allowed Chilli to test Smith with an 18-yarder, then Jay Smith blasted wide at the other end as the hosts’ frustration grew. Shaggy could see that a change was needed and made a decisive couple of changes on 64, Riza and Nacca replacing Chilli and Guttridge in an effort to get a little more penetration and pace on to the ever-worsening pitch. The left flank that Brentford were defending was now almost unplayable, a messy mass of mud and puddles that killed the ball stone dead, the linesman and subs’ running up and down almost obliterating the white line so carefully repainted by the groundsman at half-time. The linesman’s slingbacks must have been ruined.
Brentford continued to dominate proceedings, but United were immovable, Goodhind and Murray particularly impressive in denying the physical presence of McCammon and chums. The match took on an increasingly cup tie-esque hue as the mud made it look like a replay of some muck-spattered classic from the 1970s, without the mullets or tight shorts thankfully, and United clung on grimly to their dream. They threatened an equaliser on 72, Fleming touching a 25-yard free kick to Murray whose powerful low drive flashed just wide of the far post. McCammon poked wide soon after from much closer, Marshall pawed a Frampton cross to the ground and was relieved by Goodhind’s welly clear, then McCammon found the net well after being adjudged offside – yet again. The pitch was now more worn and battered than Brian Clough’s liver.
United’s final throw of the dice came on 80, Aggy Revell making his first appearance of the season in place of Tiny Tom, and his first contribution was a splendid run and cross down the soggy right. He very soon became as bedraggled as the rest with a challenge that sent him flying off the pitch, through the mud, into a hoarding and face down into a puddle. Not long after, Kitson chased a Fleming cross, took the ball across keeper Smith and appeared to be blatantly pulled down as he was about to race clear. Looked like a stone-cold penalty to all at that end of the ground except ref Walton, who abdicated his responsibilities by making no decision at all; surely it was either a penalty or a bookable dive by Kitson? Was this going to be one of those nights?
The lino showed his sensitive side by drawing Walton’s attention to the fact that the Terrier had called him a nasty name (diddums) and got him a yellow card for his pains. As full time beckoned, Brentford wasted some time (they thought, ho ho) by making two late subs, and it all looked up for another eventful Cup run when a mere two minutes’ added time was called. And then that old LDV magic started flowing again.
One last flank run by Fleming and his cross was aimed at the men in the middle: Kitson and three Brentford defenders. Somehow the ball bounced through the red and white shirts to the BGG ten yards out, and the rest seemed to happen in super slo-mo: Kitson tapped it on the bounce towards the far corner of the net, the advancing Smith parried it, it fell straight back to the United No 9 and he poked it home with just enough pace for it to bounce over the line. Cue bedlam! He saluted the crowd then ran to the bedraggled hordes on the terrace for some heartfelt touchy-feely celebrations.
There was still time for one more Brentford assault, then the whistle had gone (as had some early leavers, arf arf) and the sides gathered around their bosses, United surely in the psychological ascendant, the Bees unable to believe their battling opponents’ audacity. It transpired that Goodhind had picked up an injury leaving him barely able to walk, but he heroically lined up in the centre forward position at the restart, determined to make a nuisance of himself rather than leave his team one short, his colleagues regrouping behind him. Whatta guy.
The hosts almost won it in the first extra minute, sub Traynor firing over on a stretching volley from barely six yards out. Leo Roget then got on the wrong side of our luscious, pouting lino and also got carded for saying something untoward about his hairstyle or something, and Marshall claimed a 20-yard Hunt strike that appeared to our fearful eyes to be heading for the top corner. United were now down to ten men as the brave Wozza succumbed to his injury and was forced to retire from the fray.
But the coup de grace was just around the corner. In the 98th minute, Nacca won a superb sliding challenge with Bees’ other sub Hughes and sent Riza away on a galloping run down the right channel. Gliding at full speed over the cloying mud, he feinted to go inside, switched outside and, head down, larruped a blazing low drive inside the near post past the astonished Smith, who got a faint touch but couldn’t get near stopping it. We all agree, Omer’s more deadly than Ricin. Cue scenes of delirium on and off the pitch as the fantastic, loyal supporters celebrated with this wonderful, spirited, gutsy side in the rain and mud as if it were a sweltering day in July. The home contingent slunk disbelievingly off; how were they to know this is our special Trophy?
And would you believe it, it’s Bristol City again. They won’t underestimate us this time, although hopefully they won’t have booked their Cardiff hotel too early this time. Perhaps they could reuse last year’s LDV merchandise with a little alteration? Whatever … bring ’em on. The Magic of the LDV lives on!
Marshall 8 – Dealt well with everything that flew at him in nightmarish conditions for a keeper.
Tann 7 – Slotted comfortably into a still unfamiliar position.
Fleming 6 – Out of position as a left-sided wing back, his early passing was dreadful but he gave his all as usual.
Duncan 6 – Looked uncomfortable in the slippy, slidy weather.
Goodhind 8 – Wozza was the heart of the defence, scooping up all that came his way.
Murray 9 – Outstanding performance in a new role; his tigerish tackling and relentless covering were absolutely exemplary all night.
Guttridge 6 – Quiet game from the Luton golden goal hero; his little legs had great difficulty wading through the thick, cloying mud.
Wanless 8 – One-man rotavator ploughed determined furrows in the muck.
Youngs 6 – Anonymous match for Tiny Tom, who seemed not so much to play as fall into ‘the hole’.
Chillingworth 7 – Hard-working, lively display and unlucky to be withdrawn. Shaggy was proved right, though!
Kitson 8 – Led the line in staunch fashion and saved the tie against all the odds.
Riza 8 – Cometh the hour, cometh the Geezer. A much-needed confidence booster; more of the same next time, please.
Nacca 8 – Really got stuck in and was rewarded with the assist for the winner.
Revell 7 – Worked his socks off and made a very favourable impression on his long-awaited comeback.
Soundtrack of the day: Lemon Jelly/Nice Weather For Ducks
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at Ballin’ The Jack. ‘This sensual, gyrating dance emerged around the turn of the last century, some say from an American railroad song as ‘jack’ was slang for a train and ‘high balling’ was a phrase for having fun. Its first public appearance was in The Darktown Follies on the Harlem stage in 1913, and as it spread to middle America, it gained in both popularity and notoriety because of its suggestive bumping and grinding, either solo or along with swing dancing. It eventually merged with the Lindy Hop and lost its own identity, but it was fun while it lasted! Dan Chillingworth has got his own way of Ballin’ The Jack which he demonstrated at De Niro’s the other night, but I’m not sure his version is strictly legal in a public place! Only joking, Chilli. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: We love the LDV. On one of the greatest Cup nights in United’s history, Shaggy’s brave young lions overcame the odds, the clock and the weather to reward their drenched fans with the most golden of goals. Drama? The Globe Theatre had nothing on this!
Man of the match: Freddie Murray. Hard to believe he’s hardly played since September. Tackled like a demon, intercepted like a dervish. And all in a new position. No doubt about it … Freddie’s back!
Ref watch: Walton 6. Did a decent job in difficult conditions, although bottled the late penalty decision. Only bookings were on the snitch lino’s say-so!
They were a motley crew, indeed, in their garb of blue and yellow, as they roamed through the land in search of their lofty goal. Already had they evaded the clutches of the rogue diamond trees of the sinister Dr Martens, and so nearly fallen into the trap of the ghostly creatures from the Six Fields, before being wounded by the dark riders of Lune Town and only saved by the magical Golden Ball of Luke the Strider. But now their greatest challenge was upon them: more dark riders faced them on the foulest of nights, wind and rain howling through their inadequate scarves and headgear.
They could almost hear the cackles of the riders’ master, Sauron Noades, as he whipped up the elements with his evil concoction of eye of toad, wing of bat and horrific hot dogs ’n’ onions of death. But nothing would deflect them from their task; the gleaming prize was almost within their grasp, shining in their mind’s eye with its mystical inscription on the side, the letters inscribed on purest silver: L.D.V.
Our favourite tournament has taken us to many old friends this season, and none more so than dear old Brentford, once a rich man’s plaything, now a discarded novelty slung into the back of the toy box. Tonight might have been our last ever visit to Griffin Park if dear old Ronnie has his way, thwarted with his cunning plan to move to Woking, now angling for Kingston, much to the chagrin and alarm of the locals who can see another Wimbledon looming while they have come up with a much better alternative just up the road. That’s the danger of allowing one man and his ego too much power at a football club, which thankfully has never happened to such an extent at the Abbey, and the best of luck to the good folk of TW8 in their battles to come. Shame, it was much more fun when we hated each other...
Predictably, GP hasn’t changed since we last visited in the late summer sunshine last season. United were again allocated the open former home terrace and a cosy little corner of adjoining covered stand, while the Bees didn’t bother to open the New Road stand, leaving their sparse following in two thirds of the opposite stand and the Brook Road Stand with its unusual combination of bottom-tier terrace and top-tier uncovered seating. The latter was definitely not the place to be on this dark and rainy night. The amber hordes were tempted by the respite in the day’s rain and £5 entrance fee on to the terrace rather than the dearer seating; seemed like a good idea at the time. How we regretted those neglected swimming lessons later.
Walking on to the away terrace at five to seven was an eerie experience indeed: silence all around, barely a soul to be seen. Had we arrived on the right night? The locals obviously hadn’t taken the LDV to their hearts like we have, as was later evidenced by the size of the crowd, which would have been of similar size to our Youth Cup game last week if not for the 500+ travelling army.
It didn’t take long to read the skimpy eight-page pamphlet, sorry programme, although it did inform us that we have the most enlightened non-sexist recruitment policy in the League with the appearance in the squad of the lovely ‘Francesca Nacca’ at number 17. The PA eventually trundled into life with, ulp, a Status Quo rock ’n’ roll medley, and highlight of the, er, eclectic tune selection was the airing of Kajagoogoo’s seminal poodle pop classic Too Shy … not once, but twice! Really, Mr DJ, you shouldn’t have. No, you really shouldn’t have.
Shaggy and the Prof made three changes from Saturday’s shambles at Irthlingborough, reverting to the wing back system with the injuries to Tudor and Angus and dropping to the bench of Riza The Geezer. Never afraid to experiment, the new back three comprised Duncan, Goodhind and Freddie Murray, with Tann and Fleming at wing-back, Captain Fantastic and Li’l Luke in the centre, Tiny Tom ‘in the hole’ (stop sniggering) and a front two of Kitson and Chillingworth. You’d have to call it an essentially defensive set-up, opting for solidity but sacrificing the sparkling wing play that has been such a highlight of United’s season. Tann and Fleming ain’t no Riza and Tudor, although they can at least tackle. Brentford’s team is unrecognisable to the untrained eye these days, all the expensive players long gone as Noadesy pulled the plug, but we did recognise the galumphing Devon Whitealike Mark McCammon up front from his brief, temperamental sojourn at the Abbey. If he’s a first team regular, times really must be hard for the Bees.
The pitch was wet but playable as the game commenced, only deteriorating later as the rain returned, and a sophisticated total football fest it was not, Brentford charging up and at ’em with many a cross aimed at McCammon’s head and tackles flying in more thick and fast.than George Dubya Bush on a bungee rope. The linesman on the populated side of the ground, Mr Chittenden, soon attracted our attention as he appeared to be utterly exhausted after about five minutes. He answered our cries of, ‘Oi, lino! You look knackered!’ with a disarming ‘I am!’ to cheers as he tottered back up the pitch through the churned-up mud. What a nice boy. The hosts had most of the early pressure, numerous crosses flying across the box without finding a red-and-white head or boot, and Dancing Shaun’s first serious save came on nine as he parried Steve Hunt’s low drive around the post.
Mark Williams then fired wide from 18 yards, but the United back three/five were snappy in the tackle and cleared all danger. United’s front men were somewhat short of service early on, Youngs managing a decent run on 17 but finding only keeper Paul Smith with his cross. A minute later McCammon appeared to be in the clear as he ran into the middle to latch on to Rowan Vine’s cross, but a superb challenge by the speeding Murray nicked the ball off his toes eight yards out. Brentford kept the pressure on as Hunt tested Marshall’s gloves on 20 and the Terpsichorean custodian pawed Vine’s shot around the post three minutes later, taking no chances when faced with more slippery balls than the average rugby scrum.
United did get the occasional chance, Kitson setting up Chilli on 26 but his ten-yard shot was always too close to the keeper. Now the rain returned in earnest as umbrellas, hoods and anything else to hand went up and the torrent got gradually harder and harder as if someone was ever-so-slowly turning a giant tap. This didn’t exactly help the players’ increasingly vain attempts to play football, the BGG again setting up Chilli on 33 but his miscued effort sailing on to the top of the net.
Play remained scrappy and chances were few and far between for the rest of the half, Kitson nearest with a close-range header claimed by Smith. United’s travelling hordes were now thoroughly drenched and the handicap of the weather coupled with a lack of acoustics made for a fairly quiet atmosphere by recent standards. Well, have you ever tried singing underwater?
Just as it looked as if the half would be goalless, the deadlock was broken two minutes before the break. Hunt slalomed round some rather feeble challenges by Tann and Guttridge, and dinked up a delicate little cross into the six-yard box right on to the head of McCammon, who had the simple task (even for him) of nodding down past Marshall and into the net.
Half-time came as a undoubted relief to the soaked, mud-caked players, and as the downpour increased in intensity again, those nice Griffin Park people took pity on the sodden (I think they said sodden) away fans and invited them into the stand at no extra cost. Mr DJ joined in the fun by playing It’s Raining Men (at least it wasn’t the Geri version) as we trooped into the relative dry, leaving around 100 brave and frankly insane souls to tough it out in the wet. Reckon there’ll be more sniffles round Cambridge way this week than in the average nightclub cloakroom.
Not only were most United fans now in the dry (if still wringing wet), they now had a roof to bounce sound off, and the singing and chanting now commenced in earnest. But it was Brentford who started the second half the better, mounting a sustained early assault on the United goal with a parade of crosses and corners. Marshall and his defenders were equal to everything thrown at them, however, as the Bees couldn’t find that final ball or decisive shot. The ball pinged around the United area to assorted oohs and aahs, but to no avail.
Just before the hour a rare United break allowed Chilli to test Smith with an 18-yarder, then Jay Smith blasted wide at the other end as the hosts’ frustration grew. Shaggy could see that a change was needed and made a decisive couple of changes on 64, Riza and Nacca replacing Chilli and Guttridge in an effort to get a little more penetration and pace on to the ever-worsening pitch. The left flank that Brentford were defending was now almost unplayable, a messy mass of mud and puddles that killed the ball stone dead, the linesman and subs’ running up and down almost obliterating the white line so carefully repainted by the groundsman at half-time. The linesman’s slingbacks must have been ruined.
Brentford continued to dominate proceedings, but United were immovable, Goodhind and Murray particularly impressive in denying the physical presence of McCammon and chums. The match took on an increasingly cup tie-esque hue as the mud made it look like a replay of some muck-spattered classic from the 1970s, without the mullets or tight shorts thankfully, and United clung on grimly to their dream. They threatened an equaliser on 72, Fleming touching a 25-yard free kick to Murray whose powerful low drive flashed just wide of the far post. McCammon poked wide soon after from much closer, Marshall pawed a Frampton cross to the ground and was relieved by Goodhind’s welly clear, then McCammon found the net well after being adjudged offside – yet again. The pitch was now more worn and battered than Brian Clough’s liver.
United’s final throw of the dice came on 80, Aggy Revell making his first appearance of the season in place of Tiny Tom, and his first contribution was a splendid run and cross down the soggy right. He very soon became as bedraggled as the rest with a challenge that sent him flying off the pitch, through the mud, into a hoarding and face down into a puddle. Not long after, Kitson chased a Fleming cross, took the ball across keeper Smith and appeared to be blatantly pulled down as he was about to race clear. Looked like a stone-cold penalty to all at that end of the ground except ref Walton, who abdicated his responsibilities by making no decision at all; surely it was either a penalty or a bookable dive by Kitson? Was this going to be one of those nights?
The lino showed his sensitive side by drawing Walton’s attention to the fact that the Terrier had called him a nasty name (diddums) and got him a yellow card for his pains. As full time beckoned, Brentford wasted some time (they thought, ho ho) by making two late subs, and it all looked up for another eventful Cup run when a mere two minutes’ added time was called. And then that old LDV magic started flowing again.
One last flank run by Fleming and his cross was aimed at the men in the middle: Kitson and three Brentford defenders. Somehow the ball bounced through the red and white shirts to the BGG ten yards out, and the rest seemed to happen in super slo-mo: Kitson tapped it on the bounce towards the far corner of the net, the advancing Smith parried it, it fell straight back to the United No 9 and he poked it home with just enough pace for it to bounce over the line. Cue bedlam! He saluted the crowd then ran to the bedraggled hordes on the terrace for some heartfelt touchy-feely celebrations.
There was still time for one more Brentford assault, then the whistle had gone (as had some early leavers, arf arf) and the sides gathered around their bosses, United surely in the psychological ascendant, the Bees unable to believe their battling opponents’ audacity. It transpired that Goodhind had picked up an injury leaving him barely able to walk, but he heroically lined up in the centre forward position at the restart, determined to make a nuisance of himself rather than leave his team one short, his colleagues regrouping behind him. Whatta guy.
The hosts almost won it in the first extra minute, sub Traynor firing over on a stretching volley from barely six yards out. Leo Roget then got on the wrong side of our luscious, pouting lino and also got carded for saying something untoward about his hairstyle or something, and Marshall claimed a 20-yard Hunt strike that appeared to our fearful eyes to be heading for the top corner. United were now down to ten men as the brave Wozza succumbed to his injury and was forced to retire from the fray.
But the coup de grace was just around the corner. In the 98th minute, Nacca won a superb sliding challenge with Bees’ other sub Hughes and sent Riza away on a galloping run down the right channel. Gliding at full speed over the cloying mud, he feinted to go inside, switched outside and, head down, larruped a blazing low drive inside the near post past the astonished Smith, who got a faint touch but couldn’t get near stopping it. We all agree, Omer’s more deadly than Ricin. Cue scenes of delirium on and off the pitch as the fantastic, loyal supporters celebrated with this wonderful, spirited, gutsy side in the rain and mud as if it were a sweltering day in July. The home contingent slunk disbelievingly off; how were they to know this is our special Trophy?
And would you believe it, it’s Bristol City again. They won’t underestimate us this time, although hopefully they won’t have booked their Cardiff hotel too early this time. Perhaps they could reuse last year’s LDV merchandise with a little alteration? Whatever … bring ’em on. The Magic of the LDV lives on!
Marshall 8 – Dealt well with everything that flew at him in nightmarish conditions for a keeper.
Tann 7 – Slotted comfortably into a still unfamiliar position.
Fleming 6 – Out of position as a left-sided wing back, his early passing was dreadful but he gave his all as usual.
Duncan 6 – Looked uncomfortable in the slippy, slidy weather.
Goodhind 8 – Wozza was the heart of the defence, scooping up all that came his way.
Murray 9 – Outstanding performance in a new role; his tigerish tackling and relentless covering were absolutely exemplary all night.
Guttridge 6 – Quiet game from the Luton golden goal hero; his little legs had great difficulty wading through the thick, cloying mud.
Wanless 8 – One-man rotavator ploughed determined furrows in the muck.
Youngs 6 – Anonymous match for Tiny Tom, who seemed not so much to play as fall into ‘the hole’.
Chillingworth 7 – Hard-working, lively display and unlucky to be withdrawn. Shaggy was proved right, though!
Kitson 8 – Led the line in staunch fashion and saved the tie against all the odds.
Riza 8 – Cometh the hour, cometh the Geezer. A much-needed confidence booster; more of the same next time, please.
Nacca 8 – Really got stuck in and was rewarded with the assist for the winner.
Revell 7 – Worked his socks off and made a very favourable impression on his long-awaited comeback.
Soundtrack of the day: Lemon Jelly/Nice Weather For Ducks
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at Ballin’ The Jack. ‘This sensual, gyrating dance emerged around the turn of the last century, some say from an American railroad song as ‘jack’ was slang for a train and ‘high balling’ was a phrase for having fun. Its first public appearance was in The Darktown Follies on the Harlem stage in 1913, and as it spread to middle America, it gained in both popularity and notoriety because of its suggestive bumping and grinding, either solo or along with swing dancing. It eventually merged with the Lindy Hop and lost its own identity, but it was fun while it lasted! Dan Chillingworth has got his own way of Ballin’ The Jack which he demonstrated at De Niro’s the other night, but I’m not sure his version is strictly legal in a public place! Only joking, Chilli. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: We love the LDV. On one of the greatest Cup nights in United’s history, Shaggy’s brave young lions overcame the odds, the clock and the weather to reward their drenched fans with the most golden of goals. Drama? The Globe Theatre had nothing on this!
Man of the match: Freddie Murray. Hard to believe he’s hardly played since September. Tackled like a demon, intercepted like a dervish. And all in a new position. No doubt about it … Freddie’s back!
Ref watch: Walton 6. Did a decent job in difficult conditions, although bottled the late penalty decision. Only bookings were on the snitch lino’s say-so!
Ballin' the Jack: doesn't look sensuous from where we're standing.
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Saturday, 25 January 2003: United 0-0 Hartlepool
Welcome to Waste Of Money 2003, Cambridge City Council’s exciting week of exhibitions designed to show you, the public, just how much you can save the community and yourselves by cutting down on consumption in your everyday lives. Later on we will be showing you how to dramatically cut noise pollution in the home and at the same time find alternative sources of fuel by burning every boring, forgettable record by reality TV contestants, sponsored by our friends at Q103. Then we will be launching our rubbish relocation programme, which basically means transporting household and industrial waste and dumping it in Peterborough where no one will notice anyway. In fact, it will improve most of it! But first, to really ram our message home, we proudly present a 90-minute display of wastefulness by our wonderful local football team, Cambridge United. Take it away, boys!
The Mighty U’s have rather taken their eye off the League ball of late, distracted by the latent glitz and heady glamour of Millwall and the LDV Vans Trophy, together with the postponement of a few matches which has left them lying in mid-table, albeit with games in hand which would take them back into the top five … if won. Today was a time to refocus, with a chance of revenge to boot, with the visit of (starting to) runaway leaders Hartlepool, where United ran aground 0-3 a few weeks ago. We welcomed back Ritchie Humphreys, a perceptive chap who saw where John Beck was taking the club and got the hell out while the going was good, and Marcus Richardson, immortal hero of Stoke and ever more shall be so.
The omens were not good for the hosts, with ever-present keeper Dancing Shaun and two best defenders Angus and Goodhind, as well as Shane Tudor, missing through injury, so it was time for Shaggy and the Prof to shuffle the pack once more and see what kind of hand Fate would deal us. Martin Brennan lined up for his League debut between the sticks, still something of a unknown quantity after some untroubled run-outs in pre-season friendlies and Cup sub appearances that wouldn’t have stretched Thora Hird. Much.
Doubtless partly to protect him, the wing back system was retained from Tuesday’s mudbath at Griffin Park, this time with Nacca and, surprisingly, Guttridge at wing back with Adam Tann moving inside alongside Duncan and Murray. The Terrier partnered Captain Fantastic in the middle, Tiny Tom remained ‘in the hole’ and Riza The Geezer was restored up front with the BGG after his golden exploits last time out. ‘So’ Tony Scully appeared on the bench, now sporting a new-look bright red hairstyle. Sorry, Tony, you still look like Graham Norton, this time in a bathing cap …
Hartlepool have, by all accounts, fielded two ‘different’ teams this season, the one at home that goes for the jugular and the rather more pragmatic and prosaic away side that sits deeper, digs in and aims to grind out 1-0 wins. So that’s where we’ve been going wrong. True to form, United went for it from the start, roared on by another splendid 4,500-plus crowd, and they could and should have taken the lead after less than two minutes: Guttridge’s cross caused chaos, Nacca flicked it back in and it fell to Kitson, less than ten yards out, to help it towards the corner of the net. Somehow, keeper Anthony Williams flung himself across to paw it off the line when a goal seemed certain, then Wanless, following up from even closer range at the far post, incredibly managed to poke it wide under pressure from a gaggle of defenders. It wasn’t going to one of those days again, was it? Don’t answer that.
Pool responded a minute later with a free header by Humphreys from Darrell Clarke’s cross that bounced across the six-yard box and wide of the far post as the helpless Brennan watched with a mixture of hope and dread. But it was United who had the upper hand possession-wise, the wing backs getting up and down well, Kitson and Riza looking a menacing pairing up top and Youngs pulling the strings perceptively just behind as Wanless and Fleming flung themselves tirelessly around midfield.
The only area in which they lacked quality was in the final ball, too many corners and crosses under-hit or inaccurate, and the most promising openings created through neat interpassing on the floor. Mark Tinkler blasted just wide from 30 yards on ten, but traffic was mainly as one-way as last week’s FTSE 100 index. Sell! Sell! Panic! Panic! Wibble! Wibble!
Kitson sent Riza away on a characteristic, scurrying run on 14, but just as he burst into the penalty area he was felled by the outstretched leg of Chris Westwood, Looked a stone-cold spot kick to amber eyes, but ref Eddie Wolstenholme wasn’t interested. The beastly cad. What would his father, Kenneth, have said? Kitson had a 20-yarder blocked by Graeme Lee soon after, but on 18 the hosts were again reminded of the visitors’ pedigree when a distinctly offside-looking Richardson sprinted (well, lolloped) clear to shoot across goal from 12 yards out, but young Brennan did well to stand strong and palm it around the post. He safely clutched Lee’s header from the subsequent corner, and confidence levels in the No 13 grew all around the Abbey.
Wannie tried a blaster from 25 yards on 21, but his left-footer was decidedly not one of his specials as it sailed high, wide and horrid, but United kept up the pressure as Riza and Guttridge both had on-target shots blocked by flying bodies. Wolstenholme enraged the amber hordes still more when he penalised Duncan for a tackle on Eifion Williams in which he won the ball as cleanly as a Cliff Richard album, but Pool could only manage a Clarke free kick well wide as United took up the reigns again.
Guttridge’s left-wing cross on 28 was fumbled by Williams (A) under pressure from Kitson and it fell to ‘One Hairy’ Nacca not six yards out to nod a stooping header into the empty net … until Mark Robinson appeared from absolutely nowhere to hack it off the line in front of our disbelieving eyes. All that monkey-chasing must make these North-East boys quicker than the average whippet.
Williams (E) picked up the first card of the afternoon just before the half-hour for an horrendous late clattering of Murray, then he tested Brennan’s handling with a long-ranger that troubled the keeper not one jot. On 34 Kitson demonstrated his growing understanding with Riza, as well his own superb vision and touch, when he chested a pass down on halfway, glanced up to see The Geezer’s forward run, half-turned and sent a superb ball over the defence’s heads into his colleague’s path. Only an unhelpful bounce robbed Omer of a shooting chance as it was whisked off his toe for corner.
Lil’ Luke’s kick found Wannie’s head less than ten yards out, but unaccountably he rammed it well over when we might have expected better. Shortly after, he latched on to Fleming’s free kick with a typical far-post header, but instead of a teammate, he found only the side netting. So much build-up with no end product … was this the introduction of Tantric football to these shores? As long we don’t sell Kitson and replace him with Sting, eh?
The prize for most glaring miss of the first half was yet to be awarded, however. That came on 40: yet another United corner was cleared to Nacca, he whipped it in before the Pool defence could get out and Tiny Tom laid it into the path of the BGG, unmarked and unchallenged eight yards out in the middle of goal. Big Dave controlled it with one touch, then volleyed confidently and decisively over the bar. Drat, drat and triple drat: a dastardly miss in trying for the spectacular when an on-target scuff would surely have broken the deadlock. And what an appropriate note on which to end a first half which the hosts had dominated from start to finish, but as at Irthlingborough, they had not sealed with a bulge of the net. Would part two bring blessed relief for the United XI? Or would they have to pull somebody off?
Hartlepool replaced Williams (E) with Adam Boyd for the second period, but all else remained unchanged, United still taking the game to the opposition and the visitors continuing to soak up the pressure like something out of the Eighty-Foot Woman’s bathroom cabinet. Fleming, so unwilling to shoot in the first half, was first to have a go this time, firing weakly wide on 48, then Lil’ Luke had an effort charged down by Pool’s massed ranks.
On 50 Wanless headed down to Kitson, who almost surprised Williams with an excellent effort on the turn from 18 yards that the Teesside custodian did well to claw away for a corner. Then Tann broke down the right and his high cross appeared to be palmed off Kitson’s head by a Pool defender’s hand. Even as the amber hordes screamed for a penalty, Youngs latched on to it on the edge of the area, but with a clear and unpressured sight of goal, couldn’t beat Williams who blocked with his legs. Wolstenholme and assistants saw no offence, naturally.
Miss of the second half came barely two minutes later. Another good Riza run down the right saw his cross squirm all the way across goal to Guttridge, totally unmarked 12 yards out . SHOOT! we cried. He took a touch. SHOOT!! we cried again. He took another touch. SHOOT!!! we cried once more. He took yet another touch. FOR GOD’S SAKE, SHOOT!! we screamed. He shot, far too late, Williams having advanced ten yards from goal in the time it had taken Luke to fiddle about with it to his own satisfaction. SHOOT GUTTRIDGE! We all thought, sorrowfully, as the ball was smothered away to safety. It really was going to another one of those days, wasn’t it?
United continued to press, Pool with the odd break such as Boyd’s chip over on 53 and a free kick on 56 from a non-foul by Murray on Boyd that even the travelling support couldn’t believe the ref had given. With most of his teammates crowding the box, Humphreys went for glory with an attempted curler from the angle that flew embarrassingly in the general direction of Marshall’s Airport. Probably mucked up their radar good and proper.
A minute later Riza broke down the right again, cut inside Robinson and was about to go clear of the whole defence when brutally and cynically hacked down by Lee, who was lucky to see only yellow. Pool then broke again with Richardson, but his angled drive across goal was again well tipped round by Brennan, who repeated the trick from a Boyd effort three minutes later.
Brennan made a third vital save on 72 when Humphreys almost walked through from a Boyd pass, his toe-poke blocked by the Terpsichorean custodian’s stand-in's feet. Shaggy rang the changes on 75, replacing Guttridge and Nacca with Bridges and Revell, Aggy going to right wing back while Fleming moved to the left to accommodate Bridgo in midfield. United’s most dangerous outlet was still Riza, to whose pace Pool had no answer, but on several occasions he sprinted away only for the bounce of the lively ball to defeat him just as it looked he might be in on goal. He came closest with an attempted cross which he miscued on to the roof of the net, but a match as excitable as Neil Warnock on a caffeine drip still couldn’t produce a goal.
The corners hadn’t improved with Guttridge’s withdrawal: Bridges’ first effort on 83 curled away from the penalty area to find Fleming alone at the edge of the D, but his first-time half-volley trundled embarrassingly wide. This was capped a minute later by The Worst Corner In The World … Ever! when young Bridges again ignored the massed bodies in the box to outswing one to well outside the area where there was not an amber shirt within ten yards, setting up the visitors for the easiest breakaway they could have wished for. I think I know where some practice might be called for on Monday, Prof.
Both teams blazed away at each other in the closing minutes, but to no avail. Today, goals would be about as plentiful as good acting and believable storylines in Footballer’s Wives. The visitors were delighted with the outcome, having stopped United scoring (again) by a mixture of luck, skill, effort and opposition wastefulness that will see them promoted if this was a typical day out for them. For the U’s, there was great credit for their injury-hit side in having so thoroughly dominated a good team, and pleasure in the success of the ‘new’ system, tempered with disappointment that so many chances went begging. We’ve now dropped to 12th place, and games in hand or not, the winning trail needs to be rediscovered sooner rather than later. Brisbane Road next, then Feethams: we need points from both, ideally all six. Never mind the caviar of the LDV, let’s get some League bread and butter down us!
Brennan 8 – Did all he had to do well, and kept a clean sheet on his debut. Couldn’t ask for more.
Nacca 8 – Absolutely splendid performance from young Franco, tackling and covering tigerishly and supporting the attack well to boot.
Guttridge 7 – Good game in an unfamiliar position, marred only by wasteful shooting and usual inability to get most corners above knee height.
Tann 7 – Reliable and alert as we have come to expect.
Duncan 7 – Usual uncompromising no-nonsenseness.
Murray 7 – Another good display, all the more impressive when you consider he was suffering from gastric flu!
Fleming 7 – A real curate’s egg from the Terrier, mixing ’n’ matching busy tackling and good long passing with some frankly diabolical shorter ‘passing’. Maybe he had the wrong contact lenses in.
Wanless 8 – Up-an-at-’em stuff from Captain Fantastic, leading from the front as normal.
Youngs 8 – Proved after Tuesday’s anonymous effort that he really can play ‘in the hole’, probing and prompting as if to the role born.
Riza 8 – Constant thorn in ’Pool’s side with his untouchable pace and some mighty fine wing play. Combined well with Kitson.
Kitson 8 – Fulcrum of the attack as usual, had a good understanding with Riza and only spoilt it with his glaring miss just before half-time.
Bridges 7 – Slotted in comfortably in the middle.
Revell 7 – Decent contribution from yet another unfamiliar position.
Soundtrack of the day: Wildhearts/Stormy In The North, Karma In The South
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Galliard. ‘This lively old dance has its origin in 15th century Lombardy, Italy, and soon spread to France where it was first known as the Cing-pas, or five steps. It was a sprightly, ‘pantomimic’ dance done in triple time, referred to as ‘the dance with uncontrollable zest’ as well as a courting or teasing dance. Spectators would egg the dancers on to ‘tease’ harder, as they performed lively leg thrusts and leaps in all directions, and it must have been almost as much fun to watch as it was to dance! Galliard was old English for ‘strapping man’ while ‘Gaillarde’ was French for ‘strapping woman’, so some of our littl’uns like Luke and Omer would have had no chance in competing in the courting – although I hear Franco likes his ladies to be on the ‘buxom’ side, irrespective of their looks! Only joking, Franco. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: There was more frustration at the Abbey than at a eunuchs’ convention as United outplayed the leaders for 90 minutes but failed to take a single chance to allow Hartlepool to become the only team to give us a double shut-out this season. Waste not, want not, boys; let’s hope our profligacy doesn’t leave us wanting for promotion points come the end of the season.
Man of the match: Tom Youngs. Back to his best, linking midfield and attack with energy and intelligence. He’s got a football brain where so many others just have the brain of a football.
Ref watch: Wolstenholme 3. Weirdest ref of the season, giving numerous free-kicks for non-existent ‘fouls’ that not even the players could see, then ignoring much more blatant indiscretions. Hope he gets over his morbid fear of giving penalties soon.
Welcome to Waste Of Money 2003, Cambridge City Council’s exciting week of exhibitions designed to show you, the public, just how much you can save the community and yourselves by cutting down on consumption in your everyday lives. Later on we will be showing you how to dramatically cut noise pollution in the home and at the same time find alternative sources of fuel by burning every boring, forgettable record by reality TV contestants, sponsored by our friends at Q103. Then we will be launching our rubbish relocation programme, which basically means transporting household and industrial waste and dumping it in Peterborough where no one will notice anyway. In fact, it will improve most of it! But first, to really ram our message home, we proudly present a 90-minute display of wastefulness by our wonderful local football team, Cambridge United. Take it away, boys!
The Mighty U’s have rather taken their eye off the League ball of late, distracted by the latent glitz and heady glamour of Millwall and the LDV Vans Trophy, together with the postponement of a few matches which has left them lying in mid-table, albeit with games in hand which would take them back into the top five … if won. Today was a time to refocus, with a chance of revenge to boot, with the visit of (starting to) runaway leaders Hartlepool, where United ran aground 0-3 a few weeks ago. We welcomed back Ritchie Humphreys, a perceptive chap who saw where John Beck was taking the club and got the hell out while the going was good, and Marcus Richardson, immortal hero of Stoke and ever more shall be so.
The omens were not good for the hosts, with ever-present keeper Dancing Shaun and two best defenders Angus and Goodhind, as well as Shane Tudor, missing through injury, so it was time for Shaggy and the Prof to shuffle the pack once more and see what kind of hand Fate would deal us. Martin Brennan lined up for his League debut between the sticks, still something of a unknown quantity after some untroubled run-outs in pre-season friendlies and Cup sub appearances that wouldn’t have stretched Thora Hird. Much.
Doubtless partly to protect him, the wing back system was retained from Tuesday’s mudbath at Griffin Park, this time with Nacca and, surprisingly, Guttridge at wing back with Adam Tann moving inside alongside Duncan and Murray. The Terrier partnered Captain Fantastic in the middle, Tiny Tom remained ‘in the hole’ and Riza The Geezer was restored up front with the BGG after his golden exploits last time out. ‘So’ Tony Scully appeared on the bench, now sporting a new-look bright red hairstyle. Sorry, Tony, you still look like Graham Norton, this time in a bathing cap …
Hartlepool have, by all accounts, fielded two ‘different’ teams this season, the one at home that goes for the jugular and the rather more pragmatic and prosaic away side that sits deeper, digs in and aims to grind out 1-0 wins. So that’s where we’ve been going wrong. True to form, United went for it from the start, roared on by another splendid 4,500-plus crowd, and they could and should have taken the lead after less than two minutes: Guttridge’s cross caused chaos, Nacca flicked it back in and it fell to Kitson, less than ten yards out, to help it towards the corner of the net. Somehow, keeper Anthony Williams flung himself across to paw it off the line when a goal seemed certain, then Wanless, following up from even closer range at the far post, incredibly managed to poke it wide under pressure from a gaggle of defenders. It wasn’t going to one of those days again, was it? Don’t answer that.
Pool responded a minute later with a free header by Humphreys from Darrell Clarke’s cross that bounced across the six-yard box and wide of the far post as the helpless Brennan watched with a mixture of hope and dread. But it was United who had the upper hand possession-wise, the wing backs getting up and down well, Kitson and Riza looking a menacing pairing up top and Youngs pulling the strings perceptively just behind as Wanless and Fleming flung themselves tirelessly around midfield.
The only area in which they lacked quality was in the final ball, too many corners and crosses under-hit or inaccurate, and the most promising openings created through neat interpassing on the floor. Mark Tinkler blasted just wide from 30 yards on ten, but traffic was mainly as one-way as last week’s FTSE 100 index. Sell! Sell! Panic! Panic! Wibble! Wibble!
Kitson sent Riza away on a characteristic, scurrying run on 14, but just as he burst into the penalty area he was felled by the outstretched leg of Chris Westwood, Looked a stone-cold spot kick to amber eyes, but ref Eddie Wolstenholme wasn’t interested. The beastly cad. What would his father, Kenneth, have said? Kitson had a 20-yarder blocked by Graeme Lee soon after, but on 18 the hosts were again reminded of the visitors’ pedigree when a distinctly offside-looking Richardson sprinted (well, lolloped) clear to shoot across goal from 12 yards out, but young Brennan did well to stand strong and palm it around the post. He safely clutched Lee’s header from the subsequent corner, and confidence levels in the No 13 grew all around the Abbey.
Wannie tried a blaster from 25 yards on 21, but his left-footer was decidedly not one of his specials as it sailed high, wide and horrid, but United kept up the pressure as Riza and Guttridge both had on-target shots blocked by flying bodies. Wolstenholme enraged the amber hordes still more when he penalised Duncan for a tackle on Eifion Williams in which he won the ball as cleanly as a Cliff Richard album, but Pool could only manage a Clarke free kick well wide as United took up the reigns again.
Guttridge’s left-wing cross on 28 was fumbled by Williams (A) under pressure from Kitson and it fell to ‘One Hairy’ Nacca not six yards out to nod a stooping header into the empty net … until Mark Robinson appeared from absolutely nowhere to hack it off the line in front of our disbelieving eyes. All that monkey-chasing must make these North-East boys quicker than the average whippet.
Williams (E) picked up the first card of the afternoon just before the half-hour for an horrendous late clattering of Murray, then he tested Brennan’s handling with a long-ranger that troubled the keeper not one jot. On 34 Kitson demonstrated his growing understanding with Riza, as well his own superb vision and touch, when he chested a pass down on halfway, glanced up to see The Geezer’s forward run, half-turned and sent a superb ball over the defence’s heads into his colleague’s path. Only an unhelpful bounce robbed Omer of a shooting chance as it was whisked off his toe for corner.
Lil’ Luke’s kick found Wannie’s head less than ten yards out, but unaccountably he rammed it well over when we might have expected better. Shortly after, he latched on to Fleming’s free kick with a typical far-post header, but instead of a teammate, he found only the side netting. So much build-up with no end product … was this the introduction of Tantric football to these shores? As long we don’t sell Kitson and replace him with Sting, eh?
The prize for most glaring miss of the first half was yet to be awarded, however. That came on 40: yet another United corner was cleared to Nacca, he whipped it in before the Pool defence could get out and Tiny Tom laid it into the path of the BGG, unmarked and unchallenged eight yards out in the middle of goal. Big Dave controlled it with one touch, then volleyed confidently and decisively over the bar. Drat, drat and triple drat: a dastardly miss in trying for the spectacular when an on-target scuff would surely have broken the deadlock. And what an appropriate note on which to end a first half which the hosts had dominated from start to finish, but as at Irthlingborough, they had not sealed with a bulge of the net. Would part two bring blessed relief for the United XI? Or would they have to pull somebody off?
Hartlepool replaced Williams (E) with Adam Boyd for the second period, but all else remained unchanged, United still taking the game to the opposition and the visitors continuing to soak up the pressure like something out of the Eighty-Foot Woman’s bathroom cabinet. Fleming, so unwilling to shoot in the first half, was first to have a go this time, firing weakly wide on 48, then Lil’ Luke had an effort charged down by Pool’s massed ranks.
On 50 Wanless headed down to Kitson, who almost surprised Williams with an excellent effort on the turn from 18 yards that the Teesside custodian did well to claw away for a corner. Then Tann broke down the right and his high cross appeared to be palmed off Kitson’s head by a Pool defender’s hand. Even as the amber hordes screamed for a penalty, Youngs latched on to it on the edge of the area, but with a clear and unpressured sight of goal, couldn’t beat Williams who blocked with his legs. Wolstenholme and assistants saw no offence, naturally.
Miss of the second half came barely two minutes later. Another good Riza run down the right saw his cross squirm all the way across goal to Guttridge, totally unmarked 12 yards out . SHOOT! we cried. He took a touch. SHOOT!! we cried again. He took another touch. SHOOT!!! we cried once more. He took yet another touch. FOR GOD’S SAKE, SHOOT!! we screamed. He shot, far too late, Williams having advanced ten yards from goal in the time it had taken Luke to fiddle about with it to his own satisfaction. SHOOT GUTTRIDGE! We all thought, sorrowfully, as the ball was smothered away to safety. It really was going to another one of those days, wasn’t it?
United continued to press, Pool with the odd break such as Boyd’s chip over on 53 and a free kick on 56 from a non-foul by Murray on Boyd that even the travelling support couldn’t believe the ref had given. With most of his teammates crowding the box, Humphreys went for glory with an attempted curler from the angle that flew embarrassingly in the general direction of Marshall’s Airport. Probably mucked up their radar good and proper.
A minute later Riza broke down the right again, cut inside Robinson and was about to go clear of the whole defence when brutally and cynically hacked down by Lee, who was lucky to see only yellow. Pool then broke again with Richardson, but his angled drive across goal was again well tipped round by Brennan, who repeated the trick from a Boyd effort three minutes later.
Brennan made a third vital save on 72 when Humphreys almost walked through from a Boyd pass, his toe-poke blocked by the Terpsichorean custodian’s stand-in's feet. Shaggy rang the changes on 75, replacing Guttridge and Nacca with Bridges and Revell, Aggy going to right wing back while Fleming moved to the left to accommodate Bridgo in midfield. United’s most dangerous outlet was still Riza, to whose pace Pool had no answer, but on several occasions he sprinted away only for the bounce of the lively ball to defeat him just as it looked he might be in on goal. He came closest with an attempted cross which he miscued on to the roof of the net, but a match as excitable as Neil Warnock on a caffeine drip still couldn’t produce a goal.
The corners hadn’t improved with Guttridge’s withdrawal: Bridges’ first effort on 83 curled away from the penalty area to find Fleming alone at the edge of the D, but his first-time half-volley trundled embarrassingly wide. This was capped a minute later by The Worst Corner In The World … Ever! when young Bridges again ignored the massed bodies in the box to outswing one to well outside the area where there was not an amber shirt within ten yards, setting up the visitors for the easiest breakaway they could have wished for. I think I know where some practice might be called for on Monday, Prof.
Both teams blazed away at each other in the closing minutes, but to no avail. Today, goals would be about as plentiful as good acting and believable storylines in Footballer’s Wives. The visitors were delighted with the outcome, having stopped United scoring (again) by a mixture of luck, skill, effort and opposition wastefulness that will see them promoted if this was a typical day out for them. For the U’s, there was great credit for their injury-hit side in having so thoroughly dominated a good team, and pleasure in the success of the ‘new’ system, tempered with disappointment that so many chances went begging. We’ve now dropped to 12th place, and games in hand or not, the winning trail needs to be rediscovered sooner rather than later. Brisbane Road next, then Feethams: we need points from both, ideally all six. Never mind the caviar of the LDV, let’s get some League bread and butter down us!
Brennan 8 – Did all he had to do well, and kept a clean sheet on his debut. Couldn’t ask for more.
Nacca 8 – Absolutely splendid performance from young Franco, tackling and covering tigerishly and supporting the attack well to boot.
Guttridge 7 – Good game in an unfamiliar position, marred only by wasteful shooting and usual inability to get most corners above knee height.
Tann 7 – Reliable and alert as we have come to expect.
Duncan 7 – Usual uncompromising no-nonsenseness.
Murray 7 – Another good display, all the more impressive when you consider he was suffering from gastric flu!
Fleming 7 – A real curate’s egg from the Terrier, mixing ’n’ matching busy tackling and good long passing with some frankly diabolical shorter ‘passing’. Maybe he had the wrong contact lenses in.
Wanless 8 – Up-an-at-’em stuff from Captain Fantastic, leading from the front as normal.
Youngs 8 – Proved after Tuesday’s anonymous effort that he really can play ‘in the hole’, probing and prompting as if to the role born.
Riza 8 – Constant thorn in ’Pool’s side with his untouchable pace and some mighty fine wing play. Combined well with Kitson.
Kitson 8 – Fulcrum of the attack as usual, had a good understanding with Riza and only spoilt it with his glaring miss just before half-time.
Bridges 7 – Slotted in comfortably in the middle.
Revell 7 – Decent contribution from yet another unfamiliar position.
Soundtrack of the day: Wildhearts/Stormy In The North, Karma In The South
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Galliard. ‘This lively old dance has its origin in 15th century Lombardy, Italy, and soon spread to France where it was first known as the Cing-pas, or five steps. It was a sprightly, ‘pantomimic’ dance done in triple time, referred to as ‘the dance with uncontrollable zest’ as well as a courting or teasing dance. Spectators would egg the dancers on to ‘tease’ harder, as they performed lively leg thrusts and leaps in all directions, and it must have been almost as much fun to watch as it was to dance! Galliard was old English for ‘strapping man’ while ‘Gaillarde’ was French for ‘strapping woman’, so some of our littl’uns like Luke and Omer would have had no chance in competing in the courting – although I hear Franco likes his ladies to be on the ‘buxom’ side, irrespective of their looks! Only joking, Franco. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: There was more frustration at the Abbey than at a eunuchs’ convention as United outplayed the leaders for 90 minutes but failed to take a single chance to allow Hartlepool to become the only team to give us a double shut-out this season. Waste not, want not, boys; let’s hope our profligacy doesn’t leave us wanting for promotion points come the end of the season.
Man of the match: Tom Youngs. Back to his best, linking midfield and attack with energy and intelligence. He’s got a football brain where so many others just have the brain of a football.
Ref watch: Wolstenholme 3. Weirdest ref of the season, giving numerous free-kicks for non-existent ‘fouls’ that not even the players could see, then ignoring much more blatant indiscretions. Hope he gets over his morbid fear of giving penalties soon.
Freddie Murray: gastric flu not pictured.
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Tuesday, 28 January 2003: Leyton Orient 1-1 United
The medic surveyed the gut-wrenching scene. All around him lay the wounded: ‘Springbok’ nursed a nasty head wound, ‘Geordie’ sported an horrendous cut above the eye, while ‘Angus’ clutched his leg in wincing pain as his old wound reopened under the strain. ‘The Turk’ had also suffered out there in the mud among the baying hordes, sporting another leg injury, while ‘Irish Fred’ lay spreadeagled, dizzied by the virus that threatened to spread throughout the troop as ‘Dancer’s’ influenza had done already. ‘So,’ rasped the medic’s Southern African tones, ‘how did this happen, Geordie?’ ‘Err … I gashed me head on the wife’s hairdressing equipment,’ the Northerner replied in high-pitched, apologetic tones. ‘Nelson Mandela!’ sighed Ant, ‘at least the rest of them did it in a local derby! This is like being back at the flaming rugby!’
The Mighty U’s have lacked a local derby this season. Rushden are too new and unfamiliar, the Cobblers too like us in their loathing for all things blue, while we can’t even dislike Brentford (much) now old Ron has cast them aside. So it fell to East End geezers the O’s to provide the suitably frazzled atmosphere, in a similar boat with no London club in their division this season and left with a choice of Southend (yawn) or our lot from the other end of the M11. Recent history helps, of course, with the defection of Big Fat Tommy and his mate, Thingy, still fairly recent in the mind, even though they have now gone on to, er, the dole. Shame.
Brisbane Road is now apparently called The Matchroom Stadium after chairman Honest Barry Hearn’s stable of faded has-been snooker players (Tony Meo, anyone?), but one look at the old place shows that Mohamed Al-Fayed he ain’t, the only noticeable improvement since we last visited being the construction of a new all-seater stand where the old away terrace and, latterly, car park used to be.
In a fit of remarkable largesse, United’s impressive 700+ contingent of away fans were allocated one whole side of the ground in a cavernously-roofed stand dotted with tatty backless seats with holes in them. Thankfully, the local stewards were the opposite of the some of the zombie jobsworths we’ve encountered this season and allowed the amber hordes to stand and chant uninterrupted by killjoy shouts of ‘sit down!’ Top marks.
Unusually, United fans have now occupied all four sides of the ground in (relatively) recent memory, having been allocated a lower terraced tier of the main stand last time when the away end was nothing but a yawning gap, while the remaining open terrace at the other end has also hosted away fans in its time. The elements remained reasonably kind to the sparse population of the covered end, holding off on rain although the wind was as cold and powerful as an ice cream enema. Unfortunately they didn’t deter the hosts’ mascot, a truly disturbing and indefinable red creature with flickering tongue, wings and a forked tail. So that’s what Tony Meo’s doing now.
The teams ran out to the toe-tapping sounds of the theme from The A-Team. Strange choice, a tune from a show about an ill-matched, eccentric and sporadically violent team of social misfits who … hang on, it’s perfect! At least they’ve dropped that revolting Croatian checkerboard strip. United’s team retained the wing back system from Saturday, but showed three changes in personnel, Stev Angus replacing Freddie Murray on the basis that he’s slightly less crocked, Wozza Goodhind in for Andy Duncan after the latter’s bizarre hairdressing accident, and Dancing Shaun back from flu for Martin Brennan.
The O’s team still has two ex-U’s in its line-up: ye olde Scott Barrett (39) still creaking around in goal, and Matt Joseph, locks long since shorn, marking Omer Riza in his role as the world's shortest centre back, part of a back three. He was making his 200th appearance for Orient; what a shame, his career seemed to promise so much once. As for the rest of the defectors … Billy Beall? Tony Richards? Shaun Howes? Not so dearly departed. There is one other ex-Cambridge connection, though, in the form of the hosts’ club chaplain, the Reverend Alan Comfort. Jesus saves, and Alan nets the rebounds, eh?
Orient started the better, soon spotting United’s weakness down their left in the shape of Luke Guttridge, a fine midfield player but not a natural defender. Andy Harris was to have a field day down that flank. The O’s threatened both via the wings and through the middle in the shape of big, bustling Jabo Ibehre, and on five the latter almost latched on to a ball over the top that Goodhind just managed to intercept into Row Z.
The action was lively without really threatening to trouble either keeper, Orient having more possession but kept at bay by United’s staunch rearguard. At the other end, BGG Kitson’s header from Riza’s cross was clutched comfortably by Barrett on 12, while three minutes later Riza latched on to a miscued backpass but chose to shoot from a narrow angle rather than cross to better-placed teammates. Barrett again saved without too much bother.
Billy Jones found himself in ref Williamson’s notebook on 17 with a foul on Riza, but Terrier Fleming’s free kick sailed lamely into Barrett’s arms. Then Orient began to get seriously on top, belying their recent form (0-3 at Carlisle!) with some neat, pacy football that kept United on the back foot. In fact, such was their pressure that the visitors began to defend increasingly deeper, Wanless and Fleming stationed on the edge of their own penalty box, Nacca and Guttridge withdrawn like conventional full-backs and Youngs and Kitson not much further up, with United relying on Riza’s pace to threaten on the break with balls over the top. Not quite the gameplan Shaggy and the Prof had had in mind at the start, I’ll wager.
The tricky John Martin blasted wide from long range, Lee Thorpe had an effort blocked and the ball pinged around the United area too often as cross after cross flew in, usually with a blue-shirted head on the end of it. On 25 Ibehre won a header not six yards out, only to be foiled by Marshall’s excellent reflex block, then Martin tried his luck from the edge of the area and saw his low fizzer hacked behind by Angus. As the onslaught continued, Matt Lockwood came thundering in on a clearance and saw his stoater knocked away by the Terpsichorean custodian, and somehow United survived another spell of pinball with goal intact. There was more confusion and uncertainty in the United box than in Zoe Ball’s love life.
Light relief for the amber hordes was provided by the linesman on their side, a gentleman who had the unhappy knack of never being level with play when an offside decision was required, but rather actually finding himself ahead of play time and again. How we chuckled when he gave a series of decisions against Orient’s forwards which were clearly wrong; how we cringed when he decided to even things up by keeping his flag down when equally badly placed and Ibehre was this time clearly offside. But United began to show some signs of recovery on the half hour when Riza galloped clear on to a pinpoint Kitson ball, only to be denied by a block from Barrett’s ample chest. And five minutes later, they took a frankly undeserved lead.
Guttridge got a left-wing corner past the first man for a change, and Barrett could only fumble it one-handed into his own six-yard box. In the unseemly scramble that followed Wanless got a touch, but it was Tiny Tom who appeared through the scrum to scramble home a tap-in under the bar. It was scrappier than the British troops’ equipment, but they all count the same.
More comedy ensued shortly afterwards as Martin challenged Marshall for a cross and flattened him in the process. As Shaun lay half-stunned, the home supporters moaned (they did a lot of that) that he was acting and moaned even more when Martin was booked for moaning, er, dissent. The free kick was advanced ten yards, but Marshall, not quite with it, seemed to think it was a free drop or something and started to dribble it up the pitch. The ref, who could technically have waved play on, instead motioned the United No 1 to take it again, but Shaun misunderstood and took the ball back ten yards. This Brian Rixesque farce of misunderstanding was eventually resolved when the ref stopped blowing pointlessly on his whistle and actually explained what was required, as the fans behind the goal went purple with apoplexy at what they thought was time-wasting. Nothing so intelligent, guys ’n’ gals.
Riza could have made it 2-0 on 38 when he latched on to a poor defensive header from a corner, but he narrowly missed the target from 12 yards, then it was Marshall’s turn to show his true worth with a full-stretch dive to foil Brazier on 40. Riza menaced again, running on to another pinpoint Kitson pass to leave the hapless O’s defence gasping but blasting disappointingly wide on 42. If he could hit the target once in a while he’d be dangerous. The action continued all the way up to half-time as Lockwood and Ibehre both spurned chances before a breathless first period careered to an end. United had got away with it so far like a Manchester United player avoiding a speeding ticket. Again.
The novelty of having the full length of the pitch at their disposal led many United followers to move from one end to the other during the interval, to stand nearest the end their team would attack. Just like the olden days. There was little else to do at half-time as the geniuses in the Laurie Cunningham Bar had run out of hot food. But we were treated to another run-out for the theme from The A-Team before part two started. Not much consolation.
The match restarted much the same as it had finished previously, Orient pressing forward, United defending deep and using Riza’s unmatchable speed to threaten on the break. Ibehre tested Marshall on 48 with a 20-yarder, while the ref proved he was as accurate as his linesman by watching Nacca get fouled then giving a free kick against him. Baffling. United started getting a little more possession, and could well have scored on 55 when Kitson’s fantastic, subtle reverse pass found Riza running across and behind the O’s back line, but just as he was about to pull the trigger with only Barrett to beat on the penalty spot, he was robbed by a magnificent saving tackle by Dean Smith. If only he had shot first time.
The hosts made two changes on 62, ex-Brentford longhair Carl Hutchings replacing Joseph and new boy Gary Alexander coming on for the skilful-looking Martin. But it was United who went close again, this time Riza the provider as he bamboozled two defenders wide right, got to the byline then saw his low cross somehow fall just behind the in-rushing Kitson and Fleming. At the other end, Ibehre’s close-range back-header was clutched by Marshall, and United’s stoic defenders were showing the scars of battle, Goodhind leaving the pitch to receive treatment for a head injury and Angus beginning to limp badly. Before they could make a change, the hosts beat them to it by introducing Chris Tate for Thorpe. And the visitors paid the price for delaying Angus’ replacement when Orient equalised two minutes later.
Lockwood’s lofted forward pass found the United defence and Orient attack strung across the 18-yard line in a well-spaced line. The ball dropped on to Tate’s head, and with his first touch, he laid it into Ibehre’s path to take on and rifle high past Marshall’s right shoulder. Would the marking have been tighter with a fully fit defence? Only Mystic Meg knows. Well, actually she hasn’t got a clue as usual, but she could waffle vaguely long enough to convince you otherwise, if you turned your brain off for a few minutes, transfixed by her frightening inch-thick make-up.
Angus departed the field, replaced by the scarcely fitter Murray, and Orient went for the winner. The visitors still managed the odd break, Kitson heading a promising Guttridge cross over from eight yards as it just failed to drop sufficiently for him to get over it, while at the other end Lockwood’s long-range free kick was well gathered low by Marshall when it would have been easy to spill it at the feet of an incoming striker. Riza broke again, cutting inside to take three men out of the game then running out of room before the clearance fell to Nacca wide right, his cross claimed by Barrett. First one way, then the other: this was more uncertain than Robbie Fowler’s transfer saga. And a darned sight more interesting.
Six minutes from time Riza withdrew, feeling the back of his leg after a display of phenomenal running and dribbling at pace only marred by the lack of an end result. Dan Chillingworth stood in. Danger then threatened at the United end as Murray and Alexander chased after a long ball over the top. There was pushing and shoving from both men, Alexander first but Murray most blatantly as he brought his man down before he toppled over himself. The crowd bayed for red, but Goodhind had been running back inside them so he only got a yellow as he was not last man. The home fans’ already low opinion of the man in the middle plummeted to a new FTSEsque low.
Kitson sent Chilli away but his shot flew over from 20 yards, then it was time for the inevitable M11 Derby Bundle. Murray was flattened by the crude Tate’s studs-up aerial challenge, then Tate waded in for more; colleagues from both sides stormed in for a handbag-fest, some thought they saw a punch from Tate, but his punishment was only a lenient yellow. Lucky boy. Bridges replaced Nacca on full time, Smith exited with a head injury to sum up the thud ’n’ blunder proceedings, and the final save went fittingly to Marshall as he stopped Alexander’s drive.
Then at last it was all over, a real old-fashioned rollicking derby in all but geography. Oh all right, it was near enough. Not a great performance by the U’s, but still tinged with disappointment that a lead had been lost; however, Orient had proved impressive opposition and a draw was a fair result. Remarkably, the point sent United up four places; now we need some wins to keep up the momentum. Feethams looks like as good as place as any …
Marshall 8 – How times change. The sight of the Dancemeister in goal is now a comforting one, and he was as alert and safe as ever on his return.
Nacca 7 – Thoroughly competent game at wing back and he seems to get better with every game.
Guttridge 6 – No denying his effort, but equally no denying that Lil’ Luke sure ain’t no wing back. Struggled defensively throughout and Orient got at United time and again down his flank.
Tann 7 – Sound and reliable as usual.
Goodhind 7 – Hub of the defence and battled heroically throughout.
Angus 7 – Incapable of a bad game but looked as if he had been rushed back before fully ready.
Fleming 7 – Busy slog of a performance all over the pitch.
Wanless 7 – Also put the work in, although he and the Terrier were stationed too deep for much of the match to do any creative damage.
Youngs 7 – Another who earned his money but spent most of his time playing further back than he would have liked.
Riza 8 – No 1 menace to an Orient defence that simply had no answer to his devastating pace and running.
Kitson 8 – Like most of his colleagues, played too far back but was still fully involved and set up Riza again and again with searching through balls.
Murray 6 – Below par health-wise and understandably struggled against a rampant home attack.
Chillingworth 7 – Put himself about well in his brief cameo.
Bridges 6 – Barely had time to get his boots muddy.
Soundtrack of the day: Yo La Tengo/Nuclear War
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Quadrille of the Lancers. ‘The slow, graceful Quadrille originates from 1820s France and was introduced to England some 30 years later. The Lancers Quadrille was similar to the French one and contrasted greatly with the more animated American version. It consisted of five figures, and when done well was a charming and genteel spectacle. At the time it also showed a change in social customs, in that the man no longer advanced towards the woman with the courteous and rather trembling regard of the time, but treated her more like a proper partner. However, they didn’t go so far as to just steam in and sweep the woman off her feet and drag her into the corner, like certain centre backs I could mention! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United scrapped their way to a battling point in a game that felt like a local derby, with all its attendant flying tackles, melees, handbags, hysterical crowd and bizarre refereeing. It was disappointing to surrender a lead, but the hosts looked a much better team than their League place suggests, and to avoid defeat in such a game while not playing especially well at least promises better things to come.
Man of the match: Omer Riza. So many superb runs that laid waste to the Orient defence. Just a couple of final touches away from brilliance.
Ref watch: Williamson 6. Looked OK to start with but gradually deteriorated throughout the match. Lost all control by the end.
The medic surveyed the gut-wrenching scene. All around him lay the wounded: ‘Springbok’ nursed a nasty head wound, ‘Geordie’ sported an horrendous cut above the eye, while ‘Angus’ clutched his leg in wincing pain as his old wound reopened under the strain. ‘The Turk’ had also suffered out there in the mud among the baying hordes, sporting another leg injury, while ‘Irish Fred’ lay spreadeagled, dizzied by the virus that threatened to spread throughout the troop as ‘Dancer’s’ influenza had done already. ‘So,’ rasped the medic’s Southern African tones, ‘how did this happen, Geordie?’ ‘Err … I gashed me head on the wife’s hairdressing equipment,’ the Northerner replied in high-pitched, apologetic tones. ‘Nelson Mandela!’ sighed Ant, ‘at least the rest of them did it in a local derby! This is like being back at the flaming rugby!’
The Mighty U’s have lacked a local derby this season. Rushden are too new and unfamiliar, the Cobblers too like us in their loathing for all things blue, while we can’t even dislike Brentford (much) now old Ron has cast them aside. So it fell to East End geezers the O’s to provide the suitably frazzled atmosphere, in a similar boat with no London club in their division this season and left with a choice of Southend (yawn) or our lot from the other end of the M11. Recent history helps, of course, with the defection of Big Fat Tommy and his mate, Thingy, still fairly recent in the mind, even though they have now gone on to, er, the dole. Shame.
Brisbane Road is now apparently called The Matchroom Stadium after chairman Honest Barry Hearn’s stable of faded has-been snooker players (Tony Meo, anyone?), but one look at the old place shows that Mohamed Al-Fayed he ain’t, the only noticeable improvement since we last visited being the construction of a new all-seater stand where the old away terrace and, latterly, car park used to be.
In a fit of remarkable largesse, United’s impressive 700+ contingent of away fans were allocated one whole side of the ground in a cavernously-roofed stand dotted with tatty backless seats with holes in them. Thankfully, the local stewards were the opposite of the some of the zombie jobsworths we’ve encountered this season and allowed the amber hordes to stand and chant uninterrupted by killjoy shouts of ‘sit down!’ Top marks.
Unusually, United fans have now occupied all four sides of the ground in (relatively) recent memory, having been allocated a lower terraced tier of the main stand last time when the away end was nothing but a yawning gap, while the remaining open terrace at the other end has also hosted away fans in its time. The elements remained reasonably kind to the sparse population of the covered end, holding off on rain although the wind was as cold and powerful as an ice cream enema. Unfortunately they didn’t deter the hosts’ mascot, a truly disturbing and indefinable red creature with flickering tongue, wings and a forked tail. So that’s what Tony Meo’s doing now.
The teams ran out to the toe-tapping sounds of the theme from The A-Team. Strange choice, a tune from a show about an ill-matched, eccentric and sporadically violent team of social misfits who … hang on, it’s perfect! At least they’ve dropped that revolting Croatian checkerboard strip. United’s team retained the wing back system from Saturday, but showed three changes in personnel, Stev Angus replacing Freddie Murray on the basis that he’s slightly less crocked, Wozza Goodhind in for Andy Duncan after the latter’s bizarre hairdressing accident, and Dancing Shaun back from flu for Martin Brennan.
The O’s team still has two ex-U’s in its line-up: ye olde Scott Barrett (39) still creaking around in goal, and Matt Joseph, locks long since shorn, marking Omer Riza in his role as the world's shortest centre back, part of a back three. He was making his 200th appearance for Orient; what a shame, his career seemed to promise so much once. As for the rest of the defectors … Billy Beall? Tony Richards? Shaun Howes? Not so dearly departed. There is one other ex-Cambridge connection, though, in the form of the hosts’ club chaplain, the Reverend Alan Comfort. Jesus saves, and Alan nets the rebounds, eh?
Orient started the better, soon spotting United’s weakness down their left in the shape of Luke Guttridge, a fine midfield player but not a natural defender. Andy Harris was to have a field day down that flank. The O’s threatened both via the wings and through the middle in the shape of big, bustling Jabo Ibehre, and on five the latter almost latched on to a ball over the top that Goodhind just managed to intercept into Row Z.
The action was lively without really threatening to trouble either keeper, Orient having more possession but kept at bay by United’s staunch rearguard. At the other end, BGG Kitson’s header from Riza’s cross was clutched comfortably by Barrett on 12, while three minutes later Riza latched on to a miscued backpass but chose to shoot from a narrow angle rather than cross to better-placed teammates. Barrett again saved without too much bother.
Billy Jones found himself in ref Williamson’s notebook on 17 with a foul on Riza, but Terrier Fleming’s free kick sailed lamely into Barrett’s arms. Then Orient began to get seriously on top, belying their recent form (0-3 at Carlisle!) with some neat, pacy football that kept United on the back foot. In fact, such was their pressure that the visitors began to defend increasingly deeper, Wanless and Fleming stationed on the edge of their own penalty box, Nacca and Guttridge withdrawn like conventional full-backs and Youngs and Kitson not much further up, with United relying on Riza’s pace to threaten on the break with balls over the top. Not quite the gameplan Shaggy and the Prof had had in mind at the start, I’ll wager.
The tricky John Martin blasted wide from long range, Lee Thorpe had an effort blocked and the ball pinged around the United area too often as cross after cross flew in, usually with a blue-shirted head on the end of it. On 25 Ibehre won a header not six yards out, only to be foiled by Marshall’s excellent reflex block, then Martin tried his luck from the edge of the area and saw his low fizzer hacked behind by Angus. As the onslaught continued, Matt Lockwood came thundering in on a clearance and saw his stoater knocked away by the Terpsichorean custodian, and somehow United survived another spell of pinball with goal intact. There was more confusion and uncertainty in the United box than in Zoe Ball’s love life.
Light relief for the amber hordes was provided by the linesman on their side, a gentleman who had the unhappy knack of never being level with play when an offside decision was required, but rather actually finding himself ahead of play time and again. How we chuckled when he gave a series of decisions against Orient’s forwards which were clearly wrong; how we cringed when he decided to even things up by keeping his flag down when equally badly placed and Ibehre was this time clearly offside. But United began to show some signs of recovery on the half hour when Riza galloped clear on to a pinpoint Kitson ball, only to be denied by a block from Barrett’s ample chest. And five minutes later, they took a frankly undeserved lead.
Guttridge got a left-wing corner past the first man for a change, and Barrett could only fumble it one-handed into his own six-yard box. In the unseemly scramble that followed Wanless got a touch, but it was Tiny Tom who appeared through the scrum to scramble home a tap-in under the bar. It was scrappier than the British troops’ equipment, but they all count the same.
More comedy ensued shortly afterwards as Martin challenged Marshall for a cross and flattened him in the process. As Shaun lay half-stunned, the home supporters moaned (they did a lot of that) that he was acting and moaned even more when Martin was booked for moaning, er, dissent. The free kick was advanced ten yards, but Marshall, not quite with it, seemed to think it was a free drop or something and started to dribble it up the pitch. The ref, who could technically have waved play on, instead motioned the United No 1 to take it again, but Shaun misunderstood and took the ball back ten yards. This Brian Rixesque farce of misunderstanding was eventually resolved when the ref stopped blowing pointlessly on his whistle and actually explained what was required, as the fans behind the goal went purple with apoplexy at what they thought was time-wasting. Nothing so intelligent, guys ’n’ gals.
Riza could have made it 2-0 on 38 when he latched on to a poor defensive header from a corner, but he narrowly missed the target from 12 yards, then it was Marshall’s turn to show his true worth with a full-stretch dive to foil Brazier on 40. Riza menaced again, running on to another pinpoint Kitson pass to leave the hapless O’s defence gasping but blasting disappointingly wide on 42. If he could hit the target once in a while he’d be dangerous. The action continued all the way up to half-time as Lockwood and Ibehre both spurned chances before a breathless first period careered to an end. United had got away with it so far like a Manchester United player avoiding a speeding ticket. Again.
The novelty of having the full length of the pitch at their disposal led many United followers to move from one end to the other during the interval, to stand nearest the end their team would attack. Just like the olden days. There was little else to do at half-time as the geniuses in the Laurie Cunningham Bar had run out of hot food. But we were treated to another run-out for the theme from The A-Team before part two started. Not much consolation.
The match restarted much the same as it had finished previously, Orient pressing forward, United defending deep and using Riza’s unmatchable speed to threaten on the break. Ibehre tested Marshall on 48 with a 20-yarder, while the ref proved he was as accurate as his linesman by watching Nacca get fouled then giving a free kick against him. Baffling. United started getting a little more possession, and could well have scored on 55 when Kitson’s fantastic, subtle reverse pass found Riza running across and behind the O’s back line, but just as he was about to pull the trigger with only Barrett to beat on the penalty spot, he was robbed by a magnificent saving tackle by Dean Smith. If only he had shot first time.
The hosts made two changes on 62, ex-Brentford longhair Carl Hutchings replacing Joseph and new boy Gary Alexander coming on for the skilful-looking Martin. But it was United who went close again, this time Riza the provider as he bamboozled two defenders wide right, got to the byline then saw his low cross somehow fall just behind the in-rushing Kitson and Fleming. At the other end, Ibehre’s close-range back-header was clutched by Marshall, and United’s stoic defenders were showing the scars of battle, Goodhind leaving the pitch to receive treatment for a head injury and Angus beginning to limp badly. Before they could make a change, the hosts beat them to it by introducing Chris Tate for Thorpe. And the visitors paid the price for delaying Angus’ replacement when Orient equalised two minutes later.
Lockwood’s lofted forward pass found the United defence and Orient attack strung across the 18-yard line in a well-spaced line. The ball dropped on to Tate’s head, and with his first touch, he laid it into Ibehre’s path to take on and rifle high past Marshall’s right shoulder. Would the marking have been tighter with a fully fit defence? Only Mystic Meg knows. Well, actually she hasn’t got a clue as usual, but she could waffle vaguely long enough to convince you otherwise, if you turned your brain off for a few minutes, transfixed by her frightening inch-thick make-up.
Angus departed the field, replaced by the scarcely fitter Murray, and Orient went for the winner. The visitors still managed the odd break, Kitson heading a promising Guttridge cross over from eight yards as it just failed to drop sufficiently for him to get over it, while at the other end Lockwood’s long-range free kick was well gathered low by Marshall when it would have been easy to spill it at the feet of an incoming striker. Riza broke again, cutting inside to take three men out of the game then running out of room before the clearance fell to Nacca wide right, his cross claimed by Barrett. First one way, then the other: this was more uncertain than Robbie Fowler’s transfer saga. And a darned sight more interesting.
Six minutes from time Riza withdrew, feeling the back of his leg after a display of phenomenal running and dribbling at pace only marred by the lack of an end result. Dan Chillingworth stood in. Danger then threatened at the United end as Murray and Alexander chased after a long ball over the top. There was pushing and shoving from both men, Alexander first but Murray most blatantly as he brought his man down before he toppled over himself. The crowd bayed for red, but Goodhind had been running back inside them so he only got a yellow as he was not last man. The home fans’ already low opinion of the man in the middle plummeted to a new FTSEsque low.
Kitson sent Chilli away but his shot flew over from 20 yards, then it was time for the inevitable M11 Derby Bundle. Murray was flattened by the crude Tate’s studs-up aerial challenge, then Tate waded in for more; colleagues from both sides stormed in for a handbag-fest, some thought they saw a punch from Tate, but his punishment was only a lenient yellow. Lucky boy. Bridges replaced Nacca on full time, Smith exited with a head injury to sum up the thud ’n’ blunder proceedings, and the final save went fittingly to Marshall as he stopped Alexander’s drive.
Then at last it was all over, a real old-fashioned rollicking derby in all but geography. Oh all right, it was near enough. Not a great performance by the U’s, but still tinged with disappointment that a lead had been lost; however, Orient had proved impressive opposition and a draw was a fair result. Remarkably, the point sent United up four places; now we need some wins to keep up the momentum. Feethams looks like as good as place as any …
Marshall 8 – How times change. The sight of the Dancemeister in goal is now a comforting one, and he was as alert and safe as ever on his return.
Nacca 7 – Thoroughly competent game at wing back and he seems to get better with every game.
Guttridge 6 – No denying his effort, but equally no denying that Lil’ Luke sure ain’t no wing back. Struggled defensively throughout and Orient got at United time and again down his flank.
Tann 7 – Sound and reliable as usual.
Goodhind 7 – Hub of the defence and battled heroically throughout.
Angus 7 – Incapable of a bad game but looked as if he had been rushed back before fully ready.
Fleming 7 – Busy slog of a performance all over the pitch.
Wanless 7 – Also put the work in, although he and the Terrier were stationed too deep for much of the match to do any creative damage.
Youngs 7 – Another who earned his money but spent most of his time playing further back than he would have liked.
Riza 8 – No 1 menace to an Orient defence that simply had no answer to his devastating pace and running.
Kitson 8 – Like most of his colleagues, played too far back but was still fully involved and set up Riza again and again with searching through balls.
Murray 6 – Below par health-wise and understandably struggled against a rampant home attack.
Chillingworth 7 – Put himself about well in his brief cameo.
Bridges 6 – Barely had time to get his boots muddy.
Soundtrack of the day: Yo La Tengo/Nuclear War
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Quadrille of the Lancers. ‘The slow, graceful Quadrille originates from 1820s France and was introduced to England some 30 years later. The Lancers Quadrille was similar to the French one and contrasted greatly with the more animated American version. It consisted of five figures, and when done well was a charming and genteel spectacle. At the time it also showed a change in social customs, in that the man no longer advanced towards the woman with the courteous and rather trembling regard of the time, but treated her more like a proper partner. However, they didn’t go so far as to just steam in and sweep the woman off her feet and drag her into the corner, like certain centre backs I could mention! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United scrapped their way to a battling point in a game that felt like a local derby, with all its attendant flying tackles, melees, handbags, hysterical crowd and bizarre refereeing. It was disappointing to surrender a lead, but the hosts looked a much better team than their League place suggests, and to avoid defeat in such a game while not playing especially well at least promises better things to come.
Man of the match: Omer Riza. So many superb runs that laid waste to the Orient defence. Just a couple of final touches away from brilliance.
Ref watch: Williamson 6. Looked OK to start with but gradually deteriorated throughout the match. Lost all control by the end.
Quadrille of the Lancers: call that dancing?
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Tuesday, 4 February 2003: United 1-2 Bury
My fellow Earthlings! Welcome to this latest media briefing with Colin Powell. What I have to share with you today, my friends, is deeply troubling, but it must be said in the interests of world oil, sorry, peace. I have already informed you of Saddam Hussein’s shocking concealment of his chemical warfare laboratories by disguising them as mobile ice cream vans, thereby staying one step ahead of the UN’s weapons inspectors, and I will shortly be revealing full details of Saddam’s weaponisation of his own people with evil genetical mutational experimentations designed to turn them into human biological warfare bombs, passing noxious gases through their own bodily openings to strike down their enemies. Look at this secret satellite footage of Republican Guards, who can be quite clearly heard saying ‘ … blah blah secret plans blah blah exploding camels blah blah poisonous couscous!’
Now I must warn the people of Great Britain of a new plot: Saddam’s men have set their sights on creating a new sinister nexus at the heart of your beautiful country’s technological showpiece, Cambridge (just outside London). Already his spies have infiltrated this little town’s soccer club, the Cambridge Ewes, but they have been detected through two fatal errors. Firstly, they installed their own people in the snack bars, but forgot to teach them any words of English. Secondly, this camera footage of the Ewes in action against the Bury Shakers last night clearly shows that the guys they installed to impersonate their team just cannot play the game; they are slow where the real team is quick, clumsy where the real team is skilful, and they have no idea how to play the game other than hoofing the ball forward – nothing like the real Ewes, or so I am told. And look at that number 9! What a crazy ginger/blond wig – he’s really given himself away. This is the final straw. Resolution 1441 has not been complied with, Saddam has made further material breaches of his obligations, and he must now pay the most serious of consequences. In other words: let’s nuke them gooks! Yee-hah! (Message ends)
Oh, for those happy days just before Christmas, when the Pirates were put to the sword at the Abbey to leave the U’s riding high at fourth in the table. Who would have thought then that we would still be waiting for the next League win in the first week of February? There is no doubt that a spate of injuries has played no small part in this current run, and the switch to 3-5-2 may have ‘tightened us up at the back’ in the management’s eyes, but equally it has not produced a single win, barring a golden goal at Griffin Park.
The latest reshuffle tonight saw Messrs Duncan and Angus restored to the starting line-up, despite the latter in particular looking some way from 100 per cent, in place of the injured Wozza Goodhind and suspended Terrier Fleming, Fred Murray the third centre back alongside wing backs Tann and Nacca. Only real surprise was the appearance of a Heathcote on the bench for the first time in almost eight years, this time young Jonathan rather than the legendarily unbeatable Mick. Sole ex-United interest was in the shape of Jamie Stuart, a briefly unsuccessful trialist here before joining Bury, now boasting a new and dangerous-looking front pairing of Jon Newby and Colin Cramb, recently returned from Holland and long-term injury.
Thanks to Ian Darler’s TLC the Abbey pitch looked in remarkably good nick considering all the vicious vicissitudes of the weather over the last week, and thankfully the rain had held off, otherwise it could quite easily have doubled for Grimpen Mire with a few inches of rain to soften it up. Without a match on Saturday, United should theoretically have been as fresh as a puppy wrapped in toilet paper, but instead early impressions were that they had forgotten how to play football at all, looking as sluggish as an assemblage of stoned sloths against Bury’s bright, passing football.
Dancing Shaun saved two early Cramb efforts without too much difficulty, Murray doing the same for visiting keeper Glyn Garner on seven with a long-range free kick, but first moment of real danger came on 14. Marshall’s goal kick was low and weak and picked up by Newby in the centre circle; his darting run carried him all too easily past two United defenders and the Terpsichorean custodian did well to block his low cross-shot with his legs.
Bury dominated proceedings at this stage, Clegg and Nelson both firing wide, but ironically it was United who should have taken the lead on 18. A characteristic scurrying Riza run carved the defence open, and his square cross to the in-rushing Youngs presented him with almost the whole goal at his mercy, ten yards out. Sadly, his sidefoot effort was straight at the desperately lunging Garner, who blocked with his feet when a goal would have been a certainty had Tiny Tom got even the merest of lift to his daisycutting shot. Immediately, Bury were stung into a response, Newby this time the creator with another impressive run before setting up Cramb for a shot blocked by the legs of Marshall while his defence stood as immobile as last week’s traffic on the M11. Perhaps we should have gritted the goalmouth.
United’s real problems set in on 20 as the first of three injury-led substitutions was forced on them, Franco ‘One Hairy’ Nacca withdrawing for David Bridges. Reshuffle number one saw Bridgo move into midfield while Lil’ Luke Guttridge moved back to left wing back, where at Brisbane Road last week he had looked about as comfortable as an air hostess serving Courtney Love.
The visitors continued to set the pace, the hosts’ wing back formation once again looking markedly less creative than the old two-winger set-up and far too many players content to sling lazy long, high balls up to BGG Kitson, who was well marshalled aerially by Nelson, or to Riza The Geezer, who did his best but needed a stepladder to beat the hulking Swailes. The flowing football through midfield and down both flanks of a few matches ago seemed but a distant memory at this point. For all their possession, Bury forced few clear-cut openings, despite the intelligent running of Newby and Cramb (a plus point of the 3-5-2 system?) while United threatened sporadically on the break, Tiny Tom getting flattened by debutant Paul O’Shaughnessy on 33 for which the Shaker received a deserved yellow. Another free kick was handed to Murray two minutes later, but his 20-yarder skidded harmlessly wide, then Riza beat his man down the outside but, instead of crossing, opted to go for a spectacular angled blaster into the roof of the … NRE. The skill and frustration of the man encapsulated in the space of a few seconds: delightful skill, devastating pace, wilder shooting than Phil Spector.
So far, so unimpressive for the amber hordes. So it was a welcome surprise when United took an undeserved lead on 39, almost out of nothing: Kitson lofted a ball over the top down the right channel, Youngs and a posse of defenders gave chase, and inexplicably, Garner lumbered out of his penalty area when he had no chance of getting there first. With one touch, Tom took the ball past the hapless goalminder, and staying a pace ahead of his marker, slid it into the open goal from the angle of the six-yard box. Very well taken goal, but shoddy work by the man in green.
Amazingly, the United defence played statues from the restart, and within seconds the ever-dangerous Newby was free in the penalty area to pick out his cross to Cramb eight yards out: he smashed it on the run against the bar, Marshall helpless, then as the home defence scrambled around in a panic like the Home Guard (don’t panic! don’t panic!) George Clegg struck another goalbound effort against the barely aware Angus for a fortuitous corner. Bury got the tricky Newby from Liverpool; we got Jamie Cassidy. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?
Somehow United hung on for the rest of the half. In fact, more excellent set-up work by Riza almost produced a second, his wickedly curling low cross into the six-yard box heading for Kitson’s foot until Redmond just got a straining toe to it to send it narrowly wide of his own post. And so the interval arrived, a time for reflection on United’s fortune in leading, hope for the second half and, for some, a chance to brush up on their sign language skills with the uncomprehending denizens of the Habbin tea bar. Perhaps it’s a joint venture with EF, or some sort of exchange deal with Deportivo: somewhere in La Coruna there must be Cantabrigian caterers consulting their phrase books for the Spanish for ‘Do you want onions with that?’
The injury crisis deepened when Stev Angus didn’t appear for part two, another reshuffle moving Adam Tann to the middle and sub Aggy Revell to an unaccustomed wing back role. Riza raised hopeful oohs in the first minute with a useful and remarkably accurate control and volley from outside the box, Garner clutching gratefully. Bury responded with a through ball for Cramb that left the United back line flat-footed, only for Murray to hare back as the striker closed in on goal and rob him with an exquisitely timed telescopic tackle that would have earned a red card if it had been slightly mistimed.
Revell made a good initial impression, sprinting forward fearlessly and firing narrowly wide when he latched on to a loose clearance on 52. Swailes earned a yellow on 59 for a foul on Riza (well, he had been working on it all night), then Revell played a neat one-two on the edge of the area and shot just wide again. Bury responded, earning a free kick just inside the D on 63 for which United pulled every man back (although putting no one, surprisingly, on either post), but although Cramb’s lofted effort cleared the wall and was headed for the top right corner, it had all the pace of Lisa Riley puffing up a 1-in-3 hill and Dancing Shaun plucked it out of the air as if it were a balloon. Another Cramb break saw his low cross into the six-yard box hit his own man Dunfield on the heels, then Newby slipped as he went for the rebound and miskicked badly when unchallenged 12 yards out.
United were still only playing their football in patches, but as time ticked by, hopes began to grow that they could hang on and start the climb back up the table. On 73 Bury introduced teenage wonder boy David Nugent for Clegg, and United, for no discernible reason, switched to 4-4-2, Guttridge and Murray now full backs and Revell right midfield. Perhaps it was to protect Duncan, looking increasingly uncomfortable with a nagging injury, and Kitson had to help out on 76 with a superb tackle to rob Newby as he threatened to break clear. But the reshuffle backfired badly just two minutes later.
Bury played it across an increasingly crowded 18-yard line to Nugent, and he was allowed the space to turn and shoot for goal. His shot had precious little power, but it bobbled through a few pairs of legs, Marshall saw it late, and unbelievably, it trundled apologetically into the corner of the net as everyone watched it in super slo-mo. A fair equaliser on the balance of play, but softer than Michael Jackson’s nose. The wonders of silly putty, eh?
Now it was United’s turn to respond almost immediately: Kitson picked it up 30 yards out, and with a little shimmy, the whole defence seemed to open up for him. With only Garner to beat ten yards out, it was only a formality for United’s top scorer to net his 14th of the season … but his shot bore even less power than Nugent’s effort, and it was scuffed feebly straight at the grateful Garner, too. What a waste, and how United were to regret that one.
Back came Bury, the nippy Nugent forcing Marshall into a good save and Stuart blasting wide. Ten minutes from time the fun really started. Lil’ Luke was the next to succumb to injury, Chillingworth coming on to partner Riza up front while Tann went to right back and Duncan’s new centre back partner was – gasp! – Kitson. Nelson picked up Bury’s third booking on 82, but United’s increasingly chaotic system was pierced two minutes later by a simple through ball down the middle. Cramb was on to it in a flash; Kitson went with him but he couldn’t overtake the striker and the rookie defender was wary of diving in from behind and incurring a penalty, sending off or both. Cramb, with cool aplomb, drew Marshall then calmly sidefooted into the bottom corner: 2-1. It could have been 3-1 a minute later as Nugent caught the hosts at sixes and sevens again and was disappointed with his underhit shot.
Now things got more complicated than Leeds United’s bank statement. Duncan was now little more than a passenger, barely able to run, so he moved into midfield for nuisance value while Kitson pushed back up front, leaving Wanless to drop back into the middle of a new back three in a preposterous 3-2-2-3 ‘formation’. What larks. Bridges shot wide, Kitson shot at Garner, Bury introduced a time-wasting sub in Forrest for Newby, and right on full-time came the chance that could have saved it for the desperate hosts. Bridges put Riza in wide left, he got to the byline and flashed over a low cross, and there was Chillingworth racing in at the near post to get in front of Garner … and poke it wide from five yards.
Last chance? You betcha. Bury’s loyal travelling army (ahem) of 91 were amply rewarded with a win their team just about deserved, but a draw or even an United win could so easily have been achieved with just a little tweaking in the right places. At the Orient game, United took the lead on 34 and conceded the equaliser on 79; this time they scored on 39 and conceded on 78. Pattern or just coincidence?
Whatever, this winless run must be ended soon, ideally on Saturday against Shrewsbury, the team with the worst defensive record in the division. What formation United play will probably depend to a great extent on how many of their crocks can be patched up in time. Let’s just hope they go for goals, because if we’re still going to concede, whatever formation we play, why not just try to score more than we let in? It’s worked so far. Remarkably, we’re still only six points off fourth place. Still all to play for …
Marshall 7 – Dealt comfortably with almost everything that was thrown at him.
Tann 7 – Coped pretty well in his various positions.
Duncan 6 – Not one of his greatest games, but clearly hampered fitness-wise.
Angus 7 – Looked as cool as ever until the old war wound forced him off.
Murray 8 – United’s best defender on the night, with some excellent tackling and intercepting.
Nacca 6 – Quiet 20 minutes until the injury curse struck him.
Wanless 8 – Strove manfully to keep his dilapidated team going as they went down one by one.
Guttridge 6 – OK in midfield, a square peg at wing back, as we already know from the Orient game.
Youngs 7 – Scampered in characteristic fashion and put in some good linking work as well as scoring the goal, and missing an easier chance for a brace.
Riza 7 – Frustrating as ever, some marvellous approach play once again spoilt by lackadaisical finishing.
Kitson 7 – Reasonable up front apart from spurning an easy chance just after Bury equalised, unfairly exposed at centre-back when the game went mad.
Bridges 6 – Put himself about without really making much of an impression on proceedings.
Revell 7 – Splendidly lively when introduced at wing back, paradoxically less so when United went 4-4-2.
Chillingworth 5 – Only noticeable contribution was his poor miss right at the end. Didn’t get a lot of time, but must do more to make it count.
Soundtrack of the day: Small Victories/Holding On Hopefully
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Fandango. ‘This fine old courtship dance may well have its distant roots in Moorish Africa, but is best known as a Spanish step, its name meaning ‘go and dance’. The two dancers never touch each other but enact a teasing chase in which boy sees girl, girl snubs boy, girl chases boy, then runs away. In olden times the woman would accompany herself on castanets, while the man would toss a tambourine, both wearing traditional costume, and the Fandango is said to be a foundation to all other Spanish dances. However, it fell out of fashion in its original form in the 19th century in favour of the Jota, Sevillana and Bolero, although it was also featured in numerous ballets. Our resident culture vulture Tom Youngs keeps trying to persuade us to join him at a ballet or two, but most of our young lads prefer some banging hardbag or trance, except for Fred Murray of course with his Norwegian death metal! Only joking, Freddie. He prefers Daniel O’Donnell. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United’s ragbag army almost overcame their ballooning injury list to snatch an undeserved victory, but their ravaged legs ultimately succumbed to a useful Bury side who will be up there come the end of the season. Whether we join them will depend on how soon we can get out of this winless run … and get a fully fit squad again!
Man of the match: Paul Wanless. Never stopped grafting, despite a painful knock to add him to the ever-growing ranks of the walking wounded.
Ref watch: Beeby 7. Satisfactory showing from the man in the middle, keeping the game flowing and punishing most fouls correctly. Perhaps a little lenient on Bury’s persistently fouling defenders, although they got their cards in the end.
My fellow Earthlings! Welcome to this latest media briefing with Colin Powell. What I have to share with you today, my friends, is deeply troubling, but it must be said in the interests of world oil, sorry, peace. I have already informed you of Saddam Hussein’s shocking concealment of his chemical warfare laboratories by disguising them as mobile ice cream vans, thereby staying one step ahead of the UN’s weapons inspectors, and I will shortly be revealing full details of Saddam’s weaponisation of his own people with evil genetical mutational experimentations designed to turn them into human biological warfare bombs, passing noxious gases through their own bodily openings to strike down their enemies. Look at this secret satellite footage of Republican Guards, who can be quite clearly heard saying ‘ … blah blah secret plans blah blah exploding camels blah blah poisonous couscous!’
Now I must warn the people of Great Britain of a new plot: Saddam’s men have set their sights on creating a new sinister nexus at the heart of your beautiful country’s technological showpiece, Cambridge (just outside London). Already his spies have infiltrated this little town’s soccer club, the Cambridge Ewes, but they have been detected through two fatal errors. Firstly, they installed their own people in the snack bars, but forgot to teach them any words of English. Secondly, this camera footage of the Ewes in action against the Bury Shakers last night clearly shows that the guys they installed to impersonate their team just cannot play the game; they are slow where the real team is quick, clumsy where the real team is skilful, and they have no idea how to play the game other than hoofing the ball forward – nothing like the real Ewes, or so I am told. And look at that number 9! What a crazy ginger/blond wig – he’s really given himself away. This is the final straw. Resolution 1441 has not been complied with, Saddam has made further material breaches of his obligations, and he must now pay the most serious of consequences. In other words: let’s nuke them gooks! Yee-hah! (Message ends)
Oh, for those happy days just before Christmas, when the Pirates were put to the sword at the Abbey to leave the U’s riding high at fourth in the table. Who would have thought then that we would still be waiting for the next League win in the first week of February? There is no doubt that a spate of injuries has played no small part in this current run, and the switch to 3-5-2 may have ‘tightened us up at the back’ in the management’s eyes, but equally it has not produced a single win, barring a golden goal at Griffin Park.
