Andrew's match reports 2003/04
Settle in for another marathon read.
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15 July 2003: Histon 2v1 United
From small acorns, bigger acorns grow Ah, the Great British Summer. Pink candy floss and red noses; melting tarmac and runny ice cream; peeling skin and unappealing bodies; lager monkeys and weary donkeys; ‘Come on, Tim!’ followed closely by ‘Better luck next year, Tim!’ Plus ça change. And even if yesterday's holiday hitmakers like Sabrina, Baltimora and Ryan Paris have been replaced by the infinitely more cynical Fast Food Rockers and Evanescence, or T'Pau With Tattoos as I prefer to think of them, one thing never changes: the half-paced pre-season friendly and a chance to, er, admire the Oompah Loompah suntans and 'interesting' new hairstyles of our returning heroes. And Bridge Road, Histon, home of the most forward-thinking non-League club in Cambridgeshire, was as good a place as any to start the season. |
Bridge Road, Histon: just the one turnstile
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Off the pitch, beflipflopped non-participants mingled with their public, Shane Tudor a very fetching shade of tangerine, Stev Angus seemingly with a spider's web tattooed on to his head, and Dave Kitson sporting a Wurzel Gummidge-goes-Medusa barnet of randomly arranged blond strands like a designer haystack in a hurricane. On the field it was little better, Dan Chillingworth sporting platinum highlights like an infestation of glow-worms and Warren Goodhind choosing to accentuate his growing mullet by dyeing just the very bottom bits yellow as if he had just dipped it into a can of Dulux Daffodil Delight. Nine hundred and forty-one eager spectators thronged through The Bridge's one turnstile, many still queuing to get in 15 minutes after kick-off, having either underestimated their fellow fans' hunger for live action or not realising that the start time had been brought forward to 7:30.
It was a delightfully balmy evening as the sun shone from a cloudless sky on to The Bridge's tree-lined greenery and a pitch that, although bumpy, was at least covered in lush grass before its inevitable descent into a mulchy morass of mud, puddles and sand come November. United held back a significant number of the squad for the following day's game at King's Lynn and were led out by acting skipper and new ‘boy' Mark Venus, who led an experienced back line with Messrs Goodhind, Duncan and young Jon Heathcote in front of Martin Brennan in goal. Chilli led the attack, flanked by two wide players in Aggy Revell and trialist Louis Riddle, with the customary vertically challenged midfield of Guttridge and Nacca.
The 11th man was Lloyd Opara, who as a striker you might have expected to play alongside or at least slightly behind Chillingworth. However, as the game progressed, he dropped deeper and deeper so that much of the time he was playing behind the midfield rather than in front of them, taking the ball off the back four and spraying it forward. Consequently, he rarely got near enough to the Histon goal to even think about a shot, and left Chilli stranded as a lone striker. All rather puzzling and as inexplicable as new Wimbledon champion Roger 'Floods' Federer's uber-mullet.
Histon fielded their strongest line-up, minus new signing Steve Holden but including other new boy and ex-U Colin Vowden, surprisingly released by City, along with former United trainee Adie Cambridge and his cousin Ian, notably dismissed by City after walking half the length of the pitch to lamp a home supporter who was giving him the hump. The Cantona of the Doc Martens League, indeed. The home bench boasted more former amber wearers in Graham Rush and Matty Haniver.
As we might have expected, the more settled hosts made the better start with their customary good passing football. United's central pair worked hard and Revell looked up for it wide right, but his oppo Riddle struggled to get into the game. Chilli looked lively up front, while Venus was the epitome of experienced calm at the back and, unlike several of his colleagues, did not give the ball away cheaply. It was, however, something of a surprise when the visitors took the lead on 12, before many United supporters had even got into the ground. Guttridge poked a speculative ball forward, Chilli flicked it past his marker on the bounce, then shot powerfully from just inside the area. Histon keeper Paul Barber got a touch to slow it down, but Chilli won the race to tap gleefully home from close in for his first senior goal since 22 January 2002. O blessed relief. He's our top scorer this season; enjoy it while it lasts!
The amber hordes relaxed. Surely this would now be the unequal contest they had hoped for, as the better-equipped, stronger side would simply overpower the opposition like Jordan seducing Gareth Gates. But no. Revell put over a few decent crosses from the right which were well defended by the hosts and United even forced a couple of Riddle-taken corners, but Barber remained untroubled. Too many passes went astray, Riddle was starved of service and only Opara knew where he was supposed to be playing as Chilli ploughed a lone furrow up front.
The alarm bells began to ring on 20 as Ian Cambridge slid a free kick just wide from the D, and a few minutes later the hosts secured a deserved equaliser. Nacca lost the ball sloppily in midfield, Neil Kennedy penetrated the United rearguard with a perceptive through-ball and Jamie Barker slotted coolly home from 15 yards as the static defence looked on helplessly. Plus ça change, indeed.
Chilli almost made something from nothing on the half-hour with a snap shot from a nastily bouncing ball that flew narrowly wide of the far post, but three minutes later it was déjà vu time as good work down the left from early sub Rush found Barker, and he slipped it across to Kennedy past United's square, immobile back line, and the veteran goal machine made no mistake with a quality finish across the helpless Brennan from the edge of the area. Disjointed United's response was as empty as a British Eurovision entry's points tally and half-time came as a blessed relief.
Both sides sent out the same teams for the second half, but United were no better, and Histon could in fact have increased their lead as first James Rowe broke clear, only to be smothered by Brennan as he tried to walk the ball into the net (are you Tiny Tom in disguise?), then Kennedy did the same, also to be denied by excellent Brennan reflexes. The hosts made a couple of changes, then the hour mark saw the withdrawal of the entire United team, to be replaced by a mixture of kids and trialists, most notably young John Turner, ex-Spurs trialists George Snee and Greg Randall and, remarkably, four guys called Dan and one called Duane. There's a musical in there somewhere …
The final half-hour was therefore notable only for a lot of enthusiastic running around by the enigmas in amber, mostly comfortably dealt with by the home 'Tutes. United maintained their recent tradition by sporting a diminutive central midfield duo who could have passed for garden gnomes with the addition of a fishing rod or two, but it was a U's team in name only, a bunch of strangers whose unfamiliarity was summed up when John Turner received the ball wide right halfway into the Histon half, and pint-sized midfielder Daniel Perry sprinted past him shouting ‘Turner! Turner!’ (at least he remembered his surname), only to be given resoundingly offside as soon as he received JT's pass. Bet those moves work perfectly in training without those pesky linesmen putting a spanner in the works. I suppose it's lucky it wasn't Snee who had the ball; if Perry had started shouting his name, we'd all have been looking around nervously for stray crocodiles.
United came nearest to levelling the scores on 79: the lively Snee intercepted a Rush backpass intended for Barber, took it to the byline then pulled it back for Turner. With the whole goal gaping save for a couple of nervous defenders, he sidefooted calmly over the bar from ten yards to groans from the away support. Don't be a one-goal wonder, please, John. The youngster guided a header a few yards wide near the end, but no one was too sad to hear the final whistle. Of course, it's not the result that matters in such games, it's the performance. Oh well, early days …
For what it's worth …
Brennan 6– No chance with the goals, good work early in the second in a couple of one-on-ones.
Goodhind 6– Quiet game, tried one buccaneering run forward only to give the ball away.
Heathcote 6– Didn't look out of place.
Duncan 6– Reliable as ever, but can't see both him and Venus starting the League season; Angus's pace was sorely missed.
Venus 6– Did what he had to do well, nice left foot although didn't get the chance to take any free kicks. Needs a pacy partner at the back, ie not Andy Duncan.
Revell 7– Lively in a conventional right-wing role and got some decent crosses over.
Guttridge 7– Busy and got involved well, but plays better with a stronger midfield partner.
Nacca 6– Ran around industriously but had little influence.
Riddle 6– Looks quick, but got so little service on the left that the jury must remain well and truly out.
Opara 6– Where was he supposed to be playing? OK in receiving and laying off the ball, but looked like a sweeper half the time and never got near enough to threaten the Histon goal.
Chillingworth 7– Willing, mobile runner in a rather solitary role and nice to see him get on the scoresheet.
Subs 6– Much of a muchness.
Soundtrack of the day: The Go! Team – Junior Kick Start
Match summary: Like the new Harry Potter novel, the first game of the season produced a mixture of action and comedy that fizzled out disappointingly in the summer heat. The 'formation' was a tad shapeless, too many passes went astray and United's static defence was squarer than Iain Duncan Smith attempting the Macarena. No change there. But hey, what are these pre-season friendlies for but to shake off the rust, help the players ease back into the swing of things and iron out any potential weaknesses? Get your pinny out, Shaggy, that ironing board's going to be busy over the next few weeks.
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. Lovely tan notwithstanding, looked the least like he's spent the past month lounging on a beach in Magaluf.
Ref watch: Griggs 6. Free and easy as is the convention in such matches, could have refereed this in his sleep. Unlike some League refs I could name.
It was a delightfully balmy evening as the sun shone from a cloudless sky on to The Bridge's tree-lined greenery and a pitch that, although bumpy, was at least covered in lush grass before its inevitable descent into a mulchy morass of mud, puddles and sand come November. United held back a significant number of the squad for the following day's game at King's Lynn and were led out by acting skipper and new ‘boy' Mark Venus, who led an experienced back line with Messrs Goodhind, Duncan and young Jon Heathcote in front of Martin Brennan in goal. Chilli led the attack, flanked by two wide players in Aggy Revell and trialist Louis Riddle, with the customary vertically challenged midfield of Guttridge and Nacca.
The 11th man was Lloyd Opara, who as a striker you might have expected to play alongside or at least slightly behind Chillingworth. However, as the game progressed, he dropped deeper and deeper so that much of the time he was playing behind the midfield rather than in front of them, taking the ball off the back four and spraying it forward. Consequently, he rarely got near enough to the Histon goal to even think about a shot, and left Chilli stranded as a lone striker. All rather puzzling and as inexplicable as new Wimbledon champion Roger 'Floods' Federer's uber-mullet.
Histon fielded their strongest line-up, minus new signing Steve Holden but including other new boy and ex-U Colin Vowden, surprisingly released by City, along with former United trainee Adie Cambridge and his cousin Ian, notably dismissed by City after walking half the length of the pitch to lamp a home supporter who was giving him the hump. The Cantona of the Doc Martens League, indeed. The home bench boasted more former amber wearers in Graham Rush and Matty Haniver.
As we might have expected, the more settled hosts made the better start with their customary good passing football. United's central pair worked hard and Revell looked up for it wide right, but his oppo Riddle struggled to get into the game. Chilli looked lively up front, while Venus was the epitome of experienced calm at the back and, unlike several of his colleagues, did not give the ball away cheaply. It was, however, something of a surprise when the visitors took the lead on 12, before many United supporters had even got into the ground. Guttridge poked a speculative ball forward, Chilli flicked it past his marker on the bounce, then shot powerfully from just inside the area. Histon keeper Paul Barber got a touch to slow it down, but Chilli won the race to tap gleefully home from close in for his first senior goal since 22 January 2002. O blessed relief. He's our top scorer this season; enjoy it while it lasts!
The amber hordes relaxed. Surely this would now be the unequal contest they had hoped for, as the better-equipped, stronger side would simply overpower the opposition like Jordan seducing Gareth Gates. But no. Revell put over a few decent crosses from the right which were well defended by the hosts and United even forced a couple of Riddle-taken corners, but Barber remained untroubled. Too many passes went astray, Riddle was starved of service and only Opara knew where he was supposed to be playing as Chilli ploughed a lone furrow up front.
The alarm bells began to ring on 20 as Ian Cambridge slid a free kick just wide from the D, and a few minutes later the hosts secured a deserved equaliser. Nacca lost the ball sloppily in midfield, Neil Kennedy penetrated the United rearguard with a perceptive through-ball and Jamie Barker slotted coolly home from 15 yards as the static defence looked on helplessly. Plus ça change, indeed.
Chilli almost made something from nothing on the half-hour with a snap shot from a nastily bouncing ball that flew narrowly wide of the far post, but three minutes later it was déjà vu time as good work down the left from early sub Rush found Barker, and he slipped it across to Kennedy past United's square, immobile back line, and the veteran goal machine made no mistake with a quality finish across the helpless Brennan from the edge of the area. Disjointed United's response was as empty as a British Eurovision entry's points tally and half-time came as a blessed relief.
Both sides sent out the same teams for the second half, but United were no better, and Histon could in fact have increased their lead as first James Rowe broke clear, only to be smothered by Brennan as he tried to walk the ball into the net (are you Tiny Tom in disguise?), then Kennedy did the same, also to be denied by excellent Brennan reflexes. The hosts made a couple of changes, then the hour mark saw the withdrawal of the entire United team, to be replaced by a mixture of kids and trialists, most notably young John Turner, ex-Spurs trialists George Snee and Greg Randall and, remarkably, four guys called Dan and one called Duane. There's a musical in there somewhere …
The final half-hour was therefore notable only for a lot of enthusiastic running around by the enigmas in amber, mostly comfortably dealt with by the home 'Tutes. United maintained their recent tradition by sporting a diminutive central midfield duo who could have passed for garden gnomes with the addition of a fishing rod or two, but it was a U's team in name only, a bunch of strangers whose unfamiliarity was summed up when John Turner received the ball wide right halfway into the Histon half, and pint-sized midfielder Daniel Perry sprinted past him shouting ‘Turner! Turner!’ (at least he remembered his surname), only to be given resoundingly offside as soon as he received JT's pass. Bet those moves work perfectly in training without those pesky linesmen putting a spanner in the works. I suppose it's lucky it wasn't Snee who had the ball; if Perry had started shouting his name, we'd all have been looking around nervously for stray crocodiles.
United came nearest to levelling the scores on 79: the lively Snee intercepted a Rush backpass intended for Barber, took it to the byline then pulled it back for Turner. With the whole goal gaping save for a couple of nervous defenders, he sidefooted calmly over the bar from ten yards to groans from the away support. Don't be a one-goal wonder, please, John. The youngster guided a header a few yards wide near the end, but no one was too sad to hear the final whistle. Of course, it's not the result that matters in such games, it's the performance. Oh well, early days …
For what it's worth …
Brennan 6– No chance with the goals, good work early in the second in a couple of one-on-ones.
Goodhind 6– Quiet game, tried one buccaneering run forward only to give the ball away.
Heathcote 6– Didn't look out of place.
Duncan 6– Reliable as ever, but can't see both him and Venus starting the League season; Angus's pace was sorely missed.
Venus 6– Did what he had to do well, nice left foot although didn't get the chance to take any free kicks. Needs a pacy partner at the back, ie not Andy Duncan.
Revell 7– Lively in a conventional right-wing role and got some decent crosses over.
Guttridge 7– Busy and got involved well, but plays better with a stronger midfield partner.
Nacca 6– Ran around industriously but had little influence.
Riddle 6– Looks quick, but got so little service on the left that the jury must remain well and truly out.
Opara 6– Where was he supposed to be playing? OK in receiving and laying off the ball, but looked like a sweeper half the time and never got near enough to threaten the Histon goal.
Chillingworth 7– Willing, mobile runner in a rather solitary role and nice to see him get on the scoresheet.
Subs 6– Much of a muchness.
Soundtrack of the day: The Go! Team – Junior Kick Start
Match summary: Like the new Harry Potter novel, the first game of the season produced a mixture of action and comedy that fizzled out disappointingly in the summer heat. The 'formation' was a tad shapeless, too many passes went astray and United's static defence was squarer than Iain Duncan Smith attempting the Macarena. No change there. But hey, what are these pre-season friendlies for but to shake off the rust, help the players ease back into the swing of things and iron out any potential weaknesses? Get your pinny out, Shaggy, that ironing board's going to be busy over the next few weeks.
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. Lovely tan notwithstanding, looked the least like he's spent the past month lounging on a beach in Magaluf.
Ref watch: Griggs 6. Free and easy as is the convention in such matches, could have refereed this in his sleep. Unlike some League refs I could name.
Luke Guttridge: needed a strong partner
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Wednesday, 16 July 2003: King’s Lynn 3v1 United
Formation, formation, formation
Part two of United’s local non-League odyssey saw the amber hordes trek into the depths of the Fens and the pleasant market town of King’s Lynn for the sides’ first meeting in three years. The last time, a 2-2 draw, was most notable for the enforced substitution of Neil ‘Mr Serenity’ Mustoe after he lost his rag and most of his marbles with it. What an excitable little fellow he was.
The trip up the A10 was punctuated by regular signs proclaiming ‘Cats Eyes Removed’, surely a barbaric and unnecessary practice that should have been outlawed by now; must be part of some strange Fenland ceremony that we townies can never be permitted to witness on pain of ritual death by turnip. The weather was similarly portentous: muggy with a hint of thunder in the air as the heatwave threatened to break over our heads like a warm tsunami. On United’s last visit they played in amber shirts despite the Linnets’ home strip of yellow and blue, but this time they had thought to bring ten (numberless) blue training tops, which they sported with amber shorts, recalling the friendly they played at Mildenhall a couple of years ago in grey.
The Walks is a decent venue, superior for its level (Doc Martens Eastern like Histon, who won there 8-2 last season), with a huge main stand comprising seating and a terrace in front, a covered terrace opposite and uncovered standing areas at both ends. The luxuriant, perhaps over-long grass of the pitch was enclosed by rather quaint low brick walls. The only familiar face in the home line-up was Richard Skelly, newly signed from our neighbours City and wearer of the amber and black in two League games back in 1994, while home skipper was the intriguingly named Glen Fuff. I said Fuff.
For the visitors, all the members of the squad who didn’t play at The Bridge (minus the injured David Bridges) were present in what seems to be the flavour of the month formation of 4-5-1: Dancing Shaun in goal, first-choice full backs Tann and Murray flanking Stev Angus and young ex-Norwich trialist Lee Summerscales at centre back. The central midfield three comprised old stagers Wanless and Fleming plus new boy Justin Walker, who has let most of the bleach grow out of his mullet but, like Wozza Goodhind, insists on having blond tips at the bottom. Mmm, stylish. Dave Kitson was lone striker with a welcome return to wide right for Shane Tudor and a place on the left wing for a chunky French trialist known only as Oliver.
United started reasonably well in front of a crowd of 361 with Walker spraying the ball around well from the middle and the wide men, especially Tudor, hugging the touchlines to give as much width as possible. This meant that Tudor, always available, saw a fair amount of the ball, but in his first game since early March it was clear he’d got a lot of sharpness to regain and most of his runs saw him dispossessed fairly comfortably. Monsieur Trialiste gradually got into the game on the opposite side and was particularly effective when pairing up with an overlapping Fred Murray.
However, the failings of the 4-5-1 system, as at Histon, were soon all too apparent: the lone striker finds himself hopelessly isolated and can do little other than come deep and lay it off. A player as skilful as Kitson needs a partner to team up with, to flick the ball to and play one-twos with; not one of his teammates at The Walks came close to fulfilling such a role. The net result: possession without penetration. Perhaps we ought to sign Alastair Campbell to ‘sex up’ the team a little. There was certainly precious little evidence of weapons of mass destruction from the Mighty U’s’. Tudor rarely got near enough to goal to get a cross in, and Kitson was only occasionally joined by Wanless or Walker to challenge for the few crosses that came in.
It was going to take a moment of inspiration to break the deadlock, and it came on 25 from Walker. Picking up the ball wide left, he glided inside past two defenders then, looking up from 25 yards out, lashed a superb drive low past helpless keeper Steve Wilson into the bottom corner. Exactly what we signed him for and a (very) early contender for goal of the season; United’s sixth Walker of the League era could turn out to be the best. Can you name the previous five, readers? Answers later, if you can contain your curiosity.
United remained on top against opposition that looked markedly inferior to the Histon team of the previous evening. Oliver tried for glory with a bicycle kick when he had time to bring it down and shoot, only to disturb the traffic outside, then Monsieur Essayiste’s corner skimmed off Kitson’s head to rebound narrowly wide off a surprised Tann’s legs. While Lynn had a little pressure, Tudor was called across to the bench by Shaggy and the Prof for a little tactical pep talk. At a guess, he was being told to cut inside and go for goal rather than head down the wing for the touchline as he had been doing so far, presumably so he might interact more with the lonesome Kitson. Such was the Orangeman’s ring rustiness, however, it was like trying to persuade George Best that Tizer is the nectar of the gods and Babycham is at the cutting edge of modern drinking. I prefer a nice Snowball myself.
At the other end of the pitch, the Dancemeister was also making a slow start to the season. He was fine at claiming high balls, but his main weakness, failure to verbally command his area, was still there. Early on, he failed to get near the ball in an ill-judged rush from goal and was fortunate that the ever-alert and speedy Angus was able to shepherd home striker Chris Bacon wide, where he blasted wide of the open goal. Later on, a hopeful high through ball was sailing harmlessly off for a goal kick, but without any guiding shout from his keeper, Summerscales had no option but to nod it off for a needless corner. Work still needed there, methinks; perhaps Shaun could take lessons from Man U’s new American keeper. He might need a dictionary for all the ‘interesting’ new words he would learn, though …
The visitors came nearest to extending their lead on 37 when another good overlap from Murray found Kitson, and his subtly lofted close-range effort was superbly tipped over. Predictably, the Linnets equalised two minutes later, Dave Staff meandering in from the left and sliding a perceptive ball across the edge of the area to the unmarked Carl Holmes, who finished with cool aplomb with a low drive across Marshall into the far corner.
A short interval saw the same line-up emerge for the second half as the atmosphere became as murky as an internet chat room. Rain fell for a short time as thunder rolled and lightning flashed in the distance, but the threatened storm passed by towards the North Sea. Events on the pitch were rather less spectacular, enlivened only by Oliver’s early blaster that flew narrowly wide of the far post after he latched on to a short corner. The hour mark was once again the cue for 11 United replacements, the brave Tannoy announcer starting ‘Cambridge United substitutes …’ then thinking better of the Herculean task that beckoned and maintaining a well-advised silence.
The ‘new’ team only had nine blue shirts between them, so one had to borrow Kitson’s as he came off, and this time they sported black shorts by way of variety; there were many familiar faces (if not names) from Histon, including the four Dans and a Duane, plus one Flory Zinga, who sounds like he would be a quite delicious signing, available from all participating restaurants. Whatever happened to proper players’ names like Ralph Gubbins, Arthur Longbottom and Austin Cumberbatch?
The new boys were keen and exerted some pressure on the hosts, prompted by the pick of the bunch: Daniel Perry, a tiny, spindly lad with a big voice and blond hair that looks like he’s been plugged into the mains. His niggling, determined run through a forest of legs produced a low cross across the six-yard box on 70 that begged to be prodded into the net, but no one could find the vital touch. There were also a few excellent crosses from, er, someone or other (possibly Danny Williams) on the right wing, but the breakthrough remained as elusive as a ‘gracious loser’ award for Greg ‘F#@$!!!’ Rusedski.
The decisive thrust came from the hosts 11 minutes from time. A hopeful long-range Martin Eldridge toe-poke towards the near post caught young George Clark all fingers and thumbs, and he fumbled the ball softly and horrendously into his own goal. Perhaps he’d just washed his hands and couldn’t do a thing with them. The boys in blue continued to huff and puff, but their fate was sealed on 85 when a long, high cross from deep right dropped on to Holmes’s head to nod comfortably home for number three. It could even have been worse at the death when an unmarked Malcolm Ndekwe glanced a header across goal and just wide of the unguarded far post. One can only feel sympathy for the trialists, really, slung into a team of kids and strangers and given half an hour to impress.
So there we have it: another runout for the squad, useful fitness-wise, useful tactically only in demonstrating again that 4-5-1 doesn’t appear to be the answer to the loss of Messrs Youngs and Riza. Why have three men milling around in midfield, getting in each other’s way, when we could have another striker further forward to team up with the BGG, receive through balls and get on the end of crosses? Ah well. Early days, he said hopefully. And those other Walkers in full? Colin, midfielder (1985-86); Dennis, midfielder (1970-73); Phil, keeper (1974-76); Ray, loan midfielder (1994-95); Richard, loan striker (1998-99). Now you feel better for knowing that, don’t you?
Marshall 6– Safe handling, still needs shouting practice.
Tann 7– Looking good. No one got past him at the back, just needs to work on an understanding with Tudor going forward.
Murray 7– Lively start to the season; crunching in the tackle, linked up excellently with the trialist with some buccaneering overlaps.
Angus 8– Best defender at the club by a mile looked imperious, quick and in control at all times.
Summerscales 7– The big lad slotted in seamlessly alongside Angus and looked worth another look.
Walker 8– Very impressive start. Good, accurate range of passes and a cracking goal to boot. He’ll do.
Wanless 6– Looking fit but needs to define his role if United are to stick with this tight middle three.
Fleming 6– Never short of workrate, but contributed little creatively.
Tudor 6– Understandably ring-rusty, he’s going to need a good few more games to be ready for the challenges ahead.
‘Oliver’ 7– Promising showing wide left, helped by Murray’s support, and also worth another chance.
Kitson 6– Victim of the formation as much as anything, he needs much closer support from his colleagues than this.
Subs 6– All willing triers, but can’t see many (if any) of the trialists still being here come mid-August.
Soundtrack of the day: The Coral – Pass It On
Match summary: Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble. Shaggy and the Prof are still mixing the ingredients at this stage and there’s still a fair bit of stirring to do before this particular broth is anywhere near ready. On the evidence so far, though, they might have to rethink the presentation a bit. Still, it’s early days and no doubt we’ll have a feast fit for a king ready by August 9. Won’t we, chaps?
Man of the match: Justin Walker. Produced exactly what we got him in for: good passing, commanding presence and a storming goal. More, please!
Ref watch: Some bloke 5. More fussy and officious than necessary.
Formation, formation, formation
Part two of United’s local non-League odyssey saw the amber hordes trek into the depths of the Fens and the pleasant market town of King’s Lynn for the sides’ first meeting in three years. The last time, a 2-2 draw, was most notable for the enforced substitution of Neil ‘Mr Serenity’ Mustoe after he lost his rag and most of his marbles with it. What an excitable little fellow he was.
The trip up the A10 was punctuated by regular signs proclaiming ‘Cats Eyes Removed’, surely a barbaric and unnecessary practice that should have been outlawed by now; must be part of some strange Fenland ceremony that we townies can never be permitted to witness on pain of ritual death by turnip. The weather was similarly portentous: muggy with a hint of thunder in the air as the heatwave threatened to break over our heads like a warm tsunami. On United’s last visit they played in amber shirts despite the Linnets’ home strip of yellow and blue, but this time they had thought to bring ten (numberless) blue training tops, which they sported with amber shorts, recalling the friendly they played at Mildenhall a couple of years ago in grey.
The Walks is a decent venue, superior for its level (Doc Martens Eastern like Histon, who won there 8-2 last season), with a huge main stand comprising seating and a terrace in front, a covered terrace opposite and uncovered standing areas at both ends. The luxuriant, perhaps over-long grass of the pitch was enclosed by rather quaint low brick walls. The only familiar face in the home line-up was Richard Skelly, newly signed from our neighbours City and wearer of the amber and black in two League games back in 1994, while home skipper was the intriguingly named Glen Fuff. I said Fuff.
For the visitors, all the members of the squad who didn’t play at The Bridge (minus the injured David Bridges) were present in what seems to be the flavour of the month formation of 4-5-1: Dancing Shaun in goal, first-choice full backs Tann and Murray flanking Stev Angus and young ex-Norwich trialist Lee Summerscales at centre back. The central midfield three comprised old stagers Wanless and Fleming plus new boy Justin Walker, who has let most of the bleach grow out of his mullet but, like Wozza Goodhind, insists on having blond tips at the bottom. Mmm, stylish. Dave Kitson was lone striker with a welcome return to wide right for Shane Tudor and a place on the left wing for a chunky French trialist known only as Oliver.
United started reasonably well in front of a crowd of 361 with Walker spraying the ball around well from the middle and the wide men, especially Tudor, hugging the touchlines to give as much width as possible. This meant that Tudor, always available, saw a fair amount of the ball, but in his first game since early March it was clear he’d got a lot of sharpness to regain and most of his runs saw him dispossessed fairly comfortably. Monsieur Trialiste gradually got into the game on the opposite side and was particularly effective when pairing up with an overlapping Fred Murray.
However, the failings of the 4-5-1 system, as at Histon, were soon all too apparent: the lone striker finds himself hopelessly isolated and can do little other than come deep and lay it off. A player as skilful as Kitson needs a partner to team up with, to flick the ball to and play one-twos with; not one of his teammates at The Walks came close to fulfilling such a role. The net result: possession without penetration. Perhaps we ought to sign Alastair Campbell to ‘sex up’ the team a little. There was certainly precious little evidence of weapons of mass destruction from the Mighty U’s’. Tudor rarely got near enough to goal to get a cross in, and Kitson was only occasionally joined by Wanless or Walker to challenge for the few crosses that came in.
It was going to take a moment of inspiration to break the deadlock, and it came on 25 from Walker. Picking up the ball wide left, he glided inside past two defenders then, looking up from 25 yards out, lashed a superb drive low past helpless keeper Steve Wilson into the bottom corner. Exactly what we signed him for and a (very) early contender for goal of the season; United’s sixth Walker of the League era could turn out to be the best. Can you name the previous five, readers? Answers later, if you can contain your curiosity.
United remained on top against opposition that looked markedly inferior to the Histon team of the previous evening. Oliver tried for glory with a bicycle kick when he had time to bring it down and shoot, only to disturb the traffic outside, then Monsieur Essayiste’s corner skimmed off Kitson’s head to rebound narrowly wide off a surprised Tann’s legs. While Lynn had a little pressure, Tudor was called across to the bench by Shaggy and the Prof for a little tactical pep talk. At a guess, he was being told to cut inside and go for goal rather than head down the wing for the touchline as he had been doing so far, presumably so he might interact more with the lonesome Kitson. Such was the Orangeman’s ring rustiness, however, it was like trying to persuade George Best that Tizer is the nectar of the gods and Babycham is at the cutting edge of modern drinking. I prefer a nice Snowball myself.
At the other end of the pitch, the Dancemeister was also making a slow start to the season. He was fine at claiming high balls, but his main weakness, failure to verbally command his area, was still there. Early on, he failed to get near the ball in an ill-judged rush from goal and was fortunate that the ever-alert and speedy Angus was able to shepherd home striker Chris Bacon wide, where he blasted wide of the open goal. Later on, a hopeful high through ball was sailing harmlessly off for a goal kick, but without any guiding shout from his keeper, Summerscales had no option but to nod it off for a needless corner. Work still needed there, methinks; perhaps Shaun could take lessons from Man U’s new American keeper. He might need a dictionary for all the ‘interesting’ new words he would learn, though …
The visitors came nearest to extending their lead on 37 when another good overlap from Murray found Kitson, and his subtly lofted close-range effort was superbly tipped over. Predictably, the Linnets equalised two minutes later, Dave Staff meandering in from the left and sliding a perceptive ball across the edge of the area to the unmarked Carl Holmes, who finished with cool aplomb with a low drive across Marshall into the far corner.
A short interval saw the same line-up emerge for the second half as the atmosphere became as murky as an internet chat room. Rain fell for a short time as thunder rolled and lightning flashed in the distance, but the threatened storm passed by towards the North Sea. Events on the pitch were rather less spectacular, enlivened only by Oliver’s early blaster that flew narrowly wide of the far post after he latched on to a short corner. The hour mark was once again the cue for 11 United replacements, the brave Tannoy announcer starting ‘Cambridge United substitutes …’ then thinking better of the Herculean task that beckoned and maintaining a well-advised silence.
The ‘new’ team only had nine blue shirts between them, so one had to borrow Kitson’s as he came off, and this time they sported black shorts by way of variety; there were many familiar faces (if not names) from Histon, including the four Dans and a Duane, plus one Flory Zinga, who sounds like he would be a quite delicious signing, available from all participating restaurants. Whatever happened to proper players’ names like Ralph Gubbins, Arthur Longbottom and Austin Cumberbatch?
The new boys were keen and exerted some pressure on the hosts, prompted by the pick of the bunch: Daniel Perry, a tiny, spindly lad with a big voice and blond hair that looks like he’s been plugged into the mains. His niggling, determined run through a forest of legs produced a low cross across the six-yard box on 70 that begged to be prodded into the net, but no one could find the vital touch. There were also a few excellent crosses from, er, someone or other (possibly Danny Williams) on the right wing, but the breakthrough remained as elusive as a ‘gracious loser’ award for Greg ‘F#@$!!!’ Rusedski.
The decisive thrust came from the hosts 11 minutes from time. A hopeful long-range Martin Eldridge toe-poke towards the near post caught young George Clark all fingers and thumbs, and he fumbled the ball softly and horrendously into his own goal. Perhaps he’d just washed his hands and couldn’t do a thing with them. The boys in blue continued to huff and puff, but their fate was sealed on 85 when a long, high cross from deep right dropped on to Holmes’s head to nod comfortably home for number three. It could even have been worse at the death when an unmarked Malcolm Ndekwe glanced a header across goal and just wide of the unguarded far post. One can only feel sympathy for the trialists, really, slung into a team of kids and strangers and given half an hour to impress.
So there we have it: another runout for the squad, useful fitness-wise, useful tactically only in demonstrating again that 4-5-1 doesn’t appear to be the answer to the loss of Messrs Youngs and Riza. Why have three men milling around in midfield, getting in each other’s way, when we could have another striker further forward to team up with the BGG, receive through balls and get on the end of crosses? Ah well. Early days, he said hopefully. And those other Walkers in full? Colin, midfielder (1985-86); Dennis, midfielder (1970-73); Phil, keeper (1974-76); Ray, loan midfielder (1994-95); Richard, loan striker (1998-99). Now you feel better for knowing that, don’t you?
Marshall 6– Safe handling, still needs shouting practice.
Tann 7– Looking good. No one got past him at the back, just needs to work on an understanding with Tudor going forward.
Murray 7– Lively start to the season; crunching in the tackle, linked up excellently with the trialist with some buccaneering overlaps.
Angus 8– Best defender at the club by a mile looked imperious, quick and in control at all times.
Summerscales 7– The big lad slotted in seamlessly alongside Angus and looked worth another look.
Walker 8– Very impressive start. Good, accurate range of passes and a cracking goal to boot. He’ll do.
Wanless 6– Looking fit but needs to define his role if United are to stick with this tight middle three.
Fleming 6– Never short of workrate, but contributed little creatively.
Tudor 6– Understandably ring-rusty, he’s going to need a good few more games to be ready for the challenges ahead.
‘Oliver’ 7– Promising showing wide left, helped by Murray’s support, and also worth another chance.
Kitson 6– Victim of the formation as much as anything, he needs much closer support from his colleagues than this.
Subs 6– All willing triers, but can’t see many (if any) of the trialists still being here come mid-August.
Soundtrack of the day: The Coral – Pass It On
Match summary: Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble. Shaggy and the Prof are still mixing the ingredients at this stage and there’s still a fair bit of stirring to do before this particular broth is anywhere near ready. On the evidence so far, though, they might have to rethink the presentation a bit. Still, it’s early days and no doubt we’ll have a feast fit for a king ready by August 9. Won’t we, chaps?
Man of the match: Justin Walker. Produced exactly what we got him in for: good passing, commanding presence and a storming goal. More, please!
Ref watch: Some bloke 5. More fussy and officious than necessary.
'Oliver': worth another chance
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Friday, 18 July 2003: Cambridge City 0v0 United
A local derby for local people Local derbies are the very stuff of football. Wherever they occur, nothing else occupies the neighbourhood for days and families are split asunder by fierce rivalries. On Merseyside, hubcaps are left untouched, sometimes for several minutes; in north London, the fur and fettucini fly over a nice Chablis and some really nice organic goat’s cheese; in Milan, girls’ bottoms go unpinched while the menfolk groom their best leisurewear in readiness; and in Glasgow, petty local disputes are put aside so they can concentrate on some proper old-fashioned sectarian loathing. Meanwhile, in Cambridge, Doris and Frank Ruggles of Camside, City and United respectively since birth, decide they may as well go to the match but they’ll have to get away sharpish so they don’t miss Big Brother. |
Tommy Tucker: City played opposite a fish and chip shop
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So has it been ever since the infamous Battle of the Abbey in 1968, when the Cambs Pro Cup Final was abandoned because of a mass punch-up involving players and spectators. City had been relegated a few weeks before, and the clubs have never competed on an even footing since. In the intervening years whole generations have grown up barely aware that they were ever serious rivals, and wishing to see both clubs succeed, although a few stubborn enclaves still exist to fan the barely smouldering embers of competition. These days United’s deadly rivals are the bog-creatures from up the A1, while City’s are the upwardly mobile upstarts of Histon, actually a club with a longer history than either of its Cantabrigian neighbours.
Here endeth the history lesson. These are difficult times for both clubs, as evidenced all too frankly by new Lilywhites director Arthur Eastham’s programme notes: ‘There is no denying that the club has serious financial problems … we need an injection of money to survive …’ Sounds all too familiar, hm? It seems the accusatory fingers are pointing at a gentleman who resigned from Milton Road not too long ago, not unlike those aimed at Messrs Smart and Beck when it transpired just how much cash they had thrown at their attempted reconstruction of Roy Mac’s team.
Both clubs are now working frantically to undo the errors of the recent past, and surely all true football supporters will wish both well; whether their futures lie in a much closer liaison with each other or not, time will tell. Perhaps it’s time to revive the old joke about amalgamating the clubs, taking the ‘Cambridge’ from City’s name and the ‘United’ from the U’s to form, erm, Cambridge United. Or perhaps not.
To more cheerful matters, and last night’s traditional curtain-raiser opposite Tommy Tucker’s, and a rare chance to enjoy City’s pitch with a decent covering of grass on it. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of the nets formerly in place around the ground to stop errant shots and clearances, now mysteriously disappeared; there would be a fair few lost balls tonight.
City emerged in a fetching Man City-alike strip of sky blue and white, sporting two ex-U’s in keeper Martin Davies and Rob Miller; apparently they have received a cash offer for Adie Hayes from Farnborough Town, and if they can get money for that distinctly underachieving former United midfielder, they deserve some sort of award. It was their first friendly of the new season and they sported numerous new faces (Chaffey, Baillie, Duckett) as manager Gary Roberts continued his rebuilding from yet another great relegation escape last term.
United started with a fairly strong line-up, Stev Angus chosen to partner new old boy Mark Venus in defence, Paul Wanless missing out in midfield in favour of Lil’ Luke, the Terrier and Justin Walker, while French trialist Olivier Brassart started wide left in a continuation of Shaggy and the Prof’s so far less than spectacular 4-5-1 experiment. A balmy summer’s evening saw what will doubtless as usual be City’s largest crowd of the season, exact number unrevealed at the time of writing for some reason, although it looked like it might struggle to match the 941 at the Bridge on Tuesday.
The usual delicious sausage and chips was complemented by a rare sighting of an ice cream vendor to add to the seasonal atmos. If they could have arranged a barbecue, a bouncy castle for the kids and a tombola stall, the village fete vibe would have been complete. Not to mention a nice meat raffle.
It was apparent from the start that this would be a lively and competitive encounter, and first decent chance fell City’s way when Miller’s cross found Baillie in a central position. His header was straight at Dancing Shaun. From there on in a tight battle ensued, United shading it on time on the ball but producing nothing to trouble Davies. Shane Tudor still looked extremely ring-rusty and gave Duracell-bonced left back Shane Wardley little to worry about, while on the opposite flank Brassart and Murray linked well on occasion, but as in previous matches found Dave Kitson a rather isolated figure in the middle as none of the central three got forward consistently. Venus and Angus looked calm and assured at the back, and the standard of passing was generally good … but that cutting edge remains as conspicuous by its absence as Tony ‘Psycho’ Blair’s marbles (writes Andrew Marr).
Guttridge shot wide on 20 from the edge of the area, and not long after Davies was fortunate to be awarded a free kick when he made a hash of a corner and Adam Tann appeared to be brought down in the ensuing melee. The half-hour mark saw a rare pre-season booking for tubby City centre back Tim Wooding, for a clumsy clattering of Kitson, although fussy ref Francis initially allowed play to continue as the BGG lay prone in the centre circle. The man in the middle seemed to change tactics after that incident and henceforth ignored the advantage rule altogether, stopping play several times when both City and United had good possession after having a man fouled. Referees: they’re a breed apart, although ‘mutation’ is probably a better word for some of the specimens we encountered last year.
Near-miss of the half came on 33 as Fleming’s sloppy pass was intercepted by the alert Danny Bloomfield, haring forward then finding Robbie Simpson breaking down the left channel. Simpson appeared to have had his progress halted by the speedy Angus, but from nowhere produced a tremendous lofted shot that flew past the helpless Marshall’s left shoulder and cannoned off the bar.Two minutes later it was United who should have taken the lead, Kitson ghosting behind the City back line to collect Tudor’s through ball, but his goalward prod from 12 yards was well blocked by the advancing Davies.
The visitors continued to dominate without ever looking like finding the net, Brassart curling a speculative effort high and wide and Walker seeing a blaster blocked before half-time. City had provided good, tenacious opposition and certainly didn’t look like a ‘new’ line-up playing its first game of the season. The queues for cold drinks and ice cream lengthened as the atmosphere remained distinctly convivial and un-local derby-like. Still no sign of the hoopla stall or ‘best marrow’ contest, though.
Andy Duncan replaced Venus for part two, while City made numerous unannounced changes, the Tannoy announcer apparently having given up and gone home. One of their new strikers, though, was an impressively bemuscled figure who made a brick outhouse look like a chamber pot, and one hoped United wouldn’t make him angry for fear that he would burst out of his shirt and turn green.
There was controversy in the first five minutes when Davies went to gather a bouncing, deflected Walker ball and such was the spin on it that it evaded his clutches and afforded Kitson the opportunity to nip in, steal it on the bounce, swivel and shoot for goal. As he did so, however, Davies collapsed as if felled by a sniper on top of the Westbrook Centre and after prolonged treatment, apparently to a facial injury, he was replaced. If Kitson did catch him, it must have been the briefest of contacts and of course entirely accidental, but keepers are, as ever, a protected species for refs the world over. I’m surprised David Attenborough hasn’t done a documentary on them yet.
Five minutes later Kitson fed Brassart and his cross found Tudor lurking at the far post, but his downward header ricocheted disappointingly off Wardley’s legs for a corner. A similar move a couple of minutes further on found Tudor again, but this time he headed over the top when he should have at least hit the target. It took City just over an hour to win their first corner, and this was closely followed by another mass substitution by Shaggy, everyone withdrawn except Duncan. Interestingly, 4-5-1 was now abandoned in favour of 4-4-2, Lloyd Opara and ex-City loanee Dan Chillingworth the front two in front of a central midfield of Captain Fantastic and tiny trialist Daniel Perry, and a wide pairing of Lewis Riddle left and Flory Zinga right. The new full-back combination was youngsters Dan Gleeson and Jon Heathcote, while trialist Lee Summerscales joined Duncan in the middle. I hope you’re taking notes. There’ll be questions later.
It might have been coincidence, but the new formation and keen new legs produced more pressure on City in 20 minutes than the last line-up had managed in the previous hour. Good wing play from Zinga wreaked minor havoc in the middle and the resultant corner was the old favourite to Wannie’s head at the far post, but Gleeson blazed over from his skipper’s flick from ten yards. There was then much amusement as the good Captain went on another rampaging run through the middle with Stuart Niven niggling at him for about 20 yards until Wannie tired of it and shoved the City man decisively to the ground. The ref gave United the free kick, but I’ve a feeling the cards might have been flying both ways in a League match. Still, that’s the attitude we want this season!
Ten minutes from the end United created another good chance, Wanless feeding the lively Chilli who went past the keeper but was forced to the touchline; he laid it back to Opara, his effort rebounded from a defender to Riddle, and the trialist blasted wildly over from left of the penalty spot. City broke sporadically, but Brennan in the United goal remained untroubled. Five minutes from the end an Opara header from a Heathcote corner was cleared from almost under the bar, and we nearly had a spectacular finish when Chilli’s excellent overhead kick sailed narrowly wide in the last minute.
So in the end local honour was satisfied. United got a good runout and showed that they can pass fluently but 4-5-1 still produces far fewer chances than 4-4-2. City got a promising start to a season in which failure to finish in the top 14 would effectively mean relegation in the forthcoming reorganisation of the non-League pyramid. Let us hope both clubs are still around and in good shape to resume rivalries this time next season. It’s got to better than watching Big Brother 4.
Marshall 6– Not terribly busy, beaten just the once.
Tann 7– Looks ready for the new season already.
Murray 7– Seems to be enjoying the chance to get forward at every opportunity.
Angus 7– Classily unruffled as ever.
Venus 7– Impressive and in control at all times. Looks a good combination with Angus.
Walker 7– Good, involved and accurate, although it would be nice to see him get forward more often.
Guttridge 7– Another busy, committed effort.
Fleming 6– Competent supporting role.
Tudor 6– Another quiet game. Will need all the pre-season warm-ups he can get but will surely recapture last season’s magical form given time.
Brassart 6– Tried hard without really making any great impression. Still worth another look.
Kitson 6– A few good touches but this game was further evidence that 4-5-1 is a waste of United’s resources, and especially their most valuable resource, the number nine.
Brennan 6– Even less to do than Marshall.
Gleeson 7– Impressive. Strong, alert and skilful.
Heathcote 6– Did nothing wrong on the left flank.
Duncan 7– Dealt comfortably with whatever came his way.
Summerscales 6– Did his prospects no harm.
Zinga 6– Looks a little lightweight but had some good moments.
Perry 6– Quieter game than previously but deserves another chance.
Wanless 7– Inspirational skipper showed he’s lost none of his competitive instincts.
Riddle 6– In a straight fight with Brassart and fell slightly behind in this rather anonymous performance.
Opara 6– Easing into fitness and looked much more comfortable than in his deep role at Histon.
Chillingworth 7– Lively and energetic and the pick of the strikers today. Try him in a 4-4-2 with Kitson, Shaggy.
Soundtrack of the day: The Tyde/Go Ask Yer Dad
Match summary: Possession is, they say, nine-tenths of the law. But it didn’t bring United any goals in a useful if ultimately anti-climactic stalemate with our friends from Chesterton. Still, the players are gradually finding their touch and there are five more games yet until the serious stuff starts. The management’s biggest decision last night was what flavour ice cream to go for; they’ll need to decide soon on more important things like signings and tactics. I’d go for pistachio, myself.
Man of the match: Mark Venus. Mature like a fine wine.
Ref watch: Francis 5. Another pernickety one with a blind spot when it comes to the advantage rule.
Here endeth the history lesson. These are difficult times for both clubs, as evidenced all too frankly by new Lilywhites director Arthur Eastham’s programme notes: ‘There is no denying that the club has serious financial problems … we need an injection of money to survive …’ Sounds all too familiar, hm? It seems the accusatory fingers are pointing at a gentleman who resigned from Milton Road not too long ago, not unlike those aimed at Messrs Smart and Beck when it transpired just how much cash they had thrown at their attempted reconstruction of Roy Mac’s team.
Both clubs are now working frantically to undo the errors of the recent past, and surely all true football supporters will wish both well; whether their futures lie in a much closer liaison with each other or not, time will tell. Perhaps it’s time to revive the old joke about amalgamating the clubs, taking the ‘Cambridge’ from City’s name and the ‘United’ from the U’s to form, erm, Cambridge United. Or perhaps not.
To more cheerful matters, and last night’s traditional curtain-raiser opposite Tommy Tucker’s, and a rare chance to enjoy City’s pitch with a decent covering of grass on it. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of the nets formerly in place around the ground to stop errant shots and clearances, now mysteriously disappeared; there would be a fair few lost balls tonight.
City emerged in a fetching Man City-alike strip of sky blue and white, sporting two ex-U’s in keeper Martin Davies and Rob Miller; apparently they have received a cash offer for Adie Hayes from Farnborough Town, and if they can get money for that distinctly underachieving former United midfielder, they deserve some sort of award. It was their first friendly of the new season and they sported numerous new faces (Chaffey, Baillie, Duckett) as manager Gary Roberts continued his rebuilding from yet another great relegation escape last term.
United started with a fairly strong line-up, Stev Angus chosen to partner new old boy Mark Venus in defence, Paul Wanless missing out in midfield in favour of Lil’ Luke, the Terrier and Justin Walker, while French trialist Olivier Brassart started wide left in a continuation of Shaggy and the Prof’s so far less than spectacular 4-5-1 experiment. A balmy summer’s evening saw what will doubtless as usual be City’s largest crowd of the season, exact number unrevealed at the time of writing for some reason, although it looked like it might struggle to match the 941 at the Bridge on Tuesday.
The usual delicious sausage and chips was complemented by a rare sighting of an ice cream vendor to add to the seasonal atmos. If they could have arranged a barbecue, a bouncy castle for the kids and a tombola stall, the village fete vibe would have been complete. Not to mention a nice meat raffle.
It was apparent from the start that this would be a lively and competitive encounter, and first decent chance fell City’s way when Miller’s cross found Baillie in a central position. His header was straight at Dancing Shaun. From there on in a tight battle ensued, United shading it on time on the ball but producing nothing to trouble Davies. Shane Tudor still looked extremely ring-rusty and gave Duracell-bonced left back Shane Wardley little to worry about, while on the opposite flank Brassart and Murray linked well on occasion, but as in previous matches found Dave Kitson a rather isolated figure in the middle as none of the central three got forward consistently. Venus and Angus looked calm and assured at the back, and the standard of passing was generally good … but that cutting edge remains as conspicuous by its absence as Tony ‘Psycho’ Blair’s marbles (writes Andrew Marr).
Guttridge shot wide on 20 from the edge of the area, and not long after Davies was fortunate to be awarded a free kick when he made a hash of a corner and Adam Tann appeared to be brought down in the ensuing melee. The half-hour mark saw a rare pre-season booking for tubby City centre back Tim Wooding, for a clumsy clattering of Kitson, although fussy ref Francis initially allowed play to continue as the BGG lay prone in the centre circle. The man in the middle seemed to change tactics after that incident and henceforth ignored the advantage rule altogether, stopping play several times when both City and United had good possession after having a man fouled. Referees: they’re a breed apart, although ‘mutation’ is probably a better word for some of the specimens we encountered last year.
Near-miss of the half came on 33 as Fleming’s sloppy pass was intercepted by the alert Danny Bloomfield, haring forward then finding Robbie Simpson breaking down the left channel. Simpson appeared to have had his progress halted by the speedy Angus, but from nowhere produced a tremendous lofted shot that flew past the helpless Marshall’s left shoulder and cannoned off the bar.Two minutes later it was United who should have taken the lead, Kitson ghosting behind the City back line to collect Tudor’s through ball, but his goalward prod from 12 yards was well blocked by the advancing Davies.
The visitors continued to dominate without ever looking like finding the net, Brassart curling a speculative effort high and wide and Walker seeing a blaster blocked before half-time. City had provided good, tenacious opposition and certainly didn’t look like a ‘new’ line-up playing its first game of the season. The queues for cold drinks and ice cream lengthened as the atmosphere remained distinctly convivial and un-local derby-like. Still no sign of the hoopla stall or ‘best marrow’ contest, though.
Andy Duncan replaced Venus for part two, while City made numerous unannounced changes, the Tannoy announcer apparently having given up and gone home. One of their new strikers, though, was an impressively bemuscled figure who made a brick outhouse look like a chamber pot, and one hoped United wouldn’t make him angry for fear that he would burst out of his shirt and turn green.
There was controversy in the first five minutes when Davies went to gather a bouncing, deflected Walker ball and such was the spin on it that it evaded his clutches and afforded Kitson the opportunity to nip in, steal it on the bounce, swivel and shoot for goal. As he did so, however, Davies collapsed as if felled by a sniper on top of the Westbrook Centre and after prolonged treatment, apparently to a facial injury, he was replaced. If Kitson did catch him, it must have been the briefest of contacts and of course entirely accidental, but keepers are, as ever, a protected species for refs the world over. I’m surprised David Attenborough hasn’t done a documentary on them yet.
Five minutes later Kitson fed Brassart and his cross found Tudor lurking at the far post, but his downward header ricocheted disappointingly off Wardley’s legs for a corner. A similar move a couple of minutes further on found Tudor again, but this time he headed over the top when he should have at least hit the target. It took City just over an hour to win their first corner, and this was closely followed by another mass substitution by Shaggy, everyone withdrawn except Duncan. Interestingly, 4-5-1 was now abandoned in favour of 4-4-2, Lloyd Opara and ex-City loanee Dan Chillingworth the front two in front of a central midfield of Captain Fantastic and tiny trialist Daniel Perry, and a wide pairing of Lewis Riddle left and Flory Zinga right. The new full-back combination was youngsters Dan Gleeson and Jon Heathcote, while trialist Lee Summerscales joined Duncan in the middle. I hope you’re taking notes. There’ll be questions later.
It might have been coincidence, but the new formation and keen new legs produced more pressure on City in 20 minutes than the last line-up had managed in the previous hour. Good wing play from Zinga wreaked minor havoc in the middle and the resultant corner was the old favourite to Wannie’s head at the far post, but Gleeson blazed over from his skipper’s flick from ten yards. There was then much amusement as the good Captain went on another rampaging run through the middle with Stuart Niven niggling at him for about 20 yards until Wannie tired of it and shoved the City man decisively to the ground. The ref gave United the free kick, but I’ve a feeling the cards might have been flying both ways in a League match. Still, that’s the attitude we want this season!
Ten minutes from the end United created another good chance, Wanless feeding the lively Chilli who went past the keeper but was forced to the touchline; he laid it back to Opara, his effort rebounded from a defender to Riddle, and the trialist blasted wildly over from left of the penalty spot. City broke sporadically, but Brennan in the United goal remained untroubled. Five minutes from the end an Opara header from a Heathcote corner was cleared from almost under the bar, and we nearly had a spectacular finish when Chilli’s excellent overhead kick sailed narrowly wide in the last minute.
So in the end local honour was satisfied. United got a good runout and showed that they can pass fluently but 4-5-1 still produces far fewer chances than 4-4-2. City got a promising start to a season in which failure to finish in the top 14 would effectively mean relegation in the forthcoming reorganisation of the non-League pyramid. Let us hope both clubs are still around and in good shape to resume rivalries this time next season. It’s got to better than watching Big Brother 4.
Marshall 6– Not terribly busy, beaten just the once.
Tann 7– Looks ready for the new season already.
Murray 7– Seems to be enjoying the chance to get forward at every opportunity.
Angus 7– Classily unruffled as ever.
Venus 7– Impressive and in control at all times. Looks a good combination with Angus.
Walker 7– Good, involved and accurate, although it would be nice to see him get forward more often.
Guttridge 7– Another busy, committed effort.
Fleming 6– Competent supporting role.
Tudor 6– Another quiet game. Will need all the pre-season warm-ups he can get but will surely recapture last season’s magical form given time.
Brassart 6– Tried hard without really making any great impression. Still worth another look.
Kitson 6– A few good touches but this game was further evidence that 4-5-1 is a waste of United’s resources, and especially their most valuable resource, the number nine.
Brennan 6– Even less to do than Marshall.
Gleeson 7– Impressive. Strong, alert and skilful.
Heathcote 6– Did nothing wrong on the left flank.
Duncan 7– Dealt comfortably with whatever came his way.
Summerscales 6– Did his prospects no harm.
Zinga 6– Looks a little lightweight but had some good moments.
Perry 6– Quieter game than previously but deserves another chance.
Wanless 7– Inspirational skipper showed he’s lost none of his competitive instincts.
Riddle 6– In a straight fight with Brassart and fell slightly behind in this rather anonymous performance.
Opara 6– Easing into fitness and looked much more comfortable than in his deep role at Histon.
Chillingworth 7– Lively and energetic and the pick of the strikers today. Try him in a 4-4-2 with Kitson, Shaggy.
Soundtrack of the day: The Tyde/Go Ask Yer Dad
Match summary: Possession is, they say, nine-tenths of the law. But it didn’t bring United any goals in a useful if ultimately anti-climactic stalemate with our friends from Chesterton. Still, the players are gradually finding their touch and there are five more games yet until the serious stuff starts. The management’s biggest decision last night was what flavour ice cream to go for; they’ll need to decide soon on more important things like signings and tactics. I’d go for pistachio, myself.
Man of the match: Mark Venus. Mature like a fine wine.
Ref watch: Francis 5. Another pernickety one with a blind spot when it comes to the advantage rule.
Big marrow: not in evidence, sadly
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Monday, 21 July 2003: Mildenhall Town 2v2 United
Some day my win will come
If it’s Monday, it must be Mildenhall, and a pleasantly balmy evening on which to visit the Town’s neat little Recway ground and enjoy the rare privilege of watching football with a (plastic) glass of beer in one’s hand. The Town’s splendid programme provided plenty of reading matter, including a veritable statfest on last season’s Jewson League which revealed that the hosts experienced the largest percentage fall in attendances in their division: down 26 per cent from an average of 144 to just 106. Was it something they said? Compare this to Thetford, whose mean crowd remained resolutely the same at 53. Mind you, 50 of those are a herd of sheep who live on the pitch anyway; well, it saves mowing the grass, even if the bar takings are less than impressive.
Most of the United squad (with a few exceptions) were present and correct, but while they warmed up, Shaggy staged a teach-in by one touchline with Dave Kitson, still clad in civvies. The Prof looked on as JT gestured and walked around a rapt BGG in animated fashion. The boss man was either demonstrating the hokey cokey or using his newly attained coaching skills to explain the ‘new role’ he had promised before the match for his star striker. Unfortunately, as we were to find out, this did not extend to actually entering the pitch tonight. Perhaps Big Dave’s new role entails getting the drinks in. The things you learn on these training courses, eh?
After 3-0, 4-0 and 3-0 victories at this venue over the last two seasons, United fans were hoping to see a first win of the season after some rather thin fare so far, although as Shaggy says, they haven’t yet ‘done’ shooting in training. Presumably, then, the players have forgotten all that shooting they did last season (and the one before that, etc) and have to be taught all over again, confirming some people’s suspicions that footballers have the minuscule memory capacity of the average goldfish.
The 4-3-3/4-5-1 formation remained in place, Martin Brennan lining up for a rare 90 minutes in goal behind a back four of Goodhind, Duncan, Heathcote and trialist Lee Summerscales. The midfield three comprised Messrs Wanless, Nacca and shock-haired trialist Danny Perry, while Lloyd Opara was main striker flanked by wide(r) men Revell and Chillingworth. Neither wide-left trialists started although both would get on later.
For the hosts, ex-U Dan Huggins lined up in defence alongside Graham Rush, last seen all of six days ago playing against United for Histon and now on trial at Mildenhall. If he turns up playing for Soham on Wednesday, I’m calling the Stalkers Helpline. The tannoy announced in its rich Suffolk burr that the reserve keeper was a trialist known only as Matt the Cat; how nice that non-League is prepared to look beyond the human race in its truly non-judgmental recruitment policy. Didn’t United used to have a rat called Marc Joseph at one time?
Some day my win will come
If it’s Monday, it must be Mildenhall, and a pleasantly balmy evening on which to visit the Town’s neat little Recway ground and enjoy the rare privilege of watching football with a (plastic) glass of beer in one’s hand. The Town’s splendid programme provided plenty of reading matter, including a veritable statfest on last season’s Jewson League which revealed that the hosts experienced the largest percentage fall in attendances in their division: down 26 per cent from an average of 144 to just 106. Was it something they said? Compare this to Thetford, whose mean crowd remained resolutely the same at 53. Mind you, 50 of those are a herd of sheep who live on the pitch anyway; well, it saves mowing the grass, even if the bar takings are less than impressive.
Most of the United squad (with a few exceptions) were present and correct, but while they warmed up, Shaggy staged a teach-in by one touchline with Dave Kitson, still clad in civvies. The Prof looked on as JT gestured and walked around a rapt BGG in animated fashion. The boss man was either demonstrating the hokey cokey or using his newly attained coaching skills to explain the ‘new role’ he had promised before the match for his star striker. Unfortunately, as we were to find out, this did not extend to actually entering the pitch tonight. Perhaps Big Dave’s new role entails getting the drinks in. The things you learn on these training courses, eh?
After 3-0, 4-0 and 3-0 victories at this venue over the last two seasons, United fans were hoping to see a first win of the season after some rather thin fare so far, although as Shaggy says, they haven’t yet ‘done’ shooting in training. Presumably, then, the players have forgotten all that shooting they did last season (and the one before that, etc) and have to be taught all over again, confirming some people’s suspicions that footballers have the minuscule memory capacity of the average goldfish.
The 4-3-3/4-5-1 formation remained in place, Martin Brennan lining up for a rare 90 minutes in goal behind a back four of Goodhind, Duncan, Heathcote and trialist Lee Summerscales. The midfield three comprised Messrs Wanless, Nacca and shock-haired trialist Danny Perry, while Lloyd Opara was main striker flanked by wide(r) men Revell and Chillingworth. Neither wide-left trialists started although both would get on later.
For the hosts, ex-U Dan Huggins lined up in defence alongside Graham Rush, last seen all of six days ago playing against United for Histon and now on trial at Mildenhall. If he turns up playing for Soham on Wednesday, I’m calling the Stalkers Helpline. The tannoy announced in its rich Suffolk burr that the reserve keeper was a trialist known only as Matt the Cat; how nice that non-League is prepared to look beyond the human race in its truly non-judgmental recruitment policy. Didn’t United used to have a rat called Marc Joseph at one time?
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After last time’s colour clash farrago which saw United playing in grey training tops, the Town obligingly wore their change strip of white shirts and red shorts while the U’s were resplendent in all amber.
United played uphill in the first half and carved out their first chance in the opening minute, good work down the left by Chillingworth resulting in an excellent low cross bisecting the area and the in-rushing Nacca prodded just wide of the far post from ten yards when he should perhaps have done better. As in previous matches, United retained possession well and knocked it around nicely up to the final third of the pitch, but all too often the final ball was either not accurate enough or aimed at only one target (Opara) or, if they were lucky, two. Wanless was the midfielder most likely to provide much-needed attacking support, but the lively Chilli in particular looked wasted stuck out near the touchline when he would have been better employed working in closer partnership with Opara in the middle. |
Cat: possibly called Matt
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Neat wing play by Revell set up Wanless for a header at goal at the far post on seven, but he could only find the side netting, and two minutes later Mildenhall were ahead with their first serious attempt at goal. Home keeper Alex Banthorpe launched a long clearance forward and Brennan called confidently for Duncan to leave it. He was then more embarrassed than Mark Roe at the Open as Rob Allis nipped in, apparently unseen, to nod past the errant keeper into the empty net. More slapstick than the Ronaldinho transfer saga (that comedy wig and false teeth are just hilarious).
Eight minutes later Opara had a good chance to level the scores as Heathcote’s curling left-wing cross evaded everyone to find the big striker lurking on the edge of the six-yard box at the far post, but he poked it tamely wide, while Duncan won the ball from a Goodhind free kick but failed to keep his header down. It could easily have been 2-0 on the half-hour as Wozza mis-controlled in the centre circle, Neil Dowling sprinted for goal, played a give-and-go with Gary Walker to clear the static defence then, with just Brennan to beat from just inside the area, slid his shot narrowly wide of the far post.
United finally came close to finding some sort of cutting edge in the last ten minutes of the half. More good work by Chilli followed by a left-wing cross found Revell steaming in from the opposite wing; he struck his effort into the ground and saw his shot well pawed away by Banthorpe on the bounce for a corner. Heathcote’s resultant set-piece found Opara unmarked, but his close-range header cannoned off the bar and to safety. Thus ended a familiar 45 minutes for United in which possession once more failed to be converted into goals and left United’s goals-for tally as empty as a vegetarian’s stomach on the Atkins Diet. The U’s needed a wind of change the second half (pardon me).
Shaggy spent the first part of the second half lounging on the rail on the opposite side of the pitch from the dugout, doubtless executing his coaching course’s instructions to seek new perspectives on his underperforming team. I understand the top UEFA Pro coaching licence suggests that students watch a match hanging upside down from the crossbar, or squinting through the little ‘O’ made from curling up one’s index finger and holding it up one’s eye, although it doesn’t go as far as to recommend using the rose-tinted glasses used by true masters like Ferguson and Wenger. Promising youngster Dan Gleeson replaced Summerscales, while Chilli replaced Opara in the middle and Louis Riddle took Dan’s place wide left.
There seemed to be a greater urgency to United and it paid off five minutes into the half. Nacca’s low through ball saw Chilli challenge Banthorpe, and while the hosts called for a foul, it squirmed wide to Riddle who produced a pinpoint cross for Revell to nod into the unguarded net from close in. A couple of minutes later, Brennan had another ‘moment’ as he failed to come for a cross and Ellis shot over the empty goal under pressure. Shaggy shouted to Goodhind to tell his keeper to ‘come out’, although I think a player’s sexuality is his own business, especially in the middle of a match.
This was all forgotten on 55, however, as superb footwork by Chillingworth on the edge of the area saw him tiptoe daintily past three challenges before he was felled by the fourth. Captain Fantastic took the spot kick, and after a stuttering Aldridgesque run-up, slotted coolly into the bottom left corner: 2-1, and suddenly all was right with the world.
The tiring Revell was withdrawn on 58 in favour of trialist Flory Zinga, so called because his parents were big fans of Florence Nightingale. Maybe. At the same time Olivier Brassart replaced Perry to take up a more central role. Four minutes later Goodhind’s magnificently perceptive long diagonal ball sent Riddle away clear on goal, but his moment of glory was foiled by Banthorpe’s good block and Wanless failed to find the target with the rebound.
United’s tails were up and a third goal would surely have sealed it, but the one-striker, two-winger system is always going to be dependent on top-drawer service and support from behind, and this simply was not forthcoming in any great quantity. Indeed, on occasion, the two left-wing trialists found themselves jostling for space down the touchline and you have to wonder just how much Shaggy could have learned from having them both on the pitch at the same time. It could be irrelevant, anyway, with the news that an experienced left winger has now been found. I didn’t know Tony Benn was even available.
Despite the presence of Kitson, Tudor, Tann, Guttridge and Marshall on the bench, no further changes were made by the U’s as Mildenhall made five adjustments, and ten minutes from the end the visitors’ prospects of a first pre-season triumph were shattered in the simplest manner as a diagonal ball down the middle exposed Duncan for pace and set up Allis for a well-taken second from the edge of the area. A spell of home pressure followed but United held firm for a hard-fought draw. No need to panic yet, of course, and for all its experience, this was to all intents and purposes, a second string line-up. Soham on Wednesday should be interesting.
Brennan 5– Did nothing for his first-team prospects with a couple of flappy moments like a duckling learning to fly.
Goodhind 6– Good, steady if unspectacular effort.
Heathcote 6– Competent enough to suggest he might push Murray for a place this season.
Duncan 6– Dealt with most things that came his way except for the second goal.
Summerscales 6– Another decent outing for the young trialist. Only question seems to be: is there room in the squad?
Nacca 6– Busy display in the middle.
Perry 6– Similar to Nacca, and like Summerscales, looks good enough to join the squad, but as we know, budgets are under more pressure than BBC executives these days.
Wanless 7– Led by example and was the only midfielder to offer decent support to his striker.
Revell 6– Not bad at all, but is he really a right winger?
Chillingworth7 – Excellent pre-season so far and looks worth a start on this form.
Opara 6– Hit the bar but looked a long way from challenging Kitson for his place. Still learning.
Gleeson 6– Imposing youngster continued to show good promise, this time at centre back.
Riddle 6– A couple of splendid crosses and blew a great chance to score, but hasn’t done enough to warrant a contract … yet. Will he get another chance?
Zinga 6– Might have made a decent squad member in the good old days, but can’t see him forcing his way in on what we’ve seen so far. Shame, he’d be the first ‘Z’ squad member since Soner Zumrutel. Go on, you must remember …
Brassart 6– Not played in his best position and did little to impress. Try again on Wednesday.
Soundtrack of the day: Inspiral Carpets – Come Back Tomorrow
Match summary: ‘Don’t panic!’ is the message as Shaggy continues to use The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy as his training manual. United still haven’t found the hyperspace bypass to a pre-season win, but with Dale ‘Ford Prefect’ Brooks’ extra-terrestrial tactical nous, Zaphod Kitson’s multi-brained talents and Justin the Mulleted Android to lead the way, it’s only a matter of time before United find the First Win At The End Of The Universe. I’ll leave you to work out the identity of Magic Thighs. Mind you, we have got Cardiff at the weekend; think I’d rather play the Vogons, myself …
Man of the match: Dan Chillingworth. He’s looked up for it since pre-season started and it bodes well for the serious stuff to come.
Ref watch: Lockhead 6. Hardly noticed him, so must have been OK.
Eight minutes later Opara had a good chance to level the scores as Heathcote’s curling left-wing cross evaded everyone to find the big striker lurking on the edge of the six-yard box at the far post, but he poked it tamely wide, while Duncan won the ball from a Goodhind free kick but failed to keep his header down. It could easily have been 2-0 on the half-hour as Wozza mis-controlled in the centre circle, Neil Dowling sprinted for goal, played a give-and-go with Gary Walker to clear the static defence then, with just Brennan to beat from just inside the area, slid his shot narrowly wide of the far post.
United finally came close to finding some sort of cutting edge in the last ten minutes of the half. More good work by Chilli followed by a left-wing cross found Revell steaming in from the opposite wing; he struck his effort into the ground and saw his shot well pawed away by Banthorpe on the bounce for a corner. Heathcote’s resultant set-piece found Opara unmarked, but his close-range header cannoned off the bar and to safety. Thus ended a familiar 45 minutes for United in which possession once more failed to be converted into goals and left United’s goals-for tally as empty as a vegetarian’s stomach on the Atkins Diet. The U’s needed a wind of change the second half (pardon me).
Shaggy spent the first part of the second half lounging on the rail on the opposite side of the pitch from the dugout, doubtless executing his coaching course’s instructions to seek new perspectives on his underperforming team. I understand the top UEFA Pro coaching licence suggests that students watch a match hanging upside down from the crossbar, or squinting through the little ‘O’ made from curling up one’s index finger and holding it up one’s eye, although it doesn’t go as far as to recommend using the rose-tinted glasses used by true masters like Ferguson and Wenger. Promising youngster Dan Gleeson replaced Summerscales, while Chilli replaced Opara in the middle and Louis Riddle took Dan’s place wide left.
There seemed to be a greater urgency to United and it paid off five minutes into the half. Nacca’s low through ball saw Chilli challenge Banthorpe, and while the hosts called for a foul, it squirmed wide to Riddle who produced a pinpoint cross for Revell to nod into the unguarded net from close in. A couple of minutes later, Brennan had another ‘moment’ as he failed to come for a cross and Ellis shot over the empty goal under pressure. Shaggy shouted to Goodhind to tell his keeper to ‘come out’, although I think a player’s sexuality is his own business, especially in the middle of a match.
This was all forgotten on 55, however, as superb footwork by Chillingworth on the edge of the area saw him tiptoe daintily past three challenges before he was felled by the fourth. Captain Fantastic took the spot kick, and after a stuttering Aldridgesque run-up, slotted coolly into the bottom left corner: 2-1, and suddenly all was right with the world.
The tiring Revell was withdrawn on 58 in favour of trialist Flory Zinga, so called because his parents were big fans of Florence Nightingale. Maybe. At the same time Olivier Brassart replaced Perry to take up a more central role. Four minutes later Goodhind’s magnificently perceptive long diagonal ball sent Riddle away clear on goal, but his moment of glory was foiled by Banthorpe’s good block and Wanless failed to find the target with the rebound.
United’s tails were up and a third goal would surely have sealed it, but the one-striker, two-winger system is always going to be dependent on top-drawer service and support from behind, and this simply was not forthcoming in any great quantity. Indeed, on occasion, the two left-wing trialists found themselves jostling for space down the touchline and you have to wonder just how much Shaggy could have learned from having them both on the pitch at the same time. It could be irrelevant, anyway, with the news that an experienced left winger has now been found. I didn’t know Tony Benn was even available.
Despite the presence of Kitson, Tudor, Tann, Guttridge and Marshall on the bench, no further changes were made by the U’s as Mildenhall made five adjustments, and ten minutes from the end the visitors’ prospects of a first pre-season triumph were shattered in the simplest manner as a diagonal ball down the middle exposed Duncan for pace and set up Allis for a well-taken second from the edge of the area. A spell of home pressure followed but United held firm for a hard-fought draw. No need to panic yet, of course, and for all its experience, this was to all intents and purposes, a second string line-up. Soham on Wednesday should be interesting.
Brennan 5– Did nothing for his first-team prospects with a couple of flappy moments like a duckling learning to fly.
Goodhind 6– Good, steady if unspectacular effort.
Heathcote 6– Competent enough to suggest he might push Murray for a place this season.
Duncan 6– Dealt with most things that came his way except for the second goal.
Summerscales 6– Another decent outing for the young trialist. Only question seems to be: is there room in the squad?
Nacca 6– Busy display in the middle.
Perry 6– Similar to Nacca, and like Summerscales, looks good enough to join the squad, but as we know, budgets are under more pressure than BBC executives these days.
Wanless 7– Led by example and was the only midfielder to offer decent support to his striker.
Revell 6– Not bad at all, but is he really a right winger?
Chillingworth7 – Excellent pre-season so far and looks worth a start on this form.
Opara 6– Hit the bar but looked a long way from challenging Kitson for his place. Still learning.
Gleeson 6– Imposing youngster continued to show good promise, this time at centre back.
Riddle 6– A couple of splendid crosses and blew a great chance to score, but hasn’t done enough to warrant a contract … yet. Will he get another chance?
Zinga 6– Might have made a decent squad member in the good old days, but can’t see him forcing his way in on what we’ve seen so far. Shame, he’d be the first ‘Z’ squad member since Soner Zumrutel. Go on, you must remember …
Brassart 6– Not played in his best position and did little to impress. Try again on Wednesday.
Soundtrack of the day: Inspiral Carpets – Come Back Tomorrow
Match summary: ‘Don’t panic!’ is the message as Shaggy continues to use The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy as his training manual. United still haven’t found the hyperspace bypass to a pre-season win, but with Dale ‘Ford Prefect’ Brooks’ extra-terrestrial tactical nous, Zaphod Kitson’s multi-brained talents and Justin the Mulleted Android to lead the way, it’s only a matter of time before United find the First Win At The End Of The Universe. I’ll leave you to work out the identity of Magic Thighs. Mind you, we have got Cardiff at the weekend; think I’d rather play the Vogons, myself …
Man of the match: Dan Chillingworth. He’s looked up for it since pre-season started and it bodes well for the serious stuff to come.
Ref watch: Lockhead 6. Hardly noticed him, so must have been OK.
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Postscript: the Cambs FA made a complaint to the club about my criticism of the referee after this report was published on the official website. The club took the side of free speech and rejected it, but thenceforth they printed a disclaimer after my reports confirming that the views expressed therein were those of the reporter and not necessarily those of Cambridge United Football Club.
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Lloyd Opara: hit the bar
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Saturday, 26 July 2003: United 0v0 Cardiff City
Just good friends
Hello, Cambridge fans. It’s your old pal Ian Atkins, the man who could have become the greatest manager in your club’s history, if I’d just been given a little more time and hadn’t been STABBED IN THE BACK! But I’m not bitter, goodness me no, it’s all part of football, isn’t it?
Now I haven’t come on here to gloat about my signing your captain, Paul Wanless; that’s not my style and it never crossed my mind to even mention it until, er, just now. No, as part of the transfer deal your official website has graciously allowed me to come on and say a few words about my very successful Diet Plan. Now I’m sure some of you are wondering if it’s healthy to live on a diet of sour grapes, bitter lemon and humble pie? Haha. Of course not; you can eat as much meat as you like. Just don’t touch the carbohydrates, or you’ll end up like that lardy so-and-so Barry Fry! And it doesn’t matter how you cook the meat, either. In fact, you could just eat it cold if you like – that’s how I like my dishes served. Especially my favourite dish … REVENGE! Hahaha!! Bye for now, suckers! You’re next, Gary Johnson! YOU’RE NEXT!
Yes, er, thanks for that, Ian. Contractual obligations, eh? But ’tis true: Captain Fantastic looks like he’s on his way. And whatever may be the truth of the seemingly endless rumours circulating about the man over the past year, he should best be remembered for the inspirational leadership, courage and commitment he displayed in his 300-odd games in the seven years he has graced the Abbey. Remember him that way: a true United legend. And it looks like clever old Shaggy has already signed a worthy replacement in the form of Justin Walker, who skippered the side today in his first home game in the colours. The NRE soon recognised this fact and adapted the King of the Abbey chant to incorporate his name; it still doesn’t rhyme, though.
After a rain-lashed Friday evoked memories of last season’s postponed friendly against Millwall, Saturday dawned dry, and the Abbey gleamed with a fresh lick of paint. The Habbin looked particularly resplendent, with sumptuous (I’m not overselling this, am I?) new cladding behind and above and walkways in a cheery fresh coating of amber. The newly elongated pitch looked verdant and green, now extending all the way up to the South Stand, left empty today as the dedicated 145 Welsh visitors were allocated the South Habbin.
Cardiff fielded a strong line-up, including goal machine Robert Earnshaw, golden play-off goalscorer Andy Campbell, new boy Tony Vidmar and current internationals like Danny Gabbidon, Rhys Weston and Graham Kavanagh. They were only missing injured Peter Thorne, other new signing John Robinson and Gary Croft, who had been unluckily carted off to Addenbrooke’s with an appendix flare-up.
United also sported a near-full strength line-up, of which only trialist Olivier Brassert looks less than a certainty to start the League campaign if Terry Fleming’s suspension is confirmed and, as now seems likely, Shaggy and The Prof stick with their favoured 4-5-1/4-3-3 formation. There was one unfamiliar face on the bench in Aston Villa youth product David Scullion, and one all-too-familiar face running the line in the shape of your friend and yours, Mike ‘Please, please, please make me a League ref’ McPherson, the man who sparked the red card frenzy at Soham on Wednesday.
United got off to a lively start and within two minutes some fancy footwork from Mighty Mullet Walker found Dave Kitson just inside the area; a deft shift created space for a powerhouse shot which was arrowing for the top corner until palmed over athletically by keeper Neil Alexander. A couple of minutes later Lil’ Luke Guttridge was caught dithering in the centre circle and Earnshaw dispossessed him and bore down on goal, but shot unconvincingly wide from 20 yards out. On six Adam Tann tackled Campbell and diverted the ball back to Marshall, who was duly penalised for picking the ball up; a little harsh but probably a correct decision by referee Thorpe. An indirect free kick a mere ten yards out is, however, no great advantage as United simply packed the goalmouth with bodies and Kavanagh’s blast was comfortably charged down before it got near Dancing Shaun.
The match settled down into a neat passing game by both sides, the subdued atmosphere from a rather disappointing crowd of 1,433 only livening up once the NRE started a familiar chant involving sheep, which encouraged the travelling trickle to respond in kind. There was plenty of tidy midfield play, but both defences looked rock-solid, the pacy Gabbidon impressing for Cardiff and United’s centre-back partnership equally admirable. Mark Venus’s cool head and awareness were complemented superbly by an inspired-looking Stev Angus, so quick and committed that the highly rated Earnshaw scarcely got a sniff of goal. Attack-wise, the midfield did its best to get forward to support Kitson, but were not helped by their wide men’s difficulty in getting into the game, Shane Tudor showing that he still has some way to go before he regains his full match pace and fitness.
Nacca miscued on the quarter hour after some good approach play by Walker and Brassert, but neither keeper was exactly over-extended for the first 30 minutes. Kavanagh, who had been putting himself about a little over-physically (Roy Keane you ain’t, old boy), gave Marshall something to do on the half-hour with a free kick from the D, but the Dancemeister plucked it from the air with little difficulty, while a good break by Gabbidon five minutes later almost set up Earnshaw. He was crowded out by Murray and Walker, all the midfielders making numerous pit-stops to help out their defence as part of Shaggy’s new ‘tighten up at the back’ philosophy. And that part of the strategy appears to be working as efficiently as Mary Archer’s plastic surgery.
Five minutes from half-time, a good run from Tudor and cute set-up play by Kitson presented Guttridge with a shooting opportunity just behind the penalty spot, but he fiddle-faddled about trying to get the ball on to his right foot and was crowded out. And so ended 45 minutes of pleasant, undemanding entertainment like an episode of Last Of The Summer Wine, minus the wrinkled stockings but with about as many laughs.
Just good friends
Hello, Cambridge fans. It’s your old pal Ian Atkins, the man who could have become the greatest manager in your club’s history, if I’d just been given a little more time and hadn’t been STABBED IN THE BACK! But I’m not bitter, goodness me no, it’s all part of football, isn’t it?
Now I haven’t come on here to gloat about my signing your captain, Paul Wanless; that’s not my style and it never crossed my mind to even mention it until, er, just now. No, as part of the transfer deal your official website has graciously allowed me to come on and say a few words about my very successful Diet Plan. Now I’m sure some of you are wondering if it’s healthy to live on a diet of sour grapes, bitter lemon and humble pie? Haha. Of course not; you can eat as much meat as you like. Just don’t touch the carbohydrates, or you’ll end up like that lardy so-and-so Barry Fry! And it doesn’t matter how you cook the meat, either. In fact, you could just eat it cold if you like – that’s how I like my dishes served. Especially my favourite dish … REVENGE! Hahaha!! Bye for now, suckers! You’re next, Gary Johnson! YOU’RE NEXT!
Yes, er, thanks for that, Ian. Contractual obligations, eh? But ’tis true: Captain Fantastic looks like he’s on his way. And whatever may be the truth of the seemingly endless rumours circulating about the man over the past year, he should best be remembered for the inspirational leadership, courage and commitment he displayed in his 300-odd games in the seven years he has graced the Abbey. Remember him that way: a true United legend. And it looks like clever old Shaggy has already signed a worthy replacement in the form of Justin Walker, who skippered the side today in his first home game in the colours. The NRE soon recognised this fact and adapted the King of the Abbey chant to incorporate his name; it still doesn’t rhyme, though.
After a rain-lashed Friday evoked memories of last season’s postponed friendly against Millwall, Saturday dawned dry, and the Abbey gleamed with a fresh lick of paint. The Habbin looked particularly resplendent, with sumptuous (I’m not overselling this, am I?) new cladding behind and above and walkways in a cheery fresh coating of amber. The newly elongated pitch looked verdant and green, now extending all the way up to the South Stand, left empty today as the dedicated 145 Welsh visitors were allocated the South Habbin.
Cardiff fielded a strong line-up, including goal machine Robert Earnshaw, golden play-off goalscorer Andy Campbell, new boy Tony Vidmar and current internationals like Danny Gabbidon, Rhys Weston and Graham Kavanagh. They were only missing injured Peter Thorne, other new signing John Robinson and Gary Croft, who had been unluckily carted off to Addenbrooke’s with an appendix flare-up.
United also sported a near-full strength line-up, of which only trialist Olivier Brassert looks less than a certainty to start the League campaign if Terry Fleming’s suspension is confirmed and, as now seems likely, Shaggy and The Prof stick with their favoured 4-5-1/4-3-3 formation. There was one unfamiliar face on the bench in Aston Villa youth product David Scullion, and one all-too-familiar face running the line in the shape of your friend and yours, Mike ‘Please, please, please make me a League ref’ McPherson, the man who sparked the red card frenzy at Soham on Wednesday.
United got off to a lively start and within two minutes some fancy footwork from Mighty Mullet Walker found Dave Kitson just inside the area; a deft shift created space for a powerhouse shot which was arrowing for the top corner until palmed over athletically by keeper Neil Alexander. A couple of minutes later Lil’ Luke Guttridge was caught dithering in the centre circle and Earnshaw dispossessed him and bore down on goal, but shot unconvincingly wide from 20 yards out. On six Adam Tann tackled Campbell and diverted the ball back to Marshall, who was duly penalised for picking the ball up; a little harsh but probably a correct decision by referee Thorpe. An indirect free kick a mere ten yards out is, however, no great advantage as United simply packed the goalmouth with bodies and Kavanagh’s blast was comfortably charged down before it got near Dancing Shaun.
The match settled down into a neat passing game by both sides, the subdued atmosphere from a rather disappointing crowd of 1,433 only livening up once the NRE started a familiar chant involving sheep, which encouraged the travelling trickle to respond in kind. There was plenty of tidy midfield play, but both defences looked rock-solid, the pacy Gabbidon impressing for Cardiff and United’s centre-back partnership equally admirable. Mark Venus’s cool head and awareness were complemented superbly by an inspired-looking Stev Angus, so quick and committed that the highly rated Earnshaw scarcely got a sniff of goal. Attack-wise, the midfield did its best to get forward to support Kitson, but were not helped by their wide men’s difficulty in getting into the game, Shane Tudor showing that he still has some way to go before he regains his full match pace and fitness.
Nacca miscued on the quarter hour after some good approach play by Walker and Brassert, but neither keeper was exactly over-extended for the first 30 minutes. Kavanagh, who had been putting himself about a little over-physically (Roy Keane you ain’t, old boy), gave Marshall something to do on the half-hour with a free kick from the D, but the Dancemeister plucked it from the air with little difficulty, while a good break by Gabbidon five minutes later almost set up Earnshaw. He was crowded out by Murray and Walker, all the midfielders making numerous pit-stops to help out their defence as part of Shaggy’s new ‘tighten up at the back’ philosophy. And that part of the strategy appears to be working as efficiently as Mary Archer’s plastic surgery.
Five minutes from half-time, a good run from Tudor and cute set-up play by Kitson presented Guttridge with a shooting opportunity just behind the penalty spot, but he fiddle-faddled about trying to get the ball on to his right foot and was crowded out. And so ended 45 minutes of pleasant, undemanding entertainment like an episode of Last Of The Summer Wine, minus the wrinkled stockings but with about as many laughs.
Nora Batty: oh, how we tried to laugh
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Neither side made any changes for the start of part two and United had the early pressure with some argy-bargy following a corner, but the Cardiff goal remained as untouched as the latest Big Bore, er, Brother winner. First clear-cut chance of the half came on 53: Weston overlapped down the right, his preposterous electrocuted-cockatoo barnet flowing in the wind as he squared it to the unmarked Campbell just inside the area, but he blasted lamely over. Methinks the Bluebirds will need strikers of a better quality than him to prosper in a higher division this season; go on, make us an offer, Sam.
The substitutions started on 56, Dan Chillingworth replacing the hardworking but underachieving Brassert in a straight swap, and his first action was his best, picking up the ball near halfway, skating pell-mell past two tackles then lashing just over the top corner from 25 yards out. An excellent low Chris Barker cross a few minutes later sailed across the face of the United goal but somehow evaded everyone, then Tudor provided another brief flash of inspiration with a run and cut-in followed by a flashing knee-high cross to Kitson stealing in at the near post, but so close was he to goal that Alexander was able to block at point-blank range. The 64th minute saw the first of a series of six replacements by the visitors, then for just about the only time in the match Earnshaw evaded Angus for a few seconds to latch on to a low through ball but fired straight at Marshall, who blocked then clutched safely.
The subs continued on 72 as Duncan replaced Venus and Fleming replaced Nacca, and Cardiff immediately came their closest to scoring when Kavanagh’s 20-yard free kick floated over the wall and was superbly pawed away by Marshall low to his left, possibly with the help of an obliging post. More new faces were introduced as Revell came on for Tudor, then John ‘Turnaldo’ Turner for Kitson, but the pattern of the game remained unchanged as a very even encounter began to drift towards a draw.
There was still time, however, for some excitement on 85 as an excellent run into the box by Guttridge, exchanging passes with Revell on the way, was followed by a fizzing waist-high cross in a backward diagonal from the touchline which was just behind the inrushing Fleming but met midair by Chilli, whose spectacular attempt at a scissor kick was as off-target as Cherie Blair’s singing while infinitely more enjoyable to watch.
Then it was Cardiff’s turn to threaten a winner as Bonner’s right-wing cross found the towering head of Gavin Gordon less than ten yards out, but Marshall was once again equal to the task with a fantastic sprawling dive low to his left to keep it out. The visitors finished the game in the ascendant, but in truth the draw was a fair result in an always close-fought tactical battle.
Two more matches until the start of the season, and doubts must still remain at this stage about the efficacy of United’s favoured formation; yes, they look more secure defensively, yes, the midfield retains possession better. But last season’s goalscoring power looks to have been seriously reduced. It will need a full-strength and fully fit attack to ensure that we don’t have to endure a series of 0-0 draws and 1-0 defeats this term, and no one wants that, do they? Well, perhaps a Brummie former United manager wouldn’t be too upset.
Marshall 8– He’s ready. Top-drawer reaction saves.
Tann 7– Has made the right-back slot his own.
Murray 7– Looking more like the old Freddie than the pale shadow towards the end of last season. Good overlapping.
Angus 9– Absolutely immaculate stuff from our best defender. Kept Earnshaw quiet and covered the back line with skill, speed and vision.
Venus 8– Encouraging. Not overly lacking in pace, but doesn’t need it as his wise old head senses danger before anyone else.
Tudor 6– The step-up in class of opposition showed that Shane is still some way from full match fitness. A few flashes showed he’s getting there, though.
Guttridge 7– Energetic display with lots of good work, just let down by the occasional aimless hit-and-hope ball forward.
Walker 8– Impressive home debut by the new King of the Abbey. If he can keep the card count down, he’ll be key man this season.
Nacca 7– Looked entirely at home in central midfield. Ever improving.
Brassert 6– A few good moments, but still doesn’t convince that he is worth signing permanently. Sounds like Shaggy feels the same.
Kitson 7– Came nearest to scoring and led the line as impressively as we know he can. Still not convinced the new system makes the best use of him.
Chillingworth 6– Explosive start but quietened down thereafter. Wide left is not exactly his best position but showed good energy and enthusiasm.
Duncan 6– Filled in competently for Venus.
Fleming 6– Also slotted in seamlessly if unspectacularly.
Revell 6– Stationed wide as usual and displayed usual gung-ho spirit when he could.
Turner 6– Only got ten minutes but didn’t look out of place.
The substitutions started on 56, Dan Chillingworth replacing the hardworking but underachieving Brassert in a straight swap, and his first action was his best, picking up the ball near halfway, skating pell-mell past two tackles then lashing just over the top corner from 25 yards out. An excellent low Chris Barker cross a few minutes later sailed across the face of the United goal but somehow evaded everyone, then Tudor provided another brief flash of inspiration with a run and cut-in followed by a flashing knee-high cross to Kitson stealing in at the near post, but so close was he to goal that Alexander was able to block at point-blank range. The 64th minute saw the first of a series of six replacements by the visitors, then for just about the only time in the match Earnshaw evaded Angus for a few seconds to latch on to a low through ball but fired straight at Marshall, who blocked then clutched safely.
The subs continued on 72 as Duncan replaced Venus and Fleming replaced Nacca, and Cardiff immediately came their closest to scoring when Kavanagh’s 20-yard free kick floated over the wall and was superbly pawed away by Marshall low to his left, possibly with the help of an obliging post. More new faces were introduced as Revell came on for Tudor, then John ‘Turnaldo’ Turner for Kitson, but the pattern of the game remained unchanged as a very even encounter began to drift towards a draw.
There was still time, however, for some excitement on 85 as an excellent run into the box by Guttridge, exchanging passes with Revell on the way, was followed by a fizzing waist-high cross in a backward diagonal from the touchline which was just behind the inrushing Fleming but met midair by Chilli, whose spectacular attempt at a scissor kick was as off-target as Cherie Blair’s singing while infinitely more enjoyable to watch.
Then it was Cardiff’s turn to threaten a winner as Bonner’s right-wing cross found the towering head of Gavin Gordon less than ten yards out, but Marshall was once again equal to the task with a fantastic sprawling dive low to his left to keep it out. The visitors finished the game in the ascendant, but in truth the draw was a fair result in an always close-fought tactical battle.
Two more matches until the start of the season, and doubts must still remain at this stage about the efficacy of United’s favoured formation; yes, they look more secure defensively, yes, the midfield retains possession better. But last season’s goalscoring power looks to have been seriously reduced. It will need a full-strength and fully fit attack to ensure that we don’t have to endure a series of 0-0 draws and 1-0 defeats this term, and no one wants that, do they? Well, perhaps a Brummie former United manager wouldn’t be too upset.
Marshall 8– He’s ready. Top-drawer reaction saves.
Tann 7– Has made the right-back slot his own.
Murray 7– Looking more like the old Freddie than the pale shadow towards the end of last season. Good overlapping.
Angus 9– Absolutely immaculate stuff from our best defender. Kept Earnshaw quiet and covered the back line with skill, speed and vision.
Venus 8– Encouraging. Not overly lacking in pace, but doesn’t need it as his wise old head senses danger before anyone else.
Tudor 6– The step-up in class of opposition showed that Shane is still some way from full match fitness. A few flashes showed he’s getting there, though.
Guttridge 7– Energetic display with lots of good work, just let down by the occasional aimless hit-and-hope ball forward.
Walker 8– Impressive home debut by the new King of the Abbey. If he can keep the card count down, he’ll be key man this season.
Nacca 7– Looked entirely at home in central midfield. Ever improving.
Brassert 6– A few good moments, but still doesn’t convince that he is worth signing permanently. Sounds like Shaggy feels the same.
Kitson 7– Came nearest to scoring and led the line as impressively as we know he can. Still not convinced the new system makes the best use of him.
Chillingworth 6– Explosive start but quietened down thereafter. Wide left is not exactly his best position but showed good energy and enthusiasm.
Duncan 6– Filled in competently for Venus.
Fleming 6– Also slotted in seamlessly if unspectacularly.
Revell 6– Stationed wide as usual and displayed usual gung-ho spirit when he could.
Turner 6– Only got ten minutes but didn’t look out of place.
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Soundtrack of the day: Grandaddy/Now It’s On
Match summary: A competitive and deserved goalless draw with a strong Cardiff side exposed both the positive and negative side of United’s brave new formation; defensive solidity, midfield possession, but no end product. So is the glass half full or half empty? The answer is, of course, ‘both’; it just needs a top-up. Make ours a large one, Shaggy. Man of the match: Stev Angus. Sheer quality from start to finish; Earnshaw won’t have a tougher marker all season. Ref watch: Thorpe 7. Reffed quietly and unfussily. Look and learn, Mr McPherson. |
Dan Gleeson: didn't play in this one
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Tuesday, 29 July 2003: United 3v2 Colchester United
With friendlies like these …
For years his very existence was the stuff of legend and speculation. Was that him playing ‘eye-rolling musclebound scoundrel’ in Duck Soup? Could that have been him enacting the part of ‘menacing moustache-twirling ruffian’ in A Night At The Opera? And surely that was him in the part of ‘villainous bowler-hatted blackguard’ in A Day At The Races? Now, at last, it is his turn to take centre stage. Yes, long after his brothers, Groucho, Harpo, Chico and Zeppo have departed this mortal coil, their little brother can now take the limelight all to himself. Enter stage right, in the number 22 shirt, the long-lost missing Marx brother, 83-year-old Bimmo!
Well that’s what it said about Stuart Bimson on Team Talk, so it must be right, mustn’t it? There was no mistaking the new boy as he took the field at an unseasonably rain-lashed Abbey, his bald pate gleaming in the gloaming, he and his teammates looking stylishly ready for action in new and very bright amber hue. The line-up had a first-choice look to it, only injured Freddie Murray and to-be-suspended Terry Fleming missing as Bimmo filled the left-back slot and Dan Chillingworth the wide left berth.
For the visiting ‘other’ East Anglian U’s, there was plenty of ex-Abbey interest in our good mate Scott McGleish (equal top scorer with an abacustastic nine last season), former trialist Joe Keith and, on the bench, brief loanee Wayne Andrews. The great Sir Alan Kimble had been at Layer Road not so long ago on trial, but has now moved on in his search for first-team action, and who could blame anyone for getting as far away from the squalid horror of Col U’s ground as quickly as possible? That tepid botulo-burger I had there once still repeats on me to this very day. Pardon.
Colchester fielded a strong line-up with just one trialist, Slough Town goal machine Tony Boot, in front of another disappointingly low crowd, this time understandably in view of the conditions. It was the sight of McGleish bearing down on them that roused the NRE into early vocal action with their customary greeting to the (occasionally) somersaulting one, something to do with merchant banking, I believe. Well, every man should have a hobby, especially footballers with all that spare time on their hands.
First frisson of fright was provided by Stev Angus as he nonchalantly side-footed a low cross about six inches wide of his own goal from near the penalty spot. Cool? Positively ice-box. United responded with a threatening cross of their own from Tudor, then it was the visitors’ turn again with a low, fizzing cross-goal effort from overlapping right back Sam Stockley. He is formerly of Barnet, which seemed appropriate as he sported the dodgiest, er, barnet seen so far this season: a chaotic mess that appeared to have been cut by someone having an epileptic fit then had random bits of it dyed blond by Captain Hook wearing two eyepatches.
It was Colchester who made the breakthrough on 13 with the sort of scrappy shambles of a goal Shaggy must have been hoping to avoid conceding this term. Scott Fitzgerald’s right-wing cross following a cleared corner found Shaun Marshall haring from goal to punch off Joe Keith’s head (not literally, you understand), but his underpowered effort fell only to Kem Izzet to Shaun’s left; the midfielder with the famous(ish) brother nodded across goal and keeper to Boot, who guided a looping header into the top corner of the empty goal as a gaggle of defenders looked on. Hell of a header if it was deliberate; hellish to let in.
The hosts responded well with some positive play, Bimson settling in as if he’d been at the Abbey for years and prompting intelligently down the left, and Big Dave Kitson waging a one-man war on the visitors’ goal for a spell. First he tried an outrageous lob from over 30 yards out (keeper Simon Brown relieved to see it drop on to the top of the net) then he latched on to a low Tudor cross to turn his marker, Alan White, and fire in a shot as he fell that scudded a couple of feet wide of the near post. But he was not to be denied, and on 20 he got his reward as a good right-wing cross from Adam Tann found Chilli marauding infield, and his clever header inside enabled Kitson to shake off White and ram home from the edge of the six-yard box. That’s the sort of support the BGG needs from his ‘wide’ men.
Three minutes later United were ahead. The Great Bimmo can certainly whip in a mean corner from the left, and Tann’s devious run took him out of the area, in a big circle then sneaked back undetected at the far post as Bimson’s unerring flag kick found his bonce. Tanny’s header bounced across goal, hit the inside of the far post and was clawed away by Brown, but the lino was well placed to indicate that it had already crossed the line: 2-1, and all of a sudden this fancy new-fangled formation was beginning to look as slick and well-oiled as a drunken cormorant in a tanker wreck.
The game settled into a competitive and well-matched encounter with some good approach play from both sides but little to trouble the goalkeepers. The home back four looked as solid as one could have hoped for, the midfield was neat and tidy and Kitson led the line well, only the rustiness of Tudor and unfamiliarity with his position of the willing Chillingworth blunting United’s cutting edge, while the visitors were restricted to hopeful long shots. McGleish trundled a couple of efforts well wide and Boot burst through once only to scuff his shot so feebly it served as a back-pass.
Only alarming moment came when Justin Walker attempted to dribble his way out of trouble across his own penalty area and encountered Izzet running back from an offside position six yards out; it didn’t seem to occur to the Col U man that he couldn’t be penalised if he gained possession from an opponent, and he just put up his hands and waved the U’s skipper obligingly past. What a nice man.
So ended an enjoyable first half, both teams playing neat, committed football without any of the nasty edge that sometimes creeps into these local derbies. They were saving all that for the second half.
Part two resumed in similar mode, neither team having made a change, and United went close five minutes in when Kitson tried to turn White (what they call ‘doing a Jackson’) six yards out and was unceremoniously bundled to the ground; ref Wright showed no interest in the NRE’s impassioned calls for a penalty. Wonder who would have taken it? United went close again two minutes later, Tudor’s free kick from the right finding Tann dead centre and his snap header arrowing for the bottom corner until athletically pushed away for a corner by Brown.
The visitors still threatened United’s dominance on the break, and Izzet forced a superb diving Marshall special just before the hour as he reached his 12-yard effort then beat McGleish to the rebound. The visitors replaced Boot with Andrews, a lively little chap, then skipper Fitzgerald with Pat Baldwin in their only two substitutions of the match, and some nice interplay between the perceptive Walker and speedy Nacca threatened to put Kitson in again before being cleared for a corner.
Then, as fast you could say ‘Jody Morris’, it all began to turn rather unpleasant. Andrews was robbed by Walker on halfway, thought himself fouled and, like a psychotic lumberjack, launched into a horrendously reckless and malicious lunge that felled the U’s skipper. Unsurprisingly, our Justin wasn’t standing for that, but he soon got up and a melee broke out until Wright very leniently showed Andrews yellow then, deeply iniquitously, gave Walker the same treatment. The linesman on the main stand side wouldn’t have been so soft on the Colchester man … yes, it was our old friend Mike ‘Fastest Whistle In The West’ McPherson, who it seems intends to haunt us until the League gives him his licence to grill.
As so often seems to happen after such incidents, the villain of the piece then got a thoroughly undeserved break as he equalised on 72. More lame defending was the root cause, Marshall’s unconvincing clearance evading Guttridge’s lunge and finding Izzet wide left, then cannoning into McGleish’s path on the edge of the area. Angus did well to block, but it ran inevitably to the unmarked Andrews to tap into the empty net. Two good goals scored, two woeful ones conceded, and this was not what the doctor ordered unless his name was Crippen.
Worst foul of the night was yet to come, Keith assaulting Tann with a ghastly late, high lunge that was again only deemed worthy of yellow by Mr Softie in the middle, then Andrews got his comeuppance with a clattering into the boards by Angus. Nothing wrong with that, naturally. The 76th minute saw wholesale changes by the hosts, Duncan taking over at right back from the sore Tann, Lee Summerscales replacing Mark Venus, Fleming for Walker (the minuscule midfield is back!) and Revell for Tudor, then after good work by Guttridge and a decent shot by Revell to force Brown into a clutching save, John Turner came on for Kitson on 79 for the final sub of the evening.
With all these changes it wasn’t surprising that Colchester had the better of the last quarter-hour, but Marshall was rarely threatened, Andrews blasting optimistically wide on 82. Revell was set up by Chilli on 86 for another on-target shot that Brown had to be smart to stop. As 90 minutes approached it looked like a creditable and (sometimes literally) fighting draw would be the outcome, but just as the tannoy announced one minute of added time, Guttridge’s cross from the right found Turner and Stockley tussling for the ball ten yards out; the United youngster got a touch, but one rather suspects the final header was Stockley’s as the ball struck the foot of one post, bounced along the line and nestled in the net past the hapless Brown. Stockley’s reaction had ‘og’ written all over it, but the young Turnado has a happy habit of making things happen late on and he deserves credit for the goal.
There was barely time to kick off again before the final whistle and the season’s first peal of Coconuts resonated into the drizzly night air. All in all a very useful and competitive workout, and to win was a nice cherry on top of United’s knickerbocker glory. As for Colchester … er, thanks, guys, but if some of your players take that attitude to all your games this season, you’ll be about as welcome visitors as burglars in Tony Martin’s farmhouse.
Marshall 6– One great reaction save, still needs to work on commanding his area.
Tann 7– Having a strong pre-season, and was in welcome goal machine mode too.
Bimson 7– Excellent debut: slotted in immediately, strong defensively and useful going forward too. Good first impression.
Angus 7– Quality as usual.
Venus 7– Just what we need at the back: an organiser and a SHOUTER. Looking good.
Tudor 6– Still some way to go but it’s coming back in flashes.
Nacca 7– Fully involved at the heart of the action.
Walker 7– Assured presence in the middle and looks like he’ll be able to fill those Wannie-sized boots.
Guttridge 7– Nice and busy, just needs to avoid getting caught in possession in front of the back four.
Chillingworth 6– Decent game in an unsuitable position, put in some useful work and made the first goal.
Kitson 7– Lone front man may not be his ideal role, but he’s too good a player not to make it work.
Duncan 6– Filled in adequately at right back.
Fleming 6– Useful warm-up before his suspension.
Summerscales 6– Confirmed his promise with a steady, unruffled 15 minutes.
Revell 6– Energetic as ever and made a favourable, positive impression.
Turner 6– He’s done it again. Some players just have The Knack, and he might just be one of them.
Soundtrack of the day: Flaming Lips/Fight Test
Match summary: United’s first-ever Unfriendly was decided by the last-minute magic of the Turnado, but the whole team raised hopes for the season with a sound performance against Colchester’s flying studs. Shaggy and the Prof’s switch from last season’s idealism to this season’s pragmatism might just work now they seem to have addressed the team’s main problems: inexperience and lack of solidity at the back. Apart, er, from the two goals they conceded …
Man of the match: Stuart Bimson. Bimmo’s got a cool head and sweet left foot, he’s sound defensively, an accurate passer and intelligent going forward. And a damn good corner taker, too. We’ll take him!
Ref watch: Wright 5. Maybe McPherson was right; there were a couple of Colchester players who couldn’t have complained if he had got tough with the red cards. But he didn’t. Will the FA haul him up too?
With friendlies like these …
For years his very existence was the stuff of legend and speculation. Was that him playing ‘eye-rolling musclebound scoundrel’ in Duck Soup? Could that have been him enacting the part of ‘menacing moustache-twirling ruffian’ in A Night At The Opera? And surely that was him in the part of ‘villainous bowler-hatted blackguard’ in A Day At The Races? Now, at last, it is his turn to take centre stage. Yes, long after his brothers, Groucho, Harpo, Chico and Zeppo have departed this mortal coil, their little brother can now take the limelight all to himself. Enter stage right, in the number 22 shirt, the long-lost missing Marx brother, 83-year-old Bimmo!
Well that’s what it said about Stuart Bimson on Team Talk, so it must be right, mustn’t it? There was no mistaking the new boy as he took the field at an unseasonably rain-lashed Abbey, his bald pate gleaming in the gloaming, he and his teammates looking stylishly ready for action in new and very bright amber hue. The line-up had a first-choice look to it, only injured Freddie Murray and to-be-suspended Terry Fleming missing as Bimmo filled the left-back slot and Dan Chillingworth the wide left berth.
For the visiting ‘other’ East Anglian U’s, there was plenty of ex-Abbey interest in our good mate Scott McGleish (equal top scorer with an abacustastic nine last season), former trialist Joe Keith and, on the bench, brief loanee Wayne Andrews. The great Sir Alan Kimble had been at Layer Road not so long ago on trial, but has now moved on in his search for first-team action, and who could blame anyone for getting as far away from the squalid horror of Col U’s ground as quickly as possible? That tepid botulo-burger I had there once still repeats on me to this very day. Pardon.
Colchester fielded a strong line-up with just one trialist, Slough Town goal machine Tony Boot, in front of another disappointingly low crowd, this time understandably in view of the conditions. It was the sight of McGleish bearing down on them that roused the NRE into early vocal action with their customary greeting to the (occasionally) somersaulting one, something to do with merchant banking, I believe. Well, every man should have a hobby, especially footballers with all that spare time on their hands.
First frisson of fright was provided by Stev Angus as he nonchalantly side-footed a low cross about six inches wide of his own goal from near the penalty spot. Cool? Positively ice-box. United responded with a threatening cross of their own from Tudor, then it was the visitors’ turn again with a low, fizzing cross-goal effort from overlapping right back Sam Stockley. He is formerly of Barnet, which seemed appropriate as he sported the dodgiest, er, barnet seen so far this season: a chaotic mess that appeared to have been cut by someone having an epileptic fit then had random bits of it dyed blond by Captain Hook wearing two eyepatches.
It was Colchester who made the breakthrough on 13 with the sort of scrappy shambles of a goal Shaggy must have been hoping to avoid conceding this term. Scott Fitzgerald’s right-wing cross following a cleared corner found Shaun Marshall haring from goal to punch off Joe Keith’s head (not literally, you understand), but his underpowered effort fell only to Kem Izzet to Shaun’s left; the midfielder with the famous(ish) brother nodded across goal and keeper to Boot, who guided a looping header into the top corner of the empty goal as a gaggle of defenders looked on. Hell of a header if it was deliberate; hellish to let in.
The hosts responded well with some positive play, Bimson settling in as if he’d been at the Abbey for years and prompting intelligently down the left, and Big Dave Kitson waging a one-man war on the visitors’ goal for a spell. First he tried an outrageous lob from over 30 yards out (keeper Simon Brown relieved to see it drop on to the top of the net) then he latched on to a low Tudor cross to turn his marker, Alan White, and fire in a shot as he fell that scudded a couple of feet wide of the near post. But he was not to be denied, and on 20 he got his reward as a good right-wing cross from Adam Tann found Chilli marauding infield, and his clever header inside enabled Kitson to shake off White and ram home from the edge of the six-yard box. That’s the sort of support the BGG needs from his ‘wide’ men.
Three minutes later United were ahead. The Great Bimmo can certainly whip in a mean corner from the left, and Tann’s devious run took him out of the area, in a big circle then sneaked back undetected at the far post as Bimson’s unerring flag kick found his bonce. Tanny’s header bounced across goal, hit the inside of the far post and was clawed away by Brown, but the lino was well placed to indicate that it had already crossed the line: 2-1, and all of a sudden this fancy new-fangled formation was beginning to look as slick and well-oiled as a drunken cormorant in a tanker wreck.
The game settled into a competitive and well-matched encounter with some good approach play from both sides but little to trouble the goalkeepers. The home back four looked as solid as one could have hoped for, the midfield was neat and tidy and Kitson led the line well, only the rustiness of Tudor and unfamiliarity with his position of the willing Chillingworth blunting United’s cutting edge, while the visitors were restricted to hopeful long shots. McGleish trundled a couple of efforts well wide and Boot burst through once only to scuff his shot so feebly it served as a back-pass.
Only alarming moment came when Justin Walker attempted to dribble his way out of trouble across his own penalty area and encountered Izzet running back from an offside position six yards out; it didn’t seem to occur to the Col U man that he couldn’t be penalised if he gained possession from an opponent, and he just put up his hands and waved the U’s skipper obligingly past. What a nice man.
So ended an enjoyable first half, both teams playing neat, committed football without any of the nasty edge that sometimes creeps into these local derbies. They were saving all that for the second half.
Part two resumed in similar mode, neither team having made a change, and United went close five minutes in when Kitson tried to turn White (what they call ‘doing a Jackson’) six yards out and was unceremoniously bundled to the ground; ref Wright showed no interest in the NRE’s impassioned calls for a penalty. Wonder who would have taken it? United went close again two minutes later, Tudor’s free kick from the right finding Tann dead centre and his snap header arrowing for the bottom corner until athletically pushed away for a corner by Brown.
The visitors still threatened United’s dominance on the break, and Izzet forced a superb diving Marshall special just before the hour as he reached his 12-yard effort then beat McGleish to the rebound. The visitors replaced Boot with Andrews, a lively little chap, then skipper Fitzgerald with Pat Baldwin in their only two substitutions of the match, and some nice interplay between the perceptive Walker and speedy Nacca threatened to put Kitson in again before being cleared for a corner.
Then, as fast you could say ‘Jody Morris’, it all began to turn rather unpleasant. Andrews was robbed by Walker on halfway, thought himself fouled and, like a psychotic lumberjack, launched into a horrendously reckless and malicious lunge that felled the U’s skipper. Unsurprisingly, our Justin wasn’t standing for that, but he soon got up and a melee broke out until Wright very leniently showed Andrews yellow then, deeply iniquitously, gave Walker the same treatment. The linesman on the main stand side wouldn’t have been so soft on the Colchester man … yes, it was our old friend Mike ‘Fastest Whistle In The West’ McPherson, who it seems intends to haunt us until the League gives him his licence to grill.
As so often seems to happen after such incidents, the villain of the piece then got a thoroughly undeserved break as he equalised on 72. More lame defending was the root cause, Marshall’s unconvincing clearance evading Guttridge’s lunge and finding Izzet wide left, then cannoning into McGleish’s path on the edge of the area. Angus did well to block, but it ran inevitably to the unmarked Andrews to tap into the empty net. Two good goals scored, two woeful ones conceded, and this was not what the doctor ordered unless his name was Crippen.
Worst foul of the night was yet to come, Keith assaulting Tann with a ghastly late, high lunge that was again only deemed worthy of yellow by Mr Softie in the middle, then Andrews got his comeuppance with a clattering into the boards by Angus. Nothing wrong with that, naturally. The 76th minute saw wholesale changes by the hosts, Duncan taking over at right back from the sore Tann, Lee Summerscales replacing Mark Venus, Fleming for Walker (the minuscule midfield is back!) and Revell for Tudor, then after good work by Guttridge and a decent shot by Revell to force Brown into a clutching save, John Turner came on for Kitson on 79 for the final sub of the evening.
With all these changes it wasn’t surprising that Colchester had the better of the last quarter-hour, but Marshall was rarely threatened, Andrews blasting optimistically wide on 82. Revell was set up by Chilli on 86 for another on-target shot that Brown had to be smart to stop. As 90 minutes approached it looked like a creditable and (sometimes literally) fighting draw would be the outcome, but just as the tannoy announced one minute of added time, Guttridge’s cross from the right found Turner and Stockley tussling for the ball ten yards out; the United youngster got a touch, but one rather suspects the final header was Stockley’s as the ball struck the foot of one post, bounced along the line and nestled in the net past the hapless Brown. Stockley’s reaction had ‘og’ written all over it, but the young Turnado has a happy habit of making things happen late on and he deserves credit for the goal.
There was barely time to kick off again before the final whistle and the season’s first peal of Coconuts resonated into the drizzly night air. All in all a very useful and competitive workout, and to win was a nice cherry on top of United’s knickerbocker glory. As for Colchester … er, thanks, guys, but if some of your players take that attitude to all your games this season, you’ll be about as welcome visitors as burglars in Tony Martin’s farmhouse.
Marshall 6– One great reaction save, still needs to work on commanding his area.
Tann 7– Having a strong pre-season, and was in welcome goal machine mode too.
Bimson 7– Excellent debut: slotted in immediately, strong defensively and useful going forward too. Good first impression.
Angus 7– Quality as usual.
Venus 7– Just what we need at the back: an organiser and a SHOUTER. Looking good.
Tudor 6– Still some way to go but it’s coming back in flashes.
Nacca 7– Fully involved at the heart of the action.
Walker 7– Assured presence in the middle and looks like he’ll be able to fill those Wannie-sized boots.
Guttridge 7– Nice and busy, just needs to avoid getting caught in possession in front of the back four.
Chillingworth 6– Decent game in an unsuitable position, put in some useful work and made the first goal.
Kitson 7– Lone front man may not be his ideal role, but he’s too good a player not to make it work.
Duncan 6– Filled in adequately at right back.
Fleming 6– Useful warm-up before his suspension.
Summerscales 6– Confirmed his promise with a steady, unruffled 15 minutes.
Revell 6– Energetic as ever and made a favourable, positive impression.
Turner 6– He’s done it again. Some players just have The Knack, and he might just be one of them.
Soundtrack of the day: Flaming Lips/Fight Test
Match summary: United’s first-ever Unfriendly was decided by the last-minute magic of the Turnado, but the whole team raised hopes for the season with a sound performance against Colchester’s flying studs. Shaggy and the Prof’s switch from last season’s idealism to this season’s pragmatism might just work now they seem to have addressed the team’s main problems: inexperience and lack of solidity at the back. Apart, er, from the two goals they conceded …
Man of the match: Stuart Bimson. Bimmo’s got a cool head and sweet left foot, he’s sound defensively, an accurate passer and intelligent going forward. And a damn good corner taker, too. We’ll take him!
Ref watch: Wright 5. Maybe McPherson was right; there were a couple of Colchester players who couldn’t have complained if he had got tough with the red cards. But he didn’t. Will the FA haul him up too?
Flaming Lips: nice colours, eh?
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Saturday, 2 August 2003: Shrewsbury Town 3v1 United
Ready Steady No
‘Hello readers, I’m John Leslie. I’m back and I’m getting my career back on track, and my first step is an exciting new programme for FLPTV just in time for the school holidays entitled Things To Do On A Hot Summer’s Day. I’ll be recommending lots of exciting activities, such as 57 varieties of windsurfing, extreme picnicking on the hard shoulder of the M6, abseiling down the north face of Fern Britton, yachting around the Isle of Ely and 21 thrilling things to do with pistachio ice cream. I will also be warning you about some items that I do not recommend, such as appearing in court, reading Swedish weathergirls’ autobiographies, crying on television, watching Channel 5 chat shows and going to football friendlies over 100 miles from home. Join me!’
There were certainly plenty of Mighty U’s supporters who followed Big John’s advice on the last point, an intrepid band of 33 people making up the entire away support at Gay Meadow on a day when the Great British Heatwave made a comeback with a vengeance. United took the field in their new away strip of white with blue trim for the first time, and very smart they looked too, and how nice to be able to visit one of England’s loveliest towns and most picturesque, olde worlde football grounds following their disastrous plunge into the Conference last season.
Much has changed at Gay Meadow since the end of 2002/03, and the appointment of Jimmy Quinn as manager and a substantial clear-out of the playing staff seems to have engendered a feeling of renewed optimism in Salop; they can hardly be getting that excited about playing the likes of Margate, Accrington Stanley, Leigh RMI and Forrest Gump Rovers, but that lot at least seem to be a darned sight more beatable than last term’s opposition.
United, of course, took a beating themselves at the Meadow last time by three goals to one, but avenged it at the Abbey with a 5-0 rout. Only three players (Dunbavin, Tolley and Luke ‘Light The Blue Touch Paper’ Rodgers) remained in the starting line-up from that debacle, so regrettably there was no chance to guffaw again at the ambling bulk of Matt ‘The Dumptruck’ Redmile, although they have replaced him with Gregor Rioch, surely the portliest full back ever, although he seems to have got his weight below 19 stone. Just about. They have also been joined by Martyn O’Connor, ex-Pish like his boss and just the sort of old hand to help them back into the League. United’s team remained unchanged from Tuesday, only difference being the switching of the captain’s armband from Justin Walker to Stuart ‘Bimmo’ Bimson. Age before, er, beauty.
The sun beat down and the Shrews fans appeared to be in cheerful mood, singing songs about new local rivals Telford United as the match got off to a predictably slow start. It soon became apparent that the hosts operated a playing system a little similar to United’s in employing a target man (journeyman new boy Colin Cramb), a flying left winger in Sam Aiston and the speedy Luke Rodgers, who in contrast to his oppo Shane Tudor seemed to have carte blanche to wander all over the pitch to stretch the defence and find space in which to wreak havoc like a car park attendant at Knebworth. The Shrews certainly looked up for it, working energetically to close United down from the frontmen back, but the visitors also made a favourable impression early on with neat, accurate passing, only that so-vital final ball lacking from their play.
In the first ten minutes Tudor caught home skipper Darren Tinson napping and broke for goal, but chose to shoot from over 30 yards rather than take it nearer goal: a Beckham might have been able to chip-volley delicately into the top corner, but Shane only found the echoing spaces of the away terrace. Over-confidence, or lack of confidence in his ability to outpace the Shrews defence? The Orange One found many opportunities to break clear down the right in the first half, ‘marked’ as he was by the paunchy Rioch, but he usually had to wait for reinforcements to arrive before crossing. One such break gained United a corner from which Bimson whipped one just over Adam Tann’s head but found Kitson lurking just beyond the far post, but his disappointingly scuffed effort at a crowded goal found only the side netting.
Then it was Shrewsbury’s turn to threaten as the tricky Aiston left the United defence for dead, skipped around Marshall but from the narrowest of angles saw the wise old legs of Venus getting back to block on the line. On 18 Tudor broke away again, but with Kitson and Chillingworth galloping up in support, his cross-shot was neither one nor t’other as it flashed across goal and wide of the far post, too far ahead of the in-rushing strikers. Rodgers looked as lively an irritant as a lone flea in a boarding kennels with his perceptive running, and tested Marshall on 21 after a characteristically mazy run.
Then United took the lead on 24. Tann, supporting Tudor, floated a cross from the right over the Shrews’ centre backs straight to the feet of Chillingworth near the penalty spot; in one smooth movement, he took one touch to control, looked up and let fly into the bottom corner past the helpless Dunbavin: a superbly clinical, controlled finish that was all about accuracy and not trying to either burst the net or walk the ball into it. Blimey.
Sadly, the lead lasted a mere five minutes. United had sighed with relief when the dangerous Aiston was replaced by Ian Fitzpatrick (there’s an old joke there somewhere) due to a dead leg just before the half hour, but when Venus felled Jagielka just outside the penalty area, it was the wily Cramb who lined the kick up. Marshall organised his wall to cover the near side of the goal, leaving the other side for him to, er, marshal, but he chose to stand almost behind the wall right in the centre of goal. Cramb couldn’t resist the yawning gap to the keeper’s left, and curled an accurate and crushingly simple effort into the corner of the net to which the Terpsichorean custodian could get absolutely nowhere near. What about trading in your gloves for those giant foam hands on sale in the club shop, Shaun?