The latest reshuffle tonight saw Messrs Duncan and Angus restored to the starting line-up, despite the latter in particular looking some way from 100 per cent, in place of the injured Wozza Goodhind and suspended Terrier Fleming, Fred Murray the third centre back alongside wing backs Tann and Nacca. Only real surprise was the appearance of a Heathcote on the bench for the first time in almost eight years, this time young Jonathan rather than the legendarily unbeatable Mick. Sole ex-United interest was in the shape of Jamie Stuart, a briefly unsuccessful trialist here before joining Bury, now boasting a new and dangerous-looking front pairing of Jon Newby and Colin Cramb, recently returned from Holland and long-term injury.
Thanks to Ian Darler’s TLC the Abbey pitch looked in remarkably good nick considering all the vicious vicissitudes of the weather over the last week, and thankfully the rain had held off, otherwise it could quite easily have doubled for Grimpen Mire with a few inches of rain to soften it up. Without a match on Saturday, United should theoretically have been as fresh as a puppy wrapped in toilet paper, but instead early impressions were that they had forgotten how to play football at all, looking as sluggish as an assemblage of stoned sloths against Bury’s bright, passing football.
Dancing Shaun saved two early Cramb efforts without too much difficulty, Murray doing the same for visiting keeper Glyn Garner on seven with a long-range free kick, but first moment of real danger came on 14. Marshall’s goal kick was low and weak and picked up by Newby in the centre circle; his darting run carried him all too easily past two United defenders and the Terpsichorean custodian did well to block his low cross-shot with his legs.
Bury dominated proceedings at this stage, Clegg and Nelson both firing wide, but ironically it was United who should have taken the lead on 18. A characteristic scurrying Riza run carved the defence open, and his square cross to the in-rushing Youngs presented him with almost the whole goal at his mercy, ten yards out. Sadly, his sidefoot effort was straight at the desperately lunging Garner, who blocked with his feet when a goal would have been a certainty had Tiny Tom got even the merest of lift to his daisycutting shot. Immediately, Bury were stung into a response, Newby this time the creator with another impressive run before setting up Cramb for a shot blocked by the legs of Marshall while his defence stood as immobile as last week’s traffic on the M11. Perhaps we should have gritted the goalmouth.
United’s real problems set in on 20 as the first of three injury-led substitutions was forced on them, Franco ‘One Hairy’ Nacca withdrawing for David Bridges. Reshuffle number one saw Bridgo move into midfield while Lil’ Luke Guttridge moved back to left wing back, where at Brisbane Road last week he had looked about as comfortable as an air hostess serving Courtney Love.
The visitors continued to set the pace, the hosts’ wing back formation once again looking markedly less creative than the old two-winger set-up and far too many players content to sling lazy long, high balls up to BGG Kitson, who was well marshalled aerially by Nelson, or to Riza The Geezer, who did his best but needed a stepladder to beat the hulking Swailes. The flowing football through midfield and down both flanks of a few matches ago seemed but a distant memory at this point. For all their possession, Bury forced few clear-cut openings, despite the intelligent running of Newby and Cramb (a plus point of the 3-5-2 system?) while United threatened sporadically on the break, Tiny Tom getting flattened by debutant Paul O’Shaughnessy on 33 for which the Shaker received a deserved yellow. Another free kick was handed to Murray two minutes later, but his 20-yarder skidded harmlessly wide, then Riza beat his man down the outside but, instead of crossing, opted to go for a spectacular angled blaster into the roof of the … NRE. The skill and frustration of the man encapsulated in the space of a few seconds: delightful skill, devastating pace, wilder shooting than Phil Spector.
So far, so unimpressive for the amber hordes. So it was a welcome surprise when United took an undeserved lead on 39, almost out of nothing: Kitson lofted a ball over the top down the right channel, Youngs and a posse of defenders gave chase, and inexplicably, Garner lumbered out of his penalty area when he had no chance of getting there first. With one touch, Tom took the ball past the hapless goalminder, and staying a pace ahead of his marker, slid it into the open goal from the angle of the six-yard box. Very well taken goal, but shoddy work by the man in green.
Amazingly, the United defence played statues from the restart, and within seconds the ever-dangerous Newby was free in the penalty area to pick out his cross to Cramb eight yards out: he smashed it on the run against the bar, Marshall helpless, then as the home defence scrambled around in a panic like the Home Guard (don’t panic! don’t panic!) George Clegg struck another goalbound effort against the barely aware Angus for a fortuitous corner. Bury got the tricky Newby from Liverpool; we got Jamie Cassidy. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?
Somehow United hung on for the rest of the half. In fact, more excellent set-up work by Riza almost produced a second, his wickedly curling low cross into the six-yard box heading for Kitson’s foot until Redmond just got a straining toe to it to send it narrowly wide of his own post. And so the interval arrived, a time for reflection on United’s fortune in leading, hope for the second half and, for some, a chance to brush up on their sign language skills with the uncomprehending denizens of the Habbin tea bar. Perhaps it’s a joint venture with EF, or some sort of exchange deal with Deportivo: somewhere in La Coruna there must be Cantabrigian caterers consulting their phrase books for the Spanish for ‘Do you want onions with that?’
The injury crisis deepened when Stev Angus didn’t appear for part two, another reshuffle moving Adam Tann to the middle and sub Aggy Revell to an unaccustomed wing back role. Riza raised hopeful oohs in the first minute with a useful and remarkably accurate control and volley from outside the box, Garner clutching gratefully. Bury responded with a through ball for Cramb that left the United back line flat-footed, only for Murray to hare back as the striker closed in on goal and rob him with an exquisitely timed telescopic tackle that would have earned a red card if it had been slightly mistimed.
Revell made a good initial impression, sprinting forward fearlessly and firing narrowly wide when he latched on to a loose clearance on 52. Swailes earned a yellow on 59 for a foul on Riza (well, he had been working on it all night), then Revell played a neat one-two on the edge of the area and shot just wide again. Bury responded, earning a free kick just inside the D on 63 for which United pulled every man back (although putting no one, surprisingly, on either post), but although Cramb’s lofted effort cleared the wall and was headed for the top right corner, it had all the pace of Lisa Riley puffing up a 1-in-3 hill and Dancing Shaun plucked it out of the air as if it were a balloon. Another Cramb break saw his low cross into the six-yard box hit his own man Dunfield on the heels, then Newby slipped as he went for the rebound and miskicked badly when unchallenged 12 yards out.
United were still only playing their football in patches, but as time ticked by, hopes began to grow that they could hang on and start the climb back up the table. On 73 Bury introduced teenage wonder boy David Nugent for Clegg, and United, for no discernible reason, switched to 4-4-2, Guttridge and Murray now full backs and Revell right midfield. Perhaps it was to protect Duncan, looking increasingly uncomfortable with a nagging injury, and Kitson had to help out on 76 with a superb tackle to rob Newby as he threatened to break clear. But the reshuffle backfired badly just two minutes later.
Bury played it across an increasingly crowded 18-yard line to Nugent, and he was allowed the space to turn and shoot for goal. His shot had precious little power, but it bobbled through a few pairs of legs, Marshall saw it late, and unbelievably, it trundled apologetically into the corner of the net as everyone watched it in super slo-mo. A fair equaliser on the balance of play, but softer than Michael Jackson’s nose. The wonders of silly putty, eh?
Now it was United’s turn to respond almost immediately: Kitson picked it up 30 yards out, and with a little shimmy, the whole defence seemed to open up for him. With only Garner to beat ten yards out, it was only a formality for United’s top scorer to net his 14th of the season … but his shot bore even less power than Nugent’s effort, and it was scuffed feebly straight at the grateful Garner, too. What a waste, and how United were to regret that one.
Back came Bury, the nippy Nugent forcing Marshall into a good save and Stuart blasting wide. Ten minutes from time the fun really started. Lil’ Luke was the next to succumb to injury, Chillingworth coming on to partner Riza up front while Tann went to right back and Duncan’s new centre back partner was – gasp! – Kitson. Nelson picked up Bury’s third booking on 82, but United’s increasingly chaotic system was pierced two minutes later by a simple through ball down the middle. Cramb was on to it in a flash; Kitson went with him but he couldn’t overtake the striker and the rookie defender was wary of diving in from behind and incurring a penalty, sending off or both. Cramb, with cool aplomb, drew Marshall then calmly sidefooted into the bottom corner: 2-1. It could have been 3-1 a minute later as Nugent caught the hosts at sixes and sevens again and was disappointed with his underhit shot.
Now things got more complicated than Leeds United’s bank statement. Duncan was now little more than a passenger, barely able to run, so he moved into midfield for nuisance value while Kitson pushed back up front, leaving Wanless to drop back into the middle of a new back three in a preposterous 3-2-2-3 ‘formation’. What larks. Bridges shot wide, Kitson shot at Garner, Bury introduced a time-wasting sub in Forrest for Newby, and right on full-time came the chance that could have saved it for the desperate hosts. Bridges put Riza in wide left, he got to the byline and flashed over a low cross, and there was Chillingworth racing in at the near post to get in front of Garner … and poke it wide from five yards.
Last chance? You betcha. Bury’s loyal travelling army (ahem) of 91 were amply rewarded with a win their team just about deserved, but a draw or even an United win could so easily have been achieved with just a little tweaking in the right places. At the Orient game, United took the lead on 34 and conceded the equaliser on 79; this time they scored on 39 and conceded on 78. Pattern or just coincidence?
Whatever, this winless run must be ended soon, ideally on Saturday against Shrewsbury, the team with the worst defensive record in the division. What formation United play will probably depend to a great extent on how many of their crocks can be patched up in time. Let’s just hope they go for goals, because if we’re still going to concede, whatever formation we play, why not just try to score more than we let in? It’s worked so far. Remarkably, we’re still only six points off fourth place. Still all to play for …
Marshall 7 – Dealt comfortably with almost everything that was thrown at him.
Tann 7 – Coped pretty well in his various positions.
Duncan 6 – Not one of his greatest games, but clearly hampered fitness-wise.
Angus 7 – Looked as cool as ever until the old war wound forced him off.
Murray 8 – United’s best defender on the night, with some excellent tackling and intercepting.
Nacca 6 – Quiet 20 minutes until the injury curse struck him.
Wanless 8 – Strove manfully to keep his dilapidated team going as they went down one by one.
Guttridge 6 – OK in midfield, a square peg at wing back, as we already know from the Orient game.
Youngs 7 – Scampered in characteristic fashion and put in some good linking work as well as scoring the goal, and missing an easier chance for a brace.
Riza 7 – Frustrating as ever, some marvellous approach play once again spoilt by lackadaisical finishing.
Kitson 7 – Reasonable up front apart from spurning an easy chance just after Bury equalised, unfairly exposed at centre-back when the game went mad.
Bridges 6 – Put himself about without really making much of an impression on proceedings.
Revell 7 – Splendidly lively when introduced at wing back, paradoxically less so when United went 4-4-2.
Chillingworth 5 – Only noticeable contribution was his poor miss right at the end. Didn’t get a lot of time, but must do more to make it count.
Soundtrack of the day: Small Victories/Holding On Hopefully
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Fandango. ‘This fine old courtship dance may well have its distant roots in Moorish Africa, but is best known as a Spanish step, its name meaning ‘go and dance’. The two dancers never touch each other but enact a teasing chase in which boy sees girl, girl snubs boy, girl chases boy, then runs away. In olden times the woman would accompany herself on castanets, while the man would toss a tambourine, both wearing traditional costume, and the Fandango is said to be a foundation to all other Spanish dances. However, it fell out of fashion in its original form in the 19th century in favour of the Jota, Sevillana and Bolero, although it was also featured in numerous ballets. Our resident culture vulture Tom Youngs keeps trying to persuade us to join him at a ballet or two, but most of our young lads prefer some banging hardbag or trance, except for Fred Murray of course with his Norwegian death metal! Only joking, Freddie. He prefers Daniel O’Donnell. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United’s ragbag army almost overcame their ballooning injury list to snatch an undeserved victory, but their ravaged legs ultimately succumbed to a useful Bury side who will be up there come the end of the season. Whether we join them will depend on how soon we can get out of this winless run … and get a fully fit squad again!
Man of the match: Paul Wanless. Never stopped grafting, despite a painful knock to add him to the ever-growing ranks of the walking wounded.
Ref watch: Beeby 7. Satisfactory showing from the man in the middle, keeping the game flowing and punishing most fouls correctly. Perhaps a little lenient on Bury’s persistently fouling defenders, although they got their cards in the end.
Colin Powell: one more pilau rice, please.
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Saturday, 8 February 2003: United 5-0 Shrewsbury Town
CUFC On-Line is always first to bring you the hottest news from Division Three, and the most dramatic story this week concerns Matt Redmile, barrel-chested man-mountain at the heart of Shrewsbury's ever-busy defence. Former US Marine Ken Nichols O’Keefe has kick-started a movement for people from around the world to travel to Iraq to act as human shields to protect vulnerable sites such as power stations and major bridges from what they see as the iniquitous hostility of President Bush’s US administration. Now O’Keefe has been detained in Italy after being refused entry to Turkey, but he has sent out a heartfelt plea to Redmile to put aside the relatively trivial concerns of Town’s struggle for survival (!) and fly out to boost the cause.
When asked why he had picked out the gigantic stopper, O’Keefe stated simply, ‘The guy is so enormous that if he turns up, he could act as a human shield to protect a whole power plant all on his own! Have you seen the size of this guy?’ Legendary political dissident Noam Chomsky was rather more circumspect when he heard the news: ‘I admire O’Keefe’s intentions, but Redmile? Have you seen Shrewsbury’s defence this season? These guys couldn’t stop a goddamn hamster from scoring! I say let the lardass Limey schmuck stay at home!’ When quizzed, Redmile was refreshingly honest in his appraisal of the situation: ‘Where’s Iraq? I’ve only ever been to Torremolinos …’
If ever a match promised goals, it was this one: the mighty United goal machine versus the Shrews, boasting two free-scoring strikers in Jemson and Rodgers but a defence sporting more gaps than there are between good old Dubya’s ears. Shaggy and the Prof had three team changes inflicted on them by injury, all defensive, Messrs Duncan, Angus and Nacca replaced by the returning Wozza Goodhind, Terrier Fleming and young David Bridges. This also meant a change in formation from the much-criticised wing back system to a fluid 4-3-3, Bridgo joining Wanless and Guttridge in a tight midfield three with Riza and Youngs wide, funnelling back to form a 4-5-1 when defending but speeding forward to accompany BGG Kitson when on the attack.
On the bench was new No 27 David Theobald, a defender recently released by Swansea but Cambridge born and bred and training with his hometown club while looking for new employment, now non-contract Johnny-on-the-spot with United’s current injury crisis. Most disturbing news in Ant Coole’s treatment room update in the programme was that Andy Duncan is suffering from ‘pubic symphysitis’. And him a happily married man, too.
Shrewsbury also showed three changes from their draw at Exeter, bringing in veteran midfielder Mark Atkins, fizzing firework Luke Rodgers and Redmile, a lumbering, shaven-headed figure who makes Neil Ruddock look anorexic and looks like he is about to shout ‘Urr! Mongo head ball!’ whenever he goes up for a cross. Watching him trying to mark Riza The Geezer should be very, er, interesting.
It was immediately apparent that the more positive formation afforded United much better attacking options, and they got the perfect start within four minutes as Kitson broke his goal drought. Nice interplay found Lil’ Luke Guttridge wide left, and his pinpoint cross found the BGG totally unmarked 12 yards out as he beat the onrushing keeper Dunbavin to the ball with a towering header which he coolly guided into the corner of the now empty net: 1-0.
Shrewsbury did not, however, look like lambs to the slaughter at this early stage, displaying an equally positive attitude with a mobile front three that always sought to find space between United’s back four. Ryan Lowe headed Rodgers’ cross wide on eight, then Cup hero Jemson broke clear on 11 but was foiled by a superb saving tackle by Goodhind, and Alex Smith had a 20-yarder saved by Dancing Shaun Marshall on 16. Then the fun really started.
One important factor has so far gone unmentioned: the referee. Yes, it was none other than our old friend Paul ‘Dirty’ Danson, long since booted off the Prem list but still floating around the Nationwide like a fart in a spacesuit. On 17 Guttridge was upended by a horrendous two-footed, studs-up challenge by Town right back Leon Drysdale, but as Lil’ Luke writhed in agony, Danson deemed the assault only worthy of a yellow card. As players from both sides crowded round to vent their own rather heated opinions, Goodhind and Lowe also found themselves in the book for dissent. You might get booked by old Dirty if you almost break someone’s leg, but you will definitely get booked if you speak out of turn. Don’t diss the Dirtmeister!
A couple of minutes later United had a decent shout for a penalty as Riza was dumped on the seat of his pants by the brutish Redmile, but mysteriously what appear to be clear fouls in any other part of the pitch become perfectly legitimate challenges when a spot kick is at stake. Next minute another one of the Shrews’ golden oldies with thickening hips, Ian Woan, was in the book for kicking the ball away as he disagreed rather vehemently with another of the man in black’s decisions. On 25 it was Kitson’s turn when he caught Drysdale late as the defender was clearing the ball. Five bookings in 25 minutes! Truly the man is a legend. Particularly remarkable were his extravagant and baffling hand signals, spectacular displays which he must have learnt at the Lindsay Kemp School of Mime and Tackle From Behind Appraisal back in the 70s. Lindsay was a dab hand, apparently.
Despite the offensive ambitions of both teams, Danson’s pernickety punishment of just about every physical challenge with a stoppage hobbled the flow of play like a wheel clamp on Stephen Hawking’s wheelchair. Guttridge found Kitson with a low cross on the half-hour from which the BGG escaped Dave Artell’s attentions with a delightful shimmy, but his close-range shot was deflected over by a flying Shrew. Jemson latched on to a Smith cross four minutes later but Marshall collected his shot with ease, then the Terpsichorean custodian dealt comfortably with long-rangers from Jemson and Woan.
The last couple of minutes of the half saw the most exciting action, however, sparked by an explosive run down the right wing from halfway by the firecracker Rodgers on 44. He outpaced three opponents before squaring to Lowe, arriving unchallenged by the penalty spot, but with the open goal gaping, the frankly poor cross ran behind him and by the time he had retrieved it, United had regrouped to crowd him out.
United responded with a characteristic Riza run, cutting in from the left wing past several defenders to create space for a disappointingly weak shot that Dunbavin was able to save with no problem. Wanless had a goalbound shot blocked by Tolley, then Rodgers had an effort headed to safety with some difficulty by Tann, but the final word of the half fell to the hosts in added time: Kitson sent Riza away on another run down the left, he cut in again at great pace and this time the Shrews defence were thoroughly tame in their resistance, melting away as Omer picked his spot and fired low into the bottom corner with deceptive ease. Great goal, 2-0, and just what the doctor ordered. Must be Dr Feelgood.
That feelgood factor extended to half-time as the amber hordes discovered that the non-English speaking Spaniards in the tea bar had been replaced by rather more communicative Germans, who displayed predictable Teutonic efficiency in serving the hungry throng. And contentment became outright joy within a minute of the restart as United restarted as they had left off, forcing two corners, and from the second, Riza picked up possession in the area to the right of goal, dazzled his marker with some fancy footwork, got to the byline and floated over a quite delicious, delicate cross that sailed over the heads of Dunbavin and his massed defenders to find Tiny Tom galloping in at the far post to head home into the empty net from no more than a couple of feet out. The Shrews fans slumped glumly into their seats, memories of a six-goal hammering at Boston (of all places) still fresh in their minds and unable to respond to the Corona’s taunts of ‘You’re Welsh and you know you are!’ Talk about rubbing it in, eh?
The mercurial Rodgers remained a threat on the break as United continued to press in 4-3-3 time, one shot on 51 taking a wicked deflection off Tann and having to be tipped over at full stretch by Marshall as it looped just under the bar. Then Danson decided it was time for him to take centre stage again, seeing Tann flattened by a blow to the face by Rodgers but permitting play to continue as Adam lay on the ground until Kitson began to run in on goal up the other end: then and only then did he stop play, to the amber faithful’s frustration. The Shrews’ pocket rocket eventually got the yellow card he seemed to be begging for a minute later after clattering Murray, then Danson penalised Tann for winning the ball cleanly in a tackle but colliding with his opponent afterwards due to his forward momentum. Strange man.
Town made a much-needed change, bringing on Karl Murray for Atkins, but this resembled mere deckchair rearrangement by 59 as United made it 4-0. Once again Riza was the provider, scampering on to Guttridge’s ball down the right, leaving his marker for dead with twinkle-toed trickery, and cutting a low ball back from the goal line for Kitson to slide in and ram into the roof of the net from three yards out, with Youngs alongside him queuing up to do the same. Game over as surely as a Davis Cup match between England and Australia. Or any half-decent tennis nation, come to that.
Tempers began to fray on the Shrews side, first to snap unsurprisingly the explosive Rodgers with a nasty follow-through that crumpled Tann. Predictably, Danson was as unwilling to flash red as he was willing to flash yellow, and what would have been a certain booking if he hadn’t already received one turned into a feeble lecture from the man in black. Town made another sub, Jagielka for Lowe, then received another booking, Tolley for clogging Kitson, then it was time for United to start resting players for the week of long away trips coming up shortly.
First to enter the fray was ‘So’ Tony Scully, the Queen of the Abbey (the NRE’s words, not mine!), barnet still resolutely red as a baboon’s backside, then Kitson and Riza were withdrawn, to the Shrews’ undoubted relief, for Chillingworth and Revell. Such was the feeling of celebration and goodwill ringing round the Abbey, they would probably have applauded if Abu Hamza had come on as a last-minute sub. Or perhaps not. He’d be rubbish at throw-ins.
Scully made a good initial impression, sending in an excellent curling cross that was cleared for a corner then firing over an equally impressive kick from the flag, hacked away for another one. Before it could be taken, Danson stopped proceedings so he could have a word with Tiny Tom, no doubt afraid that our rabid dog of a striker might bite one of the hulking Town defenders’ ankles. Whatever, the hold-up turned out to be to United’s advantage, as Scully’s cross sailed with Scud-like accuracy over keeper and his colleagues to be headed into the net from a few feet out by an unattended, stooping Youngs in the centre of goal. He must have crept through their legs, but he looked a little sheepish in claiming a goal that seemed to just hit his bonce and go in rather than be guided in by it. But who’s complaining?
Shrewsbury’s mood improved not one jot, Smith next in the book for a wild, nasty high kick at Bridges that would have merited a straight red from a more competent ref, then Artell brought the seven up on time, completing the back four set, with a terrible sliding tackle from behind on Revell. Again, a more courageous official … but let’s not kick a team while they’re down. It could and should have been 6-0 in added time as the Shrews were hassled out of possession in their own half by Chilli and Bridges, and the latter drove through to the edge of the box with only Dunbavin to beat, but the keeper made an excellent stop as Bridgo shot low to his left.
The final whistle blew seconds later to rousing cheers where there were jeers mere days ago. Yes, the Shrewsbury defence was about as poor as you can get in this division, but the return to a more positive outlook worked wonders for United, the front three helping themselves to five between them with a clean sheet behind to boot. This was just what United needed after a wobbly spell, and augurs well for the long trips to Swansea, Bristol and Hull coming up after a week’s recuperation. If the squad can be boosted by the return of Tudor and Angus, a tilt at the promotion spots is within their grasp. Believe!
Marshall 7 – Coped comfortably in the first half and could have spent the second practising his dance moves as he had precious little else to do.
Fleming 8 – Typically lively down the right flank, defending well and getting forward energetically. Not the greatest crosser in the world, mind.
Murray 7 – Went about his work with efficient aplomb down the left.
Tann 7 – Well up to his usual standard back in the middle.
Goodhind 8 – Natural leader at the back and always in the right place at the right time.
Bridges 8 – Slotted into midfield like he’d been there for years. Always involved.
Wanless 7 – Passing not always the best, but dominant fulcrum around which his United team revolved.
Guttridge 7 – Played his full part in a dominant midfield performance.
Youngs 8 – Must have scored his two goals from a grand total of about three feet out, but his movement and passing troubled the Shrews all day.
Riza 9 – Tormentor-in-chief made two and scored one in a virtuoso display of tricky footwork, mazy dribbling and devastating pace.
Kitson 8 – Led from the front at the head of a forward three that would score against anyone on their day.
Scully 7 – Put in some excellent curling crosses, if looking a little rusty in other areas. Didn’t seem keen to get involved with too many 50-50 challenges.
Chillingworth 6 – Match was effectively over by the time he came on but ran around busily.
Revell 6 – Rare striking role, but like Chilli, came on too late to have much effect.
Soundtrack of the day: Mum & Dad/Easy Peasy
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at Morris Dancing. ‘This most English of traditional dances actually derives from the Morisco, a Moorish dance, and was brought to England from Spain by John of Gaunt in the 14th century. It was originally done as a depiction of battles between the Moors and the Christians, with hundreds of people taking part in two groups, generally on May Day, and lasting four or five hours with music by a lone musician! It grew in popularity as it quieted down over time, and the English introduced their own variants such as characters from the Robin Hood story, the familiar costumes and props such as bells and hankies that we know today. There are now all sorts of local variations, and not many people know that Phil Warner used to be the Fool in his local troupe in Hampshire. It looks like he’ll be leaving us soon, and he’ll certainly be checking out the Morris scene in the vicinity of any clubs that he can ‘fool’ into signing him! Only joking, Phil. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Timing is everything. Well-worked goals at the start and finish of the first half and beginning of the second won it, then it was just a matter of how many more United would score against the division’s worst defence. Just think how many they’d have scored if they’d been at full strength!
Man of the match: Omer Riza. This was The Geezer at his dazzling best, waltzing through tackles, leaving defenders for dead with pace and most importantly, he produced an end product with fine finishing and some brilliant crosses. This is the standard, Omer; keep it up, please!
Ref watch: Danson 2. You can’t say the guy isn’t consistent; he’s just as bad every time we see him. Usual gamut of whistles for non-existent fouls, relish at issuing yellow cards coupled with fear of issuing red, and complete inability to stamp any authority on a game. How does he stay on the list?
CUFC On-Line is always first to bring you the hottest news from Division Three, and the most dramatic story this week concerns Matt Redmile, barrel-chested man-mountain at the heart of Shrewsbury's ever-busy defence. Former US Marine Ken Nichols O’Keefe has kick-started a movement for people from around the world to travel to Iraq to act as human shields to protect vulnerable sites such as power stations and major bridges from what they see as the iniquitous hostility of President Bush’s US administration. Now O’Keefe has been detained in Italy after being refused entry to Turkey, but he has sent out a heartfelt plea to Redmile to put aside the relatively trivial concerns of Town’s struggle for survival (!) and fly out to boost the cause.
When asked why he had picked out the gigantic stopper, O’Keefe stated simply, ‘The guy is so enormous that if he turns up, he could act as a human shield to protect a whole power plant all on his own! Have you seen the size of this guy?’ Legendary political dissident Noam Chomsky was rather more circumspect when he heard the news: ‘I admire O’Keefe’s intentions, but Redmile? Have you seen Shrewsbury’s defence this season? These guys couldn’t stop a goddamn hamster from scoring! I say let the lardass Limey schmuck stay at home!’ When quizzed, Redmile was refreshingly honest in his appraisal of the situation: ‘Where’s Iraq? I’ve only ever been to Torremolinos …’
If ever a match promised goals, it was this one: the mighty United goal machine versus the Shrews, boasting two free-scoring strikers in Jemson and Rodgers but a defence sporting more gaps than there are between good old Dubya’s ears. Shaggy and the Prof had three team changes inflicted on them by injury, all defensive, Messrs Duncan, Angus and Nacca replaced by the returning Wozza Goodhind, Terrier Fleming and young David Bridges. This also meant a change in formation from the much-criticised wing back system to a fluid 4-3-3, Bridgo joining Wanless and Guttridge in a tight midfield three with Riza and Youngs wide, funnelling back to form a 4-5-1 when defending but speeding forward to accompany BGG Kitson when on the attack.
On the bench was new No 27 David Theobald, a defender recently released by Swansea but Cambridge born and bred and training with his hometown club while looking for new employment, now non-contract Johnny-on-the-spot with United’s current injury crisis. Most disturbing news in Ant Coole’s treatment room update in the programme was that Andy Duncan is suffering from ‘pubic symphysitis’. And him a happily married man, too.
Shrewsbury also showed three changes from their draw at Exeter, bringing in veteran midfielder Mark Atkins, fizzing firework Luke Rodgers and Redmile, a lumbering, shaven-headed figure who makes Neil Ruddock look anorexic and looks like he is about to shout ‘Urr! Mongo head ball!’ whenever he goes up for a cross. Watching him trying to mark Riza The Geezer should be very, er, interesting.
It was immediately apparent that the more positive formation afforded United much better attacking options, and they got the perfect start within four minutes as Kitson broke his goal drought. Nice interplay found Lil’ Luke Guttridge wide left, and his pinpoint cross found the BGG totally unmarked 12 yards out as he beat the onrushing keeper Dunbavin to the ball with a towering header which he coolly guided into the corner of the now empty net: 1-0.
Shrewsbury did not, however, look like lambs to the slaughter at this early stage, displaying an equally positive attitude with a mobile front three that always sought to find space between United’s back four. Ryan Lowe headed Rodgers’ cross wide on eight, then Cup hero Jemson broke clear on 11 but was foiled by a superb saving tackle by Goodhind, and Alex Smith had a 20-yarder saved by Dancing Shaun Marshall on 16. Then the fun really started.
One important factor has so far gone unmentioned: the referee. Yes, it was none other than our old friend Paul ‘Dirty’ Danson, long since booted off the Prem list but still floating around the Nationwide like a fart in a spacesuit. On 17 Guttridge was upended by a horrendous two-footed, studs-up challenge by Town right back Leon Drysdale, but as Lil’ Luke writhed in agony, Danson deemed the assault only worthy of a yellow card. As players from both sides crowded round to vent their own rather heated opinions, Goodhind and Lowe also found themselves in the book for dissent. You might get booked by old Dirty if you almost break someone’s leg, but you will definitely get booked if you speak out of turn. Don’t diss the Dirtmeister!
A couple of minutes later United had a decent shout for a penalty as Riza was dumped on the seat of his pants by the brutish Redmile, but mysteriously what appear to be clear fouls in any other part of the pitch become perfectly legitimate challenges when a spot kick is at stake. Next minute another one of the Shrews’ golden oldies with thickening hips, Ian Woan, was in the book for kicking the ball away as he disagreed rather vehemently with another of the man in black’s decisions. On 25 it was Kitson’s turn when he caught Drysdale late as the defender was clearing the ball. Five bookings in 25 minutes! Truly the man is a legend. Particularly remarkable were his extravagant and baffling hand signals, spectacular displays which he must have learnt at the Lindsay Kemp School of Mime and Tackle From Behind Appraisal back in the 70s. Lindsay was a dab hand, apparently.
Despite the offensive ambitions of both teams, Danson’s pernickety punishment of just about every physical challenge with a stoppage hobbled the flow of play like a wheel clamp on Stephen Hawking’s wheelchair. Guttridge found Kitson with a low cross on the half-hour from which the BGG escaped Dave Artell’s attentions with a delightful shimmy, but his close-range shot was deflected over by a flying Shrew. Jemson latched on to a Smith cross four minutes later but Marshall collected his shot with ease, then the Terpsichorean custodian dealt comfortably with long-rangers from Jemson and Woan.
The last couple of minutes of the half saw the most exciting action, however, sparked by an explosive run down the right wing from halfway by the firecracker Rodgers on 44. He outpaced three opponents before squaring to Lowe, arriving unchallenged by the penalty spot, but with the open goal gaping, the frankly poor cross ran behind him and by the time he had retrieved it, United had regrouped to crowd him out.
United responded with a characteristic Riza run, cutting in from the left wing past several defenders to create space for a disappointingly weak shot that Dunbavin was able to save with no problem. Wanless had a goalbound shot blocked by Tolley, then Rodgers had an effort headed to safety with some difficulty by Tann, but the final word of the half fell to the hosts in added time: Kitson sent Riza away on another run down the left, he cut in again at great pace and this time the Shrews defence were thoroughly tame in their resistance, melting away as Omer picked his spot and fired low into the bottom corner with deceptive ease. Great goal, 2-0, and just what the doctor ordered. Must be Dr Feelgood.
That feelgood factor extended to half-time as the amber hordes discovered that the non-English speaking Spaniards in the tea bar had been replaced by rather more communicative Germans, who displayed predictable Teutonic efficiency in serving the hungry throng. And contentment became outright joy within a minute of the restart as United restarted as they had left off, forcing two corners, and from the second, Riza picked up possession in the area to the right of goal, dazzled his marker with some fancy footwork, got to the byline and floated over a quite delicious, delicate cross that sailed over the heads of Dunbavin and his massed defenders to find Tiny Tom galloping in at the far post to head home into the empty net from no more than a couple of feet out. The Shrews fans slumped glumly into their seats, memories of a six-goal hammering at Boston (of all places) still fresh in their minds and unable to respond to the Corona’s taunts of ‘You’re Welsh and you know you are!’ Talk about rubbing it in, eh?
The mercurial Rodgers remained a threat on the break as United continued to press in 4-3-3 time, one shot on 51 taking a wicked deflection off Tann and having to be tipped over at full stretch by Marshall as it looped just under the bar. Then Danson decided it was time for him to take centre stage again, seeing Tann flattened by a blow to the face by Rodgers but permitting play to continue as Adam lay on the ground until Kitson began to run in on goal up the other end: then and only then did he stop play, to the amber faithful’s frustration. The Shrews’ pocket rocket eventually got the yellow card he seemed to be begging for a minute later after clattering Murray, then Danson penalised Tann for winning the ball cleanly in a tackle but colliding with his opponent afterwards due to his forward momentum. Strange man.
Town made a much-needed change, bringing on Karl Murray for Atkins, but this resembled mere deckchair rearrangement by 59 as United made it 4-0. Once again Riza was the provider, scampering on to Guttridge’s ball down the right, leaving his marker for dead with twinkle-toed trickery, and cutting a low ball back from the goal line for Kitson to slide in and ram into the roof of the net from three yards out, with Youngs alongside him queuing up to do the same. Game over as surely as a Davis Cup match between England and Australia. Or any half-decent tennis nation, come to that.
Tempers began to fray on the Shrews side, first to snap unsurprisingly the explosive Rodgers with a nasty follow-through that crumpled Tann. Predictably, Danson was as unwilling to flash red as he was willing to flash yellow, and what would have been a certain booking if he hadn’t already received one turned into a feeble lecture from the man in black. Town made another sub, Jagielka for Lowe, then received another booking, Tolley for clogging Kitson, then it was time for United to start resting players for the week of long away trips coming up shortly.
First to enter the fray was ‘So’ Tony Scully, the Queen of the Abbey (the NRE’s words, not mine!), barnet still resolutely red as a baboon’s backside, then Kitson and Riza were withdrawn, to the Shrews’ undoubted relief, for Chillingworth and Revell. Such was the feeling of celebration and goodwill ringing round the Abbey, they would probably have applauded if Abu Hamza had come on as a last-minute sub. Or perhaps not. He’d be rubbish at throw-ins.
Scully made a good initial impression, sending in an excellent curling cross that was cleared for a corner then firing over an equally impressive kick from the flag, hacked away for another one. Before it could be taken, Danson stopped proceedings so he could have a word with Tiny Tom, no doubt afraid that our rabid dog of a striker might bite one of the hulking Town defenders’ ankles. Whatever, the hold-up turned out to be to United’s advantage, as Scully’s cross sailed with Scud-like accuracy over keeper and his colleagues to be headed into the net from a few feet out by an unattended, stooping Youngs in the centre of goal. He must have crept through their legs, but he looked a little sheepish in claiming a goal that seemed to just hit his bonce and go in rather than be guided in by it. But who’s complaining?
Shrewsbury’s mood improved not one jot, Smith next in the book for a wild, nasty high kick at Bridges that would have merited a straight red from a more competent ref, then Artell brought the seven up on time, completing the back four set, with a terrible sliding tackle from behind on Revell. Again, a more courageous official … but let’s not kick a team while they’re down. It could and should have been 6-0 in added time as the Shrews were hassled out of possession in their own half by Chilli and Bridges, and the latter drove through to the edge of the box with only Dunbavin to beat, but the keeper made an excellent stop as Bridgo shot low to his left.
The final whistle blew seconds later to rousing cheers where there were jeers mere days ago. Yes, the Shrewsbury defence was about as poor as you can get in this division, but the return to a more positive outlook worked wonders for United, the front three helping themselves to five between them with a clean sheet behind to boot. This was just what United needed after a wobbly spell, and augurs well for the long trips to Swansea, Bristol and Hull coming up after a week’s recuperation. If the squad can be boosted by the return of Tudor and Angus, a tilt at the promotion spots is within their grasp. Believe!
Marshall 7 – Coped comfortably in the first half and could have spent the second practising his dance moves as he had precious little else to do.
Fleming 8 – Typically lively down the right flank, defending well and getting forward energetically. Not the greatest crosser in the world, mind.
Murray 7 – Went about his work with efficient aplomb down the left.
Tann 7 – Well up to his usual standard back in the middle.
Goodhind 8 – Natural leader at the back and always in the right place at the right time.
Bridges 8 – Slotted into midfield like he’d been there for years. Always involved.
Wanless 7 – Passing not always the best, but dominant fulcrum around which his United team revolved.
Guttridge 7 – Played his full part in a dominant midfield performance.
Youngs 8 – Must have scored his two goals from a grand total of about three feet out, but his movement and passing troubled the Shrews all day.
Riza 9 – Tormentor-in-chief made two and scored one in a virtuoso display of tricky footwork, mazy dribbling and devastating pace.
Kitson 8 – Led from the front at the head of a forward three that would score against anyone on their day.
Scully 7 – Put in some excellent curling crosses, if looking a little rusty in other areas. Didn’t seem keen to get involved with too many 50-50 challenges.
Chillingworth 6 – Match was effectively over by the time he came on but ran around busily.
Revell 6 – Rare striking role, but like Chilli, came on too late to have much effect.
Soundtrack of the day: Mum & Dad/Easy Peasy
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at Morris Dancing. ‘This most English of traditional dances actually derives from the Morisco, a Moorish dance, and was brought to England from Spain by John of Gaunt in the 14th century. It was originally done as a depiction of battles between the Moors and the Christians, with hundreds of people taking part in two groups, generally on May Day, and lasting four or five hours with music by a lone musician! It grew in popularity as it quieted down over time, and the English introduced their own variants such as characters from the Robin Hood story, the familiar costumes and props such as bells and hankies that we know today. There are now all sorts of local variations, and not many people know that Phil Warner used to be the Fool in his local troupe in Hampshire. It looks like he’ll be leaving us soon, and he’ll certainly be checking out the Morris scene in the vicinity of any clubs that he can ‘fool’ into signing him! Only joking, Phil. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Timing is everything. Well-worked goals at the start and finish of the first half and beginning of the second won it, then it was just a matter of how many more United would score against the division’s worst defence. Just think how many they’d have scored if they’d been at full strength!
Man of the match: Omer Riza. This was The Geezer at his dazzling best, waltzing through tackles, leaving defenders for dead with pace and most importantly, he produced an end product with fine finishing and some brilliant crosses. This is the standard, Omer; keep it up, please!
Ref watch: Danson 2. You can’t say the guy isn’t consistent; he’s just as bad every time we see him. Usual gamut of whistles for non-existent fouls, relish at issuing yellow cards coupled with fear of issuing red, and complete inability to stamp any authority on a game. How does he stay on the list?
Morris dancing: which one's Morris?
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Saturday, 15 February 2003: Swansea City 2-0 United
It looked like the locals had heeded President Bush’s advice. The narrow streets were deserted, doors and windows sealed against the anticipated terrorist threat, the supermarkets denuded of precious food as the populace braced itself for a deadly onslaught of falling aeroplanes, suicide bombers, anthrax and bad breath. Out of a side street came a lone child, pedalling her tricycle without an apparent care in the world. The visitors, concerned, blocked her path. ‘Shouldn’t you be at home with your family? Hasn’t everyone else locked themselves in and hidden under a white sheet to avoid the deadly rays?’ The child gave the amber-shirted strangers a puzzled look, then spoke in a thick, just about decipherable accent. ‘What you talkin’ about? Ma and Pa have gone down the pub with Uncle Pob to watch the rugby. I’m going to the park with our Myfanwy. She said you English were a bit barmy!’
Oh well. While the venue of choice this weekend was Hyde Park, a hundred-odd rugged individualists from Cambridge made the long, long trip to the Vetch, sacrificing a chance to see the big game live on Sky in the process. Never mind, I’m sure they’ll repeat York v Hartlepool a few times later on in the week. The Mighty U’s haven’t won in Swansea since a 4-2 triumph in March 1980 in front of a crowd of over 11,000; those were indeed the days.
The day was cold but bright with nary a cloud in the sky. The sun glinted off the windows of the houses set high into the hillside as they overlooked the calm waters of Swansea Bay, a tranquil scene in stark contrast to the battle in store. Let’s get ready to Mumble. Once parked a few paces from the beach, the invading trickle were a short walk from their destination, with no sign of the hostile faces they had met on their last visit. Or the coins they'd thrown.
Once inside, our ears were assailed by the loudest PA in League history, blaring out a constant stream of nasty mid-80s MOR pop hits: J Geils Band! Trio! John Farnham! All these cutting-edge sounds were ‘mixed’ with consummate heavy-handedness by the Jacks’ ‘personality’ DJ, his technique consisting of starting one record about ten seconds before the other one finished and broadcasting the resultant discordant cacophony with no little evident pride.
The Vetch itself hasn’t changed for a long time: cavernous covered terrace at one end for the visitors, another covered terrace all down one side for the homeboys, facing a rickety ‘main stand’ with about six adjoining roofs, all different colours and all needing a good lick of paint. The far end is the most peculiar sight, though: two-thirds taken up by a towering seated stand with tiny terrace below, tapering into nothing as houses behind the diagonal boundary make it impossible for any sort of stand to occupy the remaining third. Even the stand itself looks unfinished, neat rows of seats ceasing at one end to give way to a bizarrely spread selection of seats which look as if half have been ripped out at random.
The away end still sports the most unusual refreshment hut in the League, too: a dilapidated wooden affair set a good four feet behind a fence, with only a small square hole affording access, set so high and far from the hut itself that anyone shorter than five feet tall would need mechanical assistance to reach. Basic accessories like milk, sugar etc were set upon a table, also behind the fence and a good foot or more below another artfully cut hole, requiring the dexterity of a contortionist to operate with any comfort. Even the programme seller operated from another hole in the fence. What are they all so scared of? Do they think Englishness is contagious?
Today was ‘Ladies Day’ at the Vetch with all females afforded free entry. There was no evidence of any penny-pinching gents trying to get in touch with their feminine sides by ‘dragging it up’, however. This is Wales, after all, home of the most fertile man in the world, Tom Jones, who also inevitably got an airing from Meic Smash in the control room. The players’ entry to the pitch was heralded by two other old classics, Two Tribes and White Riot, which must go down really well when they play their gentle, low-key derbies with Cardiff.
The visitors’ line-up showed one change from last week, Lil’ Luke’s suspension allowing for the introduction of new Leeds loanee Tom Newey at left back, with a resultant reshuffle of Murray to centre back, Tann to right back and Terrier Fleming to midfield. The 4-3-3/4-5-1 system remained in place, leaving wide man duties to Riza The Geezer and Tiny Tom, the best-read footballer in Britain who reads nothing but the best match reports and definitely meant his header to score his second goal last week. Oh yes.
Shane Tudor made a welcome return to the bench in place of ‘So’ Tony Scully, while David Theobald kept his place alongside him for a return to the club that released him earlier this season. The hosts seem to have started collecting players who sound like Tory politicians, boasting both Leon Britton and Michael Howard in their starting line-up, although Norman St John Stevas didn’t make the final squad.
The Vetch pitch was also going to be a factor, a vista of rolling, uneven slopes that turned into a skating rink down one side of the pitch to which the sun had not penetrated. It was the Jacks who started the better in an opening period that can best be described as untidier than Beckham’s latest hairstyle. Dancing Shaun was facing into the sun but for some reason did not sport any sort of headgear. This was almost his undoing on six as he lost a high cross and Newey cleared from the lurking Williams and Martinez, and three minutes later he also fumbled a Mumford effort after a long run by Britton, Tann this time clearing his lines. Goodhind repeated the trick on 12 as he beat three waiting Jacks to a Mumford free-kick.
After United weathered this early storm they finally managed to venture forward, and it became apparent that Newey was also newly appointed corner taker. His first, a knee-high effort to Riza at the near post, was even worse than most of Lil’ Luke’s, but his second on 15 was much better as he found Youngs motoring in intelligently at the near post, his low header blocked and BGG Kitson firing narrowly wide from the rebound. Marc Richards had the ball in the United net on 18, but he had been flagged for offside long before.
Swansea were aiming a lot of their forward balls to veteran John Williams, to whom Newey had been assigned the marking job, and he gave the new boy an immensely difficult time all afternoon with his far greater height, speed and sheer knowhow. Look on it as a crash course learning experience, Tom. ‘You’re just a bunch of students!’ sang the home fans with all the originality and wit of Bernard Manning, without the charm. The amber hordes’ retorts were no less predictable, invoking the inevitable woolly references. Baad boys.
Mumford tested Marshall from long range on 20, then after a short spell of Swans pressure, United appeared to be beginning to find their feet. Wanless had a clear header at goal from another Newey corner, but arrowed it narrowly over, then Kitson ran on to an excellent Fleming ball over the top and saw his angled rocket volley saved well by Freestone at his near post. Swansea responded with a Howard shot over, then Youngs was denied by a last-ditch Evans sliding tackle. Then on 40 came United’s best chance yet, Riza’s deep cross finding Kitson six yards out; but instead of sticking out a boot or trying a header, he tried to control it on his chest under pressure from Smith, took far too long and Freestone comfortably gathered his scuffed effort. At the other end, danger man Williams almost sent the Swans into half-time ahead after a mazy run, but Marshall blocked well with his legs.
So, like Hello!’s Douglas/Zeta Jones wedding photos, the content had been there, but with a distinct lack of real quality. The U’s had played in fits and starts, never getting their passing game going like we know they can, with the best interactivity down the left flank of Youngs and Newey, but precious little penetrative ball emanating from a midfield in which David Bridges looked lost and his partners were all artisan with precious little artistry. The hosts had looked intermittently dangerous, playing a positive 4-3-3 as wise old head Brian Flynn decided to attack his way out of trouble with Spanish Sky pundit Martinez pulling the strings in the middle and, as previously stated, Williams the main outlet up top.
Half time was enlivened for the gents in the crowd by a dancing troupe of attractive young ladies known as the Ice Babes, their belly button studs flashing in the sunlight as they pirouetted and gyrated their way around the centre circle. Well the women had got in free, so the blokes deserved something in reciprocation, hmm? Then after a second blast of the Piranhas’ Tom Hark, the teams were back for part two, unchanged for the time being.
Mumford set the tone within 30 seconds of the restart, forcing Marshall into a tip round the post from 20 yards, but within five minutes the hosts were forced into a change as Evans was forced off after a foul by Murray for which he was booked, Kris O’Leary depping. Murray was roundly booed by the home fans for the remainder of the match, but this was hardly surprising from a crowd that howled its outrage at the unfairness of the world each and every time any decision at all went against them. We hadn’t heard so much moaning since Channel 5’s last British Soft Porn of the 1970s season. Did they do Confessions of a Football Supporter?
Swansea were once again on top as United’s passing began to take on all the accuracy of a Ryan Giggs right-footer at an open goal. And on 58 the home breakthrough came: inevitably its source was Williams, losing Newey again wide right and firing in a cross that Watkin met forcefully less than ten yards out. Marshall could only paw it out, straight to the inrushing Richards who blasted gratefully home from point blank range.
Williams almost provided another eight minutes later, again skipping away from Newey and sending over a cross-shot that would have found the back of the net had it been a few yards to the right, or would have found Watkin for an easy tap-in had it been a few yards the other way; as it was, it flashed across the face of goal and a few feet wide of the far post. The amber hordes were more relieved than Nasser Hussein being told he didn’t have to go to Harare; sadly, we would also soon be facing a loss of vital points.
A change had to be made, and Tudor made a welcome return on 72 in place of the anonymous Bridges, taking up his central midfield role. With almost his first touch, his free kick found the head of Captain Fantastic but Freestone saved. A spell of United pressure ensued, still too reliant on hopeful long balls and crosses rather than on the crisp, accurate passing of early season, but at least it was vaguely threatening for a time. A Tann cross found Wanless six yards out, but Smith managed to deflect it over the bar with the goal at Wannie’s mercy, then following some pinball after the ensuing corner Goodhind sent a skimmer scudding wide of the far post from the edge of the area.
Eight minutes from time, however, it was all over. Swansea, playing on the break, found their best passer in the form of Martinez, and his pinpoint ball floated past Murray to Richards, whose superb lob-volley sailed over Marshall and into the top corner from the angle 15 yards out. The Jacks burst into a rendition of Can’t Help Falling Love With Ewe and the writing was on the wall for toothless United as surely as the nose on Jacko’s face. Or maybe in a jar.
Revell and Chillingworth (goals this season: 0) replaced Riza and Youngs (goals this season: 19) in a spot of deckchair rearrangement on 83, but to no avail. Tempers started to fray as Riza and Smith were booked by laissez-faire ref Leake (who said the League doesn’t have a sense of humour?) for some handbags while Fleming clogged Britton, who responded with raised hands, but Leake missed all that in the excitement. Best remaining chances fell to the hosts, Richards blasting over from close range on 88 and Britton missing in added time when it looked easier to score.
Thus ended a bitterly disappointing day for those of us who had thought the promotion chase was back on track after last week. Too many players were off form, and far too many just didn’t seem able to pass a ball with any semblance of accuracy; the pitch wasn’t great, but Swansea managed it all right. Shaggy and the Prof will have to work some magic with a two-match-a-week schedule upon us, next up being the LDV game at Ashton Gate on Tuesday.
The only positive there seems to be that Bristol are in just as poor a run of form as we are at the moment, as are next Saturday’s opponents, Hull. We’ve just got to forget about injuries and potential excuses and play our hearts out with courage and positivity, like Swansea did in their desperation today. It’s a crazy plan, but it might just work …
Marshall 6 – Not a game the Terpsichorean custodian will recall with any affection. Don’t forget your cap next time.
Tann 7 – Solidly reliable display from one of our most consistent players.
Goodhind 8 – Outstanding at the back with excellent covering and distribution.
Murray 7 – As good in the middle as he is wide left, had his work cut out covering for young Newey as well as doing his own job.
Newey 5 – The proverbial torrid debut for young Tom as he was given the runaround by the bigger, more experienced Williams. But let’s not dismiss him after his first League game ever, eh?
Bridges 5 – Disappointingly quiet game for Bridgo who never got his passing game together.
Fleming 6 – Scurried around busily as ever, although was so preoccupied with defensive duties, had little time to get forward.
Wanless 7 – Never stopped trying and was the pick of a well below-par midfield.
Riza 6 – Kept making the runs, but his colleagues’ passing was so shoddy he got little chance to wreak his usual havoc.
Kitson 6 – Like his fellow strikers, starved of any sort of quality service and had to live off the most meagre of scraps.
Youngs 7 – Worked like a Trojan, both attack-wise with some good left-wing work and in tackling back to cover for Newey.
Tudor 6 – A few familiar flashes in an unfamiliar central role, but couldn’t rouse his moribund team on his own.
Revell 5 – On the field barely long enough to make any impression.
Chillingworth 5 – On the field barely long enough to make any impression. Is there an echo in here?
Soundtrack of the day: Massive Attack/Butterfly Caught
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Galop. ‘This lively and exciting dance is said to originate from Hungary, and as its name suggests, it was a fast and energetic way to finish a ball! Having spread to Vienna and Berlin in the 1820s, it became famous when it was adopted as the final dance at the French Opera’s masked balls. It was done in basic ballroom position, the couples travelling counter-clockwise round the floor in 2/4 time, and it was so easy to learn that it was said that the most important thing to do was to keep on your feet as if you fell over, all the speeding couples following you would end up in an ungainly heap on the floor! Our new boy Tom had that sort of day today, but he’s only young and we’ll soon knock him into shape – as a ballroom dancer, anyway! Only joking, Tom. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A week is a long time in football. Last week’s unstoppable force became an eminently moveable object as a below-par United were comfortably beaten by the lowly Swans in a slipshod performance that lacked both quality and passion. With a demanding few weeks looming, we can only hope that their schizophrenia switches back to the winning side very soon … Tuesday would be nice!
Man of the match: Warren Goodhind. Quality shone through with immaculate defensive work and passing that put his teammates to shame.
Ref watch: Leake 5. Appropriately named for a game in the land of song, and was mostly satisfactory, but he was far too lax discipline-wise, allowing bad tackles and worse to go unpunished where he should have been at least having words with the protagonists. You suspect he would struggle to keep control in a rather more, ahem, robust encounter.
It looked like the locals had heeded President Bush’s advice. The narrow streets were deserted, doors and windows sealed against the anticipated terrorist threat, the supermarkets denuded of precious food as the populace braced itself for a deadly onslaught of falling aeroplanes, suicide bombers, anthrax and bad breath. Out of a side street came a lone child, pedalling her tricycle without an apparent care in the world. The visitors, concerned, blocked her path. ‘Shouldn’t you be at home with your family? Hasn’t everyone else locked themselves in and hidden under a white sheet to avoid the deadly rays?’ The child gave the amber-shirted strangers a puzzled look, then spoke in a thick, just about decipherable accent. ‘What you talkin’ about? Ma and Pa have gone down the pub with Uncle Pob to watch the rugby. I’m going to the park with our Myfanwy. She said you English were a bit barmy!’
Oh well. While the venue of choice this weekend was Hyde Park, a hundred-odd rugged individualists from Cambridge made the long, long trip to the Vetch, sacrificing a chance to see the big game live on Sky in the process. Never mind, I’m sure they’ll repeat York v Hartlepool a few times later on in the week. The Mighty U’s haven’t won in Swansea since a 4-2 triumph in March 1980 in front of a crowd of over 11,000; those were indeed the days.
The day was cold but bright with nary a cloud in the sky. The sun glinted off the windows of the houses set high into the hillside as they overlooked the calm waters of Swansea Bay, a tranquil scene in stark contrast to the battle in store. Let’s get ready to Mumble. Once parked a few paces from the beach, the invading trickle were a short walk from their destination, with no sign of the hostile faces they had met on their last visit. Or the coins they'd thrown.
Once inside, our ears were assailed by the loudest PA in League history, blaring out a constant stream of nasty mid-80s MOR pop hits: J Geils Band! Trio! John Farnham! All these cutting-edge sounds were ‘mixed’ with consummate heavy-handedness by the Jacks’ ‘personality’ DJ, his technique consisting of starting one record about ten seconds before the other one finished and broadcasting the resultant discordant cacophony with no little evident pride.
The Vetch itself hasn’t changed for a long time: cavernous covered terrace at one end for the visitors, another covered terrace all down one side for the homeboys, facing a rickety ‘main stand’ with about six adjoining roofs, all different colours and all needing a good lick of paint. The far end is the most peculiar sight, though: two-thirds taken up by a towering seated stand with tiny terrace below, tapering into nothing as houses behind the diagonal boundary make it impossible for any sort of stand to occupy the remaining third. Even the stand itself looks unfinished, neat rows of seats ceasing at one end to give way to a bizarrely spread selection of seats which look as if half have been ripped out at random.
The away end still sports the most unusual refreshment hut in the League, too: a dilapidated wooden affair set a good four feet behind a fence, with only a small square hole affording access, set so high and far from the hut itself that anyone shorter than five feet tall would need mechanical assistance to reach. Basic accessories like milk, sugar etc were set upon a table, also behind the fence and a good foot or more below another artfully cut hole, requiring the dexterity of a contortionist to operate with any comfort. Even the programme seller operated from another hole in the fence. What are they all so scared of? Do they think Englishness is contagious?
Today was ‘Ladies Day’ at the Vetch with all females afforded free entry. There was no evidence of any penny-pinching gents trying to get in touch with their feminine sides by ‘dragging it up’, however. This is Wales, after all, home of the most fertile man in the world, Tom Jones, who also inevitably got an airing from Meic Smash in the control room. The players’ entry to the pitch was heralded by two other old classics, Two Tribes and White Riot, which must go down really well when they play their gentle, low-key derbies with Cardiff.
The visitors’ line-up showed one change from last week, Lil’ Luke’s suspension allowing for the introduction of new Leeds loanee Tom Newey at left back, with a resultant reshuffle of Murray to centre back, Tann to right back and Terrier Fleming to midfield. The 4-3-3/4-5-1 system remained in place, leaving wide man duties to Riza The Geezer and Tiny Tom, the best-read footballer in Britain who reads nothing but the best match reports and definitely meant his header to score his second goal last week. Oh yes.
Shane Tudor made a welcome return to the bench in place of ‘So’ Tony Scully, while David Theobald kept his place alongside him for a return to the club that released him earlier this season. The hosts seem to have started collecting players who sound like Tory politicians, boasting both Leon Britton and Michael Howard in their starting line-up, although Norman St John Stevas didn’t make the final squad.
The Vetch pitch was also going to be a factor, a vista of rolling, uneven slopes that turned into a skating rink down one side of the pitch to which the sun had not penetrated. It was the Jacks who started the better in an opening period that can best be described as untidier than Beckham’s latest hairstyle. Dancing Shaun was facing into the sun but for some reason did not sport any sort of headgear. This was almost his undoing on six as he lost a high cross and Newey cleared from the lurking Williams and Martinez, and three minutes later he also fumbled a Mumford effort after a long run by Britton, Tann this time clearing his lines. Goodhind repeated the trick on 12 as he beat three waiting Jacks to a Mumford free-kick.
After United weathered this early storm they finally managed to venture forward, and it became apparent that Newey was also newly appointed corner taker. His first, a knee-high effort to Riza at the near post, was even worse than most of Lil’ Luke’s, but his second on 15 was much better as he found Youngs motoring in intelligently at the near post, his low header blocked and BGG Kitson firing narrowly wide from the rebound. Marc Richards had the ball in the United net on 18, but he had been flagged for offside long before.
Swansea were aiming a lot of their forward balls to veteran John Williams, to whom Newey had been assigned the marking job, and he gave the new boy an immensely difficult time all afternoon with his far greater height, speed and sheer knowhow. Look on it as a crash course learning experience, Tom. ‘You’re just a bunch of students!’ sang the home fans with all the originality and wit of Bernard Manning, without the charm. The amber hordes’ retorts were no less predictable, invoking the inevitable woolly references. Baad boys.
Mumford tested Marshall from long range on 20, then after a short spell of Swans pressure, United appeared to be beginning to find their feet. Wanless had a clear header at goal from another Newey corner, but arrowed it narrowly over, then Kitson ran on to an excellent Fleming ball over the top and saw his angled rocket volley saved well by Freestone at his near post. Swansea responded with a Howard shot over, then Youngs was denied by a last-ditch Evans sliding tackle. Then on 40 came United’s best chance yet, Riza’s deep cross finding Kitson six yards out; but instead of sticking out a boot or trying a header, he tried to control it on his chest under pressure from Smith, took far too long and Freestone comfortably gathered his scuffed effort. At the other end, danger man Williams almost sent the Swans into half-time ahead after a mazy run, but Marshall blocked well with his legs.
So, like Hello!’s Douglas/Zeta Jones wedding photos, the content had been there, but with a distinct lack of real quality. The U’s had played in fits and starts, never getting their passing game going like we know they can, with the best interactivity down the left flank of Youngs and Newey, but precious little penetrative ball emanating from a midfield in which David Bridges looked lost and his partners were all artisan with precious little artistry. The hosts had looked intermittently dangerous, playing a positive 4-3-3 as wise old head Brian Flynn decided to attack his way out of trouble with Spanish Sky pundit Martinez pulling the strings in the middle and, as previously stated, Williams the main outlet up top.
Half time was enlivened for the gents in the crowd by a dancing troupe of attractive young ladies known as the Ice Babes, their belly button studs flashing in the sunlight as they pirouetted and gyrated their way around the centre circle. Well the women had got in free, so the blokes deserved something in reciprocation, hmm? Then after a second blast of the Piranhas’ Tom Hark, the teams were back for part two, unchanged for the time being.
Mumford set the tone within 30 seconds of the restart, forcing Marshall into a tip round the post from 20 yards, but within five minutes the hosts were forced into a change as Evans was forced off after a foul by Murray for which he was booked, Kris O’Leary depping. Murray was roundly booed by the home fans for the remainder of the match, but this was hardly surprising from a crowd that howled its outrage at the unfairness of the world each and every time any decision at all went against them. We hadn’t heard so much moaning since Channel 5’s last British Soft Porn of the 1970s season. Did they do Confessions of a Football Supporter?
Swansea were once again on top as United’s passing began to take on all the accuracy of a Ryan Giggs right-footer at an open goal. And on 58 the home breakthrough came: inevitably its source was Williams, losing Newey again wide right and firing in a cross that Watkin met forcefully less than ten yards out. Marshall could only paw it out, straight to the inrushing Richards who blasted gratefully home from point blank range.
Williams almost provided another eight minutes later, again skipping away from Newey and sending over a cross-shot that would have found the back of the net had it been a few yards to the right, or would have found Watkin for an easy tap-in had it been a few yards the other way; as it was, it flashed across the face of goal and a few feet wide of the far post. The amber hordes were more relieved than Nasser Hussein being told he didn’t have to go to Harare; sadly, we would also soon be facing a loss of vital points.
A change had to be made, and Tudor made a welcome return on 72 in place of the anonymous Bridges, taking up his central midfield role. With almost his first touch, his free kick found the head of Captain Fantastic but Freestone saved. A spell of United pressure ensued, still too reliant on hopeful long balls and crosses rather than on the crisp, accurate passing of early season, but at least it was vaguely threatening for a time. A Tann cross found Wanless six yards out, but Smith managed to deflect it over the bar with the goal at Wannie’s mercy, then following some pinball after the ensuing corner Goodhind sent a skimmer scudding wide of the far post from the edge of the area.
Eight minutes from time, however, it was all over. Swansea, playing on the break, found their best passer in the form of Martinez, and his pinpoint ball floated past Murray to Richards, whose superb lob-volley sailed over Marshall and into the top corner from the angle 15 yards out. The Jacks burst into a rendition of Can’t Help Falling Love With Ewe and the writing was on the wall for toothless United as surely as the nose on Jacko’s face. Or maybe in a jar.
Revell and Chillingworth (goals this season: 0) replaced Riza and Youngs (goals this season: 19) in a spot of deckchair rearrangement on 83, but to no avail. Tempers started to fray as Riza and Smith were booked by laissez-faire ref Leake (who said the League doesn’t have a sense of humour?) for some handbags while Fleming clogged Britton, who responded with raised hands, but Leake missed all that in the excitement. Best remaining chances fell to the hosts, Richards blasting over from close range on 88 and Britton missing in added time when it looked easier to score.
Thus ended a bitterly disappointing day for those of us who had thought the promotion chase was back on track after last week. Too many players were off form, and far too many just didn’t seem able to pass a ball with any semblance of accuracy; the pitch wasn’t great, but Swansea managed it all right. Shaggy and the Prof will have to work some magic with a two-match-a-week schedule upon us, next up being the LDV game at Ashton Gate on Tuesday.
The only positive there seems to be that Bristol are in just as poor a run of form as we are at the moment, as are next Saturday’s opponents, Hull. We’ve just got to forget about injuries and potential excuses and play our hearts out with courage and positivity, like Swansea did in their desperation today. It’s a crazy plan, but it might just work …
Marshall 6 – Not a game the Terpsichorean custodian will recall with any affection. Don’t forget your cap next time.
Tann 7 – Solidly reliable display from one of our most consistent players.
Goodhind 8 – Outstanding at the back with excellent covering and distribution.
Murray 7 – As good in the middle as he is wide left, had his work cut out covering for young Newey as well as doing his own job.
Newey 5 – The proverbial torrid debut for young Tom as he was given the runaround by the bigger, more experienced Williams. But let’s not dismiss him after his first League game ever, eh?
Bridges 5 – Disappointingly quiet game for Bridgo who never got his passing game together.
Fleming 6 – Scurried around busily as ever, although was so preoccupied with defensive duties, had little time to get forward.
Wanless 7 – Never stopped trying and was the pick of a well below-par midfield.
Riza 6 – Kept making the runs, but his colleagues’ passing was so shoddy he got little chance to wreak his usual havoc.
Kitson 6 – Like his fellow strikers, starved of any sort of quality service and had to live off the most meagre of scraps.
Youngs 7 – Worked like a Trojan, both attack-wise with some good left-wing work and in tackling back to cover for Newey.
Tudor 6 – A few familiar flashes in an unfamiliar central role, but couldn’t rouse his moribund team on his own.
Revell 5 – On the field barely long enough to make any impression.
Chillingworth 5 – On the field barely long enough to make any impression. Is there an echo in here?
Soundtrack of the day: Massive Attack/Butterfly Caught
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Galop. ‘This lively and exciting dance is said to originate from Hungary, and as its name suggests, it was a fast and energetic way to finish a ball! Having spread to Vienna and Berlin in the 1820s, it became famous when it was adopted as the final dance at the French Opera’s masked balls. It was done in basic ballroom position, the couples travelling counter-clockwise round the floor in 2/4 time, and it was so easy to learn that it was said that the most important thing to do was to keep on your feet as if you fell over, all the speeding couples following you would end up in an ungainly heap on the floor! Our new boy Tom had that sort of day today, but he’s only young and we’ll soon knock him into shape – as a ballroom dancer, anyway! Only joking, Tom. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A week is a long time in football. Last week’s unstoppable force became an eminently moveable object as a below-par United were comfortably beaten by the lowly Swans in a slipshod performance that lacked both quality and passion. With a demanding few weeks looming, we can only hope that their schizophrenia switches back to the winning side very soon … Tuesday would be nice!
Man of the match: Warren Goodhind. Quality shone through with immaculate defensive work and passing that put his teammates to shame.
Ref watch: Leake 5. Appropriately named for a game in the land of song, and was mostly satisfactory, but he was far too lax discipline-wise, allowing bad tackles and worse to go unpunished where he should have been at least having words with the protagonists. You suspect he would struggle to keep control in a rather more, ahem, robust encounter.
Swansea Bay: there's lovely.
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Tuesday, 18 February 2003: Bristol City 4-2 United
Hello, girls and boys. There is a secret place, many miles away in space and time, where the Guardians live. The Guardians look after things … special things. Some things are so special that no human being has ever seen them, and many do not believe they even exist. The Guardians are secretive beings. If you asked them if they were guarding a certain something, they would not tell you if it even existed.
One such Special Thing is the Magic of the Cup. The Golden Guardians look after the FA Cup, the Cup of Cups, while the Silver Guardians are charged with the Magic of the lesser trophies. In one obscure corner live the Bronze Guardians. They have the most select task of all: looking after the Magic of the LDV Vans Trophy. It is a rare and elusive Magic, revealed only to a select few.
On Tuesday night, Squeeglepatch, Feltchendribble and Snufflepotty stood hunched around their cauldron in which the Magic was bubbling and sparkling like the light of a thousand tiny comets. ‘Eye of toad! Wing of bat! Fifteen rolls of Barry Fry’s fat! Jacko’s drippings! Swansea’s bile! Beckham’s bumgrapes by the pile!’ squealed Squeeglepatch. ‘So what did you have for lunch?’ ‘Sounds delicious! I only had time for a McChicken Burger,’ said Snufflepotty. ‘Probably tasted about the same, though. How is the Magic, Feltchendribble?’
‘There is much shifting and changing in the Magic tonight,’ declared the third Guardian. ‘It has been tinted with amber and black for so long, but now I see increasing streaks of red running through it like rivers of molten tomato sauce.’ Squeeglepatch snorted. ‘That’ll be the fault of that bone-idle new assistant of ours. For goodness’ sake, Armand, stop loafing about and start stirring!’
Yes kids, it’s that time again, when everyday thoughts and cares are left behind and we dream once more of Cardiffian glory in our favourite knockout competition. And once again, it’s our old pals Bristol City who stand in our way. But this time the tableswere turned: City had home advantage first, and unbelievably were in worse recent form than the Mighty U’s, their only win since the turn of the year being in the last round of the LDV.
After the shock of last season’s Oné-inspired defeat, the atmosphere was noticeably more low-key than a Leonard Cohen song: no Wurzels (darn! I was so looking forward to them) and no soldiers playing war games on the pitch this time. The Robins, it seemed, were determined not to tempt fate a second time, restricting pre-match entertainment to a posse of frozen young pompom girls. The PA entertainment might have been good, but so dreadfully muffled was the speaker system that very little of any coherence at all could be determined by Cantabrigian ears. Pity, given Bristol’s rich musical heritage: Massive Attack, Portishead, Smith & Mighty, The Pop Group, the, er, Wurzels again … whatever did happen to the Glaxo Babies?
The United team showed two changes from Saturday’s eminently forgettable game at, you know, Thingy, Shane Tudor making a welcome return to the starting line-up in place of the enigmatically absent Omer Riza, while Lil’ Luke Guttridge replaced David Bridges. The formation had, however, been subject to a certain amount of tweakage: Tann, Goodhind and Murray constituted a tight middle three at the back, while Tudor was nominally right wing back and Tom Newey was given the job Terry Fleming got last year, a strict man-marking job on plug-ugly dangerman Scott Murray. This left a narrow, battling midfield of Wannie, Luke and the Terrier with BGG Kitson and Tony Tom a conventional front two. Shaggy and the Prof just can’t stop tinkering, can they? Listen to your mums: stop picking at it, it’ll never get better. The hosts fielded a strong line-up including last season’s wonder-goal scorer in our League encounter, Mickey Bell, who revealed in the programme that he’s had five different roommates this season. Two words, mate: Odour Eaters.
It was a cold, cold night for Bristolians and the impressive turnout of amber hordes alike, but the pitch was in surprisingly good nick. City must surely have been lacking in confidence after their recent dismal run, but it didn’t show as they laid energetic siege to the United goal from the off. Early shots peppered Dancing Shaun’s goal from Christian Roberts and Tommy Doherty, who found himself in ref Taylor’s notebook as early as the sixth minute for clattering Captain Fantastic. Lee Peacock, still fondly remembered for his hilarious comedy penalty in the first leg at the Abbey last season, headed wide from close range on ten and it became all too apparent that City had spotted the flaws in the visitors’ formation and knew all too well how to exploit it.
The key was down the flanks. Down the United left, Scott Murray initially held back with his shadow Newey, allowing colleagues to sprint past him into the yawning gap in the corner untracked by a dark blue shirt. Later on the wily Scots winger capitalised on the new boy’s vulnerability to the diagonal ball over the top just like John Williams did on Saturday and, it must be said, gave the youngster another right good chasing to boot.
Meanwhile, City found even more room down the United right, finding Tann too far infield and Tudor too far upfield (a wing back? about as good an idea as a Spice Girls reunion), sending two men down the flank in tandem and firing in unhurried crosses at will. The United midfield looked static in comparison, slow to react to their opponents’ off-ball movement and utterly unable to string together any sort of passing movement of more than two balls. That was on the rare occasion when they even touched the ball, all too many times their defensive colleagues choosing to hoof the ball into the air over their heads than try to play the passing football that worked so well earlier in the season.
Fred Murray had to be quick on 13 to stop his namesake Scott after he beat Newey for the first time, then United actually managed a rare foray into the City half as they gained a free kick just outside the area. Moan time: is there a team in the League that is less imaginative and successful at these set pieces than us? This effort was the usual uninspired ‘will-this-do?’ fare, the ball touched back to Fleming, allowing the City wall to advance and block the Terrier’s lame low drive with ease. Newey blasted one into the wall later in the half to show that we are at least consistently unimaginative.
Louis Carey became City’s second booking on 16 as Taylor tried to assert his authority early, but now the pressure was really on as the United rearguard was subject to a searching examination from a Bristol attack like an army of Martin Bashirs. Tony Butler shot wide from six yards on 19, Bell’s shot a minute later was blocked by Fleming, and on 21 the inevitable breakthrough finally came. Yet another cross was chested away by Freddie Murray and as vain cries of handball filled the air, Doherty latched on to it outside the box to lash a low drive through the crowded area and low into the far left-hand corner of the helpless Marshall’s net. It had, as the old saying goes, been coming.
Guttridge managed an off-target shot in a rare break on 25, then it was back to defence as City, lifted by their goal, kept pounding away. Roberts’ vicious low cross on 29 from the United left was parried by Marshall and Wozza Goodhind completed the clearance job as the red shirts closed in, then Scott Murray tested the Terpsichorean custodian with a close-range header than was again stopped then cleared by an obliging colleague, this time Tann.
But United, some of that old battling spirit still showing through, retorted with a short spell of pressure of their own, and amazingly, turned the game on its head with an equaliser on 34. Tudor was the provider, picking up a cleared corner on the left, and City made the mistake United had been making in allowing him to look up and pick his spot. His right-footed cross was exquisite and picked out the distinctive head of Kitson, rising majestically above the red-shirted defence to slam a header home from eight yards. Our flabber had never been so gasted. That old LDV Magic had struck again.
Bristol reeled from the shock for a few minutes, their recent poor run now back uppermost in their minds, but in the absence of any further inspiration from the visitors, gradually turned up the heat again as half-time approached. Again the crosses began to rain in like stray boots in the Man United dressing room, and Goodhind was caught by a penetrating Butler ball on 41 as Peacock got behind him to test Dancing Shaun from six yards; but England’s No 1 was equal to the task, standing strong to block well. Minutes later Burnell shot wildly wide before Butler got his head to another corner to find Marshall in defiant mood, pawing clear instinctively. The interval whistle came as much relief to United’s beleaguered troops. Surely changes had to be made to their chronically overexposed line-up in the second half.
Er, no, although one look at the decimated bench told the story: two strikers, Chillingworth and Revell, one midfielder, Bridges, and rookie defender Dan Huggins recalled from the clutches of the Lilywhites to accompany Martin Brennan. Not exactly an array of match-turners there, with all due respect to the lads’ undoubted promise. First chance of part two, surprisingly, was a rare United one, Tiny Tom heading wide, but thereafter it was ‘as you were’ with crosses once more pinging their way around the visitors’ penalty box. If the match had taken place in London, Ken Livingstone would have had the City players paying a congestion charge.
Roberts’ 25-yarder on 48 was well caught by Marshall, and five minutes later Goodhind’s intended headed backpass fell woefully short as Peacock, breathing down his neck, gave chase and somehow got a foot to it to crash against the outside of the post from the angle. Then, just as United looked like wilting under the intense pressure, (oops) they did it again. Initial provider was Wanless, all too often not so much Glenn Hoddle as, well, Carl Hoddle, but on 54 his precision lofted through ball sent Tudor scampering clear down the right.
Again untroubled by any defender, he picked up on Youngs advancing into the area in a central position 12 yards out, sneaking in behind Hill, and his fantastic cross unerringly found Tiny Tom’s head; his intelligent looping header crashed against the underside of the bar as keeper Phillips looked on in dismay, and Kitson, anticipating beautifully, was Johnny On The Spot to chest home from point blank range. 2-1. Unbelievable! Truly now the Magic of the LDV was turned on full blast. Could we do it again?
Bristol bounced back, Peacock flinging himself at Doherty’s free kick on 59 and seeing his header cannon off the underside of the bar like Youngs’ effort, except this time Newey hoofed it away before any marauders could muscle in. Doherty was lucky to avoid his second yellow when he clattered Fleming on the hour, ref Taylor suddenly not so keen on waving his cards around, then Carey blasted over after a one-two with Joe Burnell. Robins boss Danny Wilson, who had spent most of the match ranting at nothing in particular from both inside and outside his technical area, decided it was time for a change and introduced on-loan veteran Mark Robins in place of the begloved Roberts.
A minute later it was 2-2 in unlucky circumstances for the boys in blue. Carey’s ball through the middle found Burnell in space as United had retreated far too deep, and as Fleming sprinted out belatedly, he deflected the Bristol midfielder’s speculative shot over Marshall and into the corner of the net. It was Burnell’s second ever goal in over 100 games for City … both in the LDV. Looks like he’s picked up some of its magic, too.
Now the Robins were rampant again as the previously nervy and fearful fans found their voices. Marshall foiled Murray as he left Newey for dead again, Doherty saw an effort from the D saved, then another diagonal ball for Murray exposed Newey again, but this time United’s own Murray sprinted across and dispossessed his namesake with a quite magnificent crunching but clean tackle. The ref rightly waved away hopeful howls for a spot kick.
But the pressure was as plentiful as unsold Popstars: The Rivals concert tickets, and barely three minutes after equalising, City were in front. The U’s were opened up once again by a ball over the top, this time by Tinnion, Robins helped it on to the onrushing Murray and he buried it in the bottom left corner as Newey and Freddie chased in vain. It was the Scot’s fourth goal in consecutive rounds for the Robins after he missed a penalty in the first round against QPR: another recipient of that LDV Magic. Give us some, oh go on mister, please.
Guttridge misplaced another shot on 72 as United attempted gamely to respond, but just as it looked as if they might settle back and hold on to a respectable one-goal defeat came Bristol’s fourth. And what an absolutely appalling goal it was to concede from the visitors’ point of view. It came, would you believe, from a United free kick, Goodhind taking it from the right channel just upfield of the centre circle. His aimless, useless kick fell straight to Doherty with no United player even looking at the thing, and his immediate through ball sent Robins sprinting away downfield. With no defender able to get near him, he made it look easy as he drew Marshall then slotted nonchalantly past him like the old pro he is, less than ten seconds after Goodhind had taken United’s free kick. Kamikaze football.
United’s brief became even more limited: keep them down to 4-2. On 82 Doherty had another shot well tipped round for a corner by Marshall, and Butler’s header from the resultant flag kick was equally well blocked by the Terpsichorean custodian before being wellied clear. United’s last despairing throw of the die was to replace the swamped, anonymous Guttridge with Bridges, but it was the Robins who finished much the stronger as the visitors threw all hands to the pumps. The boys in blue summed up their sloppy display with a free kick in added time: Tudor left it to Goodhind out on the right flank, numerous teammates made their ways forward to try to force a last-gasp face-saver … and the kick, like so many others, was awful, falling feebly behind the front players and easily cleared. Tudor’s crosses for the United goals had been glorious exceptions: balls delivered in front of the strikers to enable them to get a crack at goal. Seems so simple, doesn’t it?
The final whistle came as a relief to United’s underachieving XI. To get away with only a two-goal deficit against an impressive attacking unit like Bristol had been quite an achievement in the end, and at least leaves the door slightly ajar for the second leg. But we’ve got to GO FOR IT next time: no more faffing around with fancy formations that fail to function, no more worrying about the opposition. Let’s play to our strengths and let them worry about us … and that means ATTACK! That’s what has got us results this season, not man-markers, wing backs or Christmas tree formations. We’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain (mmm, LDV merchandise!) and who knows, with a slightly overconfident City on the back foot, an early goal, a packed Abbey … anything could happen. Golden goal? Let’s get prospecting.
Marshall 8 – Busier than a particularly busy bumblebee, made numerous vital stops and innumerable catches, punches and clearances in the face of almost constant pressure. No chance with the goals.
Tann 7 – Kept up his own high personal standard in demanding circumstances.
Newey 5 – After Saturday, the poor lad was given an even more demanding task in a man-marking job on Murray and although he did his best, you can’t help but think we’re asking too much too soon of someone so inexperienced. Some good flashes when getting forward.
Goodhind 7 – Coolness personified at the eye of the storm.
Murray 7 – Also stood tall in the hurricane, showing once again that he can be a quite spectacular tackler when the occasion demands.
Tudor 6 – Tentative-looking display, indicating that perhaps he’s been rushed back too soon, but still provided two fantastic pinpoint crosses for our goals.
Wanless 7 – Passing not the best at times, but his attitude and aggression made him the best of a poor bunch in midfield.
Fleming 5 – Must have forgotten his contact lenses because I’ve never seen one player pass straight to the opposition so often in one match. Doghouse performance from the Terrier.
Guttridge 5 – Mostly bypassed by the hosts’ midfield or by his own defenders’ hoofs upfield, he never got into the game.
Youngs 6 – Superb header to create United’s second goal and could have done more damage with better service.
Kitson 7 – Flame-haired beacon of hope up front. If only he’d been given a better supply.
Bridges 5 – Late sub made no difference to a lost cause.
Soundtrack of the day: Moloko/Familiar Feeling
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Aeroplane Waltz. ’This quaint but enjoyable dance was popularised in the 1910s and was originally danced to a tune called Come Josephine In My Flying Machine, although it can be danced to any 3/4 tempo waltz. From the Tango dance position, participants would glide and dip like an aeroplane going over a mountain top and down into a valley, then to the left or right in a Long Boston (the well-known American waltz step). It was also a popular dance for children at its peak and it must have been quite an endearing sight to see those little identically-dressed figures all stepping out together in a straggly line, trying to get it right – a bit like my back four playing the offside trap! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United’s cup hopes were raised, then dashed, but in the end remained intact after a torrid night of dogged defending studded with two stunning breakaway goals. Next Tuesday’s mountain will be hard to climb, but if the U’s can fire on all cylinders and take the second leg by the throat, that LDV Magic might, just might, still burn a little longer. Go for it!
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. Won’t get a busier game this season, and kept the score down in an all-action, all-punching, all-kicking spectacular which would have left Jackie Chan breathless.
Ref watch: Taylor 6. Started impressively with a couple of early bookings to show he wouldn’t stand for any nonsense, then failed to follow through consistently by letting equally card-worthy offences off scot-free. Some over-fussy whistling too, but on the plus side refused to be swayed by the home fans’ regular (and erroneous) clamouring for a penalty.
Hello, girls and boys. There is a secret place, many miles away in space and time, where the Guardians live. The Guardians look after things … special things. Some things are so special that no human being has ever seen them, and many do not believe they even exist. The Guardians are secretive beings. If you asked them if they were guarding a certain something, they would not tell you if it even existed.
One such Special Thing is the Magic of the Cup. The Golden Guardians look after the FA Cup, the Cup of Cups, while the Silver Guardians are charged with the Magic of the lesser trophies. In one obscure corner live the Bronze Guardians. They have the most select task of all: looking after the Magic of the LDV Vans Trophy. It is a rare and elusive Magic, revealed only to a select few.
On Tuesday night, Squeeglepatch, Feltchendribble and Snufflepotty stood hunched around their cauldron in which the Magic was bubbling and sparkling like the light of a thousand tiny comets. ‘Eye of toad! Wing of bat! Fifteen rolls of Barry Fry’s fat! Jacko’s drippings! Swansea’s bile! Beckham’s bumgrapes by the pile!’ squealed Squeeglepatch. ‘So what did you have for lunch?’ ‘Sounds delicious! I only had time for a McChicken Burger,’ said Snufflepotty. ‘Probably tasted about the same, though. How is the Magic, Feltchendribble?’
‘There is much shifting and changing in the Magic tonight,’ declared the third Guardian. ‘It has been tinted with amber and black for so long, but now I see increasing streaks of red running through it like rivers of molten tomato sauce.’ Squeeglepatch snorted. ‘That’ll be the fault of that bone-idle new assistant of ours. For goodness’ sake, Armand, stop loafing about and start stirring!’
Yes kids, it’s that time again, when everyday thoughts and cares are left behind and we dream once more of Cardiffian glory in our favourite knockout competition. And once again, it’s our old pals Bristol City who stand in our way. But this time the tableswere turned: City had home advantage first, and unbelievably were in worse recent form than the Mighty U’s, their only win since the turn of the year being in the last round of the LDV.
After the shock of last season’s Oné-inspired defeat, the atmosphere was noticeably more low-key than a Leonard Cohen song: no Wurzels (darn! I was so looking forward to them) and no soldiers playing war games on the pitch this time. The Robins, it seemed, were determined not to tempt fate a second time, restricting pre-match entertainment to a posse of frozen young pompom girls. The PA entertainment might have been good, but so dreadfully muffled was the speaker system that very little of any coherence at all could be determined by Cantabrigian ears. Pity, given Bristol’s rich musical heritage: Massive Attack, Portishead, Smith & Mighty, The Pop Group, the, er, Wurzels again … whatever did happen to the Glaxo Babies?
The United team showed two changes from Saturday’s eminently forgettable game at, you know, Thingy, Shane Tudor making a welcome return to the starting line-up in place of the enigmatically absent Omer Riza, while Lil’ Luke Guttridge replaced David Bridges. The formation had, however, been subject to a certain amount of tweakage: Tann, Goodhind and Murray constituted a tight middle three at the back, while Tudor was nominally right wing back and Tom Newey was given the job Terry Fleming got last year, a strict man-marking job on plug-ugly dangerman Scott Murray. This left a narrow, battling midfield of Wannie, Luke and the Terrier with BGG Kitson and Tony Tom a conventional front two. Shaggy and the Prof just can’t stop tinkering, can they? Listen to your mums: stop picking at it, it’ll never get better. The hosts fielded a strong line-up including last season’s wonder-goal scorer in our League encounter, Mickey Bell, who revealed in the programme that he’s had five different roommates this season. Two words, mate: Odour Eaters.
It was a cold, cold night for Bristolians and the impressive turnout of amber hordes alike, but the pitch was in surprisingly good nick. City must surely have been lacking in confidence after their recent dismal run, but it didn’t show as they laid energetic siege to the United goal from the off. Early shots peppered Dancing Shaun’s goal from Christian Roberts and Tommy Doherty, who found himself in ref Taylor’s notebook as early as the sixth minute for clattering Captain Fantastic. Lee Peacock, still fondly remembered for his hilarious comedy penalty in the first leg at the Abbey last season, headed wide from close range on ten and it became all too apparent that City had spotted the flaws in the visitors’ formation and knew all too well how to exploit it.
The key was down the flanks. Down the United left, Scott Murray initially held back with his shadow Newey, allowing colleagues to sprint past him into the yawning gap in the corner untracked by a dark blue shirt. Later on the wily Scots winger capitalised on the new boy’s vulnerability to the diagonal ball over the top just like John Williams did on Saturday and, it must be said, gave the youngster another right good chasing to boot.
Meanwhile, City found even more room down the United right, finding Tann too far infield and Tudor too far upfield (a wing back? about as good an idea as a Spice Girls reunion), sending two men down the flank in tandem and firing in unhurried crosses at will. The United midfield looked static in comparison, slow to react to their opponents’ off-ball movement and utterly unable to string together any sort of passing movement of more than two balls. That was on the rare occasion when they even touched the ball, all too many times their defensive colleagues choosing to hoof the ball into the air over their heads than try to play the passing football that worked so well earlier in the season.
Fred Murray had to be quick on 13 to stop his namesake Scott after he beat Newey for the first time, then United actually managed a rare foray into the City half as they gained a free kick just outside the area. Moan time: is there a team in the League that is less imaginative and successful at these set pieces than us? This effort was the usual uninspired ‘will-this-do?’ fare, the ball touched back to Fleming, allowing the City wall to advance and block the Terrier’s lame low drive with ease. Newey blasted one into the wall later in the half to show that we are at least consistently unimaginative.
Louis Carey became City’s second booking on 16 as Taylor tried to assert his authority early, but now the pressure was really on as the United rearguard was subject to a searching examination from a Bristol attack like an army of Martin Bashirs. Tony Butler shot wide from six yards on 19, Bell’s shot a minute later was blocked by Fleming, and on 21 the inevitable breakthrough finally came. Yet another cross was chested away by Freddie Murray and as vain cries of handball filled the air, Doherty latched on to it outside the box to lash a low drive through the crowded area and low into the far left-hand corner of the helpless Marshall’s net. It had, as the old saying goes, been coming.
Guttridge managed an off-target shot in a rare break on 25, then it was back to defence as City, lifted by their goal, kept pounding away. Roberts’ vicious low cross on 29 from the United left was parried by Marshall and Wozza Goodhind completed the clearance job as the red shirts closed in, then Scott Murray tested the Terpsichorean custodian with a close-range header than was again stopped then cleared by an obliging colleague, this time Tann.
But United, some of that old battling spirit still showing through, retorted with a short spell of pressure of their own, and amazingly, turned the game on its head with an equaliser on 34. Tudor was the provider, picking up a cleared corner on the left, and City made the mistake United had been making in allowing him to look up and pick his spot. His right-footed cross was exquisite and picked out the distinctive head of Kitson, rising majestically above the red-shirted defence to slam a header home from eight yards. Our flabber had never been so gasted. That old LDV Magic had struck again.
Bristol reeled from the shock for a few minutes, their recent poor run now back uppermost in their minds, but in the absence of any further inspiration from the visitors, gradually turned up the heat again as half-time approached. Again the crosses began to rain in like stray boots in the Man United dressing room, and Goodhind was caught by a penetrating Butler ball on 41 as Peacock got behind him to test Dancing Shaun from six yards; but England’s No 1 was equal to the task, standing strong to block well. Minutes later Burnell shot wildly wide before Butler got his head to another corner to find Marshall in defiant mood, pawing clear instinctively. The interval whistle came as much relief to United’s beleaguered troops. Surely changes had to be made to their chronically overexposed line-up in the second half.
Er, no, although one look at the decimated bench told the story: two strikers, Chillingworth and Revell, one midfielder, Bridges, and rookie defender Dan Huggins recalled from the clutches of the Lilywhites to accompany Martin Brennan. Not exactly an array of match-turners there, with all due respect to the lads’ undoubted promise. First chance of part two, surprisingly, was a rare United one, Tiny Tom heading wide, but thereafter it was ‘as you were’ with crosses once more pinging their way around the visitors’ penalty box. If the match had taken place in London, Ken Livingstone would have had the City players paying a congestion charge.
Roberts’ 25-yarder on 48 was well caught by Marshall, and five minutes later Goodhind’s intended headed backpass fell woefully short as Peacock, breathing down his neck, gave chase and somehow got a foot to it to crash against the outside of the post from the angle. Then, just as United looked like wilting under the intense pressure, (oops) they did it again. Initial provider was Wanless, all too often not so much Glenn Hoddle as, well, Carl Hoddle, but on 54 his precision lofted through ball sent Tudor scampering clear down the right.
Again untroubled by any defender, he picked up on Youngs advancing into the area in a central position 12 yards out, sneaking in behind Hill, and his fantastic cross unerringly found Tiny Tom’s head; his intelligent looping header crashed against the underside of the bar as keeper Phillips looked on in dismay, and Kitson, anticipating beautifully, was Johnny On The Spot to chest home from point blank range. 2-1. Unbelievable! Truly now the Magic of the LDV was turned on full blast. Could we do it again?
Bristol bounced back, Peacock flinging himself at Doherty’s free kick on 59 and seeing his header cannon off the underside of the bar like Youngs’ effort, except this time Newey hoofed it away before any marauders could muscle in. Doherty was lucky to avoid his second yellow when he clattered Fleming on the hour, ref Taylor suddenly not so keen on waving his cards around, then Carey blasted over after a one-two with Joe Burnell. Robins boss Danny Wilson, who had spent most of the match ranting at nothing in particular from both inside and outside his technical area, decided it was time for a change and introduced on-loan veteran Mark Robins in place of the begloved Roberts.
A minute later it was 2-2 in unlucky circumstances for the boys in blue. Carey’s ball through the middle found Burnell in space as United had retreated far too deep, and as Fleming sprinted out belatedly, he deflected the Bristol midfielder’s speculative shot over Marshall and into the corner of the net. It was Burnell’s second ever goal in over 100 games for City … both in the LDV. Looks like he’s picked up some of its magic, too.
Now the Robins were rampant again as the previously nervy and fearful fans found their voices. Marshall foiled Murray as he left Newey for dead again, Doherty saw an effort from the D saved, then another diagonal ball for Murray exposed Newey again, but this time United’s own Murray sprinted across and dispossessed his namesake with a quite magnificent crunching but clean tackle. The ref rightly waved away hopeful howls for a spot kick.
But the pressure was as plentiful as unsold Popstars: The Rivals concert tickets, and barely three minutes after equalising, City were in front. The U’s were opened up once again by a ball over the top, this time by Tinnion, Robins helped it on to the onrushing Murray and he buried it in the bottom left corner as Newey and Freddie chased in vain. It was the Scot’s fourth goal in consecutive rounds for the Robins after he missed a penalty in the first round against QPR: another recipient of that LDV Magic. Give us some, oh go on mister, please.
Guttridge misplaced another shot on 72 as United attempted gamely to respond, but just as it looked as if they might settle back and hold on to a respectable one-goal defeat came Bristol’s fourth. And what an absolutely appalling goal it was to concede from the visitors’ point of view. It came, would you believe, from a United free kick, Goodhind taking it from the right channel just upfield of the centre circle. His aimless, useless kick fell straight to Doherty with no United player even looking at the thing, and his immediate through ball sent Robins sprinting away downfield. With no defender able to get near him, he made it look easy as he drew Marshall then slotted nonchalantly past him like the old pro he is, less than ten seconds after Goodhind had taken United’s free kick. Kamikaze football.
United’s brief became even more limited: keep them down to 4-2. On 82 Doherty had another shot well tipped round for a corner by Marshall, and Butler’s header from the resultant flag kick was equally well blocked by the Terpsichorean custodian before being wellied clear. United’s last despairing throw of the die was to replace the swamped, anonymous Guttridge with Bridges, but it was the Robins who finished much the stronger as the visitors threw all hands to the pumps. The boys in blue summed up their sloppy display with a free kick in added time: Tudor left it to Goodhind out on the right flank, numerous teammates made their ways forward to try to force a last-gasp face-saver … and the kick, like so many others, was awful, falling feebly behind the front players and easily cleared. Tudor’s crosses for the United goals had been glorious exceptions: balls delivered in front of the strikers to enable them to get a crack at goal. Seems so simple, doesn’t it?
The final whistle came as a relief to United’s underachieving XI. To get away with only a two-goal deficit against an impressive attacking unit like Bristol had been quite an achievement in the end, and at least leaves the door slightly ajar for the second leg. But we’ve got to GO FOR IT next time: no more faffing around with fancy formations that fail to function, no more worrying about the opposition. Let’s play to our strengths and let them worry about us … and that means ATTACK! That’s what has got us results this season, not man-markers, wing backs or Christmas tree formations. We’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain (mmm, LDV merchandise!) and who knows, with a slightly overconfident City on the back foot, an early goal, a packed Abbey … anything could happen. Golden goal? Let’s get prospecting.
Marshall 8 – Busier than a particularly busy bumblebee, made numerous vital stops and innumerable catches, punches and clearances in the face of almost constant pressure. No chance with the goals.
Tann 7 – Kept up his own high personal standard in demanding circumstances.
Newey 5 – After Saturday, the poor lad was given an even more demanding task in a man-marking job on Murray and although he did his best, you can’t help but think we’re asking too much too soon of someone so inexperienced. Some good flashes when getting forward.
Goodhind 7 – Coolness personified at the eye of the storm.
Murray 7 – Also stood tall in the hurricane, showing once again that he can be a quite spectacular tackler when the occasion demands.
Tudor 6 – Tentative-looking display, indicating that perhaps he’s been rushed back too soon, but still provided two fantastic pinpoint crosses for our goals.
Wanless 7 – Passing not the best at times, but his attitude and aggression made him the best of a poor bunch in midfield.
Fleming 5 – Must have forgotten his contact lenses because I’ve never seen one player pass straight to the opposition so often in one match. Doghouse performance from the Terrier.
Guttridge 5 – Mostly bypassed by the hosts’ midfield or by his own defenders’ hoofs upfield, he never got into the game.
Youngs 6 – Superb header to create United’s second goal and could have done more damage with better service.
Kitson 7 – Flame-haired beacon of hope up front. If only he’d been given a better supply.
Bridges 5 – Late sub made no difference to a lost cause.
Soundtrack of the day: Moloko/Familiar Feeling
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Aeroplane Waltz. ’This quaint but enjoyable dance was popularised in the 1910s and was originally danced to a tune called Come Josephine In My Flying Machine, although it can be danced to any 3/4 tempo waltz. From the Tango dance position, participants would glide and dip like an aeroplane going over a mountain top and down into a valley, then to the left or right in a Long Boston (the well-known American waltz step). It was also a popular dance for children at its peak and it must have been quite an endearing sight to see those little identically-dressed figures all stepping out together in a straggly line, trying to get it right – a bit like my back four playing the offside trap! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United’s cup hopes were raised, then dashed, but in the end remained intact after a torrid night of dogged defending studded with two stunning breakaway goals. Next Tuesday’s mountain will be hard to climb, but if the U’s can fire on all cylinders and take the second leg by the throat, that LDV Magic might, just might, still burn a little longer. Go for it!
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. Won’t get a busier game this season, and kept the score down in an all-action, all-punching, all-kicking spectacular which would have left Jackie Chan breathless.
Ref watch: Taylor 6. Started impressively with a couple of early bookings to show he wouldn’t stand for any nonsense, then failed to follow through consistently by letting equally card-worthy offences off scot-free. Some over-fussy whistling too, but on the plus side refused to be swayed by the home fans’ regular (and erroneous) clamouring for a penalty.
Dave Kitson: beacon of hope. Photo: Andrea Thrussell.
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Saturday, 22 February 2003: Hull City 1-1 United
Hi! I’m Danny Bonaduce. Do you like thrills? Excitement? The ever-present hint of danger in the air? Then join me now for a look at one of the scariest phenomena in the modern world … When Referees Attack!
Our first footage comes from Hull, near London, England, and a soccer match between the home team and Cambridge – no, not the one in Massachusetts! In the first quarter, see the umpire, a guy called Cowburn, seemingly favouring the visitors as he ignores fouls and handball offences and they go into the commercial break ahead one to zero. But these guys are not like normal human beings. They’re wild, they’re unpredictable, and they can turn in an instant. And that’s just what this guy does within a few minutes of the second quarter: two players go up for the ball, they collide, they get treatment … then he sends the Cambridge guy off, for no good reason! Crazy!
Then he gives Hull a penalty kick, and all of a sudden the team he seemed to like in the first quarter is fighting for its life! Luckily the Cambridge guys were a tough bunch and held on, although Cowburn clean forgot to even play the third and fourth quarters! Crazy! Stay tuned as we devote the rest of the programme to the wackiest soccer umpire ever: a complete nutjob called Paul Danson. You won’t believe your eyes … When Referees Attack!
Back to the beginning. Dear old Boothferry Park is no more … or rather, it is still standing, but it’s just a near-derelict, ghostly shell of a stadium now. A bit like London Road. We know this because the supporters’ coach drove past it, and its attendant supermarket, on the way to the brand spanking new Kingston Communications Stadium. The grounds are only about a mile apart, although we only passed the old place because the coach driver, bless him, thought that’s where we were headed. And after about half an hour of driving around Hull, hopping from car park to car park, we were eventually ensconced right next to the KCS. In common with many new stadia, its surroundings are still substantially unfinished; either that, or the huge mounds of earth, puddles and bumpy tracks are part of a stadium designer’s new move towards radical primitivism.
But as for the KCS itself: wow. It cost the best part of £50 million but looks worth every penny. A huge multi-storey frontage stands before an oval structure that dominates the area, with vast landscaped car parks all around. The logos on the front trumpet not only the football club, but the egg-chasers who share it and the city council, who were behind the whole scheme. A council that wants to help the sporting teams that represent its city by funding a prestigious showpiece of which the whole region can be proud? I didn’t think such a thing existed. It certainly doesn’t round these parts.
The brickwork in front of the stadium is studded with sponsored bricks from fans, while a stroll around the building reveals all the usual amenities built into generic units in the ground floor (club shop, ticket office etc) plus more unusual ones like a ‘Learning Zone’. The programme sellers, however, don’t get their own luxuriously appointed booths: they get old shopping trolleys and cardboard boxes. Not exactly ‘corporate image’.
Admission (£15), for which one is handed a ‘cash receipt’ rather than a ticket (with which to claim one’s company expenses back, no doubt) leads to an equally expansive interior with bar and Sky Sports TV on tap, and predictably expensive food and drink (£1.50 for a bottle of Coke!). Well, they’ve got to pay for the place somehow. The equally pricy programme (£2.50) revealed that the last pre-match entertainment they had was provided by a Housemartins/Beautiful South tribute band, of all things. Today we were treated to what sounded like a Cast tribute band, a local beat combo called the Raywells whose music was about as inspiring as their name.
The deafening Tannoy music was thankfully rather more inspired, particularly after last week’s ‘Worst of the 80s’ show at Swansea, and shiny new music like Doves, Super Furry Animals and Manic Street Preachers was most welcome. Not quite so welcome were the versions they played: every song in the last half hour before kick-off was in a violently edited format, mostly intro/first verse/chorus/final chorus only two-minute format, leading up to a clichétastic final medley of snippets of Three Lions/World In Motion/Carl Orff/Clubbed To Death/Republica.
But by then we were gazing around us at the extremely impressive interior of the stadium. An all-enclosed oval bowl not unlike the Madejski Stadium with no gaps to let the drafts in, it consists of one tier around three sides with a taller two-tiered main ‘stand’ within its pleasingly asymmetric design. The control box and electronic scoreboard are also built into the away ‘end’, near which was stationed a gaggle of local lads who obviously wanted to swap banter with their visitors. How sweet. Over 15,000 were fitted comfortably inside, although the Hull chairman’s programme notes revealed that 4,000 of these were schoolkids who had been let in for free. His notes also hinted fairly strongly that they’ve already given up on this season and are looking to strengthen for a push next year. Not like us, eh?
United’s rapidly depleting squad lost two more players from Tuesday with the suspensions of Messrs Goodhind and Kitson, so a new strike force of Dan Chillingworth and the returned prodigal, Riza The Geezer, fronted a more-than-welcome return to good old 4-4-2, with Terrier Fleming partnering young Newey at full-back and two wide players in Tudor and Youngs flanking central midfield pairing Wanless and Guttridge.
For the hosts, sadly United old boys Ian ‘Dead Ball’ Ashbee and Lee ‘Handbag’ Philpott were absent through suspension (surprise!) and injury respectively, while the great Sir Steve Butler concentrates on coaching duties these days, but we still had dear old Marc ‘Judas’ Joseph to abuse. When Jerry heard the first catcalls as he was warming up, he gave the away end a cheery thumbs up, so, er, nuff respect and that. Our old pal Jamie Forrester also plies his trade in amber these days and was no doubt looking forward to adding to the seemingly endless number of goals he seems to score against the Mighty U’s.
The morning fog had long since cleared and the sun shone brightly from a flawless blue sky on to an immaculate pitch as the hosts started in fiery fashion. Within three minutes, Whittle had headed a Delaney cross on to Forrester, who perhaps should have scored from six yards, but Dancing Shaun flung his body in the way to block. Almost all the early action was at the United end as yet another makeshift back four was worked harder than Robert Mugabe’s publicity agent. Delaney fired wide and crosses rained in to no avail, and the visitors enjoyed a break on six as Wanless and Riza set Chilli up with a clear sight at goal 15 yards out with some neat passing; sadly, his early shot lacked pace and was gathered comfortably by Alan Fettis.
Riza then saw a shot blocked by Anderson, but the next good chance fell Hull’s way as Forrester and Appleby combined to scuff another scruffy close-range effort at Marshall, who stopped it instinctively then gathered the loose ball a couple of yards out before anyone else could react. United’s under-pressure start wasn’t helped when Chilli was forced to limp off as early as 17; Franco Nacca (or NASA if you prefer the PA announcer’s idiosyncratic pronunciation) entered the fray wide left with Tiny Tom pushed up to form a diminutive front pairing with Riza. The Venezuelan venturer slotted in seamlessly and almost broke the deadlock immediately when he met Tudor’s cross just outside the area and forced Fettis into a save with a low shot.
United began to emerge from the early Tigers onslaught and started to play the passing football that has been so absent over the last few weeks, using both wings well and playing it confidently through the middle where Captain Fantastic and Lil’ Luke were making increasing inroads, supported well by their marauding full backs. Nacca shot wide on 28, then home striker Lawrie Dudfield displayed his propensity for losing his balance at the first hint of a challenge with an unconvincing penalty claim on the half hour under Fleming’s tackle. Perhaps his ears need syringing … or should that be his brain?
Dudfield blasted wide on 34 after good work by Elliott, and Hull began to turn the screw again while United were restricted to the odd break using their front men’s speed. But for all the hosts’ possession, corners and crosses, Marshall’s most demanding task was the odd punch away, and they were made to pay for their profligacy on 38 with a stunning breakaway goal from their visitors.
Fleming and Dudfield tussled down the right channel for a ball which the Terrier won as the Tiger fell in a heap again, with more than a hint of tugging on Fleming’s side, but ref Cowburn waved him on and he sent Tudor away on a run down the right wing. As on Tuesday, his exquisite cross was inch perfect, and he found Youngs darting intelligently ahead of his marker at the near post to divert a delightful header across goal and into the far corner from ten yards out. He’s got a brain the size of a planet.
Hull were stunned, even more so when Murray clearly handled a through ball a minute later to Cowburn’s total apathy, but the wounded Tigers roared back within a couple of minutes as Elliott’s cross found the outstretched leg of Dudfield on the edge of the six-yard box, but he didn’t get a clean contact and the ball spun up and over the bar. United clung on grimly, but lived most dangerously just before half-time when the ball bobbled across the box again and eventually found Dean Keates, who sidestepped a challenge and sent a low trundler past Marshall and seemingly in at the far post. Remarkably, it struck the inside of the post due to a disturbance in the space-time continuum, or perhaps just a bobble, and rebounded into the Terpsichorean custodian’s grateful arms. Half-time, 1-0, quite remarkable.
So far, so good: United had absorbed Hull’s pressure well, they looked comfortable in their familiar 4-4-2 roles, and the ref appeared to be on our side too. But the men in black/green/yellow/sky blue pink are a dangerous and unpredictable breed. And the first five minutes of the second half were to prove this all too vividly. Three minutes in, Tann challenged for a header with Elliott on the edge of the centre circle. Both players went down in a heap, and after extensive treatment, Tann arose … to be shown a red card by Cowburn. It seems that he had perceived an elbow.
Now anyone who has ever seen Adam Tann play will know that he is the very last person in the world to display any sort of malicious violence at all on or off a football field, and if there was an elbow, there is no way it was deliberate. But Cowburn, previously so unwilling to reach for his notebook, seemed unaware of the term ‘benefit of the doubt’ and went straight for the instant dismissal. As harsh as sandpaper underpants.
Fortunately, as Tann was being treated, Wanless had asked Cowburn what he was going to do, and upon learning of his decision, immediately rushed over the bench to warn them. David Theobald got stripped off for his debut as Tanny wandered dazedly off, probably thinking he’d been substituted, but it was the unfortunate Nacca who was sacrificed as United went to 4-3-2.
Within another minute things turned even worse for the boys in blue: Dudfield raced in on goal, Murray robbed him with a characteristically accurate crunching tackle as he fell claiming a penalty (yawn) and it ran to Appleby on the right edge of the area. Tom Newey slid in rashly, caught his legs and felled him like a rotten redwood: silly, needless tackle, stone cold penalty. Forrester stepped up, Marshall dived the wrong way as usual, 1-1.
Now it was time for character from United. And by Jove we got it: long gone are the days when a ten-man United would retreat like frightened chickens en masse to the edge of their own coop, er, penalty box and try to defend for the rest of the match. No, this United just resumed as before, still with two up front, just one less in midfield. The power of positive thinking. Theobald’s first touches were impressive, coolly cutting out a ball intended for Forrester then turning him with a little shimmy and passing confidently to Newey. United might even have taken the lead on 57 as some superb one-two interplay between Youngs and Riza set the latter up for a clear shot on goal from 15 yards, but he pulled it just wide from a slight angle.
Hull responded with a Delaney 25-yarder over on the hour, but seeing little progress against United’s dogged, tireless resistance, deemed it necessary to make a change on 65 with Ryan Williams replacing Appleby. The sub’s first action was to set up Dudfield, but he shot wide (again), then repeated the trick three minutes later. Terry Fleming was kept particularly busy in clearing up some dangerous moves, producing another vital far-post header to rob Keates behind him of a near-certain goal, but pressure was building again as Hull pinned United into their own half.
Anderson saw an effort saved by Marshall, then to much merriment in the away end Joseph had to withdraw injured on 75 while on a rare forward foray, to be replaced by Carl Regan. Melton had two efforts in quick succession, one wide, one saved, and Theobald blocked an effort from Williams, as United resisted as stoutly as a forehead full of Botox.
The pace and alertness of Tudor, Riza and Youngs remained an ever-lurking threat on the break, but that final touch was just missing on several occasions. Best chance came on 82 as Riza set up a marauding Guttridge for a fantastic 25-yard effort that was arrowing for the bottom corner until scrambled away by a full-strength Fettis. Luke almost returned the compliment on full-time as his penetrating ball found Omer ready to sprint clear on halfway, but his miscontrol frustratingly lost him the chance. But in the end, Hull’s storm blew itself out in the face of huge-hearted defending by scampering Fleming, stoic Theobald and Murray and the improving Newey, led by Wannie and his lieutenant Guttridge, who appeared to be omnipresent, and with chasing, harrying outlets like Tudor, Riza and Youngs always ready to relieve the pressure. Heroes all.
So in the end, a fair result, all things considered, although Hull fans might disagree. The hosts were always going to have the majority of possession on their own impressive patch, but this mix ’n’ match United side took all they could throw at them, and only conceded through the harshest of sendings-off and a needless penalty; which leads one to suspect that but for that five minutes of madness, another away win might well have come our way.
We’ve certainly discovered a useful new man in Theobald, and might need him if Tann’s suspension kicks in before cover becomes available. But most encouraging was the sheer spirit, guts and hard work that every United man put in from beginning to end, plus yet more proof (if it were needed) that 4-4-2 is their natural formation and should not be tampered with. Bring on the Bristol.
Oh, and the less said about the shambolic ‘arrangements’ for segregating home and away followers at the end, the better. Suffice it to say that with a few more hostile individuals present, it could potentially have turned very nasty indeed. Yes, even nastier than Mike Tyson’s new facial tattoo. Scary!
Marshall 8 – Always there when needed and commanded an often crowded penalty area.
Fleming 9 – Superb return to form from the Terrier, he was here, there and everywhere and saved at least two certain goals by defying gravity to head clear at the far post with a striker on his shoulder.
Newey 7 – Far more comfortable game for the newie, who showed he can both defend and get forward well; only spoilt by his rash challenge for the penalty.
Tann 8 – All-action display at the heart of the defence until unluckily sent off.
Murray 8 – More tough, pacy battling from Freddie, who is beginning to look as good in the centre as he is wide.
Tudor 8 – Easing his way back in and was a frequent menace to Hull with his driving runs. Another magnificent cross for the goal.
Wanless 9 – The Captain at his most Fantastic as he led by example both as a player and inspirational driving force.
Guttridge 9 – Much more like it as Lil’ Luke covered every proverbial blade of grass, assisting defence and attack in between tigerish midfield battling.
Youngs 9 – Tireless, lung-bursting stuff from Tiny Tom as he roamed across the front line throughout, topped with a simply marvellous goal.
Chillingworth 7 – Managed one decent effort at goal before unfortunately forced off.
Riza 8 – Another who ran himself into the ground, Omer was a lurking menace for 90 minutes who kept the Hull defence more on their toes than the Bolshoi Ballet.
Nacca 8 – Slotted in impeccably wide left and unlucky to be sacrificed when Tann was dismissed.
Theobald 9 – Extremely impressive debut: he was cool and unflappable at all times, won everything in the air and basically didn’t put a foot wrong.
Soundtrack of the day: Grand Popo Football Club/Each Finger Has An Attitude
Shaun’s Dance of the Day: Today Shaun Marshall looks at the cakewalk. ‘This fun dance was also important as it was the first to cross over from black to white society in America – and it introduced a well-known phrase to the English language! It started as the Chalk Line Walk in the Southern plantations of the 1850s, the ‘walkers’ moving in a straight line and balancing buckets of water on their heads, and it evolved into an exaggerated parody of white upper class ballroom figures with dignified strutting, bowing low, waving canes and doffing hats. The better plantation owners would bake a cake on Sundays and invite their neighbours over for a contest between their workers, the winner getting the cake … hence the term ‘That takes the cake!’ The dance spread rapidly and soon big cakewalk contests sprung up which would go on until the early hours of the morning, and white society took it up, first in minstrel shows then in the ballrooms. It eventually died out like a lot of dances, and the only cakewalk around now is when David Theobald walks into the dressing room with one of his favourite Battenbergs – I don’t know how he stays so thin when he puts all that marzipan away! Only joking, Dave. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A return to form and, not uncoincidentally, a return to 4-4-2 for hard-working United who looked set for a long-awaited away win until forced to go to 4-3-2 by a harsh refereeing decision. The work ethic and team spirit was truly inspiring and bodes well for Tuesday’s LDVshowdown – if we can raise a team after suspensions and injuries!
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. A tremendous all-action display which saw him constantly involved all over the park from start to finish. He is undoubtedly most comfortable as part of a central midfield duo, preferably with his captain as his devastatingly effective foil.
Ref watch: Cowburn 7. His decisions definitely seemed to favour United in the first half, to the home faithful’s disgust, but he more than made up for that within five minutes of the restart. Whatever he thought he saw, Adam Tann is no hatchet man and would never deliberately set out to hurt an opponent. Otherwise he had a reasonable game, tempered only by his timidity in booking players whom most other refs would have punished more severely.
It’s back again! Jerry Watch: Marc Joseph, the man who has legendarily played more games for Cambridge United without scoring a goal than anyone in the club’s history, turned into something of a goal machine at London Road, scoring a massive two goals for Pish as well as a hilariously disallowed one at the Abbey, which he celebrated in front of the NRE before slinking sheepishly off when he heard the ref’s whistle. Needless to say he hasn’t scored for Hull yet, and he never looked like it today in his right back position, from where he was naturally roundly booed as ‘Judas’ by the United faithful. How ironic, then, that on the occasion that he got nearest to the United goal, supporting his attack near the touchline, he was so badly hurt when losing the ball to a fair Newey tackle that he had to go off. There’s a lesson for you, Jerry: stick to what you know and don’t cross the halfway line unless you have to!
Hi! I’m Danny Bonaduce. Do you like thrills? Excitement? The ever-present hint of danger in the air? Then join me now for a look at one of the scariest phenomena in the modern world … When Referees Attack!
Our first footage comes from Hull, near London, England, and a soccer match between the home team and Cambridge – no, not the one in Massachusetts! In the first quarter, see the umpire, a guy called Cowburn, seemingly favouring the visitors as he ignores fouls and handball offences and they go into the commercial break ahead one to zero. But these guys are not like normal human beings. They’re wild, they’re unpredictable, and they can turn in an instant. And that’s just what this guy does within a few minutes of the second quarter: two players go up for the ball, they collide, they get treatment … then he sends the Cambridge guy off, for no good reason! Crazy!
Then he gives Hull a penalty kick, and all of a sudden the team he seemed to like in the first quarter is fighting for its life! Luckily the Cambridge guys were a tough bunch and held on, although Cowburn clean forgot to even play the third and fourth quarters! Crazy! Stay tuned as we devote the rest of the programme to the wackiest soccer umpire ever: a complete nutjob called Paul Danson. You won’t believe your eyes … When Referees Attack!
Back to the beginning. Dear old Boothferry Park is no more … or rather, it is still standing, but it’s just a near-derelict, ghostly shell of a stadium now. A bit like London Road. We know this because the supporters’ coach drove past it, and its attendant supermarket, on the way to the brand spanking new Kingston Communications Stadium. The grounds are only about a mile apart, although we only passed the old place because the coach driver, bless him, thought that’s where we were headed. And after about half an hour of driving around Hull, hopping from car park to car park, we were eventually ensconced right next to the KCS. In common with many new stadia, its surroundings are still substantially unfinished; either that, or the huge mounds of earth, puddles and bumpy tracks are part of a stadium designer’s new move towards radical primitivism.
But as for the KCS itself: wow. It cost the best part of £50 million but looks worth every penny. A huge multi-storey frontage stands before an oval structure that dominates the area, with vast landscaped car parks all around. The logos on the front trumpet not only the football club, but the egg-chasers who share it and the city council, who were behind the whole scheme. A council that wants to help the sporting teams that represent its city by funding a prestigious showpiece of which the whole region can be proud? I didn’t think such a thing existed. It certainly doesn’t round these parts.
The brickwork in front of the stadium is studded with sponsored bricks from fans, while a stroll around the building reveals all the usual amenities built into generic units in the ground floor (club shop, ticket office etc) plus more unusual ones like a ‘Learning Zone’. The programme sellers, however, don’t get their own luxuriously appointed booths: they get old shopping trolleys and cardboard boxes. Not exactly ‘corporate image’.
Admission (£15), for which one is handed a ‘cash receipt’ rather than a ticket (with which to claim one’s company expenses back, no doubt) leads to an equally expansive interior with bar and Sky Sports TV on tap, and predictably expensive food and drink (£1.50 for a bottle of Coke!). Well, they’ve got to pay for the place somehow. The equally pricy programme (£2.50) revealed that the last pre-match entertainment they had was provided by a Housemartins/Beautiful South tribute band, of all things. Today we were treated to what sounded like a Cast tribute band, a local beat combo called the Raywells whose music was about as inspiring as their name.
The deafening Tannoy music was thankfully rather more inspired, particularly after last week’s ‘Worst of the 80s’ show at Swansea, and shiny new music like Doves, Super Furry Animals and Manic Street Preachers was most welcome. Not quite so welcome were the versions they played: every song in the last half hour before kick-off was in a violently edited format, mostly intro/first verse/chorus/final chorus only two-minute format, leading up to a clichétastic final medley of snippets of Three Lions/World In Motion/Carl Orff/Clubbed To Death/Republica.
But by then we were gazing around us at the extremely impressive interior of the stadium. An all-enclosed oval bowl not unlike the Madejski Stadium with no gaps to let the drafts in, it consists of one tier around three sides with a taller two-tiered main ‘stand’ within its pleasingly asymmetric design. The control box and electronic scoreboard are also built into the away ‘end’, near which was stationed a gaggle of local lads who obviously wanted to swap banter with their visitors. How sweet. Over 15,000 were fitted comfortably inside, although the Hull chairman’s programme notes revealed that 4,000 of these were schoolkids who had been let in for free. His notes also hinted fairly strongly that they’ve already given up on this season and are looking to strengthen for a push next year. Not like us, eh?
United’s rapidly depleting squad lost two more players from Tuesday with the suspensions of Messrs Goodhind and Kitson, so a new strike force of Dan Chillingworth and the returned prodigal, Riza The Geezer, fronted a more-than-welcome return to good old 4-4-2, with Terrier Fleming partnering young Newey at full-back and two wide players in Tudor and Youngs flanking central midfield pairing Wanless and Guttridge.
For the hosts, sadly United old boys Ian ‘Dead Ball’ Ashbee and Lee ‘Handbag’ Philpott were absent through suspension (surprise!) and injury respectively, while the great Sir Steve Butler concentrates on coaching duties these days, but we still had dear old Marc ‘Judas’ Joseph to abuse. When Jerry heard the first catcalls as he was warming up, he gave the away end a cheery thumbs up, so, er, nuff respect and that. Our old pal Jamie Forrester also plies his trade in amber these days and was no doubt looking forward to adding to the seemingly endless number of goals he seems to score against the Mighty U’s.
The morning fog had long since cleared and the sun shone brightly from a flawless blue sky on to an immaculate pitch as the hosts started in fiery fashion. Within three minutes, Whittle had headed a Delaney cross on to Forrester, who perhaps should have scored from six yards, but Dancing Shaun flung his body in the way to block. Almost all the early action was at the United end as yet another makeshift back four was worked harder than Robert Mugabe’s publicity agent. Delaney fired wide and crosses rained in to no avail, and the visitors enjoyed a break on six as Wanless and Riza set Chilli up with a clear sight at goal 15 yards out with some neat passing; sadly, his early shot lacked pace and was gathered comfortably by Alan Fettis.
Riza then saw a shot blocked by Anderson, but the next good chance fell Hull’s way as Forrester and Appleby combined to scuff another scruffy close-range effort at Marshall, who stopped it instinctively then gathered the loose ball a couple of yards out before anyone else could react. United’s under-pressure start wasn’t helped when Chilli was forced to limp off as early as 17; Franco Nacca (or NASA if you prefer the PA announcer’s idiosyncratic pronunciation) entered the fray wide left with Tiny Tom pushed up to form a diminutive front pairing with Riza. The Venezuelan venturer slotted in seamlessly and almost broke the deadlock immediately when he met Tudor’s cross just outside the area and forced Fettis into a save with a low shot.
United began to emerge from the early Tigers onslaught and started to play the passing football that has been so absent over the last few weeks, using both wings well and playing it confidently through the middle where Captain Fantastic and Lil’ Luke were making increasing inroads, supported well by their marauding full backs. Nacca shot wide on 28, then home striker Lawrie Dudfield displayed his propensity for losing his balance at the first hint of a challenge with an unconvincing penalty claim on the half hour under Fleming’s tackle. Perhaps his ears need syringing … or should that be his brain?
Dudfield blasted wide on 34 after good work by Elliott, and Hull began to turn the screw again while United were restricted to the odd break using their front men’s speed. But for all the hosts’ possession, corners and crosses, Marshall’s most demanding task was the odd punch away, and they were made to pay for their profligacy on 38 with a stunning breakaway goal from their visitors.
Fleming and Dudfield tussled down the right channel for a ball which the Terrier won as the Tiger fell in a heap again, with more than a hint of tugging on Fleming’s side, but ref Cowburn waved him on and he sent Tudor away on a run down the right wing. As on Tuesday, his exquisite cross was inch perfect, and he found Youngs darting intelligently ahead of his marker at the near post to divert a delightful header across goal and into the far corner from ten yards out. He’s got a brain the size of a planet.
Hull were stunned, even more so when Murray clearly handled a through ball a minute later to Cowburn’s total apathy, but the wounded Tigers roared back within a couple of minutes as Elliott’s cross found the outstretched leg of Dudfield on the edge of the six-yard box, but he didn’t get a clean contact and the ball spun up and over the bar. United clung on grimly, but lived most dangerously just before half-time when the ball bobbled across the box again and eventually found Dean Keates, who sidestepped a challenge and sent a low trundler past Marshall and seemingly in at the far post. Remarkably, it struck the inside of the post due to a disturbance in the space-time continuum, or perhaps just a bobble, and rebounded into the Terpsichorean custodian’s grateful arms. Half-time, 1-0, quite remarkable.
So far, so good: United had absorbed Hull’s pressure well, they looked comfortable in their familiar 4-4-2 roles, and the ref appeared to be on our side too. But the men in black/green/yellow/sky blue pink are a dangerous and unpredictable breed. And the first five minutes of the second half were to prove this all too vividly. Three minutes in, Tann challenged for a header with Elliott on the edge of the centre circle. Both players went down in a heap, and after extensive treatment, Tann arose … to be shown a red card by Cowburn. It seems that he had perceived an elbow.
Now anyone who has ever seen Adam Tann play will know that he is the very last person in the world to display any sort of malicious violence at all on or off a football field, and if there was an elbow, there is no way it was deliberate. But Cowburn, previously so unwilling to reach for his notebook, seemed unaware of the term ‘benefit of the doubt’ and went straight for the instant dismissal. As harsh as sandpaper underpants.
Fortunately, as Tann was being treated, Wanless had asked Cowburn what he was going to do, and upon learning of his decision, immediately rushed over the bench to warn them. David Theobald got stripped off for his debut as Tanny wandered dazedly off, probably thinking he’d been substituted, but it was the unfortunate Nacca who was sacrificed as United went to 4-3-2.
Within another minute things turned even worse for the boys in blue: Dudfield raced in on goal, Murray robbed him with a characteristically accurate crunching tackle as he fell claiming a penalty (yawn) and it ran to Appleby on the right edge of the area. Tom Newey slid in rashly, caught his legs and felled him like a rotten redwood: silly, needless tackle, stone cold penalty. Forrester stepped up, Marshall dived the wrong way as usual, 1-1.
Now it was time for character from United. And by Jove we got it: long gone are the days when a ten-man United would retreat like frightened chickens en masse to the edge of their own coop, er, penalty box and try to defend for the rest of the match. No, this United just resumed as before, still with two up front, just one less in midfield. The power of positive thinking. Theobald’s first touches were impressive, coolly cutting out a ball intended for Forrester then turning him with a little shimmy and passing confidently to Newey. United might even have taken the lead on 57 as some superb one-two interplay between Youngs and Riza set the latter up for a clear shot on goal from 15 yards, but he pulled it just wide from a slight angle.
Hull responded with a Delaney 25-yarder over on the hour, but seeing little progress against United’s dogged, tireless resistance, deemed it necessary to make a change on 65 with Ryan Williams replacing Appleby. The sub’s first action was to set up Dudfield, but he shot wide (again), then repeated the trick three minutes later. Terry Fleming was kept particularly busy in clearing up some dangerous moves, producing another vital far-post header to rob Keates behind him of a near-certain goal, but pressure was building again as Hull pinned United into their own half.
Anderson saw an effort saved by Marshall, then to much merriment in the away end Joseph had to withdraw injured on 75 while on a rare forward foray, to be replaced by Carl Regan. Melton had two efforts in quick succession, one wide, one saved, and Theobald blocked an effort from Williams, as United resisted as stoutly as a forehead full of Botox.
The pace and alertness of Tudor, Riza and Youngs remained an ever-lurking threat on the break, but that final touch was just missing on several occasions. Best chance came on 82 as Riza set up a marauding Guttridge for a fantastic 25-yard effort that was arrowing for the bottom corner until scrambled away by a full-strength Fettis. Luke almost returned the compliment on full-time as his penetrating ball found Omer ready to sprint clear on halfway, but his miscontrol frustratingly lost him the chance. But in the end, Hull’s storm blew itself out in the face of huge-hearted defending by scampering Fleming, stoic Theobald and Murray and the improving Newey, led by Wannie and his lieutenant Guttridge, who appeared to be omnipresent, and with chasing, harrying outlets like Tudor, Riza and Youngs always ready to relieve the pressure. Heroes all.
So in the end, a fair result, all things considered, although Hull fans might disagree. The hosts were always going to have the majority of possession on their own impressive patch, but this mix ’n’ match United side took all they could throw at them, and only conceded through the harshest of sendings-off and a needless penalty; which leads one to suspect that but for that five minutes of madness, another away win might well have come our way.
We’ve certainly discovered a useful new man in Theobald, and might need him if Tann’s suspension kicks in before cover becomes available. But most encouraging was the sheer spirit, guts and hard work that every United man put in from beginning to end, plus yet more proof (if it were needed) that 4-4-2 is their natural formation and should not be tampered with. Bring on the Bristol.
Oh, and the less said about the shambolic ‘arrangements’ for segregating home and away followers at the end, the better. Suffice it to say that with a few more hostile individuals present, it could potentially have turned very nasty indeed. Yes, even nastier than Mike Tyson’s new facial tattoo. Scary!
Marshall 8 – Always there when needed and commanded an often crowded penalty area.
Fleming 9 – Superb return to form from the Terrier, he was here, there and everywhere and saved at least two certain goals by defying gravity to head clear at the far post with a striker on his shoulder.
Newey 7 – Far more comfortable game for the newie, who showed he can both defend and get forward well; only spoilt by his rash challenge for the penalty.
Tann 8 – All-action display at the heart of the defence until unluckily sent off.
Murray 8 – More tough, pacy battling from Freddie, who is beginning to look as good in the centre as he is wide.
Tudor 8 – Easing his way back in and was a frequent menace to Hull with his driving runs. Another magnificent cross for the goal.
Wanless 9 – The Captain at his most Fantastic as he led by example both as a player and inspirational driving force.
Guttridge 9 – Much more like it as Lil’ Luke covered every proverbial blade of grass, assisting defence and attack in between tigerish midfield battling.
Youngs 9 – Tireless, lung-bursting stuff from Tiny Tom as he roamed across the front line throughout, topped with a simply marvellous goal.
Chillingworth 7 – Managed one decent effort at goal before unfortunately forced off.
Riza 8 – Another who ran himself into the ground, Omer was a lurking menace for 90 minutes who kept the Hull defence more on their toes than the Bolshoi Ballet.
Nacca 8 – Slotted in impeccably wide left and unlucky to be sacrificed when Tann was dismissed.
Theobald 9 – Extremely impressive debut: he was cool and unflappable at all times, won everything in the air and basically didn’t put a foot wrong.
Soundtrack of the day: Grand Popo Football Club/Each Finger Has An Attitude
Shaun’s Dance of the Day: Today Shaun Marshall looks at the cakewalk. ‘This fun dance was also important as it was the first to cross over from black to white society in America – and it introduced a well-known phrase to the English language! It started as the Chalk Line Walk in the Southern plantations of the 1850s, the ‘walkers’ moving in a straight line and balancing buckets of water on their heads, and it evolved into an exaggerated parody of white upper class ballroom figures with dignified strutting, bowing low, waving canes and doffing hats. The better plantation owners would bake a cake on Sundays and invite their neighbours over for a contest between their workers, the winner getting the cake … hence the term ‘That takes the cake!’ The dance spread rapidly and soon big cakewalk contests sprung up which would go on until the early hours of the morning, and white society took it up, first in minstrel shows then in the ballrooms. It eventually died out like a lot of dances, and the only cakewalk around now is when David Theobald walks into the dressing room with one of his favourite Battenbergs – I don’t know how he stays so thin when he puts all that marzipan away! Only joking, Dave. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A return to form and, not uncoincidentally, a return to 4-4-2 for hard-working United who looked set for a long-awaited away win until forced to go to 4-3-2 by a harsh refereeing decision. The work ethic and team spirit was truly inspiring and bodes well for Tuesday’s LDVshowdown – if we can raise a team after suspensions and injuries!
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. A tremendous all-action display which saw him constantly involved all over the park from start to finish. He is undoubtedly most comfortable as part of a central midfield duo, preferably with his captain as his devastatingly effective foil.
Ref watch: Cowburn 7. His decisions definitely seemed to favour United in the first half, to the home faithful’s disgust, but he more than made up for that within five minutes of the restart. Whatever he thought he saw, Adam Tann is no hatchet man and would never deliberately set out to hurt an opponent. Otherwise he had a reasonable game, tempered only by his timidity in booking players whom most other refs would have punished more severely.
It’s back again! Jerry Watch: Marc Joseph, the man who has legendarily played more games for Cambridge United without scoring a goal than anyone in the club’s history, turned into something of a goal machine at London Road, scoring a massive two goals for Pish as well as a hilariously disallowed one at the Abbey, which he celebrated in front of the NRE before slinking sheepishly off when he heard the ref’s whistle. Needless to say he hasn’t scored for Hull yet, and he never looked like it today in his right back position, from where he was naturally roundly booed as ‘Judas’ by the United faithful. How ironic, then, that on the occasion that he got nearest to the United goal, supporting his attack near the touchline, he was so badly hurt when losing the ball to a fair Newey tackle that he had to go off. There’s a lesson for you, Jerry: stick to what you know and don’t cross the halfway line unless you have to!
Ref Mark Cowburn: back in parks football, apparently. Yes, look, you can just make out the traditional one man and a dog.
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Tuesday, 25 February 2003: United 0-3 Bristol City
The Magic of the Cup II: The Two Legs
High on Magic Mountain, above the valley where the Guardians live, dwell the Hopes. These tiny, gossamer-delicate creatures are closely related to the Dreams and, as their name suggests, are eternally optimistic by nature. At the same time, they each carry a great burden with them: all the aspirations of the human race, to whom they are inextricably linked. Beneath their frail exterior lies a great inner strength, more stoic than the stubbornest ox and sturdier than a stormcock.
It fell to Wheezleplump that fateful night to carry the expectations of the Amber Hordes to the fearsome Guardians of the LDV. ‘So, noble Guardians,’ he asked with slightly forced levity, ‘is the Magic of the Trophy to flow the way of the Scholars tonight?’ Squeeglepatch cackled with all the warmth of an Arctic blizzard. ‘State your case, little Hope! And make it a good one!’
Wheezleplump gulped guppily, drawing in breath as if it were his last. ‘Three teams from a higher division beaten away from home. Defeat in the final last year. The most exciting attacking team in the competition. And it’s Shaggy’s Testimonial Year!’ He mentally ticked off his persuasions, one by one.
‘All very impressive, young Hope,’ sneered Snufflepotty. ‘But can you match the power of … the Wurzels?’ The diminutive figure racked his brains desperately; he had forgotten that all three Guardians were big fans of Combine Harvester and I Am A Cider Drinker. ‘Er … I’ve Got A Lovely Bunch Of Coconuts? And I could get Jamie Oliver to help you with your cauldron?’ Feltchendribble shrieked. ‘Over my dead body! No more Magic for you, creature of the Mountain! Show him, Armand!’ And their gigantic, lumbering assistant revealed the interior of the Magic Cauldron … blood red to the core, with nary a hint of amber and black. ‘I am sorry,’ he apologised in his heavy Francophone accent. ‘I forget to turn on the Gas!’
Hope springs eternal where the Mighty U’s are concerned. In 1970 they were the first club to be elected to the League in eight years through seasons of dogged lobbying. In 1978 they had the smallest capacity ground in the League when they defied the odds to be promoted to the rarified sphere of the old Division Two … and stayed there for six seasons. And who could forget the early 90s, when sheer determination and self-belief took them to two FA Cup quarter-finals and to within a play-off of the Premier League? Those glory days may be long gone now, but shooting at the moon now means aiming for the Millennium Stadium and our favourite trophy. And tonight was a tall an order as any, two goals down to the Robins of Bristol and form-wise, struggling for survival like Tricky Dicky’s latest victim on the Street. Positive thinking was a must.
Shaggy and the Prof wisely stuck to the trusty 4-4-2 that the players know and are most comfortable with, only changes from the good performance at Hull being the return of the suspended Wozza Goodhind and BGG Kitson for Tom Newey and Dan Chillingworth, enabling Freddie Murray to move across to left back to mark his namesake Scott. Only other positional change was Tom Youngs and Shane Tudor swapping wings to right and left respectively, while only hairstyle change was Goodhind’s shedding of his luxuriant flowing Beckhamesque tresses for a shorter but no less informal bleach-boy look, although just the team changes were announced over the Tannoy. Unless I missed the hairstyle one while I was in the loo. Bristol didn’t fix what wasn’t broke, only change being the replacement of Christian Roberts with on-loan veteran Solskjaeralike Mark Robins.
The visitors started briskly, wasting no time in belying the home hope that they would treat the match with casual overconfidence, snapping into the tackle and harrying their opponents with efficiency from the front line back. First chance almost fell the Robins’ Robins’ way, just crowded in the end by a gaggle of amber shirts and Dancing Shaun Marshall eventually grabbing Lee Peacock’s cross-shot. United responded with a fifth-minute Youngs header wide from their first corner, but the young hosts looked oddly subdued, seemingly unprepared for their experienced visitors’ aggression and hard graft. There was no denying United’s willingness to work, but City more than matched them in that department and looked a cut above in every other way.
It was therefore no great surprise when City took the lead on 11. Tudor, looking unwilling to extend his hamstrings in any way, committed the cardinal sin of standing motionless waiting for Murray’s pass instead of going to the ball; wing back Louis Carey swiftly whipped the ball away from him, advanced unchallenged as the winger made no attempt to tackle back, and let fly from fully 30 yards, his thunderbolt bouncing once as it flew across Marshall and into the bottom corner. A bolt from the red, indeed, and all of a sudden, a molehill became Mount Everest. Or at least the north face of Lisa Riley.
United responded gamely, although lacking the fluidity of Saturday with too much reliance on long balls down the channels from the defenders instead of playing it through the middle and down the wings. Best chance of the spell came on 17 as Kitson ran at the Bristol defence from the centre circle, eventually running into a roadblock of red shirts round about the penalty spot, but the ball rebounded to the lurking Riza the Geezer whose fizzer from the D was headed for the bottom corner until acrobatically clawed away by the out-of-position Steve Phillips.
A minute later Captain Fantastic fired a difficult volley over from Tudor’s corner, but United were still firing on two cylinders at best as City continued to close them down and deny them space. Most of the hosts’ attacking play took place down the right between Youngs, Fleming and Guttridge, Tudor frequently left forlornly waving from the opposite wing as if his colleagues knew he wasn’t fully fit so chose other options in preference. Shane certainly didn’t seem to be looking for diagonal balls to run on to, just waiting statically on the touchline for a ball to feet.
The influential Brian Tinnion was forced to withdraw on 22, but as it turned out sub Aaron Brown proved to be a more than capable deputy. Tudor managed one decent run, gaining a corner, but it was City who threatened next with a Peacock header from a Doherty free kick, calmly saved by Marshall. The Terpsichorean custodian set home hearts racing with a dreadful throw-out which only found Carey, but his cross towards Peacock was wastefully inaccurate, then up the other end Kitson was sandwiched by two defenders as he tried to burst through and seemed to have a good claim for a penalty. Laissez-faire ref Curson unconcernedly waved play on like a Northampton Town director ushering another failed manager out of the door.
On 39 Riza, lacking in service so far, galloped on to Tudor’s ball in and just got a foot to it before the charging Phillips, who thudded into the little striker as it trundled harmlessly out of play. Bristol, however, were dictating most of the play, denying United room and forcing them into hurried and therefore inaccurate passes. On 41 Scott Murray spotted Brown haring down the middle, even outpacing the Terrier Fleming, but the sub’s lashed low cross could only be diverted wide of the far post by Peacock’s lunging boot.
However, the tie was all but decided on the stroke of half-time with a blow more devastating than a Paolo di Canio put-down. Again it was Brown jetting down the left, this time cutting inside past some frankly feeble defending, and his low ball across the box found Murray steaming in at the far post; his first effort was blocked by a sea of amber, but he was first to the rebound to lash home comfortably from six yards out: 2-0, game over. The 700-plus City fans jubilantly celebrated the fact that they would be home before daylight broke; no golden goal extra time tonight.
How to approach the second half? A top-form United from a few months ago would have thrown all caution to the wind and attacked on all fronts, still fancying their chances of pulling something out of the fire. But this United team was a shadow of those halcyon days, and were faced with much better opposition than they will find in Division Three. Riza menaced early on, but the run of the ball wasn’t with him as the U’s tried valiantly to lift themselves and the crowd. But Phillips remained untroubled as that final killer pass proved as elusive as harmony in the Tory Party. Blue was very much the colour.
City freshened things up by replacing Robins with Roberts on 57, and ten minutes later they made a second striker change with Beadle for Peacock. At the same time Shaggy and the Prof produced one of their ‘brilliant-or-mad?’ substitutions by replacing Wanless with Chillingworth and amending the formation to 3-4-3, Fleming taking the captain’s armband and moving into midfield while Chilli made up a front three alongside Kitson and Riza. One suspects that the main reason for all this was to rest the good Captain for Saturday in the knowledge that the day was already lost.
Unsurprisingly, United were now much more vulnerable at the back, and on the hour mark Murray arrived late to a Brown cross and fired low back across the box towards the far corner of the net; Marshall looked on helplessly as it cannoned off the foot of the post and Roberts, loitering not five yards out, could only bundle the rebound wide, such was its pace.
Two minutes later the Dancemeister did well to tip over a deep right-wing Murray cross that was dropping into the net, then we experienced déjà vu as Murray met another cross with a half-volley towards the far post again, this time the ball rebounding off Marshall’s flying body to Roberts, who again missed from close in. Far from galvanising United into a spell of pressure, the change in formation had only encouraged Bristol to push forward and show their own substantial attacking qualities.
On 74 came final confirmation that United had thrown in the towel as Kitson was rested for Aggy Revell. Three minutes the final part of the ‘spine’ was removed when Goodhind was replaced by Nacca, who became the smallest centre back since we saw Matt Joseph running around biting forwards’ ankles at Orient. Riza blazed over on 77 with a shot about as accurate as an FBI manhunt, and two minutes later the shaky back three was finally exposed as Roberts easily beat the offside, danced around Marshall and poked home for number three. City soon had a convincing-looking claim for a penalty as the scorer was taken from behind (steady), but once again Mr Curson wasn’t having any of that nonsense.
The last ten minutes were full of devil-may-care anything-goes tomfoolery: Chilli attempting to spectacularly volley a Phillips clearance from 35 yards and seeing his effort head sideways towards the Main Stand; the Terrier losing his rag with Phillips and I’m quite sure he would have lamped him one were it not for his team-mates’ intervention (Curson did nothing but have a quiet word after the players had calmed things down); Phillips just beating Riza to another through ball; Revell attempting a 40-yarder that was surprisingly close to goal, considering; Guttridge almost bundling his way through only to be denied by a prone defender’s last ditch lunge; Riza leaving the field with another injury, so United played the last three minutes with ten men.
So an ignominious and disappointingly anti-climactic end to another massively enjoyable LDV journey. Let’s remember all those fantastic away wins rather than the final tie against a team that was ultimately just too good, too strong and too determined for a United team that would have needed 11 men all in their top form even to compete with them. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was all too, too weak. Now let’s concentrate on that League and try to recapture that early season form again. More positive thinking is required now than ever; hope springs eternal!
Marshall 6 – Conceded three scruffy goals but was badly let down by his team-mates.
Fleming 6 – Characteristically tireless running but inspiration was lacking tonight.
Murray 6 – Fairly average workout, not helped by having the immobile Tudor playing in front of him.
Tann 6 – Struggled against Peacock’s aerial power but otherwise not bad.
Goodhind 7 – Pick of the defence with his cool head and positional sense.
Youngs 6 – Another who couldn’t be faulted for workrate, but was lacking in effectiveness against tight-marking Bristol.
Guttridge 6 – Put in the mileage but couldn’t compete with superior opposition.
Wanless 7 – Played his usual captain’s role but was swimming against a red tide.
Tudor 5 – We love Shane for his jinking, positive runs, his mobility, his strength on the ball and alertness and tireless hard work off it. So I’ve no idea who was wearing No 20 tonight, because he had none of those qualities. Plainly not fit, either physically or mentally.
Riza 6 – Not given the greatest of service and so was able to make little impression.
Kitson 7 – Showed flashes of quality way above the standard of this game and deserved better from the colleagues around him.
Chillingworth 5 – Lots of running but no end product.
Revell 5 – Willing worker but his team was dead and buried by the time he got on.
Nacca 6 – Slotted adequately into the extremely unfamiliar position of middle of three centre backs.
Soundtrack of the day: The Be Good Tanyas/It’s Not Happening
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Buck and Wing. ‘Buck dancing, or the Buck Dance & Pigeon Wing, was a pre-tap dance routine performed in 19th century vaudeville. The term ‘buck’ can be traced back to the West Indies, and the African term ‘bockorau’ and the French ‘buccaneer’; ship captains would have the men dance to keep up morale as well as a form of exercise. Buck dancing was a type of clog or tap dance performed on the down beat to African tribal rhythms that later influenced barn or country dancing, while Pigeon Wing was a gymnastic lifting of the leg up against the cheek while hopping on the other, later incorporated into the Cancan! Martin Brennan is a particular fan of the latter, even going so far as to own a couple of the outfits worn by the girls who dance it in Paris. Coincidentally they’re both in his size, too! Only joking, Brenners. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Grim reality finally impinged on another exciting LDV campaign as lacklustre United were comfortably outplayed by a professional Bristol City team that never needed to get out of second gear. Shaggy needs to rally his flagging troops quickly if the play-off dream isn’t to fade away like a wispy cirrus in the night sky.
Man of the match: Warren Goodhind. Best of a below-par bunch and nearest to his usual high standard.
Ref watch: Curson 4. Mr C likes a quiet life. Penalty appeals? Ignore them all, too controversial. Get his cards out? Far too confrontational. In a schizophrenic performance, he delighted in giving free kicks for the most trivial and negligible ‘fouls’, then ignored far more blatant offences, most remarkably Tom Youngs’ rugby tackle that felled Aaron Brown. Obviously a bit too near the penalty area for Mr Nice. Maybe he’s applying a different set of rules for the LDV.
The Magic of the Cup II: The Two Legs
High on Magic Mountain, above the valley where the Guardians live, dwell the Hopes. These tiny, gossamer-delicate creatures are closely related to the Dreams and, as their name suggests, are eternally optimistic by nature. At the same time, they each carry a great burden with them: all the aspirations of the human race, to whom they are inextricably linked. Beneath their frail exterior lies a great inner strength, more stoic than the stubbornest ox and sturdier than a stormcock.
It fell to Wheezleplump that fateful night to carry the expectations of the Amber Hordes to the fearsome Guardians of the LDV. ‘So, noble Guardians,’ he asked with slightly forced levity, ‘is the Magic of the Trophy to flow the way of the Scholars tonight?’ Squeeglepatch cackled with all the warmth of an Arctic blizzard. ‘State your case, little Hope! And make it a good one!’
Wheezleplump gulped guppily, drawing in breath as if it were his last. ‘Three teams from a higher division beaten away from home. Defeat in the final last year. The most exciting attacking team in the competition. And it’s Shaggy’s Testimonial Year!’ He mentally ticked off his persuasions, one by one.
‘All very impressive, young Hope,’ sneered Snufflepotty. ‘But can you match the power of … the Wurzels?’ The diminutive figure racked his brains desperately; he had forgotten that all three Guardians were big fans of Combine Harvester and I Am A Cider Drinker. ‘Er … I’ve Got A Lovely Bunch Of Coconuts? And I could get Jamie Oliver to help you with your cauldron?’ Feltchendribble shrieked. ‘Over my dead body! No more Magic for you, creature of the Mountain! Show him, Armand!’ And their gigantic, lumbering assistant revealed the interior of the Magic Cauldron … blood red to the core, with nary a hint of amber and black. ‘I am sorry,’ he apologised in his heavy Francophone accent. ‘I forget to turn on the Gas!’
Hope springs eternal where the Mighty U’s are concerned. In 1970 they were the first club to be elected to the League in eight years through seasons of dogged lobbying. In 1978 they had the smallest capacity ground in the League when they defied the odds to be promoted to the rarified sphere of the old Division Two … and stayed there for six seasons. And who could forget the early 90s, when sheer determination and self-belief took them to two FA Cup quarter-finals and to within a play-off of the Premier League? Those glory days may be long gone now, but shooting at the moon now means aiming for the Millennium Stadium and our favourite trophy. And tonight was a tall an order as any, two goals down to the Robins of Bristol and form-wise, struggling for survival like Tricky Dicky’s latest victim on the Street. Positive thinking was a must.
Shaggy and the Prof wisely stuck to the trusty 4-4-2 that the players know and are most comfortable with, only changes from the good performance at Hull being the return of the suspended Wozza Goodhind and BGG Kitson for Tom Newey and Dan Chillingworth, enabling Freddie Murray to move across to left back to mark his namesake Scott. Only other positional change was Tom Youngs and Shane Tudor swapping wings to right and left respectively, while only hairstyle change was Goodhind’s shedding of his luxuriant flowing Beckhamesque tresses for a shorter but no less informal bleach-boy look, although just the team changes were announced over the Tannoy. Unless I missed the hairstyle one while I was in the loo. Bristol didn’t fix what wasn’t broke, only change being the replacement of Christian Roberts with on-loan veteran Solskjaeralike Mark Robins.
The visitors started briskly, wasting no time in belying the home hope that they would treat the match with casual overconfidence, snapping into the tackle and harrying their opponents with efficiency from the front line back. First chance almost fell the Robins’ Robins’ way, just crowded in the end by a gaggle of amber shirts and Dancing Shaun Marshall eventually grabbing Lee Peacock’s cross-shot. United responded with a fifth-minute Youngs header wide from their first corner, but the young hosts looked oddly subdued, seemingly unprepared for their experienced visitors’ aggression and hard graft. There was no denying United’s willingness to work, but City more than matched them in that department and looked a cut above in every other way.
It was therefore no great surprise when City took the lead on 11. Tudor, looking unwilling to extend his hamstrings in any way, committed the cardinal sin of standing motionless waiting for Murray’s pass instead of going to the ball; wing back Louis Carey swiftly whipped the ball away from him, advanced unchallenged as the winger made no attempt to tackle back, and let fly from fully 30 yards, his thunderbolt bouncing once as it flew across Marshall and into the bottom corner. A bolt from the red, indeed, and all of a sudden, a molehill became Mount Everest. Or at least the north face of Lisa Riley.
United responded gamely, although lacking the fluidity of Saturday with too much reliance on long balls down the channels from the defenders instead of playing it through the middle and down the wings. Best chance of the spell came on 17 as Kitson ran at the Bristol defence from the centre circle, eventually running into a roadblock of red shirts round about the penalty spot, but the ball rebounded to the lurking Riza the Geezer whose fizzer from the D was headed for the bottom corner until acrobatically clawed away by the out-of-position Steve Phillips.
A minute later Captain Fantastic fired a difficult volley over from Tudor’s corner, but United were still firing on two cylinders at best as City continued to close them down and deny them space. Most of the hosts’ attacking play took place down the right between Youngs, Fleming and Guttridge, Tudor frequently left forlornly waving from the opposite wing as if his colleagues knew he wasn’t fully fit so chose other options in preference. Shane certainly didn’t seem to be looking for diagonal balls to run on to, just waiting statically on the touchline for a ball to feet.
The influential Brian Tinnion was forced to withdraw on 22, but as it turned out sub Aaron Brown proved to be a more than capable deputy. Tudor managed one decent run, gaining a corner, but it was City who threatened next with a Peacock header from a Doherty free kick, calmly saved by Marshall. The Terpsichorean custodian set home hearts racing with a dreadful throw-out which only found Carey, but his cross towards Peacock was wastefully inaccurate, then up the other end Kitson was sandwiched by two defenders as he tried to burst through and seemed to have a good claim for a penalty. Laissez-faire ref Curson unconcernedly waved play on like a Northampton Town director ushering another failed manager out of the door.
On 39 Riza, lacking in service so far, galloped on to Tudor’s ball in and just got a foot to it before the charging Phillips, who thudded into the little striker as it trundled harmlessly out of play. Bristol, however, were dictating most of the play, denying United room and forcing them into hurried and therefore inaccurate passes. On 41 Scott Murray spotted Brown haring down the middle, even outpacing the Terrier Fleming, but the sub’s lashed low cross could only be diverted wide of the far post by Peacock’s lunging boot.
However, the tie was all but decided on the stroke of half-time with a blow more devastating than a Paolo di Canio put-down. Again it was Brown jetting down the left, this time cutting inside past some frankly feeble defending, and his low ball across the box found Murray steaming in at the far post; his first effort was blocked by a sea of amber, but he was first to the rebound to lash home comfortably from six yards out: 2-0, game over. The 700-plus City fans jubilantly celebrated the fact that they would be home before daylight broke; no golden goal extra time tonight.
How to approach the second half? A top-form United from a few months ago would have thrown all caution to the wind and attacked on all fronts, still fancying their chances of pulling something out of the fire. But this United team was a shadow of those halcyon days, and were faced with much better opposition than they will find in Division Three. Riza menaced early on, but the run of the ball wasn’t with him as the U’s tried valiantly to lift themselves and the crowd. But Phillips remained untroubled as that final killer pass proved as elusive as harmony in the Tory Party. Blue was very much the colour.
City freshened things up by replacing Robins with Roberts on 57, and ten minutes later they made a second striker change with Beadle for Peacock. At the same time Shaggy and the Prof produced one of their ‘brilliant-or-mad?’ substitutions by replacing Wanless with Chillingworth and amending the formation to 3-4-3, Fleming taking the captain’s armband and moving into midfield while Chilli made up a front three alongside Kitson and Riza. One suspects that the main reason for all this was to rest the good Captain for Saturday in the knowledge that the day was already lost.
Unsurprisingly, United were now much more vulnerable at the back, and on the hour mark Murray arrived late to a Brown cross and fired low back across the box towards the far corner of the net; Marshall looked on helplessly as it cannoned off the foot of the post and Roberts, loitering not five yards out, could only bundle the rebound wide, such was its pace.
Two minutes later the Dancemeister did well to tip over a deep right-wing Murray cross that was dropping into the net, then we experienced déjà vu as Murray met another cross with a half-volley towards the far post again, this time the ball rebounding off Marshall’s flying body to Roberts, who again missed from close in. Far from galvanising United into a spell of pressure, the change in formation had only encouraged Bristol to push forward and show their own substantial attacking qualities.
On 74 came final confirmation that United had thrown in the towel as Kitson was rested for Aggy Revell. Three minutes the final part of the ‘spine’ was removed when Goodhind was replaced by Nacca, who became the smallest centre back since we saw Matt Joseph running around biting forwards’ ankles at Orient. Riza blazed over on 77 with a shot about as accurate as an FBI manhunt, and two minutes later the shaky back three was finally exposed as Roberts easily beat the offside, danced around Marshall and poked home for number three. City soon had a convincing-looking claim for a penalty as the scorer was taken from behind (steady), but once again Mr Curson wasn’t having any of that nonsense.
The last ten minutes were full of devil-may-care anything-goes tomfoolery: Chilli attempting to spectacularly volley a Phillips clearance from 35 yards and seeing his effort head sideways towards the Main Stand; the Terrier losing his rag with Phillips and I’m quite sure he would have lamped him one were it not for his team-mates’ intervention (Curson did nothing but have a quiet word after the players had calmed things down); Phillips just beating Riza to another through ball; Revell attempting a 40-yarder that was surprisingly close to goal, considering; Guttridge almost bundling his way through only to be denied by a prone defender’s last ditch lunge; Riza leaving the field with another injury, so United played the last three minutes with ten men.
So an ignominious and disappointingly anti-climactic end to another massively enjoyable LDV journey. Let’s remember all those fantastic away wins rather than the final tie against a team that was ultimately just too good, too strong and too determined for a United team that would have needed 11 men all in their top form even to compete with them. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was all too, too weak. Now let’s concentrate on that League and try to recapture that early season form again. More positive thinking is required now than ever; hope springs eternal!
Marshall 6 – Conceded three scruffy goals but was badly let down by his team-mates.
Fleming 6 – Characteristically tireless running but inspiration was lacking tonight.
Murray 6 – Fairly average workout, not helped by having the immobile Tudor playing in front of him.
Tann 6 – Struggled against Peacock’s aerial power but otherwise not bad.
Goodhind 7 – Pick of the defence with his cool head and positional sense.
Youngs 6 – Another who couldn’t be faulted for workrate, but was lacking in effectiveness against tight-marking Bristol.
Guttridge 6 – Put in the mileage but couldn’t compete with superior opposition.
Wanless 7 – Played his usual captain’s role but was swimming against a red tide.
Tudor 5 – We love Shane for his jinking, positive runs, his mobility, his strength on the ball and alertness and tireless hard work off it. So I’ve no idea who was wearing No 20 tonight, because he had none of those qualities. Plainly not fit, either physically or mentally.
Riza 6 – Not given the greatest of service and so was able to make little impression.
Kitson 7 – Showed flashes of quality way above the standard of this game and deserved better from the colleagues around him.
Chillingworth 5 – Lots of running but no end product.
Revell 5 – Willing worker but his team was dead and buried by the time he got on.
Nacca 6 – Slotted adequately into the extremely unfamiliar position of middle of three centre backs.
Soundtrack of the day: The Be Good Tanyas/It’s Not Happening
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Buck and Wing. ‘Buck dancing, or the Buck Dance & Pigeon Wing, was a pre-tap dance routine performed in 19th century vaudeville. The term ‘buck’ can be traced back to the West Indies, and the African term ‘bockorau’ and the French ‘buccaneer’; ship captains would have the men dance to keep up morale as well as a form of exercise. Buck dancing was a type of clog or tap dance performed on the down beat to African tribal rhythms that later influenced barn or country dancing, while Pigeon Wing was a gymnastic lifting of the leg up against the cheek while hopping on the other, later incorporated into the Cancan! Martin Brennan is a particular fan of the latter, even going so far as to own a couple of the outfits worn by the girls who dance it in Paris. Coincidentally they’re both in his size, too! Only joking, Brenners. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Grim reality finally impinged on another exciting LDV campaign as lacklustre United were comfortably outplayed by a professional Bristol City team that never needed to get out of second gear. Shaggy needs to rally his flagging troops quickly if the play-off dream isn’t to fade away like a wispy cirrus in the night sky.
Man of the match: Warren Goodhind. Best of a below-par bunch and nearest to his usual high standard.
Ref watch: Curson 4. Mr C likes a quiet life. Penalty appeals? Ignore them all, too controversial. Get his cards out? Far too confrontational. In a schizophrenic performance, he delighted in giving free kicks for the most trivial and negligible ‘fouls’, then ignored far more blatant offences, most remarkably Tom Youngs’ rugby tackle that felled Aaron Brown. Obviously a bit too near the penalty area for Mr Nice. Maybe he’s applying a different set of rules for the LDV.
The Wurzels: they are cider drinkers.
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Saturday, 1 March 2003: United 0-1 Torquay United
The staff gathered concernedly at the door to the manager’s office. ‘He’s been like that all day,’ said Ali to the others. ‘Just sitting there, staring at that page in the paper. He hasn’t even had any lunch!’ ‘It must be the strain,’ considered Kit. ‘He just needs something to help him snap out of it.’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey Shaggy! Barry Fry’s just admitted he’s really a quiet introvert who’s into flower arranging and cross-stitch!’ ‘That’s no good,’ rounded Dan, ‘he knows that’s true anyway. No one believes that chirpy Cockney character schtick any more. We could tell him about the cross-dressing though …’
Mark joined in. ‘Ugh! That’s too horrible to even think about. How about we tell him the office girls are going to do a lapdance routine for Comic Relief and they’d like to practise on him?’ ‘In your dreams, buddy,’ rejoined Suzy. ‘Why don’t we get Gordon to do it? That’ll shock him out of it!’ ‘Good grief!’ cried Graham. ‘I’d pay good money not to see that!’ ‘Amen to that,’ said Jo. ‘We could always tell him we’re moving in with City. They’re so ambitious they’ll have a 50,000-capacity stadium in place within the next five years. Oh look, here’s Brooksie. Dale, we’re really worried about JT. What’s wrong with him?’ Brooksie chuckled. ‘There’s nothing wrong. Shaggy’s just doing what we agreed in our last tactical discussion. He’s concentrating on the League!’
Time to forget this season’s cup exploits and get back to that pesky Division Three business. A month packed with nine (count ’em) matches began today and we will surely have a good idea of what the fates have in store at the end of it. There will certainly be no time to stop and smell the roses, or consider the burning issues of the day like Iraq, or the fact that a fifth of all Premiership managers are ginger. Scary stuff. It’s bad enough getting the news that Andy Duncan is suffering from ‘Gilmore’s Groin’; that’ll teach him to go out on stag nights.
In Andy’s and Stev’s continued absence, step forward Izzy Iriekpen, West Ham loanee and one hell of a score in Scrabble. The East London giant lined up in the centre of defence alongside Wozza Goodhind, sporting his new ‘just-got-out-of-bed-darn-that-static-electricity-blues’ hairstyle, Adam Tann moving to full back and Terrier Fleming to midfield with Captain Fantastic dropping to the bench after some bad stomach shenanigans this week. Only other change was in the swapping of wings of Messrs Tudor and Youngs to right and left respectively, the latter sufficiently recovered from his recent exhaustion. Told him not to spend so much time in the moshpit at those Flaming Lips gigs.
For Torquay, there were a few familiar faces to amber eyes: the ever-chunky Kevin Dearden seems to put on another stone every time we see him, while his custodial stand-in these days is the Iceman himself, Arjan Van Heusden. Gulls skipper is of course our old friend Alex Russell, whose opinion that he could play Division One football was sadly not shared by Division One managers. Bless. Top scorer David Graham was interestingly dropped to the bench, while new loan signing from Portsmouth Craig Taylor made his debut, presumably farmed out by Pompey until he’s old enough to play for their team of veterans. Ten more years should do it.
The visitors ran out in a frankly hideous mismatch of colours, sporting black-and-white striped away shirts teamed with yellow home shorts, the worst clash since Lulu and Ronan Keating’s disturbingly Oedipal shoutfest We’ve Got Tonight a few months back. For United, the man Iriekpen had thoughtfully been allocated a number that also reflected his initials, 11. Given that the last three owners of that number have been Armand Oné, Colin Alcide and, yes, Mr Russell, let’s hope his stay with us is rather less ill-starred than its previous occupants.
A quiet start was shattered after less than four minutes with the sort of nightmare that we thought Shaun Marshall had consigned to his past. Tann sent in a long, high backpass from the right channel, Shaun thought about catching it then reconsidered, letting it bounce off his chest as he strove to bring it under control. Such was the weight of the pass that it ricocheted off his chest and over his head, and speedy winger Jo Kuffour saw his chance, nipping in to dispossess the Terpsichorean custodian and knock in a goal so soft you could wipe your behind with it. This surreal shock to the system knocked United for six more surely than an Aussie batsman and Torquay had the better of the opening exchanges thenceforth.
Kevin Wills had a shot saved a minute later, then Marshall made a further stop from Lee Canoville on ten following a neat one-two with Russell; Kevin Hill had a blaster blocked by Goodhind and Wills fired wide from 18 yards. United’s diminutive central midfield was struggling to get any kind of grip on the game, and the team was falling into the old trap of lumping high balls up towards Kitson and Riza instead of playing it on the floor; Torquay, now with a lead to defend, worked hard like Bristol City did on Tuesday in closing their opponents down fast all over the pitch.
United did, however, gradually drag themselves back into the game. A Riza break gained them a corner on 16, from which Tudor appeared to try to score, hitting the side netting when a yard more pace might have curled it in. Accidentally. Shane started to make an impression down the right, still some way off 100 per cent but looking more lively and less tentative than on Tuesday. On 18 a good move down that side saw Tiny Tom cross to BGG Kitson at the far post, and his looping header looked about to drift into the far corner until Riza nipped in to make sure from point-blank range. Home celebrations were however cut short by the lino’s offside flag against The Geezer. Disappointment hung in the air like an upside-down Cheshire cat.
Neither keeper was exactly overworked for the next few minutes, and next moment of danger came at the United end from a Russell corner on 25: Taylor’s header was blocked almost on the line by Goodhind, the ball trickled across the six-yard box and somehow no one could give it the small touch it needed to send it into the net. The spiky Kouffour then achieved what we had thought previously impossible by riling that nice Tiny Tom so much he almost lamped the little irritant, settling instead for some less than complimentary two-way verbals. Bet Tom won the war of words; a few quotes from Shakespeare and Wilde would have had his rival mentally reeling from his lethal barbs of wit. The pen is mightier than the sword, although a few flying studs usually do the trick. Two minutes later Kouffour pushed his luck too far, getting booked for another snapping foul on Murray.
Iriekpen was holding up well, looking calm and assured for one so young and inexperienced, never more so than on the half-hour when he beat Wills to a through ball with a mixture of impressive speed and sheer strength, knocking it back to Marshall then getting into position to take a return pass before distributing it upfield. United then threatened again as Fleming’s cross was headed on by Kitson to Riza, lurking unseen at the far post, but his header from a very tight angle was insufficiently accurate and flew back across the six-yard box and to safety.
Visiting captain, the colourfully named David Woozley (perhaps the registrar couldn’t spell Wolseley), found himself the second name in ref Fraser Stretton’s book on 33 as, faced with a prone Tudor and the ball in front of him, he chose to hack away indiscriminately with flying boots until he got one, the other or both. He got both, eventually, and a deserved card for what some refs might have called violent conduct.
The match degenerated quality-wise so that the next ten minutes were a positive desert of forgettable nothingness, a bit like ITV’s Over The Bar without the cringing embarrassment. Hey! Let’s do Soccer AM in a mock bar! Without the wit, ideas or budget! Fantastic! Bring back Gerry Harrison!
Just before time came a brief flurry at either end: first Riza latched on to a left channel ball from Murray and slalomed past two challenges into the box before seeing his low shot clutched comfortably by Dearden. Then Kitson cleared a Russell corner with a quite superb twisting, diving header that a lesser player might have plonked into his own net. Eh, Jimmy Floyd? So ended a rather less than satisfactory half for the hosts and a most satisfactory half for the visitors. United would need to improve substantially in quality and cohesion to salvage this one.
After a scrappy start, United gained the upper hand in the second half and continued to dominate possession and territory for almost the entire 45 minutes. Goodhind picked up another of his stupid, needless bookings on 52 for a bit of backchat, then Lil’ Luke, who had been trying too hard to impress against his former club in the first period, darted past two defenders to fire over from 15 yards on 54.
Best move of the half came two minutes later as Kitson won the ball facing the wrong way near the centre circle with a defender on his back, ran back ten yards then turned and sent a quite fantastic long diagonal ball into the path of Tudor racing down the right wing, the sort of pass of which only he is capable in this squad. Shane galloped towards goal, then spurning the expected cross, went for goal at the near post from the edge of the area. It was screaming into the top corner until Dearden flung himself spectacularly to his left to tip round for a corner.
Just after the hour United gained a free-kick five yards outside the box and with their usual paucity of imagination shifted it to Fleming to trundle a feeble shot that was heading wide until deflected for a fortunate corner. The home pressure continued to grow, and from the 67th minute United gained five corners in five minutes. Tudor was flighting them well but they just wouldn’t fall United’s way. One was even headed on by Riza low at the near post and just clawed away by Dearden, the first time that this attempted variation has worked in, ooh, 216 attempts at least. Iriekpen was also a menacing physical presence, winning one at the far post but seeing the portly Gulls custodian grab it once again. The concerted Cantabrigian onslaught was more demanding than J-Lo’s entourage, but still the openings would not fall their way.
Both teams adjusted their line-ups, the knackered Youngs replaced by Chillingworth on 72 as Riza went wide left, then Wannie coming on for the limping Tann with the Terrier reverting to right back. For Torquay, some straight swaps with Graham for Wills and Hockley for Kuffour. The visitors weathered the storm, and another couple of corners on 79, and for all United’s efforts, clear-cut chances were just not being created. Indeed, on 85 the visitors finally managed their first shot of the half with a break by Graham, his wicked low fizzer excellently tipped around the post at full stretch by Marshall. But it was Torquay’s day.
So, an afternoon of utter frustration for the Mighty U’s, and a hard-won first-ever victory at Fortress Abbey for the Gulls. The second half was almost literally all one-way traffic, but Dearden had barely a shot to save, just crosses and corners to gather. Reasons? Lack of creativity from midfield, below-par wing play: Tudor is still feeling his way back while Tiny Tom is wasted out there, and you can’t help but feel Riza’s pace and trickery would be better suited to the flank while Tom’s hold-up play and perception would be better utilised in the centre.
Make no mistake, for all United’s decline in quality and effectiveness this year, they could still have won this with just a little break in front of goal. Torquay were certainly a very ordinary team who just made the best of what they had by sheer hard graft and organisation. It was difficult, however, to see how they have managed to be one of the two teams to have scored more than United this season.
And that is what was so ironic about this match: two teams who have scored over 100 goals between them this season, and instead of a goal feast, it would have finished 0-0 if not for Dancing Shaun’s howler. But the whole team must shoulder their failure to win more than one League game since Christmas. Now more than ever, Shaggy and the Prof must muster all their limited managerial experience to re-energise their troops for the challenges yet to come. And since they’ve got questions to answer, how about you, gentle reader? Specifically, who is the only player before Izzy Iriekpen to play League football for United whose surname begins with the letter ‘I’? Answer below, fact fans!
Marshall 6 – Little to do, apart from one superb save in the second half, but his one error was the deciding moment of the match. Them’s the breaks.
Tann 7 – Back to his best position, he was impressive both defensively and supporting the attack down the flank.
Murray 6 – Thoroughly not-bad without hitting any great heights.
Goodhind 7 – Usual commanding self at the heart of the defence.
Iriekpen 8 – Looks like a real find on this evidence: quick, strong, tactically aware and a cool head. He’ll do nicely.
Tudor 7 – 100 per cent improvement on Tuesday, Shane appears to be well on his way back to fitness. Huzzah.
Fleming 6 – Average first half, but he must have washed his feet during the interval as he couldn’t do a thing with them during the second.
Guttridge 6 – A neat inversion of his midfield partner, Luke had a poor first half but a much improved second 45, without pulling up any trees.
Youngs 6 – No lack of endeavour but he just doesn’t have the pace to be a winger.
Kitson 7 – Led the line tirelessly despite less than first-class service.
Riza 6 - Deprived of supply by his own team’s failings and Torquay’s close attentions.
Chillingworth 6 – Made a decent impact in his usual cameo appearance.
Wanless 6 – Popular sub and let no-one down.
Soundtrack of the day: Mull Historical Society/The Final Arrears
Shaun’s Dance of the Day: Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Suzy Q. ‘Today I’m looking at an unusual dance: it’s a step which is done along with or within another dance! The Suzy Q became popular around 1937 and could be done as a solo, couple or group. It was most often connected with the Jitterbug or other Swing dances and consisted of only four movements, moving first to the right four times then four times to the left, hands held together in front of you, heel of right foot forward then swivelling on it from right to left, like waving a finger back and forth but with a foot, then moving to the right, then repeating to the left. It’s a neat little step, but I wish Tom Youngs wouldn’t keep trying to beat opponents with it on the wing – it doesn’t fool anyone! Only joking, Youngsie. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: The Abbey became a church of frustration for the U’s as they huffed and puffed but singularly failed to blow down the Gulls’ nest after handing them a featherbed of a soft goal. For all their pressure, United’s cutting edge seems to have been well and truly blunted. Someone call a knife sharpener by Tuesday.
Man of the match: Izzy Iriekpen. A bigger, stronger, faster version of Stev? Yes please. West Ham would rather have Thomas Repka and Gary Breen than Izzy. Taxi for Roeder!
Ref watch: Stretton 7. Some over-fussy moments, but mostly pleasingly unobtrusive. That’s the way we like ’em.
Who is the other I? Neil Illman. Oh go on, you must remember: one game and four as sub, 1996. No goals, no good …
The staff gathered concernedly at the door to the manager’s office. ‘He’s been like that all day,’ said Ali to the others. ‘Just sitting there, staring at that page in the paper. He hasn’t even had any lunch!’ ‘It must be the strain,’ considered Kit. ‘He just needs something to help him snap out of it.’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey Shaggy! Barry Fry’s just admitted he’s really a quiet introvert who’s into flower arranging and cross-stitch!’ ‘That’s no good,’ rounded Dan, ‘he knows that’s true anyway. No one believes that chirpy Cockney character schtick any more. We could tell him about the cross-dressing though …’
Mark joined in. ‘Ugh! That’s too horrible to even think about. How about we tell him the office girls are going to do a lapdance routine for Comic Relief and they’d like to practise on him?’ ‘In your dreams, buddy,’ rejoined Suzy. ‘Why don’t we get Gordon to do it? That’ll shock him out of it!’ ‘Good grief!’ cried Graham. ‘I’d pay good money not to see that!’ ‘Amen to that,’ said Jo. ‘We could always tell him we’re moving in with City. They’re so ambitious they’ll have a 50,000-capacity stadium in place within the next five years. Oh look, here’s Brooksie. Dale, we’re really worried about JT. What’s wrong with him?’ Brooksie chuckled. ‘There’s nothing wrong. Shaggy’s just doing what we agreed in our last tactical discussion. He’s concentrating on the League!’
Time to forget this season’s cup exploits and get back to that pesky Division Three business. A month packed with nine (count ’em) matches began today and we will surely have a good idea of what the fates have in store at the end of it. There will certainly be no time to stop and smell the roses, or consider the burning issues of the day like Iraq, or the fact that a fifth of all Premiership managers are ginger. Scary stuff. It’s bad enough getting the news that Andy Duncan is suffering from ‘Gilmore’s Groin’; that’ll teach him to go out on stag nights.
In Andy’s and Stev’s continued absence, step forward Izzy Iriekpen, West Ham loanee and one hell of a score in Scrabble. The East London giant lined up in the centre of defence alongside Wozza Goodhind, sporting his new ‘just-got-out-of-bed-darn-that-static-electricity-blues’ hairstyle, Adam Tann moving to full back and Terrier Fleming to midfield with Captain Fantastic dropping to the bench after some bad stomach shenanigans this week. Only other change was in the swapping of wings of Messrs Tudor and Youngs to right and left respectively, the latter sufficiently recovered from his recent exhaustion. Told him not to spend so much time in the moshpit at those Flaming Lips gigs.
For Torquay, there were a few familiar faces to amber eyes: the ever-chunky Kevin Dearden seems to put on another stone every time we see him, while his custodial stand-in these days is the Iceman himself, Arjan Van Heusden. Gulls skipper is of course our old friend Alex Russell, whose opinion that he could play Division One football was sadly not shared by Division One managers. Bless. Top scorer David Graham was interestingly dropped to the bench, while new loan signing from Portsmouth Craig Taylor made his debut, presumably farmed out by Pompey until he’s old enough to play for their team of veterans. Ten more years should do it.
The visitors ran out in a frankly hideous mismatch of colours, sporting black-and-white striped away shirts teamed with yellow home shorts, the worst clash since Lulu and Ronan Keating’s disturbingly Oedipal shoutfest We’ve Got Tonight a few months back. For United, the man Iriekpen had thoughtfully been allocated a number that also reflected his initials, 11. Given that the last three owners of that number have been Armand Oné, Colin Alcide and, yes, Mr Russell, let’s hope his stay with us is rather less ill-starred than its previous occupants.
A quiet start was shattered after less than four minutes with the sort of nightmare that we thought Shaun Marshall had consigned to his past. Tann sent in a long, high backpass from the right channel, Shaun thought about catching it then reconsidered, letting it bounce off his chest as he strove to bring it under control. Such was the weight of the pass that it ricocheted off his chest and over his head, and speedy winger Jo Kuffour saw his chance, nipping in to dispossess the Terpsichorean custodian and knock in a goal so soft you could wipe your behind with it. This surreal shock to the system knocked United for six more surely than an Aussie batsman and Torquay had the better of the opening exchanges thenceforth.
Kevin Wills had a shot saved a minute later, then Marshall made a further stop from Lee Canoville on ten following a neat one-two with Russell; Kevin Hill had a blaster blocked by Goodhind and Wills fired wide from 18 yards. United’s diminutive central midfield was struggling to get any kind of grip on the game, and the team was falling into the old trap of lumping high balls up towards Kitson and Riza instead of playing it on the floor; Torquay, now with a lead to defend, worked hard like Bristol City did on Tuesday in closing their opponents down fast all over the pitch.
United did, however, gradually drag themselves back into the game. A Riza break gained them a corner on 16, from which Tudor appeared to try to score, hitting the side netting when a yard more pace might have curled it in. Accidentally. Shane started to make an impression down the right, still some way off 100 per cent but looking more lively and less tentative than on Tuesday. On 18 a good move down that side saw Tiny Tom cross to BGG Kitson at the far post, and his looping header looked about to drift into the far corner until Riza nipped in to make sure from point-blank range. Home celebrations were however cut short by the lino’s offside flag against The Geezer. Disappointment hung in the air like an upside-down Cheshire cat.
Neither keeper was exactly overworked for the next few minutes, and next moment of danger came at the United end from a Russell corner on 25: Taylor’s header was blocked almost on the line by Goodhind, the ball trickled across the six-yard box and somehow no one could give it the small touch it needed to send it into the net. The spiky Kouffour then achieved what we had thought previously impossible by riling that nice Tiny Tom so much he almost lamped the little irritant, settling instead for some less than complimentary two-way verbals. Bet Tom won the war of words; a few quotes from Shakespeare and Wilde would have had his rival mentally reeling from his lethal barbs of wit. The pen is mightier than the sword, although a few flying studs usually do the trick. Two minutes later Kouffour pushed his luck too far, getting booked for another snapping foul on Murray.
Iriekpen was holding up well, looking calm and assured for one so young and inexperienced, never more so than on the half-hour when he beat Wills to a through ball with a mixture of impressive speed and sheer strength, knocking it back to Marshall then getting into position to take a return pass before distributing it upfield. United then threatened again as Fleming’s cross was headed on by Kitson to Riza, lurking unseen at the far post, but his header from a very tight angle was insufficiently accurate and flew back across the six-yard box and to safety.
Visiting captain, the colourfully named David Woozley (perhaps the registrar couldn’t spell Wolseley), found himself the second name in ref Fraser Stretton’s book on 33 as, faced with a prone Tudor and the ball in front of him, he chose to hack away indiscriminately with flying boots until he got one, the other or both. He got both, eventually, and a deserved card for what some refs might have called violent conduct.
The match degenerated quality-wise so that the next ten minutes were a positive desert of forgettable nothingness, a bit like ITV’s Over The Bar without the cringing embarrassment. Hey! Let’s do Soccer AM in a mock bar! Without the wit, ideas or budget! Fantastic! Bring back Gerry Harrison!
Just before time came a brief flurry at either end: first Riza latched on to a left channel ball from Murray and slalomed past two challenges into the box before seeing his low shot clutched comfortably by Dearden. Then Kitson cleared a Russell corner with a quite superb twisting, diving header that a lesser player might have plonked into his own net. Eh, Jimmy Floyd? So ended a rather less than satisfactory half for the hosts and a most satisfactory half for the visitors. United would need to improve substantially in quality and cohesion to salvage this one.
After a scrappy start, United gained the upper hand in the second half and continued to dominate possession and territory for almost the entire 45 minutes. Goodhind picked up another of his stupid, needless bookings on 52 for a bit of backchat, then Lil’ Luke, who had been trying too hard to impress against his former club in the first period, darted past two defenders to fire over from 15 yards on 54.
Best move of the half came two minutes later as Kitson won the ball facing the wrong way near the centre circle with a defender on his back, ran back ten yards then turned and sent a quite fantastic long diagonal ball into the path of Tudor racing down the right wing, the sort of pass of which only he is capable in this squad. Shane galloped towards goal, then spurning the expected cross, went for goal at the near post from the edge of the area. It was screaming into the top corner until Dearden flung himself spectacularly to his left to tip round for a corner.
Just after the hour United gained a free-kick five yards outside the box and with their usual paucity of imagination shifted it to Fleming to trundle a feeble shot that was heading wide until deflected for a fortunate corner. The home pressure continued to grow, and from the 67th minute United gained five corners in five minutes. Tudor was flighting them well but they just wouldn’t fall United’s way. One was even headed on by Riza low at the near post and just clawed away by Dearden, the first time that this attempted variation has worked in, ooh, 216 attempts at least. Iriekpen was also a menacing physical presence, winning one at the far post but seeing the portly Gulls custodian grab it once again. The concerted Cantabrigian onslaught was more demanding than J-Lo’s entourage, but still the openings would not fall their way.
Both teams adjusted their line-ups, the knackered Youngs replaced by Chillingworth on 72 as Riza went wide left, then Wannie coming on for the limping Tann with the Terrier reverting to right back. For Torquay, some straight swaps with Graham for Wills and Hockley for Kuffour. The visitors weathered the storm, and another couple of corners on 79, and for all United’s efforts, clear-cut chances were just not being created. Indeed, on 85 the visitors finally managed their first shot of the half with a break by Graham, his wicked low fizzer excellently tipped around the post at full stretch by Marshall. But it was Torquay’s day.
So, an afternoon of utter frustration for the Mighty U’s, and a hard-won first-ever victory at Fortress Abbey for the Gulls. The second half was almost literally all one-way traffic, but Dearden had barely a shot to save, just crosses and corners to gather. Reasons? Lack of creativity from midfield, below-par wing play: Tudor is still feeling his way back while Tiny Tom is wasted out there, and you can’t help but feel Riza’s pace and trickery would be better suited to the flank while Tom’s hold-up play and perception would be better utilised in the centre.
Make no mistake, for all United’s decline in quality and effectiveness this year, they could still have won this with just a little break in front of goal. Torquay were certainly a very ordinary team who just made the best of what they had by sheer hard graft and organisation. It was difficult, however, to see how they have managed to be one of the two teams to have scored more than United this season.
And that is what was so ironic about this match: two teams who have scored over 100 goals between them this season, and instead of a goal feast, it would have finished 0-0 if not for Dancing Shaun’s howler. But the whole team must shoulder their failure to win more than one League game since Christmas. Now more than ever, Shaggy and the Prof must muster all their limited managerial experience to re-energise their troops for the challenges yet to come. And since they’ve got questions to answer, how about you, gentle reader? Specifically, who is the only player before Izzy Iriekpen to play League football for United whose surname begins with the letter ‘I’? Answer below, fact fans!
Marshall 6 – Little to do, apart from one superb save in the second half, but his one error was the deciding moment of the match. Them’s the breaks.
Tann 7 – Back to his best position, he was impressive both defensively and supporting the attack down the flank.
Murray 6 – Thoroughly not-bad without hitting any great heights.
Goodhind 7 – Usual commanding self at the heart of the defence.
Iriekpen 8 – Looks like a real find on this evidence: quick, strong, tactically aware and a cool head. He’ll do nicely.
Tudor 7 – 100 per cent improvement on Tuesday, Shane appears to be well on his way back to fitness. Huzzah.
Fleming 6 – Average first half, but he must have washed his feet during the interval as he couldn’t do a thing with them during the second.
Guttridge 6 – A neat inversion of his midfield partner, Luke had a poor first half but a much improved second 45, without pulling up any trees.
Youngs 6 – No lack of endeavour but he just doesn’t have the pace to be a winger.
Kitson 7 – Led the line tirelessly despite less than first-class service.
Riza 6 - Deprived of supply by his own team’s failings and Torquay’s close attentions.
Chillingworth 6 – Made a decent impact in his usual cameo appearance.
Wanless 6 – Popular sub and let no-one down.
Soundtrack of the day: Mull Historical Society/The Final Arrears
Shaun’s Dance of the Day: Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Suzy Q. ‘Today I’m looking at an unusual dance: it’s a step which is done along with or within another dance! The Suzy Q became popular around 1937 and could be done as a solo, couple or group. It was most often connected with the Jitterbug or other Swing dances and consisted of only four movements, moving first to the right four times then four times to the left, hands held together in front of you, heel of right foot forward then swivelling on it from right to left, like waving a finger back and forth but with a foot, then moving to the right, then repeating to the left. It’s a neat little step, but I wish Tom Youngs wouldn’t keep trying to beat opponents with it on the wing – it doesn’t fool anyone! Only joking, Youngsie. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: The Abbey became a church of frustration for the U’s as they huffed and puffed but singularly failed to blow down the Gulls’ nest after handing them a featherbed of a soft goal. For all their pressure, United’s cutting edge seems to have been well and truly blunted. Someone call a knife sharpener by Tuesday.
Man of the match: Izzy Iriekpen. A bigger, stronger, faster version of Stev? Yes please. West Ham would rather have Thomas Repka and Gary Breen than Izzy. Taxi for Roeder!
Ref watch: Stretton 7. Some over-fussy moments, but mostly pleasingly unobtrusive. That’s the way we like ’em.
Who is the other I? Neil Illman. Oh go on, you must remember: one game and four as sub, 1996. No goals, no good …
Tom Youngs: no lack of endeavour.
|
Tuesday, 4 March 2003: United 2-2 Rochdale
‘Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to this very special press conference, presented by Refcorp Inc. We have invited you here today to witness the future of football officialdom: the RoboRef 666.2. It is armed with all the latest technology: electronic notepad, whistle and pencil combo, quartz stopwatch and of course those all-important red and yellow cards. Optional extras include riot shield and mace spray for those tricky local derbies, and pest control facility for Dennis Wise. You can see it in action now as we stage a practice match between some lucky Refcorp employees.