It could have been 2-1 to the hosts on 35 when Tolley ran on to Jagielka’s through ball to arrow a drive for the bottom corner, but the Dancemeister was back to his best with a magnificent diving save low to his right. Thereafter, the most dangerous ball either keeper had to deal with was a safely gathered cross as attacking inspiration seemed to desert both sides, and the half petered out into a stalemate cosier than Man Utd fixing the price of a shirt with JJB. And Umbro. And Allsports. And Dodgy Fred down the market. No, hang on, he’s the honest one …
Shrewsbury came out for the second 45 looking even more fired up than for the first, and Angus has to be at his wing-heeled best to foil an early Rodgers break, but the match was decided in two minutes of misery for United from 50. First Dave Ridler’s floated free kick found Cramb just inside the area, and he guided a hopeful looping header towards the top corner. Marshall, looking the epitome of uncertainty, loped across his goal and flapped at it as it sailed high past him, off his hand and into the net; it wasn’t quite as embarrassing as Shaun’s howler at the same venue last season, but in terms of fond memories it will be down just below delousing the ferret.
Ready Steady No
‘Hello readers, I’m John Leslie. I’m back and I’m getting my career back on track, and my first step is an exciting new programme for FLPTV just in time for the school holidays entitled Things To Do On A Hot Summer’s Day. I’ll be recommending lots of exciting activities, such as 57 varieties of windsurfing, extreme picnicking on the hard shoulder of the M6, abseiling down the north face of Fern Britton, yachting around the Isle of Ely and 21 thrilling things to do with pistachio ice cream. I will also be warning you about some items that I do not recommend, such as appearing in court, reading Swedish weathergirls’ autobiographies, crying on television, watching Channel 5 chat shows and going to football friendlies over 100 miles from home. Join me!’
There were certainly plenty of Mighty U’s supporters who followed Big John’s advice on the last point, an intrepid band of 33 people making up the entire away support at Gay Meadow on a day when the Great British Heatwave made a comeback with a vengeance. United took the field in their new away strip of white with blue trim for the first time, and very smart they looked too, and how nice to be able to visit one of England’s loveliest towns and most picturesque, olde worlde football grounds following their disastrous plunge into the Conference last season.
Much has changed at Gay Meadow since the end of 2002/03, and the appointment of Jimmy Quinn as manager and a substantial clear-out of the playing staff seems to have engendered a feeling of renewed optimism in Salop; they can hardly be getting that excited about playing the likes of Margate, Accrington Stanley, Leigh RMI and Forrest Gump Rovers, but that lot at least seem to be a darned sight more beatable than last term’s opposition.
United, of course, took a beating themselves at the Meadow last time by three goals to one, but avenged it at the Abbey with a 5-0 rout. Only three players (Dunbavin, Tolley and Luke ‘Light The Blue Touch Paper’ Rodgers) remained in the starting line-up from that debacle, so regrettably there was no chance to guffaw again at the ambling bulk of Matt ‘The Dumptruck’ Redmile, although they have replaced him with Gregor Rioch, surely the portliest full back ever, although he seems to have got his weight below 19 stone. Just about. They have also been joined by Martyn O’Connor, ex-Pish like his boss and just the sort of old hand to help them back into the League. United’s team remained unchanged from Tuesday, only difference being the switching of the captain’s armband from Justin Walker to Stuart ‘Bimmo’ Bimson. Age before, er, beauty.
The sun beat down and the Shrews fans appeared to be in cheerful mood, singing songs about new local rivals Telford United as the match got off to a predictably slow start. It soon became apparent that the hosts operated a playing system a little similar to United’s in employing a target man (journeyman new boy Colin Cramb), a flying left winger in Sam Aiston and the speedy Luke Rodgers, who in contrast to his oppo Shane Tudor seemed to have carte blanche to wander all over the pitch to stretch the defence and find space in which to wreak havoc like a car park attendant at Knebworth. The Shrews certainly looked up for it, working energetically to close United down from the frontmen back, but the visitors also made a favourable impression early on with neat, accurate passing, only that so-vital final ball lacking from their play.
In the first ten minutes Tudor caught home skipper Darren Tinson napping and broke for goal, but chose to shoot from over 30 yards rather than take it nearer goal: a Beckham might have been able to chip-volley delicately into the top corner, but Shane only found the echoing spaces of the away terrace. Over-confidence, or lack of confidence in his ability to outpace the Shrews defence? The Orange One found many opportunities to break clear down the right in the first half, ‘marked’ as he was by the paunchy Rioch, but he usually had to wait for reinforcements to arrive before crossing. One such break gained United a corner from which Bimson whipped one just over Adam Tann’s head but found Kitson lurking just beyond the far post, but his disappointingly scuffed effort at a crowded goal found only the side netting.
Then it was Shrewsbury’s turn to threaten as the tricky Aiston left the United defence for dead, skipped around Marshall but from the narrowest of angles saw the wise old legs of Venus getting back to block on the line. On 18 Tudor broke away again, but with Kitson and Chillingworth galloping up in support, his cross-shot was neither one nor t’other as it flashed across goal and wide of the far post, too far ahead of the in-rushing strikers. Rodgers looked as lively an irritant as a lone flea in a boarding kennels with his perceptive running, and tested Marshall on 21 after a characteristically mazy run.
Then United took the lead on 24. Tann, supporting Tudor, floated a cross from the right over the Shrews’ centre backs straight to the feet of Chillingworth near the penalty spot; in one smooth movement, he took one touch to control, looked up and let fly into the bottom corner past the helpless Dunbavin: a superbly clinical, controlled finish that was all about accuracy and not trying to either burst the net or walk the ball into it. Blimey.
Sadly, the lead lasted a mere five minutes. United had sighed with relief when the dangerous Aiston was replaced by Ian Fitzpatrick (there’s an old joke there somewhere) due to a dead leg just before the half hour, but when Venus felled Jagielka just outside the penalty area, it was the wily Cramb who lined the kick up. Marshall organised his wall to cover the near side of the goal, leaving the other side for him to, er, marshal, but he chose to stand almost behind the wall right in the centre of goal. Cramb couldn’t resist the yawning gap to the keeper’s left, and curled an accurate and crushingly simple effort into the corner of the net to which the Terpsichorean custodian could get absolutely nowhere near. What about trading in your gloves for those giant foam hands on sale in the club shop, Shaun?
It could have been 2-1 to the hosts on 35 when Tolley ran on to Jagielka’s through ball to arrow a drive for the bottom corner, but the Dancemeister was back to his best with a magnificent diving save low to his right. Thereafter, the most dangerous ball either keeper had to deal with was a safely gathered cross as attacking inspiration seemed to desert both sides, and the half petered out into a stalemate cosier than Man Utd fixing the price of a shirt with JJB. And Umbro. And Allsports. And Dodgy Fred down the market. No, hang on, he’s the honest one …
Shrewsbury came out for the second 45 looking even more fired up than for the first, and Angus has to be at his wing-heeled best to foil an early Rodgers break, but the match was decided in two minutes of misery for United from 50. First Dave Ridler’s floated free kick found Cramb just inside the area, and he guided a hopeful looping header towards the top corner. Marshall, looking the epitome of uncertainty, loped across his goal and flapped at it as it sailed high past him, off his hand and into the net; it wasn’t quite as embarrassing as Shaun’s howler at the same venue last season, but in terms of fond memories it will be down just below delousing the ferret.
A ferret: Richard Whiteley not pictured
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Almost straight from United’s restart, the Shrews came at them again, Cramb running through and finding Rodgers wide right. Bimson got back to cover, but the ball ran across to Fitzpatrick, completely unmarked in the middle and played onside by the hapless Bimmo; he poked it gleefully past England’s Number One for the killer blow. United tried to respond, but attacking inspiration was sadly lacking and the hosts were playing the better football, knocking it around energetically and showing excellent movement and awareness. Mercifully for the boys in white, they started a series of six further substitutions on 68 which gradually disrupted their side’s rhythm, while United made their only two on 70, Kitson and Tudor saved for next Saturday with Murray taking over at left back, Bimson moving to wide left with Aggy Revell wide right and Chilli now in the middle.
The game, however, looked all over bar the shouting (or the inexplicable high-pitched squeaking of the home supporters; I thought Shrews was just a nickname, not an indication of species of supporter). Chilli headed a Bimson cross over when he might have controlled it better, then on 83 it could and should have been 4-1 as Rodgers ran across the line and sneaked behind the United defence on to Steve Watts’ pass but, one-on-one with Marshall, he tried over-deliberately to place it beyond the Terpsichorean custodian and it was blocked away with a trailing leg. United continued to chase the game gamely if forlornly, and Chilli produced a save from Dunbavin with a header before embarking on another good run and supplying Revell, but the sub’s cross-shot fizzed tamely wide. |
So ended a good, competitive workout for United from an extremely impressive Shrewsbury outfit, well organised and well motivated by Quinn and, on the basis of this and their other eight wins in nine pre-season games, scoring 33 goals in the process, the team to beat in the Conference this season. For the visitors, there are still too many goals being leaked at one end and there is not enough quality in the final third, so it’s back to the training ground for the final week build-up to Huddersfield next Saturday. Hold on to your hats, it’s going to be another rollercoaster ride.
Marshall 5– Couple of good saves, but he won’t be proud of the goals he conceded.
Tann 6– Given a bit of a runaround by Aiston, but thankfully the Shrews winger only lasted half an hour and Adam improved from then on.
Bimson 6– Reasonable at left back but struggled to make an impact when played further forward. Early days.
Angus 6– Incapable of a bad game, but in common with the rest of the defence struggled to cope with the movement of Rodgers and co.
Venus 6– Some splendid interceptions, but set the tone with an early attempt to shepherd the ball out of play that resulted in him watching his opponent get a cross in while he sat on his behind. Will undoubtedly get better.
Tudor 7– Found an encouraging amount of space down the flank behind the fattest full back in the world, but crosses still need some work. Could do with more people to aim them at, though.
Nacca 6– Hard-working but anonymous.
Walker 6– Like the rest of his team, found himself overrun too many times by the busy Shrews, especially in the second half. Will also improve.
Guttridge 5– Disappointing display with far too many misdirected passes, and still passing ‘blind’ too often.
Chillingworth 7– Ever-willing and enthusiastic, and capped with an excellent goal.
Kitson 6– Not a game to remember for the bleached carrot-top.
Revell 6– Usual energetic cameo.
Murray 6– Slotted in comfortably at left back.
Soundtrack of the day: Ladytron/Oops (Oh My)
Match summary: United, clad all in white with brown legs like a collection of giant ice creams, stood up well to the heat in a satisfactory first half, but melted dramatically in the second and were thoroughly licked by an impressive Shrewsbury team. The sorry-looking puddle that is all that remains of Shaggy’s hopes of greater defensive solidity will need extensive forensic examination from the Prof in the coming week, before the serious stuff starts.
Men (and women) of the match: The 33 heroic supporters who travelled the 140 miles (OK, two came from Cheshire and three from the Isle of Man) to support their team on a baking hot summer’s afternoon. Above and beyond the call of duty.
Ref watch: Lewis 6. Mostly unobtrusive, although a few of his decisions looked decidedly odd from our sparsely populated vantage point.
New feature: Justin’s jukebox. Our man with his ear to the ground, Justin Walker, assesses the musical offerings at our opponents’ ground before the match. ‘Hello, music lovers! Today was a lovely sunny day, and Shrewsbury’s disc selector certainly reflected that with summery songs like Dodgy’s Good Enough, the Mamas & Papas’ California Dreamin', Boo Radleys’ Wake Up Boo and the Levellers’ Beautiful Day – three times! They also showed their determination to achieve first-time promotion from the Conference with M People’s Moving On Up and even found time for a tribute to their new manager with Manfred Mann’s Mighty Quinn! Wycombe do something similar with Me And Mr Sanchez by Blue Rondo A La Turk. Perhaps we should play something by Shaggy so our boss man doesn’t feel left out! Keep those choons banging!’
Marshall 5– Couple of good saves, but he won’t be proud of the goals he conceded.
Tann 6– Given a bit of a runaround by Aiston, but thankfully the Shrews winger only lasted half an hour and Adam improved from then on.
Bimson 6– Reasonable at left back but struggled to make an impact when played further forward. Early days.
Angus 6– Incapable of a bad game, but in common with the rest of the defence struggled to cope with the movement of Rodgers and co.
Venus 6– Some splendid interceptions, but set the tone with an early attempt to shepherd the ball out of play that resulted in him watching his opponent get a cross in while he sat on his behind. Will undoubtedly get better.
Tudor 7– Found an encouraging amount of space down the flank behind the fattest full back in the world, but crosses still need some work. Could do with more people to aim them at, though.
Nacca 6– Hard-working but anonymous.
Walker 6– Like the rest of his team, found himself overrun too many times by the busy Shrews, especially in the second half. Will also improve.
Guttridge 5– Disappointing display with far too many misdirected passes, and still passing ‘blind’ too often.
Chillingworth 7– Ever-willing and enthusiastic, and capped with an excellent goal.
Kitson 6– Not a game to remember for the bleached carrot-top.
Revell 6– Usual energetic cameo.
Murray 6– Slotted in comfortably at left back.
Soundtrack of the day: Ladytron/Oops (Oh My)
Match summary: United, clad all in white with brown legs like a collection of giant ice creams, stood up well to the heat in a satisfactory first half, but melted dramatically in the second and were thoroughly licked by an impressive Shrewsbury team. The sorry-looking puddle that is all that remains of Shaggy’s hopes of greater defensive solidity will need extensive forensic examination from the Prof in the coming week, before the serious stuff starts.
Men (and women) of the match: The 33 heroic supporters who travelled the 140 miles (OK, two came from Cheshire and three from the Isle of Man) to support their team on a baking hot summer’s afternoon. Above and beyond the call of duty.
Ref watch: Lewis 6. Mostly unobtrusive, although a few of his decisions looked decidedly odd from our sparsely populated vantage point.
New feature: Justin’s jukebox. Our man with his ear to the ground, Justin Walker, assesses the musical offerings at our opponents’ ground before the match. ‘Hello, music lovers! Today was a lovely sunny day, and Shrewsbury’s disc selector certainly reflected that with summery songs like Dodgy’s Good Enough, the Mamas & Papas’ California Dreamin', Boo Radleys’ Wake Up Boo and the Levellers’ Beautiful Day – three times! They also showed their determination to achieve first-time promotion from the Conference with M People’s Moving On Up and even found time for a tribute to their new manager with Manfred Mann’s Mighty Quinn! Wycombe do something similar with Me And Mr Sanchez by Blue Rondo A La Turk. Perhaps we should play something by Shaggy so our boss man doesn’t feel left out! Keep those choons banging!’
Tuesday, 5 August 2003: Huddersfield 2v2 U's
Mad Dogs v Englishmen (and one Fighting Irish)
The General surveyed his troops, kitted out ready for battle and highly trained and motivated to a man, but not without understandable traces of nervousness in their eyes. Inspirational speech time, he thought. ‘Well, men, this is it. You've completed your training and you’re as ready as we can possibly make you. Now you know what conditions are like out there: it’s horrendously hot, there’s no shade and you must take every opportunity to refuel with drink. You also know what the locals are like: hostile, ugly, violent, some of them represent real danger to life and limb. This is war. So watch yourselves out there, eh? I know you can do it. Now let’s get out there and give ’em hell!’
One of the men raised his hand. ‘Shaggy? Can we really play 4-4-2 today?’ ‘You betcha!’ And with whoops of delight and high fives all round, the boys in amber made their way into the white-hot furnace of combat that was the McAlpine Stadium, Huddersfield, to give battle with Peter Jackson’s stormtroopers. This was going to be a no-holds-barred contest, no mistake, and the Devil take the suntan lotion.
The Amber Army travelled light to the McAlpine, all thoughts of club scarves and hats discarded as the sun beat down pitilessly as if it had been relocated to Mercury. Well, it couldn’t be worse than Milton Keynes.
The Terriers’ ground is a pleasure to visit in any weather, its sleek curves requiring no spin doctors’ sexing up, and the playing surface looked so immaculate I half-expected to see some old folks in white caps and casual slacks curving their bowls over its smooth greenery between sips of dandelion and burdock.
Early arrivals were tempted to try the club shop’s clear-out sale, everything £1 except shirts, on the off-chance of finding a useful unwanted apprentice who could fetch drinks and act as fan wallah, but it looked like they’d sold out of those already. The away end’s snack bar offered a choice (er, two) of beers and the intriguing prospect of a ‘Guest Pie’ – surely a salutary warning to those visiting supporters who might dare to step out of line.
Those nice Yorkshire people had thoughtfully shut down two-thirds of the away end, cramming the 600-odd away fans into a sweaty, confined space shoulder to shoulder in the middle. Thanks, guys. Many United players, ‘warming up’ (o irony!) on the pitch, had discarded their normal training tops and were parading around in white vests like a loosely choreographed gang of Justin Timberlakes, although without the high-pitched squeaking.
The usual excited first-day anticipation was heightened for the home supporters by the fact that for much of the close season they weren’t sure if they would even have a club to support today, but a consortium of white knights galloped in last week in the nick of time and rebuilding has been proceeding apace ever since. A certain amount of rebranding has led them to adorn their shirts and merchandise with three gold stars to commemorate their three successive League championships in the 1920s, and new second-time-around boss Peter Jackson has been quoted as saying: ‘Everyone is going to want to come here and beat us, simply because we are Huddersfield Town.’ They are apparently the ‘biggest club in the division.’
Now Jacko, old mate, you’ve got a lovely ground and that, but you haven’t actually won a major trophy since 1926, and your last run in the top flight was for one season, 32 years ago. Preston, Blackpool, Swindon, Burnley, Luton, Norwich, Portsmouth, Ipswich and Oxford have won something more recently than that. And have you seen Hull’s ground recently? Ah well, there’s nothing wrong in celebrating your past, as long as you don’t live in it. Bless.
A crowd of over 10,000 gathered, shades, shorts and sweat glistening, and while United have conducted a minor rebuild to last term’s exciting but flawed team, Hudd have all but torn everything up and started again; their starting line-up contained nine new faces from last season, and Jackson’s Year Zeroesque squad renumbering meant that they sported numbers 1 to 11, surely a unique sight in these days of squad numbers up to 90 (we ought to watch that Michael Foot at Plymouth, he could be just what we need and he looks about the same age as Stuart Bimson). For the visitors, Shaggy had pulled his masterstroke by abandoning the 4-5-1 that the hosts were expecting and pushing Chilli up with Kitson into a good old attack-minded 4-4-2, Freddie Murray playing wide left ahead of Bimmo’s gleaming pate. Maybe the new skipper should have borrowed home sub Efe Sodje’s natty bandana.
After some teeth-clenching music (see Justin’s Jukebox below) and the sight of twin mascots parading around with a banner proclaiming ‘Jacko’s Coming Home’ to a Lightning Seeds soundtrack, we were at last able to get under way in a splendidly excited atmosphere, the relative coolness of the shady stands permitting both sets of fans to bellow with gusto at their heroes suffering in what must have been 100 degree plus temperatures pitchside.
An early Kitson header was comfortably caught by Ian Gray in the home goal in the first couple of minutes, then a Danny Schofield cross was deflected high into the deep blue sky and Shaun Marshall struggled to fist it clear from dangerman Jon Stead. First corner went to the boys in amber on five, Bimmo demonstrating that we have at last found someone who can take a set piece as well as Alan Kimble. Kitson’s attempted header fell to Guttridge who blazed over from 15 yards when he should have hit the target.
It soon became apparent that Jackson had fashioned a team very much in his own image: committed, physical and, regrettably all too often, cynical, and the United players began to learn that should they win a ball and lay it off, their opponent would invariably follow through anyway and catch them with flying studs or elbows and clatter them to the ground while ref Miller followed the ball, blissfully oblivious to fouls committed by such aptly named players as Booty and Fowler (does exactly what it says on the tin). There is a fine line between honest commitment and brutal recklessness, and it was crossed many a time by the boys in blue and white stripes as they dished it out as freely as Roman Abramovich writes cheques.
Justin Walker shot over on eight, then three minutes later a good Tudor run down the right found Guttridge arriving in the middle, but again he failed to find the target following a difficult bounce. Well he is only little. Tony Carss tested Marshall on 16 but his 20-yarder was comfortably clutched by the Terpsichorean custodian. Two minutes later, United were in front. Ponderous-looking home skipper Rob Edwards brought Tudor down wide right, Bimson stepped up and curled a beauty to the near post where Chillingworth has got ahead of his marker to head down across Gray from close range, the keeper getting a brief touch but unable to prevent it nestling in the opposite corner: 1-0, and a great confidence booster for Chilli with his first United League goal since 22 January 2002.
The hosts’ ‘hard’ approach claimed its first victim soon after, Fred Murray literally getting his head kicked in during an aerial challenge near the touchline, and his forehead gushing forth so much claret it looked to our horrified eyes that he was wearing a thick red headband. Miller didn’t even see fit to stop play, and Fred was obliged to roll off the pitch before the man in black paid him any attention. The heroic Irishman eventually trotted off for extensive treatment as United played five minutes one man short, their more experienced line-up coping so coolly and calmly we suspected they were concealing Ant Coole’s magic ice cubes in their jockstraps.
Fred reappeared, surprisingly minus any sort of bandage, but with half of his shirt stained a stunning red as if he had just donned a Bradford City strip, then on 27 there was a foretaste of things to come when Schofield pushed the ball into Stead’s path to set him up for a shot from 15 yards, but his lofted effort sailed feebly into Marshall’s arms. The young centre forward was one of the two home players who were there last season, and if that was the best he could do, he’d be out too; but as we soon discovered, he was just finding his range.
Two minutes later it could have been 2-0, another good Tudor run and cross finding Chilli haring in unmarked at the far post, but his diving header flew narrowly over the top. Dan beat the ground in frustration. The miss looked even more important a minute later when the net bulged at the other end. Fowler found Newby on the edge of the area, and some neat interpassing with Stead saw the home number nine skip past Venus and Angus to plant an excellent finish low past the helpless Marshall into the bottom corner. Good goal for the hosts, defensively underwhelming for the U’s.
The tackles continued to fly, and ironically it was a United player who was the first into the book on 32, Murray upending Tyrone Thompson with a foul that was probably bookable, but no worse that several earlier, unpunished Terriers ‘tackles’. The day we get consistent decision-making from refs will be the day Jordan renounces the pleasures of the flesh and becomes a nun, although even then, she’d probably do photoshoots showing off her wimple.
Gray clutched a floating Chilli header on 35, then Murray was astonishingly penalised for a foul on Fowler after the Hudds man had raked down the back of the Tipperary Tough’s leg; Fred had to go off for more treatment. Guttridge was next for the treatment, kicked up in the air by Carss although at least Lil’ Luke got the free kick. Then Stead got his head on to a Booty cross but miscued it into the air and Marshall had to tip over under pressure.
United finished a pulsating half strongly, Guttridge marauding forward a couple of times, and full credit to both teams for keeping up such a high tempo in sub-tropical conditions that would have had a camel pleading for a top-up. The main danger to the U’s players was the blue-and-white shirted scorpions snapping at their ankles.
The tempo didn’t slacken at the start of part two. Chilli charged down an attempted clearance in the first minute to force a corner; Bimson curled another beauty over the keeper to the far post where Adam Tann climbed to head powerfully downward for goal, only to be denied by an excellent reaction block from Gray. Murray then left the field temporarily for more patching up, and on 50 Schofield at last became the hosts’ first booking with a reckless clogging of Tann. The resultant free kick from the right channel was curled over the wall by Bimmo but flew just wide of the near post. Two minutes later, the ineffective Thompson was replaced by US international John Thorrington, then came a second booking for the Terriers as Stead tried to do the same to Tann’s left ankle as Schofield had done to his right. The ref had better take a spare pencil or five when this lot play those other shrinking violets at Lincoln.
Another excellent lightning break from United saw Chilli blast over from 20 yards when he had Kitson and Murray up in support, but at least it showed that Dan isn’t lacking in confidence. His energetic running across the Hudd back line to sprint on to balls over the top was first class, and it was only later in the second half that the opposition began to get a handle on his danger and sort out an effective offside trap.
The Terriers took a not particularly deserved lead on 58; Edwards found Stead in the left channel, he drifted across the line and despite the close attention of Angus found the smallest gap at the near post from 20 yards. Marshall was less than impressed with his colleagues’ covering. Once again it was credit to the striker for finding the space, but disappointment at United’s inability to close him down to prevent or block the shot. Perhaps they ought to borrow Marvin’s outsize boots, or Ronald McDonald’s, although I’d guess his fellow clowns at London Road must have first claim on them.
Play continued to flow from end to end, and on 63 Venus’s through ball sent Chilli scampering away once again, forcing Yates to concede a corner. With Veno’s ageing legs now in the team, we are now being treated to the unfamiliar sight of Stev Angus going up for corners instead of staying back as before. Will he ever get on the score sheet? I had him down as the natural successor to Marc ‘Judas’ Joseph, proud holder of the club record for highest number of appearances without ever scoring, but Stev would have to play over 50 more scoreless matches to get near Jerry’s truly fantastic mark. The ghost of Roy Castle hovers expectantly. Anyway, Angus headed Walker’s flag kick over the bar under pressure, so Jerry can rest easy for the time being.
Aggy Revell replaced Tudor on 65, then Chilli forced another corner as another diagonal run took him on to Kitson’s perceptive pass. Four minutes later Chilli came even nearer, latching on to Walker’s cross with a fantastic bicycle kick from 15 yards that was flying into the top corner until athletically pawed away by Gray. A minute later the ball was in the United net from that man Stead again, but he was well offside. Newby shot straight at Marshall on 73, and six minutes later Thorrington found Stead sneaking in unmarked at the far post, but his header flashed across the face of goal and wide. John Turner then replaced Chilli (given a deserved ovation by the noisy amber hordes) and almost immediately Tann’s cross from the right wing found Kitson’s head, but he saw it late as it sailed over the head of a defender and despite a last-minute neck adjustment he nodded narrowly wide of the far post. By now the players must have felt like wilting like Des Lynam’s career prospects in the pitiless heat, but the fresh young legs of Revell and the Turnado kept the Terriers on their toes right to the end.
Mad Dogs v Englishmen (and one Fighting Irish)
The General surveyed his troops, kitted out ready for battle and highly trained and motivated to a man, but not without understandable traces of nervousness in their eyes. Inspirational speech time, he thought. ‘Well, men, this is it. You've completed your training and you’re as ready as we can possibly make you. Now you know what conditions are like out there: it’s horrendously hot, there’s no shade and you must take every opportunity to refuel with drink. You also know what the locals are like: hostile, ugly, violent, some of them represent real danger to life and limb. This is war. So watch yourselves out there, eh? I know you can do it. Now let’s get out there and give ’em hell!’
One of the men raised his hand. ‘Shaggy? Can we really play 4-4-2 today?’ ‘You betcha!’ And with whoops of delight and high fives all round, the boys in amber made their way into the white-hot furnace of combat that was the McAlpine Stadium, Huddersfield, to give battle with Peter Jackson’s stormtroopers. This was going to be a no-holds-barred contest, no mistake, and the Devil take the suntan lotion.
The Amber Army travelled light to the McAlpine, all thoughts of club scarves and hats discarded as the sun beat down pitilessly as if it had been relocated to Mercury. Well, it couldn’t be worse than Milton Keynes.
The Terriers’ ground is a pleasure to visit in any weather, its sleek curves requiring no spin doctors’ sexing up, and the playing surface looked so immaculate I half-expected to see some old folks in white caps and casual slacks curving their bowls over its smooth greenery between sips of dandelion and burdock.
Early arrivals were tempted to try the club shop’s clear-out sale, everything £1 except shirts, on the off-chance of finding a useful unwanted apprentice who could fetch drinks and act as fan wallah, but it looked like they’d sold out of those already. The away end’s snack bar offered a choice (er, two) of beers and the intriguing prospect of a ‘Guest Pie’ – surely a salutary warning to those visiting supporters who might dare to step out of line.
Those nice Yorkshire people had thoughtfully shut down two-thirds of the away end, cramming the 600-odd away fans into a sweaty, confined space shoulder to shoulder in the middle. Thanks, guys. Many United players, ‘warming up’ (o irony!) on the pitch, had discarded their normal training tops and were parading around in white vests like a loosely choreographed gang of Justin Timberlakes, although without the high-pitched squeaking.
The usual excited first-day anticipation was heightened for the home supporters by the fact that for much of the close season they weren’t sure if they would even have a club to support today, but a consortium of white knights galloped in last week in the nick of time and rebuilding has been proceeding apace ever since. A certain amount of rebranding has led them to adorn their shirts and merchandise with three gold stars to commemorate their three successive League championships in the 1920s, and new second-time-around boss Peter Jackson has been quoted as saying: ‘Everyone is going to want to come here and beat us, simply because we are Huddersfield Town.’ They are apparently the ‘biggest club in the division.’
Now Jacko, old mate, you’ve got a lovely ground and that, but you haven’t actually won a major trophy since 1926, and your last run in the top flight was for one season, 32 years ago. Preston, Blackpool, Swindon, Burnley, Luton, Norwich, Portsmouth, Ipswich and Oxford have won something more recently than that. And have you seen Hull’s ground recently? Ah well, there’s nothing wrong in celebrating your past, as long as you don’t live in it. Bless.
A crowd of over 10,000 gathered, shades, shorts and sweat glistening, and while United have conducted a minor rebuild to last term’s exciting but flawed team, Hudd have all but torn everything up and started again; their starting line-up contained nine new faces from last season, and Jackson’s Year Zeroesque squad renumbering meant that they sported numbers 1 to 11, surely a unique sight in these days of squad numbers up to 90 (we ought to watch that Michael Foot at Plymouth, he could be just what we need and he looks about the same age as Stuart Bimson). For the visitors, Shaggy had pulled his masterstroke by abandoning the 4-5-1 that the hosts were expecting and pushing Chilli up with Kitson into a good old attack-minded 4-4-2, Freddie Murray playing wide left ahead of Bimmo’s gleaming pate. Maybe the new skipper should have borrowed home sub Efe Sodje’s natty bandana.
After some teeth-clenching music (see Justin’s Jukebox below) and the sight of twin mascots parading around with a banner proclaiming ‘Jacko’s Coming Home’ to a Lightning Seeds soundtrack, we were at last able to get under way in a splendidly excited atmosphere, the relative coolness of the shady stands permitting both sets of fans to bellow with gusto at their heroes suffering in what must have been 100 degree plus temperatures pitchside.
An early Kitson header was comfortably caught by Ian Gray in the home goal in the first couple of minutes, then a Danny Schofield cross was deflected high into the deep blue sky and Shaun Marshall struggled to fist it clear from dangerman Jon Stead. First corner went to the boys in amber on five, Bimmo demonstrating that we have at last found someone who can take a set piece as well as Alan Kimble. Kitson’s attempted header fell to Guttridge who blazed over from 15 yards when he should have hit the target.
It soon became apparent that Jackson had fashioned a team very much in his own image: committed, physical and, regrettably all too often, cynical, and the United players began to learn that should they win a ball and lay it off, their opponent would invariably follow through anyway and catch them with flying studs or elbows and clatter them to the ground while ref Miller followed the ball, blissfully oblivious to fouls committed by such aptly named players as Booty and Fowler (does exactly what it says on the tin). There is a fine line between honest commitment and brutal recklessness, and it was crossed many a time by the boys in blue and white stripes as they dished it out as freely as Roman Abramovich writes cheques.
Justin Walker shot over on eight, then three minutes later a good Tudor run down the right found Guttridge arriving in the middle, but again he failed to find the target following a difficult bounce. Well he is only little. Tony Carss tested Marshall on 16 but his 20-yarder was comfortably clutched by the Terpsichorean custodian. Two minutes later, United were in front. Ponderous-looking home skipper Rob Edwards brought Tudor down wide right, Bimson stepped up and curled a beauty to the near post where Chillingworth has got ahead of his marker to head down across Gray from close range, the keeper getting a brief touch but unable to prevent it nestling in the opposite corner: 1-0, and a great confidence booster for Chilli with his first United League goal since 22 January 2002.
The hosts’ ‘hard’ approach claimed its first victim soon after, Fred Murray literally getting his head kicked in during an aerial challenge near the touchline, and his forehead gushing forth so much claret it looked to our horrified eyes that he was wearing a thick red headband. Miller didn’t even see fit to stop play, and Fred was obliged to roll off the pitch before the man in black paid him any attention. The heroic Irishman eventually trotted off for extensive treatment as United played five minutes one man short, their more experienced line-up coping so coolly and calmly we suspected they were concealing Ant Coole’s magic ice cubes in their jockstraps.
Fred reappeared, surprisingly minus any sort of bandage, but with half of his shirt stained a stunning red as if he had just donned a Bradford City strip, then on 27 there was a foretaste of things to come when Schofield pushed the ball into Stead’s path to set him up for a shot from 15 yards, but his lofted effort sailed feebly into Marshall’s arms. The young centre forward was one of the two home players who were there last season, and if that was the best he could do, he’d be out too; but as we soon discovered, he was just finding his range.
Two minutes later it could have been 2-0, another good Tudor run and cross finding Chilli haring in unmarked at the far post, but his diving header flew narrowly over the top. Dan beat the ground in frustration. The miss looked even more important a minute later when the net bulged at the other end. Fowler found Newby on the edge of the area, and some neat interpassing with Stead saw the home number nine skip past Venus and Angus to plant an excellent finish low past the helpless Marshall into the bottom corner. Good goal for the hosts, defensively underwhelming for the U’s.
The tackles continued to fly, and ironically it was a United player who was the first into the book on 32, Murray upending Tyrone Thompson with a foul that was probably bookable, but no worse that several earlier, unpunished Terriers ‘tackles’. The day we get consistent decision-making from refs will be the day Jordan renounces the pleasures of the flesh and becomes a nun, although even then, she’d probably do photoshoots showing off her wimple.
Gray clutched a floating Chilli header on 35, then Murray was astonishingly penalised for a foul on Fowler after the Hudds man had raked down the back of the Tipperary Tough’s leg; Fred had to go off for more treatment. Guttridge was next for the treatment, kicked up in the air by Carss although at least Lil’ Luke got the free kick. Then Stead got his head on to a Booty cross but miscued it into the air and Marshall had to tip over under pressure.
United finished a pulsating half strongly, Guttridge marauding forward a couple of times, and full credit to both teams for keeping up such a high tempo in sub-tropical conditions that would have had a camel pleading for a top-up. The main danger to the U’s players was the blue-and-white shirted scorpions snapping at their ankles.
The tempo didn’t slacken at the start of part two. Chilli charged down an attempted clearance in the first minute to force a corner; Bimson curled another beauty over the keeper to the far post where Adam Tann climbed to head powerfully downward for goal, only to be denied by an excellent reaction block from Gray. Murray then left the field temporarily for more patching up, and on 50 Schofield at last became the hosts’ first booking with a reckless clogging of Tann. The resultant free kick from the right channel was curled over the wall by Bimmo but flew just wide of the near post. Two minutes later, the ineffective Thompson was replaced by US international John Thorrington, then came a second booking for the Terriers as Stead tried to do the same to Tann’s left ankle as Schofield had done to his right. The ref had better take a spare pencil or five when this lot play those other shrinking violets at Lincoln.
Another excellent lightning break from United saw Chilli blast over from 20 yards when he had Kitson and Murray up in support, but at least it showed that Dan isn’t lacking in confidence. His energetic running across the Hudd back line to sprint on to balls over the top was first class, and it was only later in the second half that the opposition began to get a handle on his danger and sort out an effective offside trap.
The Terriers took a not particularly deserved lead on 58; Edwards found Stead in the left channel, he drifted across the line and despite the close attention of Angus found the smallest gap at the near post from 20 yards. Marshall was less than impressed with his colleagues’ covering. Once again it was credit to the striker for finding the space, but disappointment at United’s inability to close him down to prevent or block the shot. Perhaps they ought to borrow Marvin’s outsize boots, or Ronald McDonald’s, although I’d guess his fellow clowns at London Road must have first claim on them.
Play continued to flow from end to end, and on 63 Venus’s through ball sent Chilli scampering away once again, forcing Yates to concede a corner. With Veno’s ageing legs now in the team, we are now being treated to the unfamiliar sight of Stev Angus going up for corners instead of staying back as before. Will he ever get on the score sheet? I had him down as the natural successor to Marc ‘Judas’ Joseph, proud holder of the club record for highest number of appearances without ever scoring, but Stev would have to play over 50 more scoreless matches to get near Jerry’s truly fantastic mark. The ghost of Roy Castle hovers expectantly. Anyway, Angus headed Walker’s flag kick over the bar under pressure, so Jerry can rest easy for the time being.
Aggy Revell replaced Tudor on 65, then Chilli forced another corner as another diagonal run took him on to Kitson’s perceptive pass. Four minutes later Chilli came even nearer, latching on to Walker’s cross with a fantastic bicycle kick from 15 yards that was flying into the top corner until athletically pawed away by Gray. A minute later the ball was in the United net from that man Stead again, but he was well offside. Newby shot straight at Marshall on 73, and six minutes later Thorrington found Stead sneaking in unmarked at the far post, but his header flashed across the face of goal and wide. John Turner then replaced Chilli (given a deserved ovation by the noisy amber hordes) and almost immediately Tann’s cross from the right wing found Kitson’s head, but he saw it late as it sailed over the head of a defender and despite a last-minute neck adjustment he nodded narrowly wide of the far post. By now the players must have felt like wilting like Des Lynam’s career prospects in the pitiless heat, but the fresh young legs of Revell and the Turnado kept the Terriers on their toes right to the end.
Des Lynam: the good old days
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The hosts made another change on 85, replacing Fowler (by name and nature) with Jon Worthington, then Kitson almost levelled things when he superbly dispossessed Edwards by the right byline, cut inside and saw his goalbound blaster bravely blocked by a posse of striped shirts. But with a minute to go, United got the equaliser their hard work, positivity and good play deserved, and once again it was made by the talismanic left foot of the Great Bimmo.
Hughes fouled Turner, the skipper curled in the free kick from the right channel and there was the BGG (or BBG) rising majestically to power a header unstoppably home from ten yards. He milked the fans’ adulation, even indulging in a bit of badge-kissing, and all of a sudden that early optimism, having threatened to dissipate, descended upon us again like a cloud of sweet perfume. Well all of those sweaty bodies were starting to need some freshening up by now … |
Franco Nacca replaced Big Dave for the four minutes of injury time, extended even longer when poor old Freddie got clattered in the head yet again, but the final whistle signalled a thoroughly deserved draw and a victory for Shaggy and the Prof’s positive thinking and courage in dumping their favoured 4-5-1 for a system that the players are obviously far more comfortable with and suited to. Fantastic effort in the heat and against an excessively physical team whose card collection will spread like forest fires if they carry on like this. Last to leave the pitch was Bimmo, architect of the goals and a leader in every sense of the word, clenched fist aloft. The future looks bright; hold onto your shades!
Marshall 6– Not over-busy, but there was a certain degree of flappage early on.
Tann 7– Excellent defensively and going forward, despite getting chopped down more often than an Amazonian rain forest.
Bimson 8– Rock solid at the back and created both goals with the best set-piece skills seen at United since the great Twinny.
Angus 6– The rare sight of a below-par Stev, who it seemed would have needed a Space Shuttle to keep in touch with Venus today.
Venus 7– Splendid on the ball, coolness and accuracy personified; needs to work on his partnership with Angus. They are too good not to gel very soon.
Murray 7– Heroic stuff from the man in amber and claret; had to leave the field three times for treatment, but his never-say-dye attitude meant his shirt remained resolutely stained.
Tudor 7– He’s getting there. Some flashes of last season’s Shane promise much once he gets fully match fit.
Walker 7– Fully involved in the midfield hub(bub) and always available.
Guttridge 7– Dynamic stuff from the Lil’un, popping up all over the place despite the heat.
Chillingworth 8– Exceptional performance finally fulfilled the promise of the last three years.
Kitson 7– Class personified, pulling strings up front then, inevitably, grabbing the deserved equaliser.
Revell 7– Seemed inspired by his mate Chilli and also made a good, energetic impression.
Turner 7– The boy’s definitely got something, and there’s more to calling him ‘JT Junior’ than just his initials. Very promising.
Nacca 6– Cameo appearance in injury time to shore things up.
Soundtrack of the day: Frank Black & The Catholics/Everything Is New
Match summary: And they’re off! United exited the traps like ravenous greyhounds and, despite the Iraqesque conditions of extreme heat and violent opposition, completed the course with heads held high. Onward and upward!
Man of the match: Dan Chillingworth. How nice to see a young player at last fulfil his potential, with a dynamic display of intelligent, energetic running and striking in sapping conditions. Scored one good goal and might have had more. Now keep it up!
Ref watch: Miller 3. His complete failure to clamp down or even notice the home players’ cynical clogging might have had serious consequences on a less exhausting day, and he certainly didn’t help poor old Freddie. Not good enough.
Justin’s Jukebox. Justin Walker casts his critical ear over the sounds on offer at the McAlpine. ‘Oh dear! A lacklustre collection of half a dozen mouldy oldies on a repeating tape loop, including The Only Way Is Up, Ride On Time, Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This), Three Lions and Roy Orbison’s You Got It, plus a couple of forgettable 90s pop-techno tunes, does not constitute the ‘quality feelgood music’ promised in the programme. At least it was of better quality than the renditions of ‘two great Town songs’: Smile Awhile and Those Were The Days, which appeared to be played on a child’s home organ in versions cheaper and cheesier than Cheddar stinkier than a bowl of Parmesan. And the runout music? Let Me Entertain You (yawn)! We might have been entertained if the music had been chosen by someone with an ounce of originality or taste! JJ verdict: ‘Minging! (2/10)’
Marshall 6– Not over-busy, but there was a certain degree of flappage early on.
Tann 7– Excellent defensively and going forward, despite getting chopped down more often than an Amazonian rain forest.
Bimson 8– Rock solid at the back and created both goals with the best set-piece skills seen at United since the great Twinny.
Angus 6– The rare sight of a below-par Stev, who it seemed would have needed a Space Shuttle to keep in touch with Venus today.
Venus 7– Splendid on the ball, coolness and accuracy personified; needs to work on his partnership with Angus. They are too good not to gel very soon.
Murray 7– Heroic stuff from the man in amber and claret; had to leave the field three times for treatment, but his never-say-dye attitude meant his shirt remained resolutely stained.
Tudor 7– He’s getting there. Some flashes of last season’s Shane promise much once he gets fully match fit.
Walker 7– Fully involved in the midfield hub(bub) and always available.
Guttridge 7– Dynamic stuff from the Lil’un, popping up all over the place despite the heat.
Chillingworth 8– Exceptional performance finally fulfilled the promise of the last three years.
Kitson 7– Class personified, pulling strings up front then, inevitably, grabbing the deserved equaliser.
Revell 7– Seemed inspired by his mate Chilli and also made a good, energetic impression.
Turner 7– The boy’s definitely got something, and there’s more to calling him ‘JT Junior’ than just his initials. Very promising.
Nacca 6– Cameo appearance in injury time to shore things up.
Soundtrack of the day: Frank Black & The Catholics/Everything Is New
Match summary: And they’re off! United exited the traps like ravenous greyhounds and, despite the Iraqesque conditions of extreme heat and violent opposition, completed the course with heads held high. Onward and upward!
Man of the match: Dan Chillingworth. How nice to see a young player at last fulfil his potential, with a dynamic display of intelligent, energetic running and striking in sapping conditions. Scored one good goal and might have had more. Now keep it up!
Ref watch: Miller 3. His complete failure to clamp down or even notice the home players’ cynical clogging might have had serious consequences on a less exhausting day, and he certainly didn’t help poor old Freddie. Not good enough.
Justin’s Jukebox. Justin Walker casts his critical ear over the sounds on offer at the McAlpine. ‘Oh dear! A lacklustre collection of half a dozen mouldy oldies on a repeating tape loop, including The Only Way Is Up, Ride On Time, Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This), Three Lions and Roy Orbison’s You Got It, plus a couple of forgettable 90s pop-techno tunes, does not constitute the ‘quality feelgood music’ promised in the programme. At least it was of better quality than the renditions of ‘two great Town songs’: Smile Awhile and Those Were The Days, which appeared to be played on a child’s home organ in versions cheaper and cheesier than Cheddar stinkier than a bowl of Parmesan. And the runout music? Let Me Entertain You (yawn)! We might have been entertained if the music had been chosen by someone with an ounce of originality or taste! JJ verdict: ‘Minging! (2/10)’
Tuesday, 12 August 2003: U’s 1v2 Gillingham
Go to work on a curate’s egg
‘Guten Tag! Und velcome to ze very first CUFC.com lecture. I am Dr Heinrich Pookiesnackenburger, emeritus professor of racial stereotyping und sports science at ze University of Baden-Baden-Baden-Katzenellenbogen-by-the-Sea, und I shall use last night’s fussball match between Cambridge United und Gillingham to illustrate my latest discovery. It is called Zweiter-Halb Syndrome, und it is one zat your team is suffering from very much, I sink!
‘Ze symptoms are classic: at first ze sufferer appears entirely normal, in fact supra-normal as their performance is excellent and well above average. But once they are compelled to take a break from their efforts, at ze Pavlovian signal of a blast of a vistle from ze referee, a dramatic und disturbing transmogrification takes place as they suck their isotonic oranges in ze dressing room. Lulled into a childlike sense of security und complacency, zey resume on ze pitch in a completely different frame of mind: vere vas once manly positivity, zere is now only babyish negativity, which breeds fear und under-performance. Mr Barry Fry is aware of ze same sing, I am sinking, after his ‘Posch’ collapsed like poorly-packed knockwurst on Saturday!
‘I understand zat ze Cambridge team has been suffering from ZHS for a considerable time now. Ze solution? Buy my book, Only Half The Full Schilling: Zweiter-Halb Syndrome, Its Causes And Effects, available now from Spanferkel Press. Now, if you vill excuse me, I must go and cool down mit a nice Eissplittertarte before I go to my next meeting mit zat nice Herr Campbell; it seems your government has been suffering from ZHS for several years and we will be vorking on some sexying-up of my seories! Tchuss!’
That hoary old phrase ‘a game of two halves’ has been much used in recent seasons of those frustrating boys in amber. Last night’s defeat by Gillingham was something of a classic of the genre as the U’s dominated the first half against their relatively lofty opponents with a silky pass-and-attack display, then sat back in their own half in the second 45, invited the Gills to swarm all over them and paid the terrible consequences. Past masters at shooting themselves in the foot, their boots must look like a Swiss cheese by now.
United unsurprisingly kept the same line-up from Huddersfield, Freddie Murray having been bolted back together. The Gills’ ‘Mama’ Sidibe was passed fit to play up front with makeshift striker and possessor of one of the best names in the whole League: Nyron Nosworthy. The Gills lined up in a 5-3-2 formation, while United retained the 4-4-2 that had been so successful on Saturday … or so it seemed at the start. It soon transpired, however, that Shaggy and the Prof couldn’t resist the urge to tinker, and Shane Tudor was playing in a mainly central position behind the front two, leaving a gap down United’s right flank wider than Fat Baz’s gut. Or even his mouth. But not his ego.
The hosts started in lively style on another balmy summer’s evening and quickly gained the upper hand, chasing and harrying and passing the ball to good effect. A Kitson run almost set up Guttridge in the first minute, but Lil’ Luke’s flick at a difficult bouncing ball found only oppo keeper Jason Brown. The Gills responded with a Danny Spiller header into Shaun Marshall’s arms, but it was the hosts who dominated, playing it patiently out from the back. Justin Walker always made himself available for the short ball then used it intelligently, Guttridge marauded forward at every opportunity and the front two of Kitson and Chillingworth looked more mobile and dangerous then a blindfolded tiger on a motorbike.
On eight we at last got the chance to witness Mark Venus’ legendary prowess at free kicks, when Ian Cox fouled Tudor 20 yards out. Brown lined up a large wall and Veno took a long run-up, but instead of letting him take it directly, Kitson and Tudor gilded the lily by taking two minuscule tippy-tap touches as he bore down on them, which had no effect other than to allow the Gills defenders time to get out to block. Thankfully, Venus’s class showed as he whipped the ball off his opponent’s toe and lashed a rising drive that was screaming for the top corner until tipped over by Brown. He’s probably still got the scorch marks on his gloves.
More pressure ensued from the resultant corner, ending in a shot at goal from Stev Angus: a rarer sight than a normal-coloured bill at Milton Road. Brown saved, however, so Stev’s assault on Jerry’s non-scoring record continues.
United’s neat inter-passing continued to trouble the visitors, and on 15 Chilli met Tudor’s free kick only to nod over. Guttridge tested Brown not long after, and at this stage it was Gillingham who looked like the lower division side; they could muster little threat, both strikers were caught repeatedly offside by United’s wily back line, and although Tudor was struggling to make any significant impact in his new position, the men of Kent were so concerned that they changed formation to 4-4-2 in attempt to combat United’s midfield dominance.
The few chances Gillingham did create were basic headers, such as one by Nosworthy comfortably clutched by Marshall on 27, and a minute later the boys in amber had the lead they deserved. Kitson laid off to Guttridge just outside the area and his perceptive ball into the danger zone found Walker in space on the corner of the six-yard box; his finish was cool and emphatic, driving home across Brown into the far corner. A replay of last year’s triumph over Reading looked very much on the cards as they overran and tormented the under-par visitors like an internet flash mob.
All the Gills could muster in response was another header by Sidibe as the U’s, tails up, probed patiently for the clinching second, although play was concentrated massively down United’s left where the three left-footers and often Tudor were congregating, while Tann was almost abandoned on the right. Kitson latched on to a classy Venus ball on 40, beating his struggling marker Cox yet again, but Brown was equal to his shot from outside the area. Guttridge also had chances, horribly miscuing one attempted volley but persevering and lashing another wide on 42, and such was United’s superiority that when half-time came, the only question in amber minds was how many more they would score in the second half. How soon they forget …
Lil’ Luke got proceedings off to an exciting restart with a darting run along the byline and a cutback that somehow evaded both his strikers, but as the second 45 proceeded, there was a perceptible sea change in the air. Gillingham were obviously fired up after a half-time roasting from Andy Hessenthaler – a frightening prospect given their neanderthal-featured player-boss’s striking resemblance to a miniature pink Hulk.
United, in stark and predictable contrast, barely looked like the same team that had lit up the first period, sitting back complacently and inviting the opposition on, and when they did get possession there were too many lazy balls knocked long instead of short and simple to the midfield as had been done before. Managerial instructions or simply human nature? Replacing positivity with negativity is never a good idea and this looked straight from the George Best How To Self-Destruct In Ten Easy Lessons manual (Wazzock Press, £7.99).
Chilli was booked on 53, penalised for handball when he was merely trying to charge a clearance down then apparently carded for kicking the ball away. Spiller made a dog’s dinner of a chance a minute later by blasting a meaty, chunky drive into Row Z. Marshall claimed another Sidibe header before the Gills striker was replaced by Tommy Johnson on 56, and seven minutes later, despite their growing superiority, the visitors made two further changes with the introduction of Hessenthaler and Perpetuini for the ineffective Spiller and Shaw. Almost immediately Mark Saunders had to limp off for treatment, leaving his team a man short for a couple of minutes, but he soon reappeared to restore numerical parity for the time being.
Hessenthaler led by example, and the craggy simian’s charges were now running the game as United’s midfield melted back to their own 18-yard line. Chilli headed over on 70, but the Gills’ equaliser on 73 produced only one reaction from the home throng: ‘Well, you can’t say it’s not been coming!’ Its method of arrival was far from satisfactory, though, Hills one-twoing with his boss in the corner then whipping in a wicked curling cross that sailed under the bar as Marshall flapped, back-pedalled and flailed in vain. A moment in the Terpsichorean custodian’s career that is up there with his first ingrowing toenail and that night Scott Eustace chundered all over his best suit at the nightclub.
As on so many occasions, it took the lightning rod up their collective behinds of conceding a goal to stir United from their stupor, and within a minute they had another free kick a few yards outside the box. It was the same routine as before, Kitson and Tudor touching it pointlessly while Venus thundered up like a runaway Ruddock, and this time he hit it low through the wall for Brown to clutch with difficulty at the second attempt. Gillingham responded almost immediately with a flowing move that found Johnson inside the area, and his powerful shot forced Marshall into a superb one-handed save not once but twice as he clawed it away from goal, stretching to his left.
Aggy Revell replaced Tudor on 77, going wide right as United reverted to 4-4-2, then Hessenthaler found himself in the book for a prolonged bout of dissent. Marshall had to be at his best three minutes later as another marvellous dive kept out Nosworthy’s header, then there was a spot of pinball in the United area as Gills players queued up and ended up blocking each other’s potshots.
On 83 the game appeared to lurch United’s way as the visitors were reduced to ten men: Kitson went on one of his trademark runs in the middle, evading all attempts to tackle him until Johnson crudely clattered him from behind with a sort of kung-fu scissor-kick of a ‘tackle’, hacking the BBG with first one leg then the other. The straight red card was deserved, and Big Dave needed extensive treatment from Ant ‘Mr’ Coole's magic ice cubes.
Two minutes later, however, came the bolt from the blue that settled the tie. Hills broke down the left channel and spotted Nosworthy sprinting goalward with Bimson, and his high cross seemed to have carried too far until the Big N lashed it home on the volley from the tightest of angles into the opposite corner of the net. Fantastic finish; perhaps he’s been wasted playing in defence?
United, to their credit, kept going, especially when four minutes’ added time was indicated, and the visitors defended desperately during the closing minutes. Best chance came in the 91st minute, Bimmo sprinting to save a ball running out of play then sending over an inch-perfect cross from the byline to reach Revell’s head, five yards out. Astonishingly, as the NRE rose to acclaim the equaliser, he totally failed to keep it down and nodded it well over the top. It might have been a bit more difficult than it looked, but no one can afford to miss those.
The U’s pressed to the end. A galloping Murray run into the box was crowded out by sheer weight of numbers, then another Bimson cross found Revell’s head, somewhat further out this time, but Brown saved comfortably. And that was that. Credit to Gillingham for raising their game after being outplayed in the first half and a great winning goal; frustration for the home fans who saw an impressive attacking football team metamorphose into a collection of timid hoofers for the first 30 minutes of the second act. Still, there were plenty of encouraging signs – and lessons to be learned – for Shaggy and the gang, and we all know that long cup runs affect League form. And who wants to lose 7-0 at home to a Premiership team in the second round, anyway?
Most if not all of the following marks relate to the first half and last 15 minutes. The less said about the first half-hour of the second period, the better.
Marshall 6– Classic Shaun in the usual ratio: one horrendous howler, two breathtaking saves. Plus ca change.
Tann 7– Good, solid display on a rather empty-looking right hand side.
Bimson 7– Caught at the end by a brilliant goal, otherwise reliable and that left foot looked lethal again.
Angus 6– Not quite as wobbly as on Saturday, but still fighting to find last season’s form. It’ll come.
Venus 8– Quality defending and, for the first time, we could see his danger from free kicks with two excellent efforts.
Tudor 6– Wasted in a sort-of-in-the-hole position in which he looked frankly lost a lot of the time.
Walker 8– Excellent link play, taking the ball from the back four and distributing accurately and intelligently, and a superbly taken goal to boot.
Guttridge 7– Splendid first half: I’ve never seen him get in so many goalscoring positions. Now if he could just work on his finishing …
Murray 6– No faulting his effort, but he looks like a left back playing in midfield. Which, er, he is.
Chillingworth 7– Continued the lively form of Saturday and perhaps if he’d had more supply from the right wing (hint) he might have notched again.
Kitson 8– Quality exhibition of centre forward play, dominating in the air and always looking to supply as well as threaten goal himself.
Revell 6 – Undistinguished game and will want to forget that last-minute miss as much as we all do.
Soundtrack of the day: Shack/Byrds Turn To Stone
Match summary: schizophrenic United snatched defeat from the jaws of victory as the marauding sharks of a superb first-half were replaced by basking and rather toothless ones in the second and ended up resembling beached whales as the Gills took full advantage of their inexplicable timidity.
Man of the match: Justin Walker. The hub of the team while they were playing well; it wasn’t his fault that United panicked and started hoofing long balls over his head instead of continuing the fluid passing of the opening 45.
Ref watch: Thorpe 4. Jobsworth type whose booking of Chilli was unnecessary. Had an irritating tendency to blow for a foul at almost every aerial challenge, invariably favouring the defender to the frustration of Big Dave.
Go to work on a curate’s egg
‘Guten Tag! Und velcome to ze very first CUFC.com lecture. I am Dr Heinrich Pookiesnackenburger, emeritus professor of racial stereotyping und sports science at ze University of Baden-Baden-Baden-Katzenellenbogen-by-the-Sea, und I shall use last night’s fussball match between Cambridge United und Gillingham to illustrate my latest discovery. It is called Zweiter-Halb Syndrome, und it is one zat your team is suffering from very much, I sink!
‘Ze symptoms are classic: at first ze sufferer appears entirely normal, in fact supra-normal as their performance is excellent and well above average. But once they are compelled to take a break from their efforts, at ze Pavlovian signal of a blast of a vistle from ze referee, a dramatic und disturbing transmogrification takes place as they suck their isotonic oranges in ze dressing room. Lulled into a childlike sense of security und complacency, zey resume on ze pitch in a completely different frame of mind: vere vas once manly positivity, zere is now only babyish negativity, which breeds fear und under-performance. Mr Barry Fry is aware of ze same sing, I am sinking, after his ‘Posch’ collapsed like poorly-packed knockwurst on Saturday!
‘I understand zat ze Cambridge team has been suffering from ZHS for a considerable time now. Ze solution? Buy my book, Only Half The Full Schilling: Zweiter-Halb Syndrome, Its Causes And Effects, available now from Spanferkel Press. Now, if you vill excuse me, I must go and cool down mit a nice Eissplittertarte before I go to my next meeting mit zat nice Herr Campbell; it seems your government has been suffering from ZHS for several years and we will be vorking on some sexying-up of my seories! Tchuss!’
That hoary old phrase ‘a game of two halves’ has been much used in recent seasons of those frustrating boys in amber. Last night’s defeat by Gillingham was something of a classic of the genre as the U’s dominated the first half against their relatively lofty opponents with a silky pass-and-attack display, then sat back in their own half in the second 45, invited the Gills to swarm all over them and paid the terrible consequences. Past masters at shooting themselves in the foot, their boots must look like a Swiss cheese by now.
United unsurprisingly kept the same line-up from Huddersfield, Freddie Murray having been bolted back together. The Gills’ ‘Mama’ Sidibe was passed fit to play up front with makeshift striker and possessor of one of the best names in the whole League: Nyron Nosworthy. The Gills lined up in a 5-3-2 formation, while United retained the 4-4-2 that had been so successful on Saturday … or so it seemed at the start. It soon transpired, however, that Shaggy and the Prof couldn’t resist the urge to tinker, and Shane Tudor was playing in a mainly central position behind the front two, leaving a gap down United’s right flank wider than Fat Baz’s gut. Or even his mouth. But not his ego.
The hosts started in lively style on another balmy summer’s evening and quickly gained the upper hand, chasing and harrying and passing the ball to good effect. A Kitson run almost set up Guttridge in the first minute, but Lil’ Luke’s flick at a difficult bouncing ball found only oppo keeper Jason Brown. The Gills responded with a Danny Spiller header into Shaun Marshall’s arms, but it was the hosts who dominated, playing it patiently out from the back. Justin Walker always made himself available for the short ball then used it intelligently, Guttridge marauded forward at every opportunity and the front two of Kitson and Chillingworth looked more mobile and dangerous then a blindfolded tiger on a motorbike.
On eight we at last got the chance to witness Mark Venus’ legendary prowess at free kicks, when Ian Cox fouled Tudor 20 yards out. Brown lined up a large wall and Veno took a long run-up, but instead of letting him take it directly, Kitson and Tudor gilded the lily by taking two minuscule tippy-tap touches as he bore down on them, which had no effect other than to allow the Gills defenders time to get out to block. Thankfully, Venus’s class showed as he whipped the ball off his opponent’s toe and lashed a rising drive that was screaming for the top corner until tipped over by Brown. He’s probably still got the scorch marks on his gloves.
More pressure ensued from the resultant corner, ending in a shot at goal from Stev Angus: a rarer sight than a normal-coloured bill at Milton Road. Brown saved, however, so Stev’s assault on Jerry’s non-scoring record continues.
United’s neat inter-passing continued to trouble the visitors, and on 15 Chilli met Tudor’s free kick only to nod over. Guttridge tested Brown not long after, and at this stage it was Gillingham who looked like the lower division side; they could muster little threat, both strikers were caught repeatedly offside by United’s wily back line, and although Tudor was struggling to make any significant impact in his new position, the men of Kent were so concerned that they changed formation to 4-4-2 in attempt to combat United’s midfield dominance.
The few chances Gillingham did create were basic headers, such as one by Nosworthy comfortably clutched by Marshall on 27, and a minute later the boys in amber had the lead they deserved. Kitson laid off to Guttridge just outside the area and his perceptive ball into the danger zone found Walker in space on the corner of the six-yard box; his finish was cool and emphatic, driving home across Brown into the far corner. A replay of last year’s triumph over Reading looked very much on the cards as they overran and tormented the under-par visitors like an internet flash mob.
All the Gills could muster in response was another header by Sidibe as the U’s, tails up, probed patiently for the clinching second, although play was concentrated massively down United’s left where the three left-footers and often Tudor were congregating, while Tann was almost abandoned on the right. Kitson latched on to a classy Venus ball on 40, beating his struggling marker Cox yet again, but Brown was equal to his shot from outside the area. Guttridge also had chances, horribly miscuing one attempted volley but persevering and lashing another wide on 42, and such was United’s superiority that when half-time came, the only question in amber minds was how many more they would score in the second half. How soon they forget …
Lil’ Luke got proceedings off to an exciting restart with a darting run along the byline and a cutback that somehow evaded both his strikers, but as the second 45 proceeded, there was a perceptible sea change in the air. Gillingham were obviously fired up after a half-time roasting from Andy Hessenthaler – a frightening prospect given their neanderthal-featured player-boss’s striking resemblance to a miniature pink Hulk.
United, in stark and predictable contrast, barely looked like the same team that had lit up the first period, sitting back complacently and inviting the opposition on, and when they did get possession there were too many lazy balls knocked long instead of short and simple to the midfield as had been done before. Managerial instructions or simply human nature? Replacing positivity with negativity is never a good idea and this looked straight from the George Best How To Self-Destruct In Ten Easy Lessons manual (Wazzock Press, £7.99).
Chilli was booked on 53, penalised for handball when he was merely trying to charge a clearance down then apparently carded for kicking the ball away. Spiller made a dog’s dinner of a chance a minute later by blasting a meaty, chunky drive into Row Z. Marshall claimed another Sidibe header before the Gills striker was replaced by Tommy Johnson on 56, and seven minutes later, despite their growing superiority, the visitors made two further changes with the introduction of Hessenthaler and Perpetuini for the ineffective Spiller and Shaw. Almost immediately Mark Saunders had to limp off for treatment, leaving his team a man short for a couple of minutes, but he soon reappeared to restore numerical parity for the time being.
Hessenthaler led by example, and the craggy simian’s charges were now running the game as United’s midfield melted back to their own 18-yard line. Chilli headed over on 70, but the Gills’ equaliser on 73 produced only one reaction from the home throng: ‘Well, you can’t say it’s not been coming!’ Its method of arrival was far from satisfactory, though, Hills one-twoing with his boss in the corner then whipping in a wicked curling cross that sailed under the bar as Marshall flapped, back-pedalled and flailed in vain. A moment in the Terpsichorean custodian’s career that is up there with his first ingrowing toenail and that night Scott Eustace chundered all over his best suit at the nightclub.
As on so many occasions, it took the lightning rod up their collective behinds of conceding a goal to stir United from their stupor, and within a minute they had another free kick a few yards outside the box. It was the same routine as before, Kitson and Tudor touching it pointlessly while Venus thundered up like a runaway Ruddock, and this time he hit it low through the wall for Brown to clutch with difficulty at the second attempt. Gillingham responded almost immediately with a flowing move that found Johnson inside the area, and his powerful shot forced Marshall into a superb one-handed save not once but twice as he clawed it away from goal, stretching to his left.
Aggy Revell replaced Tudor on 77, going wide right as United reverted to 4-4-2, then Hessenthaler found himself in the book for a prolonged bout of dissent. Marshall had to be at his best three minutes later as another marvellous dive kept out Nosworthy’s header, then there was a spot of pinball in the United area as Gills players queued up and ended up blocking each other’s potshots.
On 83 the game appeared to lurch United’s way as the visitors were reduced to ten men: Kitson went on one of his trademark runs in the middle, evading all attempts to tackle him until Johnson crudely clattered him from behind with a sort of kung-fu scissor-kick of a ‘tackle’, hacking the BBG with first one leg then the other. The straight red card was deserved, and Big Dave needed extensive treatment from Ant ‘Mr’ Coole's magic ice cubes.
Two minutes later, however, came the bolt from the blue that settled the tie. Hills broke down the left channel and spotted Nosworthy sprinting goalward with Bimson, and his high cross seemed to have carried too far until the Big N lashed it home on the volley from the tightest of angles into the opposite corner of the net. Fantastic finish; perhaps he’s been wasted playing in defence?
United, to their credit, kept going, especially when four minutes’ added time was indicated, and the visitors defended desperately during the closing minutes. Best chance came in the 91st minute, Bimmo sprinting to save a ball running out of play then sending over an inch-perfect cross from the byline to reach Revell’s head, five yards out. Astonishingly, as the NRE rose to acclaim the equaliser, he totally failed to keep it down and nodded it well over the top. It might have been a bit more difficult than it looked, but no one can afford to miss those.
The U’s pressed to the end. A galloping Murray run into the box was crowded out by sheer weight of numbers, then another Bimson cross found Revell’s head, somewhat further out this time, but Brown saved comfortably. And that was that. Credit to Gillingham for raising their game after being outplayed in the first half and a great winning goal; frustration for the home fans who saw an impressive attacking football team metamorphose into a collection of timid hoofers for the first 30 minutes of the second act. Still, there were plenty of encouraging signs – and lessons to be learned – for Shaggy and the gang, and we all know that long cup runs affect League form. And who wants to lose 7-0 at home to a Premiership team in the second round, anyway?
Most if not all of the following marks relate to the first half and last 15 minutes. The less said about the first half-hour of the second period, the better.
Marshall 6– Classic Shaun in the usual ratio: one horrendous howler, two breathtaking saves. Plus ca change.
Tann 7– Good, solid display on a rather empty-looking right hand side.
Bimson 7– Caught at the end by a brilliant goal, otherwise reliable and that left foot looked lethal again.
Angus 6– Not quite as wobbly as on Saturday, but still fighting to find last season’s form. It’ll come.
Venus 8– Quality defending and, for the first time, we could see his danger from free kicks with two excellent efforts.
Tudor 6– Wasted in a sort-of-in-the-hole position in which he looked frankly lost a lot of the time.
Walker 8– Excellent link play, taking the ball from the back four and distributing accurately and intelligently, and a superbly taken goal to boot.
Guttridge 7– Splendid first half: I’ve never seen him get in so many goalscoring positions. Now if he could just work on his finishing …
Murray 6– No faulting his effort, but he looks like a left back playing in midfield. Which, er, he is.
Chillingworth 7– Continued the lively form of Saturday and perhaps if he’d had more supply from the right wing (hint) he might have notched again.
Kitson 8– Quality exhibition of centre forward play, dominating in the air and always looking to supply as well as threaten goal himself.
Revell 6 – Undistinguished game and will want to forget that last-minute miss as much as we all do.
Soundtrack of the day: Shack/Byrds Turn To Stone
Match summary: schizophrenic United snatched defeat from the jaws of victory as the marauding sharks of a superb first-half were replaced by basking and rather toothless ones in the second and ended up resembling beached whales as the Gills took full advantage of their inexplicable timidity.
Man of the match: Justin Walker. The hub of the team while they were playing well; it wasn’t his fault that United panicked and started hoofing long balls over his head instead of continuing the fluid passing of the opening 45.
Ref watch: Thorpe 4. Jobsworth type whose booking of Chilli was unnecessary. Had an irritating tendency to blow for a foul at almost every aerial challenge, invariably favouring the defender to the frustration of Big Dave.
Mark Venus: yeah baby, he's got it
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Saturday, 16 August 2003: U’s 3v1 Macclesfield
Red Hot Chilli Peppers Big Macc
‘Hello, do you know me? I’m Winston Bogarde, and I’d like to talk about my Lifestyle Plan. Despite my busy schedule of international jetsetting, rounds of golf and putting the cones out at Chelsea’s training ground, I have found time to formulate a method of living with the least possible effort. Nowadays I manage without a squad number, and I still pull in £40k a week! I recently ran into Professor Dale Brooks, who is a lecturer at one of Cambridge’s most hallowed centres of excellence, and I outlined to him how my theories could be applied to football, with which I am occasionally involved.
‘It is all about concentrating one’s efforts into the Start Zone and the End Zone – the first and last 15 minutes of a match. If you put enough work into those key periods, you can cruise through the middle hour of the game with barely any effort at all! Prof Brooks also has some involvement with Cambridge United, I believe, and they have been applying my concepts during their contest with Macclesfield Town today. The results are inescapable: a comfortable win, and the victors only needed to play well for a maximum of half an hour! I shall shortly be approaching Mr Abramovich about publishing a book of my plan. Until then, as they say in my country, stay mellow, man!’
You know the season has really started when the first home Saturday arrives: throngs of people milling around in short sleeves and long shorts, nibbling ice creams as the sun glints off their shades. Let’s hope they’re still around in mid-November when the sky is grey, the wind is howling and the rain lashing down in sheets. Although I’d recommend long trousers by then.
Macclesfield are one of the smallest clubs in the League, as their travelling trickle of less than 150 attested, so the sense of occasion wasn’t great and neither was the attendance. But as the players warmed up in their fetching white vests, the old early season nerves began to gnaw; it’s always like that before you get that first calming win on the board. The lengthened Abbey grass remained as lush and verdant as Elton John’s hairpiece and we were ready for lurve … well, some platonic affection, anyway. Let battle commence.
United changed nothing from Tuesday’s inconsistently impressive curate’s egg of a performance, and retained the 4-3-1-2 formation with Shane Tudor tucked behind the front two, although Luke Guttridge started a little wider on the right. The lads from Macc sported new signings Colin Little, former Pish striker Martin Carruthers (as he was gently reminded by the Corona) and new skipper David Flitcroft, and my word, they must offer darned fine pies in deepest darkest Cheshire if the size of Mr F’s behind was anything to go by; never mind J-Lo, all hail D-Flit!
The U’s started the match like they began the Gillingham game, swarming all over the blue-shirted visitors with Dan Chillingworth again in lively form. Chilli had the first shot in the second minute, latching on to Guttridge’s deep cross and firing just wide of the near post. Tudor was next to have a poke, but failed to get sufficient power to trouble chunky keeper Myhill, who seems to have two first names depending on where you read them: Glyn or Boaz. Boaz? Short for Bozo? Boasters? Bows, Baubles, Bangles & Beads? Most intriguing.
With three minutes gone Chilli tried his party piece, an athletic overhead kick, but it flew some way wide. It took the visitors six minutes to get their first effort in, a Carruthers prod that was comfortably clutched by Shaun Marshall. Further chaos ensued when Myhill dashed out of goal to hoof clear from Kitson, and Justin Walker essayed a lob at the empty goal from 35 yards, but David Smith was back to clear an ambitious but wayward effort.
But rampant United were not to be denied, and in the tenth minute they had the lead their early sparkle deserved. It arose from some delightful close interplay between Chillingworth and Kitson on the edge of the area, then Chilli skipped nimbly between two defenders, looked up and calmly stroked the ball low into the far corner, leaving Myhill utterly helpless. A goal that would have graced a World Cup final, and further evidence that the boy from Somersham has come of age as a quality League striker, with no little help from the BBG. The amber hordes roared their acclaim, and all of a sudden those early season nerves had melted away like an ice cream in a dozing child’s hand.
For the next few minutes the U’s probed for a second and a couple of inswinging Bimson corners caused chaos, especially one that flew off Carruthers’ head across the six-yard box and past the opposite post. Tudor forced another save from Myhill on 16, still not finding sufficient power to trouble him unduly, but whether it was United’s comfort-zone complacency or Macclesfield’s determination to respond, home pressure began to ease noticeably.
The flow of the game was not helped either by the ref, the amusingly named T Kettle, who appeared to have an aversion to any sort of physical contact between players and blew incessantly for free kicks while at the same time not proposing any further punishment for the few really foul ‘tackles’ that flew in, mainly from blue-shirted players.
The contest became scrappier and, as Macc’s confidence increased, it was noticeable that United’s midfield was the weak link, with players uncomfortably out of position (Tudor, Murray) or struggling to get into the game (Guttridge). The smooth passing-out-of-defence football of Tuesday was increasingly bypassed by hopeful high balls aimed at the front two, all the more frustrating because we could see what coruscating form Chilli was in, if only he could get some decent service. To their credit, Macc contributed to United’s discomfort by closing them down quickly all over the field like so many North American power stations, and cutting off the strikers’ supply.
John Miles, who had looked so impressive for the Silkmen at Moss Rose last season, tested Marshall on 25 with an excellent 18-yarder that the Terpsichorean custodian appeared to tip around the post, although Mr Kettle obligingly gave a goal kick. An action replay from the same two players three minutes later saw a corner result as the visitors’ pressure intensified, climaxing in a preposterous decision by Kettle on the half-hour. As Smith blasted a cleared corner back towards goal, Bimson blocked and deflected away for another flag kick in the ‘D’ and was promptly penalised for handball! If his reactions were really that quick, he’d be making a living as a magician. Welcome to Arsène Wenger’s Farci-Land (is that the proposed name for the new stadium at Ashburton Grove? Hmm, I like it!).
The free kick, from a fairly central position, saw Marshall position his wall then stand almost directly behind it, leaving a huge gap reminiscent of the space that Huddersfield filled with ease last week. Miles’s kick was aimed at that space, but it was a lame effort and easily caught by the Dancemeister. One cannot help but think that a better player would have tonked it into the top corner without much difficulty, but this is Division 3, after all.
The rest of the half passed with as little incident or action as Sir Cliff’s trousers, both teams lacking penetration as United’s form dissipated in the heat and Macc, well, just weren’t terribly dangerous. Their strikers were regularly caught offside, although George Abbey had a reasonably plausible claim for a penalty on 39 as he beat Bimson to a Miles cross but tumbled as he headed wide and claimed a push. Mr Kettle remained resolutely off the boil.
So ended a half that summed up United’s brief season so far, encapsulating some awesome attacking play but also some pretty forgettable scuffling. Will the real U’s please stand up? Please stand up? Please stand up? And please let it be the good attacking one?
Part two started in much the same fashion, United disjointed and unable to supply their strikers with adequate service while Macc showed some neat approach play but had about as much cutting edge as a Daniel O’Donnell record. Guttridge was set up nicely by Kitson on 49 but as usual took too long in shooting and was crowded out; a first-time effort was what was required. The Silkmen responded with blocked efforts from Little and Abbey before Flitcroft got a sight of goal, put all his considerable weight behind his shot and sent it somewhere in the direction of the A14.
Red Hot Chilli Peppers Big Macc
‘Hello, do you know me? I’m Winston Bogarde, and I’d like to talk about my Lifestyle Plan. Despite my busy schedule of international jetsetting, rounds of golf and putting the cones out at Chelsea’s training ground, I have found time to formulate a method of living with the least possible effort. Nowadays I manage without a squad number, and I still pull in £40k a week! I recently ran into Professor Dale Brooks, who is a lecturer at one of Cambridge’s most hallowed centres of excellence, and I outlined to him how my theories could be applied to football, with which I am occasionally involved.
‘It is all about concentrating one’s efforts into the Start Zone and the End Zone – the first and last 15 minutes of a match. If you put enough work into those key periods, you can cruise through the middle hour of the game with barely any effort at all! Prof Brooks also has some involvement with Cambridge United, I believe, and they have been applying my concepts during their contest with Macclesfield Town today. The results are inescapable: a comfortable win, and the victors only needed to play well for a maximum of half an hour! I shall shortly be approaching Mr Abramovich about publishing a book of my plan. Until then, as they say in my country, stay mellow, man!’
You know the season has really started when the first home Saturday arrives: throngs of people milling around in short sleeves and long shorts, nibbling ice creams as the sun glints off their shades. Let’s hope they’re still around in mid-November when the sky is grey, the wind is howling and the rain lashing down in sheets. Although I’d recommend long trousers by then.
Macclesfield are one of the smallest clubs in the League, as their travelling trickle of less than 150 attested, so the sense of occasion wasn’t great and neither was the attendance. But as the players warmed up in their fetching white vests, the old early season nerves began to gnaw; it’s always like that before you get that first calming win on the board. The lengthened Abbey grass remained as lush and verdant as Elton John’s hairpiece and we were ready for lurve … well, some platonic affection, anyway. Let battle commence.
United changed nothing from Tuesday’s inconsistently impressive curate’s egg of a performance, and retained the 4-3-1-2 formation with Shane Tudor tucked behind the front two, although Luke Guttridge started a little wider on the right. The lads from Macc sported new signings Colin Little, former Pish striker Martin Carruthers (as he was gently reminded by the Corona) and new skipper David Flitcroft, and my word, they must offer darned fine pies in deepest darkest Cheshire if the size of Mr F’s behind was anything to go by; never mind J-Lo, all hail D-Flit!
The U’s started the match like they began the Gillingham game, swarming all over the blue-shirted visitors with Dan Chillingworth again in lively form. Chilli had the first shot in the second minute, latching on to Guttridge’s deep cross and firing just wide of the near post. Tudor was next to have a poke, but failed to get sufficient power to trouble chunky keeper Myhill, who seems to have two first names depending on where you read them: Glyn or Boaz. Boaz? Short for Bozo? Boasters? Bows, Baubles, Bangles & Beads? Most intriguing.
With three minutes gone Chilli tried his party piece, an athletic overhead kick, but it flew some way wide. It took the visitors six minutes to get their first effort in, a Carruthers prod that was comfortably clutched by Shaun Marshall. Further chaos ensued when Myhill dashed out of goal to hoof clear from Kitson, and Justin Walker essayed a lob at the empty goal from 35 yards, but David Smith was back to clear an ambitious but wayward effort.
But rampant United were not to be denied, and in the tenth minute they had the lead their early sparkle deserved. It arose from some delightful close interplay between Chillingworth and Kitson on the edge of the area, then Chilli skipped nimbly between two defenders, looked up and calmly stroked the ball low into the far corner, leaving Myhill utterly helpless. A goal that would have graced a World Cup final, and further evidence that the boy from Somersham has come of age as a quality League striker, with no little help from the BBG. The amber hordes roared their acclaim, and all of a sudden those early season nerves had melted away like an ice cream in a dozing child’s hand.
For the next few minutes the U’s probed for a second and a couple of inswinging Bimson corners caused chaos, especially one that flew off Carruthers’ head across the six-yard box and past the opposite post. Tudor forced another save from Myhill on 16, still not finding sufficient power to trouble him unduly, but whether it was United’s comfort-zone complacency or Macclesfield’s determination to respond, home pressure began to ease noticeably.
The flow of the game was not helped either by the ref, the amusingly named T Kettle, who appeared to have an aversion to any sort of physical contact between players and blew incessantly for free kicks while at the same time not proposing any further punishment for the few really foul ‘tackles’ that flew in, mainly from blue-shirted players.
The contest became scrappier and, as Macc’s confidence increased, it was noticeable that United’s midfield was the weak link, with players uncomfortably out of position (Tudor, Murray) or struggling to get into the game (Guttridge). The smooth passing-out-of-defence football of Tuesday was increasingly bypassed by hopeful high balls aimed at the front two, all the more frustrating because we could see what coruscating form Chilli was in, if only he could get some decent service. To their credit, Macc contributed to United’s discomfort by closing them down quickly all over the field like so many North American power stations, and cutting off the strikers’ supply.
John Miles, who had looked so impressive for the Silkmen at Moss Rose last season, tested Marshall on 25 with an excellent 18-yarder that the Terpsichorean custodian appeared to tip around the post, although Mr Kettle obligingly gave a goal kick. An action replay from the same two players three minutes later saw a corner result as the visitors’ pressure intensified, climaxing in a preposterous decision by Kettle on the half-hour. As Smith blasted a cleared corner back towards goal, Bimson blocked and deflected away for another flag kick in the ‘D’ and was promptly penalised for handball! If his reactions were really that quick, he’d be making a living as a magician. Welcome to Arsène Wenger’s Farci-Land (is that the proposed name for the new stadium at Ashburton Grove? Hmm, I like it!).
The free kick, from a fairly central position, saw Marshall position his wall then stand almost directly behind it, leaving a huge gap reminiscent of the space that Huddersfield filled with ease last week. Miles’s kick was aimed at that space, but it was a lame effort and easily caught by the Dancemeister. One cannot help but think that a better player would have tonked it into the top corner without much difficulty, but this is Division 3, after all.
The rest of the half passed with as little incident or action as Sir Cliff’s trousers, both teams lacking penetration as United’s form dissipated in the heat and Macc, well, just weren’t terribly dangerous. Their strikers were regularly caught offside, although George Abbey had a reasonably plausible claim for a penalty on 39 as he beat Bimson to a Miles cross but tumbled as he headed wide and claimed a push. Mr Kettle remained resolutely off the boil.
So ended a half that summed up United’s brief season so far, encapsulating some awesome attacking play but also some pretty forgettable scuffling. Will the real U’s please stand up? Please stand up? Please stand up? And please let it be the good attacking one?
Part two started in much the same fashion, United disjointed and unable to supply their strikers with adequate service while Macc showed some neat approach play but had about as much cutting edge as a Daniel O’Donnell record. Guttridge was set up nicely by Kitson on 49 but as usual took too long in shooting and was crowded out; a first-time effort was what was required. The Silkmen responded with blocked efforts from Little and Abbey before Flitcroft got a sight of goal, put all his considerable weight behind his shot and sent it somewhere in the direction of the A14.
Daniel O'Donnell: cutting edge
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Bimmo got a sight of goal on 56 with a nice run, but like so many others today, his shot lacked power and direction and he pulled it wide of the far post. Little was similarly inefficacious a couple of minutes later for Macc, then Flitcroft followed in similar vein, but those of us with more years’ experience of United than we would care to admit could see which way this was going.
Within a minute of my muttering to the chap next to me just after the hour, ‘There’s an equaliser coming up here,’ the scores were level. Abbey whipped a cross in from the right, and who was there to head it powerfully into the bottom corner past the helpless Marshall but that man Carruthers. But of course. His NRE-baiting celebrations were understandable but lucky to avoid punitive action from Kettle. Within a minute Little had headed another good chance over and we were staring the prospect of a drab defeat in the face.
Enter our new saviour, Mr Chillingworth. On 63 Danny Adams passed back to Myhill from wide left and Chilli galloped after it like Bambi on rollerblades; the keeper’s attempted clearance hit the striker full on the back and rebounded perfectly, deliciously goalward, and Dan’s forward momentum led him to give chase and tap ecstatically into the gaping goal. So it is Bozo then, Mr Myhill? Macc could claim he was lucky, but a player of Chilli’s energy and effort makes his own luck. Top man.
All of a sudden United were re-energised. Miserable Kettle booked Chilli a minute later for a foul on Adams that was no worse than many others he hadn’t deemed cardable, then Little examined Marshall with a low drive gathered at the second attempt. Chilli headed a Guttridge cross back to Tudor on the edge of the area and Shane tried to evoke the spirit of his many great goals last season with a first-time volley, but sadly it flew high and wide. You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs; let’s hope he doesn’t make too much of a mess before he produces his first net-bulger.
First sub came on 67, Franco Nacca replacing the struggling Murray, and the Venezuelan Vonder (sorry) made an instant impression with probing runs and smart tackling. Lil’ Luke missed the target with another 20-yarder, then came the first Silkmen change on 70 as Matt Tipton replaced Little. A surging Nacca run a minute later set up Chilli to the right of goal, and his low drive towards the far post pulled just wide as he searched for his first hat-trick.
Nine minutes later, with the match still poised to go either way, Tudor was replaced by the fresh legs and puppyesque enthusiasm of Aggy Revell, with United back to 4-4-2. Carruthers met a Flitcroft cross on 81 with a looping header that Marshall had to tip over from under the bar – almost a shame: it would have been entertaining to see the old boy red-carded for the deliriously provocative celebration that would surely have followed his second goal. But he is no Ken Charlery, thank Kylie.
Last subs of the game followed, Haddrell for Hitchen for Macc, John Turner for Chillingworth for the U’s. United’s new star player was deservedly given an ovation as he left the pitch, although most of us would have liked to see him stay on with the chance of a hat-trick hanging in the still summer air. The last player to score a League hat-trick in amber was the current manager in April 2000, in our 4-0 win at Cardiff. Whatever happened to them?
Amusement followed for the home faithful on 85 as Carruthers found his way into the book for clattering Angus, and both he and Steve Macauley called Marshall into fairly comfortable action soon after. But United, with the probing of Nacca, galloping of Revell, intelligence of Kitson and the old-beyond-his-years precocity of Turner, began to look the most likely to score as the clock ran down, and so it proved in the penultimate minute.
It was almost long-ball in its construction, Marshall’s long clearance finding Turner’s head; he laid it off to Revell then ran on to Aggy’s intelligent through ball, bursting through the Silkmen’s tiring defence to fire powerfully at Myhill from ten yards; Bozo did well to block, but it ran out only to Revell, and his finish was cool and emphatic as he tucked home into the corner with his left foot from 12 yards. The boy deserved it for his boundless energy and effort, and his rush of adrenalin must have been akin to a kilo of Colombia’s finest as he sprinted ecstatically almost the length of the pitch to point his name out to the Corona End. But then you’d be pleased if you’d got your first League goal since 13 October 2001 (Bury, home, 3-1). First Chilli, now Aggy; no droughts here, just standpipes gushing goals, goals, goals.
That was that, although young Turner seemed about to do something catastrophic to the visitors’ defence every time the ball came near him. And so was the first win of 2003/04 accomplished: an awesome first 15 minutes, an hour of muddling mediocrity and a finish with a flourish. Looks like Shaggy’s mission now must be to extend the beginning and end bits and eliminate the crappy middle bit altogether. Yes, 3-1 was a little flattering, but on this showing Macclesfield don’t look like play-off contenders and they’re the sort of team we have to beat if we’re to have any pretensions to such status. Next stop: Bonnie Spotland. Ye’ll take the high road …
Marshall 6– Did what he needed to do, although looked a little lacking in confidence at times. Don’t forget to SHOUT!
Tann 6– Sound, unspectacular game, not getting forward as much as usual.
Bimson 6– Also did OK without uprooting any trees, and his corners were excellent.
Angus 7– After a shaky start to the season, he’s now beginning to find his old imperious form.
Venus 7– Wise old head with plenty of touches of class.
Tudor 6– Still very muted. He needs time to get back to his best, but you get the impression he’s afraid to get into tough tackles or make full-pelt runs for fear of aggravating his old injury. Hope Shaggy learned some psychological skills on that training course.
Walker 6– Controlled performance without creating much of significance.
Guttridge 6– Anonymous for much of the game and really needs that shooting practice.
Murray 6– You’ll always get 100 per cent from Freddie, but he’s still got a lot to learn (and fast) if he is to make the grade as a bona fide midfielder.
Chillingworth 9– Fantastic; won the match almost single-handed.
Kitson 6– Quiet by the big man’s own standards, although drew the defence away effectively from his sparkling strike partner.
Nacca 7– Excellent 25 minutes, with lots of positive runs and tigerish tackling.
Revell 7– Energetic cameo and how nice to see his glee at that long-overdue goal.
Turner 7– It may be early days, but this boy promises to be something special; he just has the rare knack of making something happen every time he appears on the pitch.
Soundtrack of the day: The Mooney Suzuki/In A Young Man’s Mind
Match summary: It took a season of hard labour but a star has been well and truly born, and today Dan Chillingworth was the difference between two decidedly average sides with two classic and wildly contrasting goals. If only the rest of the team could improve so dramatically, or maintain the standard of the first quarter of an hour, we could really have a campaign to look forward to.
Man of the match: Dan Chillingworth. No contest. After a season of misery, what an absolute joy to see a promising young player suddenly blossom into a genuinely exciting, talented contender for long-term glory. Keep this form up, Chilli, and we won’t even notice if we have to sell Big Dave. Much.
Ref watch: T Kettle 4. Whistle rarely out of his mouth, he did his best to ruin a distinctly middling game with his intolerance of any sort of physical contact, then failed to follow through by ignoring the persistent foulers and booking two of the least dirty players on the pitch. Enough to make our blood boil, make steam come out of our ears, etc etc …
Within a minute of my muttering to the chap next to me just after the hour, ‘There’s an equaliser coming up here,’ the scores were level. Abbey whipped a cross in from the right, and who was there to head it powerfully into the bottom corner past the helpless Marshall but that man Carruthers. But of course. His NRE-baiting celebrations were understandable but lucky to avoid punitive action from Kettle. Within a minute Little had headed another good chance over and we were staring the prospect of a drab defeat in the face.
Enter our new saviour, Mr Chillingworth. On 63 Danny Adams passed back to Myhill from wide left and Chilli galloped after it like Bambi on rollerblades; the keeper’s attempted clearance hit the striker full on the back and rebounded perfectly, deliciously goalward, and Dan’s forward momentum led him to give chase and tap ecstatically into the gaping goal. So it is Bozo then, Mr Myhill? Macc could claim he was lucky, but a player of Chilli’s energy and effort makes his own luck. Top man.
All of a sudden United were re-energised. Miserable Kettle booked Chilli a minute later for a foul on Adams that was no worse than many others he hadn’t deemed cardable, then Little examined Marshall with a low drive gathered at the second attempt. Chilli headed a Guttridge cross back to Tudor on the edge of the area and Shane tried to evoke the spirit of his many great goals last season with a first-time volley, but sadly it flew high and wide. You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs; let’s hope he doesn’t make too much of a mess before he produces his first net-bulger.
First sub came on 67, Franco Nacca replacing the struggling Murray, and the Venezuelan Vonder (sorry) made an instant impression with probing runs and smart tackling. Lil’ Luke missed the target with another 20-yarder, then came the first Silkmen change on 70 as Matt Tipton replaced Little. A surging Nacca run a minute later set up Chilli to the right of goal, and his low drive towards the far post pulled just wide as he searched for his first hat-trick.
Nine minutes later, with the match still poised to go either way, Tudor was replaced by the fresh legs and puppyesque enthusiasm of Aggy Revell, with United back to 4-4-2. Carruthers met a Flitcroft cross on 81 with a looping header that Marshall had to tip over from under the bar – almost a shame: it would have been entertaining to see the old boy red-carded for the deliriously provocative celebration that would surely have followed his second goal. But he is no Ken Charlery, thank Kylie.
Last subs of the game followed, Haddrell for Hitchen for Macc, John Turner for Chillingworth for the U’s. United’s new star player was deservedly given an ovation as he left the pitch, although most of us would have liked to see him stay on with the chance of a hat-trick hanging in the still summer air. The last player to score a League hat-trick in amber was the current manager in April 2000, in our 4-0 win at Cardiff. Whatever happened to them?
Amusement followed for the home faithful on 85 as Carruthers found his way into the book for clattering Angus, and both he and Steve Macauley called Marshall into fairly comfortable action soon after. But United, with the probing of Nacca, galloping of Revell, intelligence of Kitson and the old-beyond-his-years precocity of Turner, began to look the most likely to score as the clock ran down, and so it proved in the penultimate minute.
It was almost long-ball in its construction, Marshall’s long clearance finding Turner’s head; he laid it off to Revell then ran on to Aggy’s intelligent through ball, bursting through the Silkmen’s tiring defence to fire powerfully at Myhill from ten yards; Bozo did well to block, but it ran out only to Revell, and his finish was cool and emphatic as he tucked home into the corner with his left foot from 12 yards. The boy deserved it for his boundless energy and effort, and his rush of adrenalin must have been akin to a kilo of Colombia’s finest as he sprinted ecstatically almost the length of the pitch to point his name out to the Corona End. But then you’d be pleased if you’d got your first League goal since 13 October 2001 (Bury, home, 3-1). First Chilli, now Aggy; no droughts here, just standpipes gushing goals, goals, goals.
That was that, although young Turner seemed about to do something catastrophic to the visitors’ defence every time the ball came near him. And so was the first win of 2003/04 accomplished: an awesome first 15 minutes, an hour of muddling mediocrity and a finish with a flourish. Looks like Shaggy’s mission now must be to extend the beginning and end bits and eliminate the crappy middle bit altogether. Yes, 3-1 was a little flattering, but on this showing Macclesfield don’t look like play-off contenders and they’re the sort of team we have to beat if we’re to have any pretensions to such status. Next stop: Bonnie Spotland. Ye’ll take the high road …
Marshall 6– Did what he needed to do, although looked a little lacking in confidence at times. Don’t forget to SHOUT!
Tann 6– Sound, unspectacular game, not getting forward as much as usual.
Bimson 6– Also did OK without uprooting any trees, and his corners were excellent.
Angus 7– After a shaky start to the season, he’s now beginning to find his old imperious form.
Venus 7– Wise old head with plenty of touches of class.
Tudor 6– Still very muted. He needs time to get back to his best, but you get the impression he’s afraid to get into tough tackles or make full-pelt runs for fear of aggravating his old injury. Hope Shaggy learned some psychological skills on that training course.
Walker 6– Controlled performance without creating much of significance.
Guttridge 6– Anonymous for much of the game and really needs that shooting practice.
Murray 6– You’ll always get 100 per cent from Freddie, but he’s still got a lot to learn (and fast) if he is to make the grade as a bona fide midfielder.
Chillingworth 9– Fantastic; won the match almost single-handed.
Kitson 6– Quiet by the big man’s own standards, although drew the defence away effectively from his sparkling strike partner.
Nacca 7– Excellent 25 minutes, with lots of positive runs and tigerish tackling.
Revell 7– Energetic cameo and how nice to see his glee at that long-overdue goal.
Turner 7– It may be early days, but this boy promises to be something special; he just has the rare knack of making something happen every time he appears on the pitch.
Soundtrack of the day: The Mooney Suzuki/In A Young Man’s Mind
Match summary: It took a season of hard labour but a star has been well and truly born, and today Dan Chillingworth was the difference between two decidedly average sides with two classic and wildly contrasting goals. If only the rest of the team could improve so dramatically, or maintain the standard of the first quarter of an hour, we could really have a campaign to look forward to.
Man of the match: Dan Chillingworth. No contest. After a season of misery, what an absolute joy to see a promising young player suddenly blossom into a genuinely exciting, talented contender for long-term glory. Keep this form up, Chilli, and we won’t even notice if we have to sell Big Dave. Much.
Ref watch: T Kettle 4. Whistle rarely out of his mouth, he did his best to ruin a distinctly middling game with his intolerance of any sort of physical contact, then failed to follow through by ignoring the persistent foulers and booking two of the least dirty players on the pitch. Enough to make our blood boil, make steam come out of our ears, etc etc …
Trees: left unuprooted by Stuart Bimson
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Saturday, 23 August 2003: Rochdale 2v2 U's
Plus ça change, plus de déjà vu
Shaggy looked up from his lobster pâté and rather cheeky red at the gaggle of directors who had joined him for his pre-match repast on CUFC’s luxury coach facility. ‘Did you feel a bump then?’ he enquired. ‘Check below, would you, Brooksy?’ His faithful lieutenant descended to the lower level, where the players were preparing for the afternoon’s game. A couple of lads were receiving relaxing massages from nimble-fingered masseuses, a few more were chilling out in the jacuzzi while the older players sweated off the excess pounds in the sauna. The younger boys enjoyed themselves with a Playstation game or a soothing Eminem DVD on the plasma screen.
Dale mused thoughtfully at the sight; you know, he was sure this coach seemed larger inside than it was outside. Looks like getting that Dr Who on to the board was one of the best decisions the club had ever made.
If only. In reality, the team coach’s 60mph blowout on the A1 near Newark meant they had to prevail upon the warm-hearted good nature (hello) of the Away Travel Club, commandeering their coach, half an hour behind, while their faithful supporters awaited a replacement vehicle. A quick exploration of the official coach revealed a frankly unimpressive, cramped and somewhat dingy vehicle, thoroughly in keeping with United’s precarious financial position, and such was the damage to its wheel arch that it had to be left behind while the ATC took the (much better-appointed) relief coach when it arrived an hour later. What would the wildest-dreams-rich millionaire playboys of the Premiership have made of such arrangements?
Actually we already know the answer from the news from Rotherham. West Ham’s pampered brats were so horrified by the Millers’ cheap ’n’ cheerful facilities that they flounced off in a cloud of silver leisurewear, Rolexes and CK1 back to their hotel to change rather than soil themselves in Millmoor’s simply fwightful changing rooms. Then they lost 1-0. You know, sometimes it seems there really is a God.
A close butcher’s at the players while they changed coaches afforded the privilege of admiring Messrs Kitson and Tudor’s new and alarming coiffures: Big Dave has, in apparent tribute to Freddie Murray’s blood-spattered performance at Huddersfield, tipped some red paint randomly around his bleach-blond bonce, while the Orange One has gone for the full-on ‘Freddie Ljungberg’ with a garish ridge of red atop his black barnet, coupled with jazzy ‘Craig David’ pencil-beard. Must have seemed a good idea at the time.
Both topiaristic terrors were, however, thoroughly outshone on arrival at Spotland by the hosts’ Paddy McCourt. Whether for a joke or a bet, his closely cropped head was adorned with randomly selected clumps of blonde feathers looking like so much fuzzy felt: one lot on top, one at the back and two snazzily-shaped ones on each side. He looked like a designer bog brush, and it must be said, played like one too. Serves him right.
Spotland is a ‘proper’ football ground in the grand tradition. Surrounded by welcoming pubs selling dirt-cheap beer and with a top-notch chippy by the away entrance, it is always a pleasure to visit, and the northern hospitality extends to handing one entire side of the ground, and the newest stand to boot, to the visitors. How ironic, then, that United’s record at Rochdale is little short of appalling: nine defeats in the last ten visits, climaxing with the classic 4-3 ten-man injury-time loss last season. Even more ironically, since both clubs were relegated in 1974, United have bounced around the League like a hippo on a bungee rope while the Dale have stopped resolutely where they are.
Their programme trumpeted the imminent publication of a book dedicated to what is forlornly described as ‘the club’s only promotion’ (ever!) in 1969; here is a club that could teach our rail network a few lessons about underachievement. Dale’s ‘Voice of Spotland’ also boasted a column by Scrutator (surely a title I’ve seen in the adult video section of Blockbuster) and introduced the frankly disturbing concept of the ‘Dale AFC School of Motoring – Learn To Drive With Your Favourite Club’! How does that work, then – do the players take turns to give lessons? The mind can but boggle.
While having nothing but respect for Dale’s long-suffering support, the attendance of little over 2,000 was disappointingly feeble, while United’s team news was little better. Dan-The-Man-In-Form Chillingworth had picked up an ankle injury just when he was finding the form of his life, while skipper Stuart Bimson was also missing, leaving Justin ‘My Haircut Looks Quite Sensible, Now’ Walker to don the armband. Freddie Murray moved back to left back, Terrier Fleming returned to midfield after suspension and Aggy Revell got his first League start since 9 March 2002 alongside the BBG up front. The 4-3-1-2 formation remained, Tudor still unable to muster the pace to play wide, while the hosts started with a near-identical system spearheaded by ex-U loanee Paul ‘Trigger’ Connor, while former United trialist Lee McEvilly started on the bench. Presumably his name accounted for the little lad sporting a replica shirt with the stark word ‘EVIL’ on the back; that, or the boy’s just a ghastly little brat. Or called Damien.
A bright, open start by both teams saw plenty of ball pinging around the penalty areas without either goalkeeper being troubled. United soon showed that running at the Dale defence by the likes of Revell, Tudor and the full backs could yield dividends, although all too often high crosses were lobbed in hopefully from deep rather than any of the wingless wonders attempting to get to the byline for a more penetrating pull-back.
Dale, operating a similar system, also channelled much of their attacking play through the middle, but the Angus-Venus partnership looks more solid by the game. Neither side was helped by a fussy ref who one second didn’t seem to have heard that football is a contact sport, then the next saw fit to ignore blatant tackles from behind, and a linesman who had a tendency to raise his flag first and ask questions (like if he was right) later.
Rochdale had to replace midfielder Sean McClare on 13 after a clash of heads, Chris Beech stepping in, then came ref Mr Friend’s first howler as Kitson was felled violently from behind by Daryl Burgess by the left touchline. Friend gaily waved play on until the lino, much closer to the action, flagged for the blindingly obvious foul that everyone in Lancashire except the man in the middle had seen. No sign of a thoroughly warranted card, though.
United continued to play patient possession football, Lil’ Luke Guttridge seeing a blaster charged down by Robert Betts on 18, then Kitson nodding a header across the face of goal a minute later as he got the angle narrowly wrong. An encouraging foray from Tudor then ensued, but sheer weight of numbers denied him like a bank holiday snarl-up on the A1.
McCourt was Dale’s highest-rated player last season, but judging by the laughable fashion-victim ‘haircut’ and the comments of a few home fans, he seems to think he is now the dog’s, er, knees and he spent much of the time wand’ring lonely as a clod on the left flank. Occasionally he would drift inside using his undoubted skill, but he seemed to have left his shooting boots with his batman, screwing one lamely wide then trundling one into Marshall’s embrace. United may have been missing Bimmo’s cultured left foot (it was back home reading Homer’s Iliad), but Veno is no slouch, and a fantastic swirling dipper from deep on 25 found Kitson stealing in ahead of his marker eight yards out. He couldn’t made adequate first-time contact and keeper Gilks gathered his scuffler gratefully.
The visitors were now on top, but alarm bells rang just after the half-hour when McCourt’s inswinging left-wing corner skimmed off Kitson’s head at the near post and was sailing in for an og until Guttridge headed off the line by the back stick. Tudor then added confusion to chaos by hopelessly miscuing his attempted clearance from the D and sending a high lob back into the area and almost under Marshall’s bar. England’s No 1 eventually dealt with his colleagues’ efforts to put one past him. And two minutes later, one had gone in at the right end.
Kitson received the ball from Angus on halfway and once again proved he is the best passer at the club with an exquisite through ball down the right channel that invited Revell to lope leggily on to it. Michael Simpkins went with him, but Aggy shrugged him off as he bore down on goal, and as Gilks advanced, he curled it coolly and magnificently past him and into the far corner from the edge of the area. What a superb finish, and glorious vindication of the management’s decision to pitch him in. United’s goalscorer chart now read: Chillingworth 3, Revell 2, Kitson 1. You’d have got better odds on Wolves winning the Premier than that happening at the start of the season.
Four minutes later it was 2-0. Tudor was clattered on the left touchline by Simon Brand, who was booked, and Venus stepped up to fire a wicked curling, dipping weapon of mass destruction into the six-yard box. Amazingly, the last head on the end of the line of bodies jostling for it was that of Kitson, powering in unchallenged to bullet a point-blank header past the helpless Gilks. Dale looked beaten, and all United had to do now for an easy three points was keep a clean sheet. Yeah, and the new directory enquiries system is simple and easy to understand.
The visitors commanded the remaining minutes of the half against a shell-shocked Dale, who picked up another yellow near the end when Burgess battered Kitson from behind. Venus fancied the resultant long-range free kick, but he scuffed it anticlimactically into the wall. Last action of the 45 was a thrilling run from wide left by Lil’ Luke, skating past four defenders before blasting over from 18 yards. He still needs those shooting lessons.
And so ended a thoroughly satisfying and satisfactory first period for the U’s against opponents who seemed to fade as the game wore on like a ten-year-old fax. The only nagging doubt in amber minds was their side’s inability to maintain form for more than half a game, and disturbing tendency to sit back on a lead and invite the opposition to attack, rather than stick to what they do best and seal the game by pressing for a third.
The interval was enlivened by a five-a-side game between some of the tiniest kids ever seen on a football pitch; could have sworn I caught a glimpse of Danny Jackman and Tero Pilvi. Then it was back to the serious stuff, the underachieving McCourt replaced by Matthew Doughty for part two. United started with some nice keep-ball stuff, just the ticket when holding a 2-0 lead, and on 52 Revell set up Tudor for a shot at goal that appeared to many to hit a home hand. Another Tudor attempt sailed wide on 54, then Adam Tann headed a Walker corner over under pressure.
In a last, seemingly desperate throw of the dice, Dale boss Alan Buckley introduced McEvilly just before the hour; his decision to remove Kevin Townson was not popular with many home fans. It was us who should have been booing. Dancing Shaun was finally called into serious action on the hour as Man City loanee Chris Shuker broke from midfield and fired a screamer that appeared to be headed for the top corner until athletically tipped on to the bar by the Terpsichorean custodian. Cracking save.
Revell had plainly run himself into the ground, unaccustomed to first-team starts, and he was replaced by John Turner on 64 after a game he can rightly look back on with pride. Then in stepped Mr Friend to change the course of the whole game with a woefully poor decision. And if he thinks I’m picking on him like everyone picks on poor, dear, innocent Sol ‘Asskicker’ Campbell … he’s darned right.
Connor, in possession in the United area, wriggled away from Angus and as he ran after the ball, collided with Tann, tumbling off-balance to the floor. To the astonishment of everyone in the ground, our friend Friend indicated a penalty, despite the fact that there had been no audible claim for a spot kick from either home team or spectators. Unbelievable. McEvilly wellied powerfully home, and all of a sudden the home supporters, who had been so silent since United’s first goal I had thought of popping over to the neighbouring graveyard to sample some atmosphere, awoke from their slumbers. A minute later they were even more fired up as Shuker went into a challenge on Walker studs-up and received a mandatory red for his pains. And if anyone plays worse against ten men than 11, it’s the Mighty U’s. Uh-oh, we’re in trouble …
Walker took a long time to recover and was caught in possession a couple of times as he limped after the ball, but it was the Mulletmeister who was next in the book for protesting his innocence after being penalised for a clash with Doughty. United, so dominant for so long, suddenly got those caught-on-the-back-foot heebie-jeebies blues, and no United fan of any experience was surprised when Dale got their fortunate equaliser on 80. McEvilly shot for goal at the near post, Marshall palmed it across the area, Wayne Evans latched on to it past several flat-footed amber shirts, fired a low, hopeful cross-shot in the direction of goal and, wouldn’t you know it, Connor flicked a heel and it flew unerringly into the far corner. Marshall was apoplectic and once again fearful, deep and statuesque defending had cost United dear.
Plus ça change, plus de déjà vu
Shaggy looked up from his lobster pâté and rather cheeky red at the gaggle of directors who had joined him for his pre-match repast on CUFC’s luxury coach facility. ‘Did you feel a bump then?’ he enquired. ‘Check below, would you, Brooksy?’ His faithful lieutenant descended to the lower level, where the players were preparing for the afternoon’s game. A couple of lads were receiving relaxing massages from nimble-fingered masseuses, a few more were chilling out in the jacuzzi while the older players sweated off the excess pounds in the sauna. The younger boys enjoyed themselves with a Playstation game or a soothing Eminem DVD on the plasma screen.
Dale mused thoughtfully at the sight; you know, he was sure this coach seemed larger inside than it was outside. Looks like getting that Dr Who on to the board was one of the best decisions the club had ever made.
If only. In reality, the team coach’s 60mph blowout on the A1 near Newark meant they had to prevail upon the warm-hearted good nature (hello) of the Away Travel Club, commandeering their coach, half an hour behind, while their faithful supporters awaited a replacement vehicle. A quick exploration of the official coach revealed a frankly unimpressive, cramped and somewhat dingy vehicle, thoroughly in keeping with United’s precarious financial position, and such was the damage to its wheel arch that it had to be left behind while the ATC took the (much better-appointed) relief coach when it arrived an hour later. What would the wildest-dreams-rich millionaire playboys of the Premiership have made of such arrangements?
Actually we already know the answer from the news from Rotherham. West Ham’s pampered brats were so horrified by the Millers’ cheap ’n’ cheerful facilities that they flounced off in a cloud of silver leisurewear, Rolexes and CK1 back to their hotel to change rather than soil themselves in Millmoor’s simply fwightful changing rooms. Then they lost 1-0. You know, sometimes it seems there really is a God.
A close butcher’s at the players while they changed coaches afforded the privilege of admiring Messrs Kitson and Tudor’s new and alarming coiffures: Big Dave has, in apparent tribute to Freddie Murray’s blood-spattered performance at Huddersfield, tipped some red paint randomly around his bleach-blond bonce, while the Orange One has gone for the full-on ‘Freddie Ljungberg’ with a garish ridge of red atop his black barnet, coupled with jazzy ‘Craig David’ pencil-beard. Must have seemed a good idea at the time.
Both topiaristic terrors were, however, thoroughly outshone on arrival at Spotland by the hosts’ Paddy McCourt. Whether for a joke or a bet, his closely cropped head was adorned with randomly selected clumps of blonde feathers looking like so much fuzzy felt: one lot on top, one at the back and two snazzily-shaped ones on each side. He looked like a designer bog brush, and it must be said, played like one too. Serves him right.
Spotland is a ‘proper’ football ground in the grand tradition. Surrounded by welcoming pubs selling dirt-cheap beer and with a top-notch chippy by the away entrance, it is always a pleasure to visit, and the northern hospitality extends to handing one entire side of the ground, and the newest stand to boot, to the visitors. How ironic, then, that United’s record at Rochdale is little short of appalling: nine defeats in the last ten visits, climaxing with the classic 4-3 ten-man injury-time loss last season. Even more ironically, since both clubs were relegated in 1974, United have bounced around the League like a hippo on a bungee rope while the Dale have stopped resolutely where they are.
Their programme trumpeted the imminent publication of a book dedicated to what is forlornly described as ‘the club’s only promotion’ (ever!) in 1969; here is a club that could teach our rail network a few lessons about underachievement. Dale’s ‘Voice of Spotland’ also boasted a column by Scrutator (surely a title I’ve seen in the adult video section of Blockbuster) and introduced the frankly disturbing concept of the ‘Dale AFC School of Motoring – Learn To Drive With Your Favourite Club’! How does that work, then – do the players take turns to give lessons? The mind can but boggle.
While having nothing but respect for Dale’s long-suffering support, the attendance of little over 2,000 was disappointingly feeble, while United’s team news was little better. Dan-The-Man-In-Form Chillingworth had picked up an ankle injury just when he was finding the form of his life, while skipper Stuart Bimson was also missing, leaving Justin ‘My Haircut Looks Quite Sensible, Now’ Walker to don the armband. Freddie Murray moved back to left back, Terrier Fleming returned to midfield after suspension and Aggy Revell got his first League start since 9 March 2002 alongside the BBG up front. The 4-3-1-2 formation remained, Tudor still unable to muster the pace to play wide, while the hosts started with a near-identical system spearheaded by ex-U loanee Paul ‘Trigger’ Connor, while former United trialist Lee McEvilly started on the bench. Presumably his name accounted for the little lad sporting a replica shirt with the stark word ‘EVIL’ on the back; that, or the boy’s just a ghastly little brat. Or called Damien.
A bright, open start by both teams saw plenty of ball pinging around the penalty areas without either goalkeeper being troubled. United soon showed that running at the Dale defence by the likes of Revell, Tudor and the full backs could yield dividends, although all too often high crosses were lobbed in hopefully from deep rather than any of the wingless wonders attempting to get to the byline for a more penetrating pull-back.
Dale, operating a similar system, also channelled much of their attacking play through the middle, but the Angus-Venus partnership looks more solid by the game. Neither side was helped by a fussy ref who one second didn’t seem to have heard that football is a contact sport, then the next saw fit to ignore blatant tackles from behind, and a linesman who had a tendency to raise his flag first and ask questions (like if he was right) later.
Rochdale had to replace midfielder Sean McClare on 13 after a clash of heads, Chris Beech stepping in, then came ref Mr Friend’s first howler as Kitson was felled violently from behind by Daryl Burgess by the left touchline. Friend gaily waved play on until the lino, much closer to the action, flagged for the blindingly obvious foul that everyone in Lancashire except the man in the middle had seen. No sign of a thoroughly warranted card, though.
United continued to play patient possession football, Lil’ Luke Guttridge seeing a blaster charged down by Robert Betts on 18, then Kitson nodding a header across the face of goal a minute later as he got the angle narrowly wrong. An encouraging foray from Tudor then ensued, but sheer weight of numbers denied him like a bank holiday snarl-up on the A1.
McCourt was Dale’s highest-rated player last season, but judging by the laughable fashion-victim ‘haircut’ and the comments of a few home fans, he seems to think he is now the dog’s, er, knees and he spent much of the time wand’ring lonely as a clod on the left flank. Occasionally he would drift inside using his undoubted skill, but he seemed to have left his shooting boots with his batman, screwing one lamely wide then trundling one into Marshall’s embrace. United may have been missing Bimmo’s cultured left foot (it was back home reading Homer’s Iliad), but Veno is no slouch, and a fantastic swirling dipper from deep on 25 found Kitson stealing in ahead of his marker eight yards out. He couldn’t made adequate first-time contact and keeper Gilks gathered his scuffler gratefully.
The visitors were now on top, but alarm bells rang just after the half-hour when McCourt’s inswinging left-wing corner skimmed off Kitson’s head at the near post and was sailing in for an og until Guttridge headed off the line by the back stick. Tudor then added confusion to chaos by hopelessly miscuing his attempted clearance from the D and sending a high lob back into the area and almost under Marshall’s bar. England’s No 1 eventually dealt with his colleagues’ efforts to put one past him. And two minutes later, one had gone in at the right end.
Kitson received the ball from Angus on halfway and once again proved he is the best passer at the club with an exquisite through ball down the right channel that invited Revell to lope leggily on to it. Michael Simpkins went with him, but Aggy shrugged him off as he bore down on goal, and as Gilks advanced, he curled it coolly and magnificently past him and into the far corner from the edge of the area. What a superb finish, and glorious vindication of the management’s decision to pitch him in. United’s goalscorer chart now read: Chillingworth 3, Revell 2, Kitson 1. You’d have got better odds on Wolves winning the Premier than that happening at the start of the season.
Four minutes later it was 2-0. Tudor was clattered on the left touchline by Simon Brand, who was booked, and Venus stepped up to fire a wicked curling, dipping weapon of mass destruction into the six-yard box. Amazingly, the last head on the end of the line of bodies jostling for it was that of Kitson, powering in unchallenged to bullet a point-blank header past the helpless Gilks. Dale looked beaten, and all United had to do now for an easy three points was keep a clean sheet. Yeah, and the new directory enquiries system is simple and easy to understand.
The visitors commanded the remaining minutes of the half against a shell-shocked Dale, who picked up another yellow near the end when Burgess battered Kitson from behind. Venus fancied the resultant long-range free kick, but he scuffed it anticlimactically into the wall. Last action of the 45 was a thrilling run from wide left by Lil’ Luke, skating past four defenders before blasting over from 18 yards. He still needs those shooting lessons.
And so ended a thoroughly satisfying and satisfactory first period for the U’s against opponents who seemed to fade as the game wore on like a ten-year-old fax. The only nagging doubt in amber minds was their side’s inability to maintain form for more than half a game, and disturbing tendency to sit back on a lead and invite the opposition to attack, rather than stick to what they do best and seal the game by pressing for a third.
The interval was enlivened by a five-a-side game between some of the tiniest kids ever seen on a football pitch; could have sworn I caught a glimpse of Danny Jackman and Tero Pilvi. Then it was back to the serious stuff, the underachieving McCourt replaced by Matthew Doughty for part two. United started with some nice keep-ball stuff, just the ticket when holding a 2-0 lead, and on 52 Revell set up Tudor for a shot at goal that appeared to many to hit a home hand. Another Tudor attempt sailed wide on 54, then Adam Tann headed a Walker corner over under pressure.
In a last, seemingly desperate throw of the dice, Dale boss Alan Buckley introduced McEvilly just before the hour; his decision to remove Kevin Townson was not popular with many home fans. It was us who should have been booing. Dancing Shaun was finally called into serious action on the hour as Man City loanee Chris Shuker broke from midfield and fired a screamer that appeared to be headed for the top corner until athletically tipped on to the bar by the Terpsichorean custodian. Cracking save.
Revell had plainly run himself into the ground, unaccustomed to first-team starts, and he was replaced by John Turner on 64 after a game he can rightly look back on with pride. Then in stepped Mr Friend to change the course of the whole game with a woefully poor decision. And if he thinks I’m picking on him like everyone picks on poor, dear, innocent Sol ‘Asskicker’ Campbell … he’s darned right.
Connor, in possession in the United area, wriggled away from Angus and as he ran after the ball, collided with Tann, tumbling off-balance to the floor. To the astonishment of everyone in the ground, our friend Friend indicated a penalty, despite the fact that there had been no audible claim for a spot kick from either home team or spectators. Unbelievable. McEvilly wellied powerfully home, and all of a sudden the home supporters, who had been so silent since United’s first goal I had thought of popping over to the neighbouring graveyard to sample some atmosphere, awoke from their slumbers. A minute later they were even more fired up as Shuker went into a challenge on Walker studs-up and received a mandatory red for his pains. And if anyone plays worse against ten men than 11, it’s the Mighty U’s. Uh-oh, we’re in trouble …
Walker took a long time to recover and was caught in possession a couple of times as he limped after the ball, but it was the Mulletmeister who was next in the book for protesting his innocence after being penalised for a clash with Doughty. United, so dominant for so long, suddenly got those caught-on-the-back-foot heebie-jeebies blues, and no United fan of any experience was surprised when Dale got their fortunate equaliser on 80. McEvilly shot for goal at the near post, Marshall palmed it across the area, Wayne Evans latched on to it past several flat-footed amber shirts, fired a low, hopeful cross-shot in the direction of goal and, wouldn’t you know it, Connor flicked a heel and it flew unerringly into the far corner. Marshall was apoplectic and once again fearful, deep and statuesque defending had cost United dear.
Shaun Marshall: not much cause for celebration this time
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Shaggy and the Prof’s reaction was to replace the tiring Tudor with Franco ‘One Hairy’ Nacca, ten minutes too late, and the visitors suddenly began to apply the pressure to the ten men that they should have had the gumption to apply much earlier. Dale looked hopelessly vulnerable as they were opened up time and again by the sort of positive running and passing that, had United kept it up from the start of the second half, would have had the game long since comfortably won, instead of sitting passively back, comfortably numb. Lloyd Opara replaced Walker on 83, Kitson dropping deeper behind the two young strikers, and Big Lloyd wasted no time in setting up Guttridge to scurry through with only Gilks to beat, but the keeper pawed his shot away.
Opara was on the end of another superb passing move on 86, just beating the outrushing Gilks to the ball on the left edge of the area, and his low shot was headed for the open goal as it beat one despairing defender. Just as the amber hordes were rising to acclaim the winner, Simpkins galloped across to lash clear from under his own bar. More frustrating than catching the Sobig virus. Dale were reeling and rocking, but Mr Friend did all he could to break up play, booking Kitson on 88 for complaining about one pernickety decision. |
Still United pressed, Guttridge crossing from the left and finding Opara alone at the far post, but the ball went slightly behind him and he was crowded out before he could turn and shoot, as was Fleming. McEvilly and Angus clashed at the other end, Friend choosing to book only the United man when he seemed more sinned against than sinner, then as the five minutes of added time progressed, Connor should have snatched an undeserved win for the hosts as Betts’ through ball found him unmarked eight yards out as the United back line played statues. Marshall was equal to the challenge, parrying Trigger’s shot across him then clutching it to his bosom.
Turner and Opara still lurked threateningly, but it was the card-collecting man in black who had the last word as McEvilly and Tann tangled and, once again, it was just the United man who found his way into the book. The guy must be on a quota system. His final blast on the whistle signalled relief among the away support that we hadn’t lost in injury time like last year, but the over-riding emotion was disappointment: another game that we'd had by the scruff of the neck, then with some help from the ref but all too much from ourselves, we dropped and let scurry to safety.
It’s a shame that our outstanding young strikers are having to keep pace with a defence that, for all its added experience, is still leaking goals at the rate of two a game. And no one can keep up with that for long unless their name is Van Nistelrooy or Henry. Food for thought for Shaggy and the Prof, with Hull looming. They drew 3-3 today; what are the odds on a bank holiday Monday repeat?
Marshall 7– No chance with the goals, and two superb saves made for a thoroughly satisfactory performance.
Tann 7– Sold defending allied to decent attacking support.
Murray 7– Looked much more at home in the back four and got forward well.
Angus 8– After a shaky start, our rising star now looks firmly aligned with Venus.
Venus 8– Absolutely immaculate, intelligent defending and faultless use of the ball.
Walker 7– Quietly competent until clattered by Shuker’s red-card assault and should have been subbed once it was apparent he was not fully recovered.
Guttridge 7– Buzzed busily and got involved well for most of the match.
Fleming 6– No one doubts his application, but his touch and passing were noticeably inferior to those of his colleagues. Not really his sort of battle.
Tudor 7– Still at no more than 50 per cent of last season’s form, but it is coming back. If only it would come back a bit faster.