‘Observe its no-nonsense approach as it punishes every attempt by the players to make physical contact with each other with a deafening blast on its sonic whistle! Marvel as it breaks up the play into manageable 15-second chunks! Watch as it keeps the crowd docile by avoiding all penalty-area controversy as it favours the defending side 100 per cent of the time! No tricky penalties or controversial late goals for this little beauty! Now see it line up a defensive wall with its laser-guided tape measure, ordering the players back decisively. They have 20 seconds to comply … 15 … ten … uh, RoboRef, they have moved back … er, five … RoboRef, there’s no need for the machine gun … not the napalm! For God’s sake, somebody turn it off!!’ (Tape ends)
It has been three long years since that fateful first trial of RoboRef 666.2. Now, under the shadowy guidance of FIFA and Sepp Blatter Enterprises, Version 666.3 has been unveiled at the Abbey Stadium, Cambridge. It appears to all intents and purposes to be human, except that RoboCorp have been unable to grow it hair, and of course its decision-making is entirely robotic and inhuman. They have named it ‘Webb’ and it does indeed appear to represent the future of football refereeing. Mummy, I’m scared …
If ever a team needed a win, it was both the protagonists tonight. The Mighty U’s, plummeting earthward like a nutted Robbie Savage, against good old Rochdale, looking certainties to celebrate 30 consecutive inglorious years in the basement division next year now that the euphoria of their FA Cup run has died away to a mild tingling in the extremities.
Meetings between the clubs started at Spotland 29 years ago in the proper Division Three, Rochdale’s last season in a higher echelon, in front of the lowest post-war League attendance of all: official figures gave it as 588, the clubs forced to play on a Tuesday afternoon because Dale didn’t have a generator in those three-day week days, although it is said one of the handful of United followers there could count only 147 hardy souls in place. Now that’s what I call loyal supporters. Whatever, the hosts that day mustered only two League wins all season and returned to the bottom rung, where they have been ever since, whereas while United went down with them that season, they have managed to change divisions ten times since those dark days.
But enough nostalgia. United, in search of a second League win this year, made two changes from Saturday’s lead zeppelin of a match, resting Messrs Tann and Youngs to the bench and replacing them with fit-again Stev Angus and Tom Newey. Stev formed a new central defensive partnership with old West Ham mucker Izzy Iriekpen, stand-in skipper Wozza Goodhind moving to right back, while Newey slotted into wide left midfield to form a rare two-left-footer flank with Murray behind him. As opposed to a two-left-feet flank when Colin Alcide played there. Captain Fantastic remained on the bench; hasn’t that Immodium worked yet?
For the visitors, there was ex-U’s interest on the bench in the form of Paul Connor, just returning from injury, and Lee McEvilly, who played for the reserves a few times early last season while on trial from non-League Burscough. They also sported two of the most enormous players seen at the Abbey since that pre-season friendly with Brobdingnag back in the 60s, in the looming forms of skipper Gareth Griffiths and target man Clive Platt.
The lowest League crowd of the season at Fortress Abbey was, with heavy irony, made to wait a few minutes after 7.45 for a kickoff delayed by our old friend the A14, or perhaps they were just out in the street trying to round people up to boost the numbers. Maybe they should have made the bacon butties out of pancakes. Eat your heart out, Delia Smith: now there would be an interesting recipe. Makes a change from roast canary. It would have been a nice idea for the pre-match toss to involve a pancake, too, but United lost it anyway and attacked the NRE for starters. How was their appetite tonight
First corner went to the hosts, but true to form the worst set-piece team in the division conjured up yet another embarrassingly poor flag kick as Tudor scuffed a low, directionless effort towards an area of the box that contained no amber shirts whatsoever. That familiar sinking feeling hit rock bottom within two minutes as the visitors took the lead: danger man Patrick McCourt raced goalward, picked up the run of Platt down the left channel of the penalty area, and with his towering presence had no problem holding off the rusty Angus to send a diagonal cross-shot low past Marshall for McEvilly to beat Murray’s feeble challenge and poke home from a yard out. Poor defending, dreadful start.
Lord only knows what would have happened to shell-shocked United had they not delivered an equaliser within two minutes as Rochdale’s equally jittery-looking defence fell apart like the England tail end. Or the England openers or the middle order, come to that. A splendid left-wing run by Riza The Geezer saw his cross partially cleared, but as United players hesitated on the edge of the D, McEvilly helpfully thought he’d come back to bolster his rearguard. His full-pelt header towards his own goal fell only to BGG Kitson, who in one graceful movement held off a challenge, turned on a sixpence and lifted the ball over the onrushing Matthew Gilks from eight yards out. Goal number 21 for the season, and what an important one.
Supporters’ minds now harked back to the classic earlier in the season at Spotland, when Dale ran out 4-3 winners against United’ s ten men with two goals in the last five minutes. But both teams have changed a lot in the intervening time from those September high-fliers, and it was soon apparent that here we had two very nervy, fragile teams, both chronically lacking in confidence and vulnerable as a centipede with 99 verrucas.
Dancing Shaun Marshall looked like Saturday’s farrago was still playing on his mind, fumbling a couple of early crosses that he would normally have clutched safely, but home hearts were cheered by Riza on 14 who embarked on one of his trademark mazy runs from deep, eventually cutting inside but finding only Gilks’s arms with his disappointingly tame shot from the edge of the box.
Rochdale began to look the stronger, prompted by the mercurial McCourt, and Platt had a shot blocked by Goodhind and Lee Duffy was nearly an amber slayer with an 18-yard blaster over the top on 18. Tudor responded with a near-miss of his own two minutes later, then David ‘My Brother’s Famous … in Blackburn’ Flitcroft went even closer for the visitors. Dale had a menacing spell of pressure, punctuated with numerous good corners and crosses that pinged around the United area without a blue shirt managing to get a final touch, but Marshall was rarely troubled. It was his oppo Gilks who was called into spectacular action on 33 as a Fleming long throw missed Kitson but somehow found Riza’s head, turning and glancing towards goal from six yards, but the Dale keeper managed to scramble across and paw it away from danger in athletic style.
Kitson was being pulled and pushed all over the place as he led the line, but irritating ref Webb, so quick to blow his whistle whenever two players so much as breathed on each other, didn’t apply such stringent rules to challenges in the penalty area. Funny, that.
McEvilly picked up a bizarre booking from the weirdo in black on 36, Webb happy to wave play on until his linesman flagged for a foul on Tudor, then booking the Dale striker for a foul he hadn’t even seen. Crazy like a fox. With rabies. Gilks just beat Riza to a Fleming through ball a minute later, then the Terrier himself tried a demonstration of his shooting prowess with a 30-yarder that bore all the devastating power of a bedraggled puppy in a puddle.
Both teams were trying valiantly to play football, despite their palpable lack of collective confidence and form and Mr Webb’s ever-present stop-start whistle, but it was hardly quality fare … until almost the last kick of the half. Murray’s long throw was helped over to the right by Riza and a defender, and there was Shane Tudor in space in the outer corner of the box. He didn’t hesitate, thrashing the ball high into the top near corner of the net with awesome power and perhaps a little deflection. Whatever, it was another entry in Shane’s personal Goal of the Season competition, which had looked to have closed prematurely a few weeks ago. Only downside was that his hamstring went again as he scored … but what a glorious way to go. Be back soon.
The interval was, er, enlivened by a pancake race with a cast reminiscent of an acid flashback (apparently), involving Marvin, a mutant fireman, a horse standing on its hind legs and a sort of brown creature which may have been a giant coypu. Marvin won, despite not tossing his pancake once, dropping it halfway through and waltzing through the finish line with an empty pan. Outrageous. The coypu is going to appeal to the pancake race’s governing body, the Federated League of International Pancake Associations (FLIPA), or failing that, the European Court of Human Rights. Well, everyone else does.
Captain Fantastic took the field in Shane’s place for part two in a curiously negative-looking move; now United had a wingless midfield of Guttridge, Fleming, Wanless and Newey, none of whom are exactly famous for their coruscating attacking prowess, while Tiny Tom and Chilli sat it out on the sidelines. If Shaggy and the Prof were playing safety first, it wasn’t to work, and once again United were not playing to their strengths. Predictably, Rochdale were level within six minutes: Doughty’s long throw was not cleared by a gaggle of United defenders, and the ball fell to McCourt in acres of room ten yards out to slip it past Marshall without challenge. Another slipshod goal conceded.
The match resumed its broad pattern of the first half, United slightly more in the ascendant this time, but that cutting edge was again missing despite the obvious shakiness of both defensive units. Kitson and Riza both looked mobile and eager, but decent service was in short supply for all the middle four’s work rate. Gilks was obliged to make a couple of saves around the 70 minute mark from Fleming and Riza, between which Mr Webb added to his card collection with a further brace of Dales (McCourt and Duffy), although it was never a particularly physical game.
Doughty was replaced by Michael Oliver on 74 in Rochdale’s only substitution, while there was puzzlingly no reciprocal move by United in any positive move to win the day. The Terrier had another hopeful shot saved on 78, but for the most part both teams’ goalscoring endeavours fell on barren ground like a volley of Dugarry sputum. United’s only card came on 80, the otherwise impressive Iriekpen cynically body-checking McCourt as he wove through the back line, although the talented Irishman seemed to give up his run very early in favour of appealing to the ref. McEvilly tested Dancing Shaun from the free-kick with a low drive for the near post from 25 yards, but the Terpsichorean custodian got well behind it and clutched safely … at the second attempt. McEvilly looked like he might have been a decent signing for the U’s, and he had also shown a creditable sporting streak in shouting to Webb to stop play when Goodhind went down with a head injury in the D.
The match appeared to be petering out into a fair draw until the final act, the last minutes equalling the first for drama but with a side helping of horrendous hullabaloo. Deep into added time, Goodhind was given time to measure a superb curling cross from the right flank; Kitson and Griffiths flung themselves full-length at it, and it was the BGG’s red head that made contact and rammed the ball into the net from six yards.
Wild celebrations ensued, only to be cut short by Doomlord Webb. He had, in his own sweet time, seen Kitson’s tussle as a bit of illegal shirt pulling, despite Griffiths giving as good as he had got, no reaction from the well-placed linesman and no appeals from the Rochdale players. Harsh doesn’t even to begin to describe it. I can think of a few words that do, but they’re not repeatable on a respectable website. Or indeed this one.
So another winless game, albeit a bit more encouraging than on Saturday. A draw was the most equitable outcome, but home thoughts can only hark back to that last minute of brief elation followed by crushing disappointment and no little anger. Still and all, results elsewhere dictated that United actually rose one place in the table and remain tantalisingly close to those tempting playoff sweetmeats. If only they could find some of that old swashbuckling early season form, everything is still all up for grabs. If only Tudor wasn’t injured again. If only our young players weren’t so utterly knackered and low on confidence. If only …
But if we do make the promised land, let’s hope that Rochdale come up with us; they’re the West Ham of Division Three, a team that everyone has a soft spot for (maybe not Bury) and always tries to play good football. And, like West Ham, perennial underachievers. The thought of another 29 years in the basement is enough to drive anyone to gibbering insanity. Has anyone got Nelson Mandela’s number?
Marshall 6 – After such an excellent season there’s no reason why Shaun should dwell on his mistake last Saturday, but he seemed to be doing just that in the first half with a few shaky handling errors. Couldn’t do much about the goals, though.
Goodhind 7 – Slotted seamlessly into his second-best position as well as acting skipper.
Murray 6 – Below-par day for Freddie, who looked off the pace for parts of the match but linked well with Newey several times down the left.
Iriekpen 7 – Another classy display for the new boy, comfortable on the ball and with a devastating turn of pace when needed.
Angus 6 – Welcome back to our best defender this season. Looked understandably rusty at times and will undoubtedly improve rapidly with more games under his belt.
Tudor 7 – Tight marking restricted his runs but he’s still finding his form and capped his 45 minutes with another classic goal.
Fleming 6 – Trojanesque as ever but his team’s diminutive midfield was well matched by the visitors. Passing quality still variable.
Guttridge 6 – Like his partner, put in the graft but lacking in finesse.
Newey 7 – Looked much more comfortable in a more advanced role and made some good runs and crosses.
Riza 7 – Darting menace when given decent service and came close to scoring on several occasions.
Kitson 8 – The boy is sheer class and he showed it yet again with almost every touch. And the goals keep coming.
Wanless 7 – Steady hand on the tiller in the second half.
Soundtrack of the day: The Lovers/La Degustation
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Shim Sham Shimmy. ‘This fun step arose out of the Shim Sham, a tap dance routine performed in Vaudeville in the early 1900s and still taught today. It was said to have been created by Bryant & Reed in 1927 to accommodate a large group, and evolved so that these days it resembles a sort of line dance. In a group each person’s arms were around the next, but over time it became more of a solo dance; its basic step is the Time Step as done by tap dancers, except with a more shuffled rhythm in the feet, and also incorporates a ‘Break’ as the dancers sing along with the music ‘Shim-Sham, Shimshamshimmy!’ Izzy Iriekpen tells me Cab Calloway led the original group version in one of his films – Izzy’s a big fan and is rarely seen out of his zoot suit and spats! I tell him he looks like one of failed New Romantic group Blue Rondo A La Turk! Only joking, Izzy. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A nervy encounter between two fragile, off-form teams ended in a fair draw after an explosive start and a controversial finish thanks to a nightmarish refereeing performance. The playoffs are still in sight, but remain as tantalisingly out of reach as Saddam’s chemical weapons. That’s what it says in The Sun, anyway…
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. It’s a measure of United’s decline as a team this season that in the autumn, he looked a good player in a good team; now he looks like the outstanding player in a very average team. Enjoy him while you can.
Ref watch: Webb 1. This is the kind of referee who will kill football stone dead as a spectacle if we let him. Destroyed any flow the game might have had with constant stoppages for the flimsiest of offences and seemed totally unaware that football is a contact sport. Predictably far less willing to give fouls if a penalty was at stake, and showed minimal awareness of the advantage rule. Don’t even get me started on the disallowed goal. If he turns up on the teamsheet again, stock up on rotten vegetables.
‘Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to this very special press conference, presented by Refcorp Inc. We have invited you here today to witness the future of football officialdom: the RoboRef 666.2. It is armed with all the latest technology: electronic notepad, whistle and pencil combo, quartz stopwatch and of course those all-important red and yellow cards. Optional extras include riot shield and mace spray for those tricky local derbies, and pest control facility for Dennis Wise. You can see it in action now as we stage a practice match between some lucky Refcorp employees.
‘Observe its no-nonsense approach as it punishes every attempt by the players to make physical contact with each other with a deafening blast on its sonic whistle! Marvel as it breaks up the play into manageable 15-second chunks! Watch as it keeps the crowd docile by avoiding all penalty-area controversy as it favours the defending side 100 per cent of the time! No tricky penalties or controversial late goals for this little beauty! Now see it line up a defensive wall with its laser-guided tape measure, ordering the players back decisively. They have 20 seconds to comply … 15 … ten … uh, RoboRef, they have moved back … er, five … RoboRef, there’s no need for the machine gun … not the napalm! For God’s sake, somebody turn it off!!’ (Tape ends)
It has been three long years since that fateful first trial of RoboRef 666.2. Now, under the shadowy guidance of FIFA and Sepp Blatter Enterprises, Version 666.3 has been unveiled at the Abbey Stadium, Cambridge. It appears to all intents and purposes to be human, except that RoboCorp have been unable to grow it hair, and of course its decision-making is entirely robotic and inhuman. They have named it ‘Webb’ and it does indeed appear to represent the future of football refereeing. Mummy, I’m scared …
If ever a team needed a win, it was both the protagonists tonight. The Mighty U’s, plummeting earthward like a nutted Robbie Savage, against good old Rochdale, looking certainties to celebrate 30 consecutive inglorious years in the basement division next year now that the euphoria of their FA Cup run has died away to a mild tingling in the extremities.
Meetings between the clubs started at Spotland 29 years ago in the proper Division Three, Rochdale’s last season in a higher echelon, in front of the lowest post-war League attendance of all: official figures gave it as 588, the clubs forced to play on a Tuesday afternoon because Dale didn’t have a generator in those three-day week days, although it is said one of the handful of United followers there could count only 147 hardy souls in place. Now that’s what I call loyal supporters. Whatever, the hosts that day mustered only two League wins all season and returned to the bottom rung, where they have been ever since, whereas while United went down with them that season, they have managed to change divisions ten times since those dark days.
But enough nostalgia. United, in search of a second League win this year, made two changes from Saturday’s lead zeppelin of a match, resting Messrs Tann and Youngs to the bench and replacing them with fit-again Stev Angus and Tom Newey. Stev formed a new central defensive partnership with old West Ham mucker Izzy Iriekpen, stand-in skipper Wozza Goodhind moving to right back, while Newey slotted into wide left midfield to form a rare two-left-footer flank with Murray behind him. As opposed to a two-left-feet flank when Colin Alcide played there. Captain Fantastic remained on the bench; hasn’t that Immodium worked yet?
For the visitors, there was ex-U’s interest on the bench in the form of Paul Connor, just returning from injury, and Lee McEvilly, who played for the reserves a few times early last season while on trial from non-League Burscough. They also sported two of the most enormous players seen at the Abbey since that pre-season friendly with Brobdingnag back in the 60s, in the looming forms of skipper Gareth Griffiths and target man Clive Platt.
The lowest League crowd of the season at Fortress Abbey was, with heavy irony, made to wait a few minutes after 7.45 for a kickoff delayed by our old friend the A14, or perhaps they were just out in the street trying to round people up to boost the numbers. Maybe they should have made the bacon butties out of pancakes. Eat your heart out, Delia Smith: now there would be an interesting recipe. Makes a change from roast canary. It would have been a nice idea for the pre-match toss to involve a pancake, too, but United lost it anyway and attacked the NRE for starters. How was their appetite tonight
First corner went to the hosts, but true to form the worst set-piece team in the division conjured up yet another embarrassingly poor flag kick as Tudor scuffed a low, directionless effort towards an area of the box that contained no amber shirts whatsoever. That familiar sinking feeling hit rock bottom within two minutes as the visitors took the lead: danger man Patrick McCourt raced goalward, picked up the run of Platt down the left channel of the penalty area, and with his towering presence had no problem holding off the rusty Angus to send a diagonal cross-shot low past Marshall for McEvilly to beat Murray’s feeble challenge and poke home from a yard out. Poor defending, dreadful start.
Lord only knows what would have happened to shell-shocked United had they not delivered an equaliser within two minutes as Rochdale’s equally jittery-looking defence fell apart like the England tail end. Or the England openers or the middle order, come to that. A splendid left-wing run by Riza The Geezer saw his cross partially cleared, but as United players hesitated on the edge of the D, McEvilly helpfully thought he’d come back to bolster his rearguard. His full-pelt header towards his own goal fell only to BGG Kitson, who in one graceful movement held off a challenge, turned on a sixpence and lifted the ball over the onrushing Matthew Gilks from eight yards out. Goal number 21 for the season, and what an important one.
Supporters’ minds now harked back to the classic earlier in the season at Spotland, when Dale ran out 4-3 winners against United’ s ten men with two goals in the last five minutes. But both teams have changed a lot in the intervening time from those September high-fliers, and it was soon apparent that here we had two very nervy, fragile teams, both chronically lacking in confidence and vulnerable as a centipede with 99 verrucas.
Dancing Shaun Marshall looked like Saturday’s farrago was still playing on his mind, fumbling a couple of early crosses that he would normally have clutched safely, but home hearts were cheered by Riza on 14 who embarked on one of his trademark mazy runs from deep, eventually cutting inside but finding only Gilks’s arms with his disappointingly tame shot from the edge of the box.
Rochdale began to look the stronger, prompted by the mercurial McCourt, and Platt had a shot blocked by Goodhind and Lee Duffy was nearly an amber slayer with an 18-yard blaster over the top on 18. Tudor responded with a near-miss of his own two minutes later, then David ‘My Brother’s Famous … in Blackburn’ Flitcroft went even closer for the visitors. Dale had a menacing spell of pressure, punctuated with numerous good corners and crosses that pinged around the United area without a blue shirt managing to get a final touch, but Marshall was rarely troubled. It was his oppo Gilks who was called into spectacular action on 33 as a Fleming long throw missed Kitson but somehow found Riza’s head, turning and glancing towards goal from six yards, but the Dale keeper managed to scramble across and paw it away from danger in athletic style.
Kitson was being pulled and pushed all over the place as he led the line, but irritating ref Webb, so quick to blow his whistle whenever two players so much as breathed on each other, didn’t apply such stringent rules to challenges in the penalty area. Funny, that.
McEvilly picked up a bizarre booking from the weirdo in black on 36, Webb happy to wave play on until his linesman flagged for a foul on Tudor, then booking the Dale striker for a foul he hadn’t even seen. Crazy like a fox. With rabies. Gilks just beat Riza to a Fleming through ball a minute later, then the Terrier himself tried a demonstration of his shooting prowess with a 30-yarder that bore all the devastating power of a bedraggled puppy in a puddle.
Both teams were trying valiantly to play football, despite their palpable lack of collective confidence and form and Mr Webb’s ever-present stop-start whistle, but it was hardly quality fare … until almost the last kick of the half. Murray’s long throw was helped over to the right by Riza and a defender, and there was Shane Tudor in space in the outer corner of the box. He didn’t hesitate, thrashing the ball high into the top near corner of the net with awesome power and perhaps a little deflection. Whatever, it was another entry in Shane’s personal Goal of the Season competition, which had looked to have closed prematurely a few weeks ago. Only downside was that his hamstring went again as he scored … but what a glorious way to go. Be back soon.
The interval was, er, enlivened by a pancake race with a cast reminiscent of an acid flashback (apparently), involving Marvin, a mutant fireman, a horse standing on its hind legs and a sort of brown creature which may have been a giant coypu. Marvin won, despite not tossing his pancake once, dropping it halfway through and waltzing through the finish line with an empty pan. Outrageous. The coypu is going to appeal to the pancake race’s governing body, the Federated League of International Pancake Associations (FLIPA), or failing that, the European Court of Human Rights. Well, everyone else does.
Captain Fantastic took the field in Shane’s place for part two in a curiously negative-looking move; now United had a wingless midfield of Guttridge, Fleming, Wanless and Newey, none of whom are exactly famous for their coruscating attacking prowess, while Tiny Tom and Chilli sat it out on the sidelines. If Shaggy and the Prof were playing safety first, it wasn’t to work, and once again United were not playing to their strengths. Predictably, Rochdale were level within six minutes: Doughty’s long throw was not cleared by a gaggle of United defenders, and the ball fell to McCourt in acres of room ten yards out to slip it past Marshall without challenge. Another slipshod goal conceded.
The match resumed its broad pattern of the first half, United slightly more in the ascendant this time, but that cutting edge was again missing despite the obvious shakiness of both defensive units. Kitson and Riza both looked mobile and eager, but decent service was in short supply for all the middle four’s work rate. Gilks was obliged to make a couple of saves around the 70 minute mark from Fleming and Riza, between which Mr Webb added to his card collection with a further brace of Dales (McCourt and Duffy), although it was never a particularly physical game.
Doughty was replaced by Michael Oliver on 74 in Rochdale’s only substitution, while there was puzzlingly no reciprocal move by United in any positive move to win the day. The Terrier had another hopeful shot saved on 78, but for the most part both teams’ goalscoring endeavours fell on barren ground like a volley of Dugarry sputum. United’s only card came on 80, the otherwise impressive Iriekpen cynically body-checking McCourt as he wove through the back line, although the talented Irishman seemed to give up his run very early in favour of appealing to the ref. McEvilly tested Dancing Shaun from the free-kick with a low drive for the near post from 25 yards, but the Terpsichorean custodian got well behind it and clutched safely … at the second attempt. McEvilly looked like he might have been a decent signing for the U’s, and he had also shown a creditable sporting streak in shouting to Webb to stop play when Goodhind went down with a head injury in the D.
The match appeared to be petering out into a fair draw until the final act, the last minutes equalling the first for drama but with a side helping of horrendous hullabaloo. Deep into added time, Goodhind was given time to measure a superb curling cross from the right flank; Kitson and Griffiths flung themselves full-length at it, and it was the BGG’s red head that made contact and rammed the ball into the net from six yards.
Wild celebrations ensued, only to be cut short by Doomlord Webb. He had, in his own sweet time, seen Kitson’s tussle as a bit of illegal shirt pulling, despite Griffiths giving as good as he had got, no reaction from the well-placed linesman and no appeals from the Rochdale players. Harsh doesn’t even to begin to describe it. I can think of a few words that do, but they’re not repeatable on a respectable website. Or indeed this one.
So another winless game, albeit a bit more encouraging than on Saturday. A draw was the most equitable outcome, but home thoughts can only hark back to that last minute of brief elation followed by crushing disappointment and no little anger. Still and all, results elsewhere dictated that United actually rose one place in the table and remain tantalisingly close to those tempting playoff sweetmeats. If only they could find some of that old swashbuckling early season form, everything is still all up for grabs. If only Tudor wasn’t injured again. If only our young players weren’t so utterly knackered and low on confidence. If only …
But if we do make the promised land, let’s hope that Rochdale come up with us; they’re the West Ham of Division Three, a team that everyone has a soft spot for (maybe not Bury) and always tries to play good football. And, like West Ham, perennial underachievers. The thought of another 29 years in the basement is enough to drive anyone to gibbering insanity. Has anyone got Nelson Mandela’s number?
Marshall 6 – After such an excellent season there’s no reason why Shaun should dwell on his mistake last Saturday, but he seemed to be doing just that in the first half with a few shaky handling errors. Couldn’t do much about the goals, though.
Goodhind 7 – Slotted seamlessly into his second-best position as well as acting skipper.
Murray 6 – Below-par day for Freddie, who looked off the pace for parts of the match but linked well with Newey several times down the left.
Iriekpen 7 – Another classy display for the new boy, comfortable on the ball and with a devastating turn of pace when needed.
Angus 6 – Welcome back to our best defender this season. Looked understandably rusty at times and will undoubtedly improve rapidly with more games under his belt.
Tudor 7 – Tight marking restricted his runs but he’s still finding his form and capped his 45 minutes with another classic goal.
Fleming 6 – Trojanesque as ever but his team’s diminutive midfield was well matched by the visitors. Passing quality still variable.
Guttridge 6 – Like his partner, put in the graft but lacking in finesse.
Newey 7 – Looked much more comfortable in a more advanced role and made some good runs and crosses.
Riza 7 – Darting menace when given decent service and came close to scoring on several occasions.
Kitson 8 – The boy is sheer class and he showed it yet again with almost every touch. And the goals keep coming.
Wanless 7 – Steady hand on the tiller in the second half.
Soundtrack of the day: The Lovers/La Degustation
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Shim Sham Shimmy. ‘This fun step arose out of the Shim Sham, a tap dance routine performed in Vaudeville in the early 1900s and still taught today. It was said to have been created by Bryant & Reed in 1927 to accommodate a large group, and evolved so that these days it resembles a sort of line dance. In a group each person’s arms were around the next, but over time it became more of a solo dance; its basic step is the Time Step as done by tap dancers, except with a more shuffled rhythm in the feet, and also incorporates a ‘Break’ as the dancers sing along with the music ‘Shim-Sham, Shimshamshimmy!’ Izzy Iriekpen tells me Cab Calloway led the original group version in one of his films – Izzy’s a big fan and is rarely seen out of his zoot suit and spats! I tell him he looks like one of failed New Romantic group Blue Rondo A La Turk! Only joking, Izzy. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: A nervy encounter between two fragile, off-form teams ended in a fair draw after an explosive start and a controversial finish thanks to a nightmarish refereeing performance. The playoffs are still in sight, but remain as tantalisingly out of reach as Saddam’s chemical weapons. That’s what it says in The Sun, anyway…
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. It’s a measure of United’s decline as a team this season that in the autumn, he looked a good player in a good team; now he looks like the outstanding player in a very average team. Enjoy him while you can.
Ref watch: Webb 1. This is the kind of referee who will kill football stone dead as a spectacle if we let him. Destroyed any flow the game might have had with constant stoppages for the flimsiest of offences and seemed totally unaware that football is a contact sport. Predictably far less willing to give fouls if a penalty was at stake, and showed minimal awareness of the advantage rule. Don’t even get me started on the disallowed goal. If he turns up on the teamsheet again, stock up on rotten vegetables.
The Shim Sham Shimmy: performed here by the cast of The Golden Girls.
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Saturday, 8 March 2003: York City 3-1 United
On Saturday the Minstermen held a football match. Minster Clumsy was particularly pleased because they were playing Cambridge, against whom he had looked rather silly earlier in the season. He was to play striker alongside Minster Ancient, who always tried hard but was getting a bit too old for such energetic games. Minster Scottish was also happy because Cambridge had let him go on account of his not being very good. He was looking forward to doing his traditional Scotch shouting and fist waving when his team scored. But after the first half of the match, the Minstermen were not at all happy. They were losing and had played like 11 Minster Wheezies with a bad attack of his asthma.
During the interval, Minster Clumsy had an idea. ‘I know!’ he said. ‘Let’s give Cambridge some of Minster Playful’s special herbal tea that always makes him all slow and giggly! Then we can beat them!’ And so their visitors’ tea urns were filled with Minster Playful’s tea, and like magic, the Minstermen had taken the lead within five minutes of the match restarting. ‘Thank you, Minster Playful!’ they chorused. ‘Yeah man, like, whatever,’ slurred Minster Playful. ‘Who’s going to replace my stash, man?’ ‘I think you’re in the wrong story,’ opined Minster Clumsy. ‘I’m the funny cartoon character around here!’
Today was a sad day, and not just for the dismal result and the manner in which it was achieved. It was United’s last ever visit to Bootham Crescent, and the story behind that is a chilling one indeed that could happen to many other clubs if the men in suits are allowed their way unchecked. In 1999, the York directors held a ‘reorganisation’ in which the ownership of Bootham Crescent and other property was transferred from York City Association & Athletic Club plc to a holding company, Bootham Crescent Holdings plc – 94 per cent owned by the directors. The book value of this ‘transaction’ was a piddling £300,000. A letter to the shareholders explained that the directors did it because they were afraid that certain FA rules might ‘… adversely affect the ability of the company or any successor to continue playing football at Bootham Crescent.’ So York City were secure, then …?
Fast forward to late 2001 and BCH/the club announce record operating losses of £1.3m. The club is put up for sale, and BCH say it will be up to its overdraft limit by February 2002; they are willing to put up extra security to allow the club to complete the season, but no further than that. Applications are invited for buyers for the club, including the following conditions: (a) the club will resign from the League if no signed agreement with any prospective owner is reached by March 31; (b) any new owner must vacate Bootham Crescent by June 30 and relocate elsewhere. Seems someone’s got permission to build a whole load of houses there. Oh, and should anyone want to buy BCH itself, the price would be £4.5m. Inflation, eh?
York’s supporters have formed a trust in double-quick time, and raised over £60,000, but they need £200k by March 17 or the game is up. Full details are at saveyork.co.uk and what a thoroughly disturbing business it is, too. Maybe Karl Marx had a point after all. Though he was never as funny as Groucho.
No one could pretend that Bootham Crescent is a particularly lovely or valuable piece of architecture. But it has been York City’s home since 1932 and like all the dwindling band of old ‘traditional’ grounds, it oozes history from every pore. The open-roofed gutter ‘toilets’ ooze several other things too, but we won’t go into that. Set unobtrusively in a residential area awash with B&Bs, you would hardly know it’s there until you turn the final corner. The entrance arch is reminiscent of Milton Road, while the main frontage, such as it is, is the back of the main stand, a series of grey overhanging chalet-style bays with a red brick entrance block in the middle.
Entry for away supporters is further down the road (Bootham Crescent isn’t even a proper crescent) and leads on to yer standard old-fashioned open terrace. At the other end of the pitch is the David Longhurst Stand, a covered terrace named after a player who tragically collapsed and died during a match in 1990 at the age of 25, while both sides house modest, shallow all-seater stands. The place looks like it hasn’t changed for many a long year. All that will change very shortly. The PA music hasn’t changed for many years either, judging from the eclectic selection of poptastic classics aired: the Lotus Eaters! Fiction Factory! Club chuffing Tropicana! The ‘entrance’ music was lifted wholesale from Sunderland, Prokofiev followed by Republica’s Ready To Go, appropriate given the presence of several Mackem supporters cheerfully helping York raise funds while their team has a Saturday off. Top men.
The programme was by some way the poorest and thinnest this season, but that’s only to be expected given the club’s current plight. It revealed that our old friend Tom ‘Braveheart’ Cowan is still plying his trade in the red, white and funny chequered bits, but most keenly anticipated home player was of course their top scorer (!!) and instant cult figure Jon Parkin, who produced such an unintentionally hilarious and entertaining display of non-scoring during his side’s 0-3 tonking at the Abbey in September. His picture in the programme showed him sporting a preposterous ‘Robert Pires’ Brazilian goatee, but when he lumbered out onto the pitch he appeared to have given this up in favour of a scruffy ‘chubby vagrant’ look. Nice. He was ribbed mercilessly by the amber hordes from the off with ‘Parkin for England’ and anyone who knows the ironic vicissitudes of football will see even now that only one result could possibly have ensued: he was bound, nay destined, to score.
For the Mighty U’s, only one change from Tuesday, Captain Fantastic replacing the injured Shane Tudor, Lil’ Luke Guttridge pushed wide right in a rather less than wingtastic attacking line-up, Tiny Tom still on the bench. Thus began the first of four away games in the next five: play-offs or mid-table mediocrity? We’ll know soon enough.
Fifteen seconds had elapsed before Mr Parkin was pulled up for his first offside. Don’t snigger, you’re tempting fate. Drizzle began to trickle on to the 400 visiting supporters, but all that was forgotten in six minutes as United took the lead. Tom Newey ran onto a loose ball and his 20-yarder was deflected off for a corner; Tom took the kick himself, Wozza Goodhind met it beyond the far post and it found its way back to Lil’ Luke 12 yards out. His low shot appeared to be going wide until it struck Izzy Iriekpen and cannoned into the net. As good starts go, this was up there with a full English breakfast. Yum!
Cowan tried his luck on 11, Dancing Shaun saving comfortably, then came a tremendous chance for 2-0 as Riza The Geezer raced clear down the left channel, easily outpacing defenders Smith and Jones (the well-known comedy double act), but true to form, he wouldn’t release his shot until he saw the whites of keeper Ingham’s eyes and his toe-poke was blocked where a little bit of lift would surely have taken it over the man in green. Must do better.
Overall United looked in control; Parkin and his strike partner, veteran Lee Nogan, were caught offside time and again, to their frustration, while the visitors did nothing special but appeared comfortable. A bit like the government. My name’s Ben Elton, goodnight. Neither keeper was especially troubled, and the next major incident came on 24. Wanless was fouled by Chris Smith and Murray’s free kick from 25 yards found Guttridge more by accident than design inside the area; his shot looked net-bound but was diverted into the net by the offside Riza. Perhaps it was expecting too much for us to score from both a corner and a free kick in the same match. It’s rare enough for us to score from both in the same season.
Smith was finally booked on 27 for another shove, this time on Riza, but United were still on top. York managed a little pressure around the half-hour mark, however, Parkin galumphing on to a through ball over the top but was just robbed by Angus at full stretch. The ensuing corner found Scott Jones’s head, and it bounced off the top of the bar, but that was as near as the hosts were to get in the first 45.
Indeed, best opportunity of the remainder of the half fell to Terrier Fleming, the ball falling to him on the edge of the area and his blaster appearing to be heading for the top corner (of the goal, not the stand) until it hit the chest of the unwitting Jones. Added time saw Marshall save comfortably from Darren Edmondson and the interval whistle signalled a satisfactory first half for United, who had contained an ordinary-looking opposition, taken the lead and might well have increased it. All boded well for the second half … didn’t it?
The 80s hit machine that was the PA regaled us with Captain Sensible’s timeless Happy Talk before there was a long address about YCFC’s present predicament, the work of the Supporters’ Trust and the need to raise £200k by next week, emphasising the importance of everyone taking action right now, because any later will just be too late. All was listened to in rapt, serious silence and applause was warm and sympathetic from all four sides of the ground at the speech end. Donations to the website above.
One can only speculate as to what happened in the dressing rooms during the interval. Very little in the away camp, not unsurprisingly given their superiority; but in the home camp, Terry Dolan was planning United’s downfall. His team emerged fired up to attack with all guns blazing, and with a slight tweak in the game plan: they would circumvent the offside trap by running from deeper on to balls over the top. It worked like a dream, but the United defence was culpable in its own nightmare as it wilted to a 2-1 deficit within four minutes of the restart. Let the tale of woe begin.
First ball over the top on 48 was miskicked by Iriekpen as he ran back towards his own goal 30 yards out; Nogan nicked if off him, but Izzy gave chase and caught him just inside the area, winning the ball cleanly and sliding it to the feet of Goodhind. Inexplicably, instead of wellying it clear like a good Div 3 defender should, he decided to tap it back towards Izzy as the York attack closed in. Such was the slow predictability of Wozza’s action that even Parkin saw it coming, and in rushing to intercept, he was actually too early and the pass caught the backs of his heels. He just got enough, however, to be able to bring it under control, and he slid it past the helpless Marshall from seven yards with relish. What on earth Goodhind was thinking, we will never know, but it had nothing to do with football. Big Jon saluted his tormentors, notwithstanding the fact that it was a gift of a tap-in, and who could blame him?
It was apparent that United’s back four were playing far too far apart from each other, and they paid the price a minute later when Nogan darted between Iriekpen and Goodhind on to Parkin’s precision through ball (this was a truly surreal day) and ran unchallenged to slot past Marshall from ten yards. This catastrophe was reminiscent of last season’s three goals in four minutes capitulation at Vale Park and once again the United defence looked in a bigger mess than Nicole Kidman’s love life. Wobbling like a lemon jelly on a trampoline, in an earthquake, Marshall was forced into an excellent save from Parkin two minutes later as he threatened to ram home a Potter corner. This was getting embarrassing.
The amber hordes were joined on the away terrace by the Sunderland mob, holding a bucket collection. They’d collected around 23 buckets so far, apparently. Boom boom. They were warmly applauded as they wended their way around the ground in their red and white striped shirts while play continued, lending an air of unreality to the proceedings.
York continued to attack shell-shocked United, the comfort and ease of the first half now a distant memory. Potter blasted over on 57, saw his free kick saved on 60, then from another of many corners, Cowan was on target from ten yards but saw his shot blocked by the inadvertent Nogan. For United, Newey made one good run from the left wing, slaloming inside two tackles but robbed by a third just when about to pull the trigger. He was replaced on 69 by Tom Youngs in a straight swap, Tiny Tom again stuck out on the wing while the pacier Riza remained up front.
A minute later came United’s best chance for an equaliser. Wanless’s chip over the top was latched on to by BGG Kitson, running diagonally across the line then in on goal down the right channel, defenders trailing in his wake. He only had to shoot into the bottom corner to make it 2-2, but he delayed and delayed, eventually taking it round Ingham, but the keeper was so close to his line that Kits ran out of pitch, turning to fire in an angled drive that was cleared off the line by Smith, then seeing his follow-up shot saved by Ingham. This desire to walk the ball into the net instead of having the courage to shoot seems to have spread to our top scorer now, like a virulent virus. Let’s hope Professor Brooks has concocted a serum in his lab to counteract it.
Another straight swap on 73 saw Chillingworth replace Riza, to no effect, and on 76 Chris Brass was the second home booking for a foul on Kitson. The resultant free kick, from wide on the left, summed up the standard of so many of young Mr Guttridge’s set pieces, as with the entire penalty area and last third of the pitch to aim at, he ploughed his kick straight at the lone opponent stationed ten yards from him, setting York up for a counter-attack. Not the first time, Luke, and not good enough. On 78 that man Parkin almost scored again, shooting across Marshall, and the Terpsichorean custodian was thankful to see Mr Omnipresent Fleming hacking it clear.
Five minutes later the hosts replaced Nogan with Anthony Shandran, and on 86 came United’s last desperate throw of the dice as Aggy Revell came on for Murray. But for all the visitors’ flailing and thrashing about like stranded salmon, it was City who had the remaining chances. Potter’s free kick found Parkin’s head just before the end, mercifully wide, but into added time came the final killer blow. A bog-standard hopeful long hoof from defence was chased by Iriekpen, but he failed to get it under any sort of control, letting it bounce twice, whereupon Shandran just nipped in, took it off his toe and slotted home past Marshall from eight yards. It’s called learning the hard way, Izzy, and the trick is not to make the same mistake twice. Parkin made sure he pointed his name out to us as he lined up to kick off again, bless his chubby cheeks, then it was all over. The season in microcosm: enjoyable and successful first half, disappointing, underachieving second.
It would be easy to let a Dion-size red mist descend and berate the defence for their wretchedly sloppy ‘work’ for all three goals and the strikers for their failure to convert relatively easy must-score chances, and by all accounts JT did just that. But the key now is to put things right as the games continue to come thick and fast. Realistically, the play-offs are slipping from our grasp by the day, but it seems that it is the basics like concentration, confidence, decisiveness and passing that our boys need to be reminded of at the moment. We might not have expected a promotion push at the start of the season, but the prospect of it petering out into nothingness before Easter is about as welcome as a slug butty. This is Shaggy and the Prof’s greatest challenge yet; rise to the occasion, chaps. We’re behind you all the way. And good luck to York in their struggle for the club’s very survival. There but for the grace …
Marshall 6 – Did all he had to do without much trouble – apart from the three times he was left hopelessly exposed by his wayward defence.
Goodhind 5 – Best defender on the day (not a great compliment, sadly) but even he gave York the first goal on a plate.
Murray 5 – The whole defence had a shocker in the second half and Fred was as culpable as any.
Iriekpen 5 – Some nice touches as usual but must hold his hands up for the third goal and his inexperience showed when the going got tough.
Angus 5 – Still looks like he’s been rushed back too soon and a long way off his best today.
Guttridge 5 – Busy but out of position and loses a mark for repeatedly failing to clear the first man with his set pieces. Yet again.
Fleming 7 – Mr Perpetual Motion never seemed to stop running and covered the whole pitch from beginning to end.
Wanless 5 – Disappointingly quiet when United needed his leadership after going 2-1 down.
Newey 6 – Put in some good work down the left, both creatively and tackling back, and unlucky to be the one to be withdrawn.
Riza 6 – Made the runs with precious little service, but must stop (a) getting caught offside so much and (b) failing in his one-on-ones with the keeper.
Kitson 6 – Seemed affected by United’s general malaise in the second half with some sloppy passes by his own high standards, and he really should have equalised when through on goal.
Youngs 5 – No faulting effort but made little impact in a wasted position wide left.
Chillingworth 5 – Even less impact than Tiny Tom.
Revell 5 – Proportionately less time and impact than the other subs.
Soundtrack of the day: Dog/Bitten.
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Varsoviana. ‘This beautiful slow dance was one of the smoothest and most graceful of its time. It originated in Warsaw around 1850, named in honour of Mount Vesuvius, and rapidly became popular throughout Europe and the USA. In 3/4 time, this waltz consisted of the polka step repeated four times, then two mazurkas and one polka, repeated then with the polka-redowa for the last part, the gentleman holding the lady by the right arm. Reilley’s Amateur Vademecum described the Varsoviana as ‘very pleasing and graceful’, in direct contrast to my very displeasing and clumsy back four today! Only joking, guys – or am I? Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Give generously, pleaded cash-strapped York, and boy, did United dig deep as their fumbling defence and profligate attack conspired to hand them the three points after an away victory had looked assured at half-time. The match video will be on sale in a special Horror section in the club shop shortly.
Man of the match: Terry Fleming. He’ll never be Rivaldo, but his energy and attitude made him the only United player to have any significant effect on the game today.
Ref watch: Webster 7. Did his job with the minimum of fuss. Nice to see a ref who doesn’t try to be the star of the show for a change.
On Saturday the Minstermen held a football match. Minster Clumsy was particularly pleased because they were playing Cambridge, against whom he had looked rather silly earlier in the season. He was to play striker alongside Minster Ancient, who always tried hard but was getting a bit too old for such energetic games. Minster Scottish was also happy because Cambridge had let him go on account of his not being very good. He was looking forward to doing his traditional Scotch shouting and fist waving when his team scored. But after the first half of the match, the Minstermen were not at all happy. They were losing and had played like 11 Minster Wheezies with a bad attack of his asthma.
During the interval, Minster Clumsy had an idea. ‘I know!’ he said. ‘Let’s give Cambridge some of Minster Playful’s special herbal tea that always makes him all slow and giggly! Then we can beat them!’ And so their visitors’ tea urns were filled with Minster Playful’s tea, and like magic, the Minstermen had taken the lead within five minutes of the match restarting. ‘Thank you, Minster Playful!’ they chorused. ‘Yeah man, like, whatever,’ slurred Minster Playful. ‘Who’s going to replace my stash, man?’ ‘I think you’re in the wrong story,’ opined Minster Clumsy. ‘I’m the funny cartoon character around here!’
Today was a sad day, and not just for the dismal result and the manner in which it was achieved. It was United’s last ever visit to Bootham Crescent, and the story behind that is a chilling one indeed that could happen to many other clubs if the men in suits are allowed their way unchecked. In 1999, the York directors held a ‘reorganisation’ in which the ownership of Bootham Crescent and other property was transferred from York City Association & Athletic Club plc to a holding company, Bootham Crescent Holdings plc – 94 per cent owned by the directors. The book value of this ‘transaction’ was a piddling £300,000. A letter to the shareholders explained that the directors did it because they were afraid that certain FA rules might ‘… adversely affect the ability of the company or any successor to continue playing football at Bootham Crescent.’ So York City were secure, then …?
Fast forward to late 2001 and BCH/the club announce record operating losses of £1.3m. The club is put up for sale, and BCH say it will be up to its overdraft limit by February 2002; they are willing to put up extra security to allow the club to complete the season, but no further than that. Applications are invited for buyers for the club, including the following conditions: (a) the club will resign from the League if no signed agreement with any prospective owner is reached by March 31; (b) any new owner must vacate Bootham Crescent by June 30 and relocate elsewhere. Seems someone’s got permission to build a whole load of houses there. Oh, and should anyone want to buy BCH itself, the price would be £4.5m. Inflation, eh?
York’s supporters have formed a trust in double-quick time, and raised over £60,000, but they need £200k by March 17 or the game is up. Full details are at saveyork.co.uk and what a thoroughly disturbing business it is, too. Maybe Karl Marx had a point after all. Though he was never as funny as Groucho.
No one could pretend that Bootham Crescent is a particularly lovely or valuable piece of architecture. But it has been York City’s home since 1932 and like all the dwindling band of old ‘traditional’ grounds, it oozes history from every pore. The open-roofed gutter ‘toilets’ ooze several other things too, but we won’t go into that. Set unobtrusively in a residential area awash with B&Bs, you would hardly know it’s there until you turn the final corner. The entrance arch is reminiscent of Milton Road, while the main frontage, such as it is, is the back of the main stand, a series of grey overhanging chalet-style bays with a red brick entrance block in the middle.
Entry for away supporters is further down the road (Bootham Crescent isn’t even a proper crescent) and leads on to yer standard old-fashioned open terrace. At the other end of the pitch is the David Longhurst Stand, a covered terrace named after a player who tragically collapsed and died during a match in 1990 at the age of 25, while both sides house modest, shallow all-seater stands. The place looks like it hasn’t changed for many a long year. All that will change very shortly. The PA music hasn’t changed for many years either, judging from the eclectic selection of poptastic classics aired: the Lotus Eaters! Fiction Factory! Club chuffing Tropicana! The ‘entrance’ music was lifted wholesale from Sunderland, Prokofiev followed by Republica’s Ready To Go, appropriate given the presence of several Mackem supporters cheerfully helping York raise funds while their team has a Saturday off. Top men.
The programme was by some way the poorest and thinnest this season, but that’s only to be expected given the club’s current plight. It revealed that our old friend Tom ‘Braveheart’ Cowan is still plying his trade in the red, white and funny chequered bits, but most keenly anticipated home player was of course their top scorer (!!) and instant cult figure Jon Parkin, who produced such an unintentionally hilarious and entertaining display of non-scoring during his side’s 0-3 tonking at the Abbey in September. His picture in the programme showed him sporting a preposterous ‘Robert Pires’ Brazilian goatee, but when he lumbered out onto the pitch he appeared to have given this up in favour of a scruffy ‘chubby vagrant’ look. Nice. He was ribbed mercilessly by the amber hordes from the off with ‘Parkin for England’ and anyone who knows the ironic vicissitudes of football will see even now that only one result could possibly have ensued: he was bound, nay destined, to score.
For the Mighty U’s, only one change from Tuesday, Captain Fantastic replacing the injured Shane Tudor, Lil’ Luke Guttridge pushed wide right in a rather less than wingtastic attacking line-up, Tiny Tom still on the bench. Thus began the first of four away games in the next five: play-offs or mid-table mediocrity? We’ll know soon enough.
Fifteen seconds had elapsed before Mr Parkin was pulled up for his first offside. Don’t snigger, you’re tempting fate. Drizzle began to trickle on to the 400 visiting supporters, but all that was forgotten in six minutes as United took the lead. Tom Newey ran onto a loose ball and his 20-yarder was deflected off for a corner; Tom took the kick himself, Wozza Goodhind met it beyond the far post and it found its way back to Lil’ Luke 12 yards out. His low shot appeared to be going wide until it struck Izzy Iriekpen and cannoned into the net. As good starts go, this was up there with a full English breakfast. Yum!
Cowan tried his luck on 11, Dancing Shaun saving comfortably, then came a tremendous chance for 2-0 as Riza The Geezer raced clear down the left channel, easily outpacing defenders Smith and Jones (the well-known comedy double act), but true to form, he wouldn’t release his shot until he saw the whites of keeper Ingham’s eyes and his toe-poke was blocked where a little bit of lift would surely have taken it over the man in green. Must do better.
Overall United looked in control; Parkin and his strike partner, veteran Lee Nogan, were caught offside time and again, to their frustration, while the visitors did nothing special but appeared comfortable. A bit like the government. My name’s Ben Elton, goodnight. Neither keeper was especially troubled, and the next major incident came on 24. Wanless was fouled by Chris Smith and Murray’s free kick from 25 yards found Guttridge more by accident than design inside the area; his shot looked net-bound but was diverted into the net by the offside Riza. Perhaps it was expecting too much for us to score from both a corner and a free kick in the same match. It’s rare enough for us to score from both in the same season.
Smith was finally booked on 27 for another shove, this time on Riza, but United were still on top. York managed a little pressure around the half-hour mark, however, Parkin galumphing on to a through ball over the top but was just robbed by Angus at full stretch. The ensuing corner found Scott Jones’s head, and it bounced off the top of the bar, but that was as near as the hosts were to get in the first 45.
Indeed, best opportunity of the remainder of the half fell to Terrier Fleming, the ball falling to him on the edge of the area and his blaster appearing to be heading for the top corner (of the goal, not the stand) until it hit the chest of the unwitting Jones. Added time saw Marshall save comfortably from Darren Edmondson and the interval whistle signalled a satisfactory first half for United, who had contained an ordinary-looking opposition, taken the lead and might well have increased it. All boded well for the second half … didn’t it?
The 80s hit machine that was the PA regaled us with Captain Sensible’s timeless Happy Talk before there was a long address about YCFC’s present predicament, the work of the Supporters’ Trust and the need to raise £200k by next week, emphasising the importance of everyone taking action right now, because any later will just be too late. All was listened to in rapt, serious silence and applause was warm and sympathetic from all four sides of the ground at the speech end. Donations to the website above.
One can only speculate as to what happened in the dressing rooms during the interval. Very little in the away camp, not unsurprisingly given their superiority; but in the home camp, Terry Dolan was planning United’s downfall. His team emerged fired up to attack with all guns blazing, and with a slight tweak in the game plan: they would circumvent the offside trap by running from deeper on to balls over the top. It worked like a dream, but the United defence was culpable in its own nightmare as it wilted to a 2-1 deficit within four minutes of the restart. Let the tale of woe begin.
First ball over the top on 48 was miskicked by Iriekpen as he ran back towards his own goal 30 yards out; Nogan nicked if off him, but Izzy gave chase and caught him just inside the area, winning the ball cleanly and sliding it to the feet of Goodhind. Inexplicably, instead of wellying it clear like a good Div 3 defender should, he decided to tap it back towards Izzy as the York attack closed in. Such was the slow predictability of Wozza’s action that even Parkin saw it coming, and in rushing to intercept, he was actually too early and the pass caught the backs of his heels. He just got enough, however, to be able to bring it under control, and he slid it past the helpless Marshall from seven yards with relish. What on earth Goodhind was thinking, we will never know, but it had nothing to do with football. Big Jon saluted his tormentors, notwithstanding the fact that it was a gift of a tap-in, and who could blame him?
It was apparent that United’s back four were playing far too far apart from each other, and they paid the price a minute later when Nogan darted between Iriekpen and Goodhind on to Parkin’s precision through ball (this was a truly surreal day) and ran unchallenged to slot past Marshall from ten yards. This catastrophe was reminiscent of last season’s three goals in four minutes capitulation at Vale Park and once again the United defence looked in a bigger mess than Nicole Kidman’s love life. Wobbling like a lemon jelly on a trampoline, in an earthquake, Marshall was forced into an excellent save from Parkin two minutes later as he threatened to ram home a Potter corner. This was getting embarrassing.
The amber hordes were joined on the away terrace by the Sunderland mob, holding a bucket collection. They’d collected around 23 buckets so far, apparently. Boom boom. They were warmly applauded as they wended their way around the ground in their red and white striped shirts while play continued, lending an air of unreality to the proceedings.
York continued to attack shell-shocked United, the comfort and ease of the first half now a distant memory. Potter blasted over on 57, saw his free kick saved on 60, then from another of many corners, Cowan was on target from ten yards but saw his shot blocked by the inadvertent Nogan. For United, Newey made one good run from the left wing, slaloming inside two tackles but robbed by a third just when about to pull the trigger. He was replaced on 69 by Tom Youngs in a straight swap, Tiny Tom again stuck out on the wing while the pacier Riza remained up front.
A minute later came United’s best chance for an equaliser. Wanless’s chip over the top was latched on to by BGG Kitson, running diagonally across the line then in on goal down the right channel, defenders trailing in his wake. He only had to shoot into the bottom corner to make it 2-2, but he delayed and delayed, eventually taking it round Ingham, but the keeper was so close to his line that Kits ran out of pitch, turning to fire in an angled drive that was cleared off the line by Smith, then seeing his follow-up shot saved by Ingham. This desire to walk the ball into the net instead of having the courage to shoot seems to have spread to our top scorer now, like a virulent virus. Let’s hope Professor Brooks has concocted a serum in his lab to counteract it.
Another straight swap on 73 saw Chillingworth replace Riza, to no effect, and on 76 Chris Brass was the second home booking for a foul on Kitson. The resultant free kick, from wide on the left, summed up the standard of so many of young Mr Guttridge’s set pieces, as with the entire penalty area and last third of the pitch to aim at, he ploughed his kick straight at the lone opponent stationed ten yards from him, setting York up for a counter-attack. Not the first time, Luke, and not good enough. On 78 that man Parkin almost scored again, shooting across Marshall, and the Terpsichorean custodian was thankful to see Mr Omnipresent Fleming hacking it clear.
Five minutes later the hosts replaced Nogan with Anthony Shandran, and on 86 came United’s last desperate throw of the dice as Aggy Revell came on for Murray. But for all the visitors’ flailing and thrashing about like stranded salmon, it was City who had the remaining chances. Potter’s free kick found Parkin’s head just before the end, mercifully wide, but into added time came the final killer blow. A bog-standard hopeful long hoof from defence was chased by Iriekpen, but he failed to get it under any sort of control, letting it bounce twice, whereupon Shandran just nipped in, took it off his toe and slotted home past Marshall from eight yards. It’s called learning the hard way, Izzy, and the trick is not to make the same mistake twice. Parkin made sure he pointed his name out to us as he lined up to kick off again, bless his chubby cheeks, then it was all over. The season in microcosm: enjoyable and successful first half, disappointing, underachieving second.
It would be easy to let a Dion-size red mist descend and berate the defence for their wretchedly sloppy ‘work’ for all three goals and the strikers for their failure to convert relatively easy must-score chances, and by all accounts JT did just that. But the key now is to put things right as the games continue to come thick and fast. Realistically, the play-offs are slipping from our grasp by the day, but it seems that it is the basics like concentration, confidence, decisiveness and passing that our boys need to be reminded of at the moment. We might not have expected a promotion push at the start of the season, but the prospect of it petering out into nothingness before Easter is about as welcome as a slug butty. This is Shaggy and the Prof’s greatest challenge yet; rise to the occasion, chaps. We’re behind you all the way. And good luck to York in their struggle for the club’s very survival. There but for the grace …
Marshall 6 – Did all he had to do without much trouble – apart from the three times he was left hopelessly exposed by his wayward defence.
Goodhind 5 – Best defender on the day (not a great compliment, sadly) but even he gave York the first goal on a plate.
Murray 5 – The whole defence had a shocker in the second half and Fred was as culpable as any.
Iriekpen 5 – Some nice touches as usual but must hold his hands up for the third goal and his inexperience showed when the going got tough.
Angus 5 – Still looks like he’s been rushed back too soon and a long way off his best today.
Guttridge 5 – Busy but out of position and loses a mark for repeatedly failing to clear the first man with his set pieces. Yet again.
Fleming 7 – Mr Perpetual Motion never seemed to stop running and covered the whole pitch from beginning to end.
Wanless 5 – Disappointingly quiet when United needed his leadership after going 2-1 down.
Newey 6 – Put in some good work down the left, both creatively and tackling back, and unlucky to be the one to be withdrawn.
Riza 6 – Made the runs with precious little service, but must stop (a) getting caught offside so much and (b) failing in his one-on-ones with the keeper.
Kitson 6 – Seemed affected by United’s general malaise in the second half with some sloppy passes by his own high standards, and he really should have equalised when through on goal.
Youngs 5 – No faulting effort but made little impact in a wasted position wide left.
Chillingworth 5 – Even less impact than Tiny Tom.
Revell 5 – Proportionately less time and impact than the other subs.
Soundtrack of the day: Dog/Bitten.
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Varsoviana. ‘This beautiful slow dance was one of the smoothest and most graceful of its time. It originated in Warsaw around 1850, named in honour of Mount Vesuvius, and rapidly became popular throughout Europe and the USA. In 3/4 time, this waltz consisted of the polka step repeated four times, then two mazurkas and one polka, repeated then with the polka-redowa for the last part, the gentleman holding the lady by the right arm. Reilley’s Amateur Vademecum described the Varsoviana as ‘very pleasing and graceful’, in direct contrast to my very displeasing and clumsy back four today! Only joking, guys – or am I? Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Give generously, pleaded cash-strapped York, and boy, did United dig deep as their fumbling defence and profligate attack conspired to hand them the three points after an away victory had looked assured at half-time. The match video will be on sale in a special Horror section in the club shop shortly.
Man of the match: Terry Fleming. He’ll never be Rivaldo, but his energy and attitude made him the only United player to have any significant effect on the game today.
Ref watch: Webster 7. Did his job with the minimum of fuss. Nice to see a ref who doesn’t try to be the star of the show for a change.
Terry Fleming: not Rivaldo.
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Tuesday, 11 March 2003: Darlington 1-2 United
Now showing at the Odeon, Darlington: Roll It Like Riza. The rollercoaster story of young Jas Maggs, whose footballing aspirations are fired by the inspirational, almost mythical figure of Omer Riza and his uncanny mastery of the two-yard tap-in. Jas spends hours in the park practising Omer’s unique, artistic trundle until she is spotted by crack women’s team PMT Eindhoven and soon becomes their star player with her goal-hanging gift. She has to overcome the stigma of disfigurement (an ill-advised B*witched tattoo) and the disapproval of her family, who wish her to live the traditional life of early marriage, three children by the time she is 21, separation by 23 and a life on benefit thereafter with a rotating set of gentleman callers.
After many ups and downs comes the day of the big match, when she has to take a penalty. A hushed crowd watch as she runs up and, applying Omer’s dictum of ‘head up and welly’, blazes hopelessly over the bar. The tap-in magic only works from inside the six-yard box! Thankfully there is a happy ending all round as she triumphantly fires the winner from two feet out and is whisked off to America to become the new Pelé and the face of Deep Heat. ‘The best film I’ve seen since Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,’ (Howard Wilkinson). ‘The most realistic football action I’ve seen this year,’ (Barry Fry). ‘It would have been better with me in goal,’ (Sylvester Stallone)
The financial and workplace pressures of four away games in 15 days left a hardy band of a mere 71 diehard faithful to wend their weary way up the A1 to the North East on Tuesday night. The all-too-familiar sight of Blyth Services on a quiet, sunny midweek afternoon left much time to muse while munching on a Magnum Sloth (one of the more unusual recent flavours in the realm of frozen dairy snacks) and pondering the loneliness of the long-distance United supporter. Mile after long mile of open, undulating Yorkshire countryside finally gave way to the pleasant market town of Darlington for the amber faithful’s last ever visit to Feethams. At least the circumstances are somewhat happier than those at York, as the Quakers look forward to moving to a new all-seater bowl next season, whose capacity of 25,000 reveals an intriguing mixture of ambition and quite stupendous optimism.
The man behind all this is local character and safe-breaker made good George Reynolds, scourge of 16-year-old fanzine editors and proud possessor of a spectacular comb-over reminiscent of Bobby Charlton in a hurricane. He certainly divides the home supporters’ opinions, but it’s strangely comforting to see an old-school maverick megalomaniac buying into football as the suits and big institutions take over all over the country. It will be sad, though, to see the demise of such a fine old ground as Feethams, where football has been played since the 1860s. It is the only remaining League venue that shares with a cricket club, whose pitch and pavilion adjoin the ground and are accessed through a marvellous old archway topped by its very own twin towers.
In past years United have been allocated one half of the remaining open terrace and its adjoining corner, but this time we were sheltered in the West Stand, a tiny, quaint structure that appeared to have been built entirely from Meccano and driftwood, occupying the central two-thirds of one side of the pitch. Nine rows of mostly bench seats are fronted by a minuscule, flat standing area that can barely accommodate three rows of people. Its non-League look is ameliorated by its extremely close proximity to the playing area, barely leaving room for the hapless linesman to squeeze past while he receives the fans’ bellows of four-letter encouragement in both ears.
Opposite the open terrace is a shallow covered standing area, while the one side that keeps Feethams up to League standards is the relatively huge East Stand, a fairly new replacement for the old Tin Shed and dwarfing the rest of the ground in its cantilevered all-seater splendour. Only problem was that as most of its seats were black, it made the sparse 2,000 crowd look even sparser. There may be good times around the corner stadium-wise, but its team is in the doldrums and supporters are voting with their feet. Looks like Darlo will need that new stadium feel-good factor next season. That, or they should start handing out free barmcakes or whatever it is they eat up north.
The supporters’ bar proved most convivial before proceedings started, intriguing its visitors with the offer of a ham and pease pudding sandwich, although none of us soft Southerners were brave enough to take the plunge. The United line-up showed just one change from Saturday’s shambles as Shaggy gave his men one more chance, Wannie succumbing to yet another one of his little niggles to drop to the bench and let Franco ‘One Hairy’ Nacca into a wide right midfield berth. Rather than Wozza Goodhind, it was Terrier Fleming who wore the armband on this occasion. One change on the bench saw Aggy Revell replaced by David Theobald, a local sub for local people. Hello Dave. Darlo are unusual in they don’t have a single player or staff member with a Cantabrigian connection. No wonder they’re not getting anywhere.
Darlo came into the match on the back of a defeat on Saturday described as ‘poor’ and ‘woeful’ in the programme. Snap. All the writers therein also seemed to think that the U’s have joined their team in having nothing left to play for this season. We shall see, hmm? Both mid-tablers went at each other from the off on a chilly night enlivened only by the enthusiastic prompting of the vocal away support. First two corners went to Darlington, sandwiching a blocked shot by Simon Betts, then it was the visitors’ turn to press as they threatened to score from a corner for the second game in a row: Darlo just couldn’t get it clear as both Nacca and Goodhind had good efforts blocked away in the six-yard box by a sea of flying bodies reminiscent of a party at Caligula’s place. With clothes on, of course.
After this brief flurry, the game settled down into a sea of offside flags as United’s nippy midfield and defence pushed up almost to the halfway line to catch their opponents out time and time again, with the assistance of a flag-happy linesman in front of the away fans who encouraged him with chants of ‘Lino! Lino!’ as the free-kick count mounted. Not one to be left out, Riza the Geezer waged a one-man campaign to even the score with numerous offsides of his own. Final count for the half was 12 (Hodgson 5, Clark 4, Conlon 2, Nicholls) - 6 (Riza 5, Kitson) to Darlo. Well, at least they won something.
There was precious little else to report until the half-hour mark as both teams cancelled each other out in their bids to prove how mid-table and mediocre they could be. The United midfield looked very solid and mobile, Lil’ Luke and the Terrier busy and involved in the middle, Newey threatening sporadically down the left and Nacca having an excellent, tireless time down the right. There was noticeably less fiddle-faddling in the last third by the defence, helped by their pushing up as much as they dared, while the strikers worked hard for little reward against big, unceremonious markers.
Riza finally produced a trademark run down the left on 29 until he was felled right on the edge of the penalty area. The ball was placed as near to the line of the box as was possible without it actually being a penalty, but the kick, inevitably, came to nought. At the other end Clark Keltie blasted over from long range a minute later, then saw another effort comfortably saved by Dancing Shaun following a corner. Play was stop-start at best thanks to a fussy ref who saw every physical contact as a foul, and first man into the book was Betts. Après lui le déluge.
The slightly unreal air of a meaningless end-of-season game was finally broken on 38. Ryan Valentine fouled BGG Kitson near the touchline, and Goodhind’s long, floated free kick found the big number 9 near the penalty spot. Showing delightful awareness, he flicked it over his shoulder past two defenders and straight to the feet of Riza, six yards out. Even Omer wouldn’t have tried to round the keeper from that distance and he calmly tucked it past Andy Collett into the opposite corner: 1-0. The celebrating but still sardonic away support, mindful of York, chanted ‘3-1! We’re going to lose 3-1!’ in the hope that singing about it might prevent it from happening this time.
United’s confidence received a much-needed boost, but Darlo responded well, Nicholls firing wide on 42, a couple of free kicks bouncing around the box and Conlon also missing the target as the interval loomed. In added time Izzy Iriekpen was penalised for holding and this time it was the hosts who had a free kick almost on the line of the penalty box, in a fairly central position. The wall, however, did its job and blocked Nicholls’ effort with all the ease of a Sachin Tendulkar stroke to the offside. And so ended a satisfactory first half for the Mighty U’s, sheer hard work and organisation compensating adequately for any real spark of inspiration against equally committed but plodding opposition. But this is what happened on Saturday, too, and we know what happened in the heart of darkness that constituted the first five minutes of the second half at Bootham Crescent. The horror, the horror …
Kitson and Paul Campbell set the tone for what was to be a second period more niggly than a roomful of Savages within five minutes of the restart: Campbell fouled Goodhind, Kitson stupidly shoved Campbell and they were both in the book before you could say ‘Billy Manuel’. Kitson set up Riza from the resulting free kick but Omer couldn’t find the target this time. Keltie fired wide two minutes later, but although there were fewer offsides this half, this was more than offset by hold-ups for fouls as tempers began to fray. Kitson pushed his luck on 56 by tangling with Collett off the ball, and the away support feared the worst as the lino flagged to draw Mr Fletcher’s attention to the incident, but big Dave was let off with one of the ref’s little pet lectures.
Things really started kicking off two minutes later. United applied the pressure and a Guttridge corner fell to Nacca just outside the area. His head-high shot hit Barry Conlon 15 yards out and Fletcher gave a rather harsh penalty for handball in the face of prolonged and vociferous protests, booking the Darlo striker in the process. It was a long time before Riza could take the spot kick as Fletcher took an eternity to walk along the line of the box, reminding players who already knew that they mustn’t encroach, and the delay couldn’t have helped settle Omer’s nerves. Unfortunately his pen was quite simply dreadful, rising as soon as he struck it and sailing high over the bar and the terrace and out into the night sky like an errant Iraqi missile. Truly a Howard Wilkinson of a penalty. Someone shouted at Riza to keep his head up, but if he’d kept his head down, he might just have hit the target.
Darlo, fired by a sense of injustice notwithstanding the miss, were even heavier into the tackle than before and skipper Craig Liddle was finally booked on 62. Ian Clark, hitherto a striker more toothless than Shane MacGowan after emergency dental surgery, raced on to a through ball on 65, skipped round a challenge and with a clear sight of goal blazed lamely wide from 12 yards to warn United that this game was far from won; once again they were failing to seal a match that looked theirs for the taking. The visitors still looked dangerous on the break, however, never more than on 70 as Newey raced down the left wing and whipped a superb cross to the near post, where Kitson flashed a header across the face of goal from barely five yards out.
With 20 minutes to go Darlington made a double switch, Wainwright and Mellanby for Campbell and Hodgson, but seconds later they were down to ten men as Conlon scythed Freddie Murray to the floor and was deservedly dismissed for a second yellow. Darlo somehow felt aggrieved, increasing their frustration all the more, and they continued to pour forward. This enabled United to attack on the break, Guttridge skating through twice and just missing the second time with a fizzer from 20 yards, then Kitson, Riza and Lil’ Luke somehow failing to take advantage of a three-against-two.
It was lecture time for Murray and Clark as they tangled, but with no resultant cards, then the United number 3 did find his way into the book as Darlo tried exploiting United’s bugbear, the ball over the top, and Freddie tugged Nicholls back near the centre circle. Thankfully they were in a crowd of players chasing back so there was no case for a call of last man back.
The atmosphere, so Moon-like in the first half, was now boiling like a brisk chat between Tony Blair and Clare Short and on 82 the scores were level. Like too many goals that United concede, it was simplicity itself, Liddle winning Valentine’s corner at the far post with a towering header and Mellanby nodding home from point-blank range in the middle. Oh no, not again.
Iriekpen picked up the penultimate booking of the night on 84, but a minute later United responded in the best way possible to reclaim the lead they just about deserved. Once again the creator was that man Kitson, sprinting down the left past one defender, holding off another with great fortitude to get to the byline and rifling a low cross past Collett to Riza, waiting unattended at the near post no more than a yard from goal. He controlled it with a touch, then time seemed to stand eerily still as Omer looked at the ball at his feet and the open goal mere inches away while keeper and defenders, seeing how close he was, also stopped as if someone up there had pressed ‘Pause’ on the great video recorder in the sky. After a second that seemed to last an hour, Omer gathered himself and lashed gleefully home. 2-1, great response. Eventually!
It wasn’t over yet. Darlo readied the kitchen sink and pounded the United rearguard with the direct balls that they dislike so much. One such pass found sub Neil Wainwright outpacing Murray down the right flank and with the goal at his mercy, he blasted hopelessly wide from less than ten yards out. Nicholls also missed the target on 88, and as the first of four added minutes ticked over, that man Wainwright burst through again in almost exactly the same position. Marshall stood strong and blocked heroically with his feet, then as the ball ricocheted around the area, the Terpsichorean custodian finally fell on it gratefully. Much of the remaining time was spent timewasting in the far corner, Kitson and Riza doing some good work although Omer picked up a yellow in the process for taking a dive. Silly snorkeller.
But their work was done, and a hard-fought victory was acclaimed by the 71 as if it had been a championship decider as the season was kept alive for just a bit longer. Shaggy in particular made a point of coming over to the amber hordes to thank them for their support and for their unwavering belief in him and his team despite the inevitable criticism that the recent poor run had occasioned. It’s not difficult to see why Darlington are languishing in the shallows of mediocrity, but they’re not easy to beat on their own patch and United needed to show considerable heart, spirit and teamwork to get the desired result. That they did shows that the dilithium crystals are far from drained yet and the play-offs are still within reach. Make it so!
Marshall 7 – Fairly untroubled evening for the Dancemeister, bar one vital save at the death.
Goodhind 7 – Still not quite as comfortable as at centre back but did a professional job.
Murray 7 – Usual uncompromising game and his ongoing status as the player opposition fans love to hate shows he must be doing something right.
Iriekpen 7 – Much more assured than Saturday and confirmed his substantial promise.
Angus 7 – Now fitness is returning, so is the dependable Stev we know and love.
Nacca 8 – Very impressive, tireless turn wide right and looked like he’d been playing there for years.
Guttridge 7 – Decent, busy game in the engine room.
Fleming 8 – Stand-in skipper put in a performance worthy of the armband with an all-action exhibition of running, covering, passing and the odd surging run.
Newey 8 – Showed the value of a left-footer wide left with some excellent runs and crosses from the flank.
Riza 7 – Would have had a hat-trick but for a horrendous penalty miss but was still the ultimate match-winner. Caught offside too often, though.
Kitson 8 – Showed he can win a game without necessarily scoring with two superb assists and an excellent all-round display of centre forward play against uncompromising opposition.
Soundtrack of the day: Ron Sexsmith & Chris Martin/Gold In Them Hills.
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Jota. ‘This historic dance is the national folk dance of Aragon in Spain and dates from the 1700s. It is a quick Spanish dance in 3/8 time and as flamboyant and exciting as that sounds! It is not unusual for it to be performed at funerals and wakes in ‘watching the dead’, and the Aragonese say that a pretty girl dancing the Jota sends an arrow into every heart with each of her movements. I was lucky enough to witness the Jota de la Vendimia, a wine harvest dance when on holiday in Ciudad Real, and the drunken swaying and jerky movements resembled my back four’s offside trap on Saturday! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Heart. Guts. Stomach. After the offal of Saturday, the menu was more encouraging for United as they battled to a hard-fought but merited win to keep the dream alive. There was relief all round as their first away League win since November raised previously dashed hopes in their last ever match at dear old Feethams. It was never a classic against very moderate opponents and an even worse ref, but the defence held (mostly) firm in a tough-tackling encounter and the front two were back firing on all cylinders. Believe.
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. Centre-forward masterclass in the face of physical opponents and made both goals with delicious moments of skill.
Ref watch: Fletcher 4. Pernickety to the extreme, he prevented the game from flowing with his unnecessary whistling at every 50-50 challenge and irritating little lectures at regular intervals. When these failed to establish his authority, he resorted to chucking cards around – eight in a game that ultimately threatened to get totally out of control. Not impressive.
Now showing at the Odeon, Darlington: Roll It Like Riza. The rollercoaster story of young Jas Maggs, whose footballing aspirations are fired by the inspirational, almost mythical figure of Omer Riza and his uncanny mastery of the two-yard tap-in. Jas spends hours in the park practising Omer’s unique, artistic trundle until she is spotted by crack women’s team PMT Eindhoven and soon becomes their star player with her goal-hanging gift. She has to overcome the stigma of disfigurement (an ill-advised B*witched tattoo) and the disapproval of her family, who wish her to live the traditional life of early marriage, three children by the time she is 21, separation by 23 and a life on benefit thereafter with a rotating set of gentleman callers.
After many ups and downs comes the day of the big match, when she has to take a penalty. A hushed crowd watch as she runs up and, applying Omer’s dictum of ‘head up and welly’, blazes hopelessly over the bar. The tap-in magic only works from inside the six-yard box! Thankfully there is a happy ending all round as she triumphantly fires the winner from two feet out and is whisked off to America to become the new Pelé and the face of Deep Heat. ‘The best film I’ve seen since Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,’ (Howard Wilkinson). ‘The most realistic football action I’ve seen this year,’ (Barry Fry). ‘It would have been better with me in goal,’ (Sylvester Stallone)
The financial and workplace pressures of four away games in 15 days left a hardy band of a mere 71 diehard faithful to wend their weary way up the A1 to the North East on Tuesday night. The all-too-familiar sight of Blyth Services on a quiet, sunny midweek afternoon left much time to muse while munching on a Magnum Sloth (one of the more unusual recent flavours in the realm of frozen dairy snacks) and pondering the loneliness of the long-distance United supporter. Mile after long mile of open, undulating Yorkshire countryside finally gave way to the pleasant market town of Darlington for the amber faithful’s last ever visit to Feethams. At least the circumstances are somewhat happier than those at York, as the Quakers look forward to moving to a new all-seater bowl next season, whose capacity of 25,000 reveals an intriguing mixture of ambition and quite stupendous optimism.
The man behind all this is local character and safe-breaker made good George Reynolds, scourge of 16-year-old fanzine editors and proud possessor of a spectacular comb-over reminiscent of Bobby Charlton in a hurricane. He certainly divides the home supporters’ opinions, but it’s strangely comforting to see an old-school maverick megalomaniac buying into football as the suits and big institutions take over all over the country. It will be sad, though, to see the demise of such a fine old ground as Feethams, where football has been played since the 1860s. It is the only remaining League venue that shares with a cricket club, whose pitch and pavilion adjoin the ground and are accessed through a marvellous old archway topped by its very own twin towers.
In past years United have been allocated one half of the remaining open terrace and its adjoining corner, but this time we were sheltered in the West Stand, a tiny, quaint structure that appeared to have been built entirely from Meccano and driftwood, occupying the central two-thirds of one side of the pitch. Nine rows of mostly bench seats are fronted by a minuscule, flat standing area that can barely accommodate three rows of people. Its non-League look is ameliorated by its extremely close proximity to the playing area, barely leaving room for the hapless linesman to squeeze past while he receives the fans’ bellows of four-letter encouragement in both ears.
Opposite the open terrace is a shallow covered standing area, while the one side that keeps Feethams up to League standards is the relatively huge East Stand, a fairly new replacement for the old Tin Shed and dwarfing the rest of the ground in its cantilevered all-seater splendour. Only problem was that as most of its seats were black, it made the sparse 2,000 crowd look even sparser. There may be good times around the corner stadium-wise, but its team is in the doldrums and supporters are voting with their feet. Looks like Darlo will need that new stadium feel-good factor next season. That, or they should start handing out free barmcakes or whatever it is they eat up north.
The supporters’ bar proved most convivial before proceedings started, intriguing its visitors with the offer of a ham and pease pudding sandwich, although none of us soft Southerners were brave enough to take the plunge. The United line-up showed just one change from Saturday’s shambles as Shaggy gave his men one more chance, Wannie succumbing to yet another one of his little niggles to drop to the bench and let Franco ‘One Hairy’ Nacca into a wide right midfield berth. Rather than Wozza Goodhind, it was Terrier Fleming who wore the armband on this occasion. One change on the bench saw Aggy Revell replaced by David Theobald, a local sub for local people. Hello Dave. Darlo are unusual in they don’t have a single player or staff member with a Cantabrigian connection. No wonder they’re not getting anywhere.
Darlo came into the match on the back of a defeat on Saturday described as ‘poor’ and ‘woeful’ in the programme. Snap. All the writers therein also seemed to think that the U’s have joined their team in having nothing left to play for this season. We shall see, hmm? Both mid-tablers went at each other from the off on a chilly night enlivened only by the enthusiastic prompting of the vocal away support. First two corners went to Darlington, sandwiching a blocked shot by Simon Betts, then it was the visitors’ turn to press as they threatened to score from a corner for the second game in a row: Darlo just couldn’t get it clear as both Nacca and Goodhind had good efforts blocked away in the six-yard box by a sea of flying bodies reminiscent of a party at Caligula’s place. With clothes on, of course.
After this brief flurry, the game settled down into a sea of offside flags as United’s nippy midfield and defence pushed up almost to the halfway line to catch their opponents out time and time again, with the assistance of a flag-happy linesman in front of the away fans who encouraged him with chants of ‘Lino! Lino!’ as the free-kick count mounted. Not one to be left out, Riza the Geezer waged a one-man campaign to even the score with numerous offsides of his own. Final count for the half was 12 (Hodgson 5, Clark 4, Conlon 2, Nicholls) - 6 (Riza 5, Kitson) to Darlo. Well, at least they won something.
There was precious little else to report until the half-hour mark as both teams cancelled each other out in their bids to prove how mid-table and mediocre they could be. The United midfield looked very solid and mobile, Lil’ Luke and the Terrier busy and involved in the middle, Newey threatening sporadically down the left and Nacca having an excellent, tireless time down the right. There was noticeably less fiddle-faddling in the last third by the defence, helped by their pushing up as much as they dared, while the strikers worked hard for little reward against big, unceremonious markers.
Riza finally produced a trademark run down the left on 29 until he was felled right on the edge of the penalty area. The ball was placed as near to the line of the box as was possible without it actually being a penalty, but the kick, inevitably, came to nought. At the other end Clark Keltie blasted over from long range a minute later, then saw another effort comfortably saved by Dancing Shaun following a corner. Play was stop-start at best thanks to a fussy ref who saw every physical contact as a foul, and first man into the book was Betts. Après lui le déluge.
The slightly unreal air of a meaningless end-of-season game was finally broken on 38. Ryan Valentine fouled BGG Kitson near the touchline, and Goodhind’s long, floated free kick found the big number 9 near the penalty spot. Showing delightful awareness, he flicked it over his shoulder past two defenders and straight to the feet of Riza, six yards out. Even Omer wouldn’t have tried to round the keeper from that distance and he calmly tucked it past Andy Collett into the opposite corner: 1-0. The celebrating but still sardonic away support, mindful of York, chanted ‘3-1! We’re going to lose 3-1!’ in the hope that singing about it might prevent it from happening this time.
United’s confidence received a much-needed boost, but Darlo responded well, Nicholls firing wide on 42, a couple of free kicks bouncing around the box and Conlon also missing the target as the interval loomed. In added time Izzy Iriekpen was penalised for holding and this time it was the hosts who had a free kick almost on the line of the penalty box, in a fairly central position. The wall, however, did its job and blocked Nicholls’ effort with all the ease of a Sachin Tendulkar stroke to the offside. And so ended a satisfactory first half for the Mighty U’s, sheer hard work and organisation compensating adequately for any real spark of inspiration against equally committed but plodding opposition. But this is what happened on Saturday, too, and we know what happened in the heart of darkness that constituted the first five minutes of the second half at Bootham Crescent. The horror, the horror …
Kitson and Paul Campbell set the tone for what was to be a second period more niggly than a roomful of Savages within five minutes of the restart: Campbell fouled Goodhind, Kitson stupidly shoved Campbell and they were both in the book before you could say ‘Billy Manuel’. Kitson set up Riza from the resulting free kick but Omer couldn’t find the target this time. Keltie fired wide two minutes later, but although there were fewer offsides this half, this was more than offset by hold-ups for fouls as tempers began to fray. Kitson pushed his luck on 56 by tangling with Collett off the ball, and the away support feared the worst as the lino flagged to draw Mr Fletcher’s attention to the incident, but big Dave was let off with one of the ref’s little pet lectures.
Things really started kicking off two minutes later. United applied the pressure and a Guttridge corner fell to Nacca just outside the area. His head-high shot hit Barry Conlon 15 yards out and Fletcher gave a rather harsh penalty for handball in the face of prolonged and vociferous protests, booking the Darlo striker in the process. It was a long time before Riza could take the spot kick as Fletcher took an eternity to walk along the line of the box, reminding players who already knew that they mustn’t encroach, and the delay couldn’t have helped settle Omer’s nerves. Unfortunately his pen was quite simply dreadful, rising as soon as he struck it and sailing high over the bar and the terrace and out into the night sky like an errant Iraqi missile. Truly a Howard Wilkinson of a penalty. Someone shouted at Riza to keep his head up, but if he’d kept his head down, he might just have hit the target.
Darlo, fired by a sense of injustice notwithstanding the miss, were even heavier into the tackle than before and skipper Craig Liddle was finally booked on 62. Ian Clark, hitherto a striker more toothless than Shane MacGowan after emergency dental surgery, raced on to a through ball on 65, skipped round a challenge and with a clear sight of goal blazed lamely wide from 12 yards to warn United that this game was far from won; once again they were failing to seal a match that looked theirs for the taking. The visitors still looked dangerous on the break, however, never more than on 70 as Newey raced down the left wing and whipped a superb cross to the near post, where Kitson flashed a header across the face of goal from barely five yards out.
With 20 minutes to go Darlington made a double switch, Wainwright and Mellanby for Campbell and Hodgson, but seconds later they were down to ten men as Conlon scythed Freddie Murray to the floor and was deservedly dismissed for a second yellow. Darlo somehow felt aggrieved, increasing their frustration all the more, and they continued to pour forward. This enabled United to attack on the break, Guttridge skating through twice and just missing the second time with a fizzer from 20 yards, then Kitson, Riza and Lil’ Luke somehow failing to take advantage of a three-against-two.
It was lecture time for Murray and Clark as they tangled, but with no resultant cards, then the United number 3 did find his way into the book as Darlo tried exploiting United’s bugbear, the ball over the top, and Freddie tugged Nicholls back near the centre circle. Thankfully they were in a crowd of players chasing back so there was no case for a call of last man back.
The atmosphere, so Moon-like in the first half, was now boiling like a brisk chat between Tony Blair and Clare Short and on 82 the scores were level. Like too many goals that United concede, it was simplicity itself, Liddle winning Valentine’s corner at the far post with a towering header and Mellanby nodding home from point-blank range in the middle. Oh no, not again.
Iriekpen picked up the penultimate booking of the night on 84, but a minute later United responded in the best way possible to reclaim the lead they just about deserved. Once again the creator was that man Kitson, sprinting down the left past one defender, holding off another with great fortitude to get to the byline and rifling a low cross past Collett to Riza, waiting unattended at the near post no more than a yard from goal. He controlled it with a touch, then time seemed to stand eerily still as Omer looked at the ball at his feet and the open goal mere inches away while keeper and defenders, seeing how close he was, also stopped as if someone up there had pressed ‘Pause’ on the great video recorder in the sky. After a second that seemed to last an hour, Omer gathered himself and lashed gleefully home. 2-1, great response. Eventually!
It wasn’t over yet. Darlo readied the kitchen sink and pounded the United rearguard with the direct balls that they dislike so much. One such pass found sub Neil Wainwright outpacing Murray down the right flank and with the goal at his mercy, he blasted hopelessly wide from less than ten yards out. Nicholls also missed the target on 88, and as the first of four added minutes ticked over, that man Wainwright burst through again in almost exactly the same position. Marshall stood strong and blocked heroically with his feet, then as the ball ricocheted around the area, the Terpsichorean custodian finally fell on it gratefully. Much of the remaining time was spent timewasting in the far corner, Kitson and Riza doing some good work although Omer picked up a yellow in the process for taking a dive. Silly snorkeller.
But their work was done, and a hard-fought victory was acclaimed by the 71 as if it had been a championship decider as the season was kept alive for just a bit longer. Shaggy in particular made a point of coming over to the amber hordes to thank them for their support and for their unwavering belief in him and his team despite the inevitable criticism that the recent poor run had occasioned. It’s not difficult to see why Darlington are languishing in the shallows of mediocrity, but they’re not easy to beat on their own patch and United needed to show considerable heart, spirit and teamwork to get the desired result. That they did shows that the dilithium crystals are far from drained yet and the play-offs are still within reach. Make it so!
Marshall 7 – Fairly untroubled evening for the Dancemeister, bar one vital save at the death.
Goodhind 7 – Still not quite as comfortable as at centre back but did a professional job.
Murray 7 – Usual uncompromising game and his ongoing status as the player opposition fans love to hate shows he must be doing something right.
Iriekpen 7 – Much more assured than Saturday and confirmed his substantial promise.
Angus 7 – Now fitness is returning, so is the dependable Stev we know and love.
Nacca 8 – Very impressive, tireless turn wide right and looked like he’d been playing there for years.
Guttridge 7 – Decent, busy game in the engine room.
Fleming 8 – Stand-in skipper put in a performance worthy of the armband with an all-action exhibition of running, covering, passing and the odd surging run.
Newey 8 – Showed the value of a left-footer wide left with some excellent runs and crosses from the flank.
Riza 7 – Would have had a hat-trick but for a horrendous penalty miss but was still the ultimate match-winner. Caught offside too often, though.
Kitson 8 – Showed he can win a game without necessarily scoring with two superb assists and an excellent all-round display of centre forward play against uncompromising opposition.
Soundtrack of the day: Ron Sexsmith & Chris Martin/Gold In Them Hills.
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Jota. ‘This historic dance is the national folk dance of Aragon in Spain and dates from the 1700s. It is a quick Spanish dance in 3/8 time and as flamboyant and exciting as that sounds! It is not unusual for it to be performed at funerals and wakes in ‘watching the dead’, and the Aragonese say that a pretty girl dancing the Jota sends an arrow into every heart with each of her movements. I was lucky enough to witness the Jota de la Vendimia, a wine harvest dance when on holiday in Ciudad Real, and the drunken swaying and jerky movements resembled my back four’s offside trap on Saturday! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Heart. Guts. Stomach. After the offal of Saturday, the menu was more encouraging for United as they battled to a hard-fought but merited win to keep the dream alive. There was relief all round as their first away League win since November raised previously dashed hopes in their last ever match at dear old Feethams. It was never a classic against very moderate opponents and an even worse ref, but the defence held (mostly) firm in a tough-tackling encounter and the front two were back firing on all cylinders. Believe.
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. Centre-forward masterclass in the face of physical opponents and made both goals with delicious moments of skill.
Ref watch: Fletcher 4. Pernickety to the extreme, he prevented the game from flowing with his unnecessary whistling at every 50-50 challenge and irritating little lectures at regular intervals. When these failed to establish his authority, he resorted to chucking cards around – eight in a game that ultimately threatened to get totally out of control. Not impressive.
Jota de la Vendimia: jota than hell
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Saturday, 11 March 2003: United 0-2 Kidderminster Harriers
The enigmatic, bearded figure emerged from the shadows of the billboard outside the Abbey on Thursday evening as JT was about to leave for the night. ‘Are you the one known as Shaggy, sire?’ he enquired in a distinctive Fenland burr. ‘Some people call me that, yes,’ replied the United boss. ‘What can I do for you, old son?’ ‘I have come to thee with a warning!’ came the dramatic retort. ‘Beware! Beware … the Ides of March! Heed my words!’ Then, darting looks around fearfully, he scurried away before Shaggy could question him further. JT shook his head, chuckled ruefully to himself and got into his car.
Two days later, he sat pensively in his office, pondering on a disappointing performance against Kidderminster. Had the old bumpkin known something after all? ‘Brooksy,’ he called to his colleague, ‘what were the names of those motivational blokes we got in yesterday to talk to the players?’ ‘That was the Hyde brothers. Couple of eccentric blokes from the Fens – March, I think. They had some pretty way-out ideas. It’s a pity you missed them!’ ‘Hmm. What did they say?’ ‘They said they were Posh supporters and they’d already helped them this season, but they’d like to help us too with their special positive thinking exercises.’ JT saw the light. ‘For goodness’ sake, Brooksy. Posh are useless! And so were we today. And all because of the Hydes of March!’
The day started so positively for the Mighty U’s. A glorious, sunny day, plenty of fresh faces around the Abbey thanks to the Female Football Fortnight initiative, and on the pitch, Gary Harwood announced that Shaggy and the Prof had been granted contract extensions until the end of 2004/05. But just like Comic Relief on TV the night before, the good parts were broken up by serious bits exposing some all-too-grim reality. Couldn’t spare us some of that £35m, could you, Wossy?
The management kept Tuesday’s winning side together, leaving Wannie and Tiny Tom on the sidelines. Kidderminster, down to their last 16 fit players, had lost top scorer and Helen Chamberlain lookalike Bo Henriksen to a training injury in an unpromising warm-up to their first visit to the Abbey since February 1960, when Alan Moore and Fred Howell goals forced a 2-2 draw in front on a gathering of 2,657 spectators in Southern League Division One. Harriers departed for the less challenging climes of the West Midland League thereafter and their main (OK, only) claim to fame is that they staged the first-ever FA Cup game under floodlights in defeating the might of Brierley Hill Alliance 4-2 back in 1955. But hey, they caught up with us in the end, eh?
Kiddie are a big, strong side, and they started as they meant to continue, closing United down in numbers as far up the field as possible and giving their hosts no time to settle at all. They looked a yard faster in the early stages and had obviously done their homework, resorting to the U’s bugbear of the ball over the top as often as the offside flag would permit. Dancing Shaun had his first work to do within a minute of the start as he clutched a hopeful Ian Foster effort, and the boys in amber who had looked so powerful and in control at Feethams now found themselves second best all over the park as they were strong-armed out of it by the men in red.
Sam Shilton (the Julian Lennon of football) looked particularly dangerous down the left wing as threatening crosses rained in to the United box, where they found the fledgling centre-back partnership of Iriekpen and Angus in fine form. United had the odd break, usually down the left where Murray and Newey combined well on occasion, but it was Kiddie who dominated the early exchanges, United gradually finding a stronger toehold as the half progressed. The hosts’ offside trap was also functioning as well as it was at Darlington and in the first half at York, despite the bumbling linesman on the Habbin side who seemed to have regular difficulty in keeping up with play and on a couple of occasions used the United fans’ outraged shouts as his cue to guess that a red shirt had in fact been hors jeu. Hey, that’s our kinda lino!
United continued to repel Kiddie’s crosses while creating precious little themselves, particularly for their ball-starved forwards. T heir first shot of any note came on 16 as Lil’ Luke Guttridge saw his 20-yarder blocked by Forest loanee Wes Morgan. First booking came on 21 for head Harrier Sean Flynn for a high kick that caught Franco Nacca’s head, but it was entirely accidental. Riza The Geezer was fed through shortly after, but as is his wont, took too long to shoot and was robbed by Danny Williams. The Harriers’ crosses kept coming, homing in like streams of Diouf phlegm, but the U’s held firm as they fought to match their opponents’ commitment and work rate.
The visitors collected their second yellow on 29, Adie Smith clobbering Guttridge with a clumsy late tackle, and as the contest became more even it was apparent that the two teams were as well-matched as their adjacent League positions indicate. A United corner caused a little havoc as aged keeper Fraser Digby struggled to clear from within a melee, eventually a little fortunate to clutch a lunge from Iriekpen from an almost horizontal position. Other than that, neither custodian was especially challenged for the rest of the half bar the odd cross or corner to catch as half-chances came to nought.
Newey’s cross on 39 found Kitson outjumping Digby but heading narrowly wide, then Guttridge’s superb pinpoint through ball found the BGG ten yards out. He brought it down with some deft control but delayed his shot fractionally too long and saw it blocked by Dion Scott. Then Angus almost sent Nacca free with a diagonal cross-field pass that was cut out with some difficulty by Craig Hinton.
And thus ended a tough, committed half of uncompromising football between two teams who had cancelled each other out. Kiddie knew they had to close United down and hit them hard and fast on the attack, while the U’s had huffed and puffed but lacked the inspiration of a Tudor or a Youngs in fielding a workaday midfield of hard runners who just lacked that vital spark of invention. All in all a tough scrap worthy of the Chelsea training ground or even Girls Aloud in a nightclub, but without the finesse. Or the slingbacks. And that’s just Graeme Le Saux.
The penny must have dropped with Kidderminster by now that this United side is not the glorious offensive force of early season that Brian Flynn described as ‘unstoppable’. The lack of threat from this rather more prosaic line-up must surely have given their visitors encouragement that here was a game that was there for the winning. Opening exchanges, however, were even scrappier than in the first half as offside flags and ref’s whistle conspired to keep the entertainment as low as a Rolf Harris wobbleboard workshop. Win? Draw? Defeat? Good match? A mess? We couldn’t tell what it was yet.
Things got a little farcical ten minutes in with some defending as shambolic and discordant as a Ruby Wax musical number. Marshall raced out of his area to the left flank to get to a ball over the top, missed his kick, Murray could have put it anywhere but hit it straight at John Melligan, and somehow United contrived to crowd him out while the Terpsichorean custodian retreated back to goal. Andy Bishop then trundled one wide while Riza had a shot blocked at the other end, and on 61 Bishop produced a good save from Marshall as the game finally threatened to open up a little. Wozza Goodhind became United’s only booking on 64 for a clumsy foul from behind and Bishop shot wide a minute later.
Shaggy and the Prof made the first change on 65, replacing United’s marginally best midfielder, Nacca, with Youngs, and true to recent form, Kiddie were ahead a minute later. Not that it was Tiny Tom’s fault. Yet another long ball found Bishop, whose shot from the edge of the box was blocked by Iriekpen and soared into the air to the unmarked Melligan just to the left of the penalty spot. His cunning, looping header found Marshall leaden-footed and it curled into the far corner of the net for another of those untidy goals that United seem to specialise in conceding. Here we go again.
Kitson, working so hard but too often more isolated than Jack Dee on top of a 50-foot pole, finally managed to get the ball to his feet a minute later, but his scooped effort from the D sailed into the car park. United continued to toil, but their perspiration was not matched by inspiration, and hard work and running just ain’t enough without a helping of creativity or nous. And Terrier Fleming, for all his qualities, is far too quiet on the pitch to make a proper, inspirational captain; he remained on the bench as speculation grew among the supporters as to why he wasn’t introduced. It’s a mystery, as Toyah once opined. Well actually she said ‘It’th a mythtery,’ but you get the general idea.
Newey and Kitson had further efforts blocked, but the match and perhaps the season were effectively ended on 74. Goodhind conceded a free kick to the tricky Shilton wide left; Flynn’s looping effort sailed across goal to the far post, where Morgan leapt to head easily past Marshall over the feebly static Iriekpen and Murray. Another awful conceded goal for the ever-growing collection, 2-0, over and out.
Another interesting substitution was made on 75 as Chillingworth replaced Riza; many supporters felt that leaving three essentially defensively minded midfielders on when we could have played Youngs and Riza wide to feed the front two in an echo of the good old two-winger days of early season, was just not positive enough. United could have thrown Wannie on, too, thrown caution to the wind and just gone for it. But for whatever reason, they did not. And the match, and possibly United’s play-off chances, began to sink slowly into the west as their task began to make Mick McCarthy’s look a doddle.
On 80 Kitson did well to find some space in the box and cross for Guttridge, of all people, to rise and head over from six yards when a taller player would surely have scored, then Kiddie replaced Bishop with Boro reject Drewe Broughton, whose job appeared to be entirely to waste time by getting caught offside as often as possible. Kitson had another shot blocked, Sean Parrish replaced Melligan two minutes from time and United teased us on 89 as a long ball down the middle beat the onrushing Digby, but as Kitson lurked behind him, the ball bounced unkindly straight to Smith to clear his lines. How many United shots at goal or saves by Kiddie’s keeper have been mentioned in this half? Don’t bother trying to count: you won’t even need one hand.
So, after the raised hopes of Tuesday, it was back to disappointment in a big way. Kidderminster are a decent team, but hardly outstanding; they simply out-thought and out-fought a toothless, uninspired United. Essentially, the U’s lacked Quality with a capital Q: not enough artists, too many artisans. But now Shaggy and the Prof have got the contract extension that will allow them to plan for at least a little further ahead than next month, how about working on a few things, like (a) free-kicks – ours are lame, ‘will-this-do?’ creativity-free zones; (b) corners – if they’re not being hit knee-high straight at the first man, they’re all exactly the same: floaters into the keeper’s arms; (c) shooting – every player wants to take far too many touches before they shoot or wants to walk it into the net before they will let fly, usually resulting in a block or dispossession. Given that we can’t just produce a brilliant, creative ball-playing midfield general out of a hat, these might at least give us a chance of scoring more goals than our defence leaks at the other end. Oh, and one more thing: stop giving the ball away and PASS ACCURATELY! Come on boys, we won’t give up if you won’t!
Marshall 6 – Not exactly overworked, but caught out for both goals.
Goodhind 6 – Mostly OK but got a bit of a chasing from Shilton in the first half.
Murray 5 – Hasn’t been near top form recently and this was another very ordinary performance.
Iriekpen 7 – Confirmed his promise with another cool-headed display.
Angus 8 – The best defender at the club is now getting back to his best. Immaculate.
Nacca 7 – Did a good job again on the right and never stopped running. Until substituted.
Fleming 6 – Too hard-working to have a bad game, but over-run for long periods. Not a natural leader.
Guttridge 6 – Very similar to his central midfield partner, which is partly the problem.
Newey 6 – Some neat flashes down the left.
Riza 5 – Hardly in the game, ‘thanks’ to paucity of supply.
Kitson 6 – Never stopped trying but his service was too often inadequate. Shocking hair, too – are those blonde highlights or are our recent results turning it prematurely white?
Youngs 5 – Put himself about to minimal effect.
Chillingworth 5 – Yet another fruitless cameo.
Soundtrack of the day: Placebo/The Bitter End
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Basse. ‘After a grim day today my thoughts turned to this slow, solemn dance from the 14th-16th centuries. Popular in Italy and France (King Charles IX was keen), these group participation dances consisted of small gliding steps and reverential bows, performed up on the toes with one couple standing behind another, partners holding hands gently. Original Basse dances were regal and processional, but eventually lost favour to livelier and more varied dances in the mid-1500s. If only my back four would change to a livelier and more varied style, eh? Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Harriers came to contain United’s fledglings but soon found they were there for the plucking and sent them crashing to earth like 11 amber-shirted Icaruses. That coveted 12th place looks there for the taking.
Man of the match: Stev Angus. Almost back to his best; smoother than Kylie’s behind. Or so I’d imagine.
Ref watch: Pearson 6. Fussy fellow with a dislike for any sort of physical contact, but we’ve seen worse. Much worse.
The enigmatic, bearded figure emerged from the shadows of the billboard outside the Abbey on Thursday evening as JT was about to leave for the night. ‘Are you the one known as Shaggy, sire?’ he enquired in a distinctive Fenland burr. ‘Some people call me that, yes,’ replied the United boss. ‘What can I do for you, old son?’ ‘I have come to thee with a warning!’ came the dramatic retort. ‘Beware! Beware … the Ides of March! Heed my words!’ Then, darting looks around fearfully, he scurried away before Shaggy could question him further. JT shook his head, chuckled ruefully to himself and got into his car.
Two days later, he sat pensively in his office, pondering on a disappointing performance against Kidderminster. Had the old bumpkin known something after all? ‘Brooksy,’ he called to his colleague, ‘what were the names of those motivational blokes we got in yesterday to talk to the players?’ ‘That was the Hyde brothers. Couple of eccentric blokes from the Fens – March, I think. They had some pretty way-out ideas. It’s a pity you missed them!’ ‘Hmm. What did they say?’ ‘They said they were Posh supporters and they’d already helped them this season, but they’d like to help us too with their special positive thinking exercises.’ JT saw the light. ‘For goodness’ sake, Brooksy. Posh are useless! And so were we today. And all because of the Hydes of March!’
The day started so positively for the Mighty U’s. A glorious, sunny day, plenty of fresh faces around the Abbey thanks to the Female Football Fortnight initiative, and on the pitch, Gary Harwood announced that Shaggy and the Prof had been granted contract extensions until the end of 2004/05. But just like Comic Relief on TV the night before, the good parts were broken up by serious bits exposing some all-too-grim reality. Couldn’t spare us some of that £35m, could you, Wossy?
The management kept Tuesday’s winning side together, leaving Wannie and Tiny Tom on the sidelines. Kidderminster, down to their last 16 fit players, had lost top scorer and Helen Chamberlain lookalike Bo Henriksen to a training injury in an unpromising warm-up to their first visit to the Abbey since February 1960, when Alan Moore and Fred Howell goals forced a 2-2 draw in front on a gathering of 2,657 spectators in Southern League Division One. Harriers departed for the less challenging climes of the West Midland League thereafter and their main (OK, only) claim to fame is that they staged the first-ever FA Cup game under floodlights in defeating the might of Brierley Hill Alliance 4-2 back in 1955. But hey, they caught up with us in the end, eh?
Kiddie are a big, strong side, and they started as they meant to continue, closing United down in numbers as far up the field as possible and giving their hosts no time to settle at all. They looked a yard faster in the early stages and had obviously done their homework, resorting to the U’s bugbear of the ball over the top as often as the offside flag would permit. Dancing Shaun had his first work to do within a minute of the start as he clutched a hopeful Ian Foster effort, and the boys in amber who had looked so powerful and in control at Feethams now found themselves second best all over the park as they were strong-armed out of it by the men in red.
Sam Shilton (the Julian Lennon of football) looked particularly dangerous down the left wing as threatening crosses rained in to the United box, where they found the fledgling centre-back partnership of Iriekpen and Angus in fine form. United had the odd break, usually down the left where Murray and Newey combined well on occasion, but it was Kiddie who dominated the early exchanges, United gradually finding a stronger toehold as the half progressed. The hosts’ offside trap was also functioning as well as it was at Darlington and in the first half at York, despite the bumbling linesman on the Habbin side who seemed to have regular difficulty in keeping up with play and on a couple of occasions used the United fans’ outraged shouts as his cue to guess that a red shirt had in fact been hors jeu. Hey, that’s our kinda lino!
United continued to repel Kiddie’s crosses while creating precious little themselves, particularly for their ball-starved forwards. T heir first shot of any note came on 16 as Lil’ Luke Guttridge saw his 20-yarder blocked by Forest loanee Wes Morgan. First booking came on 21 for head Harrier Sean Flynn for a high kick that caught Franco Nacca’s head, but it was entirely accidental. Riza The Geezer was fed through shortly after, but as is his wont, took too long to shoot and was robbed by Danny Williams. The Harriers’ crosses kept coming, homing in like streams of Diouf phlegm, but the U’s held firm as they fought to match their opponents’ commitment and work rate.
The visitors collected their second yellow on 29, Adie Smith clobbering Guttridge with a clumsy late tackle, and as the contest became more even it was apparent that the two teams were as well-matched as their adjacent League positions indicate. A United corner caused a little havoc as aged keeper Fraser Digby struggled to clear from within a melee, eventually a little fortunate to clutch a lunge from Iriekpen from an almost horizontal position. Other than that, neither custodian was especially challenged for the rest of the half bar the odd cross or corner to catch as half-chances came to nought.
Newey’s cross on 39 found Kitson outjumping Digby but heading narrowly wide, then Guttridge’s superb pinpoint through ball found the BGG ten yards out. He brought it down with some deft control but delayed his shot fractionally too long and saw it blocked by Dion Scott. Then Angus almost sent Nacca free with a diagonal cross-field pass that was cut out with some difficulty by Craig Hinton.
And thus ended a tough, committed half of uncompromising football between two teams who had cancelled each other out. Kiddie knew they had to close United down and hit them hard and fast on the attack, while the U’s had huffed and puffed but lacked the inspiration of a Tudor or a Youngs in fielding a workaday midfield of hard runners who just lacked that vital spark of invention. All in all a tough scrap worthy of the Chelsea training ground or even Girls Aloud in a nightclub, but without the finesse. Or the slingbacks. And that’s just Graeme Le Saux.
The penny must have dropped with Kidderminster by now that this United side is not the glorious offensive force of early season that Brian Flynn described as ‘unstoppable’. The lack of threat from this rather more prosaic line-up must surely have given their visitors encouragement that here was a game that was there for the winning. Opening exchanges, however, were even scrappier than in the first half as offside flags and ref’s whistle conspired to keep the entertainment as low as a Rolf Harris wobbleboard workshop. Win? Draw? Defeat? Good match? A mess? We couldn’t tell what it was yet.
Things got a little farcical ten minutes in with some defending as shambolic and discordant as a Ruby Wax musical number. Marshall raced out of his area to the left flank to get to a ball over the top, missed his kick, Murray could have put it anywhere but hit it straight at John Melligan, and somehow United contrived to crowd him out while the Terpsichorean custodian retreated back to goal. Andy Bishop then trundled one wide while Riza had a shot blocked at the other end, and on 61 Bishop produced a good save from Marshall as the game finally threatened to open up a little. Wozza Goodhind became United’s only booking on 64 for a clumsy foul from behind and Bishop shot wide a minute later.
Shaggy and the Prof made the first change on 65, replacing United’s marginally best midfielder, Nacca, with Youngs, and true to recent form, Kiddie were ahead a minute later. Not that it was Tiny Tom’s fault. Yet another long ball found Bishop, whose shot from the edge of the box was blocked by Iriekpen and soared into the air to the unmarked Melligan just to the left of the penalty spot. His cunning, looping header found Marshall leaden-footed and it curled into the far corner of the net for another of those untidy goals that United seem to specialise in conceding. Here we go again.
Kitson, working so hard but too often more isolated than Jack Dee on top of a 50-foot pole, finally managed to get the ball to his feet a minute later, but his scooped effort from the D sailed into the car park. United continued to toil, but their perspiration was not matched by inspiration, and hard work and running just ain’t enough without a helping of creativity or nous. And Terrier Fleming, for all his qualities, is far too quiet on the pitch to make a proper, inspirational captain; he remained on the bench as speculation grew among the supporters as to why he wasn’t introduced. It’s a mystery, as Toyah once opined. Well actually she said ‘It’th a mythtery,’ but you get the general idea.
Newey and Kitson had further efforts blocked, but the match and perhaps the season were effectively ended on 74. Goodhind conceded a free kick to the tricky Shilton wide left; Flynn’s looping effort sailed across goal to the far post, where Morgan leapt to head easily past Marshall over the feebly static Iriekpen and Murray. Another awful conceded goal for the ever-growing collection, 2-0, over and out.
Another interesting substitution was made on 75 as Chillingworth replaced Riza; many supporters felt that leaving three essentially defensively minded midfielders on when we could have played Youngs and Riza wide to feed the front two in an echo of the good old two-winger days of early season, was just not positive enough. United could have thrown Wannie on, too, thrown caution to the wind and just gone for it. But for whatever reason, they did not. And the match, and possibly United’s play-off chances, began to sink slowly into the west as their task began to make Mick McCarthy’s look a doddle.
On 80 Kitson did well to find some space in the box and cross for Guttridge, of all people, to rise and head over from six yards when a taller player would surely have scored, then Kiddie replaced Bishop with Boro reject Drewe Broughton, whose job appeared to be entirely to waste time by getting caught offside as often as possible. Kitson had another shot blocked, Sean Parrish replaced Melligan two minutes from time and United teased us on 89 as a long ball down the middle beat the onrushing Digby, but as Kitson lurked behind him, the ball bounced unkindly straight to Smith to clear his lines. How many United shots at goal or saves by Kiddie’s keeper have been mentioned in this half? Don’t bother trying to count: you won’t even need one hand.
So, after the raised hopes of Tuesday, it was back to disappointment in a big way. Kidderminster are a decent team, but hardly outstanding; they simply out-thought and out-fought a toothless, uninspired United. Essentially, the U’s lacked Quality with a capital Q: not enough artists, too many artisans. But now Shaggy and the Prof have got the contract extension that will allow them to plan for at least a little further ahead than next month, how about working on a few things, like (a) free-kicks – ours are lame, ‘will-this-do?’ creativity-free zones; (b) corners – if they’re not being hit knee-high straight at the first man, they’re all exactly the same: floaters into the keeper’s arms; (c) shooting – every player wants to take far too many touches before they shoot or wants to walk it into the net before they will let fly, usually resulting in a block or dispossession. Given that we can’t just produce a brilliant, creative ball-playing midfield general out of a hat, these might at least give us a chance of scoring more goals than our defence leaks at the other end. Oh, and one more thing: stop giving the ball away and PASS ACCURATELY! Come on boys, we won’t give up if you won’t!
Marshall 6 – Not exactly overworked, but caught out for both goals.
Goodhind 6 – Mostly OK but got a bit of a chasing from Shilton in the first half.
Murray 5 – Hasn’t been near top form recently and this was another very ordinary performance.
Iriekpen 7 – Confirmed his promise with another cool-headed display.
Angus 8 – The best defender at the club is now getting back to his best. Immaculate.
Nacca 7 – Did a good job again on the right and never stopped running. Until substituted.
Fleming 6 – Too hard-working to have a bad game, but over-run for long periods. Not a natural leader.
Guttridge 6 – Very similar to his central midfield partner, which is partly the problem.
Newey 6 – Some neat flashes down the left.
Riza 5 – Hardly in the game, ‘thanks’ to paucity of supply.
Kitson 6 – Never stopped trying but his service was too often inadequate. Shocking hair, too – are those blonde highlights or are our recent results turning it prematurely white?
Youngs 5 – Put himself about to minimal effect.
Chillingworth 5 – Yet another fruitless cameo.
Soundtrack of the day: Placebo/The Bitter End
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Basse. ‘After a grim day today my thoughts turned to this slow, solemn dance from the 14th-16th centuries. Popular in Italy and France (King Charles IX was keen), these group participation dances consisted of small gliding steps and reverential bows, performed up on the toes with one couple standing behind another, partners holding hands gently. Original Basse dances were regal and processional, but eventually lost favour to livelier and more varied dances in the mid-1500s. If only my back four would change to a livelier and more varied style, eh? Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Harriers came to contain United’s fledglings but soon found they were there for the plucking and sent them crashing to earth like 11 amber-shirted Icaruses. That coveted 12th place looks there for the taking.
Man of the match: Stev Angus. Almost back to his best; smoother than Kylie’s behind. Or so I’d imagine.
Ref watch: Pearson 6. Fussy fellow with a dislike for any sort of physical contact, but we’ve seen worse. Much worse.
Stev Angus: beat Kylie's bottom.
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Tuesday, 18 March 2003: Oxford United 1-1 United
It was Monday morning at Vulture Squad HQ, and the evil leader was plotting his fiendish revenge on the team that had rejected him ten years before. His harsh, jarring voice echoed around his dingy office as he discussed tactics with his General. ‘Yes, General! I know we must stop them tomorrow. Yes, I know we didn’t stop them last time. No, of course I won’t let my longing for revenge get in the way! I have a dastardly plan to sabotage the enemy and guarantee us victory! OK, General. Leave it to me!’ He put the phone down and turned to his number two. ‘Stop snickering, you mangy mutt! General Kassam knows how I hate the Cambridge Crew. He thinks my need for revenge will cloud my judgment! Drat and double drat! I’ll show him! KLUNK!’
In response to his call, a dishevelled figure shambled into the room, and began communicating with his boss in a series of bizarre whoops, clicks and whistles. ‘So it is ready! My robot linesman will appear perfectly normal in the first half. But in the second half, when I press the button on this remote control, he will allow our strikers to run through and score no matter how offside they are! I am a genius! Ha! Ha! Ha!’
‘But Boss,’ enquired his sidekick, ‘How will we stop them from scoring?’ His boss snorted. ‘They won’t score against us! I am a tactical mastermind! I will stake my reputation on a clean sheet!’ ‘But Boss,’ rejoined his sniggering assistant, ‘you don’t have a reputation!’ And come 10pm on Tuesday evening, a familiar cry could be heard echoing around the cavernous HQ: ‘Drat! Drat! And triple drat! I’ll get you, Gary Harwood! And who’s stolen our away end?’
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Not, at least, if you are Ian Atkins. True to form, there was not a single word of salutation or acknowledgment of the visitors in his rambling programme notes, although we were treated to his theory of why it’s best not to have a reserve keeper on the bench. But we really weren’t concerned about a little Brummie bile when there was a new ground to explore. And this one is so new, it’s not even finished yet!
The Kassam Stadium is so far out of town it’s almost in the next county, with ample car parking around three sides. But those expecting another KC Stadium were sadly disappointed. It’s probably unfair to compare one man’s project with that of a whole council, but if Hull’s new stadium is the Taj Mahal, the Kassam is the Bottisham Tandoori. Missing one end, leaving a huge yawning gap in both ground and atmosphere, its main stand frontage with its glass semi-circle is fairly decent, but pop around the corner and you are faced with a featureless, anonymous wall of grey and blue corrugated iron that could be a warehouse on any tatty industrial estate in the country. With turnstiles. How they can justify charging £17 on the day to enter almost defies belief; thankfully many of us had paid a ‘mere’ £14 in advance.
The Kassam truly appears to be in the middle of nowhere, with only a Holiday Inn and signposts to a science park nearby. The desolate air of the place would be dissipated once inside, were it not for the absence of anything at one end other than a low wall, affording a spectacular view of the car park and a mysterious structure in the early stages of construction at the other end thereof. The main stand is thoroughly decent, a two-tiered cantilevered effort with executive boxes all along the middle and spacious media facilities above. What seats there are, however, seem very well spaced and the capacity does not appear to have been exactly maximised. The other two stands are considerably more prosaic, characterless, one-tiered efforts plastered with enormous, gaudy ads all along the back wall. Most bizarre sight is the miniscule electronic scoreboard perched at the end of the low wall which constitutes the fourth side, nearest the end of the stand the United supporters had been allocated. Such was the huge half-pitch-long gap between them and the home fans that the whole matchday experience was a strangely lonely one. The cold wind must fairly whistle between the stands and through the gap at one end when it’s really cold. Get it sorted by next season, eh chaps?
It’s easy to scoff, and compared to the dismal Lego lavatory that was the Manor Ground, and indeed three-quarters of our own lovely Abbey, it is positively palatial. But all this (cough) luxury comes at a price. Having mortgaged the house to get in, it don’t get any cheaper inside: £2.50 for a bottle of Carlsberg’s weakest urine substitute or a modest hot dog, slightly less for a pasty or, if you really want to dance with diarrhoea, a Pot Noodle, but no burgers or bacon rolls on offer. You could pay 60p for a Twix, though, if you wanted to pretend you’ve just won the Lottery. The music that greeted us over the PA was The Clash’s mighty Rock The Casbah, and perhaps the Casbah Stadium might be a rather more exciting name for the place. The League’s first ‘theme ground’ perhaps, offering sheep’s eyes and couscous butties, half-time belly-dancing and camel racing. Combined. Well, it’s a thought.
The Kassam still screams ‘budget’ at you, though, even to the cheap-as-chips bucket seats, which can’t have cost much more to buy than the £17 some unfortunates paid to sit in them. Good legroom, mind you. The programme was also predictably expensive at £2.50, albeit with a chunky 56 pages, boasting some lovely stickers to push out and, er, stick somewhere, a frightening picture of their mascot (Bolly the Ox, or something) and a piece by someone described as a ‘voluntary contributor’. Presumably the other writers prepared their pieces at gunpoint. One claimed, ‘we won the Boat Race last year,’ which came as a surprise as I didn’t know Oxford United had even entered it. Multi-talented or what? But funniest part of the publication was the picture of a fresh-faced Wannie from his Oxford days with a preposterous quiff suggesting a dalliance with the toe-tapping psychobilly sounds of King Kurt and the Guana Batz. Those weren’t the days.
Shaggy had promised to try out ‘some fringe players’, but unless you count those promising youngsters Wanless and Youngs, Dan Chillingworth was the only fresh face in the starting line-up, in place of Riza The Geezer. Captain Fantastic and Tiny Tom replaced Nacca and Newey in a 4-3-1-2, Tom ‘in the hole’ and the width expected to come from the full backs. Oxford favour 3-5-2, or just as frequently 5-3-2 under Mr Atkins’ ever-adventurous tutelage, and with both keepers injured, 42-year-old goalie coach Alan Judge was prodded out of his rocking chair with no cover on the bench. Offsetting their team’s caution was a lively front two of Lee Steele and Jefferson Louis, while ex-U’s (that’s us) interest was confined to their boss man and the youth team coach Darren Patterson, who older readers might recall played for United in a pre-season friendly at Histon back in the good old days of 2002.
United started badly, running on to the immaculate pitch in a revolting mix ’n’ match kit of blue shirts, amber shorts and white socks: Kennomeatmungus. But it was apparent from the start that this was an entirely different U’s from Saturday’s debacle: the passing was crisp and accurate, the off-the-ball movement lively, the understanding good. The exact opposite of Saturday, in fact. The full backs got forward well, safe in the knowledge that the midfield could cover if need be, and Tiny Tom was in his element, scurrying hither and thither and linking everything together like he was made of Stickle Bricks. Oxford, by way of contrast, were looking to find their front men as early as possible with those balls over the top that we love so much.
Wozza Goodhind was particularly keen on getting forward and benefitted from some much improved corner-taking from Lil’ Luke Guttridge, getting height and depth at last on a consistent basis. If you were being picky, you could say they were landing a little too far out to be immediately dangerous, but the improvement was dramatic. Goodhind connected with his first one within three minutes, old man Judge catching well under pressure, then Louis doing the same for the hosts with a similar result.
United’s back four was caught out on six with a slide-rule pass bisecting Angus and Iriekpen, but Izzy recovered well to dispossess Steele when he looked like getting through on goal. There was even more danger two minutes later when the impressive Louis easily beat a couple of feeble blue-shirted ‘challenges’ and slid a low ball across the six-yard box. It was somehow put behind by Murray as two yellow shirts missed it by a hair’s breadth.
The match settled down into a pretty even contest, Matt Robinson blasting wide on 12 and United playing a lot of short passing football in their opponents’ half, although many final balls were high ones aimed particularly at the head of Kitson. The BGG got his red-and-white noggin to a Youngs cross six yards out on 14 but saw it deflected off his marker for a corner. Wannie looked desperate to score against his hometown club and had a good chance from the resultant set piece, but he couldn’t keep his own header under the bar.
Chilli tried an ambitious shot on 17 when perhaps a pass might have been a more prudent option, and four minutes later Wannie won another free header from a corner but again failed to keep it down. It was Goodhind’s turn to threaten from a flag-kick on 25, his barnstorming effort looking goal-bound but blocked near the line by Ox skipper Andy Crosby. Wozza’s goal account remains as empty as Claire Short’s resignation rhetoric.
The visitors hit a purple patch round the half-hour mark, dominating possession and keeping the ball in the Oxford half for long periods; truly extraordinary stuff from a team which until recently looked like doing a lap of honour if it strung more than two passes together without it sailing out of play or straight to a grateful opponent. Goodhind had yet another header blocked on 33, then a superb diagonal run into the box by Kitson saw him try to squeeze the ball in at the near post from four yards out instead of squaring it to better-placed teammates. Mind you, it worked at Boston, and it was still a fine, alert save from ye olde Judge. Well played, m’lud. Then it was Wannie’s turn to have yet another header from a corner blocked before Steele relieved the pressure for the hosts when he latched on to a loose ball and was thwarted by an excellent save from Dancing Shaun, standing strong again. It remained even-stevens until the break and a tight but entertaining tussle finished appropriately level.
Half-time entertainment (loosely speaking) was provided by some members of the public shooting at a goal net with a number of ball-sized holes dotted throughout it. Needless to say no one scored, although they gave one at the end which appeared to trundle under the net rather through the hole at its bottom. But who are we to deny the Oxford public a little pleasure? That’s Atkins’s job.
The lively Steele spent most of the interval on the pitch undergoing a makeshift fitness test, and he looked below par from the restart until subbed on the hour. On 47 Crosby headed a Goodhind free kick out to Terrier Fleming, but his shot was as high, wide and not so handsome as a pyramid of Spice Girls.
The teams took a little time to get going again, Goodhind getting his head to another Guttridge corner but nodding wide, but the only other incident worthy of note in the next ten minutes was some delicious showboating from the majestic Stev Angus, intercepting a ball down the left flank intended for Steele then leaving him bewildered with a nonchalant back-heel straight to Fleming.
More tangible thrills lay in wait just before the hour. The Terrier’s superb, pinpoint chipped through ball (I’m not hallucinating) sent Guttridge, pursued by Dave Waterman, down the middle, and with a deft touch he veered right, chipping it over the baffled centre back and rifled home ruthlessly from ten yards. Absolutely tremendous goal, and didn’t Luke know it, larging it in front of the home fans so much he was booked for his pains. Silly boy, bless him.
Steele was withdrawn immediately for Steve Basham, a splendid name redolent of the 50s and players like Arsenal’s Gordon Nutt and Bolton’s Ralph Gubbins; now there’s a name I’d like to see on the back of a shirt. Dave Savage drove wide from 25 yards, then Oxford made a second change, replacing Scott McNiven with Paul Powell and changing formation to 4-4-2. Steady on, Atko.
Within five minutes they were level in controversial circumstances. Powell’s free kick was half-cleared then played back in as the United defence came out. Louis looked clearly offside from the away seats, which were level with him, but the linesman showed no sign of, well, life and as the ball bounced between defenders and Marshall, Louis headed it unchallenged past the Terpsichorean custodian. Another soft equaliser. The lino did nothing to inspire confidence by missing two clear occasions in which the ball went out of play at the United end. Good luck with the eye test, mate.
United had been bitten worse than George Reilly’s ear, and for a time Oxford were in the ascendant, although rarely troubling Marshall other than with the odd cross. An excellent breakaway down the left from Guttridge was followed by a good cross to the near post where Chilli lost his marker and tested Judge with a twisting diving header, while for the hosts Savage saw a shot deflected wide and Powell sent one into Marshall’s arms.
Goodhind was booked (yet again) for a silly foul on 71, and on 73 Chillingworth was replaced by Riza after an encouraging performance in which he had looked entirely at home. Two minutes later Angus picked up a yellow for stopping Basham from latching on to a Louis through ball, and Bob Ford’s ensuing free kick was heading low for the bottom corner until Marshall flung himself to his left to stop at the second attempt, clutching the ball fiercely like Dubya throttling the life out of a dove of peace. Or Saddam, he said even-handedly.
Adam Tann then made a welcome return to action in place of Goodhind and within three minutes had saved a potential winner. Basham barged into the area as Angus nagged at him, and his cross across the six-yard box cut out Marshall and found Louis and Tann near the far post; Adam stood firm and blocked superbly. Match-saving stuff.
Riza, not enjoying a great deal of supply up front, had a poke on 85, his lob not looking entirely deliberate and floating ten feet over, and Fleming put his shot into similar airspace two minutes later. Then Louis almost stole it, bursting between Angus and Murray and blazing just over from 20 yards. At t’other end yet another Wanless header from a corner was blocked away, then Marshall just foiled Basham as it all got as breathless as an asthmatics’ squat-thrust competition on the top of Everest.
At the death it was Kitson who almost snatched it after a frustrating evening in which ref Penn seemed to target him every time he went for a ball, taking it all out on the ball in the 94th minute with an outrageous, acutely angled thunderbolt from the right wing that Judge scrambled to get under control. Then it was really was all over.
Frustrating as it was to concede a lead to a thoroughly illegal-looking goal, a draw was ultimately a pretty fair result from which United could take many positives: a real TEAM performance, full of good passing, shape and high-tempo work rate in which no one had a bad game and many positively shone. Even the corners were decent! It wasn’t the exciting two-wing 4-4-2 of old, but there were enough square pegs in square holes to work like clockwork. So that’s the immediate problems sorted … now how about the next one? CONSISTENCY. Over to you, guys …
Marshall 7 – Good, steady stuff from the Dancemeister; flapped at a couple of crosses but otherwise looked secure.
Goodhind 7 – Solid defending and good support to the attack, only spoilt by yet another booking.
Murray 6 – Let no one down, although still doesn’t look quite ‘with it’ at times.
Iriekpen 7 – Still learning and still improving.
Angus 9 – Another immaculate performance topped by a wonderfully cool interception and back-heel.
Guttridge 8 – Married industry to much improved passing and good corners, and capped it all with an excellent goal. Always plays better with Wannie at his side.
Wanless 9 – The man from Oxford had it all to prove and he did just that with an authoritative, dominant display from the middle.
Fleming 7 – Provided darting, busy support to his midfield colleagues. Miraculously good assist.
Youngs 8 – In his element ‘in the hole’ and provided a superb link between midfield and attack. Hardly wasted a ball.
Chillingworth 8 – Well worth his rare start, getting involved constantly and unlucky not to get on the score sheet.
Kitson 7 – Worked tirelessly leading the line despite a ref who seemed to take a personal dislike to him.
Riza 6 – Some willing running but got precious little service.
Tann 7 – Slotted back in well and made one absolutely vital block.
Soundtrack of the day: Abandoned Pools/The Remedy
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Hormos. ‘I thought I’d be different this time with something ancient but at the same time very contemporary: a war dance! The Hormos was a graceful and lively war dance of ancient Greece, invented by Lycurgus. Youths and maidens would alternate in the shape of a winding necklace, the young men trying to outdo each other in aggressive, warlike positions, the girls following with contrastingly modest steps. Everyone danced to the music of the lyre, but manly courage was tempered by feminine modesty as the girls danced one slow step to two or three of their partners. Sounds a bit like David Theobald trying to keep up with Stev and Izzy! Only joking, Dave. Until next time - enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: What a transformation! The team that couldn’t pass water on Saturday produced an efficient, compact collective performance that was only denied victory by a linesman’s myopia. Shaggy’s wingless wonders proved there is more than one way to skin the proverbial puss with a deft Brazilian on the lush lawns of Kassam.
Man of the match: Paul Wanless. Captain Fantastic in full effect.
Ref watch: Penn 6. Mostly adequate except for what looked like a personal vendetta against Kitson, whistling against him again and again for no good reason. Shame his linesman was so short-sighted.
It was Monday morning at Vulture Squad HQ, and the evil leader was plotting his fiendish revenge on the team that had rejected him ten years before. His harsh, jarring voice echoed around his dingy office as he discussed tactics with his General. ‘Yes, General! I know we must stop them tomorrow. Yes, I know we didn’t stop them last time. No, of course I won’t let my longing for revenge get in the way! I have a dastardly plan to sabotage the enemy and guarantee us victory! OK, General. Leave it to me!’ He put the phone down and turned to his number two. ‘Stop snickering, you mangy mutt! General Kassam knows how I hate the Cambridge Crew. He thinks my need for revenge will cloud my judgment! Drat and double drat! I’ll show him! KLUNK!’
In response to his call, a dishevelled figure shambled into the room, and began communicating with his boss in a series of bizarre whoops, clicks and whistles. ‘So it is ready! My robot linesman will appear perfectly normal in the first half. But in the second half, when I press the button on this remote control, he will allow our strikers to run through and score no matter how offside they are! I am a genius! Ha! Ha! Ha!’
‘But Boss,’ enquired his sidekick, ‘How will we stop them from scoring?’ His boss snorted. ‘They won’t score against us! I am a tactical mastermind! I will stake my reputation on a clean sheet!’ ‘But Boss,’ rejoined his sniggering assistant, ‘you don’t have a reputation!’ And come 10pm on Tuesday evening, a familiar cry could be heard echoing around the cavernous HQ: ‘Drat! Drat! And triple drat! I’ll get you, Gary Harwood! And who’s stolen our away end?’
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Not, at least, if you are Ian Atkins. True to form, there was not a single word of salutation or acknowledgment of the visitors in his rambling programme notes, although we were treated to his theory of why it’s best not to have a reserve keeper on the bench. But we really weren’t concerned about a little Brummie bile when there was a new ground to explore. And this one is so new, it’s not even finished yet!
The Kassam Stadium is so far out of town it’s almost in the next county, with ample car parking around three sides. But those expecting another KC Stadium were sadly disappointed. It’s probably unfair to compare one man’s project with that of a whole council, but if Hull’s new stadium is the Taj Mahal, the Kassam is the Bottisham Tandoori. Missing one end, leaving a huge yawning gap in both ground and atmosphere, its main stand frontage with its glass semi-circle is fairly decent, but pop around the corner and you are faced with a featureless, anonymous wall of grey and blue corrugated iron that could be a warehouse on any tatty industrial estate in the country. With turnstiles. How they can justify charging £17 on the day to enter almost defies belief; thankfully many of us had paid a ‘mere’ £14 in advance.
The Kassam truly appears to be in the middle of nowhere, with only a Holiday Inn and signposts to a science park nearby. The desolate air of the place would be dissipated once inside, were it not for the absence of anything at one end other than a low wall, affording a spectacular view of the car park and a mysterious structure in the early stages of construction at the other end thereof. The main stand is thoroughly decent, a two-tiered cantilevered effort with executive boxes all along the middle and spacious media facilities above. What seats there are, however, seem very well spaced and the capacity does not appear to have been exactly maximised. The other two stands are considerably more prosaic, characterless, one-tiered efforts plastered with enormous, gaudy ads all along the back wall. Most bizarre sight is the miniscule electronic scoreboard perched at the end of the low wall which constitutes the fourth side, nearest the end of the stand the United supporters had been allocated. Such was the huge half-pitch-long gap between them and the home fans that the whole matchday experience was a strangely lonely one. The cold wind must fairly whistle between the stands and through the gap at one end when it’s really cold. Get it sorted by next season, eh chaps?
It’s easy to scoff, and compared to the dismal Lego lavatory that was the Manor Ground, and indeed three-quarters of our own lovely Abbey, it is positively palatial. But all this (cough) luxury comes at a price. Having mortgaged the house to get in, it don’t get any cheaper inside: £2.50 for a bottle of Carlsberg’s weakest urine substitute or a modest hot dog, slightly less for a pasty or, if you really want to dance with diarrhoea, a Pot Noodle, but no burgers or bacon rolls on offer. You could pay 60p for a Twix, though, if you wanted to pretend you’ve just won the Lottery. The music that greeted us over the PA was The Clash’s mighty Rock The Casbah, and perhaps the Casbah Stadium might be a rather more exciting name for the place. The League’s first ‘theme ground’ perhaps, offering sheep’s eyes and couscous butties, half-time belly-dancing and camel racing. Combined. Well, it’s a thought.
The Kassam still screams ‘budget’ at you, though, even to the cheap-as-chips bucket seats, which can’t have cost much more to buy than the £17 some unfortunates paid to sit in them. Good legroom, mind you. The programme was also predictably expensive at £2.50, albeit with a chunky 56 pages, boasting some lovely stickers to push out and, er, stick somewhere, a frightening picture of their mascot (Bolly the Ox, or something) and a piece by someone described as a ‘voluntary contributor’. Presumably the other writers prepared their pieces at gunpoint. One claimed, ‘we won the Boat Race last year,’ which came as a surprise as I didn’t know Oxford United had even entered it. Multi-talented or what? But funniest part of the publication was the picture of a fresh-faced Wannie from his Oxford days with a preposterous quiff suggesting a dalliance with the toe-tapping psychobilly sounds of King Kurt and the Guana Batz. Those weren’t the days.
Shaggy had promised to try out ‘some fringe players’, but unless you count those promising youngsters Wanless and Youngs, Dan Chillingworth was the only fresh face in the starting line-up, in place of Riza The Geezer. Captain Fantastic and Tiny Tom replaced Nacca and Newey in a 4-3-1-2, Tom ‘in the hole’ and the width expected to come from the full backs. Oxford favour 3-5-2, or just as frequently 5-3-2 under Mr Atkins’ ever-adventurous tutelage, and with both keepers injured, 42-year-old goalie coach Alan Judge was prodded out of his rocking chair with no cover on the bench. Offsetting their team’s caution was a lively front two of Lee Steele and Jefferson Louis, while ex-U’s (that’s us) interest was confined to their boss man and the youth team coach Darren Patterson, who older readers might recall played for United in a pre-season friendly at Histon back in the good old days of 2002.
United started badly, running on to the immaculate pitch in a revolting mix ’n’ match kit of blue shirts, amber shorts and white socks: Kennomeatmungus. But it was apparent from the start that this was an entirely different U’s from Saturday’s debacle: the passing was crisp and accurate, the off-the-ball movement lively, the understanding good. The exact opposite of Saturday, in fact. The full backs got forward well, safe in the knowledge that the midfield could cover if need be, and Tiny Tom was in his element, scurrying hither and thither and linking everything together like he was made of Stickle Bricks. Oxford, by way of contrast, were looking to find their front men as early as possible with those balls over the top that we love so much.
Wozza Goodhind was particularly keen on getting forward and benefitted from some much improved corner-taking from Lil’ Luke Guttridge, getting height and depth at last on a consistent basis. If you were being picky, you could say they were landing a little too far out to be immediately dangerous, but the improvement was dramatic. Goodhind connected with his first one within three minutes, old man Judge catching well under pressure, then Louis doing the same for the hosts with a similar result.
United’s back four was caught out on six with a slide-rule pass bisecting Angus and Iriekpen, but Izzy recovered well to dispossess Steele when he looked like getting through on goal. There was even more danger two minutes later when the impressive Louis easily beat a couple of feeble blue-shirted ‘challenges’ and slid a low ball across the six-yard box. It was somehow put behind by Murray as two yellow shirts missed it by a hair’s breadth.
The match settled down into a pretty even contest, Matt Robinson blasting wide on 12 and United playing a lot of short passing football in their opponents’ half, although many final balls were high ones aimed particularly at the head of Kitson. The BGG got his red-and-white noggin to a Youngs cross six yards out on 14 but saw it deflected off his marker for a corner. Wannie looked desperate to score against his hometown club and had a good chance from the resultant set piece, but he couldn’t keep his own header under the bar.
Chilli tried an ambitious shot on 17 when perhaps a pass might have been a more prudent option, and four minutes later Wannie won another free header from a corner but again failed to keep it down. It was Goodhind’s turn to threaten from a flag-kick on 25, his barnstorming effort looking goal-bound but blocked near the line by Ox skipper Andy Crosby. Wozza’s goal account remains as empty as Claire Short’s resignation rhetoric.
The visitors hit a purple patch round the half-hour mark, dominating possession and keeping the ball in the Oxford half for long periods; truly extraordinary stuff from a team which until recently looked like doing a lap of honour if it strung more than two passes together without it sailing out of play or straight to a grateful opponent. Goodhind had yet another header blocked on 33, then a superb diagonal run into the box by Kitson saw him try to squeeze the ball in at the near post from four yards out instead of squaring it to better-placed teammates. Mind you, it worked at Boston, and it was still a fine, alert save from ye olde Judge. Well played, m’lud. Then it was Wannie’s turn to have yet another header from a corner blocked before Steele relieved the pressure for the hosts when he latched on to a loose ball and was thwarted by an excellent save from Dancing Shaun, standing strong again. It remained even-stevens until the break and a tight but entertaining tussle finished appropriately level.
Half-time entertainment (loosely speaking) was provided by some members of the public shooting at a goal net with a number of ball-sized holes dotted throughout it. Needless to say no one scored, although they gave one at the end which appeared to trundle under the net rather through the hole at its bottom. But who are we to deny the Oxford public a little pleasure? That’s Atkins’s job.
The lively Steele spent most of the interval on the pitch undergoing a makeshift fitness test, and he looked below par from the restart until subbed on the hour. On 47 Crosby headed a Goodhind free kick out to Terrier Fleming, but his shot was as high, wide and not so handsome as a pyramid of Spice Girls.
The teams took a little time to get going again, Goodhind getting his head to another Guttridge corner but nodding wide, but the only other incident worthy of note in the next ten minutes was some delicious showboating from the majestic Stev Angus, intercepting a ball down the left flank intended for Steele then leaving him bewildered with a nonchalant back-heel straight to Fleming.
More tangible thrills lay in wait just before the hour. The Terrier’s superb, pinpoint chipped through ball (I’m not hallucinating) sent Guttridge, pursued by Dave Waterman, down the middle, and with a deft touch he veered right, chipping it over the baffled centre back and rifled home ruthlessly from ten yards. Absolutely tremendous goal, and didn’t Luke know it, larging it in front of the home fans so much he was booked for his pains. Silly boy, bless him.
Steele was withdrawn immediately for Steve Basham, a splendid name redolent of the 50s and players like Arsenal’s Gordon Nutt and Bolton’s Ralph Gubbins; now there’s a name I’d like to see on the back of a shirt. Dave Savage drove wide from 25 yards, then Oxford made a second change, replacing Scott McNiven with Paul Powell and changing formation to 4-4-2. Steady on, Atko.
Within five minutes they were level in controversial circumstances. Powell’s free kick was half-cleared then played back in as the United defence came out. Louis looked clearly offside from the away seats, which were level with him, but the linesman showed no sign of, well, life and as the ball bounced between defenders and Marshall, Louis headed it unchallenged past the Terpsichorean custodian. Another soft equaliser. The lino did nothing to inspire confidence by missing two clear occasions in which the ball went out of play at the United end. Good luck with the eye test, mate.
United had been bitten worse than George Reilly’s ear, and for a time Oxford were in the ascendant, although rarely troubling Marshall other than with the odd cross. An excellent breakaway down the left from Guttridge was followed by a good cross to the near post where Chilli lost his marker and tested Judge with a twisting diving header, while for the hosts Savage saw a shot deflected wide and Powell sent one into Marshall’s arms.
Goodhind was booked (yet again) for a silly foul on 71, and on 73 Chillingworth was replaced by Riza after an encouraging performance in which he had looked entirely at home. Two minutes later Angus picked up a yellow for stopping Basham from latching on to a Louis through ball, and Bob Ford’s ensuing free kick was heading low for the bottom corner until Marshall flung himself to his left to stop at the second attempt, clutching the ball fiercely like Dubya throttling the life out of a dove of peace. Or Saddam, he said even-handedly.
Adam Tann then made a welcome return to action in place of Goodhind and within three minutes had saved a potential winner. Basham barged into the area as Angus nagged at him, and his cross across the six-yard box cut out Marshall and found Louis and Tann near the far post; Adam stood firm and blocked superbly. Match-saving stuff.
Riza, not enjoying a great deal of supply up front, had a poke on 85, his lob not looking entirely deliberate and floating ten feet over, and Fleming put his shot into similar airspace two minutes later. Then Louis almost stole it, bursting between Angus and Murray and blazing just over from 20 yards. At t’other end yet another Wanless header from a corner was blocked away, then Marshall just foiled Basham as it all got as breathless as an asthmatics’ squat-thrust competition on the top of Everest.
At the death it was Kitson who almost snatched it after a frustrating evening in which ref Penn seemed to target him every time he went for a ball, taking it all out on the ball in the 94th minute with an outrageous, acutely angled thunderbolt from the right wing that Judge scrambled to get under control. Then it was really was all over.
Frustrating as it was to concede a lead to a thoroughly illegal-looking goal, a draw was ultimately a pretty fair result from which United could take many positives: a real TEAM performance, full of good passing, shape and high-tempo work rate in which no one had a bad game and many positively shone. Even the corners were decent! It wasn’t the exciting two-wing 4-4-2 of old, but there were enough square pegs in square holes to work like clockwork. So that’s the immediate problems sorted … now how about the next one? CONSISTENCY. Over to you, guys …
Marshall 7 – Good, steady stuff from the Dancemeister; flapped at a couple of crosses but otherwise looked secure.
Goodhind 7 – Solid defending and good support to the attack, only spoilt by yet another booking.
Murray 6 – Let no one down, although still doesn’t look quite ‘with it’ at times.
Iriekpen 7 – Still learning and still improving.
Angus 9 – Another immaculate performance topped by a wonderfully cool interception and back-heel.
Guttridge 8 – Married industry to much improved passing and good corners, and capped it all with an excellent goal. Always plays better with Wannie at his side.
Wanless 9 – The man from Oxford had it all to prove and he did just that with an authoritative, dominant display from the middle.
Fleming 7 – Provided darting, busy support to his midfield colleagues. Miraculously good assist.
Youngs 8 – In his element ‘in the hole’ and provided a superb link between midfield and attack. Hardly wasted a ball.
Chillingworth 8 – Well worth his rare start, getting involved constantly and unlucky not to get on the score sheet.
Kitson 7 – Worked tirelessly leading the line despite a ref who seemed to take a personal dislike to him.
Riza 6 – Some willing running but got precious little service.
Tann 7 – Slotted back in well and made one absolutely vital block.
Soundtrack of the day: Abandoned Pools/The Remedy
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Hormos. ‘I thought I’d be different this time with something ancient but at the same time very contemporary: a war dance! The Hormos was a graceful and lively war dance of ancient Greece, invented by Lycurgus. Youths and maidens would alternate in the shape of a winding necklace, the young men trying to outdo each other in aggressive, warlike positions, the girls following with contrastingly modest steps. Everyone danced to the music of the lyre, but manly courage was tempered by feminine modesty as the girls danced one slow step to two or three of their partners. Sounds a bit like David Theobald trying to keep up with Stev and Izzy! Only joking, Dave. Until next time - enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: What a transformation! The team that couldn’t pass water on Saturday produced an efficient, compact collective performance that was only denied victory by a linesman’s myopia. Shaggy’s wingless wonders proved there is more than one way to skin the proverbial puss with a deft Brazilian on the lush lawns of Kassam.
Man of the match: Paul Wanless. Captain Fantastic in full effect.
Ref watch: Penn 6. Mostly adequate except for what looked like a personal vendetta against Kitson, whistling against him again and again for no good reason. Shame his linesman was so short-sighted.
Ian Atkins: was it something he said?
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Saturday, 22 March 2003: Carlisle United 0-1 United
In common with every other media outlet, CUFC Official Online has from today replaced its normal coverage of Division Three action with the rather more serious action out in Iraq. CUFC’s unrivalled interactive coverage, in conjunction with ITN, will offer via the newly branded U’s News World the following exciting options:
BREAKING NEWS! We interrupt our coverage of the Middle East conflict with a story of truly historic import (reports Kate Adie from Brunton Park). Shaun Marshall has saved a penalty! Over to John Simpson at pitch side.
Today saw the earliest start of the season for the travelling U’s faithful as they wended their weary way to the League’s most isolated outpost (nearest ground: Newcastle, 58 miles away). And what a thoroughly pleasant journey it was too, veering west from Scotch Corner (the world’s first alcoholic yogurt-based snack) along the A66 through charming stone wall-encrusted dales, kissed by the sun as it burned the early morning mist away, the hilly fields populated by sheep nurturing gambolling, Bambiesque new-born lambs, with nary a human in sight. Something of a contrast to the nine-hour blizzard-torn journey that yours truly endured to the same venue back in 1996.
This idyllic scene seemed a universe away from the grim relegation battle in which Cumbria’s only remaining League side finds itself embroiled for the fifth successive season since relegation in 1998. The club shop, located on the main road into town 100 yards from Brunton Park, still sells framed photos of Jimmy Glass’s legendary injury-time winner on 8 May 1999 that kept them in the League. There was also a commemorative CD, although this is about to be usurped by the merchandising for the club’s appearance in the LDV final in two weeks’ time, before which this was their last home game. The flags and silly wigs are already in place for the delectation of the 22,000 they reckon they will take to Cardiff, which makes about 18,000 glory-hunters who are happy to take a weekend out to go South Wales but can’t be bothered to go to support their local side on a regular Saturday.
The deafening PA regaled us all (three times!) with their special LDV song, My Blue Heaven, the uninspired chorus of which consists of one line repeated three times plus the immortal words ‘Ooh ooh ooh ooh’; presumably the writers of this masterpiece couldn’t think of a rhyme. How about ‘I’m taking my son Kevin, although he’s only seven, and he’s a fan of Aneurin Bevan’? It would be an improvement, believe me.
Brunton Park is a monument to the now-terminated reign of UFO-spotting, ball-juggling, barking mad ex-chairman Michael Knighton. This ramshackle old place, which hosted the first competitive floodlit game between two League clubs in 1955, was improved in 1996 by a smart cantilever stand, one end of which runs 20 yards past the end of the pitch in anticipation of a plan to move the surface and with it the whole rebuilt ground to the south. Needless to say, there is no money available to continue the project, so away fans are allocated the end of the stand that overshoots the pitch. Thanks, guys.
The open terrace at that end of the ground now lies unused, opposite a covered terrace at the other end, while the quaint main stand constitutes an uncovered terrace in front with a modest structure behind facing the middle two quarters of the pitch. This is flanked by two more recent add-ons either side, one of which houses a few executive boxes, although most of these are now in the new East Stand. The surface between the four stands and the pitch is for some reason covered in a turquoise tarpaulin, the same rather garish colour that dominates the new stand, while the unique floodlights consist of pylons with lights tacked on in two vertical lines. All in all, a thoroughly individual but fading little place that can’t hide its need for refurbishment behind its relatively swish facade. A bit like Joan Collins.
Sadly, there was no Kendal Mint Cake at the cheap ’n’ cheerful refreshment bar, but we amused ourselves by enjoying the PA announcer’s three failed attempts to pronounce Iriekpen. Just call him Izzy, mate. The U’s team was unsurprisingly unchanged from Tuesday’s good performance at Oxford, even down to the subs’ bench. Carlisle gambled on resting ‘star’ (well it’s all relative) striker Richie Foran because one more booking would lead him to miss the LDV final. Sadly, there was no sign of the impressively monikered Ryan Baldacchino, who sounds like an offering at the Dublin branch of Starbucks.
The tone was set within eight seconds of kickoff as Murray was flattened by Craig Russell, but it was the hosts who started the livelier with a series of three corners in 90 seconds in the second and third minutes, capped by a Russell 20-yarder well tipped over by Dancing Shaun. After weathering this early storm, United began to exert their own influence and forced four corners of their own inside the next five minutes.
Unfortunately, Lil’ Luke reverted to his usual near-post corners, all easily cleared by the first man, after his more dangerous flag kicks at the Kassam. Most dangerous moment followed the second corner on eight as the ball was pumped back in, Youngs twinkled his toes near the touchline on the left and pulled back for Iriekpen to fire a good shot at goal from ten yards out that was beaten away by corpulent keeper Matt Glennon. Murray then tested him with an angled cross-shot that he again pawed to safety from a penalty box more packed and chaotic than Hills Road during an anti-war sit-down.
Both defences looked distinctly vulnerable to pressure. United, as we know, always have difficulty against the ball over the top, Carlisle’s attacking method of choice, while at the other end Glennon looked decidedly uncomfortable against aerial balls.
On 12 a home corner was partially cleared, then chipped back while the U’s defence came out to a blatantly offside Russell, but instead of heading for goal from eight yards out, he decided to nod it backwards for the inrushing Craig Farrell to blast hopelessly over the top. We began to twig why Carlisle are threshing about at the bottom like an upended turtle of the decidedly non-ninja variety.
Barely a minute later Farrell proved that he did have some idea where the goal was when, out of the blue, he essayed an audacious lob from 30 yards that dropped over Marshall’s head but cannoned off the top of the bar; the Terpsichorean custodian clutched the rebound with no little gratitude. Wozza Goodhind, who had just made an excellent tackle to rob Russell, had injured himself and was forced to withdraw in a straight swap for Adam Tann.
Russell set up Farrell again on 18, but once more the Cumbrian striker failed to find the target from 15 yards. Perhaps he’d put the wrong contact lenses in. Terrier Fleming was booked on 20 for a clumsy late foul on Stuart Green as the hosts’ pressure began to tell, and they continued to probe and prod like a sadistic dentist with a series of demanding crosses. Is it safe?
So it was somewhat against the run of play when the Mighty U’s took the lead on 26. Murray’s long throw from the left wing bounced into the area, Wanless lunged in at the near post to put Glennon off and somehow it ran past the podgy keeper across the six-yard box to BGG Kitson, who bundled it in the net with his head from point-blank range for a goal more untidy than a Liverpool defensive wall. Another clue as to why Carlisle have been League bottom feeders for the last five years.
United now began to give as good as they were getting. Farrell headed a Green cross over, then veteran Jon McCarthy was booked on the half-hour for clogging Murray. From the resultant free kick, Captain Fantastic latched on to the ball to fire at goal from the edge of the area, his left-footed shot taking a deflection and producing a full-length diving save from Glennon to concede a corner. The podgemeister saved his side again on 35 with a clutch from Iriekpen’s header off a Guttridge corner, then United got another free kick in the left channel five yards outside the box. Wannie’s ambitious curler sadly lacked the power to trouble Glennon, who caught comfortably.
Carlisle applied more pressure for the rest of the half as United failed to get together the passing that was so good at Oxford. Once more the crosses rained in as the United box began to resemble Baghdad in a blitz. But the U’s spurned all thoughts of shock and awe and defended stoutly. Marshall saved Green’s skimmer as the interval beckoned and United had survived, despite being some way below their best, or even Tuesday’s standard.
The vociferous home supporters, aided by one of those irritating drums banging away rhythmically like an unwanted dog on your leg, serenaded us with a rendition of Take Me Home Country Roads, although unfortunately we couldn’t make out the doubtless brilliantly rearranged lyrics. A more appropriate Olivia Newton-John song for part two would have been Let’s Get Physical …
The second half’s opening exchanges were more schlock and bore as the teams cancelled each other out in the spring sunshine. Lee Maddison blasted wide on 47, Paul Raven did the same on 55, then McCarthy found Farrell with a useful cross that he couldn’t direct under the crossbar. United were still firing on half their cylinders, squandering possession all too readily and spoiling the odd promising move with an inaccurate or scuffed final touch.
Farrell almost broke clear on 57 as Iriekpen found himself further advanced than Angus and allowed the striker to get in behind him, but Stev tidied up before having a team talk with his partner about the necessity of them forming a straight, solid line and always being aware of the other’s whereabouts.
A Guttridge free kick from the right on 63 found Wanless’s head, but the skipper’s looper was collected by Glennon with little difficulty. Two minutes later Carlisle made their first substitution as they decided they needed Foran on the pitch despite any potential ban, although the home support seemed less than impressed with the choice of withdrawee: Green. McCarthy headed over on 70 then blazed tamely over on 73 after good approach play by the two Fs. A minute later Kitson left the pitch clutching his hamstring, to be replaced by Riza The Geezer. Then the fun really started.
On 76 Riza chased after a bouncing ball by the halfway touchline. Mark Birch came steaming in and sent Omer flying into orbit with a reckless, mindless ‘tackle’ that ref Boyeson deemed studs-up and worthy of a straight red. He had an excellent view, so no one from Cambridge was arguing, unlike the Cumbrians whose reaction was akin to several thousand Violet Elizabeth Botts. Chief toy thrower was home boss Roddy Collins, and his refusal to put a sock in it saw his dismissal from the bench a minute later. He took off his coat and threw it melodramatically to the floor as he flounced off into the stand, no doubt thinking about calling in his pugilistic brother to sort out the nasty man in black.
Ironically, the hysteria generated by the incident served merely to fire up the home side’s ten men and their supporters, and a torrid final 12 minutes beckoned for the plucky visitors. Ten minutes from time came one defining moment. Pete Murphy (he should never have left Bauhaus) sent a free kick into the United area from deep, and Foran rose above his markers to power a header towards the corner of the net from less than ten yards. The home faithful were already shouting ‘Goal!’ when Marshall twisted in midair and somehow got an outstretched hand to it, finding enough strength to flip the ball up and around the post. Quite literally a save of world-class standard and proof positive, as if we needed it, that he can take his place with pride in the pantheon of excellent United keepers such as Roberts, Webster, Branagan, Vaughan, Filan and Perez.
But the drama was only just unfolding. From the resultant corner, Marshall fumbled Raven’s powerful downward header as it fell at his feet and Wannie cleared his lines; then from the next corner a hand rose out of a sea of bodies. The Lady of the Lake impersonator, Stev Angus, bafflingly conceded a penalty, then went down injured in a bid to assuage Mr Boyeson’s wrath. When he finally arose, the card he faced was yellow, which was fair enough as a high cross hardly constitutes a clear goalscoring chance per se, although – you guessed it – Mr Collins and his ravening hordes foamed at the mouth at the perceived injustice of United not being reduced to ten men.
It had been a long, nervous wait, and Dancing Shaun went through his normal routine of pointing to his left as a helpful serving suggestion to the penalty taker, Farrell. Marshall remained in the centre of goal, however, and the striker’s tame attempt lacked both power and direction as the Tepsichorean custodian still did well to dive low to his suggested left and smother it away. It was the first penalty Farrell had ever missed for Carlisle: a surprising stat as he hadn’t got a darned thing on target all day. At last Shaun had psyched out an opponent out for his first ever penalty save outside a shoot-out.
The pressure stayed on as Brian Wake replaced Adam Rundle for the hosts and Franco Nacca replaced Chilli for the U’s, pushing Tiny Tom up front with Riza in a 4-4-2. At this stage United should have taken the game by the scruff of the neck and gone for a second goal to clinch it, but that familiar fog of negativity settled around them and they sat back far too deep, inviting Carlisle on and failing to keep the ball when they did gain possession.
More corners and crosses ensued, Wake coming close on 86 as he met one at the near post and glanced just over, while one Riza break almost yielded reward when he sprinted past two defenders but was dispossessed for a corner as he prepared to pull the trigger. As the 90 minutes ticked up, Omer used his shielding skills to waste time in the corner, then Tiny Tom had to go off to replace his boot and picked up the most pointless booking of the season for coming back on without the ref’s permission. Truly the man in black must be a frustrated traffic warden. Is there any other type?
There were groans among the away fans as five added minutes were indicated, and United held on grimly. Russell headed a McCarthy corner over on 93, Murray blocked a Foran shot and Iriekpen headed a couple of menacing crosses away as the U's stumbled over the finishing line. Our reaction at the end was primarily one of relief after our boys had made such hard work of what should have been a relatively straightforward task, and Shaggy seemed to agree as he came over to applaud, indicating his fluttering heart with his hand. Us too, mate! The home contingent’s wrath was saved for the ref, who was called ‘an absolute joke’ and a ‘weakling’ by Collins on local radio afterwards. Get your wallet ready, old son, this isn’t the Irish Pub League now.
Remarkably, this was United’s first ever win at Brunton Park, at the ninth attempt since our first encounter in 1978. It was far from a vintage performance, with too many passes going astray and a few players below par, but they haven’t ground out a 1-0 away win in the League since Bury at the start of the season and it perhaps bodes well that they can do so without playing particularly well.
As for Carlisle, you have to fear for their League future. An extremely modest team who have little to offer other than effort and guts, they are fortunate that there are so many other equally mediocre teams around them. Looks like a right old bun fight in the basement this season. We’re safe from that now, but there’s still a long way to go until we can open our own cake shop franchise near the top. If we can get the right balance between rock cakes and fondant fancies, we’ve still got a chance. Mind you, we’ll all have sticky buns if we get any more nervous finishes like today!
Marshall 9 – Match-winning performance. Dealt with everything that came his way and capped it with a world-class save and his first ever open-play penalty stop.
Goodhind 6 – Did nothing wrong until forced off after 14 minutes.
Murray 6 – Solid defensive work and decent forward support, but still drifts off on occasion. Fitness? Concentration? Who knows?
Iriekpen 7 – We’re now beginning to see the benefit of him playing alongside Stev; cool and reliable under pressure.
Angus 8 – Dependable as ever at the back, bar one moment of madness.
Guttridge 8 – Pick of a busy midfield, involved all over the pitch.
Wanless 7 – Reassuring presence in the middle and at set pieces.
Fleming 6 – Hard graft without doing anything spectacular.
Youngs 6 – Quiet game for Tom. Wish he would try taking an opponent on every now and again instead of laying it off every time; he’s got the talent. Is it confidence?
Chillingworth 6 – Never hit Tuesday’s heights despite willing running.
Kitson 7 – Always a threatening presence up front and an excellent auxiliary defender too against Carlisle’s numerous corners and free kicks.
Tann 7 – Assured early appearance like he’s never been away. Best right back at the club.
Riza 7 – Good outlet for breakaways late on.
Nacca 6 – Slotted in solidly for last ten minutes.
Soundtrack of the day: The Hiss/Triumph
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Allemande. ‘This charming, lively dance originated in 16th-century Germany before spreading to France then England in a more polished form. It was danced as a chain by a couple or group, with gliding passes, changing partners back to back with graceful turns. It found favour with such notable figures as Louis XIV, Napoleon and Queen Elizabeth I and afforded a very pleasing spectacle indeed when done well by a large company. Today’s game wasn’t such a pleasing spectacle, but the result was all that mattered, although I think we’ll have to tie Stev’s arms to his sides from now on. He’s got worse roving hands than Luke on a night out at De Niro’s! Only joking, Luke. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United never got out of third gear but two inspired prods of the accelerator from Shaun Marshall kept United ahead of their desperate opponents on the long and winding road through the Cumbrian hills. Don’t throw that road map to Cardiff away just yet.
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. Proved once again that a goalkeeper can decide a game just as well as any striker. Outstanding keeping.
Ref watch: Boyeson 6. Another signed up member of the Fussy Club, but got the most important decisions right. The home contingent might disagree.
In common with every other media outlet, CUFC Official Online has from today replaced its normal coverage of Division Three action with the rather more serious action out in Iraq. CUFC’s unrivalled interactive coverage, in conjunction with ITN, will offer via the newly branded U’s News World the following exciting options:
- Bullet-by-bullet commentary from Mark Johnson
- Multi-camera angles of all the big desert contests
- Fan Zone, where a normal Iraqi and an American off the streets can trade playful banter while supporting their side
- Soldier Cam, enabling you to follow your favourite squaddie around the war zone
- Scud Cam, enabling you to follow your favourite missile as it homes in on yet another of Saddam’s palaces
- Instant super slo-mo action replays of all the most exciting moments. How far offside was that Iraqi sniper?
- Match Facts, including running totals of fouls, dismissals and possession percentages
- Squad numbers: 1-40,000 for the US troops, 1-10,000 for the British and 1-3 for the Italians, and all the latest substitutions
- ‘Big Brother’ fun where you can watch prisoners of war 24/7 and vote off your least favourite every day!
BREAKING NEWS! We interrupt our coverage of the Middle East conflict with a story of truly historic import (reports Kate Adie from Brunton Park). Shaun Marshall has saved a penalty! Over to John Simpson at pitch side.
Today saw the earliest start of the season for the travelling U’s faithful as they wended their weary way to the League’s most isolated outpost (nearest ground: Newcastle, 58 miles away). And what a thoroughly pleasant journey it was too, veering west from Scotch Corner (the world’s first alcoholic yogurt-based snack) along the A66 through charming stone wall-encrusted dales, kissed by the sun as it burned the early morning mist away, the hilly fields populated by sheep nurturing gambolling, Bambiesque new-born lambs, with nary a human in sight. Something of a contrast to the nine-hour blizzard-torn journey that yours truly endured to the same venue back in 1996.
This idyllic scene seemed a universe away from the grim relegation battle in which Cumbria’s only remaining League side finds itself embroiled for the fifth successive season since relegation in 1998. The club shop, located on the main road into town 100 yards from Brunton Park, still sells framed photos of Jimmy Glass’s legendary injury-time winner on 8 May 1999 that kept them in the League. There was also a commemorative CD, although this is about to be usurped by the merchandising for the club’s appearance in the LDV final in two weeks’ time, before which this was their last home game. The flags and silly wigs are already in place for the delectation of the 22,000 they reckon they will take to Cardiff, which makes about 18,000 glory-hunters who are happy to take a weekend out to go South Wales but can’t be bothered to go to support their local side on a regular Saturday.
The deafening PA regaled us all (three times!) with their special LDV song, My Blue Heaven, the uninspired chorus of which consists of one line repeated three times plus the immortal words ‘Ooh ooh ooh ooh’; presumably the writers of this masterpiece couldn’t think of a rhyme. How about ‘I’m taking my son Kevin, although he’s only seven, and he’s a fan of Aneurin Bevan’? It would be an improvement, believe me.
Brunton Park is a monument to the now-terminated reign of UFO-spotting, ball-juggling, barking mad ex-chairman Michael Knighton. This ramshackle old place, which hosted the first competitive floodlit game between two League clubs in 1955, was improved in 1996 by a smart cantilever stand, one end of which runs 20 yards past the end of the pitch in anticipation of a plan to move the surface and with it the whole rebuilt ground to the south. Needless to say, there is no money available to continue the project, so away fans are allocated the end of the stand that overshoots the pitch. Thanks, guys.
The open terrace at that end of the ground now lies unused, opposite a covered terrace at the other end, while the quaint main stand constitutes an uncovered terrace in front with a modest structure behind facing the middle two quarters of the pitch. This is flanked by two more recent add-ons either side, one of which houses a few executive boxes, although most of these are now in the new East Stand. The surface between the four stands and the pitch is for some reason covered in a turquoise tarpaulin, the same rather garish colour that dominates the new stand, while the unique floodlights consist of pylons with lights tacked on in two vertical lines. All in all, a thoroughly individual but fading little place that can’t hide its need for refurbishment behind its relatively swish facade. A bit like Joan Collins.
Sadly, there was no Kendal Mint Cake at the cheap ’n’ cheerful refreshment bar, but we amused ourselves by enjoying the PA announcer’s three failed attempts to pronounce Iriekpen. Just call him Izzy, mate. The U’s team was unsurprisingly unchanged from Tuesday’s good performance at Oxford, even down to the subs’ bench. Carlisle gambled on resting ‘star’ (well it’s all relative) striker Richie Foran because one more booking would lead him to miss the LDV final. Sadly, there was no sign of the impressively monikered Ryan Baldacchino, who sounds like an offering at the Dublin branch of Starbucks.
The tone was set within eight seconds of kickoff as Murray was flattened by Craig Russell, but it was the hosts who started the livelier with a series of three corners in 90 seconds in the second and third minutes, capped by a Russell 20-yarder well tipped over by Dancing Shaun. After weathering this early storm, United began to exert their own influence and forced four corners of their own inside the next five minutes.
Unfortunately, Lil’ Luke reverted to his usual near-post corners, all easily cleared by the first man, after his more dangerous flag kicks at the Kassam. Most dangerous moment followed the second corner on eight as the ball was pumped back in, Youngs twinkled his toes near the touchline on the left and pulled back for Iriekpen to fire a good shot at goal from ten yards out that was beaten away by corpulent keeper Matt Glennon. Murray then tested him with an angled cross-shot that he again pawed to safety from a penalty box more packed and chaotic than Hills Road during an anti-war sit-down.
Both defences looked distinctly vulnerable to pressure. United, as we know, always have difficulty against the ball over the top, Carlisle’s attacking method of choice, while at the other end Glennon looked decidedly uncomfortable against aerial balls.
On 12 a home corner was partially cleared, then chipped back while the U’s defence came out to a blatantly offside Russell, but instead of heading for goal from eight yards out, he decided to nod it backwards for the inrushing Craig Farrell to blast hopelessly over the top. We began to twig why Carlisle are threshing about at the bottom like an upended turtle of the decidedly non-ninja variety.
Barely a minute later Farrell proved that he did have some idea where the goal was when, out of the blue, he essayed an audacious lob from 30 yards that dropped over Marshall’s head but cannoned off the top of the bar; the Terpsichorean custodian clutched the rebound with no little gratitude. Wozza Goodhind, who had just made an excellent tackle to rob Russell, had injured himself and was forced to withdraw in a straight swap for Adam Tann.
Russell set up Farrell again on 18, but once more the Cumbrian striker failed to find the target from 15 yards. Perhaps he’d put the wrong contact lenses in. Terrier Fleming was booked on 20 for a clumsy late foul on Stuart Green as the hosts’ pressure began to tell, and they continued to probe and prod like a sadistic dentist with a series of demanding crosses. Is it safe?
So it was somewhat against the run of play when the Mighty U’s took the lead on 26. Murray’s long throw from the left wing bounced into the area, Wanless lunged in at the near post to put Glennon off and somehow it ran past the podgy keeper across the six-yard box to BGG Kitson, who bundled it in the net with his head from point-blank range for a goal more untidy than a Liverpool defensive wall. Another clue as to why Carlisle have been League bottom feeders for the last five years.
United now began to give as good as they were getting. Farrell headed a Green cross over, then veteran Jon McCarthy was booked on the half-hour for clogging Murray. From the resultant free kick, Captain Fantastic latched on to the ball to fire at goal from the edge of the area, his left-footed shot taking a deflection and producing a full-length diving save from Glennon to concede a corner. The podgemeister saved his side again on 35 with a clutch from Iriekpen’s header off a Guttridge corner, then United got another free kick in the left channel five yards outside the box. Wannie’s ambitious curler sadly lacked the power to trouble Glennon, who caught comfortably.
Carlisle applied more pressure for the rest of the half as United failed to get together the passing that was so good at Oxford. Once more the crosses rained in as the United box began to resemble Baghdad in a blitz. But the U’s spurned all thoughts of shock and awe and defended stoutly. Marshall saved Green’s skimmer as the interval beckoned and United had survived, despite being some way below their best, or even Tuesday’s standard.
The vociferous home supporters, aided by one of those irritating drums banging away rhythmically like an unwanted dog on your leg, serenaded us with a rendition of Take Me Home Country Roads, although unfortunately we couldn’t make out the doubtless brilliantly rearranged lyrics. A more appropriate Olivia Newton-John song for part two would have been Let’s Get Physical …
The second half’s opening exchanges were more schlock and bore as the teams cancelled each other out in the spring sunshine. Lee Maddison blasted wide on 47, Paul Raven did the same on 55, then McCarthy found Farrell with a useful cross that he couldn’t direct under the crossbar. United were still firing on half their cylinders, squandering possession all too readily and spoiling the odd promising move with an inaccurate or scuffed final touch.
Farrell almost broke clear on 57 as Iriekpen found himself further advanced than Angus and allowed the striker to get in behind him, but Stev tidied up before having a team talk with his partner about the necessity of them forming a straight, solid line and always being aware of the other’s whereabouts.
A Guttridge free kick from the right on 63 found Wanless’s head, but the skipper’s looper was collected by Glennon with little difficulty. Two minutes later Carlisle made their first substitution as they decided they needed Foran on the pitch despite any potential ban, although the home support seemed less than impressed with the choice of withdrawee: Green. McCarthy headed over on 70 then blazed tamely over on 73 after good approach play by the two Fs. A minute later Kitson left the pitch clutching his hamstring, to be replaced by Riza The Geezer. Then the fun really started.
On 76 Riza chased after a bouncing ball by the halfway touchline. Mark Birch came steaming in and sent Omer flying into orbit with a reckless, mindless ‘tackle’ that ref Boyeson deemed studs-up and worthy of a straight red. He had an excellent view, so no one from Cambridge was arguing, unlike the Cumbrians whose reaction was akin to several thousand Violet Elizabeth Botts. Chief toy thrower was home boss Roddy Collins, and his refusal to put a sock in it saw his dismissal from the bench a minute later. He took off his coat and threw it melodramatically to the floor as he flounced off into the stand, no doubt thinking about calling in his pugilistic brother to sort out the nasty man in black.
Ironically, the hysteria generated by the incident served merely to fire up the home side’s ten men and their supporters, and a torrid final 12 minutes beckoned for the plucky visitors. Ten minutes from time came one defining moment. Pete Murphy (he should never have left Bauhaus) sent a free kick into the United area from deep, and Foran rose above his markers to power a header towards the corner of the net from less than ten yards. The home faithful were already shouting ‘Goal!’ when Marshall twisted in midair and somehow got an outstretched hand to it, finding enough strength to flip the ball up and around the post. Quite literally a save of world-class standard and proof positive, as if we needed it, that he can take his place with pride in the pantheon of excellent United keepers such as Roberts, Webster, Branagan, Vaughan, Filan and Perez.
But the drama was only just unfolding. From the resultant corner, Marshall fumbled Raven’s powerful downward header as it fell at his feet and Wannie cleared his lines; then from the next corner a hand rose out of a sea of bodies. The Lady of the Lake impersonator, Stev Angus, bafflingly conceded a penalty, then went down injured in a bid to assuage Mr Boyeson’s wrath. When he finally arose, the card he faced was yellow, which was fair enough as a high cross hardly constitutes a clear goalscoring chance per se, although – you guessed it – Mr Collins and his ravening hordes foamed at the mouth at the perceived injustice of United not being reduced to ten men.
It had been a long, nervous wait, and Dancing Shaun went through his normal routine of pointing to his left as a helpful serving suggestion to the penalty taker, Farrell. Marshall remained in the centre of goal, however, and the striker’s tame attempt lacked both power and direction as the Tepsichorean custodian still did well to dive low to his suggested left and smother it away. It was the first penalty Farrell had ever missed for Carlisle: a surprising stat as he hadn’t got a darned thing on target all day. At last Shaun had psyched out an opponent out for his first ever penalty save outside a shoot-out.
The pressure stayed on as Brian Wake replaced Adam Rundle for the hosts and Franco Nacca replaced Chilli for the U’s, pushing Tiny Tom up front with Riza in a 4-4-2. At this stage United should have taken the game by the scruff of the neck and gone for a second goal to clinch it, but that familiar fog of negativity settled around them and they sat back far too deep, inviting Carlisle on and failing to keep the ball when they did gain possession.
More corners and crosses ensued, Wake coming close on 86 as he met one at the near post and glanced just over, while one Riza break almost yielded reward when he sprinted past two defenders but was dispossessed for a corner as he prepared to pull the trigger. As the 90 minutes ticked up, Omer used his shielding skills to waste time in the corner, then Tiny Tom had to go off to replace his boot and picked up the most pointless booking of the season for coming back on without the ref’s permission. Truly the man in black must be a frustrated traffic warden. Is there any other type?
There were groans among the away fans as five added minutes were indicated, and United held on grimly. Russell headed a McCarthy corner over on 93, Murray blocked a Foran shot and Iriekpen headed a couple of menacing crosses away as the U's stumbled over the finishing line. Our reaction at the end was primarily one of relief after our boys had made such hard work of what should have been a relatively straightforward task, and Shaggy seemed to agree as he came over to applaud, indicating his fluttering heart with his hand. Us too, mate! The home contingent’s wrath was saved for the ref, who was called ‘an absolute joke’ and a ‘weakling’ by Collins on local radio afterwards. Get your wallet ready, old son, this isn’t the Irish Pub League now.
Remarkably, this was United’s first ever win at Brunton Park, at the ninth attempt since our first encounter in 1978. It was far from a vintage performance, with too many passes going astray and a few players below par, but they haven’t ground out a 1-0 away win in the League since Bury at the start of the season and it perhaps bodes well that they can do so without playing particularly well.
As for Carlisle, you have to fear for their League future. An extremely modest team who have little to offer other than effort and guts, they are fortunate that there are so many other equally mediocre teams around them. Looks like a right old bun fight in the basement this season. We’re safe from that now, but there’s still a long way to go until we can open our own cake shop franchise near the top. If we can get the right balance between rock cakes and fondant fancies, we’ve still got a chance. Mind you, we’ll all have sticky buns if we get any more nervous finishes like today!
Marshall 9 – Match-winning performance. Dealt with everything that came his way and capped it with a world-class save and his first ever open-play penalty stop.
Goodhind 6 – Did nothing wrong until forced off after 14 minutes.
Murray 6 – Solid defensive work and decent forward support, but still drifts off on occasion. Fitness? Concentration? Who knows?
Iriekpen 7 – We’re now beginning to see the benefit of him playing alongside Stev; cool and reliable under pressure.
Angus 8 – Dependable as ever at the back, bar one moment of madness.
Guttridge 8 – Pick of a busy midfield, involved all over the pitch.
Wanless 7 – Reassuring presence in the middle and at set pieces.
Fleming 6 – Hard graft without doing anything spectacular.
Youngs 6 – Quiet game for Tom. Wish he would try taking an opponent on every now and again instead of laying it off every time; he’s got the talent. Is it confidence?
Chillingworth 6 – Never hit Tuesday’s heights despite willing running.
Kitson 7 – Always a threatening presence up front and an excellent auxiliary defender too against Carlisle’s numerous corners and free kicks.
Tann 7 – Assured early appearance like he’s never been away. Best right back at the club.
Riza 7 – Good outlet for breakaways late on.
Nacca 6 – Slotted in solidly for last ten minutes.
Soundtrack of the day: The Hiss/Triumph
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Allemande. ‘This charming, lively dance originated in 16th-century Germany before spreading to France then England in a more polished form. It was danced as a chain by a couple or group, with gliding passes, changing partners back to back with graceful turns. It found favour with such notable figures as Louis XIV, Napoleon and Queen Elizabeth I and afforded a very pleasing spectacle indeed when done well by a large company. Today’s game wasn’t such a pleasing spectacle, but the result was all that mattered, although I think we’ll have to tie Stev’s arms to his sides from now on. He’s got worse roving hands than Luke on a night out at De Niro’s! Only joking, Luke. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United never got out of third gear but two inspired prods of the accelerator from Shaun Marshall kept United ahead of their desperate opponents on the long and winding road through the Cumbrian hills. Don’t throw that road map to Cardiff away just yet.
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. Proved once again that a goalkeeper can decide a game just as well as any striker. Outstanding keeping.
Ref watch: Boyeson 6. Another signed up member of the Fussy Club, but got the most important decisions right. The home contingent might disagree.
Ref Carl Boyeson. Ah no, sorry, it's a traffic warden. Easy mistake to make.
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Tuesday, 25 March 2003: United 2-1 Bournemouth
The old warrior sat in the armchair, dandling his nephew on his knee as he reminisced about days gone by. ‘It’s all so much cleaner now, tamer than it used to be. In my day you battled through muddy trenches in flimsy, inadequate gear, while you were constantly attacked by lunatics trying to take your head off. The killing fields, they used to call ’em. They’ve got it easy these days, with all their protection and their tactics. Mind you …’
He took off his glasses and peered at the youngster’s wondering face with a rheumy eye that bore just the faintest glimmer of a tear. ‘Last night really took me back – back to those grand old days of bravery and mayhem. Those young lads did us proud. That performance took me back to the Baseball Ground and Stamford Bridge of the late 70s. Chopper Harris, Mickey Droy, Mark Dennis, Billy Bonds … you knew you were in a battle against them blokes! That Luke Guttridge reminds me of a young Billy Bremner.’ A nurse patted the veteran gently on the shoulder. ‘Now, now, Mr Spriggs, don’t get over-excited. You know it makes your groin strain flare up!’
The pitch may not have resembled a ploughed field, the players may not have been wearing shorts that raised the voice a couple of octaves, and the spectators were not sporting mullets, flares or tie-dyed T-shirts. That was the Kidderminster fans last week. But in every other respect, this epic was worthy of a blood-and-thunder battle of the 70s, with its heady mixture of flying tackles, flare-ups, goalmouth incident and moments of sublime skill.
Bournemouth came to the Abbey without an away win since November. The fact that they are still third goes to demonstrate that the top (and bottom) of Div 3 this season is tighter than Jordan’s Wonderbra, bar the two runaways at the summit. The hopeful hosts showed just one change from Saturday’s slog at Carlisle, Adam Tann replacing the injured Wozza Goodhind at right back, while young John Turner took Tanny’s place on the bench.
The visiting Cherries were some way from full strength, sporting only one specialist centre back in on-loan Lewis Buxton and one conventional forward in ageing headbanger Steve ‘Elbows’ Fletcher, with Warren Feeney on international duty. United, minding the pennies as ever, used the programme from the originally scheduled match on January 11 with a four-page wraparound missing any sort of date at all. That’ll baffle the anoraks in years to come.
Here were two teams who were interested only in taking the game to the opposition and going for the win. United started in a conventional 4-4-2 with Lil’ Luke and Tiny Tom wide in a mirror of Bournemouth’s formation, and it was the hosts who had the first opportunity on three as a good Fred Murray run down the left and cross found Dan Chillingworth in the middle, but he scuffed wide.
Thereafter the visitors began to get on top, playing good, fast passing football and utilising both flanks to good effect. All that was missing was a cutting edge, Dancing Shaun the Anti-Dracula dealing well with the crosses that came his way and Fletcher his usual blunt instrumental self, enjoying a rare old battle with Izzy Iriekpen. It took all of eight minutes before the first flare-up, Fletcher pulled up for a foul and Izzy claiming he had flicked a foot at him. The two went forehead to forehead like a couple of rutting reindeer, but without the, er, horniness. Two wise monkeys lino and ref saw nothing particularly untoward and just gave the free kick after a little tête-à-tête of their own. What a couple of têtes.
When United took the lead, then, it was a little against the run of play; the goal came like a bolt from Big Dave Kitson. A clearance from the back, one header flicked on by Wanless, another by Youngs, and there was the BGG haring down the left channel. As he reached the corner of the area, he curled an absolutely delicious low drive across stunned keeper Neil Moss and into the far corner with the outside of his foot from an outrageous angle. Sheer genius, 23 for the season. The 20-odd scouts in the stand scribbled furiously, wiping the drool from their notebooks.
The glazed Cherries fought back again, Warren Cummings seeing his shot blocked by Iriekpen on 13, and a minute later they were almost handed an equaliser when Wanless and Marshall went for the same cross near the penalty spot. It hit Wannie on the noggin and floated goalward, where Tann booted clear from inside the six-yard box. For flip’s sake, Shaun, CALL for the ball! Project! The last thing we need is to concede through friendly fire. Back at the away end, Tiny Tom almost scooted through but was dispossessed, as he was about to pull the trigger, by Buxton, whose knock back to Moss looked suspiciously like a deliberate pass. Funnily enough, the Dorset contingent disagreed; so, crucially, did the ref.
By now it was clear that there were two sides to Bournemouth: the fast, skilful footballing side, and a rather darker side of ‘enthusiastic’ challenges, late tackles and short tempers. Silk and steel, as a great philosopher once put it. Or was that Five Star? United worked hard but too often found themselves outplayed in midfield and unable to provide any quality service for the front two. Iriekpen and Angus, however, were holding strong against the onslaught of crosses and ref Tomlin, who had had his eye on Fletcher for some time, finally got his man on 25 when he booked him for a fairly innocuous-looking foul on Izzy. Still, he deserved it on countback.
For all their possession, the Cherries had caused few hearts in the NRE to flutter and James Hayter demonstrated why on the half-hour as he latched on to a half-cleared corner and lashed a belter into the far corner of the car park. Are you Emile Heskey in disguise? The war of attrition in the middle grew ever tougher and Gareth O’Connor was next in the book on 35 for a kerfuffle with Guttridge, fouling him unsubtly then trying to block the quick free kick by all but jumping on Lil’ Luke. Yellow card and ten-yard advance. Luke’s far-post set piece found the inevitable Captain Fantastic at the far post, the ball pinged around the area for a bit like a bullet in a bunker and eventually Iriekpen tried an audacious overhead volley that missed the target.
Four minutes later Brian Stock proved that his shooting was just as accurate as O’Connor’s with another flyer over the stand, but this teaser was just a precursor to Bournemouth’s equaliser on 42. A lightning-fast break down the left wing by Cummings was followed by a low early cross that caught United on the hop and fell perfectly for the inrushing Fletcher to guide surprisingly skilfully past Marshall into the bottom corner. Nice goal, and didn’t he know it as he larged it in the direction of the Corona. Laugh while you can, big boy. Isn’t hindsight wonderful?
Both teams continued to go at each other in every conceivable way and the ref’s laissez-faire attitude led some to fear a major set-to in the second half if he didn’t get a grip. As it was, the one remaining card of the half was the most pointless: Lil’ Luke was fouled by Hayter, free kick given, but Luke petulantly threw the ball at his assailant and in the book he went. Stupid boy. Kitson’s resultant header was deflected for a corner, and the 45 ended soon after with honours even in what had been a whirling sandstorm of a contest. All to play for in part two.
The game resumed at an even more frenetic pace than the first, and the hitherto anonymous Chillingworth showed a long-awaited flash of what he can do in the opening minute as he sprinted down the right, burst between two defenders then pulled the ball back for Youngs, running in unmarked on the edge of the area. I’m sure Tom would have preferred a low cross to feet, but he improvised superbly with a difficult full-pelt header that Moss did well to block low at his feet on the line. The Cherries responded ripely with pressure of their own, Izzy and Stev again proving their worth and Marshall saving well from O’Connor. But United looked stronger this half, having pushed Youngs into ‘the hole’ and formed a tighter middle three to combat the invaders.
For a while the two teams locked horns and almost cancelled each other out. Our friend Fletcher tried a chest and volley on 57, wide – a man’s gotta know his limitations – then set up Hayter to head wide from less than ten yards. Then it was Chilli’s turn as he tried to revisit the heady heights of his seminal goal against Brentford with a thrilling run from wide near halfway, blasting narrowly wide from 25 yards out, then testing Moss from another Wanless corner knock-back. The skipper then made the keeper work himself with a header that Moss gathered like a rolling stone close to his line.
A good spell from United was ended summarily by Terrier Fleming, who collected a short corner from Guttridge then sent over a wretched low cross well behind all his colleagues that sent Bournemouth away on a swift breakaway that resulted in their own corner kick less than ten seconds later. Verily, there’s no one who can turn arrogant advance into desperate reverse so quickly as the Mighty U’s. Except Peter Ridsdale.
Dancing Shaun busied himself fisting the corner away from the looming Fletcher, then smothered at Hayter’s feet on 63. The match was still anyone’s to win, and Shaggy and the Prof introduced the fresh legs of Riza The Geezer on 69 for Chilli, a little unluckily as he was having a much more positive second half. Five minutes later the Terrier was obliged to withdraw with a nasty gash on the shin in a straight swap with Franco ‘One Hairy’ Nacca. If anything the pace began to get even more hectic than before, although thankfully the frayed tempers of the first 45 remained on the back burner.
On 75 Wanless stepped up for a free kick a few yards outside the area, but although his neat curler floated unerringly towards the top corner, its lack of pace allowed Moss to catch with some comfort. A minute later Stock headed a Purches cross over the top, then O’Connor fired wide before the first Cherries sub. Stock made way for Wade Elliott, who scored two absolute screamers on this very pitch a couple of years ago. His first contribution was a mazy run past some less than convincing challenges before seeing his shot blocked. Not this time, pal.