Revell 8– Triumphant rare start capped with an absolutely superb goal. Ran himself into the ground until replaced, exhausted.
Kitson 8– Smooth, classy display of hold-up play topped with a typical point-blank finish. Sheer quality.
Turner 7– What an exciting prospect this boy is. Belies his tender years and his promise seems almost unlimited at this early stage.
Nacca 6– Slotted unobtrusively into midfield as reliably as ever.
Opara 7– Dynamic cameo appearance; looks like the competition among United’s young strikers is having a beneficial effect on all concerned.
Soundtrack of the day: Queens Of The Stone Age/First It Giveth
Match summary: On another day of more ups, downs, ins and outs than the hokey-cokey, United danced to a comfortable winning position against decidedly beatable opposition, then contrived to fall flat on their faces as two more points were discarded with breathtaking ease. If only they could stop tossing away goals like confetti, our exciting young strikers could fire us to the wins their masterful finishing deserves.
Man of the match: Mark Venus. A beacon of cool on a hot, clammy day, he tidied up neatly and never wasted a pass. If only he could stop us conceding all those goals.
Ref watch: Friend 2. With friends like this, a good game of football is about as lively as the cemetery adjoining Spotland. Utterly intolerant of the slightest physical contact, he did his best to ruin the flow of the game with his unnecessary whistling, seemed to regard dissent as more serious than a bad foul then ignored some of the worst clatterings in his obsession with booking players speaking out of turn. Very poor.
Justin’s jukebox. Justin Walker runs the rule over the musical delights on offer at Spotland. ‘Huddersfield showed how to get it all wrong with a collection of naff oldies in our last away game. Rochdale, on the other hand, showed how to get it right with even older music! The customary selection of northern guitar groups (Stone Roses, Charlatans, Cast, Oasis) was augmented by the odd pleasant surprise (Bowie’s Young Americans) then, getting near kick-off, rabble-rousing stuff like TRex, Blink 182 and House Of Pain’s classic Jump Around. Unfortunately they ruined everything by spinning Reef’s unbearable, squawking Place Your Hands then, with criminal lack of originality, the wretched Let Me Entertain You as the players came out. There were, however, some more good oldies at half-time (Blondie, Guns N’Roses), so the JJ Verdict this week is: kicking! (7/10)’
Turner and Opara still lurked threateningly, but it was the card-collecting man in black who had the last word as McEvilly and Tann tangled and, once again, it was just the United man who found his way into the book. The guy must be on a quota system. His final blast on the whistle signalled relief among the away support that we hadn’t lost in injury time like last year, but the over-riding emotion was disappointment: another game that we'd had by the scruff of the neck, then with some help from the ref but all too much from ourselves, we dropped and let scurry to safety.
It’s a shame that our outstanding young strikers are having to keep pace with a defence that, for all its added experience, is still leaking goals at the rate of two a game. And no one can keep up with that for long unless their name is Van Nistelrooy or Henry. Food for thought for Shaggy and the Prof, with Hull looming. They drew 3-3 today; what are the odds on a bank holiday Monday repeat?
Marshall 7– No chance with the goals, and two superb saves made for a thoroughly satisfactory performance.
Tann 7– Sold defending allied to decent attacking support.
Murray 7– Looked much more at home in the back four and got forward well.
Angus 8– After a shaky start, our rising star now looks firmly aligned with Venus.
Venus 8– Absolutely immaculate, intelligent defending and faultless use of the ball.
Walker 7– Quietly competent until clattered by Shuker’s red-card assault and should have been subbed once it was apparent he was not fully recovered.
Guttridge 7– Buzzed busily and got involved well for most of the match.
Fleming 6– No one doubts his application, but his touch and passing were noticeably inferior to those of his colleagues. Not really his sort of battle.
Tudor 7– Still at no more than 50 per cent of last season’s form, but it is coming back. If only it would come back a bit faster.
Revell 8– Triumphant rare start capped with an absolutely superb goal. Ran himself into the ground until replaced, exhausted.
Kitson 8– Smooth, classy display of hold-up play topped with a typical point-blank finish. Sheer quality.
Turner 7– What an exciting prospect this boy is. Belies his tender years and his promise seems almost unlimited at this early stage.
Nacca 6– Slotted unobtrusively into midfield as reliably as ever.
Opara 7– Dynamic cameo appearance; looks like the competition among United’s young strikers is having a beneficial effect on all concerned.
Soundtrack of the day: Queens Of The Stone Age/First It Giveth
Match summary: On another day of more ups, downs, ins and outs than the hokey-cokey, United danced to a comfortable winning position against decidedly beatable opposition, then contrived to fall flat on their faces as two more points were discarded with breathtaking ease. If only they could stop tossing away goals like confetti, our exciting young strikers could fire us to the wins their masterful finishing deserves.
Man of the match: Mark Venus. A beacon of cool on a hot, clammy day, he tidied up neatly and never wasted a pass. If only he could stop us conceding all those goals.
Ref watch: Friend 2. With friends like this, a good game of football is about as lively as the cemetery adjoining Spotland. Utterly intolerant of the slightest physical contact, he did his best to ruin the flow of the game with his unnecessary whistling, seemed to regard dissent as more serious than a bad foul then ignored some of the worst clatterings in his obsession with booking players speaking out of turn. Very poor.
Justin’s jukebox. Justin Walker runs the rule over the musical delights on offer at Spotland. ‘Huddersfield showed how to get it all wrong with a collection of naff oldies in our last away game. Rochdale, on the other hand, showed how to get it right with even older music! The customary selection of northern guitar groups (Stone Roses, Charlatans, Cast, Oasis) was augmented by the odd pleasant surprise (Bowie’s Young Americans) then, getting near kick-off, rabble-rousing stuff like TRex, Blink 182 and House Of Pain’s classic Jump Around. Unfortunately they ruined everything by spinning Reef’s unbearable, squawking Place Your Hands then, with criminal lack of originality, the wretched Let Me Entertain You as the players came out. There were, however, some more good oldies at half-time (Blondie, Guns N’Roses), so the JJ Verdict this week is: kicking! (7/10)’
Monday, 25 August 2003: U’s 0v2 Hull City
What we didn't do on our holidays
TOP PRIORITY: Security report from: Safe-As Security Services to: Mr J Taylor, Cambridge United FC. 0800 hours BST, Tuesday 26 August 2003
Intelligence has come to light that an extremist faction in the Hull camp, known as the Ten-Nil Tigers, has targeted CUFC in a ‘dirty tricks’ campaign in advance of today’s game. The Tigers’ shadowy leader, known only as ‘Jerry’, aided by one known as ‘Ash’, has pledged to sabotage the Cambridge defence by any means possible as an act of revenge for, in his own twisted words, ‘being really horrid and not letting me score’. ‘Ash’ is also believed to bear a grudge because Cambridge would not grant him a £15-a-week-pay rise on the grounds that an increase of 38 per cent would be in excess of inflation.
‘Jerry’ is believed to have pretended to be injured for the match, ostensibly to avoid the home crowd’s abuse, but in reality he is understood to have obtained several kilos of mackerel which he has laced with Night Nurse and Ex-Lax to make his targets feel unwell and sleepy. His sidekick will monitor its effects on the field and advise him of its effectiveness, so will accordingly play little part in the match, although this may be difficult to spot as he does much the same in every match. ‘Jerry’ will hide at the back of the dugout after sneaking his treated food into the home dressing room under the ruse of a friendly gift from a former colleague. He is not to be trusted. Cambridge players must remain alert and refuse to eat any foodstuffs offered.
Briefing ends.
Addendum: we have just found that the match did in fact take place on Monday 25th and not Tuesday 26th as we thought. Bugger.
S Westley, acting chief of intelligence, Safe-As Security Services
It has been many a year since the Mighty U’s played at the Abbey on an August bank holiday, and they were rewarded with a decent crowd of 4,500 thanks to the black-and-amber hordes up from ’ull. Like ’uddersfield (or Swansea, Oxford, Bristol Rovers, Northampton …), they seem to believe they are the team everyone wants to beat because they are so ‘big’; but we all know size isn’t everything, don’t we, gentlemen? They are certainly much wealthier than their humble hosts, fielding a team that cost the best part of half a million pounds against United’s assemblage of frees and youngsters (and Dave Kitson, who cost six beads and a bag of marbles), and let’s not even imagine how much more they earn in salaries than our own brave breadline boys. Marc Joseph probably employs a gofer to score his goals for him these days, while he lounges on a recliner nursing a Pimm’s and a copy of the FT.
Anyway, Mr Joseph was noticeably absent from today’s line-up, supposedly because of a knee injury. Stop making those clucking noises, you wicked people. Apparently he had an absolute ’mare in his last game, a 3-3 draw with Cheltenham, but he’d never have been dropped, goodness me no. Hull’s other United old boy, Ian Ashbee, is their skipper now, presumably dazzling them with his brilliant corners and free-kick expertise as befits our former dead ball specialist. Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem to do this for his present team, contenting himself with lurking in front of his back four and hoofing the ball towards the skilful players further up the pitch. Bless.
The rest of the Tigers team were almost without exception as gigantic as their club claims to be, towering shaven-headed target man Ben Burgess accompanying Aussie goal machine Danny ‘Madge’ Allsopp up front, imposingly physical ex-Swansea man Jason Price prowling the midfield and a row of telegraph pole-sized defenders at the back including the tallest left back in the world, Damien Delaney, who looked about 8ft 6in against United’s midfield midgets. Add chunky keeper Paul Musselwhite and you have a team that allies physical power to no little skill in about the right ratio to challenge for promotion from this rumbustious division. Lincoln just forgot the ‘skill’ bit.
For United, the return from injury of the mighty Bimmo allowed them to give Shane Tudor the rest that he would have got at Rochdale, Freddie Murray pushed back into midfield and Luke Guttridge occupying Shane’s position ‘in the hole’ for the first time in an unchanged 4-3-1-2 formation. One look at the midfield of Fleming, Walker and Murray raised immediate fears that having three naturally defensively-minded players together would lead to a corresponding lack of invention when going forward. Our fears were well-founded.
Lil’ Luke demonstrated his newly-discovered attacking prowess early on, latching on to a Fleming pass, but was unable to find a way past the Easter Island monoliths of Hull’s back line. For the visitors, Burgess blasted wide a minute later, but within five minutes of the start they were one up after the Terrier conceded a corner. Astoundingly, Ian Ashbee, the Pavarottiesque maestro of the dead ball, didn’t take it. Unfortunately. Dean Keates’ left-wing flag kick found Justin Whittle rising unchallenged on the edge of the box and his goalward header was diverted past Marshall by the dreaded locks of Jason Price, lurking criminally unmarked six yards out.
Those wild optimists among us (hey! of course the Reynolds Girls will have another hit one day!) tried to see this early setback as a blessing in disguise, given that United had taken the lead in their previous four games but won only one thereof. The powerful Price almost fluked a second a couple of minutes later after his right-wing cross dropped on to the top of the net, but the hosts then rallied with a couple of Walker corners, then created a gilt-edged opportunity on eight. Murray’s cross found Kitson’s head near the penalty spot, and his neat knockdown fell invitingly for Aggy Revell; the young striker’s shot was well struck, but Musselwhite spread his ample frame and deflected it away for a corner.
But this was a false dawn as Hull began to simply overpower United all over the pitch. Every player from 1-11 (OK, 2-19) was determined to close his opponent down as quickly as possible, and it wasn’t long before the home back four were reduced to hoofing high balls up towards the front two as their immobile, creativity-free midfield was swamped by Hull’s snapping middle four. Guttridge was everywhere, and Revell and Kitson looked up for a scrap, but their colleagues were simply unable, or not allowed, to provide them with any sort of quality service. As the game wore on, Big Dave in particular began to look forlorner than Wolves’ survival hopes.
Stuart Elliott shoved Tann out of the way to score on 11 but was rightly penalised, then Allsopp blazed ambitiously over, but the next really dangerous moment was created by Marshall, whose dreadful throw out towards an unaware Venus was comfortably picked up by Burgess. He set up Allsopp for a simple-looking chance 12 yards out, but his feeble tap was comfortably and relievedly collected by the Terpsichorean custodian. If Shaun doesn’t learn to project that voice soon, we’ll have to organise elocution lessons for him from Ian Paisley.
There were hopeful shouts for a United penalty soon after, to no avail, then Kitson seemed to have evaded his markers to go one-on-one with Musselwhite, only for the offside flag of doom to flutter its dismal reveille. On 18 the U’s tried to self-destruct again as Fleming’s wretched attempted pass was easily intercepted by Burgess. Again he found Allsopp, untroubled by any marker ten yards out, and he could have picked his spot à la Stephen Hendry in any part of the goal; but he blasted it high towards Marshall, and the Dancemeister showed that he may not be any good at yelling, but he is a reaction shot-stopper par excellence as he pawed the shot away for a corner.
But ’twas only a brief respite, and three minutes later it was 2-0. Burgess was again the provider, flicking on down the middle for Allsopp and Angus to give chase. As they approached the edge of the area, Marshall came charging out towards them, and Angus seemed favourite to get the ball first; but yet again the old communication problem descended like a cloud of summer smog. Both United players dithered like a couple of pensioners at Sainsbury’s fruit counter, and Allsopp nipped gratefully between them, nicked the ball away and slotted home with ease. Oh dear (x3).
Never mind sixes and sevens, United were off the scale of scatterbrained scragginess, and with this level of slipshod slackness (try saying that fast) the game looked over as a contest already. Elliott was booked for dissent on 22 after Fleming was fouled, but Bimmo’s free kick sailed harmlessly into the keeper’s arms; and such was the skipper’s afternoon, far too many of his set pieces overhit out of play or meat and drink for the well-fed Musselwhite.
Lil’ Luke, United’s star performer so far, did his best on 25 with a well-struck left-footer from 20 yards that was heading for the top corner until tipped round the post. When United managed to get the ball down and pass it they were able to create chances, Revell seeing an effort blocked and Kitson warming the keeper’s gloves, then Revell crossing for Guttridge to see his header cannon off a large Hull body, but the visitors’ muscular pressing game now dominated. United’s front two and a half became increasingly isolated as the back four looked to their midfield for inspiration and found none; Murray floundered, a left-back carp in a midfield desert, Fleming was an artisan without artistry, or indeed much basic ball control, and Walker could muster little more than short backward passes that advanced his side’s cause not one jot. No wonder Venus kept knocking it long.
It wouldn’t be a United game without a joke booking, and this one came on 42 as Musselwhite flattened his own defender in coming out and claiming an aerial ball, then Kitson was carded for protesting when ref Joslin awarded Hull a free kick for a foul no United player had committed. Refs, eh? Give them red noses and they’d make great clowns.
Revell managed another shot, wide, before half-time, but in truth the Tigers looked home and dry. United needed a big game hunter in the centre to bring them down, but the only guns they possessed were the sort that produced a white flag from the muzzle with the word ‘Bang’ on it. And their sharpshooters up front couldn’t even get their hands (heads, feet) on any ammunition.
It was difficult to imagine those nice guys Shaggy and the Prof laying into their errant charges during the interval, but they at least started the second half in reasonably skittish fashion, the lively Revell at the centre of a few almost-half-chances without troubling Musselwhite unduly, while at the other end an unconvincing punch by Marshall off Burgess’s head was lobbed back but just over by Keates. No change in personnel meant precious little change in the pattern of the game.
On the hour Kitson chased the ball across the box with Whittle, a bit of push-me-pull-you ensuing as they went, and it was the BBG who went down with what looked like a fairly plausible claim for a penalty. But Joslin had showed no interest in giving anything contentious throughout the match and remained deaf to Big Dave’s entreaties. Walker picked up United’s second booking on 63 for a foul on Burgess, and Ashbee’s free kick (we’re not worthy!) found Allsopp’s head, but he could only guide it into Marshall’s midriff.
There was clearly no way United were going to get back into it by pumping high balls to their front two against Hull’s huge backs, and recognising that Murray’s main (almost entire) contribution had been to receive the ball on the left wing, look up, not fancy running forward then pass it back again, he removed the woefully out-of-position Irishman in favour of Shane Tudor, the Orange One taking Guttridge’s place in the hole while Luke moved to left midfield. Sadly, this had all the net effect of Jon ‘Gracious Loser’ Drummond’s sit-in at the athletics, as the retention of the misfiring 4-3-1-2 formation continued to leave gaps down both United’s flanks while concentrating the hosts’ own attempts at attacking play in a narrow band down the middle, which had about as much chance of success as finding a sober, fully-clothed British tourist in Faliraki.
A horrible mistake by Bimson on 72 set up Price for a run on goal down the right channel, but he blazed narrowly wide under pressure from Angus, and three minutes Revell was replaced after a thoroughly decent performance by John ‘JT II’ Turner. Tann headed a Bimson corner over, then Hull, by now taking as much time as they could over everything, made two substitutions, both withdrawn players sloping off as slowly as decency could muster. I could swear the first one was whistling nonchalantly as he strolled casually across the pitch.
With ten minutes to go United had their best chance to score. Kitson drove into the box from the left, exchanged an exquisite 1-2 with Turner’s deft touch and his low drive beat the keeper but was hacked off the line by Delaney. Far and away the best football of the day by the U's, and who knows what might have happened if it had gone in. As it was, Hull should have made it three shortly after, Allsopp skipping away from Venus down the right wing (it was like a tractor chasing a cheetah), but as he cut inside towards Marshall, he inexplicably failed to shoot as if he wanted to just run the ball all the way into the net, and somehow he was relieved of possession before he could pull the trigger. It was like watching vintage Tom Youngs, bless his ten tiny toes.
United flailed hopefully as time ran out, but Musselwhite was never unduly disturbed, Tudor’s final injury-time 20-yarder over the top their final rage against the dire ring of their plight. It was with some relief that the amber faithful greeted the final whistle, hoping that their heroes had just had a bad day at the office. Full credit to Hull, a big, strong, disciplined team who dictated almost from the start and will be there or thereabouts this season.
Whether United join them will depend on whether they can find a midfield that can create as well as contain, and a defence that doesn’t crumble like a sandcastle before the incoming tide. Next up are Carlisle, who have a perfect record so far: played four, lost four. So it would seem entirely logical to put money on them to break their duck against the ever-obliging U’s. Ah, but if I did bet against United, they would surely win, wouldn’t they? So I shouldn’t waste my money then. Er, but if I don’t bet against United, Carlisle will win, won’t they? I must go for a lie down …
Marshall 5– Not a great deal to do but was a spectator for the first goal and will have nightmares about the second.
Tann 5– A rare off-day for Mr Consistent, he was beaten too easily too many times.
Bimson 6– Competent defensively but had little involvement further forward and his set pieces were too often substandard.
Angus 5– Just as he looked to have found form, the collywobbles returned. Not his usual cool self.
Venus 6– Calm while those around him lathered and distribution first class as ever.
Fleming 5– Contribution negligible, passing wayward.
Walker 6– Quiet game and had little influence.
Murray 5– A fish out of water in midfield; 99 per cent of passes were backwards or sideways and looked unwilling or unable to make forward runs.
Guttridge 7– One of United’s few successes, slotted seamlessly into Tudor’s ‘hole’ role and foraged tirelessly and adventurously.
Revell 7– Lively and energetic and made the most of his not terribly good service.
Kitson 6– Did what he could with the interminable lazy high balls that were hoofed towards him and the gigantic Hull defence.
Turner 6– Continued to show his undoubted promise, most notably with his delicious one-two flick that set up Kitson.
Tudor 5– Still struggling to find last season’s form.
Soundtrack of the day: The Barcelona Pavilion/Tidy Up, Tidy Up
Match summary: It’s always nice to have a day off on a bank holiday, but unfortunately half of United’s team had the same idea as slipshod defending combined with an idea-less midfield to condemn them to their first League defeat of the season. Big, bustling Hull could scarcely believe their luck in being presented with two early goals, and United simply lacked the gumption to do anything to salvage matters. Put that on the shopping list next time you go to Tesco, eh Shaggy?
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. Rose admirably to the challenge of playing in an unfamiliar position and if only his energy and attitude had been echoed by more of his teammates.
Ref watch: Joslin 4. Fussy chap who booked Kitson for no good reason and was all too willing to stop the game for the slightest physical contact, except when it would have meant penalising a defender in his own penalty area.
What we didn't do on our holidays
TOP PRIORITY: Security report from: Safe-As Security Services to: Mr J Taylor, Cambridge United FC. 0800 hours BST, Tuesday 26 August 2003
Intelligence has come to light that an extremist faction in the Hull camp, known as the Ten-Nil Tigers, has targeted CUFC in a ‘dirty tricks’ campaign in advance of today’s game. The Tigers’ shadowy leader, known only as ‘Jerry’, aided by one known as ‘Ash’, has pledged to sabotage the Cambridge defence by any means possible as an act of revenge for, in his own twisted words, ‘being really horrid and not letting me score’. ‘Ash’ is also believed to bear a grudge because Cambridge would not grant him a £15-a-week-pay rise on the grounds that an increase of 38 per cent would be in excess of inflation.
‘Jerry’ is believed to have pretended to be injured for the match, ostensibly to avoid the home crowd’s abuse, but in reality he is understood to have obtained several kilos of mackerel which he has laced with Night Nurse and Ex-Lax to make his targets feel unwell and sleepy. His sidekick will monitor its effects on the field and advise him of its effectiveness, so will accordingly play little part in the match, although this may be difficult to spot as he does much the same in every match. ‘Jerry’ will hide at the back of the dugout after sneaking his treated food into the home dressing room under the ruse of a friendly gift from a former colleague. He is not to be trusted. Cambridge players must remain alert and refuse to eat any foodstuffs offered.
Briefing ends.
Addendum: we have just found that the match did in fact take place on Monday 25th and not Tuesday 26th as we thought. Bugger.
S Westley, acting chief of intelligence, Safe-As Security Services
It has been many a year since the Mighty U’s played at the Abbey on an August bank holiday, and they were rewarded with a decent crowd of 4,500 thanks to the black-and-amber hordes up from ’ull. Like ’uddersfield (or Swansea, Oxford, Bristol Rovers, Northampton …), they seem to believe they are the team everyone wants to beat because they are so ‘big’; but we all know size isn’t everything, don’t we, gentlemen? They are certainly much wealthier than their humble hosts, fielding a team that cost the best part of half a million pounds against United’s assemblage of frees and youngsters (and Dave Kitson, who cost six beads and a bag of marbles), and let’s not even imagine how much more they earn in salaries than our own brave breadline boys. Marc Joseph probably employs a gofer to score his goals for him these days, while he lounges on a recliner nursing a Pimm’s and a copy of the FT.
Anyway, Mr Joseph was noticeably absent from today’s line-up, supposedly because of a knee injury. Stop making those clucking noises, you wicked people. Apparently he had an absolute ’mare in his last game, a 3-3 draw with Cheltenham, but he’d never have been dropped, goodness me no. Hull’s other United old boy, Ian Ashbee, is their skipper now, presumably dazzling them with his brilliant corners and free-kick expertise as befits our former dead ball specialist. Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem to do this for his present team, contenting himself with lurking in front of his back four and hoofing the ball towards the skilful players further up the pitch. Bless.
The rest of the Tigers team were almost without exception as gigantic as their club claims to be, towering shaven-headed target man Ben Burgess accompanying Aussie goal machine Danny ‘Madge’ Allsopp up front, imposingly physical ex-Swansea man Jason Price prowling the midfield and a row of telegraph pole-sized defenders at the back including the tallest left back in the world, Damien Delaney, who looked about 8ft 6in against United’s midfield midgets. Add chunky keeper Paul Musselwhite and you have a team that allies physical power to no little skill in about the right ratio to challenge for promotion from this rumbustious division. Lincoln just forgot the ‘skill’ bit.
For United, the return from injury of the mighty Bimmo allowed them to give Shane Tudor the rest that he would have got at Rochdale, Freddie Murray pushed back into midfield and Luke Guttridge occupying Shane’s position ‘in the hole’ for the first time in an unchanged 4-3-1-2 formation. One look at the midfield of Fleming, Walker and Murray raised immediate fears that having three naturally defensively-minded players together would lead to a corresponding lack of invention when going forward. Our fears were well-founded.
Lil’ Luke demonstrated his newly-discovered attacking prowess early on, latching on to a Fleming pass, but was unable to find a way past the Easter Island monoliths of Hull’s back line. For the visitors, Burgess blasted wide a minute later, but within five minutes of the start they were one up after the Terrier conceded a corner. Astoundingly, Ian Ashbee, the Pavarottiesque maestro of the dead ball, didn’t take it. Unfortunately. Dean Keates’ left-wing flag kick found Justin Whittle rising unchallenged on the edge of the box and his goalward header was diverted past Marshall by the dreaded locks of Jason Price, lurking criminally unmarked six yards out.
Those wild optimists among us (hey! of course the Reynolds Girls will have another hit one day!) tried to see this early setback as a blessing in disguise, given that United had taken the lead in their previous four games but won only one thereof. The powerful Price almost fluked a second a couple of minutes later after his right-wing cross dropped on to the top of the net, but the hosts then rallied with a couple of Walker corners, then created a gilt-edged opportunity on eight. Murray’s cross found Kitson’s head near the penalty spot, and his neat knockdown fell invitingly for Aggy Revell; the young striker’s shot was well struck, but Musselwhite spread his ample frame and deflected it away for a corner.
But this was a false dawn as Hull began to simply overpower United all over the pitch. Every player from 1-11 (OK, 2-19) was determined to close his opponent down as quickly as possible, and it wasn’t long before the home back four were reduced to hoofing high balls up towards the front two as their immobile, creativity-free midfield was swamped by Hull’s snapping middle four. Guttridge was everywhere, and Revell and Kitson looked up for a scrap, but their colleagues were simply unable, or not allowed, to provide them with any sort of quality service. As the game wore on, Big Dave in particular began to look forlorner than Wolves’ survival hopes.
Stuart Elliott shoved Tann out of the way to score on 11 but was rightly penalised, then Allsopp blazed ambitiously over, but the next really dangerous moment was created by Marshall, whose dreadful throw out towards an unaware Venus was comfortably picked up by Burgess. He set up Allsopp for a simple-looking chance 12 yards out, but his feeble tap was comfortably and relievedly collected by the Terpsichorean custodian. If Shaun doesn’t learn to project that voice soon, we’ll have to organise elocution lessons for him from Ian Paisley.
There were hopeful shouts for a United penalty soon after, to no avail, then Kitson seemed to have evaded his markers to go one-on-one with Musselwhite, only for the offside flag of doom to flutter its dismal reveille. On 18 the U’s tried to self-destruct again as Fleming’s wretched attempted pass was easily intercepted by Burgess. Again he found Allsopp, untroubled by any marker ten yards out, and he could have picked his spot à la Stephen Hendry in any part of the goal; but he blasted it high towards Marshall, and the Dancemeister showed that he may not be any good at yelling, but he is a reaction shot-stopper par excellence as he pawed the shot away for a corner.
But ’twas only a brief respite, and three minutes later it was 2-0. Burgess was again the provider, flicking on down the middle for Allsopp and Angus to give chase. As they approached the edge of the area, Marshall came charging out towards them, and Angus seemed favourite to get the ball first; but yet again the old communication problem descended like a cloud of summer smog. Both United players dithered like a couple of pensioners at Sainsbury’s fruit counter, and Allsopp nipped gratefully between them, nicked the ball away and slotted home with ease. Oh dear (x3).
Never mind sixes and sevens, United were off the scale of scatterbrained scragginess, and with this level of slipshod slackness (try saying that fast) the game looked over as a contest already. Elliott was booked for dissent on 22 after Fleming was fouled, but Bimmo’s free kick sailed harmlessly into the keeper’s arms; and such was the skipper’s afternoon, far too many of his set pieces overhit out of play or meat and drink for the well-fed Musselwhite.
Lil’ Luke, United’s star performer so far, did his best on 25 with a well-struck left-footer from 20 yards that was heading for the top corner until tipped round the post. When United managed to get the ball down and pass it they were able to create chances, Revell seeing an effort blocked and Kitson warming the keeper’s gloves, then Revell crossing for Guttridge to see his header cannon off a large Hull body, but the visitors’ muscular pressing game now dominated. United’s front two and a half became increasingly isolated as the back four looked to their midfield for inspiration and found none; Murray floundered, a left-back carp in a midfield desert, Fleming was an artisan without artistry, or indeed much basic ball control, and Walker could muster little more than short backward passes that advanced his side’s cause not one jot. No wonder Venus kept knocking it long.
It wouldn’t be a United game without a joke booking, and this one came on 42 as Musselwhite flattened his own defender in coming out and claiming an aerial ball, then Kitson was carded for protesting when ref Joslin awarded Hull a free kick for a foul no United player had committed. Refs, eh? Give them red noses and they’d make great clowns.
Revell managed another shot, wide, before half-time, but in truth the Tigers looked home and dry. United needed a big game hunter in the centre to bring them down, but the only guns they possessed were the sort that produced a white flag from the muzzle with the word ‘Bang’ on it. And their sharpshooters up front couldn’t even get their hands (heads, feet) on any ammunition.
It was difficult to imagine those nice guys Shaggy and the Prof laying into their errant charges during the interval, but they at least started the second half in reasonably skittish fashion, the lively Revell at the centre of a few almost-half-chances without troubling Musselwhite unduly, while at the other end an unconvincing punch by Marshall off Burgess’s head was lobbed back but just over by Keates. No change in personnel meant precious little change in the pattern of the game.
On the hour Kitson chased the ball across the box with Whittle, a bit of push-me-pull-you ensuing as they went, and it was the BBG who went down with what looked like a fairly plausible claim for a penalty. But Joslin had showed no interest in giving anything contentious throughout the match and remained deaf to Big Dave’s entreaties. Walker picked up United’s second booking on 63 for a foul on Burgess, and Ashbee’s free kick (we’re not worthy!) found Allsopp’s head, but he could only guide it into Marshall’s midriff.
There was clearly no way United were going to get back into it by pumping high balls to their front two against Hull’s huge backs, and recognising that Murray’s main (almost entire) contribution had been to receive the ball on the left wing, look up, not fancy running forward then pass it back again, he removed the woefully out-of-position Irishman in favour of Shane Tudor, the Orange One taking Guttridge’s place in the hole while Luke moved to left midfield. Sadly, this had all the net effect of Jon ‘Gracious Loser’ Drummond’s sit-in at the athletics, as the retention of the misfiring 4-3-1-2 formation continued to leave gaps down both United’s flanks while concentrating the hosts’ own attempts at attacking play in a narrow band down the middle, which had about as much chance of success as finding a sober, fully-clothed British tourist in Faliraki.
A horrible mistake by Bimson on 72 set up Price for a run on goal down the right channel, but he blazed narrowly wide under pressure from Angus, and three minutes Revell was replaced after a thoroughly decent performance by John ‘JT II’ Turner. Tann headed a Bimson corner over, then Hull, by now taking as much time as they could over everything, made two substitutions, both withdrawn players sloping off as slowly as decency could muster. I could swear the first one was whistling nonchalantly as he strolled casually across the pitch.
With ten minutes to go United had their best chance to score. Kitson drove into the box from the left, exchanged an exquisite 1-2 with Turner’s deft touch and his low drive beat the keeper but was hacked off the line by Delaney. Far and away the best football of the day by the U's, and who knows what might have happened if it had gone in. As it was, Hull should have made it three shortly after, Allsopp skipping away from Venus down the right wing (it was like a tractor chasing a cheetah), but as he cut inside towards Marshall, he inexplicably failed to shoot as if he wanted to just run the ball all the way into the net, and somehow he was relieved of possession before he could pull the trigger. It was like watching vintage Tom Youngs, bless his ten tiny toes.
United flailed hopefully as time ran out, but Musselwhite was never unduly disturbed, Tudor’s final injury-time 20-yarder over the top their final rage against the dire ring of their plight. It was with some relief that the amber faithful greeted the final whistle, hoping that their heroes had just had a bad day at the office. Full credit to Hull, a big, strong, disciplined team who dictated almost from the start and will be there or thereabouts this season.
Whether United join them will depend on whether they can find a midfield that can create as well as contain, and a defence that doesn’t crumble like a sandcastle before the incoming tide. Next up are Carlisle, who have a perfect record so far: played four, lost four. So it would seem entirely logical to put money on them to break their duck against the ever-obliging U’s. Ah, but if I did bet against United, they would surely win, wouldn’t they? So I shouldn’t waste my money then. Er, but if I don’t bet against United, Carlisle will win, won’t they? I must go for a lie down …
Marshall 5– Not a great deal to do but was a spectator for the first goal and will have nightmares about the second.
Tann 5– A rare off-day for Mr Consistent, he was beaten too easily too many times.
Bimson 6– Competent defensively but had little involvement further forward and his set pieces were too often substandard.
Angus 5– Just as he looked to have found form, the collywobbles returned. Not his usual cool self.
Venus 6– Calm while those around him lathered and distribution first class as ever.
Fleming 5– Contribution negligible, passing wayward.
Walker 6– Quiet game and had little influence.
Murray 5– A fish out of water in midfield; 99 per cent of passes were backwards or sideways and looked unwilling or unable to make forward runs.
Guttridge 7– One of United’s few successes, slotted seamlessly into Tudor’s ‘hole’ role and foraged tirelessly and adventurously.
Revell 7– Lively and energetic and made the most of his not terribly good service.
Kitson 6– Did what he could with the interminable lazy high balls that were hoofed towards him and the gigantic Hull defence.
Turner 6– Continued to show his undoubted promise, most notably with his delicious one-two flick that set up Kitson.
Tudor 5– Still struggling to find last season’s form.
Soundtrack of the day: The Barcelona Pavilion/Tidy Up, Tidy Up
Match summary: It’s always nice to have a day off on a bank holiday, but unfortunately half of United’s team had the same idea as slipshod defending combined with an idea-less midfield to condemn them to their first League defeat of the season. Big, bustling Hull could scarcely believe their luck in being presented with two early goals, and United simply lacked the gumption to do anything to salvage matters. Put that on the shopping list next time you go to Tesco, eh Shaggy?
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. Rose admirably to the challenge of playing in an unfamiliar position and if only his energy and attitude had been echoed by more of his teammates.
Ref watch: Joslin 4. Fussy chap who booked Kitson for no good reason and was all too willing to stop the game for the slightest physical contact, except when it would have meant penalising a defender in his own penalty area.
Tourists in Faliraki: clothed on this occasion
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30 August 2003: Carlisle 0-0 U’s
The Non-Happening (Part 1)
The players gathered in the Harris Suite the day before matchday. ‘All right, lads, listen up,’ said Shaggy. ‘Dale and I have been having a chat about this habit we’ve got of chucking leads away, and we came across this bloke’s name through the Division Three grapevine. He’s a football exorcist and he thinks some simple group exercises will help us to get this off our backs. May I present the Reverend Rotavator!’ A bizarrely garbed figure strode into view, his sober black top and dog collar in striking contrast to his colourful tracksuit bottoms, legwarmers and headband.
‘Hi guys!’ he piped up. ‘I’m going to lead you through some routines from my new video, Exorcise & Stay Fit For A Healthy Body And Soul. Everyone take a cross and some holy Evian and follow me …’ The strains of Cliff Richard’s Wired For Sound began to drift from a ghetto blaster in the corner. The Reverend began to gyrate rhythmically, indicating for the players to echo his movements: ‘… And wave that cross from side to side! Flick that holy water far and wide! Out! Out! Out, demons, out! All together now!’
Shaggy and Brooksie conferred while watching the bizarre spectacle. ‘He looks familiar, doesn’t he?’ mused JT. ‘Under that beard and those glasses, he could almost be … no, it couldn’t be. Becky couldn’t be that desperate, could he? Anyway, I’d rather have a boring 0-0 draw than throw another lead away at the moment.’
Curiously enough, the legendary Mr Beck was one of the first applicants for the Carlisle job when they sacked manager Roddy Collins yesterday. Despite their point-less position at the bottom of the table, there was unease among the amber faithful that the fillip of the coat-throwing boss’s dismissal might give the Carlisle players the boot up the behind they needed. Paul Simpson was the Johnny-on-the-spot in temporary charge amid dire warnings from fans of his last club, Rochdale, against considering him for the job proper. He ought to take some lessons from Geoff ‘Nothing to do with me, guv’ Hoon.
The travelling U’s supporters were joined on their long haul north by United director Roger Hunt, who kindly invited them to put any questions they fancied his way. Sadly, I didn’t have time to put mine to him, so if you’re reading, Mr H, they are as follows: 1)How did it feel to play in the 1966 World Cup final? 2)Is there a God? 3)Who put the bomp in the bomp-a-bomp-bomp-bomp?
What a nice chap. Our trip took place under intermittently cloudy but balmy conditions, with a pleasantly cooling northerly breeze to remind us that the heatwave is mercifully over for another year. A pre-match drink in the nearby rugby club’s welcoming clubhouse was accompanied by a perusal of the day’s match programme, printed too late to record Collins’ sacking, but intriguingly the opening article therein welcoming us and commenting on recent results bore no credit at all, leading one to suspect that Collins’s name had been hurriedly removed therefrom. Sadly for him, the claim in the piece that ‘… there is certainly no crisis here …’ rang as hollow as someone tapping on Lee Bowyer’s head with a toffee hammer.
The club shop was still well-stocked with unsold copies of their LDV final song CD, with which they plagued us on our last visit but was not on the playlist today, and also on offer were some bizarre objects that could only be described as inflatable blue coshes: quite extraordinary. The away fans were allocated at the very far end of Carlisle’s main stand, a structure that rather forlornly extends several yards past the now-derelict former away end in anticipation of a redevelopment and moving of the pitch that will not be progressing in the near future, if ever. Still, the chappie in the windows warehouse that now overlooks the crumbling terrace got a nice unhampered view of the ‘action’ on the pitch, such as it was.
Before kick-off the centre spot was occupied by a stuffed fox (don’t ask), and the decent United contingent were hoping that it was their side that would be doing the stuffing today. Adam Tann and Freddie Murray were dropped after their below-par performances on Monday, Stev Angus moving to right back to accommodate Andy Duncan in the centre, while a 4-3-1-2 formation left Shane Tudor on the bench while pairing Messrs Kitson and Revell up front with Dan Chillingworth returning from injury to play just behind them, effectively forming an attacking 4-3-3 when on the offensive. And speaking of offensive, there was one former U on the bench for the hosts in the form of hard-partying wild man of the nightclubs, Des Byrne, now apparently insisting on being called Dessie, although I always thought that was an abbreviation for Desert Orchid.
The game started in front of an attendance of 4,571, spookily exactly the same figure as was at the Abbey on Monday. What can it all mean? Darren Kelly set the up-for-it tone by taking Dave Kitson from behind in a far from enjoyable way in the first minute, and in the second came the hosts’ first chance. Tellingly, it was provided by left winger Adam Rundle, who was to prove a thorn in United’s side all afternoon, and his cross provided Richie Foran with a close-range header clutched comfortably by Shaun Marshall. Looks like Mr Foran’s finishing hasn’t improved from his off-beam form last season.
Kitson almost latched on to a Fleming through ball seconds later, and the BBG was clearly singled out as the danger man for the U’s; thankfully, referee Leake was commendably quick to clamp down and booked Peter Murphy on eight for the third foul clatter from behind of the match on the big number nine. United’s new-look front three understandably took some time to gel, especially as there were still too many hopeful long balls played from defence instead of through midfield, and the visitors looked vulnerable (as ever) to players running at them, particularly down the Carlisle left where Fleming was failing to cut out the danger and eventually Aggy Revell took to covering back. He’s got enough energy to power a city, that boy; apparently Ken Livingstone has made enquiries about plugging him into the grid next time there’s a power cut down in the Smoke.
United’s tight middle three were leaving Carlisle plenty of space down both flanks. Full back Brian Shelley blasted over on ten, then Foran tussled with Duncan and saw his shot blocked by Dancing Shaun. The worry continued for the visitors a minute later as Shelley’s unhampered run down the right saw his cross sail over everyone to Rundle lurking past the far post, but his effort was tipped into the side netting by the Terpsichorean custodian. Like last season, Carlisle’s lack of shooting accuracy was to cost them dear.
United finally found their feet on 17, some neat interplay between Chilli and Revell forcing their first corner. Bimson’s initial effort was poor, a Guttridgesque knee-high trundler easily knocked off by Chris Billy, but his second was much better, swinging in to cause havoc and force a third flag kick from the opposite corner from which Walker found only keeper Matt Glennon. What a shame Mike McCartney isn’t still at Brunton Park; they’d make a great double act. As long as no one started waving a gun at Glennon, of course.
There followed a period of pressure from Carlisle, kickstarted by United when Bimson tried an ambitious, well-struck and high back pass to Marshall, who ran out of goal, tried to take it on his chest, and saw it rebound off him to Craig Farrell just outside the area. Farrell’s shot was predictably higher, wider and uglier than The Hulk, after which Bimmo demonstrated the finer points of ball control with the instep to his keeper. The skipper will learn in due course: as a footballer, Shaun’s got a great fifth touch.
Crosses from Billy, Shelley, Murphy and Farrell ensued – disturbing that they got them in so easily – but were well dealt with by the Venerable Venus and chums at the back. United responded on 26, Bimson setting up Guttridge for a hurried shot over the angle of post and bar from the edge of the area, then the same provider offering Kitson a free header six yards out that he glanced disappointingly wide. Maybe Kits had red hair dye in his eyes.
Second booking in a keenly-contested but pretty clean contest went to Darren Kelly for fouling Angus on the half-hour, and four minutes later Fleming seized on an opportunity to send a bouncing bomb of a shot goalward that just slid wide of the far post despite Guttridge’s efforts to divert it in from close in. For the hosts Farrell found only Marshall’s arms with a toe-poke on 35, while Foran got a sight of goal a minute later and, yep, blazed wildly over again. That rugby club next door ought to come and take a look at him.
Thus was the pattern of the game resolutely set: two distinctly average teams, both flailing away at each other, neither able to produce that one moment of quality or class that would break the deadlock. The home crowd began to get on the ref’s back through some perceived favouritism towards the visitors, erroneously; Marshall blocked 20-yarders from Rundle and McDonagh; and United finished the half well, Chilli robbed of possession by an excellent last-ditch tackle by Summerbell. Their best chance fell to the same man: Angus’s perceptive cross found him in space near the penalty spot, but whether he thought he was closer marked than he was or might be offside, he tried a first-time scissors kick that skewed anticlimactically wide. Perhaps the image of that opening number at the MTV Awards was still flashing across his mind at the time. He wouldn’t have been the only one.
Thus ended an attritional 45 minutes between two well-matched sides; the only frustration for the amber hordes was that although Carlisle seemed to be playing as well as they possibly could, United were nowhere near as good as we know they can be. Surely a raising of standards would result in a second-ever win at Brunton Park to follow last term’s first. We wished.
The Non-Happening (Part 2): regrettably unavailable.
The Non-Happening (Part 1)
The players gathered in the Harris Suite the day before matchday. ‘All right, lads, listen up,’ said Shaggy. ‘Dale and I have been having a chat about this habit we’ve got of chucking leads away, and we came across this bloke’s name through the Division Three grapevine. He’s a football exorcist and he thinks some simple group exercises will help us to get this off our backs. May I present the Reverend Rotavator!’ A bizarrely garbed figure strode into view, his sober black top and dog collar in striking contrast to his colourful tracksuit bottoms, legwarmers and headband.
‘Hi guys!’ he piped up. ‘I’m going to lead you through some routines from my new video, Exorcise & Stay Fit For A Healthy Body And Soul. Everyone take a cross and some holy Evian and follow me …’ The strains of Cliff Richard’s Wired For Sound began to drift from a ghetto blaster in the corner. The Reverend began to gyrate rhythmically, indicating for the players to echo his movements: ‘… And wave that cross from side to side! Flick that holy water far and wide! Out! Out! Out, demons, out! All together now!’
Shaggy and Brooksie conferred while watching the bizarre spectacle. ‘He looks familiar, doesn’t he?’ mused JT. ‘Under that beard and those glasses, he could almost be … no, it couldn’t be. Becky couldn’t be that desperate, could he? Anyway, I’d rather have a boring 0-0 draw than throw another lead away at the moment.’
Curiously enough, the legendary Mr Beck was one of the first applicants for the Carlisle job when they sacked manager Roddy Collins yesterday. Despite their point-less position at the bottom of the table, there was unease among the amber faithful that the fillip of the coat-throwing boss’s dismissal might give the Carlisle players the boot up the behind they needed. Paul Simpson was the Johnny-on-the-spot in temporary charge amid dire warnings from fans of his last club, Rochdale, against considering him for the job proper. He ought to take some lessons from Geoff ‘Nothing to do with me, guv’ Hoon.
The travelling U’s supporters were joined on their long haul north by United director Roger Hunt, who kindly invited them to put any questions they fancied his way. Sadly, I didn’t have time to put mine to him, so if you’re reading, Mr H, they are as follows: 1)How did it feel to play in the 1966 World Cup final? 2)Is there a God? 3)Who put the bomp in the bomp-a-bomp-bomp-bomp?
What a nice chap. Our trip took place under intermittently cloudy but balmy conditions, with a pleasantly cooling northerly breeze to remind us that the heatwave is mercifully over for another year. A pre-match drink in the nearby rugby club’s welcoming clubhouse was accompanied by a perusal of the day’s match programme, printed too late to record Collins’ sacking, but intriguingly the opening article therein welcoming us and commenting on recent results bore no credit at all, leading one to suspect that Collins’s name had been hurriedly removed therefrom. Sadly for him, the claim in the piece that ‘… there is certainly no crisis here …’ rang as hollow as someone tapping on Lee Bowyer’s head with a toffee hammer.
The club shop was still well-stocked with unsold copies of their LDV final song CD, with which they plagued us on our last visit but was not on the playlist today, and also on offer were some bizarre objects that could only be described as inflatable blue coshes: quite extraordinary. The away fans were allocated at the very far end of Carlisle’s main stand, a structure that rather forlornly extends several yards past the now-derelict former away end in anticipation of a redevelopment and moving of the pitch that will not be progressing in the near future, if ever. Still, the chappie in the windows warehouse that now overlooks the crumbling terrace got a nice unhampered view of the ‘action’ on the pitch, such as it was.
Before kick-off the centre spot was occupied by a stuffed fox (don’t ask), and the decent United contingent were hoping that it was their side that would be doing the stuffing today. Adam Tann and Freddie Murray were dropped after their below-par performances on Monday, Stev Angus moving to right back to accommodate Andy Duncan in the centre, while a 4-3-1-2 formation left Shane Tudor on the bench while pairing Messrs Kitson and Revell up front with Dan Chillingworth returning from injury to play just behind them, effectively forming an attacking 4-3-3 when on the offensive. And speaking of offensive, there was one former U on the bench for the hosts in the form of hard-partying wild man of the nightclubs, Des Byrne, now apparently insisting on being called Dessie, although I always thought that was an abbreviation for Desert Orchid.
The game started in front of an attendance of 4,571, spookily exactly the same figure as was at the Abbey on Monday. What can it all mean? Darren Kelly set the up-for-it tone by taking Dave Kitson from behind in a far from enjoyable way in the first minute, and in the second came the hosts’ first chance. Tellingly, it was provided by left winger Adam Rundle, who was to prove a thorn in United’s side all afternoon, and his cross provided Richie Foran with a close-range header clutched comfortably by Shaun Marshall. Looks like Mr Foran’s finishing hasn’t improved from his off-beam form last season.
Kitson almost latched on to a Fleming through ball seconds later, and the BBG was clearly singled out as the danger man for the U’s; thankfully, referee Leake was commendably quick to clamp down and booked Peter Murphy on eight for the third foul clatter from behind of the match on the big number nine. United’s new-look front three understandably took some time to gel, especially as there were still too many hopeful long balls played from defence instead of through midfield, and the visitors looked vulnerable (as ever) to players running at them, particularly down the Carlisle left where Fleming was failing to cut out the danger and eventually Aggy Revell took to covering back. He’s got enough energy to power a city, that boy; apparently Ken Livingstone has made enquiries about plugging him into the grid next time there’s a power cut down in the Smoke.
United’s tight middle three were leaving Carlisle plenty of space down both flanks. Full back Brian Shelley blasted over on ten, then Foran tussled with Duncan and saw his shot blocked by Dancing Shaun. The worry continued for the visitors a minute later as Shelley’s unhampered run down the right saw his cross sail over everyone to Rundle lurking past the far post, but his effort was tipped into the side netting by the Terpsichorean custodian. Like last season, Carlisle’s lack of shooting accuracy was to cost them dear.
United finally found their feet on 17, some neat interplay between Chilli and Revell forcing their first corner. Bimson’s initial effort was poor, a Guttridgesque knee-high trundler easily knocked off by Chris Billy, but his second was much better, swinging in to cause havoc and force a third flag kick from the opposite corner from which Walker found only keeper Matt Glennon. What a shame Mike McCartney isn’t still at Brunton Park; they’d make a great double act. As long as no one started waving a gun at Glennon, of course.
There followed a period of pressure from Carlisle, kickstarted by United when Bimson tried an ambitious, well-struck and high back pass to Marshall, who ran out of goal, tried to take it on his chest, and saw it rebound off him to Craig Farrell just outside the area. Farrell’s shot was predictably higher, wider and uglier than The Hulk, after which Bimmo demonstrated the finer points of ball control with the instep to his keeper. The skipper will learn in due course: as a footballer, Shaun’s got a great fifth touch.
Crosses from Billy, Shelley, Murphy and Farrell ensued – disturbing that they got them in so easily – but were well dealt with by the Venerable Venus and chums at the back. United responded on 26, Bimson setting up Guttridge for a hurried shot over the angle of post and bar from the edge of the area, then the same provider offering Kitson a free header six yards out that he glanced disappointingly wide. Maybe Kits had red hair dye in his eyes.
Second booking in a keenly-contested but pretty clean contest went to Darren Kelly for fouling Angus on the half-hour, and four minutes later Fleming seized on an opportunity to send a bouncing bomb of a shot goalward that just slid wide of the far post despite Guttridge’s efforts to divert it in from close in. For the hosts Farrell found only Marshall’s arms with a toe-poke on 35, while Foran got a sight of goal a minute later and, yep, blazed wildly over again. That rugby club next door ought to come and take a look at him.
Thus was the pattern of the game resolutely set: two distinctly average teams, both flailing away at each other, neither able to produce that one moment of quality or class that would break the deadlock. The home crowd began to get on the ref’s back through some perceived favouritism towards the visitors, erroneously; Marshall blocked 20-yarders from Rundle and McDonagh; and United finished the half well, Chilli robbed of possession by an excellent last-ditch tackle by Summerbell. Their best chance fell to the same man: Angus’s perceptive cross found him in space near the penalty spot, but whether he thought he was closer marked than he was or might be offside, he tried a first-time scissors kick that skewed anticlimactically wide. Perhaps the image of that opening number at the MTV Awards was still flashing across his mind at the time. He wouldn’t have been the only one.
Thus ended an attritional 45 minutes between two well-matched sides; the only frustration for the amber hordes was that although Carlisle seemed to be playing as well as they possibly could, United were nowhere near as good as we know they can be. Surely a raising of standards would result in a second-ever win at Brunton Park to follow last term’s first. We wished.
The Non-Happening (Part 2): regrettably unavailable.
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1 September 2003: Mildenhall 0v3 U's
A friendly haiku Balmy summer’s eve: Mildenhall, bumpy, sloping, Hosts a late friendly. 4-4-2: Hurrah! Kits and Chilli gaze, sidelined As their colleagues strain. Thirty seconds: goal! Tudor run, Turner lay-off Opara pokes home. Twenty-fifth minute: Tudor free kick from the D Bar’s underside struck! The half’s dying breath: Opara felled, penalty: Bar two, Tudor nil. Comes the interval: Youth team queues for cheeseburgers Oldies hold the bells. Second half, 2-0: A superb Opara flick Cool Bridges finish. Final coup de grace: Awful backpass, Meddows lurks Opara slots home. Competitive? Yes; But fairly comfortable. Bring on the Lincoln! |
Brennan 6– Rarely troubled.
Tann 7– Resolutely in control. Heathcote 7– Useful up and down the flank. Gleeson 8– Mature, strong performance. Summerscales 8– Cool head belies his years. Tudor 7– Best run was his first, but lasted the 90. Must learn to shoot lower when playing downhill. Nacca 8– Ran the midfield. Bridges 7– Welcome return and excellent goal. Murray 6– Nope, he’s still not a midfield player. Turner 7– Looked promising until forced to withdraw halfway through the first half. Opara 8– Man of the match. Excellent hold-up play and two predator’s goals. Meddows (for Turner) 7– Another midget but has good touch. Zinga (for Tann) 6– Filled in competently at right back after Tann also withdrew injured. Perry, Chinn, a couple of other youngsters 6– Mixed it pretty well against decent opposition. |
3 September 2003: U’s 0v0 Lincoln
The Blaine Diet
BRITISH MEDICAL COUNCIL WARNING: The Council has been alerted to a virulent new strain of the virus known as UEFA B. The symptoms are behavioural rather than physical, manifesting themselves in the sufferer’s obsessive desire to tinker unnecessarily with the organisation of aspects of his/her everyday life, to their inevitable detriment. A chef will, for instance, insist on serving blancmange as a main course because he believes it ‘suits the menu’s overall shape’; a film director will start his picture with the climactic scene, insisting that it ‘fits with his artistic vision’; and a football manager will chop and change his team game after game in a vain search for the perfect formation, unable to realise that the answer lies not in change for its own sake but in consistency of approach.
Examples of phrases to look out for are ‘we’re going to surprise the opposition’, ‘we’re going to try something different’ and ‘we have a special plan’. Anyone dealing with a suspected case of UEFA B or its less common variant, UEFA A, also known as Wilkinson’s Syndrome, should report it to the BMC.
Communication ends.
The dying embers of summer were evident on a balmy Friday evening at the Abbey for the first such occasion since a 0-0 draw with Cambridgeshire’s second team back in December 2000; the last Friday League game at any venue was in October of the following year, but the less said about that 0-5 debacle at Vale Park the better. Some things are just too painful to recall, like that dismal bingo sitcom with Paul Grady.
United, uncharacteristically bereft of goals for two and a half matches, welcomed the Sincil Bank Stormtroopers and Aerial Display Team with news that Shaggy and the Prof had devised a cunning plan to outflank the notorious long ball merchants and restore their team to their former net-bulging glory. As it turned out, the masterplan involved no change of personnel but a minor tweaking of last game’s 4-3-1-2 to a 4-3-3 with Dave Kitson and Dan Chillingworth as relatively fixed strikers and Aggy Revell in a freer role which can only be described as a ‘floater’.
Big Dave had the honour of being watched by Ronnie Moore, head honcho of Division One giants Rotherham United with £700k burning a hole in his pocket, and the BGG marked the occasion by adorning his barnet with two stripes, one red and one black, doubtless trying to curry favour with Big Ron in the hope of a big-money move to Millmoor’s dreaming scrapyards. Perhaps someone should have told him that Rotherham play in red and white. Rumours that Moore had been put off the scent by a protective United fan pretending to be David Sheepshanks and phoning to say Dave had already signed for Ipswich were entirely made up by me.
United’s three former Imps, Walker, Bimson and Fleming, lined up against a Lincoln team augmented by ex-U Marcus Richardson, destined to be remembered at the Abbey for his scuffed injury-time winner at Stoke two and a half years ago, but dominated as ever by giraffe-on-stilts Ben Futcher. His team, it seems, aren’t quite so manically Beckesque this season, but still push him up as the target man at every set piece and long throw from their elastic-armed full backs. Let’s face it, Richardson is no one’s idea of a target man, and barely manages to resemble a footballer half the time, bless him.
Those of us expecting a dreary 0-0 draw seemed initially mistaken as a fired-up United went at the visitors from the off, charging around as if they all sported the number 118, and inside 20 seconds Kitson’s delightful through ball had set up Revell with a clear shot at goal from 15 yards, but he scragged it wide of the far post as the defence closed in.
The hosts kept up the pressure and a minute later Bimson’s wickedly curling cross, last season aimed so often at Futcher’s head, sailed past Alan Marriott in the Lincoln goal towards the inrushing Chillingworth at the far post, but Paul Mayo stuck his head in to concede a corner. Bimmo’s resultant flag kick caused more havoc and eventually fell to Chilli, whose goal-bound effort was cut off in its prime by Futcher’s lanky pegs.
The visitors responded, as expected, with a series of corners curled in towards the six-yard box, but those not fielded by Shaun Marshall’s flying fists were headed well over by Futcher and Simon Weaver. And on nine it looked as if Mr Moore was going to see his target do what he does best as Kitson sneaked on to Chill’s incisive pass with only Marriott to beat; but he spurned his first shooting opportunity from near the penalty spot, skipped past an attempted sliding tackle which drove him slightly wide, and his eventual effort on goal was tame and comfortably clutched by the Imps’ number one. Moore crossed out the ‘£300k’ written in his notebook and wrote ‘£200k?’, alongside ‘hide the hair dye’.
Both sides continued to slug it out in a surprisingly open and entertaining game, United’s scurrying forwards in contrast with Lincoln’s soaring high-ball shenanigans; worries about the lack of pace of the centre-back pairing of Duncan and Venus were irrelevant tonight. What they needed was stepladders.
On 14 Gary Fletcher blasted over from 20 yards and United’s initial energy slowly began to dissipate like Adam Ant’s sanity. Five minutes later hearts were in mouths as Bimson and Dancing Shaun failed spectacularly to communicate and the skipper’s intended back header bobbled past the Terpsichorean custodian but thankfully conceded only a corner. Another inquest ensued between the Norfolk boy and the Scouser: calm down, calm down.
The Blaine Diet
BRITISH MEDICAL COUNCIL WARNING: The Council has been alerted to a virulent new strain of the virus known as UEFA B. The symptoms are behavioural rather than physical, manifesting themselves in the sufferer’s obsessive desire to tinker unnecessarily with the organisation of aspects of his/her everyday life, to their inevitable detriment. A chef will, for instance, insist on serving blancmange as a main course because he believes it ‘suits the menu’s overall shape’; a film director will start his picture with the climactic scene, insisting that it ‘fits with his artistic vision’; and a football manager will chop and change his team game after game in a vain search for the perfect formation, unable to realise that the answer lies not in change for its own sake but in consistency of approach.
Examples of phrases to look out for are ‘we’re going to surprise the opposition’, ‘we’re going to try something different’ and ‘we have a special plan’. Anyone dealing with a suspected case of UEFA B or its less common variant, UEFA A, also known as Wilkinson’s Syndrome, should report it to the BMC.
Communication ends.
The dying embers of summer were evident on a balmy Friday evening at the Abbey for the first such occasion since a 0-0 draw with Cambridgeshire’s second team back in December 2000; the last Friday League game at any venue was in October of the following year, but the less said about that 0-5 debacle at Vale Park the better. Some things are just too painful to recall, like that dismal bingo sitcom with Paul Grady.
United, uncharacteristically bereft of goals for two and a half matches, welcomed the Sincil Bank Stormtroopers and Aerial Display Team with news that Shaggy and the Prof had devised a cunning plan to outflank the notorious long ball merchants and restore their team to their former net-bulging glory. As it turned out, the masterplan involved no change of personnel but a minor tweaking of last game’s 4-3-1-2 to a 4-3-3 with Dave Kitson and Dan Chillingworth as relatively fixed strikers and Aggy Revell in a freer role which can only be described as a ‘floater’.
Big Dave had the honour of being watched by Ronnie Moore, head honcho of Division One giants Rotherham United with £700k burning a hole in his pocket, and the BGG marked the occasion by adorning his barnet with two stripes, one red and one black, doubtless trying to curry favour with Big Ron in the hope of a big-money move to Millmoor’s dreaming scrapyards. Perhaps someone should have told him that Rotherham play in red and white. Rumours that Moore had been put off the scent by a protective United fan pretending to be David Sheepshanks and phoning to say Dave had already signed for Ipswich were entirely made up by me.
United’s three former Imps, Walker, Bimson and Fleming, lined up against a Lincoln team augmented by ex-U Marcus Richardson, destined to be remembered at the Abbey for his scuffed injury-time winner at Stoke two and a half years ago, but dominated as ever by giraffe-on-stilts Ben Futcher. His team, it seems, aren’t quite so manically Beckesque this season, but still push him up as the target man at every set piece and long throw from their elastic-armed full backs. Let’s face it, Richardson is no one’s idea of a target man, and barely manages to resemble a footballer half the time, bless him.
Those of us expecting a dreary 0-0 draw seemed initially mistaken as a fired-up United went at the visitors from the off, charging around as if they all sported the number 118, and inside 20 seconds Kitson’s delightful through ball had set up Revell with a clear shot at goal from 15 yards, but he scragged it wide of the far post as the defence closed in.
The hosts kept up the pressure and a minute later Bimson’s wickedly curling cross, last season aimed so often at Futcher’s head, sailed past Alan Marriott in the Lincoln goal towards the inrushing Chillingworth at the far post, but Paul Mayo stuck his head in to concede a corner. Bimmo’s resultant flag kick caused more havoc and eventually fell to Chilli, whose goal-bound effort was cut off in its prime by Futcher’s lanky pegs.
The visitors responded, as expected, with a series of corners curled in towards the six-yard box, but those not fielded by Shaun Marshall’s flying fists were headed well over by Futcher and Simon Weaver. And on nine it looked as if Mr Moore was going to see his target do what he does best as Kitson sneaked on to Chill’s incisive pass with only Marriott to beat; but he spurned his first shooting opportunity from near the penalty spot, skipped past an attempted sliding tackle which drove him slightly wide, and his eventual effort on goal was tame and comfortably clutched by the Imps’ number one. Moore crossed out the ‘£300k’ written in his notebook and wrote ‘£200k?’, alongside ‘hide the hair dye’.
Both sides continued to slug it out in a surprisingly open and entertaining game, United’s scurrying forwards in contrast with Lincoln’s soaring high-ball shenanigans; worries about the lack of pace of the centre-back pairing of Duncan and Venus were irrelevant tonight. What they needed was stepladders.
On 14 Gary Fletcher blasted over from 20 yards and United’s initial energy slowly began to dissipate like Adam Ant’s sanity. Five minutes later hearts were in mouths as Bimson and Dancing Shaun failed spectacularly to communicate and the skipper’s intended back header bobbled past the Terpsichorean custodian but thankfully conceded only a corner. Another inquest ensued between the Norfolk boy and the Scouser: calm down, calm down.
Stepladder: might have helped United
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The resultant flag kick produced Lincoln’s best chance yet, Futcher nodding on at the near post and Fletcher arriving at the back stick to power a header goalward from no more than five yards out; but Marshall was equal to it, blocking spectacularly, and the ball fell to Richardson who twice attempted to stab home from point-blank range but was crowded out by a sea of amber shirts.
Most chances now fell the visitors’ way as United were stymied by a fundamental lack of midfield creativity and a pair of young strikers in Chilli and Revell who looked subdued and uncertain as to their roles as they tried to implement yet another of their management’s tactical tweaks. Football is a simple game, and in the nicest possible way, Third Division footballers are simple people, and expecting them to absorb a new role every week is about as easy as a nuclear war.
Butcher saw his shot blocked by Duncan, Peter Gain floated one into Marshall’s welcoming embrace on 21, then on the break Bimson’s guided missile of a long cross found Chilli sprinting in wide right in almost exactly the same position as Nyron Nosworthy when he scored Gillingham’s winner here a few weeks ago; sadly, our Dan couldn’t match the Nosemeister’s accuracy and blazed wide.
Richardson had Lincoln’s next two chances, scuffing one in familiar style (does he ever catch a ball cleanly?) straight at Marshall on 23 then shinning Fletcher’s cross well over four minutes later. If he had skill he’d be dangerous. Thereafter it was if both teams were taking a breather after a first half-hour busier than Jordan’s plastic surgeon. United’s midfield, not exactly high on ideas to start with, resorted to lobbing long balls towards Kitson and co; those were Lincoln’s tactics all along anyway. And no, Mr Alexander, wearing some studious-looking specs does not make you look any more intelligent.
On 40 Terry Fleming, looking determined but out of his depth, gave possession to Mark Bailey with a wretchedly misplaced pass, but the Imp’s ambitious long-ranger sailed wide and in truth both keepers could have ordered pizzas and sat in deckchairs to enjoy them without undue disturbance.
Two minutes from the end of the half, however, United rallied and some neat interplay sent Revell down the right wing; his low cross was deflected by Paul Morgan and was about to break the deadlock as it headed goalward inside the near post with Marriott stranded, until Futcher’s spindly shanks intervened to hoof off the line. Bimmo’s ensuing corner found Kitson’s head, but he nodded disappointingly wide from six yards: ‘£150k’, wrote Moore.
Thus ended a half that started as bright as a yellow balloon full of helium but slowly deflated throughout the 45 minutes. More wind was needed for the second half; where’s Fat Barry when you need him?
No changes were made at half-time and part two started disjointedly, marked by its first booking on 50 when Weaver tripped Justin Walker on a rare attacking foray into the ‘D’. Luke Guttridge stood over the ball while Mark Venus lurked further back, but it was Lil’ Luke who took a quick one feebly into the wall as Veno looked on with a hint of surprise in his expression. Next time, sonny, leave it to the expert, eh?
The corner which resulted from Bimson’s rebound shot caused more confusion and eventually fell to Kitson on the edge of the area; his attempted turn and volley sent the ball sailing over the Corona towards Newmarket Road: £100k.
The match ground on in increasingly uninspiring fashion, a rare flash of football on 54 seeing Guttridge send Bimson away to send in a cross that Marriott whisked off Kitson’s head, while at the other end Fletcher nodded a Liburd cross over the top. A steady stream of long throws and free kicks was well dealt with by the United defence, and with half an hour to go a rare break saw Kitson gallop towards goal and try a low fizzer from the edge of the area that lacked power and presented Marriott with a comfortable collect: £50k.
Perhaps a substitution might end the ennui. Lincoln went first, replacing the underachieving Richardson with Dene Cropper on 65, then Fleming, in about his only forward foray of the evening, wriggled clear down the right only for ref Williamson to ignore the advantage rule (ring any bells, Mr W?) and call play back for a free kick conceded by Gain, who was carded for his pains.
With no sign of a breakthrough, Shane ‘Red Stripe’ Tudor replaced Chilli on 70 and United went back to four across the middle (huzzah!), although Shane was stationed so wide on the right touchline that some of his teammates seemed to forget he was there. Marshall blocked from Fletcher as United rallied again, and on 78 came the most controversial moment of the match.
Kitson’s delightful flick over the top sent Revell racing clear down the middle, but he was tugged back by Morgan; Aggy, perhaps too honest for his own good, stumbled but kept his feet and gave chase, but the delay occasioned by the shirt-tuggage allowed Marriott to sprint from goal to welly clear. Astoundingly, neither ref nor lino saw anything amiss, and Morgan must have thanked his lucky heather that he did not receive the red card he deserved.
On 80 John Turner replaced Revell while Lincoln responded by sending on Simon Yeo for Liburd, but it was United who produced a flurry of pressure. Turner had a shot blocked by Weaver, then Duncan had a clear header on goal from Walker’s cross but could get no power behind it and Marriott was able to clutch with comfort. But there seemed no way through as United’s goalscoring Blaine Diet continued, late claims for a penalty for a foul on Kitson given no credence by the man in green.
Last word went to Lincoln, another hopeless Fleming ‘pass’ setting the visitors up for a breakaway and the Terrier compounding his error by clattering Gain and picking up a yellow card for his (and our) pains. A mini-scuffle ensued as Venus blasted the ball straight into Gain’s face while he lay on the ground, but Williamson accepted, unlike some Lincoln players, that it was a genuine accident. It was darned funny, though.
Bailey’s eventual free kick fell limply into Marshall’s arms to sum up another goalless night for the Mighty U’s. The last time they failed to score in three consecutive League matches was over Christmas/New Year 1999/2000, two 1-0 defeats bookending the 24-carat nightmare that was the 0-0 draw with eight-man Cardiff; on the positive side, this was the first time they had kept two consecutive League clean sheets since early 2002 with a 0-0 draw at QPR following a 2-0 defeat of Wycombe.
Disappointingly, the Abbey attendance fell just 113 short of a third consecutive figure of 4,571. Well that’s the audience for ‘My Hero’ accounted for.
So as one problem seems to be solved, another raises its ugly head. Clean sheets? No problem. Loadsa goals? Erm … it’s hard to blame our young strikers; they are asked to play in different combinations and formations and expected to absorb different instructions every week. And ultimately they need service, and this present static and uncreative midfield seems unable to provide it. The team needs a simple system that all the players can understand and will provide protection down the flanks while at the same time not sacrificing midfield solidity, yet also offering the front two a decent supply line from the centre or from wide. I dimly remember reading in some musty old textbook about something called 4-4-2: it’s not new, it’s not sexy, it’s not bloomin’ complicated. It might just be worth a go, though.
Marshall 7– Coped admirably with Lincoln’s 90-minute aerial assault.
Angus 8– Another splendidly enterprising game in his ‘new’ position.
Bimson 6– Patchy effort and too often seemed to be on a different wavelength to his colleagues.
Duncan 7– Perfectly suited to this sort of rough-and-tumble contest.
Venus 8- Commanding and cool.
Fleming 5– Another negligible contribution.
Walker 6– Always involved but rarely truly influential.
Guttridge 7– Most enterprising midfielder by far.
Revell 6– A trier as ever, but the management’s idea of a floating role should have remained in the Roy Of The Rovers Training Manual.
Chillingworth 6– So good in a front two, United’s over-egged fancy formation did him no favours either.
Kitson 7- Early miss indicated that he might have been trying almost too hard at times, but enjoyed plenty of quality touches and led the line well.
Tudor 6– Back to his best position but saw little of the ball.
Turner 6– Insufficient time to really shine.
Soundtrack of the day: The Cooper Temple Clause/Promises, Promises
Match summary: Another cunning plan misfired like a clapped-out Morris Minor as Shaggy and the Prof reached Page 96 of the FIFA Bumper Book of Tactics For Boys but again found no need of a bookmark. United could select half a dozen strikers but they won’t score without a decent supply from a midfield that sorely lacks creativity, while their brains are still spinning from digesting the day’s latest tactical masterplan. Whatever happened to keeping it simple?
Man of the match: Mark Venus. Led from the back and steadied a sometimes rocky ship with calm and vigour.
Ref watch: Williamson 6. Failed to let the game flow and let some bad tackles go, but adequate in the main.
Most chances now fell the visitors’ way as United were stymied by a fundamental lack of midfield creativity and a pair of young strikers in Chilli and Revell who looked subdued and uncertain as to their roles as they tried to implement yet another of their management’s tactical tweaks. Football is a simple game, and in the nicest possible way, Third Division footballers are simple people, and expecting them to absorb a new role every week is about as easy as a nuclear war.
Butcher saw his shot blocked by Duncan, Peter Gain floated one into Marshall’s welcoming embrace on 21, then on the break Bimson’s guided missile of a long cross found Chilli sprinting in wide right in almost exactly the same position as Nyron Nosworthy when he scored Gillingham’s winner here a few weeks ago; sadly, our Dan couldn’t match the Nosemeister’s accuracy and blazed wide.
Richardson had Lincoln’s next two chances, scuffing one in familiar style (does he ever catch a ball cleanly?) straight at Marshall on 23 then shinning Fletcher’s cross well over four minutes later. If he had skill he’d be dangerous. Thereafter it was if both teams were taking a breather after a first half-hour busier than Jordan’s plastic surgeon. United’s midfield, not exactly high on ideas to start with, resorted to lobbing long balls towards Kitson and co; those were Lincoln’s tactics all along anyway. And no, Mr Alexander, wearing some studious-looking specs does not make you look any more intelligent.
On 40 Terry Fleming, looking determined but out of his depth, gave possession to Mark Bailey with a wretchedly misplaced pass, but the Imp’s ambitious long-ranger sailed wide and in truth both keepers could have ordered pizzas and sat in deckchairs to enjoy them without undue disturbance.
Two minutes from the end of the half, however, United rallied and some neat interplay sent Revell down the right wing; his low cross was deflected by Paul Morgan and was about to break the deadlock as it headed goalward inside the near post with Marriott stranded, until Futcher’s spindly shanks intervened to hoof off the line. Bimmo’s ensuing corner found Kitson’s head, but he nodded disappointingly wide from six yards: ‘£150k’, wrote Moore.
Thus ended a half that started as bright as a yellow balloon full of helium but slowly deflated throughout the 45 minutes. More wind was needed for the second half; where’s Fat Barry when you need him?
No changes were made at half-time and part two started disjointedly, marked by its first booking on 50 when Weaver tripped Justin Walker on a rare attacking foray into the ‘D’. Luke Guttridge stood over the ball while Mark Venus lurked further back, but it was Lil’ Luke who took a quick one feebly into the wall as Veno looked on with a hint of surprise in his expression. Next time, sonny, leave it to the expert, eh?
The corner which resulted from Bimson’s rebound shot caused more confusion and eventually fell to Kitson on the edge of the area; his attempted turn and volley sent the ball sailing over the Corona towards Newmarket Road: £100k.
The match ground on in increasingly uninspiring fashion, a rare flash of football on 54 seeing Guttridge send Bimson away to send in a cross that Marriott whisked off Kitson’s head, while at the other end Fletcher nodded a Liburd cross over the top. A steady stream of long throws and free kicks was well dealt with by the United defence, and with half an hour to go a rare break saw Kitson gallop towards goal and try a low fizzer from the edge of the area that lacked power and presented Marriott with a comfortable collect: £50k.
Perhaps a substitution might end the ennui. Lincoln went first, replacing the underachieving Richardson with Dene Cropper on 65, then Fleming, in about his only forward foray of the evening, wriggled clear down the right only for ref Williamson to ignore the advantage rule (ring any bells, Mr W?) and call play back for a free kick conceded by Gain, who was carded for his pains.
With no sign of a breakthrough, Shane ‘Red Stripe’ Tudor replaced Chilli on 70 and United went back to four across the middle (huzzah!), although Shane was stationed so wide on the right touchline that some of his teammates seemed to forget he was there. Marshall blocked from Fletcher as United rallied again, and on 78 came the most controversial moment of the match.
Kitson’s delightful flick over the top sent Revell racing clear down the middle, but he was tugged back by Morgan; Aggy, perhaps too honest for his own good, stumbled but kept his feet and gave chase, but the delay occasioned by the shirt-tuggage allowed Marriott to sprint from goal to welly clear. Astoundingly, neither ref nor lino saw anything amiss, and Morgan must have thanked his lucky heather that he did not receive the red card he deserved.
On 80 John Turner replaced Revell while Lincoln responded by sending on Simon Yeo for Liburd, but it was United who produced a flurry of pressure. Turner had a shot blocked by Weaver, then Duncan had a clear header on goal from Walker’s cross but could get no power behind it and Marriott was able to clutch with comfort. But there seemed no way through as United’s goalscoring Blaine Diet continued, late claims for a penalty for a foul on Kitson given no credence by the man in green.
Last word went to Lincoln, another hopeless Fleming ‘pass’ setting the visitors up for a breakaway and the Terrier compounding his error by clattering Gain and picking up a yellow card for his (and our) pains. A mini-scuffle ensued as Venus blasted the ball straight into Gain’s face while he lay on the ground, but Williamson accepted, unlike some Lincoln players, that it was a genuine accident. It was darned funny, though.
Bailey’s eventual free kick fell limply into Marshall’s arms to sum up another goalless night for the Mighty U’s. The last time they failed to score in three consecutive League matches was over Christmas/New Year 1999/2000, two 1-0 defeats bookending the 24-carat nightmare that was the 0-0 draw with eight-man Cardiff; on the positive side, this was the first time they had kept two consecutive League clean sheets since early 2002 with a 0-0 draw at QPR following a 2-0 defeat of Wycombe.
Disappointingly, the Abbey attendance fell just 113 short of a third consecutive figure of 4,571. Well that’s the audience for ‘My Hero’ accounted for.
So as one problem seems to be solved, another raises its ugly head. Clean sheets? No problem. Loadsa goals? Erm … it’s hard to blame our young strikers; they are asked to play in different combinations and formations and expected to absorb different instructions every week. And ultimately they need service, and this present static and uncreative midfield seems unable to provide it. The team needs a simple system that all the players can understand and will provide protection down the flanks while at the same time not sacrificing midfield solidity, yet also offering the front two a decent supply line from the centre or from wide. I dimly remember reading in some musty old textbook about something called 4-4-2: it’s not new, it’s not sexy, it’s not bloomin’ complicated. It might just be worth a go, though.
Marshall 7– Coped admirably with Lincoln’s 90-minute aerial assault.
Angus 8– Another splendidly enterprising game in his ‘new’ position.
Bimson 6– Patchy effort and too often seemed to be on a different wavelength to his colleagues.
Duncan 7– Perfectly suited to this sort of rough-and-tumble contest.
Venus 8- Commanding and cool.
Fleming 5– Another negligible contribution.
Walker 6– Always involved but rarely truly influential.
Guttridge 7– Most enterprising midfielder by far.
Revell 6– A trier as ever, but the management’s idea of a floating role should have remained in the Roy Of The Rovers Training Manual.
Chillingworth 6– So good in a front two, United’s over-egged fancy formation did him no favours either.
Kitson 7- Early miss indicated that he might have been trying almost too hard at times, but enjoyed plenty of quality touches and led the line well.
Tudor 6– Back to his best position but saw little of the ball.
Turner 6– Insufficient time to really shine.
Soundtrack of the day: The Cooper Temple Clause/Promises, Promises
Match summary: Another cunning plan misfired like a clapped-out Morris Minor as Shaggy and the Prof reached Page 96 of the FIFA Bumper Book of Tactics For Boys but again found no need of a bookmark. United could select half a dozen strikers but they won’t score without a decent supply from a midfield that sorely lacks creativity, while their brains are still spinning from digesting the day’s latest tactical masterplan. Whatever happened to keeping it simple?
Man of the match: Mark Venus. Led from the back and steadied a sometimes rocky ship with calm and vigour.
Ref watch: Williamson 6. Failed to let the game flow and let some bad tackles go, but adequate in the main.
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13 September 2003: U’s 1-1 Torquay
Picture me a draw Hello Cambridge fans. I’m David Blaine, the Most Intense Man In The World. I am returning to your humble website through the power of my mighty mind via my method known as Blaine’s Unlimited Lexicographical Leyline System of Higher Interspatial Travel. In the course of my present incarceration I have been receiving psychic distress messages from your vicinity. Once I had managed to sift them from the seemingly endless junk messages about some guy called Emile Heskey, the vibrations told me you were concerned about drawers, and that yours were inadequate. Well I have the answer right here, people: diapers! Or as I believe you call them, nappies! They’re perfectly absorbent, safe and hygienic – I recommend them thoroughly. Wait a second … I ’m getting more messages. What’s that? You’re worried about draws, not drawers? What in tarnation is that? You play a whole match and no one wins? Haven’t you guys ever heard of shootouts, power plays, overtime? Join a good old American league, you Limey schmucks! Do it before ‘Wimbledon’ do and you’ll never have to concern your fuzzy little heads with draws again! Now where’s that lip balm – I’m starving! |
David Blaine: sitting in a box for some reason
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In ye olden days of two points for a win, when straggly mullets roamed the Earth and Elton, Abba and the Stones ruled the charts (no, not last week), a draw was considered to be a good result. But in these three-pronged times, a point a game means only one thing: relegation form. Having shored up a back four more prone to leaks than the average government department, Shaggy and the Prof’s problem is now that their team is shooting blanks. Having tried a number of methods to boost the boys’ fertility in front of goal, the amber hordes breathlessly awaited the announcement of the management’s latest tactical masterplan on a sun-drenched afternoon at the Abbey worthy of their visitors’ English Riviera.
The answer? Er, no change. Same starting 11, same arrangement (a 4-3-3 with Aggy Revell in a ‘roaming’ role) as despite claims to fitness, Shane ‘Red Stripe’ Tudor remained bench-bound. Luke Guttridge was eagerly awaiting another reunion with his first club, who have only ever won once at Fortress Abbey, and the less said about last season’s 0-1 debacle the better. The visiting Gulls sported two ex-U’s in their starting line-up: our old pal Alex ‘I’m good enough for Division 1, me’ Russell, and Arjan ‘Ise’ Van Heusden, one of a long line of United keepers who could produce breathtaking stops but didn’t seem to have the force of personality to truly command their area. And he couldn’t dance.
Last year’s match-winner was restored to the Torquay team, but the diminutive winger formerly known as Jo Osei-Kuffour now wishes to be known, it seems, as Jonathan Kuffour. Give him another couple of seasons and he’ll have gone the whole hog and he’ll be calling himself Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Caw blimey.
There was time before kick-off for a perusal of the first issue this season of One Wonky Antler, a thrill-packed, coruscating rollercoaster of a fanzine: ‘I laughed, I cried, I went to the lavatory’ (JK Rowling); ‘The most riveting read since my account of the Lobo-Solti affair’ (Brian Glanville); ‘I always keep a copy in the bathroom’ (Barry Fry); ‘It certainly helps to pass the time!’ (O Bin Laden, Third Cave On The Left). Just before proceedings started the Torquay fans were joined by the lovely Helen off Soccer AM, not accompanied by her smug sidekick for once.
The Gulls made the livelier start, forcing four corners in the first three minutes, all taken in impressive style by Russell and all cleared by United strikers, would you believe, Kitson (two), Chillingworth and Revell. So that’s why Justin Walker is the one left upfield. It can’t be for his devastating turn of pace.
When United eventually managed it, they attacked in a 4-3-3 line-up, although Revell seemed to have instructions to track back to assist United’s under-staffed right flank whenever he could. That was certainly the source of most Torquay danger, notably from the tricky Kuffour. After such a beleaguered start, the tenth minute saw a barely deserved but overwhelmingly welcome goal for the hosts as they scored for the first time in three and a half long, long matches; and what a peach of a goal it was, too.
Revell started it off, threading a splendid through ball to Kitson down the right channel. He held the ball up in expert fashion, awaiting someone to lay it off to, and it was Lil’ Luke who made the run, dashing unchecked from deep to latch on to the BGG’s inch-perfect square ball, advance and lash past Van Heusden in decisive style into the top right corner. Looks like someone’s been having shooting practice.
After such delirious excitement, the game settled into a fairly even pattern between two well-matched passing teams. David Graham shot over for the Gulls on 13, Revell saw a shot blocked soon after and young Aggy almost made it two on 17: Kitson’s exquisitely weighted through ball held up beautifully as Van Heusden rushed from goal, the United striker stuck a brave foot out as he was sandwiched by the keeper from the front and Woods from behind, and they all watched his effort trickle the wrong side of the post from 18 yards. At least now we had a better scoring record than Northern Ireland. Then again, so has Cliff Richard.
The next minute saw what will probably turn out to be a unique event in CUFC history: Stev Angus was caught offside. No, really. Three minutes later the busy Revell picked up the game’s first booking, mis-controlling a pass then fouling Jason Fowler (the Fowler fouled!) in lunging to get it back. Torquay now began to dominate, Venus blocking a Russell effort and Marshall saving comfortably from Graham, then the Gulls striker broke clear only for Venus to show he’s still quite sprightly for a 53-year-old to marshal him away at the expense of a corner. The flag kick was, like so many on the day, swung in by Russell and cleared by the towering Kitson. He’d make a cracking centre back. Or full back. Or midfielder. He’d probably give keeper a decent crack, too.
Kuffour had a decent crack at goal on the half-hour from just outside the area, but Dancing Shaun clutched comfortably, then Revell blazed wide from a similar position at the other end; then it was Fowler’s turn to send one into the Terpsichorean custodian's midriff. But on balance of play Torquay deserved an equaliser, and by golly they got one on 36. Like most goals United concede it was simplicity itself: another Russell corner, Marshall stayed on his line, Craig Taylor rose to head across goal at the far post, and there was Kuffour, as desperately alone as Alan Pardew, to lash home from six yards.
The pace of the match increased, and both teams looked like catching the other out with fast breaks before the interval. And United’s encouraging response looked like bearing fruit on 43 as Revell fought for the ball in the centre circle then found an inch-perfect through ball to send Chilli away and clear on goal with only the Ise Man to beat. The Dan we saw before his injury would have put it away without a second thought, but this one slid it too close to the big Dutchman and he blocked without too much difficulty.
Remarkably, the visitors could have taken the lead themselves mere seconds later as Martin Gritton sped clear of Venus, but lost control like a puppy with diarrhoea as he reached the edge of the area and bobbled a messy mishit into Marshall’s grateful arms.
The last minute of the half saw yet more incident as Graham went on a twinkle-toed run into the United box, evading a couple of challenges then appearing to trip over Venus’ leg as the venerable veteran made contact with the ball. Ref Tanner sounded his whistle and the first thought of three and a bit thousand Cantabrigians was ‘penalty!’ Actually it was ‘billhooks!’ or ‘gadzooks!’ or something similar. However, to our relief and delight, Graham was booked for diving. I’ve seen ’em given.
The Gulls felt further aggrieved when Kuffour sprinted clear from halfway only to be pulled back for an offside decision, but the lino was correct: Kuffour wasn’t offside, but Graham in the middle was, and he was running toward goal so was therefore active. So there. There was still time for United to have the last chance of the 45, Fleming of all people slaloming through some tackles on the edge of the box then firing on goal, but the Dutchman collected with little difficulty. And so ended an enjoyable half that got better as it went on; and it wasn’t 0-0!
Part two saw an immediate formation change, an unwell Chilli replaced by Tudor wide right in a good old-fashioned 4-4-2. Graham was caught offside early on and kicked the ball away petulantly, but went unpunished by the pernickety ref, an interesting decision in the light of subsequent events. Angus was not so lucky on 52, chucking the ball unnecessarily far down the touchline when Torquay were awarded a throw and carded for his pains. That little incident would in time turn out to be more regrettable than a Mark Owen comeback.
Tudor miscued into Van Heusden’s arms on 54 and Kevin Hill blasted hopelessly over a minute later, then it was time for pointless booking No 2 as Venus picked up a yellow for tapping the ball away after conceding a free kick. United were marginally on top at this stage, Tudor’s run and cross setting up Guttridge for a shot that was blocked by McGlinchey, then a superb ball over the top by Venus looked to set up Revell for a run on goal, but his poor first touch sent the ball out of play for a throw.
On the hour United finally forced their first corner, and there followed a quick sequence all from the right-hand side by Stuart ‘Father Jack’ Bimson. Regrettably, all three were identical in their uselessness, every one of them failing to get past first man Fowler at the near post.
Kitson set up Revell on 63, but leaning back and under pressure from a defender, he blazed over from just inside the area. Seven minutes later the roles were reversed, but Big Dave swept his effort just wide from the D. Something extra was required to settle this close encounter, and on 72 John Turner replaced the hard-working Revell. Five minutes later Hill sent another blaster into the car park, then to everyone’s amazement Tudor was replaced by Fred Murray. It was hard to tell which was the more amazing, Red Stripe’s withdrawal (he must have been injured in some way) or Shaggy’s almost tearfully touching faith that Freddie will one day make a passable midfield player. My money’s on Martin Brennan to make it as one first.
Freddie nearly stunned us all on 80 with a left-wing cross that was so inaccurate that it almost crept in at the near post. A surprised Van Heusden seemed to realise the danger very late and pawed it away, only for ref Tanner to give a goal kick. Ise took the kick grinning from ear to ear like Peter Kenyon admiring his latest pay packet.
Save of the match came on 82 when Graham was given far too much room just inside the area; his scorching effort looked headed for the back of the net until Marshall flung himself full-length to tip superbly round for a corner. It’s what the Dancemeister does best. To United’s relief, the dangerous Kuffour was replaced by Kevin Wills a minute later, but next effort on goal was a hopeful 25-yarder from Kitson that flew well off target. The big man simply doesn’t score from outside the box.
Van Heusden fumbled a cross a minute later, but the ref gave him a generous free kick as he had all match to any player who fell over, whether fouled or not, except for his notable booking of Graham. Bimmo tried a long-ranger as added time beckoned but his welly fizzed over like an Andrew Flintoff six.
Then it all went pear-shaped for Angus: United lost possession down their right flank, Graham raced away over the halfway line, Stev gave chase then Graham changed direction, heading infield; Stev didn’t change direction, clipped the striker’s heels, and we all knew immediately that yellow card number two was about to brandished with relish by Mr Tanner.
The ref’s officious attitude now almost led him to lose control of the match: Taylor was caught offside, threw the ball away in frustration and to howls for side-equalling justice from the home fans, duly received the requested booking. Then Bimson returned the ball to Torquay after another free kick by throwing the ball high in the air but in the right direction, and the Gulls players now took their turn in screeching for reciprocal card action, but Tanner simply smiled sheepishly and shook his head. You made your bed, old son …
So, an anticlimactic end to an anticlimactic match after the excitement of much of the first half. The scoring hoodoo had been broken, but without a complementary clean sheet, it was five draws out of seven. At the moment the season is standing on the edge of a cliff with a jet-pack on its back; it might take off explosively in a flurry of thrills, it might plummet to earth with a resounding splat, it might sail gently into the air then slowly subside by parachute. Who can say?
Some light relief was obtained upon returning home by the gripping spectacle of Rotherham v Crewe live on Sky, the hosts sporting a new front pairing of Martin Butler and Darren Byfield. Those two started three games for United four years ago, and the great Butler scored in all three. Those were the days, eh, sighed Roy McFarland as he looked up from the bottom of Division Two in his Chesterfield office.
Marshall 6– A spectator when conceding Torquay’s goal, he atoned with the regulation one wonder-save in the second half. Otherwise little to do.
Angus 7– Playwise, a good game with some enterprising overlapping. Discipline-wise, unlucky but foolish.
Bimson 6– Solid if unspectacular defensively, but his corners were uniformly poor.
Duncan 8– Vintage Duncs: strong and uncomplicated.
Venus 8– Unruffled quality; evaded our fears about his and Duncan’s lack of pace with an astute offside trap.
Fleming 6– Much better than previously and regularly involved defensively and even occasionally further forward.
Walker 7 – Decent game at the hub and at least seemed to be trying to get forward sometimes.
Guttridge 7– Superb goal against his homeboys and always busy.
Revell 6– Worked like a Trojan and set up Chilli for what should have been United’s second goal, but lost his way a little in the second half.
Chillingworth 5– Missed an absolute sitter before being withdrawn. Where has that early season form gone? Didn’t seem fully fit.
Kitson 7– Ironically did his best work in defence, winning header after header. Harder work up front with a distinct lack of quality service.
Tudor 5– A brief, ghostly presence before disappearing again. Did we imagine him?
Turner 6– Not given a lot of time but looks excitingly promising every time we see him.
Murray 5– Big heart and effort do not a midfield player make.
Soundtrack of the day: Muse/Time Is Running Out
Match summary: Winter draws on, but it’s the late summer draws that concern us at the moment as yet another stalemate left United’s season flapping insecurely on the washing line of fate. Only one win, only one defeat … will we be gathered in safely after we’ve dried in the sun or be blown off into the lower-table puddles? Who can say; the line is stretched as tautly as this simile as the moment.
Man of the match: Andy Duncan. Like a favourite pair of Y-fronts, Andrew has been rescued from the laundry basket of the reserves and restored to first choice with no fuss, no frills and no-nonsense containing skills. And definitely no skid marks. Just the job.
Ref watch: Tanner 4. From the number of cards handed out, you’d think this gentle stroll in the sun was a rampaging clogfest. In the good old days, the old school of referees would control matches by force of personality and communication with the players; now we have robotic jobsworths like this character, who hands out cards like confetti without so much as a by-your-leave, then wonders why he’s unpopular. Pants!
The answer? Er, no change. Same starting 11, same arrangement (a 4-3-3 with Aggy Revell in a ‘roaming’ role) as despite claims to fitness, Shane ‘Red Stripe’ Tudor remained bench-bound. Luke Guttridge was eagerly awaiting another reunion with his first club, who have only ever won once at Fortress Abbey, and the less said about last season’s 0-1 debacle the better. The visiting Gulls sported two ex-U’s in their starting line-up: our old pal Alex ‘I’m good enough for Division 1, me’ Russell, and Arjan ‘Ise’ Van Heusden, one of a long line of United keepers who could produce breathtaking stops but didn’t seem to have the force of personality to truly command their area. And he couldn’t dance.
Last year’s match-winner was restored to the Torquay team, but the diminutive winger formerly known as Jo Osei-Kuffour now wishes to be known, it seems, as Jonathan Kuffour. Give him another couple of seasons and he’ll have gone the whole hog and he’ll be calling himself Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Caw blimey.
There was time before kick-off for a perusal of the first issue this season of One Wonky Antler, a thrill-packed, coruscating rollercoaster of a fanzine: ‘I laughed, I cried, I went to the lavatory’ (JK Rowling); ‘The most riveting read since my account of the Lobo-Solti affair’ (Brian Glanville); ‘I always keep a copy in the bathroom’ (Barry Fry); ‘It certainly helps to pass the time!’ (O Bin Laden, Third Cave On The Left). Just before proceedings started the Torquay fans were joined by the lovely Helen off Soccer AM, not accompanied by her smug sidekick for once.
The Gulls made the livelier start, forcing four corners in the first three minutes, all taken in impressive style by Russell and all cleared by United strikers, would you believe, Kitson (two), Chillingworth and Revell. So that’s why Justin Walker is the one left upfield. It can’t be for his devastating turn of pace.
When United eventually managed it, they attacked in a 4-3-3 line-up, although Revell seemed to have instructions to track back to assist United’s under-staffed right flank whenever he could. That was certainly the source of most Torquay danger, notably from the tricky Kuffour. After such a beleaguered start, the tenth minute saw a barely deserved but overwhelmingly welcome goal for the hosts as they scored for the first time in three and a half long, long matches; and what a peach of a goal it was, too.
Revell started it off, threading a splendid through ball to Kitson down the right channel. He held the ball up in expert fashion, awaiting someone to lay it off to, and it was Lil’ Luke who made the run, dashing unchecked from deep to latch on to the BGG’s inch-perfect square ball, advance and lash past Van Heusden in decisive style into the top right corner. Looks like someone’s been having shooting practice.
After such delirious excitement, the game settled into a fairly even pattern between two well-matched passing teams. David Graham shot over for the Gulls on 13, Revell saw a shot blocked soon after and young Aggy almost made it two on 17: Kitson’s exquisitely weighted through ball held up beautifully as Van Heusden rushed from goal, the United striker stuck a brave foot out as he was sandwiched by the keeper from the front and Woods from behind, and they all watched his effort trickle the wrong side of the post from 18 yards. At least now we had a better scoring record than Northern Ireland. Then again, so has Cliff Richard.
The next minute saw what will probably turn out to be a unique event in CUFC history: Stev Angus was caught offside. No, really. Three minutes later the busy Revell picked up the game’s first booking, mis-controlling a pass then fouling Jason Fowler (the Fowler fouled!) in lunging to get it back. Torquay now began to dominate, Venus blocking a Russell effort and Marshall saving comfortably from Graham, then the Gulls striker broke clear only for Venus to show he’s still quite sprightly for a 53-year-old to marshal him away at the expense of a corner. The flag kick was, like so many on the day, swung in by Russell and cleared by the towering Kitson. He’d make a cracking centre back. Or full back. Or midfielder. He’d probably give keeper a decent crack, too.
Kuffour had a decent crack at goal on the half-hour from just outside the area, but Dancing Shaun clutched comfortably, then Revell blazed wide from a similar position at the other end; then it was Fowler’s turn to send one into the Terpsichorean custodian's midriff. But on balance of play Torquay deserved an equaliser, and by golly they got one on 36. Like most goals United concede it was simplicity itself: another Russell corner, Marshall stayed on his line, Craig Taylor rose to head across goal at the far post, and there was Kuffour, as desperately alone as Alan Pardew, to lash home from six yards.
The pace of the match increased, and both teams looked like catching the other out with fast breaks before the interval. And United’s encouraging response looked like bearing fruit on 43 as Revell fought for the ball in the centre circle then found an inch-perfect through ball to send Chilli away and clear on goal with only the Ise Man to beat. The Dan we saw before his injury would have put it away without a second thought, but this one slid it too close to the big Dutchman and he blocked without too much difficulty.
Remarkably, the visitors could have taken the lead themselves mere seconds later as Martin Gritton sped clear of Venus, but lost control like a puppy with diarrhoea as he reached the edge of the area and bobbled a messy mishit into Marshall’s grateful arms.
The last minute of the half saw yet more incident as Graham went on a twinkle-toed run into the United box, evading a couple of challenges then appearing to trip over Venus’ leg as the venerable veteran made contact with the ball. Ref Tanner sounded his whistle and the first thought of three and a bit thousand Cantabrigians was ‘penalty!’ Actually it was ‘billhooks!’ or ‘gadzooks!’ or something similar. However, to our relief and delight, Graham was booked for diving. I’ve seen ’em given.
The Gulls felt further aggrieved when Kuffour sprinted clear from halfway only to be pulled back for an offside decision, but the lino was correct: Kuffour wasn’t offside, but Graham in the middle was, and he was running toward goal so was therefore active. So there. There was still time for United to have the last chance of the 45, Fleming of all people slaloming through some tackles on the edge of the box then firing on goal, but the Dutchman collected with little difficulty. And so ended an enjoyable half that got better as it went on; and it wasn’t 0-0!
Part two saw an immediate formation change, an unwell Chilli replaced by Tudor wide right in a good old-fashioned 4-4-2. Graham was caught offside early on and kicked the ball away petulantly, but went unpunished by the pernickety ref, an interesting decision in the light of subsequent events. Angus was not so lucky on 52, chucking the ball unnecessarily far down the touchline when Torquay were awarded a throw and carded for his pains. That little incident would in time turn out to be more regrettable than a Mark Owen comeback.
Tudor miscued into Van Heusden’s arms on 54 and Kevin Hill blasted hopelessly over a minute later, then it was time for pointless booking No 2 as Venus picked up a yellow for tapping the ball away after conceding a free kick. United were marginally on top at this stage, Tudor’s run and cross setting up Guttridge for a shot that was blocked by McGlinchey, then a superb ball over the top by Venus looked to set up Revell for a run on goal, but his poor first touch sent the ball out of play for a throw.
On the hour United finally forced their first corner, and there followed a quick sequence all from the right-hand side by Stuart ‘Father Jack’ Bimson. Regrettably, all three were identical in their uselessness, every one of them failing to get past first man Fowler at the near post.
Kitson set up Revell on 63, but leaning back and under pressure from a defender, he blazed over from just inside the area. Seven minutes later the roles were reversed, but Big Dave swept his effort just wide from the D. Something extra was required to settle this close encounter, and on 72 John Turner replaced the hard-working Revell. Five minutes later Hill sent another blaster into the car park, then to everyone’s amazement Tudor was replaced by Fred Murray. It was hard to tell which was the more amazing, Red Stripe’s withdrawal (he must have been injured in some way) or Shaggy’s almost tearfully touching faith that Freddie will one day make a passable midfield player. My money’s on Martin Brennan to make it as one first.
Freddie nearly stunned us all on 80 with a left-wing cross that was so inaccurate that it almost crept in at the near post. A surprised Van Heusden seemed to realise the danger very late and pawed it away, only for ref Tanner to give a goal kick. Ise took the kick grinning from ear to ear like Peter Kenyon admiring his latest pay packet.
Save of the match came on 82 when Graham was given far too much room just inside the area; his scorching effort looked headed for the back of the net until Marshall flung himself full-length to tip superbly round for a corner. It’s what the Dancemeister does best. To United’s relief, the dangerous Kuffour was replaced by Kevin Wills a minute later, but next effort on goal was a hopeful 25-yarder from Kitson that flew well off target. The big man simply doesn’t score from outside the box.
Van Heusden fumbled a cross a minute later, but the ref gave him a generous free kick as he had all match to any player who fell over, whether fouled or not, except for his notable booking of Graham. Bimmo tried a long-ranger as added time beckoned but his welly fizzed over like an Andrew Flintoff six.
Then it all went pear-shaped for Angus: United lost possession down their right flank, Graham raced away over the halfway line, Stev gave chase then Graham changed direction, heading infield; Stev didn’t change direction, clipped the striker’s heels, and we all knew immediately that yellow card number two was about to brandished with relish by Mr Tanner.
The ref’s officious attitude now almost led him to lose control of the match: Taylor was caught offside, threw the ball away in frustration and to howls for side-equalling justice from the home fans, duly received the requested booking. Then Bimson returned the ball to Torquay after another free kick by throwing the ball high in the air but in the right direction, and the Gulls players now took their turn in screeching for reciprocal card action, but Tanner simply smiled sheepishly and shook his head. You made your bed, old son …
So, an anticlimactic end to an anticlimactic match after the excitement of much of the first half. The scoring hoodoo had been broken, but without a complementary clean sheet, it was five draws out of seven. At the moment the season is standing on the edge of a cliff with a jet-pack on its back; it might take off explosively in a flurry of thrills, it might plummet to earth with a resounding splat, it might sail gently into the air then slowly subside by parachute. Who can say?
Some light relief was obtained upon returning home by the gripping spectacle of Rotherham v Crewe live on Sky, the hosts sporting a new front pairing of Martin Butler and Darren Byfield. Those two started three games for United four years ago, and the great Butler scored in all three. Those were the days, eh, sighed Roy McFarland as he looked up from the bottom of Division Two in his Chesterfield office.
Marshall 6– A spectator when conceding Torquay’s goal, he atoned with the regulation one wonder-save in the second half. Otherwise little to do.
Angus 7– Playwise, a good game with some enterprising overlapping. Discipline-wise, unlucky but foolish.
Bimson 6– Solid if unspectacular defensively, but his corners were uniformly poor.
Duncan 8– Vintage Duncs: strong and uncomplicated.
Venus 8– Unruffled quality; evaded our fears about his and Duncan’s lack of pace with an astute offside trap.
Fleming 6– Much better than previously and regularly involved defensively and even occasionally further forward.
Walker 7 – Decent game at the hub and at least seemed to be trying to get forward sometimes.
Guttridge 7– Superb goal against his homeboys and always busy.
Revell 6– Worked like a Trojan and set up Chilli for what should have been United’s second goal, but lost his way a little in the second half.
Chillingworth 5– Missed an absolute sitter before being withdrawn. Where has that early season form gone? Didn’t seem fully fit.
Kitson 7– Ironically did his best work in defence, winning header after header. Harder work up front with a distinct lack of quality service.
Tudor 5– A brief, ghostly presence before disappearing again. Did we imagine him?
Turner 6– Not given a lot of time but looks excitingly promising every time we see him.
Murray 5– Big heart and effort do not a midfield player make.
Soundtrack of the day: Muse/Time Is Running Out
Match summary: Winter draws on, but it’s the late summer draws that concern us at the moment as yet another stalemate left United’s season flapping insecurely on the washing line of fate. Only one win, only one defeat … will we be gathered in safely after we’ve dried in the sun or be blown off into the lower-table puddles? Who can say; the line is stretched as tautly as this simile as the moment.
Man of the match: Andy Duncan. Like a favourite pair of Y-fronts, Andrew has been rescued from the laundry basket of the reserves and restored to first choice with no fuss, no frills and no-nonsense containing skills. And definitely no skid marks. Just the job.
Ref watch: Tanner 4. From the number of cards handed out, you’d think this gentle stroll in the sun was a rampaging clogfest. In the good old days, the old school of referees would control matches by force of personality and communication with the players; now we have robotic jobsworths like this character, who hands out cards like confetti without so much as a by-your-leave, then wonders why he’s unpopular. Pants!
Andy Duncan: vintage Duncs
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17 September 2003: Boston 1v2 U’s
Insert Stev Wonder pun here
The lanky figure reclined in his Humberside bedsit, flicking through the album of press cuttings detailing all the goals he’d scored over the years. Some day, he thought, I’ll get past page two, see if I don’t. I’ll show that lot at the Abbey. Record-breaker, eh? And then the ultimate humiliation, scoring in front of them, celebrating wildly, then seeing their jeering, leering faces as that blasted ref disallowed it! I couldn’t stay in the Fens after that. You can only stand the smell of fertiliser and Old Spice for so long. But soon my suffering will be over. Only another year to go and my old mate Stevie Wonder will have taken my record as his own. He’s got about as much chance of scoring as the original Stevie!
He flicked idly at his TV remote, accessing Teletext in mild curiosity at his former team’s fate that evening at Boston. 1-1, he noted, smirking, another game down, only another 65 to go. Then it happened: the screen flickered for a split second, and there it was in little green letters: BOSTON UTD 1-2 CAMBRIDGE UTD - ANGUS 89. ‘No!’ he cried at the woodchip walls, ‘Must be a mistake! He can’t have scored! It’s not fair!’ He knew that the fatal statistics – Marc Joseph: Games 136 (17), Goals 0 – would stand in the club records for all eternity. Some people, they should be glad to be a part of history!
A warm, bright late summer’s evening presented the amber hordes with a pleasantly short journey through the flattest, dullest landscape on the planet, without even a piece of tumbleweed to enliven the featureless fields of Lincolnshire. A passing Bedouin remarked that at least the Sahara possessed a modicum of intelligent life somewhere within its endless, shifting sands; and was that, carried faintly on the light Fen wind, the sound of a distant banjo being plucked? Who knows, we thought, as we hurried across the desolate tundra towards York Street.
There we were greeted by the cheeriest double act this side of Jim Davidson and his ego in the form of two chirpy, gap-toothed locals crammed into a wooden box surely designed for only one, dispensing programmes in between grappling manfully with a shallow bag of change which was much needed, given their club’s none-less-convenient price of £2.30. This worthy publication even bore ads tailored to the local clientele, one for the FA Cup offering a picture of a cow while asking the readers ‘Something on your mind?’ (milking? manure?), while Boston College advertised its Women Returners Programme (where have they been? Some sort of bizarre ritualistic retreat?) and its Team Leader Award which promised ‘Get used to working with people!’ As opposed, presumably, to farmyard animals and those flies you catch with your tongue.
But enough of sniggering at the doubtless warm-hearted, salt-of-the-earth locals, however much fun it might be. The Boston team did not seem overly stronger than last season’s line-up, golden oldies Neil Redfearn and ex-U Paul Bastock still doing the business, while their other former U’s loanee, Richard Logan, has been dropped to the bench in favour of leggy loanee Andy White from Mansfield; apparently Mr Logan has been accused of being a little too big for his boots by some fans who have questioned his attitude. Have you met Armand, Richie?
For the visitors, Shane Tudor’s latest one-man injury crisis kept him out of the running, but Shaggy still reverted to good old 4-4-2 by replacing Aggy Revell with Freddie Murray. It might have been an idea to fit them all out in pit helmets, given the meagre illumination afforded by the six active bulbs on each of Boston’s floodlights, although they could not conceal the fact that York Street does not even seem to have had a lick of paint since our last visit. They did, however, still offer away supporters their nice big covered terrace at one end that was used by home fans in their non-League days. You have to say that non-League is still the feel one gets at this quaint little ground, which must barely pass the criteria for minimum facilities; one side (the modest main stand) contains almost all the seating, with a few more crammed behind a claustrophobically small terrace at one end, while most home supporters gather in the partly roofed terrace along the opposite side of the pitch to the main stand. Compact and bijou, indeed.
The match started at a brisk pace, both teams pushing and probing without looking terribly menacing; on three Terrier Fleming produced a rare surge forward but seemed to forget what to do next when he reached the area and was dispossessed, while Big Dave Kitson fired over two minutes later. The hosts had the best early chance, Paul Ellender given far too much time and space on the edge of the United box on nine and arrowing an impressive effort goalwards which was headed just under the bar until pawed over by Shaun Marshall.
Boston were to be a threat from corners all evening as their ‘big men’ trotted forward. Their first two were well dealt with, Andy Duncan nodding Redfearn’s first away then Kitson dealing equally decisively with Graham Potter’s follow-up flag kick. Not quite Hurricane Isabel, but there would need to be some pretty tough hatch-battening by United’s hammer-and-nails squad tonight.
Redfearn shot well wide on 14, then Kitson sent Chillingworth away on 18 with a characteristic flourish which Bastock was alert enough to reach first. Sadly a minute later, Chilli’s game was over, as he flicked the ball over Ben Chapman to give chase, then pulled up with what looked like a hamstring injury. What a shame he’s had so much bad luck with his fitness after finding the form of his life in the opening games of the season. Shaggy sprang a surprise in replacing him with John Turner rather than Revell – a welcome sight for the many of us who are excited by the brief flashes that we have had so far of the young Turnado’s potential.
Fleming put in some sterling defensive work, blocking a goal-bound effort from Stuart Douglas before Simon Weatherstone blazed wide, then on 27 came United’s best opportunity so far. Stuart Bimson’s corners were as uniformly ugly as a close-up of Andrew Gilligan on Saturday, but tonight his cornering was better than Michael Schumacher’s, his first effort finding Justin Walker’s head inside the six-yard box, but somehow he managed to nod it across goal and wide of the far post.
First booking of the evening came two minutes later, home skipper Chapman carded for clattering Guttridge, then Duncan demonstrated his aerial prowess with a couple of splendid diving clearances from crosses as Boston hit back. Kitson was blocked by Matt Hocking at the other end as he pulled the trigger, then Walker became the visitors’ first booking on 34 for a foul on Potter that produced a brief confrontation, ultimately as all-mouth-and-beige-slacks as Souness versus Houllier. Without the nice blazers, obviously.
A hideous mix-up a minute later – United trying to pass the ball around too much in their own defensive third – handed Weatherstone the best chance thus far, with a clear and unchallenged shot at goal from the edge of the area, but he pulled it horribly wide of the far post and beat the ground with frustration at his own ineptitude.
Then it was United who regained the ascendancy as the game to’d and fro’d more than J-Lo’s wedding plans, as the intelligent running of Turner and Kitson offered possibilities to their patiently probing midfield. Guttridge and Fleming were looking lively, Walker alive and Murray, er, looking on admiringly but clearly with no idea of where to run to in order to open up the left flank. So he mostly stood stock still out wide.
Such was United’s possessive domination in the last ten minutes of the half that Marshall was even persuaded by his adoring public to demonstrate the Terpsichorean dexterity for which he is rightly feted. Makes Michael Flatley look like Pan’s People. Fleming missed a glorious chance on 38, Angus’s ball setting him up for a blast from 18 yards, but he tried to burst the net rather than place it coolly and cleared the bar by several feet.
Insert Stev Wonder pun here
The lanky figure reclined in his Humberside bedsit, flicking through the album of press cuttings detailing all the goals he’d scored over the years. Some day, he thought, I’ll get past page two, see if I don’t. I’ll show that lot at the Abbey. Record-breaker, eh? And then the ultimate humiliation, scoring in front of them, celebrating wildly, then seeing their jeering, leering faces as that blasted ref disallowed it! I couldn’t stay in the Fens after that. You can only stand the smell of fertiliser and Old Spice for so long. But soon my suffering will be over. Only another year to go and my old mate Stevie Wonder will have taken my record as his own. He’s got about as much chance of scoring as the original Stevie!
He flicked idly at his TV remote, accessing Teletext in mild curiosity at his former team’s fate that evening at Boston. 1-1, he noted, smirking, another game down, only another 65 to go. Then it happened: the screen flickered for a split second, and there it was in little green letters: BOSTON UTD 1-2 CAMBRIDGE UTD - ANGUS 89. ‘No!’ he cried at the woodchip walls, ‘Must be a mistake! He can’t have scored! It’s not fair!’ He knew that the fatal statistics – Marc Joseph: Games 136 (17), Goals 0 – would stand in the club records for all eternity. Some people, they should be glad to be a part of history!
A warm, bright late summer’s evening presented the amber hordes with a pleasantly short journey through the flattest, dullest landscape on the planet, without even a piece of tumbleweed to enliven the featureless fields of Lincolnshire. A passing Bedouin remarked that at least the Sahara possessed a modicum of intelligent life somewhere within its endless, shifting sands; and was that, carried faintly on the light Fen wind, the sound of a distant banjo being plucked? Who knows, we thought, as we hurried across the desolate tundra towards York Street.
There we were greeted by the cheeriest double act this side of Jim Davidson and his ego in the form of two chirpy, gap-toothed locals crammed into a wooden box surely designed for only one, dispensing programmes in between grappling manfully with a shallow bag of change which was much needed, given their club’s none-less-convenient price of £2.30. This worthy publication even bore ads tailored to the local clientele, one for the FA Cup offering a picture of a cow while asking the readers ‘Something on your mind?’ (milking? manure?), while Boston College advertised its Women Returners Programme (where have they been? Some sort of bizarre ritualistic retreat?) and its Team Leader Award which promised ‘Get used to working with people!’ As opposed, presumably, to farmyard animals and those flies you catch with your tongue.
But enough of sniggering at the doubtless warm-hearted, salt-of-the-earth locals, however much fun it might be. The Boston team did not seem overly stronger than last season’s line-up, golden oldies Neil Redfearn and ex-U Paul Bastock still doing the business, while their other former U’s loanee, Richard Logan, has been dropped to the bench in favour of leggy loanee Andy White from Mansfield; apparently Mr Logan has been accused of being a little too big for his boots by some fans who have questioned his attitude. Have you met Armand, Richie?
For the visitors, Shane Tudor’s latest one-man injury crisis kept him out of the running, but Shaggy still reverted to good old 4-4-2 by replacing Aggy Revell with Freddie Murray. It might have been an idea to fit them all out in pit helmets, given the meagre illumination afforded by the six active bulbs on each of Boston’s floodlights, although they could not conceal the fact that York Street does not even seem to have had a lick of paint since our last visit. They did, however, still offer away supporters their nice big covered terrace at one end that was used by home fans in their non-League days. You have to say that non-League is still the feel one gets at this quaint little ground, which must barely pass the criteria for minimum facilities; one side (the modest main stand) contains almost all the seating, with a few more crammed behind a claustrophobically small terrace at one end, while most home supporters gather in the partly roofed terrace along the opposite side of the pitch to the main stand. Compact and bijou, indeed.
The match started at a brisk pace, both teams pushing and probing without looking terribly menacing; on three Terrier Fleming produced a rare surge forward but seemed to forget what to do next when he reached the area and was dispossessed, while Big Dave Kitson fired over two minutes later. The hosts had the best early chance, Paul Ellender given far too much time and space on the edge of the United box on nine and arrowing an impressive effort goalwards which was headed just under the bar until pawed over by Shaun Marshall.
Boston were to be a threat from corners all evening as their ‘big men’ trotted forward. Their first two were well dealt with, Andy Duncan nodding Redfearn’s first away then Kitson dealing equally decisively with Graham Potter’s follow-up flag kick. Not quite Hurricane Isabel, but there would need to be some pretty tough hatch-battening by United’s hammer-and-nails squad tonight.
Redfearn shot well wide on 14, then Kitson sent Chillingworth away on 18 with a characteristic flourish which Bastock was alert enough to reach first. Sadly a minute later, Chilli’s game was over, as he flicked the ball over Ben Chapman to give chase, then pulled up with what looked like a hamstring injury. What a shame he’s had so much bad luck with his fitness after finding the form of his life in the opening games of the season. Shaggy sprang a surprise in replacing him with John Turner rather than Revell – a welcome sight for the many of us who are excited by the brief flashes that we have had so far of the young Turnado’s potential.
Fleming put in some sterling defensive work, blocking a goal-bound effort from Stuart Douglas before Simon Weatherstone blazed wide, then on 27 came United’s best opportunity so far. Stuart Bimson’s corners were as uniformly ugly as a close-up of Andrew Gilligan on Saturday, but tonight his cornering was better than Michael Schumacher’s, his first effort finding Justin Walker’s head inside the six-yard box, but somehow he managed to nod it across goal and wide of the far post.
First booking of the evening came two minutes later, home skipper Chapman carded for clattering Guttridge, then Duncan demonstrated his aerial prowess with a couple of splendid diving clearances from crosses as Boston hit back. Kitson was blocked by Matt Hocking at the other end as he pulled the trigger, then Walker became the visitors’ first booking on 34 for a foul on Potter that produced a brief confrontation, ultimately as all-mouth-and-beige-slacks as Souness versus Houllier. Without the nice blazers, obviously.
A hideous mix-up a minute later – United trying to pass the ball around too much in their own defensive third – handed Weatherstone the best chance thus far, with a clear and unchallenged shot at goal from the edge of the area, but he pulled it horribly wide of the far post and beat the ground with frustration at his own ineptitude.
Then it was United who regained the ascendancy as the game to’d and fro’d more than J-Lo’s wedding plans, as the intelligent running of Turner and Kitson offered possibilities to their patiently probing midfield. Guttridge and Fleming were looking lively, Walker alive and Murray, er, looking on admiringly but clearly with no idea of where to run to in order to open up the left flank. So he mostly stood stock still out wide.
Such was United’s possessive domination in the last ten minutes of the half that Marshall was even persuaded by his adoring public to demonstrate the Terpsichorean dexterity for which he is rightly feted. Makes Michael Flatley look like Pan’s People. Fleming missed a glorious chance on 38, Angus’s ball setting him up for a blast from 18 yards, but he tried to burst the net rather than place it coolly and cleared the bar by several feet.
Pan's People and Michael Flatley: both poor in comparison to the Terpsichorean custodian
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The U’s kept the pressure up, a nice interchange between Bimson and Murray leading Bimmo to feed Kitson in the D, and his lovely turn and shot was foiled only by a splendid save from Bastock at the cost of a corner. Boston countered briefly with a hopeful Douglas blast over the top, but on 42 came the breakthrough that United had threatened. Walker spotted Guttridge making a run down the left channel, and Mullet Man’s inch-perfect through-ball set Lil’ Luke sprinting clear of a flat-footed defence; entering the box, he looked up, saw Bastock spreading himself (not a pretty sight) and with infinite confidence, thumped the ball past him left-footed for a second glorious goal in two games: 1-0!
United maintained their stranglehold until the break, last significant action being an excellent 30-yard Kitson run into the area only spoilt by his unwillingness to shoot. The United choir was in full voice, broken by their trying to work out what the locals were singing back. I caught the words ‘Tony Martin’, but the rest was regrettably unintelligible.
So ended a lively first 45, not one for a connoisseur of fine football but an engaging encounter that United had shaded without ever hitting any great heights. 4-4-2 made them look more solid overall, but with no natural wide players (Guttridge a midfielder, Murray most definitely a full back), there was little to no wing play and most attacks were directed down the channels or straight down the middle. The defence, however, had looked pleasingly solid and all we had to do now to collect the three points was to keep a clean sheet. Yes, I know that happens about as often as a Stev Angus goal when we have a lead to defend, but you never know.
The Pilgrims came out punching in the second half, and once again United were forced on to the back foot. Whatever they do during the break, it’s far too relaxing. Why not replace the half-time oranges with a nice game of Russian roulette, perhaps, to keep them on their toes? Or if that’s too radical, how about Twister? And a hand of cribbage for the older players? It’s a thought.
Redfearn’s corner on 47 was headed away by, who else? Kitson, then White’s header found Marshall’s welcoming arms before another Kitson run fizzled out to nothing. Potter was booked on 53 for upending Guttridge, then Marshall was called into action when Douglas scampered into the area like a dreadlocked weasel only to meet the safe hands of game keeper Marshall.
A minute later there was dissension in the ranks as Venus chased a Bostonian through ball with Rusk fairly breathing down his neck and seemed to be waiting for Marshall to do or say something as he bore down on him; when Shaun apparently did or said absolutely nothing, Veno lashed the ball out of play then lashed his keeper with a few choice words that were returned in kind. I’m sure Shaun respects the venerable Veno, but he must realise that a goalkeeper must dominate the final third decisively and completely. Especially when your main defender is 52 years old.
United hearts remained in mouths from the following corner as Redfearn’s kick found the head of Ellender, and it was bulleting goalward until cleared almost off the line by … Douglas. Sadly for him, his attempted flick was more daft than deft. But two minutes later, the dam finally broke, and it was yet another corner that proved the visitors’ undoing: Marshall’s punch was downward and less than convincing, and the unmarked Weatherstone hammered it home on the bounce: 1-1.
United needed a wake-up call from somewhere. Kitson and White were booked around the hour mark in quick succession, but inspiration was sorely lacking, Walker fading, Murray struggling and Fleming increasingly over-run. Kitson finally got a shot in on 64, wide under pressure from Bastock, but for the next 20 minutes the hosts remained in the ascendant as Shaggy looked on impassively, leaning on the dugout with hands nonchalantly in pockets. He was probably whistling a jaunty tune as well.
White had a header saved comfortably by Marshall on 68, the same striker headed wide four minutes later, then successive corners from Potter and Redfearn were cleared under pressure by Duncan and Murray and a Redfearn free kick from 25 yards was deflected for a corner by Bimmo’s, ah, bummo. United, looking good for a first away win at the break, were now hanging on grimly for one, as the dreadful prospect of a result worse than Prince Harry’s A-Levels loomed.
With a quarter of an hour to go Boston freshened up their attack by replacing the dangerous Douglas with Peter Duffield. White shot wide on 78, then Kitson looked to have broken clear only to be pulled up by a highly debatable offside decision. United’s first change came on 80 as Franco Nacca replaced the increasingly anonymous Walker, and the vigorous Venezuelan immediately made an impact with some intelligent running and passing.