The temperature continued to rise as Iriekpen was carded for a foul on Cummings on 79, then two minutes later some parts of the ground thought United had taken the lead: Guttridge’s superbly angled, driven free kick fell in front of a forest of bodies and Kitson met it with his head on the run, but it arrowed into the bottom of the side netting. That was the river; then came the sea. Just a minute later, Adam Tann lofted a useful ball into the box and Lil’ Luke met it superbly, leaping to chest it down and losing his marker; his low drive was well blocked by Moss from eight yards, but it squirmed out to the lurking Youngs who slid it back to Luke to lash gleefully home as the keeper tried to recover. Cry havoc and let slip the dwarves of war!
The visitors threw men forward, replacing defender Purches with striker Derek Holmes on 86, but it was United who had the best chances late on as they caught the Cherries on the break time and again. On 88 Kitson, who had worked tirelessly both up front and tackling back, won a header then latched on to it himself (one-man strike force or what?), bursting free of markers and really should have scored from ten yards out, the exposed Moss blocking desperately with his legs on his line and Guttridge just unable to force the rebound home. Then Riza, who had been a livewire since coming on, went on one of his trademark runs and skipped past Moss but the keeper literally got a finger to the ball to stop it going past him to leave Omer with an open goal.
It was barely less frantic at the other end, Iriekpen getting in the way of a Cummings blaster then Murray blocking an O’Connor fizzer with what looked suspiciously like a hand or two. But the day belonged to United, who had at last rediscovered the energy and appetite of a season whose get up and go looked to have got up and gone. A draw would probably have been fairest, but Bournemouth’s winless away run continued on a ground where so many other bad runs have been obligingly ended by a charitable U’s team. Not this time, as they put together back-to-back League wins for the first time since November. Are they coming back to form at the right time? It’s no mean feat to defeat a team as tough as the opposition tonight, but they’re going to have to do it again and again now, starting at home to Scunny on Saturday. Impossible dream? Look at the table: six points off third place. So near? Stay tuned!
Marshall 7 – Dealt amply with all the Cherries could throw at him. No chance with the goal.
Tann 8 – Back in his right(back)ful place and hardly put a foot wrong.
Murray 7 – Still not at his best but the signs are hopeful. Good forward runs.
Iriekpen 8 – Great test of character against the clogging veteran Fletcher, and he passed with flying colours.
Angus 8 – Ever-composed presence holding it all together at the back.
Guttridge 8 – Busier than a buzzing bee and a fine goal, too.
Wanless 8 – Captain Fantastic led by example as ever. Just his sort of game.
Fleming 7 – A supporting role for the Terrier but no less important for all that.
Youngs 7 – More involved when played closer to the front two in the second half but can do so much better. Still looks a little lightweight; should take shielding lessons from Riza.
Chillingworth 7 – Fruitless first half but so much better in the second when he threw caution to the wind and ran at defenders. Unlucky to come off.
Kitson 9 – Tonight we saw almost every aspect of the most accomplished all-round footballer at the club: lethal striker, perceptive line leader, dominant header up front and at the back, and hard-working back-tackler. Awesome.
Riza 8 – All that pent-up bench frustration exploded in some magnificent runs that devastated the visitors’ defence and should have led to more goals.
Nacca 7 – Mr Dependable deputised very ably for the Terrier.
Soundtrack of the day: Hope Of The States/Everything For Everyone
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Laendler. ‘This lively and invigorating dance originated in Vienna around 1690 and became truly popular around 30 years later. It consisted of turning and gliding, mime and kissing of partners, then the couples would break away and the man would dance solo before returning to his partner to finish. It was one of the fastest dances of the time and was a forerunner of the Waltz. It was also popular with the notorious Giacomo Casanova. Our own notorious Casanova, Fred Murray, leads many young ladies a merry waltz, not unlike what opposing wingers do to him! Only joking, Freddie. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Tired? Carrying an injury? There was no sign of fatigue as United’s braves found more second wind than a field full of heifers and battled tough opposition to defeat with more grit than the council’s anti-snow squad. Keep that dream alive.
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. More skill and natural talent than most Third Division squads combined, allied with conscientious work ethic, must have impressed the many watching scouts. Savour him while you can.
Ref watch: Tomlin 6. Started well in booking the thuggish Fletcher early on, but then let far too many bad fouls go and was lucky half-time arrived before a full-scale punch-up ensued. Thankfully the second half was calmer if no less frenetic and he did a decent job, although he’s another ref with a baffling downer on Kitson, who seems to get punished for being fouled these days.
The old warrior sat in the armchair, dandling his nephew on his knee as he reminisced about days gone by. ‘It’s all so much cleaner now, tamer than it used to be. In my day you battled through muddy trenches in flimsy, inadequate gear, while you were constantly attacked by lunatics trying to take your head off. The killing fields, they used to call ’em. They’ve got it easy these days, with all their protection and their tactics. Mind you …’
He took off his glasses and peered at the youngster’s wondering face with a rheumy eye that bore just the faintest glimmer of a tear. ‘Last night really took me back – back to those grand old days of bravery and mayhem. Those young lads did us proud. That performance took me back to the Baseball Ground and Stamford Bridge of the late 70s. Chopper Harris, Mickey Droy, Mark Dennis, Billy Bonds … you knew you were in a battle against them blokes! That Luke Guttridge reminds me of a young Billy Bremner.’ A nurse patted the veteran gently on the shoulder. ‘Now, now, Mr Spriggs, don’t get over-excited. You know it makes your groin strain flare up!’
The pitch may not have resembled a ploughed field, the players may not have been wearing shorts that raised the voice a couple of octaves, and the spectators were not sporting mullets, flares or tie-dyed T-shirts. That was the Kidderminster fans last week. But in every other respect, this epic was worthy of a blood-and-thunder battle of the 70s, with its heady mixture of flying tackles, flare-ups, goalmouth incident and moments of sublime skill.
Bournemouth came to the Abbey without an away win since November. The fact that they are still third goes to demonstrate that the top (and bottom) of Div 3 this season is tighter than Jordan’s Wonderbra, bar the two runaways at the summit. The hopeful hosts showed just one change from Saturday’s slog at Carlisle, Adam Tann replacing the injured Wozza Goodhind at right back, while young John Turner took Tanny’s place on the bench.
The visiting Cherries were some way from full strength, sporting only one specialist centre back in on-loan Lewis Buxton and one conventional forward in ageing headbanger Steve ‘Elbows’ Fletcher, with Warren Feeney on international duty. United, minding the pennies as ever, used the programme from the originally scheduled match on January 11 with a four-page wraparound missing any sort of date at all. That’ll baffle the anoraks in years to come.
Here were two teams who were interested only in taking the game to the opposition and going for the win. United started in a conventional 4-4-2 with Lil’ Luke and Tiny Tom wide in a mirror of Bournemouth’s formation, and it was the hosts who had the first opportunity on three as a good Fred Murray run down the left and cross found Dan Chillingworth in the middle, but he scuffed wide.
Thereafter the visitors began to get on top, playing good, fast passing football and utilising both flanks to good effect. All that was missing was a cutting edge, Dancing Shaun the Anti-Dracula dealing well with the crosses that came his way and Fletcher his usual blunt instrumental self, enjoying a rare old battle with Izzy Iriekpen. It took all of eight minutes before the first flare-up, Fletcher pulled up for a foul and Izzy claiming he had flicked a foot at him. The two went forehead to forehead like a couple of rutting reindeer, but without the, er, horniness. Two wise monkeys lino and ref saw nothing particularly untoward and just gave the free kick after a little tête-à-tête of their own. What a couple of têtes.
When United took the lead, then, it was a little against the run of play; the goal came like a bolt from Big Dave Kitson. A clearance from the back, one header flicked on by Wanless, another by Youngs, and there was the BGG haring down the left channel. As he reached the corner of the area, he curled an absolutely delicious low drive across stunned keeper Neil Moss and into the far corner with the outside of his foot from an outrageous angle. Sheer genius, 23 for the season. The 20-odd scouts in the stand scribbled furiously, wiping the drool from their notebooks.
The glazed Cherries fought back again, Warren Cummings seeing his shot blocked by Iriekpen on 13, and a minute later they were almost handed an equaliser when Wanless and Marshall went for the same cross near the penalty spot. It hit Wannie on the noggin and floated goalward, where Tann booted clear from inside the six-yard box. For flip’s sake, Shaun, CALL for the ball! Project! The last thing we need is to concede through friendly fire. Back at the away end, Tiny Tom almost scooted through but was dispossessed, as he was about to pull the trigger, by Buxton, whose knock back to Moss looked suspiciously like a deliberate pass. Funnily enough, the Dorset contingent disagreed; so, crucially, did the ref.
By now it was clear that there were two sides to Bournemouth: the fast, skilful footballing side, and a rather darker side of ‘enthusiastic’ challenges, late tackles and short tempers. Silk and steel, as a great philosopher once put it. Or was that Five Star? United worked hard but too often found themselves outplayed in midfield and unable to provide any quality service for the front two. Iriekpen and Angus, however, were holding strong against the onslaught of crosses and ref Tomlin, who had had his eye on Fletcher for some time, finally got his man on 25 when he booked him for a fairly innocuous-looking foul on Izzy. Still, he deserved it on countback.
For all their possession, the Cherries had caused few hearts in the NRE to flutter and James Hayter demonstrated why on the half-hour as he latched on to a half-cleared corner and lashed a belter into the far corner of the car park. Are you Emile Heskey in disguise? The war of attrition in the middle grew ever tougher and Gareth O’Connor was next in the book on 35 for a kerfuffle with Guttridge, fouling him unsubtly then trying to block the quick free kick by all but jumping on Lil’ Luke. Yellow card and ten-yard advance. Luke’s far-post set piece found the inevitable Captain Fantastic at the far post, the ball pinged around the area for a bit like a bullet in a bunker and eventually Iriekpen tried an audacious overhead volley that missed the target.
Four minutes later Brian Stock proved that his shooting was just as accurate as O’Connor’s with another flyer over the stand, but this teaser was just a precursor to Bournemouth’s equaliser on 42. A lightning-fast break down the left wing by Cummings was followed by a low early cross that caught United on the hop and fell perfectly for the inrushing Fletcher to guide surprisingly skilfully past Marshall into the bottom corner. Nice goal, and didn’t he know it as he larged it in the direction of the Corona. Laugh while you can, big boy. Isn’t hindsight wonderful?
Both teams continued to go at each other in every conceivable way and the ref’s laissez-faire attitude led some to fear a major set-to in the second half if he didn’t get a grip. As it was, the one remaining card of the half was the most pointless: Lil’ Luke was fouled by Hayter, free kick given, but Luke petulantly threw the ball at his assailant and in the book he went. Stupid boy. Kitson’s resultant header was deflected for a corner, and the 45 ended soon after with honours even in what had been a whirling sandstorm of a contest. All to play for in part two.
The game resumed at an even more frenetic pace than the first, and the hitherto anonymous Chillingworth showed a long-awaited flash of what he can do in the opening minute as he sprinted down the right, burst between two defenders then pulled the ball back for Youngs, running in unmarked on the edge of the area. I’m sure Tom would have preferred a low cross to feet, but he improvised superbly with a difficult full-pelt header that Moss did well to block low at his feet on the line. The Cherries responded ripely with pressure of their own, Izzy and Stev again proving their worth and Marshall saving well from O’Connor. But United looked stronger this half, having pushed Youngs into ‘the hole’ and formed a tighter middle three to combat the invaders.
For a while the two teams locked horns and almost cancelled each other out. Our friend Fletcher tried a chest and volley on 57, wide – a man’s gotta know his limitations – then set up Hayter to head wide from less than ten yards. Then it was Chilli’s turn as he tried to revisit the heady heights of his seminal goal against Brentford with a thrilling run from wide near halfway, blasting narrowly wide from 25 yards out, then testing Moss from another Wanless corner knock-back. The skipper then made the keeper work himself with a header that Moss gathered like a rolling stone close to his line.
A good spell from United was ended summarily by Terrier Fleming, who collected a short corner from Guttridge then sent over a wretched low cross well behind all his colleagues that sent Bournemouth away on a swift breakaway that resulted in their own corner kick less than ten seconds later. Verily, there’s no one who can turn arrogant advance into desperate reverse so quickly as the Mighty U’s. Except Peter Ridsdale.
Dancing Shaun busied himself fisting the corner away from the looming Fletcher, then smothered at Hayter’s feet on 63. The match was still anyone’s to win, and Shaggy and the Prof introduced the fresh legs of Riza The Geezer on 69 for Chilli, a little unluckily as he was having a much more positive second half. Five minutes later the Terrier was obliged to withdraw with a nasty gash on the shin in a straight swap with Franco ‘One Hairy’ Nacca. If anything the pace began to get even more hectic than before, although thankfully the frayed tempers of the first 45 remained on the back burner.
On 75 Wanless stepped up for a free kick a few yards outside the area, but although his neat curler floated unerringly towards the top corner, its lack of pace allowed Moss to catch with some comfort. A minute later Stock headed a Purches cross over the top, then O’Connor fired wide before the first Cherries sub. Stock made way for Wade Elliott, who scored two absolute screamers on this very pitch a couple of years ago. His first contribution was a mazy run past some less than convincing challenges before seeing his shot blocked. Not this time, pal.
The temperature continued to rise as Iriekpen was carded for a foul on Cummings on 79, then two minutes later some parts of the ground thought United had taken the lead: Guttridge’s superbly angled, driven free kick fell in front of a forest of bodies and Kitson met it with his head on the run, but it arrowed into the bottom of the side netting. That was the river; then came the sea. Just a minute later, Adam Tann lofted a useful ball into the box and Lil’ Luke met it superbly, leaping to chest it down and losing his marker; his low drive was well blocked by Moss from eight yards, but it squirmed out to the lurking Youngs who slid it back to Luke to lash gleefully home as the keeper tried to recover. Cry havoc and let slip the dwarves of war!
The visitors threw men forward, replacing defender Purches with striker Derek Holmes on 86, but it was United who had the best chances late on as they caught the Cherries on the break time and again. On 88 Kitson, who had worked tirelessly both up front and tackling back, won a header then latched on to it himself (one-man strike force or what?), bursting free of markers and really should have scored from ten yards out, the exposed Moss blocking desperately with his legs on his line and Guttridge just unable to force the rebound home. Then Riza, who had been a livewire since coming on, went on one of his trademark runs and skipped past Moss but the keeper literally got a finger to the ball to stop it going past him to leave Omer with an open goal.
It was barely less frantic at the other end, Iriekpen getting in the way of a Cummings blaster then Murray blocking an O’Connor fizzer with what looked suspiciously like a hand or two. But the day belonged to United, who had at last rediscovered the energy and appetite of a season whose get up and go looked to have got up and gone. A draw would probably have been fairest, but Bournemouth’s winless away run continued on a ground where so many other bad runs have been obligingly ended by a charitable U’s team. Not this time, as they put together back-to-back League wins for the first time since November. Are they coming back to form at the right time? It’s no mean feat to defeat a team as tough as the opposition tonight, but they’re going to have to do it again and again now, starting at home to Scunny on Saturday. Impossible dream? Look at the table: six points off third place. So near? Stay tuned!
Marshall 7 – Dealt amply with all the Cherries could throw at him. No chance with the goal.
Tann 8 – Back in his right(back)ful place and hardly put a foot wrong.
Murray 7 – Still not at his best but the signs are hopeful. Good forward runs.
Iriekpen 8 – Great test of character against the clogging veteran Fletcher, and he passed with flying colours.
Angus 8 – Ever-composed presence holding it all together at the back.
Guttridge 8 – Busier than a buzzing bee and a fine goal, too.
Wanless 8 – Captain Fantastic led by example as ever. Just his sort of game.
Fleming 7 – A supporting role for the Terrier but no less important for all that.
Youngs 7 – More involved when played closer to the front two in the second half but can do so much better. Still looks a little lightweight; should take shielding lessons from Riza.
Chillingworth 7 – Fruitless first half but so much better in the second when he threw caution to the wind and ran at defenders. Unlucky to come off.
Kitson 9 – Tonight we saw almost every aspect of the most accomplished all-round footballer at the club: lethal striker, perceptive line leader, dominant header up front and at the back, and hard-working back-tackler. Awesome.
Riza 8 – All that pent-up bench frustration exploded in some magnificent runs that devastated the visitors’ defence and should have led to more goals.
Nacca 7 – Mr Dependable deputised very ably for the Terrier.
Soundtrack of the day: Hope Of The States/Everything For Everyone
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Laendler. ‘This lively and invigorating dance originated in Vienna around 1690 and became truly popular around 30 years later. It consisted of turning and gliding, mime and kissing of partners, then the couples would break away and the man would dance solo before returning to his partner to finish. It was one of the fastest dances of the time and was a forerunner of the Waltz. It was also popular with the notorious Giacomo Casanova. Our own notorious Casanova, Fred Murray, leads many young ladies a merry waltz, not unlike what opposing wingers do to him! Only joking, Freddie. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Tired? Carrying an injury? There was no sign of fatigue as United’s braves found more second wind than a field full of heifers and battled tough opposition to defeat with more grit than the council’s anti-snow squad. Keep that dream alive.
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. More skill and natural talent than most Third Division squads combined, allied with conscientious work ethic, must have impressed the many watching scouts. Savour him while you can.
Ref watch: Tomlin 6. Started well in booking the thuggish Fletcher early on, but then let far too many bad fouls go and was lucky half-time arrived before a full-scale punch-up ensued. Thankfully the second half was calmer if no less frenetic and he did a decent job, although he’s another ref with a baffling downer on Kitson, who seems to get punished for being fouled these days.
The Laendler: nice to see young people enjoying themselves.
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Saturday, 29 March 2003: United 1-1 Scunthorpe United
The King of the Abbey wandered thoughtfully around the deserted dressing room, musing on the momentous events of the previous few days. His eye alighted on an abandoned jockstrap lying in a corner. ‘Whose is that?’ he inquired of his assistant. ‘That? It was one of Tom Youngs’s. He must have left it behind in his hurry to leave,’ replied Dale. Shaggy’s eyes widened. ‘Let me see.’ He cradled the sporting undergarment in his horny-handed grip.
‘Alas, poor Youngsie! I knew him, Brooksie. A fellow of infinite brain, of most excellent talent; he hath borne the team on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred to my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those legs that I have thank’d I know not how oft. Where be your flicks now, your great goals, your passes, your flashes of genius that were wont to set this stadium on a roar? Not one now to mock your own hasty departure to the strugglers up the road? Now get you to the club shop, and tell Suzy, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Brooksie, tell me one thing.’ ‘What’s that, Shaggy?’ ‘Dost thou think Dion’s look’d a this fashion i’ th’ shower?’ ‘E’en so.’ ‘And smelt so? Pah!’ He threw the jockstrap to the ground. Brooksie added: ‘E’en so, JT. About twice the size, mind …’
So farewell then, Tiny Tom. More literate than a thousand Jackanories, more cunning than a barrel full of weasels, light as a feather with the face of a country cherub and the hair of a tousled vole, Tom had been at the club since he was a foetus. But at the first sniff of an offer, he upped sticks with almost indecent haste and joined the all-too-familiar scene of a Second Division relegation battle. And we all thought he was dead clever, too. We will see just how clever at the end of the season, hmm?
In the meantime, it fell to the unlikely figure of Dan Chillingworth to fill Tom’s position ‘in the hole’ behind Big Dave Kitson and Riza The Geezer. Only other change to the team was in the BGG’s hair, which now resembles a cockatoo with alopecia that’s stuck its claw in an electrical socket. For Scunny, the only club nicknamed after a household implement used for pressing clothes, new boys Greg Strong (on loan from Hull) and Paul 'Talent isn’t hereditary’ Dalglish debuted, and top scorer and Boro reject Martin Carruthers was dropped in favour of chubby journeyman Robert Taylor.
The day started in sombre mood with an immaculately observed minute’s silence for Ken Brown, an unsung behind-the-scenes hero on the stewarding side at the Abbey for more than 50 years. It’s diamonds like him that have made this club tick.
Then it was on with the action. Initial impressions of United’s new three-pronged attack were favourable: Riza had the electric pace and movement, Chilli was able to get far more involved in a slightly deeper position, Kitson was his usual tireless self, popping up all over the park, leading and prompting the charge one minute and tackling back the next.
The visitors were more direct in a conventional 4-4-2, but it was soon noticeable that veteran Peter Beagrie, chief tormentor at Glanford Park, was a shadow of that player today. He looked suspiciously lacking in fitness and mobility, so although the tricky footwork and crossing was still there, he scarcely ran more than five yards at a time all day. Good news for the U’s.
The goalkeepers were untroubled in the opening exchanges as the two sides felt each other out (figuratively speaking). Izzy Iriekpen continues to grow with every game as he learns the Nationwide ropes, and he was in majestic form today, unbeatable in the air and cool as a cucumber on the ground. He set his stall out early as he tussled with the experienced Taylor for a ball down the right channel, and despite looking second favourite he out-muscled the portly striker, dispossessed him then turned, sent an opponent the wrong way and laid the ball off calmly and accurately. A footballing Fonzie. His defensive partner Stev Angus didn’t feel so cool on eight as he stopped an Ian Kilford blaster with his stomach and collapsed, winded, as it flew off for a corner. A couple of minutes with Ant’s magic ice cubes soon brought him round, though.
Two minutes later Dalglish forced Dancing Shaun into a routine save with a volley from a Beagrie cross, but it was not long before United were in the ascendant and they were in front on 14. It was the tireless Kitson who started it, intercepting a pass on halfway then finding the winged heels of Riza to send him sprinting down the left. He eventually got to the touchline, cut inside then, looking up (yes, he does sometimes!) slid a perfect ball back between keeper and defender for the inrushing Kitson to ram home from six yards. This attack looked more on fire than Brighton Pier.
United dominated possession for the rest of the half as the front three were backed up by an equally hard-working middle three, Lil’ Luke the one to get forward most while Captain Fantastic directed traffic in the middle and Terrier Fleming covered every blade of grass with scorch marks. Best chance to increase the lead came on 20: Guttridge’s edge-of-area stinger was palmed high into the air by keeper Tom Evans, then clawed away to Riza wide right, He crossed it back in for Wanless to head diagonally across goal and back to The Geezer unmarked inside the six-yard box at the far post; but the ball was just too high for the little fella and he could only head it agonisingly wide.
The hosts continued to threaten while failing to find that killer touch. One superb Kitson header sent Riza away down the left again, but this time his cross fizzed across the box without a finish from an amber shirt, and Kitson found the same when he broke clear down the right but put his low cross through a sea of bodies without one of them getting a toe on it.
For Scunny, Dalglish wellied over from a Beagrie cross just before the half-hour, then another United corner was cleared to Adam Tann on the right flank. Facing away from goal with a defender breathing down his neck, he produced a sublime turn that would have done Johan Cruyff proud to leave his man for dead, charged into the box and let fly with a fizzer that looked goal-bound until it cannoned off Kilford for another flag kick. The under-pressure Scunthorpe defence looked in more trouble than Ipswich’s bank balance. But that second goal just wouldn’t come.
Beagrie fired wide from 25 on 34, then another Riza run and cross saw Chilli scuff his shot across goal from five yards and Guttridge just couldn’t reach it beyond the far post. As half-time approached, Scunny rallied and forced a couple of corners, but Iriekpen and Angus were dominant and cleared their lines each time. The interval whistle was greeted with warm approval by the amber hordes, who had witnessed one of the most impressively coherent team performances from their side in many months. The only nagging worry was that one goal wouldn’t be enough; clean sheets at the Abbey are as rare as an England away game without subnormal morons smashing a bar up. Send the beggars to Iraq (writes Colonel ‘Pongo’ Rotherhithe-Flagellator, 85).
So, was part two of the match to be as disappointing as part two of the season (so far)? Early signs were encouraging, Chilli seeing an early shot blocked by Andrew Dawson, then Lil’ Luke having a speculative effort caught by Evans. A Beagrie cross was headed over by Paul Hayes on 48, then a vintage Wanless tackle that would have felled an elephant, or even Neil Ruddock, found Guttridge and his superb ball over the top sent Kitson clear on goal. Nathan Stanton sprinted back to challenge, and under pressure the BGG shot high into the side netting from the edge of the area. Best chance yet for 2-0.
Then it was Riza’s turn to menace again as he picked up the ball in the left channel, ran at his man into the box, cut inside as he invariably does, but frustratingly slipped just as he was about to pull the trigger. Can he wear spikes next time? Another Geezer break resulted in a cross, but once again none of the marauding amber bods were able to make meaningful contact. A Guttridge corner on 54 found Wanless’s head, but he put it just wide of the near post, then Riza stung Evans’s palms as he cut inside again and let fly.
The visitors responded with a Beagrie free kick from 25 that he floated characteristically over the wall, but with insufficient power to trouble the clutching hands of Marshall. Then Hayes interchanged with Kilford before firing goalward and producing a good flying parry from the Terpsichorean custodian. There was more frantic toing and froing now than at a flower shop full of forgetful sons on Mother’s Day. You did remember, didn’t you?
Kilford was booked on the hour for a reckless lunge into Kitson’s chest that left him doubled up until Ant came to the rescue with his mystical cubes, then Riza tested Evans again. Milford then flattened Kitson again, having established him as United’s danger man. He was very lucky to avoid a second yellow from Mr Lenient, Steve Baines, who handed out his share of clatterings in his days as an industrial Chesterfield centre-back. Lovely grin, though.
Turning point of the game came with Scunny’s equaliser on 67. Dalglish ran at the United defence down the left and pulled back to Hayes, and his early-taken shot from 18 yards seemed to catch Marshall by surprise, perhaps with an unkind bounce, as it bobbled in off the Dancemeister’s prone body. All very regrettable and untidy, and suddenly all United’s dominance counted for nought as their visitors rallied. Hayes fired wide a couple of minutes later, then Kilford was replaced by Wayne Graves, presumably before he got himself sent off for attacking Kitson again.
The hosts could also have done with an injection of fresh legs, but the anorexia of the current Tiny Tom-less squad was brought home by a look at the bench: apart from Franco Nacca and keeper Brennan, there was just David Theobald (non-contract, one game as sub this season) and two kids, John Turner and Jonathan Heathcote, without a first-team game between them. The cupboard was as bare as Pish’s sponsorless shirt front.
Now it was United who were under pressure as Beagrie, still not running with the ball but no slouch with a set piece, scudded in a succession of corners curled just under the bar, Marshall fisting away time and again under pressure from the towering opposition. It wasn’t all one way, Wanless heading another Guttridge corner wide on 73 and Fleming missing with another header from a Murray cross just after Angus picked up United’s token yellow for a lunge on Dalglish on halfway. The brave Captain was flattened by Evans on 84 as he punched a Murray cross away and almost took Wannie’s head off in the process, but he soldiered on after Mr Coole’s tender ministrations as the battle approached its climax.
A draw looked increasingly likely as the minutes ticked by (especially as the score was 1-1) but both teams kept plugging away: Marshall saved from Matt Sparrow on 88, Kitson had a header held by Evans on 89, and on time United gained a free kick wide left 40 yards out. Fleming looked like aiming at a gaggle of bodies lining up for it at the far side of the box, but instead sent a floater towards the unguarded near post which almost caught Evans unawares before he plucked it from the air. If he tells you it was a deliberate, visionary attempt at goal, don’t forget the salt cellar. United were last to press for a winner in stoppage time, Guttridge’s mishit effort deflected wide, then it was all over.
Initial home reaction was one of disappointment, having dominated for over an hour with some at times scintillating passing football, but Scunny are always mean competitors, although the evenness of this division shows when such a workmanlike team can be as high as fourth. Those play-off places remain tantalisingly out of reach, and you suspect we are going to run out of games now with only six left. With such a small squad, promotion would probably be premature anyway, although you can never say never. But if we do stay down, we can always look forward to welcoming Tiny Tom back next year. Bet he looks really strange in Cobblers mauve …
Marshall 7 – Stood up well under pressure from Scunny’s giants, particularly from the numerous corners curled in under his bar. Will be disappointed with their equaliser, though.
Tann 8 – Comfortable performance from United’s best right back.
Murray 7 – Put in the effort but still far from his best.
Iriekpen 9 – Absolutely colossal. Won everything in the air and also completely in command on the floor.
Angus 8 – Ever-calm sweeper-up at the back.
Guttridge 8 – Splendid display of midfield craft as the furthest advanced of the midfield trio.
Wanless 8 – Led from the middle in true captain-like style and always involved.
Fleming 8 – Least noticeable of the three but no less important, covering ground tirelessly all afternoon.
Chillingworth 8 – Excellent in his new position, frequently at the heart of the action.
Riza 8 – Constant menace with his coruscating pace and great set-up for the goal.
Kitson 9 – Easily the game’s most skilful player, his deft control and flicks, cool dribbling and seemingly effortless way of beating an opponent must have had the scouts foaming at the mouth. A second goal would have made it the perfect performance.
Soundtrack of the day: LCD Soundsystem/Losing My Edge
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Passe-Pied. ‘This charming old dance was said to have been originated by the sailors of the Basse-Bretagne, and came to prominence in France in the early 1500s. It was basically a much faster version of the Minuet, and was also known as the Rigaudon. Divided into eight figures, this beautiful, graceful dance was very popular in the French courts right up to the 18th century. Scott Eustace is popular in the English courts nowadays, but at least that means he can’t be a bad influence on my back four now – I’ll leave that to Martin Brennan! Only joking, Brenners. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United’s new-look attack could have had the game dead and buried in the first hour, but Scunny rose from the grave to equalise and might even have won at the end. We might have the soul for getting down, but the points for getting up are beginning to look as elusive as Jacko’s nose.
Man of the match: Izzy Iriekpen. You know that big, commanding dominator that we’ve been looking for to shore up our central defence? He’s wearing number 11.
Ref watch: Baines 7. This former rough, tough pro has always been the most reluctant to throw cards around, but there was little need for that today and he mostly let the game flow pretty well.
The King of the Abbey wandered thoughtfully around the deserted dressing room, musing on the momentous events of the previous few days. His eye alighted on an abandoned jockstrap lying in a corner. ‘Whose is that?’ he inquired of his assistant. ‘That? It was one of Tom Youngs’s. He must have left it behind in his hurry to leave,’ replied Dale. Shaggy’s eyes widened. ‘Let me see.’ He cradled the sporting undergarment in his horny-handed grip.
‘Alas, poor Youngsie! I knew him, Brooksie. A fellow of infinite brain, of most excellent talent; he hath borne the team on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred to my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those legs that I have thank’d I know not how oft. Where be your flicks now, your great goals, your passes, your flashes of genius that were wont to set this stadium on a roar? Not one now to mock your own hasty departure to the strugglers up the road? Now get you to the club shop, and tell Suzy, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Brooksie, tell me one thing.’ ‘What’s that, Shaggy?’ ‘Dost thou think Dion’s look’d a this fashion i’ th’ shower?’ ‘E’en so.’ ‘And smelt so? Pah!’ He threw the jockstrap to the ground. Brooksie added: ‘E’en so, JT. About twice the size, mind …’
So farewell then, Tiny Tom. More literate than a thousand Jackanories, more cunning than a barrel full of weasels, light as a feather with the face of a country cherub and the hair of a tousled vole, Tom had been at the club since he was a foetus. But at the first sniff of an offer, he upped sticks with almost indecent haste and joined the all-too-familiar scene of a Second Division relegation battle. And we all thought he was dead clever, too. We will see just how clever at the end of the season, hmm?
In the meantime, it fell to the unlikely figure of Dan Chillingworth to fill Tom’s position ‘in the hole’ behind Big Dave Kitson and Riza The Geezer. Only other change to the team was in the BGG’s hair, which now resembles a cockatoo with alopecia that’s stuck its claw in an electrical socket. For Scunny, the only club nicknamed after a household implement used for pressing clothes, new boys Greg Strong (on loan from Hull) and Paul 'Talent isn’t hereditary’ Dalglish debuted, and top scorer and Boro reject Martin Carruthers was dropped in favour of chubby journeyman Robert Taylor.
The day started in sombre mood with an immaculately observed minute’s silence for Ken Brown, an unsung behind-the-scenes hero on the stewarding side at the Abbey for more than 50 years. It’s diamonds like him that have made this club tick.
Then it was on with the action. Initial impressions of United’s new three-pronged attack were favourable: Riza had the electric pace and movement, Chilli was able to get far more involved in a slightly deeper position, Kitson was his usual tireless self, popping up all over the park, leading and prompting the charge one minute and tackling back the next.
The visitors were more direct in a conventional 4-4-2, but it was soon noticeable that veteran Peter Beagrie, chief tormentor at Glanford Park, was a shadow of that player today. He looked suspiciously lacking in fitness and mobility, so although the tricky footwork and crossing was still there, he scarcely ran more than five yards at a time all day. Good news for the U’s.
The goalkeepers were untroubled in the opening exchanges as the two sides felt each other out (figuratively speaking). Izzy Iriekpen continues to grow with every game as he learns the Nationwide ropes, and he was in majestic form today, unbeatable in the air and cool as a cucumber on the ground. He set his stall out early as he tussled with the experienced Taylor for a ball down the right channel, and despite looking second favourite he out-muscled the portly striker, dispossessed him then turned, sent an opponent the wrong way and laid the ball off calmly and accurately. A footballing Fonzie. His defensive partner Stev Angus didn’t feel so cool on eight as he stopped an Ian Kilford blaster with his stomach and collapsed, winded, as it flew off for a corner. A couple of minutes with Ant’s magic ice cubes soon brought him round, though.
Two minutes later Dalglish forced Dancing Shaun into a routine save with a volley from a Beagrie cross, but it was not long before United were in the ascendant and they were in front on 14. It was the tireless Kitson who started it, intercepting a pass on halfway then finding the winged heels of Riza to send him sprinting down the left. He eventually got to the touchline, cut inside then, looking up (yes, he does sometimes!) slid a perfect ball back between keeper and defender for the inrushing Kitson to ram home from six yards. This attack looked more on fire than Brighton Pier.
United dominated possession for the rest of the half as the front three were backed up by an equally hard-working middle three, Lil’ Luke the one to get forward most while Captain Fantastic directed traffic in the middle and Terrier Fleming covered every blade of grass with scorch marks. Best chance to increase the lead came on 20: Guttridge’s edge-of-area stinger was palmed high into the air by keeper Tom Evans, then clawed away to Riza wide right, He crossed it back in for Wanless to head diagonally across goal and back to The Geezer unmarked inside the six-yard box at the far post; but the ball was just too high for the little fella and he could only head it agonisingly wide.
The hosts continued to threaten while failing to find that killer touch. One superb Kitson header sent Riza away down the left again, but this time his cross fizzed across the box without a finish from an amber shirt, and Kitson found the same when he broke clear down the right but put his low cross through a sea of bodies without one of them getting a toe on it.
For Scunny, Dalglish wellied over from a Beagrie cross just before the half-hour, then another United corner was cleared to Adam Tann on the right flank. Facing away from goal with a defender breathing down his neck, he produced a sublime turn that would have done Johan Cruyff proud to leave his man for dead, charged into the box and let fly with a fizzer that looked goal-bound until it cannoned off Kilford for another flag kick. The under-pressure Scunthorpe defence looked in more trouble than Ipswich’s bank balance. But that second goal just wouldn’t come.
Beagrie fired wide from 25 on 34, then another Riza run and cross saw Chilli scuff his shot across goal from five yards and Guttridge just couldn’t reach it beyond the far post. As half-time approached, Scunny rallied and forced a couple of corners, but Iriekpen and Angus were dominant and cleared their lines each time. The interval whistle was greeted with warm approval by the amber hordes, who had witnessed one of the most impressively coherent team performances from their side in many months. The only nagging worry was that one goal wouldn’t be enough; clean sheets at the Abbey are as rare as an England away game without subnormal morons smashing a bar up. Send the beggars to Iraq (writes Colonel ‘Pongo’ Rotherhithe-Flagellator, 85).
So, was part two of the match to be as disappointing as part two of the season (so far)? Early signs were encouraging, Chilli seeing an early shot blocked by Andrew Dawson, then Lil’ Luke having a speculative effort caught by Evans. A Beagrie cross was headed over by Paul Hayes on 48, then a vintage Wanless tackle that would have felled an elephant, or even Neil Ruddock, found Guttridge and his superb ball over the top sent Kitson clear on goal. Nathan Stanton sprinted back to challenge, and under pressure the BGG shot high into the side netting from the edge of the area. Best chance yet for 2-0.
Then it was Riza’s turn to menace again as he picked up the ball in the left channel, ran at his man into the box, cut inside as he invariably does, but frustratingly slipped just as he was about to pull the trigger. Can he wear spikes next time? Another Geezer break resulted in a cross, but once again none of the marauding amber bods were able to make meaningful contact. A Guttridge corner on 54 found Wanless’s head, but he put it just wide of the near post, then Riza stung Evans’s palms as he cut inside again and let fly.
The visitors responded with a Beagrie free kick from 25 that he floated characteristically over the wall, but with insufficient power to trouble the clutching hands of Marshall. Then Hayes interchanged with Kilford before firing goalward and producing a good flying parry from the Terpsichorean custodian. There was more frantic toing and froing now than at a flower shop full of forgetful sons on Mother’s Day. You did remember, didn’t you?
Kilford was booked on the hour for a reckless lunge into Kitson’s chest that left him doubled up until Ant came to the rescue with his mystical cubes, then Riza tested Evans again. Milford then flattened Kitson again, having established him as United’s danger man. He was very lucky to avoid a second yellow from Mr Lenient, Steve Baines, who handed out his share of clatterings in his days as an industrial Chesterfield centre-back. Lovely grin, though.
Turning point of the game came with Scunny’s equaliser on 67. Dalglish ran at the United defence down the left and pulled back to Hayes, and his early-taken shot from 18 yards seemed to catch Marshall by surprise, perhaps with an unkind bounce, as it bobbled in off the Dancemeister’s prone body. All very regrettable and untidy, and suddenly all United’s dominance counted for nought as their visitors rallied. Hayes fired wide a couple of minutes later, then Kilford was replaced by Wayne Graves, presumably before he got himself sent off for attacking Kitson again.
The hosts could also have done with an injection of fresh legs, but the anorexia of the current Tiny Tom-less squad was brought home by a look at the bench: apart from Franco Nacca and keeper Brennan, there was just David Theobald (non-contract, one game as sub this season) and two kids, John Turner and Jonathan Heathcote, without a first-team game between them. The cupboard was as bare as Pish’s sponsorless shirt front.
Now it was United who were under pressure as Beagrie, still not running with the ball but no slouch with a set piece, scudded in a succession of corners curled just under the bar, Marshall fisting away time and again under pressure from the towering opposition. It wasn’t all one way, Wanless heading another Guttridge corner wide on 73 and Fleming missing with another header from a Murray cross just after Angus picked up United’s token yellow for a lunge on Dalglish on halfway. The brave Captain was flattened by Evans on 84 as he punched a Murray cross away and almost took Wannie’s head off in the process, but he soldiered on after Mr Coole’s tender ministrations as the battle approached its climax.
A draw looked increasingly likely as the minutes ticked by (especially as the score was 1-1) but both teams kept plugging away: Marshall saved from Matt Sparrow on 88, Kitson had a header held by Evans on 89, and on time United gained a free kick wide left 40 yards out. Fleming looked like aiming at a gaggle of bodies lining up for it at the far side of the box, but instead sent a floater towards the unguarded near post which almost caught Evans unawares before he plucked it from the air. If he tells you it was a deliberate, visionary attempt at goal, don’t forget the salt cellar. United were last to press for a winner in stoppage time, Guttridge’s mishit effort deflected wide, then it was all over.
Initial home reaction was one of disappointment, having dominated for over an hour with some at times scintillating passing football, but Scunny are always mean competitors, although the evenness of this division shows when such a workmanlike team can be as high as fourth. Those play-off places remain tantalisingly out of reach, and you suspect we are going to run out of games now with only six left. With such a small squad, promotion would probably be premature anyway, although you can never say never. But if we do stay down, we can always look forward to welcoming Tiny Tom back next year. Bet he looks really strange in Cobblers mauve …
Marshall 7 – Stood up well under pressure from Scunny’s giants, particularly from the numerous corners curled in under his bar. Will be disappointed with their equaliser, though.
Tann 8 – Comfortable performance from United’s best right back.
Murray 7 – Put in the effort but still far from his best.
Iriekpen 9 – Absolutely colossal. Won everything in the air and also completely in command on the floor.
Angus 8 – Ever-calm sweeper-up at the back.
Guttridge 8 – Splendid display of midfield craft as the furthest advanced of the midfield trio.
Wanless 8 – Led from the middle in true captain-like style and always involved.
Fleming 8 – Least noticeable of the three but no less important, covering ground tirelessly all afternoon.
Chillingworth 8 – Excellent in his new position, frequently at the heart of the action.
Riza 8 – Constant menace with his coruscating pace and great set-up for the goal.
Kitson 9 – Easily the game’s most skilful player, his deft control and flicks, cool dribbling and seemingly effortless way of beating an opponent must have had the scouts foaming at the mouth. A second goal would have made it the perfect performance.
Soundtrack of the day: LCD Soundsystem/Losing My Edge
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Passe-Pied. ‘This charming old dance was said to have been originated by the sailors of the Basse-Bretagne, and came to prominence in France in the early 1500s. It was basically a much faster version of the Minuet, and was also known as the Rigaudon. Divided into eight figures, this beautiful, graceful dance was very popular in the French courts right up to the 18th century. Scott Eustace is popular in the English courts nowadays, but at least that means he can’t be a bad influence on my back four now – I’ll leave that to Martin Brennan! Only joking, Brenners. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: United’s new-look attack could have had the game dead and buried in the first hour, but Scunny rose from the grave to equalise and might even have won at the end. We might have the soul for getting down, but the points for getting up are beginning to look as elusive as Jacko’s nose.
Man of the match: Izzy Iriekpen. You know that big, commanding dominator that we’ve been looking for to shore up our central defence? He’s wearing number 11.
Ref watch: Baines 7. This former rough, tough pro has always been the most reluctant to throw cards around, but there was little need for that today and he mostly let the game flow pretty well.
An old bull and (above) an elephant: either would have been felled by a Paul Wanless tackle.
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Saturday, 5 April 2003: Macclesfield Town 1-1 United
The wise, grey-headed leader gave greeting to his colleagues and bade them sit at the rickety, irregular-shaped table. ‘My friends!’ he boomed in stentorian tones. ‘We are gathered here today to consider the admission of a new member to our honourable society. He is the one who is called Ezomo, also known as Izzy. Who proposes this man?’
‘’Tis I, sire,’ said Sir Stev decisively. ‘I have known Ezomo for several years and can vouch that he would be a valuable addition to our ranks. He is most adept at both defensive and offensive tactics and together we would make a most fearsome team!’ ‘Well spoken, Stev,’ responded Sir Gareth. ‘And who seconds the motion?’ A more senior figure rose to his feet.
‘I, Sir John, do,’ he declared in a decisive, husky voice. ‘He has already demonstrated his expertise in dealing with the villainous Fletcher of Bournemouth and the fearsome bulk of the Taylor of Scunthorpe. I admit that he did not fare so well with the Parkin of York, but he was unwell that day and would normally dispose of such a cumbersome oik with the greatest of comfort. He has my heartiest recommendation.’
Sir Gareth grunted approvingly. ‘A vote, then. All those in favour?’ The show of hands was unanimous; the soon-to-be Sir Izzy was welcomed into the room with great hurrahs. ‘Welcome, Ezomo! Welcome to the Knights of the Occasional Table!’ A slight, blond-haired figure appeared at the door, clearing his throat nervously. ‘Ah … Sir Gareth? There is the little matter of his bursary? The coffers are all but bare … ’ Sir Gareth rolled his eyes. ‘O woe! Fortress Abbey dallies still with penury. A curse upon the profligacy of the Dark Lords of Granada and their dishonourable allies! And as for you, Sir Reginald …’
The Mighty U’s are not alone in their reliance on loan players in these cash-strapped times. Today’s opponents, Macclesfield, have also signed a temporary newbie in the shape of Crewe Alexandra’s John Miles, a good capture given that music was his first love, and it will be his last; music of the future, and music of the past. Apparently.
It was only United’s third match away to the lads from Macc, and the previous two had both ended in ignominious defeat, by 3-1 and 4-1, although we did beat Chester 2-0 at the Moss Rose back in 1991 while they shared it temporarily. The first ‘Macc’ visit back in 1997 was the most memorable, firstly for the convivial hostelry adjoining the ground, and secondly for the most inadequate toilet facility in the world … ever! An entire away end was served by a solitary, temporary, green plastic cubicle with no working lock, constraining the hapless user to wedge its door shut with one strategically placed foot, and no light of any sort, meaning that on a winter’s day one was forced to perform one’s ablutions by touch alone from half-time onwards. There was, however, a small hole positioned artfully in the door to allow one to continue to watch the action on the pitch while, er, performing.
Mercifully, the Moss Rose now has a fully functioning and adequate toilet block. Devastatingly, however, the pub has vanished entirely, leaving only a patch of gravel as if it had never existed. We didn’t imagine it, did we? There was, thankfully, a small but perfectly hospitable hostelry a few minutes’ walk away, enabling one to sup a pint or five of Robinson’s Best while watching Man U put the Scousers to the sword and marvel at their ability to gain seemingly unlimited penalty kicks from obliging refs. All that and Ian St John too! But sadly no Greavsie to swap hilarious banter like in the good old days. Come to think of it, those were the rubbish old days, weren’t they?
Still and all, it was a glorious, sunny day on which to enjoy one of the last remaining open terraces in the League, after a pleasant journey through the hills and vales of the Peaks not unlike the trip to Carlisle a couple of weeks ago. The Rose retains a quintessential air of non-League about it (by no means an insult), with its main stand a quaint, tiny affair squatting in the middle of one side of the pitch with a small uncovered terrace in front and either side of it. The opposite end is odder still, a covered stand consisting of three rows of seats in front, then terracing behind.
The only nod to modernity is the most recent stand along the other side, a shallow, eight-row cantilever job with windows of executive boxes along its length at the back. The floodlighting consists of a stalk at either end of this stand, and four more dotted along the length of the other side, although its efficacy would not be tested on such a bright spring day as today. The corner between away and home terraces was occupied by a peculiar stand-alone clock face unadorned by any casing as if it had just been salvaged from a skip and dumped in the corner as some sort of ad-hoc decoration. Fascinating.
Pre-match ‘entertainment’ consisted of Classic Rock (Thin Lizzy, Bon Jovi, not ’arf, mate) being pumped through the PA while mascot Roary The Unimaginatively-Named Lion (think the lion from The Wizard Of Oz rendered as a six-year-old in a faux-naif Manga style) pelted us with a fusillade of sweets. The kids on the terrace rushed to devour them, rather poignantly leaving the boring round toffee ones unwrapped, uneaten and unloved to melt slowly into the concrete. The rest of us just read the programme, expensive at £2.50 but a cheerful and thumpingly chunky read. And Macc’s away strip, an alarming sort of DayGlo orange, must surely be the only football shirt visible from space.
The United line-up, clad all in amber, showed no change from last week, Lil’ Luke Guttridge having been passed fit despite being sick all week, while Wozza Goodhind returned to the bench in place of young Heathcote. Macclesfield, one of so many teams desperately battling the two-team drop, were on a roll, their last eight games reading W4 D2 L2, while their last two results were a 1-0 win at Oxford and a 2-0 home victory over Kidderminster. Only change from that team was the introduction of Mr Miles, while they boasted two Abbeys, George on the pitch and Ben on the bench. Best-known player, though, was veteran Bermudan international striker Kyle Lightbourne, still chugging along at 34, pockets full of Werther’s Originals and Preparation H.
Macc started at an Aintree-esque gallop, looking to feed Miles or Lightbourne with a brisk channel ball over the top or send a runner through from midfield. Danny Adams saw their first effort blocked by Angus on three, while slow-starting United forced home keeper Steve Wilson into his initial action on seven as he clutched Chillingworth’s cross-shot with comfort.
Best weapon in the visitors’ armoury looked to be the pace of Riza The Geezer, and he almost made the breakthrough on 12 as he sprinted clear from the defence on to a high ball. As it bounced and Wilson rushed from his line à la poule sans tête, he scorned the chance to lob him from the D and instead chose to dink it around the keeper, but his heavy touch took him to the byline and he was smothered by retreating defenders.
A few minutes later Chilli almost put Kitson in, but Wilson gathered at the BGG’s feet as his first touch just took it too far, then on 18 Miles attempted a cheeky lob from just outside the area that landed on top of the net. Kitson was busy putting himself about, to the disquiet of the home following, and a foul on him on 19 saw a posse of United players gather in the area for Guttridge’s free kick from the right flank … but his set piece was all too predictably dismal, a feeble, scuffed effort that barely left the ground, fell hopelessly behind the amber shirts and enabled the hosts to clear the lines. Seems this has happened all too often this season, eh Lukey boy?
The pattern of the game was now established. Macc did more huffing and puffing, but as you would expect from a team in their position, lacked the quality to go with their effort, and an imperious-looking Iriekpen and Angus dealt with everything that came their way as coolly and ruthlessly as a Grand National vet. An extremely below-par, end-of-season looking United knocked it around reasonably well in the middle but lacked any sort of final ball or cutting edge, the midfield not matching their running with creativity, while the supposed link-man, Chilli, remained largely anonymous.
Not a recipe for a classic, and the excellent United turnout found their attention wandering to Macc’s loudest-mouthed fan, a well-fed chap in an England shirt standing around halfway but well within seeing and hearing distance in this compact venue. His cries of ‘Silkmen!’ were met with ‘Milkmen!’ from the amber hordes. A hilarious home chant of ‘Oxford!’ resulted in a chorus of ‘Who’s the w****r in the white?’, to which he responded with spread arms and a beam of pride. I suppose there isn’t too much competition at the club with the smallest average attendance in the League.
Back to the ‘action’ on the pitch. Kitson helped out in defence when he cleared a Dunning corner on 20, then Danny Whitaker shot over from 20 yards a minute later; Chilli had an effort blocked by Karl Munroe on 24 and Murray blasted ambitiously wide three minutes further on. A Riza run down the left saw his cross fall frustratingly behind the inrushing Kitson, Guttridge blazed wide on the half-hour, and the BGG cleared a Whitaker corner on 32.
The latter also missed on 35, but narrowest escape so far came seven minutes before the break as the dangerous Miles wriggled past Murray wide right and crossed from the touchline to Chris Priest, arriving unmarked at the near post; somehow, he drove it all the way across a goal that gaped wider than the hole in Leeds United’s finances and wide of the far post when he had only to hit the target to score.
Kitson continued to put himself about to the chagrin of both supporters and defenders, and Steve Macauley reacted to a foul on 40 with a raised-arms push that was lucky to be punished by only a ‘quiet word’ with both players from ref Alan Wiley. But then the Milkmen, sorry Silkmen, broke the deadlock. Lightbourne’s flick from a long ball fell back to him on the edge of the area, and with a lightning-fast change of feet and a minimum of backlift he sent an absolute screamer arrowing high past the helpless Marshall and into the roof of the net before the Terpsichorean custodian could move. A superb goal which in truth belonged in an entirely different and infinitely better match.
Macclesfield, encouraged, continued to press and all of a sudden the away contingent began to fear a collapse might be at hand from their lackadaisical heroes. Abbey shot over from 20 yards, but mercifully there was no time for any more damage before half-time and a pep-talk from Shaggy and the Prof. United won against similar struggling opposition at Carlisle recently, also without playing well and after absorbing much more pressure, but the Cumbrians hadn’t been able to score. Now United had to in order to secure even a point, and that was going to mean a substantial improvement.
Who knows whether the dynamic management duo took a leaf from the book of Ferguson (shouting and kicking), Reid (ranting and swearing), Wenger (gentle persuasion) or Fry (all of the above, minus the ‘gentle’ but with a mouthful of meat pie); it did at least produce something …
There was little immediate change; Macc were still slightly on top, Iriekpen blocking a Whitaker shot on 50 and Murray right-footedly slicing a Lightbourne cross over his own bar on the hour as Miles lurked behind him. Adam Tann spoilt an otherwise impressive game by picking up a yellow for a basic foul on 63, then Wanless conceded a free kick just outside the box which Lightbourne aimed for the top of the net and just shaved the bar; Marshall may have got a touch but a goal kick was the result. But out of nothing, United equalised a couple of minutes later.
Significantly, its creation owed nothing to the midfield: Iriekpen’s long ball found Kitson in the left channel, and his deft, inch-perfect flick sent Riza sprinting clear between a dithering Wilson and his defender Tinson to slalom round the keeper and poke home past the defender on the line. Devastating stuff, and a barely deserved leveller. Now at last we began to see some traces of the real United as their self-belief grew and Macc’s shrank like John Gregory’s employment prospects. On 70 Chilli had a fleeting chance to break his season’s duck as he latched on to a through ball barely six yards out, but he failed to get the right connection and the danger was cleared. He’s going to have to start taking chances like that.
Then it was the hosts’ turn to menace as a left-wing Adams cross found Priest unmarked less than ten yards out, but his header was too near Marshall and Shaun clutched it safely. Then it was Izzy’s turn to impress with an unexpected forward run, sprinting past a couple of opponents, playing a one-two with Guttridge but sadly leaving the final shot to Lil’ Luke, his uncontrolled welly finishing nearer the corner flag than the goal. Wanless put a free kick lamely into the wall from 25 yards, then ten minutes before the end both sides made their only changes, Murray replaced by Goodhind after another worrying weakest-link display and Haddrell on for Abbey for the hosts.
Both teams continued to go at each other, tempers still fraying, ref Wiley raising a wry chuckle when he stopped Guttridge from taking a right-wing free kick to have a word with a few players in the jostling waiting throng. His ministrations had the opposite effect to that desired and all of a sudden previously focused players were having a go at each other in a stupid handbagfest. Eventually everyone calmed down sufficiently for Luke to send over a trademark useless kick that avoided his players and set up Macc for a break that resulted in a corner less than ten seconds later. See me afterwards.
A minute from time came the defining moment: Riza picked the ball up wide left and set off on one of his thrilling, weaving runs, beating two blue shirts then aiming a fantastic curler that was bending into the top corner until pawed away at full stretch by Wilson. There only remained time for Terrier Fleming to be booked for a five-minutes-late tackle on Dunning and for Wiley to deliver another lecture to more fired-up players before he blew the final whistle to save any further unpleasantness. The Macc fans finished with a rendition of The Great Escape, which must be the most popular song in the division at the moment. Unfortunately, we’re still wandering around the huts shaking soil from the bottoms of our trouser legs when we need to be crawling to the end of the tunnel by now.
So, five games unbeaten but a second consecutive draw when only wins are really enough to close that gap at the top. We’ll keep going to the end, of course, but we can’t expect to get more than a point from a game in which we only played remotely well for half an hour at best against opposition that may lack class but is fighting for its very League life. Looks like a reunion with Gary Johnson is on for next season, and well done to the little fella. I bet he’s looking forward to that reunion with Ian Atkins already!
Marshall 8 – No chance with the goal and two vital saves when required.
Tann 8 – Strong, safe performance from our best right back.
Murray 6 – Caught napping too often by balls over the top down his side, and lucky Iriekpen and Angus were there to cover for him.
Iriekpen 9 – Head and shoulders above the rest, figuratively and literally. Colossal!
Angus 8 – Stev’s supercool presence is undoubtedly helping his ex-West Ham colleague form a quite outstanding central defensive partnership.
Guttridge 6 – Covered a lot of ground but created little. Set pieces still too often sub-standard.
Wanless 7 – Beating heart of the team, although some ECT wouldn’t have gone amiss in a mediocre first half.
Fleming 6 – No denying his work rate, but not terribly productive today.
Chillingworth 6 – Only involved in flashes and didn’t convince anyone that he’s worth a regular place … yet, at least.
Riza 8 – Buzzing menace on the all-too-rare occasions he got the ball. One excellent goal and almost one superb one.
Kitson 7 – Poorly served by his suppliers, although made our goal with a better pass than any he received on the day.
Goodhind 7 – Made a good, positive impression in his ten minutes on the field.
Soundtrack of the day: Clearlake/Almost The Same
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Bamboula. ‘This lively dance came to prominence in pre-Civil War New Orleans. The Creole and black communities would gather in Congo Square and perform what was a rather racy dance for the time, probably derived from the performers’ folk memories of their African forebears. This would last for hours as the musicians played in a circle, the women formed a singing, clapping chorus, then one man would dance into the circle and pick out a female. Further men and women would follow as the dance became gradually more frantic with leaping, chanting and energetic movement of the feet, often until dancers would collapse exhausted and be pulled out of the ring! Fred Murray does something similar at Life most Wednesdays, but I don’t think it’s exhaustion that makes him collapse! Only joking, Freddie. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: If golf is a good walk spoilt, a trip to Moss Rose is usually a nice day out ruined, but United’s first ever point there and a couple of cracking goals made the long trip just about worthwhile. A resoundingly average first half was improved by a slightly better second against opposition that, like Carlisle, was limited but fighting for its life. We can play much, much better than this, but it looks increasingly like we’ll have to do it in Division Three again next season. Bring on the Yeovil …
Man of the match: Izzy Iriekpen. The obvious class he showed when he first joined us is being enhanced by first-team experience, and this boy seems to have the lot: enormous physical strength, vision, coolness, aerial ability and as much skill on the ball as any defender in this League. Sign him up!
Ref watch: Riley 8. Kept control well most of the time without flashing cards around, although over-fussy with some innocuous challenges and seemed to forget the existence of the advantage rule altogether.
The wise, grey-headed leader gave greeting to his colleagues and bade them sit at the rickety, irregular-shaped table. ‘My friends!’ he boomed in stentorian tones. ‘We are gathered here today to consider the admission of a new member to our honourable society. He is the one who is called Ezomo, also known as Izzy. Who proposes this man?’
‘’Tis I, sire,’ said Sir Stev decisively. ‘I have known Ezomo for several years and can vouch that he would be a valuable addition to our ranks. He is most adept at both defensive and offensive tactics and together we would make a most fearsome team!’ ‘Well spoken, Stev,’ responded Sir Gareth. ‘And who seconds the motion?’ A more senior figure rose to his feet.
‘I, Sir John, do,’ he declared in a decisive, husky voice. ‘He has already demonstrated his expertise in dealing with the villainous Fletcher of Bournemouth and the fearsome bulk of the Taylor of Scunthorpe. I admit that he did not fare so well with the Parkin of York, but he was unwell that day and would normally dispose of such a cumbersome oik with the greatest of comfort. He has my heartiest recommendation.’
Sir Gareth grunted approvingly. ‘A vote, then. All those in favour?’ The show of hands was unanimous; the soon-to-be Sir Izzy was welcomed into the room with great hurrahs. ‘Welcome, Ezomo! Welcome to the Knights of the Occasional Table!’ A slight, blond-haired figure appeared at the door, clearing his throat nervously. ‘Ah … Sir Gareth? There is the little matter of his bursary? The coffers are all but bare … ’ Sir Gareth rolled his eyes. ‘O woe! Fortress Abbey dallies still with penury. A curse upon the profligacy of the Dark Lords of Granada and their dishonourable allies! And as for you, Sir Reginald …’
The Mighty U’s are not alone in their reliance on loan players in these cash-strapped times. Today’s opponents, Macclesfield, have also signed a temporary newbie in the shape of Crewe Alexandra’s John Miles, a good capture given that music was his first love, and it will be his last; music of the future, and music of the past. Apparently.
It was only United’s third match away to the lads from Macc, and the previous two had both ended in ignominious defeat, by 3-1 and 4-1, although we did beat Chester 2-0 at the Moss Rose back in 1991 while they shared it temporarily. The first ‘Macc’ visit back in 1997 was the most memorable, firstly for the convivial hostelry adjoining the ground, and secondly for the most inadequate toilet facility in the world … ever! An entire away end was served by a solitary, temporary, green plastic cubicle with no working lock, constraining the hapless user to wedge its door shut with one strategically placed foot, and no light of any sort, meaning that on a winter’s day one was forced to perform one’s ablutions by touch alone from half-time onwards. There was, however, a small hole positioned artfully in the door to allow one to continue to watch the action on the pitch while, er, performing.
Mercifully, the Moss Rose now has a fully functioning and adequate toilet block. Devastatingly, however, the pub has vanished entirely, leaving only a patch of gravel as if it had never existed. We didn’t imagine it, did we? There was, thankfully, a small but perfectly hospitable hostelry a few minutes’ walk away, enabling one to sup a pint or five of Robinson’s Best while watching Man U put the Scousers to the sword and marvel at their ability to gain seemingly unlimited penalty kicks from obliging refs. All that and Ian St John too! But sadly no Greavsie to swap hilarious banter like in the good old days. Come to think of it, those were the rubbish old days, weren’t they?
Still and all, it was a glorious, sunny day on which to enjoy one of the last remaining open terraces in the League, after a pleasant journey through the hills and vales of the Peaks not unlike the trip to Carlisle a couple of weeks ago. The Rose retains a quintessential air of non-League about it (by no means an insult), with its main stand a quaint, tiny affair squatting in the middle of one side of the pitch with a small uncovered terrace in front and either side of it. The opposite end is odder still, a covered stand consisting of three rows of seats in front, then terracing behind.
The only nod to modernity is the most recent stand along the other side, a shallow, eight-row cantilever job with windows of executive boxes along its length at the back. The floodlighting consists of a stalk at either end of this stand, and four more dotted along the length of the other side, although its efficacy would not be tested on such a bright spring day as today. The corner between away and home terraces was occupied by a peculiar stand-alone clock face unadorned by any casing as if it had just been salvaged from a skip and dumped in the corner as some sort of ad-hoc decoration. Fascinating.
Pre-match ‘entertainment’ consisted of Classic Rock (Thin Lizzy, Bon Jovi, not ’arf, mate) being pumped through the PA while mascot Roary The Unimaginatively-Named Lion (think the lion from The Wizard Of Oz rendered as a six-year-old in a faux-naif Manga style) pelted us with a fusillade of sweets. The kids on the terrace rushed to devour them, rather poignantly leaving the boring round toffee ones unwrapped, uneaten and unloved to melt slowly into the concrete. The rest of us just read the programme, expensive at £2.50 but a cheerful and thumpingly chunky read. And Macc’s away strip, an alarming sort of DayGlo orange, must surely be the only football shirt visible from space.
The United line-up, clad all in amber, showed no change from last week, Lil’ Luke Guttridge having been passed fit despite being sick all week, while Wozza Goodhind returned to the bench in place of young Heathcote. Macclesfield, one of so many teams desperately battling the two-team drop, were on a roll, their last eight games reading W4 D2 L2, while their last two results were a 1-0 win at Oxford and a 2-0 home victory over Kidderminster. Only change from that team was the introduction of Mr Miles, while they boasted two Abbeys, George on the pitch and Ben on the bench. Best-known player, though, was veteran Bermudan international striker Kyle Lightbourne, still chugging along at 34, pockets full of Werther’s Originals and Preparation H.
Macc started at an Aintree-esque gallop, looking to feed Miles or Lightbourne with a brisk channel ball over the top or send a runner through from midfield. Danny Adams saw their first effort blocked by Angus on three, while slow-starting United forced home keeper Steve Wilson into his initial action on seven as he clutched Chillingworth’s cross-shot with comfort.
Best weapon in the visitors’ armoury looked to be the pace of Riza The Geezer, and he almost made the breakthrough on 12 as he sprinted clear from the defence on to a high ball. As it bounced and Wilson rushed from his line à la poule sans tête, he scorned the chance to lob him from the D and instead chose to dink it around the keeper, but his heavy touch took him to the byline and he was smothered by retreating defenders.
A few minutes later Chilli almost put Kitson in, but Wilson gathered at the BGG’s feet as his first touch just took it too far, then on 18 Miles attempted a cheeky lob from just outside the area that landed on top of the net. Kitson was busy putting himself about, to the disquiet of the home following, and a foul on him on 19 saw a posse of United players gather in the area for Guttridge’s free kick from the right flank … but his set piece was all too predictably dismal, a feeble, scuffed effort that barely left the ground, fell hopelessly behind the amber shirts and enabled the hosts to clear the lines. Seems this has happened all too often this season, eh Lukey boy?
The pattern of the game was now established. Macc did more huffing and puffing, but as you would expect from a team in their position, lacked the quality to go with their effort, and an imperious-looking Iriekpen and Angus dealt with everything that came their way as coolly and ruthlessly as a Grand National vet. An extremely below-par, end-of-season looking United knocked it around reasonably well in the middle but lacked any sort of final ball or cutting edge, the midfield not matching their running with creativity, while the supposed link-man, Chilli, remained largely anonymous.
Not a recipe for a classic, and the excellent United turnout found their attention wandering to Macc’s loudest-mouthed fan, a well-fed chap in an England shirt standing around halfway but well within seeing and hearing distance in this compact venue. His cries of ‘Silkmen!’ were met with ‘Milkmen!’ from the amber hordes. A hilarious home chant of ‘Oxford!’ resulted in a chorus of ‘Who’s the w****r in the white?’, to which he responded with spread arms and a beam of pride. I suppose there isn’t too much competition at the club with the smallest average attendance in the League.
Back to the ‘action’ on the pitch. Kitson helped out in defence when he cleared a Dunning corner on 20, then Danny Whitaker shot over from 20 yards a minute later; Chilli had an effort blocked by Karl Munroe on 24 and Murray blasted ambitiously wide three minutes further on. A Riza run down the left saw his cross fall frustratingly behind the inrushing Kitson, Guttridge blazed wide on the half-hour, and the BGG cleared a Whitaker corner on 32.
The latter also missed on 35, but narrowest escape so far came seven minutes before the break as the dangerous Miles wriggled past Murray wide right and crossed from the touchline to Chris Priest, arriving unmarked at the near post; somehow, he drove it all the way across a goal that gaped wider than the hole in Leeds United’s finances and wide of the far post when he had only to hit the target to score.
Kitson continued to put himself about to the chagrin of both supporters and defenders, and Steve Macauley reacted to a foul on 40 with a raised-arms push that was lucky to be punished by only a ‘quiet word’ with both players from ref Alan Wiley. But then the Milkmen, sorry Silkmen, broke the deadlock. Lightbourne’s flick from a long ball fell back to him on the edge of the area, and with a lightning-fast change of feet and a minimum of backlift he sent an absolute screamer arrowing high past the helpless Marshall and into the roof of the net before the Terpsichorean custodian could move. A superb goal which in truth belonged in an entirely different and infinitely better match.
Macclesfield, encouraged, continued to press and all of a sudden the away contingent began to fear a collapse might be at hand from their lackadaisical heroes. Abbey shot over from 20 yards, but mercifully there was no time for any more damage before half-time and a pep-talk from Shaggy and the Prof. United won against similar struggling opposition at Carlisle recently, also without playing well and after absorbing much more pressure, but the Cumbrians hadn’t been able to score. Now United had to in order to secure even a point, and that was going to mean a substantial improvement.
Who knows whether the dynamic management duo took a leaf from the book of Ferguson (shouting and kicking), Reid (ranting and swearing), Wenger (gentle persuasion) or Fry (all of the above, minus the ‘gentle’ but with a mouthful of meat pie); it did at least produce something …
There was little immediate change; Macc were still slightly on top, Iriekpen blocking a Whitaker shot on 50 and Murray right-footedly slicing a Lightbourne cross over his own bar on the hour as Miles lurked behind him. Adam Tann spoilt an otherwise impressive game by picking up a yellow for a basic foul on 63, then Wanless conceded a free kick just outside the box which Lightbourne aimed for the top of the net and just shaved the bar; Marshall may have got a touch but a goal kick was the result. But out of nothing, United equalised a couple of minutes later.
Significantly, its creation owed nothing to the midfield: Iriekpen’s long ball found Kitson in the left channel, and his deft, inch-perfect flick sent Riza sprinting clear between a dithering Wilson and his defender Tinson to slalom round the keeper and poke home past the defender on the line. Devastating stuff, and a barely deserved leveller. Now at last we began to see some traces of the real United as their self-belief grew and Macc’s shrank like John Gregory’s employment prospects. On 70 Chilli had a fleeting chance to break his season’s duck as he latched on to a through ball barely six yards out, but he failed to get the right connection and the danger was cleared. He’s going to have to start taking chances like that.
Then it was the hosts’ turn to menace as a left-wing Adams cross found Priest unmarked less than ten yards out, but his header was too near Marshall and Shaun clutched it safely. Then it was Izzy’s turn to impress with an unexpected forward run, sprinting past a couple of opponents, playing a one-two with Guttridge but sadly leaving the final shot to Lil’ Luke, his uncontrolled welly finishing nearer the corner flag than the goal. Wanless put a free kick lamely into the wall from 25 yards, then ten minutes before the end both sides made their only changes, Murray replaced by Goodhind after another worrying weakest-link display and Haddrell on for Abbey for the hosts.
Both teams continued to go at each other, tempers still fraying, ref Wiley raising a wry chuckle when he stopped Guttridge from taking a right-wing free kick to have a word with a few players in the jostling waiting throng. His ministrations had the opposite effect to that desired and all of a sudden previously focused players were having a go at each other in a stupid handbagfest. Eventually everyone calmed down sufficiently for Luke to send over a trademark useless kick that avoided his players and set up Macc for a break that resulted in a corner less than ten seconds later. See me afterwards.
A minute from time came the defining moment: Riza picked the ball up wide left and set off on one of his thrilling, weaving runs, beating two blue shirts then aiming a fantastic curler that was bending into the top corner until pawed away at full stretch by Wilson. There only remained time for Terrier Fleming to be booked for a five-minutes-late tackle on Dunning and for Wiley to deliver another lecture to more fired-up players before he blew the final whistle to save any further unpleasantness. The Macc fans finished with a rendition of The Great Escape, which must be the most popular song in the division at the moment. Unfortunately, we’re still wandering around the huts shaking soil from the bottoms of our trouser legs when we need to be crawling to the end of the tunnel by now.
So, five games unbeaten but a second consecutive draw when only wins are really enough to close that gap at the top. We’ll keep going to the end, of course, but we can’t expect to get more than a point from a game in which we only played remotely well for half an hour at best against opposition that may lack class but is fighting for its very League life. Looks like a reunion with Gary Johnson is on for next season, and well done to the little fella. I bet he’s looking forward to that reunion with Ian Atkins already!
Marshall 8 – No chance with the goal and two vital saves when required.
Tann 8 – Strong, safe performance from our best right back.
Murray 6 – Caught napping too often by balls over the top down his side, and lucky Iriekpen and Angus were there to cover for him.
Iriekpen 9 – Head and shoulders above the rest, figuratively and literally. Colossal!
Angus 8 – Stev’s supercool presence is undoubtedly helping his ex-West Ham colleague form a quite outstanding central defensive partnership.
Guttridge 6 – Covered a lot of ground but created little. Set pieces still too often sub-standard.
Wanless 7 – Beating heart of the team, although some ECT wouldn’t have gone amiss in a mediocre first half.
Fleming 6 – No denying his work rate, but not terribly productive today.
Chillingworth 6 – Only involved in flashes and didn’t convince anyone that he’s worth a regular place … yet, at least.
Riza 8 – Buzzing menace on the all-too-rare occasions he got the ball. One excellent goal and almost one superb one.
Kitson 7 – Poorly served by his suppliers, although made our goal with a better pass than any he received on the day.
Goodhind 7 – Made a good, positive impression in his ten minutes on the field.
Soundtrack of the day: Clearlake/Almost The Same
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Bamboula. ‘This lively dance came to prominence in pre-Civil War New Orleans. The Creole and black communities would gather in Congo Square and perform what was a rather racy dance for the time, probably derived from the performers’ folk memories of their African forebears. This would last for hours as the musicians played in a circle, the women formed a singing, clapping chorus, then one man would dance into the circle and pick out a female. Further men and women would follow as the dance became gradually more frantic with leaping, chanting and energetic movement of the feet, often until dancers would collapse exhausted and be pulled out of the ring! Fred Murray does something similar at Life most Wednesdays, but I don’t think it’s exhaustion that makes him collapse! Only joking, Freddie. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: If golf is a good walk spoilt, a trip to Moss Rose is usually a nice day out ruined, but United’s first ever point there and a couple of cracking goals made the long trip just about worthwhile. A resoundingly average first half was improved by a slightly better second against opposition that, like Carlisle, was limited but fighting for its life. We can play much, much better than this, but it looks increasingly like we’ll have to do it in Division Three again next season. Bring on the Yeovil …
Man of the match: Izzy Iriekpen. The obvious class he showed when he first joined us is being enhanced by first-team experience, and this boy seems to have the lot: enormous physical strength, vision, coolness, aerial ability and as much skill on the ball as any defender in this League. Sign him up!
Ref watch: Riley 8. Kept control well most of the time without flashing cards around, although over-fussy with some innocuous challenges and seemed to forget the existence of the advantage rule altogether.
Shaun Marshall: two vital saves. Caricature: Colin Proctor.
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Saturday, 12 April 2003: United 2-1 Exeter City
Every once in a while, CUFC Online is pleased to welcome a guest ‘celebrity’ match reporter to its hallowed pages. Due to overwhelming public demand, we have managed to transmit pictures of today’s match to the now famous Iraqi Information Minister, Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf, who has impressed everyone with his forthright opinions and honesty during the recent Gulf conflict. We are delighted to have received the following transmission from his luxury quarters in the heart of Baghdad:
‘Followers of the Cambridge United! I join you today from my comfortable office in the Government Information Centre. Outside my window I can see crowds of Iraqi children playing happily in the sun, watched over benignly by a huge statue of our beloved leader Saddam Hussein. There are no tanks, American soldiers or looters, just normal Iraqi people going about their business. What an imagination your press has! What great lengths your television went to in order to pretend that Baghdad had been invaded! The pictures you saw were of course filmed on a huge set at the famous Hollywood Studios in America with a lot of degenerate, out-of-work actors. How you make me laugh! Right now Saddam is judging an amusingly shaped vegetable contest in the market square and later his adoring subjects will treat him to their own version of Stars In Their Eyes. Perhaps Saddam may even join in with his famous Peter Sarstedt impersonation, or the one with the motorbike from the Village People! My favourite! Such is our mighty leader, at one with his people like the jolliest uncle you could ever wish to see. It brings tears of joy to my eyes!
‘Earlier this morning I was fortunate enough to see your football team play against the Exeter City thanks to our very own satellite orbiting around Milton Keynes. It was not as good as our own team, Baghdad Synthonia, of course: the Camelchemicals are so tough they play football with infidels’ heads, but overall I found it reasonably entertaining. I understand that the previous game between your teams finished in a violent and bloody battle! Fortunately I have no experience of such things, living as I do in such an idyllic, peaceful paradise as Baghdad. I am so lucky!
‘I am told that the renowned pop star Michael Jackson plays for the Exeter and I thought he did quite well as the target man for someone of his age. However, his colleagues were not of the same quality and I thought that Cambridge were much better, nearly as good as Real Madrid. Their number 11 scored a splendid goal in the very first minute and he showed admirable modesty in not celebrating too ostentatiously. I was very interested when Cambridge were awarded a penalty, because we do not have them in Iraq – the only penalty we have is the death penalty! Ha! Ha! I make a joke, of course. The last goal was even better and demonstrated that Cambridge’s young conscripts are almost as skilful as those in our army. Well I must go now – Saddam is calling me over to the party to entertain the people with my impression of your hilarious Frank Spencer. Ooh! Betty! The yak has done a whoopsie on the mosque carpet! Do you have vacancies for entertainers in your country? Please email me on honestmo@victoriousiraq.com. I love the British people – it is just the Americans I would like to ritually slaughter like sacrificial goats! Ciao!’
It was Family Day at the Abbey and a 5,000-plus crowd gathered in the spring sunshine to witness a menagerie including a chicken, a hedgehog and an elephant cavorting across the lush lawns – and that was just Exeter warming up. Most striking ‘mascot’, to male eyes at least, was the visitors’ very own Athena, the Grecian Goddess, a strikingly apparelled young lady with more impressive upholstery than Johns of Cambridge. Or so I’m told. Even the ref looked like a cartoon character, a tall, beefy chap with a shaven head who no doubt thought he resembled Maestro Collina, but looked more like Uncle Fester. Someone added to the family atmosphere by turning half of the grassy bit between the South Stand and the goal into a sandpit, and one hoped that no wayward shot would destroy any precious sandcastles, with resultant tears and tantrums from the little mites responsible. Like Luke Guttridge.
Two points adrift at the bottom and on their third manager this season, erstwhile John Beck cohort Gary Peters, entertainment was the last thing on desperate Exeter’s minds. That’s what happens when your board recruits someone who is famous for bending spoons and being irritating in the jungle, a pop star made out of plastic and the Green Cross Code Man. Another famous face out on the pitch was our very own local boy Steve Flack, once a Cambridge hod carrier and now applying the same qualities of brute force and violence to Division Three defenders. Peters’ arrival sparked a heady six-match unbeaten run, but they appear to be slipping back into their old losing ways at just the wrong time. They made four changes to the team that lost at home to Bury in a bid to arrest the trend, while United made but one change from last week, replacing the out-of-sorts Freddie Murray with Wozza Goodhind. He had competition in the scruffy, badly bleached hair, sorry Beckham lookalike, stakes from the player he was marking, James Coppinger, while Exeter number 4 Justin Walker went one further and went for a full-on Alan Biley 70s feather cut ’n’ mullet combo. Kids today, eh?
United lined up in a conventional-looking 4-3-3 against Exeter’s wing-back system, but presumably the game plan did not include giving the visitors the lead after a scant 21 seconds. Coppinger wove his way past Goodhind and his floaty cross was met by first man Iriekpen, who nodded confidently past his own keeper from 12 yards. Dunno what he was thinking of, but his mind must have been emptier than Sunderland’s ‘Jobs Vacant’ column.
Thankfully, United responded to this rudest of wake-up calls with some good pressure. The first of several good runs by Tann was followed by a cross to Wanless, lurking at the far post as he would be many times today; his intelligent header set up Guttridge but his 20-yarder sailed narrowly over. Flack blasted over with his customary finesse on four, then another Tann run at the heart of the Exeter defence saw him beat three men à la Giggs before pulling his shot wide of the far post. Lumme.
It soon became apparent that Exeter’s front two and back three are blessed with the pace and acceleration of the average traction engine. Their defence looked vulnerable to any ball played behind them, and none more so than on eight as Kitson was sent clear by Riza’s superb through ball. As he bore down on goal with a posse of defenders galumphing after him, we willed him to shoot, but as too often with this team recently, he simply would not pull the trigger, attempting eventually to take it round keeper Kevin Miller and getting crowded out at the expense of a corner. What a waste.
Iriekpen almost atoned for his o.g. from the resultant flag kick, his thumping header cleared off the line by Andy Roscoe with Miller nowhere, then Riza scampered away but tangled with wing back Hiley and was penalised for, well, nothing much. The Geezer got clear again down the left on 16, made it almost to the byline then failed to make any decision as to whether to shoot or cross and was crowded out. He was more productive two minutes later as he found Wanless in his favourite position, far post, but his downward header from six yards was too close to Miller and clawed away.
United’s corners were as uneventful as ever, most of Lil’ Luke’s efforts floated straight into Miller’s welcoming arms while all of the ‘big men’ waited in vain by the penalty spot for a set piece that might actually fall their way. Back to the training ground, young man. Kitson released Riza down the left again on 21, but this time it was impossible to tell whether his slash across the box was a cross or a shot as it sailed lamely off for a throw-in.
For a time the hosts’ early hurricane seemed to have blown itself out, characterised by a Fleming volley that flew off embarrassingly for another throw as the Family Day parents in the South Stand checked their programmes for confirmation that the clowns would be coming on midway through the first half. Encouraged, the visitors slowed the pace and lingered over throws and free kicks as ref Cooper did little to chivvy them along. Marshall comfortably stopped a Coppinger shot on 29, then made a better save five minutes later as Flack’s high, looping header almost dropped flukily under the bar.
Frustration mounted. United had territorial superiority and the legs of the Grecians’ defence and control of their attack, but that final ball or finishing touch were as lacking in content as a Baghdad shop window; Goodhind wasn’t getting forward enough, meaning no width on the left, Guttridge and Fleming seemed content to remain in the centre circle and leave the marauding to their skipper, and the three strikers milled around getting in each other’s way and failing to supply forward options wide right for the overlapping Tann. All a bit of a mess, really.
A few scrambled chances emerged: Riza headed Tann’s cross wide on 40, Marshall saved Gareth Sheldon’s header on 42 and Chillingworth tried a diving header but couldn’t get sufficient pace in it to trouble Miller. Iriekpen gave the home crowd brief palpitations when he dwelt on the ball on the halfway line and was robbed by Sheldon, but such was the difference in pace between the two that Izzy simply glided after him and whisked the ball off his toe before the ponderous striker had got ten yards.
Right on half-time came another chance to get the equaliser United’s dominance had deserved, Fleming finding Kitson in the box and the BGG dragging the ball sideways past three challenges before finally scuffing a shot from ten yards that was too near Miller to cause him any concern. Thus ended part one, Exeter clutching their undeserved lead like a favourite teddy as United stamped their feet and pouted ‘snot fair!’ The menagerie came back on to pelt us with fun-sized chocolate bars (how much fun can you have with a two-inch Bounty? Answers on a postcard …).
The second half resumed as the first had left off, Roscoe blocking an early Chillingworth shot before Sheldon trundled off on 51 to be replaced by veteran goal poacher Sean Devine, recently acquired from Wycombe to the displeasure of the latter club’s supporters. Another menacing Riza run was foiled by Walker, but the breakthrough seemed to remain as elusive as a British player in a Bolton shirt. Not long before the hour, in fact, Exeter might even have increased their lead. Flack blasted wide from the edge of the area, but a minute later the United defence went sleepy-byes as Carl Pettefer broke down the left and crossed to the unmarked Flack, again less than five yards out. Marshall dived one way, the striker’s prod went the other, and the Terpsichorean custodian’s flying legs came to the rescue. Phew.
Chris Todd headed the ensuing corner wide from six yards out (well it more sort of hit his face), then Devine gave Marshall a rather easier save to make on the hour. Then United bounced back from this brief Grecian flurry with pressure of their own as City battened down the hatches and turned up the time-wasting. The other flurry was in bookings, as Terrier Fleming got things started with a foul on Walker; the ref had already had words with him about his verbals. Tann soon followed him into the book for a foul on Roscoe, then it was Goodhind’s turn; but he was unlucky, Flack knocking it past him in the centre circle then tumbling as if he had been harpooned. A later, equally theatrical dive from the errant hod carrier did not impress Mr Cooper so much, although he didn’t get the card his amateur dramatics warranted.
The fourth and final booking in the space of eight minutes was the most dramatic. Wanless’ through ball sent Kitson haring into the area policed by Todd, and the defender clumsily felled the BGG for a stone cold penalty. Yellow for Todd, a test of nerve for Captain Fantastic. He didn’t let us down, an assured run-up with just a little teasing stutter preceding a confident wrong-footing of Miller and a sure placement into the bottom left corner. You know, I think he’s beginning to get the hang of this pen lark at last. The way we had been finishing, it was the only way we were going to score.
A minute later the under-par Goodhind was replaced in a straight swap by Freddie Murray: not exactly the match-changing sub the crowd was hoping for. United remained on top without creating a great deal, while Exeter players stayed down whenever possible for as long as possible as they sought to break up what rhythm the hosts had, although that was about as much as a malfunctioning metronome.
Little did we know it, but the decisive change came on 76 as Riza was withdrawn in favour of 17-year-old debutant John Turner, a tall, rangy lad tipped as the next John Taylor. So that’s non-League football for you for the next seven years then, son. He was born in 1986. Is it just me who suddenly feels very, very old? Must refill me pipe. The kid had his first chance within two minutes, Chilli finding him near the penalty spot, but understandably he slashed at the ball and scuffed it wide of the post.
A Kitson cross on 83 found Chilli in the left-hand corner of the area, and his low fizzer towards the near post was well stopped by Miller, the chunky keeper berating his defence for affording him the space. Walker went down twice in a few minutes for treatment from the physio, presumably with a hairline fracture of the mullet, and the second time he finally withdrew to be replaced by Glenn Cronin, another one with a dodgy bleached barnet. He wasted no time in emulating Flack with a lame dive and claim for a penalty, waved away contemptuously by Mr Cooper without further punishment.
The Grecians’ final sub on 88 was Breslan for Ampadu, but if this was intended to waste time, they were, er, wasting their time: all their play-acting and diving came home to roost as the man in black signalled five (count ’em) big added minutes. In the first minute thereof, Pettefer saw a shot blocked by Murray and appealed for a penalty with all the conviction of Jacques Chirac congratulating Dubya ’n’ Tone on their Iraqi campaign. Then Chilli saw his shot blocked by Todd, and an unsatisfying draw looked on the cards for the fourth time in six games. Ah well, we thought, at least there’s been no ‘afters’ following on from that punch-up at St James’ Park.
Then it happened. A long, long clearance by Marshall sailed over the static Exeter back line, but Turner had made his anticipatory run perfectly and was clear on goal. In one deft touch he brought the high ball under control, in another he drew closer to goal, and with the third he lofted an exquisite finish from the edge of the area past Miller’s despairing air-clutching arms with all the coolness and accuracy of a veteran. The greatest moment of this young man’s short life, and one that promises many, many more. He was engulfed by joyous teammates, and a couple of minutes later it was confirmed as the winning goal to the visitors’ despair. First to greet the New JT was Riza, never the world’s most gracious sub but wearing a broad grin of genuine delight for the youngster. Our cockles were not so much warm as furnace-hot. This is what it’s all about: new, fresh talent emerging from its cocoon and bursting into dramatic life like the most beautiful butterfly you ever saw. Fair brings a tear to the old eye.
So hope continues to spring for the U’s even as it recedes for the Grecians. Will we make it? Will we just run out of games? If we do have to stay down, at least we shall have the pleasure of welcoming Gary Johnson back next season and visiting a new ground at Yeovil’s Huish, home of the newly crowned Conference champions. Their near-neighbours Exeter must be so pleased for them …
Marshall 7 – Little to do after that first-minute shock in his 100th League start, but he was there when he was needed. Here’s to the next hundred.
Tann 8 – Assured at the back and also got forward better than the two holding midfielders.
Goodhind 6 – Looked a little ring-rusty against the tricky Coppinger in the battle of the Beckhamalikes, in what is not by some way his strongest position.
Iriekpen 7 – Recovered well from his nightmare start to be his normal cool self, bar one error which he retrieved in seconds.
Angus 8 – He and Izzy were only ever going to be troubled aerially by Exeter’s ponderous strikers and had a reasonably comfortable afternoon.
Guttridge 6 – Quiet game and was too often swallowed up by Exeter’s five-man midfield.
Wanless 9 – Outstanding as the only midfielder apparently interested in getting forward, and stroked home an immaculate penalty.
Fleming 6 – Good when covering defensively and tackling back, too often inaccurate when called upon to pass more creatively.
Chillingworth 6 – He tried, Lord knows he tried, but to little effect; never looked like scoring and fluffed chances to set one up. Keep plugging away.
Riza 6 – The King of Frustration was at it again, finding good positions then making the wrong decision, or no decision at all, when it came to the crunch.
Kitson 6 – One of Kits’ least memorable games of a memorable season, and another one guilty of blowing chances through an unwillingness to shoot.
Murray 6 – Adequate, unspectacular replacement for Goodhind.
Turner 8 – Unsurprisingly looked overawed at first, but when it came to the moment that mattered, he delivered like an old pro. Well done, young ’un.
Soundtrack of the day: The Hidden Cameras/A Miracle
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Cachucha. ‘This elegant Spanish dance is performed solo by a lady or a man (preferably the former) to the accompaniment of the Andalusian national song. Like the music, it varies from calm grace to passionate and lively. The word Cachucha is used to describe anything that is graceful and pretty, and the dance that bears its name seems designed to display elegance of posture and attitude. So it’s certainly not a word I’d ever use to describe my back four! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Who needs Roonaldo when you’ve got the Turnado? After United’s senior strikers had wasted more chances than there are craters in Baghdad, young John Turner showed them how it’s done in dramatic fashion deep into injury time. A star is born!
Man of the match: Paul Wanless. Captain Fantastic at his most buccaneering, he was almost acting as a fourth striker for much of the game as he drove his men forward, got the equaliser himself and set the example for all to follow. Inspirational beating heart of the team.
Ref watch: Cooper 7. Decent effort from Uncle Fester, who gave a few soft free kicks and should have been harder on Exeter’s play-acting and diving, but punished them in the most effective way by adding on five deserved minutes in which United grabbed the points and ensured justice was done.
Every once in a while, CUFC Online is pleased to welcome a guest ‘celebrity’ match reporter to its hallowed pages. Due to overwhelming public demand, we have managed to transmit pictures of today’s match to the now famous Iraqi Information Minister, Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf, who has impressed everyone with his forthright opinions and honesty during the recent Gulf conflict. We are delighted to have received the following transmission from his luxury quarters in the heart of Baghdad:
‘Followers of the Cambridge United! I join you today from my comfortable office in the Government Information Centre. Outside my window I can see crowds of Iraqi children playing happily in the sun, watched over benignly by a huge statue of our beloved leader Saddam Hussein. There are no tanks, American soldiers or looters, just normal Iraqi people going about their business. What an imagination your press has! What great lengths your television went to in order to pretend that Baghdad had been invaded! The pictures you saw were of course filmed on a huge set at the famous Hollywood Studios in America with a lot of degenerate, out-of-work actors. How you make me laugh! Right now Saddam is judging an amusingly shaped vegetable contest in the market square and later his adoring subjects will treat him to their own version of Stars In Their Eyes. Perhaps Saddam may even join in with his famous Peter Sarstedt impersonation, or the one with the motorbike from the Village People! My favourite! Such is our mighty leader, at one with his people like the jolliest uncle you could ever wish to see. It brings tears of joy to my eyes!
‘Earlier this morning I was fortunate enough to see your football team play against the Exeter City thanks to our very own satellite orbiting around Milton Keynes. It was not as good as our own team, Baghdad Synthonia, of course: the Camelchemicals are so tough they play football with infidels’ heads, but overall I found it reasonably entertaining. I understand that the previous game between your teams finished in a violent and bloody battle! Fortunately I have no experience of such things, living as I do in such an idyllic, peaceful paradise as Baghdad. I am so lucky!
‘I am told that the renowned pop star Michael Jackson plays for the Exeter and I thought he did quite well as the target man for someone of his age. However, his colleagues were not of the same quality and I thought that Cambridge were much better, nearly as good as Real Madrid. Their number 11 scored a splendid goal in the very first minute and he showed admirable modesty in not celebrating too ostentatiously. I was very interested when Cambridge were awarded a penalty, because we do not have them in Iraq – the only penalty we have is the death penalty! Ha! Ha! I make a joke, of course. The last goal was even better and demonstrated that Cambridge’s young conscripts are almost as skilful as those in our army. Well I must go now – Saddam is calling me over to the party to entertain the people with my impression of your hilarious Frank Spencer. Ooh! Betty! The yak has done a whoopsie on the mosque carpet! Do you have vacancies for entertainers in your country? Please email me on honestmo@victoriousiraq.com. I love the British people – it is just the Americans I would like to ritually slaughter like sacrificial goats! Ciao!’
It was Family Day at the Abbey and a 5,000-plus crowd gathered in the spring sunshine to witness a menagerie including a chicken, a hedgehog and an elephant cavorting across the lush lawns – and that was just Exeter warming up. Most striking ‘mascot’, to male eyes at least, was the visitors’ very own Athena, the Grecian Goddess, a strikingly apparelled young lady with more impressive upholstery than Johns of Cambridge. Or so I’m told. Even the ref looked like a cartoon character, a tall, beefy chap with a shaven head who no doubt thought he resembled Maestro Collina, but looked more like Uncle Fester. Someone added to the family atmosphere by turning half of the grassy bit between the South Stand and the goal into a sandpit, and one hoped that no wayward shot would destroy any precious sandcastles, with resultant tears and tantrums from the little mites responsible. Like Luke Guttridge.
Two points adrift at the bottom and on their third manager this season, erstwhile John Beck cohort Gary Peters, entertainment was the last thing on desperate Exeter’s minds. That’s what happens when your board recruits someone who is famous for bending spoons and being irritating in the jungle, a pop star made out of plastic and the Green Cross Code Man. Another famous face out on the pitch was our very own local boy Steve Flack, once a Cambridge hod carrier and now applying the same qualities of brute force and violence to Division Three defenders. Peters’ arrival sparked a heady six-match unbeaten run, but they appear to be slipping back into their old losing ways at just the wrong time. They made four changes to the team that lost at home to Bury in a bid to arrest the trend, while United made but one change from last week, replacing the out-of-sorts Freddie Murray with Wozza Goodhind. He had competition in the scruffy, badly bleached hair, sorry Beckham lookalike, stakes from the player he was marking, James Coppinger, while Exeter number 4 Justin Walker went one further and went for a full-on Alan Biley 70s feather cut ’n’ mullet combo. Kids today, eh?
United lined up in a conventional-looking 4-3-3 against Exeter’s wing-back system, but presumably the game plan did not include giving the visitors the lead after a scant 21 seconds. Coppinger wove his way past Goodhind and his floaty cross was met by first man Iriekpen, who nodded confidently past his own keeper from 12 yards. Dunno what he was thinking of, but his mind must have been emptier than Sunderland’s ‘Jobs Vacant’ column.
Thankfully, United responded to this rudest of wake-up calls with some good pressure. The first of several good runs by Tann was followed by a cross to Wanless, lurking at the far post as he would be many times today; his intelligent header set up Guttridge but his 20-yarder sailed narrowly over. Flack blasted over with his customary finesse on four, then another Tann run at the heart of the Exeter defence saw him beat three men à la Giggs before pulling his shot wide of the far post. Lumme.
It soon became apparent that Exeter’s front two and back three are blessed with the pace and acceleration of the average traction engine. Their defence looked vulnerable to any ball played behind them, and none more so than on eight as Kitson was sent clear by Riza’s superb through ball. As he bore down on goal with a posse of defenders galumphing after him, we willed him to shoot, but as too often with this team recently, he simply would not pull the trigger, attempting eventually to take it round keeper Kevin Miller and getting crowded out at the expense of a corner. What a waste.
Iriekpen almost atoned for his o.g. from the resultant flag kick, his thumping header cleared off the line by Andy Roscoe with Miller nowhere, then Riza scampered away but tangled with wing back Hiley and was penalised for, well, nothing much. The Geezer got clear again down the left on 16, made it almost to the byline then failed to make any decision as to whether to shoot or cross and was crowded out. He was more productive two minutes later as he found Wanless in his favourite position, far post, but his downward header from six yards was too close to Miller and clawed away.
United’s corners were as uneventful as ever, most of Lil’ Luke’s efforts floated straight into Miller’s welcoming arms while all of the ‘big men’ waited in vain by the penalty spot for a set piece that might actually fall their way. Back to the training ground, young man. Kitson released Riza down the left again on 21, but this time it was impossible to tell whether his slash across the box was a cross or a shot as it sailed lamely off for a throw-in.
For a time the hosts’ early hurricane seemed to have blown itself out, characterised by a Fleming volley that flew off embarrassingly for another throw as the Family Day parents in the South Stand checked their programmes for confirmation that the clowns would be coming on midway through the first half. Encouraged, the visitors slowed the pace and lingered over throws and free kicks as ref Cooper did little to chivvy them along. Marshall comfortably stopped a Coppinger shot on 29, then made a better save five minutes later as Flack’s high, looping header almost dropped flukily under the bar.
Frustration mounted. United had territorial superiority and the legs of the Grecians’ defence and control of their attack, but that final ball or finishing touch were as lacking in content as a Baghdad shop window; Goodhind wasn’t getting forward enough, meaning no width on the left, Guttridge and Fleming seemed content to remain in the centre circle and leave the marauding to their skipper, and the three strikers milled around getting in each other’s way and failing to supply forward options wide right for the overlapping Tann. All a bit of a mess, really.
A few scrambled chances emerged: Riza headed Tann’s cross wide on 40, Marshall saved Gareth Sheldon’s header on 42 and Chillingworth tried a diving header but couldn’t get sufficient pace in it to trouble Miller. Iriekpen gave the home crowd brief palpitations when he dwelt on the ball on the halfway line and was robbed by Sheldon, but such was the difference in pace between the two that Izzy simply glided after him and whisked the ball off his toe before the ponderous striker had got ten yards.
Right on half-time came another chance to get the equaliser United’s dominance had deserved, Fleming finding Kitson in the box and the BGG dragging the ball sideways past three challenges before finally scuffing a shot from ten yards that was too near Miller to cause him any concern. Thus ended part one, Exeter clutching their undeserved lead like a favourite teddy as United stamped their feet and pouted ‘snot fair!’ The menagerie came back on to pelt us with fun-sized chocolate bars (how much fun can you have with a two-inch Bounty? Answers on a postcard …).
The second half resumed as the first had left off, Roscoe blocking an early Chillingworth shot before Sheldon trundled off on 51 to be replaced by veteran goal poacher Sean Devine, recently acquired from Wycombe to the displeasure of the latter club’s supporters. Another menacing Riza run was foiled by Walker, but the breakthrough seemed to remain as elusive as a British player in a Bolton shirt. Not long before the hour, in fact, Exeter might even have increased their lead. Flack blasted wide from the edge of the area, but a minute later the United defence went sleepy-byes as Carl Pettefer broke down the left and crossed to the unmarked Flack, again less than five yards out. Marshall dived one way, the striker’s prod went the other, and the Terpsichorean custodian’s flying legs came to the rescue. Phew.
Chris Todd headed the ensuing corner wide from six yards out (well it more sort of hit his face), then Devine gave Marshall a rather easier save to make on the hour. Then United bounced back from this brief Grecian flurry with pressure of their own as City battened down the hatches and turned up the time-wasting. The other flurry was in bookings, as Terrier Fleming got things started with a foul on Walker; the ref had already had words with him about his verbals. Tann soon followed him into the book for a foul on Roscoe, then it was Goodhind’s turn; but he was unlucky, Flack knocking it past him in the centre circle then tumbling as if he had been harpooned. A later, equally theatrical dive from the errant hod carrier did not impress Mr Cooper so much, although he didn’t get the card his amateur dramatics warranted.
The fourth and final booking in the space of eight minutes was the most dramatic. Wanless’ through ball sent Kitson haring into the area policed by Todd, and the defender clumsily felled the BGG for a stone cold penalty. Yellow for Todd, a test of nerve for Captain Fantastic. He didn’t let us down, an assured run-up with just a little teasing stutter preceding a confident wrong-footing of Miller and a sure placement into the bottom left corner. You know, I think he’s beginning to get the hang of this pen lark at last. The way we had been finishing, it was the only way we were going to score.
A minute later the under-par Goodhind was replaced in a straight swap by Freddie Murray: not exactly the match-changing sub the crowd was hoping for. United remained on top without creating a great deal, while Exeter players stayed down whenever possible for as long as possible as they sought to break up what rhythm the hosts had, although that was about as much as a malfunctioning metronome.
Little did we know it, but the decisive change came on 76 as Riza was withdrawn in favour of 17-year-old debutant John Turner, a tall, rangy lad tipped as the next John Taylor. So that’s non-League football for you for the next seven years then, son. He was born in 1986. Is it just me who suddenly feels very, very old? Must refill me pipe. The kid had his first chance within two minutes, Chilli finding him near the penalty spot, but understandably he slashed at the ball and scuffed it wide of the post.
A Kitson cross on 83 found Chilli in the left-hand corner of the area, and his low fizzer towards the near post was well stopped by Miller, the chunky keeper berating his defence for affording him the space. Walker went down twice in a few minutes for treatment from the physio, presumably with a hairline fracture of the mullet, and the second time he finally withdrew to be replaced by Glenn Cronin, another one with a dodgy bleached barnet. He wasted no time in emulating Flack with a lame dive and claim for a penalty, waved away contemptuously by Mr Cooper without further punishment.
The Grecians’ final sub on 88 was Breslan for Ampadu, but if this was intended to waste time, they were, er, wasting their time: all their play-acting and diving came home to roost as the man in black signalled five (count ’em) big added minutes. In the first minute thereof, Pettefer saw a shot blocked by Murray and appealed for a penalty with all the conviction of Jacques Chirac congratulating Dubya ’n’ Tone on their Iraqi campaign. Then Chilli saw his shot blocked by Todd, and an unsatisfying draw looked on the cards for the fourth time in six games. Ah well, we thought, at least there’s been no ‘afters’ following on from that punch-up at St James’ Park.
Then it happened. A long, long clearance by Marshall sailed over the static Exeter back line, but Turner had made his anticipatory run perfectly and was clear on goal. In one deft touch he brought the high ball under control, in another he drew closer to goal, and with the third he lofted an exquisite finish from the edge of the area past Miller’s despairing air-clutching arms with all the coolness and accuracy of a veteran. The greatest moment of this young man’s short life, and one that promises many, many more. He was engulfed by joyous teammates, and a couple of minutes later it was confirmed as the winning goal to the visitors’ despair. First to greet the New JT was Riza, never the world’s most gracious sub but wearing a broad grin of genuine delight for the youngster. Our cockles were not so much warm as furnace-hot. This is what it’s all about: new, fresh talent emerging from its cocoon and bursting into dramatic life like the most beautiful butterfly you ever saw. Fair brings a tear to the old eye.
So hope continues to spring for the U’s even as it recedes for the Grecians. Will we make it? Will we just run out of games? If we do have to stay down, at least we shall have the pleasure of welcoming Gary Johnson back next season and visiting a new ground at Yeovil’s Huish, home of the newly crowned Conference champions. Their near-neighbours Exeter must be so pleased for them …
Marshall 7 – Little to do after that first-minute shock in his 100th League start, but he was there when he was needed. Here’s to the next hundred.
Tann 8 – Assured at the back and also got forward better than the two holding midfielders.
Goodhind 6 – Looked a little ring-rusty against the tricky Coppinger in the battle of the Beckhamalikes, in what is not by some way his strongest position.
Iriekpen 7 – Recovered well from his nightmare start to be his normal cool self, bar one error which he retrieved in seconds.
Angus 8 – He and Izzy were only ever going to be troubled aerially by Exeter’s ponderous strikers and had a reasonably comfortable afternoon.
Guttridge 6 – Quiet game and was too often swallowed up by Exeter’s five-man midfield.
Wanless 9 – Outstanding as the only midfielder apparently interested in getting forward, and stroked home an immaculate penalty.
Fleming 6 – Good when covering defensively and tackling back, too often inaccurate when called upon to pass more creatively.
Chillingworth 6 – He tried, Lord knows he tried, but to little effect; never looked like scoring and fluffed chances to set one up. Keep plugging away.
Riza 6 – The King of Frustration was at it again, finding good positions then making the wrong decision, or no decision at all, when it came to the crunch.
Kitson 6 – One of Kits’ least memorable games of a memorable season, and another one guilty of blowing chances through an unwillingness to shoot.
Murray 6 – Adequate, unspectacular replacement for Goodhind.
Turner 8 – Unsurprisingly looked overawed at first, but when it came to the moment that mattered, he delivered like an old pro. Well done, young ’un.
Soundtrack of the day: The Hidden Cameras/A Miracle
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Cachucha. ‘This elegant Spanish dance is performed solo by a lady or a man (preferably the former) to the accompaniment of the Andalusian national song. Like the music, it varies from calm grace to passionate and lively. The word Cachucha is used to describe anything that is graceful and pretty, and the dance that bears its name seems designed to display elegance of posture and attitude. So it’s certainly not a word I’d ever use to describe my back four! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Who needs Roonaldo when you’ve got the Turnado? After United’s senior strikers had wasted more chances than there are craters in Baghdad, young John Turner showed them how it’s done in dramatic fashion deep into injury time. A star is born!
Man of the match: Paul Wanless. Captain Fantastic at his most buccaneering, he was almost acting as a fourth striker for much of the game as he drove his men forward, got the equaliser himself and set the example for all to follow. Inspirational beating heart of the team.
Ref watch: Cooper 7. Decent effort from Uncle Fester, who gave a few soft free kicks and should have been harder on Exeter’s play-acting and diving, but punished them in the most effective way by adding on five deserved minutes in which United grabbed the points and ensured justice was done.
The Cachucha: sounds like a sneeze, but is in fact by turns calm and graceful and passionate and lively. This looks like the calm, graceful part.
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Saturday, 19 April 2003: Bristol Rovers 3-1 United
In the second of our series of guest celebrity match reports, CUFC Online is delighted to have remained up-to-the-minute and topical by securing the exclusive services of the Easter Bunny. Another scoop from the website that just keeps giving you more!
‘Hello boys and girls! First of all may I say how delighted I am at being given this opportunity to spread my wings, or paws, as it were, with something a little different from what the public might expect from me. It’s all too easy to get typecast and compartmentalised; my old mate Father Christmas was in the same boat until he got the job as chairman of Chelsea, and since then he’s had a rare old time, saying all the things he can’t say in his normal ‘Mr Nice Guy’ role and spending other people’s money like it’s going out of style. I can’t believe no one’s cottoned on to him yet! He’s a scream!
‘Anyway, delivering chocolate eggs is obviously a pretty important job, but I think I’ve pretty much got it down pat now and I’d like to try something a little more stretching. So I was very pleased to make the ‘hop’ down to Bristol for a big, mouth-watering clash between two teams fighting for very different presents. And what a blustery, blowy, breezy day it was! The Rovers numbers 6 and 22 were obviously big chocolate lovers, judging by their chunky tums and ample bums, but they certainly gave Cambridge the rabbity run-around and they took the lead after half an hour following a kick downfield by the keeper which was bigger and more incisive than my incisors! The resultant lob nestled in the net like an egg in a basket and the Rovers looked to me like they had the greater appetite.
‘It was the same story in the second half and big Andy Rammell scored again when the Cambridge goalie hesitated on his line like a rabbit in the headlights of a Cadbury’s delivery van. The Rovers proved they had the tasty recipe for staying up near the end when they got a third goal from a player whom I couldn’t possibly pronounce with my teeth. And although Cambridge got a penalty right at the end, it was as scant a consolation as a soft-boiled egg instead of a big chocolate one with all hundreds and thousands on.
‘Well that’s all from your football reporting bunny for now. I hope I’ve proved there’s more to me than just eggs and chocolate! I’ve got to get back on my rounds now – I can’t have all you lovely boys and girls going without your special Easter treats! See you next year!’
After a glorious Good Friday, those supporters anticipating a sun-drenched day topping up their tans on the terraces of the Memorial Ground were sadly disabused of the notion by the grey skies, scudding clouds and chilly northerly wind which made April seem more like mid-January. History shows that United are usually afforded a frosty welcome at the Rovers, whichever ground they’re playing at: they arrived at the Mem on the back of seven straight away defeats against the Gas in League and Auto Windscreens Shield, and only one solitary win, back in 1980 when a Steve Fallon goal defeated a Rovers side led by Gary Mabbutt. That was at Eastville, whose floodlights are remarkably still visible as you head for their new home a couple of miles thence.
The Memorial Ground is now Rovers’ permanent home, but it bears only a passing resemblance to a football ground due to its egg-chasing roots. The stand along one side – a charming, narrow cream-coloured structure with terrace in front of a row of four seats, a second tier of more seats and a top pavilionesque tier for the more exclusive clientele – would look more at home at a cricket ground. A small one-level stand has been tacked on to one side, but the air of cucumber sandwiches is continued by the bizarre and presumably temporary structure at one end: a seated Meccanoalike stand with a canvas roof like a marquee. The other end is more conventional, yer basic covered terrace, while the other length of the pitch is overlooked by a towering but small stand adjoined by open terracing either side. One of these housed the intrepid band of 234 hardy United supporters.
Unfortunately, the one speaker serving this part of the ground didn’t work, leaving us to strain our ears towards the stand to our right to what sounded like announcements in medieval Serbo-Croat. We could however make out the music, a decent mixture of Classic Rock (mate) spanning the last four decades back to Led Zeppelin and the Ramones’ glorious and little-heard California Sun. Pogotastic. ‘Proper Cornish Pasties’ remained the discerning eater’s snack of choice, while the industrial-strength ‘tea’ appeared to have been brewing for at least a week.
Two-nickname Rovers' mascot is a pirate rather than a ball of gas; understandable if disappointing for the surrealists among us. This squat, rather menacing figure proceeded to pelt us with Boost bars, assisted by a pre-diet Sarah Ferguson lookalike. Strange scenes, indeed.
It was no doubt a fond reunion for our very own Shaggy, who averaged a goal every other game for the Pirates back in the day, and his only change to last week’s team was to restore Fred Murray to left back and move Wozza Goodhind to the right in place of the unlucky Adam Tann. Young John Turner’s unfortunate injury absence left the way clear for Aggy Revell to return to the bench after helping Kettering to relegation from the Conference, as Shaggy again resisted the temptation to name himself. Go on JT, you know you want to.
At centre back Rovers boasted former U Kevin Austin, enormous as ever, and his J-Lo size behind was made to look the biggest in the League by his tight white shorts and cycling shorts combo. Not that this was of any particular interest, ahem. Other familiar faces were veteran goal poacher Andy Rammell, ex Brum and Wednesday midfield man Graham Hyde, former Bee Ijah Anderson and Latvian sneezing fit Vitalijs Astafjevs.
A glance at the excellent programme revealed a squad that looks much too good to be scrabbling around in the basement, just proving that once a club sets off on a downward spiral it’s mighty hard to put a stop to it. The nervousness and tension round the Mem was palpable, and it was not exactly helped by an article in the aforesaid publication that referred to the recent Real-Man U match and the World Cup Final. It stated: ‘ … now I don’t want to put any more pressure on our players, but this game today is bigger than both of those …’ It then went on to point out that the future of the club depended on it, as did many people’s jobs and a generation of fans. So, no pressure, eh? The home fans must have been hoping that none of the players had read the piece, or they’d be too scared to leave the dressing room.
Rovers get good crowds at this level, and the joint was jumping come kick-off. Opening exchanges, understandably tentative, were broken up further by a prolonged delay when Rammell and Angus butted heads in an aerial challenge, and it was soon apparent that not only would the howling, swirling wind make it difficult to play flowing football, but so would the pitch: more unfriendly, bumpy and uneven than Martin Keown’s face. The hosts began to dominate with a series of corners curled into the six-yard box, well dealt with by the twin towers of Iriekpen and Angus, and United didn’t manage a shot until the 13th minute when Terrier Fleming fired well wide, although at least this effort went off for a goal kick and not a throw-in like last week.
The visitors had a much better chance a couple of minutes later as Wanless’s low cross from the left found Chillingworth and his low drive from just inside the area was heading for the corner of the net until well tipped around the post by Scott Howie. This was but a brief flurry, however, and the wind-assisted Gas resumed the pressure at the United end. The limitations of the boys in amber’s narrow midfield three were soon apparent as Rovers found acres of space down both flanks, the full backs finding themselves terribly exposed as crosses rained in unchallenged, but Shaggy and the Prof showed no sign of any concern at the yawning gaps the opposition were finding. United’s covering was as inadequate as Zara Phillips’s dress.
There followed more corners, several of which were wasted as the wind blew them out of play before they could curl into the six-yard box, but Marshall did well to tip Chris Llewellyn’s 20-yarder over on 18, and the United rearguard continued to hold firm while never looking like relieving the pressure as their front players waited in vain for the ball to come their way.
First booking of the day came on 21, Sonny Parker clattering Riza The Geezer with a horrible late tackle similar to that which earned a Carlisle player a straight red a few weeks ago. The free kicks were flowing thick and fast, ref Beeby seemingly averse to any sort of physical contact between players and all too quick to accede to the home fans’ vociferous shouts for any sort of advantage, and it was no surprise that the yellows were evened up two minutes later when Lil’ Luke Guttridge was harshly booked after a theatrical reaction from Llewellyn worthy of Pierce Brosnan, or even Francis Jeffers.
As the half-hour approached, Chilli threatened to burst through the middle and appeared to be shoved to the ground by Austin in the D. Beeby wasn’t interested, and Howie gathered the ball and launched a laser-guided kick that the wind took deep into the United half. It fell perfectly into Rammell’s path as Angus appeared to be gesturing for Marshall to come out to meet it, but the Terpsichorean custodian remained rooted to the spot as the veteran target man delivered a superb precision lob over his head and into the net to relieved and ecstatic acclaim for his first Rovers goal. Not for the last time in the match, the U’s defence came out smelling not so much of roses as the brown stuff that helps them grow.
Chilli shot wide soon after, but the hosts had their tails up and kept their opponents pinned back, those neglected flanks still a rich source of pressure while United’s ineffective midfield looked on as mere spectators. Goodhind did well to hack a wicked low Llewellyn cross away from the six-yard box when the ball could really have flown anywhere off his flailing boot, then Astafjevs headed wide from close range after yet another inswinging corner.
Having weathered the storm, the visitors finally began to assert themselves in the last five minutes of the half, and they should in fact have been level on 41. A rare forward passing move saw Riza thread a perfect diagonal ball into the path of Chillingworth, 15 yards out dead centre with only Howie to beat, but he blasted disappointingly over the bar to a chorus of agonised groans reminiscent of an Iraqi field hospital.
Tails up at last, the Terrier flashed a shot a few feet wide just before the break to give United some hope for the second half after a torrid first period in which they had been pinned back like a Red Admiral by the Pirates for far too long, and had signally failed to address the limitations of their tactics that had invited the opposition to use the breeze to pepper their goal with crosses. United had to learn to assert themselves if the play-offs weren’t to disappear over the horizon like an abandoned balloon.
There was no evidence of any tactical tweaking at the start of part two, but there was a definite air of determination about the U’s that hadn’t been evident in part one, and they pinned an increasingly nervous-looking Rovers into their own half for the first 20 minutes without finding a cutting edge. Fleming headed a Guttridge corner over on 47, Rob Quinn headed wide for the hosts on 49 and the Terrier wellied wide on 51 before a misplaced Hyde pass put Captain Fantastic in on goal 15 yards out. He took too long to set himself and Parker’s desperate late lunge deflected Wannie’s shot over the bar.
For all United’s possession, that final ball just wasn’t there. The narrowness of their formation worked against them going forward, as Iriekpen found when he tried an exciting run forward, looked up and found absolutely no one willing to get into a wide position to receive the ball, everyone milling around getting in each other’s way in the middle and Murray seemingly not interested in overlapping.
The conditions didn’t help, the pitch a dreadful morass full of more bobbles than a woolly hat shop and the gale was still howling. It reached its apogee of preposterousness on the hour when Kitson miscued a shot into the air from wide left, the wind got hold of it and propelled it away from goal, across the pitch and on to the opposition wing 20 yards up the pitch, to the incredulous Anderson. But it was the same for both sides and Rovers had seemed perfectly able to cope in the first half. United’s best effort of their period of pressure came on 64 as Chilli fired in an excellent screamer from 25 yards that was heading for the top corner until Howie pawed at it, then blocked Riza’s attempted follow-up.
Rovers had thus far avoided going anywhere near the United box, as if Marshall were carrying the SARS virus, but that all changed on 65 with a rare breakaway: Astafjevs sent Llewellyn away down the right, and his low square cross just evaded Iriekpen and headed towards the inrushing Rammell and Angus. Dancing Shaun was caught in an agony of indecision, making to come out, hesitating, changing his mind and charging from goal, then hesitating again, and Rammell took full advantage by nipping in and toeing it past him into the bottom corner. If Shaun had come out as soon as the cross had been made, he’d have beaten the 36-year-old to the ball with ease; he hesitated and he was lost, and so was the game. No two ways about it, this was a moment of poor goalkeeping in an otherwise excellent season.
Almost immediately, Shaggy and the Prof made the decision to change it: and what a peculiar change it was. Off came Murray, on came Revell, and United adopted a totally unfamiliar and needlessly complicated 3-3-1-3 system. The boys in amber continued to battle valiantly, but Rovers now withdrew deeper, knowing they had only to hold on to win, and although United had the majority of possession, clear goal chances were almost non-existent, and their inability to win the ball at corners meant Howie was rarely troubled. As United huffed and puffed, it became increasingly apparent that their back three were vulnerable to the quick break, and after Anderson had shot wide on 75 and Kevin Street had replaced Lee Hodges a minute later, it began to dawn that this was not going to be under-par United’s day.
This was confirmed eight minutes from time with all the force of a Sol Campbell elbow as Hyde’s pinpoint pass found Astafjevs standing totally unmarked inside the area where Murray would have been. The talented unpronounceable one made the most of the bus-sized gap left by the visitors’ bewildered and undermanned back line by firing a low Exocet across Marshall and into the far corner. Game, set and match, and the naivety of United’s inexperienced management was exposed for all to see.
They had to foist an unnecessarily complex and untried system on to their team when a simple switch to 4-4-2 would surely have sufficed to plug the gaps their narrow formation was leaving fore and aft, and would also have enabled them to get behind the Rovers defence to apply some effective pressure. But then this management lark’s always been dead easy from the terrace.
Five minutes to go and United had another opportunity to show just how awful they are at free kicks with one five yards outside the Bristol box. It was touched to Fleming, and with all the predictability of a Ronan Keating ballad, he blazed it embarrassingly and hopelessly over the stand. Back to the drawing board. Again. As full-time approached, Rovers made two changes as oldies Rammell and Austin were replaced by Boxall and Tait, and the latter almost made it four as added time began with a storming 20-yard strike that was brilliantly tipped over by Marshall, in rather more characteristic action.
In a frantic finale, Fleming was booked for a needless trip on Street and Astafjevs blasted wide, then United essayed one last hurrah. Kitson met a Guttridge cross full on and saw his towering header hacked off the line by the Latvian. In the ensuing melee Hyde handled as Kitson tried to round him, and Beeby pointed to the spot. The BGG, mindful of the club record still in his sights, grabbed the ball to take his first such kick since his miss at Swansea two years ago. This time he made no mistake, sending Howie the wrong way and stroking it into the corner for number 25 this season, two behind David Crown’s all-competitions record. It was the last kick of the game as Rovers celebrated their thoroughly deserved victory and a big step towards safety.
The League would certainly be poorer for their absence and with such excellent support, a decent squad and a good manager, the only way must be up next season. They seemed to want it more today, and the end of United’s six-match unbeaten run probably saw the end of their play-off hopes, too. On today’s showing, that’s most likely just as well: this team would have to improve by 100 per cent to survive in Division Two. How ironic, then, that today also saw the promotion of our neighbours Rushden & Diamonds, a thoroughly undistinguished side on what we’ve seen in thrashing them twice at the Abbey this season. Come back soon Shane, we need you …
Marshall 6 – One great save near the end couldn’t make up for his match-deciding error for Rovers’ second goal.
Goodhind 6 – Steady despite being terribly exposed by United’s lack of width in front of him.
Murray 5 – Similar to his full-back partner although slightly less troubled down his side, but looked generally subdued until withdrawn.
Iriekpen 7 – Cool as ever in defence and managed the odd forward run.
Angus 7 – The other half of the Dependable Duo also kept up his own high standard.
Guttridge 5 – Far too many sub-standard passes couldn’t all be blamed on the conditions.
Wanless 5 – United lost the game in midfield and even the skipper must shoulder his share of accountability.
Fleming 5 – Work rate was not reflected in his lack of influence on the game.
Chillingworth 6 – Poor miss in the first half was as much a turning point as Marshall’s error for goal number two, but never stopped trying.
Riza 5 – Chronic lack of service in a formation that simply did not work today.
Kitson 6 – Flashes of exquisite skill, but was always up against it with the lack of support from behind him.
Revell 5 – Bizarre rejigged tactics did him no favours and the match was already lost by the time he came on.
Soundtrack of the day: Ian McCulloch/Sliding
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun looks at Le Carillon de Dunkerque. ‘This is a fine old country dance of French origin, and the merriest and noisiest of all country dances back in their heyday. The gentlemen would select their partners, place themselves as to do a quadrille, then after eight bars of music would move to their right so as to be facing a new partner. After much jolly clapping and stamping, this would continue until the original partners were facing each other again. It sums up the fun of these dances and I’m really looking forward to leading my team in the inaugural Nationwide League Country Dancing Championship at Hull’s superb KC Stadium in the summer. It’ll be the best organised line my back four’s been in all season! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: The (not so) good ship Cambridge was outflanked, outfought and finally sunk with all hands by the buccaneering Pirates on the choppy, storm-tossed surface of the Memorial Ground. The conditions were no excuse; United were all at sea in a tactical Sargasso of their own making.
Man of the match: Izzy Iriekpen. Came nearest to his normal form on a difficult day for his team.
Ref watch: Beeby 4. Made no allowances for the bumpy pitch and swirling wind and seemed determined to blow his whistle at every opportunity at the expense of any sort of flow. Much too fussy and showed no knowledge of the advantage rule.
In the second of our series of guest celebrity match reports, CUFC Online is delighted to have remained up-to-the-minute and topical by securing the exclusive services of the Easter Bunny. Another scoop from the website that just keeps giving you more!
‘Hello boys and girls! First of all may I say how delighted I am at being given this opportunity to spread my wings, or paws, as it were, with something a little different from what the public might expect from me. It’s all too easy to get typecast and compartmentalised; my old mate Father Christmas was in the same boat until he got the job as chairman of Chelsea, and since then he’s had a rare old time, saying all the things he can’t say in his normal ‘Mr Nice Guy’ role and spending other people’s money like it’s going out of style. I can’t believe no one’s cottoned on to him yet! He’s a scream!
‘Anyway, delivering chocolate eggs is obviously a pretty important job, but I think I’ve pretty much got it down pat now and I’d like to try something a little more stretching. So I was very pleased to make the ‘hop’ down to Bristol for a big, mouth-watering clash between two teams fighting for very different presents. And what a blustery, blowy, breezy day it was! The Rovers numbers 6 and 22 were obviously big chocolate lovers, judging by their chunky tums and ample bums, but they certainly gave Cambridge the rabbity run-around and they took the lead after half an hour following a kick downfield by the keeper which was bigger and more incisive than my incisors! The resultant lob nestled in the net like an egg in a basket and the Rovers looked to me like they had the greater appetite.
‘It was the same story in the second half and big Andy Rammell scored again when the Cambridge goalie hesitated on his line like a rabbit in the headlights of a Cadbury’s delivery van. The Rovers proved they had the tasty recipe for staying up near the end when they got a third goal from a player whom I couldn’t possibly pronounce with my teeth. And although Cambridge got a penalty right at the end, it was as scant a consolation as a soft-boiled egg instead of a big chocolate one with all hundreds and thousands on.
‘Well that’s all from your football reporting bunny for now. I hope I’ve proved there’s more to me than just eggs and chocolate! I’ve got to get back on my rounds now – I can’t have all you lovely boys and girls going without your special Easter treats! See you next year!’
After a glorious Good Friday, those supporters anticipating a sun-drenched day topping up their tans on the terraces of the Memorial Ground were sadly disabused of the notion by the grey skies, scudding clouds and chilly northerly wind which made April seem more like mid-January. History shows that United are usually afforded a frosty welcome at the Rovers, whichever ground they’re playing at: they arrived at the Mem on the back of seven straight away defeats against the Gas in League and Auto Windscreens Shield, and only one solitary win, back in 1980 when a Steve Fallon goal defeated a Rovers side led by Gary Mabbutt. That was at Eastville, whose floodlights are remarkably still visible as you head for their new home a couple of miles thence.
The Memorial Ground is now Rovers’ permanent home, but it bears only a passing resemblance to a football ground due to its egg-chasing roots. The stand along one side – a charming, narrow cream-coloured structure with terrace in front of a row of four seats, a second tier of more seats and a top pavilionesque tier for the more exclusive clientele – would look more at home at a cricket ground. A small one-level stand has been tacked on to one side, but the air of cucumber sandwiches is continued by the bizarre and presumably temporary structure at one end: a seated Meccanoalike stand with a canvas roof like a marquee. The other end is more conventional, yer basic covered terrace, while the other length of the pitch is overlooked by a towering but small stand adjoined by open terracing either side. One of these housed the intrepid band of 234 hardy United supporters.
Unfortunately, the one speaker serving this part of the ground didn’t work, leaving us to strain our ears towards the stand to our right to what sounded like announcements in medieval Serbo-Croat. We could however make out the music, a decent mixture of Classic Rock (mate) spanning the last four decades back to Led Zeppelin and the Ramones’ glorious and little-heard California Sun. Pogotastic. ‘Proper Cornish Pasties’ remained the discerning eater’s snack of choice, while the industrial-strength ‘tea’ appeared to have been brewing for at least a week.
Two-nickname Rovers' mascot is a pirate rather than a ball of gas; understandable if disappointing for the surrealists among us. This squat, rather menacing figure proceeded to pelt us with Boost bars, assisted by a pre-diet Sarah Ferguson lookalike. Strange scenes, indeed.
It was no doubt a fond reunion for our very own Shaggy, who averaged a goal every other game for the Pirates back in the day, and his only change to last week’s team was to restore Fred Murray to left back and move Wozza Goodhind to the right in place of the unlucky Adam Tann. Young John Turner’s unfortunate injury absence left the way clear for Aggy Revell to return to the bench after helping Kettering to relegation from the Conference, as Shaggy again resisted the temptation to name himself. Go on JT, you know you want to.
At centre back Rovers boasted former U Kevin Austin, enormous as ever, and his J-Lo size behind was made to look the biggest in the League by his tight white shorts and cycling shorts combo. Not that this was of any particular interest, ahem. Other familiar faces were veteran goal poacher Andy Rammell, ex Brum and Wednesday midfield man Graham Hyde, former Bee Ijah Anderson and Latvian sneezing fit Vitalijs Astafjevs.
A glance at the excellent programme revealed a squad that looks much too good to be scrabbling around in the basement, just proving that once a club sets off on a downward spiral it’s mighty hard to put a stop to it. The nervousness and tension round the Mem was palpable, and it was not exactly helped by an article in the aforesaid publication that referred to the recent Real-Man U match and the World Cup Final. It stated: ‘ … now I don’t want to put any more pressure on our players, but this game today is bigger than both of those …’ It then went on to point out that the future of the club depended on it, as did many people’s jobs and a generation of fans. So, no pressure, eh? The home fans must have been hoping that none of the players had read the piece, or they’d be too scared to leave the dressing room.
Rovers get good crowds at this level, and the joint was jumping come kick-off. Opening exchanges, understandably tentative, were broken up further by a prolonged delay when Rammell and Angus butted heads in an aerial challenge, and it was soon apparent that not only would the howling, swirling wind make it difficult to play flowing football, but so would the pitch: more unfriendly, bumpy and uneven than Martin Keown’s face. The hosts began to dominate with a series of corners curled into the six-yard box, well dealt with by the twin towers of Iriekpen and Angus, and United didn’t manage a shot until the 13th minute when Terrier Fleming fired well wide, although at least this effort went off for a goal kick and not a throw-in like last week.
The visitors had a much better chance a couple of minutes later as Wanless’s low cross from the left found Chillingworth and his low drive from just inside the area was heading for the corner of the net until well tipped around the post by Scott Howie. This was but a brief flurry, however, and the wind-assisted Gas resumed the pressure at the United end. The limitations of the boys in amber’s narrow midfield three were soon apparent as Rovers found acres of space down both flanks, the full backs finding themselves terribly exposed as crosses rained in unchallenged, but Shaggy and the Prof showed no sign of any concern at the yawning gaps the opposition were finding. United’s covering was as inadequate as Zara Phillips’s dress.
There followed more corners, several of which were wasted as the wind blew them out of play before they could curl into the six-yard box, but Marshall did well to tip Chris Llewellyn’s 20-yarder over on 18, and the United rearguard continued to hold firm while never looking like relieving the pressure as their front players waited in vain for the ball to come their way.
First booking of the day came on 21, Sonny Parker clattering Riza The Geezer with a horrible late tackle similar to that which earned a Carlisle player a straight red a few weeks ago. The free kicks were flowing thick and fast, ref Beeby seemingly averse to any sort of physical contact between players and all too quick to accede to the home fans’ vociferous shouts for any sort of advantage, and it was no surprise that the yellows were evened up two minutes later when Lil’ Luke Guttridge was harshly booked after a theatrical reaction from Llewellyn worthy of Pierce Brosnan, or even Francis Jeffers.
As the half-hour approached, Chilli threatened to burst through the middle and appeared to be shoved to the ground by Austin in the D. Beeby wasn’t interested, and Howie gathered the ball and launched a laser-guided kick that the wind took deep into the United half. It fell perfectly into Rammell’s path as Angus appeared to be gesturing for Marshall to come out to meet it, but the Terpsichorean custodian remained rooted to the spot as the veteran target man delivered a superb precision lob over his head and into the net to relieved and ecstatic acclaim for his first Rovers goal. Not for the last time in the match, the U’s defence came out smelling not so much of roses as the brown stuff that helps them grow.
Chilli shot wide soon after, but the hosts had their tails up and kept their opponents pinned back, those neglected flanks still a rich source of pressure while United’s ineffective midfield looked on as mere spectators. Goodhind did well to hack a wicked low Llewellyn cross away from the six-yard box when the ball could really have flown anywhere off his flailing boot, then Astafjevs headed wide from close range after yet another inswinging corner.
Having weathered the storm, the visitors finally began to assert themselves in the last five minutes of the half, and they should in fact have been level on 41. A rare forward passing move saw Riza thread a perfect diagonal ball into the path of Chillingworth, 15 yards out dead centre with only Howie to beat, but he blasted disappointingly over the bar to a chorus of agonised groans reminiscent of an Iraqi field hospital.
Tails up at last, the Terrier flashed a shot a few feet wide just before the break to give United some hope for the second half after a torrid first period in which they had been pinned back like a Red Admiral by the Pirates for far too long, and had signally failed to address the limitations of their tactics that had invited the opposition to use the breeze to pepper their goal with crosses. United had to learn to assert themselves if the play-offs weren’t to disappear over the horizon like an abandoned balloon.
There was no evidence of any tactical tweaking at the start of part two, but there was a definite air of determination about the U’s that hadn’t been evident in part one, and they pinned an increasingly nervous-looking Rovers into their own half for the first 20 minutes without finding a cutting edge. Fleming headed a Guttridge corner over on 47, Rob Quinn headed wide for the hosts on 49 and the Terrier wellied wide on 51 before a misplaced Hyde pass put Captain Fantastic in on goal 15 yards out. He took too long to set himself and Parker’s desperate late lunge deflected Wannie’s shot over the bar.
For all United’s possession, that final ball just wasn’t there. The narrowness of their formation worked against them going forward, as Iriekpen found when he tried an exciting run forward, looked up and found absolutely no one willing to get into a wide position to receive the ball, everyone milling around getting in each other’s way in the middle and Murray seemingly not interested in overlapping.
The conditions didn’t help, the pitch a dreadful morass full of more bobbles than a woolly hat shop and the gale was still howling. It reached its apogee of preposterousness on the hour when Kitson miscued a shot into the air from wide left, the wind got hold of it and propelled it away from goal, across the pitch and on to the opposition wing 20 yards up the pitch, to the incredulous Anderson. But it was the same for both sides and Rovers had seemed perfectly able to cope in the first half. United’s best effort of their period of pressure came on 64 as Chilli fired in an excellent screamer from 25 yards that was heading for the top corner until Howie pawed at it, then blocked Riza’s attempted follow-up.
Rovers had thus far avoided going anywhere near the United box, as if Marshall were carrying the SARS virus, but that all changed on 65 with a rare breakaway: Astafjevs sent Llewellyn away down the right, and his low square cross just evaded Iriekpen and headed towards the inrushing Rammell and Angus. Dancing Shaun was caught in an agony of indecision, making to come out, hesitating, changing his mind and charging from goal, then hesitating again, and Rammell took full advantage by nipping in and toeing it past him into the bottom corner. If Shaun had come out as soon as the cross had been made, he’d have beaten the 36-year-old to the ball with ease; he hesitated and he was lost, and so was the game. No two ways about it, this was a moment of poor goalkeeping in an otherwise excellent season.
Almost immediately, Shaggy and the Prof made the decision to change it: and what a peculiar change it was. Off came Murray, on came Revell, and United adopted a totally unfamiliar and needlessly complicated 3-3-1-3 system. The boys in amber continued to battle valiantly, but Rovers now withdrew deeper, knowing they had only to hold on to win, and although United had the majority of possession, clear goal chances were almost non-existent, and their inability to win the ball at corners meant Howie was rarely troubled. As United huffed and puffed, it became increasingly apparent that their back three were vulnerable to the quick break, and after Anderson had shot wide on 75 and Kevin Street had replaced Lee Hodges a minute later, it began to dawn that this was not going to be under-par United’s day.
This was confirmed eight minutes from time with all the force of a Sol Campbell elbow as Hyde’s pinpoint pass found Astafjevs standing totally unmarked inside the area where Murray would have been. The talented unpronounceable one made the most of the bus-sized gap left by the visitors’ bewildered and undermanned back line by firing a low Exocet across Marshall and into the far corner. Game, set and match, and the naivety of United’s inexperienced management was exposed for all to see.
They had to foist an unnecessarily complex and untried system on to their team when a simple switch to 4-4-2 would surely have sufficed to plug the gaps their narrow formation was leaving fore and aft, and would also have enabled them to get behind the Rovers defence to apply some effective pressure. But then this management lark’s always been dead easy from the terrace.
Five minutes to go and United had another opportunity to show just how awful they are at free kicks with one five yards outside the Bristol box. It was touched to Fleming, and with all the predictability of a Ronan Keating ballad, he blazed it embarrassingly and hopelessly over the stand. Back to the drawing board. Again. As full-time approached, Rovers made two changes as oldies Rammell and Austin were replaced by Boxall and Tait, and the latter almost made it four as added time began with a storming 20-yard strike that was brilliantly tipped over by Marshall, in rather more characteristic action.
In a frantic finale, Fleming was booked for a needless trip on Street and Astafjevs blasted wide, then United essayed one last hurrah. Kitson met a Guttridge cross full on and saw his towering header hacked off the line by the Latvian. In the ensuing melee Hyde handled as Kitson tried to round him, and Beeby pointed to the spot. The BGG, mindful of the club record still in his sights, grabbed the ball to take his first such kick since his miss at Swansea two years ago. This time he made no mistake, sending Howie the wrong way and stroking it into the corner for number 25 this season, two behind David Crown’s all-competitions record. It was the last kick of the game as Rovers celebrated their thoroughly deserved victory and a big step towards safety.
The League would certainly be poorer for their absence and with such excellent support, a decent squad and a good manager, the only way must be up next season. They seemed to want it more today, and the end of United’s six-match unbeaten run probably saw the end of their play-off hopes, too. On today’s showing, that’s most likely just as well: this team would have to improve by 100 per cent to survive in Division Two. How ironic, then, that today also saw the promotion of our neighbours Rushden & Diamonds, a thoroughly undistinguished side on what we’ve seen in thrashing them twice at the Abbey this season. Come back soon Shane, we need you …
Marshall 6 – One great save near the end couldn’t make up for his match-deciding error for Rovers’ second goal.
Goodhind 6 – Steady despite being terribly exposed by United’s lack of width in front of him.
Murray 5 – Similar to his full-back partner although slightly less troubled down his side, but looked generally subdued until withdrawn.
Iriekpen 7 – Cool as ever in defence and managed the odd forward run.
Angus 7 – The other half of the Dependable Duo also kept up his own high standard.
Guttridge 5 – Far too many sub-standard passes couldn’t all be blamed on the conditions.
Wanless 5 – United lost the game in midfield and even the skipper must shoulder his share of accountability.
Fleming 5 – Work rate was not reflected in his lack of influence on the game.
Chillingworth 6 – Poor miss in the first half was as much a turning point as Marshall’s error for goal number two, but never stopped trying.
Riza 5 – Chronic lack of service in a formation that simply did not work today.
Kitson 6 – Flashes of exquisite skill, but was always up against it with the lack of support from behind him.
Revell 5 – Bizarre rejigged tactics did him no favours and the match was already lost by the time he came on.
Soundtrack of the day: Ian McCulloch/Sliding
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun looks at Le Carillon de Dunkerque. ‘This is a fine old country dance of French origin, and the merriest and noisiest of all country dances back in their heyday. The gentlemen would select their partners, place themselves as to do a quadrille, then after eight bars of music would move to their right so as to be facing a new partner. After much jolly clapping and stamping, this would continue until the original partners were facing each other again. It sums up the fun of these dances and I’m really looking forward to leading my team in the inaugural Nationwide League Country Dancing Championship at Hull’s superb KC Stadium in the summer. It’ll be the best organised line my back four’s been in all season! Only joking, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: The (not so) good ship Cambridge was outflanked, outfought and finally sunk with all hands by the buccaneering Pirates on the choppy, storm-tossed surface of the Memorial Ground. The conditions were no excuse; United were all at sea in a tactical Sargasso of their own making.
Man of the match: Izzy Iriekpen. Came nearest to his normal form on a difficult day for his team.
Ref watch: Beeby 4. Made no allowances for the bumpy pitch and swirling wind and seemed determined to blow his whistle at every opportunity at the expense of any sort of flow. Much too fussy and showed no knowledge of the advantage rule.
Luke Guttridge: looks a bit fed up.
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Tuesday, 22 April 2003: United 0-0 Lincoln City
Now playing at a multiplex near you! 21st Century Stoat presents James Caant’s production of Hooferball 2: Watch The Skies. When evil genius Johan Beck (Steven Seagal) was dismissed from Linkin Park City in Hooferball 1: Zig-Zag To The Onion Bag, he vowed to take his revenge on the club and the game that refused to recognise his radical tactical innovations. After a failed attempt to ‘go straight’ at the Abbey, a peaceful country retreat, he adopts the identity of Keith Salamander, an anonymous Hoofball journeyman, with the aid of some cutting-edge prosthetic technology and returns to Linkin with a vow to make his new team the most fearsome exponents yet of the game which he invented.
His strategy, to keep the ball in the air for the duration of a game, is based around the genetic mutant Ben Feltcher (Richard Kiel Jr), a human/giraffe hybrid, and he fuels his team of ex-cons and social misfits on his unique recipe onion-bag burgers from a specially adapted van stolen from the Abbey. Soon his new line-up is muscling and hoofing its way up the League, laying waste to opposition and horrifying defenders of the ‘beautiful game’ with its primitive outlook reminiscent of a footballing equivalent of the classic ice hockey film Slap Shot. As the climax of the season approaches, Linkin have a crunch match with the delicate ball-players of the very same Abbey that Beck used to frequent. When it comes to Might versus Right, who really wins?
Also starring Joe Pesci as Chris Cornellius, Vin Diesel as Dene Krapper, Richard Gere as John ‘Shuggy’ Taylor, and Lee Evans as bumbling referee Mr Crock. No animals were harmed in the production of this movie, although we did stun a few seagulls with high balls. ‘Both entertaining and educational!’ (Howard Wilkinson). ‘Blinding!’ (Reg Smart). ‘It certainly made me think!’ (Sven-Goran Eriksson). ‘I didn’t see it’ (Arsène Wenger and Sir Alex Ferguson).
Watching a Route One side is a strange experience for a United supporter of a certain age. Initial distaste at the ugly, unsubtle, regimented spectacle is tempered by the knowledge that we are experiencing the feelings the opposition felt in our early 90s heyday; happy memories of the booing and frustration of Charlton and Swindon as their nicey-nicey footballers were clattered aside by the amber juggernaut on its way to glory. No one likes us, we don’t care. Now the boot is on the other foot and the up-and-under flame has been grasped by Keith Alexander and his Imps as the most pragmatic and effective way of atoning for his team’s lack of quality and finance by applying statistical probability, team spirit and sheer effort in their place.
The big difference, however, is that General John Beck’s team scored goals. Great swathes of the things, the most successful team in the League for two years running, scored and created by genuinely talented players like Dublin, Claridge, Philpott, Kimble, Daish and Taylor, many of whom went on to greater things at an even higher level and might, some say, have done so at the Abbey had the General allowed them their creative head.
Lincoln 2003, however, are not great goalscorers: 44 in 44 League games, with only 36 conceded. Who knows, perhaps there are future Premiership players tucked away in their ranks; but aside, possibly, from the youthful and impossibly lanky touchstone Ben Futcher, it sure don’t look like it. And without the aforementioned beanpole, top scorer from centre back, it would be hard to imagine his team even approaching mid-table. Most fans will forgive any style of football if their team is getting results; take those away, and patience soon wears very thin. Ask Johnny Beck.
So it was that United were cast in the unfamiliar position of footballing purists against the big bad Imps, gunning for a win that would take them to an unlikely fifth in the table with two games to go. The U’s were unchanged from Saturday’s let-down at Bristol, while City replaced one striker with another in Paul Smith instead of Allan Pearce. Unlike the two-winger 4-4-2 of vintage early 90s United, Lincoln utilise a wing-back system whose main (if not only) purpose is to enable the 6ft 7in Futcher to lope forward every time his team gets a free kick, long throw or set piece from almost anywhere on the pitch, acting as the mother of all target men for his ever-eager teammates. And with a minimum five-inch advantage against almost every other player in the division, he is as hard to stop as a Neil Warnock rant in full flow.
An impressive travelling support of over 900 occupied South Stand and South Habbin, and soon the familiar chant of ‘We are Gimps’ was ringing around the Abbey (is that right? I think I’m going deaf). A pleasantly balmy evening, pitch dappled by lowering early summer sunshine, reminded us that the end of the season is nigh – never a welcome prospect but at least it’s come later than last season. About February, wasn’t it? Wozza ‘Short for Wordsworth’ Goodhind had informed us that United had their tin hats ready, and we weren’t disappointed as both teams tore into each other from the off.
You have to be fit to play for Lincoln; their game is based on constant harrying, chasing and closing down of the opposition all over the pitch, breaking up the opposition’s game and hurrying them into playing, well, like them. Even ultra-cool Izzy Iriekpen was caught out in the opening minutes, hassled into a miscued short pass to Angus 30 yards from goal, but the Dynamic Duo recovered with their comforting mix of strength and dazzling speed. Phew.
Angus’s long clearance saw Lincoln keeper Alan Marriott sprinting from goal and heading clear from outside his area, flattening his skipper Paul Morgan in the panicky process. United got the first corner on six and Lil’ Luke Guttridge swung over the first of many good ones, no doubt determined to rise to the occasion against the dead-ball specialists.
The hosts kept up the early pressure with a Riza shot blocked, then a speculative cross-cum-shot from Captain Fantastic Wanless that narrowly evaded several teammates as it flew wide. Wanny and the Terrier were, as ever, fired up for this clash with their former club, just the attitude needed against the ravening red-and-white hordes; although hopefully we would not see a repeat of the red card blizzard at Sincil Bank. Scott Willis, dismissed for a contender for the worst ‘tackle’ of the season on that occasion, only made the bench for this return. Perhaps he’d keep his ju-jitsu moves to himself this time; the Lil’ Lukes of this world would struggle to get a black belt in origami.
It became apparent that there was to be another factor tonight to spoil the spectacle of silky passing football that we were vainly hoping for: the referee. Mr Crick must have had a birthday recently, and received a new whistle, because he was determined to show it off at every opportunity. Whenever two players challenged for a ball, or one fell over, he was there with a musical blast and a gesture from the Marcel Marceau School of Flamboyant & Faintly Camp Mime. The stop-start nature of a game involving Lincoln’s giant robots would become stop-stop with Monsieur Fussy in charge.
Despite treatment, Morgan only lasted until the quarter-hour and was replaced like-for-like by Matt Bloomer. But his troops were undaunted and won a succession of corners, all of which were commendably repelled by a team that is not noted for its aerial domination in the box. By way of variety, Mark Bailey had a pot at goal on 20 from a free kick not far outside the area, but although his effort was accurately aimed at the top left corner, it did not have the pace to trouble the clutching talons of Dancing Shaun.
Then it was misunderstanding time as Simon Weaver went down under a fair challenge and stayed down as play went on. As Goodhind overlapped down the right and was about to cross, Crick belatedly stopped play. From the resultant drop, Lincoln seemed to offer to give the ball back, but a rather confused Wozza promptly booted the ball out of play for a City goal kick. And he seems so intelligent in his ‘From The Dressing Room’ column …
Lincoln continued to apply pressure in their admirably efficient way, a spot of penalty-area pinball ended by Marshall’s gathering of a Peter Gain fizzer, then it was time for more drop-ball shenanigans as play was stopped near halfway with United again in possession, but on this occasion Chris Cornelly left rather a sour taste in Cantabrigian mouths by cynically knocking it out for a throw-in further down the pitch rather than returning it to the Terpsichorean custodian’s welcoming arms. Bad boy.
United struggled valiantly to assert themselves, but were too often harried into a hasty pass or long ball rather than trying to play football on the floor, where Lincoln are most vulnerable. Riza was the most obvious outlet, but his few runs failed to produce a telling final ball, and the game sank into a morass of grunting sweat and mediocrity. It was like watching late-night Channel Five.
Marshall saved comfortably from Dene Cropper on 39 and from a Weaver header on 45, and Riza saw a shot deflected wide as the blessed relief of half-time loomed, the ref’s whistle for once as welcome as the plink, plink, fizz of a glass of migraine relief. There were certainly a few sore heads in the United dressing room as the players nursed their wounds and Shaggy and the Prof wondered how to get their team to play its own game instead of allowing themselves to be shaken out of their stride by the red and white shirted Tasmanian devils.
Iriekpen did not come out for the second half, having limped off after the first, and that meant a long-awaited home debut for David Theobald, his second game for United after coming on to bolster the ten men at Hull in impressive style. The hosts started promisingly, Kitson’s deft flick putting Riza in but halted by the linesman’s flag. But the match soon settled back into its pattern of the previous period, the teams seeming to cancel each other out as Lincoln lacked a cutting edge and United still struggled to play their normal game.
On 55 the United defence almost did City’s job for them and self-destructed like George Galloway’s career: Murray dallied on the ball, tried to be clever and beat a man in his own half and was dispossessed. Fleming stepped in to try and clear things up, but his rushed backpass from the edge of the area was rather pinged at Marshall and he had to react sharply with his left foot to stab it away … straight to Bailey. Caught by surprise, he also slashed at it first time, and the Dancemeister was relieved to see it spin wide. Bailey almost got it right four minutes later with a blaster from 20 yards that Marshall stopped at his near post at the second attempt.
Just after the hour Lincoln introduced some fresh legs when Simon Yeo replaced Cornelly, and on 65 the ref finally found his notebook to record the name of Stuart Bimson for a horrendous high clattering that might have got him dismissed by a sterner man in black. For the next few minutes United enjoyed some ascendancy of their own, pinning City into their box and forcing a succession of corners, but the nearest they got to a goal threat was when first Wanless then Kitson crashed efforts into the unyielding sea of bodies in front of them.
The visitors responded with a move that (gadzooks!) did not involve a high ball to Futcher’s head: Bimson’s neat through ball sent Yeo haring down the left wing, and as he cut inside almost by the touchline he had two colleagues to cross to in the middle. But he got a rush of blood to the head like Wayne Rooney being taunted by Scousers and blasted ambitiously into the side netting from a near-impossible angle. It made the Lincoln fans want to spit.
A couple of minutes later there were optimistic shouts for a goal from City as Bimson’s high, dipping cross was caught by a backpedalling Marshall who fell on to his line, but only the visitors thought it had crossed. As the final quarter-hour approached, Lincoln began to show some small signs of tiring and United were able to mount the occasional attack by actually playing it on the floor as normal rather than presenting the hapless Kitson with another opportunity to be beaten in the air by Futcher.
With 11 minutes to go, Goodhind sent Riza away down the middle and, as he was about to measure a through ball to the BGG, he was cynically hacked down from behind by Richard Butcher: a disgraceful foul and a deserved booking. Guttridge’s ensuing free kick looked long but found Theobald lurking by the touchline past the far post, and his intelligent header was met by Kitson with an attempted bicycle kick that sailed over the bar as if ridden by ET.
A minute later Cropper was replaced by Willis, so high a kicker he should be in the Folies Bergères, no doubt hoping to last more than a few minutes this time. Maybe that’s why he was sent on so late. A spell of United pressure was capped by a Guttridge welly wide, then Kitson was also off target with a daisy-cutter on 84 as the hosts looked to win it after weathering the whirlwind. Then Captain Fantastic, straining every sinew to lead his troops to victory, twisted his knee as he grappled with the opposition in midfield and before Ant Coole had even got out to him, Aggy Revell was stripping off. Let’s all hope that it’s not the last time we see this great man in the amber and black.
Revell now helped form a four-pronged strike force as both teams battled head-to-head right to the end, neither wishing to settle for a measly point. As full-time loomed came the moment that could have sealed it for Alexander’s Blag-Time Band. Willis’s ball over the top found the spring-heeled Yeo, and he sprinted straight for goal as defenders trailed in his wake. The goal looked inevitable as he entered the area and shot low to Marshall’s right, but once again the Terpsichorean custodian found a point-saving reaction save in his locker as he flung himself low to divert it round for the corner. Another great save in a season where Shaun has racked them up like Ronnie O’Sullivan knocks off 147s.
Unfortunately, it’s beginning to look as if United will need snookers to get into the play-offs. The teams continued to slug it out right to the final whistle, but in the end 0-0 was the right result. They aren’t easy to watch, but you have to respect Lincoln for what they’ve achieved with so few resources this season, for their work rate, organisation and determination. So credit, too, to an United team that didn’t buckle against a team which might have outmuscled them a year ago and showed plenty of spirit of its own. But they didn’t play enough to their own strengths or assert their own game enough to deserve victory. Still, only two games to go. Nice easy game at Wrexham on Saturday …
Marshall 7 – The odd ‘moment’ under Lincoln’s aerial bombardment, but a point-saving stop near the end in characteristic fashion.
Goodhind 8 – Strong, assured performance from Wozza the Wordsmith and looked far more at home at right-back than in previous recent games.
Murray 7 – Still not hitting early-season form, but at least appears to be getting there now.
Iriekpen 8 – Stood up well to the physical onslaught until injury forced withdrawal.
Angus 9 – The rock on which United’s defence was built, repelled everything that came at him and covered for his colleagues with his usual aplomb.
Guttridge 7 – Busily involved in the middle and his corners were almost uniformly excellent (gasp!).
Wanless 8 – Slugged it out inspirationally as you’d expect. Shame about the injury.
Fleming 7 – Covered ground more tirelessly than Paula Radcliffe.
Chillingworth 6 – Still can’t fault his effort, but again little to show for it.
Riza 6 – Suffered from his colleagues’ lapses into hoofball mode and remained a menace that promised more than he could deliver today.
Kitson 7 – Far too many high balls pinged at his head when marked by lankypegs Futcher, but showed familiar flashes of class on the rare occasions when given decent service.
Theobald 8 – After a long wait, followed his cameo at Hull with another excellent, no-nonsense display; kept it simple and didn’t put a foot wrong.
Revell 6 – Little time in which to make an impact in another mutated formation.
Soundtrack of the day: Princess Superstar/Do It Like A Robot
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Salic Dance. ‘I thought it would be appropriate after tonight that I look at an ancient Roman dance honouring Mars, the god of war! King Numa Pompilius would choose 12 Salii (priests), who dressed in gold-embroidered robes and ornate armour, with swords at their sides, little ‘javelins’ in their right hands and bucklers (shields) in their left. They would dance to the music of the tibiae and made martial gestures, either individually or in unison, finishing in a mock battle with swords a-clanking. Sounds like a night out with Scott Eustace! From this ritual sprang variations such as the Pyrrhic Dance and the Buffoon’s Dance, although the latter also describes David Theobald’s attempts at grooving to some two-step! Only joking, Dave. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: It was 1992 all over again as Lincoln’s old-skool Beck revivalists tried to bludgeon their airborne way to promotion but were repelled by a resilient United side who responded in kind until they remembered too late that they are allowed to play football on the deck too. Looks like bye-bye play-offs while the Imps are still in there slugging; just shows that sometimes it is what you do, not the way that you do it, and that’s what gets results.
Man of the match: Stev Angus. Exemplary cool in defending and covering while the muck and bullets flew all around him.
Ref watch: Crick 3. As if Lincoln’s ‘style’ didn’t break play up enough already, this whistle-happy chappie made the spectacle even worse with his intolerance of any sort of physical contact, no matter how innocuous. Generally about as much use as a chocolate Scud missile.
Now playing at a multiplex near you! 21st Century Stoat presents James Caant’s production of Hooferball 2: Watch The Skies. When evil genius Johan Beck (Steven Seagal) was dismissed from Linkin Park City in Hooferball 1: Zig-Zag To The Onion Bag, he vowed to take his revenge on the club and the game that refused to recognise his radical tactical innovations. After a failed attempt to ‘go straight’ at the Abbey, a peaceful country retreat, he adopts the identity of Keith Salamander, an anonymous Hoofball journeyman, with the aid of some cutting-edge prosthetic technology and returns to Linkin with a vow to make his new team the most fearsome exponents yet of the game which he invented.
His strategy, to keep the ball in the air for the duration of a game, is based around the genetic mutant Ben Feltcher (Richard Kiel Jr), a human/giraffe hybrid, and he fuels his team of ex-cons and social misfits on his unique recipe onion-bag burgers from a specially adapted van stolen from the Abbey. Soon his new line-up is muscling and hoofing its way up the League, laying waste to opposition and horrifying defenders of the ‘beautiful game’ with its primitive outlook reminiscent of a footballing equivalent of the classic ice hockey film Slap Shot. As the climax of the season approaches, Linkin have a crunch match with the delicate ball-players of the very same Abbey that Beck used to frequent. When it comes to Might versus Right, who really wins?
Also starring Joe Pesci as Chris Cornellius, Vin Diesel as Dene Krapper, Richard Gere as John ‘Shuggy’ Taylor, and Lee Evans as bumbling referee Mr Crock. No animals were harmed in the production of this movie, although we did stun a few seagulls with high balls. ‘Both entertaining and educational!’ (Howard Wilkinson). ‘Blinding!’ (Reg Smart). ‘It certainly made me think!’ (Sven-Goran Eriksson). ‘I didn’t see it’ (Arsène Wenger and Sir Alex Ferguson).
Watching a Route One side is a strange experience for a United supporter of a certain age. Initial distaste at the ugly, unsubtle, regimented spectacle is tempered by the knowledge that we are experiencing the feelings the opposition felt in our early 90s heyday; happy memories of the booing and frustration of Charlton and Swindon as their nicey-nicey footballers were clattered aside by the amber juggernaut on its way to glory. No one likes us, we don’t care. Now the boot is on the other foot and the up-and-under flame has been grasped by Keith Alexander and his Imps as the most pragmatic and effective way of atoning for his team’s lack of quality and finance by applying statistical probability, team spirit and sheer effort in their place.
The big difference, however, is that General John Beck’s team scored goals. Great swathes of the things, the most successful team in the League for two years running, scored and created by genuinely talented players like Dublin, Claridge, Philpott, Kimble, Daish and Taylor, many of whom went on to greater things at an even higher level and might, some say, have done so at the Abbey had the General allowed them their creative head.
Lincoln 2003, however, are not great goalscorers: 44 in 44 League games, with only 36 conceded. Who knows, perhaps there are future Premiership players tucked away in their ranks; but aside, possibly, from the youthful and impossibly lanky touchstone Ben Futcher, it sure don’t look like it. And without the aforementioned beanpole, top scorer from centre back, it would be hard to imagine his team even approaching mid-table. Most fans will forgive any style of football if their team is getting results; take those away, and patience soon wears very thin. Ask Johnny Beck.
So it was that United were cast in the unfamiliar position of footballing purists against the big bad Imps, gunning for a win that would take them to an unlikely fifth in the table with two games to go. The U’s were unchanged from Saturday’s let-down at Bristol, while City replaced one striker with another in Paul Smith instead of Allan Pearce. Unlike the two-winger 4-4-2 of vintage early 90s United, Lincoln utilise a wing-back system whose main (if not only) purpose is to enable the 6ft 7in Futcher to lope forward every time his team gets a free kick, long throw or set piece from almost anywhere on the pitch, acting as the mother of all target men for his ever-eager teammates. And with a minimum five-inch advantage against almost every other player in the division, he is as hard to stop as a Neil Warnock rant in full flow.
An impressive travelling support of over 900 occupied South Stand and South Habbin, and soon the familiar chant of ‘We are Gimps’ was ringing around the Abbey (is that right? I think I’m going deaf). A pleasantly balmy evening, pitch dappled by lowering early summer sunshine, reminded us that the end of the season is nigh – never a welcome prospect but at least it’s come later than last season. About February, wasn’t it? Wozza ‘Short for Wordsworth’ Goodhind had informed us that United had their tin hats ready, and we weren’t disappointed as both teams tore into each other from the off.
You have to be fit to play for Lincoln; their game is based on constant harrying, chasing and closing down of the opposition all over the pitch, breaking up the opposition’s game and hurrying them into playing, well, like them. Even ultra-cool Izzy Iriekpen was caught out in the opening minutes, hassled into a miscued short pass to Angus 30 yards from goal, but the Dynamic Duo recovered with their comforting mix of strength and dazzling speed. Phew.
Angus’s long clearance saw Lincoln keeper Alan Marriott sprinting from goal and heading clear from outside his area, flattening his skipper Paul Morgan in the panicky process. United got the first corner on six and Lil’ Luke Guttridge swung over the first of many good ones, no doubt determined to rise to the occasion against the dead-ball specialists.
The hosts kept up the early pressure with a Riza shot blocked, then a speculative cross-cum-shot from Captain Fantastic Wanless that narrowly evaded several teammates as it flew wide. Wanny and the Terrier were, as ever, fired up for this clash with their former club, just the attitude needed against the ravening red-and-white hordes; although hopefully we would not see a repeat of the red card blizzard at Sincil Bank. Scott Willis, dismissed for a contender for the worst ‘tackle’ of the season on that occasion, only made the bench for this return. Perhaps he’d keep his ju-jitsu moves to himself this time; the Lil’ Lukes of this world would struggle to get a black belt in origami.
It became apparent that there was to be another factor tonight to spoil the spectacle of silky passing football that we were vainly hoping for: the referee. Mr Crick must have had a birthday recently, and received a new whistle, because he was determined to show it off at every opportunity. Whenever two players challenged for a ball, or one fell over, he was there with a musical blast and a gesture from the Marcel Marceau School of Flamboyant & Faintly Camp Mime. The stop-start nature of a game involving Lincoln’s giant robots would become stop-stop with Monsieur Fussy in charge.
Despite treatment, Morgan only lasted until the quarter-hour and was replaced like-for-like by Matt Bloomer. But his troops were undaunted and won a succession of corners, all of which were commendably repelled by a team that is not noted for its aerial domination in the box. By way of variety, Mark Bailey had a pot at goal on 20 from a free kick not far outside the area, but although his effort was accurately aimed at the top left corner, it did not have the pace to trouble the clutching talons of Dancing Shaun.
Then it was misunderstanding time as Simon Weaver went down under a fair challenge and stayed down as play went on. As Goodhind overlapped down the right and was about to cross, Crick belatedly stopped play. From the resultant drop, Lincoln seemed to offer to give the ball back, but a rather confused Wozza promptly booted the ball out of play for a City goal kick. And he seems so intelligent in his ‘From The Dressing Room’ column …
Lincoln continued to apply pressure in their admirably efficient way, a spot of penalty-area pinball ended by Marshall’s gathering of a Peter Gain fizzer, then it was time for more drop-ball shenanigans as play was stopped near halfway with United again in possession, but on this occasion Chris Cornelly left rather a sour taste in Cantabrigian mouths by cynically knocking it out for a throw-in further down the pitch rather than returning it to the Terpsichorean custodian’s welcoming arms. Bad boy.
United struggled valiantly to assert themselves, but were too often harried into a hasty pass or long ball rather than trying to play football on the floor, where Lincoln are most vulnerable. Riza was the most obvious outlet, but his few runs failed to produce a telling final ball, and the game sank into a morass of grunting sweat and mediocrity. It was like watching late-night Channel Five.
Marshall saved comfortably from Dene Cropper on 39 and from a Weaver header on 45, and Riza saw a shot deflected wide as the blessed relief of half-time loomed, the ref’s whistle for once as welcome as the plink, plink, fizz of a glass of migraine relief. There were certainly a few sore heads in the United dressing room as the players nursed their wounds and Shaggy and the Prof wondered how to get their team to play its own game instead of allowing themselves to be shaken out of their stride by the red and white shirted Tasmanian devils.
Iriekpen did not come out for the second half, having limped off after the first, and that meant a long-awaited home debut for David Theobald, his second game for United after coming on to bolster the ten men at Hull in impressive style. The hosts started promisingly, Kitson’s deft flick putting Riza in but halted by the linesman’s flag. But the match soon settled back into its pattern of the previous period, the teams seeming to cancel each other out as Lincoln lacked a cutting edge and United still struggled to play their normal game.
On 55 the United defence almost did City’s job for them and self-destructed like George Galloway’s career: Murray dallied on the ball, tried to be clever and beat a man in his own half and was dispossessed. Fleming stepped in to try and clear things up, but his rushed backpass from the edge of the area was rather pinged at Marshall and he had to react sharply with his left foot to stab it away … straight to Bailey. Caught by surprise, he also slashed at it first time, and the Dancemeister was relieved to see it spin wide. Bailey almost got it right four minutes later with a blaster from 20 yards that Marshall stopped at his near post at the second attempt.
Just after the hour Lincoln introduced some fresh legs when Simon Yeo replaced Cornelly, and on 65 the ref finally found his notebook to record the name of Stuart Bimson for a horrendous high clattering that might have got him dismissed by a sterner man in black. For the next few minutes United enjoyed some ascendancy of their own, pinning City into their box and forcing a succession of corners, but the nearest they got to a goal threat was when first Wanless then Kitson crashed efforts into the unyielding sea of bodies in front of them.
The visitors responded with a move that (gadzooks!) did not involve a high ball to Futcher’s head: Bimson’s neat through ball sent Yeo haring down the left wing, and as he cut inside almost by the touchline he had two colleagues to cross to in the middle. But he got a rush of blood to the head like Wayne Rooney being taunted by Scousers and blasted ambitiously into the side netting from a near-impossible angle. It made the Lincoln fans want to spit.
A couple of minutes later there were optimistic shouts for a goal from City as Bimson’s high, dipping cross was caught by a backpedalling Marshall who fell on to his line, but only the visitors thought it had crossed. As the final quarter-hour approached, Lincoln began to show some small signs of tiring and United were able to mount the occasional attack by actually playing it on the floor as normal rather than presenting the hapless Kitson with another opportunity to be beaten in the air by Futcher.
With 11 minutes to go, Goodhind sent Riza away down the middle and, as he was about to measure a through ball to the BGG, he was cynically hacked down from behind by Richard Butcher: a disgraceful foul and a deserved booking. Guttridge’s ensuing free kick looked long but found Theobald lurking by the touchline past the far post, and his intelligent header was met by Kitson with an attempted bicycle kick that sailed over the bar as if ridden by ET.
A minute later Cropper was replaced by Willis, so high a kicker he should be in the Folies Bergères, no doubt hoping to last more than a few minutes this time. Maybe that’s why he was sent on so late. A spell of United pressure was capped by a Guttridge welly wide, then Kitson was also off target with a daisy-cutter on 84 as the hosts looked to win it after weathering the whirlwind. Then Captain Fantastic, straining every sinew to lead his troops to victory, twisted his knee as he grappled with the opposition in midfield and before Ant Coole had even got out to him, Aggy Revell was stripping off. Let’s all hope that it’s not the last time we see this great man in the amber and black.
Revell now helped form a four-pronged strike force as both teams battled head-to-head right to the end, neither wishing to settle for a measly point. As full-time loomed came the moment that could have sealed it for Alexander’s Blag-Time Band. Willis’s ball over the top found the spring-heeled Yeo, and he sprinted straight for goal as defenders trailed in his wake. The goal looked inevitable as he entered the area and shot low to Marshall’s right, but once again the Terpsichorean custodian found a point-saving reaction save in his locker as he flung himself low to divert it round for the corner. Another great save in a season where Shaun has racked them up like Ronnie O’Sullivan knocks off 147s.
Unfortunately, it’s beginning to look as if United will need snookers to get into the play-offs. The teams continued to slug it out right to the final whistle, but in the end 0-0 was the right result. They aren’t easy to watch, but you have to respect Lincoln for what they’ve achieved with so few resources this season, for their work rate, organisation and determination. So credit, too, to an United team that didn’t buckle against a team which might have outmuscled them a year ago and showed plenty of spirit of its own. But they didn’t play enough to their own strengths or assert their own game enough to deserve victory. Still, only two games to go. Nice easy game at Wrexham on Saturday …
Marshall 7 – The odd ‘moment’ under Lincoln’s aerial bombardment, but a point-saving stop near the end in characteristic fashion.
Goodhind 8 – Strong, assured performance from Wozza the Wordsmith and looked far more at home at right-back than in previous recent games.
Murray 7 – Still not hitting early-season form, but at least appears to be getting there now.
Iriekpen 8 – Stood up well to the physical onslaught until injury forced withdrawal.
Angus 9 – The rock on which United’s defence was built, repelled everything that came at him and covered for his colleagues with his usual aplomb.
Guttridge 7 – Busily involved in the middle and his corners were almost uniformly excellent (gasp!).
Wanless 8 – Slugged it out inspirationally as you’d expect. Shame about the injury.
Fleming 7 – Covered ground more tirelessly than Paula Radcliffe.
Chillingworth 6 – Still can’t fault his effort, but again little to show for it.
Riza 6 – Suffered from his colleagues’ lapses into hoofball mode and remained a menace that promised more than he could deliver today.
Kitson 7 – Far too many high balls pinged at his head when marked by lankypegs Futcher, but showed familiar flashes of class on the rare occasions when given decent service.
Theobald 8 – After a long wait, followed his cameo at Hull with another excellent, no-nonsense display; kept it simple and didn’t put a foot wrong.
Revell 6 – Little time in which to make an impact in another mutated formation.
Soundtrack of the day: Princess Superstar/Do It Like A Robot
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the Salic Dance. ‘I thought it would be appropriate after tonight that I look at an ancient Roman dance honouring Mars, the god of war! King Numa Pompilius would choose 12 Salii (priests), who dressed in gold-embroidered robes and ornate armour, with swords at their sides, little ‘javelins’ in their right hands and bucklers (shields) in their left. They would dance to the music of the tibiae and made martial gestures, either individually or in unison, finishing in a mock battle with swords a-clanking. Sounds like a night out with Scott Eustace! From this ritual sprang variations such as the Pyrrhic Dance and the Buffoon’s Dance, although the latter also describes David Theobald’s attempts at grooving to some two-step! Only joking, Dave. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: It was 1992 all over again as Lincoln’s old-skool Beck revivalists tried to bludgeon their airborne way to promotion but were repelled by a resilient United side who responded in kind until they remembered too late that they are allowed to play football on the deck too. Looks like bye-bye play-offs while the Imps are still in there slugging; just shows that sometimes it is what you do, not the way that you do it, and that’s what gets results.
Man of the match: Stev Angus. Exemplary cool in defending and covering while the muck and bullets flew all around him.
Ref watch: Crick 3. As if Lincoln’s ‘style’ didn’t break play up enough already, this whistle-happy chappie made the spectacle even worse with his intolerance of any sort of physical contact, no matter how innocuous. Generally about as much use as a chocolate Scud missile.
Princess Superstar: influenced Keith Alexander.
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Saturday, 26 April 2003: Wrexham 5-0 United
The patients sat in a semi-circle, facing their therapist attentively but not a little nervously. ‘Welcome to our first session, gentlemen,’ boomed the voice of the psychoanalyst. ‘This new venture is part of the Nationwide League’s revised blueprint and is designed to identify and assist managers with the stresses of their jobs to help avoid another Glenn Roeder situation. I hope you enjoy our first Mid-Anglian Forum. Now, first of all I want you to think of your greatest fear. What would you all put in your own personal Room 101? Barry?’
The corpulent, ruddy-faced figure shifted in his chair and spoke in a grating faux-Cockney accent. ‘Well, basically mate, what scares me is the thought of not being on the telly and the radio and in the papers and that. I love the smell of the liniment and the roar of the crowd, although it’s more usually a sort of low moaning noise.’ The expert nodded. ‘And how do you intend to deal with this?’ Barry snorted. ‘Easy, mate. It don’t matter how useless I am or how many fans I alienate, the club can’t afford to sack me! I’m quids in, me!’
The man in the white coat nodded thoughtfully and made some notes on a clipboard. ‘Thank you, Barry, most interesting. Now, how about you, John?’ The tall, bespectacled figure spoke in more measured terms in a gravelly voice. ‘My fear is of a place. It’s a place of misery, embarrassment and humiliation for me and my team, time after time after time.’ ‘Hmm … is it a nightclub?’ ‘No! It’s called the Racecourse Ground, Wrexham. I can’t stand it!’ ‘And how can you deal with this phobia, as it were?’ ‘It’s Barry’s problem now. They’ve been promoted to his division – at least for one season!’ The doctor nodded sagely. ‘A temporary solution for the moment, then. Now Martin, how about you?’
The third figure looked thoughtfully into the middle distance. ‘I’m afraid I’ve spent £50,000 of my cash-strapped club’s money on a striker who can’t score goals. I got him from John’s lot and we haven’t won a game since!’ ‘Oh dear. And I understand you’ve just been relegated?’ ‘Yes. But that could solve my problem. We’ll be playing some really poor teams next season, and we’ll also be playing John’s team. Their defence is like a leaky sieve – he’s bound to score against them!’ John glanced across and nodded in agreement. ‘My defence is generous to a fault. And it’s got a lot of faults at the moment …’
Ever been a guest at a party where you hardly know anyone, least of all the hosts whose celebration is the reason for the merriment? The amber hordes from the ‘Stadiwm Abbey’ in ‘Caergrawnt’ were in that very position today as thousands of happy, smiling Welsh faces welcomed them to celebrate Wrexham’s imminent promotion after a run of one defeat in their last 15 games had taken them to within one win of an immediate return to the division from which they were relegated along with the Mighty U’s last season.
About this time last year United were mauled 5-0 in a quite appalling performance which was only tempered by the fact that the hosts’ win had not saved them from relegation alongside us. ‘You’re going down!’ they had taunted us. ‘Er, so are you!’ we retorted. So all credit to them for bouncing back at the first time of asking, unlike our good selves.
Some Wrexham players had it seems already been celebrating, Paul Barrett and Steve Thomas getting themselves into trouble with the law for having a punch-up in the street at six o’clock on Wednesday morning. The players got off with cautions and were quick to assure everyone that they were not drunk at the time. That’s all right then: just a sober public brawl in the early hours, not a drunken one. Well done, lads.
Such celebratory occasions, of course, attract all manner of glory-hunters who last saw their local team play about ten years ago and can barely remember where the ground is. And my word, were they out in force today as a team that was pulling in an average of around 3,500 early in the season drew almost triple that today. You half-expected them to start chanting ‘Arfon Griffiths’ red and white army!’ or ‘There’s only one Dixie McNeil!’
So unprepared were Wrexham for these occasional visitors that kick-off was delayed for 15 minutes and United fans were shunted out of one block for a trickle of bewildered-looking ‘locals’ who wouldn’t have known which end was which if you had had Tecwen Whittock coughing his guts out for them in the background. The fact that this delay meant that the result of Bournemouth’s match – the only team who could catch them – would now be known long before the final whistle, was doubtless just a happy coincidence and not a cynical piece of manipulation at all. Goodness me, no.
The air of faint unreality around the proceedings was compounded by the PA announcer, who proclaimed ‘results from earlier’ at around 2.45, informing us that Bolton had drawn 2-2 with Arsenal and Leeds had beaten Fulham 2-0. The latter result was certainly from earlier … four days earlier, in fact! News sure travels slowly in North Wales. Nearer kick-off, even more hilarity ensued when Mr DJ’s idea of rousing pre-match music was Fat Les’s Vindaloo, notable for its chants of ‘ENGLAND!’ throughout. This was obviously latched on to gleefully by the noisy travelling army until the hapless, hopeless announcer whisked it off two-thirds of the way through and plonked on the Welsh National Anthem. The home fans’ joy at hearing this choral dirge did not extend to their singing along to it, and so unfamiliar were they with it that most of them started clapping to applaud its end when it was only three-quarters finished. Brings a tear to the eye.
United had an unfamiliar look, regulars Wanless, Murray and Iriekpen all missing through injury, leaving Adam Tann at right-back, skipper Wozza Goodhind in the centre alongside Stev Angus and Terrier Fleming surprisingly moved to left back, leaving an inexperienced midfield trio of Lil’ Luke Guttridge, Franco ‘One Hairy’ Nacca and debutant Jonathan Heathcote, usually thought of as a left back. There were two further young first-timers on the bench in Lloyd Opara and Dan Gleeson. Wrexham’s only change was to replace Lee Trundle with Lee Jones, five-goal scourge of last year’s trouncing.
Once play started, the proliferation of glory-hunters led to an atmosphere akin to the average funeral, the only chanting coming from the away end. The travelling army were in fine voice and taunting the locals for their lack of vocal prowess. The match got off to a slow start, Barrett heading over early on and United threatening sporadically without finding that final ball, climaxing in a corner on 12 that was pulled up for a spot of shirt-tuggage. The home fans remained nervously silent throughout, no doubt ruminating on more important things than supporting their team: S Club splitting up, perhaps.
All this changed on 16, though, as wide man Carlos Edwards streaked down the right wing, Fleming nowhere in sight and Nacca, previously thought of as so quick, failing to keep up with him, and his cut-back from the touchline found Barrett gliding into the area to poke home unmarked from 12 yards. It was Wrexham’s first goal attempt of any note and the fans were noisy for, ooh, a good 15 seconds after the PA had deafened everyone with its ‘Woo-hoo!’ bit from Blur, before the United fans resumed their vocal superiority. It became apparent that United’s tight middle three were getting over-run by the hosts’ wing backs, both called Edwards, and were failing to track back sufficiently quickly to support their defence.
One such attack forced a corner on 19, and Darren Ferguson’s flag-kick found the head of centre back Brian Carey, rising at the near post above Angus’s and Marshall’s feeble challenges to bullet a header into the net: 2-0, and already it looked all over. It certainly was three minutes later as another Fergie Jr corner was slashed diagonally across goal by Barrett to find, rather fortunately, Steve Roberts unmarked at the far post to prod home from six yards. Unbelievably, 3-0 in the space of seven minutes.
Even more unbelievably, it was to get much worse for the hapless visitors, for whom any semblance of form had now become as elusive as all those weapons of mass destruction and chemical weapons that are still mysteriously unfound out in the Gulf. They’re probably in a cave in Pakistan along with Saddam, Bin Laden, Lord Lucan, Elvis Presley and Shergar. At least that’s what David Icke told me.
Next crisis was an injury to the Terrier: he was clobbered by a reckless elbow from Jones, who was penalised with a free kick but, puzzlingly, no accompanying card. What would Sol Campbell have made of that? Terry was treated at length by Ant Coole but was plainly too dazed and confused to continue, so was replaced on 29 by David Theobald, slotting in at centre back while Angus moved left. This gradually mutated to a hybrid wing-back formation as Heathcote drifted further wide left and Tann mirrored him right. Shell-shocked United began to drag themselves back into the match, driven on by their support as Wrexham effectively sat back on their unexpectedly comfortable lead and relaxed.
The U’s were struggling to get the ball through to their forwards, however, Dan Chillingworth in the link role failing to find any sort of accuracy with his intended through balls, but on 39 a chance was at last created: Riza set up Chilli for a blast at goal from 15 yards which was well blocked by Andy ‘Officer’ Dibble. Kitson latched on to the rebound but despite some nifty footwork couldn’t get a telling shot in and was eventually crowded out by a sea of defenders. Then Wrexham hit back when another Carlos Edwards wide run found Jones criminally unmarked to the right of goal ten yards out, but unlike last season he slashed wildly at the ball and it careened hopelessly over the bar, rising uncontrollably like Tony Drago’s temper.
Marshall then dwelt on a Theobald backpass, faffing about until almost robbed and conceding a corner, then unfathomably berating the centre back who had done nothing wrong. From the flag kick, 6ft 7in spindleshanks Dennis Lawrence had a stooping goal-bound header blocked with Marshall beaten, then Roberts latched on to the rebound but the Terpsichorean custodian redeemed himself with a superb diving save low to his right to scoop it round the post from almost on the line. Not for the first time, we had seen the best and the worst of Dancing Shaun in the space of a couple of minutes.
There was still time for Carey to be booked for clattering Lil’ Luke by a ref who seemed to be reluctant to take names on what he obviously thought would be a simple end-of-season party occasion. The players left the field with the chants of the phenomenal United following still ringing in their ears, but Shaggy and The Prof’s task was now herculean: 3-0 down to the League’s form team with an inexperienced, outgunned and rudderless midfield that was neither creating chances nor preventing them at the other end and seemed rudderless without Captain Fantastic to rally them. Anyone who doubted Wanny’s contribution and influence on the team would have been in no doubt after a very disappointing first 45 minutes which was to good football what Madonna is to rapping: ‘I drive my Mini Cooper and I’m feeling super-duper,’ indeed. Ye Gods.
Dibble did not re-emerge for the second half, injury seeing him replaced by Kristian Rogers, but the pattern of the game was unchanged. Two minutes in, Theobald blocked a Carlos Edwards stinger from 20 yards, and the hosts continued to dominate possession although, understandably, with little sense of urgency. Their fans retained the same attitude as the amber hordes taunted them with ‘3-0 and you still don’t sing!’ Guttridge tested Rogers on 54 with a long-range drive that stung his fingers, then a minute later Theobald was booked for a clumsy late lunge on Jones.
The nightmare resumed for United on the hour. Morrell found Paul Edwards wide left, he cut all too easily inside Tann then chipped the off-his-line Marshall with an exquisite lob from a narrow angle similar to that from which Zola scored the other day. Super goal; the U’s exposed again.
Heathcote bravely took the game to the Dragons with some good runs down the left without finding that elusive telling cross, but on 62 the hosts equalled last season’s tally with another awful goal from the visitors’ perspective: Carlos Edwards launched a diagonal forward ball from wide right deep in his own half, Theobald in the centre circle flailed at it and saw it squirm under his foot and it ran straight into the path of the onrushing Jones, clear on goal with nary a defender in sight. He teased Marshall briefly before calmly placing it past him from a central position for number five. This was getting more embarrassing than David James’s ever-changing haircuts.
Five-nil and they still didn’t sing. Shaggy decided to withdraw the under-supplied Riza and give a debut to big striker Lloyd Opara (or ‘Opart’ as the ever-bumbling PA would have it – what would they have made of ‘Ezomo Iriekpen’?), but two minutes later yet another blow hit United in the solar plexus. Andy Morrell hared towards goal 30 yards out, Theobald gave chase and lunged for the ball, and ref Ilderton ruled that he had got the man and not the ball and gave him a straight red. A little unlucky perhaps, but by now typical of another ghastly day out in North Wales. United dropped deeper without any significant change in formation and Ferguson hit his free kick straight into the wall; no wonder Dad let you go, old son.
Certain home players, notably Lawrence, started indulging in a little showboating, the big centre back eventually ending up almost as an auxiliary striker, and Morrell fired wide on 70 in what was his only goal attempt of the day. The Morrell v Kitson ‘showdown’ was the dampest squib since Squibby the Squib went for a swim in the sea during a rainstorm, United’s own BGG simply not getting enough of the ball while the much-vaunted Morrell, contract up at the end of the season, showed no sign whatever of how he has scored so many goals this season. Not all tap-ins and penalties, were they?
Lawrence was foiled by Goodhind as he almost latched onto a one-two on 73 and Heathcote almost snatched a consolation for United, arriving from deep at the far post but losing his cool and miscuing well wide with the goal at his mercy. Then Shaggy decided to rest Kitson for next week and brought on Aggy Revell, who made an immediate impression with his leggy harrying (didn’t she used to be in Blondie?). Jim Whitley put a hopeful long-ranger over on 79, then Revell chased a feeble Roberts header back to Rogers and got a toe to loft it high over the keeper but so high it enabled his defence to get back to clear before it plopped back down to earth. Then Aggy set up Opara with a half-chance near the penalty spot, but his flick flew just over when he would probably have scored without a second thought in the reserves, and Heathcote shot wide as he stole in again wide left.
As the match petered towards its delayed conclusion, the PA pleaded with the by-now almost excited but still out-sung home fans to stay off the pitch at the final whistle, or the players wouldn’t come out again to salute them. Marshall smothered at Morrell’s feet, Hector Sam replaced Carey then the final whistle went, and the ever-attentive Welshmen promptly invaded the pitch to celebrate their elevation back to the fleshpots of Division Two. Whether the players ever came out again, we will never know because as United fans we just wanted to get away from this alien party and go back home to forget this Groundhog Day nightmare ever happened.
Well done to Wrexham: they are one of the better footballing teams in the Division and deserve their promotion. As for United … there are plenty of excuses (injury, youngsters, sending-off etc) but quite simply far too many players (i.e. almost all of them) played well below their best against initially nervous opposition who were soon calmed by United’s own defensive failings, which played a significant part in this tonking. We should be grateful that Wrexham didn’t need to score any more, because they surely would have if they had really wanted to.
Only bright spot was the emergence of promising new talent in Heathcote and Opara and a spirited showing from the still very young Revell. A disappointing way to end the away season, and with a home game against Boston that now carries no meaning for either side, United owe us a rousing performance to end the season … big time. Kitson needs a hat-trick to beat that club record; now go for it!
Marshall 5 – Exposed by poor defending but looked far from commanding when the chips were down. Still managed one superb save, though.
Tann 5 – A rare off-day for Adam, who looked out of sorts throughout and struggled against winger Edwards.
Fleming 5 – Didn’t look comfortable at left back and didn’t last long enough to settle.
Goodhind 5 – Captain of a ship full of holes, and couldn’t raise his game to inspire his crew.
Angus 5 – Off-form like so many of his colleagues and seemed to dwell almost wilfully on the ball, with calamitous results.
Heathcote 6 – Did as well as a youngster making his debut in a hopelessly off-form team could. Good work down the left flank and close to a debut goal.
Nacca 5 – Another normally consistent performer who played as if in a trance today.
Guttridge 5 – Handed the difficult task of leading the most inexperienced midfield trio in United’s history, with inevitable outcome.
Chillingworth 4 – Passing simply wasn’t good enough and just didn’t seem to have the ability to do what was asked of him.
Riza 5 – Once again starved of any decent service and endured a frustrating hour until mercifully withdrawn.
Kitson 5 – The battle of the top scorers was a total non-event as the BGG was denied his supply by a totally inadequate midfield.
Theobald 4 – A catastrophe for David: he was directly responsible for one goal and was then dismissed. Can’t see him getting a contract after this, which is a shame as he has shown some good qualities in his very limited opportunities in the first team. Lack of pace looks like the decisive factor.
Opara 5 – Far from ideal first game but looked competent and worth another look in his half-hour.
Revell 6 – Lit up his moribund team when he got on with tireless and effective work and came so close to a consolation goal.
Soundtrack of the day: Smog/Butterflies Drowned In Wine
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the May Pole Dance. ‘It’s May Day on Thursday and this Feast of Flora (the goddess of flowers) has been celebrated right back to Roman times. In fact, the ancient Britons erected Maypoles even before the Romans invaded in AD 43, and decorated it with flowers. For many centuries, the May Pole Dance was the chief dance of rural England, the procession led by Jack O’ The Green, followed by the morris dancers, six maids and their swains, then the maypole dancers, Maid Marion and Friar Tuck, more morris dancers then Robin Hood and the Queen of May, and finally more maypole dancers. The dancing and games around the pole would last for the rest of the day and it all sounds more crowded and chaotic than my back four in the penalty area today! I wish I was kidding, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Never ones to spoil someone else’s party, a patchwork and woefully off-colour United team put up little RSVP to Wrexham’s genial hosts and slumped to a 5-0 pasting at the Racecourse for the second year in a row. At least it can’t happen next season …
Men and women of the match: The United away support. In direct contrast to their errant team, the amber army dominated their feeble hosts from start to finish and kept hard at it even when the game was hopelessly lost. If only they could have said the same for the 11 out on the pitch.