Redfearn narrowly cleared the bar on 83, Ellender was booked for fouling Kitson, then with four minutes to go, the U’s at last found their second wind with a short but decisive bout of pressure. Kitson was fouled a couple of yards outside the box, but surprisingly and frankly bafflingly, Bimmo and Veno were ignored as the ball was touched to Fleming, whose blaster was extremely unsurprisingly sent straight into the wall. However, United kept up the pressure, and with the home defence at sixes and sevens, the Terrier arrived late on the scene to a lame half-clearance and bent a much, much better effort from 20 yards against the inside of the post with Bastock absolutely nowhere. The ball cannoned across goal, Kitson just missed it but retrieved and fired in a fierce shot from an almost impossible angle wide left that Bastock had to tip athletically over the bar.
Then ensued an extraordinary, furious forehead-to-forehead shouting match between teammates Bastock and Weatherstone which made Venus and Marshall’s earlier exchange look like two old duffers enjoying a cup of tea, and brought to mind the legendary Heathcote-Raynor set-to back in the day. All it needed was someone to shout ‘Fight! Fight!’ and we might have seen some hot player-on-player action.
All this unrest turned out to be the Pilgrims’ egress as United took full advantage from the resultant corner. Guttridge found Turner unmarked 15 yards out, and his intelligent header into the danger zone found none other than Stev Angus lunging through a crowd of bodies to poke home from eight yards out for his first goal for United on his 89th League appearance and 98th overall. His reaction to avoiding The Curse of Jerry was needless to say ecstatic, as was that of his colleagues who buried him under a pile of writhing bodies the like of which has not been seen since that last Snoop Dogg video. That made up for his miserable double yellow on Saturday.
There was still time for a scare as almost from the restart Duffield charged for goal and grazed the outside of the post with a 20-yarder. Boston replaced Potter with Logan and played an extra striker for the three added minutes, but the visitors held firm for a victory that in truth was not particularly deserved, especially after the second half’s mediocre efforts, but atoned for games this season that we have drawn when we should have won.
Sometimes you have to value the result more than the performance, and how sweet it was to be on the delivering end of a last-minute goal for a change. And what a scorer! It will undoubtedly be tougher at Cheltenham on Saturday and a substantial improvement will be needed to keep up the unbeaten away record. But at least now we have good competition for places, with Nacca, Bridges, Turner, Goodhind, Revell and Tann all pushing for starting places. As long as we carry on playing 4-4-2, eh?!
Marshall 8– Coped well with the Bostonian barrage, except for the corner that led to their goal.
Angus 8– Enterprising game down the right flank, capped by THAT g@#! (ERROR! Does not compute! Set the controls for the heart of the sun! etc)
Bimson 7– Reliable defensively and seems to have found his range set piece-wise again after Saturday’s aberration(s).
Duncan 8– Towering presence at the back who repelled boarders with vim and gusto.
Venus 7– Calm defensive foil to Duncan’s blood ’n’ thunder approach.
Guttridge 8– Another all-action performance and another excellent goal. Player of the season so far.
Fleming 7– Much more like it in more his sort of match, blocking heroically one end and almost notching at the other on several occasions.
Walker 6– Played his part, but not the telling influence that we would really like.
Murray 5– Still trying his darnedest, bless his out-of-position socks, and still looking like a rabbit staring down some particularly large headlights. There’s more to giving ‘balance’ to a team that being left-footed and wandering around like a lost sheep.
Chillingworth 6– Injury curse struck again before he could really get going.
Kitson 6– Some nice touches in their box, some good headers in ours, but a below-par game by his own high standards.
Turner 7– Mature before his time, capped another promising display with the clever header that set up United’s winner. Go on, give him a run.
Nacca 7– Impressive and influential cameo performance.
Soundtrack of the day:Peaches/Bag It
Match summary:Who needs strikers when you’ve got a secret weapon of mass destruction like Stev ‘Goals is my middle name’ Angus in reserve? A pulsating end-to-end encounter was decided in dramatically late fashion by the man they now aren’t calling ‘the new Marc Joseph’. A draw would have been a fair result, but after all those previous draws, those swings and roundabouts are a-twisting and a-twirling already.
Man of the match:Luke Guttridge. Play him wide left, wide right, in the hole or in the middle, the wee man has delivered consistently this season and now he’s weighing in with goals too. Lil’ Luke’s a giant!
Ref watch:Boyeson 5. Insisted on giving a free kick every time a player fell over or there was any physical contact; otherwise just about adequate.
Justin’s jukebox.Justin Walker lends his critical ear to the musical goodies on offer at York Street. ‘What an uninspired selection! Some innocuous chart stuff (Mel C, Amy Studt, Thrills), then for some reason it was back the 60s with Mrs Robinson and California Dreamin’, then a lurch back to the 90s with Toca’s Miracle followed by Beautiful Day (did the DJ hear it on ITV’s Premiership and think ‘oh well, that’ll do?’), then when the players ran out … silence. Dear oh dear. JJ verdict: Boring! (2/10)
United maintained their stranglehold until the break, last significant action being an excellent 30-yard Kitson run into the area only spoilt by his unwillingness to shoot. The United choir was in full voice, broken by their trying to work out what the locals were singing back. I caught the words ‘Tony Martin’, but the rest was regrettably unintelligible.
So ended a lively first 45, not one for a connoisseur of fine football but an engaging encounter that United had shaded without ever hitting any great heights. 4-4-2 made them look more solid overall, but with no natural wide players (Guttridge a midfielder, Murray most definitely a full back), there was little to no wing play and most attacks were directed down the channels or straight down the middle. The defence, however, had looked pleasingly solid and all we had to do now to collect the three points was to keep a clean sheet. Yes, I know that happens about as often as a Stev Angus goal when we have a lead to defend, but you never know.
The Pilgrims came out punching in the second half, and once again United were forced on to the back foot. Whatever they do during the break, it’s far too relaxing. Why not replace the half-time oranges with a nice game of Russian roulette, perhaps, to keep them on their toes? Or if that’s too radical, how about Twister? And a hand of cribbage for the older players? It’s a thought.
Redfearn’s corner on 47 was headed away by, who else? Kitson, then White’s header found Marshall’s welcoming arms before another Kitson run fizzled out to nothing. Potter was booked on 53 for upending Guttridge, then Marshall was called into action when Douglas scampered into the area like a dreadlocked weasel only to meet the safe hands of game keeper Marshall.
A minute later there was dissension in the ranks as Venus chased a Bostonian through ball with Rusk fairly breathing down his neck and seemed to be waiting for Marshall to do or say something as he bore down on him; when Shaun apparently did or said absolutely nothing, Veno lashed the ball out of play then lashed his keeper with a few choice words that were returned in kind. I’m sure Shaun respects the venerable Veno, but he must realise that a goalkeeper must dominate the final third decisively and completely. Especially when your main defender is 52 years old.
United hearts remained in mouths from the following corner as Redfearn’s kick found the head of Ellender, and it was bulleting goalward until cleared almost off the line by … Douglas. Sadly for him, his attempted flick was more daft than deft. But two minutes later, the dam finally broke, and it was yet another corner that proved the visitors’ undoing: Marshall’s punch was downward and less than convincing, and the unmarked Weatherstone hammered it home on the bounce: 1-1.
United needed a wake-up call from somewhere. Kitson and White were booked around the hour mark in quick succession, but inspiration was sorely lacking, Walker fading, Murray struggling and Fleming increasingly over-run. Kitson finally got a shot in on 64, wide under pressure from Bastock, but for the next 20 minutes the hosts remained in the ascendant as Shaggy looked on impassively, leaning on the dugout with hands nonchalantly in pockets. He was probably whistling a jaunty tune as well.
White had a header saved comfortably by Marshall on 68, the same striker headed wide four minutes later, then successive corners from Potter and Redfearn were cleared under pressure by Duncan and Murray and a Redfearn free kick from 25 yards was deflected for a corner by Bimmo’s, ah, bummo. United, looking good for a first away win at the break, were now hanging on grimly for one, as the dreadful prospect of a result worse than Prince Harry’s A-Levels loomed.
With a quarter of an hour to go Boston freshened up their attack by replacing the dangerous Douglas with Peter Duffield. White shot wide on 78, then Kitson looked to have broken clear only to be pulled up by a highly debatable offside decision. United’s first change came on 80 as Franco Nacca replaced the increasingly anonymous Walker, and the vigorous Venezuelan immediately made an impact with some intelligent running and passing.
Redfearn narrowly cleared the bar on 83, Ellender was booked for fouling Kitson, then with four minutes to go, the U’s at last found their second wind with a short but decisive bout of pressure. Kitson was fouled a couple of yards outside the box, but surprisingly and frankly bafflingly, Bimmo and Veno were ignored as the ball was touched to Fleming, whose blaster was extremely unsurprisingly sent straight into the wall. However, United kept up the pressure, and with the home defence at sixes and sevens, the Terrier arrived late on the scene to a lame half-clearance and bent a much, much better effort from 20 yards against the inside of the post with Bastock absolutely nowhere. The ball cannoned across goal, Kitson just missed it but retrieved and fired in a fierce shot from an almost impossible angle wide left that Bastock had to tip athletically over the bar.
Then ensued an extraordinary, furious forehead-to-forehead shouting match between teammates Bastock and Weatherstone which made Venus and Marshall’s earlier exchange look like two old duffers enjoying a cup of tea, and brought to mind the legendary Heathcote-Raynor set-to back in the day. All it needed was someone to shout ‘Fight! Fight!’ and we might have seen some hot player-on-player action.
All this unrest turned out to be the Pilgrims’ egress as United took full advantage from the resultant corner. Guttridge found Turner unmarked 15 yards out, and his intelligent header into the danger zone found none other than Stev Angus lunging through a crowd of bodies to poke home from eight yards out for his first goal for United on his 89th League appearance and 98th overall. His reaction to avoiding The Curse of Jerry was needless to say ecstatic, as was that of his colleagues who buried him under a pile of writhing bodies the like of which has not been seen since that last Snoop Dogg video. That made up for his miserable double yellow on Saturday.
There was still time for a scare as almost from the restart Duffield charged for goal and grazed the outside of the post with a 20-yarder. Boston replaced Potter with Logan and played an extra striker for the three added minutes, but the visitors held firm for a victory that in truth was not particularly deserved, especially after the second half’s mediocre efforts, but atoned for games this season that we have drawn when we should have won.
Sometimes you have to value the result more than the performance, and how sweet it was to be on the delivering end of a last-minute goal for a change. And what a scorer! It will undoubtedly be tougher at Cheltenham on Saturday and a substantial improvement will be needed to keep up the unbeaten away record. But at least now we have good competition for places, with Nacca, Bridges, Turner, Goodhind, Revell and Tann all pushing for starting places. As long as we carry on playing 4-4-2, eh?!
Marshall 8– Coped well with the Bostonian barrage, except for the corner that led to their goal.
Angus 8– Enterprising game down the right flank, capped by THAT g@#! (ERROR! Does not compute! Set the controls for the heart of the sun! etc)
Bimson 7– Reliable defensively and seems to have found his range set piece-wise again after Saturday’s aberration(s).
Duncan 8– Towering presence at the back who repelled boarders with vim and gusto.
Venus 7– Calm defensive foil to Duncan’s blood ’n’ thunder approach.
Guttridge 8– Another all-action performance and another excellent goal. Player of the season so far.
Fleming 7– Much more like it in more his sort of match, blocking heroically one end and almost notching at the other on several occasions.
Walker 6– Played his part, but not the telling influence that we would really like.
Murray 5– Still trying his darnedest, bless his out-of-position socks, and still looking like a rabbit staring down some particularly large headlights. There’s more to giving ‘balance’ to a team that being left-footed and wandering around like a lost sheep.
Chillingworth 6– Injury curse struck again before he could really get going.
Kitson 6– Some nice touches in their box, some good headers in ours, but a below-par game by his own high standards.
Turner 7– Mature before his time, capped another promising display with the clever header that set up United’s winner. Go on, give him a run.
Nacca 7– Impressive and influential cameo performance.
Soundtrack of the day:Peaches/Bag It
Match summary:Who needs strikers when you’ve got a secret weapon of mass destruction like Stev ‘Goals is my middle name’ Angus in reserve? A pulsating end-to-end encounter was decided in dramatically late fashion by the man they now aren’t calling ‘the new Marc Joseph’. A draw would have been a fair result, but after all those previous draws, those swings and roundabouts are a-twisting and a-twirling already.
Man of the match:Luke Guttridge. Play him wide left, wide right, in the hole or in the middle, the wee man has delivered consistently this season and now he’s weighing in with goals too. Lil’ Luke’s a giant!
Ref watch:Boyeson 5. Insisted on giving a free kick every time a player fell over or there was any physical contact; otherwise just about adequate.
Justin’s jukebox.Justin Walker lends his critical ear to the musical goodies on offer at York Street. ‘What an uninspired selection! Some innocuous chart stuff (Mel C, Amy Studt, Thrills), then for some reason it was back the 60s with Mrs Robinson and California Dreamin’, then a lurch back to the 90s with Toca’s Miracle followed by Beautiful Day (did the DJ hear it on ITV’s Premiership and think ‘oh well, that’ll do?’), then when the players ran out … silence. Dear oh dear. JJ verdict: Boring! (2/10)
A jukebox; possibly Justin's
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20 September 2003: Cheltenham 0v3 U’s
By the time I got to Woodstock
WHADDON EARTH IS GOING ON?
Robins away end mystery shocker!
By your fearless investigative Cambridge Email News reporter, Ant Blurtlad
Cambridge United fans were at the centre of a ‘cash for seats’ storm at Cheltenham this afternoon as they were denied entry to the usual Whaddon Road away end terrace (admission price £13) and instead directed to a cordoned-off section of the In2Print Stand along one side – for an entry fee of an additional £2, or an extra £5 for concessions.
When questioned, the home club’s stewards came up with not one, not two, not three, not four, but FIVE different excuses as to why this was. They were: ‘The turnstiles don’t work’, ‘There is building work going on’, ‘It’s for home fans only’, ‘It’s a safety issue’, ‘There’s a new turnstile being installed’.
The now cash-poor United fans were STUNNED to note the presence of up to 100 home fans in the normally ‘away’ area that was supposedly ‘unsafe’ or ‘inaccessible,’ then INCENSED to learn that this self-same area was occupied by Oxford United’s away support only four days previously.
If a new turnstile was to be installed, why did Cheltenham not wait until after today’s game, when they would have two clear weeks before their next home game to complete the work?
Your soaraway CEN has gone into overdrive to find the TRUTH behind these apparently outrageous occurrences … and it is even more SENSATIONAL than you might expect.
We can EXCLUSIVELY reveal that the ‘home fans’ present at the Whaddon Road End were in fact a mixture of CIA and MI6 operatives.
The reason they were there? This seemingly innocuous, rather shabby partly covered area of a nondescript football ground in the middle of nowhere is in fact the secret hiding place of none other than SADDAM HUSSEIN … and OSAMA BIN LADEN!
And Michael Barrymore!
Don’t forget to buy tomorrow’s Cambridge Email News for the FULL SENSATIONAL STORY!
(Ahem) Believe it or not, the first two paragraphs of the CEN’s story are actually true. I’m not sure about the third one yet. Needless to say, there was much ill feeling in the air as many United supporters thought themselves more fleeced than the average merino, particularly when they observed the home supporters lounging in ‘their’ away end.
It was a pity that such a situation should ensue for United’s first visit to Whaddon Road since 12 April 1969, when they ground out a 0-0 draw in the second leg of the Southern League Cup Final to win it 1-0 and complete the first leg of a historic double. The town of Cheltenham is of course charming, its olde worlde buildings basking in the sun to a backdrop of the picturesque Cleeve Hill. Its football ground is somewhat more basic, still maintaining an aura of non-Leagueness with its pint-sized main stand, its Meccanoesque larger and newer opposite stand of which the United fans were allocated one end, and terraces at either end, one roofed, one uncovered except for a quaint little shelter which appeared to have been constructed of Lego.
The pitch was lush and green as the 200-plus travelling support watched their heroes warm up, between being pelted with sweets by one Rodney The Robin. As expected, young John Turner was handed his full debut in the only change to the starting line-up from Wednesday’s triumph at Boston, although there were two new faces on the bench in the shape of Lloyd Opara and, returning at last from injury, David Bridges.
The hosts kept the same team from Tuesday’s 0-0 draw with the ‘other’ U’s, including ex-Boro midfield veteran Richard Forsyth, even older mid-Neolithic period striker Bob Taylor, and two loanees from Brizzle City in Darren Jones and the splendidly-monikered Kevin Amankwaah in defence. They spurned the chance to name a substitute keeper in favour of another striker in Damian Spencer. The Robins came into the game on an unbeaten run of six games in which they had scored 14 goals, after starting the season with three consecutive defeats; this looked like being United’s biggest challenge so far. Would they rise to the occasion?
Their supporters certainly did, a hardcore remaining defiantly standing as they urged their team on, doubtless reasoning that if they weren’t to be allowed to stand for £13, they were darned well going to make sure they could for £15. After several fruitless appeals over the tannoy, several beefy reinforcements were produced from the stewards’ ranks, and as soon as they advanced up the steps towards their intended targets, they sat down obediently; then when the boys in orange flak jackets trotted back down again, congratulating themselves on a job well done, the boys in amber promptly stood up again and resumed chanting even louder! Happily, this potential saga had a satisfactory ending for all concerned as the United fans gradually calmed down and only stood during the particularly exciting bits while the stewards watched from a distance; no harm done, although the visitors were considerably happier than the hosts by the end.
On the pitch, it was the red and white stripes who started marginally the better, initially at the expense of the hapless Stev Angus who conceded a corner in the second minute by blocking an intended cross with his, er, groin. As he lay prone and immobile in throbbing agony, Ant Coole rushed on, but this was one problem his magic ice cubes could not resolve and he could only crouch over his unfortunate charge and murmur some words of comfort while nature took its course and the pain slowly ebbed away. Sympathetic applause greeted his eventual slow resumption of a standing position, especially from the male members of the crowd who were mentally crossing their legs in empathy.
Grant McCann’s eventual corner was cleared, fittingly, by the soaring head of Andy Duncan, one of many such clearances of his lines that the squeaky-voiced Geordie would make that afternoon. One early source of danger soon emerged in the shape of overlapping left back Jamie Victory, Shaun Marshall clutching the first of many of his crosses a minute later. Duncan blocked a Lee Howells shot on eight, and McCann shot over on ten, then having ridden the early storm, United began to come into their own in what would prove to be a fairly even first half.
U’s supporters’ formation of choice, 4-4-2, produced a result on Wednesday, but it now looked much more effective, the two banks of four soaking up and breaking up the hosts’ possession, then switching effectively to attack with two mobile, skilful strikers to aim at. United’s increased organisational effectiveness even extended to Freddie Murray, who for the first time this season looked to have a reasonable idea of where he fitted into the system, and his first good forward run on 11, thanks to Venus’s perceptive pass, almost set up Turner, who got in his first shot a few minutes later at the expense of a corner. Such was United’s efficiency that Cheltenham were substantially reduced to taking hopeful long-range pot-shots, all as off-target as Barrymore’s attempted comeback.
Bafflingly, despite the closeness of the match so far, the home supporters began to chant ‘Can we play you every week?’, normally a song one brings into play when one’s team is cruising at 5-0 up, not at 0-0 in the early stages. Oh, how those over-confident little show-offs were to regret their presumption.
Victory shot wide on 17, then another Murray run culminated in his actually looking up from the touchline and picking out his target with an accurate pass, setting up Terrier Fleming for a blast at goal from the edge of the area that should have at least hit the target, but only sailed over the top like a Lucas Neill leg-breaker. At the other end, Murray also contributed with a block to Kayode ‘Great Scrabble Score’ Odejayi’s poke at goal, and although it ran to that man Victory wide left, his angled fizzer flew across the face of goal and past the far post. A resolute-looking United were boosted on 25 when injury forced a defensive change on the hosts, Michael Duff replaced by his brother Shane, but this was followed by a short good spell for the Robins as McCann blasted over again and Marshall made a good save from an Amankwaah cross that almost crept in at the near post.
The tide began to turn on 28 as Amankwaah was booked for a foul on Murray. Then followed the most sublime move of the match and probably United’s season thus far: Luke Guttridge, near the right-hand edge of the centre circle, picked out a delightful crossfield pass to Turner wide left, 30 yards out; JT killed the ball with one deft touch of the boot, looked up and picked out Kitson with a pinpoint cross to which he easily beat his marker to plant a firm header into the bottom corner from eight yards: 1-0! The BGG celebrated his first goal for 28 days by running across to his manager, always the first with understanding words of comfort to a striker who experiences an inevitable lean patch. Fair warmed the cockles.
Now United possessed the extra dimension they have often lacked recently: confidence. The likes of Justin Walker seemed almost visibly lifted and raised their game accordingly, competing fiercely but in disciplined fashion. In fact, such was the visitors’ growing influence on the game that home boss Bobby Gould felt constrained to replace his apparently uninjured skipper, Mark Yates, with Martin Devaney on 34, the sub stationed wide right in a bid to stamp out the promisingly in-tune combination of Murray and Bimson down United’s left flank.
Another long-ranger from Victory flew past Marshall’s unimpressed gaze as United continued to press, and just before half-time a perceptive Guttridge ball sent Kitson skipping into the box, only to fall under Jones’ challenge as he was about to pull the trigger. Ref Probert, so quick to jump on any sort of physical challenge in every other area of the pitch, suddenly came over as coy as Cliff and showed no interest in the penalty appeals. The little teaser.
Predictably, Jones was then penalised a couple of minutes later for a foul that seemed less clear-cut than the non-penalty, but keeper Shane Higgs caught Kitson’s attempted prod with comfort. ‘Can we play you every week?’ taunted the amber hordes as they applauded their hardworking idols off the pitch to a much-deserved break. There was no great secret to their success so far: just a simple system organised well, teamwork, a flash or two of inspiration and 11 players who were all playing with belief. Next task: keep it going for 90 minutes, not just 45. We’d seen too many ‘games of two halves’ already to expect the second half to be plain sailing. Splice the mainbrace, seasickness pills at the ready.
Gould gave his charges the mother of all tongue-lashings during the break, and as at Boston, the first 15 minutes of part two were a case of all hands to the deck, ahoy there me hearties and don’t spare the rum or the lash. The crosses rained in like cannonballs and the heads of Duncan and Venus were once again right there in the line of fire. United struggled to gain any sort of possession, squandering it on the brief occasions when they did get it, and Devaney’s shot on 49 needed all of Marshall’s athleticism to keep it out as the Terpsichorean custodian dived full-length to his right. McCann’s ensuing corner found the Malteseresque bonce of Victory, and his header across goal from six yards out at the near post was goal-bound until cleared heroically off his own line by the Bonbonesque bonce of Bimson.
The unfriendly fire continued, Howells wide on 50, Victory over on 51, Dancing Shaun producing another great stop on 52 as he dived to his left to paw away Howells’ low drive. McCann’s corner was once again repelled by Duncan, the Geordie then blocked a drive by Taylor, and on 58 Cheltenham made their third and last change in introducing Paul Brayson for Amankwaah and going to 3-4-3. It was an adventurous move by Gould, given that his team were already well on top, and unluckily or not, his rearranged line-up conceded a crucial second only three minutes later.
On the hour Duff was penalised for a foul on Kitson 25 yards out. Walker floated a perceptive ball to the BGG at the far post, and his intelligent header across the six-yard box was just about to be poked home by Turner when it was whisked off for a corner by Jones. Mullet Man’s flag kick was an attempted ‘Paul Scholes Special’ for Bimson to volley from the edge of the area, but his drive was blocked by Forsyth before it could worry Higgs. Perhaps Bimmo isn’t ginger enough; how about painting on some freckles and trying on this off-red merkin?
A minute later it was 2-0, and the direction of the game was irrevocably changed. Bimmo found Turner in his own half at the edge of the centre circle; this oh-so-clever youngster saw Kitson’s run and slipped a miraculously inch-perfect ball into his loping path. Big Dave comfortably outpaced the ponderous Duff, entered the penalty area and slipped it low past the helpless Higgs into the far corner of the net. A second quite delicious goal, and the game’s undoubted turning point.
Cheltenham, unable to come to terms with the fact that a quarter-hour of pressure had culminated with their going two down, seemed to lose their collective cool: Odejayi picked up his fifth booking of the season (he’s got more cards than Clinton’s) for a clumsy late hack at Venus on 62, then McCann followed him two minutes later for clattering Lil’ Luke, the big bully. Brayson fired over on 67, Odejayi saw a close-range header comfortably clutched by Marshall on 69, and the Robins’ reliance on their hope of getting back into the game gradually began to break down.
They kept going gamely for a time, Devaney’s cross turning into a shot and fisted over the bar by Marshall on 73, Forsyth prodding feebly wide then England’s No 1 swatting another McCann long-ranger. With 15 minutes to go came a well-timed double substitution by United, Lloyd Opara replacing the tiring but triumphant Turner and Franco Nacca on for Murray. Lloyd is easily the most physically powerful of all our young forwards and he quickly began putting himself about with strength and pace, while Nacca slotted in seamlessly on the left.
Jones was booked for fouling Opara within a couple of minutes while Nacca’s first shot forced a corner on 80, underlining both subs’ impact. For the hosts Devaney hit the side netting, then on 85 Kitson was forced to withdraw and was replaced by Wozza Goodhind, stationing himself on the right of midfield while Lil’ Luke moved ‘into the hole’ just behind Opara. This new attacking double act went on to torment Cheltenham’s tiring defence for the remaining eight minutes as the hosts committed more and more men forward with increased ineffectual desperation.
And on 87 United’s new front two killed the Robins as stone dead as Wolves’ chances of Premiership survival: Guttridge won the ball in the centre, his through ball send Opara galloping away down the right channel as the hapless Duff again gave vain chase, and Lloyd’s fantastic, cool finish from the edge of the area slid past Higgs into the bottom left corner for his first United goal, taken like a veteran: 3-0.
That was it. The home fans began filing out as the amber hordes struck up once again with the haunting ‘Can we play you every week?’ and in a carnival atmosphere, Shaun acceded to our demands for a dance and Shaggy, Brooksie, Walker and even the stewards were all happy to respond digitally to our requests for confirmation as to the score. Mr Gould was the only one who wouldn’t join in, for some reason; where’s that old Crazy Gang spirit, eh? His current Sensible Club just didn’t have the same spirit as their heads and hearts sagged.
So ended United’s second away win in four days, the first time they have accomplished that since 16 and 18 April 1991 when Bournemouth were beaten 1-0 and Shrewsbury 2-1 by John Beck’s original stormtroopers, the goalscorers Lee Philpott and Steve Claridge (two), now teammates at the top of the Southern League with Weymouth.
And it is no doubt terribly premature, but there was something of that side’s spirit in this current United team’s gutsy win today. There was nothing complicated about it; a basic, solid 4-4-2 (told you!) full of players who are organised, disciplined, committed and confident. Solid defence, hard-working midfield, wily and prolific strikers … this is what we want. Now can we do it on a consistent basis? Let’s hope so; it is wonderful days like this that remind us all of just why we support this great club. More, please!
By the time I got to Woodstock
WHADDON EARTH IS GOING ON?
Robins away end mystery shocker!
By your fearless investigative Cambridge Email News reporter, Ant Blurtlad
Cambridge United fans were at the centre of a ‘cash for seats’ storm at Cheltenham this afternoon as they were denied entry to the usual Whaddon Road away end terrace (admission price £13) and instead directed to a cordoned-off section of the In2Print Stand along one side – for an entry fee of an additional £2, or an extra £5 for concessions.
When questioned, the home club’s stewards came up with not one, not two, not three, not four, but FIVE different excuses as to why this was. They were: ‘The turnstiles don’t work’, ‘There is building work going on’, ‘It’s for home fans only’, ‘It’s a safety issue’, ‘There’s a new turnstile being installed’.
The now cash-poor United fans were STUNNED to note the presence of up to 100 home fans in the normally ‘away’ area that was supposedly ‘unsafe’ or ‘inaccessible,’ then INCENSED to learn that this self-same area was occupied by Oxford United’s away support only four days previously.
If a new turnstile was to be installed, why did Cheltenham not wait until after today’s game, when they would have two clear weeks before their next home game to complete the work?
Your soaraway CEN has gone into overdrive to find the TRUTH behind these apparently outrageous occurrences … and it is even more SENSATIONAL than you might expect.
We can EXCLUSIVELY reveal that the ‘home fans’ present at the Whaddon Road End were in fact a mixture of CIA and MI6 operatives.
The reason they were there? This seemingly innocuous, rather shabby partly covered area of a nondescript football ground in the middle of nowhere is in fact the secret hiding place of none other than SADDAM HUSSEIN … and OSAMA BIN LADEN!
And Michael Barrymore!
Don’t forget to buy tomorrow’s Cambridge Email News for the FULL SENSATIONAL STORY!
(Ahem) Believe it or not, the first two paragraphs of the CEN’s story are actually true. I’m not sure about the third one yet. Needless to say, there was much ill feeling in the air as many United supporters thought themselves more fleeced than the average merino, particularly when they observed the home supporters lounging in ‘their’ away end.
It was a pity that such a situation should ensue for United’s first visit to Whaddon Road since 12 April 1969, when they ground out a 0-0 draw in the second leg of the Southern League Cup Final to win it 1-0 and complete the first leg of a historic double. The town of Cheltenham is of course charming, its olde worlde buildings basking in the sun to a backdrop of the picturesque Cleeve Hill. Its football ground is somewhat more basic, still maintaining an aura of non-Leagueness with its pint-sized main stand, its Meccanoesque larger and newer opposite stand of which the United fans were allocated one end, and terraces at either end, one roofed, one uncovered except for a quaint little shelter which appeared to have been constructed of Lego.
The pitch was lush and green as the 200-plus travelling support watched their heroes warm up, between being pelted with sweets by one Rodney The Robin. As expected, young John Turner was handed his full debut in the only change to the starting line-up from Wednesday’s triumph at Boston, although there were two new faces on the bench in the shape of Lloyd Opara and, returning at last from injury, David Bridges.
The hosts kept the same team from Tuesday’s 0-0 draw with the ‘other’ U’s, including ex-Boro midfield veteran Richard Forsyth, even older mid-Neolithic period striker Bob Taylor, and two loanees from Brizzle City in Darren Jones and the splendidly-monikered Kevin Amankwaah in defence. They spurned the chance to name a substitute keeper in favour of another striker in Damian Spencer. The Robins came into the game on an unbeaten run of six games in which they had scored 14 goals, after starting the season with three consecutive defeats; this looked like being United’s biggest challenge so far. Would they rise to the occasion?
Their supporters certainly did, a hardcore remaining defiantly standing as they urged their team on, doubtless reasoning that if they weren’t to be allowed to stand for £13, they were darned well going to make sure they could for £15. After several fruitless appeals over the tannoy, several beefy reinforcements were produced from the stewards’ ranks, and as soon as they advanced up the steps towards their intended targets, they sat down obediently; then when the boys in orange flak jackets trotted back down again, congratulating themselves on a job well done, the boys in amber promptly stood up again and resumed chanting even louder! Happily, this potential saga had a satisfactory ending for all concerned as the United fans gradually calmed down and only stood during the particularly exciting bits while the stewards watched from a distance; no harm done, although the visitors were considerably happier than the hosts by the end.
On the pitch, it was the red and white stripes who started marginally the better, initially at the expense of the hapless Stev Angus who conceded a corner in the second minute by blocking an intended cross with his, er, groin. As he lay prone and immobile in throbbing agony, Ant Coole rushed on, but this was one problem his magic ice cubes could not resolve and he could only crouch over his unfortunate charge and murmur some words of comfort while nature took its course and the pain slowly ebbed away. Sympathetic applause greeted his eventual slow resumption of a standing position, especially from the male members of the crowd who were mentally crossing their legs in empathy.
Grant McCann’s eventual corner was cleared, fittingly, by the soaring head of Andy Duncan, one of many such clearances of his lines that the squeaky-voiced Geordie would make that afternoon. One early source of danger soon emerged in the shape of overlapping left back Jamie Victory, Shaun Marshall clutching the first of many of his crosses a minute later. Duncan blocked a Lee Howells shot on eight, and McCann shot over on ten, then having ridden the early storm, United began to come into their own in what would prove to be a fairly even first half.
U’s supporters’ formation of choice, 4-4-2, produced a result on Wednesday, but it now looked much more effective, the two banks of four soaking up and breaking up the hosts’ possession, then switching effectively to attack with two mobile, skilful strikers to aim at. United’s increased organisational effectiveness even extended to Freddie Murray, who for the first time this season looked to have a reasonable idea of where he fitted into the system, and his first good forward run on 11, thanks to Venus’s perceptive pass, almost set up Turner, who got in his first shot a few minutes later at the expense of a corner. Such was United’s efficiency that Cheltenham were substantially reduced to taking hopeful long-range pot-shots, all as off-target as Barrymore’s attempted comeback.
Bafflingly, despite the closeness of the match so far, the home supporters began to chant ‘Can we play you every week?’, normally a song one brings into play when one’s team is cruising at 5-0 up, not at 0-0 in the early stages. Oh, how those over-confident little show-offs were to regret their presumption.
Victory shot wide on 17, then another Murray run culminated in his actually looking up from the touchline and picking out his target with an accurate pass, setting up Terrier Fleming for a blast at goal from the edge of the area that should have at least hit the target, but only sailed over the top like a Lucas Neill leg-breaker. At the other end, Murray also contributed with a block to Kayode ‘Great Scrabble Score’ Odejayi’s poke at goal, and although it ran to that man Victory wide left, his angled fizzer flew across the face of goal and past the far post. A resolute-looking United were boosted on 25 when injury forced a defensive change on the hosts, Michael Duff replaced by his brother Shane, but this was followed by a short good spell for the Robins as McCann blasted over again and Marshall made a good save from an Amankwaah cross that almost crept in at the near post.
The tide began to turn on 28 as Amankwaah was booked for a foul on Murray. Then followed the most sublime move of the match and probably United’s season thus far: Luke Guttridge, near the right-hand edge of the centre circle, picked out a delightful crossfield pass to Turner wide left, 30 yards out; JT killed the ball with one deft touch of the boot, looked up and picked out Kitson with a pinpoint cross to which he easily beat his marker to plant a firm header into the bottom corner from eight yards: 1-0! The BGG celebrated his first goal for 28 days by running across to his manager, always the first with understanding words of comfort to a striker who experiences an inevitable lean patch. Fair warmed the cockles.
Now United possessed the extra dimension they have often lacked recently: confidence. The likes of Justin Walker seemed almost visibly lifted and raised their game accordingly, competing fiercely but in disciplined fashion. In fact, such was the visitors’ growing influence on the game that home boss Bobby Gould felt constrained to replace his apparently uninjured skipper, Mark Yates, with Martin Devaney on 34, the sub stationed wide right in a bid to stamp out the promisingly in-tune combination of Murray and Bimson down United’s left flank.
Another long-ranger from Victory flew past Marshall’s unimpressed gaze as United continued to press, and just before half-time a perceptive Guttridge ball sent Kitson skipping into the box, only to fall under Jones’ challenge as he was about to pull the trigger. Ref Probert, so quick to jump on any sort of physical challenge in every other area of the pitch, suddenly came over as coy as Cliff and showed no interest in the penalty appeals. The little teaser.
Predictably, Jones was then penalised a couple of minutes later for a foul that seemed less clear-cut than the non-penalty, but keeper Shane Higgs caught Kitson’s attempted prod with comfort. ‘Can we play you every week?’ taunted the amber hordes as they applauded their hardworking idols off the pitch to a much-deserved break. There was no great secret to their success so far: just a simple system organised well, teamwork, a flash or two of inspiration and 11 players who were all playing with belief. Next task: keep it going for 90 minutes, not just 45. We’d seen too many ‘games of two halves’ already to expect the second half to be plain sailing. Splice the mainbrace, seasickness pills at the ready.
Gould gave his charges the mother of all tongue-lashings during the break, and as at Boston, the first 15 minutes of part two were a case of all hands to the deck, ahoy there me hearties and don’t spare the rum or the lash. The crosses rained in like cannonballs and the heads of Duncan and Venus were once again right there in the line of fire. United struggled to gain any sort of possession, squandering it on the brief occasions when they did get it, and Devaney’s shot on 49 needed all of Marshall’s athleticism to keep it out as the Terpsichorean custodian dived full-length to his right. McCann’s ensuing corner found the Malteseresque bonce of Victory, and his header across goal from six yards out at the near post was goal-bound until cleared heroically off his own line by the Bonbonesque bonce of Bimson.
The unfriendly fire continued, Howells wide on 50, Victory over on 51, Dancing Shaun producing another great stop on 52 as he dived to his left to paw away Howells’ low drive. McCann’s corner was once again repelled by Duncan, the Geordie then blocked a drive by Taylor, and on 58 Cheltenham made their third and last change in introducing Paul Brayson for Amankwaah and going to 3-4-3. It was an adventurous move by Gould, given that his team were already well on top, and unluckily or not, his rearranged line-up conceded a crucial second only three minutes later.
On the hour Duff was penalised for a foul on Kitson 25 yards out. Walker floated a perceptive ball to the BGG at the far post, and his intelligent header across the six-yard box was just about to be poked home by Turner when it was whisked off for a corner by Jones. Mullet Man’s flag kick was an attempted ‘Paul Scholes Special’ for Bimson to volley from the edge of the area, but his drive was blocked by Forsyth before it could worry Higgs. Perhaps Bimmo isn’t ginger enough; how about painting on some freckles and trying on this off-red merkin?
A minute later it was 2-0, and the direction of the game was irrevocably changed. Bimmo found Turner in his own half at the edge of the centre circle; this oh-so-clever youngster saw Kitson’s run and slipped a miraculously inch-perfect ball into his loping path. Big Dave comfortably outpaced the ponderous Duff, entered the penalty area and slipped it low past the helpless Higgs into the far corner of the net. A second quite delicious goal, and the game’s undoubted turning point.
Cheltenham, unable to come to terms with the fact that a quarter-hour of pressure had culminated with their going two down, seemed to lose their collective cool: Odejayi picked up his fifth booking of the season (he’s got more cards than Clinton’s) for a clumsy late hack at Venus on 62, then McCann followed him two minutes later for clattering Lil’ Luke, the big bully. Brayson fired over on 67, Odejayi saw a close-range header comfortably clutched by Marshall on 69, and the Robins’ reliance on their hope of getting back into the game gradually began to break down.
They kept going gamely for a time, Devaney’s cross turning into a shot and fisted over the bar by Marshall on 73, Forsyth prodding feebly wide then England’s No 1 swatting another McCann long-ranger. With 15 minutes to go came a well-timed double substitution by United, Lloyd Opara replacing the tiring but triumphant Turner and Franco Nacca on for Murray. Lloyd is easily the most physically powerful of all our young forwards and he quickly began putting himself about with strength and pace, while Nacca slotted in seamlessly on the left.
Jones was booked for fouling Opara within a couple of minutes while Nacca’s first shot forced a corner on 80, underlining both subs’ impact. For the hosts Devaney hit the side netting, then on 85 Kitson was forced to withdraw and was replaced by Wozza Goodhind, stationing himself on the right of midfield while Lil’ Luke moved ‘into the hole’ just behind Opara. This new attacking double act went on to torment Cheltenham’s tiring defence for the remaining eight minutes as the hosts committed more and more men forward with increased ineffectual desperation.
And on 87 United’s new front two killed the Robins as stone dead as Wolves’ chances of Premiership survival: Guttridge won the ball in the centre, his through ball send Opara galloping away down the right channel as the hapless Duff again gave vain chase, and Lloyd’s fantastic, cool finish from the edge of the area slid past Higgs into the bottom left corner for his first United goal, taken like a veteran: 3-0.
That was it. The home fans began filing out as the amber hordes struck up once again with the haunting ‘Can we play you every week?’ and in a carnival atmosphere, Shaun acceded to our demands for a dance and Shaggy, Brooksie, Walker and even the stewards were all happy to respond digitally to our requests for confirmation as to the score. Mr Gould was the only one who wouldn’t join in, for some reason; where’s that old Crazy Gang spirit, eh? His current Sensible Club just didn’t have the same spirit as their heads and hearts sagged.
So ended United’s second away win in four days, the first time they have accomplished that since 16 and 18 April 1991 when Bournemouth were beaten 1-0 and Shrewsbury 2-1 by John Beck’s original stormtroopers, the goalscorers Lee Philpott and Steve Claridge (two), now teammates at the top of the Southern League with Weymouth.
And it is no doubt terribly premature, but there was something of that side’s spirit in this current United team’s gutsy win today. There was nothing complicated about it; a basic, solid 4-4-2 (told you!) full of players who are organised, disciplined, committed and confident. Solid defence, hard-working midfield, wily and prolific strikers … this is what we want. Now can we do it on a consistent basis? Let’s hope so; it is wonderful days like this that remind us all of just why we support this great club. More, please!
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Marshall 8– Faultless game from the Dancemeister including the usual smattering of excellent saves.
Angus 8– No sign of doubling his career goal tally today, but a sound defensive display. Bimson 8– A little more adventurous offensively than his full-back partner, but didn’t sacrifice solidity and combined well with Murray. Duncan 9– A colossus at the back once again, stopping everything that came his way. Venus 8– Another impressively reliable display. Guttridge 8– Now adding consistency to his game, was always busy with a telling contribution. Fleming 8– Best game so far this season and motored all over the park for the benefit of the team. Walker 9– Best game ever for United, dominating the middle for long periods with enthusiasm and guts. Murray 7– Another who produced a season’s best, not difficult in Freddie’s case, but to his credit looked significantly more comfortable and aware of his role than previously, and made some splendid runs to boot. |
John Turner: frightening
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Turner 9– This boy’s potential is frightening. Two assists and assured beyond his tender years.
Kitson 9– Masterly centre-forward play and two superbly taken goals.
Nacca 8– Always an impressive substitute, he settled immediately to the pace of the game and tackled and foraged in excellent style.
Opara 8– Fifth striker to score this season and quite magnificently physical and mobile, capped with a marvellous goal.
Goodhind 7– Little to do and little time in which to do it, but good to see him back.
Soundtrack of the day: David Bowie/New Killer Star
Match summary: What a difference a week makes. Shaggy’s Stumblers are now Taylor’s Tornadoes, killing off in-form Cheltenham with a disciplined team performance studded with sparkling individual flourishes and some top-class finishing. Next challenge: keep this standard up!
Man of the match: John Turner. Hard to believe this lad is only 17; he made an assured partner for Kitson and set up the BGG for both his goals with a delightful control and cross for the first and an inch-perfect through ball for the second. Of all our many promising young strikers, JT looks by far the best prospect already.
Ref watch: Probert 4. Another fussy one who stopped play too often, but at least wasn’t afraid to punish the Cheltenham players when they got over-physical. Like many refs, gave Kitson far too little protection from the rough stuff treatment that eventually forced him off.
Justin’s jukebox.Justin Walker lends his probing ear to the musical offerings from Whaddon Road. ‘Eclectic is the best way to describe Cheltenham’s selection, ignoring the current charts but serving up some excellent oldies such as Was (Not Was)’s Shake Your Head, the Pretenders’ Don’t Get Me Wrong, Primal Scream’s Rocks and the Proclaimers’ I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles). The chatty Mike Smash-soundalike DJ only spoilt it with his rather lacklustre choice of lead-up to kick-off music, Jeff Wayne’s plodding pomp-pop instrumental Eve Of The War followed by the Real Thing’s disco non-classic Can You Feel The Force.’ However, he made up for it at half-time by playing the theme to cult 60s puppet show Joe 90! JJ verdict: Interesting! (6/10)
Kitson 9– Masterly centre-forward play and two superbly taken goals.
Nacca 8– Always an impressive substitute, he settled immediately to the pace of the game and tackled and foraged in excellent style.
Opara 8– Fifth striker to score this season and quite magnificently physical and mobile, capped with a marvellous goal.
Goodhind 7– Little to do and little time in which to do it, but good to see him back.
Soundtrack of the day: David Bowie/New Killer Star
Match summary: What a difference a week makes. Shaggy’s Stumblers are now Taylor’s Tornadoes, killing off in-form Cheltenham with a disciplined team performance studded with sparkling individual flourishes and some top-class finishing. Next challenge: keep this standard up!
Man of the match: John Turner. Hard to believe this lad is only 17; he made an assured partner for Kitson and set up the BGG for both his goals with a delightful control and cross for the first and an inch-perfect through ball for the second. Of all our many promising young strikers, JT looks by far the best prospect already.
Ref watch: Probert 4. Another fussy one who stopped play too often, but at least wasn’t afraid to punish the Cheltenham players when they got over-physical. Like many refs, gave Kitson far too little protection from the rough stuff treatment that eventually forced him off.
Justin’s jukebox.Justin Walker lends his probing ear to the musical offerings from Whaddon Road. ‘Eclectic is the best way to describe Cheltenham’s selection, ignoring the current charts but serving up some excellent oldies such as Was (Not Was)’s Shake Your Head, the Pretenders’ Don’t Get Me Wrong, Primal Scream’s Rocks and the Proclaimers’ I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles). The chatty Mike Smash-soundalike DJ only spoilt it with his rather lacklustre choice of lead-up to kick-off music, Jeff Wayne’s plodding pomp-pop instrumental Eve Of The War followed by the Real Thing’s disco non-classic Can You Feel The Force.’ However, he made up for it at half-time by playing the theme to cult 60s puppet show Joe 90! JJ verdict: Interesting! (6/10)
27 September 2003: U’s 1v2 Mansfield
Staggered
Hello, all you lovers of the beautiful game. I’m Martin Keown, football’s renaissance man. I lead a busy lifestyle, and in my spare time I like to relax by listening to the music of Nick Drake and the Durutti Column while rustling up a spinach gnocci, reading the works of Gerard Manley Hopkins or enjoying some challenging modern dance. But I also want to put something back into football. So that’s why I have started to share my lifetime’s knowledge of the game by giving a series of motivational talks to those players less fortunate than myself from the lower divisions of the Football League.
Only today, for instance, I was at Cambridge to help out my old England team-mate Keith Curle and his Mansfield team with a little chat just before kick-off. I believe it’s important to stress the value of relaxation, focus and calmness in maximising performance, and it was gratifying to see the lads absorbing my words of wisdom with smiles of recognition and enlightenment. I finished off with a little Q&A session, and Iyseden Christie asked me what to do if an opponent said something rude to him.
RUUD? ARGHHH! KILL! GOUGE! MAIM! BITE IT! CRUNCH IT! CHEW IT! I’M GOING TO RIP YOUR HEAD OFF, HORSEFACE! COWABUNGA!!
As I was saying, anger management is a vital tool in a footballer’s armoury; sometimes it only takes a trigger word to make someone lose it completely, and the red mist can descend for a few crazy seconds then lift again without the player even realising it. Sadly, I couldn’t stay to see the results of my talk to the Mansfield lads as I had to be in St Albans to judge some chinchillas, but I gather they managed to win, so my words must have some positive effect. If your team would like a motivational chat, do get in touch with my agents, Fleesam & Meulah, and I’ll see what I can do. Ciao!
It has been three and a half long years since Mansfield’s last visit to the Theatre of Broken Dreams resulted in a 7-2 pasting for the cornered Stags from United’s three-pronged attack of Butler, Benjamin and Taylor, even Neil Mustoe weighing in with a 30-yard chip; it was that sort of day. And with the visitors’ goal tally of 66 for and 97 against last season, today’s encounter was never going to be a boring 0-0 draw. In fact, it was as eventful and explosive as a night on the town with Courtney Love, or even Steve ‘Jim Morrison’ Guinan. Brace yourselves, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.
The United team remained unsurprisingly unchanged from last week’s crushing of Cheltenham, save for Wozza Goodhind’s first start of the season in place of the suspended Stev Angus, while Mansfield’s three changes included the return of striker Iyseden Christie after a three-match suspension following a mass brawl in an earlier game. The visitors also sported ex-U Neil Mackenzie, the cabbie’s friend, and Rhys Day, who came down to the Abbey last season with then-Man City teammate Stephen Jordan but didn’t get as far as a first-team game.
All appeared set fair for a splendid afternoon’s entertainment: the sun shone, the 700-odd visiting supporters were in good voice and there was a carnival atmosphere on the pitch with a preview of tomorrow’s mascots grand national at Huntingdon. Quite a tempting prospect, especially if they can guarantee that the Exeter Goddess will be there, trying to hurdle the fences in her long dress. But I digress, he murmured distractedly.
Mansfield are a positive, attacking side (when they have 11 men) and lined up with three or sometimes four forward players, Colin Larkin having the first chance with a header over in the second minute. United’s opening effort a minute later was a similar try by Andy Duncan from Stuart Bimson’s corner. Christie in particular seemed particularly fired up about something (either that or someone had put Deep Heat in his jockstrap), lunging and flinging himself at everything, and it came as no surprise when he was booked on five for bundling into Mark Venus. No respect for the elderly, some people.
Play switched from end to end, young John Turner seeing a shot blocked by Baptiste and Venus clearing three crosses in the space of three minutes with vision and aplomb. The menace of Mansfield’s attacking players, however, did not materialise into any direct threat on Shaun Marshall as that final telling ball just evaded them, and their clearest early chance was a long-range17th minute Liam Lawrence free kick that sailed well over Dancing Shaun’s bar.
In addition to a dangerous attack, the visitors had an efficient offside trap that caught Turner in particular on several occasions, and the game gradually began to settle down, the United midfield four looking solid but a little lacking in creative ideas. Dave Kitson created his own chance on 25 with an exciting, mazy run from deep but finally blazed wide from just outside the area, while Turner and Luke Guttridge saw further subsequent efforts blocked. Come the half-hour, a stalemate looked to be setting in; was this going to a dull 0-0? Does George Best have a happy, stable marriage? And who exactly were all those people who turned up to watch ‘Wimbledon’ at Milton Keynes today? Androids? Extras?
All such speculation was swept from our thoughts three minutes later as the game exploded into life. Terry Fleming, already having a dog of a match with some truly wretched passing straight to sky blue shirts, hopelessly miscued something in the centre circle and it turned out to be a perfect through ball for Craig Disley, who with one deft touch of the hand controlled, comfortably shook off Guttridge, ran in on goal and slotted coolly past the helpless Marshall from close range. 1-0, and neither ref Cable, normally so quick to stop play for anything at all, or his ‘assistants’ saw the sleight of hand that was so apparent to the Habbin and the Corona. Controversy knocks.
Three minutes later the fun really started. Christie, still running around like an out-of-control clockwork toy lashing out at anything that got his way, chased a United pass that Duncan got to first and laid back to Marshall, but this didn’t deter the visiting striker who simply kept running and flattened the unfortunate defender with a truly mindless forearm smash. Dunno what he was trying to prove, but he did prove that he was an utter buffoon who was shown a thoroughly deserved second yellow and was lucky it wasn’t a straight red. He even had the brass neck to look surprised and complain about it: who, me? What? He should have been at the Hutton Enquiry.
Staggered
Hello, all you lovers of the beautiful game. I’m Martin Keown, football’s renaissance man. I lead a busy lifestyle, and in my spare time I like to relax by listening to the music of Nick Drake and the Durutti Column while rustling up a spinach gnocci, reading the works of Gerard Manley Hopkins or enjoying some challenging modern dance. But I also want to put something back into football. So that’s why I have started to share my lifetime’s knowledge of the game by giving a series of motivational talks to those players less fortunate than myself from the lower divisions of the Football League.
Only today, for instance, I was at Cambridge to help out my old England team-mate Keith Curle and his Mansfield team with a little chat just before kick-off. I believe it’s important to stress the value of relaxation, focus and calmness in maximising performance, and it was gratifying to see the lads absorbing my words of wisdom with smiles of recognition and enlightenment. I finished off with a little Q&A session, and Iyseden Christie asked me what to do if an opponent said something rude to him.
RUUD? ARGHHH! KILL! GOUGE! MAIM! BITE IT! CRUNCH IT! CHEW IT! I’M GOING TO RIP YOUR HEAD OFF, HORSEFACE! COWABUNGA!!
As I was saying, anger management is a vital tool in a footballer’s armoury; sometimes it only takes a trigger word to make someone lose it completely, and the red mist can descend for a few crazy seconds then lift again without the player even realising it. Sadly, I couldn’t stay to see the results of my talk to the Mansfield lads as I had to be in St Albans to judge some chinchillas, but I gather they managed to win, so my words must have some positive effect. If your team would like a motivational chat, do get in touch with my agents, Fleesam & Meulah, and I’ll see what I can do. Ciao!
It has been three and a half long years since Mansfield’s last visit to the Theatre of Broken Dreams resulted in a 7-2 pasting for the cornered Stags from United’s three-pronged attack of Butler, Benjamin and Taylor, even Neil Mustoe weighing in with a 30-yard chip; it was that sort of day. And with the visitors’ goal tally of 66 for and 97 against last season, today’s encounter was never going to be a boring 0-0 draw. In fact, it was as eventful and explosive as a night on the town with Courtney Love, or even Steve ‘Jim Morrison’ Guinan. Brace yourselves, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.
The United team remained unsurprisingly unchanged from last week’s crushing of Cheltenham, save for Wozza Goodhind’s first start of the season in place of the suspended Stev Angus, while Mansfield’s three changes included the return of striker Iyseden Christie after a three-match suspension following a mass brawl in an earlier game. The visitors also sported ex-U Neil Mackenzie, the cabbie’s friend, and Rhys Day, who came down to the Abbey last season with then-Man City teammate Stephen Jordan but didn’t get as far as a first-team game.
All appeared set fair for a splendid afternoon’s entertainment: the sun shone, the 700-odd visiting supporters were in good voice and there was a carnival atmosphere on the pitch with a preview of tomorrow’s mascots grand national at Huntingdon. Quite a tempting prospect, especially if they can guarantee that the Exeter Goddess will be there, trying to hurdle the fences in her long dress. But I digress, he murmured distractedly.
Mansfield are a positive, attacking side (when they have 11 men) and lined up with three or sometimes four forward players, Colin Larkin having the first chance with a header over in the second minute. United’s opening effort a minute later was a similar try by Andy Duncan from Stuart Bimson’s corner. Christie in particular seemed particularly fired up about something (either that or someone had put Deep Heat in his jockstrap), lunging and flinging himself at everything, and it came as no surprise when he was booked on five for bundling into Mark Venus. No respect for the elderly, some people.
Play switched from end to end, young John Turner seeing a shot blocked by Baptiste and Venus clearing three crosses in the space of three minutes with vision and aplomb. The menace of Mansfield’s attacking players, however, did not materialise into any direct threat on Shaun Marshall as that final telling ball just evaded them, and their clearest early chance was a long-range17th minute Liam Lawrence free kick that sailed well over Dancing Shaun’s bar.
In addition to a dangerous attack, the visitors had an efficient offside trap that caught Turner in particular on several occasions, and the game gradually began to settle down, the United midfield four looking solid but a little lacking in creative ideas. Dave Kitson created his own chance on 25 with an exciting, mazy run from deep but finally blazed wide from just outside the area, while Turner and Luke Guttridge saw further subsequent efforts blocked. Come the half-hour, a stalemate looked to be setting in; was this going to a dull 0-0? Does George Best have a happy, stable marriage? And who exactly were all those people who turned up to watch ‘Wimbledon’ at Milton Keynes today? Androids? Extras?
All such speculation was swept from our thoughts three minutes later as the game exploded into life. Terry Fleming, already having a dog of a match with some truly wretched passing straight to sky blue shirts, hopelessly miscued something in the centre circle and it turned out to be a perfect through ball for Craig Disley, who with one deft touch of the hand controlled, comfortably shook off Guttridge, ran in on goal and slotted coolly past the helpless Marshall from close range. 1-0, and neither ref Cable, normally so quick to stop play for anything at all, or his ‘assistants’ saw the sleight of hand that was so apparent to the Habbin and the Corona. Controversy knocks.
Three minutes later the fun really started. Christie, still running around like an out-of-control clockwork toy lashing out at anything that got his way, chased a United pass that Duncan got to first and laid back to Marshall, but this didn’t deter the visiting striker who simply kept running and flattened the unfortunate defender with a truly mindless forearm smash. Dunno what he was trying to prove, but he did prove that he was an utter buffoon who was shown a thoroughly deserved second yellow and was lucky it wasn’t a straight red. He even had the brass neck to look surprised and complain about it: who, me? What? He should have been at the Hutton Enquiry.
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The reaction was even more feisty from Christie’s colleagues, notably Mr Mackenzie, and Keith ‘England’s worst right back … ever!’ Curle and his bench-mates were apoplectic. Like they had an even remotely decent view. In an increasingly explosive atmosphere United tried to take the game by the scruff of the neck, Kitson half-volleying across goal and wide on 39 then Bobby Hassell picking up a booking for dissent shortly after, but two minutes from the break the fun began in earnest.
Kitson outwitted Day on the right flank some 30 yards out, dispossessing him and starting a charge on goal, only to be dragged to the ground from behind by the hapless defender. There was no one between him and keeper Pilkington, so it was the most stone cold professional foul and instant dismissal you could ever wish to see: Mansfield 2 sendings-off, United 0. Unbelievably, the protests from the Mansfield players, bench and supporters were if anything even more hysterical than before, and one almost felt sorry for Cable, who was frankly not much cop but had at least got the two red cards dead right. |
Mackenzie was especially fired up on his own stamping ground, and we were just taking bets on his being the next dismissal when Curle saw reality briefly and withdrew him in favour of defender Dave Artell as his team went to 4-3-1. As half-time beckoned, Freddie Murray tried a shot at goal from 25 yards (over) when he should have crossed for any one of four colleagues in the middle, then on the whistle Kitson crossed, Fleming somehow headed backwards and Justin Walker miskicked horribly wide from six yards. This was becoming almost as farcical as a Glenn Hoddle team talk.
The half finished to extraordinary scenes by the South Habbin as a steward, wound up beyond tolerance by a particularly gobby away supporter who had already been given several warnings, snapped and lamped him one, then tried to do the same to the two policemen who grabbed him and frogmarched him away. We secretly felt some sympathy, but there is simply no excuse for hitting anyone in any circumstances, no matter how irritating. For you Tommy, ze season is over. |
Clockwork toy or Iyseden Christie; not sure
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Curle hardly helped proceedings by heading for the ref as he tried to leave the field, finger jabbing, wild-eyed and brainless, going eyeball to eyeball with a policeman before belatedly getting the message. What an excitable fellow. He’s been watching too much Arsenal on the box. But then, haven’t we all?
All seemed set up for a comfortable United win. Only, only … our minds went back to 28 December 1999 at this very boutique, and a truly unforgettable match against eight-man Cardiff, an embarrassing 0-0. And this time we were 1-0 down. There were only two survivors today from that ‘classic’: Marshall and Mackenzie, now on the other side and off the pitch. And didn’t we miss a penalty in that match? Nah, couldn’t happen again, could it?
Both sides made changes for part two. United replaced Murray with Shane Tudor (barnet now red stripeless) and stationed him wide right and Bimmo wide left in front of a back three. Fresh legs for Mansfield came in the lank, greasy-haired shape of Maltese international (a proud boast indeed) Luke Dimech for Tony Vaughan. And for 20 minutes or so it seemed United would go on to win as they pounded the visitors with consistent pressure.
Mansfield wasted no time in starting to waste time, going down clutching injured limbs at every opportunity, taking an eternity at goal kicks and throw-ins and heading for the far corners of the pitch about 40 minutes earlier than most teams do when protecting a lead. Kitson saw an early shot blocked by Tom Curtis, but United’s forays lacked finesse and all too often ended in a hopeful high cross into the box rather than someone taking individual responsibility for a run or shot at goal. Tudor started promisingly on the right with a few decent crosses, but it soon became apparent that he still does not possess the pace to speed past opponents and usually crossed from deeper positions, with a resultant lack of precision.
The visitors managed the odd break, still positively keeping two players up when conceding corners, and Larkin enjoyed a good run from wide right and shot that fizzed past Marshall’s far upright. Best United chance in a frenetic but fruitless early spell fell to Tudor as he got a clear sight of goal ten yards out but prodded his shot agonisingly wide of the near post. Were supporters and team doomed to play Ben and J-Lo, planning, anticipating the big moment, only to see it all fizzle out amid acrimony and disappointment? At least the publicity-seeking rubbish film-makers didn’t have Keith Curle shouting mad-eyed into their ears, or have inadequate grinning jackanapes Lee Cable in charge, waving his cards like so much confetti.
Guttridge was next in the book on the hour for upending Curtis as everyone in amber became increasingly frustrated at their own side’s inability to make the breakthrough, the opposition’s ‘professional’ attempts at breaking the game up and the man in charge’s inability to exert any authority over them. Then on 63, just as anticipation was beginning to turn to mere hope, came a lifeline: Tudor took on Artell just inside the box, the defender seemed to get a touch to send the ball out for a corner as the Orange One tumbled over his prone form, but Cable and his lino decided to award United the flimsiest of penalties. Not that we were complaining, mind.
Who would be the taker? Free-kick specialist Veno? Set-piece expert Bimmo? Nope, Justin Walker it was who stepped up after much argument (surprise!) from the men in blue. Those of us with any sort of memory will know that United’s recent history of spot kicks is uneven to put it mildly, and our problems look set to continue: Walker’s effort was feeble, struck with little pace and even less disguise low towards the left corner. Pilkington saved without much trouble. There wasn’t much weeping and wailing at this stage, but there was a distinct gnashing of teeth. Here we go again!
Mansfield almost immediately made their last substitution, swapping one lone striker for another (Beardsley – no relation – for Larkin). Guttridge saw a decent shot blocked by Baptiste a minute later, then on 67 a handball presented United with a free kick in a central position, inches outside the box. Time for the Great Veno to demonstrate his dead-ball prowess at last. Top left corner, I predicted. And technically I was correct, as I watched the kick sail into the top left corner of the Corona End. Oh well.
Liam Lawrence was booked on 70 for timewasting (somehow Cable missed the other eight who were doing the same thing), but three minutes later the Stags’ faffing around in the corner found its ultimate reward: they sent the ball inside along the touchline, Fleming was there, inaccurate as ever, presenting Lawrence with the ball, he knocked it into the area, Walker lunged, the man in blue realised that he had pushed it too far to reach, and dived over the United man’s prone legs so theatrically we should have been holding up cards with ‘5.8’ on them. Penalty.
Somehow we just knew that, unlike Walker, Lawrence would score. And so he did with ease, Marshall obligingly diving in the opposite direction (why doesn’t he just wait?) as he slotted it into the right-hand corner then celebrated deliriously in front of his adoring supporters. We all knew it: game over.
Shaggy’s reaction was to replace Bimson with Lloyd Opara, bafflingly removing one of the striker’s potential supply lines while leaving on the hapless Terrier. The regrettability of this decision was confirmed a mere three minutes later: under no pressure in midfield, Fleming gave the ball away to Lawrence (yes, him again) with another lazy, inept attempt at a short pass to Kitson, and as the Mansfield man sprinted away upfield, both Terrier and BGG gave chase. They caught him together, Fleming from the side and Kitson from behind, and as he rolled in predictable ‘agony’, his colleagues waded in in predictable mood. Some pushing and shoving ensued, resulting in a harsh straight red for Kitson from the fumbling Cable, and a mere yellow for Fleming when frankly we’d have been quite happy to see a red.
What more could this fiasco have in store for us? Would Dirty Den make a surprise appearance as third sub? What about Lofty? With Bimson removed, United now played with a back two and stationed Venus wide left, and he took to it like the proverbial canard to H20. On 79 he received the ball by the touchline, charged towards goal, cut inside on to his right foot and unleashed a tremendous shot that took a deflection and was headed for the top corner until brilliantly tipped round the post by Pilkington.
And this same supply route provided United’s goal two minutes later, Veno again cutting inside, laying a sly square ball across the edge of the area and Fleming, of all people, galloping in to blast low into the bottom corner: 2-1! They do insist on raising our hopes towards the end, don’t they?
Venus and Opara led the charge in the last ten minutes, a final spell of almost constant pressure that was only relieved by the gales of laughter from the home stands when Fleming was announced as the sponsors’ man of the match. You can just imagine the in-depth debate: ‘Who scored the goal? Number 8? He’ll do. Another prawn sandwich, anyone?’ Now if he had been announced as Mansfield’s MoM, that would have been understandable, given his significant parts in both their goals and United’s red card.
Last booking came on 86 for the Malteser, and as full-time approached (plus five extra minutes, nowhere near enough to cover Mansfield’s timewasting) it was time for the Opara Show: one goal-bound shot blocked, a cross bisecting the six-yard box that the tiring Turner just couldn’t reach, a superb control, turn and shot that Pilkington tipped onto the base of the post and off for a corner, then another goalbound effort deflected off for another corner from 18 yards. How he didn’t score, no-one knows. At the other end Curtis forced one last save from Marshall.
Best effort of all came from the ever-hard working Guttridge, his fantastic 20-yard effort smacking off the inside of the post with Pilkington looking on open-mouthed. As one last corner was awarded, the crowd shouted for Dancing Shaun to come up, given Messrs Poom and Robinson’s exploits in the last week; but sadly, the Terpsichorean custodian remained firmly in his own half. Spoilsport.
Predictably, Cable played less than four of the advertised five extra minutes, and his final whistle (would that it were) signalled delirious celebration from the visitors, and full marks to them for resilience, if not their methods, although one suspects that they were fired by a sense of injustice that was utterly misguided: their two red cards were about the only things the ref got right all night.
As for United: they were exposed once again for their lack of invention and creativity when the chips are down. But we can’t draw too many conclusions from such an extraordinary freak-of-the-week one-off of a game. Let’s do that on Tuesday.
Marshall 6– Not a lot to do, no chance with the goals, although it would be nice if he could at least dive the right way at the occasional penalty.
Goodhind 6– Quiet comeback for the Mpumalanga Mullet.
Bimson 6– Average first half followed by some good crossing when playing further up the pitch in the second until puzzlingly substituted.
Duncan 7– Had some tough tussles with the Mansfield forwards until the flurry of red cards reduced their attacking potency.
Venus 8– Always in the right place with some excellent defensive work, then as if by magic turned into United’s best wide midfielder, made their goal and was unlucky not to notch himself.
Guttridge 7– Busy and industrious as ever and very unfortunate to hit the inside of the post.
Walker 6– Credit for taking responsibility for the penalty, none for his feeble execution. Average.
Fleming 4– Splendid goal could not mask a dire performance from the Terrier with a steady succession of wasted possession and dreadful, sloppy passes, not to mention his direct roles in both Mansfield goals and Kitson’s dismissal. No idea how he managed to stay on the pitch.
Murray 5– Showed promise with the odd enterprising run, but it was no surprise that his limited contribution should be the first to be curtailed in Shaggy’s halftime reshuffle.
Kitson 6– Some good linking with Turner and a few quite delightful through balls, and was unlucky to be shown a straight red by a floundering ref.
Turner 6– Again showed numerous touches that mark him out as a very special prospect indeed. Exhausted near the end but forced to stay on due to Kitson’s enforced absence.
Tudor 5– Disappointingly subdued second half in which he got over the odd decent cross but rarely ever beat his man for pace like he used to.
Opara 7– Easily United’s most dangerous player in his 15 minutes, he terrified Mansfield with strength, pace and skill and almost saved the match single-handed. Another one with massive potential.
Soundtrack of the day: Kiosk /One Day I’m Going To Go Stratospheric On You And, Chances Are, You’ll Thank Me For It
Match summary: There’s never a dull moment when Mansfield are in town, and the willing assistance of the referee from hell produced a staggering spectacle memorable for everything but the football. With the number of sendings-off equalling the number of goals for both sides, maybe United should have tried that bit harder for that equalising red card.
Man of the match: Mark Venus. Sheer quality from beginning to end, whether as perceptive leader of a back four, guiding light of a back three, or a devastatingly effective wide midfield provider. Class personified.
Ref watch: Cable 2. One for each of the thoroughly deserved Mansfield red cards, nothing for anything else in a characteristically dismal display from the man with the Cheshire Cat perma-grin. Stopped the game from having any sort of flow by whistling for every tiny physical contact, awarded two highly dubious penalties, gave Kitson a harsh red and totally failed to clamp down on the visitors’ endless timewasting and play-acting. How he remains on the League list is as much one of life’s great mysteries as the continued popularity of Daniel Bedingfield, his musical equivalent.
All seemed set up for a comfortable United win. Only, only … our minds went back to 28 December 1999 at this very boutique, and a truly unforgettable match against eight-man Cardiff, an embarrassing 0-0. And this time we were 1-0 down. There were only two survivors today from that ‘classic’: Marshall and Mackenzie, now on the other side and off the pitch. And didn’t we miss a penalty in that match? Nah, couldn’t happen again, could it?
Both sides made changes for part two. United replaced Murray with Shane Tudor (barnet now red stripeless) and stationed him wide right and Bimmo wide left in front of a back three. Fresh legs for Mansfield came in the lank, greasy-haired shape of Maltese international (a proud boast indeed) Luke Dimech for Tony Vaughan. And for 20 minutes or so it seemed United would go on to win as they pounded the visitors with consistent pressure.
Mansfield wasted no time in starting to waste time, going down clutching injured limbs at every opportunity, taking an eternity at goal kicks and throw-ins and heading for the far corners of the pitch about 40 minutes earlier than most teams do when protecting a lead. Kitson saw an early shot blocked by Tom Curtis, but United’s forays lacked finesse and all too often ended in a hopeful high cross into the box rather than someone taking individual responsibility for a run or shot at goal. Tudor started promisingly on the right with a few decent crosses, but it soon became apparent that he still does not possess the pace to speed past opponents and usually crossed from deeper positions, with a resultant lack of precision.
The visitors managed the odd break, still positively keeping two players up when conceding corners, and Larkin enjoyed a good run from wide right and shot that fizzed past Marshall’s far upright. Best United chance in a frenetic but fruitless early spell fell to Tudor as he got a clear sight of goal ten yards out but prodded his shot agonisingly wide of the near post. Were supporters and team doomed to play Ben and J-Lo, planning, anticipating the big moment, only to see it all fizzle out amid acrimony and disappointment? At least the publicity-seeking rubbish film-makers didn’t have Keith Curle shouting mad-eyed into their ears, or have inadequate grinning jackanapes Lee Cable in charge, waving his cards like so much confetti.
Guttridge was next in the book on the hour for upending Curtis as everyone in amber became increasingly frustrated at their own side’s inability to make the breakthrough, the opposition’s ‘professional’ attempts at breaking the game up and the man in charge’s inability to exert any authority over them. Then on 63, just as anticipation was beginning to turn to mere hope, came a lifeline: Tudor took on Artell just inside the box, the defender seemed to get a touch to send the ball out for a corner as the Orange One tumbled over his prone form, but Cable and his lino decided to award United the flimsiest of penalties. Not that we were complaining, mind.
Who would be the taker? Free-kick specialist Veno? Set-piece expert Bimmo? Nope, Justin Walker it was who stepped up after much argument (surprise!) from the men in blue. Those of us with any sort of memory will know that United’s recent history of spot kicks is uneven to put it mildly, and our problems look set to continue: Walker’s effort was feeble, struck with little pace and even less disguise low towards the left corner. Pilkington saved without much trouble. There wasn’t much weeping and wailing at this stage, but there was a distinct gnashing of teeth. Here we go again!
Mansfield almost immediately made their last substitution, swapping one lone striker for another (Beardsley – no relation – for Larkin). Guttridge saw a decent shot blocked by Baptiste a minute later, then on 67 a handball presented United with a free kick in a central position, inches outside the box. Time for the Great Veno to demonstrate his dead-ball prowess at last. Top left corner, I predicted. And technically I was correct, as I watched the kick sail into the top left corner of the Corona End. Oh well.
Liam Lawrence was booked on 70 for timewasting (somehow Cable missed the other eight who were doing the same thing), but three minutes later the Stags’ faffing around in the corner found its ultimate reward: they sent the ball inside along the touchline, Fleming was there, inaccurate as ever, presenting Lawrence with the ball, he knocked it into the area, Walker lunged, the man in blue realised that he had pushed it too far to reach, and dived over the United man’s prone legs so theatrically we should have been holding up cards with ‘5.8’ on them. Penalty.
Somehow we just knew that, unlike Walker, Lawrence would score. And so he did with ease, Marshall obligingly diving in the opposite direction (why doesn’t he just wait?) as he slotted it into the right-hand corner then celebrated deliriously in front of his adoring supporters. We all knew it: game over.
Shaggy’s reaction was to replace Bimson with Lloyd Opara, bafflingly removing one of the striker’s potential supply lines while leaving on the hapless Terrier. The regrettability of this decision was confirmed a mere three minutes later: under no pressure in midfield, Fleming gave the ball away to Lawrence (yes, him again) with another lazy, inept attempt at a short pass to Kitson, and as the Mansfield man sprinted away upfield, both Terrier and BGG gave chase. They caught him together, Fleming from the side and Kitson from behind, and as he rolled in predictable ‘agony’, his colleagues waded in in predictable mood. Some pushing and shoving ensued, resulting in a harsh straight red for Kitson from the fumbling Cable, and a mere yellow for Fleming when frankly we’d have been quite happy to see a red.
What more could this fiasco have in store for us? Would Dirty Den make a surprise appearance as third sub? What about Lofty? With Bimson removed, United now played with a back two and stationed Venus wide left, and he took to it like the proverbial canard to H20. On 79 he received the ball by the touchline, charged towards goal, cut inside on to his right foot and unleashed a tremendous shot that took a deflection and was headed for the top corner until brilliantly tipped round the post by Pilkington.
And this same supply route provided United’s goal two minutes later, Veno again cutting inside, laying a sly square ball across the edge of the area and Fleming, of all people, galloping in to blast low into the bottom corner: 2-1! They do insist on raising our hopes towards the end, don’t they?
Venus and Opara led the charge in the last ten minutes, a final spell of almost constant pressure that was only relieved by the gales of laughter from the home stands when Fleming was announced as the sponsors’ man of the match. You can just imagine the in-depth debate: ‘Who scored the goal? Number 8? He’ll do. Another prawn sandwich, anyone?’ Now if he had been announced as Mansfield’s MoM, that would have been understandable, given his significant parts in both their goals and United’s red card.
Last booking came on 86 for the Malteser, and as full-time approached (plus five extra minutes, nowhere near enough to cover Mansfield’s timewasting) it was time for the Opara Show: one goal-bound shot blocked, a cross bisecting the six-yard box that the tiring Turner just couldn’t reach, a superb control, turn and shot that Pilkington tipped onto the base of the post and off for a corner, then another goalbound effort deflected off for another corner from 18 yards. How he didn’t score, no-one knows. At the other end Curtis forced one last save from Marshall.
Best effort of all came from the ever-hard working Guttridge, his fantastic 20-yard effort smacking off the inside of the post with Pilkington looking on open-mouthed. As one last corner was awarded, the crowd shouted for Dancing Shaun to come up, given Messrs Poom and Robinson’s exploits in the last week; but sadly, the Terpsichorean custodian remained firmly in his own half. Spoilsport.
Predictably, Cable played less than four of the advertised five extra minutes, and his final whistle (would that it were) signalled delirious celebration from the visitors, and full marks to them for resilience, if not their methods, although one suspects that they were fired by a sense of injustice that was utterly misguided: their two red cards were about the only things the ref got right all night.
As for United: they were exposed once again for their lack of invention and creativity when the chips are down. But we can’t draw too many conclusions from such an extraordinary freak-of-the-week one-off of a game. Let’s do that on Tuesday.
Marshall 6– Not a lot to do, no chance with the goals, although it would be nice if he could at least dive the right way at the occasional penalty.
Goodhind 6– Quiet comeback for the Mpumalanga Mullet.
Bimson 6– Average first half followed by some good crossing when playing further up the pitch in the second until puzzlingly substituted.
Duncan 7– Had some tough tussles with the Mansfield forwards until the flurry of red cards reduced their attacking potency.
Venus 8– Always in the right place with some excellent defensive work, then as if by magic turned into United’s best wide midfielder, made their goal and was unlucky not to notch himself.
Guttridge 7– Busy and industrious as ever and very unfortunate to hit the inside of the post.
Walker 6– Credit for taking responsibility for the penalty, none for his feeble execution. Average.
Fleming 4– Splendid goal could not mask a dire performance from the Terrier with a steady succession of wasted possession and dreadful, sloppy passes, not to mention his direct roles in both Mansfield goals and Kitson’s dismissal. No idea how he managed to stay on the pitch.
Murray 5– Showed promise with the odd enterprising run, but it was no surprise that his limited contribution should be the first to be curtailed in Shaggy’s halftime reshuffle.
Kitson 6– Some good linking with Turner and a few quite delightful through balls, and was unlucky to be shown a straight red by a floundering ref.
Turner 6– Again showed numerous touches that mark him out as a very special prospect indeed. Exhausted near the end but forced to stay on due to Kitson’s enforced absence.
Tudor 5– Disappointingly subdued second half in which he got over the odd decent cross but rarely ever beat his man for pace like he used to.
Opara 7– Easily United’s most dangerous player in his 15 minutes, he terrified Mansfield with strength, pace and skill and almost saved the match single-handed. Another one with massive potential.
Soundtrack of the day: Kiosk /One Day I’m Going To Go Stratospheric On You And, Chances Are, You’ll Thank Me For It
Match summary: There’s never a dull moment when Mansfield are in town, and the willing assistance of the referee from hell produced a staggering spectacle memorable for everything but the football. With the number of sendings-off equalling the number of goals for both sides, maybe United should have tried that bit harder for that equalising red card.
Man of the match: Mark Venus. Sheer quality from beginning to end, whether as perceptive leader of a back four, guiding light of a back three, or a devastatingly effective wide midfield provider. Class personified.
Ref watch: Cable 2. One for each of the thoroughly deserved Mansfield red cards, nothing for anything else in a characteristically dismal display from the man with the Cheshire Cat perma-grin. Stopped the game from having any sort of flow by whistling for every tiny physical contact, awarded two highly dubious penalties, gave Kitson a harsh red and totally failed to clamp down on the visitors’ endless timewasting and play-acting. How he remains on the League list is as much one of life’s great mysteries as the continued popularity of Daniel Bedingfield, his musical equivalent.
Daniel Bedingfield: one of life's mysteries
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30 September 2003: U's 3v3 Doncaster
A game of three halves
Cambridge College of Neuro-Linguistics
Report into Behavioural Study of Stress and Depression among Football Supporters, August-September 2003
August 25: Study commenced on a bank holiday, a time of social relaxation and pleasure. Subject team performs disappointingly against much wealthier rival (Hull) and suffers comprehensive defeat. Stress level: 5.64 on the Shellito Scale. Depression level: 4.76 on the Atkins Average.
August 30: Extremely long trip to Carlisle followed by 90 minutes of excitement-free tedium. Outbreak of light DVT and subtle twitching. Stress: 5.66. Depression: 4.77.
September 5: Local derby with disliked local rivals (Lincoln): second consecutive 0-0 draw. Team formation changed to no effect. Team captain abusive to supporters. Stress: 5.69. Depression: 4.85.
September 13: Third consecutive draw (Torquay): expectations raised by early goal then dashed by equaliser; player sent off near end of match. Evidence of dribbling and minor incontinence. Stress: 5.71. Depression: 4.89.
September 17: Start of brief softening-up procedure: narrow win at local rival (Boston). Similar effect to one tab of ecstasy or 15 pints of Vimto. Stress: 4.38. Depression: 3.89.
September 20: High point: easy win away (Cheltenham). Heightened states of euphoria evident, together with desire to bare behinds at rivals in dominant tribal gesture. Mild frothing at mouth. Stress: 2.81. Depression: 2.02. Control Group (Codename 'Posh Fans') remains stable at 4.5 on each scale due to lack of temporal ability.
September 27: Major trauma: lose to nine men, miss penalty, star player sent off. Steward 31C first to complete breakdown. Outbreak of sustained mumbling in main stand, Olympic-level moaning in Habbin, teeth-grinding and pockets of instantaneous Tourette’s Syndrome in home end. Stress: 8.83. Depression: 8.15.
September 30: One minute to midnight: team throws away three-goal lead and only gets point by saving last-minute penalty. Spontaneous combustion, swearing in tongues, possession by demons, visitation of Barry Fry. Stress: 9.67. Depression: 9.66.
Initial conclusion: remote programming of Cambridge United players 98.3 per cent effective. A third consecutive ‘Trauma Game’ will cause mass convulsions and revolt amongst spectators and staff and leave the survivors in the ideal emotional state to be receptive to the Third Coming of their Messiah. Target date October 4 for final mind-meld: 10-0 defeat followed by restoration of self to his rightful throne.
Prof J Beck, neuro-linguistic programmer (Hons, Wibble)
The more perspicacious of you may have noticed that supporting Cambridge United is an increasingly stressful pastime, up there with trying to teach Glenn Hoddle man-management skills. At times it’s tempting to think ‘why can’t I support Rochdale? Nothing ever happens to them.’ But following a team like Dale would be like travelling across the Fens: safe, reliable but ultimately featureless and tedious. Following the Mighty U’s, however, is more akin to traversing the Andes: spectacular troughs, awesome peaks, but never, ever boring. With ten years’ hindsight even the crappy bits seem strangely enjoyable. Well, most of them. And last night was just another such chapter: heaven and hell to live through, extraordinary to look back on. Either that or those painkillers are just starting to kick in.
Another momentous night at the Abbey saw the first visit in five years of our old friends from Doncaster. Last time they came they only lost 2-1, but a desperately poor team plummeted into the Conference like a downed partridge with lead calipers on and they almost went out of business, thanks in no small part to a chairman who made Ken Bates look like Mother Teresa. So it is great credit on everyone at Rovers that they have battled their way back into the Big Time (cue coughing fit).
Hoping for a somewhat friendlier encounter than Saturday, Marvin emerged sporting an enormous bandage covering half his head and two wonky antlers; either he’d spilt a rogue steward’s pint or he’d pushed his luck too far with that streaker at the Mascot Grand National on Sunday.
Despite some truly poor performances against Mansfield, Shaggy made only two changes and one of them was enforced, Stev ‘Goal Machine’ Angus replacing the injured Wozza Goodhind at right back, while Shane Tudor started wide right in a 4-4-2 with Luke Guttridge moved to the left in place of Freddie Murray. United’s paucity of fit strikers meant that Lloyd Opara was the only attacker on the bench, although the choice of both full backs Tann and Murray was a little puzzling as David Bridges was left out altogether.
Donny were of course unrecognisable from the hapless no-hopers of five years ago, with a smattering of experienced old hands like the chunky Fran Tierney and veteran borderline chubster Paul Barnes allied to the flair of silver-booted Michael McIndoe, who I seem to recall requested to leave Yeovil after last season because he wanted to play for a bigger club. In possession of not so much, apparently, as a football brain as the brain of a football…
The match got off to a lively start, both sides looking positive, and it was the visitors who had the early chances. John Doolan had a long-range blast on four, which moved in the early evening air and Shaun Marshall patted away as if it were a bouncing bomb, Angus hacking away for a corner. Rovers came even nearer to scoring two minutes later as Gregg Blundell’s intelligent run beat the United offside trap and sent him away and clear on goal. Dancing Shaun stood his ground dead centre and Blunder, sorry Blundell got perhaps too near him before shooting, but the Terpsichorean custodian blocked superbly with his legs near the penalty spot and gathered safely at the second attempt.
Less than four minutes later United were in front with a peach of a goal. Tudor picked the ball up in the centre circle, laid off to Dave Kitson and kept running as the BGG provided him with the perfect through ball via an exquisite first-time flick. Now it was the Orange One’s turn to sprint clear of the defence, and he picked his moment superbly to shoot low past keeper Andy Warrington from the D. What a great and much-needed confidence booster it was for the wee man as he celebrated his first goal since that blaster v Rochdale on March 4 with a characteristic shirt-waving celebration.
The early goal was a welcome breath of fresh air after the foetid, flatulent fumes of Saturday’s flabbergaster. United were visibly lifted and started playing some delightful stuff, the intelligent movement and mobility of Kitson and young John Turner complemented by the eager probing of Tudor and Guttridge and causing a ponderous-looking defence all sorts of problems. Donny’s main weapon of fortification was a well-drilled offside trap, bearing all the dreary efficiency of a Girls Aloud record. They were abetted by the linesman on the Habbin side who had a hair-trigger flag arm reminiscent of Dr Strangelove and never failed to give the visitors the benefit of the doubt. The amber hordes gave him the benefit of their ample descriptive vocabulary.
Another quick United break on 14 saw Kitson test the Teflon on Warrington’s gloves, with Turner and Tudor in arguably better positions, while on 16 Tierney’s left-wing corner found his skipper Steve Foster at the far post but he blazed wide from close range. Then the ever-alert Turner latched on to another pinpoint Kitson pass, fell under Dave Morley’s challenge, regained his feet while keeping possession, beat two men then saw his goalbound effort pawed away by Warrington, then was denied by the keeper again when he got his head to Tudor’s subsequent cross.
United continued to press, irritating the hard-pressed Rovers rearguard like a horde of amber-shirted Chuckle Brothers, and Turner was denied by Morley when he got his next sight of goal as Warrington looked on anxiously. Donny enjoyed a brief respite on 20 as the wily Barnes tumbled like a featherlight Redwood under Duncan’s innocuous challenge just outside the box. McIndoe aimed his free kick over the United wall, but his shot was all direction and no power and was comfortably caught by Marshall.
Guttridge saw his skimmer saved low on 23, then a rare forward foray from Bimson was followed by a teasing cross that Turner just failed to meet at the back stick. Morley picked up the first yellow on 24 for dissent in a fast-flowing game, then it was time for that Terry Fleming moment as he misplaced a pass, recovered it fortunately then aimed an unnecessary bouncing bomb of a 30-yard back pass at Marshall that Shaun could only slice off for a corner. Thankfully for the errant Terrier, Doolan narrowly missed from McIndoe’s resultant flag kick to save him from the doghouse.
Doolan tried another long-ranger, wide again, a couple of minutes later, and the intensity of the play dropped a notch or two for ten minutes. Foster was booked on 33 for barging Kitson, about the only example all night of ref Tomlin giving the BGG a favourable decision. Mark Venus’ ensuing free kick was almost a carbon copy of McIndoe’s as it cleared the wall but didn’t clear Warrington’s grasping gloves.
Up the other end, Tim Ryan gave early notice of his blistering shooting power with an effort from just inside the box that was headed for the top left corner until superbly tipped round the post by Marshall. Then on 37 it was 2-0 as United’s teasing, tormenting front two carved the visitors open again. As in previous matches, Turner was the provider, a tenacious run and pull-back from the byline setting up the inrushing Kitson for a typically emphatic short-range finish. The man’s had more taps in than Bathrooms Direct.
Still Turner couldn’t find the goal that he deserved. On 40 he was away again, another testing effort blocked away for a corner by Morley with his keeper a spectator. In a seesaw finish to the half, Doolan had a shot blocked by Venus, Kitson found the net with a delightful chip but was denied by the lino’s late flag, then a bit of pinball in the United area saw Barnes’ carefully placed scudder hacked away by Venus. United were applauded warmly from the pitch, having enjoyed excellent possession against a Donny team that had allowed them room to play and looked beaten all ends up against the hosts’ superior pass-and-movement. Surely the U’s couldn’t contrive to hastily toss away another game like a frisbee that has landed in a cowpat?
The home fans prayed that possession of a two-goal lead would not lead, as previously, to their side sitting back and trying to defend it from deep instead of pressing on for a third. Donny had marginally more of the ball in the early stages after the break, although Marshall had little to do as he watched Foster head wide from a corner on 48. On 51 Kitson tried a bizarre lob from 30 yards out that bore all the menace of Dale Winton in a pinny, while a minute later Paul Green had the ball in the net for Rovers but saw his ‘goal’ wiped out for a foul on Marshall by Barnes.
Come the 56t minute and what should have been the coup de grace from United. Bimson lined up a free kick from wide left with his trusty niblick, and his curler found Kitson criminally unmarked five yards out for the easiest of headers – 3-0, easy peasy, game over, surely? Not at all, by no means, don’t call me etc etc. Crucially, it only took two minutes for Donny to pull one back…and regrettably, the finger of blame pointed at the United skipper. Tierney, very skilful but more Wile E Coyote than Roadrunner, picked it up wide right, ran at Bimmo, cut inside his non-challenge and rifled impressively home at the near post for 3-1. Just a consolation? Not with over half an hour still to go. The first seeds of doubt were sown in United minds, and yours truly’s semi-serious jest after their third that we might now scramble a point was already starting to look as funny as a Council Tax bill.
Rovers swapped Morley for Mark Albrighton, and for a few minutes United struck back and looked like they might clinch it with a fourth rather than collapse like a balloon with a slow puncture. That man Turner latched on to another through ball to evade his marker and test Warrington with a 20-yarder that he beat out, also blocking Tudor’s rebound effort. On the hour Venus, feeling a back injury (it’s a bugger for the over-60s) was replaced by Adam Tann, then Kitson’s magnificent deep cross from the left found Turner at the far post but he just couldn’t keep a difficult stretching volley down.
A game of three halves
Cambridge College of Neuro-Linguistics
Report into Behavioural Study of Stress and Depression among Football Supporters, August-September 2003
August 25: Study commenced on a bank holiday, a time of social relaxation and pleasure. Subject team performs disappointingly against much wealthier rival (Hull) and suffers comprehensive defeat. Stress level: 5.64 on the Shellito Scale. Depression level: 4.76 on the Atkins Average.
August 30: Extremely long trip to Carlisle followed by 90 minutes of excitement-free tedium. Outbreak of light DVT and subtle twitching. Stress: 5.66. Depression: 4.77.
September 5: Local derby with disliked local rivals (Lincoln): second consecutive 0-0 draw. Team formation changed to no effect. Team captain abusive to supporters. Stress: 5.69. Depression: 4.85.
September 13: Third consecutive draw (Torquay): expectations raised by early goal then dashed by equaliser; player sent off near end of match. Evidence of dribbling and minor incontinence. Stress: 5.71. Depression: 4.89.
September 17: Start of brief softening-up procedure: narrow win at local rival (Boston). Similar effect to one tab of ecstasy or 15 pints of Vimto. Stress: 4.38. Depression: 3.89.
September 20: High point: easy win away (Cheltenham). Heightened states of euphoria evident, together with desire to bare behinds at rivals in dominant tribal gesture. Mild frothing at mouth. Stress: 2.81. Depression: 2.02. Control Group (Codename 'Posh Fans') remains stable at 4.5 on each scale due to lack of temporal ability.
September 27: Major trauma: lose to nine men, miss penalty, star player sent off. Steward 31C first to complete breakdown. Outbreak of sustained mumbling in main stand, Olympic-level moaning in Habbin, teeth-grinding and pockets of instantaneous Tourette’s Syndrome in home end. Stress: 8.83. Depression: 8.15.
September 30: One minute to midnight: team throws away three-goal lead and only gets point by saving last-minute penalty. Spontaneous combustion, swearing in tongues, possession by demons, visitation of Barry Fry. Stress: 9.67. Depression: 9.66.
Initial conclusion: remote programming of Cambridge United players 98.3 per cent effective. A third consecutive ‘Trauma Game’ will cause mass convulsions and revolt amongst spectators and staff and leave the survivors in the ideal emotional state to be receptive to the Third Coming of their Messiah. Target date October 4 for final mind-meld: 10-0 defeat followed by restoration of self to his rightful throne.
Prof J Beck, neuro-linguistic programmer (Hons, Wibble)
The more perspicacious of you may have noticed that supporting Cambridge United is an increasingly stressful pastime, up there with trying to teach Glenn Hoddle man-management skills. At times it’s tempting to think ‘why can’t I support Rochdale? Nothing ever happens to them.’ But following a team like Dale would be like travelling across the Fens: safe, reliable but ultimately featureless and tedious. Following the Mighty U’s, however, is more akin to traversing the Andes: spectacular troughs, awesome peaks, but never, ever boring. With ten years’ hindsight even the crappy bits seem strangely enjoyable. Well, most of them. And last night was just another such chapter: heaven and hell to live through, extraordinary to look back on. Either that or those painkillers are just starting to kick in.
Another momentous night at the Abbey saw the first visit in five years of our old friends from Doncaster. Last time they came they only lost 2-1, but a desperately poor team plummeted into the Conference like a downed partridge with lead calipers on and they almost went out of business, thanks in no small part to a chairman who made Ken Bates look like Mother Teresa. So it is great credit on everyone at Rovers that they have battled their way back into the Big Time (cue coughing fit).
Hoping for a somewhat friendlier encounter than Saturday, Marvin emerged sporting an enormous bandage covering half his head and two wonky antlers; either he’d spilt a rogue steward’s pint or he’d pushed his luck too far with that streaker at the Mascot Grand National on Sunday.
Despite some truly poor performances against Mansfield, Shaggy made only two changes and one of them was enforced, Stev ‘Goal Machine’ Angus replacing the injured Wozza Goodhind at right back, while Shane Tudor started wide right in a 4-4-2 with Luke Guttridge moved to the left in place of Freddie Murray. United’s paucity of fit strikers meant that Lloyd Opara was the only attacker on the bench, although the choice of both full backs Tann and Murray was a little puzzling as David Bridges was left out altogether.
Donny were of course unrecognisable from the hapless no-hopers of five years ago, with a smattering of experienced old hands like the chunky Fran Tierney and veteran borderline chubster Paul Barnes allied to the flair of silver-booted Michael McIndoe, who I seem to recall requested to leave Yeovil after last season because he wanted to play for a bigger club. In possession of not so much, apparently, as a football brain as the brain of a football…
The match got off to a lively start, both sides looking positive, and it was the visitors who had the early chances. John Doolan had a long-range blast on four, which moved in the early evening air and Shaun Marshall patted away as if it were a bouncing bomb, Angus hacking away for a corner. Rovers came even nearer to scoring two minutes later as Gregg Blundell’s intelligent run beat the United offside trap and sent him away and clear on goal. Dancing Shaun stood his ground dead centre and Blunder, sorry Blundell got perhaps too near him before shooting, but the Terpsichorean custodian blocked superbly with his legs near the penalty spot and gathered safely at the second attempt.
Less than four minutes later United were in front with a peach of a goal. Tudor picked the ball up in the centre circle, laid off to Dave Kitson and kept running as the BGG provided him with the perfect through ball via an exquisite first-time flick. Now it was the Orange One’s turn to sprint clear of the defence, and he picked his moment superbly to shoot low past keeper Andy Warrington from the D. What a great and much-needed confidence booster it was for the wee man as he celebrated his first goal since that blaster v Rochdale on March 4 with a characteristic shirt-waving celebration.
The early goal was a welcome breath of fresh air after the foetid, flatulent fumes of Saturday’s flabbergaster. United were visibly lifted and started playing some delightful stuff, the intelligent movement and mobility of Kitson and young John Turner complemented by the eager probing of Tudor and Guttridge and causing a ponderous-looking defence all sorts of problems. Donny’s main weapon of fortification was a well-drilled offside trap, bearing all the dreary efficiency of a Girls Aloud record. They were abetted by the linesman on the Habbin side who had a hair-trigger flag arm reminiscent of Dr Strangelove and never failed to give the visitors the benefit of the doubt. The amber hordes gave him the benefit of their ample descriptive vocabulary.
Another quick United break on 14 saw Kitson test the Teflon on Warrington’s gloves, with Turner and Tudor in arguably better positions, while on 16 Tierney’s left-wing corner found his skipper Steve Foster at the far post but he blazed wide from close range. Then the ever-alert Turner latched on to another pinpoint Kitson pass, fell under Dave Morley’s challenge, regained his feet while keeping possession, beat two men then saw his goalbound effort pawed away by Warrington, then was denied by the keeper again when he got his head to Tudor’s subsequent cross.
United continued to press, irritating the hard-pressed Rovers rearguard like a horde of amber-shirted Chuckle Brothers, and Turner was denied by Morley when he got his next sight of goal as Warrington looked on anxiously. Donny enjoyed a brief respite on 20 as the wily Barnes tumbled like a featherlight Redwood under Duncan’s innocuous challenge just outside the box. McIndoe aimed his free kick over the United wall, but his shot was all direction and no power and was comfortably caught by Marshall.
Guttridge saw his skimmer saved low on 23, then a rare forward foray from Bimson was followed by a teasing cross that Turner just failed to meet at the back stick. Morley picked up the first yellow on 24 for dissent in a fast-flowing game, then it was time for that Terry Fleming moment as he misplaced a pass, recovered it fortunately then aimed an unnecessary bouncing bomb of a 30-yard back pass at Marshall that Shaun could only slice off for a corner. Thankfully for the errant Terrier, Doolan narrowly missed from McIndoe’s resultant flag kick to save him from the doghouse.
Doolan tried another long-ranger, wide again, a couple of minutes later, and the intensity of the play dropped a notch or two for ten minutes. Foster was booked on 33 for barging Kitson, about the only example all night of ref Tomlin giving the BGG a favourable decision. Mark Venus’ ensuing free kick was almost a carbon copy of McIndoe’s as it cleared the wall but didn’t clear Warrington’s grasping gloves.
Up the other end, Tim Ryan gave early notice of his blistering shooting power with an effort from just inside the box that was headed for the top left corner until superbly tipped round the post by Marshall. Then on 37 it was 2-0 as United’s teasing, tormenting front two carved the visitors open again. As in previous matches, Turner was the provider, a tenacious run and pull-back from the byline setting up the inrushing Kitson for a typically emphatic short-range finish. The man’s had more taps in than Bathrooms Direct.
Still Turner couldn’t find the goal that he deserved. On 40 he was away again, another testing effort blocked away for a corner by Morley with his keeper a spectator. In a seesaw finish to the half, Doolan had a shot blocked by Venus, Kitson found the net with a delightful chip but was denied by the lino’s late flag, then a bit of pinball in the United area saw Barnes’ carefully placed scudder hacked away by Venus. United were applauded warmly from the pitch, having enjoyed excellent possession against a Donny team that had allowed them room to play and looked beaten all ends up against the hosts’ superior pass-and-movement. Surely the U’s couldn’t contrive to hastily toss away another game like a frisbee that has landed in a cowpat?
The home fans prayed that possession of a two-goal lead would not lead, as previously, to their side sitting back and trying to defend it from deep instead of pressing on for a third. Donny had marginally more of the ball in the early stages after the break, although Marshall had little to do as he watched Foster head wide from a corner on 48. On 51 Kitson tried a bizarre lob from 30 yards out that bore all the menace of Dale Winton in a pinny, while a minute later Paul Green had the ball in the net for Rovers but saw his ‘goal’ wiped out for a foul on Marshall by Barnes.
Come the 56t minute and what should have been the coup de grace from United. Bimson lined up a free kick from wide left with his trusty niblick, and his curler found Kitson criminally unmarked five yards out for the easiest of headers – 3-0, easy peasy, game over, surely? Not at all, by no means, don’t call me etc etc. Crucially, it only took two minutes for Donny to pull one back…and regrettably, the finger of blame pointed at the United skipper. Tierney, very skilful but more Wile E Coyote than Roadrunner, picked it up wide right, ran at Bimmo, cut inside his non-challenge and rifled impressively home at the near post for 3-1. Just a consolation? Not with over half an hour still to go. The first seeds of doubt were sown in United minds, and yours truly’s semi-serious jest after their third that we might now scramble a point was already starting to look as funny as a Council Tax bill.
Rovers swapped Morley for Mark Albrighton, and for a few minutes United struck back and looked like they might clinch it with a fourth rather than collapse like a balloon with a slow puncture. That man Turner latched on to another through ball to evade his marker and test Warrington with a 20-yarder that he beat out, also blocking Tudor’s rebound effort. On the hour Venus, feeling a back injury (it’s a bugger for the over-60s) was replaced by Adam Tann, then Kitson’s magnificent deep cross from the left found Turner at the far post but he just couldn’t keep a difficult stretching volley down.
Balloon
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Albrighton shot wide on 62, but two minutes later came the turning point. United’s undoing was their vulnerability to high crosses pumped into a crowded area: Ryan crossed from the left wing, and there was that man Albrighton, unmarked in the six-yard box, to head home with ease for 3-2.
Now Donny, team and supporters, scented blood, and they poured forward with a bombardment that was brutal but effective. The crosses rained in like Arsenal players around their favourite opposition striker, Marshall bearing up well as he denied Blundell and seeing Albrighton fire wide before the Rovers sub was booked for dissent on 71. United managed one break a minute later as Kitson’s ball to Turner on halfway was picked up in mid-sprint by Tudor, but he ran out of puff as he approached the penalty area and shot narrowly wide of the near post.
For the United faithful it was a case of déjà vu; the positive, attacking, ball-playing team of the first hour had metamorphosed Jekyll-like into a frightened shadow, the midfielders retreating deeper and deeper until they were almost treading on their defenders’ toes, inviting the visitors to come at them and unable to supply any sort of service to their now-isolated strikers. Most culpable were the most experienced, Walker and Fleming, who contributed literally nothing in the last half-hour in an abject surrender. You almost expected them to start sucking their thumbs or calling for their security blankets.
Tudor has never been the strongest defensively and even United’s best midfield man, Guttridge, was dragged into the vortex that seemed to be sucking everyone into Marshall’s six-yard box. The only surprise at Doncaster’s equaliser on 75 was its nature. Tudor miscontrolled in his own half in the right channel, only 35 yards from his own goal but with all but two of his colleagues well behind him. Ryan latched on to it in a flash, looked up and arrowed a quite astounding blaster into the net that gave Marshall no chance at all. Absolute stormer. Why do these players save their best goals for us?
Rovers had the equaliser that their positive, gutsy attitude deserved. United, belatedly galvanised again, tried to respond, and on 79 Shaggy took an enormous gamble by going for a gung-ho 4-3-3 formation with the replacement of the invisible Walker by Lloyd Opara. Sometimes these radical makeovers work, other times they are a Llewellyn-Bowenesque disaster ('Yah, I though I’d try for a sort of rococo abattoir look …'). This one just didn’t work, not least because the three strikers were stationed in a straight line up front while everybody else stayed back like frightened sheep, pinging hopeful high balls at them from deep, except Tudor who wandered lonely as a clone somewhere in the middle. 6-1-3, anyone?
To their credit, Donny kept going for the win. Marshall pushed Albrighton’s header out on 80, Doolan shot wide a minute later, and on 83 United’s ineffectual captain limped off to be replaced by Freddie Murray, playing in his proper position for once. Fleming took Bimson’s armband, but sensing our snorts of derision, handed it swiftly to Duncan. Rovers also made a change, swapping strikers with Steve Burton making his debut in place of Blundell.
The visitors, roared on by noisy support, looked the more likely winners against a United team that looked floppier than Cristiano Ronaldo’s little blonde bits (on his head!). The more world-wise and cynical among us saw the 88th-minute penalty coming before it was given, a harsh decision by Tomlin against Duncan for the most innocuous tackle you could imagine against a Green who was going nowhere and knew it. Duncan was booked for his desperate protests, his high-pitched complaints attracting dogs from miles around, and we held our breath for the final humiliation. The visiting Yorkshire folk gleefully anticipated a historic comeback. It’s as good as in, we said. Shaun always dives the wrong way, we said. These beggars never miss, unlike us, we said. So what a delightful relief it was when the veteran Barnes stepped up, slid it to Marshall’s left, and the Dancemeister flung himself superbly low to palm it clear of goal. Our humiliation remained blessedly incomplete.
McIndoe tried for a second penalty as added time approached, flinging himself to the ground under Tann’s challenge, and he deserved a yellow card for his cynicism rather than just the man in black’s apathy. Ricky Ravenhill replaced the disappointed Barnes very late on, but this turbulent tornado of a match had finally blown itself out.
Once again, United had snatched a draw from the jaws of victory. Spirited Doncaster deserve enormous credit for the positive way they responded, but they should not have been allowed to do so by a home side that had played some truly excellent football for an hour but then melted like an overheated jelly when the going got anything approaching tough. And it was their most experienced men who were most culpable: their central midfield and captain went missing. You can’t win anything with kids, but they deserve to be given a chance when their older colleagues are in an underachieving comfort zone which they need to be jolted out of, quickly. There are many United supporters who would love to see exciting young talent like Nacca and Bridges given a chance; the management have some interesting decisions to make this week.
The heartbroken fans, of course, will not have any choice to make; they will be there at York on Saturday, hoping to see the classy passing side of the first 60 minutes, and not the wobbling blancmanges of the last 30. There’s never a dull moment following this lot. Sometimes we wish there were! But let’s try not to get stressed about it, eh?
Marshall 7 – Let down by his defence for the first two, no chance with the third, then produced a superb save to salvage a vestige of pride for his team.
Angus 6 – Quietly competent with just the one foray into the final third.
Bimson 5 – A couple of good crosses but woefully at fault for Donny’s first goal and never seemed to recover. Distinct lack of inspirational skippering.
Duncan 6 – Solid and dependable as ever.
Venus 7 – Good defending, excellent distribution, and wasn’t he missed when he withdrew?
Tudor 6 – Excellent first half and great to see him back (7); totally anonymous second half (5).
Walker 5 – When the going got tough, he simple didn’t get going. Deservedly substituted.
Fleming 4 – Another of United’s incredible disappearing midfield. At least Walker had a reasonable first half.
Guttridge 6 – Good first 45, dragged down to his colleagues’ level thereafter.
Kitson 7 – Tremendous while he received decent service and well and truly in the goalscoring groove.
Turner 8 – Better than United’s other young strikers already.
Tann 6 – Did his best but must have felt like King Canute as his side was washed away around him.
Opara 6 – Ran around busily but could do little with the lame long-ball ‘service’ that was punted in his general direction.
Murray 6 – Slotted reasonably well into his proper position.
Soundtrack of the day: Napoleon XIV/They’re Coming To Take Me Away, Ha-Haa!
Match summary: After the Whoops! Apocalypse of Saturday, United were dancing their own Apocalypso with a super 3-0 lead that all too quickly slowed to a funeral march as they crumbled like a mouldy Hobnob. Some players need to look very closely at themselves this morning, even if what they see is almost as ugly as Martin Keown.
Man of the match: John Turner. It's tempting fate to rave too much about a promising young player, but this boy is just too good to ignore. Intelligent, aware, skilful, mobile, quick and strong, all he lacked today was a goal for himself, and he certainly came near enough on several occasions. Handle with care, Shaggy, this is one precious package.
Ref watch:Tomlin 4. Like the match, he got weirder the longer it went on and no one knew where some of his later decisions came from. Capped an eccentric display with the most dubious of penalties, and I wish I knew what Kitson had done to him that made him continually penalise the BGG even when it was him who had been fouled.
Now Donny, team and supporters, scented blood, and they poured forward with a bombardment that was brutal but effective. The crosses rained in like Arsenal players around their favourite opposition striker, Marshall bearing up well as he denied Blundell and seeing Albrighton fire wide before the Rovers sub was booked for dissent on 71. United managed one break a minute later as Kitson’s ball to Turner on halfway was picked up in mid-sprint by Tudor, but he ran out of puff as he approached the penalty area and shot narrowly wide of the near post.
For the United faithful it was a case of déjà vu; the positive, attacking, ball-playing team of the first hour had metamorphosed Jekyll-like into a frightened shadow, the midfielders retreating deeper and deeper until they were almost treading on their defenders’ toes, inviting the visitors to come at them and unable to supply any sort of service to their now-isolated strikers. Most culpable were the most experienced, Walker and Fleming, who contributed literally nothing in the last half-hour in an abject surrender. You almost expected them to start sucking their thumbs or calling for their security blankets.
Tudor has never been the strongest defensively and even United’s best midfield man, Guttridge, was dragged into the vortex that seemed to be sucking everyone into Marshall’s six-yard box. The only surprise at Doncaster’s equaliser on 75 was its nature. Tudor miscontrolled in his own half in the right channel, only 35 yards from his own goal but with all but two of his colleagues well behind him. Ryan latched on to it in a flash, looked up and arrowed a quite astounding blaster into the net that gave Marshall no chance at all. Absolute stormer. Why do these players save their best goals for us?
Rovers had the equaliser that their positive, gutsy attitude deserved. United, belatedly galvanised again, tried to respond, and on 79 Shaggy took an enormous gamble by going for a gung-ho 4-3-3 formation with the replacement of the invisible Walker by Lloyd Opara. Sometimes these radical makeovers work, other times they are a Llewellyn-Bowenesque disaster ('Yah, I though I’d try for a sort of rococo abattoir look …'). This one just didn’t work, not least because the three strikers were stationed in a straight line up front while everybody else stayed back like frightened sheep, pinging hopeful high balls at them from deep, except Tudor who wandered lonely as a clone somewhere in the middle. 6-1-3, anyone?
To their credit, Donny kept going for the win. Marshall pushed Albrighton’s header out on 80, Doolan shot wide a minute later, and on 83 United’s ineffectual captain limped off to be replaced by Freddie Murray, playing in his proper position for once. Fleming took Bimson’s armband, but sensing our snorts of derision, handed it swiftly to Duncan. Rovers also made a change, swapping strikers with Steve Burton making his debut in place of Blundell.
The visitors, roared on by noisy support, looked the more likely winners against a United team that looked floppier than Cristiano Ronaldo’s little blonde bits (on his head!). The more world-wise and cynical among us saw the 88th-minute penalty coming before it was given, a harsh decision by Tomlin against Duncan for the most innocuous tackle you could imagine against a Green who was going nowhere and knew it. Duncan was booked for his desperate protests, his high-pitched complaints attracting dogs from miles around, and we held our breath for the final humiliation. The visiting Yorkshire folk gleefully anticipated a historic comeback. It’s as good as in, we said. Shaun always dives the wrong way, we said. These beggars never miss, unlike us, we said. So what a delightful relief it was when the veteran Barnes stepped up, slid it to Marshall’s left, and the Dancemeister flung himself superbly low to palm it clear of goal. Our humiliation remained blessedly incomplete.
McIndoe tried for a second penalty as added time approached, flinging himself to the ground under Tann’s challenge, and he deserved a yellow card for his cynicism rather than just the man in black’s apathy. Ricky Ravenhill replaced the disappointed Barnes very late on, but this turbulent tornado of a match had finally blown itself out.
Once again, United had snatched a draw from the jaws of victory. Spirited Doncaster deserve enormous credit for the positive way they responded, but they should not have been allowed to do so by a home side that had played some truly excellent football for an hour but then melted like an overheated jelly when the going got anything approaching tough. And it was their most experienced men who were most culpable: their central midfield and captain went missing. You can’t win anything with kids, but they deserve to be given a chance when their older colleagues are in an underachieving comfort zone which they need to be jolted out of, quickly. There are many United supporters who would love to see exciting young talent like Nacca and Bridges given a chance; the management have some interesting decisions to make this week.
The heartbroken fans, of course, will not have any choice to make; they will be there at York on Saturday, hoping to see the classy passing side of the first 60 minutes, and not the wobbling blancmanges of the last 30. There’s never a dull moment following this lot. Sometimes we wish there were! But let’s try not to get stressed about it, eh?
Marshall 7 – Let down by his defence for the first two, no chance with the third, then produced a superb save to salvage a vestige of pride for his team.
Angus 6 – Quietly competent with just the one foray into the final third.
Bimson 5 – A couple of good crosses but woefully at fault for Donny’s first goal and never seemed to recover. Distinct lack of inspirational skippering.
Duncan 6 – Solid and dependable as ever.
Venus 7 – Good defending, excellent distribution, and wasn’t he missed when he withdrew?
Tudor 6 – Excellent first half and great to see him back (7); totally anonymous second half (5).
Walker 5 – When the going got tough, he simple didn’t get going. Deservedly substituted.
Fleming 4 – Another of United’s incredible disappearing midfield. At least Walker had a reasonable first half.
Guttridge 6 – Good first 45, dragged down to his colleagues’ level thereafter.
Kitson 7 – Tremendous while he received decent service and well and truly in the goalscoring groove.
Turner 8 – Better than United’s other young strikers already.
Tann 6 – Did his best but must have felt like King Canute as his side was washed away around him.
Opara 6 – Ran around busily but could do little with the lame long-ball ‘service’ that was punted in his general direction.
Murray 6 – Slotted reasonably well into his proper position.
Soundtrack of the day: Napoleon XIV/They’re Coming To Take Me Away, Ha-Haa!
Match summary: After the Whoops! Apocalypse of Saturday, United were dancing their own Apocalypso with a super 3-0 lead that all too quickly slowed to a funeral march as they crumbled like a mouldy Hobnob. Some players need to look very closely at themselves this morning, even if what they see is almost as ugly as Martin Keown.
Man of the match: John Turner. It's tempting fate to rave too much about a promising young player, but this boy is just too good to ignore. Intelligent, aware, skilful, mobile, quick and strong, all he lacked today was a goal for himself, and he certainly came near enough on several occasions. Handle with care, Shaggy, this is one precious package.
Ref watch:Tomlin 4. Like the match, he got weirder the longer it went on and no one knew where some of his later decisions came from. Capped an eccentric display with the most dubious of penalties, and I wish I knew what Kitson had done to him that made him continually penalise the BGG even when it was him who had been fouled.
Hobnob
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4 October 2003: York 2v0 U's
Minster Monster
The Pupil nervously entered the presence of the Master, bowed low and sat at the venerable one’s feet. The old man’s eyes narrowed with a grim twinkle as he looked deep into his charge’s soul. 'So, Anteater,' he said, breaking the silence, 'have you accomplished the tasks I set you? You must know the true meaning of suffering before you can earn your amber belt in the ancient art of T’ai-zen-ori-gami-kung-buk-kake-feng-shui-chi-fu.”
The youngster nodded respectfully and affirmatively. 'I have, Master. I have ingested animal fat and chemicals under the arches of the Big M. I have purged my ears to the painful sounds of Brovaz and Bizkit. My brain and senses have been assaulted beyond endurance by Salons, Soaps, Academies and Idols. Truly there is much evil and peril to the soul in the world outside!'
The Master nodded sagely. 'You have done well, Anteater. But there is one more task you must accomplish. You must experience boredom, elation, frustration, depression and anger every week for nine months. You must learn emotional endurance beyond all human experience. You must purchase a season ticket for Cambridge United!'
The Pupil’s eyes widened in horror. He fought to keep his composure, finally stammering: 'B-but Master! This is impossible! I am a Posh fan!' The Master’s wise face suddenly clouded with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. 'A Posh fan? I have misjudged you, my son. You have already suffered a thousandfold more than I could ever have imagined! But you also plainly a complete poltroon. Leave my presence now, for ever!'
It’s never an easy life being a United fan, especially when you are perched on an open terrace as the wind howls and the rain lashes into every crevice of your clothing. But at least we still have a club to support. For the followers of York City, even that was almost taken away from them a few months ago due to a depressing series of events. So it was a pleasure today to visit a Bootham Crescent that has a new virtual spring in its step, at a club that is now owned by its Supporters’ Trust.
First evidence was the matchday programme, improved immeasurably on last season’s ultra-low budget offering and a lively, chatty read written by people whose love for and dedication to ‘their’ club bursts from the pages in a rainbow riot of red and blue. Their new badge and strip have removed all trace of the chequered flag motif of their previous owner which it states has been ‘cleansed from Bootham Crescent as the YCFC (zero-cost) rebranding continues.’ This is truly the future of football clubs below fat-cat level and far may it spread.
Pictures of legends old and new adorned its pages, from 1950s goal machine Arthur Bottom (oh yes) to today’s very own rear end, the legendary Jon Parkin, whose seminal performance at the Abbey last term will live long in the memory of all who enjoy sporting comedy and bathos. Sadly Mr Parkin has been absent through injury this season and we were denied a chance to renew his acquaintance, amid murky rumours that his days at the club may be numbered due to his insistence on playing centre back. And he’s such a devastating presence up front, too.
The other exciting news from this worthy tome was that the United squad included Paul Wanless, the 'heartbeat of the side', apparently. What a pity that the team in question is Oxford. We were informed, however, that Freddie Murray is ‘loquacious’ (a polite way of saying he can’t stop yakking) while Jon Heathcote is ‘personable'. I’m sure that’s true, but how do they know? I think we should be told. York had studied their last three months’ finances and decided that a £1 hike in admission prices was appropriate from today. Great timing, guys.
The United team remained unchanged from Tuesday’s Donnie debacle as Shaggy retained faith in his central midfield of Justin ‘as good as Alex Russell’ Walker and Terry 'not such a good passer' Fleming; now there’s a glowing testimonial from your boss, eh? However, injuries to Messrs Nacca and Bridges saw some chap wearing number 40 and called Taylor warming the bench: so that’s the experienced striker Shaggy’s been chasing.
York’s line-up included both ‘manager’ Chris Brass and his assistant, Lee Nogan, the trust having decided they couldn’t afford to pay non-playing bosses. Interesting idea, but one wonders what will happen if results go badly wrong for young Mr Brass. Only home players who have worn the amber and black were ex-trialists keeper Mark Ovendale and sub Liam George.
The sun shone from a patchwork sky as the teams lined up for kick-off on the verdant turf, although the wind bore a distinct chill to less warmly dressed spectators. The ground hasn’t changed appreciably since last season and is a distinctly unhappy hunting ground for the U’s, eight visits yielding one win (2-1, goals from Taylor and Dublin) and seven defeats; the visiting amber hordes were allocated its one open terrace with adjoining covered seating available for a £1 transfer fee (you can’t get a Bosman) while the remaining three sides all comprise covered seated stands. Savour it while you can.
First danger came from United as a Tudor run and cross found Lil’ Luke Guttridge ghosting into the middle to nod a running header narrowly wide of the far post. But just as the visitors were starting to settle down came a jolt of a goal from the hosts on five. Richard Cooper crossed from the right towards the far post, Duncan and Angus unnecessarily rose for the same ball, it skidded off the former’s head to the now unmarked Dave Merris in the left channel near the byline, and his low square ball found Lee Bullock sprinting in to poke home from five yards as United’s players stood like statues, turned to stone by the Merr-dusa’s slithering crossing skills: 1-0.
To their credit, United responded instantly. Within a couple of minutes Big Dave Kitson was causing havoc in the York defence, and when he found himself with the ball at his feet following a fortunate ricochet, his exquisite 18-yard lob cleared the huge Ovendale but bounced agonisingly off the top of the bar as the keeper looked on as helplessly as Dubya reading another report saying ‘Nope, still no missiles'.
Kitson came even closer a minute later as Walker’s cross from his own cleared corner found the BGG’s head mere yards out, but his goalbound nod was tipped brilliantly over. United couldn’t keep up this level of excitement for long, but Kitson again linked well with the tricky and mobile John Turner to keep up United hopes. York’s own Hope (Chris) saw a header saved by Shaun Marshall on 12 as both sides gained a number of corners, but as the weather became greyer and more drizzly, so did the game and it became apparent that we had a rather dour battle on our hands between two rather ordinary teams. So a good preview of the next General Election, then (sorry, LibDems).
Turner had a half-chance on 18 when a clearance fell into his lap, but Ovendale was quick to smother, then Nogan shot well wide on 20 and Stev ‘Pele’ Angus did the same eight minutes later. A man’s gotta know his limitations. The hosts came closest to increasing their lead on the half-hour, Hope getting his head to a Brass free kick from deep, Marshall palming athletically out, Angus helping it away from danger and Nogan blasting the follow-up high and wide but decidedly less than handsome.
Merris was equally inaccurate on 33 as a cloying silence descended on Bootham Crescent, neither set of fans inspired by the stodgy offerings before them. A trickle of United supporters trudged round to the seated area as rain began to tumble from the heavens; those of us who have served our time drowning on the terraces of Tranmere and Gillingham remained stoically stationary as the temperature began to plummet precipitously.
The only booking of the match came on 39 when Mark Venus caught Bullock with a late tackle, ref Bates pleasingly inconspicuous most of the time. Veno set up the next chance on 42, his free kick headed over by Walker, and right on half-time a spell of United pressure climaxed with a Turner header from Bimson’s corner which looked in until cleared off the line by Cooper. On such incidents does the fate of these games hinge. Cooper crumpled to the ground but play continued as York cleared their lines, then Guttridge swung a cross back in for Kitson to guide just wide as the home fans booed their disapproval. At least it got the crowd going again, although many of the Cambridge contingent were by now tucking into their classic northern fare of pie, chips and mushy peas. Never could stand the stuff myself due to its resemblance to lumpy snot (apologies to those trying to eat).
So ended a very even half between two rather uninspired-looking sides, one of whom had just had that little bit of run in front of goal that the other had lacked. While United’s front two had been lively, there was plenty of room for improvement behind them where Walker and Fleming were again distinctly lacking in creative influence, while Tudor had not once tried to get past his man down the outside, either cutting inside or laying it back instead. More adventure and ideas were needed for part two.
The first 20 minutes of the second half were almost entirely one-way traffic as United dominated possession against a host side caught very much on the back foot. Lloyd Opara replaced young Turner at the start, but for all his team’s territorial superiority they produced precious little threat. They were frustrated by an efficient offside trap, aided and abetted by another hair-trigger linesman, and their lack of natural width saw too many attacks routed predictably through the middle, failing to get through more often than a phone call to the new directory enquiries services. York had our number.