Ref watch: Ilderton 6. Looked like he hoped for an easy day in what should have been a carnival atmosphere, but was eventually and reluctantly forced to get his cards out long after he should have done.
The patients sat in a semi-circle, facing their therapist attentively but not a little nervously. ‘Welcome to our first session, gentlemen,’ boomed the voice of the psychoanalyst. ‘This new venture is part of the Nationwide League’s revised blueprint and is designed to identify and assist managers with the stresses of their jobs to help avoid another Glenn Roeder situation. I hope you enjoy our first Mid-Anglian Forum. Now, first of all I want you to think of your greatest fear. What would you all put in your own personal Room 101? Barry?’
The corpulent, ruddy-faced figure shifted in his chair and spoke in a grating faux-Cockney accent. ‘Well, basically mate, what scares me is the thought of not being on the telly and the radio and in the papers and that. I love the smell of the liniment and the roar of the crowd, although it’s more usually a sort of low moaning noise.’ The expert nodded. ‘And how do you intend to deal with this?’ Barry snorted. ‘Easy, mate. It don’t matter how useless I am or how many fans I alienate, the club can’t afford to sack me! I’m quids in, me!’
The man in the white coat nodded thoughtfully and made some notes on a clipboard. ‘Thank you, Barry, most interesting. Now, how about you, John?’ The tall, bespectacled figure spoke in more measured terms in a gravelly voice. ‘My fear is of a place. It’s a place of misery, embarrassment and humiliation for me and my team, time after time after time.’ ‘Hmm … is it a nightclub?’ ‘No! It’s called the Racecourse Ground, Wrexham. I can’t stand it!’ ‘And how can you deal with this phobia, as it were?’ ‘It’s Barry’s problem now. They’ve been promoted to his division – at least for one season!’ The doctor nodded sagely. ‘A temporary solution for the moment, then. Now Martin, how about you?’
The third figure looked thoughtfully into the middle distance. ‘I’m afraid I’ve spent £50,000 of my cash-strapped club’s money on a striker who can’t score goals. I got him from John’s lot and we haven’t won a game since!’ ‘Oh dear. And I understand you’ve just been relegated?’ ‘Yes. But that could solve my problem. We’ll be playing some really poor teams next season, and we’ll also be playing John’s team. Their defence is like a leaky sieve – he’s bound to score against them!’ John glanced across and nodded in agreement. ‘My defence is generous to a fault. And it’s got a lot of faults at the moment …’
Ever been a guest at a party where you hardly know anyone, least of all the hosts whose celebration is the reason for the merriment? The amber hordes from the ‘Stadiwm Abbey’ in ‘Caergrawnt’ were in that very position today as thousands of happy, smiling Welsh faces welcomed them to celebrate Wrexham’s imminent promotion after a run of one defeat in their last 15 games had taken them to within one win of an immediate return to the division from which they were relegated along with the Mighty U’s last season.
About this time last year United were mauled 5-0 in a quite appalling performance which was only tempered by the fact that the hosts’ win had not saved them from relegation alongside us. ‘You’re going down!’ they had taunted us. ‘Er, so are you!’ we retorted. So all credit to them for bouncing back at the first time of asking, unlike our good selves.
Some Wrexham players had it seems already been celebrating, Paul Barrett and Steve Thomas getting themselves into trouble with the law for having a punch-up in the street at six o’clock on Wednesday morning. The players got off with cautions and were quick to assure everyone that they were not drunk at the time. That’s all right then: just a sober public brawl in the early hours, not a drunken one. Well done, lads.
Such celebratory occasions, of course, attract all manner of glory-hunters who last saw their local team play about ten years ago and can barely remember where the ground is. And my word, were they out in force today as a team that was pulling in an average of around 3,500 early in the season drew almost triple that today. You half-expected them to start chanting ‘Arfon Griffiths’ red and white army!’ or ‘There’s only one Dixie McNeil!’
So unprepared were Wrexham for these occasional visitors that kick-off was delayed for 15 minutes and United fans were shunted out of one block for a trickle of bewildered-looking ‘locals’ who wouldn’t have known which end was which if you had had Tecwen Whittock coughing his guts out for them in the background. The fact that this delay meant that the result of Bournemouth’s match – the only team who could catch them – would now be known long before the final whistle, was doubtless just a happy coincidence and not a cynical piece of manipulation at all. Goodness me, no.
The air of faint unreality around the proceedings was compounded by the PA announcer, who proclaimed ‘results from earlier’ at around 2.45, informing us that Bolton had drawn 2-2 with Arsenal and Leeds had beaten Fulham 2-0. The latter result was certainly from earlier … four days earlier, in fact! News sure travels slowly in North Wales. Nearer kick-off, even more hilarity ensued when Mr DJ’s idea of rousing pre-match music was Fat Les’s Vindaloo, notable for its chants of ‘ENGLAND!’ throughout. This was obviously latched on to gleefully by the noisy travelling army until the hapless, hopeless announcer whisked it off two-thirds of the way through and plonked on the Welsh National Anthem. The home fans’ joy at hearing this choral dirge did not extend to their singing along to it, and so unfamiliar were they with it that most of them started clapping to applaud its end when it was only three-quarters finished. Brings a tear to the eye.
United had an unfamiliar look, regulars Wanless, Murray and Iriekpen all missing through injury, leaving Adam Tann at right-back, skipper Wozza Goodhind in the centre alongside Stev Angus and Terrier Fleming surprisingly moved to left back, leaving an inexperienced midfield trio of Lil’ Luke Guttridge, Franco ‘One Hairy’ Nacca and debutant Jonathan Heathcote, usually thought of as a left back. There were two further young first-timers on the bench in Lloyd Opara and Dan Gleeson. Wrexham’s only change was to replace Lee Trundle with Lee Jones, five-goal scourge of last year’s trouncing.
Once play started, the proliferation of glory-hunters led to an atmosphere akin to the average funeral, the only chanting coming from the away end. The travelling army were in fine voice and taunting the locals for their lack of vocal prowess. The match got off to a slow start, Barrett heading over early on and United threatening sporadically without finding that final ball, climaxing in a corner on 12 that was pulled up for a spot of shirt-tuggage. The home fans remained nervously silent throughout, no doubt ruminating on more important things than supporting their team: S Club splitting up, perhaps.
All this changed on 16, though, as wide man Carlos Edwards streaked down the right wing, Fleming nowhere in sight and Nacca, previously thought of as so quick, failing to keep up with him, and his cut-back from the touchline found Barrett gliding into the area to poke home unmarked from 12 yards. It was Wrexham’s first goal attempt of any note and the fans were noisy for, ooh, a good 15 seconds after the PA had deafened everyone with its ‘Woo-hoo!’ bit from Blur, before the United fans resumed their vocal superiority. It became apparent that United’s tight middle three were getting over-run by the hosts’ wing backs, both called Edwards, and were failing to track back sufficiently quickly to support their defence.
One such attack forced a corner on 19, and Darren Ferguson’s flag-kick found the head of centre back Brian Carey, rising at the near post above Angus’s and Marshall’s feeble challenges to bullet a header into the net: 2-0, and already it looked all over. It certainly was three minutes later as another Fergie Jr corner was slashed diagonally across goal by Barrett to find, rather fortunately, Steve Roberts unmarked at the far post to prod home from six yards. Unbelievably, 3-0 in the space of seven minutes.
Even more unbelievably, it was to get much worse for the hapless visitors, for whom any semblance of form had now become as elusive as all those weapons of mass destruction and chemical weapons that are still mysteriously unfound out in the Gulf. They’re probably in a cave in Pakistan along with Saddam, Bin Laden, Lord Lucan, Elvis Presley and Shergar. At least that’s what David Icke told me.
Next crisis was an injury to the Terrier: he was clobbered by a reckless elbow from Jones, who was penalised with a free kick but, puzzlingly, no accompanying card. What would Sol Campbell have made of that? Terry was treated at length by Ant Coole but was plainly too dazed and confused to continue, so was replaced on 29 by David Theobald, slotting in at centre back while Angus moved left. This gradually mutated to a hybrid wing-back formation as Heathcote drifted further wide left and Tann mirrored him right. Shell-shocked United began to drag themselves back into the match, driven on by their support as Wrexham effectively sat back on their unexpectedly comfortable lead and relaxed.
The U’s were struggling to get the ball through to their forwards, however, Dan Chillingworth in the link role failing to find any sort of accuracy with his intended through balls, but on 39 a chance was at last created: Riza set up Chilli for a blast at goal from 15 yards which was well blocked by Andy ‘Officer’ Dibble. Kitson latched on to the rebound but despite some nifty footwork couldn’t get a telling shot in and was eventually crowded out by a sea of defenders. Then Wrexham hit back when another Carlos Edwards wide run found Jones criminally unmarked to the right of goal ten yards out, but unlike last season he slashed wildly at the ball and it careened hopelessly over the bar, rising uncontrollably like Tony Drago’s temper.
Marshall then dwelt on a Theobald backpass, faffing about until almost robbed and conceding a corner, then unfathomably berating the centre back who had done nothing wrong. From the flag kick, 6ft 7in spindleshanks Dennis Lawrence had a stooping goal-bound header blocked with Marshall beaten, then Roberts latched on to the rebound but the Terpsichorean custodian redeemed himself with a superb diving save low to his right to scoop it round the post from almost on the line. Not for the first time, we had seen the best and the worst of Dancing Shaun in the space of a couple of minutes.
There was still time for Carey to be booked for clattering Lil’ Luke by a ref who seemed to be reluctant to take names on what he obviously thought would be a simple end-of-season party occasion. The players left the field with the chants of the phenomenal United following still ringing in their ears, but Shaggy and The Prof’s task was now herculean: 3-0 down to the League’s form team with an inexperienced, outgunned and rudderless midfield that was neither creating chances nor preventing them at the other end and seemed rudderless without Captain Fantastic to rally them. Anyone who doubted Wanny’s contribution and influence on the team would have been in no doubt after a very disappointing first 45 minutes which was to good football what Madonna is to rapping: ‘I drive my Mini Cooper and I’m feeling super-duper,’ indeed. Ye Gods.
Dibble did not re-emerge for the second half, injury seeing him replaced by Kristian Rogers, but the pattern of the game was unchanged. Two minutes in, Theobald blocked a Carlos Edwards stinger from 20 yards, and the hosts continued to dominate possession although, understandably, with little sense of urgency. Their fans retained the same attitude as the amber hordes taunted them with ‘3-0 and you still don’t sing!’ Guttridge tested Rogers on 54 with a long-range drive that stung his fingers, then a minute later Theobald was booked for a clumsy late lunge on Jones.
The nightmare resumed for United on the hour. Morrell found Paul Edwards wide left, he cut all too easily inside Tann then chipped the off-his-line Marshall with an exquisite lob from a narrow angle similar to that from which Zola scored the other day. Super goal; the U’s exposed again.
Heathcote bravely took the game to the Dragons with some good runs down the left without finding that elusive telling cross, but on 62 the hosts equalled last season’s tally with another awful goal from the visitors’ perspective: Carlos Edwards launched a diagonal forward ball from wide right deep in his own half, Theobald in the centre circle flailed at it and saw it squirm under his foot and it ran straight into the path of the onrushing Jones, clear on goal with nary a defender in sight. He teased Marshall briefly before calmly placing it past him from a central position for number five. This was getting more embarrassing than David James’s ever-changing haircuts.
Five-nil and they still didn’t sing. Shaggy decided to withdraw the under-supplied Riza and give a debut to big striker Lloyd Opara (or ‘Opart’ as the ever-bumbling PA would have it – what would they have made of ‘Ezomo Iriekpen’?), but two minutes later yet another blow hit United in the solar plexus. Andy Morrell hared towards goal 30 yards out, Theobald gave chase and lunged for the ball, and ref Ilderton ruled that he had got the man and not the ball and gave him a straight red. A little unlucky perhaps, but by now typical of another ghastly day out in North Wales. United dropped deeper without any significant change in formation and Ferguson hit his free kick straight into the wall; no wonder Dad let you go, old son.
Certain home players, notably Lawrence, started indulging in a little showboating, the big centre back eventually ending up almost as an auxiliary striker, and Morrell fired wide on 70 in what was his only goal attempt of the day. The Morrell v Kitson ‘showdown’ was the dampest squib since Squibby the Squib went for a swim in the sea during a rainstorm, United’s own BGG simply not getting enough of the ball while the much-vaunted Morrell, contract up at the end of the season, showed no sign whatever of how he has scored so many goals this season. Not all tap-ins and penalties, were they?
Lawrence was foiled by Goodhind as he almost latched onto a one-two on 73 and Heathcote almost snatched a consolation for United, arriving from deep at the far post but losing his cool and miscuing well wide with the goal at his mercy. Then Shaggy decided to rest Kitson for next week and brought on Aggy Revell, who made an immediate impression with his leggy harrying (didn’t she used to be in Blondie?). Jim Whitley put a hopeful long-ranger over on 79, then Revell chased a feeble Roberts header back to Rogers and got a toe to loft it high over the keeper but so high it enabled his defence to get back to clear before it plopped back down to earth. Then Aggy set up Opara with a half-chance near the penalty spot, but his flick flew just over when he would probably have scored without a second thought in the reserves, and Heathcote shot wide as he stole in again wide left.
As the match petered towards its delayed conclusion, the PA pleaded with the by-now almost excited but still out-sung home fans to stay off the pitch at the final whistle, or the players wouldn’t come out again to salute them. Marshall smothered at Morrell’s feet, Hector Sam replaced Carey then the final whistle went, and the ever-attentive Welshmen promptly invaded the pitch to celebrate their elevation back to the fleshpots of Division Two. Whether the players ever came out again, we will never know because as United fans we just wanted to get away from this alien party and go back home to forget this Groundhog Day nightmare ever happened.
Well done to Wrexham: they are one of the better footballing teams in the Division and deserve their promotion. As for United … there are plenty of excuses (injury, youngsters, sending-off etc) but quite simply far too many players (i.e. almost all of them) played well below their best against initially nervous opposition who were soon calmed by United’s own defensive failings, which played a significant part in this tonking. We should be grateful that Wrexham didn’t need to score any more, because they surely would have if they had really wanted to.
Only bright spot was the emergence of promising new talent in Heathcote and Opara and a spirited showing from the still very young Revell. A disappointing way to end the away season, and with a home game against Boston that now carries no meaning for either side, United owe us a rousing performance to end the season … big time. Kitson needs a hat-trick to beat that club record; now go for it!
Marshall 5 – Exposed by poor defending but looked far from commanding when the chips were down. Still managed one superb save, though.
Tann 5 – A rare off-day for Adam, who looked out of sorts throughout and struggled against winger Edwards.
Fleming 5 – Didn’t look comfortable at left back and didn’t last long enough to settle.
Goodhind 5 – Captain of a ship full of holes, and couldn’t raise his game to inspire his crew.
Angus 5 – Off-form like so many of his colleagues and seemed to dwell almost wilfully on the ball, with calamitous results.
Heathcote 6 – Did as well as a youngster making his debut in a hopelessly off-form team could. Good work down the left flank and close to a debut goal.
Nacca 5 – Another normally consistent performer who played as if in a trance today.
Guttridge 5 – Handed the difficult task of leading the most inexperienced midfield trio in United’s history, with inevitable outcome.
Chillingworth 4 – Passing simply wasn’t good enough and just didn’t seem to have the ability to do what was asked of him.
Riza 5 – Once again starved of any decent service and endured a frustrating hour until mercifully withdrawn.
Kitson 5 – The battle of the top scorers was a total non-event as the BGG was denied his supply by a totally inadequate midfield.
Theobald 4 – A catastrophe for David: he was directly responsible for one goal and was then dismissed. Can’t see him getting a contract after this, which is a shame as he has shown some good qualities in his very limited opportunities in the first team. Lack of pace looks like the decisive factor.
Opara 5 – Far from ideal first game but looked competent and worth another look in his half-hour.
Revell 6 – Lit up his moribund team when he got on with tireless and effective work and came so close to a consolation goal.
Soundtrack of the day: Smog/Butterflies Drowned In Wine
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at the May Pole Dance. ‘It’s May Day on Thursday and this Feast of Flora (the goddess of flowers) has been celebrated right back to Roman times. In fact, the ancient Britons erected Maypoles even before the Romans invaded in AD 43, and decorated it with flowers. For many centuries, the May Pole Dance was the chief dance of rural England, the procession led by Jack O’ The Green, followed by the morris dancers, six maids and their swains, then the maypole dancers, Maid Marion and Friar Tuck, more morris dancers then Robin Hood and the Queen of May, and finally more maypole dancers. The dancing and games around the pole would last for the rest of the day and it all sounds more crowded and chaotic than my back four in the penalty area today! I wish I was kidding, guys. Until next time – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: Never ones to spoil someone else’s party, a patchwork and woefully off-colour United team put up little RSVP to Wrexham’s genial hosts and slumped to a 5-0 pasting at the Racecourse for the second year in a row. At least it can’t happen next season …
Men and women of the match: The United away support. In direct contrast to their errant team, the amber army dominated their feeble hosts from start to finish and kept hard at it even when the game was hopelessly lost. If only they could have said the same for the 11 out on the pitch.
Ref watch: Ilderton 6. Looked like he hoped for an easy day in what should have been a carnival atmosphere, but was eventually and reluctantly forced to get his cards out long after he should have done.
Adam Tann: rare off-day.
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Saturday, 3 May 2003: United 1-2 Boston United
The end of the season is upon us and that can only mean one thing. No, not promotion (that’s next season): awards. So, without any ado, CUFC Online is almost proud to present the Alternative U’s Awards 2002-03:
The Freddie Mercury Thunderbolt & Lightning Very Very Frightening Me Gold-Mounted Codpiece: Shane Tudor and his one-man Goal of the Season contest.
The Crossroads Motel 101 Pained Expressions and Gross Underachievement Oscar: Jon Parkin (York).
The Polyphonic Spree Heavenly Choir Commemorative Robe and Amulet goes to the United away support’s rousing, seemingly endless rendering of ‘Everywhere We Go’ during the classic ten-man 3-4 at Rochdale.
The Mark Bosnich ‘Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time’ Blankety Blank Cheque Book & Pen for Most Inadvisable Move: Tom Youngs.
The Amoco Cadiz Slowest Turning Circle and Heaviest Load Commemorative Lard Butty: Matt Redmile (Shrewsbury).
The Gillian Taylforth Excellent Head Memorial Spittoon goes to Adam Tann for his bullet header goal v York.
The Uri Geller ‘I’m A Nonentity, Get Me Out Of Here’ Chocolate Fireguard goes to Colin Alcide.
The John Travolta ‘Greased Lightnin’ Brown Shovel for Fastest Thing In Amber is shared between Shane Tudor and Stev Angus. Omer Riza slipped and fell over during the run-off.
The ‘So’ Tony Scully Best Camp Irish Chat Show Host Lookalike Golden Fist goes to Tony Scully. Having won it three times in a row, he now gets to keep it in perpetuity, or wherever else he’d like to stick it.
The Jon Rattle Memorial Should Be Left Back (In The Dressing Room) Beret and Mac Combo: Tom Newey.
The James Brown ‘Mr Superbad’ Coolest Ref Licking Stick goes to JJ Ross.
The Gordon Brown ‘Mr Ultracrap’ Limpest Ref Half-Eaten Liquorice Stick goes to Paul ‘Dirty’ Danson, for the tenth consecutive year.
The Mick Hucknall ‘That’s My Boy’ Leather Trousers and Posing Pouch for Most Frequent Scoring goes to Big Ginger (except when he’s blond) Dave Kitson.
The Fred Dineage ‘How??’ Quiz Book & Compendium goes to Rushden & Diamonds for becoming champions despite shipping eight goals in two games at the Abbey and looking, frankly, like a rancid pile of pants.
The Iceland Freezer Centre Brass Monkey (sponsored by P-P-P Penguin) for coldest place next to Pluto goes to Luton’s Kenilworth Road in the LDV. Lil’ Luke’s winner warmed us up, though, eh?
The Jordan Most Impressive Newly Constructed Architecture Meccano Set goes to Hull’s sumptuous KC Stadium. Pity about the team.
The Saddam/Bin Laden Quietest Disappearance Cloak of Invisibility: Phil Warner.
The John Beck Memorial Quality Sign and Neck Brace for Biggest, Ugliest Team of the Season goes to Lincoln City.
The Michael Flatley ‘Lord Of The Dance’ Medallion and Self-Tan Kit goes to the Terpsichorean custodian himself, England’s No 1, Shaun Marshall. Average: one and a half world-class saves per match.
The Teasy Weasy Raymond Bleached Bog Brush for Dodgiest Barnet is shared between Wozza Goodhind and Dave Kitson. Wozza also collects the Brother Lees ‘Who Do You Don’t’ Award for least convincing impersonation of David Beckham.
The Gene Kelly ‘Singing In The Rain’ Rubber Galoshes (sponsored by Skin 2) go to the away support at Brentford who were rewarded for a thorough drenching with that fabulous late, late golden goal finish.
The Stormin’ Norman ‘Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends’ tin of Dulux matt gloss war paint goes to Captain Fantastic, Paul Wanless, for his one-man rescue job for the nine men among the muck and bullets of Stalag Sincil Bank.
The Jude Law ‘Mummy, Where’s Daddy Going?’ Consolation Jamboree Bag to Terry Fleming’s kids for the trauma of seeing him sent off in front of them in the same match. Those sweets will play havoc with the gold teeth, mind …
The Hans Christian Andersen Blessed Black & Amber Cotton Socks go to John Turner for the best winning debut goal … ever!
The Inspector Blakey Souvenir Clipboard and Stopwatch for services to ruining football go to Messrs Robinson, D’Urso, Tomlin, Rejer, Laws, Thorpe, Boyeson, Penton, Curson, Taylor, Evans, Crossley, Danson, Wolstenholme, Webb, Fletcher, Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all the other inept men in black who have plagued our season with their officious claptrap.
The Jimmy Edwards ‘Thank You, School Bully’ Book Down The Back Of The Trousers Award to Sunderland for showing Premiership class in inflicting United’s worst-ever defeat in the League era. Er, thanks, guys.
The Judy Garland Memorial Twister Mat goes to Shaggy and the Prof for their half-dozen different team formations in the home game v Wrexham.
The Beki Bondage Souvenir ‘Punk’s Not Dead’ White Riot Bondage Trousers and Stanley Knife to the Exeter City team for their collective moshpit impersonation near the end of the game at St James’ Park.
The Dick Dastardly ‘Drat! Drat! And Triple Drat!’ Red Nose and Clown’s Boots for Funniest Own Goal goes to Daryl Burgess of Northampton for his superb 30-yard header in the LDV. Runners-up: Neil Redfearn (Boston), Mark Hotte (Scarborough), David Bridges (for Rochdale).
The Jamie ‘I’m A United Supporter, Me’ Oliver Commemorative Bib for Pukka Tucker goes to Kidderminster Harriers for their belly-bulging home-made cottage pie.
The Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger Fridge-Freezer Award for Most Creative Usage of Ice Cubes goes to Ant Coole.
The Ozzy Osbourne ‘Wild Man’ Souvenir Fake Dog Poo for Mindless Stupidity goes to Scott Eustace.
The Leslie Phillips ‘Hello-oo!’ Season Ticket to Stringfellow’s for Most Gratuitous Mascot goes to Exeter’s Grecian Goddess. God bless her and all who, er, sail in her.
The Bruce Lee Memorial Engraved Nunchaku and Cut-Glass Sake Decanter for Kung Fu Excellence go to Scott Willis (Lincoln) for his horizontal assault on Paul Wanless. Dishonourable mentions to Scott Walker (Exeter) and Mark Birch (Carlisle).
The Christopher Biggins ‘He’s Behind You!’ Ruby-Encrusted Wing Mirrors go to Shaun Marshall for his classic blunder v Torquay.
The Gene Simmons Tongue Stud for PA Pronunciation Confusion goes to Izzy Iriekpen.
The Kevin The Teenager ‘I’m Not Your Slave!’ Backwards Baseball Cap and Can of Red Bull for Extreme Sloth and Bad Attitude goes to Armand Oné.
The Ma & Pa Larkin ‘Can We Play You Every Week?’ Award for Most Convivial Hosts goes to those lovely people at Northampton Town.
The Roy McFarland ‘In A Sense’ Commemorative EF Language School Rucksack for Most Overused Phrase goes to John ‘First Class’ Taylor. A first class result for Mr Taylor and the Football Club.
It’s been a long and grinding road, but today the season rolled slowly to a halt like a tortoise with stabilisers. The visitors were in tea party mode, celebrating their survival with an inspired late run in their first season in the League, and over 900 had trekked across country to join in the fun. Sadly the weather was less than accommodating and the traditional end-of-term sun and blue sky were replaced by grey skies, scudding clouds and intermittent spots of rain. Oh to be in England indeed.
United’s skeletal squad was down to the bare bones as Messrs Goodhind, Nacca and Chillingworth cried off with injury. David Theobald made his starting debut and young Jonathan Heathcote retained his place in wide left midfield alongside a rather less than riotously attacking looking trio of Lil’ Luke, the Terrier and Captain Corny, sorry, Fantastic, and with the BGG and Riza The Geezer up front, they were shadowed by a bench sporting a keeper and another four (count ’em) strikers in Opara, Revell, Turner and some bloke called Taylor. Used to be quite useful back in the 60s, I believe.
Ex-U Paul Bastock lined up for a record-breaking 10,000th (or something) appearance for the visitors, who also sported Richard Logan: a useful loanee in his Ipswich days for ourselves. They lost Stuart Balmer in the warm-up, moving Mark Greaves to centre back and bringing in Peter Costello at right back.
Boston started purposefully, and it soon became welcomingly apparent that they have toned down the horrible hoof-and-hope style they adopted at York Street for something approaching, well, football. Huzzah. Some neat interplay between Simon Rusk and top scorer Paul Duffield set up Costello for a fourth-minute 20-yard strike that was well dealt with by Dancing Shaun, revealing early on that the visitors were not afraid to shoot from anything up to 35 yards, in stark contrast to their hosts. Tom Bennett curled one wide on five then tried the same shot on seven, a few inches more accurate but he’d have needed about another hundred efforts to have got one on target at that rate of progress. It was Logan’s turn next on 14 as he took on Angus, but his effort was about as accurate as good ol’ all-American friendly fire.
United had to wait until the quarter-hour for their first shot at goal, Freddie Murray of all people giving Bastock a comfortable save from the angle of the box, then Simon Weatherstone and that man Bennett tried some more pot-shots. The hosts huffed and puffed but could find no cutting edge, their potentially lethal strike force starved of any sort of quality service by a midfield of three ball-winners and a full back that was almost as lacking in creativity as that mid-90s nadir of nothingness trio of Hakan Hayrettin, Danny O’Shea and Andy Jeffrey. Like Elvis on mid-50s American TV, anything past the halfway line was resolutely out of bounds to those three.
As the match began to drift into end-of-season bucket-and-spade territory, so the supporters’ minds must have been dwelling on future carefree revelling in the sun and partying those long, balmy summer nights away. So let’s hope we get Bournemouth and Torquay away early again next season, eh? Injury constrained the unlucky Logan to withdraw just before the half-hour mark, replaced by Mark Angel who went wide left with Weatherstone moving upfront. On 29 Rusk got his teeth into a tasty drive that sailed over, then Weatherstone drew one of Marshall’s now customary fantastic saves on 32, diving full-length to get a strong hand to turn round the post.
But Boston were resolutely in the ascendant against lethargic United, and their breakthrough on 37 bore all the inevitability of Ozzy Osbourne’s son going into rehab. Angel’s low scudder from the edge of the area was excellently palmed away by Marshall, it ran to Duffield by the touchline left of goal and his attempted cross was blocked by Theobald; it spun back to Angel, who turned and curled a quite exquisite effort past the United number1 into the top right corner. A great goal that even drew applause from the home fans, although one suspected that they had just been woken up from deep slumber by the commotion and were merely applauding out of bleary instinct.
There was no discernible response from the feeble hosts, and the only remaining incident of note in a bitterly disappointing first half was a yellow card from Graham Poll (we’re not worthy!) for Costello for a rash assault on Murray. Needless to say Boston were cheered lustily from the pitch by their tastefully black-and-amber bedecked throng, while the other lot were booed with equal vigour by those who remained awake. So far the anticipated end-of-season spectacular resembled that ‘art’ installation of naked people in a shopping mall: a promising and potentially exciting idea, but the reality was mundane, unattractive and not a little boring. But at least there weren’t so many saggy, hairy bums on display; just the 11 (boom! and indeed boom!).
Shaggy was plainly furious at such an inept display, and the players emerged from the dressing-room less than halfway through the interval, turfed out in an attempt to jolt some life into them. This led us to the bizarre sight of the first XI warming up with a kickabout in one half of the pitch while the subs did the same in the other, and never the twain did meet. It did seem to work, though, as United set about their task in the second half with considerable more vim and vigour. Lil’ Luke stunned us by actually having a shot from 35 yards early on, a rare occurrence indeed for the boys in amber, then Riza began to threaten from his best position, wide right, instead of constantly getting caught offside while playing as an orthodox front-runner.
The Geezer’s first and best run should have set up the equaliser: his low cross flashed across the box, Kitson couldn’t quite connect, but there was Heathcote galloping in from the left unmarked. His shot at goal from ten yards was decent but just a little too near Bastock, who did very well to beat it out. Then Kitson demonstrated once again that he is the best passer in the team with a magnificent instant turn and hooked through ball from halfway to send Riza racing away again, but Omer didn’t keep sufficiently cool and blazed over from just inside the area. This was more like it: the transformation was almost as dramatic as Pete Burns’ stung-by-a-whole-angry-hive collagen lips.
Riza blasted over again soon after, then on 55 Captain Fantastic showed he can pass, too, with a slide-rule diagonal ball to send Heathcote away again, but his first-time strike was down Bastock’s throat, then Marshall saved from Weatherstone before United gained a free-kick ten yards outside the box just before the hour. Given past experience, the home support were in the midst of phoning the police to warn of an impending disruption to traffic in Newmarket Road, but instead of Fleming it was Guttridge who struck low and – egad! – got a corner with a deflection off Paul Ellender, the most, er, big-boned player seen at the Abbey since Porker Redmile of Shrewsbury (RIP). Nothing came of it, of course.
Four minutes later Weatherstone found himself clear of markers on the edge of the area but was so stunned by his freedom that his trundler of a ‘shot’ wouldn’t have troubled the Andrex puppy. On 65 Shaggy and the Prof decided that change was necessary and 4-4-2 became 4-3-3 with the replacement of the extremely unlucky Heathcote by Lloyd Opara for his home debut. He’s a big, strong lad in the Trevor Benjamin mould although not it seems quite as fond as dear Trev of inflicting damage on opposing defenders. Angel followed Costello into the book for a hack at Tann, then United threatened again as another right-wing Riza run saw him cut inside along the touchline in characteristic style but saw his cutback intercepted by the alert Bastock.
The hosts continued to press and were finally rewarded with the equaliser on 71. Did you know that Manchester United and the U’s are in fact very similar? Well, they are in one way anyway: until this weekend neither side had scored from a corner this season. Ruud van Nistelrooy broke their duck at lunchtime, then it was the boys in amber’s turn for a bit of quack-quack-oops. Lil’ Luke’s corner was half-cleared to the edge of the area where Fleming headed it back in. It fell to Riza, with his back to goal six yards out, and in one sweet movement he turned on a sixpence, sorry one-tenth of a Euro, and lashed home through a sea of bodies. What a happy chappie he was as he broke United’s longest goalless streak of the season: two games.
As so often happens, the relief of 20 minutes’ pressure by a goal led to a spell of possession for the opposition. Angel shot wide on 73, Guttridge was booked for a foul on the same man a minute later, then it was Marshall’s turn to earn his money again as Elephant Ellender’s edge-of-area bouncer threatened to hop into goal before the Terpsichorean custodian flung himself to his left and clawed it away impressively. Things got a little heated as the Terrier lost his cool and Mr Poll had to speak to both him and his captain after he started getting lippy. Act your age, not your shoe size, Terence.
Four minutes later came the moment we had been waiting for: Shaggy’s first playing action since 7 April 2001 against Reading (whatever happened to them?). Rumours about Mr Riza’s plans have been flying around for some time, and when his number came up, his farewell wave and wry smile had more than an air of finality to it. Let’s hope not; he’s infuriating, frustrating at times, but damned exciting and faster than a speeding Schumacher.
Astoundingly, Shaggy’s first action was to take on two Boston defenders for pace and strength in running on to a through ball and beating them both, his low cross being cleared for a corner. Keep taking the pills, JT, you’ve still got some way to go to beat Clive Wilson’s record for United’s oldest League player. Kitson’s header from the flag kick was firm but straight at Bastock on his line. Boston, obviously terrified by the opposition’s awesome sub, made one of their own with Lee Beevers (he does, you know) replacing Costello on 81. A minute later, they were back in front, that man Angel again involved with a left-wing run past some pretty poor United defending, his cross across the area pawed at by Marshall but the keeper unable to prevent it landing on the head on the incoming Rusk to power home gleefully.
Shaggy continued to lead gamely from the front. One teasing cross almost set Kitson up, then another from the right wing almost curled under Bastock’s crossbar and the keeper had to claw it over for a corner. What’s the betting JT claims it was deliberate, which is frankly about as likely as Trevor Brooking letting rip with some choice four-letter words. The only ones he knows are ‘nice’, ‘good’ and ‘hmmm’, despite his late, late charge for Manager of the Year. The resultant corner once again caused havoc in the Boston six-yard box. Legs flailing, Opara saw a shot blocked then Shaggy tried an instinctive back-heel that flew a matter of inches past the post. It seemed that, like Le Dieu’s penalty at this stage last season, the final fairytale was just not to be.
And so it proved. Boston were delighted with a good win from what turned out to be a good season, and all credit to them. For United, the team that never plays two halves the same, it was not just a game but a season of two halves. In succeeding so excitingly up to Christmas, perhaps they built up false hopes for a campaign that fizzled out when Shane Tudor got injured and tiredness, a small squad and fixture congestion all got on top of them. But we’ve had a shedload of great moments in 2002/03, far more than we could have expected after such a dismal 2001/02, so let’s think of the good times and entrust Shaggy and the Prof with the task of building on them and pushing on in 2003/04. Go for it, chaps, we’re right behind you. Up the U’s!
Marshall 8 – Several superb saves to cap a mostly excellent breakthrough season.
Tann 6 – Quiet game and below Adam’s usual standard.
Murray 6 – Undistinguished afternoon for Psycho Fred.
Theobald 7 – Good recovery from last week’s catastrophe and kept it safe and simple. But was it enough for a contract?
Angus 7 – An average day for Mr Classy, which would be a good one for lesser players.
Guttridge 6 – Battled away gamely on the right in what is plainly not in any way his best position.
Wanless 5 – Anti-climax after his welcome decision to stay, and never got a decisive grip in midfield.
Fleming 5 – United lost it in midfield and the Terrier endured a particularly sub-standard day.
Heathcote 7 – Another display to be proud of for the youngster and unlucky to be substituted.
Riza 6 – Frustrating day for the Geezer tempered by his last goal of the season … and for United?
Kitson 6 – Was aiming for the club record but was disappointingly never given the ammunition to get near it by his errant midfield.
Opara 6 – Settled in fairly well and looks like a good prospect for next season.
Taylor 7 – The old boy certainly made an impact and showed the value of something that this United team markedly lacks: experience.
Soundtrack of the season: The Kills/Fried My Little Brains
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at Auld Lang Syne. ‘This famous song commemorating an end and a beginning was written by the legendary Robert Burns, adapted from a much older poem, although his chosen tune was replaced by one supplied by his publisher, Mr Thomson. But did you know that the original dance that accompanied it was invented by the Freemasons? Burns was ‘on the square’ and the Masons saw his song as an expression of worldwide brotherhood. They would form a circle with everyone equidistant from the centre, showing they were all equal, and hands by their side to symbolise that they were relative strangers. The early verses were sung softly (or even hummed!) as they reflected on past times together and those who had passed on to the ‘Grand Lodge Above’, until the last verse and the words ‘And there’s a hand …,’ when they would offer their right hand to the man on their left and left hand to right in the linked-hands routine that everyone now indulges in on New Year’s Eve. The crossing of hearts and forming of a closer chain symbolised that they were now close friends; the tempo would rise, feet would tap and they would all sing the last chorus with gusto! This fascinating story also makes for a very apt final Shaun’s Dance of the Day. I hope you have enjoyed my introductions to the exciting and varied world of dancing and that my enthusiasm has stirred at least some of you to try it out. I’m just off to put on my apron and pop down the Lodge with the directors to pray for a more consistent season next time! Only joking, of course. Until next time – whenever that may be – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: An eventful season ended with not so much a bang as a dull splat as yet another game of two radically contrasting halves slipped away near the end, despite the inspirational presence of a promising young chap called Taylor as sub. So basically, halfway down the stairs is the stair where we sit. There isn’t any play-off place quite near it. We’re not at the bottom, we’re not at the top. So this is the place where the Mighty U’s stop. Halfway up the stairs isn’t up and isn’t down. It isn’t in Rushden, but it’s not in Shrewsbury Town. And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head. It isn’t really anywhere, it’s somewhere else instead. But at least it isn’t in Peterborough.
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. A triumphant season for the Terpsichorean custodian finished appropriately with another selection of top-class saves, and typically, two goals conceded thanks to sloppy defending by his colleagues. Now if he can just work on his communication skills, we could be looking at one of the best keepers in the lower divisions next season.
Ref watch: Poll 8. Mr Premiership’s reputation preceded him, but he was really rather good, keeping control sensibly and resisting the temptation to wave cards around willy-nilly. Who’d have thunk it?
Until next season … ‘May you savour each word like a raspberry.’ (Judee Sill) ajb
The end of the season is upon us and that can only mean one thing. No, not promotion (that’s next season): awards. So, without any ado, CUFC Online is almost proud to present the Alternative U’s Awards 2002-03:
The Freddie Mercury Thunderbolt & Lightning Very Very Frightening Me Gold-Mounted Codpiece: Shane Tudor and his one-man Goal of the Season contest.
The Crossroads Motel 101 Pained Expressions and Gross Underachievement Oscar: Jon Parkin (York).
The Polyphonic Spree Heavenly Choir Commemorative Robe and Amulet goes to the United away support’s rousing, seemingly endless rendering of ‘Everywhere We Go’ during the classic ten-man 3-4 at Rochdale.
The Mark Bosnich ‘Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time’ Blankety Blank Cheque Book & Pen for Most Inadvisable Move: Tom Youngs.
The Amoco Cadiz Slowest Turning Circle and Heaviest Load Commemorative Lard Butty: Matt Redmile (Shrewsbury).
The Gillian Taylforth Excellent Head Memorial Spittoon goes to Adam Tann for his bullet header goal v York.
The Uri Geller ‘I’m A Nonentity, Get Me Out Of Here’ Chocolate Fireguard goes to Colin Alcide.
The John Travolta ‘Greased Lightnin’ Brown Shovel for Fastest Thing In Amber is shared between Shane Tudor and Stev Angus. Omer Riza slipped and fell over during the run-off.
The ‘So’ Tony Scully Best Camp Irish Chat Show Host Lookalike Golden Fist goes to Tony Scully. Having won it three times in a row, he now gets to keep it in perpetuity, or wherever else he’d like to stick it.
The Jon Rattle Memorial Should Be Left Back (In The Dressing Room) Beret and Mac Combo: Tom Newey.
The James Brown ‘Mr Superbad’ Coolest Ref Licking Stick goes to JJ Ross.
The Gordon Brown ‘Mr Ultracrap’ Limpest Ref Half-Eaten Liquorice Stick goes to Paul ‘Dirty’ Danson, for the tenth consecutive year.
The Mick Hucknall ‘That’s My Boy’ Leather Trousers and Posing Pouch for Most Frequent Scoring goes to Big Ginger (except when he’s blond) Dave Kitson.
The Fred Dineage ‘How??’ Quiz Book & Compendium goes to Rushden & Diamonds for becoming champions despite shipping eight goals in two games at the Abbey and looking, frankly, like a rancid pile of pants.
The Iceland Freezer Centre Brass Monkey (sponsored by P-P-P Penguin) for coldest place next to Pluto goes to Luton’s Kenilworth Road in the LDV. Lil’ Luke’s winner warmed us up, though, eh?
The Jordan Most Impressive Newly Constructed Architecture Meccano Set goes to Hull’s sumptuous KC Stadium. Pity about the team.
The Saddam/Bin Laden Quietest Disappearance Cloak of Invisibility: Phil Warner.
The John Beck Memorial Quality Sign and Neck Brace for Biggest, Ugliest Team of the Season goes to Lincoln City.
The Michael Flatley ‘Lord Of The Dance’ Medallion and Self-Tan Kit goes to the Terpsichorean custodian himself, England’s No 1, Shaun Marshall. Average: one and a half world-class saves per match.
The Teasy Weasy Raymond Bleached Bog Brush for Dodgiest Barnet is shared between Wozza Goodhind and Dave Kitson. Wozza also collects the Brother Lees ‘Who Do You Don’t’ Award for least convincing impersonation of David Beckham.
The Gene Kelly ‘Singing In The Rain’ Rubber Galoshes (sponsored by Skin 2) go to the away support at Brentford who were rewarded for a thorough drenching with that fabulous late, late golden goal finish.
The Stormin’ Norman ‘Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends’ tin of Dulux matt gloss war paint goes to Captain Fantastic, Paul Wanless, for his one-man rescue job for the nine men among the muck and bullets of Stalag Sincil Bank.
The Jude Law ‘Mummy, Where’s Daddy Going?’ Consolation Jamboree Bag to Terry Fleming’s kids for the trauma of seeing him sent off in front of them in the same match. Those sweets will play havoc with the gold teeth, mind …
The Hans Christian Andersen Blessed Black & Amber Cotton Socks go to John Turner for the best winning debut goal … ever!
The Inspector Blakey Souvenir Clipboard and Stopwatch for services to ruining football go to Messrs Robinson, D’Urso, Tomlin, Rejer, Laws, Thorpe, Boyeson, Penton, Curson, Taylor, Evans, Crossley, Danson, Wolstenholme, Webb, Fletcher, Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all the other inept men in black who have plagued our season with their officious claptrap.
The Jimmy Edwards ‘Thank You, School Bully’ Book Down The Back Of The Trousers Award to Sunderland for showing Premiership class in inflicting United’s worst-ever defeat in the League era. Er, thanks, guys.
The Judy Garland Memorial Twister Mat goes to Shaggy and the Prof for their half-dozen different team formations in the home game v Wrexham.
The Beki Bondage Souvenir ‘Punk’s Not Dead’ White Riot Bondage Trousers and Stanley Knife to the Exeter City team for their collective moshpit impersonation near the end of the game at St James’ Park.
The Dick Dastardly ‘Drat! Drat! And Triple Drat!’ Red Nose and Clown’s Boots for Funniest Own Goal goes to Daryl Burgess of Northampton for his superb 30-yard header in the LDV. Runners-up: Neil Redfearn (Boston), Mark Hotte (Scarborough), David Bridges (for Rochdale).
The Jamie ‘I’m A United Supporter, Me’ Oliver Commemorative Bib for Pukka Tucker goes to Kidderminster Harriers for their belly-bulging home-made cottage pie.
The Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger Fridge-Freezer Award for Most Creative Usage of Ice Cubes goes to Ant Coole.
The Ozzy Osbourne ‘Wild Man’ Souvenir Fake Dog Poo for Mindless Stupidity goes to Scott Eustace.
The Leslie Phillips ‘Hello-oo!’ Season Ticket to Stringfellow’s for Most Gratuitous Mascot goes to Exeter’s Grecian Goddess. God bless her and all who, er, sail in her.
The Bruce Lee Memorial Engraved Nunchaku and Cut-Glass Sake Decanter for Kung Fu Excellence go to Scott Willis (Lincoln) for his horizontal assault on Paul Wanless. Dishonourable mentions to Scott Walker (Exeter) and Mark Birch (Carlisle).
The Christopher Biggins ‘He’s Behind You!’ Ruby-Encrusted Wing Mirrors go to Shaun Marshall for his classic blunder v Torquay.
The Gene Simmons Tongue Stud for PA Pronunciation Confusion goes to Izzy Iriekpen.
The Kevin The Teenager ‘I’m Not Your Slave!’ Backwards Baseball Cap and Can of Red Bull for Extreme Sloth and Bad Attitude goes to Armand Oné.
The Ma & Pa Larkin ‘Can We Play You Every Week?’ Award for Most Convivial Hosts goes to those lovely people at Northampton Town.
The Roy McFarland ‘In A Sense’ Commemorative EF Language School Rucksack for Most Overused Phrase goes to John ‘First Class’ Taylor. A first class result for Mr Taylor and the Football Club.
It’s been a long and grinding road, but today the season rolled slowly to a halt like a tortoise with stabilisers. The visitors were in tea party mode, celebrating their survival with an inspired late run in their first season in the League, and over 900 had trekked across country to join in the fun. Sadly the weather was less than accommodating and the traditional end-of-term sun and blue sky were replaced by grey skies, scudding clouds and intermittent spots of rain. Oh to be in England indeed.
United’s skeletal squad was down to the bare bones as Messrs Goodhind, Nacca and Chillingworth cried off with injury. David Theobald made his starting debut and young Jonathan Heathcote retained his place in wide left midfield alongside a rather less than riotously attacking looking trio of Lil’ Luke, the Terrier and Captain Corny, sorry, Fantastic, and with the BGG and Riza The Geezer up front, they were shadowed by a bench sporting a keeper and another four (count ’em) strikers in Opara, Revell, Turner and some bloke called Taylor. Used to be quite useful back in the 60s, I believe.
Ex-U Paul Bastock lined up for a record-breaking 10,000th (or something) appearance for the visitors, who also sported Richard Logan: a useful loanee in his Ipswich days for ourselves. They lost Stuart Balmer in the warm-up, moving Mark Greaves to centre back and bringing in Peter Costello at right back.
Boston started purposefully, and it soon became welcomingly apparent that they have toned down the horrible hoof-and-hope style they adopted at York Street for something approaching, well, football. Huzzah. Some neat interplay between Simon Rusk and top scorer Paul Duffield set up Costello for a fourth-minute 20-yard strike that was well dealt with by Dancing Shaun, revealing early on that the visitors were not afraid to shoot from anything up to 35 yards, in stark contrast to their hosts. Tom Bennett curled one wide on five then tried the same shot on seven, a few inches more accurate but he’d have needed about another hundred efforts to have got one on target at that rate of progress. It was Logan’s turn next on 14 as he took on Angus, but his effort was about as accurate as good ol’ all-American friendly fire.
United had to wait until the quarter-hour for their first shot at goal, Freddie Murray of all people giving Bastock a comfortable save from the angle of the box, then Simon Weatherstone and that man Bennett tried some more pot-shots. The hosts huffed and puffed but could find no cutting edge, their potentially lethal strike force starved of any sort of quality service by a midfield of three ball-winners and a full back that was almost as lacking in creativity as that mid-90s nadir of nothingness trio of Hakan Hayrettin, Danny O’Shea and Andy Jeffrey. Like Elvis on mid-50s American TV, anything past the halfway line was resolutely out of bounds to those three.
As the match began to drift into end-of-season bucket-and-spade territory, so the supporters’ minds must have been dwelling on future carefree revelling in the sun and partying those long, balmy summer nights away. So let’s hope we get Bournemouth and Torquay away early again next season, eh? Injury constrained the unlucky Logan to withdraw just before the half-hour mark, replaced by Mark Angel who went wide left with Weatherstone moving upfront. On 29 Rusk got his teeth into a tasty drive that sailed over, then Weatherstone drew one of Marshall’s now customary fantastic saves on 32, diving full-length to get a strong hand to turn round the post.
But Boston were resolutely in the ascendant against lethargic United, and their breakthrough on 37 bore all the inevitability of Ozzy Osbourne’s son going into rehab. Angel’s low scudder from the edge of the area was excellently palmed away by Marshall, it ran to Duffield by the touchline left of goal and his attempted cross was blocked by Theobald; it spun back to Angel, who turned and curled a quite exquisite effort past the United number1 into the top right corner. A great goal that even drew applause from the home fans, although one suspected that they had just been woken up from deep slumber by the commotion and were merely applauding out of bleary instinct.
There was no discernible response from the feeble hosts, and the only remaining incident of note in a bitterly disappointing first half was a yellow card from Graham Poll (we’re not worthy!) for Costello for a rash assault on Murray. Needless to say Boston were cheered lustily from the pitch by their tastefully black-and-amber bedecked throng, while the other lot were booed with equal vigour by those who remained awake. So far the anticipated end-of-season spectacular resembled that ‘art’ installation of naked people in a shopping mall: a promising and potentially exciting idea, but the reality was mundane, unattractive and not a little boring. But at least there weren’t so many saggy, hairy bums on display; just the 11 (boom! and indeed boom!).
Shaggy was plainly furious at such an inept display, and the players emerged from the dressing-room less than halfway through the interval, turfed out in an attempt to jolt some life into them. This led us to the bizarre sight of the first XI warming up with a kickabout in one half of the pitch while the subs did the same in the other, and never the twain did meet. It did seem to work, though, as United set about their task in the second half with considerable more vim and vigour. Lil’ Luke stunned us by actually having a shot from 35 yards early on, a rare occurrence indeed for the boys in amber, then Riza began to threaten from his best position, wide right, instead of constantly getting caught offside while playing as an orthodox front-runner.
The Geezer’s first and best run should have set up the equaliser: his low cross flashed across the box, Kitson couldn’t quite connect, but there was Heathcote galloping in from the left unmarked. His shot at goal from ten yards was decent but just a little too near Bastock, who did very well to beat it out. Then Kitson demonstrated once again that he is the best passer in the team with a magnificent instant turn and hooked through ball from halfway to send Riza racing away again, but Omer didn’t keep sufficiently cool and blazed over from just inside the area. This was more like it: the transformation was almost as dramatic as Pete Burns’ stung-by-a-whole-angry-hive collagen lips.
Riza blasted over again soon after, then on 55 Captain Fantastic showed he can pass, too, with a slide-rule diagonal ball to send Heathcote away again, but his first-time strike was down Bastock’s throat, then Marshall saved from Weatherstone before United gained a free-kick ten yards outside the box just before the hour. Given past experience, the home support were in the midst of phoning the police to warn of an impending disruption to traffic in Newmarket Road, but instead of Fleming it was Guttridge who struck low and – egad! – got a corner with a deflection off Paul Ellender, the most, er, big-boned player seen at the Abbey since Porker Redmile of Shrewsbury (RIP). Nothing came of it, of course.
Four minutes later Weatherstone found himself clear of markers on the edge of the area but was so stunned by his freedom that his trundler of a ‘shot’ wouldn’t have troubled the Andrex puppy. On 65 Shaggy and the Prof decided that change was necessary and 4-4-2 became 4-3-3 with the replacement of the extremely unlucky Heathcote by Lloyd Opara for his home debut. He’s a big, strong lad in the Trevor Benjamin mould although not it seems quite as fond as dear Trev of inflicting damage on opposing defenders. Angel followed Costello into the book for a hack at Tann, then United threatened again as another right-wing Riza run saw him cut inside along the touchline in characteristic style but saw his cutback intercepted by the alert Bastock.
The hosts continued to press and were finally rewarded with the equaliser on 71. Did you know that Manchester United and the U’s are in fact very similar? Well, they are in one way anyway: until this weekend neither side had scored from a corner this season. Ruud van Nistelrooy broke their duck at lunchtime, then it was the boys in amber’s turn for a bit of quack-quack-oops. Lil’ Luke’s corner was half-cleared to the edge of the area where Fleming headed it back in. It fell to Riza, with his back to goal six yards out, and in one sweet movement he turned on a sixpence, sorry one-tenth of a Euro, and lashed home through a sea of bodies. What a happy chappie he was as he broke United’s longest goalless streak of the season: two games.
As so often happens, the relief of 20 minutes’ pressure by a goal led to a spell of possession for the opposition. Angel shot wide on 73, Guttridge was booked for a foul on the same man a minute later, then it was Marshall’s turn to earn his money again as Elephant Ellender’s edge-of-area bouncer threatened to hop into goal before the Terpsichorean custodian flung himself to his left and clawed it away impressively. Things got a little heated as the Terrier lost his cool and Mr Poll had to speak to both him and his captain after he started getting lippy. Act your age, not your shoe size, Terence.
Four minutes later came the moment we had been waiting for: Shaggy’s first playing action since 7 April 2001 against Reading (whatever happened to them?). Rumours about Mr Riza’s plans have been flying around for some time, and when his number came up, his farewell wave and wry smile had more than an air of finality to it. Let’s hope not; he’s infuriating, frustrating at times, but damned exciting and faster than a speeding Schumacher.
Astoundingly, Shaggy’s first action was to take on two Boston defenders for pace and strength in running on to a through ball and beating them both, his low cross being cleared for a corner. Keep taking the pills, JT, you’ve still got some way to go to beat Clive Wilson’s record for United’s oldest League player. Kitson’s header from the flag kick was firm but straight at Bastock on his line. Boston, obviously terrified by the opposition’s awesome sub, made one of their own with Lee Beevers (he does, you know) replacing Costello on 81. A minute later, they were back in front, that man Angel again involved with a left-wing run past some pretty poor United defending, his cross across the area pawed at by Marshall but the keeper unable to prevent it landing on the head on the incoming Rusk to power home gleefully.
Shaggy continued to lead gamely from the front. One teasing cross almost set Kitson up, then another from the right wing almost curled under Bastock’s crossbar and the keeper had to claw it over for a corner. What’s the betting JT claims it was deliberate, which is frankly about as likely as Trevor Brooking letting rip with some choice four-letter words. The only ones he knows are ‘nice’, ‘good’ and ‘hmmm’, despite his late, late charge for Manager of the Year. The resultant corner once again caused havoc in the Boston six-yard box. Legs flailing, Opara saw a shot blocked then Shaggy tried an instinctive back-heel that flew a matter of inches past the post. It seemed that, like Le Dieu’s penalty at this stage last season, the final fairytale was just not to be.
And so it proved. Boston were delighted with a good win from what turned out to be a good season, and all credit to them. For United, the team that never plays two halves the same, it was not just a game but a season of two halves. In succeeding so excitingly up to Christmas, perhaps they built up false hopes for a campaign that fizzled out when Shane Tudor got injured and tiredness, a small squad and fixture congestion all got on top of them. But we’ve had a shedload of great moments in 2002/03, far more than we could have expected after such a dismal 2001/02, so let’s think of the good times and entrust Shaggy and the Prof with the task of building on them and pushing on in 2003/04. Go for it, chaps, we’re right behind you. Up the U’s!
Marshall 8 – Several superb saves to cap a mostly excellent breakthrough season.
Tann 6 – Quiet game and below Adam’s usual standard.
Murray 6 – Undistinguished afternoon for Psycho Fred.
Theobald 7 – Good recovery from last week’s catastrophe and kept it safe and simple. But was it enough for a contract?
Angus 7 – An average day for Mr Classy, which would be a good one for lesser players.
Guttridge 6 – Battled away gamely on the right in what is plainly not in any way his best position.
Wanless 5 – Anti-climax after his welcome decision to stay, and never got a decisive grip in midfield.
Fleming 5 – United lost it in midfield and the Terrier endured a particularly sub-standard day.
Heathcote 7 – Another display to be proud of for the youngster and unlucky to be substituted.
Riza 6 – Frustrating day for the Geezer tempered by his last goal of the season … and for United?
Kitson 6 – Was aiming for the club record but was disappointingly never given the ammunition to get near it by his errant midfield.
Opara 6 – Settled in fairly well and looks like a good prospect for next season.
Taylor 7 – The old boy certainly made an impact and showed the value of something that this United team markedly lacks: experience.
Soundtrack of the season: The Kills/Fried My Little Brains
Shaun’s Dance of the Day. Today Shaun Marshall looks at Auld Lang Syne. ‘This famous song commemorating an end and a beginning was written by the legendary Robert Burns, adapted from a much older poem, although his chosen tune was replaced by one supplied by his publisher, Mr Thomson. But did you know that the original dance that accompanied it was invented by the Freemasons? Burns was ‘on the square’ and the Masons saw his song as an expression of worldwide brotherhood. They would form a circle with everyone equidistant from the centre, showing they were all equal, and hands by their side to symbolise that they were relative strangers. The early verses were sung softly (or even hummed!) as they reflected on past times together and those who had passed on to the ‘Grand Lodge Above’, until the last verse and the words ‘And there’s a hand …,’ when they would offer their right hand to the man on their left and left hand to right in the linked-hands routine that everyone now indulges in on New Year’s Eve. The crossing of hearts and forming of a closer chain symbolised that they were now close friends; the tempo would rise, feet would tap and they would all sing the last chorus with gusto! This fascinating story also makes for a very apt final Shaun’s Dance of the Day. I hope you have enjoyed my introductions to the exciting and varied world of dancing and that my enthusiasm has stirred at least some of you to try it out. I’m just off to put on my apron and pop down the Lodge with the directors to pray for a more consistent season next time! Only joking, of course. Until next time – whenever that may be – enjoy your dancing!’
Match summary: An eventful season ended with not so much a bang as a dull splat as yet another game of two radically contrasting halves slipped away near the end, despite the inspirational presence of a promising young chap called Taylor as sub. So basically, halfway down the stairs is the stair where we sit. There isn’t any play-off place quite near it. We’re not at the bottom, we’re not at the top. So this is the place where the Mighty U’s stop. Halfway up the stairs isn’t up and isn’t down. It isn’t in Rushden, but it’s not in Shrewsbury Town. And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head. It isn’t really anywhere, it’s somewhere else instead. But at least it isn’t in Peterborough.
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. A triumphant season for the Terpsichorean custodian finished appropriately with another selection of top-class saves, and typically, two goals conceded thanks to sloppy defending by his colleagues. Now if he can just work on his communication skills, we could be looking at one of the best keepers in the lower divisions next season.
Ref watch: Poll 8. Mr Premiership’s reputation preceded him, but he was really rather good, keeping control sensibly and resisting the temptation to wave cards around willy-nilly. Who’d have thunk it?
Until next season … ‘May you savour each word like a raspberry.’ (Judee Sill) ajb
John Taylor: he looks puzzled. So were we at times, to be honest.
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I Love … 2002/03
What a long, crazy season it was. Looking back from the perspective of, ooh, several weeks, 2002/03 resembles nothing so much as one of those birdman competitions they hold for the adventurous, the brave and the frankly deranged adjoining a body of water. The birdman, clad in bright new plumage, emerges blinking nervously from months of planning and training, full of trepidation, adrenaline and an oddly touching self-belief. He takes a deep gulp of air, the crowd holds its breath, and with a fierce cry of defiance he launches himself into the great unknown. For a few sweet, fantastic seconds which seem like hours, he is flying, eagling majestically through the ether under the terra-bound’s rapt gaze. He could fly to the moon and back.
Then, slowly at first then with increasing and alarming rapidity, he begins to arc inevitably back to Earth, gazing wistfully up at the sky that once seemed his very own as he plummets under gravity’s stern, unyielding grasp and, all too soon, splashes down into his watery terminus, simultaneously exhilarated and disappointed at what is and what might have been. And however soggy a mess United might have ended up as that final final whistle blew at the Abbey on May 3, it is the sweet memories that remain when the troughs of the season have been banished from memory. So let us celebrate the good times and relive some golden highlights (and I don’t mean from Wozza Goodhind’s head) of the season just passed.
August 31. One of the enduring mysteries of 2002/03 for U’s fans was the presence at the top of the table of Rushden & Diamonds, culminating in their crowning as champions when Hartlepool wilted in the closing stages. Because on the evidence of their two appearances at the Abbey, they were a team of graceless giants with all the tactical sophistication of a stampede of short-sighted elephants. Led from the back by Barry ‘Mr Red Card’ Hunter, their primary tactic was to welly it up their even bigger lads up front, lumbering giraffe Onandi Lowe and the headbanger’s headbanger, Duane ‘Demolition’ Darby. At the end of August they were taken apart 4-1 at the Abbey by an United team with its littl’uns in full irresistible flow; an effervescent Tom Youngs nutmegged Mr Smug Turley for the first and also contributed our third between strikes from Omer Riza and Dave Kitson for a scoreline that didn’t flatter the U’s one little bit. And less than two months later in the LDV, United repeated the dose with a 4-0 thrashing, Paul Wanless’s early opener followed in the second half by an Adam Tann header that left United feeling so comfortable that Martin Brennan was brought on for his debut. The last ten minutes were best of all, a Shane Tudor special blasted into the top corner from 20 yards then Omer Riza sprinting from the halfway line like a roadrunner with the trots and bamboozling four defenders before slotting home. Even Chilli came the nearest he got to scoring all season with a header off the underside of the bar. The Dustbins, naturally, had their day at Nene Park, but even that was after an opening 20 minutes of astonishingly wasteful finishing from the visitors. But the championship went to Irthlingborough in a tribute to their efficiency in a mediocre division, and it will be interesting to see how they fare in their new local derby up on Cripple Creek next season. At least we’ve got the Cobblers to dismantle again.
September 10. The main reason for United fans’ disappointment at the way the season turned out was that their team’s form until Christmas was so irrepressibly good that it promised so much more than was ultimately achieved. The U’s in full flow were truly an awesome sight, and never more so than in putting First Division Reading to the sword in the Worthington Cup. The ‘classic’ attacking line-up of four double-figure goal machines in Tudor, Riza, Kitson and Youngs was, in Brian Flynn’s words, ‘unstoppable’, and so they proved on a balmy September evening at the Abbey with a magnificent display of pace, positivity and penetration. Ironically it was a defender, Andy Duncan, who got the deserved first goal from a Tudor cross, and the same supplier provided Dave Kitson with a second headed score before half-time. Reading made three changes for part two, demonstrating their determination to get back into it, but to no avail, and 20 minutes from time Kitson robbed future England international Matthew Upson to return the favour to Tudor, who made it 3-0 with another header. The Berkshire millionaires were thoroughly outplayed from start to finish and Upson’s last-minute toe-poke was the scantest of consolations. With this front four, backed by the tireless probing of Bridges and Fleming and with a rock-solid defensive spine of Duncan and Angus, the future looked so bright we all needed Ray-Bans. Halcyon days.
September 17. It is a rare match, indeed, that one can recall with affection even though your team suffered a late and undeserved defeat. But Rochdale’s Spotland on an autumnal evening was the venue for such an epic and inspiring, if ultimately heartbreaking, occasion that will live long in the memories of all who were lucky enough to be there. A Kitsonless United started with a front three in Riza, Youngs and Tudor which would be rejected from a Smurfs vs Hobbits match because they might get hurt by the bigger lads, and within five minutes were one down thanks to David Bridges forgetting which end he was attacking and nodding past Marshall. Less than ten minutes later, catastrophe beckoned as Duncan was dismissed for two daft fouls in as many minutes. But this spirited young United team rolled up its metaphorical sleeves and its ten men took the game to their hosts with a vengeance. Riza equalised with a superb team goal, then Tudor curled in a stupendous 20-yarder to give them a thoroughly deserved 2-1 lead to cap half an hour of unlikely footballing dominance. Eight minutes into the second half it was 3-1 with a Wanless penalty, although the offending defender, Jobson, avoided a merited red card or even a yellow. Dale pulled one back on the hour from a dubiously awarded Simpson free kick, but United held on heroically for the next 30 minutes, driven on by an awesome away following’s sustained rendering of Everywhere We Go that seemed to reverberate throughout the mills and dales of Lancashire. The history books show that Dale scrambled an equaliser in the last minute and a winner in the third and final minute of added time, but by ’eck we left Spotland with our heads held high, and not just to stop the tears of disappointment and injustice flowing down our flushed cheeks. If ever a defeat could be glorious, this was it.
September 21. Lineker. Keegan. Schmeichel. Mortensen. Shilton. Mannion. Many are the legends who have delighted and diverted the Abbey hordes over the years. But for sheer entertainment value and popularity, none could hold a candle to York City’s very own Jon Parkin. A big, physical lad converted to a striker (presumably from a hat-stand), he entered the fray like a colossus and left it an hour later like a colostomy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t get into dangerous positions (that was on the rare occasions when he avoided being caught offside); but his close-range ‘finishing’ was appalling, best of all when he rounded Shaun Marshall, eventually clumsily adjusted his feet and tapped towards the empty net, only to see Terry Fleming nip in to hoof clear. What sealed the man’s legend, though, was the range of naked emotion displayed on his tortured face as yet another chance went begging, sinking to his knees, clutching his head and grimacing as if performing a particularly exacting prog rock guitar solo. With bad toothache. His long-range shooting was no better, a 25-yard free-kick endangering traffic more than the United goal, and it was a merciful release when he was subbed on the hour to gleeful home supporters’ cries of ‘Parkin for England!’ Inevitably, of course, he exacted revenge for his team’s 3-0 defeat in the return at Bootham Crescent with a tap-in that he celebrated like a Beckham halfway line chip. See you next season, big man!
November 12. The LDV Vans Trophy gained a special place in the heart of every U’s fan during that glorious run to the Millennium Stadium in 2001/02. And it flirted outrageously with us again in 2002/03, giving us three glorious one-night stands at the homes of clubs a division higher before cruelly spurning us when the big boys of Bristol came a-calling. But we still love it. A trip to Northampton’s half-closed Sixfields was United’s reward for their thrashing of Rushden, but early portents were not promising, goal machines Kitson and Tudor missing, youngsters Nacca and Bridges in midfield and Riza and Youngs reunited diminutively up front, and when they found themselves two down after 27 minutes, the game looked well and truly up. Then Cobblers keeper Nathan Abbey was dismissed for a foul on Youngs, Wannie stepped up for the resultant penalty … and hit the bar. Not our night? Step forward Mr Daryl Burgess with a hilarious comedy own goal, heading into his own net from fully 30 yards as he beat his own sub keeper to the ball then had to watch it trundle in to hoots of derision from the amber hordes. A Riza equaliser set up a very different second half to that we had anticipated not 15 minutes previously. The Geezer was in unstoppable mood now, and he gave United the lead early into the second half before withdrawing through injury to a fully merited ovation. A Youngs goal (oh irony!) made it 4-2 and the last 15 minutes were played out in a carnival atmosphere, the United team playing with broad smiles plastered all over their faces to match those in the away end. It was, quite literally, a funny old game. Although the Cobblers weren’t laughing. And a month later we had knocked them out of the FA Cup, too. Looking forward to seeing them next season already!
December 10. After the fun and games of Northampton, the LDV Area Quarter-Final at Luton was an altogether grimmer prospect: horrible ground, drab town and a night so cold penguins were queuing at the club shop to stock up on woolly hats and gloves. The only cheering sight was that of dear old Alan Kimble lining up for the Hatters – 36 years old and still got all his own legs. Luton had the better of the first half and led at the interval through Thorpe’s 15th-minute prod, but United got the de-icer out during the break and a better second-half start saw an equaliser on the hour from Terry Fleming. After that the game swung back and forth, climaxing with a quite stupendous Gordon Banksalike save by star man Marshall from Robinson’s close-range header five minutes from time. Extra time raised the prospect of those golden goals that we so enjoyed last season, but this time there was no Monsieur Oné to knock one in for us. The clock ran down along with the tiring players’ batteries and the shivering spectators’ temperatures, but just as penalties seemed nigh, that old cup magic shimmied into view again: Youngs, up to Nacca, a pinpoint ball to the unmarked Luke Guttridge, and to our incredulity, the exhausted little magician thrashed the ball across the keeper and into the far corner of the net. He risked serious frostbite with a delirious bare-shirted celebration, but suddenly we were all basking in the warm glow of another great LDV moment. Long may they continue.
December 14. It is a common convention to compare a football match to a battle, or even a full-scale war if Robbie Savage or Roy Keane are involved. But when your troops are facing a remorseless aerial assault on a surface resembling the Somme, it’s really rather inevitable. Such was the Sincil Bank experience for many teams this season as Lincoln City unaccountably reached the play-off final with a Route One style that made a 6ft 6in defender their top scorer and gave fans cricked necks from August to May. United went there just before Christmas having already won twice in that fair county, at Boston and Scunthorpe, but the ploughed fields of Lincolnshire were like green Crucible baize compared to the grassless morass of mud and sand that greeted them that day. The visitors got off to the perfect start with a lead through a Guttridge toe-poke, then it was backs to the wall for half an hour until they eventually succumbed to an equaliser from a partially-cleared corner. United’s team of shorties were struggling, but Paul Wanless, returning to his old club, remained on the bench. Then, an hour in, disaster struck as Terry Fleming was shown his second yellow card and the U’s were one short; and when Lincoln took the lead soon after, then Guttridge followed Fleming to the dressing-room for a harsh straight red as tempers frayed, United’s nine men looked doomed. But they are made of sterner stuff than that, and continued to remain positive, keeping two strikers upfield. Then, 15 minutes from the end, came the entry of the gladiator on his 29th birthday: Paulus Captainus Fantasticus Wanless. With jaw set squarer than David ‘Kryten’ Coulthard, he made his entrance and within two minutes had rammed home an equaliser with extreme prejudice: 2-2! Wannie, his team-mates and the fans celebrated wildly, and unbelievably, United continued to take the game to a spent-looking Lincoln for the rest of the match. The hosts’ Willis received a deserved red near the end for practising his martial arts kicking on the great man’s head, and the U’s took home a point that felt like three. With fighting spirit like that, surely only one of these teams would make the top seven at the end of the season. Oh well. They got their comeuppance in the end.
January 21. If the freezing confines of the glorified scrapyard that is Kenilworth Road hadn’t promised much for the travelling amber hordes, Brentford’s Griffin Park, venue for the area semi-final, suggested even less. It’s been a graveyard for United hopes for so many years and venue of many a disappointing and resounding defeat. And if the weather at Luton had been hostile, this winter’s night in West London was the wettest since Noah looked up at the sky and said ‘For God’s sake hurry up and finish that ark!’ United, recent form sagging, dropped Riza and tried a new wing-back formation, doubtless fearful of the awesome attacking power of Mark ‘Who Moved The Goal?’ McCammon. The hosts had the better of a scrappy first half notable mainly for the gradual emptying of the open away end as the rain became remorselessly heavier and heavier, and the stewards sympathetically allowed the soggy supporters to transfer to dry seats at no extra cost. A rugged hardcore of 100 or so remained doggedly put, however, defying the elements on the basis that once one gets so wet, it’s not possible to actually get any wetter. McCammon, inevitably, gave Brentford the lead just before half-time, and the hosts continued to dominate the deteriorating pitch well into part two as parts of the surface resembled a mudslide. United, however, stood stoically firm and introduced the pace of Riza and Nacca to liven things up as the contest began to resemble a round of It’s A Knockout from 1973. But there was no sign of a breakthrough, and the board signalled a mere two minutes’ added time before the LDV dream sank slowly in the west. But wait! Suddenly Kitson had the ball between three defenders 12 yards out: the keeper parried, the BGG poked it back past him and it trickled oh-so-slowly into the net. Bedraggled bedlam on the terrace. Into extra time, United were soon down to ten men as Goodhind withdrew injured, all subs sunk, I mean used, but eight minutes in came our ultimate reward. Riza glided over the puddles and the slime as if his heels had wings, feinted one way, then the other, then blasted low inside the near post for yet another marvellous Golden Goal. Joy was unconfined on the pitch and off, and suddenly that squelching feeling in our trousers felt almost enjoyable. And if it all had to end in anti-climactic tears in the area final as Bristol City exacted their vengeance for last year, it was still one hell of a great ride. Even if it did perhaps so distract us from the League bread-and-butter that it ultimately went stale.
April 12. By the time struggling Exeter City came to the Abbey just before Easter, United’s dreams of the play-offs were all but extinguished. But at least their season hadn’t turned into the visitors’ nightmare of impending demotion, insolvency and Uri Geller’s prattling. Memories of the mass brawl at the end of United’s win at St James’ Park were still fresh in the memory of many, but this encounter was to be remembered for an altogether more pleasant reason. History was made for all the wrong reasons after barely 20 seconds when Izzy Iriekpen scored the fastest-ever own goal by an United player. It took the hosts over an hour to even the score with a Wanless penalty (he doesn’t miss ’em all, you know), but as the match began to fizzle out with 15 minutes to go, Shaggy decided to throw on 17-year-old John Turner for his debut. The kid naturally took a few nervous touches to find his feet, but the visitors were horrified to find that their time-wasting had occasioned five minutes of added time. And two minutes from the end of that came the most life-affirming moment of the Abbey year. Marshall’s long clearance found Turner outfoxing the ponderous Exeter offside trap, and the boy needed just three touches for heaven: one deft touch for control, two to advance on goal, then from fully 25 yards he crafted a quite exquisite shot-cum-lob that sailed gloriously and unerringly over the keeper and into the net for a fairytale finish to put the Grimms out of business. All of a sudden young JT was everyone’s beloved son, his team-mates burying him under an avalanche of unfettered glee as the crowd joyously acclaimed a new star in the United firmament. And the disbelieving happiness on that young man’s face as the Abbey rose to cheer him from the pitch a few seconds later made up for a dozen dismal dead-end defeats. United will always have a future as long as they can produce gold like Turner from the youth system’s mines.
The Rest. If one word could sum up all the good things about 2002-03 for the Mighty U’s, it would be Goals.
There were great goals:
Before I close, let’s not forget those at the other end who (sometimes) stopped them going in: especially Shaun Marshall, who makes ten world-class saves for every gaffe, the vastly improved Wozza Goodhind, the emerging Adam Tann and the fastest and best defender at the club for years: Stev Angus.
A disappointing season? Ultimately, yes. But what a treasure trove of great moments, thrilling football, epic battles and wonderful memories all the same. I’d rather eat an earwax butty than endure a season of low-scoring route one grindcore from the likes of Lincoln, play-off final or no. With United, there is almost literally never a dull moment. Here’s to more magic in 2003/04!
What a long, crazy season it was. Looking back from the perspective of, ooh, several weeks, 2002/03 resembles nothing so much as one of those birdman competitions they hold for the adventurous, the brave and the frankly deranged adjoining a body of water. The birdman, clad in bright new plumage, emerges blinking nervously from months of planning and training, full of trepidation, adrenaline and an oddly touching self-belief. He takes a deep gulp of air, the crowd holds its breath, and with a fierce cry of defiance he launches himself into the great unknown. For a few sweet, fantastic seconds which seem like hours, he is flying, eagling majestically through the ether under the terra-bound’s rapt gaze. He could fly to the moon and back.
Then, slowly at first then with increasing and alarming rapidity, he begins to arc inevitably back to Earth, gazing wistfully up at the sky that once seemed his very own as he plummets under gravity’s stern, unyielding grasp and, all too soon, splashes down into his watery terminus, simultaneously exhilarated and disappointed at what is and what might have been. And however soggy a mess United might have ended up as that final final whistle blew at the Abbey on May 3, it is the sweet memories that remain when the troughs of the season have been banished from memory. So let us celebrate the good times and relive some golden highlights (and I don’t mean from Wozza Goodhind’s head) of the season just passed.
August 31. One of the enduring mysteries of 2002/03 for U’s fans was the presence at the top of the table of Rushden & Diamonds, culminating in their crowning as champions when Hartlepool wilted in the closing stages. Because on the evidence of their two appearances at the Abbey, they were a team of graceless giants with all the tactical sophistication of a stampede of short-sighted elephants. Led from the back by Barry ‘Mr Red Card’ Hunter, their primary tactic was to welly it up their even bigger lads up front, lumbering giraffe Onandi Lowe and the headbanger’s headbanger, Duane ‘Demolition’ Darby. At the end of August they were taken apart 4-1 at the Abbey by an United team with its littl’uns in full irresistible flow; an effervescent Tom Youngs nutmegged Mr Smug Turley for the first and also contributed our third between strikes from Omer Riza and Dave Kitson for a scoreline that didn’t flatter the U’s one little bit. And less than two months later in the LDV, United repeated the dose with a 4-0 thrashing, Paul Wanless’s early opener followed in the second half by an Adam Tann header that left United feeling so comfortable that Martin Brennan was brought on for his debut. The last ten minutes were best of all, a Shane Tudor special blasted into the top corner from 20 yards then Omer Riza sprinting from the halfway line like a roadrunner with the trots and bamboozling four defenders before slotting home. Even Chilli came the nearest he got to scoring all season with a header off the underside of the bar. The Dustbins, naturally, had their day at Nene Park, but even that was after an opening 20 minutes of astonishingly wasteful finishing from the visitors. But the championship went to Irthlingborough in a tribute to their efficiency in a mediocre division, and it will be interesting to see how they fare in their new local derby up on Cripple Creek next season. At least we’ve got the Cobblers to dismantle again.
September 10. The main reason for United fans’ disappointment at the way the season turned out was that their team’s form until Christmas was so irrepressibly good that it promised so much more than was ultimately achieved. The U’s in full flow were truly an awesome sight, and never more so than in putting First Division Reading to the sword in the Worthington Cup. The ‘classic’ attacking line-up of four double-figure goal machines in Tudor, Riza, Kitson and Youngs was, in Brian Flynn’s words, ‘unstoppable’, and so they proved on a balmy September evening at the Abbey with a magnificent display of pace, positivity and penetration. Ironically it was a defender, Andy Duncan, who got the deserved first goal from a Tudor cross, and the same supplier provided Dave Kitson with a second headed score before half-time. Reading made three changes for part two, demonstrating their determination to get back into it, but to no avail, and 20 minutes from time Kitson robbed future England international Matthew Upson to return the favour to Tudor, who made it 3-0 with another header. The Berkshire millionaires were thoroughly outplayed from start to finish and Upson’s last-minute toe-poke was the scantest of consolations. With this front four, backed by the tireless probing of Bridges and Fleming and with a rock-solid defensive spine of Duncan and Angus, the future looked so bright we all needed Ray-Bans. Halcyon days.
September 17. It is a rare match, indeed, that one can recall with affection even though your team suffered a late and undeserved defeat. But Rochdale’s Spotland on an autumnal evening was the venue for such an epic and inspiring, if ultimately heartbreaking, occasion that will live long in the memories of all who were lucky enough to be there. A Kitsonless United started with a front three in Riza, Youngs and Tudor which would be rejected from a Smurfs vs Hobbits match because they might get hurt by the bigger lads, and within five minutes were one down thanks to David Bridges forgetting which end he was attacking and nodding past Marshall. Less than ten minutes later, catastrophe beckoned as Duncan was dismissed for two daft fouls in as many minutes. But this spirited young United team rolled up its metaphorical sleeves and its ten men took the game to their hosts with a vengeance. Riza equalised with a superb team goal, then Tudor curled in a stupendous 20-yarder to give them a thoroughly deserved 2-1 lead to cap half an hour of unlikely footballing dominance. Eight minutes into the second half it was 3-1 with a Wanless penalty, although the offending defender, Jobson, avoided a merited red card or even a yellow. Dale pulled one back on the hour from a dubiously awarded Simpson free kick, but United held on heroically for the next 30 minutes, driven on by an awesome away following’s sustained rendering of Everywhere We Go that seemed to reverberate throughout the mills and dales of Lancashire. The history books show that Dale scrambled an equaliser in the last minute and a winner in the third and final minute of added time, but by ’eck we left Spotland with our heads held high, and not just to stop the tears of disappointment and injustice flowing down our flushed cheeks. If ever a defeat could be glorious, this was it.
September 21. Lineker. Keegan. Schmeichel. Mortensen. Shilton. Mannion. Many are the legends who have delighted and diverted the Abbey hordes over the years. But for sheer entertainment value and popularity, none could hold a candle to York City’s very own Jon Parkin. A big, physical lad converted to a striker (presumably from a hat-stand), he entered the fray like a colossus and left it an hour later like a colostomy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t get into dangerous positions (that was on the rare occasions when he avoided being caught offside); but his close-range ‘finishing’ was appalling, best of all when he rounded Shaun Marshall, eventually clumsily adjusted his feet and tapped towards the empty net, only to see Terry Fleming nip in to hoof clear. What sealed the man’s legend, though, was the range of naked emotion displayed on his tortured face as yet another chance went begging, sinking to his knees, clutching his head and grimacing as if performing a particularly exacting prog rock guitar solo. With bad toothache. His long-range shooting was no better, a 25-yard free-kick endangering traffic more than the United goal, and it was a merciful release when he was subbed on the hour to gleeful home supporters’ cries of ‘Parkin for England!’ Inevitably, of course, he exacted revenge for his team’s 3-0 defeat in the return at Bootham Crescent with a tap-in that he celebrated like a Beckham halfway line chip. See you next season, big man!
November 12. The LDV Vans Trophy gained a special place in the heart of every U’s fan during that glorious run to the Millennium Stadium in 2001/02. And it flirted outrageously with us again in 2002/03, giving us three glorious one-night stands at the homes of clubs a division higher before cruelly spurning us when the big boys of Bristol came a-calling. But we still love it. A trip to Northampton’s half-closed Sixfields was United’s reward for their thrashing of Rushden, but early portents were not promising, goal machines Kitson and Tudor missing, youngsters Nacca and Bridges in midfield and Riza and Youngs reunited diminutively up front, and when they found themselves two down after 27 minutes, the game looked well and truly up. Then Cobblers keeper Nathan Abbey was dismissed for a foul on Youngs, Wannie stepped up for the resultant penalty … and hit the bar. Not our night? Step forward Mr Daryl Burgess with a hilarious comedy own goal, heading into his own net from fully 30 yards as he beat his own sub keeper to the ball then had to watch it trundle in to hoots of derision from the amber hordes. A Riza equaliser set up a very different second half to that we had anticipated not 15 minutes previously. The Geezer was in unstoppable mood now, and he gave United the lead early into the second half before withdrawing through injury to a fully merited ovation. A Youngs goal (oh irony!) made it 4-2 and the last 15 minutes were played out in a carnival atmosphere, the United team playing with broad smiles plastered all over their faces to match those in the away end. It was, quite literally, a funny old game. Although the Cobblers weren’t laughing. And a month later we had knocked them out of the FA Cup, too. Looking forward to seeing them next season already!
December 10. After the fun and games of Northampton, the LDV Area Quarter-Final at Luton was an altogether grimmer prospect: horrible ground, drab town and a night so cold penguins were queuing at the club shop to stock up on woolly hats and gloves. The only cheering sight was that of dear old Alan Kimble lining up for the Hatters – 36 years old and still got all his own legs. Luton had the better of the first half and led at the interval through Thorpe’s 15th-minute prod, but United got the de-icer out during the break and a better second-half start saw an equaliser on the hour from Terry Fleming. After that the game swung back and forth, climaxing with a quite stupendous Gordon Banksalike save by star man Marshall from Robinson’s close-range header five minutes from time. Extra time raised the prospect of those golden goals that we so enjoyed last season, but this time there was no Monsieur Oné to knock one in for us. The clock ran down along with the tiring players’ batteries and the shivering spectators’ temperatures, but just as penalties seemed nigh, that old cup magic shimmied into view again: Youngs, up to Nacca, a pinpoint ball to the unmarked Luke Guttridge, and to our incredulity, the exhausted little magician thrashed the ball across the keeper and into the far corner of the net. He risked serious frostbite with a delirious bare-shirted celebration, but suddenly we were all basking in the warm glow of another great LDV moment. Long may they continue.
December 14. It is a common convention to compare a football match to a battle, or even a full-scale war if Robbie Savage or Roy Keane are involved. But when your troops are facing a remorseless aerial assault on a surface resembling the Somme, it’s really rather inevitable. Such was the Sincil Bank experience for many teams this season as Lincoln City unaccountably reached the play-off final with a Route One style that made a 6ft 6in defender their top scorer and gave fans cricked necks from August to May. United went there just before Christmas having already won twice in that fair county, at Boston and Scunthorpe, but the ploughed fields of Lincolnshire were like green Crucible baize compared to the grassless morass of mud and sand that greeted them that day. The visitors got off to the perfect start with a lead through a Guttridge toe-poke, then it was backs to the wall for half an hour until they eventually succumbed to an equaliser from a partially-cleared corner. United’s team of shorties were struggling, but Paul Wanless, returning to his old club, remained on the bench. Then, an hour in, disaster struck as Terry Fleming was shown his second yellow card and the U’s were one short; and when Lincoln took the lead soon after, then Guttridge followed Fleming to the dressing-room for a harsh straight red as tempers frayed, United’s nine men looked doomed. But they are made of sterner stuff than that, and continued to remain positive, keeping two strikers upfield. Then, 15 minutes from the end, came the entry of the gladiator on his 29th birthday: Paulus Captainus Fantasticus Wanless. With jaw set squarer than David ‘Kryten’ Coulthard, he made his entrance and within two minutes had rammed home an equaliser with extreme prejudice: 2-2! Wannie, his team-mates and the fans celebrated wildly, and unbelievably, United continued to take the game to a spent-looking Lincoln for the rest of the match. The hosts’ Willis received a deserved red near the end for practising his martial arts kicking on the great man’s head, and the U’s took home a point that felt like three. With fighting spirit like that, surely only one of these teams would make the top seven at the end of the season. Oh well. They got their comeuppance in the end.
January 21. If the freezing confines of the glorified scrapyard that is Kenilworth Road hadn’t promised much for the travelling amber hordes, Brentford’s Griffin Park, venue for the area semi-final, suggested even less. It’s been a graveyard for United hopes for so many years and venue of many a disappointing and resounding defeat. And if the weather at Luton had been hostile, this winter’s night in West London was the wettest since Noah looked up at the sky and said ‘For God’s sake hurry up and finish that ark!’ United, recent form sagging, dropped Riza and tried a new wing-back formation, doubtless fearful of the awesome attacking power of Mark ‘Who Moved The Goal?’ McCammon. The hosts had the better of a scrappy first half notable mainly for the gradual emptying of the open away end as the rain became remorselessly heavier and heavier, and the stewards sympathetically allowed the soggy supporters to transfer to dry seats at no extra cost. A rugged hardcore of 100 or so remained doggedly put, however, defying the elements on the basis that once one gets so wet, it’s not possible to actually get any wetter. McCammon, inevitably, gave Brentford the lead just before half-time, and the hosts continued to dominate the deteriorating pitch well into part two as parts of the surface resembled a mudslide. United, however, stood stoically firm and introduced the pace of Riza and Nacca to liven things up as the contest began to resemble a round of It’s A Knockout from 1973. But there was no sign of a breakthrough, and the board signalled a mere two minutes’ added time before the LDV dream sank slowly in the west. But wait! Suddenly Kitson had the ball between three defenders 12 yards out: the keeper parried, the BGG poked it back past him and it trickled oh-so-slowly into the net. Bedraggled bedlam on the terrace. Into extra time, United were soon down to ten men as Goodhind withdrew injured, all subs sunk, I mean used, but eight minutes in came our ultimate reward. Riza glided over the puddles and the slime as if his heels had wings, feinted one way, then the other, then blasted low inside the near post for yet another marvellous Golden Goal. Joy was unconfined on the pitch and off, and suddenly that squelching feeling in our trousers felt almost enjoyable. And if it all had to end in anti-climactic tears in the area final as Bristol City exacted their vengeance for last year, it was still one hell of a great ride. Even if it did perhaps so distract us from the League bread-and-butter that it ultimately went stale.
April 12. By the time struggling Exeter City came to the Abbey just before Easter, United’s dreams of the play-offs were all but extinguished. But at least their season hadn’t turned into the visitors’ nightmare of impending demotion, insolvency and Uri Geller’s prattling. Memories of the mass brawl at the end of United’s win at St James’ Park were still fresh in the memory of many, but this encounter was to be remembered for an altogether more pleasant reason. History was made for all the wrong reasons after barely 20 seconds when Izzy Iriekpen scored the fastest-ever own goal by an United player. It took the hosts over an hour to even the score with a Wanless penalty (he doesn’t miss ’em all, you know), but as the match began to fizzle out with 15 minutes to go, Shaggy decided to throw on 17-year-old John Turner for his debut. The kid naturally took a few nervous touches to find his feet, but the visitors were horrified to find that their time-wasting had occasioned five minutes of added time. And two minutes from the end of that came the most life-affirming moment of the Abbey year. Marshall’s long clearance found Turner outfoxing the ponderous Exeter offside trap, and the boy needed just three touches for heaven: one deft touch for control, two to advance on goal, then from fully 25 yards he crafted a quite exquisite shot-cum-lob that sailed gloriously and unerringly over the keeper and into the net for a fairytale finish to put the Grimms out of business. All of a sudden young JT was everyone’s beloved son, his team-mates burying him under an avalanche of unfettered glee as the crowd joyously acclaimed a new star in the United firmament. And the disbelieving happiness on that young man’s face as the Abbey rose to cheer him from the pitch a few seconds later made up for a dozen dismal dead-end defeats. United will always have a future as long as they can produce gold like Turner from the youth system’s mines.
The Rest. If one word could sum up all the good things about 2002-03 for the Mighty U’s, it would be Goals.
There were great goals:
- Terry Fleming’s chest down and volley into the top corner at Bournemouth;
- Omer Riza’s run from halfway and 20-yard blast that the keeper never saw at Southend;
- Shane Tudor’s two injury-time long-rangers in a bizarre finish in Torquay;
- Adam Tann’s amazing 18-yard bullet header versus York;
- Dave Kitson’s flick from a seemingly impossible angle at Boston;
- Kitson’s fantastic skill and pass and Riza’s awesome speed to nick a brief lead in an extraordinary finish at home to Wrexham;
- Tudor’s out-of-the-blue no-backlift cannonball winner off the underside of the bar at Scunthorpe;
- Another Tudor special v Oxford, a stupendously volleyed mid-air scissor-kick;
- A 30-yard Tudor (notice a pattern emerging here?) bomb v Carlisle;
- Tom Youngs dancing round the keeper to give United the lead in a pulsating FA Cup replay at The Den;
- Tiny Tom’s Mensamungous run into the box and delicate header in the battling ten-man draw at Hull’s palatial new stadium;
- Tudor’s hamstring-knackering welly from the corner of the box v Rochdale;
- Luke Guttridge’s breakaway run, chip over the centre back and emphatic finish at Oxford;
- Kitson’s audacious outside-of-the-foot angled curler in a gutsy home win over Bournemouth.
- Omer Riza’s winner in the season's first away game at Bury to lift the victory-less travelling hoodoo that had haunted us all the previous season;
- Nick Robbins’ winner at Bolton that took the youth team into the fourth round of the FA Youth Cup and eventual honourable extra-time defeat by Leeds in front of over 2,500 at the Abbey;
- All those lovely Golden LDV Goals;
- Riza’s slow-motion two-foot tap-in at Darlo to end a seven-match barren run and stop the season disappearing down the plughole in mid-March;
- Riza’s swivel and shot in the last game of the season v Boston. Nothing special in itself, but our first goal from a corner all season!
- A 5-0 thrashing of a hapless, hopeless Shrewsbury side whose defence was based around the one player to visit the Abbey who was worse than Parkin: Matt Redmile, 17 stone of immovable blubber with all the agility and acceleration of a steamroller.
- A record-breaking seven-goal thriller versus Sunderland in the Worthington Cup, although the big boys rather selfishly hogged them all to themselves rather than sharing them round. But still, it was educational, historic and perversely enjoyable in its own peculiar way. And this was the worst team in the Premiership?
- Dave Kitson, United’s highest scorer since David Crown: equally comfortable with head or either foot, but never from outside the box, and creator of so many more besides; our best footballer since Stevie Claridge.
- And of course a new club record of at least one goal in 26 consecutive League games, which will in all probability never be beaten. Think yourself fortunate you were there to witness it.
Before I close, let’s not forget those at the other end who (sometimes) stopped them going in: especially Shaun Marshall, who makes ten world-class saves for every gaffe, the vastly improved Wozza Goodhind, the emerging Adam Tann and the fastest and best defender at the club for years: Stev Angus.
A disappointing season? Ultimately, yes. But what a treasure trove of great moments, thrilling football, epic battles and wonderful memories all the same. I’d rather eat an earwax butty than endure a season of low-scoring route one grindcore from the likes of Lincoln, play-off final or no. With United, there is almost literally never a dull moment. Here’s to more magic in 2003/04!
Our hero: Jon Parkin.
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