United came nearest to a breakthrough on 57, Opara sending Kitson clear of his marker one on one with Ovendale; Big Dave’s low shot was blocked by the keeper’s legs, and as Tudor and Darren Dunning slid in after the rebound, it was the home defender who got there first to hoof over the bar to safety.
The visitors continued to press without penetration, and it was the hosts who made the first change on 63, Stephen Brackstone replacing Nogan. And what a change it was. A rare York attack down the right saw debutant Luton loanee Dean Crowe dispossessed by Bimson, but the United skipper was in turn robbed by Crowe as he fell feebly to the ground; Crowe laid it back to Brackstone, and his first touch from the right-hand corner of the box sailed over Marshall’s head and dropped into the bottom far corner. Brilliant lob or fluky intended cross? My money’s on the latter, and I’m sure the Terpsichorean custodian would agree. Players at this level just ain’t that good!
This was the final straw for Shaggy, and on he trotted on 68 in place of the hapless Bimmo (still feeling an injury?); United changed to an adventurous and frankly desperate 3-4-3 formation, Guttridge and Tudor swapping flanks, while Walker took over as skipper. United still failed to use the wings effectively, however, and most attacks were still down the middle as Taylor, Opara and Kitson tried to cause chaos with the odd cavalry charge.
It was all a bit untidy and not conducive to silky flowing football. Kitson almost set up Shaggy on 71, but Ovendale just beat the old man’s ageing legs to it, Opara almost burst through on 73 but took a heavy extra touch instead of shooting and was also smothered, then young Lloyd lost his cool and blazed hopelessly wide from 20 yards with better-placed colleagues inside him. No, he hadn’t eaten them, you’re thinking of Big Boy Parkin again.
George replaced Crowe in a straight swap for York and the Minstermen found space on the break against United’s well-spaced back three, Merris and Ward both firing wide before their team’s final throw of the dice in replacing Bullock with Aron Wilford on 79. A minute later Guttridge got a sight of goal and his skimmer was headed unerringly for the bottom corner until tipped brilliantly round the post by Ovendale. Fleming headed over and even Venus had a run which took him into the box before the ball finally ran away from him, but it was apparent by now that this was just not United’s day.
They kept plugging away, though, led by their ever-perambulating player-boss, and a couple of minutes from time they came close once again when Kitson’s prescient ball found Tudor’s run across the line, and his 15-yard half-volley looked to be headed over Ovendale into the empty net until the keeper stretched out a spring-loaded arm and a strong hand to paw it away.
Still United kept going, and as added time beckoned, Venus’ free kick from wide left sailed over everyone to find Shaggy unmarked at the far post. He saw it late past Ovendale’s attempted interception, but from only a few yards out he couldn’t get the right contact with his forehead and nodded narrowly wide. The grand old man crouched on hands and knees in the net and banged his head on the ground in frustration. We knew how he felt.
Final chance went to York, Merris firing straight at Marshall, then it was all over. Unlike on Tuesday, the amber faithful applauded their team from the pitch in recognition that they had given their all. Today wasn’t about effort: it was about quality, and for all United’s bad luck in being denied by an inspired keeper and the woodwork, they had nonetheless lost to a mediocre-looking York side who must hardly have been able to believe their luck in having had to do so little to get their win.
Last season’s U’s scored so many goals because they had players like Youngs, Riza and Tudor who weren’t afraid to take opponents on, run at them and beat them, and produce a telling cross or shot from wide or the flanks. The present side contains no such players, except strikers Turner and Kitson (Tudor is still a shadow of last term’s player) and the rest of its midfield consists of an in-form central midfielder being played out of position and two others whose creative, attacking ideas seem few and far between and seem content to knock easy sideways and backwards balls to their colleagues rather than trying to take the game by the scruff of the neck, look up and making something happen with a smidgeon of adventure. As the Human League said all those years ago, we need someone to DARE!
It won’t get any easier next week: Kitson will be suspended for the first of three games. Will Shaggy keep his latest comeback going, or look to bring in a new face? I like the look of Fiston Manuella at Aldershot, but then again that could be because of his, er, remarkable name. If Chilli isn’t fit, it looks like we might be seeing more of that Taylor fellow. He’s definitely got the makings, you know, and he’s six years younger than Jimmy Quinn, who scored for Shrewsbury today.
Marshall 6 – Not exactly overworked but had little chance with the goals.
Angus 6 – Uneventful day although he did have one shot at goal, the mad impetuous fool.
Bimson 5 – Some decent set pieces but only one forward run and was culpable for the second goal.
Duncan 6 – Ruggedly efficient as ever.
Venus 7 – Sound defensively and really blossomed when venturing forward as United chased the game.
Tudor 6 – Intermittently dangerous but failed to go past his man on the outside even once.
Walker 5 – Should have been dominant in the middle but only a bit-part player again.
Fleming 5 – Workrate intact but United needed a lot more than that. Still too many shoddy crosses and passes.
Guttridge 6 – Decent game from Mr Consistent if slightly marginalised wide left. Should be in the middle.
Turner 7 – Showed plenty of quality again and unlucky not to break his season’s duck just before halftime.
Kitson 7 – Led the line stylishly and only denied a hat-trick by the woodwork and a couple of excellent saves.
Opara 6 – Promising 45 minutes and always involved. Good learning experience.
Taylor 6 – The old boy got stuck in and missed a golden chance near the end. Not bad for a pensioner.
Soundtrack of the Day: Zoot Woman/Grey Day
Match summary: They huffed, they puffed but all their chances were muffed and it was York in the end who, er, luffed. United dominated possession without ever hitting the heights, but were undone by a couple of scrappy goals and subsided to defeat in a scruffy encounter between two decidedly average-looking sides and an inspired home goalkeeper. Yes, it was another One Of Those Days.
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. Pivot of the team and on any other day he’d have had that net bulging in no time.
Ref watch: Bates 8. The odd fussy decision but in the main barely noticeable, and didn’t throw his cards around. Always the sign of a decent ref.
Justin’s jukebox.Justin Walker casts an ear to the musical offerings at Bootham Crescent. 'York must have the quietest PA in the League; most of the time the music was barely audible at all! Once my ears were strained, they were strained even more by the cheesiest collection of ancient 80s oldies and one-hit wonders ever: Vienna, Centerfold, It’s My Party and, unbelievably, Chesney Hawkes! The run-out music was a straight replication of Sunderland’s, Prokofiev followed by Republica, so no marks for originality and it sounds much more effective at the Stadium Of Light, where it blasts out at floor-shaking volume. The 80s flavour remained at half-time, but with rather better results in the shape of Golden Brown and Too Much Too Young, then bizarrely finished with Mungo Jerry’s In The Summertime, presumably an ironic comment on the weather! JJ verdict: Plodding! 2/10'
Minster Monster
The Pupil nervously entered the presence of the Master, bowed low and sat at the venerable one’s feet. The old man’s eyes narrowed with a grim twinkle as he looked deep into his charge’s soul. 'So, Anteater,' he said, breaking the silence, 'have you accomplished the tasks I set you? You must know the true meaning of suffering before you can earn your amber belt in the ancient art of T’ai-zen-ori-gami-kung-buk-kake-feng-shui-chi-fu.”
The youngster nodded respectfully and affirmatively. 'I have, Master. I have ingested animal fat and chemicals under the arches of the Big M. I have purged my ears to the painful sounds of Brovaz and Bizkit. My brain and senses have been assaulted beyond endurance by Salons, Soaps, Academies and Idols. Truly there is much evil and peril to the soul in the world outside!'
The Master nodded sagely. 'You have done well, Anteater. But there is one more task you must accomplish. You must experience boredom, elation, frustration, depression and anger every week for nine months. You must learn emotional endurance beyond all human experience. You must purchase a season ticket for Cambridge United!'
The Pupil’s eyes widened in horror. He fought to keep his composure, finally stammering: 'B-but Master! This is impossible! I am a Posh fan!' The Master’s wise face suddenly clouded with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. 'A Posh fan? I have misjudged you, my son. You have already suffered a thousandfold more than I could ever have imagined! But you also plainly a complete poltroon. Leave my presence now, for ever!'
It’s never an easy life being a United fan, especially when you are perched on an open terrace as the wind howls and the rain lashes into every crevice of your clothing. But at least we still have a club to support. For the followers of York City, even that was almost taken away from them a few months ago due to a depressing series of events. So it was a pleasure today to visit a Bootham Crescent that has a new virtual spring in its step, at a club that is now owned by its Supporters’ Trust.
First evidence was the matchday programme, improved immeasurably on last season’s ultra-low budget offering and a lively, chatty read written by people whose love for and dedication to ‘their’ club bursts from the pages in a rainbow riot of red and blue. Their new badge and strip have removed all trace of the chequered flag motif of their previous owner which it states has been ‘cleansed from Bootham Crescent as the YCFC (zero-cost) rebranding continues.’ This is truly the future of football clubs below fat-cat level and far may it spread.
Pictures of legends old and new adorned its pages, from 1950s goal machine Arthur Bottom (oh yes) to today’s very own rear end, the legendary Jon Parkin, whose seminal performance at the Abbey last term will live long in the memory of all who enjoy sporting comedy and bathos. Sadly Mr Parkin has been absent through injury this season and we were denied a chance to renew his acquaintance, amid murky rumours that his days at the club may be numbered due to his insistence on playing centre back. And he’s such a devastating presence up front, too.
The other exciting news from this worthy tome was that the United squad included Paul Wanless, the 'heartbeat of the side', apparently. What a pity that the team in question is Oxford. We were informed, however, that Freddie Murray is ‘loquacious’ (a polite way of saying he can’t stop yakking) while Jon Heathcote is ‘personable'. I’m sure that’s true, but how do they know? I think we should be told. York had studied their last three months’ finances and decided that a £1 hike in admission prices was appropriate from today. Great timing, guys.
The United team remained unchanged from Tuesday’s Donnie debacle as Shaggy retained faith in his central midfield of Justin ‘as good as Alex Russell’ Walker and Terry 'not such a good passer' Fleming; now there’s a glowing testimonial from your boss, eh? However, injuries to Messrs Nacca and Bridges saw some chap wearing number 40 and called Taylor warming the bench: so that’s the experienced striker Shaggy’s been chasing.
York’s line-up included both ‘manager’ Chris Brass and his assistant, Lee Nogan, the trust having decided they couldn’t afford to pay non-playing bosses. Interesting idea, but one wonders what will happen if results go badly wrong for young Mr Brass. Only home players who have worn the amber and black were ex-trialists keeper Mark Ovendale and sub Liam George.
The sun shone from a patchwork sky as the teams lined up for kick-off on the verdant turf, although the wind bore a distinct chill to less warmly dressed spectators. The ground hasn’t changed appreciably since last season and is a distinctly unhappy hunting ground for the U’s, eight visits yielding one win (2-1, goals from Taylor and Dublin) and seven defeats; the visiting amber hordes were allocated its one open terrace with adjoining covered seating available for a £1 transfer fee (you can’t get a Bosman) while the remaining three sides all comprise covered seated stands. Savour it while you can.
First danger came from United as a Tudor run and cross found Lil’ Luke Guttridge ghosting into the middle to nod a running header narrowly wide of the far post. But just as the visitors were starting to settle down came a jolt of a goal from the hosts on five. Richard Cooper crossed from the right towards the far post, Duncan and Angus unnecessarily rose for the same ball, it skidded off the former’s head to the now unmarked Dave Merris in the left channel near the byline, and his low square ball found Lee Bullock sprinting in to poke home from five yards as United’s players stood like statues, turned to stone by the Merr-dusa’s slithering crossing skills: 1-0.
To their credit, United responded instantly. Within a couple of minutes Big Dave Kitson was causing havoc in the York defence, and when he found himself with the ball at his feet following a fortunate ricochet, his exquisite 18-yard lob cleared the huge Ovendale but bounced agonisingly off the top of the bar as the keeper looked on as helplessly as Dubya reading another report saying ‘Nope, still no missiles'.
Kitson came even closer a minute later as Walker’s cross from his own cleared corner found the BGG’s head mere yards out, but his goalbound nod was tipped brilliantly over. United couldn’t keep up this level of excitement for long, but Kitson again linked well with the tricky and mobile John Turner to keep up United hopes. York’s own Hope (Chris) saw a header saved by Shaun Marshall on 12 as both sides gained a number of corners, but as the weather became greyer and more drizzly, so did the game and it became apparent that we had a rather dour battle on our hands between two rather ordinary teams. So a good preview of the next General Election, then (sorry, LibDems).
Turner had a half-chance on 18 when a clearance fell into his lap, but Ovendale was quick to smother, then Nogan shot well wide on 20 and Stev ‘Pele’ Angus did the same eight minutes later. A man’s gotta know his limitations. The hosts came closest to increasing their lead on the half-hour, Hope getting his head to a Brass free kick from deep, Marshall palming athletically out, Angus helping it away from danger and Nogan blasting the follow-up high and wide but decidedly less than handsome.
Merris was equally inaccurate on 33 as a cloying silence descended on Bootham Crescent, neither set of fans inspired by the stodgy offerings before them. A trickle of United supporters trudged round to the seated area as rain began to tumble from the heavens; those of us who have served our time drowning on the terraces of Tranmere and Gillingham remained stoically stationary as the temperature began to plummet precipitously.
The only booking of the match came on 39 when Mark Venus caught Bullock with a late tackle, ref Bates pleasingly inconspicuous most of the time. Veno set up the next chance on 42, his free kick headed over by Walker, and right on half-time a spell of United pressure climaxed with a Turner header from Bimson’s corner which looked in until cleared off the line by Cooper. On such incidents does the fate of these games hinge. Cooper crumpled to the ground but play continued as York cleared their lines, then Guttridge swung a cross back in for Kitson to guide just wide as the home fans booed their disapproval. At least it got the crowd going again, although many of the Cambridge contingent were by now tucking into their classic northern fare of pie, chips and mushy peas. Never could stand the stuff myself due to its resemblance to lumpy snot (apologies to those trying to eat).
So ended a very even half between two rather uninspired-looking sides, one of whom had just had that little bit of run in front of goal that the other had lacked. While United’s front two had been lively, there was plenty of room for improvement behind them where Walker and Fleming were again distinctly lacking in creative influence, while Tudor had not once tried to get past his man down the outside, either cutting inside or laying it back instead. More adventure and ideas were needed for part two.
The first 20 minutes of the second half were almost entirely one-way traffic as United dominated possession against a host side caught very much on the back foot. Lloyd Opara replaced young Turner at the start, but for all his team’s territorial superiority they produced precious little threat. They were frustrated by an efficient offside trap, aided and abetted by another hair-trigger linesman, and their lack of natural width saw too many attacks routed predictably through the middle, failing to get through more often than a phone call to the new directory enquiries services. York had our number.
United came nearest to a breakthrough on 57, Opara sending Kitson clear of his marker one on one with Ovendale; Big Dave’s low shot was blocked by the keeper’s legs, and as Tudor and Darren Dunning slid in after the rebound, it was the home defender who got there first to hoof over the bar to safety.
The visitors continued to press without penetration, and it was the hosts who made the first change on 63, Stephen Brackstone replacing Nogan. And what a change it was. A rare York attack down the right saw debutant Luton loanee Dean Crowe dispossessed by Bimson, but the United skipper was in turn robbed by Crowe as he fell feebly to the ground; Crowe laid it back to Brackstone, and his first touch from the right-hand corner of the box sailed over Marshall’s head and dropped into the bottom far corner. Brilliant lob or fluky intended cross? My money’s on the latter, and I’m sure the Terpsichorean custodian would agree. Players at this level just ain’t that good!
This was the final straw for Shaggy, and on he trotted on 68 in place of the hapless Bimmo (still feeling an injury?); United changed to an adventurous and frankly desperate 3-4-3 formation, Guttridge and Tudor swapping flanks, while Walker took over as skipper. United still failed to use the wings effectively, however, and most attacks were still down the middle as Taylor, Opara and Kitson tried to cause chaos with the odd cavalry charge.
It was all a bit untidy and not conducive to silky flowing football. Kitson almost set up Shaggy on 71, but Ovendale just beat the old man’s ageing legs to it, Opara almost burst through on 73 but took a heavy extra touch instead of shooting and was also smothered, then young Lloyd lost his cool and blazed hopelessly wide from 20 yards with better-placed colleagues inside him. No, he hadn’t eaten them, you’re thinking of Big Boy Parkin again.
George replaced Crowe in a straight swap for York and the Minstermen found space on the break against United’s well-spaced back three, Merris and Ward both firing wide before their team’s final throw of the dice in replacing Bullock with Aron Wilford on 79. A minute later Guttridge got a sight of goal and his skimmer was headed unerringly for the bottom corner until tipped brilliantly round the post by Ovendale. Fleming headed over and even Venus had a run which took him into the box before the ball finally ran away from him, but it was apparent by now that this was just not United’s day.
They kept plugging away, though, led by their ever-perambulating player-boss, and a couple of minutes from time they came close once again when Kitson’s prescient ball found Tudor’s run across the line, and his 15-yard half-volley looked to be headed over Ovendale into the empty net until the keeper stretched out a spring-loaded arm and a strong hand to paw it away.
Still United kept going, and as added time beckoned, Venus’ free kick from wide left sailed over everyone to find Shaggy unmarked at the far post. He saw it late past Ovendale’s attempted interception, but from only a few yards out he couldn’t get the right contact with his forehead and nodded narrowly wide. The grand old man crouched on hands and knees in the net and banged his head on the ground in frustration. We knew how he felt.
Final chance went to York, Merris firing straight at Marshall, then it was all over. Unlike on Tuesday, the amber faithful applauded their team from the pitch in recognition that they had given their all. Today wasn’t about effort: it was about quality, and for all United’s bad luck in being denied by an inspired keeper and the woodwork, they had nonetheless lost to a mediocre-looking York side who must hardly have been able to believe their luck in having had to do so little to get their win.
Last season’s U’s scored so many goals because they had players like Youngs, Riza and Tudor who weren’t afraid to take opponents on, run at them and beat them, and produce a telling cross or shot from wide or the flanks. The present side contains no such players, except strikers Turner and Kitson (Tudor is still a shadow of last term’s player) and the rest of its midfield consists of an in-form central midfielder being played out of position and two others whose creative, attacking ideas seem few and far between and seem content to knock easy sideways and backwards balls to their colleagues rather than trying to take the game by the scruff of the neck, look up and making something happen with a smidgeon of adventure. As the Human League said all those years ago, we need someone to DARE!
It won’t get any easier next week: Kitson will be suspended for the first of three games. Will Shaggy keep his latest comeback going, or look to bring in a new face? I like the look of Fiston Manuella at Aldershot, but then again that could be because of his, er, remarkable name. If Chilli isn’t fit, it looks like we might be seeing more of that Taylor fellow. He’s definitely got the makings, you know, and he’s six years younger than Jimmy Quinn, who scored for Shrewsbury today.
Marshall 6 – Not exactly overworked but had little chance with the goals.
Angus 6 – Uneventful day although he did have one shot at goal, the mad impetuous fool.
Bimson 5 – Some decent set pieces but only one forward run and was culpable for the second goal.
Duncan 6 – Ruggedly efficient as ever.
Venus 7 – Sound defensively and really blossomed when venturing forward as United chased the game.
Tudor 6 – Intermittently dangerous but failed to go past his man on the outside even once.
Walker 5 – Should have been dominant in the middle but only a bit-part player again.
Fleming 5 – Workrate intact but United needed a lot more than that. Still too many shoddy crosses and passes.
Guttridge 6 – Decent game from Mr Consistent if slightly marginalised wide left. Should be in the middle.
Turner 7 – Showed plenty of quality again and unlucky not to break his season’s duck just before halftime.
Kitson 7 – Led the line stylishly and only denied a hat-trick by the woodwork and a couple of excellent saves.
Opara 6 – Promising 45 minutes and always involved. Good learning experience.
Taylor 6 – The old boy got stuck in and missed a golden chance near the end. Not bad for a pensioner.
Soundtrack of the Day: Zoot Woman/Grey Day
Match summary: They huffed, they puffed but all their chances were muffed and it was York in the end who, er, luffed. United dominated possession without ever hitting the heights, but were undone by a couple of scrappy goals and subsided to defeat in a scruffy encounter between two decidedly average-looking sides and an inspired home goalkeeper. Yes, it was another One Of Those Days.
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. Pivot of the team and on any other day he’d have had that net bulging in no time.
Ref watch: Bates 8. The odd fussy decision but in the main barely noticeable, and didn’t throw his cards around. Always the sign of a decent ref.
Justin’s jukebox.Justin Walker casts an ear to the musical offerings at Bootham Crescent. 'York must have the quietest PA in the League; most of the time the music was barely audible at all! Once my ears were strained, they were strained even more by the cheesiest collection of ancient 80s oldies and one-hit wonders ever: Vienna, Centerfold, It’s My Party and, unbelievably, Chesney Hawkes! The run-out music was a straight replication of Sunderland’s, Prokofiev followed by Republica, so no marks for originality and it sounds much more effective at the Stadium Of Light, where it blasts out at floor-shaking volume. The 80s flavour remained at half-time, but with rather better results in the shape of Golden Brown and Too Much Too Young, then bizarrely finished with Mungo Jerry’s In The Summertime, presumably an ironic comment on the weather! JJ verdict: Plodding! 2/10'
Ultravox, whose Vienna was heard at Bootham Crescent: really not sure about the 'tache, Midge.
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11 October 2003: U's 1v2 Bury
Whole Lotta Shakin'
The world of English football was thrown into disarray at the Abbey Stadium today as the players of Cambridge United failed to follow their more illustrious Premiership colleagues' lead with regard to standards of behaviour. The U's stars shook our national game to the core as they
* failed to treat young female fans with anything but courtesy and respect
* were polite and deferential to the attendant League officials
* omitted to threaten any sort of industrial action
* and made no attempt to flaunt their wealth and lifestyles arrogantly to others, although this last one might be put down to a distinct lack of wealth or lifestyle on their part.
Attendees were stunned by the United players' attitudes. One onlooker, manicurist and part-time model Stacey Bacardi, 22, was disgusted: 'I wore my skimpiest crop top and showed them all my best piercings and they didn't even offer me a drink, let alone a sordid encounter in a hotel or a lay-by. I couldn't believe it – even that Tony Shields let me have a go with his weapon when I went round for a Sunday roast last week!'
Stevie Blimstone, 43, was equally unimpressed. 'I follow England home and away and I'm proud of the way our national team are ambassadors for this country, showing them foreigners all our best traits: arrogance, blind hatred, extreme violence, stupid haircuts. Then I come and see this lot, and there's hardly a single mullet to be seen, no showing off, no screaming in the opposition's faces, no cynical fouls. I was disgusted!'
Cambridge manager John Taylor failed to accept any criticism for his side's lack of Premiership outlook. 'My boys are young and still learning the game. Except for Terry Fleming, who's never learned anything, but he does have a gold tooth. They've started to experiment with hair colouring as their first step on the rung to big-league success and soon we'll be working on surrounding people in gangs and shouting at them. As for pepping up their lifestyles, we're having a presentation next week from the PR firm Eustace, Mackenzie & Guinan which should be an eye-opener! So I would just say to the fans: be patient. Rome wasn't built in a day, although it'll come down pretty quick once those England boys get hold of it!'
As we know, our heroes in amber are nice boys who will do anything to please. Unfortunately it’s the opposition visitors to the Abbey who have been most pleased recently as clean sheets have become harder to find than at a Tracey Emin exhibition. But hope sprang eternal on Family Day as the sun shone, the south stand filled and Marvin the Spruced Moose cavorted for the kids in a cavalcade of carnivality. Hey kids, let’s put the show on right here!
Those of us who fancied a double-header (no Premiership footballers, please) had time to check out United target Alex ‘Tiger’ Rhodes playing for Newmarket at Histon in a 12.30 kick-off, but his major contribution was a reckless flying lunge at the hosts’ Louie Farrington that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Kill Bill and earned him a yellow card. He was lucky it wasn’t red. I had to leave before the end to rush to Newmarket Road, so the beggar probably scored a hat-trick of 30-yarders in the last ten minutes.
Bury, arriving on the back of five defeats in six away games and with a defensive injury crisis, made four changes from the side that capitulated to Torquay last week. Bizarrely, ref Crossley made keeper Glyn Garner change from his grey (or 'silver') shirt to red because Shaun Marshall was wearing the same colour. Well, goalkeepers are so easy to confuse, aren’t they? Lucky they are thoughtful enough to stand at opposite ends of the pitch, really.
The United line-up showed two changes with a brand new attack of Dan Chillingworth and Lloyd Opara replacing that of the suspended Dave Kitson and rested to the bench John Turner, who was joined in backside-splintering by his boss again. The rushing of Chilli back from injury when the likes of David Bridges are being eased back as slowly as an Iain Duncan Smith ‘dramatic (snore) pause’ demonstrated the paucity of choice United have up front.
The U’s got off to a lively start as the unseasonal sun beat down and the excited cries of children echoed around the south of the ground as if a big fat clown had just bounced into view and started performing amusing tricks with squirty flowers; but as far as I’m aware, Barry Fry was at home in Bedford counting his PUFC shares (or to give them their technical term, ‘worthless bits of paper’). Ever heard the phrase South Sea Bubble, Baz? The Shakers’ defence shook as early as the first minute as Garner sprinted out of his area to head Walker’s through ball away from the marauding Opara. The ball fell to Chilli, whose first-time ball back to big Lloyd seemed to take him by surprise; it squirted away from his unco-ordinated feet and was scrambled clear.
United continued to press without bringing Garner into direct action, Lil’ Luke Guttridge blasting over on six and Shane Tudor stabbing wide on ten when he should have hit the target. Rather than playing a conventional 4-4-2, Tudor seemed to have a slightly freer role that permitted him to roam across the field at will like a hungry orange sheep, although this did lead to a lack of width; as Keith Curle had previously noted, they like to ‘play narrow’ and all too often this can end up like trying to thread a thick piece of liquorice through the eye of a needle. What is Dion Dublin doing these days? He’s just the sort of experienced striker we could do with, if he were willing to move the decimal point on his salary a couple of places to the left.
The hosts’ early pressure began to decline as Bury began to find their feet and the heat began to tell. Neither keeper had much to do but top up his tan, although on 22 a Bimson cross found Stev Angus of all people at the far post, but he failed to double his career goal tally as he glanced a header wide. Otherwise it was case of midfield scuffling, fruitless crosses and the odd scampering Tudor run until Bury finally had their first shot of the match on 28, loanee Phil Gulliver wellying ambitiously over from long range with all the accuracy of a David Beckham penalty on a slippery Turkish pitch. Those fiendish Turks, fancy hiding mud and water under that grass!
All this changed on 32, however, with a contender for goal of the season right out of the blue. Shaker Lee Connell picked up the ball 40 yards out and, under no immediate pressure, advanced a few paces, looked up, throught ‘what the Peterborough’ and lashed a quite stupendous blaster into the top corner with all the ferocity and accuracy of a Cheryl Tweedy right hook (allegedly). Marshall saw it coming but could do absolutely nothing about it as it flashed past his left shoulder. What a shocker!
United responded encouragingly, forcing a couple of corners, the second of which by Tudor on 36 found Walker ghosting in unmarked in the centre of the box; his carefully placed header seemed to be heading unerringly for the top corner until from nowhere Garner’s gloved hand appeared to paw it round for a corner. This spirited response, however, was ruined just three minutes later by a howler that was about as welcome as a romantic evening in a lay-by with Jody Morris. Under no pressure, Angus aimed a back pass at Dancing Shaun from wide right; it was woefully underhit, and Chris Porter had the easiest of tasks to nip in and tuck it coolly past the powerless Terpsichorean custodian for 0-2. Angus hid his head. All of a sudden it was a Family Day fit only for the Mansons or the Corleones.
Shellshocked United tried to respond again, and nice interpassing wide left set up Walker for a rare run into the area; his low cross found Opara, but his optimistic backheel from eight yards out was blocked unknowingly by his marker and the danger passed. A Bimson corner flew across the crowded six-yard box and somehow missed everyone, then Chilli tried a very hopeful volley from a difficult angle and two better-placed colleagues watched it sail into the face-painted hordes. United had tried valiantly, but lack of width and quality service to their forwards had cost them dear. They needed to step up a gear in the second half to have hope of pulling any irons out of this particular fire. Shaggy readied the tongs.
Whole Lotta Shakin'
The world of English football was thrown into disarray at the Abbey Stadium today as the players of Cambridge United failed to follow their more illustrious Premiership colleagues' lead with regard to standards of behaviour. The U's stars shook our national game to the core as they
* failed to treat young female fans with anything but courtesy and respect
* were polite and deferential to the attendant League officials
* omitted to threaten any sort of industrial action
* and made no attempt to flaunt their wealth and lifestyles arrogantly to others, although this last one might be put down to a distinct lack of wealth or lifestyle on their part.
Attendees were stunned by the United players' attitudes. One onlooker, manicurist and part-time model Stacey Bacardi, 22, was disgusted: 'I wore my skimpiest crop top and showed them all my best piercings and they didn't even offer me a drink, let alone a sordid encounter in a hotel or a lay-by. I couldn't believe it – even that Tony Shields let me have a go with his weapon when I went round for a Sunday roast last week!'
Stevie Blimstone, 43, was equally unimpressed. 'I follow England home and away and I'm proud of the way our national team are ambassadors for this country, showing them foreigners all our best traits: arrogance, blind hatred, extreme violence, stupid haircuts. Then I come and see this lot, and there's hardly a single mullet to be seen, no showing off, no screaming in the opposition's faces, no cynical fouls. I was disgusted!'
Cambridge manager John Taylor failed to accept any criticism for his side's lack of Premiership outlook. 'My boys are young and still learning the game. Except for Terry Fleming, who's never learned anything, but he does have a gold tooth. They've started to experiment with hair colouring as their first step on the rung to big-league success and soon we'll be working on surrounding people in gangs and shouting at them. As for pepping up their lifestyles, we're having a presentation next week from the PR firm Eustace, Mackenzie & Guinan which should be an eye-opener! So I would just say to the fans: be patient. Rome wasn't built in a day, although it'll come down pretty quick once those England boys get hold of it!'
As we know, our heroes in amber are nice boys who will do anything to please. Unfortunately it’s the opposition visitors to the Abbey who have been most pleased recently as clean sheets have become harder to find than at a Tracey Emin exhibition. But hope sprang eternal on Family Day as the sun shone, the south stand filled and Marvin the Spruced Moose cavorted for the kids in a cavalcade of carnivality. Hey kids, let’s put the show on right here!
Those of us who fancied a double-header (no Premiership footballers, please) had time to check out United target Alex ‘Tiger’ Rhodes playing for Newmarket at Histon in a 12.30 kick-off, but his major contribution was a reckless flying lunge at the hosts’ Louie Farrington that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Kill Bill and earned him a yellow card. He was lucky it wasn’t red. I had to leave before the end to rush to Newmarket Road, so the beggar probably scored a hat-trick of 30-yarders in the last ten minutes.
Bury, arriving on the back of five defeats in six away games and with a defensive injury crisis, made four changes from the side that capitulated to Torquay last week. Bizarrely, ref Crossley made keeper Glyn Garner change from his grey (or 'silver') shirt to red because Shaun Marshall was wearing the same colour. Well, goalkeepers are so easy to confuse, aren’t they? Lucky they are thoughtful enough to stand at opposite ends of the pitch, really.
The United line-up showed two changes with a brand new attack of Dan Chillingworth and Lloyd Opara replacing that of the suspended Dave Kitson and rested to the bench John Turner, who was joined in backside-splintering by his boss again. The rushing of Chilli back from injury when the likes of David Bridges are being eased back as slowly as an Iain Duncan Smith ‘dramatic (snore) pause’ demonstrated the paucity of choice United have up front.
The U’s got off to a lively start as the unseasonal sun beat down and the excited cries of children echoed around the south of the ground as if a big fat clown had just bounced into view and started performing amusing tricks with squirty flowers; but as far as I’m aware, Barry Fry was at home in Bedford counting his PUFC shares (or to give them their technical term, ‘worthless bits of paper’). Ever heard the phrase South Sea Bubble, Baz? The Shakers’ defence shook as early as the first minute as Garner sprinted out of his area to head Walker’s through ball away from the marauding Opara. The ball fell to Chilli, whose first-time ball back to big Lloyd seemed to take him by surprise; it squirted away from his unco-ordinated feet and was scrambled clear.
United continued to press without bringing Garner into direct action, Lil’ Luke Guttridge blasting over on six and Shane Tudor stabbing wide on ten when he should have hit the target. Rather than playing a conventional 4-4-2, Tudor seemed to have a slightly freer role that permitted him to roam across the field at will like a hungry orange sheep, although this did lead to a lack of width; as Keith Curle had previously noted, they like to ‘play narrow’ and all too often this can end up like trying to thread a thick piece of liquorice through the eye of a needle. What is Dion Dublin doing these days? He’s just the sort of experienced striker we could do with, if he were willing to move the decimal point on his salary a couple of places to the left.
The hosts’ early pressure began to decline as Bury began to find their feet and the heat began to tell. Neither keeper had much to do but top up his tan, although on 22 a Bimson cross found Stev Angus of all people at the far post, but he failed to double his career goal tally as he glanced a header wide. Otherwise it was case of midfield scuffling, fruitless crosses and the odd scampering Tudor run until Bury finally had their first shot of the match on 28, loanee Phil Gulliver wellying ambitiously over from long range with all the accuracy of a David Beckham penalty on a slippery Turkish pitch. Those fiendish Turks, fancy hiding mud and water under that grass!
All this changed on 32, however, with a contender for goal of the season right out of the blue. Shaker Lee Connell picked up the ball 40 yards out and, under no immediate pressure, advanced a few paces, looked up, throught ‘what the Peterborough’ and lashed a quite stupendous blaster into the top corner with all the ferocity and accuracy of a Cheryl Tweedy right hook (allegedly). Marshall saw it coming but could do absolutely nothing about it as it flashed past his left shoulder. What a shocker!
United responded encouragingly, forcing a couple of corners, the second of which by Tudor on 36 found Walker ghosting in unmarked in the centre of the box; his carefully placed header seemed to be heading unerringly for the top corner until from nowhere Garner’s gloved hand appeared to paw it round for a corner. This spirited response, however, was ruined just three minutes later by a howler that was about as welcome as a romantic evening in a lay-by with Jody Morris. Under no pressure, Angus aimed a back pass at Dancing Shaun from wide right; it was woefully underhit, and Chris Porter had the easiest of tasks to nip in and tuck it coolly past the powerless Terpsichorean custodian for 0-2. Angus hid his head. All of a sudden it was a Family Day fit only for the Mansons or the Corleones.
Shellshocked United tried to respond again, and nice interpassing wide left set up Walker for a rare run into the area; his low cross found Opara, but his optimistic backheel from eight yards out was blocked unknowingly by his marker and the danger passed. A Bimson corner flew across the crowded six-yard box and somehow missed everyone, then Chilli tried a very hopeful volley from a difficult angle and two better-placed colleagues watched it sail into the face-painted hordes. United had tried valiantly, but lack of width and quality service to their forwards had cost them dear. They needed to step up a gear in the second half to have hope of pulling any irons out of this particular fire. Shaggy readied the tongs.
Tongs: used for pulling irons out of fires
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Chilli did not emerge for part two, having struggled to make an impression in what looked like a premature comeback, and the younger JT on the bench, Turner, replaced him. A new formation also emerged as the half unfolded which could be best described as 3-4-1-2, Bimson pushed into wide left midfield, Tudor and Turner up front and Opara just behind them. Draw diagrams if you like, there’ll be more changes later.
Bimmo worried Garner on 48 with a miscued cross that almost turned into a power shot into the top corner, fizzing wide, then a long-ranger from Gulliver was travelling towards Marshall’s bottom corner until he dived low to keep it out as Bury found more gaps at the back. The next ten minutes were dominated by the visitors with a series of corners that flew around the United area as unwantedly as deported England fans, but the Shakers never looked seriously like extending their lead.
The amber shirts began to force their way back into the game, relying a lot on some fairly long-ball stuff up to the front three, along with the odd promising Tudor run. Venus’ testing cross just before the hour found Opara’s head, but he couldn’t keep his effort down, then a speedy Unsworth break down the left for the visitors seemed certain to find the run of Harpal Singh in the middle, but stoic defending by Duncan denied him. Turner then set up Opara for a volley that sailed over as harmlessly as improper allegations over the head of the new Governor of California. Hasta la vista, baby.
Shaggy had seen enough, and on 65 on came the old man for Angus. United’s oldest player of the League era will need to play in a bathchair to beat Harvey Cornwell, though. This was a cue for formation number three: 3-3-1-3, Tudor now stationed behind the three big strikers. Welcome to Formation Academy! I’m voting for 1-1-8 next week. I’ve got their number.
The boss might have scored with his first touch, Bimmo’s corner finding his forehead but over the bar. Suddenly there was more movement from United’s formerly static shirts and both team and crowd seemed lifted by the great man’s presence. Another searching Venus ball over the top was blatantly pawed from the air 35 yards out by Gulliver on 65, and given that Opara might well have been clear on goal if he had left it, the defender was lucky to see only yellow. Walker’s ensuing free kick found Taylor’s head again, but Garner clutched with some comfort. Tudor, now finding his stride, set off on one of those pell-mell runs from deep that we remember so fondly, only to be clattered by Colin Woodthorpe: Bury booking number two.
United were now on top, albeit with more bluster than finesse, but crisp Bury were ever-ready to break fast, Porter shooting into Marshall’s arms on 69 and Connell firing low a minute later for the Dancemeister to grab at the second attempt. Turner’s tricky run and cross on 72 narrowly failed to find a teammate, while Tudor’s mazy dribble five minutes later was followed by a cross that found his boss but his header was, er, not so good, flying wide from no more than five yards out at the far post.
Shaggy continued to lead from the front, however, haring across the field with surprising pace for a 60-year-old to save a ball that seemed certain to go off for a corner. You can’t beat leading by example; fancy popping out to the Gulf, Mr Bush? You’d get loads of respect and a really nice funeral, too. Another flurry of corners on 79 finally resulted in a home goal as Bimson’s inswinger arrowed its way to Andy Duncan, unmarked in the middle and almost on the goalline as he prodded home from point-blank range for 1-2.
Hope sprang again, although the old cynics among us could recall innumerable previous occasions when a two-goal deficit has been reduced late on only for a one-goal deficit to remain frustratingly intact until the final whistle as our expectations proved to be as unfounded as a Hakan Sukur dive/penalty claim combo. Set Pierluigi ‘The Hills Have Eyes’ Collina on him, I say.
Bury freshened things up on 82 with two subs, Seddon for O’Neill and Porter replaced by Andy Preece. This was the second week running that we'd seen both sides fielding player-managers at the same time. If John Gorman plays for Wycombe on Tuesday I’ll be scanning the horizon for the Four Horsemen. United’s hoarse men (and women and children) continued to urge their side on as they pounded away, and Shaggy almost accomplished the miracle on 87 as he slashed at goal with the outside of his boot from just inside the area, but his effort dropped on to the roof of the net. As added time beckoned, the old man claimed a penalty for a push as he jostled for a Turner cross, but Crossley was unconvinced, and his team’s sledgehammer approach looked doomed to failure. It might have been even worse at the death as Seddon picked up the ball from a United corner and went on a remarkable run from one box to the other, before seeing his shot palmed away by Marshall to foil what would have been another extraordinary goal. There was still time for Terry Fleming to get booked as Bury timewasted in the corner, but United’s storm had blown itself out.
So once again United had played well in parts but not so well in too many others and paid the price for slack defending and a lack of creativity and invention at the team’s heart. Bury were a decent outfit but hardly world-beaters and were simply not asked enough questions by their inconsistent opponents. Next stop our old friend the LDV, and with United’s erratic skeleton crew, the outcome will be less predictable than the contents of Derren Brown’s gun. That old Cup magic or a bullet in the head? The outcome is as hard to call as the winners of Portugal 2004. But on current form, Millennium Stadium 2004 is looking as likely as a Northern Ireland goal. Go on boys, surprise us.
Marshall 6 – No chance with either goal and otherwise sound.
Angus 5 – Good, solid game … until that fateful 39th minute. Oh dear.
Bimson 6 – No major errors defensively and got forward much more than usual, thanks to United’s ever-changing formations.
Duncan 7 – As solidly reliable as ever. Nice tap-in.
Venus 7 – Some excellent, perceptive long passes on top of a typically cool display.
Tudor 7 – Encouraging. Many flashes of that old Shane magic showed he’s definitely on the way back.
Walker 6 – Neat and tidy up to halfway, not enough impact further up the field.
Fleming 5 – Covered a lot of ground to little effect.
Guttridge 6 – Typically busy game and always in the thick of it.
Chillingworth 5 – Did his best but comeback looked premature.
Opara 6 – Still learning the game but put in some decent work.
Turner 7 – Lively and exciting performance from our most promising player.
Taylor 7 – The old man’s still got it and came so near to scoring.
Soundtrack of the day: The Electric Soft Parade/Things I’ve Done Before
Match summary: That old equation Big Abbey Crowd = Major Disappointment applied once again as too little, too late United gave Bury a two-goal lead then ran out of time to pull it back. That Number 40 looks useful though. Shaggy ought to give him a run-out more often.
Man of the match: Shane Tudor. Despite playing in about half a dozen different positions, produced definite evidence that he is finding his old touch with some superb runs and crosses. Now if he could only find those old shooting boots of his …
Ref watch: Crossley 6. Another fussy one who didn’t help the flow of the game but made no major rickets.
Bimmo worried Garner on 48 with a miscued cross that almost turned into a power shot into the top corner, fizzing wide, then a long-ranger from Gulliver was travelling towards Marshall’s bottom corner until he dived low to keep it out as Bury found more gaps at the back. The next ten minutes were dominated by the visitors with a series of corners that flew around the United area as unwantedly as deported England fans, but the Shakers never looked seriously like extending their lead.
The amber shirts began to force their way back into the game, relying a lot on some fairly long-ball stuff up to the front three, along with the odd promising Tudor run. Venus’ testing cross just before the hour found Opara’s head, but he couldn’t keep his effort down, then a speedy Unsworth break down the left for the visitors seemed certain to find the run of Harpal Singh in the middle, but stoic defending by Duncan denied him. Turner then set up Opara for a volley that sailed over as harmlessly as improper allegations over the head of the new Governor of California. Hasta la vista, baby.
Shaggy had seen enough, and on 65 on came the old man for Angus. United’s oldest player of the League era will need to play in a bathchair to beat Harvey Cornwell, though. This was a cue for formation number three: 3-3-1-3, Tudor now stationed behind the three big strikers. Welcome to Formation Academy! I’m voting for 1-1-8 next week. I’ve got their number.
The boss might have scored with his first touch, Bimmo’s corner finding his forehead but over the bar. Suddenly there was more movement from United’s formerly static shirts and both team and crowd seemed lifted by the great man’s presence. Another searching Venus ball over the top was blatantly pawed from the air 35 yards out by Gulliver on 65, and given that Opara might well have been clear on goal if he had left it, the defender was lucky to see only yellow. Walker’s ensuing free kick found Taylor’s head again, but Garner clutched with some comfort. Tudor, now finding his stride, set off on one of those pell-mell runs from deep that we remember so fondly, only to be clattered by Colin Woodthorpe: Bury booking number two.
United were now on top, albeit with more bluster than finesse, but crisp Bury were ever-ready to break fast, Porter shooting into Marshall’s arms on 69 and Connell firing low a minute later for the Dancemeister to grab at the second attempt. Turner’s tricky run and cross on 72 narrowly failed to find a teammate, while Tudor’s mazy dribble five minutes later was followed by a cross that found his boss but his header was, er, not so good, flying wide from no more than five yards out at the far post.
Shaggy continued to lead from the front, however, haring across the field with surprising pace for a 60-year-old to save a ball that seemed certain to go off for a corner. You can’t beat leading by example; fancy popping out to the Gulf, Mr Bush? You’d get loads of respect and a really nice funeral, too. Another flurry of corners on 79 finally resulted in a home goal as Bimson’s inswinger arrowed its way to Andy Duncan, unmarked in the middle and almost on the goalline as he prodded home from point-blank range for 1-2.
Hope sprang again, although the old cynics among us could recall innumerable previous occasions when a two-goal deficit has been reduced late on only for a one-goal deficit to remain frustratingly intact until the final whistle as our expectations proved to be as unfounded as a Hakan Sukur dive/penalty claim combo. Set Pierluigi ‘The Hills Have Eyes’ Collina on him, I say.
Bury freshened things up on 82 with two subs, Seddon for O’Neill and Porter replaced by Andy Preece. This was the second week running that we'd seen both sides fielding player-managers at the same time. If John Gorman plays for Wycombe on Tuesday I’ll be scanning the horizon for the Four Horsemen. United’s hoarse men (and women and children) continued to urge their side on as they pounded away, and Shaggy almost accomplished the miracle on 87 as he slashed at goal with the outside of his boot from just inside the area, but his effort dropped on to the roof of the net. As added time beckoned, the old man claimed a penalty for a push as he jostled for a Turner cross, but Crossley was unconvinced, and his team’s sledgehammer approach looked doomed to failure. It might have been even worse at the death as Seddon picked up the ball from a United corner and went on a remarkable run from one box to the other, before seeing his shot palmed away by Marshall to foil what would have been another extraordinary goal. There was still time for Terry Fleming to get booked as Bury timewasted in the corner, but United’s storm had blown itself out.
So once again United had played well in parts but not so well in too many others and paid the price for slack defending and a lack of creativity and invention at the team’s heart. Bury were a decent outfit but hardly world-beaters and were simply not asked enough questions by their inconsistent opponents. Next stop our old friend the LDV, and with United’s erratic skeleton crew, the outcome will be less predictable than the contents of Derren Brown’s gun. That old Cup magic or a bullet in the head? The outcome is as hard to call as the winners of Portugal 2004. But on current form, Millennium Stadium 2004 is looking as likely as a Northern Ireland goal. Go on boys, surprise us.
Marshall 6 – No chance with either goal and otherwise sound.
Angus 5 – Good, solid game … until that fateful 39th minute. Oh dear.
Bimson 6 – No major errors defensively and got forward much more than usual, thanks to United’s ever-changing formations.
Duncan 7 – As solidly reliable as ever. Nice tap-in.
Venus 7 – Some excellent, perceptive long passes on top of a typically cool display.
Tudor 7 – Encouraging. Many flashes of that old Shane magic showed he’s definitely on the way back.
Walker 6 – Neat and tidy up to halfway, not enough impact further up the field.
Fleming 5 – Covered a lot of ground to little effect.
Guttridge 6 – Typically busy game and always in the thick of it.
Chillingworth 5 – Did his best but comeback looked premature.
Opara 6 – Still learning the game but put in some decent work.
Turner 7 – Lively and exciting performance from our most promising player.
Taylor 7 – The old man’s still got it and came so near to scoring.
Soundtrack of the day: The Electric Soft Parade/Things I’ve Done Before
Match summary: That old equation Big Abbey Crowd = Major Disappointment applied once again as too little, too late United gave Bury a two-goal lead then ran out of time to pull it back. That Number 40 looks useful though. Shaggy ought to give him a run-out more often.
Man of the match: Shane Tudor. Despite playing in about half a dozen different positions, produced definite evidence that he is finding his old touch with some superb runs and crosses. Now if he could only find those old shooting boots of his …
Ref watch: Crossley 6. Another fussy one who didn’t help the flow of the game but made no major rickets.
Shane Tudor: finding his old touch
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14 October 2003 Wycombe 1v0 U's
Our Cup runneth out
Great scenes from the movies, Part 25: The Shootist II (2003). Starring: John Taylor as 'JT' The Shootist, John Turner as The Kid, A Penn as the Marshal, John Gorman as Moustachioed Villain and Shaun Marshall as Simple Country Boy.
The veteran gunslinger strode purposefully into the Causeway Saloon. The old man had seen better days; his waist had thickened, his eyesight was as faded as his jeans, and his brain was befuddled by too much of that there book learnin'. But he still cut an imposing figure as he gazed around him and a (very) small crowd gathered for his final showdown. He addressed his posse in gruff, stentorian tones. 'I've had a good life, boys. I've mounted them ole Wembley Steps, I've outgunned the Hole In The Ground Gang at the London Road Corral, I've defeated the legendary Al Cide. But I've seen too much fool's gold. Afore I retire, I want something to show my kids, and I've got my heart set on that goshdarned LDV Vans Trophy! These here Wanderers are tough hombres and that Gorman feller is a sly old fox; I recall him havin' words with the General back in the day. Ole JB sure whupped his sorry ass back then! Now are you with me, boys? We gonna do this or what?'
His compadres raised a ragged cheer; Lil' Luke, Irish Fred, The Kid, Blondie, The Dancin' Fool and the rest would stick with their leader to the end. He was a father figure to the motley mixture of misfits that constituted the Moose Posse, and a grandad figure to his natural heir, The Kid. All that stood in their way was the Gorman Gang and that pesky lawman, Marshal Tiny Penn, the Poison Dwarf of the West Midlands. It was time for the shootout.
Sadly, even after his inspirational speech the story ends in tragedy as JT finds his gun has been loaded with blanks and the Moose Posse is honourably
defeated by the Gorman Gang (with the connivance of Marshal Penn) on a quiet starlit night with the tumbleweed a-tumblin'. But they live to fight another day and their LDV dreams live on in their hearts. Don't rule out The Shootist IIInext year, budget permitting…
United’s dedicated travelling army felt the first twinges of winter last night as their side’s LDV campaign spluttered to a start at a cold, deserted Adams Park. Only it isn’t Adams Park any more: it’s the Causeway Stadium. Fancy! Demolishing an entire stadium then building an exact replica on the same site; has football gone mad? Rhetorical question, of course.
As low-key goes, this occasion was right down there with the boys from Hear’say’s solo careers. The informal gathering (it barely merits the word ‘crowd’) of 977 was the first three-figure attendance at a competitive United game since the 995 at Barnet in this very competition in 1994, and the lowest since 857 hardy souls sidled apologetically into the Abbey for a Freight Rover Trophy thriller with Colchester 16 years ago.
Wycombe, winless in 15 games, didn’t even bother producing a proper programme, instead distributing a free four-page black and white pamphlet described as a match information sheet, which informed us that United are doing ‘very nicely’ this season (by Wycombe’s standards maybe) and that Dave Kitson was signed from non-League juggernauts Arsley Town. At least it spelt Trophy right, unlike the tickets (‘Trophey’?). There was some nice gear in the club shop, though, in the black’n’amber of peanut-smugglers London Wasps, who now share the ground. Didn’t know Wycombe was in the capital, did you? Couldn’t find a Tube station nearby, although at least there was no congestion charging.
Speaking of Mr Kitson, there was a familiar face joining United in the warm-up before the game. Yup, the BGG was there, knocking up with the rest of them, despite serving the first of a three-game ban. It was either a great display of team solidarity or some sort of punishment; wonder if he’ll do the same at Bristol and Swansea … Big Dave stayed out on the pitch, in fact, blasting balls wistfully into an empty goal, after everyone else had gone in to get ready for kick-off, and was still there when they ran out again before finally and reluctantly withdrawing. Bless.
As echoing spaces go, the 'Causeway' was up there with Rio Ferdinand’s rattling brain cavity. The home terrace at one end was most popular, but still less than one third full; the lower tier of the main stand was closed while the tier above was as sparsely populated as the much smaller one on the opposite side, the ‘Buckinghamshire Chilterns University College Stand’ holding about as many spectators as it had letters in its graceless, unwieldy name. United’s loyal travelling contingent therefore had little difficulty in dominating in the noise stakes, only competing with a lone drum at the opposite end.
Their team showed four changes from Saturday, oldies Venus, Bimson and Fleming rested in favour of Tann (allowing Angus to move to centre back), Murray and Bridges, while the grand old player-manager named himself in place of Chilli in a 4-3-1-2 line-up. Lloyd Opara played marginally behind Shaggy and Shane Tudor in another width-free formation. It was JT’s first start since 7 April 2001, after which he was dropped while a new centre forward was given his starting debut: some lad called Kitson. What goes around …
The hosts, under temporary boss John 'Where’s Glenn?' Gorman (such a gracious admirer of United’s early-90s style), made the better start, the LDV doubtless a welcome relief from the stresses and strains of League action. Don’t we know it. A few corners and crosses flew around the visitors’ box while the Wycombe supporters struck up with a drum-assisted Great Escape; surely a trifle premature. They may be in the danger zone but it’s only mid-October. Still, ‘The Not Too Bad I Suppose Escape’ doesn’t really have the same ring, does it?
United looked vulnerable to high crosses, and one almost produced a lead for the Chairboys on 10, Danny Senda nodding a Vinnicombe cross across goal from the far post to Keith Ryan in the corner of the six-yard box, but from almost point-blank range he slashed wildly over the top like a Wayne Rooney haymaker. The U’s responded with a Tudor corner that was flicked on by Taylor and found Bridges, but his toepoke was crowded out by a forest of bodies. Bridgo returned the favour on 14 as his cross found the boss and Shaggy blasted wide from penalty spot range. Forgot your glasses, Grandad? JT was already leading by example, not noticeably slower than any of his teammates, hustling and harrying the opposition and taking up positions as intelligently as one would expect from an Abbey legend.
First card of the night on 16 was for Fred Murray, making a swashbuckling comeback in his natural position with some fearsome tackles, but this one on Guy Branston was mistimed and about five minutes late. Less than five minutes later the Wycombe defender had every journalist in the ground dragging out the pickle puns (OK, pun: there is only one) when he put his side 1-0 up. Again it was United’s inability to defend aerially that cost them, Vinnicombe’s cross from a half-cleared corner picking out Andy Thomson at the far post; his sideways header landed squarely on Branston’s forehead to nod powerfully home from close range.
United responded with a short spell of pressure prompted by acting skipper Walker, who looks so much more effective when venturing deeper into the opponents’ half. Clear-cut chances were however as rare as an Emile Heskey temper tantrum and home keeper Frank ‘don’t call me Jenny’ Talia remained untroubled. A vintage thrusting run by Shaggy just after the half-hour put Tudor in wide left, but Shane, never looking entirely comfortable as a right-footer on the left, failed to pick out the marauding Bridges with his cross. Andy Duncan met Walker’s ensuing corner but was penalised for pushing, as were so many aerial penalty-area challenges by unimpressive ref Penn, a little ’un who made our own Lil’ Luke look positively Brobdingnagian.
A tepid, underwhelming first half finished on a home free kick, Darren Currie sliding it across to Senda arriving at pace to welly wide from 25 yards, followed by a couple of uneventful Wycombe corners. So far, so what.
The interval was enlivened by a contest between Messrs Nacca, Brennan and that man Kitson again as to who could hit the bar from 40 yards, a ‘warm-up routine’ entirely in keeping with the end-of-term, bring-your-own-Buckaroo LDV spirit. Predictably, the keeper made it first after umpteen attempts, and far as your semi-somnolent correspondent could determine, the final score was respectively 2-2-1. There was no sign of Fleming or Bimson at all, while JT Junior joined them on the pitch for the last five minutes.
One welcome feature of an increasingly chilly night was the stewards’ tolerance of the travelling amber hordes’ desire to remain standing throughout. Only the most objectionable of ‘health and safety’ jobsworths can see anything inherently dangerous in standing up; I’ve been doing it for years, at home, on the street, at work, and I can do it perfectly safely, thank you.
Our Cup runneth out
Great scenes from the movies, Part 25: The Shootist II (2003). Starring: John Taylor as 'JT' The Shootist, John Turner as The Kid, A Penn as the Marshal, John Gorman as Moustachioed Villain and Shaun Marshall as Simple Country Boy.
The veteran gunslinger strode purposefully into the Causeway Saloon. The old man had seen better days; his waist had thickened, his eyesight was as faded as his jeans, and his brain was befuddled by too much of that there book learnin'. But he still cut an imposing figure as he gazed around him and a (very) small crowd gathered for his final showdown. He addressed his posse in gruff, stentorian tones. 'I've had a good life, boys. I've mounted them ole Wembley Steps, I've outgunned the Hole In The Ground Gang at the London Road Corral, I've defeated the legendary Al Cide. But I've seen too much fool's gold. Afore I retire, I want something to show my kids, and I've got my heart set on that goshdarned LDV Vans Trophy! These here Wanderers are tough hombres and that Gorman feller is a sly old fox; I recall him havin' words with the General back in the day. Ole JB sure whupped his sorry ass back then! Now are you with me, boys? We gonna do this or what?'
His compadres raised a ragged cheer; Lil' Luke, Irish Fred, The Kid, Blondie, The Dancin' Fool and the rest would stick with their leader to the end. He was a father figure to the motley mixture of misfits that constituted the Moose Posse, and a grandad figure to his natural heir, The Kid. All that stood in their way was the Gorman Gang and that pesky lawman, Marshal Tiny Penn, the Poison Dwarf of the West Midlands. It was time for the shootout.
Sadly, even after his inspirational speech the story ends in tragedy as JT finds his gun has been loaded with blanks and the Moose Posse is honourably
defeated by the Gorman Gang (with the connivance of Marshal Penn) on a quiet starlit night with the tumbleweed a-tumblin'. But they live to fight another day and their LDV dreams live on in their hearts. Don't rule out The Shootist IIInext year, budget permitting…
United’s dedicated travelling army felt the first twinges of winter last night as their side’s LDV campaign spluttered to a start at a cold, deserted Adams Park. Only it isn’t Adams Park any more: it’s the Causeway Stadium. Fancy! Demolishing an entire stadium then building an exact replica on the same site; has football gone mad? Rhetorical question, of course.
As low-key goes, this occasion was right down there with the boys from Hear’say’s solo careers. The informal gathering (it barely merits the word ‘crowd’) of 977 was the first three-figure attendance at a competitive United game since the 995 at Barnet in this very competition in 1994, and the lowest since 857 hardy souls sidled apologetically into the Abbey for a Freight Rover Trophy thriller with Colchester 16 years ago.
Wycombe, winless in 15 games, didn’t even bother producing a proper programme, instead distributing a free four-page black and white pamphlet described as a match information sheet, which informed us that United are doing ‘very nicely’ this season (by Wycombe’s standards maybe) and that Dave Kitson was signed from non-League juggernauts Arsley Town. At least it spelt Trophy right, unlike the tickets (‘Trophey’?). There was some nice gear in the club shop, though, in the black’n’amber of peanut-smugglers London Wasps, who now share the ground. Didn’t know Wycombe was in the capital, did you? Couldn’t find a Tube station nearby, although at least there was no congestion charging.
Speaking of Mr Kitson, there was a familiar face joining United in the warm-up before the game. Yup, the BGG was there, knocking up with the rest of them, despite serving the first of a three-game ban. It was either a great display of team solidarity or some sort of punishment; wonder if he’ll do the same at Bristol and Swansea … Big Dave stayed out on the pitch, in fact, blasting balls wistfully into an empty goal, after everyone else had gone in to get ready for kick-off, and was still there when they ran out again before finally and reluctantly withdrawing. Bless.
As echoing spaces go, the 'Causeway' was up there with Rio Ferdinand’s rattling brain cavity. The home terrace at one end was most popular, but still less than one third full; the lower tier of the main stand was closed while the tier above was as sparsely populated as the much smaller one on the opposite side, the ‘Buckinghamshire Chilterns University College Stand’ holding about as many spectators as it had letters in its graceless, unwieldy name. United’s loyal travelling contingent therefore had little difficulty in dominating in the noise stakes, only competing with a lone drum at the opposite end.
Their team showed four changes from Saturday, oldies Venus, Bimson and Fleming rested in favour of Tann (allowing Angus to move to centre back), Murray and Bridges, while the grand old player-manager named himself in place of Chilli in a 4-3-1-2 line-up. Lloyd Opara played marginally behind Shaggy and Shane Tudor in another width-free formation. It was JT’s first start since 7 April 2001, after which he was dropped while a new centre forward was given his starting debut: some lad called Kitson. What goes around …
The hosts, under temporary boss John 'Where’s Glenn?' Gorman (such a gracious admirer of United’s early-90s style), made the better start, the LDV doubtless a welcome relief from the stresses and strains of League action. Don’t we know it. A few corners and crosses flew around the visitors’ box while the Wycombe supporters struck up with a drum-assisted Great Escape; surely a trifle premature. They may be in the danger zone but it’s only mid-October. Still, ‘The Not Too Bad I Suppose Escape’ doesn’t really have the same ring, does it?
United looked vulnerable to high crosses, and one almost produced a lead for the Chairboys on 10, Danny Senda nodding a Vinnicombe cross across goal from the far post to Keith Ryan in the corner of the six-yard box, but from almost point-blank range he slashed wildly over the top like a Wayne Rooney haymaker. The U’s responded with a Tudor corner that was flicked on by Taylor and found Bridges, but his toepoke was crowded out by a forest of bodies. Bridgo returned the favour on 14 as his cross found the boss and Shaggy blasted wide from penalty spot range. Forgot your glasses, Grandad? JT was already leading by example, not noticeably slower than any of his teammates, hustling and harrying the opposition and taking up positions as intelligently as one would expect from an Abbey legend.
First card of the night on 16 was for Fred Murray, making a swashbuckling comeback in his natural position with some fearsome tackles, but this one on Guy Branston was mistimed and about five minutes late. Less than five minutes later the Wycombe defender had every journalist in the ground dragging out the pickle puns (OK, pun: there is only one) when he put his side 1-0 up. Again it was United’s inability to defend aerially that cost them, Vinnicombe’s cross from a half-cleared corner picking out Andy Thomson at the far post; his sideways header landed squarely on Branston’s forehead to nod powerfully home from close range.
United responded with a short spell of pressure prompted by acting skipper Walker, who looks so much more effective when venturing deeper into the opponents’ half. Clear-cut chances were however as rare as an Emile Heskey temper tantrum and home keeper Frank ‘don’t call me Jenny’ Talia remained untroubled. A vintage thrusting run by Shaggy just after the half-hour put Tudor in wide left, but Shane, never looking entirely comfortable as a right-footer on the left, failed to pick out the marauding Bridges with his cross. Andy Duncan met Walker’s ensuing corner but was penalised for pushing, as were so many aerial penalty-area challenges by unimpressive ref Penn, a little ’un who made our own Lil’ Luke look positively Brobdingnagian.
A tepid, underwhelming first half finished on a home free kick, Darren Currie sliding it across to Senda arriving at pace to welly wide from 25 yards, followed by a couple of uneventful Wycombe corners. So far, so what.
The interval was enlivened by a contest between Messrs Nacca, Brennan and that man Kitson again as to who could hit the bar from 40 yards, a ‘warm-up routine’ entirely in keeping with the end-of-term, bring-your-own-Buckaroo LDV spirit. Predictably, the keeper made it first after umpteen attempts, and far as your semi-somnolent correspondent could determine, the final score was respectively 2-2-1. There was no sign of Fleming or Bimson at all, while JT Junior joined them on the pitch for the last five minutes.
One welcome feature of an increasingly chilly night was the stewards’ tolerance of the travelling amber hordes’ desire to remain standing throughout. Only the most objectionable of ‘health and safety’ jobsworths can see anything inherently dangerous in standing up; I’ve been doing it for years, at home, on the street, at work, and I can do it perfectly safely, thank you.
Standing up: usually danger-free
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Wycombe made a change for the second half, ye olde Steve Brown replacing Roger Johnson, and United almost scored in the first minute as Tudor latched on to some sloppy home passing, skipped round the advancing Talia, but found himself at a difficult angle to the left of goal and his clumsy right-footed prod never looked like hitting anything but the side netting. United kept up the pace, playing a more energetic pressing game than previously and adopting similar tactics to the second half on Saturday with a generous smattering of long(er) balls aimed at Shaggy and Opara. Guttridge shot wide on 48 and Shaggy nodded a Tudor corner narrowly the wrong side of the post on 51 as the white shirts probed for an equaliser.
John Turner made his entrance on 53, replacing Opara rather than Taylor who was obviously going to play till he dropped. Within a minute Tann’s long right-wing cross found Tudor at the far post, but his ambitious half-volley sailed back over Talia’s head for a goal kick. The home defence soaked up the pressure spongily, like that Wife Swap family gathering up benefits. Well at least they’ve given Alpay some competition for the role of Public Enemy No 1. How dare he stick his finger up David’s nose? He’s perfectly capable of doing that himself!
Just after the hour came the second and last of the bookings, Angus for a foul on Andy Bell (taking some time out from singing for Erasure without so much as a plucked eyebrow). Currie’s free kick was gobbled up by Duncan, but two minutes later Dancing Shaun had some rare work to do in blocking Michael Simpson’s 20-yard drive. A minute later Bridges, after a useful return from injury, gave way to Franco Nacca, back from a rather shorter lay-off in a straight swap. A quick break by Turner set up Guttridge for the most uneven aerial one-on-one since Keanu Reeves tried swatting a fly with his feet in slow motion in The Matrix Regurgitated, but the offside flag failed to save Lil’ Luke from a minor clattering.
United had convincing claims for a penalty on 67 as Duncan went flying chasing a Taylor flick-on from a Walker corner, but Penn showed no interest in giving free kicks to anyone but defenders in either penalty area all night, obviously favouring a nice quiet life. May the American military play Metallica outside his house every night until he retires. Shaggy had a promising blaster blocked and Ryan had a good chance at the other end, heading feebly wide from Currie’s free kick, then came the second home sub on 72, Cook replacing Bulman in a one-for-one exchange. Still United had the lion’s share of possession while the hosts threatened on the break, but too many passes/crosses were hopeful and long and the Wanderers goal remained inviolate.
Shaggy nodded another header from a corner narrowly wide on 74, but most of United’s pressure relied more on hope than accuracy. Cook broke away on 78 and might have settled it, but blazed over with better-placed colleagues in the middle. Next minute a terrific, barnstorming run from deep by Murray took him into the Wycombe area, but with no help and surrounded by four defenders, he was simply crowded out. The travelling support upped the volume, dreaming of a replay of the epic LDV encounters they had witnessed in the last two seasons at Luton, Brentford, Bristol and Northampton. United went to three at the back as Tann joined in the fun as an extra striker, but that final telling ball continued to elude them.
Turner had a goalbound effort blocked by Thomson, Tann flicked another across the six-yard box, but when in doubt, the man in green wasted no time in giving defenders free kicks every time they fell over. Occasionally the hosts would break away and head for the corners, and the final shot from Cook was theirs, but it all just fizzled out in the end like a faulty banger.
I guess we’ve been spoilt over the last two seasons’ pulsating LDV action, but for all United’s lung-bursting effort and positivity, there was a fundamental lack of quality where it counted tonight. Wycombe did just enough to win and precious little else, and perhaps they shouldn’t have had it so comfortable, especially after the run they’ve had. But hey, let’s concentrate on the League for once. And Cambridge City and Histon are both one round away from the FA Cup first round proper, with eminently winnable ties in prospect. One of those would be Cup fun, wouldn’t they? As long as we won, of course.
One of the phone-in discussion subjects on Radio 5 on the way home was ‘pointless journeys'. The temptation was overwhelming.
Marshall 6 – Not terribly busy but could do nothing about the goal.
Tann 7 – Comfortable-looking comeback and an unlikely striking role at the end.
Murray 8 – Excellent return to his natural position.
Duncan 7 – Another reliable display from Mr Consistent.
Angus 7 – Did fine back in the middle after some nervous recent games.
Guttridge 7 – Played further infield and was always involved.
Walker 7 – Got forward more than usual second half and looked all the better for it.
Bridges 6 – Feeling his way back after a long absence and let nobody down. Just needs matches now.
Tudor 6 – Some dangerous moments, although I can’t help feeling he was out of position in a straight left-sided striker role.
Taylor 8 – Grade II-listed striker showed his experience and class and did superbly to last the 90. Probably not that sorry there was no extra time.
Opara 6 – More good experience for the youngster.
Turner 7 – With all respect to Lloyd, United’s attacking went up a notch when this exciting prospect entered the fray.
Nacca 6 – Slotted in seamlessly in another promising after-injury comeback.
Soundtrack of the day: Tindersticks/My Oblivion
Match summary: Sheriff Shaggy led his young guns from the front but for all their effort they just couldn’t find those shooting boots in the echoing canyons of the Causeway Stadium. Let’s save it for the FA Cup this season, eh?
Man of the match: Fred Murray. Psycho Fred is back in full effect, snapping and snarling into the tackle, sending forwards flying in his wake and even galloping forward on occasion. This is what he’s good at.
Ref watch: Penn 3. Pernickety, gnome-like creature whose mission appeared to be to stop the game whenever anything exciting was about to happen.
Justin’s jukebox. Justin Walker checks out the sounds at the Causeway. 'Here is a DJ who takes no interest in the charts! An eclectic selection from the 70s, 80s and 90s veered from the good (Bangles, La’s, Change, Blue Pearl, Kirsty MacColl) to the bad (Cher, Bon Jovi) to the ugly (Boyzone!), plus a tribute to the late Robert Palmer with his storming version of Bad Case Of Lovin’ You. Team line-ups were read out to Colourbox’s superb Official World Cup Theme while the Santana build-up music turned into some ragtime stuff from The Sting. Full marks at least for originality! JJ verdict: Swinging! (6/10)'
John Turner made his entrance on 53, replacing Opara rather than Taylor who was obviously going to play till he dropped. Within a minute Tann’s long right-wing cross found Tudor at the far post, but his ambitious half-volley sailed back over Talia’s head for a goal kick. The home defence soaked up the pressure spongily, like that Wife Swap family gathering up benefits. Well at least they’ve given Alpay some competition for the role of Public Enemy No 1. How dare he stick his finger up David’s nose? He’s perfectly capable of doing that himself!
Just after the hour came the second and last of the bookings, Angus for a foul on Andy Bell (taking some time out from singing for Erasure without so much as a plucked eyebrow). Currie’s free kick was gobbled up by Duncan, but two minutes later Dancing Shaun had some rare work to do in blocking Michael Simpson’s 20-yard drive. A minute later Bridges, after a useful return from injury, gave way to Franco Nacca, back from a rather shorter lay-off in a straight swap. A quick break by Turner set up Guttridge for the most uneven aerial one-on-one since Keanu Reeves tried swatting a fly with his feet in slow motion in The Matrix Regurgitated, but the offside flag failed to save Lil’ Luke from a minor clattering.
United had convincing claims for a penalty on 67 as Duncan went flying chasing a Taylor flick-on from a Walker corner, but Penn showed no interest in giving free kicks to anyone but defenders in either penalty area all night, obviously favouring a nice quiet life. May the American military play Metallica outside his house every night until he retires. Shaggy had a promising blaster blocked and Ryan had a good chance at the other end, heading feebly wide from Currie’s free kick, then came the second home sub on 72, Cook replacing Bulman in a one-for-one exchange. Still United had the lion’s share of possession while the hosts threatened on the break, but too many passes/crosses were hopeful and long and the Wanderers goal remained inviolate.
Shaggy nodded another header from a corner narrowly wide on 74, but most of United’s pressure relied more on hope than accuracy. Cook broke away on 78 and might have settled it, but blazed over with better-placed colleagues in the middle. Next minute a terrific, barnstorming run from deep by Murray took him into the Wycombe area, but with no help and surrounded by four defenders, he was simply crowded out. The travelling support upped the volume, dreaming of a replay of the epic LDV encounters they had witnessed in the last two seasons at Luton, Brentford, Bristol and Northampton. United went to three at the back as Tann joined in the fun as an extra striker, but that final telling ball continued to elude them.
Turner had a goalbound effort blocked by Thomson, Tann flicked another across the six-yard box, but when in doubt, the man in green wasted no time in giving defenders free kicks every time they fell over. Occasionally the hosts would break away and head for the corners, and the final shot from Cook was theirs, but it all just fizzled out in the end like a faulty banger.
I guess we’ve been spoilt over the last two seasons’ pulsating LDV action, but for all United’s lung-bursting effort and positivity, there was a fundamental lack of quality where it counted tonight. Wycombe did just enough to win and precious little else, and perhaps they shouldn’t have had it so comfortable, especially after the run they’ve had. But hey, let’s concentrate on the League for once. And Cambridge City and Histon are both one round away from the FA Cup first round proper, with eminently winnable ties in prospect. One of those would be Cup fun, wouldn’t they? As long as we won, of course.
One of the phone-in discussion subjects on Radio 5 on the way home was ‘pointless journeys'. The temptation was overwhelming.
Marshall 6 – Not terribly busy but could do nothing about the goal.
Tann 7 – Comfortable-looking comeback and an unlikely striking role at the end.
Murray 8 – Excellent return to his natural position.
Duncan 7 – Another reliable display from Mr Consistent.
Angus 7 – Did fine back in the middle after some nervous recent games.
Guttridge 7 – Played further infield and was always involved.
Walker 7 – Got forward more than usual second half and looked all the better for it.
Bridges 6 – Feeling his way back after a long absence and let nobody down. Just needs matches now.
Tudor 6 – Some dangerous moments, although I can’t help feeling he was out of position in a straight left-sided striker role.
Taylor 8 – Grade II-listed striker showed his experience and class and did superbly to last the 90. Probably not that sorry there was no extra time.
Opara 6 – More good experience for the youngster.
Turner 7 – With all respect to Lloyd, United’s attacking went up a notch when this exciting prospect entered the fray.
Nacca 6 – Slotted in seamlessly in another promising after-injury comeback.
Soundtrack of the day: Tindersticks/My Oblivion
Match summary: Sheriff Shaggy led his young guns from the front but for all their effort they just couldn’t find those shooting boots in the echoing canyons of the Causeway Stadium. Let’s save it for the FA Cup this season, eh?
Man of the match: Fred Murray. Psycho Fred is back in full effect, snapping and snarling into the tackle, sending forwards flying in his wake and even galloping forward on occasion. This is what he’s good at.
Ref watch: Penn 3. Pernickety, gnome-like creature whose mission appeared to be to stop the game whenever anything exciting was about to happen.
Justin’s jukebox. Justin Walker checks out the sounds at the Causeway. 'Here is a DJ who takes no interest in the charts! An eclectic selection from the 70s, 80s and 90s veered from the good (Bangles, La’s, Change, Blue Pearl, Kirsty MacColl) to the bad (Cher, Bon Jovi) to the ugly (Boyzone!), plus a tribute to the late Robert Palmer with his storming version of Bad Case Of Lovin’ You. Team line-ups were read out to Colourbox’s superb Official World Cup Theme while the Santana build-up music turned into some ragtime stuff from The Sting. Full marks at least for originality! JJ verdict: Swinging! (6/10)'
18 October 2003: Bristol Rovers 0v2 U's
Triumphus in Memoriam
'This is Radio Sport West. Now over to our correspondent Rupert Fotherington-Jodhpurs for his report on the big match today.'
‘Thank you, Simon. The fans were out in force today and the bar did a roaring trade as ribald songs were sung about fillies’ cheeky bits and there was more male bonding than at a Village People concert. I had a job getting a decent view, but a forgettable first half ended all square before England pulled away in the second period with a well-organised team display against mediocre opposition. Such were the celebrations that I ended up getting debagged by a chap I used to fag for at school, and he reminded me of that trick he used to do with the aubergine! Jolly funny, what! Haw! Haw! Haw!’
‘Well that’s super, Rupert, and I know you're usually our rugger reporter, but I was rather hoping you could tell us something about the Bristol Rovers-Cambridge United soccer game, rather than the World Cup game they were showing in the Supporters Club bar …’
‘Oh! That! It took a bit of time to find my trousers, but as far as I could gather, it went something like: a forgettable first half ended all square before Cambridge pulled away in the second period with a well-organised team display against mediocre opposition. Easy, this round ball lark, isn’t it, Simon!’
‘Yes, Rupert. Nearly as easy as getting a job with your local radio station when your father is the managing director. Next up, our regular phone-in, and we ask: are rugby players who show no emotion after scoring thoroughly professional, focused sportsmen, or boring dullards who can only get excited about something after 15 pints of Old Flange’s Scruttock-Wobbler? Call now!’
Triumphus in Memoriam
'This is Radio Sport West. Now over to our correspondent Rupert Fotherington-Jodhpurs for his report on the big match today.'
‘Thank you, Simon. The fans were out in force today and the bar did a roaring trade as ribald songs were sung about fillies’ cheeky bits and there was more male bonding than at a Village People concert. I had a job getting a decent view, but a forgettable first half ended all square before England pulled away in the second period with a well-organised team display against mediocre opposition. Such were the celebrations that I ended up getting debagged by a chap I used to fag for at school, and he reminded me of that trick he used to do with the aubergine! Jolly funny, what! Haw! Haw! Haw!’
‘Well that’s super, Rupert, and I know you're usually our rugger reporter, but I was rather hoping you could tell us something about the Bristol Rovers-Cambridge United soccer game, rather than the World Cup game they were showing in the Supporters Club bar …’
‘Oh! That! It took a bit of time to find my trousers, but as far as I could gather, it went something like: a forgettable first half ended all square before Cambridge pulled away in the second period with a well-organised team display against mediocre opposition. Easy, this round ball lark, isn’t it, Simon!’
‘Yes, Rupert. Nearly as easy as getting a job with your local radio station when your father is the managing director. Next up, our regular phone-in, and we ask: are rugby players who show no emotion after scoring thoroughly professional, focused sportsmen, or boring dullards who can only get excited about something after 15 pints of Old Flange’s Scruttock-Wobbler? Call now!’
Rugby fans: couldn't find a Biggles hat
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Bristol is, of course, prime egg-chasing country, and the streets were as quiet as the bars were heaving as the intrepid 138 U’s supporters arrived at the Memorial Ground and kick-off time neared in Australia. The Mem was originally a rugby ground, and now-owners Rovers still share it with something called the Bristol Shoguns, doubtless deadly rivals with the Bath Saxoes and the Cardiff Escort RS Turboes. In fact it scarcely resembles a football ground; the quaintly attractive DAS Stand along one side would look more appropriate at Newmarket racecourse, while the temporary structure at one end continues to resemble a marquee with seats placed artfully inside rather than a ‘stand'.
The amber hordes were as ever allocated the tiny terrace to one side of the towering but narrow main stand, and although some of us (ahem) had dusted off their scarf, hat and gloves for another season in anticipation of a cold, windswept afternoon, we in fact roasted (if you’ll pardon the expression) under a sun shining from a cloudless sky directly into our faces for the entire match. The best feature of the terrace is the pleasantly appointed ‘temporary’ toilets, spotless inside and with windows that afford an unhindered view of the pitch while one drains the lizard. No such luck for the ladies, of course. Anatomy can be a bugger sometimes, can’t it?
The admirable Kick Out Racism day saw the players warming up in message-bearing T-shirts as a samba band pounded percussively (in the shade!), while we enjoyed the ‘real’ Cornish pasties and drinks so hot that they had barely cooled down by half-time. The United line-up showed four predictable changes from Tuesday’s LDV let-down, the old heads of Venus, Bimson and Fleming reinstated for Messrs Tann, Murray and Bridges, while Shaggy retained his place up front (must have had a word with the manager) but with a change of partner as John Turner, sporting a newly highlighted Alex Revellesque hairdo, replaced Lloyd Opara. The Rovers team was a veritable ‘Who’s He?’ of lower-division talent, Ijah Anderson being familiar from his Brentford days and veteran keeper Kevin Miller an escapee from Exeter along with our very own Justin Walker. Ex-U Kevin ‘Thunderthighs’ Austin warmed the bench. Suspended Dave Kitson didn’t have the pleasure of joining in the warm-up this time.
Only tweak to the 4-4-2 formation was to swap Fleming and Guttridge, the Terrier stationed wide left in front of old mucker Bimmo while Lil’ Luke was restored to his rightful central midfield berth. It was clear that United’s two banks of four were aiming for another Cheltenham, hassling and harrying at every turn and cutting crosses out before they could even reach the forwards, and it was noticeable that they were for once utilising the full width of the pitch in contrast to recent ‘narrow’ tactics that have been as effective as Northern Ireland’s strike force.
Ref Fletcher didn’t endear himself to the home fans on two minutes as United were awarded a free kick just outside their own area; Duncan looked to take it quickly, home striker Lewis Haldane blocked from a couple of yards and Mr F promptly produced his trusty yellow card and advanced the kick ten yards to boot. True, United played for it, but these kick-blockers are a cynical irritant that should be stamped out. So served him right.
Apart from their work ethic, Shaggy’s team is also now learning that they cannot and should not try playing dazzling Brazilian-style passing football from the back all the time at this level; it simply doesn’t work. Shaggy himself was a popular target for high balls when United not infrequently ‘went long,’ although the old legs don’t seem to have to same Zebedee-like spring they used to have. Better dig those support stockings out, JT.
Play meandered back and forth without any great incident, efficient offside traps and early closing down keeping penalty box action to a minimum; Walker robbed Haldane as he was about to shoot and Angus sprinted across to stop Paul Tait when he looked about to burst through early on. But most moves from either side broke down before reaching the final third. On 20 a ball over the top sent Haldane racing away, but who was there but Shane Tudor, racing back and nicking the ball off his toe at the expense of a corner: evidence of a new defensively aware Shane that shows his pace is coming back. A series of Rovers corners was well dealt with, Shaggy filling the Kitson role to nod away, and the biggest danger came on 25 when Tudor was harshly adjudged to have fouled Anderson in what looked like a 50-50 shoulder charge. Wayne Carlisle’s floated free kick from wide left flew long, curling over Marshall’s grasping fingers and finding centre back Christian Edwards at the far post, but his free header looked to be running back across goal until it hit Bimson and ricocheted off for a corner.
United responded two minutes later with a cross from the skipper that found his player-boss in space at the far post six yards out, but his unchallenged header could only find Miller’s clutching gloves as unavoidably as another Linda Barker TV commercial. The home fans gleefully chanted ‘Taylor is a Gashead!’ Turner won another corner not long after with some nifty footwork, but the ball flew around the area without troubling Miller, then Rovers counter-attacked through Anderson. His cross found Tait, who could only nod over from eight yards under pressure from two defenders. Turner and Guttridge had hopeful shots blocked, both teams won the odd corner, but it was all a bit of a stalemate; not bad so far for United against a team unbeaten at home in the League until their last game versus Mansfield, and on whose ground we hadn’t gained a League win since 1980, when they were still at Eastville. The stop-start nature of the game, thanks to the whistle-happy Fletcher, was more helpful to the visitors, too.
The home fans were unimpressed and there was the odd cry of ‘Graydon out!’ as the ref’s whistle heralded half-time – a tad ungrateful since he’s only been there a year and Rovers were plummeting towards the Conference like an elephant on a bungee rope in lead underpants when he took over. Still, we were treated to a jolly anti-racist parade around the pitch at half-time by local schoolkids, led by ex-Gas favourite Carl Saunders, still a dead ringer for Earth Wind & Fire’s Maurice White, minus the spangly jumpsuit of course. He only wears that in the evenings.
Part two was more of the same. United gained a couple of early corners from which Andy Duncan saw a header hacked away from near the line by Edwards, but after ignoring what looked like a clear foul on Walker, the man in the middle showed his second card on 53 in booking Stev Angus for blocking a Rovers free kick in a similarly pointless incident to that which got the hosts the first card. Good work by Tudor on 59 saw him beat his man on the outside and float over a teasing cross that was headed off for a corner before Shaggy could pounce. The Orange One’s corner found old JT’s noggin, but he saw his effort sail frustratingly over the bar. On the hour there was a big cheer from the Gasheads as 36-year-old museum exhibit Andy Rammell made to enter the fray, followed by even louder booing when they realised he was replacing the popular youngster Haldane. No pleasing some people.
Tudor tried an ambitious lob that cleared the bar, but the match was beginning to resemble a stick of rock with the inscription ‘0-0’ written all the way through. But on 68 that changed as unexpectedly as those commercials for mulled-wine scented Christmas air-fresheners suddenly appearing on TV in the middle of October. If I want my house to smell like a distillery, I’ll drink the stuff myself. It was Terry Fleming, of all people, who came up with a quite superb pass from deep that sent young Turner sprinting away, goalside of Adam Barrett and with a yard’s start that the Gas skipper never looked like making up. Young JT bore down on goal as Miller came out, picked his moment perfectly and slid his low shot past the keeper’s left hand just before Barrett could clatter him from behind. Taken like a veteran: 1-0. Sadly, Barrett’s tackle put JT Junior out of the game so he could barely even celebrate his first League goal of the season, and Lloyd Opara replaced him before the restart.
Now young Lloyd has come in for a bit of public criticism from his boss, together with a sharp reminder that his contract expires in a couple of months, and he responded in the best possible way by making an instant impact with some exciting, strong and pacy runs. The hosts replaced Carlisle with Shane Hobbs, but it was Opara who almost delivered as he muscled past the Rovers defence, despite appearing to be fouled at least twice, and forced Miller into a save that rebounded to Guttridge on the edge of the area. Lil’ Luke’s first-time chip floated agonisingly wide of the far post with the keeper as helpless as Dennis Wise’s anger management counsellor. Opara fell victim to the latest of a series of dubious offside decisions on 73 and foolishly incurred a yellow card for dissent, then his boss followed him into the book a minute later for a clumsy foul on Anderson as the ageing legs began to tire. Anderson’s free kick was, like most of Rovers’ second-half shooting, dismally inaccurate.
United wrapped up the points on 77. A good Tudor run won a corner and Bimson’s Exocet found Justin Walker eight yards out to bullet a header unerringly into the bottom corner. A goal direct from a corner! Whatever next, the top man at Barclays applying for a Barclaycard?
This was the cue for several home ‘supporters’ to walk out; yup, with their team only two down with a quarter of an hour to go, against the U’s for goodness’ sake! What is wrong with these people? Do they walk out of films ten minutes before the end because they’ve ‘seen enough and want to avoid the rush’? Their departures were greeted lustily by the joyous amber hordes on the terraces, who received some interesting hand signals in response. Must check my Highway Code, I seem to have missed some.
A mournful Goodnight Irene struck up from the more loyal Gasheads as their underachieving team tried desperately to make something happen. Rammell was booked for handling a Marshall clearance on 81, Bryant blasted ineptly over on 83, then Fred Murray replaced Tudor for the last five minutes to shore things up for the now confident U’s. Opara even had a chance for his team’s third on 87 when fed by Shaggy, but he didn’t get a proper hold on his shot and Miller gathered with little difficulty.
Hobbs and Rammell threatened the United goal in added time without hitting the target and Opara was unlucky to be stopped by yet another harsh whistle as he outpowered his marker again, but the contest was already over. In truth, Rovers looked like an average team who got worse as the game progressed, but United have lost to too many of such teams already and they did a thoroughly professional job on them, led by an inspirational, tireless midfield who turned on another Cheltenham-like display which they don’t seem to have been able to replicate at the Abbey just yet.
It looks like Shaggy and the Prof are now coming to realise that they won’t get out of this division by playing pretty pat-a-cake football all the time, but by mixing it up with some direct stuff and just plain hard work, blood, sweat and tears. A bit like a rugger team perhaps, without the cauliflower ears, love handles and Biggles helmets.
Marshall 7 – You can’t argue with a clean sheet. Well, it certainly can’t answer back.
Angus 7 – Calm, controlled performance studded with some good forward forays.
Bimson 7 – Return of the real Bimmo with a tough-tackling, mature display of left-backery.
Duncan 7 – Dealt well with every threat that came his way.
Venus 8 – Sheer class from beginning to end.
Tudor 8 – His best since his comeback, allying nifty attacking with some (gasp!) sterling defensive work.
Guttridge 8 – Back in his best position and was the heartbeat of a gutsy team effort.
Walker 8 – As at Cheltenham, produced his most effective play away from home. More, please!
Fleming 7 – Solid, unspectacular team player.
Turner 8 – Alert, intelligent and topped with a marvellous goal.
Taylor 8 – The grand old man somehow found another inspirational 90 minutes in his rusting locker.
Opara 8 – Livewire appearance doubtless inspired by his boss’s frank motivational words.
Murray 7 – Helped his colleagues see out a by-now comfortable win.
Soundtrack of the day: Super Furry Animals/Hello Sunshine
Match summary: The tropical sun shone brightly, the samba band played, but it was good old-fashioned British grit and hard work that won the day for gutsy United as they eschewed Total Football and opted for, well, Winning Football. Another prosaic but heroic away performance was ample reward for the sunburnt travelling trickle, who learnt that as with their team, there’s no gain without pain.
Man of the match: Shane Tudor. An embarrassment of riches for once in a thoroughly professional team performance, but Shane just shades it for adding to his steadily-improving attacking play with a succession of excellent corners and some superb defensive work, too.
Ref watch: Fletcher 3. Never boring, regularly entertaining and ever so slightly mad, this fussy fellow deserves precious little for good refereeing, but by 'eck, was he entertaining, especially when provoking regular howls of outrage from the Gasheads.
Justin’s jukebox: Justin Walker lends an ear to the sounds at the Memorial Ground. ‘It was Kick Out Racism day at the Rovers, and this meant that almost all pre-match music was provided ‘live’ by the Bristol Samba Band … and what a lively racket they produced too, those pounding drums making up in infectious rhythm for what they lacked in melody. The talkative DJ finally played a couple of records at ten to three, the Thrills’ Big Sur (maybe he liked the opening line 'So much for the City’) followed by James Brown’s slightly overplayed I Feel Good (I Got You) before going into the run-out music of the theme from Rocky. Not exactly a good day to judge the Rovers’ musical tastes, but at least they didn’t play any Wurzels. JJ verdict: Rousing! (7/10)’
The amber hordes were as ever allocated the tiny terrace to one side of the towering but narrow main stand, and although some of us (ahem) had dusted off their scarf, hat and gloves for another season in anticipation of a cold, windswept afternoon, we in fact roasted (if you’ll pardon the expression) under a sun shining from a cloudless sky directly into our faces for the entire match. The best feature of the terrace is the pleasantly appointed ‘temporary’ toilets, spotless inside and with windows that afford an unhindered view of the pitch while one drains the lizard. No such luck for the ladies, of course. Anatomy can be a bugger sometimes, can’t it?
The admirable Kick Out Racism day saw the players warming up in message-bearing T-shirts as a samba band pounded percussively (in the shade!), while we enjoyed the ‘real’ Cornish pasties and drinks so hot that they had barely cooled down by half-time. The United line-up showed four predictable changes from Tuesday’s LDV let-down, the old heads of Venus, Bimson and Fleming reinstated for Messrs Tann, Murray and Bridges, while Shaggy retained his place up front (must have had a word with the manager) but with a change of partner as John Turner, sporting a newly highlighted Alex Revellesque hairdo, replaced Lloyd Opara. The Rovers team was a veritable ‘Who’s He?’ of lower-division talent, Ijah Anderson being familiar from his Brentford days and veteran keeper Kevin Miller an escapee from Exeter along with our very own Justin Walker. Ex-U Kevin ‘Thunderthighs’ Austin warmed the bench. Suspended Dave Kitson didn’t have the pleasure of joining in the warm-up this time.
Only tweak to the 4-4-2 formation was to swap Fleming and Guttridge, the Terrier stationed wide left in front of old mucker Bimmo while Lil’ Luke was restored to his rightful central midfield berth. It was clear that United’s two banks of four were aiming for another Cheltenham, hassling and harrying at every turn and cutting crosses out before they could even reach the forwards, and it was noticeable that they were for once utilising the full width of the pitch in contrast to recent ‘narrow’ tactics that have been as effective as Northern Ireland’s strike force.
Ref Fletcher didn’t endear himself to the home fans on two minutes as United were awarded a free kick just outside their own area; Duncan looked to take it quickly, home striker Lewis Haldane blocked from a couple of yards and Mr F promptly produced his trusty yellow card and advanced the kick ten yards to boot. True, United played for it, but these kick-blockers are a cynical irritant that should be stamped out. So served him right.
Apart from their work ethic, Shaggy’s team is also now learning that they cannot and should not try playing dazzling Brazilian-style passing football from the back all the time at this level; it simply doesn’t work. Shaggy himself was a popular target for high balls when United not infrequently ‘went long,’ although the old legs don’t seem to have to same Zebedee-like spring they used to have. Better dig those support stockings out, JT.
Play meandered back and forth without any great incident, efficient offside traps and early closing down keeping penalty box action to a minimum; Walker robbed Haldane as he was about to shoot and Angus sprinted across to stop Paul Tait when he looked about to burst through early on. But most moves from either side broke down before reaching the final third. On 20 a ball over the top sent Haldane racing away, but who was there but Shane Tudor, racing back and nicking the ball off his toe at the expense of a corner: evidence of a new defensively aware Shane that shows his pace is coming back. A series of Rovers corners was well dealt with, Shaggy filling the Kitson role to nod away, and the biggest danger came on 25 when Tudor was harshly adjudged to have fouled Anderson in what looked like a 50-50 shoulder charge. Wayne Carlisle’s floated free kick from wide left flew long, curling over Marshall’s grasping fingers and finding centre back Christian Edwards at the far post, but his free header looked to be running back across goal until it hit Bimson and ricocheted off for a corner.
United responded two minutes later with a cross from the skipper that found his player-boss in space at the far post six yards out, but his unchallenged header could only find Miller’s clutching gloves as unavoidably as another Linda Barker TV commercial. The home fans gleefully chanted ‘Taylor is a Gashead!’ Turner won another corner not long after with some nifty footwork, but the ball flew around the area without troubling Miller, then Rovers counter-attacked through Anderson. His cross found Tait, who could only nod over from eight yards under pressure from two defenders. Turner and Guttridge had hopeful shots blocked, both teams won the odd corner, but it was all a bit of a stalemate; not bad so far for United against a team unbeaten at home in the League until their last game versus Mansfield, and on whose ground we hadn’t gained a League win since 1980, when they were still at Eastville. The stop-start nature of the game, thanks to the whistle-happy Fletcher, was more helpful to the visitors, too.
The home fans were unimpressed and there was the odd cry of ‘Graydon out!’ as the ref’s whistle heralded half-time – a tad ungrateful since he’s only been there a year and Rovers were plummeting towards the Conference like an elephant on a bungee rope in lead underpants when he took over. Still, we were treated to a jolly anti-racist parade around the pitch at half-time by local schoolkids, led by ex-Gas favourite Carl Saunders, still a dead ringer for Earth Wind & Fire’s Maurice White, minus the spangly jumpsuit of course. He only wears that in the evenings.
Part two was more of the same. United gained a couple of early corners from which Andy Duncan saw a header hacked away from near the line by Edwards, but after ignoring what looked like a clear foul on Walker, the man in the middle showed his second card on 53 in booking Stev Angus for blocking a Rovers free kick in a similarly pointless incident to that which got the hosts the first card. Good work by Tudor on 59 saw him beat his man on the outside and float over a teasing cross that was headed off for a corner before Shaggy could pounce. The Orange One’s corner found old JT’s noggin, but he saw his effort sail frustratingly over the bar. On the hour there was a big cheer from the Gasheads as 36-year-old museum exhibit Andy Rammell made to enter the fray, followed by even louder booing when they realised he was replacing the popular youngster Haldane. No pleasing some people.
Tudor tried an ambitious lob that cleared the bar, but the match was beginning to resemble a stick of rock with the inscription ‘0-0’ written all the way through. But on 68 that changed as unexpectedly as those commercials for mulled-wine scented Christmas air-fresheners suddenly appearing on TV in the middle of October. If I want my house to smell like a distillery, I’ll drink the stuff myself. It was Terry Fleming, of all people, who came up with a quite superb pass from deep that sent young Turner sprinting away, goalside of Adam Barrett and with a yard’s start that the Gas skipper never looked like making up. Young JT bore down on goal as Miller came out, picked his moment perfectly and slid his low shot past the keeper’s left hand just before Barrett could clatter him from behind. Taken like a veteran: 1-0. Sadly, Barrett’s tackle put JT Junior out of the game so he could barely even celebrate his first League goal of the season, and Lloyd Opara replaced him before the restart.
Now young Lloyd has come in for a bit of public criticism from his boss, together with a sharp reminder that his contract expires in a couple of months, and he responded in the best possible way by making an instant impact with some exciting, strong and pacy runs. The hosts replaced Carlisle with Shane Hobbs, but it was Opara who almost delivered as he muscled past the Rovers defence, despite appearing to be fouled at least twice, and forced Miller into a save that rebounded to Guttridge on the edge of the area. Lil’ Luke’s first-time chip floated agonisingly wide of the far post with the keeper as helpless as Dennis Wise’s anger management counsellor. Opara fell victim to the latest of a series of dubious offside decisions on 73 and foolishly incurred a yellow card for dissent, then his boss followed him into the book a minute later for a clumsy foul on Anderson as the ageing legs began to tire. Anderson’s free kick was, like most of Rovers’ second-half shooting, dismally inaccurate.
United wrapped up the points on 77. A good Tudor run won a corner and Bimson’s Exocet found Justin Walker eight yards out to bullet a header unerringly into the bottom corner. A goal direct from a corner! Whatever next, the top man at Barclays applying for a Barclaycard?
This was the cue for several home ‘supporters’ to walk out; yup, with their team only two down with a quarter of an hour to go, against the U’s for goodness’ sake! What is wrong with these people? Do they walk out of films ten minutes before the end because they’ve ‘seen enough and want to avoid the rush’? Their departures were greeted lustily by the joyous amber hordes on the terraces, who received some interesting hand signals in response. Must check my Highway Code, I seem to have missed some.
A mournful Goodnight Irene struck up from the more loyal Gasheads as their underachieving team tried desperately to make something happen. Rammell was booked for handling a Marshall clearance on 81, Bryant blasted ineptly over on 83, then Fred Murray replaced Tudor for the last five minutes to shore things up for the now confident U’s. Opara even had a chance for his team’s third on 87 when fed by Shaggy, but he didn’t get a proper hold on his shot and Miller gathered with little difficulty.
Hobbs and Rammell threatened the United goal in added time without hitting the target and Opara was unlucky to be stopped by yet another harsh whistle as he outpowered his marker again, but the contest was already over. In truth, Rovers looked like an average team who got worse as the game progressed, but United have lost to too many of such teams already and they did a thoroughly professional job on them, led by an inspirational, tireless midfield who turned on another Cheltenham-like display which they don’t seem to have been able to replicate at the Abbey just yet.
It looks like Shaggy and the Prof are now coming to realise that they won’t get out of this division by playing pretty pat-a-cake football all the time, but by mixing it up with some direct stuff and just plain hard work, blood, sweat and tears. A bit like a rugger team perhaps, without the cauliflower ears, love handles and Biggles helmets.
Marshall 7 – You can’t argue with a clean sheet. Well, it certainly can’t answer back.
Angus 7 – Calm, controlled performance studded with some good forward forays.
Bimson 7 – Return of the real Bimmo with a tough-tackling, mature display of left-backery.
Duncan 7 – Dealt well with every threat that came his way.
Venus 8 – Sheer class from beginning to end.
Tudor 8 – His best since his comeback, allying nifty attacking with some (gasp!) sterling defensive work.
Guttridge 8 – Back in his best position and was the heartbeat of a gutsy team effort.
Walker 8 – As at Cheltenham, produced his most effective play away from home. More, please!
Fleming 7 – Solid, unspectacular team player.
Turner 8 – Alert, intelligent and topped with a marvellous goal.
Taylor 8 – The grand old man somehow found another inspirational 90 minutes in his rusting locker.
Opara 8 – Livewire appearance doubtless inspired by his boss’s frank motivational words.
Murray 7 – Helped his colleagues see out a by-now comfortable win.
Soundtrack of the day: Super Furry Animals/Hello Sunshine
Match summary: The tropical sun shone brightly, the samba band played, but it was good old-fashioned British grit and hard work that won the day for gutsy United as they eschewed Total Football and opted for, well, Winning Football. Another prosaic but heroic away performance was ample reward for the sunburnt travelling trickle, who learnt that as with their team, there’s no gain without pain.
Man of the match: Shane Tudor. An embarrassment of riches for once in a thoroughly professional team performance, but Shane just shades it for adding to his steadily-improving attacking play with a succession of excellent corners and some superb defensive work, too.
Ref watch: Fletcher 3. Never boring, regularly entertaining and ever so slightly mad, this fussy fellow deserves precious little for good refereeing, but by 'eck, was he entertaining, especially when provoking regular howls of outrage from the Gasheads.
Justin’s jukebox: Justin Walker lends an ear to the sounds at the Memorial Ground. ‘It was Kick Out Racism day at the Rovers, and this meant that almost all pre-match music was provided ‘live’ by the Bristol Samba Band … and what a lively racket they produced too, those pounding drums making up in infectious rhythm for what they lacked in melody. The talkative DJ finally played a couple of records at ten to three, the Thrills’ Big Sur (maybe he liked the opening line 'So much for the City’) followed by James Brown’s slightly overplayed I Feel Good (I Got You) before going into the run-out music of the theme from Rocky. Not exactly a good day to judge the Rovers’ musical tastes, but at least they didn’t play any Wurzels. JJ verdict: Rousing! (7/10)’
James Brown: he felt good
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21 October 2003: Swansea 0v2 U's
Rumble in the Mumbles
‘Hush children! It's time for your old uncle Jason Rees to tell you some more tales of the Land of my Fathers. Well, it beats playing football for a living.
'Wales is an ancient place with a civilisation older than the Pyramids whose legends run deep to this day. Anyone who knows their Mabinogion, out on their own at night, may once in a while start at the sound of hooves or hounds in the distance, mindful of the presence of Gwynn ap Nudd, the Master of the Wild Hunt, riding out with his dogs Cwn Annwn and collecting souls for delivery to the darkest depths of Annwvyn. Out in the Mumbles, the presence of Llyr, the Sea God, is as all-pervasive and menacing as the aftertaste of laverbread.
'And then there are the giants – legendary inhabitants of huge castles deep in the hills, names such as Cribwr, Bwch, Emallt, Buga, Trogi and Max Boyce were names to be much feared in their time. And now a new tale has arisen from the back streets of Abertawe: that of the Cawr Bwr Sinsir, or the Big Ginger Giant, also known to shape-shift and become the Cawr Bwr Malynwyn (Big Yellowish-White Giant) when the mood takes him.
'Said to have come from the East, clad in garments of garish amber hue, he laid to waste the brave warriors of the Jack Army with the assistance of his Dogs of War, Veno, Bimmo, Luki, Shaggi, a small terrier and the son of Terpsichore himself. Ten feet tall, he was, with enchanted feet and forehead studded with magic freckles. Some might call this fanciful, but they also claim to have seen an eight-foot swan called Cyril keeping goal at half-time, so who knows where truth really lies.’
A Tuesday night trip to Swansea is the perfect opportunity to reflect on the twilight world of the long-distance midweek traveller. For a few short hours they lead a parallel existence to the conventional nine-to-fiver, of their world but somehow not in it. We met some kindred souls at Strensham Services, wandering wraith-like among the overpriced aisles, a few from Mansfield on their way to Torquay and several coachloads of cheerful Yorkshire folk en route from Huddersfield to Yeovil. There were friendly greetings aplenty, each recognising in the other their detachment from dull normality while they shared in their glorious obsession on the off-chance that tonight would herald that classic goal or fighting win with which they were so irregularly rewarded. What would the cold, darkening night bring, glory or disappointment? Time alone would dictate.
Baking hot afternoons at the McAlpine are now a distant memory, and Tuesday night was the time to break out the trusty black ’n’ amber hat, scarf and gloves for another long, eventful winter. No need for the thermal long johns just yet, though. Less than three years ago, Swansea was a forbidding, unwelcoming place, United’s late-season visit confirming their relegation and only the Vetch’s away-end fencing preventing the froth-mouthed locals from venting their frustration on the nervous away support. You’d be froth-mouthed too if you tried to speak Welsh for any length of time.
Times have changed: the Swans were riding high, unbeaten at home as their late-season form from last term has continued into this. And there was a warm welcome indeed at the local pubs, the locals engaging us in easy conversation as the pints of delicious local brew Brains Dark & Smooth slipped easily down.
The small, packed pub was in fact good preparation for our accommodation at the Vetch. In previous years we have been allocated the cavernous away terrace at one end, even when there were 64 of us one Friday night nine years ago, but this time we were presented with the delights of the ‘Family Stand’; presumably the family that normally frequents it had better things to do that night. A tiny, cordoned-off area at one end of one side nearest the away end, its quaint olde worlde attractions included a gents’ toilet consisting of a small, airless room equipped with nothing more than a trench and a naked light bulb (ah, those days in Turkish prison) while the ladies ‘enjoyed’ a single-seat portaloo that eschewed conventional locks in favour of the good old-fashioned foot-against-the-door method.
Refreshments were served from a minuscule alcove under the stand reminiscent of a miniature cave offering the choice of any sort of pasty as long as it was corned beef. For those who craved something approaching choice, we were kindly allowed access to the hut which normally serves the away end from behind a fence; yes, we could for the first time actually touch the hallowed food-dispensing structure without stretching every sinew of the arm through a small hole. A rare treat, indeed.
The old away end has had some radical changes imposed upon it: the original front wall and fence have been removed and the barriers moved halfway up the terrace, which was now sparsely populated by home supporters. The intrepid 75 away travellers had gained in comfort but very much lost in visibility, their view of the pitch obstructed by numerous unhelpfully placed pillars. But we may not have to endure this too many times: the Swans are due to move in 2005/06 to the White Rock Stadium, a £24m, 20,000-capacity stadium backed by the council on the Morfa Stadium site. It will host other sporting and musical events and act as a home for Swansea & Neath Ospreys, the new merged ‘regional’ rugby union team as the 15-man code sells its soul and its history to Mammon as surely as the (Not Very Super) League did a few years ago.
Their good start notwithstanding, the Swans’ early form has begun to stutter as injuries take their toll: only one win in their last four games. Strikers Lee Trundle (Div Three’s top scorer) and James Thomas, midfielder Andy Robinson and centre back Kristian O’Leary were just four of the missing faces, and Spanish Sky pundit Roberto Martinez was only just back from injury on the bench. Starting strikers were therefore veteran Kevin Nugent and 17-year-old Mark Pritchard (sounds familiar), while another golden oldie Lenny Johnrose filled in at the back, alongside the equally familiar figure of Izzy ‘mind the stairs’ Iriekpen. For the U’s, the team from Bristol picked itself with the exception of the return from suspension of Dave Kitson in place of John Turner, who was travel sick, poor lamb.
The year the BGG was born, 1980, was the year in which United last won at Bristol Rovers and at Swansea, the latter our only win there ever, to the tune of 4-2 with goals from Abbey legends Finney, Christie, Fallon and Reilly. The first leg of the 23-year hoodoo had been broken on Saturday; now for part two. An expectant roar for the third-best supported team in the division greeted their side’s kick-off at 7.45.
Twenty-four seconds later, the roar stuck in Welsh throats like an undigested leek. Shaggy switched play to Stev Angus, advancing from right back. His perceptive through ball found Kitson losing his marker (wake up, Izzy!) with a diagonal run that took him clear on goal down the right channel. As keeper Freestone hesitated, Big Dave saw his chance and produced an exquisite high chip over goalie and defenders and into the far corner of the net for a goal in marked contrast to his usual close-up tap-ins. The amber hordes celebrated wildly, stunned at a goal only bettered for speed in United’s League history by Pat Kruse’s obliging six-second og against Torquay in 1977 and Michael Cheetham’s effort in 21 seconds against the Pish in 1990.
Swansea responded impressively, showing the form that has got them into the top three with a 20-minute assault that tested United’s resolve to the hilt. Quick passing football using the full width of the pitch stretched the visitors’ two banks of four, Johnrose shooting over on three from 12 yards, then on six Nugent’s blaster was superbly palmed away by Marshall; even then, it ran to Brad Maylett, who would have bundled home had Bimson not blocked almost off his own line. It was backs to the wall as the Jacks’ firing squad showered United with more ammo than Chris Eubank shouting ‘Mississippi'.
Pritchard also just missed the target as United were down to ten men with Shaggy sorting out some contact lens trouble, Marshall clutched Coates’ header on 10, then Pritchard tried his luck from outside the box with a ferocious effort that the Terpsichorean custodian did well to tip over as it headed for the top left corner. Two flag kicks ensued, Angus blocking Man U loanee Mark Wilson’s effort through a crowded area, then on 17 Dancing Shaun was in action again as he saved another Coates effort. Still the pressure came, England’s Number One palming a Maylett blast away for yet another corner a minute later, but the thin amber line held firm, marshalled by the twin towers of Duncan and Venus with able support from the whole gang.
It was the 21st minute before United managed another effort on goal, some nice interplay between Fleming and Taylor resulting in the Terrier firing wide from 12 yards. But the initial storm had been weathered, and the visitors now began to gain a foothold on the game as Messrs Walker and Guttridge asserted themselves in the middle. Stoppages were almost as non-existent as Arsenal’s form in Europe as ref Trevor Parkes controlled the game with his nifty velvet glove/iron fist combo. Not literally, you understand, he isn’t some kind of freak, unlike some of the other refs we’ve had this season.
Shaggy’s got a great football brain, but a combination of ageing legs and rust meant he got caught offside four times in about 15 minutes, and although United now had more of the play, they were still waiting to call Freestone into action. There were a few palpitations on 36 as some neat interpassing sent Nugent through into the U’s area, and although Marshall rushed from goal, he chose not to pick the ball up but tried to hoof it clear; he miscued horribly, leaving his goal open to all-comers, but sterling covering by Duncan and then Guttridge cleared the danger as we heaved a sigh of relief stronger than the Mistral. Only without the distinctive whiff of garlic.
The teams matched each other for possession as half-time approached, but there was a further injury blow for the hosts on 43 as Maylett was injured in a (fair) challenge with Bimson and the first significant hold-up of the half ensued. The Swans’ stretcher crew was eventually called into play, their ill-fitting, style-free, shellsuit-like green and white uniforms prompting chants of ‘You’re just a bunch of Scousers!’ from the amused away support.
Maylett was replaced by Kieron Durkan, but it was United who threatened most as the half drew to a close, Shaggy blazing wide with two better-placed colleagues infield, then Kitson breaking free with another offside-beating run across the line into a very similar position in the right channel to that from which he had scored. This time his slightly over-deliberate attempted slider inside the far post was cut out by Freestone.
It only remained for Fleming to pick up the game’s first yellow for up-ending Leon Britton, then the whistle sounded on a first half more satisfying than seeing the chairman of Carlton TV, responsible for the ITV Digital disgrace, getting booted out of his job as they merge with Granada. What goes around, mate. The signs were altogether better for United as echoes of Bristol and Cheltenham were detected again in an encouraging away performance. The interval saw the appearance of our old friend Cyril the Swan ruining some youngsters’ evenings by saving most of their penalties. Bless.
Part two started much like part one, without a United goal, as the Swans pressed anew for parity. Main fear for the away faithful was that their side would repeat the old mistake of yore of retreating to the edge of their own area and playing too deep, inviting the opposition on to them more blatantly than Jodie Marsh after half a dozen vodka Red Bulls. Thankfully this did not transpire, as the amber shirts continued to press the white as far up the pitch as possible and restrict their crosses to hopeful long-range efforts.
It worked well, Marshall this time untroubled save the odd collection of a cross (he only dropped one) and a shot from Coates wide on 48. United asserted themselves earlier on this half as Swansea’s storm began to blow itself out, their lack of first-rate strikers beginning to show, and intelligent passing and running, with the player-boss leading by example, began to threaten to catch the hosts on the break.
Shaggy almost set Kitson up for a run through on 55 but he was just beaten to the punch. Encouragingly, the strikers were being given the ball mainly to feet rather than being fed with hopeful high balls. And come the hour mark, the killer blow came by just such a route.
It was, typically, a pinpoint Venus ball that set things up, his ultra-accurate ball from his own half finding Shaggy wide right. He held it up expertly, waited for Kitson to make the run then slid the ball into him as he entered the area. Faced with Iriekpen, Dave nimbly switched it to his left foot, giving himself a couple of yards to get a clear sight of goal, then fired coolly low past Freestone from 12 yards. Another super goal: 2-0. Joy among the travelling trickle was as unconfined as contestants on Teen Big Brother.
Rumble in the Mumbles
‘Hush children! It's time for your old uncle Jason Rees to tell you some more tales of the Land of my Fathers. Well, it beats playing football for a living.
'Wales is an ancient place with a civilisation older than the Pyramids whose legends run deep to this day. Anyone who knows their Mabinogion, out on their own at night, may once in a while start at the sound of hooves or hounds in the distance, mindful of the presence of Gwynn ap Nudd, the Master of the Wild Hunt, riding out with his dogs Cwn Annwn and collecting souls for delivery to the darkest depths of Annwvyn. Out in the Mumbles, the presence of Llyr, the Sea God, is as all-pervasive and menacing as the aftertaste of laverbread.
'And then there are the giants – legendary inhabitants of huge castles deep in the hills, names such as Cribwr, Bwch, Emallt, Buga, Trogi and Max Boyce were names to be much feared in their time. And now a new tale has arisen from the back streets of Abertawe: that of the Cawr Bwr Sinsir, or the Big Ginger Giant, also known to shape-shift and become the Cawr Bwr Malynwyn (Big Yellowish-White Giant) when the mood takes him.
'Said to have come from the East, clad in garments of garish amber hue, he laid to waste the brave warriors of the Jack Army with the assistance of his Dogs of War, Veno, Bimmo, Luki, Shaggi, a small terrier and the son of Terpsichore himself. Ten feet tall, he was, with enchanted feet and forehead studded with magic freckles. Some might call this fanciful, but they also claim to have seen an eight-foot swan called Cyril keeping goal at half-time, so who knows where truth really lies.’
A Tuesday night trip to Swansea is the perfect opportunity to reflect on the twilight world of the long-distance midweek traveller. For a few short hours they lead a parallel existence to the conventional nine-to-fiver, of their world but somehow not in it. We met some kindred souls at Strensham Services, wandering wraith-like among the overpriced aisles, a few from Mansfield on their way to Torquay and several coachloads of cheerful Yorkshire folk en route from Huddersfield to Yeovil. There were friendly greetings aplenty, each recognising in the other their detachment from dull normality while they shared in their glorious obsession on the off-chance that tonight would herald that classic goal or fighting win with which they were so irregularly rewarded. What would the cold, darkening night bring, glory or disappointment? Time alone would dictate.
Baking hot afternoons at the McAlpine are now a distant memory, and Tuesday night was the time to break out the trusty black ’n’ amber hat, scarf and gloves for another long, eventful winter. No need for the thermal long johns just yet, though. Less than three years ago, Swansea was a forbidding, unwelcoming place, United’s late-season visit confirming their relegation and only the Vetch’s away-end fencing preventing the froth-mouthed locals from venting their frustration on the nervous away support. You’d be froth-mouthed too if you tried to speak Welsh for any length of time.
Times have changed: the Swans were riding high, unbeaten at home as their late-season form from last term has continued into this. And there was a warm welcome indeed at the local pubs, the locals engaging us in easy conversation as the pints of delicious local brew Brains Dark & Smooth slipped easily down.
The small, packed pub was in fact good preparation for our accommodation at the Vetch. In previous years we have been allocated the cavernous away terrace at one end, even when there were 64 of us one Friday night nine years ago, but this time we were presented with the delights of the ‘Family Stand’; presumably the family that normally frequents it had better things to do that night. A tiny, cordoned-off area at one end of one side nearest the away end, its quaint olde worlde attractions included a gents’ toilet consisting of a small, airless room equipped with nothing more than a trench and a naked light bulb (ah, those days in Turkish prison) while the ladies ‘enjoyed’ a single-seat portaloo that eschewed conventional locks in favour of the good old-fashioned foot-against-the-door method.
Refreshments were served from a minuscule alcove under the stand reminiscent of a miniature cave offering the choice of any sort of pasty as long as it was corned beef. For those who craved something approaching choice, we were kindly allowed access to the hut which normally serves the away end from behind a fence; yes, we could for the first time actually touch the hallowed food-dispensing structure without stretching every sinew of the arm through a small hole. A rare treat, indeed.
The old away end has had some radical changes imposed upon it: the original front wall and fence have been removed and the barriers moved halfway up the terrace, which was now sparsely populated by home supporters. The intrepid 75 away travellers had gained in comfort but very much lost in visibility, their view of the pitch obstructed by numerous unhelpfully placed pillars. But we may not have to endure this too many times: the Swans are due to move in 2005/06 to the White Rock Stadium, a £24m, 20,000-capacity stadium backed by the council on the Morfa Stadium site. It will host other sporting and musical events and act as a home for Swansea & Neath Ospreys, the new merged ‘regional’ rugby union team as the 15-man code sells its soul and its history to Mammon as surely as the (Not Very Super) League did a few years ago.
Their good start notwithstanding, the Swans’ early form has begun to stutter as injuries take their toll: only one win in their last four games. Strikers Lee Trundle (Div Three’s top scorer) and James Thomas, midfielder Andy Robinson and centre back Kristian O’Leary were just four of the missing faces, and Spanish Sky pundit Roberto Martinez was only just back from injury on the bench. Starting strikers were therefore veteran Kevin Nugent and 17-year-old Mark Pritchard (sounds familiar), while another golden oldie Lenny Johnrose filled in at the back, alongside the equally familiar figure of Izzy ‘mind the stairs’ Iriekpen. For the U’s, the team from Bristol picked itself with the exception of the return from suspension of Dave Kitson in place of John Turner, who was travel sick, poor lamb.
The year the BGG was born, 1980, was the year in which United last won at Bristol Rovers and at Swansea, the latter our only win there ever, to the tune of 4-2 with goals from Abbey legends Finney, Christie, Fallon and Reilly. The first leg of the 23-year hoodoo had been broken on Saturday; now for part two. An expectant roar for the third-best supported team in the division greeted their side’s kick-off at 7.45.
Twenty-four seconds later, the roar stuck in Welsh throats like an undigested leek. Shaggy switched play to Stev Angus, advancing from right back. His perceptive through ball found Kitson losing his marker (wake up, Izzy!) with a diagonal run that took him clear on goal down the right channel. As keeper Freestone hesitated, Big Dave saw his chance and produced an exquisite high chip over goalie and defenders and into the far corner of the net for a goal in marked contrast to his usual close-up tap-ins. The amber hordes celebrated wildly, stunned at a goal only bettered for speed in United’s League history by Pat Kruse’s obliging six-second og against Torquay in 1977 and Michael Cheetham’s effort in 21 seconds against the Pish in 1990.
Swansea responded impressively, showing the form that has got them into the top three with a 20-minute assault that tested United’s resolve to the hilt. Quick passing football using the full width of the pitch stretched the visitors’ two banks of four, Johnrose shooting over on three from 12 yards, then on six Nugent’s blaster was superbly palmed away by Marshall; even then, it ran to Brad Maylett, who would have bundled home had Bimson not blocked almost off his own line. It was backs to the wall as the Jacks’ firing squad showered United with more ammo than Chris Eubank shouting ‘Mississippi'.
Pritchard also just missed the target as United were down to ten men with Shaggy sorting out some contact lens trouble, Marshall clutched Coates’ header on 10, then Pritchard tried his luck from outside the box with a ferocious effort that the Terpsichorean custodian did well to tip over as it headed for the top left corner. Two flag kicks ensued, Angus blocking Man U loanee Mark Wilson’s effort through a crowded area, then on 17 Dancing Shaun was in action again as he saved another Coates effort. Still the pressure came, England’s Number One palming a Maylett blast away for yet another corner a minute later, but the thin amber line held firm, marshalled by the twin towers of Duncan and Venus with able support from the whole gang.
It was the 21st minute before United managed another effort on goal, some nice interplay between Fleming and Taylor resulting in the Terrier firing wide from 12 yards. But the initial storm had been weathered, and the visitors now began to gain a foothold on the game as Messrs Walker and Guttridge asserted themselves in the middle. Stoppages were almost as non-existent as Arsenal’s form in Europe as ref Trevor Parkes controlled the game with his nifty velvet glove/iron fist combo. Not literally, you understand, he isn’t some kind of freak, unlike some of the other refs we’ve had this season.
Shaggy’s got a great football brain, but a combination of ageing legs and rust meant he got caught offside four times in about 15 minutes, and although United now had more of the play, they were still waiting to call Freestone into action. There were a few palpitations on 36 as some neat interpassing sent Nugent through into the U’s area, and although Marshall rushed from goal, he chose not to pick the ball up but tried to hoof it clear; he miscued horribly, leaving his goal open to all-comers, but sterling covering by Duncan and then Guttridge cleared the danger as we heaved a sigh of relief stronger than the Mistral. Only without the distinctive whiff of garlic.
The teams matched each other for possession as half-time approached, but there was a further injury blow for the hosts on 43 as Maylett was injured in a (fair) challenge with Bimson and the first significant hold-up of the half ensued. The Swans’ stretcher crew was eventually called into play, their ill-fitting, style-free, shellsuit-like green and white uniforms prompting chants of ‘You’re just a bunch of Scousers!’ from the amused away support.
Maylett was replaced by Kieron Durkan, but it was United who threatened most as the half drew to a close, Shaggy blazing wide with two better-placed colleagues infield, then Kitson breaking free with another offside-beating run across the line into a very similar position in the right channel to that from which he had scored. This time his slightly over-deliberate attempted slider inside the far post was cut out by Freestone.
It only remained for Fleming to pick up the game’s first yellow for up-ending Leon Britton, then the whistle sounded on a first half more satisfying than seeing the chairman of Carlton TV, responsible for the ITV Digital disgrace, getting booted out of his job as they merge with Granada. What goes around, mate. The signs were altogether better for United as echoes of Bristol and Cheltenham were detected again in an encouraging away performance. The interval saw the appearance of our old friend Cyril the Swan ruining some youngsters’ evenings by saving most of their penalties. Bless.
Part two started much like part one, without a United goal, as the Swans pressed anew for parity. Main fear for the away faithful was that their side would repeat the old mistake of yore of retreating to the edge of their own area and playing too deep, inviting the opposition on to them more blatantly than Jodie Marsh after half a dozen vodka Red Bulls. Thankfully this did not transpire, as the amber shirts continued to press the white as far up the pitch as possible and restrict their crosses to hopeful long-range efforts.
It worked well, Marshall this time untroubled save the odd collection of a cross (he only dropped one) and a shot from Coates wide on 48. United asserted themselves earlier on this half as Swansea’s storm began to blow itself out, their lack of first-rate strikers beginning to show, and intelligent passing and running, with the player-boss leading by example, began to threaten to catch the hosts on the break.
Shaggy almost set Kitson up for a run through on 55 but he was just beaten to the punch. Encouragingly, the strikers were being given the ball mainly to feet rather than being fed with hopeful high balls. And come the hour mark, the killer blow came by just such a route.
It was, typically, a pinpoint Venus ball that set things up, his ultra-accurate ball from his own half finding Shaggy wide right. He held it up expertly, waited for Kitson to make the run then slid the ball into him as he entered the area. Faced with Iriekpen, Dave nimbly switched it to his left foot, giving himself a couple of yards to get a clear sight of goal, then fired coolly low past Freestone from 12 yards. Another super goal: 2-0. Joy among the travelling trickle was as unconfined as contestants on Teen Big Brother.
Teen Big Brother: dearie me.
|
Swansea, stunned, had to do something, so introduced Martinez for Coates, but United continued to take the game to their opponents. Guttridge shot wide on 62, then a fantastic jet-propelled run down the right flank by Angus, giving Howard a few yards’ start and beating him comfortably, finished with a dangerous cross into the area that Freestone just snatched from Shaggy’s head.
A minute later a Tudor break found Kitson 25 yards out, and instead of passing, he had a rare crack from distance that was scudding into the bottom corner of the net until athletically pawed away. So close to a hat-trick. The Swans responded with a spell of pressure of their own, but the United defence was majestic, dealing with each and every cross that came their way firmly and ruthlessly, and Marshall had so little to do he could have taken time out to write his own theory as to what really happened when Di had her car crash. Well, every other bugger has.
Psycho Freddie Murray replaced Lil’ Luke with ten minutes to go, but Swansea already looked beaten; their fans had quietened, having run out of insults for England and the English, and their team had done the same, showing no conviction for penetrating the doughty amber barrier. Marshall finally had something to do on 87, beating out a Martinez free-kick, then Johnrose became the hosts’ first bookee on 89 for flattening Kitson.
As the three minutes of added time plodded on, Brooksie introduced two time-gobbling subs in David Bridges, for his first League outing since playing on this very same ground on February 15, and Lloyd Opara for Tudor and a bruised, battered and doubtless knackered Shaggy. Right at the death came the Swans’ closest effort of the match from Andy Duncan, of all people, his unchallenged off-balance header coming off the foot of the post.
Come the final whistle, the Swans fans filed silently out, to their credit at least having stayed to the bitter end, while the 75 United fans’ applause echoed around the ground as they acclaimed another superb, gutsy and thoroughly professional away victory, and the first time they had kept two consecutive away clean sheets in the League since Bury and Wycombe in January/February 2001. Best away record in the division; who’d have thunk it? Shaggy knows the next challenge as well as we all do: repeat this form at home. Bring on the Yeovil.
The Jacks’ feeling seemed to be summed up by a sign we saw on the way out of town: ‘AR OSOL.’ It means ‘To let,’ apparently. We got a form check on Yeovil back at Strensham at 20 past midnight, as those very same Huddersfield supporters we had met on the way in pulled in just behind us. Chatting amicably to fellow football obsessives in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere seems to be what being a travelling supporter is all about: sharing experiences with fellow countryside criss-crossers, feeling a camaraderie that no petty rivalries could possibly dispel. Football fans, stick together: it’s the people who don’t care about our game that are the enemy.
Marshall 8 – Exceptional first 20 in which he appeared unbeatable, always in command thereafter.
Angus 8 – Splendid defensively, with some thrillingly spring-heeled forward runs to boot.
Bimson 9 – His best game for the club; impeccably tough at the back, and dangerous supplementing the attack.
Duncan 8 – Yet another strong, no-nonsense display of safe defending.
Venus 9 – Immaculate, cutting out so many crosses with head or foot, then distributing intelligently and effectively.
Tudor 8 – Another hard-working effort, again showing his new defensive expertise, and now beginning to approach last season’s forward form.
Walker 9 – Absolutely everywhere; once United had ridden the early Swans storm, he and Luke ran the game.
Guttridge 9 – Tireless and energetic, it looks like we’ve finally the right middle two.
Fleming 8 – Put his poor recent form behind him with a vintage box-to-box performance.
Taylor 8 – Another 90 minutes of power and guile from the inspirational pensioner.
Kitson 8 – Fantastic finishing and unlucky not to get a hat-trick.
Murray 7 – Did his buccaneering bit for the last ten minutes.
Bridges, Opara – Came on so late I’m not sure they even touched the ball more than once each.
A minute later a Tudor break found Kitson 25 yards out, and instead of passing, he had a rare crack from distance that was scudding into the bottom corner of the net until athletically pawed away. So close to a hat-trick. The Swans responded with a spell of pressure of their own, but the United defence was majestic, dealing with each and every cross that came their way firmly and ruthlessly, and Marshall had so little to do he could have taken time out to write his own theory as to what really happened when Di had her car crash. Well, every other bugger has.
Psycho Freddie Murray replaced Lil’ Luke with ten minutes to go, but Swansea already looked beaten; their fans had quietened, having run out of insults for England and the English, and their team had done the same, showing no conviction for penetrating the doughty amber barrier. Marshall finally had something to do on 87, beating out a Martinez free-kick, then Johnrose became the hosts’ first bookee on 89 for flattening Kitson.
As the three minutes of added time plodded on, Brooksie introduced two time-gobbling subs in David Bridges, for his first League outing since playing on this very same ground on February 15, and Lloyd Opara for Tudor and a bruised, battered and doubtless knackered Shaggy. Right at the death came the Swans’ closest effort of the match from Andy Duncan, of all people, his unchallenged off-balance header coming off the foot of the post.
Come the final whistle, the Swans fans filed silently out, to their credit at least having stayed to the bitter end, while the 75 United fans’ applause echoed around the ground as they acclaimed another superb, gutsy and thoroughly professional away victory, and the first time they had kept two consecutive away clean sheets in the League since Bury and Wycombe in January/February 2001. Best away record in the division; who’d have thunk it? Shaggy knows the next challenge as well as we all do: repeat this form at home. Bring on the Yeovil.
The Jacks’ feeling seemed to be summed up by a sign we saw on the way out of town: ‘AR OSOL.’ It means ‘To let,’ apparently. We got a form check on Yeovil back at Strensham at 20 past midnight, as those very same Huddersfield supporters we had met on the way in pulled in just behind us. Chatting amicably to fellow football obsessives in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere seems to be what being a travelling supporter is all about: sharing experiences with fellow countryside criss-crossers, feeling a camaraderie that no petty rivalries could possibly dispel. Football fans, stick together: it’s the people who don’t care about our game that are the enemy.
Marshall 8 – Exceptional first 20 in which he appeared unbeatable, always in command thereafter.
Angus 8 – Splendid defensively, with some thrillingly spring-heeled forward runs to boot.
Bimson 9 – His best game for the club; impeccably tough at the back, and dangerous supplementing the attack.
Duncan 8 – Yet another strong, no-nonsense display of safe defending.
Venus 9 – Immaculate, cutting out so many crosses with head or foot, then distributing intelligently and effectively.
Tudor 8 – Another hard-working effort, again showing his new defensive expertise, and now beginning to approach last season’s forward form.
Walker 9 – Absolutely everywhere; once United had ridden the early Swans storm, he and Luke ran the game.
Guttridge 9 – Tireless and energetic, it looks like we’ve finally the right middle two.
Fleming 8 – Put his poor recent form behind him with a vintage box-to-box performance.
Taylor 8 – Another 90 minutes of power and guile from the inspirational pensioner.
Kitson 8 – Fantastic finishing and unlucky not to get a hat-trick.
Murray 7 – Did his buccaneering bit for the last ten minutes.
Bridges, Opara – Came on so late I’m not sure they even touched the ball more than once each.
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Soundtrack of the day: Beach Boys/Help Me Rhonda
Match summary:Never was our motto more appropriate as the U’s were United In Endeavour for the second time in four days to record a 2-0 victory in a place where they hadn’t won for 23 long years. Team spirit, organisation, hard work with a touch of flair, these eleven all-for-one-one-for-all Musketeers put up a mighty defence when needed then thrust home their rapier with ruthless efficiency. Formidable! Man of the match: Mark Venus. In truth there were 11 men of the match in a true team display, but Veno used all his experience to hold his side together when the going got tough and didn’t put a foot wrong. Pat on the back to Bimmo, who proved once and for all that he is a fine left back. Ref watch:Parkes 9. Apart from failing to apply an obvious advantage, Mr P was immaculate, clamping down on the relatively few fouls without throwing cards around like confetti, keeping the game flowing and generally keeping authoritative control without being overly obtrusive. Justin’s jukebox. Justin Walker lends an ear to the Vetch Field sounds. ‘The chatty DJ seemed to think he was broadcasting from a real radio station, and if it was, it would have been Virgin, with an output of rousing rock from the likes of Aerosmith, Foo Fighters, Blink 182, Electric Six, Republica (described as a “classic” – hm) and House Of Pain, with a rare outing for Green Jelly’s preposterous Three Little Pigs, a jolly singalong to Madness’ House Of Fun and run-out music of the Piranhas’ Tom Hark followed closely by the classic punk of The Clash’s White Riot. In fact the only truly duff track on offer was Starship’s horrible Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now. Bin it now, Mr DJ! JJ verdict: Rocking! (8/10).’ |
Dave Kitson: so close to a hat-trick. Photo: Andrea Thrussell.
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25 October 2003: U's 1v4 Yeovil
Home is where the heat is
The reason for Cambridge United’s poor home form this season was revealed last night … as a curse by a rejected leprechaun. Your official website gained an exclusive interview with the diminutive, flame-haired Irish being, who appears to bear a grudge against the club after being told to leave by the management a few months ago. When quizzed about his grievance, the leprechaun, answering to the name of Skullie, was bitter: 'They said they didn’t need me! May the devil roast the behinds off ‘em! And they called me Queenie. May they be afflicted with the itch and have no nails to scratch with! To Halifax with them!'
But surely, Skullie, you didn’t expect to hold down a first-team place with normal-sized humans? 'What? They had almost a whole team of midgets, dwarves, pixies and even a fairy. The anguished bankruptcy of the year to the lot of ‘em!' So you laid a curse on the Abbey Stadium? 'Aye. And it won’t be lifted until I'm restored to my rightful place, and so is Beck, the God of Whiskey, the Great Horned One! Until then, may every day of it be wet for ye!'
Be honest, Skullie. You’re really Graham Norton is disguise, and you only wanted to be a footballer so you could get into the dressing room with lots of hunky young men. 'Right! That’s it! May the flame that will go through your soul be bigger and wider than the Connemara mountains if they were on fire! I’m away back to Dagenham! Just tell me one thing afore I go: does my bum look big in these pantaloons?'
The theories abound far and wide as to the yawning disparity between United’s home and away performances this season. Less expectation away from home; the passionate hardcore’s vocal support; the suitability of the ‘two banks of four.’ However, the rumour that United’s revamped Abbey planning application now includes a hotel so that the players can stay there before home games and pretend they’re away is false. Probably.
United welcomed Yeovil to Newmarket Road for the first time since the Glovers’ 1-0 FA Cup victory in 1987, and the clubs’ first league meeting since they met twice in ten days in April 1970, both matches going Yeovil’s way (2-1 at the Abbey, 4-1 at the Huish) to set up an exciting finish in the Southern League. The U’s won their last two games of the season, both at home, to pip Town to the championship by a solitary point. The rest is, indeed, history, and it has taken the famous giantkillers 33 long years to regain parity.
A warm welcome was extended to Gary ‘Nice Bloke’ Johnson, who must have done every job at the Abbey from manager to jockstrap scraper in his time, and was deemed unlucky by many to have been dismissed when United became the only club ever to be relegated from Division Two after finishing fifth from bottom. He’s done OK since then, disproving his old boss John Beck’s assertion that ‘Last blokes finish nice'. He had a way with words, did Becky.
Yeovil had two ex-U’s players on their books last season, but Messrs Mustoe and Sheffield were jettisoned after the Conference title was secured and now ply their trades in the much-reduced circumstances of Gloucester City and Saltash United respectively. However, the manager’s son and ex-U’s trainee Lee is still there, and appeared at the Abbey today for the first time since he guested for Skonto Riga back in April 2001. Lee’s most notable (well you can’t miss him) teammate these days is 6ft 8in Portuguese centre back Hugo (or should that be Huge) Rodrigues, the tallest player to appear on our hallowed turf since Enoch ‘Knocker’ Piddleswicke turned out for Sawston Church Institute in the 1936 Creake Charity Shield. Bet Lincoln are jealous.
United were unsurprisingly unchanged personnel-wise from Tuesday’s Rumble in the Mumbles, only change on the bench bringing in John Turner for Lloyd Opara, a promisingly talented footballer who sadly appears to be suffering from a touch of the Armand Ones and has been released. It was soon apparent, though, that the tried-and-tested two banks of four formation had been tampered with, Shane Tudor floating further forward, the midfield three much narrower and the full backs expected to push up to provide the width that was otherwise lacking. It was to be another painful lesson for our young coaching team; don’t change a winning side, especially when it means reverting to a formation that has already failed on several occasions this season. A hundred lines each, to me by Tuesday please, boys.
The match started at breakneck pace, and Yeovil wasted no time in impressing with their lively, flowing pass-and-move football, immediately recognisable as a Gary Johnson team and, one would guess, playing the sort of intelligent, accurate passing stuff that Shaggy has been aiming for until the recent success of United’s more mix-and-match stylings. The visitors soon had the upper hand in midfield as once more Tudor fell down the cracks and almost disappeared, and United’s middle three struggled to cope with the four or five green-and-white hooped figures that hassled and hustled them every time they got the ball. The hosts’ lack of wide players also meant that their full backs were tellingly exposed without support down the flanks.
All that was lacking from both sides’ early play was that telling final ball as both defences coped with the crosses that came their way, Angus doing well with a last-ditch tackle in the first minute to stop Gavin Williams from getting clear on goal. The same Yeovil player was unlucky on ten to be flagged late for offside as he raced clear from the centre circle, but it was no surprise when his team took the lead on 16. Kevin Gall picked the ball up on halfway and advanced on goal as Guttridge puzzlingly made no attempt to chase him from five yards away. His through ball to fellow striker Jake Edwards was exquisite, bisecting the amber backline and sending him clear to stroke home with his first touch from 18 yards as the United defence gaped emptily open like Dwain Chambers’ Olympic diary: 1-0.
The U’s responded encouragingly, taking the game to the visitors with some good passing of their own mixed with some longer balls up to the twin towers Taylor and Kitson. Two corners ensued, followed by a Guttridge shot wide. For all their increased possession, though, they were unable to find their way through to visiting keeper Chris Weale, and Yeovil’s hard-working young team began to hurry their hosts into passing errors that frustrated an already anxious home crowd.
Shaun Marshall comfortably held a hopeful Colin Pluck shot on 29, and two minutes later Stev Angus, who had been nursing a leg injury for several minutes, was forced to withdraw to be replaced by Adam Tann. United did not look like scoring in an increasingly morgue-like atmosphere, the feelgood factor of the last two away wins dissipating as rapidly as Liza Minnelli’s ‘marriage’ to that bloke with the plastic face. And heart.
It was in the 40th minute that Weale was finally forced into reasonably strenuous action, Kitson controlling Tudor’s chipped pass and shooting accurately but with insufficient power to beat the man in a simply divine shade of powder blue. Nice. Four minutes later, however, came the breakthrough that many doubted would ever come. Guttridge’s searching ball over the top down the right flank was spotted by Kitson, leaving his marker behind, and by Weale, dashing from his line, but it was Big Dave who got there first just inside the area, skipping wide of the keeper and sliding the ball accurately into the empty net from a difficult angle for his third magnificent goal this week. Top stuff: 1-1.
United barely deserved their equaliser, but their tails were up again, and almost from the restart the BGG was chasing down lankypegs Rodrigues and forcing a corner. Or rather he wasn’t, as our favourite ref Paul ‘Dirty’ Danson gave a goal kick from 40 yards away. He’d been doing quite well up to then, too. For him. So it was the amber who finished in the ascendant. Yeovil hadn’t drawn a game all season, so the odds were surely in parity’s favour this time. If only, if only, if only.
The second half resumed in lively fashion, with United still marginally on top, pressurising the visitors with direct but controlled football which again just lacked that killer touch. Skipper Bimson was prominent, getting forward at every opportunity and whipping in some dangerous-looking crosses and set pieces, but it was Justin Walker who tested Weale on 53 with a free kick from 25 yards. Lil’ Luke, having a below-par game by his own standards, tried his luck from a similar distance four minutes later, but his blaster was rising faster than Concorde, or all the hot air spouted about it to be more accurate.
It looked good for United, though: dominating possession, gradually applying more pressure, on the crest of a two-win wave; what could possibly go wrong? Just before the hour, grim reality came a-knocking with all the unwelcome inevitability of another S Club 8 record. It originated in a home corner that was cleared to just over halfway; Bimson, under pressure, attempted to knock it back to last man Venus, but underhit it horribly. The speedy Gall latched on to it, with Edwards alongside him in support, and Veno had no choice but to go for the ball. He was just too late, taking Gall’s legs as he flicked it to his colleague to set him up for an unchallenged run on goal from the centre circle. He seemed to take an eternity to take it round Dancing Shaun, but he eventually tucked into the net past Fleming’s despairing lunge.
Bimmo looked devastated, knowing that it was his error that had caused the goal, just as Angus’s had a couple of weeks back. But unlike with our Stev, certain sections of the home support chose to boo their skipper whenever he touched the ball for the next few minutes. It might have made them feel better, but it must have been devastating to him and been more demotivating than any abuse from opposition fans. Perhaps some people ought to look up the meaning of the word ‘supporter’: ally, helper, defender, backer, enthusiast. Not much help or backing there, eh?
Less than three minutes later it was déjà vu: this time Guttridge gave the ball away in midfield, and again those lightning-quick hoops were on to it. Williams threaded an inch-perfect ball through to the quicksilver Gall, the United defence was exposed and the Yeovil striker lashed home unchallenged from 15 yards, beating Marshall at his near post with sheer power. The helpless Terpsichorean custodian would be disappointed with that one.
There was still the best part of half an hour to go, but we could see the United side sag like an elderly boxer dog’s jowls. We were down, boy. Shaggy, playing his third game in a week, decided enough was enough for his poor aching muscles and gave way to John Turner, but we knew the match was effectively over. Yeovil, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like 11 green-shirted Labradors, continued to chase and harry and showed no interest in sitting on their lead. That’s why they Winalot (sorry).
There was a half-hearted appeal for a penalty on 67 when Tudor went to ground, but let’s face it, we’d only have missed it. The visitors made their first substitution on 70, replacing Gall with Adam Stansfield, top scorer two seasons ago but more recently sidelined with a long injury, although some suspect he was really going around the world trying to find his baby. Fleming sent a hopeful scudder wide on 71 and three minutes later David Bridges replaced Tudor, so anonymous the name may as well have faded from the back of his shirt, but not looking exactly 100% fit. Two more replacements followed for the visitors, Kirk Jackson for Edwards on 76 and Nick Crittenden for Moroccan Aboul El Kholti on 81. Turner had a shot blocked by Glovers skipper Terry Skiverton, or his face anyway, and Tann saw a header from a Bimson cross saved well as United bravely fought on to the end.
Home is where the heat is
The reason for Cambridge United’s poor home form this season was revealed last night … as a curse by a rejected leprechaun. Your official website gained an exclusive interview with the diminutive, flame-haired Irish being, who appears to bear a grudge against the club after being told to leave by the management a few months ago. When quizzed about his grievance, the leprechaun, answering to the name of Skullie, was bitter: 'They said they didn’t need me! May the devil roast the behinds off ‘em! And they called me Queenie. May they be afflicted with the itch and have no nails to scratch with! To Halifax with them!'
But surely, Skullie, you didn’t expect to hold down a first-team place with normal-sized humans? 'What? They had almost a whole team of midgets, dwarves, pixies and even a fairy. The anguished bankruptcy of the year to the lot of ‘em!' So you laid a curse on the Abbey Stadium? 'Aye. And it won’t be lifted until I'm restored to my rightful place, and so is Beck, the God of Whiskey, the Great Horned One! Until then, may every day of it be wet for ye!'
Be honest, Skullie. You’re really Graham Norton is disguise, and you only wanted to be a footballer so you could get into the dressing room with lots of hunky young men. 'Right! That’s it! May the flame that will go through your soul be bigger and wider than the Connemara mountains if they were on fire! I’m away back to Dagenham! Just tell me one thing afore I go: does my bum look big in these pantaloons?'
The theories abound far and wide as to the yawning disparity between United’s home and away performances this season. Less expectation away from home; the passionate hardcore’s vocal support; the suitability of the ‘two banks of four.’ However, the rumour that United’s revamped Abbey planning application now includes a hotel so that the players can stay there before home games and pretend they’re away is false. Probably.
United welcomed Yeovil to Newmarket Road for the first time since the Glovers’ 1-0 FA Cup victory in 1987, and the clubs’ first league meeting since they met twice in ten days in April 1970, both matches going Yeovil’s way (2-1 at the Abbey, 4-1 at the Huish) to set up an exciting finish in the Southern League. The U’s won their last two games of the season, both at home, to pip Town to the championship by a solitary point. The rest is, indeed, history, and it has taken the famous giantkillers 33 long years to regain parity.
A warm welcome was extended to Gary ‘Nice Bloke’ Johnson, who must have done every job at the Abbey from manager to jockstrap scraper in his time, and was deemed unlucky by many to have been dismissed when United became the only club ever to be relegated from Division Two after finishing fifth from bottom. He’s done OK since then, disproving his old boss John Beck’s assertion that ‘Last blokes finish nice'. He had a way with words, did Becky.
Yeovil had two ex-U’s players on their books last season, but Messrs Mustoe and Sheffield were jettisoned after the Conference title was secured and now ply their trades in the much-reduced circumstances of Gloucester City and Saltash United respectively. However, the manager’s son and ex-U’s trainee Lee is still there, and appeared at the Abbey today for the first time since he guested for Skonto Riga back in April 2001. Lee’s most notable (well you can’t miss him) teammate these days is 6ft 8in Portuguese centre back Hugo (or should that be Huge) Rodrigues, the tallest player to appear on our hallowed turf since Enoch ‘Knocker’ Piddleswicke turned out for Sawston Church Institute in the 1936 Creake Charity Shield. Bet Lincoln are jealous.
United were unsurprisingly unchanged personnel-wise from Tuesday’s Rumble in the Mumbles, only change on the bench bringing in John Turner for Lloyd Opara, a promisingly talented footballer who sadly appears to be suffering from a touch of the Armand Ones and has been released. It was soon apparent, though, that the tried-and-tested two banks of four formation had been tampered with, Shane Tudor floating further forward, the midfield three much narrower and the full backs expected to push up to provide the width that was otherwise lacking. It was to be another painful lesson for our young coaching team; don’t change a winning side, especially when it means reverting to a formation that has already failed on several occasions this season. A hundred lines each, to me by Tuesday please, boys.
The match started at breakneck pace, and Yeovil wasted no time in impressing with their lively, flowing pass-and-move football, immediately recognisable as a Gary Johnson team and, one would guess, playing the sort of intelligent, accurate passing stuff that Shaggy has been aiming for until the recent success of United’s more mix-and-match stylings. The visitors soon had the upper hand in midfield as once more Tudor fell down the cracks and almost disappeared, and United’s middle three struggled to cope with the four or five green-and-white hooped figures that hassled and hustled them every time they got the ball. The hosts’ lack of wide players also meant that their full backs were tellingly exposed without support down the flanks.
All that was lacking from both sides’ early play was that telling final ball as both defences coped with the crosses that came their way, Angus doing well with a last-ditch tackle in the first minute to stop Gavin Williams from getting clear on goal. The same Yeovil player was unlucky on ten to be flagged late for offside as he raced clear from the centre circle, but it was no surprise when his team took the lead on 16. Kevin Gall picked the ball up on halfway and advanced on goal as Guttridge puzzlingly made no attempt to chase him from five yards away. His through ball to fellow striker Jake Edwards was exquisite, bisecting the amber backline and sending him clear to stroke home with his first touch from 18 yards as the United defence gaped emptily open like Dwain Chambers’ Olympic diary: 1-0.
The U’s responded encouragingly, taking the game to the visitors with some good passing of their own mixed with some longer balls up to the twin towers Taylor and Kitson. Two corners ensued, followed by a Guttridge shot wide. For all their increased possession, though, they were unable to find their way through to visiting keeper Chris Weale, and Yeovil’s hard-working young team began to hurry their hosts into passing errors that frustrated an already anxious home crowd.
Shaun Marshall comfortably held a hopeful Colin Pluck shot on 29, and two minutes later Stev Angus, who had been nursing a leg injury for several minutes, was forced to withdraw to be replaced by Adam Tann. United did not look like scoring in an increasingly morgue-like atmosphere, the feelgood factor of the last two away wins dissipating as rapidly as Liza Minnelli’s ‘marriage’ to that bloke with the plastic face. And heart.
It was in the 40th minute that Weale was finally forced into reasonably strenuous action, Kitson controlling Tudor’s chipped pass and shooting accurately but with insufficient power to beat the man in a simply divine shade of powder blue. Nice. Four minutes later, however, came the breakthrough that many doubted would ever come. Guttridge’s searching ball over the top down the right flank was spotted by Kitson, leaving his marker behind, and by Weale, dashing from his line, but it was Big Dave who got there first just inside the area, skipping wide of the keeper and sliding the ball accurately into the empty net from a difficult angle for his third magnificent goal this week. Top stuff: 1-1.
United barely deserved their equaliser, but their tails were up again, and almost from the restart the BGG was chasing down lankypegs Rodrigues and forcing a corner. Or rather he wasn’t, as our favourite ref Paul ‘Dirty’ Danson gave a goal kick from 40 yards away. He’d been doing quite well up to then, too. For him. So it was the amber who finished in the ascendant. Yeovil hadn’t drawn a game all season, so the odds were surely in parity’s favour this time. If only, if only, if only.
The second half resumed in lively fashion, with United still marginally on top, pressurising the visitors with direct but controlled football which again just lacked that killer touch. Skipper Bimson was prominent, getting forward at every opportunity and whipping in some dangerous-looking crosses and set pieces, but it was Justin Walker who tested Weale on 53 with a free kick from 25 yards. Lil’ Luke, having a below-par game by his own standards, tried his luck from a similar distance four minutes later, but his blaster was rising faster than Concorde, or all the hot air spouted about it to be more accurate.
It looked good for United, though: dominating possession, gradually applying more pressure, on the crest of a two-win wave; what could possibly go wrong? Just before the hour, grim reality came a-knocking with all the unwelcome inevitability of another S Club 8 record. It originated in a home corner that was cleared to just over halfway; Bimson, under pressure, attempted to knock it back to last man Venus, but underhit it horribly. The speedy Gall latched on to it, with Edwards alongside him in support, and Veno had no choice but to go for the ball. He was just too late, taking Gall’s legs as he flicked it to his colleague to set him up for an unchallenged run on goal from the centre circle. He seemed to take an eternity to take it round Dancing Shaun, but he eventually tucked into the net past Fleming’s despairing lunge.
Bimmo looked devastated, knowing that it was his error that had caused the goal, just as Angus’s had a couple of weeks back. But unlike with our Stev, certain sections of the home support chose to boo their skipper whenever he touched the ball for the next few minutes. It might have made them feel better, but it must have been devastating to him and been more demotivating than any abuse from opposition fans. Perhaps some people ought to look up the meaning of the word ‘supporter’: ally, helper, defender, backer, enthusiast. Not much help or backing there, eh?
Less than three minutes later it was déjà vu: this time Guttridge gave the ball away in midfield, and again those lightning-quick hoops were on to it. Williams threaded an inch-perfect ball through to the quicksilver Gall, the United defence was exposed and the Yeovil striker lashed home unchallenged from 15 yards, beating Marshall at his near post with sheer power. The helpless Terpsichorean custodian would be disappointed with that one.
There was still the best part of half an hour to go, but we could see the United side sag like an elderly boxer dog’s jowls. We were down, boy. Shaggy, playing his third game in a week, decided enough was enough for his poor aching muscles and gave way to John Turner, but we knew the match was effectively over. Yeovil, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like 11 green-shirted Labradors, continued to chase and harry and showed no interest in sitting on their lead. That’s why they Winalot (sorry).
There was a half-hearted appeal for a penalty on 67 when Tudor went to ground, but let’s face it, we’d only have missed it. The visitors made their first substitution on 70, replacing Gall with Adam Stansfield, top scorer two seasons ago but more recently sidelined with a long injury, although some suspect he was really going around the world trying to find his baby. Fleming sent a hopeful scudder wide on 71 and three minutes later David Bridges replaced Tudor, so anonymous the name may as well have faded from the back of his shirt, but not looking exactly 100% fit. Two more replacements followed for the visitors, Kirk Jackson for Edwards on 76 and Nick Crittenden for Moroccan Aboul El Kholti on 81. Turner had a shot blocked by Glovers skipper Terry Skiverton, or his face anyway, and Tann saw a header from a Bimson cross saved well as United bravely fought on to the end.
Lisa Stansfield: probably no relation
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Fleming had another effort on goal on 84, but his snatched first-time effort from the edge of the area had more vertical trajectory than horizontal and spooned tragically into the car park, summing up his and United’s day with more eloquence than any words. Then Kitson wriggled clear to the touchline and sent over a tempting low cross that somehow no colleague managed to reach for what would have been a simple tap-in.
The final slap in the chops with a wet turbot came from the ensuing corner, as with the grinding inevitability of a guest rap by Sean Paul, Yeovil broke away at their usual breakneck pace, and with almost insulting ease and a couple of accurate passes, Williams had set up Darren Way for another well-taken goal for 4-1, tucking it past Marshall into the bottom corner.
This was the cue for a large number of home bodies to vacate the premises, no doubt anxious to catch the FA Cup draw that those thoughtful FA people had scheduled for a time when real football fans are just getting away from the match. Cheers, guys. United plugged away until the end, Walker and Bridges both trying their luck from distance to no avail, but as well all knew, the contest had ended half an hour previously. So much for the good run.
Let’s first of all give credit to Yeovil, a talented, young, energetic and well-organised team moulded superbly by Gary Johnson and capable of thrashing just about anybody on their day on this showing. For United it was the proverbial bad day down t’pit, no one even approaching their form of the Swansea game and exacerbated by a change of formation that failed spectacularly in every department. Thankfully, our next two games are away after our glamour draw at Lancaster’s Giant Axe in the Cup. Time to find that drawing board again.
Marshall 6 – More exposed than Jordan by a hapless defence for all four goals, although will be disappointed he couldn’t even get a hand to any of them.
Angus 6 – Adequate half-hour until forced off by injury.
Bimson 5 – Error altered the course of the match, and three goals were conceded from his flank, but showed great character to keep getting stuck in.
Duncan 6 – Did reasonably on a general defensive off-day.
Venus 7 – Exposed for pace occasionally but United’s best passer on the pitch.
Tudor 5 – Totally anonymous in his team’s misguidedly narrow lineup.
Walker 6 – Tried his hardest and was the best of an utterly overrun midfield.
Guttridge 5 – Our most consistent player this season was bound to have a stinker eventually; this was it. Looked like he had his boots on the wrong feet.
Fleming 5 – Effective away from home in our 2B4, but contributed nothing when required to provide something positive.
Taylor 6 – The veteran never stopped trying but had precious little support from his off-form colleagues.
Kitson 7 – Made the most of pretty poor service and scored another great goal.
Tann 6 – Settled in well in increasingly torrid conditions.
Turner 6 – Showed the odd flash of menace but this was no day for the kid to come on.
Bridges 6 – Continued his rehabilitation with a quietly tidy display.
Soundtrack of the day: Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros/Ramshackle Day Parade
Match summary: It was all going too well, wasn’t it? Yeovil were impressive, United were mediocre for an hour then fell to pieces completely as Shaggy and the Prof ‘s tinkering with a winning formula backfired as explosively as if they’d swallowed a firework sandwich. (Unnecessary formation change + off-form team) – (lively opposition) = 0 points.
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. No United player will want to remember this debacle, but at least Big Dave has a storming third goal in two games to show for it.
Ref watch: Danson 6. His usual eccentricities were kept to a minimum by the flowing, incident-free nature of the game, although he let some poor tackles from behind on Kitson go unpunished, so even he couldn’t make a mess of this one. Small mercies and all that…
The final slap in the chops with a wet turbot came from the ensuing corner, as with the grinding inevitability of a guest rap by Sean Paul, Yeovil broke away at their usual breakneck pace, and with almost insulting ease and a couple of accurate passes, Williams had set up Darren Way for another well-taken goal for 4-1, tucking it past Marshall into the bottom corner.
This was the cue for a large number of home bodies to vacate the premises, no doubt anxious to catch the FA Cup draw that those thoughtful FA people had scheduled for a time when real football fans are just getting away from the match. Cheers, guys. United plugged away until the end, Walker and Bridges both trying their luck from distance to no avail, but as well all knew, the contest had ended half an hour previously. So much for the good run.
Let’s first of all give credit to Yeovil, a talented, young, energetic and well-organised team moulded superbly by Gary Johnson and capable of thrashing just about anybody on their day on this showing. For United it was the proverbial bad day down t’pit, no one even approaching their form of the Swansea game and exacerbated by a change of formation that failed spectacularly in every department. Thankfully, our next two games are away after our glamour draw at Lancaster’s Giant Axe in the Cup. Time to find that drawing board again.
Marshall 6 – More exposed than Jordan by a hapless defence for all four goals, although will be disappointed he couldn’t even get a hand to any of them.
Angus 6 – Adequate half-hour until forced off by injury.
Bimson 5 – Error altered the course of the match, and three goals were conceded from his flank, but showed great character to keep getting stuck in.
Duncan 6 – Did reasonably on a general defensive off-day.
Venus 7 – Exposed for pace occasionally but United’s best passer on the pitch.
Tudor 5 – Totally anonymous in his team’s misguidedly narrow lineup.
Walker 6 – Tried his hardest and was the best of an utterly overrun midfield.
Guttridge 5 – Our most consistent player this season was bound to have a stinker eventually; this was it. Looked like he had his boots on the wrong feet.
Fleming 5 – Effective away from home in our 2B4, but contributed nothing when required to provide something positive.
Taylor 6 – The veteran never stopped trying but had precious little support from his off-form colleagues.
Kitson 7 – Made the most of pretty poor service and scored another great goal.
Tann 6 – Settled in well in increasingly torrid conditions.
Turner 6 – Showed the odd flash of menace but this was no day for the kid to come on.
Bridges 6 – Continued his rehabilitation with a quietly tidy display.
Soundtrack of the day: Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros/Ramshackle Day Parade
Match summary: It was all going too well, wasn’t it? Yeovil were impressive, United were mediocre for an hour then fell to pieces completely as Shaggy and the Prof ‘s tinkering with a winning formula backfired as explosively as if they’d swallowed a firework sandwich. (Unnecessary formation change + off-form team) – (lively opposition) = 0 points.
Man of the match: Dave Kitson. No United player will want to remember this debacle, but at least Big Dave has a storming third goal in two games to show for it.
Ref watch: Danson 6. His usual eccentricities were kept to a minimum by the flowing, incident-free nature of the game, although he let some poor tackles from behind on Kitson go unpunished, so even he couldn’t make a mess of this one. Small mercies and all that…
1 November 2003: Kidderminster 2v2 U's
Just Williams
The world of football was rocked again last night as former almost-good footballer Leon Jeanne revealed that the imbibing of performance-enhancing substances was not restricted to millionaire playboy Premiership stars. Debt-ridden former drug addict and entirely reliable witness Jeanne lifted the lid on the goings-on at Cambridge United when he visited their homely Abbey Stadium with Cardiff back in September 2001.
'Yeah, I was already familiar with E and H, like,' mumbled the former ‘Welsh Ralph Milne,’ 'but I never got no further in school. But I know Cambridge have become well known in the last few years for playing poorly in one half then much better in the second … and I know their secret. At half-time a mysterious woman went into their dressing-room with a big silver container and handed out something called T. They ingested it orally, I think, and it really made them feel much better. They even called the woman the T-Lady!
'I asked one of their players about it and he said they do T at every game, although sometimes it’s called PG. That’s the stronger stuff. He told me not to tell anyone about it, and he gave me a tube of some other stuff called Preparation H which he said was a sort of heroin that you spread on sandwiches. I couldn’t read the writing on the tube but I tried some when I got home. It tasted horrible but it certainly got me feeling all tingly! I also tried it as a suppository but it just wasn’t the same, somehow.'
These astonishing revelations will confirm once and for all what the public has long suspected about their footballing idols: that they are utter idiots. We asked fading former star Paul Gascoigne for his comments, but unfortunately we couldn’t understand a word he said.
Ant Blurtlad, Cambridge newsroom, dateline: 1 November 2003
‘Game of two halves’ syndrome has been a recurring condition for the Mighty U’s for a number of seasons and just when you think we’ve found a cure, back it comes like a particularly tiresome trick-or-treater. But there could be less pleasant surroundings for such an occasion than Aggborough on a cool but sunny November afternoon. Especially welcoming was the Harriers’ Social Club, which is thoughtfully split into separate ‘home’ and ‘away’ rooms which one can access for £1 temporary membership, there to enjoy the cavernous premises, TV, fine Banks’s beer and delicious, cheap chips. Shame we had to leave its comforts at all, really.
As far as match accommodation went, Kidderminster had ‘done a Cheltenham’ on us, closing the semi-covered terrace at one end that we occupied last season and putting us in seats at one end of their entirely adequate main stand for the princely sum of £15 to you, sir. Not that money was the reason for relocating us, I’m sure, as certain as manager-owner Barry Fry (read it and guffaw) will keep Posh up this season. Ahem.
United’s squad could fairly be described as injury-ravaged, although Kiddie’s excellent paving slab of a programme preferred the description ‘injury ravished', which sounds infinitely more pleasurable. The prog also gave U’s supporter Andrew Lang a chance to introduce us to such legendary Habbin luminaries as The Corpse and Kate O’Mara, so a big hello to the coffin dodgers.
'The Harrier' wrote up Mark Venus as United’s star man, so it was inevitable that he should be missing through injury, along with Shane Tudor and Shaggy. This meant the return of Wozza Goodhind at centre back, David Bridges on the right of midfield and Palace loanee Gareth Williams with the BGG up front – only the second player to wear the number seven shirt since the introduction of squad numbering. Meanwhile, the bench began to resemble a crèche with two new faces in youngsters Dan Gleeson and Ryan Lockett added to Messrs Turner, Tann and Brennan.
Kiddie’s new/old boss, chubby Scouse Dane Jan Molby, also rang the changes, one enforced as their best player from our last encounter, JJ Melligan, had gone home to Ireland for ‘family reasons'. Two loanees were brought in, left back Steve Burton from Hull and hulking 6ft 4in striker Andy White from Mansfield, the latter accompanying in attack veteran John Williams, doomed forever to be known as the Flying Postman because he is (was) a good sprinter and, yup, he used to be a postman. Which is a description that could be applied to quite a few people at the moment, at least temporarily.
Aggborough is a tidy little stadium, but its three seated sides were sparsely occupied as the teams trotted out to their prattling PA announcer’s introduction of 'Football from Division Three – live!' just in case we thought we were going to be watching a holographic recording from last year.
Kiddie started in lively fashion, doubtless fired up by their new boss and their position second from bottom of the table, albeit ten points clear of Carlisle: a more resounding bottom you won't find this side of Lisa Riley’s sofa. White and Williams looked a dangerous front pairing, both tall and powerful and willing to run at the United defence, knees and elbows pumping as if they were doing the Birdie Dance on amphetamines. White in particular threatened early on, Goodhind and Bimson both clearing dangerous crosses from the flanks, then Wozza stopping the big striker with an excellent last-ditch tackle. The first ten minutes were all Kiddie as United resisted stoutly, culminating in a booking for Goodhind on 11 as White slipped the ball past him on another fulminating run and was brought crashing to the ground like a Giant Redwood.
A rare United attack on 13 gained them a free kick just outside the area, and Guttridge’s lofted effort found Duncan at the far post to loop a header into the opposite corner of the goal which one suspects was intended as a simple knock-on, but in any case the lino’s offside flag heralded the first of many frankly dubious decisions by all three officials. The big squeaky Geordie was next busy at the other end when his splendid tackle stopped the tricky Dean Bennett’s run at the expense of a corner, then the same wide man tested Shaun Marshall on 19 with an angled drive that the Terpsichorean custodian clutched well. Matt Gadsby tried a 30-yarder that sailed over, then some rather chaotic defending presented home skipper Wayne Hatswell with another chance on 24, which he fired narrowly wide. At this stage, hard-pressed United must have been feeling like Adam Crozier: 'Welcome to the Post Office, sir. You’ll find this a much less stressful job than running the FA. Although there a couple of union officials who’d like a quick word.'
Just before the half-hour it was United’s turn to break, Kitson sprinting from the centre circle and spurning the run of Williams to head down the middle. He was brought down by Hatswell like a lion downing an antelope, but with the vocal away support baying for red, ref Cain astonishingly failed to even speak to him, let alone show a card, in stark contrast to his treatment of Goodhind’s no more serious tackle earlier. Consistency? Whassat?
Just Williams
The world of football was rocked again last night as former almost-good footballer Leon Jeanne revealed that the imbibing of performance-enhancing substances was not restricted to millionaire playboy Premiership stars. Debt-ridden former drug addict and entirely reliable witness Jeanne lifted the lid on the goings-on at Cambridge United when he visited their homely Abbey Stadium with Cardiff back in September 2001.
'Yeah, I was already familiar with E and H, like,' mumbled the former ‘Welsh Ralph Milne,’ 'but I never got no further in school. But I know Cambridge have become well known in the last few years for playing poorly in one half then much better in the second … and I know their secret. At half-time a mysterious woman went into their dressing-room with a big silver container and handed out something called T. They ingested it orally, I think, and it really made them feel much better. They even called the woman the T-Lady!
'I asked one of their players about it and he said they do T at every game, although sometimes it’s called PG. That’s the stronger stuff. He told me not to tell anyone about it, and he gave me a tube of some other stuff called Preparation H which he said was a sort of heroin that you spread on sandwiches. I couldn’t read the writing on the tube but I tried some when I got home. It tasted horrible but it certainly got me feeling all tingly! I also tried it as a suppository but it just wasn’t the same, somehow.'
These astonishing revelations will confirm once and for all what the public has long suspected about their footballing idols: that they are utter idiots. We asked fading former star Paul Gascoigne for his comments, but unfortunately we couldn’t understand a word he said.
Ant Blurtlad, Cambridge newsroom, dateline: 1 November 2003
‘Game of two halves’ syndrome has been a recurring condition for the Mighty U’s for a number of seasons and just when you think we’ve found a cure, back it comes like a particularly tiresome trick-or-treater. But there could be less pleasant surroundings for such an occasion than Aggborough on a cool but sunny November afternoon. Especially welcoming was the Harriers’ Social Club, which is thoughtfully split into separate ‘home’ and ‘away’ rooms which one can access for £1 temporary membership, there to enjoy the cavernous premises, TV, fine Banks’s beer and delicious, cheap chips. Shame we had to leave its comforts at all, really.
As far as match accommodation went, Kidderminster had ‘done a Cheltenham’ on us, closing the semi-covered terrace at one end that we occupied last season and putting us in seats at one end of their entirely adequate main stand for the princely sum of £15 to you, sir. Not that money was the reason for relocating us, I’m sure, as certain as manager-owner Barry Fry (read it and guffaw) will keep Posh up this season. Ahem.
United’s squad could fairly be described as injury-ravaged, although Kiddie’s excellent paving slab of a programme preferred the description ‘injury ravished', which sounds infinitely more pleasurable. The prog also gave U’s supporter Andrew Lang a chance to introduce us to such legendary Habbin luminaries as The Corpse and Kate O’Mara, so a big hello to the coffin dodgers.
'The Harrier' wrote up Mark Venus as United’s star man, so it was inevitable that he should be missing through injury, along with Shane Tudor and Shaggy. This meant the return of Wozza Goodhind at centre back, David Bridges on the right of midfield and Palace loanee Gareth Williams with the BGG up front – only the second player to wear the number seven shirt since the introduction of squad numbering. Meanwhile, the bench began to resemble a crèche with two new faces in youngsters Dan Gleeson and Ryan Lockett added to Messrs Turner, Tann and Brennan.
Kiddie’s new/old boss, chubby Scouse Dane Jan Molby, also rang the changes, one enforced as their best player from our last encounter, JJ Melligan, had gone home to Ireland for ‘family reasons'. Two loanees were brought in, left back Steve Burton from Hull and hulking 6ft 4in striker Andy White from Mansfield, the latter accompanying in attack veteran John Williams, doomed forever to be known as the Flying Postman because he is (was) a good sprinter and, yup, he used to be a postman. Which is a description that could be applied to quite a few people at the moment, at least temporarily.
Aggborough is a tidy little stadium, but its three seated sides were sparsely occupied as the teams trotted out to their prattling PA announcer’s introduction of 'Football from Division Three – live!' just in case we thought we were going to be watching a holographic recording from last year.
Kiddie started in lively fashion, doubtless fired up by their new boss and their position second from bottom of the table, albeit ten points clear of Carlisle: a more resounding bottom you won't find this side of Lisa Riley’s sofa. White and Williams looked a dangerous front pairing, both tall and powerful and willing to run at the United defence, knees and elbows pumping as if they were doing the Birdie Dance on amphetamines. White in particular threatened early on, Goodhind and Bimson both clearing dangerous crosses from the flanks, then Wozza stopping the big striker with an excellent last-ditch tackle. The first ten minutes were all Kiddie as United resisted stoutly, culminating in a booking for Goodhind on 11 as White slipped the ball past him on another fulminating run and was brought crashing to the ground like a Giant Redwood.
A rare United attack on 13 gained them a free kick just outside the area, and Guttridge’s lofted effort found Duncan at the far post to loop a header into the opposite corner of the goal which one suspects was intended as a simple knock-on, but in any case the lino’s offside flag heralded the first of many frankly dubious decisions by all three officials. The big squeaky Geordie was next busy at the other end when his splendid tackle stopped the tricky Dean Bennett’s run at the expense of a corner, then the same wide man tested Shaun Marshall on 19 with an angled drive that the Terpsichorean custodian clutched well. Matt Gadsby tried a 30-yarder that sailed over, then some rather chaotic defending presented home skipper Wayne Hatswell with another chance on 24, which he fired narrowly wide. At this stage, hard-pressed United must have been feeling like Adam Crozier: 'Welcome to the Post Office, sir. You’ll find this a much less stressful job than running the FA. Although there a couple of union officials who’d like a quick word.'
Just before the half-hour it was United’s turn to break, Kitson sprinting from the centre circle and spurning the run of Williams to head down the middle. He was brought down by Hatswell like a lion downing an antelope, but with the vocal away support baying for red, ref Cain astonishingly failed to even speak to him, let alone show a card, in stark contrast to his treatment of Goodhind’s no more serious tackle earlier. Consistency? Whassat?
Dave Kitson: pursued by Wayne Hatswell
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Kiddie resumed their pressure, United’s midfield over-run by their opponents’ greater aggression and determination and exacerbated by their failure to produce decent quality passing, to the frustration of their mobile but supply-starved front two, living off scraps like Leeds United’s apprentices.
The hosts came their nearest yet to scoring on 34, that man White muscling through again and firing an angled drive across and past Marshall, only to see Stuart Bimson clear off the line by the far post. A couple of rather desperate penalty shouts came and went, as did some hopeful shots from Bennett and Danny Williams (yes, there were three Williamses on the pitch; it was like being at the Eisteddfod, only without being covered in spittle).
But four minutes from the interval came Harriers’ long-awaited breakthrough, and in the end it was simplicity itself. Williams (D)’s short corner found the hulking head of White in a crowded six-yard box, it dropped loose and there was Sean Parrish to lash home into the roof of the net before anyone could move: 1-0. A decent finish, although it hardly warranted the embarrassing shirt-over-head wriggling caterpillar dance that he performed in celebration like some dismal busking Covent Garden mime artist. Silly bugger.
Two minutes later it could have been 2-0 as Williams (J) saw his chance from 25 yards and blasted a shot which was heading unerringly for the bottom corner until Marshall flung himself to his right to get a hand to it at the expense of a corner – another fantastic save for the Dancemeister’s ever-growing collection. He had to be on hand again shortly afterwards as Bennett almost sneaked one past him, Shaun saving with his feet this time, and Kiddie were as rampant as Michael Howard, stalking the countryside in his cloak with IDS’s head impaled on a stick. Scary.
But United at last responded with a soupçon of this season’s normal away form in the last couple of minutes of the half, Fleming bursting clear but spooning his left-footed cross into the car park, then Bimmo rampaging forward from deep and showing the Terrier how it is done with a superb cross from the touchline that Kitson and Hatswell challenged for, the ball sailing narrowly over the bar and the ref giving a goal kick to howls of disagreement from the amber hordes. The interval was heralded by the poptabulous DJ’s 'Welcome to half-time!' as if this is what we had come for. Some serious talking was required from Shaggy; his team had been second-best, the hosts’ keeper had hardly touched the ball and we needed a massive leap in quality and possession in the second half.
JT’s answer was radical: he replaced Bridges, still feeling his way back from long-term injury, with John Turner and went to a positive 4-3-3. United immediately looked more menacing as the front three bounced off each other, offering movement and variety and stretching the home defence into the sorts of shapes Morph could only dream about. Kitson saw a shot blocked within a minute, Williams was beaten to a though ball by home keeper Stuart Brock by a hair’s breadth a minute later, then on 49 came United’s best chance so far as Williams sped on to a through ball, held off Smith impressively, then with the goal at his mercy 15 yards out, blazed over the top. We hoped he wouldn’t turn out to be another David Rush. Or indeed a Matthew Rush.
It was Turner’s turn for a chance three minutes later as Kitson set him up with a head on, he beat his marker’s challenge but with only Brock to beat his ambitious flick with his outstep failed to generate enough pace to stop the home keeper from clutching comfortably. But United had turned the tables and it now looked only a matter of time before they equalised. And on the hour came the breakthrough. A disputed corner was curled in from the left by Walker, and there was that man Kitson beating Brock to the header, which a defender tried to stop on the line but could only help into the net. Fourth goal in three matches since the BGG’s return from suspension: 1-1. Nice way to celebrate your 100th League appearance.
That awayday feelgood factor flooded back as United went in search of the second; and within three minutes they had it, in spectacular style. This time Kitson was the provider, setting up Williams to run across the area, beat one defender then, looking up, simply smash the ball home from 18 yards before the keeper could blink – 2-1, and more than a touch of the Ian Rush this time. Without the Concorde conk or spaniel eyes, thankfully.
The previously passive hosts responded with a flurry of pressure themselves, culminating in a sloppy pass by Guttridge on 68 in his own half that was seized upon by White, who charged through the middle of the United defence like a Californian firestorm until he had only Marshall to beat less than ten yards out. Just as he was raising his foot to shoot and we were resigning ourselves to parity, Bimson stepped calmly in to whip the ball from off his toe with a stupendously well timed tackle. This is the quality of play you can engender when you get behind a player instead of giving him mindless abuse.
Williams was foiled by another ropey offside flag on 72, Turner appearing to be the man actually offside as he ran back, and Kitson seemed in danger of finding himself in the book as the ref gave him a talking-to for questioning the linesman’s eyesight, sanity, parenthood etc. The Palace man, growing in confidence, then cut in from the right, drifted past a couple of opponents and tried his luck from 25 yards with his other (left) foot, not clearing the bar by much at all. I think he’ll do.
White was replaced by Sam Shilton on 76 as Molby introduced some fresh legs up front, and four minutes later the one with the famous dad (or infamous if you’re from Plymouth) had fashioned an equaliser just as United looked to be cruising to their third successive away win. He caught Gareth Williams in possession wide on United’s left just over halfway, advanced and passed to John Williams on the edge of the area; he stopped, shuffled sideways as Goodhind marshalled him, then curled a quite brilliant shot unstoppably into the corner from 20 yards, giving Marshall no chance.
For a few nasty minutes it looked like a newly revitalised Kiddie might even go on to snatch it, Marshall clutching Parrish’s 81st minute effort gratefully; we didn’t want to see that ruddy caterpillar impression again. Two minutes Lil’ Luke was surprisingly replaced by Adam Tann, who took his place in central midfield, and next thing we knew he was crossing for Kitson to set up Williams, whose decent shot was tipped away for a corner by Brock. The match was finishing in a blaze of early fireworks, although thankfully without any hamsters attached. Well, none that we could see.
Matt Lewis replaced John Williams in a straight swap on 86, then as the last minute of normal time approached, Lewis turned Goodhind on halfway and was brought down for his troubles. It was Wozza’s second foul of any note in the whole match, and it was enough for jobsworth Cain to produce a second yellow. Wozza didn’t even wait to see it, trudging off shaking his head and still wondering, like all of us, how Hatswell’s much worse tackle on Kitson had avoided any such punishment. If men are from Mars and women are from Venus, referees are from a galaxy far, far away. And I’m sure the vertically challenged linesman on our side was an Ewok.
Tann filled in at the back, and as the hosts gained one last corner, promising young defender Gleeson replaced Williams to shore up the back line still further on his League debut. There was still time for Kitson to break away one more time, beating two opponents but seeing the bounce foil him from getting past the last man, then it was all over.
So the fine away form continued; but only in the second half, and overall the result was a fair one. United must learn once more than they cannot play well for only 45 minutes out of 90 and expect to take all three points. On the plus side, Williams looks a very exciting new arrival, and thanks to some superbly supportive, er, supporting, Bimmo produced one of his best performances in the amber and wasn’t slow in showing his appreciation. Keep it up, everyone, we’ve got a long trip next week and we don’t want another Morecambe, do we?
Marshall 8 – No chance with the goals, regulation one world class save first half.
Angus 7 – Sound performance up against the tricky Bennett.
Bimson 9 – The fans got behind their skipper and were richly rewarded with an outstanding display.
Duncan 9 – Tough, solid and uncompromising as the finest teak.
Goodhind 7 – Decent comeback and desperately unlucky to see red near the end.
Bridges 6 – Still feeling his way back and he’s gradually getting there.
Walker 7 – Anonymous first half, much improved in the second.
Guttridge 7 – Usual busy self and much better than last week’s aberration.
Fleming 6 – Fine when acting as defensive cover, frequently embarrassing when trying to do something creative further up the field.
Williams 8 – Obviously match-rusty at first, but improved rapidly as the game went on and scored a quite superb goal.
Kitson 8 – Not given the best service first half, looked much more comfortable and dangerous when leading part two’s front three.
Turner 8 – The youngster’s quality shone through once again and his appearance turned the game.
Tann 7 – Briefly popped up in midfield until recalled to the back four after Goodhind’s dismissal. Let no-one down.
Gleeson 6 – Cameo appearance in added time and a debut for another promising youngster off the conveyor belt.
Soundtrack of the Day: Travis/Re-offender
Match summary: United continued to turn schizophrenia into an art form by following a fumbling first half with a storming second, and appeared to be cruising to another away victory until an unexpected delivery from Kiddie’s flying postman thudded on to the doormat ten minutes from time. Overall a respectable result in view of mounting injury problems and in Gareth Williams we might have found the new Jim Hall (ask your dad).
Man of the match: Stuart Bimson. Encouraged from the start by loyal supporters, he responded magnificently with a tenacious display of rugged defending, excellent support for the attack. Saved two certain goals with a goalline clearance and a superbly timed dispossession of White as he was about to score. Great character.
Ref watch: Cain 2. Jobsworth blotted his copybook with a totally unnecessary sending-off for Goodhind while ignoring similar fouls by home defenders. And if you can’t get the important stuff right, anything else you do is largely irrelevant. Just not good enough.
Justin’s jukebox: Justin Walker lends an ear to the Aggborough sounds. 'Some grounds have enthusiastic amateurs in charge of the music, others, like Kidderminster, employ people who seem to think they are broadcasting from a full-blown radio station. Listening to their poptastic ‘DJ’ was like listening to a particularly mediocre local station, peppering forgettable, playsafe music (mostly nondescript pop/R&B/dance muzak like our own dull local broadcasters) with far too much prattling chatter. Dido and KC & the Sunshine Band at least stood out for having a little personality, but the build-up music of The Real Thing’s Can You Feel The Force followed by Prokofiev’s Dance Of The Knights was just ripped off from other clubs and betrayed a complete lack of originality. JJ verdict: Boring! (2/10)'
The hosts came their nearest yet to scoring on 34, that man White muscling through again and firing an angled drive across and past Marshall, only to see Stuart Bimson clear off the line by the far post. A couple of rather desperate penalty shouts came and went, as did some hopeful shots from Bennett and Danny Williams (yes, there were three Williamses on the pitch; it was like being at the Eisteddfod, only without being covered in spittle).
But four minutes from the interval came Harriers’ long-awaited breakthrough, and in the end it was simplicity itself. Williams (D)’s short corner found the hulking head of White in a crowded six-yard box, it dropped loose and there was Sean Parrish to lash home into the roof of the net before anyone could move: 1-0. A decent finish, although it hardly warranted the embarrassing shirt-over-head wriggling caterpillar dance that he performed in celebration like some dismal busking Covent Garden mime artist. Silly bugger.
Two minutes later it could have been 2-0 as Williams (J) saw his chance from 25 yards and blasted a shot which was heading unerringly for the bottom corner until Marshall flung himself to his right to get a hand to it at the expense of a corner – another fantastic save for the Dancemeister’s ever-growing collection. He had to be on hand again shortly afterwards as Bennett almost sneaked one past him, Shaun saving with his feet this time, and Kiddie were as rampant as Michael Howard, stalking the countryside in his cloak with IDS’s head impaled on a stick. Scary.
But United at last responded with a soupçon of this season’s normal away form in the last couple of minutes of the half, Fleming bursting clear but spooning his left-footed cross into the car park, then Bimmo rampaging forward from deep and showing the Terrier how it is done with a superb cross from the touchline that Kitson and Hatswell challenged for, the ball sailing narrowly over the bar and the ref giving a goal kick to howls of disagreement from the amber hordes. The interval was heralded by the poptabulous DJ’s 'Welcome to half-time!' as if this is what we had come for. Some serious talking was required from Shaggy; his team had been second-best, the hosts’ keeper had hardly touched the ball and we needed a massive leap in quality and possession in the second half.
JT’s answer was radical: he replaced Bridges, still feeling his way back from long-term injury, with John Turner and went to a positive 4-3-3. United immediately looked more menacing as the front three bounced off each other, offering movement and variety and stretching the home defence into the sorts of shapes Morph could only dream about. Kitson saw a shot blocked within a minute, Williams was beaten to a though ball by home keeper Stuart Brock by a hair’s breadth a minute later, then on 49 came United’s best chance so far as Williams sped on to a through ball, held off Smith impressively, then with the goal at his mercy 15 yards out, blazed over the top. We hoped he wouldn’t turn out to be another David Rush. Or indeed a Matthew Rush.
It was Turner’s turn for a chance three minutes later as Kitson set him up with a head on, he beat his marker’s challenge but with only Brock to beat his ambitious flick with his outstep failed to generate enough pace to stop the home keeper from clutching comfortably. But United had turned the tables and it now looked only a matter of time before they equalised. And on the hour came the breakthrough. A disputed corner was curled in from the left by Walker, and there was that man Kitson beating Brock to the header, which a defender tried to stop on the line but could only help into the net. Fourth goal in three matches since the BGG’s return from suspension: 1-1. Nice way to celebrate your 100th League appearance.
That awayday feelgood factor flooded back as United went in search of the second; and within three minutes they had it, in spectacular style. This time Kitson was the provider, setting up Williams to run across the area, beat one defender then, looking up, simply smash the ball home from 18 yards before the keeper could blink – 2-1, and more than a touch of the Ian Rush this time. Without the Concorde conk or spaniel eyes, thankfully.
The previously passive hosts responded with a flurry of pressure themselves, culminating in a sloppy pass by Guttridge on 68 in his own half that was seized upon by White, who charged through the middle of the United defence like a Californian firestorm until he had only Marshall to beat less than ten yards out. Just as he was raising his foot to shoot and we were resigning ourselves to parity, Bimson stepped calmly in to whip the ball from off his toe with a stupendously well timed tackle. This is the quality of play you can engender when you get behind a player instead of giving him mindless abuse.
Williams was foiled by another ropey offside flag on 72, Turner appearing to be the man actually offside as he ran back, and Kitson seemed in danger of finding himself in the book as the ref gave him a talking-to for questioning the linesman’s eyesight, sanity, parenthood etc. The Palace man, growing in confidence, then cut in from the right, drifted past a couple of opponents and tried his luck from 25 yards with his other (left) foot, not clearing the bar by much at all. I think he’ll do.
White was replaced by Sam Shilton on 76 as Molby introduced some fresh legs up front, and four minutes later the one with the famous dad (or infamous if you’re from Plymouth) had fashioned an equaliser just as United looked to be cruising to their third successive away win. He caught Gareth Williams in possession wide on United’s left just over halfway, advanced and passed to John Williams on the edge of the area; he stopped, shuffled sideways as Goodhind marshalled him, then curled a quite brilliant shot unstoppably into the corner from 20 yards, giving Marshall no chance.
For a few nasty minutes it looked like a newly revitalised Kiddie might even go on to snatch it, Marshall clutching Parrish’s 81st minute effort gratefully; we didn’t want to see that ruddy caterpillar impression again. Two minutes Lil’ Luke was surprisingly replaced by Adam Tann, who took his place in central midfield, and next thing we knew he was crossing for Kitson to set up Williams, whose decent shot was tipped away for a corner by Brock. The match was finishing in a blaze of early fireworks, although thankfully without any hamsters attached. Well, none that we could see.
Matt Lewis replaced John Williams in a straight swap on 86, then as the last minute of normal time approached, Lewis turned Goodhind on halfway and was brought down for his troubles. It was Wozza’s second foul of any note in the whole match, and it was enough for jobsworth Cain to produce a second yellow. Wozza didn’t even wait to see it, trudging off shaking his head and still wondering, like all of us, how Hatswell’s much worse tackle on Kitson had avoided any such punishment. If men are from Mars and women are from Venus, referees are from a galaxy far, far away. And I’m sure the vertically challenged linesman on our side was an Ewok.
Tann filled in at the back, and as the hosts gained one last corner, promising young defender Gleeson replaced Williams to shore up the back line still further on his League debut. There was still time for Kitson to break away one more time, beating two opponents but seeing the bounce foil him from getting past the last man, then it was all over.
So the fine away form continued; but only in the second half, and overall the result was a fair one. United must learn once more than they cannot play well for only 45 minutes out of 90 and expect to take all three points. On the plus side, Williams looks a very exciting new arrival, and thanks to some superbly supportive, er, supporting, Bimmo produced one of his best performances in the amber and wasn’t slow in showing his appreciation. Keep it up, everyone, we’ve got a long trip next week and we don’t want another Morecambe, do we?
Marshall 8 – No chance with the goals, regulation one world class save first half.
Angus 7 – Sound performance up against the tricky Bennett.
Bimson 9 – The fans got behind their skipper and were richly rewarded with an outstanding display.
Duncan 9 – Tough, solid and uncompromising as the finest teak.
Goodhind 7 – Decent comeback and desperately unlucky to see red near the end.
Bridges 6 – Still feeling his way back and he’s gradually getting there.
Walker 7 – Anonymous first half, much improved in the second.
Guttridge 7 – Usual busy self and much better than last week’s aberration.
Fleming 6 – Fine when acting as defensive cover, frequently embarrassing when trying to do something creative further up the field.
Williams 8 – Obviously match-rusty at first, but improved rapidly as the game went on and scored a quite superb goal.
Kitson 8 – Not given the best service first half, looked much more comfortable and dangerous when leading part two’s front three.
Turner 8 – The youngster’s quality shone through once again and his appearance turned the game.
Tann 7 – Briefly popped up in midfield until recalled to the back four after Goodhind’s dismissal. Let no-one down.
Gleeson 6 – Cameo appearance in added time and a debut for another promising youngster off the conveyor belt.
Soundtrack of the Day: Travis/Re-offender
Match summary: United continued to turn schizophrenia into an art form by following a fumbling first half with a storming second, and appeared to be cruising to another away victory until an unexpected delivery from Kiddie’s flying postman thudded on to the doormat ten minutes from time. Overall a respectable result in view of mounting injury problems and in Gareth Williams we might have found the new Jim Hall (ask your dad).
Man of the match: Stuart Bimson. Encouraged from the start by loyal supporters, he responded magnificently with a tenacious display of rugged defending, excellent support for the attack. Saved two certain goals with a goalline clearance and a superbly timed dispossession of White as he was about to score. Great character.
Ref watch: Cain 2. Jobsworth blotted his copybook with a totally unnecessary sending-off for Goodhind while ignoring similar fouls by home defenders. And if you can’t get the important stuff right, anything else you do is largely irrelevant. Just not good enough.
Justin’s jukebox: Justin Walker lends an ear to the Aggborough sounds. 'Some grounds have enthusiastic amateurs in charge of the music, others, like Kidderminster, employ people who seem to think they are broadcasting from a full-blown radio station. Listening to their poptastic ‘DJ’ was like listening to a particularly mediocre local station, peppering forgettable, playsafe music (mostly nondescript pop/R&B/dance muzak like our own dull local broadcasters) with far too much prattling chatter. Dido and KC & the Sunshine Band at least stood out for having a little personality, but the build-up music of The Real Thing’s Can You Feel The Force followed by Prokofiev’s Dance Of The Knights was just ripped off from other clubs and betrayed a complete lack of originality. JJ verdict: Boring! (2/10)'
Referee Cain: just not good enough
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8 November 2003: Lancaster 1v2 U's
The Axe Men goeth
The lid was blown off the latest royal scandal last night when the allegations against Prince Charles were published in full on an Australian website. Former servant Michael Fawcett revealed the secret that the heir to the throne has been keeping for the last 35 years: he is a fan of Cambridge United. 'It’s true,' said Fawcett. 'He disguises himself as a very old man and goes into the Habbin Stand and mingles with all the other old moaners. His disguise is so convincing that some people have dubbed him The Corpse, not realising that all the while they are referring to the future King of England!'
Charles’ complete absence of bodyguards when he undertakes these incognito visits has sparked security fears. 'He is exposing himself to unnecessary danger,' rapped his private secretary, Sir Michael Peat. 'Only a few weeks ago he shouted four-letter abuse at the Cambridge captain and started a slanging match that could have turned really ugly. Under that reserved exterior there is a really passionate man and his days out at the Abbey afford him a rare opportunity to let off steam, sometimes unwisely.'
So how did this obsession come about? Another aide, Mark Bolland, revealed that it started when Charles was studying at Trinity College in 1967. His participation in drama society revues and a Joe Orton play is well documented, but the start of his obsession with the U’s was played down. 'Charles idolised Dai Ward, their fiery Welsh striker, and it was that which persuaded him to become Prince of Wales in 1969. It was Charles who started the fighting in the Cambs Professional Cup final of 1968 after his hero was sent off. But the Queen could never persuade him to give United up.'
The biggest security alert of recent years came in 1996, when United were playing at Fulham. 'Charles started a chant against Fulham’s owner along the lines of "Al-Fayed is an onanist",' alleges another aide, George Smith. 'In the light of subsequent events, I hardly need to spell out the connotations of that.' Charles is believed to have travelled to Lancaster yesterday for his beloved United’s FA Cup tie, but fearing exposure, he donned the disguise of the United mascot, Marvin the Moose. 'It wouldn’t be the first time,' added Smith. 'I caught him wearing the costume with Camilla once and I didn’t know where to look. But you’ll find out the full story in my book, available just in time for Christmas for £24.99.'
It’s a funny old world when our very own downhome Mighty U’s are the (ahem) glamorous giants in a cup tie. But such was our fate on FA Cup first round day in our first ever encounter with Lancaster City, denizens of the Unibond League and the pastoral lands where Lancashire meets Cumbria. It was a grey day without so much as a hint of watery sunshine as the amber hordes descended on the quaint northern charms of Lancashire’s county town, a compact little place that seems to be constructed entirely of the greyest of grey stone. You definitely couldn’t call it a football town (sounds familiar), with the supporters’ coach not attracting the remotest attention from the weatherbeaten locals as it wound its way through the city centre, and requests from motoring supporters as to the whereabouts of the ground met mainly baffled incomprehension (sounds very familiar).
The Dolly Blues (something to do with industrial washing machines) have been around in their present form since 1911, but since failing to obtain election to the Football League in 1921 their story has been one of consistent underachievement, highlights being their main stand burning down in 1976, near-bankruptcy in 1984 and relegation a year later because they only had one toilet. Then in 1990, just as they were starting to recover, their social club also burned down. All in all it’s remarkable they’re still around at all, particularly with the locals’ clumsiness with matches.
Even their most famous moment is remarkable only for its utter embarrassingness. Anyone who has seen one of those Danny Baker ‘own goals and cock-ups’ videos, since rehashed ad nauseam by Nick Hancock, Anne Widdicombe etc, will have seen the worst penalty of all time when a chap stumbles over a muddy pitch towards the ball, falls over his own feet, scuffs the ball about a yard and collapses in a puddle. That man was Peter Devine, it was in the 1991 Northern Premier League Division One Cup final at Carlisle, and he was playing for (you guessed it) Lancaster. They lost, of course, to Whitley Bay. And to think we were embarrassed at having Colin Alcide playing for us.
City now appear to be on the gradual road to recovery. Crowds are at a 20-year high and they were playing host to a League club for the first time since Accrington Stanley visited in 1937/38, a crowd of 3,595. So this was their biggest game in 66 years, against little old United. Lawks. Their programme was excellent, full of interesting facts like much of the above, although their club slogan was little more than gobbledygook: ‘See the vision … feel the game.’ Me neither. How’s about ‘See the game … have a drink … feel the mascot’? It’s got something, don’t you think?
The local media circulated, a crowd of 1,800-plus meaning 1,200 glory hunters had come out of the woodwork, and we scanned them for a sight of the traditional replica FA Cup made of cardboard and tin foil, or a chap wearing an enormous top hat in club colours with a rosette pinned to it. No luck there, although we distinctly heard a wooden rattle and saw, inexplicably, the unfurled flags of Brazil and Jamaica.
The Axe Men goeth
The lid was blown off the latest royal scandal last night when the allegations against Prince Charles were published in full on an Australian website. Former servant Michael Fawcett revealed the secret that the heir to the throne has been keeping for the last 35 years: he is a fan of Cambridge United. 'It’s true,' said Fawcett. 'He disguises himself as a very old man and goes into the Habbin Stand and mingles with all the other old moaners. His disguise is so convincing that some people have dubbed him The Corpse, not realising that all the while they are referring to the future King of England!'
Charles’ complete absence of bodyguards when he undertakes these incognito visits has sparked security fears. 'He is exposing himself to unnecessary danger,' rapped his private secretary, Sir Michael Peat. 'Only a few weeks ago he shouted four-letter abuse at the Cambridge captain and started a slanging match that could have turned really ugly. Under that reserved exterior there is a really passionate man and his days out at the Abbey afford him a rare opportunity to let off steam, sometimes unwisely.'
So how did this obsession come about? Another aide, Mark Bolland, revealed that it started when Charles was studying at Trinity College in 1967. His participation in drama society revues and a Joe Orton play is well documented, but the start of his obsession with the U’s was played down. 'Charles idolised Dai Ward, their fiery Welsh striker, and it was that which persuaded him to become Prince of Wales in 1969. It was Charles who started the fighting in the Cambs Professional Cup final of 1968 after his hero was sent off. But the Queen could never persuade him to give United up.'
The biggest security alert of recent years came in 1996, when United were playing at Fulham. 'Charles started a chant against Fulham’s owner along the lines of "Al-Fayed is an onanist",' alleges another aide, George Smith. 'In the light of subsequent events, I hardly need to spell out the connotations of that.' Charles is believed to have travelled to Lancaster yesterday for his beloved United’s FA Cup tie, but fearing exposure, he donned the disguise of the United mascot, Marvin the Moose. 'It wouldn’t be the first time,' added Smith. 'I caught him wearing the costume with Camilla once and I didn’t know where to look. But you’ll find out the full story in my book, available just in time for Christmas for £24.99.'
It’s a funny old world when our very own downhome Mighty U’s are the (ahem) glamorous giants in a cup tie. But such was our fate on FA Cup first round day in our first ever encounter with Lancaster City, denizens of the Unibond League and the pastoral lands where Lancashire meets Cumbria. It was a grey day without so much as a hint of watery sunshine as the amber hordes descended on the quaint northern charms of Lancashire’s county town, a compact little place that seems to be constructed entirely of the greyest of grey stone. You definitely couldn’t call it a football town (sounds familiar), with the supporters’ coach not attracting the remotest attention from the weatherbeaten locals as it wound its way through the city centre, and requests from motoring supporters as to the whereabouts of the ground met mainly baffled incomprehension (sounds very familiar).
The Dolly Blues (something to do with industrial washing machines) have been around in their present form since 1911, but since failing to obtain election to the Football League in 1921 their story has been one of consistent underachievement, highlights being their main stand burning down in 1976, near-bankruptcy in 1984 and relegation a year later because they only had one toilet. Then in 1990, just as they were starting to recover, their social club also burned down. All in all it’s remarkable they’re still around at all, particularly with the locals’ clumsiness with matches.
Even their most famous moment is remarkable only for its utter embarrassingness. Anyone who has seen one of those Danny Baker ‘own goals and cock-ups’ videos, since rehashed ad nauseam by Nick Hancock, Anne Widdicombe etc, will have seen the worst penalty of all time when a chap stumbles over a muddy pitch towards the ball, falls over his own feet, scuffs the ball about a yard and collapses in a puddle. That man was Peter Devine, it was in the 1991 Northern Premier League Division One Cup final at Carlisle, and he was playing for (you guessed it) Lancaster. They lost, of course, to Whitley Bay. And to think we were embarrassed at having Colin Alcide playing for us.
City now appear to be on the gradual road to recovery. Crowds are at a 20-year high and they were playing host to a League club for the first time since Accrington Stanley visited in 1937/38, a crowd of 3,595. So this was their biggest game in 66 years, against little old United. Lawks. Their programme was excellent, full of interesting facts like much of the above, although their club slogan was little more than gobbledygook: ‘See the vision … feel the game.’ Me neither. How’s about ‘See the game … have a drink … feel the mascot’? It’s got something, don’t you think?
The local media circulated, a crowd of 1,800-plus meaning 1,200 glory hunters had come out of the woodwork, and we scanned them for a sight of the traditional replica FA Cup made of cardboard and tin foil, or a chap wearing an enormous top hat in club colours with a rosette pinned to it. No luck there, although we distinctly heard a wooden rattle and saw, inexplicably, the unfurled flags of Brazil and Jamaica.
Bless
|
The Giant Axe has the best ground name outside Lewes’ sDripping Pan, and is named (possibly) after the shape of the original plot of land its owner bought back in the day. Situated off a side road near the city centre, its Dolly Blue Tavern offers succour and northern-priced pints of Thwaites best beer to weary travellers before they sample the delights of the ground, overlooked by the ‘castle’ (now, ulp, a prison) and a busy railway line.
Its one seated stand (that’s the one stand with seats, not a stand with one seat) occupies two-thirds of one side, a modest structure abutting on to a raised uncovered terrace at one end and a flat, narrow and equally exposed standing area along the other side of the pitch with a plain wall behind. The amber hordes were housed at the other end on a shallow half-covered terrace and one corner which led to the estimable food hut known as Dolly’s Bar, offering deliciously cheap fare including the optional extras of ‘large pickled onions’ at 20p a shot. Bet they don’t offer that at the new Wembley.
Lancaster had pushed the boat out and created a ‘Sponsors’ Lounge’ in the middle of one side, basically two Portakabins with windows on top of each other, on the roof of which was perched a rickety-looking TV camera. Eee, they know how to spoil themselves round these parts. Marvin patrolled the pitch bwith the hosts’ mascot, who resembled Andy Pandy after a gender reassignment (Mandy Pandy?). What on earth have they done to Teddy??
The pitch looked in reasonably decent nick, but was a bit of a Lancashire hotch-potch level-wise with a distinct slope up to two corners and one goalmouth seemed to be about a foot higher than the rest of the pitch. Any rising volleys would most likely end up halfway to Morecambe, where United lost a mere three years ago with a spectacularly dismal performance. It couldn’t happen again … could it?
Three changes were forced on United’s threadbare troops from the draw at Kiddie: Shaggy back in the line-up due to Gareth Williams’ ineligibility, Franco Nacca making his first start of the season wide right in place of Justin Walker, and Shane Tudor starting wide left instead of David Bridges in what must be the shortest midfield since the Pygmy World Cup (Congo 2002). The two banks of four were up against Lancaster’s wing-back formation which included ex-United trainee Farrell Kilbane, brother of the more famous Kevin. It goes to show that it’s always better to have a proper first name and not just two surnames. The hosts trotted out in Argentina-like sky blue and white stripes while United sported all amber under grey leavening skies.
The amber hordes, mindful of previous cup embarrassments, were expecting an early onslaught from the Dolly Blues, but instead it was United who started the better, retaining possession well and putting the hosts under prolonged pressure without actually troubling their keeper, Kevin ‘son of Elton, but don’t tell anyone’ Welsby. Nacca and Tudor were particularly prominent down the flanks, but their crosses towards the twin towers of Kitson and Taylor couldn’t produce anything to truly threaten to break the deadlock.
Best early effort, in fact, came from Lancaster. Andy Duncan was penalised for a foul on Steve Jones (looking remarkably well considering his time with the Sex Pistols), and Neil Prince’s free kick from 25 yards soared over the wall and cannoned off the crossbar with Marshall a spectator. United’s response was a speedy breakaway down the left from Tudor, but he failed to beat the last man and could only gain a corner.
First booking of the game came on the quarter-hour, the hosts’ Ricky Mercer conceding a free kick on halfway for handball, then reacting like a crop-headed Violet Elizabeth Bott by flinging the ball violently to the turf. At least he didn’t thcream and thcream until he was thick. A minute later United’s early dominance was rewarded. Tudor crossed from the left, Shaggy flicked on and Nacca raced in from the right to ram a shot goalward at the near post; it was blocked on the line, but BGG Kitson was on hand to prod home, his toepoke cleared too late from behind the line: 1-0. Not exactly a classic FA Cup goal in the Ronnie Radford tradition, but just as valuable, and less muddy.
Lancaster responded well, Ryan Elderton’s dangerous left-wing cross on 18 finding top scorer Jamie Hughes, sporter of a tight bottle-blond crop reminiscent of Action Man, although he’s not been known to shout ‘Mortar attack – dig in!’ on a regular basis, probably because no one can reach the ring-pull under his shirt. His goalbound header was wellied clear by Stuart Bimson. Kitson and Taylor did their best to create havoc at the other end but met stout resistance, Big Dave having a couple of shots from close range blocked by Andy Scott and Paul Sparrow’s flying limbs. The match settled down to a fairly even contest, United containing Lancaster professionally in a style reminiscent of their many well-controlled away victories this season.
But all this was undone on 35. The tricky Elderton found space down the left flank, left Angus on his behind as he skipped past him then was faced with Nacca just outside the area; he knocked the ball past him, Franco lunged and Elderton went down in a swallow dive reminiscent of Greg Louganis at the 1984 Olympics. To our astonishment, ref Mason pointed to the spot.
Notwithstanding the dubiousness of the ‘foul’ to start with, your correspondent was stationed exactly in line with the edge of the penalty box; and I can state unequivocally that the tackle took place outside the area. Elderton fell into the box after ‘contact’ had been made. Mason’s decision was made from the opposite side of the area and was as well-judged as The Sun’s headline announcing the death of Righteous Brother Bobby Hatfield: ‘You’ve Lost That Living Feeling.’ Nice. It didn’t help that the line markings were as straggly as the average Argentinean’s hairdo, but they would have had to be four feet thick to make the decision correct. Hughes, 16 goals in his last 11 games, was the taker and he drilled it into the bottom left corner with all the unerring accuracy of a Sinisa Mihajlovic loogie as Dancing Shaun, after his save against Doncaster, reverted to his usual habit of diving the wrong way. 1-1.
The home fans were excited, but not as much as Hughes, who clattered Luke Guttridge straight from United’s kick-off and was booked. Lancaster tails were up, but United remained reasonably composed, Lil’ Luke shooting wide on 40, Mercer similarly inaccurate with a header on 42, and it was the visitors who came nearest to scoring again when another left-wing Tudor raid climaxed with a dangerous cross-shot that was cleared by Scott as Shaggy lurked, ready to pick up the pieces. So ended a half which would have been pretty satisfactory were it not for that spot kick.
Part two resumed in a similar vein to the first, United dominating possession while struggling to find that final penetrating ball as the street lamp-resembling ‘floodlights’ flickered into life to bring a wan light to proceedings. Tudor slashed wildly over on 51, then Kilbane became the hosts’ third booking for clogging Kitson; Bimson’s free kick found Duncan’s head, but he couldn’t get enough accuracy to worry Welsby.
Just before the hour came United’s first change, Freddie Murray replacing Nacca, who had had an outstanding game and was presumably withdrawn for fitness reasons. Psycho Fred went wide left as Tudor swapped wings and we chuckled nostalgically at the sight of good old-fashioned manual number boards instead of the fancy £3k-a-pop electronic efforts that we big clubs (harrumph!) enjoy in the League.
The amber hordes thought their team had scored again soon after when Kitson’s intelligent ball set up Tudor for a gallop, but his blaster ended high in the side netting. Five minutes later a flagging Shaggy was replaced by John Turner, then the dangerous Hughes shot into Marshall’s arms. Bimson’s 25-yard free kick on 67 cleared the bar and a minute later Angus became United’s first yellow for an innocuous foul. From the free kick Phil Clarkson fell hopefully to the ground, but his side had been awarded one dubious penalty; a second would have been ropier than dinner on the Aurora cruise ship.
The Dolly Blues’ fourth booking followed, Neil Uberschar (bless you!) upending Angus, and on 76 United had their own penalty claim as Kitson ran on to Fleming’s through ball and was felled by a robust Lancastrian challenge. But although we were frustrated at not being in front, we still didn’t have the feeling that we were in danger of going out; for all their Trojan effort, the hosts seemed fundamentally lacking in quality going forward.
Both sides continued to go at each other, still without either keeper finding himself especially busy, but five minutes from the end came a great chance for a United winner. Murray, hitherto finding his hardest task that of staying on his feet, set off on a buccaneering run down the left flank, found Kitson who took the ball to the byline then slipped a low cross back into Freddie’s path; his goalbound prod was blocked by a desperate defender.
Lancaster surprisingly made no substitutes as they plugged away to the end, although their players must have been feeling as knackered as Ranulph Fiennes’s feet. Turner tested Welsby with a shot in the last minute as a replay at the Abbey loomed, then in the second minute of added time came the coup de grace and heartbreak for the plucky hosts. Kitson’s superb ball down the left channel sent Turner away, and he controlled in the corner. Looking up, he saw the BGG galloping into the box for a return ball and JT floated over a cross, but just in front of Big Dave up popped Lil’ Luke, whose header flew over Welsby; the keeper got a touch, but could not prevent it from plopping satisfyingly into the far corner. Cue wild celebrations: 2-1!
Shellshocked City restarted, but before you could say ‘Florent Sinama-Pongolle’ the final whistle had sounded. There was inevitable sympathy for the Dolly Blues, gracious hosts and a decent enough team, but in truth United had dominated possession for most of the match without playing that well and, after the penalty debacle, just about deserved victory. The local radio burbled about being denied a ‘money-spinning replay’ (it’s all relative, I suppose) and manager Phil ‘Tidy Tache’ Wilson said of his team ‘They did everything I asked them to do.’ Tell them to win next time, Phil old son.
We travelled home glowing from our happy finish as fireworks lit up the night sky at regular intervals. Remember, remember, the 8th of November, eh? Not a memorable performance but the result is all. Now Macclesfield await in round two; not exactly a thriller of a draw, but winnable (it’s away! Hurrah!), then who knows what might happen; a glamour draw against a big club like Leeds. Oh yes, we’ve got them on Tuesday, haven’t we?
Marshall 6 – The Terpsichorean custodian was rarely troubled and well protected by his defence.
Angus 6 – Slipped up in lead-up to penalty but otherwise sound.
Bimson 7 – Good no-nonsense defending at all times.
Duncan 8 – Just the big man’s type of contest, and rose to the occasion in uncompromising style.
Goodhind 7 – Cool head throughout.
Nacca 7 – Excellent first start of the season and made the right flank his own until withdrawn.
Fleming 7 – Buzzed all over the pitch in an invaluable team performance.
Guttridge 8 – Enterprising and pivotal and capped it all with a rare header.
Tudor 6 – Dangerous first hour, then disappeared.
Kitson 8 – Led the line superbly and those goals just keep coming.
Taylor 6 – Tried his hardest until the old legs ran out of steam.
Murray 6 – Had a couple of moments when he could keep his feet.
Turner 6 – Quiet game by young John’s already high standards, but even then made the winner.
Soundtrack of the day: Hundred Reasons/The Great Test
Match summary: United put in a call to Lastminute.com and booked a trip to the sunny climes of FA Cup round two via the unlikely route of Lil’ Luke’s noggin. They had most of the play but were made to battle all the way by the plucky Dolly Blues; it’s just a shame we can’t play Histon in the next round.
Man of the match: Andy Duncan. A big, tough battle calls for a big, tough response from a big, tough man. Big Andy fitted the bill to a T.
Ref watch: Mason 3. Poor decision for the penalty, couldn’t let a single aerial goalmouth scramble go without blowing his whistle and free and easy with the cards. Non-league standard.
Justin’s jukebox. Justin Walker puts illness aside to lend an ear to the Giant Axe sounds. 'A refreshingly eclectic, dancey selection from the land of northern soul with vintage Motown from the Velvelettes and Rare Earth, classic disco from the Whispers and Earth, Wind & Fire, a bit of indie with a Motown bassline from the Smiths and token ‘new’ oldies from Elton and Elvis. Most enjoyable, but two points deducted for playing Huey Lewis & The News – there’s just no excuse for that! JJ verdict: Stimulating! (8/10)'
Its one seated stand (that’s the one stand with seats, not a stand with one seat) occupies two-thirds of one side, a modest structure abutting on to a raised uncovered terrace at one end and a flat, narrow and equally exposed standing area along the other side of the pitch with a plain wall behind. The amber hordes were housed at the other end on a shallow half-covered terrace and one corner which led to the estimable food hut known as Dolly’s Bar, offering deliciously cheap fare including the optional extras of ‘large pickled onions’ at 20p a shot. Bet they don’t offer that at the new Wembley.
Lancaster had pushed the boat out and created a ‘Sponsors’ Lounge’ in the middle of one side, basically two Portakabins with windows on top of each other, on the roof of which was perched a rickety-looking TV camera. Eee, they know how to spoil themselves round these parts. Marvin patrolled the pitch bwith the hosts’ mascot, who resembled Andy Pandy after a gender reassignment (Mandy Pandy?). What on earth have they done to Teddy??
The pitch looked in reasonably decent nick, but was a bit of a Lancashire hotch-potch level-wise with a distinct slope up to two corners and one goalmouth seemed to be about a foot higher than the rest of the pitch. Any rising volleys would most likely end up halfway to Morecambe, where United lost a mere three years ago with a spectacularly dismal performance. It couldn’t happen again … could it?
Three changes were forced on United’s threadbare troops from the draw at Kiddie: Shaggy back in the line-up due to Gareth Williams’ ineligibility, Franco Nacca making his first start of the season wide right in place of Justin Walker, and Shane Tudor starting wide left instead of David Bridges in what must be the shortest midfield since the Pygmy World Cup (Congo 2002). The two banks of four were up against Lancaster’s wing-back formation which included ex-United trainee Farrell Kilbane, brother of the more famous Kevin. It goes to show that it’s always better to have a proper first name and not just two surnames. The hosts trotted out in Argentina-like sky blue and white stripes while United sported all amber under grey leavening skies.
The amber hordes, mindful of previous cup embarrassments, were expecting an early onslaught from the Dolly Blues, but instead it was United who started the better, retaining possession well and putting the hosts under prolonged pressure without actually troubling their keeper, Kevin ‘son of Elton, but don’t tell anyone’ Welsby. Nacca and Tudor were particularly prominent down the flanks, but their crosses towards the twin towers of Kitson and Taylor couldn’t produce anything to truly threaten to break the deadlock.
Best early effort, in fact, came from Lancaster. Andy Duncan was penalised for a foul on Steve Jones (looking remarkably well considering his time with the Sex Pistols), and Neil Prince’s free kick from 25 yards soared over the wall and cannoned off the crossbar with Marshall a spectator. United’s response was a speedy breakaway down the left from Tudor, but he failed to beat the last man and could only gain a corner.
First booking of the game came on the quarter-hour, the hosts’ Ricky Mercer conceding a free kick on halfway for handball, then reacting like a crop-headed Violet Elizabeth Bott by flinging the ball violently to the turf. At least he didn’t thcream and thcream until he was thick. A minute later United’s early dominance was rewarded. Tudor crossed from the left, Shaggy flicked on and Nacca raced in from the right to ram a shot goalward at the near post; it was blocked on the line, but BGG Kitson was on hand to prod home, his toepoke cleared too late from behind the line: 1-0. Not exactly a classic FA Cup goal in the Ronnie Radford tradition, but just as valuable, and less muddy.
Lancaster responded well, Ryan Elderton’s dangerous left-wing cross on 18 finding top scorer Jamie Hughes, sporter of a tight bottle-blond crop reminiscent of Action Man, although he’s not been known to shout ‘Mortar attack – dig in!’ on a regular basis, probably because no one can reach the ring-pull under his shirt. His goalbound header was wellied clear by Stuart Bimson. Kitson and Taylor did their best to create havoc at the other end but met stout resistance, Big Dave having a couple of shots from close range blocked by Andy Scott and Paul Sparrow’s flying limbs. The match settled down to a fairly even contest, United containing Lancaster professionally in a style reminiscent of their many well-controlled away victories this season.
But all this was undone on 35. The tricky Elderton found space down the left flank, left Angus on his behind as he skipped past him then was faced with Nacca just outside the area; he knocked the ball past him, Franco lunged and Elderton went down in a swallow dive reminiscent of Greg Louganis at the 1984 Olympics. To our astonishment, ref Mason pointed to the spot.
Notwithstanding the dubiousness of the ‘foul’ to start with, your correspondent was stationed exactly in line with the edge of the penalty box; and I can state unequivocally that the tackle took place outside the area. Elderton fell into the box after ‘contact’ had been made. Mason’s decision was made from the opposite side of the area and was as well-judged as The Sun’s headline announcing the death of Righteous Brother Bobby Hatfield: ‘You’ve Lost That Living Feeling.’ Nice. It didn’t help that the line markings were as straggly as the average Argentinean’s hairdo, but they would have had to be four feet thick to make the decision correct. Hughes, 16 goals in his last 11 games, was the taker and he drilled it into the bottom left corner with all the unerring accuracy of a Sinisa Mihajlovic loogie as Dancing Shaun, after his save against Doncaster, reverted to his usual habit of diving the wrong way. 1-1.
The home fans were excited, but not as much as Hughes, who clattered Luke Guttridge straight from United’s kick-off and was booked. Lancaster tails were up, but United remained reasonably composed, Lil’ Luke shooting wide on 40, Mercer similarly inaccurate with a header on 42, and it was the visitors who came nearest to scoring again when another left-wing Tudor raid climaxed with a dangerous cross-shot that was cleared by Scott as Shaggy lurked, ready to pick up the pieces. So ended a half which would have been pretty satisfactory were it not for that spot kick.
Part two resumed in a similar vein to the first, United dominating possession while struggling to find that final penetrating ball as the street lamp-resembling ‘floodlights’ flickered into life to bring a wan light to proceedings. Tudor slashed wildly over on 51, then Kilbane became the hosts’ third booking for clogging Kitson; Bimson’s free kick found Duncan’s head, but he couldn’t get enough accuracy to worry Welsby.
Just before the hour came United’s first change, Freddie Murray replacing Nacca, who had had an outstanding game and was presumably withdrawn for fitness reasons. Psycho Fred went wide left as Tudor swapped wings and we chuckled nostalgically at the sight of good old-fashioned manual number boards instead of the fancy £3k-a-pop electronic efforts that we big clubs (harrumph!) enjoy in the League.
The amber hordes thought their team had scored again soon after when Kitson’s intelligent ball set up Tudor for a gallop, but his blaster ended high in the side netting. Five minutes later a flagging Shaggy was replaced by John Turner, then the dangerous Hughes shot into Marshall’s arms. Bimson’s 25-yard free kick on 67 cleared the bar and a minute later Angus became United’s first yellow for an innocuous foul. From the free kick Phil Clarkson fell hopefully to the ground, but his side had been awarded one dubious penalty; a second would have been ropier than dinner on the Aurora cruise ship.
The Dolly Blues’ fourth booking followed, Neil Uberschar (bless you!) upending Angus, and on 76 United had their own penalty claim as Kitson ran on to Fleming’s through ball and was felled by a robust Lancastrian challenge. But although we were frustrated at not being in front, we still didn’t have the feeling that we were in danger of going out; for all their Trojan effort, the hosts seemed fundamentally lacking in quality going forward.
Both sides continued to go at each other, still without either keeper finding himself especially busy, but five minutes from the end came a great chance for a United winner. Murray, hitherto finding his hardest task that of staying on his feet, set off on a buccaneering run down the left flank, found Kitson who took the ball to the byline then slipped a low cross back into Freddie’s path; his goalbound prod was blocked by a desperate defender.
Lancaster surprisingly made no substitutes as they plugged away to the end, although their players must have been feeling as knackered as Ranulph Fiennes’s feet. Turner tested Welsby with a shot in the last minute as a replay at the Abbey loomed, then in the second minute of added time came the coup de grace and heartbreak for the plucky hosts. Kitson’s superb ball down the left channel sent Turner away, and he controlled in the corner. Looking up, he saw the BGG galloping into the box for a return ball and JT floated over a cross, but just in front of Big Dave up popped Lil’ Luke, whose header flew over Welsby; the keeper got a touch, but could not prevent it from plopping satisfyingly into the far corner. Cue wild celebrations: 2-1!
Shellshocked City restarted, but before you could say ‘Florent Sinama-Pongolle’ the final whistle had sounded. There was inevitable sympathy for the Dolly Blues, gracious hosts and a decent enough team, but in truth United had dominated possession for most of the match without playing that well and, after the penalty debacle, just about deserved victory. The local radio burbled about being denied a ‘money-spinning replay’ (it’s all relative, I suppose) and manager Phil ‘Tidy Tache’ Wilson said of his team ‘They did everything I asked them to do.’ Tell them to win next time, Phil old son.
We travelled home glowing from our happy finish as fireworks lit up the night sky at regular intervals. Remember, remember, the 8th of November, eh? Not a memorable performance but the result is all. Now Macclesfield await in round two; not exactly a thriller of a draw, but winnable (it’s away! Hurrah!), then who knows what might happen; a glamour draw against a big club like Leeds. Oh yes, we’ve got them on Tuesday, haven’t we?
Marshall 6 – The Terpsichorean custodian was rarely troubled and well protected by his defence.
Angus 6 – Slipped up in lead-up to penalty but otherwise sound.
Bimson 7 – Good no-nonsense defending at all times.
Duncan 8 – Just the big man’s type of contest, and rose to the occasion in uncompromising style.
Goodhind 7 – Cool head throughout.
Nacca 7 – Excellent first start of the season and made the right flank his own until withdrawn.
Fleming 7 – Buzzed all over the pitch in an invaluable team performance.
Guttridge 8 – Enterprising and pivotal and capped it all with a rare header.
Tudor 6 – Dangerous first hour, then disappeared.
Kitson 8 – Led the line superbly and those goals just keep coming.
Taylor 6 – Tried his hardest until the old legs ran out of steam.
Murray 6 – Had a couple of moments when he could keep his feet.
Turner 6 – Quiet game by young John’s already high standards, but even then made the winner.
Soundtrack of the day: Hundred Reasons/The Great Test
Match summary: United put in a call to Lastminute.com and booked a trip to the sunny climes of FA Cup round two via the unlikely route of Lil’ Luke’s noggin. They had most of the play but were made to battle all the way by the plucky Dolly Blues; it’s just a shame we can’t play Histon in the next round.
Man of the match: Andy Duncan. A big, tough battle calls for a big, tough response from a big, tough man. Big Andy fitted the bill to a T.
Ref watch: Mason 3. Poor decision for the penalty, couldn’t let a single aerial goalmouth scramble go without blowing his whistle and free and easy with the cards. Non-league standard.
Justin’s jukebox. Justin Walker puts illness aside to lend an ear to the Giant Axe sounds. 'A refreshingly eclectic, dancey selection from the land of northern soul with vintage Motown from the Velvelettes and Rare Earth, classic disco from the Whispers and Earth, Wind & Fire, a bit of indie with a Motown bassline from the Smiths and token ‘new’ oldies from Elton and Elvis. Most enjoyable, but two points deducted for playing Huey Lewis & The News – there’s just no excuse for that! JJ verdict: Stimulating! (8/10)'
Warren Goodhind: what's that background?
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11 November 2003: U's 3v5 Leeds
Taylor-made for fun
It was an emotional night of celebration and tribute at the Abbey as fans gathered to salute the legend that is John ‘Shaggy’ Taylor. Congratulatory messages were received from all over the globe as the great and the good flooded the United offices with heartfelt good wishes for this true United great.
Nelson Mandela was fulsome in his praise for the great man: 'Just as I escaped the shackles of apartheid through perseverance and determination, so Mr Taylor has thrown off the shackles of Beckism and proved that the right way is his own way. He has my admiration and good wishes.
Robert Mugabe was more forthright: Take my advice, Mr Taylor. Root out the causes of dissension at your club and crush them with all your might! It is the only language they understand - take my word for it! Kind regards from me, Grace and the family.
Pop Idol's Mr Nasty Simon Cowell had some uncharacteristically nice words ... eventually: 'He can't sing, those glasses have got to go and he's far too old - but that doesn't matter when you're a football manager! You'll always be an Idol to me, Shaggy!'
United fan and cheeky chappie Jamie Oliver chipped in: 'JT is always cooking up some new tactical innovation in that dressing-room kitchen of his and it's usually something pretty tasty. You're a pukka boss and a top bloke, mate!
New Conservative leader Michael Howard was quick to jump on the football bandwagon: 'The Tories need to win back Cambridge just as Mr Taylor has won its football fans' hearts. Let us hope that we can score as freely in the next election as Shaggy has done on the pitch! Ha! Ha! Will this do?'
Prime Minister Tony Blair was quick to respond: 'It's typical of the Tories to attach themselves to football to try and gain some cachet with the man on the street. I did it first years ago with my sincere love of Newcastle Athletic as a true Geordie, singing about the Claytown Races. Whey-ey, Johnny man, you're a reet canny blerk, like! Can I count on your vote?'
Prince Charles also took time out from his busy schedule: 'It is about time one came out of the closet - as a U's fan, of course! Sincerest congratulations to John from the Clarence House Barmy Army.'
Glamour model Jordan was bursting out in praise of Shaggy: 'I've always said older guys do it better and Big John is the proof. You're one guy whose talent doesn't need any artificial enhancing! Love from Jordan and Dwight.'
The world of music also paid tribute in the person of Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips: 'Amber is a really beautiful colour, man. And Shaggy is a really beautiful name, don't you think? We were honoured when John appeared on stage with us last year at the Junction dressed as a giant dolphin, although I wish he hadn't tried to sing backing vocals! Have a great day, man, you deserve it.'
The world of football paid most tribute, of course, and many messages from Shaggy’s peers are recorded in his testimonial brochure and programme. There were a few late entries, though. Devon White was the man who replaced Taylor at United in 1992: 'JT was a hard act to follow, especially for a guy with the turning circle of a combine harvester and the acceleration of a traction engine like me! God bless.'
Ollie Morah’s message was short but pithy: 'Great player, great bloke. Sorry, must run!'
’Psycho’ Michael Norbury was equally effusive and brief: 'Anyone who can’t see how great Shaggy is should be locked up!'
Billy Manuel was as sparky as ever: 'I’d see red if anyone had anything but praise for such a top man!'
‘Super’ Paul Raynor took time out from anger management classes to add his penn’orth: 'John Taylor is an example of the sort of guy who most deserves this sort of tribute. Not like all those greedy, overpaid, money-grubbing $%&£s in the Premiership. God, they make me sick! I was saying to the wife only the other day …' Sadly we don’t have the space to publish Mr Raynor’s rant in full.
Ken Shellito sent his apologies. For everything.
I’ve a suspicion that some of the above might have been forgeries. But no matter. A dark, foggy night was soon lit up with a spectacular firework display as the legend walked out to a guard of honour from both sides, his two charming little daughters in his arms, to rapturous applause from almost 6,000 adoring fans. Even the national media was there in force, albeit more interested in British’s Most Crisis-Racked Club ©, their newly installed caretaker manager and ever-controversial players.
And full marks to Leeds for honouring their ex-boss Peter Reid’s word and bringing their strongest squad down for the night. It must have been tempting to hold a bucket collection for them, but let’s face it, what use would a collection of buckets be to a club £80m in debt? The stars were out in force and introduced in tongue-in-cheek fashion by the estimable Trevor Peer.
There they were: chuckling cherubic chubster Mark Viduka, diminutive love god Jody ‘Park & Ride’ Morris, Nick ‘Remember me? Oh’ Barmby, Jermaine ‘Toby Jug’ Pennant, Michael ‘Ow! My groin! My shin! My toe! etc’ Bridges, and only one of their French loanees, Lamine Sakho, started. Sadly, we were not to be treated to Roque Junior’s unique brand of slapstick defending, or Alan ‘Mr Serenity’ Smith’s attempt to be the first player to be sent off in a testimonial, but their colleagues were more than welcome despite good-natured ribbing from the Corona.
But Shaggy was the star of the show, and he marked the occasion by playing in a team trying out a new and eccentric formation which could best be described as 4-2-2-2, with Guttridge and Bridges in midfield behind four forwards in Tudor, Williams, Kitson and JT himself, who kept rotating positions but all stayed in the centre, leaving the full backs Tann and Murray to provide the width. What a prankster that Prof is, eh?
The game got off to a lively start as Tudor went for the visitors’ jugular straight away, but one of the themes of the night soon emerged in the tireless and for a long time fruitless attempts of Mr Sakho to get on the scoresheet. Viduka and Morris both sent him away to ‘score’ in the first few minutes, but the offside flag ruled his efforts out. He was clear again on five, this time legally, but typically, he shot straight at Dancing Shaun, who clutched comfortably.
Leeds were quickly in charge, dictating play while remaining, one suspects, at rather less than full throttle. Dave Kitson hit a rare chance wide of the near post on six, but after that it was one-way traffic as happy-go-lucky Aussie Viduka saw a shot blocked, Sakho was denied by a magnificent last-ditch tackle from Adam Tann, then that man again blasted over from 20 yards as his push for the record for most number of shots ever in one game without scoring gathered pace. I believe the current record-holder is the great Jon Parkin of York City, the funniest footballer seen at the Abbey since professional circus clown ‘Peanuts’ McGinnity turned out briefly for Abbey United in the 1937/38 season in full make-up.
A rare United corner on 25 culminated in a half-volley hit on the falling turn by Andy Duncan, and predictably the proverbial ‘defender’s shot’ threatened only the cyclists in Newmarket Road. That man Sakho kept blasting away, two more efforts dealt with coolly by Marshall, but just before the half-hour came the breakthrough. And wouldn’t you know it, it was the Testimonial Man himself who was dispossessed in midfield by Seth Johnson who advanced a few paces then wellied a superb daisy-cutter inside Marshall’s near post from 25 yards. The party was well and truly pooped: 1-0.
The Prem stars remained on top, the United defence well led by the inspirational Duncan needing to be at its best as most chances fell to good old Sakho. Ian Harte, nephew of Gary Kelly who is a cousin of Fred Murray (not so much a family tree as a thick, tangled bush), had a chance to show off his speciality free kick but cleared the crossbar, while United were restricted to a Kitson header which went off for a throw-in (the ball was just too high, or it could have been a tribute to Devon White) and an ambitious Guttridge 25-yarder. The BGG showed one moment of Premiership class with a delightful drag and turn to wrongfoot two defenders, but his unselfish cross was prodded wide by Tudor.
So ended an entertaining half in which United had been thoroughly outplayed by a classy Leeds outfit. Lucky they weren’t playing at full pelt, or Peter Reid’s last visit to the Abbey around this time last year (7-0 to the Mackems) might have been evoked again. But it would be all change for the second half.
Only keeper Scott Carson, Barmby and Sakho remained in the Leeds team from the first period, the Senegalese striker obviously determined to break his duck if he had to play all night. For the U’s only Shaggy and David Bridges stayed on, youngsters Gleeson, Heathcote and Turner joined by some Abbey legends, managed without doubt by that nice Roy McFarland, and looking for the most part remarkably unchanged, in a sense, from their glory years. The wonders of hair dye and corsets, eh?
In goal was the original Legend, John Vaughan. Who could ever forget his twisting point-blank save from Bolton’s Mark Seagraves at the Corona End back in April 1991? It made Gordon Banks’s save from Pele look like an easy catch. Central defence saw the reunion of one of United’s greatest ever pairings, Phil Chapple and Danny O’Shea: a lethal combination of brains and brawn. I’ll let them argue which was which. In central midfield we had the return of Chris ‘Ooh! Ah!’ Leadbitter, the only player to score a League goal with a hook over his own shoulder from his own half in that extraordinary hurricane-swept game with Scunthorpe in 1989. Alongside him was Captain Fantastic Paul Wanless, only four days before he plays here again for Oxford. His rather untidy departure was forgotten as he received the warm ovation he deserved; and much respect, too, to our old pal Ian Atkins for allowing him to play on a night when others such as Butler, Philpott and Claridge were forbidden from doing so.
Tiny Tom Youngs was, of course, injured; fancy tripping over that paper clip, eh Tommy? Up front we had Laurie Ryan, a useful goalscorer until usurped by the irresistible force of Dion and Shaggy. He obviously hadn’t played for a very long time indeed, but he was still better than Neil Horwood.
Sakho resumed where he had left off, missing another couple of chances including one where he had the whole goal at his mercy 12 yards out but scuffed hopelessly wide. It was like Ian Benjamin had never been away. O’Shea galvanised his team with a barnstorming run on 49, taking the ball from his own box well into the opposing half before setting up Turner whose shot was blocked for a corner.
Vaughan distinguished himself with several fine saves, once denying Michael Bridges from ten yards when he looked certain to score, as well the hapless Sakho, but Leeds’ new young legs began to tell against United’s rather ancient ones and they soon found that the most productive route was down their right, followed by a low diagonal cross into the area. And on 63 the floodgates finally opened as Aaron Lennon’s fizzer found, yes, Sakho sprinting in at the far post to tap home one even he couldn’t miss. Even Vaughny gave him a hug. All together now: aah!
Barmby made way for Cyril Chapuis, who marked his arrival by getting into a great position with the goal at his mercy then trying to burst the net and blasting hopelessly into the South Stand. Had Robbie Cooke come back for the evening too? The reply was a resounding non as M Chapuis lashed home two in two minutes on 68 from the same supply line as Sakho to a nostalgic chorus of ‘Nice one, Cyril!’ from the amiable visiting Yorkshire folk: 4-0.
Ryan lasted until the 73rd minute, despite looking knackered from about the 46th, withdrawing to warm applause after a nostalgic but fruitless cameo to be replaced by Lee Summerscales, and as the final quarter-hour approached, it was time for Shaggy’s Goal. His first chance came when he latched on to a Leadbitter ball over the top, although there was perhaps a hint of offside as JT was halfway into the Leeds half while all their defenders were the other side of the halfway line. But what’s 30 yards between friends? Shaggy advanced on goal, only Carson to beat, and opted for a cheeky chip from 20 yards, which arced over the keeper’s head and bounced … just wide of the post. Laughter echoed around the ground (affectionate, mind!) as the great man sank to the floor and pounded the ground in mock (?) frustration. Tonight, Matthew, I’m going to be Neil Lyne. Almost as funny was Leeds defender Zoumana Camara, who didn’t seem entirely up with the state of play and was still plainly puzzled as to why there had been no offside flag.
No matter. Shaggy just stayed where he was, midway into the opposition half, and before long another through ball came his way and the obliging linesman was one very wise monkey. The equally confused Didier Domi chased back, but belatedly seemed to get in on the joke as JT lashed home past him and Carson into the bottom right corner for a goal that raised the roof with an almighty roar throughout the ground. Never had so soft a goal been so acclaimed, and it was blimmin’ great.
Taylor-made for fun
It was an emotional night of celebration and tribute at the Abbey as fans gathered to salute the legend that is John ‘Shaggy’ Taylor. Congratulatory messages were received from all over the globe as the great and the good flooded the United offices with heartfelt good wishes for this true United great.
Nelson Mandela was fulsome in his praise for the great man: 'Just as I escaped the shackles of apartheid through perseverance and determination, so Mr Taylor has thrown off the shackles of Beckism and proved that the right way is his own way. He has my admiration and good wishes.
Robert Mugabe was more forthright: Take my advice, Mr Taylor. Root out the causes of dissension at your club and crush them with all your might! It is the only language they understand - take my word for it! Kind regards from me, Grace and the family.
Pop Idol's Mr Nasty Simon Cowell had some uncharacteristically nice words ... eventually: 'He can't sing, those glasses have got to go and he's far too old - but that doesn't matter when you're a football manager! You'll always be an Idol to me, Shaggy!'
United fan and cheeky chappie Jamie Oliver chipped in: 'JT is always cooking up some new tactical innovation in that dressing-room kitchen of his and it's usually something pretty tasty. You're a pukka boss and a top bloke, mate!
New Conservative leader Michael Howard was quick to jump on the football bandwagon: 'The Tories need to win back Cambridge just as Mr Taylor has won its football fans' hearts. Let us hope that we can score as freely in the next election as Shaggy has done on the pitch! Ha! Ha! Will this do?'
Prime Minister Tony Blair was quick to respond: 'It's typical of the Tories to attach themselves to football to try and gain some cachet with the man on the street. I did it first years ago with my sincere love of Newcastle Athletic as a true Geordie, singing about the Claytown Races. Whey-ey, Johnny man, you're a reet canny blerk, like! Can I count on your vote?'
Prince Charles also took time out from his busy schedule: 'It is about time one came out of the closet - as a U's fan, of course! Sincerest congratulations to John from the Clarence House Barmy Army.'
Glamour model Jordan was bursting out in praise of Shaggy: 'I've always said older guys do it better and Big John is the proof. You're one guy whose talent doesn't need any artificial enhancing! Love from Jordan and Dwight.'
The world of music also paid tribute in the person of Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips: 'Amber is a really beautiful colour, man. And Shaggy is a really beautiful name, don't you think? We were honoured when John appeared on stage with us last year at the Junction dressed as a giant dolphin, although I wish he hadn't tried to sing backing vocals! Have a great day, man, you deserve it.'
The world of football paid most tribute, of course, and many messages from Shaggy’s peers are recorded in his testimonial brochure and programme. There were a few late entries, though. Devon White was the man who replaced Taylor at United in 1992: 'JT was a hard act to follow, especially for a guy with the turning circle of a combine harvester and the acceleration of a traction engine like me! God bless.'
Ollie Morah’s message was short but pithy: 'Great player, great bloke. Sorry, must run!'
’Psycho’ Michael Norbury was equally effusive and brief: 'Anyone who can’t see how great Shaggy is should be locked up!'
Billy Manuel was as sparky as ever: 'I’d see red if anyone had anything but praise for such a top man!'
‘Super’ Paul Raynor took time out from anger management classes to add his penn’orth: 'John Taylor is an example of the sort of guy who most deserves this sort of tribute. Not like all those greedy, overpaid, money-grubbing $%&£s in the Premiership. God, they make me sick! I was saying to the wife only the other day …' Sadly we don’t have the space to publish Mr Raynor’s rant in full.
Ken Shellito sent his apologies. For everything.
I’ve a suspicion that some of the above might have been forgeries. But no matter. A dark, foggy night was soon lit up with a spectacular firework display as the legend walked out to a guard of honour from both sides, his two charming little daughters in his arms, to rapturous applause from almost 6,000 adoring fans. Even the national media was there in force, albeit more interested in British’s Most Crisis-Racked Club ©, their newly installed caretaker manager and ever-controversial players.
And full marks to Leeds for honouring their ex-boss Peter Reid’s word and bringing their strongest squad down for the night. It must have been tempting to hold a bucket collection for them, but let’s face it, what use would a collection of buckets be to a club £80m in debt? The stars were out in force and introduced in tongue-in-cheek fashion by the estimable Trevor Peer.
There they were: chuckling cherubic chubster Mark Viduka, diminutive love god Jody ‘Park & Ride’ Morris, Nick ‘Remember me? Oh’ Barmby, Jermaine ‘Toby Jug’ Pennant, Michael ‘Ow! My groin! My shin! My toe! etc’ Bridges, and only one of their French loanees, Lamine Sakho, started. Sadly, we were not to be treated to Roque Junior’s unique brand of slapstick defending, or Alan ‘Mr Serenity’ Smith’s attempt to be the first player to be sent off in a testimonial, but their colleagues were more than welcome despite good-natured ribbing from the Corona.
But Shaggy was the star of the show, and he marked the occasion by playing in a team trying out a new and eccentric formation which could best be described as 4-2-2-2, with Guttridge and Bridges in midfield behind four forwards in Tudor, Williams, Kitson and JT himself, who kept rotating positions but all stayed in the centre, leaving the full backs Tann and Murray to provide the width. What a prankster that Prof is, eh?
The game got off to a lively start as Tudor went for the visitors’ jugular straight away, but one of the themes of the night soon emerged in the tireless and for a long time fruitless attempts of Mr Sakho to get on the scoresheet. Viduka and Morris both sent him away to ‘score’ in the first few minutes, but the offside flag ruled his efforts out. He was clear again on five, this time legally, but typically, he shot straight at Dancing Shaun, who clutched comfortably.
Leeds were quickly in charge, dictating play while remaining, one suspects, at rather less than full throttle. Dave Kitson hit a rare chance wide of the near post on six, but after that it was one-way traffic as happy-go-lucky Aussie Viduka saw a shot blocked, Sakho was denied by a magnificent last-ditch tackle from Adam Tann, then that man again blasted over from 20 yards as his push for the record for most number of shots ever in one game without scoring gathered pace. I believe the current record-holder is the great Jon Parkin of York City, the funniest footballer seen at the Abbey since professional circus clown ‘Peanuts’ McGinnity turned out briefly for Abbey United in the 1937/38 season in full make-up.
A rare United corner on 25 culminated in a half-volley hit on the falling turn by Andy Duncan, and predictably the proverbial ‘defender’s shot’ threatened only the cyclists in Newmarket Road. That man Sakho kept blasting away, two more efforts dealt with coolly by Marshall, but just before the half-hour came the breakthrough. And wouldn’t you know it, it was the Testimonial Man himself who was dispossessed in midfield by Seth Johnson who advanced a few paces then wellied a superb daisy-cutter inside Marshall’s near post from 25 yards. The party was well and truly pooped: 1-0.
The Prem stars remained on top, the United defence well led by the inspirational Duncan needing to be at its best as most chances fell to good old Sakho. Ian Harte, nephew of Gary Kelly who is a cousin of Fred Murray (not so much a family tree as a thick, tangled bush), had a chance to show off his speciality free kick but cleared the crossbar, while United were restricted to a Kitson header which went off for a throw-in (the ball was just too high, or it could have been a tribute to Devon White) and an ambitious Guttridge 25-yarder. The BGG showed one moment of Premiership class with a delightful drag and turn to wrongfoot two defenders, but his unselfish cross was prodded wide by Tudor.
So ended an entertaining half in which United had been thoroughly outplayed by a classy Leeds outfit. Lucky they weren’t playing at full pelt, or Peter Reid’s last visit to the Abbey around this time last year (7-0 to the Mackems) might have been evoked again. But it would be all change for the second half.
Only keeper Scott Carson, Barmby and Sakho remained in the Leeds team from the first period, the Senegalese striker obviously determined to break his duck if he had to play all night. For the U’s only Shaggy and David Bridges stayed on, youngsters Gleeson, Heathcote and Turner joined by some Abbey legends, managed without doubt by that nice Roy McFarland, and looking for the most part remarkably unchanged, in a sense, from their glory years. The wonders of hair dye and corsets, eh?
In goal was the original Legend, John Vaughan. Who could ever forget his twisting point-blank save from Bolton’s Mark Seagraves at the Corona End back in April 1991? It made Gordon Banks’s save from Pele look like an easy catch. Central defence saw the reunion of one of United’s greatest ever pairings, Phil Chapple and Danny O’Shea: a lethal combination of brains and brawn. I’ll let them argue which was which. In central midfield we had the return of Chris ‘Ooh! Ah!’ Leadbitter, the only player to score a League goal with a hook over his own shoulder from his own half in that extraordinary hurricane-swept game with Scunthorpe in 1989. Alongside him was Captain Fantastic Paul Wanless, only four days before he plays here again for Oxford. His rather untidy departure was forgotten as he received the warm ovation he deserved; and much respect, too, to our old pal Ian Atkins for allowing him to play on a night when others such as Butler, Philpott and Claridge were forbidden from doing so.
Tiny Tom Youngs was, of course, injured; fancy tripping over that paper clip, eh Tommy? Up front we had Laurie Ryan, a useful goalscorer until usurped by the irresistible force of Dion and Shaggy. He obviously hadn’t played for a very long time indeed, but he was still better than Neil Horwood.
Sakho resumed where he had left off, missing another couple of chances including one where he had the whole goal at his mercy 12 yards out but scuffed hopelessly wide. It was like Ian Benjamin had never been away. O’Shea galvanised his team with a barnstorming run on 49, taking the ball from his own box well into the opposing half before setting up Turner whose shot was blocked for a corner.
Vaughan distinguished himself with several fine saves, once denying Michael Bridges from ten yards when he looked certain to score, as well the hapless Sakho, but Leeds’ new young legs began to tell against United’s rather ancient ones and they soon found that the most productive route was down their right, followed by a low diagonal cross into the area. And on 63 the floodgates finally opened as Aaron Lennon’s fizzer found, yes, Sakho sprinting in at the far post to tap home one even he couldn’t miss. Even Vaughny gave him a hug. All together now: aah!
Barmby made way for Cyril Chapuis, who marked his arrival by getting into a great position with the goal at his mercy then trying to burst the net and blasting hopelessly into the South Stand. Had Robbie Cooke come back for the evening too? The reply was a resounding non as M Chapuis lashed home two in two minutes on 68 from the same supply line as Sakho to a nostalgic chorus of ‘Nice one, Cyril!’ from the amiable visiting Yorkshire folk: 4-0.
Ryan lasted until the 73rd minute, despite looking knackered from about the 46th, withdrawing to warm applause after a nostalgic but fruitless cameo to be replaced by Lee Summerscales, and as the final quarter-hour approached, it was time for Shaggy’s Goal. His first chance came when he latched on to a Leadbitter ball over the top, although there was perhaps a hint of offside as JT was halfway into the Leeds half while all their defenders were the other side of the halfway line. But what’s 30 yards between friends? Shaggy advanced on goal, only Carson to beat, and opted for a cheeky chip from 20 yards, which arced over the keeper’s head and bounced … just wide of the post. Laughter echoed around the ground (affectionate, mind!) as the great man sank to the floor and pounded the ground in mock (?) frustration. Tonight, Matthew, I’m going to be Neil Lyne. Almost as funny was Leeds defender Zoumana Camara, who didn’t seem entirely up with the state of play and was still plainly puzzled as to why there had been no offside flag.
No matter. Shaggy just stayed where he was, midway into the opposition half, and before long another through ball came his way and the obliging linesman was one very wise monkey. The equally confused Didier Domi chased back, but belatedly seemed to get in on the joke as JT lashed home past him and Carson into the bottom right corner for a goal that raised the roof with an almighty roar throughout the ground. Never had so soft a goal been so acclaimed, and it was blimmin’ great.
John Taylor and daughters: we love you, man
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15 November 2003: U's 1v1 Oxford
In a dramatic response to Cambridge Fans United’s Bridge The Gap appeal, in which the supporters’ trust aims to raise £100,000 in five weeks to address their club’s shortfall in loan-repaying monies, Peterborough fans have launched their own fundraising drive: Ditch The Fat. Jethro Silage, chairman of Poshies Rallying Around Together, outlined his organisation’s manifesto in a dramatic press conference at the Ferret & Filofax, Yaxley on Saturday night:
'Our club, beloved of so many people from Chatteris to Market Deeping, has been taken over by a human barrage balloon with the business acumen of Peter Ridsdale and the football knowledge of Peter Ridsdale. PRAT aims to buy him out by making him an offer he can’t refuse – double what he paid – and to take control of the club on behalf of our long-suffering supporters. And we aim to raise that £76.98 in only four weeks.
'An impromptu blanket collection at last week’s game with Hereford raised the impressive sum of eight blankets, three ponchos and a doily, plus £2.25 in change, including some valuable chocolate coins and a few rare Bank of Toytown banknotes. Fundraising events have been organised, including:
* Turnip Idol, in which internet viewers will be invited to vote for their favourite vegetable, including a guest appearance by Mick Halsall
* A sponsored ‘all-you-can-eat’ challenge between former Posh favourites Jason Lee and Howard Forinton, at the March branch of Carrot-U-Like
* An adults-only tractor pull featuring local farmers and some very attractive sheep
* Pin the tail on the donkey with Simon Rea
* A ‘Guess Barry’s Weight’ competition (to the nearest ton).
'The Football League without Posh would be like David Beckham without a pimple on his bottom. Be a part of PRAT today!'
It’s funny to think that United’s entire loan with Sterling Capital could be repaid by a mere nine weeks of Tuesday visitor Mark Viduka’s wages. But the big man’s got a lot of pies to eat, so there’s no point in appealing to him; it’s up to us to raise the money to help the club we love, so get those baths filled with baked beans now!
To continue the ‘being skint’ theme, today was Student Day at the Abbey, which meant a lot of bleary eyes for those who had had to get up before one o’clock to get to the Abbey on time. Apart from the language students, who had been on shift under the golden arches since 7am. They boosted the attendance to almost 4,500 for the Alternative Varsity Match, ie the one without champagne, canapés and braying 17-stone psychopaths called Rupert.
Our old chum Ian Atkins has moulded a team in his own image at Oxford: dour, defensive, physical and aggressive with the tactical sophistication of a buffalo stampede, but by ’eck it’s worked with a mere one defeat, although five draws in eight away games shows where the priorities lie. They rely on a flat back six, sorry, wing-back system with dear old Paul Wanless just in front, and rely on the classic front two of big bloke to whom they aim their high balls (Louis or Alsop) and nippy bloke who sticks them in (Steve Basham). Results, as they say, are all, and with this morning’s bottom seven all having sacked their manager already this season, it would be naïve to argue with that. Football boss is right up there with Tory leader in the list of great insecure jobs of our time, although at least in the beautiful game it’s more common to be stabbed in the front. And a clear, disciplined team plan is often more effective than reliance on individualism; witness Scotland’s victory over the sarky poseurs of Holland.
The Mighty U’s (we shall refer to our very own amber wonders as U’s or United while Oxford will be referred to as Oxford) made three changes from last week’s adventure at the Giant Axe, Testimonial Man Shaggy replacing himself with Gareth Williams, Freddie Murray back wide left in place of Franco Nacca and Adam Tann in at centre back instead of the suspended Wozza Goodhind. United made a decent start against the huge visiting stormtroopers on a mild afternoon, the verdant Abbey pitch dappled with watery wintery sunshine, and first chance came in the fourth minute: United’s corner saw Oxford characteristically bring all 11 men back, and Shane Tudor’s kick found the gleaming pate of Freddie Murray, but Andy Woodman in goal clutched. The Tipperary Terror has made 60 League appearances now and still awaits his first goal; no pressure, Fred, you’re still 83 short of Jerry’s record.
At the other end, danger was clearly going to be primarily aerial from Atkins’ Air Force, but thankfully United’s fourth different centre-back pairing of the season, Duncan and Tann, looked the epitome of solidity and fortitude. A particular favourite for the visitors was the long ball to just beyond the far post, where Wannie was more often than not to be found lurking just as he was in his Abbey days, and his first chance came on 12, Scott McNiven’s long curler finding the former Captain Fantastic’s forehead; however, sterling covering by Adam Tann ensured that he could only find the side netting.
Wannie created a chance for his old team five minutes later when his foul gave United a free kick 25 yards out. Four players lined up behind the ball, but when the whistle sounded it was Williams who took a quick one, clearing the wall but seeing his effort skim low just past the near post as Woodman, like a man with a full bladder in an overcrowded public toilet, looked on more in hope than comfort. Duncan and Tann were on top form, blocking shots by Basham and Dean Whitehead respectively in the next couple of minutes, but it was the hosts who built up a head of steam. Kitson was foiled by Woodman, then Lil’ Luke Guttridge’s superbly dug out cross from the left finding the unmarked Tudor at the far post; his header seemed likely to break the deadlock until Jon Ashton, practically treading on his keeper’s toes, somehow guided it over at the expense of a corner. Tudor score with a header? They’ll be picking someone with no criminal record for England next.
United’s pressing told on 21: Stuart Bimson’s excellent inswinging corner found the head of Duncan, and under little to no pressure he nodded comfortably past Woodman for an unexpected route to his side’s first goal. In so doing Andy doubled his previous season’s best League goals tally: yup, after three seasons in which he’s managed one, he’s on two this term already. Goal machine or what?
This was Oxford’s cue to get really tough, and the cards soon started flying as the game threatened to become as X-rated as Newcastle United’s At Leisure calendar (Bowyer’s April is bad enough, Dyer’s July looks barely physically possible, but Bellamy’s November has to be seen to be believed). Jefferson Louis felled Tann in an ugly clash on 23, picking up booking number one, and two minutes later James Hunt became number two after battering Lil’ Luke so brutally his blue-shirted colleagues crowded around ref Mathieson in obvious fear of a red.
On 28 Tudor sprinted clear and blasted one over the angle of post and bar from just outside the area, while at the other end Duncan stopped Basham in his tracks with a magnificent saving tackle. Matt Robinson shot over for the visitors as they began to boss the game, United retreating ever deeper and failing to keep possession when they had it, and the rest of the half looked more like an United away game as the two banks of four soaked up wave after wave of pressure while their front two looked on in isolation. Oxford’s pressure made up in relentlessness what it lacked in sophistication as the crosses, throw-ins and corners sailed through the air like giant hailstones, Duncan and Tann’s weather eyes keeping close watch. Angus denied Basham, Terry Fleming was effectively a fifth defender as he shored up the back line, Murray became almost a second left back and Tudor got through more defensive work than he did in the whole of last season. But as in so many recent away games, United stood as firm and resolute as Mark ‘Guilty until proven innocent’ Palios, only with fewer cock-ups.
Murray became United’s first booking on 41, and he was lucky he didn’t get a red as he miscontrolled to McNiven on halfway then tried to retrieve the situation by sliding in with studs up; mercifully he missed his intended target, or instant dismissal would have been a certainty, and one can think of certain refs who might well have sent him off anyway. Eh, Mr Cable? Whitehead’s free kick a minute later from a dangerous position just outside the box was sent feebly into the wall, while Louis headed Wanless’s cross wide as half-time beckoned, and it was the hosts who heaved a sigh of relief at the whistle, having soaked up a sustained probing from all angles worthy of a Premiership team. Allegedly.
In a dramatic response to Cambridge Fans United’s Bridge The Gap appeal, in which the supporters’ trust aims to raise £100,000 in five weeks to address their club’s shortfall in loan-repaying monies, Peterborough fans have launched their own fundraising drive: Ditch The Fat. Jethro Silage, chairman of Poshies Rallying Around Together, outlined his organisation’s manifesto in a dramatic press conference at the Ferret & Filofax, Yaxley on Saturday night:
'Our club, beloved of so many people from Chatteris to Market Deeping, has been taken over by a human barrage balloon with the business acumen of Peter Ridsdale and the football knowledge of Peter Ridsdale. PRAT aims to buy him out by making him an offer he can’t refuse – double what he paid – and to take control of the club on behalf of our long-suffering supporters. And we aim to raise that £76.98 in only four weeks.
'An impromptu blanket collection at last week’s game with Hereford raised the impressive sum of eight blankets, three ponchos and a doily, plus £2.25 in change, including some valuable chocolate coins and a few rare Bank of Toytown banknotes. Fundraising events have been organised, including:
* Turnip Idol, in which internet viewers will be invited to vote for their favourite vegetable, including a guest appearance by Mick Halsall
* A sponsored ‘all-you-can-eat’ challenge between former Posh favourites Jason Lee and Howard Forinton, at the March branch of Carrot-U-Like
* An adults-only tractor pull featuring local farmers and some very attractive sheep
* Pin the tail on the donkey with Simon Rea
* A ‘Guess Barry’s Weight’ competition (to the nearest ton).
'The Football League without Posh would be like David Beckham without a pimple on his bottom. Be a part of PRAT today!'
It’s funny to think that United’s entire loan with Sterling Capital could be repaid by a mere nine weeks of Tuesday visitor Mark Viduka’s wages. But the big man’s got a lot of pies to eat, so there’s no point in appealing to him; it’s up to us to raise the money to help the club we love, so get those baths filled with baked beans now!
To continue the ‘being skint’ theme, today was Student Day at the Abbey, which meant a lot of bleary eyes for those who had had to get up before one o’clock to get to the Abbey on time. Apart from the language students, who had been on shift under the golden arches since 7am. They boosted the attendance to almost 4,500 for the Alternative Varsity Match, ie the one without champagne, canapés and braying 17-stone psychopaths called Rupert.
Our old chum Ian Atkins has moulded a team in his own image at Oxford: dour, defensive, physical and aggressive with the tactical sophistication of a buffalo stampede, but by ’eck it’s worked with a mere one defeat, although five draws in eight away games shows where the priorities lie. They rely on a flat back six, sorry, wing-back system with dear old Paul Wanless just in front, and rely on the classic front two of big bloke to whom they aim their high balls (Louis or Alsop) and nippy bloke who sticks them in (Steve Basham). Results, as they say, are all, and with this morning’s bottom seven all having sacked their manager already this season, it would be naïve to argue with that. Football boss is right up there with Tory leader in the list of great insecure jobs of our time, although at least in the beautiful game it’s more common to be stabbed in the front. And a clear, disciplined team plan is often more effective than reliance on individualism; witness Scotland’s victory over the sarky poseurs of Holland.
The Mighty U’s (we shall refer to our very own amber wonders as U’s or United while Oxford will be referred to as Oxford) made three changes from last week’s adventure at the Giant Axe, Testimonial Man Shaggy replacing himself with Gareth Williams, Freddie Murray back wide left in place of Franco Nacca and Adam Tann in at centre back instead of the suspended Wozza Goodhind. United made a decent start against the huge visiting stormtroopers on a mild afternoon, the verdant Abbey pitch dappled with watery wintery sunshine, and first chance came in the fourth minute: United’s corner saw Oxford characteristically bring all 11 men back, and Shane Tudor’s kick found the gleaming pate of Freddie Murray, but Andy Woodman in goal clutched. The Tipperary Terror has made 60 League appearances now and still awaits his first goal; no pressure, Fred, you’re still 83 short of Jerry’s record.
At the other end, danger was clearly going to be primarily aerial from Atkins’ Air Force, but thankfully United’s fourth different centre-back pairing of the season, Duncan and Tann, looked the epitome of solidity and fortitude. A particular favourite for the visitors was the long ball to just beyond the far post, where Wannie was more often than not to be found lurking just as he was in his Abbey days, and his first chance came on 12, Scott McNiven’s long curler finding the former Captain Fantastic’s forehead; however, sterling covering by Adam Tann ensured that he could only find the side netting.
Wannie created a chance for his old team five minutes later when his foul gave United a free kick 25 yards out. Four players lined up behind the ball, but when the whistle sounded it was Williams who took a quick one, clearing the wall but seeing his effort skim low just past the near post as Woodman, like a man with a full bladder in an overcrowded public toilet, looked on more in hope than comfort. Duncan and Tann were on top form, blocking shots by Basham and Dean Whitehead respectively in the next couple of minutes, but it was the hosts who built up a head of steam. Kitson was foiled by Woodman, then Lil’ Luke Guttridge’s superbly dug out cross from the left finding the unmarked Tudor at the far post; his header seemed likely to break the deadlock until Jon Ashton, practically treading on his keeper’s toes, somehow guided it over at the expense of a corner. Tudor score with a header? They’ll be picking someone with no criminal record for England next.
United’s pressing told on 21: Stuart Bimson’s excellent inswinging corner found the head of Duncan, and under little to no pressure he nodded comfortably past Woodman for an unexpected route to his side’s first goal. In so doing Andy doubled his previous season’s best League goals tally: yup, after three seasons in which he’s managed one, he’s on two this term already. Goal machine or what?
This was Oxford’s cue to get really tough, and the cards soon started flying as the game threatened to become as X-rated as Newcastle United’s At Leisure calendar (Bowyer’s April is bad enough, Dyer’s July looks barely physically possible, but Bellamy’s November has to be seen to be believed). Jefferson Louis felled Tann in an ugly clash on 23, picking up booking number one, and two minutes later James Hunt became number two after battering Lil’ Luke so brutally his blue-shirted colleagues crowded around ref Mathieson in obvious fear of a red.
On 28 Tudor sprinted clear and blasted one over the angle of post and bar from just outside the area, while at the other end Duncan stopped Basham in his tracks with a magnificent saving tackle. Matt Robinson shot over for the visitors as they began to boss the game, United retreating ever deeper and failing to keep possession when they had it, and the rest of the half looked more like an United away game as the two banks of four soaked up wave after wave of pressure while their front two looked on in isolation. Oxford’s pressure made up in relentlessness what it lacked in sophistication as the crosses, throw-ins and corners sailed through the air like giant hailstones, Duncan and Tann’s weather eyes keeping close watch. Angus denied Basham, Terry Fleming was effectively a fifth defender as he shored up the back line, Murray became almost a second left back and Tudor got through more defensive work than he did in the whole of last season. But as in so many recent away games, United stood as firm and resolute as Mark ‘Guilty until proven innocent’ Palios, only with fewer cock-ups.
Murray became United’s first booking on 41, and he was lucky he didn’t get a red as he miscontrolled to McNiven on halfway then tried to retrieve the situation by sliding in with studs up; mercifully he missed his intended target, or instant dismissal would have been a certainty, and one can think of certain refs who might well have sent him off anyway. Eh, Mr Cable? Whitehead’s free kick a minute later from a dangerous position just outside the box was sent feebly into the wall, while Louis headed Wanless’s cross wide as half-time beckoned, and it was the hosts who heaved a sigh of relief at the whistle, having soaked up a sustained probing from all angles worthy of a Premiership team. Allegedly.
Vince Cable: didn't know he was a ref
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The interval saw some important and fearlessly frank financial news imparted by Gary Harwood and Nick Pomery and gave all United supporters much food for thought as part two started. ‘Support’ is going to be very much the word over the coming weeks. Make sure you’re wearing yours. Proceedings resumed with United still sitting deep and inviting Oxford to pump in the high balls, and Marshall saved from Hunt on 49 before the visitors changed target man two minutes later, Louis replaced by Julian Alsop, a big lad chunkier than a stegosaurus sandwich. Tudor got in the way of a Whitehead shot on 53 before Dancing Shaun Marshall made a superb save from McNiven, the Terpsichorean custodian sprawling to turn his low fizzer round. The flag kick was predictably aimed at Wanless at the far post, but Bimson cleared and Guttridge’s spring-heeled break set up Tudor for a blast at goal that troubled only air traffic control.
Controversy followed on 56 as nifty footwork and acceleration from Kitson saw him race clear down the right channel, only to be clattered by Woodman just outside the box as he was about to round him and slot home. Mathieson took his leniency to new heights by failing to recognise the Oxford keeper’s foul as either violent conduct or a professional foul denying a clear goalscoring opportunity, presumably because there were a couple of defenders parallel with Woodman when he assaulted Kitson, and the whey-faced sticksman must have been mighty relieved to see only yellow. Bimson took the free kick, a testing one that wasn’t properly cleared, and Guttridge latched onto it 15 yards out and lashed an unstoppable effort that almost knocked the crossbar off its hinges before being scrambled to safety. A second would surely have sealed it as Oxford began to run out of ideas.
It was United who made the next change just before the hour as John Turner replaced Williams, the Palace man unlucky to have been starved of the service to feet he needs. With another Oxford storm weathered and no sign of a breakthrough, Atkins changed his diet on 67 by introducing winger Chris Hackett for Hunt and changing to a 3-4-3 formation. A rare Murray run to the byline on 71 set up Kitson, but both he and Guttridge delayed getting in their shots and they were crowded out by the blue meanies. Fred was replaced by Franco Nacca on 74 in a straight swap and United threatened to score again when Bimson’s tempting low diagonal cross ran all the way across the box to be prodded just the right side of the post (as far as he was concerned) by Robinson’s shin. Tension mounted with the gradual inevitability of Beckham’s metamorphosis into Robbie Savage. Mmm, lovely hair.
With ten minutes left Atkins played his final card, introducing Mark Rawle as a fourth striker, hopeful that he could repeat his last appearance at the Abbey last Boxing Day when he scored for Southend. Marshall saved Alsop’s 82nd minute header with no difficulty, and as the visitors huffed and puffed to no great effect it seemed as if United might at long last be on the verge of their second home win of the season. David Bridges replaced Tudor with a minute of normal time remaining, and four extra minutes were indicated by the fickle board of fate. And with three of those minutes gone came joy for the dark blues and despair for the hordes in amber.
Oxford gained one last corner, Hackett lobbed it in hopefully; it found an Oxford head who nodded it to the edge of the area where Rawle lurked. He flicked it over his own head and on the turn, smashed an unstoppable volley into the far corner of the net off the post. Marshall had no chance at all. There was no denying the brilliance of the goal, although there was no way he would even have tried such an outlandish effort had it not been in the context of a desperate last thrust deep into injury time.
Amazingly, United still had a chance to win it, their last corner by Guttridge fumbled feebly by Woodman, and it fell to Tann 12 yards out; he got hopelessly under it and lashed it over. When the whistle sounded seconds later, Lil’ Luke summed up home feelings by wellying the ball in frustration into the darkening evening air.
On the overall balance of play, a draw was a fair result. But to have a much-needed home win snatched away so late, in such dramatic fashion, felt like defeat. It’s up to the management to accentuate the positives such as the solidity of the away-formationesque two banks of four and tremendous defending, while recognising that a little more inspiration in the final third is required if we are to make the best of our excellent strikers. It’s looking like a mid-table kinda season, but we are only a decent run away from a tilt at the play-off positions. And that’s always worth digging into your pockets for.
Marshall 6 – Solid performance marred only by several communication breakdowns with his defenders. Project, Shaun, project!
Angus 8 – Masterly expression of the full-back’s art, marrying cool defending to enterprising overlapping.
Bimson 8 – Brought all his experience to bear in a thoroughly reliable display.
Duncan 9 – Just the sort of scrap Andy likes, and he coped admirably with all Oxford could throw at him with characteristic strength.
Tann 9 – Superb comeback, full of vim and vigour.
Tudor 7 – Not as much of an attacking threat as we wanted, but compensated with some splendid defensive covering when it was much needed.
Guttridge 8 – United’s best midfielder as so often this season.
Fleming 7 – Never a creative danger but put in much valuable work supporting his back four.
Murray 6 – Did his best without ever convincing that he is a midfield player, and ironically withdrawn just after his best (ie only) run to the byline.
Williams 6 – Obviously a decent player but hopelessly inadequate service, mostly aerial, denied him any chance to prove it.
Kitson 7 – Worked heroically despite the aforementioned poor service.
Turner 7 – Made his usual splash with some good work, particularly down the left where he found plenty of space as Oxford pushed forward.
Nacca 7 – Another tidy display means he must surely get the start he deserves soon.
Bridges 6 – Last-minute time-wasting substitute.
Controversy followed on 56 as nifty footwork and acceleration from Kitson saw him race clear down the right channel, only to be clattered by Woodman just outside the box as he was about to round him and slot home. Mathieson took his leniency to new heights by failing to recognise the Oxford keeper’s foul as either violent conduct or a professional foul denying a clear goalscoring opportunity, presumably because there were a couple of defenders parallel with Woodman when he assaulted Kitson, and the whey-faced sticksman must have been mighty relieved to see only yellow. Bimson took the free kick, a testing one that wasn’t properly cleared, and Guttridge latched onto it 15 yards out and lashed an unstoppable effort that almost knocked the crossbar off its hinges before being scrambled to safety. A second would surely have sealed it as Oxford began to run out of ideas.
It was United who made the next change just before the hour as John Turner replaced Williams, the Palace man unlucky to have been starved of the service to feet he needs. With another Oxford storm weathered and no sign of a breakthrough, Atkins changed his diet on 67 by introducing winger Chris Hackett for Hunt and changing to a 3-4-3 formation. A rare Murray run to the byline on 71 set up Kitson, but both he and Guttridge delayed getting in their shots and they were crowded out by the blue meanies. Fred was replaced by Franco Nacca on 74 in a straight swap and United threatened to score again when Bimson’s tempting low diagonal cross ran all the way across the box to be prodded just the right side of the post (as far as he was concerned) by Robinson’s shin. Tension mounted with the gradual inevitability of Beckham’s metamorphosis into Robbie Savage. Mmm, lovely hair.
With ten minutes left Atkins played his final card, introducing Mark Rawle as a fourth striker, hopeful that he could repeat his last appearance at the Abbey last Boxing Day when he scored for Southend. Marshall saved Alsop’s 82nd minute header with no difficulty, and as the visitors huffed and puffed to no great effect it seemed as if United might at long last be on the verge of their second home win of the season. David Bridges replaced Tudor with a minute of normal time remaining, and four extra minutes were indicated by the fickle board of fate. And with three of those minutes gone came joy for the dark blues and despair for the hordes in amber.
Oxford gained one last corner, Hackett lobbed it in hopefully; it found an Oxford head who nodded it to the edge of the area where Rawle lurked. He flicked it over his own head and on the turn, smashed an unstoppable volley into the far corner of the net off the post. Marshall had no chance at all. There was no denying the brilliance of the goal, although there was no way he would even have tried such an outlandish effort had it not been in the context of a desperate last thrust deep into injury time.
Amazingly, United still had a chance to win it, their last corner by Guttridge fumbled feebly by Woodman, and it fell to Tann 12 yards out; he got hopelessly under it and lashed it over. When the whistle sounded seconds later, Lil’ Luke summed up home feelings by wellying the ball in frustration into the darkening evening air.
On the overall balance of play, a draw was a fair result. But to have a much-needed home win snatched away so late, in such dramatic fashion, felt like defeat. It’s up to the management to accentuate the positives such as the solidity of the away-formationesque two banks of four and tremendous defending, while recognising that a little more inspiration in the final third is required if we are to make the best of our excellent strikers. It’s looking like a mid-table kinda season, but we are only a decent run away from a tilt at the play-off positions. And that’s always worth digging into your pockets for.
Marshall 6 – Solid performance marred only by several communication breakdowns with his defenders. Project, Shaun, project!
Angus 8 – Masterly expression of the full-back’s art, marrying cool defending to enterprising overlapping.
Bimson 8 – Brought all his experience to bear in a thoroughly reliable display.
Duncan 9 – Just the sort of scrap Andy likes, and he coped admirably with all Oxford could throw at him with characteristic strength.
Tann 9 – Superb comeback, full of vim and vigour.
Tudor 7 – Not as much of an attacking threat as we wanted, but compensated with some splendid defensive covering when it was much needed.
Guttridge 8 – United’s best midfielder as so often this season.
Fleming 7 – Never a creative danger but put in much valuable work supporting his back four.
Murray 6 – Did his best without ever convincing that he is a midfield player, and ironically withdrawn just after his best (ie only) run to the byline.
Williams 6 – Obviously a decent player but hopelessly inadequate service, mostly aerial, denied him any chance to prove it.
Kitson 7 – Worked heroically despite the aforementioned poor service.
Turner 7 – Made his usual splash with some good work, particularly down the left where he found plenty of space as Oxford pushed forward.
Nacca 7 – Another tidy display means he must surely get the start he deserves soon.
Bridges 6 – Last-minute time-wasting substitute.
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Soundtrack of the day: Red Hot Chili Peppers/Fortune Faded
Match summary: United’s home victory champers was spiked at the last minute again as they were denied a hard-fought victory by Mark Rawle’s wonder volley. These things tend to even themselves out over the season, but did they have to do so over two weeks? Man of the match: Adam Tann. Filled Mark Venus’s boots with energy, aplomb and a strength that belied his tender years. Ref watch: Mathieson 8. Mostly good, but much as one dislikes seeing flurries of yellow and red, he erred too much on the side of leniency under the new puppy-soft refereeing regime. |
Red Hot Child Peppers: faded fortune, apparently
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22 November 2003: Scunthorpe 4-0 U's
Extreme Ironing
This week saw the latest summit of Division Three chairmen at Hull City’s sumptuous Kingston Communications Stadium. D3-specific items were prominent on the agenda, including a vigorous debate on The Toilets At Which You Are Most Likely To Contract The Black Death (York just pipped Swansea), Most Charmless Chairman (Barry Hearn won for the third year running) and Manager You’d Least Like To Be Trapped In A Lift With (Ian Atkins, of course). But most important item, of course, was the chronic lack of money at most of the Division’s clubs. CUFC Official was there to eavesdrop on the goings-on, and in part one of our report, we join our very own top man, Gary Harwood, in the dressing room as he joins the chairmen of Hull, Doncaster and Yeovil in towelling themselves down after a vigorous, cobweb-clearing game of squash:
John Fry (Yeovil): ‘I was head-hunted again last week!’
John Ryan (Doncaster): ‘Well I’ve definitely been earmarked for the Football League board.’
Adam Pearson (Hull): ‘I’ve tripled my turnover in five years!’
Gary Harwood: ‘Can I offer anyone a lift?’
Ryan: ‘Which car is yours, Gary?’
Gary: ‘Er, the brown Morris Minor. Bit of a cashflow crisis, you know.’
Pearson: ‘Oh yes, I think I read about it £100k short, wasn’t it? Why don’t you just do what I’d do and sack a few backroom staff?’
Ryan: ‘Or liquidate one of your offshore trusts? I’m sure I could do it in a terribly tax-efficient way.’
Gary: ‘Haven’t got any, I’m afraid. Our fantastic fans are trying to raise it. Now what about this lift?’
Fry: ‘Er, isn’t that Mark Palios over there? Must go and have a quick chat.’
Pearson: ‘I’ll take a raincheck, old boy. Got to get my broker to shunt some shares around.’
Ryan: ‘I only travel by private jet, Gary. Terrible car sickness, don’t you know!’
Gary: ‘D’oh!’
For the cash-strapped U’s, an overnight stay before today’s big mid-tabler with the Iron was out of the question. Which no doubt came as a relief to the players, for whom the prospect of a night in picturesque tourist-trap Scunthorpe must have had all the allure of a sleepover with Michael Jackson.
Glanford Park is barely in Scunthorpe at all, an early example of a new out-of-town stadium development which originally stood all alone in the desolate Lincolnshire countryside, but which season by season seems to attract more company as the town spreads out tendril-like to join it. The ground is now adjoined by all manner of warehouse stores and fast-food emporia, much forming part of the Gallagher Retail Park, presumably so called because it is an Oasis of consumerist civilisation in the middle of nowhere.
GP remains as unlovely as ever – a featureless grey box inside and out with all the character of a pavement slab, perfectly mirroring the slate-coloured, rain-engorged sky: a victory for pragmatism over fantasy. But then not everyone can afford George Reynolds’ marbled halls. More welcoming by far was the Old Farm House next door, a warm, cheery watering hole whose bar was adorned by a lone remnant from the morning’s rugby final, still sporting his England jersey and preposterous hat but by 2pm only capable of an intermittently incoherent rendition of Swing Low. The pride of perfidious Albion. A pleasant interval was spent perusing the matchday programme, notable for winger Lee Featherstone’s controversial assertion that Ian Van Dahl’s stodgy slice of Eurocheese Castles In The Sky is the greatest song of all time. Let's hope for his sake that his crossing is less wayward than his musical taste.
The visiting U’s retained last week's starting line-up, with Wozza Goodhind returning to the bench from suspension and Shaggy also on call due to John Turner’s absence. Not car sick again, poor lamb? Human battering ram Steve Torpey was suspended for the hosts, but D3’s leading scorer Steve MacLean was to lead the line, which would be supplied by 73-year-old Peter Beagrie, still twinkling down the line in his carpet slippers and blanket.
Scunny have always been an exciting footballing team when in full flow and they started at full pelt, MacLean almost slipping through in the first minute as United set up their two banks of four in a bid to continue their best-in-League away form. Initial chance for the visitors came on four, a 25-yard free kick from the left channel just skimming wide of the near post from Gareth Williams. It was soon obvious that Beagrie would be the danger man, Stev Angus struggling to contain his mazy runs and quick feet, and the quality of his crosses and corners was consistently good and difficult to stop all afternoon. Dave Kitson and his marker Cliff Byrne were treated to a lecture from ref Jones after a niggly clash before the BGG forced Iron keeper Tom Evans to fumble a Stuart Bimson free-kick on ten, but Byrne hoofed clear before an United boot could make contact.
It was the hosts who broke the deadlock on 13: MacLean’s right-wing corner was headed on by a combination of Kitson and Byrne to the far post, where Paul Hayes steered a quite superb volley back across goal and into the top corner. It was as unstoppable and accurate as a Saint Jonny Wilkinson drop kick, although one suspects he couldn’t do it again if he had a hundred attempts.
Scunthorpe are an inconsistent side, but give these dogs a sniff of the bone of hope and they will be slobbering all over you with overpowering rapaciousness (although without the wet nose and bad breath, except for Richard Kell). They continued to probe at pace, using the full width of the pitch, and United seemed to have little answer. And just five minutes later they had doubled their lead, with a little piece of good fortune. The provider was inevitably Beagrie: after another teasing run down the left, he reached the byline and his cross was deflected off the boot of Angus, sending it looping over the head of Marshall to drop like a laser-guided pigeon under the bar, and MacLean bundled home untidily from point-blank range: 2-0.
Shellshocked United tried to respond, Kitson setting up Lil’ Luke Guttridge for a shot blocked by Andy Butler, then there was a lengthy stoppage as the BGG and Kell ran pell-mell into each other in the centre circle. After a few worrying minutes and the application of Ant Coole’s magic ice cubes, both collidees were right as the still-slanting rain. United huffed and puffed but seemed devoid of inspiration and indeed leadership from the middle of the park, neither Terry Fleming nor Freddie Murray exactly creative forces and Shane Tudor still a shadow of his former self. How we missed the clenched-fist guidance of our old Captain Fantastic.
Extreme Ironing
This week saw the latest summit of Division Three chairmen at Hull City’s sumptuous Kingston Communications Stadium. D3-specific items were prominent on the agenda, including a vigorous debate on The Toilets At Which You Are Most Likely To Contract The Black Death (York just pipped Swansea), Most Charmless Chairman (Barry Hearn won for the third year running) and Manager You’d Least Like To Be Trapped In A Lift With (Ian Atkins, of course). But most important item, of course, was the chronic lack of money at most of the Division’s clubs. CUFC Official was there to eavesdrop on the goings-on, and in part one of our report, we join our very own top man, Gary Harwood, in the dressing room as he joins the chairmen of Hull, Doncaster and Yeovil in towelling themselves down after a vigorous, cobweb-clearing game of squash:
John Fry (Yeovil): ‘I was head-hunted again last week!’
John Ryan (Doncaster): ‘Well I’ve definitely been earmarked for the Football League board.’
Adam Pearson (Hull): ‘I’ve tripled my turnover in five years!’
Gary Harwood: ‘Can I offer anyone a lift?’
Ryan: ‘Which car is yours, Gary?’
Gary: ‘Er, the brown Morris Minor. Bit of a cashflow crisis, you know.’
Pearson: ‘Oh yes, I think I read about it £100k short, wasn’t it? Why don’t you just do what I’d do and sack a few backroom staff?’
Ryan: ‘Or liquidate one of your offshore trusts? I’m sure I could do it in a terribly tax-efficient way.’
Gary: ‘Haven’t got any, I’m afraid. Our fantastic fans are trying to raise it. Now what about this lift?’
Fry: ‘Er, isn’t that Mark Palios over there? Must go and have a quick chat.’
Pearson: ‘I’ll take a raincheck, old boy. Got to get my broker to shunt some shares around.’
Ryan: ‘I only travel by private jet, Gary. Terrible car sickness, don’t you know!’
Gary: ‘D’oh!’
For the cash-strapped U’s, an overnight stay before today’s big mid-tabler with the Iron was out of the question. Which no doubt came as a relief to the players, for whom the prospect of a night in picturesque tourist-trap Scunthorpe must have had all the allure of a sleepover with Michael Jackson.
Glanford Park is barely in Scunthorpe at all, an early example of a new out-of-town stadium development which originally stood all alone in the desolate Lincolnshire countryside, but which season by season seems to attract more company as the town spreads out tendril-like to join it. The ground is now adjoined by all manner of warehouse stores and fast-food emporia, much forming part of the Gallagher Retail Park, presumably so called because it is an Oasis of consumerist civilisation in the middle of nowhere.
GP remains as unlovely as ever – a featureless grey box inside and out with all the character of a pavement slab, perfectly mirroring the slate-coloured, rain-engorged sky: a victory for pragmatism over fantasy. But then not everyone can afford George Reynolds’ marbled halls. More welcoming by far was the Old Farm House next door, a warm, cheery watering hole whose bar was adorned by a lone remnant from the morning’s rugby final, still sporting his England jersey and preposterous hat but by 2pm only capable of an intermittently incoherent rendition of Swing Low. The pride of perfidious Albion. A pleasant interval was spent perusing the matchday programme, notable for winger Lee Featherstone’s controversial assertion that Ian Van Dahl’s stodgy slice of Eurocheese Castles In The Sky is the greatest song of all time. Let's hope for his sake that his crossing is less wayward than his musical taste.
The visiting U’s retained last week's starting line-up, with Wozza Goodhind returning to the bench from suspension and Shaggy also on call due to John Turner’s absence. Not car sick again, poor lamb? Human battering ram Steve Torpey was suspended for the hosts, but D3’s leading scorer Steve MacLean was to lead the line, which would be supplied by 73-year-old Peter Beagrie, still twinkling down the line in his carpet slippers and blanket.
Scunny have always been an exciting footballing team when in full flow and they started at full pelt, MacLean almost slipping through in the first minute as United set up their two banks of four in a bid to continue their best-in-League away form. Initial chance for the visitors came on four, a 25-yard free kick from the left channel just skimming wide of the near post from Gareth Williams. It was soon obvious that Beagrie would be the danger man, Stev Angus struggling to contain his mazy runs and quick feet, and the quality of his crosses and corners was consistently good and difficult to stop all afternoon. Dave Kitson and his marker Cliff Byrne were treated to a lecture from ref Jones after a niggly clash before the BGG forced Iron keeper Tom Evans to fumble a Stuart Bimson free-kick on ten, but Byrne hoofed clear before an United boot could make contact.
It was the hosts who broke the deadlock on 13: MacLean’s right-wing corner was headed on by a combination of Kitson and Byrne to the far post, where Paul Hayes steered a quite superb volley back across goal and into the top corner. It was as unstoppable and accurate as a Saint Jonny Wilkinson drop kick, although one suspects he couldn’t do it again if he had a hundred attempts.
Scunthorpe are an inconsistent side, but give these dogs a sniff of the bone of hope and they will be slobbering all over you with overpowering rapaciousness (although without the wet nose and bad breath, except for Richard Kell). They continued to probe at pace, using the full width of the pitch, and United seemed to have little answer. And just five minutes later they had doubled their lead, with a little piece of good fortune. The provider was inevitably Beagrie: after another teasing run down the left, he reached the byline and his cross was deflected off the boot of Angus, sending it looping over the head of Marshall to drop like a laser-guided pigeon under the bar, and MacLean bundled home untidily from point-blank range: 2-0.
Shellshocked United tried to respond, Kitson setting up Lil’ Luke Guttridge for a shot blocked by Andy Butler, then there was a lengthy stoppage as the BGG and Kell ran pell-mell into each other in the centre circle. After a few worrying minutes and the application of Ant Coole’s magic ice cubes, both collidees were right as the still-slanting rain. United huffed and puffed but seemed devoid of inspiration and indeed leadership from the middle of the park, neither Terry Fleming nor Freddie Murray exactly creative forces and Shane Tudor still a shadow of his former self. How we missed the clenched-fist guidance of our old Captain Fantastic.
Rain
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The Terrier was first in the book on 28 for a nip at Kell, who returned the favour four minutes later with a similar result, Fleming clearly having great difficulty in controlling his temper, although there was no immediate danger of his turning green and all his clothes falling off except for an inexplicably still-fitting pair of tattered trousers. More’s the pity, eh girls? Beagrie almost created number three on 36, skipping past Angus yet again, cutting inside and unleashing a powerful low shot that rebounded off Shaun Marshall’s chest, but in the scramble for the follow-up Hayes’ toe-poke was deflected wide for a corner. Four minutes later another incisive run from the veteran winger climaxed in a low cross to Hayes, who set up Terry Barwick for an over-deliberate sidefoot from 18 yards that flew some way wide.
With two minutes remaining to half-time, United at last tried playing some football on the ground instead of continuing their baffling policy of lumping Micawberesque high balls in the general direction of Kitson and Williams: Tudor sent Big Dave sprinting clear down the right flank from halfway, and under pressure from the last defender he spotted both Fleming and Guttridge haring into the middle. Kitson’s slightly overhit square ball was retrieved by the Terrier who set up Lil’ Luke, but his first-time strike was disappointingly fizzed five yards wide when he should really have pulled one back to give his side some barely deserved hope for the second half.
Remarkably, the increasingly unimpressive Jones saw fit to add only one minute’s injury time despite the lengthy head-clash stoppage; perhaps his Braille watch was becoming difficult to read in the pelting rain. United finished on top, but in truth the scoreline was a fair reflection of an encounter that in many ways resembled the Holland/Scotland game on Wednesday, albeit without so much of that comedy defending. A radical improvement would be required from the lacklustre boys in amber in part two.
Shaggy, seeing his side’s lack of drive and invention, went for broke by removing Murray, who had had the impact of a cardboard cutout without the physical presence, and played himself in a new front two with Kitson, Williams ‘in the hole’ in front of a narrow midfield three. And initial impressions were good, the U’s putting the hammer down on the Iron and forcing them back with some determined pass-and-move. There was early bafflement when Williams was given offside from Bimson’s throw-in some ten yards from goal, mainly because the rules state that it is not possible to be offside from a throw, and reinforcing the amber horde’s impression that the officials had strayed in from a nearby Under-9s pitch, and were better suited to officiating at a Subbuteo tournament. On 49 Kitson bravely chased a ball over the top from Guttridge and blocked Evans’ attempted clearance, but it would not bounce kindly for him and as the keeper tried desperately to get back into his goal, the BGG hooked an overhead kick wide.
Tudor picked up a yellow on 51 for a clumsy but not malicious late tackle on Kevin Sharp, and a minute later a Beagrie cross was headed into the path of Kell, whose shot from the edge of the area was hacked off the line by Angus. Fast forward a further 60 seconds and there was a real turning point in the match: Kell felled Guttridge clumsily near halfway with a foul that was if anything more worthy of punishment than that of Tudor a couple of minutes earlier, and anticipation swept around the ground with the realisation that a second yellow for the Iron number 19 would mean red. Astoundingly, Jones, in a show of bottling unseen since the Corona factory closed, merely lectured the errant Kell and failed to produce a further card. Brian Laws, sensing immediately which way the wind was blowing, withdrew Kell less than a minute later in favour of Ian Kilford as the away contingent howled their disgust at the man in black. Tellingly, he did not show a single further card in the whole match. Draw your own conclusions; I know we did.
A thick rolling fog began to manifest itself menacingly over the far end as if the gods of football were about to vent their wrath upon Jones.We’d have been quite happy to do that for them. But United’s brief fire was already beginning to blow itself out. Matt Sparrow blasted wide on 56 as Scunthorpe began to get a toehold on the second half, then came another ‘Marshall moment’ as he and Bimson had a little misunderstanding about who should collect a loose ball and Bimmo was eventually compelled to welly clear from his own six-yard box before having a not-so-quiet word with his keeper.
Just after the hour, a perceptive Guttridge through ball sent Kitson galloping clear and he almost delayed his shot too late until his superbly struck blaster across goal from a narrow angle was clawed desperately over by Evans; but Big Dave had paid a heavy price, his hamstring seeming to go as he shot, and he received treatment from the Coole man as play continued with United’s corner. Andy Duncan eventually headed over from a second flag kick, by which time the BGG was limping off, perhaps for several weeks (gulp). His replacement was David Bridges, pressed into service as an emergency striker for the first time since his youth/reserve days.
United continued to press, but had lost a key component and looked as likely to turn it around as the Aussies are to lose graciously. Marshall tipped a Hayes header over on 70, then foiled Beagrie with an excellent diving save as he flashed in another low drive. But some Keystone defending from the resultant corner saw Duncan somehow head against his own post, then see the rebound cannon across goal for MacLean to poke home from a matter of inches for the second time. The Loan Ranger couldn’t believe his luck: 3-0.
Game over. Now it was simply a matter of how many more the rampant hosts could add as Marshall defied them single-handed. MacLean’s shot on 73 was pawed around the post, then on 75 Williams was replaced by Franco Nacca as Tudor moved into the ‘hole' – one Titanic deckchair for another. Over the next ten minutes Scunny swarmed all over United, especially down the vulnerable left flank, and Dancing Shaun was called upon to dodge and weave around his goalmouth as frantically as Leeds United’s accountant, punching and palming away firm shots from MacLean, Kilford and Sparrow as his defence melted away in front of him.
Shaggy threatened to barge through on 84 but was reduced to a rather desperate appeal for a penalty as he ran into a wall of Iron. Butler fired over on 86, but as added time ticked away, an afternoon for the United contingent as nightmarish as Junior Eurovision was capped with a hat-trick for MacLean, heading home comfortably with almost the last touch of the match from Beagrie’s short corner: a real long-ranger this time, at least three yards out.
Seconds later it was all over, and what a relief that was to the over-run, under-achieving boys in amber. Granted, there were turning points (Guttridge’s miss just before half-time, Kell’s should-have-been red card) from which the match might have taken a different course, but too many players were below par and lacking inspiration against a Scunny team that is one of the best in the division when it has its tail up. Of main concern must be Kitson’s injury; if he is out for any length of time, it’s going to be a cold, cold Christmas. Ho ho help!
Marshall 7 – Not much chance with any of the goals and frankly kept the score down on his own in the final quarter.
Angus 4 – Given a roasting (if you’ll pardon the expression) by the brilliant Beagrie, to whose twinkling toes he had absolutely no answer.
Bimson 7 – Solid performance and, tellingly, none of Scunny’s goals were created from his side of the pitch.
Duncan 7 – Another strong display from our defender of the season.
Tann 6 – Decent effort, if not quite as dominant as last week.
Tudor 5 – Intermittently involved and worked hard, but still shows little sign of regaining last season’s pre-injury form.
Guttridge 6 – Reasonably busy game in an overall disappointing team performance.
Fleming 6 – No lack of effort but to be honest just a very limited cog in the harsh light of day.
Murray 4 – At the risk of sounding like a stuck record, he – is – not – a – midfield – player, nor does he show any sign of becoming one.
Williams 5 – Hamstrung by grossly inadequate service and had little impact.
Kitson 6 – Dangerous despite poor supply. Pray his injury doesn’t keep him out for too long.
Taylor 5 – Battled valiantly, but the cause was lost once the BGG left the field.
Bridges 5 – Tried his best in an unfamiliar position, but the game was already up by the time he came on.
Nacca 5 – Neat and tidy but by the time of his introduction, the game was sitting in the lounge with its feet up and a stiff, er, Lucozade Sport in its hand.
Soundtrack of the day: Blondie/Undone
Match summary: United were useless and Scunthorpe were scunthillating. The out-of-step U’s fell to a hat-trick of tap-ins that could have been worse but for the heroics of Dancing Shaun. Big Dave’s hamstring injury added the crowning kick in the teeth to a painful day about as enjoyable as root canal work without anaesthetic.
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. Once United fell apart halfway through the second half, he stood alone in preventing the biggest defeat in United’s League history with some phenomenal reaction saves.
Ref watch: Jones 0. Referees are only human and make mistakes, but there is no excuse for wilful failure to observe the rules they are supposed to be enforcing. His addition of only one minute’s injury time in the first half after Kitson’s clash of heads was puzzling; his ignoring of the advantage rule when Tudor broke free late on was poor; his penalising of Williams for being offside from a throw-in was just ignorant; and his failure to hand Kell his second yellow card for a foul worse than one for which Tudor had been booked minutes earlier was plain insulting. Pitiful.
Justin’s jukebox. Justin Walker cocks an ear to the Glanford sounds on his return to his old stamping ground. ‘Sadly the tune selection was as plain and unimaginative as the ground itself: current chart hits only, meaning a mixture of the decent (OutKast, Elton) and the tedious (Girls Aloud, Busted), climaxing with a ‘who’s the worst excuse for a singer’ contest between Mark Owen and Shane Richie. And the leadout music? Let Me Entertain You. Ye gods! How original!! Enjoyed the snippet of Sham 69, though. JJ Verdict: Yawning! (2/10)’
With two minutes remaining to half-time, United at last tried playing some football on the ground instead of continuing their baffling policy of lumping Micawberesque high balls in the general direction of Kitson and Williams: Tudor sent Big Dave sprinting clear down the right flank from halfway, and under pressure from the last defender he spotted both Fleming and Guttridge haring into the middle. Kitson’s slightly overhit square ball was retrieved by the Terrier who set up Lil’ Luke, but his first-time strike was disappointingly fizzed five yards wide when he should really have pulled one back to give his side some barely deserved hope for the second half.
Remarkably, the increasingly unimpressive Jones saw fit to add only one minute’s injury time despite the lengthy head-clash stoppage; perhaps his Braille watch was becoming difficult to read in the pelting rain. United finished on top, but in truth the scoreline was a fair reflection of an encounter that in many ways resembled the Holland/Scotland game on Wednesday, albeit without so much of that comedy defending. A radical improvement would be required from the lacklustre boys in amber in part two.
Shaggy, seeing his side’s lack of drive and invention, went for broke by removing Murray, who had had the impact of a cardboard cutout without the physical presence, and played himself in a new front two with Kitson, Williams ‘in the hole’ in front of a narrow midfield three. And initial impressions were good, the U’s putting the hammer down on the Iron and forcing them back with some determined pass-and-move. There was early bafflement when Williams was given offside from Bimson’s throw-in some ten yards from goal, mainly because the rules state that it is not possible to be offside from a throw, and reinforcing the amber horde’s impression that the officials had strayed in from a nearby Under-9s pitch, and were better suited to officiating at a Subbuteo tournament. On 49 Kitson bravely chased a ball over the top from Guttridge and blocked Evans’ attempted clearance, but it would not bounce kindly for him and as the keeper tried desperately to get back into his goal, the BGG hooked an overhead kick wide.
Tudor picked up a yellow on 51 for a clumsy but not malicious late tackle on Kevin Sharp, and a minute later a Beagrie cross was headed into the path of Kell, whose shot from the edge of the area was hacked off the line by Angus. Fast forward a further 60 seconds and there was a real turning point in the match: Kell felled Guttridge clumsily near halfway with a foul that was if anything more worthy of punishment than that of Tudor a couple of minutes earlier, and anticipation swept around the ground with the realisation that a second yellow for the Iron number 19 would mean red. Astoundingly, Jones, in a show of bottling unseen since the Corona factory closed, merely lectured the errant Kell and failed to produce a further card. Brian Laws, sensing immediately which way the wind was blowing, withdrew Kell less than a minute later in favour of Ian Kilford as the away contingent howled their disgust at the man in black. Tellingly, he did not show a single further card in the whole match. Draw your own conclusions; I know we did.
A thick rolling fog began to manifest itself menacingly over the far end as if the gods of football were about to vent their wrath upon Jones.We’d have been quite happy to do that for them. But United’s brief fire was already beginning to blow itself out. Matt Sparrow blasted wide on 56 as Scunthorpe began to get a toehold on the second half, then came another ‘Marshall moment’ as he and Bimson had a little misunderstanding about who should collect a loose ball and Bimmo was eventually compelled to welly clear from his own six-yard box before having a not-so-quiet word with his keeper.
Just after the hour, a perceptive Guttridge through ball sent Kitson galloping clear and he almost delayed his shot too late until his superbly struck blaster across goal from a narrow angle was clawed desperately over by Evans; but Big Dave had paid a heavy price, his hamstring seeming to go as he shot, and he received treatment from the Coole man as play continued with United’s corner. Andy Duncan eventually headed over from a second flag kick, by which time the BGG was limping off, perhaps for several weeks (gulp). His replacement was David Bridges, pressed into service as an emergency striker for the first time since his youth/reserve days.
United continued to press, but had lost a key component and looked as likely to turn it around as the Aussies are to lose graciously. Marshall tipped a Hayes header over on 70, then foiled Beagrie with an excellent diving save as he flashed in another low drive. But some Keystone defending from the resultant corner saw Duncan somehow head against his own post, then see the rebound cannon across goal for MacLean to poke home from a matter of inches for the second time. The Loan Ranger couldn’t believe his luck: 3-0.
Game over. Now it was simply a matter of how many more the rampant hosts could add as Marshall defied them single-handed. MacLean’s shot on 73 was pawed around the post, then on 75 Williams was replaced by Franco Nacca as Tudor moved into the ‘hole' – one Titanic deckchair for another. Over the next ten minutes Scunny swarmed all over United, especially down the vulnerable left flank, and Dancing Shaun was called upon to dodge and weave around his goalmouth as frantically as Leeds United’s accountant, punching and palming away firm shots from MacLean, Kilford and Sparrow as his defence melted away in front of him.
Shaggy threatened to barge through on 84 but was reduced to a rather desperate appeal for a penalty as he ran into a wall of Iron. Butler fired over on 86, but as added time ticked away, an afternoon for the United contingent as nightmarish as Junior Eurovision was capped with a hat-trick for MacLean, heading home comfortably with almost the last touch of the match from Beagrie’s short corner: a real long-ranger this time, at least three yards out.
Seconds later it was all over, and what a relief that was to the over-run, under-achieving boys in amber. Granted, there were turning points (Guttridge’s miss just before half-time, Kell’s should-have-been red card) from which the match might have taken a different course, but too many players were below par and lacking inspiration against a Scunny team that is one of the best in the division when it has its tail up. Of main concern must be Kitson’s injury; if he is out for any length of time, it’s going to be a cold, cold Christmas. Ho ho help!
Marshall 7 – Not much chance with any of the goals and frankly kept the score down on his own in the final quarter.
Angus 4 – Given a roasting (if you’ll pardon the expression) by the brilliant Beagrie, to whose twinkling toes he had absolutely no answer.
Bimson 7 – Solid performance and, tellingly, none of Scunny’s goals were created from his side of the pitch.
Duncan 7 – Another strong display from our defender of the season.
Tann 6 – Decent effort, if not quite as dominant as last week.
Tudor 5 – Intermittently involved and worked hard, but still shows little sign of regaining last season’s pre-injury form.
Guttridge 6 – Reasonably busy game in an overall disappointing team performance.
Fleming 6 – No lack of effort but to be honest just a very limited cog in the harsh light of day.
Murray 4 – At the risk of sounding like a stuck record, he – is – not – a – midfield – player, nor does he show any sign of becoming one.
Williams 5 – Hamstrung by grossly inadequate service and had little impact.
Kitson 6 – Dangerous despite poor supply. Pray his injury doesn’t keep him out for too long.
Taylor 5 – Battled valiantly, but the cause was lost once the BGG left the field.
Bridges 5 – Tried his best in an unfamiliar position, but the game was already up by the time he came on.
Nacca 5 – Neat and tidy but by the time of his introduction, the game was sitting in the lounge with its feet up and a stiff, er, Lucozade Sport in its hand.
Soundtrack of the day: Blondie/Undone
Match summary: United were useless and Scunthorpe were scunthillating. The out-of-step U’s fell to a hat-trick of tap-ins that could have been worse but for the heroics of Dancing Shaun. Big Dave’s hamstring injury added the crowning kick in the teeth to a painful day about as enjoyable as root canal work without anaesthetic.
Man of the match: Shaun Marshall. Once United fell apart halfway through the second half, he stood alone in preventing the biggest defeat in United’s League history with some phenomenal reaction saves.
Ref watch: Jones 0. Referees are only human and make mistakes, but there is no excuse for wilful failure to observe the rules they are supposed to be enforcing. His addition of only one minute’s injury time in the first half after Kitson’s clash of heads was puzzling; his ignoring of the advantage rule when Tudor broke free late on was poor; his penalising of Williams for being offside from a throw-in was just ignorant; and his failure to hand Kell his second yellow card for a foul worse than one for which Tudor had been booked minutes earlier was plain insulting. Pitiful.
Justin’s jukebox. Justin Walker cocks an ear to the Glanford sounds on his return to his old stamping ground. ‘Sadly the tune selection was as plain and unimaginative as the ground itself: current chart hits only, meaning a mixture of the decent (OutKast, Elton) and the tedious (Girls Aloud, Busted), climaxing with a ‘who’s the worst excuse for a singer’ contest between Mark Owen and Shane Richie. And the leadout music? Let Me Entertain You. Ye gods! How original!! Enjoyed the snippet of Sham 69, though. JJ Verdict: Yawning! (2/10)’
Jimmy Pursey of Sham 69: enjoyable snippet
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6 December 2003: Macclesfield 1-1 U's
Don't pick that spot
'Hello, Cambridge United fans. I’m Beelzebub, sometimes known as the Horned One or Old Nick, but do call me Bez. Down here we are in the process of instigating a new policy of openness in our dealings with your world, so I’m here to clear up a few points in the interest of mutual understanding. Here at Hell plc ® we are busier than ever these days; the war and disease departments are working at full capacity, Jim Davidson is rushed off his feet and our Westlife CDs are flying off the shelves.
'But we are also very much involved with football, as our flagship club Wimbledon are demonstrating so vividly at the moment with their own hellish version of the game. And Barry Fry has always been a good friend to everyone here on the other side of the Styx, not to mention the aptly-named ‘men in black’ with their whistles! But we have also been trying out a little ‘water torture’ experiment at the Abbey (not mad about the name, guys!) over the last few years: I’ve had a crack team of hobgoblins working on the ‘Penalty Project', in which we see just how many spot kicks one team can miss before their supporters start frothing at the mouth, self-harming, wearing their underpants on their head etc.
'I was particularly proud of their efforts at Macclesfield on Saturday, and if anything I think they should perhaps have gone for the hat-trick! But I must admit a vested interest here: I fancy taking on earthly form for a bit and having a bash at this footie lark myself. No, don’t laugh! I see your club is offering a place in the squad to the highest bidder at the moment, and I’ve been practising penalties against my old mate Pol Pot for some time now. So if you want to save your club and save the earth from the coming of the antichrist, get bidding! Otherwise I’ll see you at the Abbey very soon. Be good now!'
Your old mate, Santa (anag)
For the top clubs, the Cup trail leads to another trophy for the cabinet and a place in Europe (albeit only the terribly vieux chapeau UEFA Cup). For the likes of the Mighty U’s, it leads to a bit of cash in the bank and, in these particularly difficult times, it could lead to the financial salvation of the club, with a following wind and a glamour draw against one of the biggies’ reserve teams.
But first through the picturesque Derbyshire dales, past hand-painted signs offering Christmas trees and, er, pygmy goats (this Bonsai craze has gone too far) and to the Moss Rose, still looking poignantly incomplete without the pub that used to stand on the corner, although the Albion just down the road was cheerful and unpretentious. Grey lowering skies and a penetratingly cold wind held promise of seasonal snow, but none transpired and the Rose pitch looked in remarkably verdant nick. The old place still bears an air of non-League, its newish main stand contrasting with the quaint structure opposite that hugs the halfway line, flanked by open terraces either side, while most of the travelling amber hordes occupied a similarly exposed standing area at one end. A row of evenly spaced lights illuminated the scene along the side of the pitch, but the floodlights remained unlit, which explained the anxious-sounding tannoy call for an electrician at half past two. Like tight spandex trousers, the pylons were to remain in Darkness today.
United’s depleted troops retained the nice ’n’ simple 4-4-2 formation from last week’s second half, the player-boss replacing expired loanee Gareth Williams and Franco Nacca slotting in on the right of midfield, Shane Tudor going left in front of Freddie Murray while Stuart Bimson sat it out on the bench, plainly unfit to start but having to flesh out a subs’ list that included youngsters Dan Gleeson and Michael Shinn. The hosts sported one familiar face in ex-Boro hitman Martin Carruthers, now skipper of the Silkmen and the only player on the pitch to be sporting gloves, the delicate little flower.
For the first time in living memory the United players went into a huddle just before the start, hopefully not to discuss a last-minute change in tactics or start a haka, but to symbolise their renewed spirit of all-for-one togetherness now backs are to the wall after recent on-pitch and off-pitch shenanigans. A swirling wind made playing conditions a little difficult, but they started promisingly, trying to utilise the full width of the pitch and play the ball to feet rather than lump it haphazardly at a hopeful head. Several passes and crosses were overhit, a recurring feature of the day, and first serious attempt at goal came on six from the hosts’ Matthew Tipton, a hopeful long-ranger that floated away on the wind, over our heads like Donald Rumsfeld’s seminal ‘knowns and unknowns’ speech. What we knew that we knew about United’s penalty taking was to be confirmed this day, as was what we didn’t know that we did know, and I think I’ll just find that Anadin before we proceed any further.
Don't pick that spot
'Hello, Cambridge United fans. I’m Beelzebub, sometimes known as the Horned One or Old Nick, but do call me Bez. Down here we are in the process of instigating a new policy of openness in our dealings with your world, so I’m here to clear up a few points in the interest of mutual understanding. Here at Hell plc ® we are busier than ever these days; the war and disease departments are working at full capacity, Jim Davidson is rushed off his feet and our Westlife CDs are flying off the shelves.
'But we are also very much involved with football, as our flagship club Wimbledon are demonstrating so vividly at the moment with their own hellish version of the game. And Barry Fry has always been a good friend to everyone here on the other side of the Styx, not to mention the aptly-named ‘men in black’ with their whistles! But we have also been trying out a little ‘water torture’ experiment at the Abbey (not mad about the name, guys!) over the last few years: I’ve had a crack team of hobgoblins working on the ‘Penalty Project', in which we see just how many spot kicks one team can miss before their supporters start frothing at the mouth, self-harming, wearing their underpants on their head etc.
'I was particularly proud of their efforts at Macclesfield on Saturday, and if anything I think they should perhaps have gone for the hat-trick! But I must admit a vested interest here: I fancy taking on earthly form for a bit and having a bash at this footie lark myself. No, don’t laugh! I see your club is offering a place in the squad to the highest bidder at the moment, and I’ve been practising penalties against my old mate Pol Pot for some time now. So if you want to save your club and save the earth from the coming of the antichrist, get bidding! Otherwise I’ll see you at the Abbey very soon. Be good now!'
Your old mate, Santa (anag)
For the top clubs, the Cup trail leads to another trophy for the cabinet and a place in Europe (albeit only the terribly vieux chapeau UEFA Cup). For the likes of the Mighty U’s, it leads to a bit of cash in the bank and, in these particularly difficult times, it could lead to the financial salvation of the club, with a following wind and a glamour draw against one of the biggies’ reserve teams.
But first through the picturesque Derbyshire dales, past hand-painted signs offering Christmas trees and, er, pygmy goats (this Bonsai craze has gone too far) and to the Moss Rose, still looking poignantly incomplete without the pub that used to stand on the corner, although the Albion just down the road was cheerful and unpretentious. Grey lowering skies and a penetratingly cold wind held promise of seasonal snow, but none transpired and the Rose pitch looked in remarkably verdant nick. The old place still bears an air of non-League, its newish main stand contrasting with the quaint structure opposite that hugs the halfway line, flanked by open terraces either side, while most of the travelling amber hordes occupied a similarly exposed standing area at one end. A row of evenly spaced lights illuminated the scene along the side of the pitch, but the floodlights remained unlit, which explained the anxious-sounding tannoy call for an electrician at half past two. Like tight spandex trousers, the pylons were to remain in Darkness today.
United’s depleted troops retained the nice ’n’ simple 4-4-2 formation from last week’s second half, the player-boss replacing expired loanee Gareth Williams and Franco Nacca slotting in on the right of midfield, Shane Tudor going left in front of Freddie Murray while Stuart Bimson sat it out on the bench, plainly unfit to start but having to flesh out a subs’ list that included youngsters Dan Gleeson and Michael Shinn. The hosts sported one familiar face in ex-Boro hitman Martin Carruthers, now skipper of the Silkmen and the only player on the pitch to be sporting gloves, the delicate little flower.
For the first time in living memory the United players went into a huddle just before the start, hopefully not to discuss a last-minute change in tactics or start a haka, but to symbolise their renewed spirit of all-for-one togetherness now backs are to the wall after recent on-pitch and off-pitch shenanigans. A swirling wind made playing conditions a little difficult, but they started promisingly, trying to utilise the full width of the pitch and play the ball to feet rather than lump it haphazardly at a hopeful head. Several passes and crosses were overhit, a recurring feature of the day, and first serious attempt at goal came on six from the hosts’ Matthew Tipton, a hopeful long-ranger that floated away on the wind, over our heads like Donald Rumsfeld’s seminal ‘knowns and unknowns’ speech. What we knew that we knew about United’s penalty taking was to be confirmed this day, as was what we didn’t know that we did know, and I think I’ll just find that Anadin before we proceed any further.
Rumsfeld (left): whaddya know?
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Lil’ Luke Guttridge looked lively in the engine room, given room to roam by Adam Tann’s stationing behind him in the holding role, and his neat run and shot a few minutes later forced Steve Wilson in the Macc goal into conceding a corner. Sadly, United’s corners were to be ineffective all match, usually finding Wilson’s hands under no pressure from any amber shirt. However, it was the visitors who enjoyed the bulk of the possession, looking like a team with some mutual understanding for a change. A dangerously positioned Macc free kick on 14 saw George Abbey smack the ball into the United wall, and the resultant breakaway looked promising as Guttridge found Turner, but all fizzled out disappointingly like Gazza’s career.
But United continued to dominate, Tann shooting ambitiously wide on 17 and Turner seeing an intelligent effort blocked two minutes later. But on 22 the hosts were to take the lead against the run of play, and in questionable fashion. Danny Whitaker’s corner was nodded towards goal, and in one of his disturbing quiet lapses Shaun Marshall failed to call for the ball and clashed with his own defender, Andy Duncan, in trying to punch clear. Shaun must eradicate these Marcel Marceau moments from his game, or his career will go the way of the silent movies. His half-clearance found Tipton on the right side of the penalty area, and as he took Shaggy on, he made the most of some minimal contact and tumbled to the floor as if he was about to perform a forward roll with double twist and pike. A soft penalty, but Tipton himself stepped up to slot coolly into the bottom corner as Dancing Shaun, as usual, dived in the opposite direction. The Terpsichorean custodian really ought to examine his approach to spot kicks, because that save against Doncaster is beginning to look like a one-off fluke. At least going the right way would be an improvement.
United’s response was to equalise within a minute … and what a gem it was. Marshall’s long kick found Shaggy on the edge of the centre circle, and his flick sent Turner away on goal, competing with Karl Munroe for the ball. The Macc defender missed his attempted clearance, and young JT made it look deliciously simple as he shrugged him aside, bore down on Wilson and slid the ball past him as if it were the easiest thing in the world: 1-1, two in two, and what a scintillating prospect this lad is. To think Villa let him go and signed Bosko Balaban [Croatian for incontinent donkey] instead.
In a hard-fought battle, United’s two banks of four were as solid and immovable as Jocelyn Wildenstein’s plastic face (though nowhere near as frightening), everyone working hard for each other with a determination that underlined Shaggy’s claim that this was his most important match in charge yet. All that was lacking was a direct threat to Wilson’s goal, although much the same could be said at the other end.
It was another 13 minutes before Marshall’s goal came under threat again, the ball wriggling through to Mr Gloverman Carruthers, whose low skimmer took a deflection off Duncan and forced the Dancemeister into an excellent diving save to his right. Chaos ensued from the resultant corner, Marshall blocking on his line, at least two other efforts being cleared from close in and the box looking as crowded and busy as those houses covered in Christmas illuminations by mad people that get in the media at this time of year. No sign of Winnie The Pooh in a Santa hat in the United six-yard box, although if you squinted at Carruthers in a certain light … United survived the brief onslaught and Shaggy tried an ambitious curler from an acute angle on 41 that trundled wide of the far post. Abbey blasted wide for the Silkmen on 43 and the tidy Nacca had a go right on half-time, a quite superb shield and turn on the edge of the box followed by a blaster that arrowed just past the top corner. Tipton threatened to break clear of Duncan as the whistle beckoned, but Marshall sprinted from his area to clear his lines and the interval was upon us.
All in all a satisfactory half, United mostly in control with the 4-4-2 looking hard to break down and the players more focused and resolute than in recent games. It was now clear that the main corner floodlights would not be sparking into life as darkness descended, but the pitch-side lights remained adequate and Macc’s contingency plan of issuing the entire crowd with sparklers left over from November 5 was not required. Neither side saw a need for personnel change and the match resumed in a similar pattern to that in which it had left off. Danny Adams wellied a Whitaker corner over on 49 for the hosts, then found himself in the ref’s book for a rather crass dissent; however, Lil’ Luke’s free kick, despite being advanced ten yards to a convenient angle just outside the area, was sloppily overhit straight out of play.
United again began to dominate territorially and a handful of corners asked questions of the home defence but on 54 Colin Little broke clear from midway in the United half as they were ball-watching. Alone in a one-on-one with Marshall, he seemed certain to score but England’s Number One stood tall and firm and blocked superbly with his body, making it look easier than England’s World Cup draw. Although the potential embarrassment of letting Northern Ireland score a goal is pretty worrying. The visitors responded, Taylor flicking on to Turner at the far post, and JT Junior shifted the ball neatly on to his left foot then sent it a brilliant lob-cum-half-volley that Wilson did extremely well to claw over from almost under his own bar.
A minute later the ‘fun’ really started. United continued to press forward and Guttridge’s nippy run was halted by the outstretched leg of Abbey. A clear penalty, although Munroe was booked for his vehement disagreement, and there was a considerable delay as the amber shirts debated who was to take it: Shaggy picked the ball up, then demurred to his on-field skipper as Andy Duncan stepped up. Full marks for guts, given his side’s dismal record from the spot and Andy’s own inexperience at such things, but somehow the result was all so predictable: he opted for the blaster down the middle, Wilson didn’t even have time to dive out of the way, and it hit his legs and rebounded to safety. Yet another penalty miss for the collection that continues to grow more disturbingly and hideously than Elton’s spiky blond hair weave. From the ensuing clearance, Murray and Whitaker clashed in going for a bouncing ball on halfway; Freddie’s foot may have been a little high, catching his opponent, but he appeared to make contact with the ball as he knocked it out. Whitaker’s colleagues disagreed and stormed in mob-handed as he lay prone, and in the resultant melee Tudor fell to the ground clutching his face.
Once the handbags had been put away, ref and both linesmen put their heads together to work out what on earth had transpired. Murray received a booking despite the bayings for red from the home support, and he was then prevented from going over to Whitaker, still being treated, to shake hands by Abbey, who had run half the length of the field to get involved. The objectionable defender then got his sweet comeuppance by being dismissed for felling Tudor, and one can only assume that at least one official had seen the offence clearly. So serves the beggar right.
Steve Hitchen replaced Little to shore up the hosts’ defence, and the immediate result of this kerfuffle was to fire up the Silkmen as they tore into United’s superior numbers while the mistakenly wronged-feeling home support bellowed into their ears, making a decent noise for such a feeble attendance (barely over 2,000). Oh no, we’d already had a blast of missed-penalty syndrome; surely we weren’t going to get a recurrence of collapsing-against-ten-men syndrome as well?
Tipton shot over on 63, then Carruthers was booked for a revenge foul on Murray before Tipton forced a save from Marshall on 66. United held on and the typhoon began to blow itself out as the visitors pushed Tudor further forward in a 4-3-3, then on 71 Brian Dutton was introduced for the splendid Nacca, Tudor moving back again to allow for a tall front three at which United could aim their supply line. Young Dutton made an immediate impact, picking the ball up with his first touch, sprinting to the byline then cutting inside; looking up, he saw Tudor steaming in and touched it back exquisitely to set up a simple scoring opportunity, but Tudes lost his head and blazed over from 15 yards. It was like Terry Fleming was still out there in spirit.
Tipton shot over again on 73 as Macc continued to fight, but United were getting more of a grip as they forced the ten men back. Tann slogged one over on 75 when he had four forward players to pass to, but four minutes later it was cabaret time again as in a similar incident to before, Guttridge skipped into the box and was unceremoniously bundled over by Munroe. Penalty! Again!
This time Shaggy took responsibility as we thought back to that fantastic night at Nottingham Forest all those years ago when he equalised from the spot for 3-3. Same again? No, dammit: his lame effort had neither pace nor disguise and Wilson dived to his left to save well but fairly comfortably. Our wretched spot-kick record, surely the worst in football history, just got worse. Why does it seem that every team we play (except Doncaster) has a pen-taker who just strolls up and casually strokes it into the net without a care in the world, while we can’t find one for all the silicone in Jordan? No fair. The rebound bobbled around in the air and Shaggy tried a desperate header, but it was well wide. But United’s heads didn’t go down, and they continued to take the game to their hosts. Stev Angus started joining in the attacks with some positive, pacy running down the right, and on 82 Lil’ Luke found Shaggy just inside the area; the boss’s daisycutter through a forest of legs was goalbound but somehow that man Wilson got a touch to send it on to the post.
Time after time, United players got into a good position to cross but their final ball just couldn’t find an amber shirt, even Angus throwing himself at one cross and injuring his back as he was beaten to it by a desperate defender. Carruthers threatened to really rub it in on 85 when he put a good chance just over the bar, and four minutes later Guttridge tried one of his long-range specials that just fizzed over the upright. Then, as added time beckoned, Taylor’s through ball sent Tudor racing clear of Macc’s outflanked defenders from halfway, all on his own against Wilson. This time, surely? His eventual shot from just inside the area was headed for the bottom corner but that pesky keeper just got a touch to send it past the post. Unfathomably, the idiot ref gave a goal kick, ignoring his flagging linesman in the process.
Still United flooded forward, unable to deliver the knockout punch to opponents groggily on the ropes. Wozza Goodhind, of all people, met a Guttridge corner with a thumping header but that man Wilson punched clear, and that was that.
The headline will be that United missed two penalties and failed to beat ten men, and that hurts more than a smack round the chops with a frozen turkey. With stuffing. But we should remember that United were much the better team, were dominant even before the sending-off, and their 4-4-2 formation with Nacca, Guttridge, Tann and Tudor across the middle looked pretty impressive at times. Perhaps the draw was Shaggy’s cunning plan to get another extra home game in before Christmas and generate more loan-reducing funds. Let’s hope that it doesn’t all backfire horribly at the Abbey on Tuesday week, especially if it goes to (gulp) penalties; after all, Macclesfield are the only team to have lost at the Abbey this season. And we will know, too, what dream (or nightmare) tie awaits in round three by then. Oh-oh, that Magic of the Cup has got us all dizzy again.
Marshall 7 – Culpable in the build-up to Macc’s penalty, but as usual compensated with some stunning reaction saves.
Angus 7 – Not always comfortable at right back but mostly sound and bolstered the attack impressively in the closing minutes.
Murray 7 – Did his job in his usual, er, robust manner.
Duncan 7 – Defended with customary efficiency and had the courage to take the first penalty. Just don’t take another one, eh , Duncs?
Goodhind 7 – Quietly authoritative in the centre of defence.
Nacca 7 – Looked capable of claiming a regular first-team place in impressively energetic style.
Tann 9 – An absolute revelation after the promise of last week in his new position.
Guttridge 8 – All-action beating heart of the side.
Tudor 7 – Played his part fully now he is back wide where he belongs.
Taylor 7 – Powerful physical presence, although the signs of ageing are starting to creep in. Pass the Sanatogen.
Turner 8 – This boy already looks like one the best strikers in the division. Another excellent goal and his potential looks all but unlimited.
Dutton 7 – Instant impact and was a busy presence in another promising display.
Soundtrack of the day: Raveonettes/Heartbreak Stroll
Match summary: Ever-inventive United continued to torture their long-suffering fans in new and interesting ways by missing two penalties in an otherwise encouraging display that should have taken them into the third round of the Cup. Well, we needed the revenue from a replay, didn’t we?
Man of the match: Adam Tann. Outstanding performance in the holding midfield role, better in every way than the two contenders for the spot who are currently kicking their heels at home. Perceptive in spotting danger, crunching in the tackle and efficient in his distribution. Keep him in!
Ref watch: Robinson 5. Fussy exponent of the ‘non-contact sport’ school, but did well to punish Abbey for clobbering Tudor and to not over-react to the home crowd’s baying for Murray’s blood. Penalties looked OK too, dodgiest being the first one.
JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the Moss Rose sounds while Justin Walker is, er, resting. 'Nothing adventurous on the menu here as it was current chart sounds all the way with the likes of Beyoncé, Darkness, Evanescence (T’pau with Tattoos, wasn’t it?), Elvis and Sean Paul. Oh, and Rod Stewart’s tedious Young Turks for some reason. I’m told that back in the 90s almost every ground played the same record when the teams came out: Simply The Best by Tina Turner. And guess what: Macclesfield still play it! Oh dear. A half-time blast of The Jam’s classic Going Underground livened things up a bit, but overall it was all very safety-first and unimaginative. JJ verdict: Uninteresting! (3/10).'
But United continued to dominate, Tann shooting ambitiously wide on 17 and Turner seeing an intelligent effort blocked two minutes later. But on 22 the hosts were to take the lead against the run of play, and in questionable fashion. Danny Whitaker’s corner was nodded towards goal, and in one of his disturbing quiet lapses Shaun Marshall failed to call for the ball and clashed with his own defender, Andy Duncan, in trying to punch clear. Shaun must eradicate these Marcel Marceau moments from his game, or his career will go the way of the silent movies. His half-clearance found Tipton on the right side of the penalty area, and as he took Shaggy on, he made the most of some minimal contact and tumbled to the floor as if he was about to perform a forward roll with double twist and pike. A soft penalty, but Tipton himself stepped up to slot coolly into the bottom corner as Dancing Shaun, as usual, dived in the opposite direction. The Terpsichorean custodian really ought to examine his approach to spot kicks, because that save against Doncaster is beginning to look like a one-off fluke. At least going the right way would be an improvement.
United’s response was to equalise within a minute … and what a gem it was. Marshall’s long kick found Shaggy on the edge of the centre circle, and his flick sent Turner away on goal, competing with Karl Munroe for the ball. The Macc defender missed his attempted clearance, and young JT made it look deliciously simple as he shrugged him aside, bore down on Wilson and slid the ball past him as if it were the easiest thing in the world: 1-1, two in two, and what a scintillating prospect this lad is. To think Villa let him go and signed Bosko Balaban [Croatian for incontinent donkey] instead.
In a hard-fought battle, United’s two banks of four were as solid and immovable as Jocelyn Wildenstein’s plastic face (though nowhere near as frightening), everyone working hard for each other with a determination that underlined Shaggy’s claim that this was his most important match in charge yet. All that was lacking was a direct threat to Wilson’s goal, although much the same could be said at the other end.
It was another 13 minutes before Marshall’s goal came under threat again, the ball wriggling through to Mr Gloverman Carruthers, whose low skimmer took a deflection off Duncan and forced the Dancemeister into an excellent diving save to his right. Chaos ensued from the resultant corner, Marshall blocking on his line, at least two other efforts being cleared from close in and the box looking as crowded and busy as those houses covered in Christmas illuminations by mad people that get in the media at this time of year. No sign of Winnie The Pooh in a Santa hat in the United six-yard box, although if you squinted at Carruthers in a certain light … United survived the brief onslaught and Shaggy tried an ambitious curler from an acute angle on 41 that trundled wide of the far post. Abbey blasted wide for the Silkmen on 43 and the tidy Nacca had a go right on half-time, a quite superb shield and turn on the edge of the box followed by a blaster that arrowed just past the top corner. Tipton threatened to break clear of Duncan as the whistle beckoned, but Marshall sprinted from his area to clear his lines and the interval was upon us.
All in all a satisfactory half, United mostly in control with the 4-4-2 looking hard to break down and the players more focused and resolute than in recent games. It was now clear that the main corner floodlights would not be sparking into life as darkness descended, but the pitch-side lights remained adequate and Macc’s contingency plan of issuing the entire crowd with sparklers left over from November 5 was not required. Neither side saw a need for personnel change and the match resumed in a similar pattern to that in which it had left off. Danny Adams wellied a Whitaker corner over on 49 for the hosts, then found himself in the ref’s book for a rather crass dissent; however, Lil’ Luke’s free kick, despite being advanced ten yards to a convenient angle just outside the area, was sloppily overhit straight out of play.
United again began to dominate territorially and a handful of corners asked questions of the home defence but on 54 Colin Little broke clear from midway in the United half as they were ball-watching. Alone in a one-on-one with Marshall, he seemed certain to score but England’s Number One stood tall and firm and blocked superbly with his body, making it look easier than England’s World Cup draw. Although the potential embarrassment of letting Northern Ireland score a goal is pretty worrying. The visitors responded, Taylor flicking on to Turner at the far post, and JT Junior shifted the ball neatly on to his left foot then sent it a brilliant lob-cum-half-volley that Wilson did extremely well to claw over from almost under his own bar.
A minute later the ‘fun’ really started. United continued to press forward and Guttridge’s nippy run was halted by the outstretched leg of Abbey. A clear penalty, although Munroe was booked for his vehement disagreement, and there was a considerable delay as the amber shirts debated who was to take it: Shaggy picked the ball up, then demurred to his on-field skipper as Andy Duncan stepped up. Full marks for guts, given his side’s dismal record from the spot and Andy’s own inexperience at such things, but somehow the result was all so predictable: he opted for the blaster down the middle, Wilson didn’t even have time to dive out of the way, and it hit his legs and rebounded to safety. Yet another penalty miss for the collection that continues to grow more disturbingly and hideously than Elton’s spiky blond hair weave. From the ensuing clearance, Murray and Whitaker clashed in going for a bouncing ball on halfway; Freddie’s foot may have been a little high, catching his opponent, but he appeared to make contact with the ball as he knocked it out. Whitaker’s colleagues disagreed and stormed in mob-handed as he lay prone, and in the resultant melee Tudor fell to the ground clutching his face.
Once the handbags had been put away, ref and both linesmen put their heads together to work out what on earth had transpired. Murray received a booking despite the bayings for red from the home support, and he was then prevented from going over to Whitaker, still being treated, to shake hands by Abbey, who had run half the length of the field to get involved. The objectionable defender then got his sweet comeuppance by being dismissed for felling Tudor, and one can only assume that at least one official had seen the offence clearly. So serves the beggar right.
Steve Hitchen replaced Little to shore up the hosts’ defence, and the immediate result of this kerfuffle was to fire up the Silkmen as they tore into United’s superior numbers while the mistakenly wronged-feeling home support bellowed into their ears, making a decent noise for such a feeble attendance (barely over 2,000). Oh no, we’d already had a blast of missed-penalty syndrome; surely we weren’t going to get a recurrence of collapsing-against-ten-men syndrome as well?
Tipton shot over on 63, then Carruthers was booked for a revenge foul on Murray before Tipton forced a save from Marshall on 66. United held on and the typhoon began to blow itself out as the visitors pushed Tudor further forward in a 4-3-3, then on 71 Brian Dutton was introduced for the splendid Nacca, Tudor moving back again to allow for a tall front three at which United could aim their supply line. Young Dutton made an immediate impact, picking the ball up with his first touch, sprinting to the byline then cutting inside; looking up, he saw Tudor steaming in and touched it back exquisitely to set up a simple scoring opportunity, but Tudes lost his head and blazed over from 15 yards. It was like Terry Fleming was still out there in spirit.
Tipton shot over again on 73 as Macc continued to fight, but United were getting more of a grip as they forced the ten men back. Tann slogged one over on 75 when he had four forward players to pass to, but four minutes later it was cabaret time again as in a similar incident to before, Guttridge skipped into the box and was unceremoniously bundled over by Munroe. Penalty! Again!
This time Shaggy took responsibility as we thought back to that fantastic night at Nottingham Forest all those years ago when he equalised from the spot for 3-3. Same again? No, dammit: his lame effort had neither pace nor disguise and Wilson dived to his left to save well but fairly comfortably. Our wretched spot-kick record, surely the worst in football history, just got worse. Why does it seem that every team we play (except Doncaster) has a pen-taker who just strolls up and casually strokes it into the net without a care in the world, while we can’t find one for all the silicone in Jordan? No fair. The rebound bobbled around in the air and Shaggy tried a desperate header, but it was well wide. But United’s heads didn’t go down, and they continued to take the game to their hosts. Stev Angus started joining in the attacks with some positive, pacy running down the right, and on 82 Lil’ Luke found Shaggy just inside the area; the boss’s daisycutter through a forest of legs was goalbound but somehow that man Wilson got a touch to send it on to the post.
Time after time, United players got into a good position to cross but their final ball just couldn’t find an amber shirt, even Angus throwing himself at one cross and injuring his back as he was beaten to it by a desperate defender. Carruthers threatened to really rub it in on 85 when he put a good chance just over the bar, and four minutes later Guttridge tried one of his long-range specials that just fizzed over the upright. Then, as added time beckoned, Taylor’s through ball sent Tudor racing clear of Macc’s outflanked defenders from halfway, all on his own against Wilson. This time, surely? His eventual shot from just inside the area was headed for the bottom corner but that pesky keeper just got a touch to send it past the post. Unfathomably, the idiot ref gave a goal kick, ignoring his flagging linesman in the process.
Still United flooded forward, unable to deliver the knockout punch to opponents groggily on the ropes. Wozza Goodhind, of all people, met a Guttridge corner with a thumping header but that man Wilson punched clear, and that was that.
The headline will be that United missed two penalties and failed to beat ten men, and that hurts more than a smack round the chops with a frozen turkey. With stuffing. But we should remember that United were much the better team, were dominant even before the sending-off, and their 4-4-2 formation with Nacca, Guttridge, Tann and Tudor across the middle looked pretty impressive at times. Perhaps the draw was Shaggy’s cunning plan to get another extra home game in before Christmas and generate more loan-reducing funds. Let’s hope that it doesn’t all backfire horribly at the Abbey on Tuesday week, especially if it goes to (gulp) penalties; after all, Macclesfield are the only team to have lost at the Abbey this season. And we will know, too, what dream (or nightmare) tie awaits in round three by then. Oh-oh, that Magic of the Cup has got us all dizzy again.
Marshall 7 – Culpable in the build-up to Macc’s penalty, but as usual compensated with some stunning reaction saves.
Angus 7 – Not always comfortable at right back but mostly sound and bolstered the attack impressively in the closing minutes.
Murray 7 – Did his job in his usual, er, robust manner.
Duncan 7 – Defended with customary efficiency and had the courage to take the first penalty. Just don’t take another one, eh , Duncs?
Goodhind 7 – Quietly authoritative in the centre of defence.
Nacca 7 – Looked capable of claiming a regular first-team place in impressively energetic style.
Tann 9 – An absolute revelation after the promise of last week in his new position.
Guttridge 8 – All-action beating heart of the side.
Tudor 7 – Played his part fully now he is back wide where he belongs.
Taylor 7 – Powerful physical presence, although the signs of ageing are starting to creep in. Pass the Sanatogen.
Turner 8 – This boy already looks like one the best strikers in the division. Another excellent goal and his potential looks all but unlimited.
Dutton 7 – Instant impact and was a busy presence in another promising display.
Soundtrack of the day: Raveonettes/Heartbreak Stroll
Match summary: Ever-inventive United continued to torture their long-suffering fans in new and interesting ways by missing two penalties in an otherwise encouraging display that should have taken them into the third round of the Cup. Well, we needed the revenue from a replay, didn’t we?
Man of the match: Adam Tann. Outstanding performance in the holding midfield role, better in every way than the two contenders for the spot who are currently kicking their heels at home. Perceptive in spotting danger, crunching in the tackle and efficient in his distribution. Keep him in!
Ref watch: Robinson 5. Fussy exponent of the ‘non-contact sport’ school, but did well to punish Abbey for clobbering Tudor and to not over-react to the home crowd’s baying for Murray’s blood. Penalties looked OK too, dodgiest being the first one.
JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the Moss Rose sounds while Justin Walker is, er, resting. 'Nothing adventurous on the menu here as it was current chart sounds all the way with the likes of Beyoncé, Darkness, Evanescence (T’pau with Tattoos, wasn’t it?), Elvis and Sean Paul. Oh, and Rod Stewart’s tedious Young Turks for some reason. I’m told that back in the 90s almost every ground played the same record when the teams came out: Simply The Best by Tina Turner. And guess what: Macclesfield still play it! Oh dear. A half-time blast of The Jam’s classic Going Underground livened things up a bit, but overall it was all very safety-first and unimaginative. JJ verdict: Uninteresting! (3/10).'
Away strip: Adam Tann and Shaun Marshall
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13 December 2003: U's 1v0 Darlington
Hitting the Target
Father Christmas sat back in his rocking chair in his little cottage in Lapland, intently reading letters from the children of the world with a lengthening frown on his face. Finally he sighed, stretched and shook his head sorrowfully as Mrs Christmas hove into view with a steaming mug of cocoa. ‘Thank you, Mother,’ he rumbled. ‘You know, I think children are getting greedier every year. You wouldn’t believe some of the expensive things they've been asking for this time. Whatever became of the good old days of a spinning top and a satsuma?’
Mother Christmas chuckled indulgently. ‘You silly old sausage! You must have said that every year for the last century. Times have changed since those days. Some of the letters look like they’re in code these days; PS2, iPods, CM4 … I’m blessed if I understand them! What about those ones on the table?’
Father Christmas picked up a sheaf of A4 papers in a giant, weatherbeaten paw. ‘Emails, Mother. The lazy little beggars can’t be bothered to hand-write a nice letter these days! And the things they ask for! There’s one here from Michael in Neverland who wants a new nose and a get-out-of-jail-free card. Tony from Westminster wants to be king of Europe and Cherie wants the secret of eternal life and Cliff’s Christmas album. At least Tony’s friend John just wants a crate of pork pies, And little Ozzy wants a new quad bike. He shouldn’t have broken his old one, should he? Sometimes I despair, I really do ...’
His voice trailed off as he saw his darling wife engrossed in a small, hand-written letter; as she read the crumpled note, tears began to well up in her ageless eyes. Her husband’s mood quietened, and he reached over to touch her tenderly on the arm. ‘What is it, dear?’ he asked softly. She looked up and reached out, stroking his bushy whiskers.
‘There are still some unselfish children in the world. This letter is from Lil’ Luke and all his friends at the Abbey. Their little football club is in trouble and they all say they would rather get no presents at all if it meant that the club they love and has brought such pleasure to so many could survive. It’s called Cambridge United. Couldn’t we help them, Father?’ Santa looked puzzled and puffed on his pipe. ‘Cambridge United? Doesn’t ring any bells. I wear the red and white of the greatest franchise, er, club in the world! There’s loads of money in football; even Phil Neville is a millionaire! I’m sorry, dear. It looks like it’ll be a thin Christmas at the Abbey. They’ll just have to rally round and help themselves!’
Mother looked disapprovingly at her husband over her pince-nez. ‘Well really, Father. Where's the spirit of Christmas?’ Santa sighed and slumped back in his chair, scratching his ample belly. ‘It’s been outsourced to Calcutta, as you well know. Times are hard in Lapland since we lost IceTV Digital’s funding, and I had to lay off Dancer and Prancer. And the calibre of our elves has really gone downhill since we cut the wages. This latest lot – Jason, Billy B, Billy M, Junior, Tom, Tero, Muzzy and Queenie – must be the laziest and least fit ones ever! And they all claim to be former professional footballers! It beggars belief, Mother, it really does. Now switch over to Sky Sports, would you, dear? I do enjoy that fishing programme with Bruno Brookes.’
United’s dismal home record was the last thing on supporters’ minds as the club’s fight for financial survival continued, with the clock ticking to within 13 short days of Loan Repayment Day. Intrepid walkers tramped heroically through the wind and rain from Ely and Royston, the buckets continued to fill and Christmas presents were snapped up from the Megastore and the CFU caravan, including the this season’s must-have garment, the ‘I Give A CFU K’ T-shirt. Every chest should have one. Why waste time queuing in the Grafton when the Abbey is the one-stop shop for all those festive goodies to delight your nearest and dearest?
The morning’s downpours gave way to an unseasonably mild and temperate afternoon as a disappointingly small sub-3,000 crowd gathered in hope of seeing a home win for the first time since the hazy heat-shimmering day of August 16 against Macclesfield. Presumably several fans were missing in favour of the enticing prospect of a trip round the M25 to Lakeside or Bluewater and the joys of traipsing around the Early Learning Centre, Game or the lingerie department of Bhs in search of gifts whose workings shall ever remain a mystery.
The Darlington fans could be excused for giving this one a miss, given their team’s wretched away record of no wins and just two draws from ten games, only surpassed in its incompetence by the bottom-feeders of Carlisle. The absence of line leader Barry Conlon meant a debut up front for Lee Matthews, newly signed on loan from Bristol City, while centre back Matthew Clark sported a fetching electric blue headband that only lacked a pretty bow to make it complete. Darlo wore familiar-looking white shorts that turned out to be United’s away numbers. But then they did have all their kit nicked from Feethams, which presumably doubles as a huge wardrobe now they play at the Reynolds Arena. The hosts retained faith with the team that was unlucky (don’t mention the penalties) at Moss Rose last week, only change to the bench being David Bridges in for the injured Stuart Bimson.
United continued the way they left off last week after their pre-match huddle, the liveliness of the Generation Game attack of the two JTs fed by the buzzing prompting of the mobile Nacca, Guttridge and Tudor from midfield, two raiding full backs in Angus and Murray, and all backed up by the dependability of Adam Tann and the centre backs behind. Psycho Fred in particular looked eager to bomb forward at every opportunity, and an early pattern soon emerged: U’s domination hamstrung only by the lack of a killer final ball.
The Quakers (or ‘Shakers’ as the local paper insists on calling them) responded with a Matthews header from Craig James’ cross that sailed wide, but it was already apparent that here was a team as eminently beatable as its record suggested. Not unlike Gareth Gates, really. United got the ball in the net on 13 as Murray’s cross was fumbled by keeper Michael Price under pressure from Nacca, but the linesman had already raised his flag for a foul by the United man on a player six inches taller and probably wider than himself. Leave him alone, Franco, you big bully.
United kept up the pressure, and a couple of minutes later one of a series of quality corners by Guttridge found the head of Tann; his looping header crashed off the bar as Price looked on, and there was Wozza Goodhind to pounce to head for goal from five yards out … only to be denied his first United goal by the head of Ian Clark on the line. The ensuing flag kick was headed back from the far post by Duncan, and it was Goodhind again who turned unmarked eight yards out only to blast over the top à la Jonny Wilkinson. Pity he didn’t have time to line it up with the two-handed Nescafé shake first.
Now it was all United, playing good passing football with the crosses flying in from Tudor, Murray et al while the big boys at the back dealt with any attempted Darlo riposte with vim, gusto and other cleaning products. Only matter of concern was their failure to truly test Price between the sticks. At the other end, Shaun Marshall thought he’d keep us all amused with a few of his unique ‘moments', the first of which came when Murray rolled a backpass to him from an acute angle. Dancing Shaun, no doubt distracted by thoughts of what to get Auntie Nellie for Christmas from Colostomy-Bags-R-Us, swung languidly, missed and had to chase back to stop the goalbound trundler from putting an unwilling Freddie on the scoresheet.
A Tudor free kick on 22 was blocked by Matt Clark at the expense of a corner, and first booking came seven minutes later as Tann was surprisingly carded for an illegal but innocuous tug on Ashley Nicholls’ shirt. Then John Turner produced the first of several exciting runs, a moment’s hesitation before shooting allowing Jon Hutchinson to deflect his effort into Price’s arms. A minute later came ‘moment’ number two from our Terpsichorean custodian as Marshall’s low, scudding attempt at a clearance travelled only to Gary Pearson 25 yards out down the right channel; fortunately, his first-time daisycutter was cleared by Duncan while his hands-free keeper looked on.
As the last five minutes of the half beckoned, Matthews had a long-ranger saved by Marshall, while at the other end Tann, Turner, Duncan and Nacca all saw efforts blocked by a sea of zebra-shirted bodies. But just as stoppage time kicked in came United’s moment of truth. A splendidly buccaneering run by Murray produced a cross that soared across the face of the Darlo goal, and just as Shaggy was climbing into the air like the last Concorde, about to nod home, he was shoved from behind. Penalty, although no booking for the transgressor; obviously Tann’s shirt-tugging on halfway was far more serious.
Home celebrations were understandably tinged with anxiety after last week’s two-miss debacle; indeed, to many of us the award of another spot kick was as welcome as a transatlantic flight sat next to Vinnie Jones. Shane Tudor picked up the ball first, but it was Lil’ Luke who stepped up to take the fateful 12-yard test. And he passed with flying colours, a short, fast run-up followed by a decisive smash high into the net so quick that Price barely moved: 1-0. Great stuff from our player of the season so far, allegedly a target for Leeds and Spurs, but why would he take a backward step like that? It was actually his second penalty for the U’s, the first coming at Boundary Park, Oldham in April 2002.
The half-time whistle sounded less than a minute later to round off a satisfactory 45 minutes’ work for a busy, committed United side that looked superior to their mediocre opponents in every way. It couldn’t be that easy in the second half, surely? It sure ain’t usually …
Darlo were undoubtedly given a sound talking-to during the interval by new (for the third time – doesn’t he ever learn?) David Hodgson, and they started part two by at least beginning to resemble a football team rather than just a lot of blokes in big shorts. No sign, sadly, of their fabulously named number six, Fabian Bossy; I believe he's away filming the live-action film version of the Mister Men.
Shaggy showed there’s life in the ageing limbs yet three minutes in with a thrilling run from halfway that culminated in a long-range blaster that ruffled Price’s hair as it sailed wide. Darlo looked most dangerous when using the width of the pitch and playing it along the floor, and on 52 Nicholls’ low cross flew dangerously across the face of goal before being hoofed away for a corner by Angus. The ensuing set piece by James landed on the head of Craig Liddle at the near post, and his crashing goalbound header was magnificently tipped around the post by a full-stretch Marshall, doing what he does best. The Dancemeister saved again from the second corner, this time from Matthews, and danger was averted.
Just before the hour United came agonisingly close to doubling their lead: a foraging run by Tudor led him to the edge of the area, and as he looked up for support, Nacca came galloping down the centre. As he received the ball he was put under severe pressure by the chasing Nicholls, but his excellent scudder was heading for the bottom corner until tipped around by the sprawling Price. Another player had come so close to his first League goal for United, but like a Scottish team in the Champions League, it was all put off until next time. Again.
On the hour a bit of route one from Marshall sent Turner away on goal from halfway, but Liddle used all his experience and muscle to deny him, then two minutes later he picked up the ball even deeper following a Darlo corner, and sprinted half the length of the pitch with dazzling pace despite Clark’s closest attentions. Tudor accompanied him, but instead of peeling off into the middle for a through pass, he surprisingly cut across his young colleague towards the wing; Adam Tann was following up, but was too closely marked by that man Liddle to take advantage of young JT’s eventual pass.
Five minutes later came another lung-bursting run from the player-boss, culminating in his felling 25 yards out, and a clearly knackered Shaggy gestured towards the bench, probably asking for oxygen. Lil’ Luke’s free kick was disappointingly wellied into the wall, and yet another foraging Turner run a minute later was halted by the large frame of Clark and his lovely headband. Murray essayed a 25-yarder, not unduly troubling Price, and there were half-hearted appeals for a penalty on 68 as Guttridge went down. Then it was sub time as David McGurk replaced Pearson for the visitors and Brian Dutton entered the fray for United, although to everyone’s surprise it was the lively Turner he replaced and not the ageing legs of Shaggy. I know Sir Mick Jagger’s still doing it at 60, JT, but he’s never had to perform Honky Tonk Women while being jostled and hacked at by a phalanx of burly lower-division journeymen. Although I’d like to see him try.
Nacca had a shot blocked on 72, then a second Darlo sub replaced Maddison with Michael Coghlan as United imperceptibly but gradually retreated ever deeper into their own half as their instinct to protect their lead rather than increase it began to grow. Darlo now began to have the greater possession, and we began to get that queasy feeling in the pits of our stomachs (that’s one each, except for the cows) as we recalled innumerable games from the past in which seemingly comfortable leads had been spirited away at the death by one moment of good (or bad) fortune. Please Santa, not again.
Hitting the Target
Father Christmas sat back in his rocking chair in his little cottage in Lapland, intently reading letters from the children of the world with a lengthening frown on his face. Finally he sighed, stretched and shook his head sorrowfully as Mrs Christmas hove into view with a steaming mug of cocoa. ‘Thank you, Mother,’ he rumbled. ‘You know, I think children are getting greedier every year. You wouldn’t believe some of the expensive things they've been asking for this time. Whatever became of the good old days of a spinning top and a satsuma?’
Mother Christmas chuckled indulgently. ‘You silly old sausage! You must have said that every year for the last century. Times have changed since those days. Some of the letters look like they’re in code these days; PS2, iPods, CM4 … I’m blessed if I understand them! What about those ones on the table?’
Father Christmas picked up a sheaf of A4 papers in a giant, weatherbeaten paw. ‘Emails, Mother. The lazy little beggars can’t be bothered to hand-write a nice letter these days! And the things they ask for! There’s one here from Michael in Neverland who wants a new nose and a get-out-of-jail-free card. Tony from Westminster wants to be king of Europe and Cherie wants the secret of eternal life and Cliff’s Christmas album. At least Tony’s friend John just wants a crate of pork pies, And little Ozzy wants a new quad bike. He shouldn’t have broken his old one, should he? Sometimes I despair, I really do ...’
His voice trailed off as he saw his darling wife engrossed in a small, hand-written letter; as she read the crumpled note, tears began to well up in her ageless eyes. Her husband’s mood quietened, and he reached over to touch her tenderly on the arm. ‘What is it, dear?’ he asked softly. She looked up and reached out, stroking his bushy whiskers.
‘There are still some unselfish children in the world. This letter is from Lil’ Luke and all his friends at the Abbey. Their little football club is in trouble and they all say they would rather get no presents at all if it meant that the club they love and has brought such pleasure to so many could survive. It’s called Cambridge United. Couldn’t we help them, Father?’ Santa looked puzzled and puffed on his pipe. ‘Cambridge United? Doesn’t ring any bells. I wear the red and white of the greatest franchise, er, club in the world! There’s loads of money in football; even Phil Neville is a millionaire! I’m sorry, dear. It looks like it’ll be a thin Christmas at the Abbey. They’ll just have to rally round and help themselves!’
Mother looked disapprovingly at her husband over her pince-nez. ‘Well really, Father. Where's the spirit of Christmas?’ Santa sighed and slumped back in his chair, scratching his ample belly. ‘It’s been outsourced to Calcutta, as you well know. Times are hard in Lapland since we lost IceTV Digital’s funding, and I had to lay off Dancer and Prancer. And the calibre of our elves has really gone downhill since we cut the wages. This latest lot – Jason, Billy B, Billy M, Junior, Tom, Tero, Muzzy and Queenie – must be the laziest and least fit ones ever! And they all claim to be former professional footballers! It beggars belief, Mother, it really does. Now switch over to Sky Sports, would you, dear? I do enjoy that fishing programme with Bruno Brookes.’
United’s dismal home record was the last thing on supporters’ minds as the club’s fight for financial survival continued, with the clock ticking to within 13 short days of Loan Repayment Day. Intrepid walkers tramped heroically through the wind and rain from Ely and Royston, the buckets continued to fill and Christmas presents were snapped up from the Megastore and the CFU caravan, including the this season’s must-have garment, the ‘I Give A CFU K’ T-shirt. Every chest should have one. Why waste time queuing in the Grafton when the Abbey is the one-stop shop for all those festive goodies to delight your nearest and dearest?
The morning’s downpours gave way to an unseasonably mild and temperate afternoon as a disappointingly small sub-3,000 crowd gathered in hope of seeing a home win for the first time since the hazy heat-shimmering day of August 16 against Macclesfield. Presumably several fans were missing in favour of the enticing prospect of a trip round the M25 to Lakeside or Bluewater and the joys of traipsing around the Early Learning Centre, Game or the lingerie department of Bhs in search of gifts whose workings shall ever remain a mystery.
The Darlington fans could be excused for giving this one a miss, given their team’s wretched away record of no wins and just two draws from ten games, only surpassed in its incompetence by the bottom-feeders of Carlisle. The absence of line leader Barry Conlon meant a debut up front for Lee Matthews, newly signed on loan from Bristol City, while centre back Matthew Clark sported a fetching electric blue headband that only lacked a pretty bow to make it complete. Darlo wore familiar-looking white shorts that turned out to be United’s away numbers. But then they did have all their kit nicked from Feethams, which presumably doubles as a huge wardrobe now they play at the Reynolds Arena. The hosts retained faith with the team that was unlucky (don’t mention the penalties) at Moss Rose last week, only change to the bench being David Bridges in for the injured Stuart Bimson.
United continued the way they left off last week after their pre-match huddle, the liveliness of the Generation Game attack of the two JTs fed by the buzzing prompting of the mobile Nacca, Guttridge and Tudor from midfield, two raiding full backs in Angus and Murray, and all backed up by the dependability of Adam Tann and the centre backs behind. Psycho Fred in particular looked eager to bomb forward at every opportunity, and an early pattern soon emerged: U’s domination hamstrung only by the lack of a killer final ball.
The Quakers (or ‘Shakers’ as the local paper insists on calling them) responded with a Matthews header from Craig James’ cross that sailed wide, but it was already apparent that here was a team as eminently beatable as its record suggested. Not unlike Gareth Gates, really. United got the ball in the net on 13 as Murray’s cross was fumbled by keeper Michael Price under pressure from Nacca, but the linesman had already raised his flag for a foul by the United man on a player six inches taller and probably wider than himself. Leave him alone, Franco, you big bully.
United kept up the pressure, and a couple of minutes later one of a series of quality corners by Guttridge found the head of Tann; his looping header crashed off the bar as Price looked on, and there was Wozza Goodhind to pounce to head for goal from five yards out … only to be denied his first United goal by the head of Ian Clark on the line. The ensuing flag kick was headed back from the far post by Duncan, and it was Goodhind again who turned unmarked eight yards out only to blast over the top à la Jonny Wilkinson. Pity he didn’t have time to line it up with the two-handed Nescafé shake first.
Now it was all United, playing good passing football with the crosses flying in from Tudor, Murray et al while the big boys at the back dealt with any attempted Darlo riposte with vim, gusto and other cleaning products. Only matter of concern was their failure to truly test Price between the sticks. At the other end, Shaun Marshall thought he’d keep us all amused with a few of his unique ‘moments', the first of which came when Murray rolled a backpass to him from an acute angle. Dancing Shaun, no doubt distracted by thoughts of what to get Auntie Nellie for Christmas from Colostomy-Bags-R-Us, swung languidly, missed and had to chase back to stop the goalbound trundler from putting an unwilling Freddie on the scoresheet.
A Tudor free kick on 22 was blocked by Matt Clark at the expense of a corner, and first booking came seven minutes later as Tann was surprisingly carded for an illegal but innocuous tug on Ashley Nicholls’ shirt. Then John Turner produced the first of several exciting runs, a moment’s hesitation before shooting allowing Jon Hutchinson to deflect his effort into Price’s arms. A minute later came ‘moment’ number two from our Terpsichorean custodian as Marshall’s low, scudding attempt at a clearance travelled only to Gary Pearson 25 yards out down the right channel; fortunately, his first-time daisycutter was cleared by Duncan while his hands-free keeper looked on.
As the last five minutes of the half beckoned, Matthews had a long-ranger saved by Marshall, while at the other end Tann, Turner, Duncan and Nacca all saw efforts blocked by a sea of zebra-shirted bodies. But just as stoppage time kicked in came United’s moment of truth. A splendidly buccaneering run by Murray produced a cross that soared across the face of the Darlo goal, and just as Shaggy was climbing into the air like the last Concorde, about to nod home, he was shoved from behind. Penalty, although no booking for the transgressor; obviously Tann’s shirt-tugging on halfway was far more serious.
Home celebrations were understandably tinged with anxiety after last week’s two-miss debacle; indeed, to many of us the award of another spot kick was as welcome as a transatlantic flight sat next to Vinnie Jones. Shane Tudor picked up the ball first, but it was Lil’ Luke who stepped up to take the fateful 12-yard test. And he passed with flying colours, a short, fast run-up followed by a decisive smash high into the net so quick that Price barely moved: 1-0. Great stuff from our player of the season so far, allegedly a target for Leeds and Spurs, but why would he take a backward step like that? It was actually his second penalty for the U’s, the first coming at Boundary Park, Oldham in April 2002.
The half-time whistle sounded less than a minute later to round off a satisfactory 45 minutes’ work for a busy, committed United side that looked superior to their mediocre opponents in every way. It couldn’t be that easy in the second half, surely? It sure ain’t usually …
Darlo were undoubtedly given a sound talking-to during the interval by new (for the third time – doesn’t he ever learn?) David Hodgson, and they started part two by at least beginning to resemble a football team rather than just a lot of blokes in big shorts. No sign, sadly, of their fabulously named number six, Fabian Bossy; I believe he's away filming the live-action film version of the Mister Men.
Shaggy showed there’s life in the ageing limbs yet three minutes in with a thrilling run from halfway that culminated in a long-range blaster that ruffled Price’s hair as it sailed wide. Darlo looked most dangerous when using the width of the pitch and playing it along the floor, and on 52 Nicholls’ low cross flew dangerously across the face of goal before being hoofed away for a corner by Angus. The ensuing set piece by James landed on the head of Craig Liddle at the near post, and his crashing goalbound header was magnificently tipped around the post by a full-stretch Marshall, doing what he does best. The Dancemeister saved again from the second corner, this time from Matthews, and danger was averted.
Just before the hour United came agonisingly close to doubling their lead: a foraging run by Tudor led him to the edge of the area, and as he looked up for support, Nacca came galloping down the centre. As he received the ball he was put under severe pressure by the chasing Nicholls, but his excellent scudder was heading for the bottom corner until tipped around by the sprawling Price. Another player had come so close to his first League goal for United, but like a Scottish team in the Champions League, it was all put off until next time. Again.
On the hour a bit of route one from Marshall sent Turner away on goal from halfway, but Liddle used all his experience and muscle to deny him, then two minutes later he picked up the ball even deeper following a Darlo corner, and sprinted half the length of the pitch with dazzling pace despite Clark’s closest attentions. Tudor accompanied him, but instead of peeling off into the middle for a through pass, he surprisingly cut across his young colleague towards the wing; Adam Tann was following up, but was too closely marked by that man Liddle to take advantage of young JT’s eventual pass.
Five minutes later came another lung-bursting run from the player-boss, culminating in his felling 25 yards out, and a clearly knackered Shaggy gestured towards the bench, probably asking for oxygen. Lil’ Luke’s free kick was disappointingly wellied into the wall, and yet another foraging Turner run a minute later was halted by the large frame of Clark and his lovely headband. Murray essayed a 25-yarder, not unduly troubling Price, and there were half-hearted appeals for a penalty on 68 as Guttridge went down. Then it was sub time as David McGurk replaced Pearson for the visitors and Brian Dutton entered the fray for United, although to everyone’s surprise it was the lively Turner he replaced and not the ageing legs of Shaggy. I know Sir Mick Jagger’s still doing it at 60, JT, but he’s never had to perform Honky Tonk Women while being jostled and hacked at by a phalanx of burly lower-division journeymen. Although I’d like to see him try.
Nacca had a shot blocked on 72, then a second Darlo sub replaced Maddison with Michael Coghlan as United imperceptibly but gradually retreated ever deeper into their own half as their instinct to protect their lead rather than increase it began to grow. Darlo now began to have the greater possession, and we began to get that queasy feeling in the pits of our stomachs (that’s one each, except for the cows) as we recalled innumerable games from the past in which seemingly comfortable leads had been spirited away at the death by one moment of good (or bad) fortune. Please Santa, not again.
A cow's stomach arrangement
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A buccaneering Tann run on 79 saw his effort blocked by man-hillock Liddle and the ball eventually fell to Shaggy, but he slashed wildly wide of the near post when a cooler effort across the keeper would have been infinitely more welcome. Lil’ Luke had been caught in the middle of the incident and stayed down just inside the Darlo box as they played on amid home boos. The Quakers’ protests that they had not believed him seriously hurt looked as hollow as Posh Spice’s future chart prospects when he withdrew from the fray a minute later to be replaced by David Bridges.
Ref Probert hadn’t produced a random silly booking for ages, but normal service was resumed on 83 as he carded Angus for a ho-hum trip on Matthews by the touchline. The two had a little contretemps in which the visiting striker appeared to push his opponent with no little force and malice, and the foolish loanee was booked then substituted within the minute, John Alexander joining the fading fray.
Another tremendous Tudor run on 85 culminated in a block by Nicholls, but it was the hosts who were hanging on in the last few minutes as they tried to grind out their first 1-0 home win since Swansea in November 2002. When Shaggy did get the ball on the break, he took it into the corner in a vain bid to waste the indicated three extra minutes, but amber hearts were in mouths on 92 as Nicholls ran free on to an Alexander pass and into the United area; but instead of shooting at the exposed Marshall, he dithered, skipping past Duncan’s attempted tackle but then caught by the sliding Murray’s challenge, and the ball was somehow scrambled away from what was the Quakers’ best chance. Looks like someone was smiling on us today, for a change.
Goodhind went down injured in a clash in the middle and Probert put the whistle to his mouth as if to blow for a foul, then changed his mind and allowed play to continue. United’s ten men weathered the storm and Darlo’s last attempt was an Ian Clark effort that hit Tudor and was gratefully gathered by Marshall. Then it was all over, to sighs of relief from the home contingent for a first home win in four months, and sighs of resignation from the handful of long-suffering north-easterners.
The win was deserved overall, and out of adversity has emerged a promising young United team that possesses enthusiasm and spirit allied to no little skill and strength, organised into a formation they all understand. They’ll look even better once we’ve got some fit strikers again. Let us just hope that this promise will be allowed to flower and the club they play for and that we love can get through this current crisis.
Marshall 7 – Produced the goods when needed after a quiet first hour, although his kicking still gives me the collywobbles.
Angus 7 – Comfortable defensively and got forward on occasion too.
Murray 8 – Best game for a long time now he is in his correct position; tigerish tackling allied to rampaging runs down the flank.
Duncan 7 – Reliable strength from the skipper.
Goodhind 7 – Formed an excellent barrier with his central defensive partner.
Nacca 9 – Outstanding contribution from one box to the other.
Tann 7 – Held things together well in the middle.
Guttridge 8 – Usual busy performance and an excellent penalty to boot.
Tudor 8 – At last he is beginning to look like the player of old. Lots of exciting, bustling runs.
Turner 8 – Constant thorn in Darlo’s side until surprisingly brought off.
Taylor 7 – Mobility definitely limited but used his experience well.
Dutton 6 – Not able to contribute a great deal going forward but worked hard.
Bridges 6 – Slotted in smoothly for the last ten minutes.
Soundtrack of the day: Bob Rivers/Christmas Money (That’s What I Want)
Match summary: The generous Abbey faithful were finally rewarded with a second home win of the season as United banked three valuable points against moneybags Darlo. And don’t look now, but we seem to have found ourselves a penalty taker!
Man of the match: Franco Nacca. Dynamic display from a man who has waited a long time for his deserved starting place. He was everywhere, making saving tackles one minute then bursting forward to threaten the Darlo goal the next. The very definition of all-action.
Ref watch: Probert 4. Eccentric performance from the man with the suspiciously jet black hair. Ignored several bad challenges and booked two United players for offences that were committed equally severely by the unpunished opposition
Ref Probert hadn’t produced a random silly booking for ages, but normal service was resumed on 83 as he carded Angus for a ho-hum trip on Matthews by the touchline. The two had a little contretemps in which the visiting striker appeared to push his opponent with no little force and malice, and the foolish loanee was booked then substituted within the minute, John Alexander joining the fading fray.
Another tremendous Tudor run on 85 culminated in a block by Nicholls, but it was the hosts who were hanging on in the last few minutes as they tried to grind out their first 1-0 home win since Swansea in November 2002. When Shaggy did get the ball on the break, he took it into the corner in a vain bid to waste the indicated three extra minutes, but amber hearts were in mouths on 92 as Nicholls ran free on to an Alexander pass and into the United area; but instead of shooting at the exposed Marshall, he dithered, skipping past Duncan’s attempted tackle but then caught by the sliding Murray’s challenge, and the ball was somehow scrambled away from what was the Quakers’ best chance. Looks like someone was smiling on us today, for a change.
Goodhind went down injured in a clash in the middle and Probert put the whistle to his mouth as if to blow for a foul, then changed his mind and allowed play to continue. United’s ten men weathered the storm and Darlo’s last attempt was an Ian Clark effort that hit Tudor and was gratefully gathered by Marshall. Then it was all over, to sighs of relief from the home contingent for a first home win in four months, and sighs of resignation from the handful of long-suffering north-easterners.
The win was deserved overall, and out of adversity has emerged a promising young United team that possesses enthusiasm and spirit allied to no little skill and strength, organised into a formation they all understand. They’ll look even better once we’ve got some fit strikers again. Let us just hope that this promise will be allowed to flower and the club they play for and that we love can get through this current crisis.
Marshall 7 – Produced the goods when needed after a quiet first hour, although his kicking still gives me the collywobbles.
Angus 7 – Comfortable defensively and got forward on occasion too.
Murray 8 – Best game for a long time now he is in his correct position; tigerish tackling allied to rampaging runs down the flank.
Duncan 7 – Reliable strength from the skipper.
Goodhind 7 – Formed an excellent barrier with his central defensive partner.
Nacca 9 – Outstanding contribution from one box to the other.
Tann 7 – Held things together well in the middle.
Guttridge 8 – Usual busy performance and an excellent penalty to boot.
Tudor 8 – At last he is beginning to look like the player of old. Lots of exciting, bustling runs.
Turner 8 – Constant thorn in Darlo’s side until surprisingly brought off.
Taylor 7 – Mobility definitely limited but used his experience well.
Dutton 6 – Not able to contribute a great deal going forward but worked hard.
Bridges 6 – Slotted in smoothly for the last ten minutes.
Soundtrack of the day: Bob Rivers/Christmas Money (That’s What I Want)
Match summary: The generous Abbey faithful were finally rewarded with a second home win of the season as United banked three valuable points against moneybags Darlo. And don’t look now, but we seem to have found ourselves a penalty taker!
Man of the match: Franco Nacca. Dynamic display from a man who has waited a long time for his deserved starting place. He was everywhere, making saving tackles one minute then bursting forward to threaten the Darlo goal the next. The very definition of all-action.
Ref watch: Probert 4. Eccentric performance from the man with the suspiciously jet black hair. Ignored several bad challenges and booked two United players for offences that were committed equally severely by the unpunished opposition
16 December 2003: U's 2v2 (2-4 pens) Macclesfield
Paying the Penalty Clause
As the deadline to repay United’s loan ticks ever closer, the club, in association with Chatteris Realtime Audiovisual Productions, has produced an exciting range of video and DVD releases featuring Abbey heroes past and present. The full range of action-packed classics is as follows:
This match shouldn’t even have been taking place, of course. But United failed to turn domination into goals at Moss Rose, capped with those wince-inducing penalties whose memory is akin to biting on a piece of silver foil when you’re about to scoff a Kit-Kat. And so after Saturday’s encouraging defeat of the Shakin’ Quakers, their threadbare squad was dusted down again on a cold night under a twinkling, moonlit sky. The collection buckets were out again, and the same fantastic supporters dug deep once again as the combination of weather, Christmas-close timing and unattractive opposition (no offence, like) conspired to produce the lowest attendance of this season at the Abbey just when a bumper crowd was needed.
United’s starting line-up remained, naturally, unchanged, although dear old Mark Venus was a welcome returnee to the bench now he’s had his liver spots zapped, or something. And with Shaggy’s return to action, he’s not now even the oldest member of the squad. Macclesfield made one change from last time, John Miles being torn away from his first love (music) to replace our old friend Martin Carruthers, and the Milkmen (is that right?) arrived at the Abbey fresh from a 4-0 walloping of Huddersfield’s toothless Terriers.
The U’s started where they had left off in the first match, fizzing like a leftover firework, and it only took the visitors three minutes to pick up their first booking, Karl Munroe carded for up-ending Shane Tudor. It was a nasty knock on the ankle for Mr Loompah, and although he limped on bravely, he had about as much prospect of lasting the course as Noddy has of getting the Christmas number one. He should never have left Slade. The free kick found Franco Nacca, but as his cross sailed harmlessly over the assembled throng in the area, ref Robinson showed no interest in an apparent push on Adam Tann. Thus was the tone set by the man in green for the rest of the match: zealous in punishing every single aerial or physical challenge except any that might have forced him to award anything really contentious like a penalty. That’s another one off the Christmas card list. Just for good measure a few minutes later, the hapless Tudor was clattered again near the touchline by Macc skipper Chris Priest, but astoundingly no card followed this time. The Milkmen had targeted the United danger man most, er, efficiently.
John Turner was another amber shirt singled out for special attention by the Macc defence, being marked tighter than Kylie’s hotpants, but he managed to latch on to a Fred Murray cross on eight to test the hero of the first match, Steve Wilson. But United’s territorial domination did not preclude Macclesfield from the odd dangerous break, and on 13 a Widdrington free kick found Miles in the box to force Shaun Marshall into a characteristically excellent diving save. The resultant daisycutting corner by Danny Whitaker produced a little bout of pinball in the home six-yard box, eventually falling to Matthew Tipton, but as he turned and shot the Terpsichorean custodian was right on him, smothering at the expense of a further corner.
Macc began to get more into the game with neat, precise interpassing, Colin Little shooting over on 17, and it was United’s turn to catch them on the break three minutes later as Angus’s run and cross found Turner, but Wilson clutched his header with ease. Tipton shot wide on 22, at which point Tudor finally had to give way to his war wounds and was replaced by Venus. The veteran defender was a straight replacement on the left of midfield, and remembering his thrilling passing and shooting display when pushed up against Mansfield, none of the amber hordes were complaining.
Veno’s left foot, more piercing than a scud missile or a Justin ‘Darkness’ Hawkins high note, was soon spraying the ball to his colleagues with unerring accuracy, finding his player-boss on the edge of the area, and Shaggy seemed to have time to shoot but instead chose an ill-advised backheel to Lil’ Luke Guttridge instead: end of move. No one likes a smartarse, with the possible exception of Elton John.
The sub’s prompting promoted a revival in United’s fortunes as they began to wrest back control, so it was of course Macclesfield who took the lead on 26. Tipton played a long ball to Miles, all alone up front; he advanced on goal with Duncan in attendance. On the edge of the box in the left channel, Miles saw his chance with Marshall choosing to unsight himself by standing in the middle of his goal directly behind Duncan, and the Macc striker curled a clever shot round his marker and into the far corner: 1-0. Great goal for the visitors, unsatisfactory defending from the hosts.
United responded with more of the same, good possession without an end product, and on 30 Murray’s cross found Shaggy, whose blocked effort rebounded to Guttridge to sting Wilson’s gloves with a low drive. Three minutes later it was Venus’s turn to find the boss man and Lil’ Luke was again the beneficiary of his flick-on, but this time Michael Welch was the man to block his goalbound effort.
As the pressure grew on the visitors like a cushion being sat on by Michelle out of Pop Idol, Priest received an overdue yellow on 40 for sending Guttridge flying, and as the interval beckoned, Shaggy received similar treatment from Munroe. Play continued, but when Angus won United a corner, the ref called Munroe over and showed him his second yellow and a rather fetching matching red. Just as in the first match, Macc were down to ten men.
United, encouraged, launched a late assault on the Milkmen’s goal, and Angus of all people came nearest when a free kick was cleared to him on the edge of the area, but his on-target effort couldn’t make it through a positively Caligulan sea of bodies. Macc brought on a replacement defender, Matt Haddrell, at the expense of Little, but to their credit retained a positive 4-3-2 formation. In fact, the last chance of the half was theirs, Miles blasting over, and the half-time whistle left the home contingent to reflect with a certain sense of déjà vu, one down to ten men despite having more of the play, with just that little bit of quality lacking in the final third. Like many shivering spectators’ noses, this was going to run and run.
The teams emerged unchanged (except 15 minutes older) for the second half, and United went for the jugular, causing havoc in the Macc area within a couple of minutes: Venus set up Guttridge with another penetrating ball, his shot was hacked away from the congested six-yard box, Turner sent it back in and some sort of limb seemed to stop it almost on the line before it was again despatched to safety. The U’s had 45 full minutes ahead of them to beat an under-strength and, on this season’s form, inferior team: like Gerard ‘The dog ate my homework but we’ve almost turned the corner’ Houllier, there could be no excuses this time.
Nacca saw an effort parried by Wilson and Venus had a shot blocked by Welch as United continued to attack the Corona, and on 53 Shaggy had a free header at a Nacca cross but made a pig’s ear of it and sent it towards the corner flag. Perhaps he had his contact lenses in the wrong eyes. Four minutes later the old man had another chance, latching on to a Tann through ball and blasting over from just outside the area. Boots on the wrong feet? Whatever, his shooting was symptomatic of his whole team’s this evening: time after time an amber-shirted player would send his effort sailing high over the bar instead of getting an effort on target. Never mind penalty practice, just basic shooting practice appears to be the order of the day.
Paying the Penalty Clause
As the deadline to repay United’s loan ticks ever closer, the club, in association with Chatteris Realtime Audiovisual Productions, has produced an exciting range of video and DVD releases featuring Abbey heroes past and present. The full range of action-packed classics is as follows:
- Adventures in Modern Hairstyling with Warren Goodhind, Dave Kitson, Shane Tudor, Lionel Perez and Mrs Andy Duncan.
- Grumpy Old Men starring John Taylor and Mark Venus in a follow-up to the popular BBC 2 series, complaining about referees, young people today, how you can’t hear the words in modern pop songs, their chilblains playing up etc.
- Big Pimpin’ Style with the King of the Street himself, Stev Angus and his epilepsy-inducing wardrobe.
- How To Pronounce My Name and Other Useful Turkish Phrases by Ali Uzah … Uzina … Uzuzung … United’s goalkeeping coach.
- Diplomacy and the A-Z of Getting On With People by Stuart Bimson. ‘F’ is particularly enlightening.
- For the kids, I Spy with Dan Chillingworth and Alex Revell. A useful guide to whiling away endless hours while immobilised with your leg in plaster.
- Humorous drama in a modern update of Love Thy Neighbour: Dave Kitson pops round to Shane Tudor’s to borrow a cup of sugar, and volunteers to help him redecorate his living room with red paint … with hilarious consequences.
- Organising The Ultimate New Year’s Eve Party with friends of the constabulary, Neil Mackenzie, Steve Guinan, Scott Eustace and Des Byrne.
- Coming soon: The (Suzy) Ruff Guide To Motherhood for all you ladies.
- Just finished after some last-minute additions! The ultimate comedy compilation: 101 Great Penalty Misses featuring John Taylor, Mark Venus, Paul Wanless, Lionel Perez, Andy Duncan, Martin Butler, Trevor Benjamin, Dave Kitson, etc, etc, etc. Not for those of a nervous or sensitive disposition.
This match shouldn’t even have been taking place, of course. But United failed to turn domination into goals at Moss Rose, capped with those wince-inducing penalties whose memory is akin to biting on a piece of silver foil when you’re about to scoff a Kit-Kat. And so after Saturday’s encouraging defeat of the Shakin’ Quakers, their threadbare squad was dusted down again on a cold night under a twinkling, moonlit sky. The collection buckets were out again, and the same fantastic supporters dug deep once again as the combination of weather, Christmas-close timing and unattractive opposition (no offence, like) conspired to produce the lowest attendance of this season at the Abbey just when a bumper crowd was needed.
United’s starting line-up remained, naturally, unchanged, although dear old Mark Venus was a welcome returnee to the bench now he’s had his liver spots zapped, or something. And with Shaggy’s return to action, he’s not now even the oldest member of the squad. Macclesfield made one change from last time, John Miles being torn away from his first love (music) to replace our old friend Martin Carruthers, and the Milkmen (is that right?) arrived at the Abbey fresh from a 4-0 walloping of Huddersfield’s toothless Terriers.
The U’s started where they had left off in the first match, fizzing like a leftover firework, and it only took the visitors three minutes to pick up their first booking, Karl Munroe carded for up-ending Shane Tudor. It was a nasty knock on the ankle for Mr Loompah, and although he limped on bravely, he had about as much prospect of lasting the course as Noddy has of getting the Christmas number one. He should never have left Slade. The free kick found Franco Nacca, but as his cross sailed harmlessly over the assembled throng in the area, ref Robinson showed no interest in an apparent push on Adam Tann. Thus was the tone set by the man in green for the rest of the match: zealous in punishing every single aerial or physical challenge except any that might have forced him to award anything really contentious like a penalty. That’s another one off the Christmas card list. Just for good measure a few minutes later, the hapless Tudor was clattered again near the touchline by Macc skipper Chris Priest, but astoundingly no card followed this time. The Milkmen had targeted the United danger man most, er, efficiently.
John Turner was another amber shirt singled out for special attention by the Macc defence, being marked tighter than Kylie’s hotpants, but he managed to latch on to a Fred Murray cross on eight to test the hero of the first match, Steve Wilson. But United’s territorial domination did not preclude Macclesfield from the odd dangerous break, and on 13 a Widdrington free kick found Miles in the box to force Shaun Marshall into a characteristically excellent diving save. The resultant daisycutting corner by Danny Whitaker produced a little bout of pinball in the home six-yard box, eventually falling to Matthew Tipton, but as he turned and shot the Terpsichorean custodian was right on him, smothering at the expense of a further corner.
Macc began to get more into the game with neat, precise interpassing, Colin Little shooting over on 17, and it was United’s turn to catch them on the break three minutes later as Angus’s run and cross found Turner, but Wilson clutched his header with ease. Tipton shot wide on 22, at which point Tudor finally had to give way to his war wounds and was replaced by Venus. The veteran defender was a straight replacement on the left of midfield, and remembering his thrilling passing and shooting display when pushed up against Mansfield, none of the amber hordes were complaining.
Veno’s left foot, more piercing than a scud missile or a Justin ‘Darkness’ Hawkins high note, was soon spraying the ball to his colleagues with unerring accuracy, finding his player-boss on the edge of the area, and Shaggy seemed to have time to shoot but instead chose an ill-advised backheel to Lil’ Luke Guttridge instead: end of move. No one likes a smartarse, with the possible exception of Elton John.
The sub’s prompting promoted a revival in United’s fortunes as they began to wrest back control, so it was of course Macclesfield who took the lead on 26. Tipton played a long ball to Miles, all alone up front; he advanced on goal with Duncan in attendance. On the edge of the box in the left channel, Miles saw his chance with Marshall choosing to unsight himself by standing in the middle of his goal directly behind Duncan, and the Macc striker curled a clever shot round his marker and into the far corner: 1-0. Great goal for the visitors, unsatisfactory defending from the hosts.
United responded with more of the same, good possession without an end product, and on 30 Murray’s cross found Shaggy, whose blocked effort rebounded to Guttridge to sting Wilson’s gloves with a low drive. Three minutes later it was Venus’s turn to find the boss man and Lil’ Luke was again the beneficiary of his flick-on, but this time Michael Welch was the man to block his goalbound effort.
As the pressure grew on the visitors like a cushion being sat on by Michelle out of Pop Idol, Priest received an overdue yellow on 40 for sending Guttridge flying, and as the interval beckoned, Shaggy received similar treatment from Munroe. Play continued, but when Angus won United a corner, the ref called Munroe over and showed him his second yellow and a rather fetching matching red. Just as in the first match, Macc were down to ten men.
United, encouraged, launched a late assault on the Milkmen’s goal, and Angus of all people came nearest when a free kick was cleared to him on the edge of the area, but his on-target effort couldn’t make it through a positively Caligulan sea of bodies. Macc brought on a replacement defender, Matt Haddrell, at the expense of Little, but to their credit retained a positive 4-3-2 formation. In fact, the last chance of the half was theirs, Miles blasting over, and the half-time whistle left the home contingent to reflect with a certain sense of déjà vu, one down to ten men despite having more of the play, with just that little bit of quality lacking in the final third. Like many shivering spectators’ noses, this was going to run and run.
The teams emerged unchanged (except 15 minutes older) for the second half, and United went for the jugular, causing havoc in the Macc area within a couple of minutes: Venus set up Guttridge with another penetrating ball, his shot was hacked away from the congested six-yard box, Turner sent it back in and some sort of limb seemed to stop it almost on the line before it was again despatched to safety. The U’s had 45 full minutes ahead of them to beat an under-strength and, on this season’s form, inferior team: like Gerard ‘The dog ate my homework but we’ve almost turned the corner’ Houllier, there could be no excuses this time.
Nacca saw an effort parried by Wilson and Venus had a shot blocked by Welch as United continued to attack the Corona, and on 53 Shaggy had a free header at a Nacca cross but made a pig’s ear of it and sent it towards the corner flag. Perhaps he had his contact lenses in the wrong eyes. Four minutes later the old man had another chance, latching on to a Tann through ball and blasting over from just outside the area. Boots on the wrong feet? Whatever, his shooting was symptomatic of his whole team’s this evening: time after time an amber-shirted player would send his effort sailing high over the bar instead of getting an effort on target. Never mind penalty practice, just basic shooting practice appears to be the order of the day.
Franco Nacca: box to box
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As the hour mark ticked by, another enterprising Murray run saw his cross loop off Abbey and sail over Wilson to the far post, where Turner seemed to flinch out of the way for fear of headbutting the post. Even Wozza Goodhind had a shot a minute later, not overly troubling Wilson from 30 yards, but on 66 came the equaliser that many of us suspected might never come. Angus made another good run down the right and was given room to cross by a Macc team that was defending deeper and deeper as the game wore on; this time his cross was inch-perfect, finding Turner unmarked between two defenders to plant a powerful header past Wilson for 1-1. Surely now victory must follow, as surely as day follows, er, aardvark.
Turner almost put United in front within a couple of minutes, just crowded out by Wilson after good work by Guttridge and Tann, and Danny Adams was Macc’s next booking on 69 for a less than sweet challenge on Angus. Now it was all United, the visitors affording the hosts two-thirds of the pitch to play in but packing the last third with a horde of blue shirts, making it more claustrophobic than Saddam’s little holiday cottage. Just think, if only he could have completed dying his hair and beard white and got into that red and white suit, he could have been into that sleigh and ho-ho-hoing away before we were any the wiser. But for all United’s pressing, that final cutting ball just wouldn’t come, players sometimes slow to shoot, and sometimes over-passing when a more direct ball might have been on. Venus shot over from distance on 72, Taylor saw a header saved on 74, then four minutes later came United’s best chance yet as Guttridge was sent soaring into the air by Welch’s challenge, for which he received a card for his (and Lil’ Luke’s) pains.
There could only be one taker of a free kick a few yards outside the box and right of centre, and Venus it was who strode up and unleashed a rocket shot of quite stunning power that cannoned off the underside of the bar, down and away. Did it cross the line? Impossible to tell, it happened so stunningly fast, and on this occasion you couldn’t even point a finger at the lino. If I were Ian Darler, I’d be checking that bar for hairline fractures. And the Corona. The ball eventually fell for Duncan to have a poke from 20 yards, and guess what? Yup, he screwed it over the bar. David Bridges provided the hosts with fresh legs on 78 in place of Nacca as United probed their ever-retreating opponents, but the Milkmen were putting up a stern rearguard action. There were faint shouts for a penalty on 82 as Guttridge jinked into the area before bouncing off Welch, but there was nothing doing this time.
There was a brief respite for the visitors on 84 as Widdrington shot just wide after a break saw Macc go for goal instead of the corner for a change, and Guttridge shot over the bar (where else?) two minutes from time as two tired-looking teams fought each other to a 90-minute standstill. It was going to be a late night for the intrepid 130 away supporters as the two sides girded their loins for extra time. At least I think that’s what they were doing.
Macc introduced fresh legs with Stephen Brackenbridge replacing Priest, and on 93 came another of those crazy goalmouth scrambles that we have all come to know and love, Turner’s eventual shot blocked once again by about four blue shirts on the line. It still seemed just a matter of time before United, with so much territorial superiority, would notch the winner, although their best passer, Venus, was showing distinct signs of tiring and/or cramp after a month out. But Macc weren’t dead yet. Ten minutes into the added period Marshall saved from Whitaker, and a minute later the battling ten men were ahead again: Brackenbridge found Tipton in the right channel, he squared it to Tipton and his first-time shot from 20 yards squeezed low into the corner past Marshall’s despairing dive: 2-1. Undeniably a great finish, although raising more questions about the (lack of) closeness of the United defence’s marking. Another mountain to climb; where did we put those crampons?
Most irritatingly of all, Angus had been lying prone deep into Macclesfield’s half for a good half-minute before Tipton scored, and not even Ant Coole’s magic ice cubes could revive him as he was carried off and Brian Dutton introduced as United switched to 3-4-3.
Second half of extra time, and Charge of the Light Brigade time as United abandoned all pretensions of silky passing football and simply began launching high balls at their three target men in the Pickwickesque hope that something would turn up. The first few minutes of the half actually belonged to Macc, even gaining a corner before they made their final sub in the person of ex-Boro ‘favourite’ Martin Carruthers, replacing Tipton whose oh-so-slow exit from the pitch was reminiscent of Robbie Turner in full flight. A cheesed-off Venus received yellow for a frank exchange of views with the ref.
Now United started shelling the Macc penalty area, crosses raining in like reindeer droppings on Christmas night, and several times we had the frustration of seeing three or four amber shirts rushing lemming-like into the six-yard box only for the ball to deflect just behind them, no United player thinking to hang back around the penalty spot. More and more players remained forward, Duncan an extra striker, then Tann, but the hosts’ best effort on 113 was a low scudder by Bridges which was headed for the bottom corner until tipped around the post.
Still the U’s pressed, still the Milkmen resisted as stoutly as a barrel of Guinness, and one minute from time, the pressure finally told: Goodhind’s long ball to the far post, Taylor’s intelligent header into the danger zone, and there was Tann to poke gleefully home from six yards. 2-2! There was still time for Wilson to fingertip away another corner before ref Robinson signalled United’s dread nemesis: penalties. After their ‘efforts’ at Moss Rose, the Macc fans must have been booking their third round coaches already. We hoped that all the practice that Shaggy had been talking about recently would bear fruit. Curiously, Robinson chose the away end as the venue for the spot-kick competition, the first time I or anyone around me had ever seen any end used but the home end. At least the United players needn’t have worried about taking pens in front of a large crowd; just a sort of informal gathering.
Carruthers was first, smashing the ball high to the left as Marshall, as ever, dived in the opposite direction. 0-1. Lil’ Luke, on a hot streak, replied in kind, striking it unerringly low into the same corner. 1-1. Miles was next with a carbon copy of his colleague’s kick. Marshall dived too soon and again ended up going the wrong way. 1-2. Duncan, unfazed by his last miss, wellied home high and straight. 2-2.
Abbey repeated the dose for Macc in the same place as his predecessors; at least Marshall didn’t make a total berk of himself this time. 2-3. Up stepped Venus. One of the golden rules of penalty shootouts is that the player everyone thinks most likely to score will, of course, miss. The knackered Veno’s kick to the right lacked pace and disguise and Wilson saved with little difficulty. Here we go again.
Haddrell tried the same trick as the others, but as Marshall dived once again the wrong way, he got too much lift and it bounced off the top of the bar. Hope … which was soon dashed by Shaggy, with the worst penalty of the lot, straight at Wilson who parried on to the bar and clutched the rebound.
Whitaker stepped up to settle it, and like almost every player who takes a pen against United, he whacked it nonchalantly home. 2-4. The End.
Apparently Shaggy’s boys are fine with penalties in training. Perhaps they shouldn’t take them against Our Shaun, who is a super shot-stopper, but the worst keeper against penalties I have ever seen: he almost always dives too soon, leaving his opponent the easy task of knocking it past him, and his attempts to psych out the taker by pointing to one corner of the goal are gauche and embarrassing. He is so good at reaction saves; why doesn’t he just wait until the kick is taken, then try to save it? Or is that too simple?
Full credit to Macclesfield, notwithstanding their sometimes rough-house tackling, who stuck to their task with grit, determination and spirit despite being outplayed for long periods. As for United: lack of quality in the final third was their downfall, although who knows what would have happened if Kitson had been fit. As it is, three fresh injury worries, two knackered veterans and a six-pointer on Friday do not make a happy Christmastide make. Still, at least we haven’t got to go to Swansea again (sigh).
Marshall 6 – Not great positioning for Macc’s first, no chance with the second. And although we have no right to expect him to save a penalty, he needs to reappraise his approach, because he’s just making it easy for the opposition.
Angus 7 – Sound defensively, occasionally dangerous going forward, and produced the best cross of the match for United’s first goal.
Murray 7 – Another encouragingly buccaneering effort down the left.
Duncan 6 – Didn’t start well and wasn’t up to his high early-season standard.
Goodhind 6 – Solidly unspectacular.
Nacca 6 – Young players are necessarily inconsistent and he couldn’t match Saturday’s superb performance. All part of the learning curve.
Tann 6 – Similar to Franco, he was relatively below par. Possibly had too little defensive work to do and too much unaccustomed creativity required.
Guttridge 7 – Busy as ever, although his shooting was sub-standard.
Tudor 6 – Kicked out of the game early and did well to soldier on as long as he did.
Turner 6 – Marked out of the game for long periods, but never gave up and scored an excellent goal.
Taylor 6 – Used all his experience, but it has to be said that the old man is (understandably) starting to look his age.
Venus 8 – A player of Veno’s class can play just about anywhere, and so he proved with that laser-guided left foot spraying dozens of pinpoint passes even when he was clearly barely fit to continue in extra time.
Bridges 6 – Again filled in smoothly and had one splendid shot saved.
Dutton 6 – No faulting his effort and we should really expect no more from such an inexperienced kid.
Soundtrack of the day: White Stripes/The Hardest Button To Button
Match summary: Call Pest Control! The Abbey seems to have a permanent infestation of groundhogs as yet again the ‘penalty problem’ and the ‘ten men problem’ raised their ugly snouts once again. It’s no good dominating possession if you can’t produce any sort of quality final ball and lessons need to be learned before Friday – if we still have a team, that is.
Man of the match: Mark Venus. Class is indeed permanent, and he barely wasted a pass all evening, even when half-crippled with cramp. Also produced what must be the hardest free kick ever seen at the Abbey.
Ref watch: Robinson 4. No argument with the bookings – perhaps he should even have produced more – but did nothing for the game with his incessant unnecessary whistling at the merest hint of any physical challenge. Except when a United player was fouled in the penalty area, of course.
Turner almost put United in front within a couple of minutes, just crowded out by Wilson after good work by Guttridge and Tann, and Danny Adams was Macc’s next booking on 69 for a less than sweet challenge on Angus. Now it was all United, the visitors affording the hosts two-thirds of the pitch to play in but packing the last third with a horde of blue shirts, making it more claustrophobic than Saddam’s little holiday cottage. Just think, if only he could have completed dying his hair and beard white and got into that red and white suit, he could have been into that sleigh and ho-ho-hoing away before we were any the wiser. But for all United’s pressing, that final cutting ball just wouldn’t come, players sometimes slow to shoot, and sometimes over-passing when a more direct ball might have been on. Venus shot over from distance on 72, Taylor saw a header saved on 74, then four minutes later came United’s best chance yet as Guttridge was sent soaring into the air by Welch’s challenge, for which he received a card for his (and Lil’ Luke’s) pains.
There could only be one taker of a free kick a few yards outside the box and right of centre, and Venus it was who strode up and unleashed a rocket shot of quite stunning power that cannoned off the underside of the bar, down and away. Did it cross the line? Impossible to tell, it happened so stunningly fast, and on this occasion you couldn’t even point a finger at the lino. If I were Ian Darler, I’d be checking that bar for hairline fractures. And the Corona. The ball eventually fell for Duncan to have a poke from 20 yards, and guess what? Yup, he screwed it over the bar. David Bridges provided the hosts with fresh legs on 78 in place of Nacca as United probed their ever-retreating opponents, but the Milkmen were putting up a stern rearguard action. There were faint shouts for a penalty on 82 as Guttridge jinked into the area before bouncing off Welch, but there was nothing doing this time.
There was a brief respite for the visitors on 84 as Widdrington shot just wide after a break saw Macc go for goal instead of the corner for a change, and Guttridge shot over the bar (where else?) two minutes from time as two tired-looking teams fought each other to a 90-minute standstill. It was going to be a late night for the intrepid 130 away supporters as the two sides girded their loins for extra time. At least I think that’s what they were doing.
Macc introduced fresh legs with Stephen Brackenbridge replacing Priest, and on 93 came another of those crazy goalmouth scrambles that we have all come to know and love, Turner’s eventual shot blocked once again by about four blue shirts on the line. It still seemed just a matter of time before United, with so much territorial superiority, would notch the winner, although their best passer, Venus, was showing distinct signs of tiring and/or cramp after a month out. But Macc weren’t dead yet. Ten minutes into the added period Marshall saved from Whitaker, and a minute later the battling ten men were ahead again: Brackenbridge found Tipton in the right channel, he squared it to Tipton and his first-time shot from 20 yards squeezed low into the corner past Marshall’s despairing dive: 2-1. Undeniably a great finish, although raising more questions about the (lack of) closeness of the United defence’s marking. Another mountain to climb; where did we put those crampons?
Most irritatingly of all, Angus had been lying prone deep into Macclesfield’s half for a good half-minute before Tipton scored, and not even Ant Coole’s magic ice cubes could revive him as he was carried off and Brian Dutton introduced as United switched to 3-4-3.
Second half of extra time, and Charge of the Light Brigade time as United abandoned all pretensions of silky passing football and simply began launching high balls at their three target men in the Pickwickesque hope that something would turn up. The first few minutes of the half actually belonged to Macc, even gaining a corner before they made their final sub in the person of ex-Boro ‘favourite’ Martin Carruthers, replacing Tipton whose oh-so-slow exit from the pitch was reminiscent of Robbie Turner in full flight. A cheesed-off Venus received yellow for a frank exchange of views with the ref.
Now United started shelling the Macc penalty area, crosses raining in like reindeer droppings on Christmas night, and several times we had the frustration of seeing three or four amber shirts rushing lemming-like into the six-yard box only for the ball to deflect just behind them, no United player thinking to hang back around the penalty spot. More and more players remained forward, Duncan an extra striker, then Tann, but the hosts’ best effort on 113 was a low scudder by Bridges which was headed for the bottom corner until tipped around the post.
Still the U’s pressed, still the Milkmen resisted as stoutly as a barrel of Guinness, and one minute from time, the pressure finally told: Goodhind’s long ball to the far post, Taylor’s intelligent header into the danger zone, and there was Tann to poke gleefully home from six yards. 2-2! There was still time for Wilson to fingertip away another corner before ref Robinson signalled United’s dread nemesis: penalties. After their ‘efforts’ at Moss Rose, the Macc fans must have been booking their third round coaches already. We hoped that all the practice that Shaggy had been talking about recently would bear fruit. Curiously, Robinson chose the away end as the venue for the spot-kick competition, the first time I or anyone around me had ever seen any end used but the home end. At least the United players needn’t have worried about taking pens in front of a large crowd; just a sort of informal gathering.
Carruthers was first, smashing the ball high to the left as Marshall, as ever, dived in the opposite direction. 0-1. Lil’ Luke, on a hot streak, replied in kind, striking it unerringly low into the same corner. 1-1. Miles was next with a carbon copy of his colleague’s kick. Marshall dived too soon and again ended up going the wrong way. 1-2. Duncan, unfazed by his last miss, wellied home high and straight. 2-2.
Abbey repeated the dose for Macc in the same place as his predecessors; at least Marshall didn’t make a total berk of himself this time. 2-3. Up stepped Venus. One of the golden rules of penalty shootouts is that the player everyone thinks most likely to score will, of course, miss. The knackered Veno’s kick to the right lacked pace and disguise and Wilson saved with little difficulty. Here we go again.
Haddrell tried the same trick as the others, but as Marshall dived once again the wrong way, he got too much lift and it bounced off the top of the bar. Hope … which was soon dashed by Shaggy, with the worst penalty of the lot, straight at Wilson who parried on to the bar and clutched the rebound.
Whitaker stepped up to settle it, and like almost every player who takes a pen against United, he whacked it nonchalantly home. 2-4. The End.
Apparently Shaggy’s boys are fine with penalties in training. Perhaps they shouldn’t take them against Our Shaun, who is a super shot-stopper, but the worst keeper against penalties I have ever seen: he almost always dives too soon, leaving his opponent the easy task of knocking it past him, and his attempts to psych out the taker by pointing to one corner of the goal are gauche and embarrassing. He is so good at reaction saves; why doesn’t he just wait until the kick is taken, then try to save it? Or is that too simple?
Full credit to Macclesfield, notwithstanding their sometimes rough-house tackling, who stuck to their task with grit, determination and spirit despite being outplayed for long periods. As for United: lack of quality in the final third was their downfall, although who knows what would have happened if Kitson had been fit. As it is, three fresh injury worries, two knackered veterans and a six-pointer on Friday do not make a happy Christmastide make. Still, at least we haven’t got to go to Swansea again (sigh).
Marshall 6 – Not great positioning for Macc’s first, no chance with the second. And although we have no right to expect him to save a penalty, he needs to reappraise his approach, because he’s just making it easy for the opposition.
Angus 7 – Sound defensively, occasionally dangerous going forward, and produced the best cross of the match for United’s first goal.
Murray 7 – Another encouragingly buccaneering effort down the left.
Duncan 6 – Didn’t start well and wasn’t up to his high early-season standard.
Goodhind 6 – Solidly unspectacular.
Nacca 6 – Young players are necessarily inconsistent and he couldn’t match Saturday’s superb performance. All part of the learning curve.
Tann 6 – Similar to Franco, he was relatively below par. Possibly had too little defensive work to do and too much unaccustomed creativity required.
Guttridge 7 – Busy as ever, although his shooting was sub-standard.
Tudor 6 – Kicked out of the game early and did well to soldier on as long as he did.
Turner 6 – Marked out of the game for long periods, but never gave up and scored an excellent goal.
Taylor 6 – Used all his experience, but it has to be said that the old man is (understandably) starting to look his age.
Venus 8 – A player of Veno’s class can play just about anywhere, and so he proved with that laser-guided left foot spraying dozens of pinpoint passes even when he was clearly barely fit to continue in extra time.
Bridges 6 – Again filled in smoothly and had one splendid shot saved.
Dutton 6 – No faulting his effort and we should really expect no more from such an inexperienced kid.
Soundtrack of the day: White Stripes/The Hardest Button To Button
Match summary: Call Pest Control! The Abbey seems to have a permanent infestation of groundhogs as yet again the ‘penalty problem’ and the ‘ten men problem’ raised their ugly snouts once again. It’s no good dominating possession if you can’t produce any sort of quality final ball and lessons need to be learned before Friday – if we still have a team, that is.
Man of the match: Mark Venus. Class is indeed permanent, and he barely wasted a pass all evening, even when half-crippled with cramp. Also produced what must be the hardest free kick ever seen at the Abbey.
Ref watch: Robinson 4. No argument with the bookings – perhaps he should even have produced more – but did nothing for the game with his incessant unnecessary whistling at the merest hint of any physical challenge. Except when a United player was fouled in the penalty area, of course.
Groundhog
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19 December 2003: Northampton 1v2 U's
The Joy of Sixfields
Christmas is coming and as well as being a festival of world-class consumerism and consumption, and allegedly something to do with religion, it is a time for reflection on the events of the year just past. It is, however, the present and the immediate future that concerns all connected with Cambridge United, as we strive to raise funds to save the club we love. But apart from a secure future for CUFC, what would some fans’ favourites past and present like in their Christmas stockings? Here at the United official website we’ve done a little survey.
John Taylor was as unselfish and philosophical as ever: ‘I’d like see peace and an end to suffering and poverty throughout the world. That would be first class. For myself, while I’m still having to play I’d like the body of a 21-year-old – one of Atomic Kitten’s would be nice! Ha! Ha!'
Dale Brooks was characteristically professorial: ‘Having enjoyed tactical treatises and analyses recently by the venerable likes of Hagan, Venglos, Thys and Maldini, I’d be very interested to read a new motivational book I’ve heard about called How To Win At All Costs and Where To Hide When You Lose by Dr S Hussain. Failing that, I’d settle for Pop Idol: The Pop-Up Colouring Book.
The dynamic duo’s predecessor, John Beck, is looking forward: ‘I’d like a distributor for a video I’ve made; it’s a new concept in crossover football/dance/ music exercise regimes in collaboration with my business partner Geri Halliwell, called Zig-A-Zig-Ah To The Onion Bag. It’s your route one to fitness.'
Fans’ favourite Dion Dublin would like to be granted one desire: ‘I wish people would stop thinking my dad was the drummer in Showaddywaddy. I only said it once for a joke and they’re still repeating it ten years later! My real dad was of course the dancing one with the huge afro in Boney M.'
Dion’s ex-colleague Steve Claridge wants a change of image now he's player-manager at Weymouth: ‘I’m sick of being called Worzel. I’d like a makeover so I can cut a dash in opposition boardrooms. How about a guest slot on Queer Eye For A Straight Guy? A decent tip on the gee-gees would be nice, too!’
Current player of the season Luke Guttridge would, in common with Rio Ferdinand, like to be less forgetful: ‘I wish I could remember to take my driving gloves off before I run on to the pitch. And I’d like a few more inches like Dion’s got. But realistically, it would be nice to win a game against ten men for a change, even if we do miss a penalty!’
And lo, it came to pass that Lil’ Luke’s Christmas wish came true, in a simple stadium in the west under a starry night sky. And in the light of United’s seemingly endless injury and suspension problems, 'twas nothing short of a miracle. Looks like Father Christmas has started delivering early this year!
On the first day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, a Hull City striker loanee.
After Tuesday night’s Snickers, sorry, marathon of rather less than pulchritudinous penalties, two players didn’t make it to Friday at Sixfields: Shane Tudor, out until February, and Shaggy himself, just plain knackered. In stepped Mark Venus, continuing on the left of midfield where he depped so impressively, and Daniel Webb, son of David and loanee from Hull, forming United’s ninth different strike pairing this season.
For Northampton there was a familiar face in former loan U Richard Walker, who has metamorphosed from a frail will-o’-the-wisp into a muscular, bullet-headed goal poacher in the four years since he turned out in amber. He must have eaten an awful lot of spinach. Cobblers danger man Josh Low was injured, as, inevitably, was dear Tiny Tom, who has managed a total of five games plus four as sub since leaving the Abbey in March, the poor mite.
The Joy of Sixfields
Christmas is coming and as well as being a festival of world-class consumerism and consumption, and allegedly something to do with religion, it is a time for reflection on the events of the year just past. It is, however, the present and the immediate future that concerns all connected with Cambridge United, as we strive to raise funds to save the club we love. But apart from a secure future for CUFC, what would some fans’ favourites past and present like in their Christmas stockings? Here at the United official website we’ve done a little survey.
John Taylor was as unselfish and philosophical as ever: ‘I’d like see peace and an end to suffering and poverty throughout the world. That would be first class. For myself, while I’m still having to play I’d like the body of a 21-year-old – one of Atomic Kitten’s would be nice! Ha! Ha!'
Dale Brooks was characteristically professorial: ‘Having enjoyed tactical treatises and analyses recently by the venerable likes of Hagan, Venglos, Thys and Maldini, I’d be very interested to read a new motivational book I’ve heard about called How To Win At All Costs and Where To Hide When You Lose by Dr S Hussain. Failing that, I’d settle for Pop Idol: The Pop-Up Colouring Book.
The dynamic duo’s predecessor, John Beck, is looking forward: ‘I’d like a distributor for a video I’ve made; it’s a new concept in crossover football/dance/ music exercise regimes in collaboration with my business partner Geri Halliwell, called Zig-A-Zig-Ah To The Onion Bag. It’s your route one to fitness.'
Fans’ favourite Dion Dublin would like to be granted one desire: ‘I wish people would stop thinking my dad was the drummer in Showaddywaddy. I only said it once for a joke and they’re still repeating it ten years later! My real dad was of course the dancing one with the huge afro in Boney M.'
Dion’s ex-colleague Steve Claridge wants a change of image now he's player-manager at Weymouth: ‘I’m sick of being called Worzel. I’d like a makeover so I can cut a dash in opposition boardrooms. How about a guest slot on Queer Eye For A Straight Guy? A decent tip on the gee-gees would be nice, too!’
Current player of the season Luke Guttridge would, in common with Rio Ferdinand, like to be less forgetful: ‘I wish I could remember to take my driving gloves off before I run on to the pitch. And I’d like a few more inches like Dion’s got. But realistically, it would be nice to win a game against ten men for a change, even if we do miss a penalty!’
And lo, it came to pass that Lil’ Luke’s Christmas wish came true, in a simple stadium in the west under a starry night sky. And in the light of United’s seemingly endless injury and suspension problems, 'twas nothing short of a miracle. Looks like Father Christmas has started delivering early this year!
On the first day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, a Hull City striker loanee.
After Tuesday night’s Snickers, sorry, marathon of rather less than pulchritudinous penalties, two players didn’t make it to Friday at Sixfields: Shane Tudor, out until February, and Shaggy himself, just plain knackered. In stepped Mark Venus, continuing on the left of midfield where he depped so impressively, and Daniel Webb, son of David and loanee from Hull, forming United’s ninth different strike pairing this season.
For Northampton there was a familiar face in former loan U Richard Walker, who has metamorphosed from a frail will-o’-the-wisp into a muscular, bullet-headed goal poacher in the four years since he turned out in amber. He must have eaten an awful lot of spinach. Cobblers danger man Josh Low was injured, as, inevitably, was dear Tiny Tom, who has managed a total of five games plus four as sub since leaving the Abbey in March, the poor mite.
Christmas shopping: you're joking, right?
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The Friday night kick-off was due to the dreaded Christmas shopping factor plus a home game on the Saturday for Northampton’s rugby team (the most popular new craze since Tamagotchi) and nothing, sadly, to do with coffer-filling live television coverage; Sky instead chose Cardiff-Millwall and Southampton-Pompey this weekend, neither promising much in the way of thrilling football but by 'eck, there should be some right good punch-ups. Press red for Sky Interactive now; then press blue for Hooli-Cam and pick the psychopath of your choice to follow for the next 45 minutes: either Sledgehammer Steve (yellow), Drooling Dai (blue), Mad Mullet Mike (red) or Vasectomy Vic (green). Enjoy the game!
The Cobblers, mindful of our growing status as their bogey team after crashing out to the U’s in two trophies last season and having failed to beat us at home since 1995, started in determined mood but met with an equally resolute United side which seems to set its collective jaw that much more firmly with every setback. They’ll end up looking like a lot of Clare Baldings soon. |
Marc Richards had first shot for the hosts on two, comfortably clutched by Shaun Marshall, but first blood should have gone to the U’s a minute later: Venus’ searching low free kick from the left found its way through to Webb, unmarked on the edge of the six-yard box, but seemingly unable to believe his luck, he took one too many touches before shooting and home keeper Lee Harper was able to smother at point-blank range.
Back came Northampton a minute later as Martin Smith squared across the face of the United goal from the left and Franco Nacca, chasing back, decided to leave it rather than hoof it to safety in the direction of his own goal; in this he was not helped by Dancing Shaun, who was perfectly placed to tell him to ‘leave it’ or ‘hoof it' but unhelpfully did neither. Walker was bombing in down the right channel and fired for goal, and the Terpsichorean custodian made an excellent diving save to his right to knock it away from danger. If you don’t start shouting soon, Shaun, we’ll have to club together and buy you a loudhailer with useful preset calls programmed in like ‘Keeper’s!', ‘Leave it!', ‘Awaaaaay!', ‘Help!’, or ‘I say, you chaps, could you possibly see your way clear to despatching the ball into Row Z forthwith?’
On the second day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
It became apparent that old man Venus was going to be pulling the strings, his colleagues finding him as often as possible to maximise the penetrating power of his laser-guided left foot. Lil’ Luke bustled around while up front, youngsters Turner and Webb proved themselves to be adept target men; we already know about JT Junior’s hard-working mobility and awareness, but Webb also impressed with his intelligent running and positioning, skilfully avoiding getting caught offside, aligned with some incisive passing and good strength and determination in winning the ball in the air and on the ground.
Northampton’s top scorer, Martin Smith, was stationed wide left behind the front two of Walker and Richards, and his first effort on goal came on six, firing wide from 20 yards. Both teams probed and pushed for an opening in an open, entertaining contest, and on 12 Lil’ Luke produced a splendid run down the middle past a couple of tackles before testing Harper with a decent shot from the edge of the box. As on Tuesday, Luke and Stev Angus were the only two sporting gloves; well you’ve got to protect your extremities, haven’t you? Thankfully we couldn’t see their fur-lined codpieces …
On the third day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Venus put Nacca through a minute later, but he was held back by Matthew Sadler who was lucky to escape a booking. The resultant free kick came to nothing due to ref Webb’s penchant for punishing almost every physical challenge resulting in a player falling over. Six minutes later Greg Lincoln’s low cross from the right touchline almost caught out Marshall at his near post, his diving save conceding a corner from which Cobblers tried the same trick again, this time feebly into the side netting.
Lincoln was the first player into the book on 25 for scything down Guttridge, then it was time for that Marshall Moment. In fairness, two of his colleagues were also culpable: Duncan started it, passing the buck with a sideways ball to the worse-placed Goodhind, who under immediate pressure fizzed an instant backpass to his keeper. Its pace caught Marshall unawares, and his wild swing with his left foot turned into an horrendous air shot as the ball flew past him and, thankfully, off for a corner. All in all, as well put together and enjoyable as a Channel 4 breakfast show.
All was forgotten two minutes later, however, as United took the lead. Another accurate through ball from Venus straight down the middle found Webb 12 yards out, and as he was about to pull the trigger he was cloddishly up-ended by Chris Willmott. That meant instant dismissal for the Cobblers defender and, oh yes, yet another penalty for the Mighty U’s. Mr 100 per cent, Guttridge, stepped up and calmly fired low into the bottom left corner.
On the fourth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves, and a Hull City striker loanee.
Barely three minutes later the hosts could well have, and perhaps should have, been down to nine men when the already-booked Lincoln took Venus’s legs away, but as so often happens, a yellow card offence suddenly becomes a stiff ticking-off when the offender has already been booked. Who’s a lucky boy, then? Fired up by the sending-off, the Cobblers had the better of the next ten minutes, although the best they could do chance-wise was a Walker cross-shot blocked away and a Richards near-miss from a corner, and the more experienced part of the four banks of two stood as firm as Martin Johnson’s iron thighs. Or so I’m told.
That old black injury magic struck again on 40 as Fred Murray was forced to withdraw, and was replaced by David Bridges as the only outfield sub who had started a first-team game. His stationing at wide left midfield led to a mass Twister-style turnaround in the United defence, Venus moving to centre back, Goodhind to right back and Angus to left back.
On the fifth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Smith shot wide again on 43, then at the other end Bridges flung himself bravely at an Angus cross to head just wide. The end-to-end shenanigans continued with Chris Hargreaves, lank, greasy hair flapping in the wind like a raven’s wings, breaking away and almost rounding Marshall, and a breathless first half finished with United just about deservedly in front. Somehow the possibility of a nice, uneventful second half occurred to absolutely no one, but then rational thought was somewhat difficult with one’s eyes trained on the cavorting CFU bucket girls in their shorts and boots. Football match? What football match?
The ineffective Walker was replaced after the interval by promising youngster Chris Carruthers for his first game since travelling with England to the World Youth Championships, and Smith reverted to a conventional striking role. Richards reacted rather tetchily to an early Duncan foul in a foretaste of things to come, but the ref deemed another brisk chat adequate.
On the sixth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Bridges proved that he wasn’t afraid to shoot on 48, running onto Turner’s flick-on to warm Harper’s gloves from 20 yards, but United were caught on the hop on the counter as Richards lost the centre backs and was only foiled by Marshall’s courageous grab at his feet. Bridges then tried his luck again, on target but lacking the power to trouble Harper, and on 50 came the second home substitution as Paul Harsley replaced the crocked Sadler. Two minutes later the ‘fun’ really started as Goodhind fed Nacca down the right and he sprinted away from Paul Reid with a thrilling turn of pace. Sadly, his reward was to be scythed unceremoniously down by the Northampton skipper just inside the area with a ghastly tackle that required several minutes’ treatment before Franco was stretchered off, apparently to join the injured list for several weeks, which should stick in the throat of the home crowd ignoramuses who claimed he had dived. His replacement was young defender Dan Gleeson, veteran of one sub appearance, now expected to play out of position on the right of midfield.
Astoundingly, the ref showed only a yellow to Reid when he had sent off Willmott for a much less violent challenge. And, of course, United had yet another penalty. This month has seen a bigger plague of the things than the nits in Saddam’s beard. Up stepped Lil’ Luke again, and with a crushing inevitability, he hit it the same way before only with less power and nearer the keeper: Harper saved, pushing it past the post. The atmosphere in Sixfields went up a notch to ten.
On the seventh day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Less than a minute later it was up to 11 in this rolling rockumentary of a match. Bridges’ through ball down the left flank was pursued by Webb, while from the opposite direction, Harper sprinted to intercept. In a straight 50-50 challenge, the keeper got there a split second before Webb did and cleared for a throw, and was himself caught by the loan striker. It seemed a fairly innocuous contact, no sound of a loud collision reaching our ears, but Harper reacted as if his leg had been broken in 16 places and his teammates, obviously spoiling for a, er, frank discussion, waded in unbidden. The hapless Webb looked genuinely astonished when the ref reached for his yellow card as we awaited the helicopter ambulance for the mortally wounded Harper. The Cobblers physio must have some sort of miraculous magical healing amulet in his kitbag, perhaps the same object that was in Samuel Jackson’s briefcase in Pulp Fiction, because next thing we knew, Harper was up and about, and after 30 seconds’ token limping, he was latching on to a back pass and wellying it past the halfway line with his ‘bad leg’ as if he had just grown a new one. Well done, everyone.
Two minutes later that man Lincoln was at it again, clattering Goodhind long after the ball had gone, but once again the ref showed no interest in adding to his collection of yellow cards. On 59 Turner raced clear but was narrowly foiled by Harper (lucky he didn’t touch him, eh?) then Hargreaves blasted wide for the Cobblers as the Sixfields cauldron seethed and the hosts threatened to turn the game on its head. But unlike on so many others occasions, United refused to panic.
On the eighth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, eight saves a-stonking, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Just after the hour the hosts went for broke and withdrew Lincoln (he could only commit, ooh, eight yellow card offences before being sent off, surely) and brought on tricky winger Derek Asamoah. But it was United who almost made the vital thrust two minutes later as Webb and Guttridge combined superbly in the home area with some nifty footwork and either of them could have taken the ultimate shot, Lil’ Luke finally firing low from the corner of the six-yard box but denied by the born-again Harper.
Asamoah shot wide on 67 as play continued to seesaw from box to box like George Best, Webb shooting wide on 70 and Bridges and Gleeson seeing efforts blocked. Then from an United corner on 73, a desperate clearance was fortunate to find Smith just outside his own penalty area. A couple of quick passes later via Richards, and Asamoah was bearing down on goal down the right channel with amber shirts in panting pursuit; but in vain as the Cobblers sub fired home ruthlessly into the far corner past the exposed Marshall: 1-1.
On the ninth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, nine buckets prancing, eight saves a-stonking, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Surely United weren’t going to throw away yet another potential win against ten men? In fact it could have been worse as they rocked for a few minutes and from a corner, Harsley had the goal at his mercy six yards out but scuffed it against his colleague Richards, who made an unwitting clearance. But the U’s began to regain their composure, and the way through soon became apparent: the ponderous-looking Northampton back four was palpably discomfited against players who ran at them and passed it quickly along the floor. They looked about as comfortable as Ian Paisley in a Celtic jersey.
United came agonisingly close on 78, a Guttridge corner half-cleared to Goodhind who essayed a high, long header towards the far corner of goal which beat Harper but was just heading past the post; Webb dashed in to get a decisive touch, but lunged with his right foot and missed when he might have made contact with his left. The hosts remained positive, Ian Sampson heading wide from close range from Smith’s cross on 81, then the next minute the visitors responded when Webb put Turner through down the right, and young JT beat his man and saw his near-post effort pawed behind. The amber hordes were incredulous when the lino indicated a goal kick; should have gone to Specsavers.
On the tenth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, ten Cobblers griping, nine buckets prancing, eight saves a-stonking, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Hargreaves blazed a long-ranger wide a minute later, but United continued their patient, probing, passing football against the tiring hosts and with two minutes to go, it finally and deservedly paid off, Guttridge feeding Turner and his ball towards Bridges cutting out the entire Cobblers defence; Bridgo could have taken the shot with his left, but Adam Tann appeared unmarked from nowhere just behind him to steer a magnificent, clinical finish across the exposed Harper and into the far corner of the net. Joy was unconfined as Adam and several other players hugged with the gleeful crowd while a few others made their feelings clear to the now dejected Mr Harper. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke.
Tann was booked under the new Miseries’ Charter of over-celebration; the refs will have a field day at cup finals as players dance around on a lap of honour with silly hats on their heads and the Quakeresque men in black will race around after them brandishing cards for their over-exuberant behaviour. Enjoying yourself? On a football pitch? And sharing that pleasure with your own supporters? Bah! Humbug! Call for Sepp Blatter!
On the eleventh day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, eleven heroes leaping, ten Cobblers griping, nine buckets prancing, eight saves a-stonking, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
United’s walking wounded now had only to hold on against equally fatigued but brave opposition, and Turner even forced one last save from the wretched Harper before the final whistle signalled unbridled bell-jinglage from the ecstatic amber hordes, able to forget the club’s monetary problems for a few minutes as they celebrated their side’s second League win in a row. And they did deserve it against spirited hosts, although who knows how comfortable victory might have been if that second penalty had gone in.
Back came Northampton a minute later as Martin Smith squared across the face of the United goal from the left and Franco Nacca, chasing back, decided to leave it rather than hoof it to safety in the direction of his own goal; in this he was not helped by Dancing Shaun, who was perfectly placed to tell him to ‘leave it’ or ‘hoof it' but unhelpfully did neither. Walker was bombing in down the right channel and fired for goal, and the Terpsichorean custodian made an excellent diving save to his right to knock it away from danger. If you don’t start shouting soon, Shaun, we’ll have to club together and buy you a loudhailer with useful preset calls programmed in like ‘Keeper’s!', ‘Leave it!', ‘Awaaaaay!', ‘Help!’, or ‘I say, you chaps, could you possibly see your way clear to despatching the ball into Row Z forthwith?’
On the second day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
It became apparent that old man Venus was going to be pulling the strings, his colleagues finding him as often as possible to maximise the penetrating power of his laser-guided left foot. Lil’ Luke bustled around while up front, youngsters Turner and Webb proved themselves to be adept target men; we already know about JT Junior’s hard-working mobility and awareness, but Webb also impressed with his intelligent running and positioning, skilfully avoiding getting caught offside, aligned with some incisive passing and good strength and determination in winning the ball in the air and on the ground.
Northampton’s top scorer, Martin Smith, was stationed wide left behind the front two of Walker and Richards, and his first effort on goal came on six, firing wide from 20 yards. Both teams probed and pushed for an opening in an open, entertaining contest, and on 12 Lil’ Luke produced a splendid run down the middle past a couple of tackles before testing Harper with a decent shot from the edge of the box. As on Tuesday, Luke and Stev Angus were the only two sporting gloves; well you’ve got to protect your extremities, haven’t you? Thankfully we couldn’t see their fur-lined codpieces …
On the third day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Venus put Nacca through a minute later, but he was held back by Matthew Sadler who was lucky to escape a booking. The resultant free kick came to nothing due to ref Webb’s penchant for punishing almost every physical challenge resulting in a player falling over. Six minutes later Greg Lincoln’s low cross from the right touchline almost caught out Marshall at his near post, his diving save conceding a corner from which Cobblers tried the same trick again, this time feebly into the side netting.
Lincoln was the first player into the book on 25 for scything down Guttridge, then it was time for that Marshall Moment. In fairness, two of his colleagues were also culpable: Duncan started it, passing the buck with a sideways ball to the worse-placed Goodhind, who under immediate pressure fizzed an instant backpass to his keeper. Its pace caught Marshall unawares, and his wild swing with his left foot turned into an horrendous air shot as the ball flew past him and, thankfully, off for a corner. All in all, as well put together and enjoyable as a Channel 4 breakfast show.
All was forgotten two minutes later, however, as United took the lead. Another accurate through ball from Venus straight down the middle found Webb 12 yards out, and as he was about to pull the trigger he was cloddishly up-ended by Chris Willmott. That meant instant dismissal for the Cobblers defender and, oh yes, yet another penalty for the Mighty U’s. Mr 100 per cent, Guttridge, stepped up and calmly fired low into the bottom left corner.
On the fourth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves, and a Hull City striker loanee.
Barely three minutes later the hosts could well have, and perhaps should have, been down to nine men when the already-booked Lincoln took Venus’s legs away, but as so often happens, a yellow card offence suddenly becomes a stiff ticking-off when the offender has already been booked. Who’s a lucky boy, then? Fired up by the sending-off, the Cobblers had the better of the next ten minutes, although the best they could do chance-wise was a Walker cross-shot blocked away and a Richards near-miss from a corner, and the more experienced part of the four banks of two stood as firm as Martin Johnson’s iron thighs. Or so I’m told.
That old black injury magic struck again on 40 as Fred Murray was forced to withdraw, and was replaced by David Bridges as the only outfield sub who had started a first-team game. His stationing at wide left midfield led to a mass Twister-style turnaround in the United defence, Venus moving to centre back, Goodhind to right back and Angus to left back.
On the fifth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Smith shot wide again on 43, then at the other end Bridges flung himself bravely at an Angus cross to head just wide. The end-to-end shenanigans continued with Chris Hargreaves, lank, greasy hair flapping in the wind like a raven’s wings, breaking away and almost rounding Marshall, and a breathless first half finished with United just about deservedly in front. Somehow the possibility of a nice, uneventful second half occurred to absolutely no one, but then rational thought was somewhat difficult with one’s eyes trained on the cavorting CFU bucket girls in their shorts and boots. Football match? What football match?
The ineffective Walker was replaced after the interval by promising youngster Chris Carruthers for his first game since travelling with England to the World Youth Championships, and Smith reverted to a conventional striking role. Richards reacted rather tetchily to an early Duncan foul in a foretaste of things to come, but the ref deemed another brisk chat adequate.
On the sixth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Bridges proved that he wasn’t afraid to shoot on 48, running onto Turner’s flick-on to warm Harper’s gloves from 20 yards, but United were caught on the hop on the counter as Richards lost the centre backs and was only foiled by Marshall’s courageous grab at his feet. Bridges then tried his luck again, on target but lacking the power to trouble Harper, and on 50 came the second home substitution as Paul Harsley replaced the crocked Sadler. Two minutes later the ‘fun’ really started as Goodhind fed Nacca down the right and he sprinted away from Paul Reid with a thrilling turn of pace. Sadly, his reward was to be scythed unceremoniously down by the Northampton skipper just inside the area with a ghastly tackle that required several minutes’ treatment before Franco was stretchered off, apparently to join the injured list for several weeks, which should stick in the throat of the home crowd ignoramuses who claimed he had dived. His replacement was young defender Dan Gleeson, veteran of one sub appearance, now expected to play out of position on the right of midfield.
Astoundingly, the ref showed only a yellow to Reid when he had sent off Willmott for a much less violent challenge. And, of course, United had yet another penalty. This month has seen a bigger plague of the things than the nits in Saddam’s beard. Up stepped Lil’ Luke again, and with a crushing inevitability, he hit it the same way before only with less power and nearer the keeper: Harper saved, pushing it past the post. The atmosphere in Sixfields went up a notch to ten.
On the seventh day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Less than a minute later it was up to 11 in this rolling rockumentary of a match. Bridges’ through ball down the left flank was pursued by Webb, while from the opposite direction, Harper sprinted to intercept. In a straight 50-50 challenge, the keeper got there a split second before Webb did and cleared for a throw, and was himself caught by the loan striker. It seemed a fairly innocuous contact, no sound of a loud collision reaching our ears, but Harper reacted as if his leg had been broken in 16 places and his teammates, obviously spoiling for a, er, frank discussion, waded in unbidden. The hapless Webb looked genuinely astonished when the ref reached for his yellow card as we awaited the helicopter ambulance for the mortally wounded Harper. The Cobblers physio must have some sort of miraculous magical healing amulet in his kitbag, perhaps the same object that was in Samuel Jackson’s briefcase in Pulp Fiction, because next thing we knew, Harper was up and about, and after 30 seconds’ token limping, he was latching on to a back pass and wellying it past the halfway line with his ‘bad leg’ as if he had just grown a new one. Well done, everyone.
Two minutes later that man Lincoln was at it again, clattering Goodhind long after the ball had gone, but once again the ref showed no interest in adding to his collection of yellow cards. On 59 Turner raced clear but was narrowly foiled by Harper (lucky he didn’t touch him, eh?) then Hargreaves blasted wide for the Cobblers as the Sixfields cauldron seethed and the hosts threatened to turn the game on its head. But unlike on so many others occasions, United refused to panic.
On the eighth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, eight saves a-stonking, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Just after the hour the hosts went for broke and withdrew Lincoln (he could only commit, ooh, eight yellow card offences before being sent off, surely) and brought on tricky winger Derek Asamoah. But it was United who almost made the vital thrust two minutes later as Webb and Guttridge combined superbly in the home area with some nifty footwork and either of them could have taken the ultimate shot, Lil’ Luke finally firing low from the corner of the six-yard box but denied by the born-again Harper.
Asamoah shot wide on 67 as play continued to seesaw from box to box like George Best, Webb shooting wide on 70 and Bridges and Gleeson seeing efforts blocked. Then from an United corner on 73, a desperate clearance was fortunate to find Smith just outside his own penalty area. A couple of quick passes later via Richards, and Asamoah was bearing down on goal down the right channel with amber shirts in panting pursuit; but in vain as the Cobblers sub fired home ruthlessly into the far corner past the exposed Marshall: 1-1.
On the ninth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, nine buckets prancing, eight saves a-stonking, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Surely United weren’t going to throw away yet another potential win against ten men? In fact it could have been worse as they rocked for a few minutes and from a corner, Harsley had the goal at his mercy six yards out but scuffed it against his colleague Richards, who made an unwitting clearance. But the U’s began to regain their composure, and the way through soon became apparent: the ponderous-looking Northampton back four was palpably discomfited against players who ran at them and passed it quickly along the floor. They looked about as comfortable as Ian Paisley in a Celtic jersey.
United came agonisingly close on 78, a Guttridge corner half-cleared to Goodhind who essayed a high, long header towards the far corner of goal which beat Harper but was just heading past the post; Webb dashed in to get a decisive touch, but lunged with his right foot and missed when he might have made contact with his left. The hosts remained positive, Ian Sampson heading wide from close range from Smith’s cross on 81, then the next minute the visitors responded when Webb put Turner through down the right, and young JT beat his man and saw his near-post effort pawed behind. The amber hordes were incredulous when the lino indicated a goal kick; should have gone to Specsavers.
On the tenth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, ten Cobblers griping, nine buckets prancing, eight saves a-stonking, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Hargreaves blazed a long-ranger wide a minute later, but United continued their patient, probing, passing football against the tiring hosts and with two minutes to go, it finally and deservedly paid off, Guttridge feeding Turner and his ball towards Bridges cutting out the entire Cobblers defence; Bridgo could have taken the shot with his left, but Adam Tann appeared unmarked from nowhere just behind him to steer a magnificent, clinical finish across the exposed Harper and into the far corner of the net. Joy was unconfined as Adam and several other players hugged with the gleeful crowd while a few others made their feelings clear to the now dejected Mr Harper. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke.
Tann was booked under the new Miseries’ Charter of over-celebration; the refs will have a field day at cup finals as players dance around on a lap of honour with silly hats on their heads and the Quakeresque men in black will race around after them brandishing cards for their over-exuberant behaviour. Enjoying yourself? On a football pitch? And sharing that pleasure with your own supporters? Bah! Humbug! Call for Sepp Blatter!
On the eleventh day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, eleven heroes leaping, ten Cobblers griping, nine buckets prancing, eight saves a-stonking, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
United’s walking wounded now had only to hold on against equally fatigued but brave opposition, and Turner even forced one last save from the wretched Harper before the final whistle signalled unbridled bell-jinglage from the ecstatic amber hordes, able to forget the club’s monetary problems for a few minutes as they celebrated their side’s second League win in a row. And they did deserve it against spirited hosts, although who knows how comfortable victory might have been if that second penalty had gone in.
Sleigh bells: for jingling purposes
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On the twelfth day of Christmas my U’s love sent to me, our club surviving, eleven heroes leaping, ten Cobblers griping, nine buckets prancing, eight saves a-stonking, seven wins a-singing, six knees a-creaking, five gold-card sins, four crocked forwards, three missed pens, two lads in gloves and a Hull City striker loanee.
Let us all hope that United, with all our help, can survive the crisis so that we can experience many more glorious, life-affirming away days like this. Our lives would be so much poorer without them. And let’s hope that we have 11 fit players on Boxing Day and the ones who aren’t carrying injuries don’t overdo the sprouts and Advocaat. United fans, feel free to indulge yourselves; no set of supporters deserves it more. God bless us, every one!
Marshall 7 – Vital saves when needed, no chance with the goal.
Angus 8 – Excellent on both flanks, both defensively and going forward.
Murray 7 – Did nothing wrong in his 40 minutes.
Duncan 7 – Did his job efficiently although has played much better this season.
Goodhind 7 – Stuck to his task in two positions, just needs to brush up on his distribution sometimes.
Nacca 7 – Busy without standing out and unlucky to pick up yet another injury after a superb run for his side’s second penalty.
Guttridge 9 – As other midfielders have dropped out of the running, Lil’ Luke has become the one player around whom the whole team revolves.
Tann 8 – Luke’s back-up man played his part and scored a magnificent winner to boot.
Venus 8 – Creative fulcrum of the side until forced into the back four with Murray’s withdrawal.
Turner 8 – Absolutely tireless running for 90 minutes and kept the Cobblers constantly on their toes.
Webb 8 – Very impressive debut; strong, alert, made numerous intelligent runs and an excellent passer as well. He’ll do nicely!
Bridges 8 - Improving with every game and played a big part in a splendid team performance.
Gleeson 7 – The kid did very well indeed when forced into an unfamiliar position.
Soundtrack of the Day: Bob Rivers/Yellow Snow! Yellow Snow! Yellow Snow!
Match summary: It was Jingle Bells all the way as United’s youthful, patchwork side gave the supporters the Christmas present they deserve with a dramatic victory. For the sake of our nerves, though, could we have one game soon without a rash of red cards and penalties? Please?
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. Needs to brush up on his penalty technique, but the littl’ un is our biggest player on the pitch these days and it can only be a matter of time before he’s given the captain’s armband. The new Steve Spriggs? You betcha!
Ref watch: Webb 6. Got the big decisions right, despite what Cobblers fans might think, although Reid should have gone for his foul on Nacca and there were too many whistles for trivial 50-50 challenges. His booking of Webb as a result of Harper’s histrionics was little short of preposterous.
JT’s jukebox. In Justin Walker’s absence, John Turner lends an ear to the Sixfields sounds. ‘This is the easiest time of year for DJs and Radio Cobblers’ double act could put their feet up and bung on Now That’s What I Call Christmas and let Slade, John Lennon, Wizzard, Greg Lake etc do the work. They livened things up nearer kick-off with the now-traditional singalong to Daydream Believer so both sets of fans could render their own tribute to our mate Barry Fry, but I wasn’t so keen on the run-out music, a dodgy old-skool techno mash-up featuring naff Eurotrash like 2 Unlimited and Technotronic. Then, for added strangeness, that went into These Boots Are Made For Walking! JT verdict: Jingling! (6/10)’
Let us all hope that United, with all our help, can survive the crisis so that we can experience many more glorious, life-affirming away days like this. Our lives would be so much poorer without them. And let’s hope that we have 11 fit players on Boxing Day and the ones who aren’t carrying injuries don’t overdo the sprouts and Advocaat. United fans, feel free to indulge yourselves; no set of supporters deserves it more. God bless us, every one!
Marshall 7 – Vital saves when needed, no chance with the goal.
Angus 8 – Excellent on both flanks, both defensively and going forward.
Murray 7 – Did nothing wrong in his 40 minutes.
Duncan 7 – Did his job efficiently although has played much better this season.
Goodhind 7 – Stuck to his task in two positions, just needs to brush up on his distribution sometimes.
Nacca 7 – Busy without standing out and unlucky to pick up yet another injury after a superb run for his side’s second penalty.
Guttridge 9 – As other midfielders have dropped out of the running, Lil’ Luke has become the one player around whom the whole team revolves.
Tann 8 – Luke’s back-up man played his part and scored a magnificent winner to boot.
Venus 8 – Creative fulcrum of the side until forced into the back four with Murray’s withdrawal.
Turner 8 – Absolutely tireless running for 90 minutes and kept the Cobblers constantly on their toes.
Webb 8 – Very impressive debut; strong, alert, made numerous intelligent runs and an excellent passer as well. He’ll do nicely!
Bridges 8 - Improving with every game and played a big part in a splendid team performance.
Gleeson 7 – The kid did very well indeed when forced into an unfamiliar position.
Soundtrack of the Day: Bob Rivers/Yellow Snow! Yellow Snow! Yellow Snow!
Match summary: It was Jingle Bells all the way as United’s youthful, patchwork side gave the supporters the Christmas present they deserve with a dramatic victory. For the sake of our nerves, though, could we have one game soon without a rash of red cards and penalties? Please?
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. Needs to brush up on his penalty technique, but the littl’ un is our biggest player on the pitch these days and it can only be a matter of time before he’s given the captain’s armband. The new Steve Spriggs? You betcha!
Ref watch: Webb 6. Got the big decisions right, despite what Cobblers fans might think, although Reid should have gone for his foul on Nacca and there were too many whistles for trivial 50-50 challenges. His booking of Webb as a result of Harper’s histrionics was little short of preposterous.
JT’s jukebox. In Justin Walker’s absence, John Turner lends an ear to the Sixfields sounds. ‘This is the easiest time of year for DJs and Radio Cobblers’ double act could put their feet up and bung on Now That’s What I Call Christmas and let Slade, John Lennon, Wizzard, Greg Lake etc do the work. They livened things up nearer kick-off with the now-traditional singalong to Daydream Believer so both sets of fans could render their own tribute to our mate Barry Fry, but I wasn’t so keen on the run-out music, a dodgy old-skool techno mash-up featuring naff Eurotrash like 2 Unlimited and Technotronic. Then, for added strangeness, that went into These Boots Are Made For Walking! JT verdict: Jingling! (6/10)’
26 December 2003: U's 0v1 Southend
Blue Christmas
Ever mindful of the well-being of its dedicated fans, the CUFC official website is pleased to present its guide to alternative hangover cures in the middle of this most festive of seasons. One of them is guaranteed to banish even the severest snowball-inflicted headache!
1) The Dave Kitson Dog of the Hair. Take every available liqueur and add to a large bowl one at a time. Every time the mixture changes colour, take another swig until you can’t remember what colour your hair originally was.
2) The Shaun Marshall Dance Yourself Dizzy. Put on a CD of guaranteed floor fillers (The Chemical Brothers Singles, Boney M’s Greatest Hits, The Salvation Army Brass Band Goes Acid Crazy) then gyrate around the room until you’re too dazed to remember you ever had a hangover.
3) The Andy Duncan Think Yourself Geordie. Andy’s simple guide/phrase book will teach you how, with just the power of your mind, some Newky Brown, a couple of stotty cakes and a Jimmy Nail CD, you can convince yourself that you are a hard-as-nails north-easterner who has never had a hangover in his life, because they’re for puffs, like, bonny lad.
4) The Dion Dublin Saxual Healing. Dion’s basic saxophone therapy helps heal with not only the power of (self-made) music, but also alters the chemical composition of your brain due to the repeated exhalation of wind. Also available in cerise oboe pack for the ladies.
5) The Daniel Chillingworth Feet Up. This DIY plaster-cast kit will enable you to encase your feet in papier mâché for days at a time; as you lie back and rest them at a point higher than your head, your blood flow will change polarity so that it will be your feet that have the hangover, not your head.
6) The Official United Boxing Day Letdown. Come to the Abbey, shout your aches and pains away as your team plays like it’s been thrown out of a nightclub at 3am, then go home to drown your sorrows with a dose of cooking sherry because you drank everything else in the house the day before.
The fixture list has been kind to the Mighty U’s over the last few years. Only once in the last nine years have United been handed an away game on Boxing Day; and remarkably, before this year, they had never lost at home on December 26 in their entire Football League career. In fact, you would need to go back to 1964 to find United’s last home defeat on this date, 4-1 to King’s Lynn. So that festive feelgood factor was to the fore today as United went for a third consecutive League win for the first time in five years. The hardcore crowd was swelled by almost a thousand from Southend and the traditional once-a-seasoners in the home sections, escaping the joys of turkey sandwiches, leftover sprouts and hearing about Auntie Nora’s operation for the fifth time, and wondering aloud what had happened to that nice John Beck and was Steve Claridge playing today? The seasonally adjusted crowd of 5,300 was, however, a good 900 short of the attendance at the same fixture last year, when Shaggy’s exciting team was one of the forerunners for promotion.
Only five players remained in amber from a year ago as one loanee, Daniel Webb, made his home debut, his Hull City colleague Nathan Peat started on the bench, having only just met his new teammates, and the third loanee took his place on the right of midfield in place of the injured Franco Nacca. This one, Neil McCafferty, has yet to start a first-team game for Charlton Athletic, but he already has the proud distinction of a listing on the Celebrities Worldwide website, where you can obtain the services of that sought-after celeb for appearances, endorsements, advertising, branding or just to appear on that glitzy guest list. Why? Because he is the boyfriend of Nadine Coyle of the musical juggernaut that is Girls Aloud. We’re not worthy, etc.
With Fred Murray’s suspension, Stev Angus switched to left back and Mark Venus to centre back with David Bridges starting on the left of midfield. Southend came to the Abbey on a run of three wins in four games under the caretakership of Steve Tilson, a veteran club servant and popular choice for the permanent job of manager as Shaggy was at our own club. The fact that they were languishing third from bottom was a legacy of the deeply unsuccessful reign of the now-sacked Steve 'Whinger' Wignall. The Shrimpers were probably unique among Abbey visitors in sporting not one but two former Cambridge ‘This time next year we’ll be millionaires’ City players in Che Wilson and Tesfaye Bramble, brother of fun-loving ladies’ man Titus, while sole ex-U’s interest was on the subs’ bench in the form of former trialist left back Jamie Stuart.
On a grey, windswept afternoon, both teams made lively, 100 mph starts, and it became apparent that Shaggy and the Prof had been tinkering again: instead of a conventional 4-4-2, United were sporting a diamond shape in midfield with Lil’ Luke Guttridge stationed behind the front two and Adam Tann in front of the back four, while both full backs had obviously been instructed to bomb down the flanks whenever they could to leave Tanny and the centre backs forming a temporary back three while United were attacking. Mummy, they’re fiddling again.
The initial exchanges were promising, like opening the top of a Christmas stocking before getting down to the predictable tangerine and socks at the bottom, and United’s youthful front two of Turner and Webb looked speedy and mobile. Angus in particular looked to relish his instructions to press forward and whipped in an excellent cross as early as the first minute, just too far ahead of his forwards, and Webb headed a second-minute Guttridge free kick just wide. What also quickly became apparent, though, was that Southend would chase everything, leaving their opponents no time to dwell on the ball, closing them down all over the park then breaking with speed, showing some neat passing of their own and an equally mobile and dangerous front pair in Bramble and Leon Constantine. And it was soon obvious that here was a team that was better than its League position might suggest.
Blue Christmas
Ever mindful of the well-being of its dedicated fans, the CUFC official website is pleased to present its guide to alternative hangover cures in the middle of this most festive of seasons. One of them is guaranteed to banish even the severest snowball-inflicted headache!
1) The Dave Kitson Dog of the Hair. Take every available liqueur and add to a large bowl one at a time. Every time the mixture changes colour, take another swig until you can’t remember what colour your hair originally was.
2) The Shaun Marshall Dance Yourself Dizzy. Put on a CD of guaranteed floor fillers (The Chemical Brothers Singles, Boney M’s Greatest Hits, The Salvation Army Brass Band Goes Acid Crazy) then gyrate around the room until you’re too dazed to remember you ever had a hangover.
3) The Andy Duncan Think Yourself Geordie. Andy’s simple guide/phrase book will teach you how, with just the power of your mind, some Newky Brown, a couple of stotty cakes and a Jimmy Nail CD, you can convince yourself that you are a hard-as-nails north-easterner who has never had a hangover in his life, because they’re for puffs, like, bonny lad.
4) The Dion Dublin Saxual Healing. Dion’s basic saxophone therapy helps heal with not only the power of (self-made) music, but also alters the chemical composition of your brain due to the repeated exhalation of wind. Also available in cerise oboe pack for the ladies.
5) The Daniel Chillingworth Feet Up. This DIY plaster-cast kit will enable you to encase your feet in papier mâché for days at a time; as you lie back and rest them at a point higher than your head, your blood flow will change polarity so that it will be your feet that have the hangover, not your head.
6) The Official United Boxing Day Letdown. Come to the Abbey, shout your aches and pains away as your team plays like it’s been thrown out of a nightclub at 3am, then go home to drown your sorrows with a dose of cooking sherry because you drank everything else in the house the day before.
The fixture list has been kind to the Mighty U’s over the last few years. Only once in the last nine years have United been handed an away game on Boxing Day; and remarkably, before this year, they had never lost at home on December 26 in their entire Football League career. In fact, you would need to go back to 1964 to find United’s last home defeat on this date, 4-1 to King’s Lynn. So that festive feelgood factor was to the fore today as United went for a third consecutive League win for the first time in five years. The hardcore crowd was swelled by almost a thousand from Southend and the traditional once-a-seasoners in the home sections, escaping the joys of turkey sandwiches, leftover sprouts and hearing about Auntie Nora’s operation for the fifth time, and wondering aloud what had happened to that nice John Beck and was Steve Claridge playing today? The seasonally adjusted crowd of 5,300 was, however, a good 900 short of the attendance at the same fixture last year, when Shaggy’s exciting team was one of the forerunners for promotion.
Only five players remained in amber from a year ago as one loanee, Daniel Webb, made his home debut, his Hull City colleague Nathan Peat started on the bench, having only just met his new teammates, and the third loanee took his place on the right of midfield in place of the injured Franco Nacca. This one, Neil McCafferty, has yet to start a first-team game for Charlton Athletic, but he already has the proud distinction of a listing on the Celebrities Worldwide website, where you can obtain the services of that sought-after celeb for appearances, endorsements, advertising, branding or just to appear on that glitzy guest list. Why? Because he is the boyfriend of Nadine Coyle of the musical juggernaut that is Girls Aloud. We’re not worthy, etc.
With Fred Murray’s suspension, Stev Angus switched to left back and Mark Venus to centre back with David Bridges starting on the left of midfield. Southend came to the Abbey on a run of three wins in four games under the caretakership of Steve Tilson, a veteran club servant and popular choice for the permanent job of manager as Shaggy was at our own club. The fact that they were languishing third from bottom was a legacy of the deeply unsuccessful reign of the now-sacked Steve 'Whinger' Wignall. The Shrimpers were probably unique among Abbey visitors in sporting not one but two former Cambridge ‘This time next year we’ll be millionaires’ City players in Che Wilson and Tesfaye Bramble, brother of fun-loving ladies’ man Titus, while sole ex-U’s interest was on the subs’ bench in the form of former trialist left back Jamie Stuart.
On a grey, windswept afternoon, both teams made lively, 100 mph starts, and it became apparent that Shaggy and the Prof had been tinkering again: instead of a conventional 4-4-2, United were sporting a diamond shape in midfield with Lil’ Luke Guttridge stationed behind the front two and Adam Tann in front of the back four, while both full backs had obviously been instructed to bomb down the flanks whenever they could to leave Tanny and the centre backs forming a temporary back three while United were attacking. Mummy, they’re fiddling again.
The initial exchanges were promising, like opening the top of a Christmas stocking before getting down to the predictable tangerine and socks at the bottom, and United’s youthful front two of Turner and Webb looked speedy and mobile. Angus in particular looked to relish his instructions to press forward and whipped in an excellent cross as early as the first minute, just too far ahead of his forwards, and Webb headed a second-minute Guttridge free kick just wide. What also quickly became apparent, though, was that Southend would chase everything, leaving their opponents no time to dwell on the ball, closing them down all over the park then breaking with speed, showing some neat passing of their own and an equally mobile and dangerous front pair in Bramble and Leon Constantine. And it was soon obvious that here was a team that was better than its League position might suggest.
A tangerine
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The Shrimpers’ forwards made their first chance on six, Bramble sending his partner away down the left channel, Constantine making Venus look ponderous as he turned him then curling a shot towards the far corner. Shaun Marshall leapt to make a characteristically fine reaction save. Here was one man who hadn’t overdone the figgy pudding yesterday.
United’s best chance came on none: Guttridge’s teasing cross from the right into a crowded box found Tann racing in unmarked, but although his header low to the right corner of the net was accurate, it carried insufficient pace to beat Darryl Flahavan’s dive. Two minutes later, Lil’ Luke had his own effort blocked by the telescopic leg of Leon ‘My brother plays for Newcastle too’ Cort, so stupendously lanky he should star in a remake of The Fly in which Dr Brundle’s grandson experiences a hideous teleporter accident involving a daddy longlegs.
Southend’s relentless chasing was beginning to open up all sorts of gaps and United’s narrow midfield was becoming over-run. There was panic on 13 as Marshall missed Jenkins’ left-wing cross under pressure from Constantine, and fortunately Angus was on hand to hack clear before the ball could fall to Mark Gower in front of the open net. The visitors’ 4-4-2 began to force United’s full backs too deep to get forward, and the defence looked all too vulnerable as both McCafferty and Bridges showed little inclination to tackle back in support. When United did have possession, too many players were too willing to pass (the buck) sideways or backwards and the forwards, for all their running, became increasingly isolated. For the Shrimpers, Gower blasted wide from long range on 18, then three minutes later the hosts almost committed Christmassy Kamikaze when Bridges, looking as if he was still dreaming of a white Christmas, presented the ball to Kevin Maher, and after a speedy breakaway Jay Smith slid the ball only just wide of the far post.
United gritted their teeth and bit back, Duncan heading a Guttridge corner over on 27 when he might have done better, then Luke blazing wide shortly after. The visitors responded with a wicked inswinging corner which Marshall part-cleared but it then fell to Lewis Hunt, whose close-range diving header looked a cert but somehow flew the wrong side of the post. A goal looked inevitable, and another Southend break on 38 produced a lead: a home attack was broken up by Dave McSweeney, he found Bramble down the left and he slid a penetrating through ball past United’s defence, as square and immobile as Buzz Lightyear’s jawline, and Constantine galloped away to slide the ball coolly past Marshall into the far corner.
United seemed to have little answer: Turner had an effort blocked Cort, but it was clear that Shaggy and the Prof had some tactical reassessment to do at half-time. With two ineffectual wide players, one resoundingly off-colour (Bridges) and one who showed little interest in chasing forward to support the attack and even less in helping his defence (McCafferty), Guttridge and Tann were hopelessly over-run and their colleagues simply could not cope with Southend’s tireless closing down. What we needed was a plan more cunning than a barrel full of weasels. Without the irritating squeaking, obviously.
The hosts’ only immediate response was to resume in a slightly more straightforward 4-4-2 in order to counteract Southend’s similar formation, but it made little difference. Maher and Wilson had early efforts blocked and off-target respectively, then on 54 came today’s Marshall Moment: Maher essayed a slightly overhit through ball towards Constantine down the middle, the Terpsichorean custodian rushed outside his area to intercept, slipped and tussled for it on his hands and knees against the Southend striker and somehow scrambled it to Duncan to hoof relievedly clear. Never a dull moment…
Our favourite ref Paul ‘Dirty’ Danson was his usual eccentric self but seemed to have forgotten his cards until on 55 he had to punish Neil Jenkins for a terrible, clumsy challenge on Tann, but as happened so often, the resultant free kick by Venus found Webb with no one close enough to flick on to and, like Noddy’s bid for the Christmas number one, it all came to nought. It’s a mad world. Guttridge blasted over on 57, but Flahavan just wasn’t being tested, and just before the hour Nathan Peat replaced Bridges, who had had about as productive a day as the Beagle 2 Mars mission. Earth to Bridgo! Come in, number 18! Hull loanee number two made a good start with his first touch, a powerful left-wing run and cross inducing momentary panic in the visiting defence but McCafferty unable to get in a telling effort on goal.
Duncan, although defending soundly, gives increasing concern with his distribution, which too many times amounts to a casual sideways or backwards pass to a colleague who is worse placed than himself and can only hoof it away under pressure. One such occasion came on 65 when his hospital ball to Guttridge was intercepted and played to Bramble, and AD himself had to chop him down with a compensating and crude challenge for which he was very lucky to escape a booking from the newly lenient Mr ‘Hello Trees, Hello Flowers’ Danson. Maher hammered into the car park from the free kick.
United began to look like a team that was incapable of scoring. Gower showed as much accuracy as Maher with another wildly optimistic long-ranger, then Duncan foiled Constantine with an excellent saving tackle, and on 71 the hosts’ best opportunity of the half fell to the same man as in the first 45, Tann, this time Johnny-on-the-spot at a corner when it fell to him on the edge of the six-yard box, but he scuffed horribly wide with the whole of a crowded goalmouth to aim at.
On 76 a Peat cross looked to amber eyes to be deflected by Gower’s arm, but not to the man in the middle, then Tann headed Turner’s cross wide, followed shortly by a similar result from Bramble at the other end. Maher again blasted over on 80 (he thought he’d exchanged his cow for some magic boots on Christmas Eve – they saw him coming down the Beanstalk Market), then in desperation Brian Dutton replaced the less than industrious McCafferty and United went to 4-3-3 for the last eight minutes. Smith set up Bramble for an off-target effort, then the ball fell to Peat on the left. He tried an ill-advised shot from a narrow angle with three strikers waiting vainly for service inside him. And United’s Redknappesque Christmas was summed up near time as Tann and Turner rose for a Guttridge corner at the far post, got in each other’s way and fell in an untidy heap. Stuart replaced Jenkins to waste time at the end, but in truth United could have played until the new year and still not scored.
So what to make of this wet blanket of a performance? There are plenty of extenuating circumstances: a patchwork quilt of a team studded with loanees, inconsistent kids and the walking wounded, and perhaps we expected too much of such an under-strength side after a couple of encouraging results against opposition that was very poor. And full credit to Southend, who belied their placing with a spirited performance full of pace, skill and organised determination, and were the better team on the day. United will have to regroup, reorganise and get some fighting spirit flowing through their veins for the battle at Sincil Bank on Sunday. And perhaps they ought to reintroduce the huddle? At least then they could all find out each other’s names.
Marshall 6 – Adequate afternoon, no chance with the goal.
Goodhind 6 – Reasonable job with little support down the right side.
Angus 6 – Excellent start but soon pushed back by Southend’s relentless harrying.
Duncan 6 – OK defensively but must improve his distribution.
Venus 7 – Classy as ever and it’s just a pity we can’t clone him so he can play in midfield as well.
McCafferty 5 – Skilful, neat and tidy, but with the workrate of a slug and showed no interest in tackling back all game. Early days, eh?
Guttridge 8 – Played Southend almost single-handed for much of the time.
Tann 7 – Decent backup and got in some good challenges. Could do with practising his finishing.
Bridges 5 – Poor old Bridgo just wasn’t at the races, looking off the pace and out of touch until mercifully withdrawn.
Turner 7 – Worked and ran tirelessly despite poor service.
Webb 6 – Same as his strike partner; so much running with so little help.
Peat 6 – Did all right considering his total unfamiliarity with his teammates.
Dutton 6 – Got stuck in with as little reward as his fellow forwards.
Soundtrack of the day: Squeeze/When The Hangover Strikes
Match summary: After the high of two consecutive League wins, it was cold turkey all round for the patchwork U’s as impressive, hard-working Southend gave them a thorough Boxing Day grinching. Silk purse makers required, apply within.
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. The ubiquitous midfield dynamo once again led by an example that sadly all too few colleagues were able to follow.
Ref watch: Danson 5. We know what to expect by now from dear old ‘Dirty’: bizarre, random decision-making, punishing an innocuous challenge one minute, ignoring a blatant foul the next. He didn’t let us down.
United’s best chance came on none: Guttridge’s teasing cross from the right into a crowded box found Tann racing in unmarked, but although his header low to the right corner of the net was accurate, it carried insufficient pace to beat Darryl Flahavan’s dive. Two minutes later, Lil’ Luke had his own effort blocked by the telescopic leg of Leon ‘My brother plays for Newcastle too’ Cort, so stupendously lanky he should star in a remake of The Fly in which Dr Brundle’s grandson experiences a hideous teleporter accident involving a daddy longlegs.
Southend’s relentless chasing was beginning to open up all sorts of gaps and United’s narrow midfield was becoming over-run. There was panic on 13 as Marshall missed Jenkins’ left-wing cross under pressure from Constantine, and fortunately Angus was on hand to hack clear before the ball could fall to Mark Gower in front of the open net. The visitors’ 4-4-2 began to force United’s full backs too deep to get forward, and the defence looked all too vulnerable as both McCafferty and Bridges showed little inclination to tackle back in support. When United did have possession, too many players were too willing to pass (the buck) sideways or backwards and the forwards, for all their running, became increasingly isolated. For the Shrimpers, Gower blasted wide from long range on 18, then three minutes later the hosts almost committed Christmassy Kamikaze when Bridges, looking as if he was still dreaming of a white Christmas, presented the ball to Kevin Maher, and after a speedy breakaway Jay Smith slid the ball only just wide of the far post.
United gritted their teeth and bit back, Duncan heading a Guttridge corner over on 27 when he might have done better, then Luke blazing wide shortly after. The visitors responded with a wicked inswinging corner which Marshall part-cleared but it then fell to Lewis Hunt, whose close-range diving header looked a cert but somehow flew the wrong side of the post. A goal looked inevitable, and another Southend break on 38 produced a lead: a home attack was broken up by Dave McSweeney, he found Bramble down the left and he slid a penetrating through ball past United’s defence, as square and immobile as Buzz Lightyear’s jawline, and Constantine galloped away to slide the ball coolly past Marshall into the far corner.
United seemed to have little answer: Turner had an effort blocked Cort, but it was clear that Shaggy and the Prof had some tactical reassessment to do at half-time. With two ineffectual wide players, one resoundingly off-colour (Bridges) and one who showed little interest in chasing forward to support the attack and even less in helping his defence (McCafferty), Guttridge and Tann were hopelessly over-run and their colleagues simply could not cope with Southend’s tireless closing down. What we needed was a plan more cunning than a barrel full of weasels. Without the irritating squeaking, obviously.
The hosts’ only immediate response was to resume in a slightly more straightforward 4-4-2 in order to counteract Southend’s similar formation, but it made little difference. Maher and Wilson had early efforts blocked and off-target respectively, then on 54 came today’s Marshall Moment: Maher essayed a slightly overhit through ball towards Constantine down the middle, the Terpsichorean custodian rushed outside his area to intercept, slipped and tussled for it on his hands and knees against the Southend striker and somehow scrambled it to Duncan to hoof relievedly clear. Never a dull moment…
Our favourite ref Paul ‘Dirty’ Danson was his usual eccentric self but seemed to have forgotten his cards until on 55 he had to punish Neil Jenkins for a terrible, clumsy challenge on Tann, but as happened so often, the resultant free kick by Venus found Webb with no one close enough to flick on to and, like Noddy’s bid for the Christmas number one, it all came to nought. It’s a mad world. Guttridge blasted over on 57, but Flahavan just wasn’t being tested, and just before the hour Nathan Peat replaced Bridges, who had had about as productive a day as the Beagle 2 Mars mission. Earth to Bridgo! Come in, number 18! Hull loanee number two made a good start with his first touch, a powerful left-wing run and cross inducing momentary panic in the visiting defence but McCafferty unable to get in a telling effort on goal.
Duncan, although defending soundly, gives increasing concern with his distribution, which too many times amounts to a casual sideways or backwards pass to a colleague who is worse placed than himself and can only hoof it away under pressure. One such occasion came on 65 when his hospital ball to Guttridge was intercepted and played to Bramble, and AD himself had to chop him down with a compensating and crude challenge for which he was very lucky to escape a booking from the newly lenient Mr ‘Hello Trees, Hello Flowers’ Danson. Maher hammered into the car park from the free kick.
United began to look like a team that was incapable of scoring. Gower showed as much accuracy as Maher with another wildly optimistic long-ranger, then Duncan foiled Constantine with an excellent saving tackle, and on 71 the hosts’ best opportunity of the half fell to the same man as in the first 45, Tann, this time Johnny-on-the-spot at a corner when it fell to him on the edge of the six-yard box, but he scuffed horribly wide with the whole of a crowded goalmouth to aim at.
On 76 a Peat cross looked to amber eyes to be deflected by Gower’s arm, but not to the man in the middle, then Tann headed Turner’s cross wide, followed shortly by a similar result from Bramble at the other end. Maher again blasted over on 80 (he thought he’d exchanged his cow for some magic boots on Christmas Eve – they saw him coming down the Beanstalk Market), then in desperation Brian Dutton replaced the less than industrious McCafferty and United went to 4-3-3 for the last eight minutes. Smith set up Bramble for an off-target effort, then the ball fell to Peat on the left. He tried an ill-advised shot from a narrow angle with three strikers waiting vainly for service inside him. And United’s Redknappesque Christmas was summed up near time as Tann and Turner rose for a Guttridge corner at the far post, got in each other’s way and fell in an untidy heap. Stuart replaced Jenkins to waste time at the end, but in truth United could have played until the new year and still not scored.
So what to make of this wet blanket of a performance? There are plenty of extenuating circumstances: a patchwork quilt of a team studded with loanees, inconsistent kids and the walking wounded, and perhaps we expected too much of such an under-strength side after a couple of encouraging results against opposition that was very poor. And full credit to Southend, who belied their placing with a spirited performance full of pace, skill and organised determination, and were the better team on the day. United will have to regroup, reorganise and get some fighting spirit flowing through their veins for the battle at Sincil Bank on Sunday. And perhaps they ought to reintroduce the huddle? At least then they could all find out each other’s names.
Marshall 6 – Adequate afternoon, no chance with the goal.
Goodhind 6 – Reasonable job with little support down the right side.
Angus 6 – Excellent start but soon pushed back by Southend’s relentless harrying.
Duncan 6 – OK defensively but must improve his distribution.
Venus 7 – Classy as ever and it’s just a pity we can’t clone him so he can play in midfield as well.
McCafferty 5 – Skilful, neat and tidy, but with the workrate of a slug and showed no interest in tackling back all game. Early days, eh?
Guttridge 8 – Played Southend almost single-handed for much of the time.
Tann 7 – Decent backup and got in some good challenges. Could do with practising his finishing.
Bridges 5 – Poor old Bridgo just wasn’t at the races, looking off the pace and out of touch until mercifully withdrawn.
Turner 7 – Worked and ran tirelessly despite poor service.
Webb 6 – Same as his strike partner; so much running with so little help.
Peat 6 – Did all right considering his total unfamiliarity with his teammates.
Dutton 6 – Got stuck in with as little reward as his fellow forwards.
Soundtrack of the day: Squeeze/When The Hangover Strikes
Match summary: After the high of two consecutive League wins, it was cold turkey all round for the patchwork U’s as impressive, hard-working Southend gave them a thorough Boxing Day grinching. Silk purse makers required, apply within.
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. The ubiquitous midfield dynamo once again led by an example that sadly all too few colleagues were able to follow.
Ref watch: Danson 5. We know what to expect by now from dear old ‘Dirty’: bizarre, random decision-making, punishing an innocuous challenge one minute, ignoring a blatant foul the next. He didn’t let us down.
Damson: almost the same name as the ref
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28 December 2003: Lincoln 2v2 U's
Take that to the Bank
2004 is just around the corner, and with it will come the Queen’s new year honours list. Here at the CUFC official website we have obtained a sneak preview of the rundown and scoured it for United-related gongs. And there are several pleasant surprises for past Abbey favourites!
Congratulations to former ace winger Colin Alcide, who receives a CBE for his work in his new career of conserving the Amazonian habitat of the three-toed sloth. ‘These creatures are cumbersome, clumsy and lazy, and of no practical use to anyone, but somehow I feel an affinity with them,' said Alcide.
Diminutive midfield general Billy Manuel picks up an OBE for his groundbreaking research in the field of anger management. ‘Here at Red Card Manor we pride ourselves on our results, due to our radical treatment involving psychological profiling, electroconvulsive therapy and, in extreme cases, the raking of studs down the backs of the legs. I picked up a lot from my footballing days but I share this honour with all my wonderful staff.’
No-nonsense centre back Scott Eustace is now a minister in his Man-U-Mission, whose work with fallen sportsmen has earned him an MBE. ‘My methods may be unconventional, but I get results,’ asserts Eustace. ‘Yes, my church uses a kebab for the holy sacrament, and the communion vodka-Red Bull should be consumed with care and restraint, but I’m a great believer in fighting fire with fire. A great deal of fire, in fact.’
Finally, John Beck has been made a companion of honour for his work as personal fitness trainer to the royal family. ‘All modesty aside, I deserve this,’ he said. ‘I’ve got Andrew down to three birds a day – they drain the strength – and I’ve toughened Edward up since I got him working out to the Rolling Stones instead of those namby-pamby Pet Shop Boys. Charles and his manservant have their own mutually supportive work-out regime, and Anne does horse-related exercises because that’s what she's most comfortable with. My personalised methods work, as you will see in my forthcoming DVD, Zig-Zag & Beat The Sag.'
It has been a rather less than award-winning year for the Mighty U’s, who were lying fifth in Division Three at the start of 2003, but in the light of more recent monetary and injury-related difficulties, it is no mean achievement to go into 2004 in the top half of the table, albeit by the slimmest of margins. It barely seems a year since our last visit to Sincil Bank, a torrid affair on a pitch like the Somme in a dramatic, ill-tempered match studded with three sendings-off, violent tackles aplenty and a defining Captain Fantastic Moment when Paul Wanless came on as sub on his birthday, and promptly bundled in an equaliser for the nine men within a couple of minutes of entering the fray. Since then, United have fallen into mid-table mediocrity while Lincoln reached the promotion play-off final with a prosaic brand of route one football that made John Beck look like Rinus Michels. They have tempered that style this season, and their playing surface bears more resemblance to a football pitch, but they are again in a play-off position, their lack of stand-out players compensated by a cautious, defence-minded approach, a bit like a paparazzi photographer approaching George Best outside a pub.
Remarkably, this was the Imps’ first home game since November 22, three League and two cup games away from home having yielded two wins and three defeats, but their Sincil Bank record this season is formidable, with seven consecutive wins before today and only one League defeat. The fulcrum of their side, as last season, is Ben Futcher, a slangrel with limbs like pipecleaners who is one of three centre backs but ventures forward for every set piece to use his exceptional height like a human WMD.
Despite winning their derby at Boston on Boxing Day, the Imps changed their strike force for today, bringing in ex-Posh personage Francis Green and former U Marcus Richardson, back for another loan spell and the most awkward man in football, making up for his demonstrable lack of skill with a pacy, bustling, all arms ’n’ legs approach that makes him trickier to pin down than that Bin Laden chap who plays ‘in the hole’ at Himalayan Cave FC.
For the visiting U’s, Fred Murray returned from suspension to replace Stev Angus, taking his place on the suspended list, but the only other change was more fundamental as Shaggy picked himself in place of David Bridges and started in an attacking 4-3-3 formation in a bid to counteract Lincoln’s five-at-the-back approach. He was obviously feeling more bold than a blind man in the washing powder department of Sainsbury’s. This of course meant that all three ex-Lincoln players, Bimson, Fleming and Walker, were missing, although both Shaggy and Danny Webb have spent loan spells there.
It was a bright, sunny day, albeit with a sub-Arctic wind whistling off the flatter than flat Lincolnshire fields, and a crowd of 5,074 gave warm welcomes to manager Keith Alexander, spectating after recovering from brain surgery which will most likely keep him off duty for the rest of the season, and Bimmo, still a hero here and whose daughter was a mascot, resplendent in an Imps strip, the poor misled mite. Exactly the same attendance was present for one of United’s record League defeats, 0-6 at Aldershot, although there might have been one or two crowd changes in the intervening 29 years.
Take that to the Bank
2004 is just around the corner, and with it will come the Queen’s new year honours list. Here at the CUFC official website we have obtained a sneak preview of the rundown and scoured it for United-related gongs. And there are several pleasant surprises for past Abbey favourites!
Congratulations to former ace winger Colin Alcide, who receives a CBE for his work in his new career of conserving the Amazonian habitat of the three-toed sloth. ‘These creatures are cumbersome, clumsy and lazy, and of no practical use to anyone, but somehow I feel an affinity with them,' said Alcide.
Diminutive midfield general Billy Manuel picks up an OBE for his groundbreaking research in the field of anger management. ‘Here at Red Card Manor we pride ourselves on our results, due to our radical treatment involving psychological profiling, electroconvulsive therapy and, in extreme cases, the raking of studs down the backs of the legs. I picked up a lot from my footballing days but I share this honour with all my wonderful staff.’
No-nonsense centre back Scott Eustace is now a minister in his Man-U-Mission, whose work with fallen sportsmen has earned him an MBE. ‘My methods may be unconventional, but I get results,’ asserts Eustace. ‘Yes, my church uses a kebab for the holy sacrament, and the communion vodka-Red Bull should be consumed with care and restraint, but I’m a great believer in fighting fire with fire. A great deal of fire, in fact.’
Finally, John Beck has been made a companion of honour for his work as personal fitness trainer to the royal family. ‘All modesty aside, I deserve this,’ he said. ‘I’ve got Andrew down to three birds a day – they drain the strength – and I’ve toughened Edward up since I got him working out to the Rolling Stones instead of those namby-pamby Pet Shop Boys. Charles and his manservant have their own mutually supportive work-out regime, and Anne does horse-related exercises because that’s what she's most comfortable with. My personalised methods work, as you will see in my forthcoming DVD, Zig-Zag & Beat The Sag.'
It has been a rather less than award-winning year for the Mighty U’s, who were lying fifth in Division Three at the start of 2003, but in the light of more recent monetary and injury-related difficulties, it is no mean achievement to go into 2004 in the top half of the table, albeit by the slimmest of margins. It barely seems a year since our last visit to Sincil Bank, a torrid affair on a pitch like the Somme in a dramatic, ill-tempered match studded with three sendings-off, violent tackles aplenty and a defining Captain Fantastic Moment when Paul Wanless came on as sub on his birthday, and promptly bundled in an equaliser for the nine men within a couple of minutes of entering the fray. Since then, United have fallen into mid-table mediocrity while Lincoln reached the promotion play-off final with a prosaic brand of route one football that made John Beck look like Rinus Michels. They have tempered that style this season, and their playing surface bears more resemblance to a football pitch, but they are again in a play-off position, their lack of stand-out players compensated by a cautious, defence-minded approach, a bit like a paparazzi photographer approaching George Best outside a pub.
Remarkably, this was the Imps’ first home game since November 22, three League and two cup games away from home having yielded two wins and three defeats, but their Sincil Bank record this season is formidable, with seven consecutive wins before today and only one League defeat. The fulcrum of their side, as last season, is Ben Futcher, a slangrel with limbs like pipecleaners who is one of three centre backs but ventures forward for every set piece to use his exceptional height like a human WMD.
Despite winning their derby at Boston on Boxing Day, the Imps changed their strike force for today, bringing in ex-Posh personage Francis Green and former U Marcus Richardson, back for another loan spell and the most awkward man in football, making up for his demonstrable lack of skill with a pacy, bustling, all arms ’n’ legs approach that makes him trickier to pin down than that Bin Laden chap who plays ‘in the hole’ at Himalayan Cave FC.
For the visiting U’s, Fred Murray returned from suspension to replace Stev Angus, taking his place on the suspended list, but the only other change was more fundamental as Shaggy picked himself in place of David Bridges and started in an attacking 4-3-3 formation in a bid to counteract Lincoln’s five-at-the-back approach. He was obviously feeling more bold than a blind man in the washing powder department of Sainsbury’s. This of course meant that all three ex-Lincoln players, Bimson, Fleming and Walker, were missing, although both Shaggy and Danny Webb have spent loan spells there.
It was a bright, sunny day, albeit with a sub-Arctic wind whistling off the flatter than flat Lincolnshire fields, and a crowd of 5,074 gave warm welcomes to manager Keith Alexander, spectating after recovering from brain surgery which will most likely keep him off duty for the rest of the season, and Bimmo, still a hero here and whose daughter was a mascot, resplendent in an Imps strip, the poor misled mite. Exactly the same attendance was present for one of United’s record League defeats, 0-6 at Aldershot, although there might have been one or two crowd changes in the intervening 29 years.
Flat field, Lincolnshire
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The amber huddle returned, then it was into the fray as Lincoln tossed in a few early crosses, but neither Richardson nor Green are exactly what you would call target men, and United dealt with them with cool efficiency. The visitors’ line-up looked promisingly menacing, all three forwards making testing runs to pull Lincoln’s defence around, and Neil McCafferty in particular looked more comfortable in a more central midfield role as the full backs were expected to provide the width. But it was once again Lil’ Luke Guttridge who was head string-puller, and on four he started a cutting move with a through ball to John Turner; Luke just missed JT’s resultant cross from the left, but there was Shaggy galloping in down the right channel with the goal at his mercy. But the old goal-poacher’s legs are beginning to look as wobbly as Gazza’s bottom lip (or his mate’s belly) these days, and he fired wide of the near post when a shot across goal should surely have been the optimum option.
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But the visitors’ radical formational transformation looked promising, and they even had the ball in the net on eight as Webb converted McCafferty’s through ball, but the United Number 7 was clearly offside. And a minute later, they were one down to a goal straight out of Reg Smart’s Circus. We’ve seen it all before, but the vulnerability of Andy Duncan to long balls over his head and Shaun Marshall’s inability to command his area cost United dear. Simon Weaver wellied a hopeful high ball into the United box, Marshall started to come then hesitated on the edge of his own six-yard box, Duncan let the ball bounce then made a complete hash of trying to clear it, and Gary Fletcher jumped in with an outrageous mid-air backheel that sailed over the hapless keeper and scraped the underside of the bar as it flew into the net. Clever play from the Lincoln man, knowing that Dancing Shaun was off his line, but from a United point of view, a hopeless shambles that was more disastrous than Charlotte Church’s choices of boyfriends.
United responded well, still playing their patient passing football, but their defence looked less than solid, Mark Bailey drawing a comfortable save from the Terpsichorean custodian on 12 then Duncan slipping to let Richardson in until stopped by McCafferty. Then on 14 came an equaliser cut from the same comedic cloth as the first goal. United gained a free kick midway between the penalty area and the centre circle, and as forwards and defenders began to mill around on the edge of the box, Duncan touched it to Guttridge. Instead of knocking a cross forward, he decided to go for goal and launched a skimming bouncer which didn’t seem to have the power to trouble keeper Alan Marriott. Incredibly, Marriott appeared to have his mind elsewhere, perhaps planning his new year’s eve party, and he didn’t seem to see the ball until it flew past the defenders ten yards ahead of him; too late, he tried frantically to claw it away, but could only help it on its way into goal. Incredulity and hilarity erupted from the travelling amber hordes as Luke celebrated the reward for his adventurousness: 1-1!
In response, Lincoln applied pressure of their own to United’s less than convincing-looking rearguard, and proved that they are not quite the long-ball team of last season with some reasonable passing football. Their shooting, however, was about as powerful as Nicolas Anelka is cheerful, and Fletcher and Green both presented Marshall with simple catches. It should in fact have been United who took the lead on 27: Guttridge threaded an excellent ball through Lincoln’s back line to the ever-lively Turner down the left, he got to the byline and whipped over a teasing low cross, and there was Shaggy arriving at the back post; even five years ago he would have had the pace to reach it, but he was outpaced by Paul Morgan and although he still got a scrambled touch, Marriott was able to palm it on to the post and smother the rebound. The boss knew he had wasted the second of two glaring chances.
Two minutes later, Turner found McCafferty, who cut inside past two men then shot with his weaker left foot from the edge of the area, affording Marriott a comfortable save, and the game began to lose direction as both teams produced some nice build-up play but could not find that telling final ball. United were guilty of pumping lazy high balls towards Futcher – like trying to lose those extra Christmas pounds by going on a chocolate and beer diet – and Shaggy’s lack of match fitness became all too apparent as he was robbed several times by quicker defenders. Lincoln, likewise, ran out of ideas in the final third although their strikers ran around as willingly as those of their visitors … until on 41 came another bolt from the blue. This time it was Murray who was guilty of initial poor defending, easily turned and left on his behind by Richardson near halfway on the right. The Lincoln striker loped away free, then looking up, saw Green sprinting into the middle, free of any marker. His cross was a little overhit, but the ex-Posh man recovered it and was allowed to turn back inside and shoot by Duncan; Marshall did well to block, but as his captain stood motionless a few feet away from him, showing the lightning reactions of a hibernating tortoise, Fletcher nipped in to poke home untroubled. Nice break by Lincoln, shoddy defending from our boys.
Half-time was greeted with disappointment by the 433 from Cambridge; the revamped tactics had worked up to a point, they had matched Lincoln all the way (the teams looking equally ordinary), but comedy defending had put them behind. Knew they shouldn’t have watched Man City on the telly. Shaggy admitted defeat by withdrawing himself for the second half, introducing Nathan Peat as United reverted to 4-4-2. First effort of the 45 came from Bailey for the hosts, a speculative long-ranger flying uncomfortably close to Marshall’s post. The hosts made two changes early on, Sedgemore for Butcher on 50 and Simon Yeo for Green on 54, neither positionally different so presumably down to fitness or simply a desire to introduce fresh legs.
United began to enjoy the lion’s share of possession without testing Marriott as Lincoln’s underlying negativity started to come to the fore; more and more, their wing backs retreated so that they effectively sported a back five, almost inviting United to attack them, but the visitors just didn’t seem to have any tricks up their collective sleeve, all too often trying to thread the ball through a forest of bodies down the middle instead of using the flanks. It was about as fruitful as an orchard in Antarctica.
McCafferty tried another left-footer on the hour, well wide, while Bailey had another soft shot stopped by Marshall on 63, and the match drifted by until the 70th minute when the linesman on the main stand side decided to liven things up by not bothering to flag for offside any more: a long punt caught Yeo well off, but no flag was forthcoming, and as the ball bounced playfully in the air, the Imps striker eventually tried an aerial scissors kick which flew off the top of the bar with Marshall rooted to the spot.
United continued to probe, Turner and Webb tirelessly mobile, Guttridge all over the park and Peat making the odd decent run, but the lack of a creative old head was telling and the visitors simply could not come up with a way through. The minutes continued to tick frustratingly by until with 11 to go, David Bridges replaced the increasingly anonymous McCafferty. In desperation, Guttridge tried a netbuster from 25 yards, but so wild was his swing that it sailed over the stand and, given the county’s featureless flatness, probably ended up on the beach at Cleethorpes. Well it’s got as much chance of getting a tan there at this time of year as it has in August.
With nine minutes left Richardson was replaced by another defender, Matt Bloomer, Lincoln underlying their happiness to settle for 2-1, and ironically the sub almost scored as the linesman intervened again: he was blatantly offside as he ran on to Fletcher’s flick on, but again there was no flag and he had a clear run on goal from 35 yards out. Whether he couldn’t believe his luck, sheer slowness or just guilt, he seemed to run slower the nearer he got to goal as if running through treacle, and before he could shoot, Wozza Goodhind had got back to challenge and Marshall blocked comfortably from his scuffed effort. Venus was incensed by the linesman’s myopia and almost talked himself into a booking with his vehement percontation.
Ref Stretton, until now merely irritating with his tendency to blow for needless free kicks and ignore the advantage rule, finally got his cards out on 84 when he booked Guttridge for a tackle on Bailey on halfway in which Lil’ Luke seemed to clearly win the ball, then added Tann to his collection when he voiced what we all felt. Although probably using less words beginning with ‘f’ or ‘c’. The amber faithful had the distinct feeling that their team wouldn’t score if it played until new year. But three minutes from time came that moment of quality we had been crying out for. It was a quite superb pass from Guttridge, pinged with pinpoint accuracy from the centre circle straight to Turner, making another excellent run down the right. Young JT took his man on, fired a low cross into the box, and there was Danny Webb lunging to beat his marker and slide the ball delightedly into the net from eight yards out. Cue celebrations on and off the pitch, the loan striker for his first goal for United and the supporters for a point that looked to have slipped away. In fact United might almost have won it in added time as another Turner cross saw Bridges turn and shoot, only to see his goalbound effort hit a defender’s legs at the expense of a corner.
Then it was all over and United celebrated another addition to their excellent away record this season. In truth, they had not played especially well, looking shaky at the back and lacking ideas and penetration further up the pitch, but they never gave up and deserved the point simply because they were no worse than an opposition that just did not do enough to merit a victory.
So the new year is almost upon us, and we face our next game with hardly any strikers, with Chilli and Revell injured, the BGG gone to Reading (good luck big man, we’re going to miss you) and Webb unable to face ‘his’ team under the terms of his loan. Sounds almost hopeless. But never underestimate the spirit of Cambridge United, players or fans. This sounds like just the sort of game we can go and win! United in Endeavour in 2004! Happy new year.
Marshall 6 – Hideous error for Lincoln’s first goal, otherwise adequate.
Goodhind 6 – Reasonable game without doing anything special.
Murray 6 – Not bad except for mistake which led to Lincoln’s second goal.
Duncan 5 – Partly culpable for both goals, otherwise mostly competent although form has dipped since early season. Much less dodgy passing this time.
Venus 6 – Had his moments, but a few instances of slackness need to be ironed out.
McCafferty 6 – Much better than Boxing Day in a more central role, if still decidedly lightweight.
Tann 6 – OK in his own half, exposed a little creatively in a middle three.
Guttridge 8 – The beating heart of the team once again: great goal, superb pass for the second.
Turner 8 – Phenomenal work rate, a constant thorn in the Imps’ side and excellent cross for the late equaliser.
Webb 7 – Always hardworking and rewarded with a splendid goal.
Taylor 5 – Wasted two best chances and although the spirit is willing, the flesh (especially the legs) looks markedly weak.
Peat 6 – Promising contribution, worth another look.
Bridges 6 – Recovered well from Friday’s nightmare.
United responded well, still playing their patient passing football, but their defence looked less than solid, Mark Bailey drawing a comfortable save from the Terpsichorean custodian on 12 then Duncan slipping to let Richardson in until stopped by McCafferty. Then on 14 came an equaliser cut from the same comedic cloth as the first goal. United gained a free kick midway between the penalty area and the centre circle, and as forwards and defenders began to mill around on the edge of the box, Duncan touched it to Guttridge. Instead of knocking a cross forward, he decided to go for goal and launched a skimming bouncer which didn’t seem to have the power to trouble keeper Alan Marriott. Incredibly, Marriott appeared to have his mind elsewhere, perhaps planning his new year’s eve party, and he didn’t seem to see the ball until it flew past the defenders ten yards ahead of him; too late, he tried frantically to claw it away, but could only help it on its way into goal. Incredulity and hilarity erupted from the travelling amber hordes as Luke celebrated the reward for his adventurousness: 1-1!
In response, Lincoln applied pressure of their own to United’s less than convincing-looking rearguard, and proved that they are not quite the long-ball team of last season with some reasonable passing football. Their shooting, however, was about as powerful as Nicolas Anelka is cheerful, and Fletcher and Green both presented Marshall with simple catches. It should in fact have been United who took the lead on 27: Guttridge threaded an excellent ball through Lincoln’s back line to the ever-lively Turner down the left, he got to the byline and whipped over a teasing low cross, and there was Shaggy arriving at the back post; even five years ago he would have had the pace to reach it, but he was outpaced by Paul Morgan and although he still got a scrambled touch, Marriott was able to palm it on to the post and smother the rebound. The boss knew he had wasted the second of two glaring chances.
Two minutes later, Turner found McCafferty, who cut inside past two men then shot with his weaker left foot from the edge of the area, affording Marriott a comfortable save, and the game began to lose direction as both teams produced some nice build-up play but could not find that telling final ball. United were guilty of pumping lazy high balls towards Futcher – like trying to lose those extra Christmas pounds by going on a chocolate and beer diet – and Shaggy’s lack of match fitness became all too apparent as he was robbed several times by quicker defenders. Lincoln, likewise, ran out of ideas in the final third although their strikers ran around as willingly as those of their visitors … until on 41 came another bolt from the blue. This time it was Murray who was guilty of initial poor defending, easily turned and left on his behind by Richardson near halfway on the right. The Lincoln striker loped away free, then looking up, saw Green sprinting into the middle, free of any marker. His cross was a little overhit, but the ex-Posh man recovered it and was allowed to turn back inside and shoot by Duncan; Marshall did well to block, but as his captain stood motionless a few feet away from him, showing the lightning reactions of a hibernating tortoise, Fletcher nipped in to poke home untroubled. Nice break by Lincoln, shoddy defending from our boys.
Half-time was greeted with disappointment by the 433 from Cambridge; the revamped tactics had worked up to a point, they had matched Lincoln all the way (the teams looking equally ordinary), but comedy defending had put them behind. Knew they shouldn’t have watched Man City on the telly. Shaggy admitted defeat by withdrawing himself for the second half, introducing Nathan Peat as United reverted to 4-4-2. First effort of the 45 came from Bailey for the hosts, a speculative long-ranger flying uncomfortably close to Marshall’s post. The hosts made two changes early on, Sedgemore for Butcher on 50 and Simon Yeo for Green on 54, neither positionally different so presumably down to fitness or simply a desire to introduce fresh legs.
United began to enjoy the lion’s share of possession without testing Marriott as Lincoln’s underlying negativity started to come to the fore; more and more, their wing backs retreated so that they effectively sported a back five, almost inviting United to attack them, but the visitors just didn’t seem to have any tricks up their collective sleeve, all too often trying to thread the ball through a forest of bodies down the middle instead of using the flanks. It was about as fruitful as an orchard in Antarctica.
McCafferty tried another left-footer on the hour, well wide, while Bailey had another soft shot stopped by Marshall on 63, and the match drifted by until the 70th minute when the linesman on the main stand side decided to liven things up by not bothering to flag for offside any more: a long punt caught Yeo well off, but no flag was forthcoming, and as the ball bounced playfully in the air, the Imps striker eventually tried an aerial scissors kick which flew off the top of the bar with Marshall rooted to the spot.
United continued to probe, Turner and Webb tirelessly mobile, Guttridge all over the park and Peat making the odd decent run, but the lack of a creative old head was telling and the visitors simply could not come up with a way through. The minutes continued to tick frustratingly by until with 11 to go, David Bridges replaced the increasingly anonymous McCafferty. In desperation, Guttridge tried a netbuster from 25 yards, but so wild was his swing that it sailed over the stand and, given the county’s featureless flatness, probably ended up on the beach at Cleethorpes. Well it’s got as much chance of getting a tan there at this time of year as it has in August.
With nine minutes left Richardson was replaced by another defender, Matt Bloomer, Lincoln underlying their happiness to settle for 2-1, and ironically the sub almost scored as the linesman intervened again: he was blatantly offside as he ran on to Fletcher’s flick on, but again there was no flag and he had a clear run on goal from 35 yards out. Whether he couldn’t believe his luck, sheer slowness or just guilt, he seemed to run slower the nearer he got to goal as if running through treacle, and before he could shoot, Wozza Goodhind had got back to challenge and Marshall blocked comfortably from his scuffed effort. Venus was incensed by the linesman’s myopia and almost talked himself into a booking with his vehement percontation.
Ref Stretton, until now merely irritating with his tendency to blow for needless free kicks and ignore the advantage rule, finally got his cards out on 84 when he booked Guttridge for a tackle on Bailey on halfway in which Lil’ Luke seemed to clearly win the ball, then added Tann to his collection when he voiced what we all felt. Although probably using less words beginning with ‘f’ or ‘c’. The amber faithful had the distinct feeling that their team wouldn’t score if it played until new year. But three minutes from time came that moment of quality we had been crying out for. It was a quite superb pass from Guttridge, pinged with pinpoint accuracy from the centre circle straight to Turner, making another excellent run down the right. Young JT took his man on, fired a low cross into the box, and there was Danny Webb lunging to beat his marker and slide the ball delightedly into the net from eight yards out. Cue celebrations on and off the pitch, the loan striker for his first goal for United and the supporters for a point that looked to have slipped away. In fact United might almost have won it in added time as another Turner cross saw Bridges turn and shoot, only to see his goalbound effort hit a defender’s legs at the expense of a corner.
Then it was all over and United celebrated another addition to their excellent away record this season. In truth, they had not played especially well, looking shaky at the back and lacking ideas and penetration further up the pitch, but they never gave up and deserved the point simply because they were no worse than an opposition that just did not do enough to merit a victory.
So the new year is almost upon us, and we face our next game with hardly any strikers, with Chilli and Revell injured, the BGG gone to Reading (good luck big man, we’re going to miss you) and Webb unable to face ‘his’ team under the terms of his loan. Sounds almost hopeless. But never underestimate the spirit of Cambridge United, players or fans. This sounds like just the sort of game we can go and win! United in Endeavour in 2004! Happy new year.
Marshall 6 – Hideous error for Lincoln’s first goal, otherwise adequate.
Goodhind 6 – Reasonable game without doing anything special.
Murray 6 – Not bad except for mistake which led to Lincoln’s second goal.
Duncan 5 – Partly culpable for both goals, otherwise mostly competent although form has dipped since early season. Much less dodgy passing this time.
Venus 6 – Had his moments, but a few instances of slackness need to be ironed out.
McCafferty 6 – Much better than Boxing Day in a more central role, if still decidedly lightweight.
Tann 6 – OK in his own half, exposed a little creatively in a middle three.
Guttridge 8 – The beating heart of the team once again: great goal, superb pass for the second.
Turner 8 – Phenomenal work rate, a constant thorn in the Imps’ side and excellent cross for the late equaliser.
Webb 7 – Always hardworking and rewarded with a splendid goal.
Taylor 5 – Wasted two best chances and although the spirit is willing, the flesh (especially the legs) looks markedly weak.
Peat 6 – Promising contribution, worth another look.
Bridges 6 – Recovered well from Friday’s nightmare.
Danny Webb: worked hard
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Soundtrack of the day: The Barracudas/Don’t Ever Say It Can’t Be So
Match summary: The panto season kicked in with slapstick defending, a comedy linesman and an exciting, happy ending for the kids in amber. The beanstalk up to Division Two still looks awfully hard to climb, though. Man of the match: John Turner. Where this boy gets his energy from, I don’t know. Tireless menace for 90 minutes and rewarded late on. Ref watch: Stretton 5. Fussy, ignorant of the advantage rule and booked Guttridge for winning the ball. But compared to his visually impaired linesman, a paragon of perceptiveness. JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the Sincil Bank sounds. ‘The music on offer at Lincoln was certainly different! A selection of dull, anonymous techno gave way to the crashing classical sounds of Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana (you know, the Old Spice music), the stirring orchestration of the Dam Busters March, Hey Jude – the singalong bit at the end only – and finally Thin Lizzy’s 70s rock classic The Boys Are Back In Town. Interesting, if a bit of a mess, and might have been more enjoyable if it hadn’t all sounded as if it had been recorded on to an old C60 in 1976. JT’s verdict: Confusing! (5/10)’ |
3 January 2004: Hull 2v0 U's
KC Sunshine Banned
Today CUFC Official launches its latest initiative to brighten up football with the introduction of Strike Idol. Due to the club’s entire choice of strikers being reduced to a selection of crocks, pensioners and babes in arms, we have lined up four glitzy new potential forwards and will be asking you, the general public, to select your favourite for that coveted amber nine shirt. And what an exciting, multinational choice we have for you!
First candidate is Cheryl Tweedy from the pop group Girls Aloud. Strong and direct up front, especially after several Bacardi Breezers, her aggressive, no-nonsense approach would stand her in good stead in her bid to become the first female Football League pro. She comes with the recommendation of midfielder Neil McCafferty, who is squiring bandmate Nadine Coyle at present. We think he said ‘squiring' … To vote for Nadine, text PSYCHO to 59876.
Second candidate is self-styled magic man David Blaine. David is unfazed by intense public scrutiny and loves to explore new ways to get his picture in the papers, although he would prefer that people do not pelt him with eggs when lining up a spectacular 30-yarder. 'I can accomplish anything simply with the power of my mind, states the moody American, even scoring goals for these lame-ass Limeys.' To vote for David, text NAPPY to 59876.
Third candidate is Mohammed Saeed al-Sahhaf. Resting between jobs since taking early retirement as Iraq's information minister, Mohammed says he is only 27 and in peak condition. Furthermore, he had successful trials with Manchester United, Real Madrid and Juventus when he was younger but nobly chose to serve his country. 'I would relish this challenge,' he stated from behind the curtains at his granny’s pied-à-terre in downtown Baghdad, 'and I guarantee that I will score at least three goals every game, just as sure as my country defeated those invading Americans last year!' To vote for Mohammed, text CHINNY to 59876.
Fourth candidate is former funny man Michael Barrymore. He believes that his height and gangly frame would make him an awkward customer in any penalty area, and he has vast experience in tussling with men of all shapes and sizes. 'I’m a great believer in forgiveness, whines the poor man’s Bruce Forsyth, 'and I think this grass roots, everyman reintroduction to the world of entertainment would benefit both United and myself. I’ll even shower on my own if you like. Awright?' To vote for Michael, text PARIAH to 59876.
Good luck to all participants, and may the best man/woman/deviant win!
In the meantime, United’s ever-dwindling, rag-tag-and-bobtail squad wended its way to Hull’s sumptuous KC Stadium, one contender (with Huddersfield) in a two-horse race for best ground in Division Three. Sorry, Boston and Doncaster. The Tigers’ new home is named after Howie ‘KC’ Casey of Sunshine Band fame, who was born and raised in Hull before moving to Florida with his parents in the late 60s and eventually creating his distinctive ‘Miami Sound’ with hits such as Get Down Tonight, Shake Shake Shake (Shake Your Booty) and Give It Up. Possibly.
The route to the KC takes one through a smorgasbord of edge-of-town retail outlets and car showrooms, and many has been the away supporter who has spotted the gigantic warehouse that looms in the middle distance and assumed that it is the football ground. That certainly appeared to apply to the away travel coach driver, who took his charges halfway towards that mighty edifice before turning round and following the signposts for the KC.
One passes dear old Boothferry Park on the way, only a mile from Hull’s new home, and still standing proudly but in reduced circumstances behind Iceland and its entrance down one side that still rather poignantly states ‘Welcome to Hull City FC.’ We also passed a tattoo parlour with the most painfully honest name ever: Blood, Sweat and Tears. Which would you like first, dear? The KC is just as impressive as we remembered, now with the bonus of a car park that has been tarmacked over instead of the muddy, puddle-strewn wasteland we had to wade through last year. A pleasingly elliptic oval bowl shape both inside and out, it hosted over 23,000 fans last week for the local(ish) derby with Doncaster. Fans could avail themselves of a (plastic) glass of cold beer and a slice of pizza as they congregated in the concourse to enjoy the warm-up entertainment of Watford versus Chelsea on the many Skyed-up TVs, and warming is certainly what they needed: heating was apparently not considered when constructing the supporters’ facilities.
The United fans were allocated a reduced space compared with our last visit, large swathes of the away end’seating having been cordoned off, presumably because Hull council couldn’t be bothered to clean it afterwards, but there was just about sufficient room for the travelling hordes without having to rub noses Eskimo-style on a cold, grey Yorkshire afternoon.
Last week’s strike force of Danny Webb and John Turner was unavailable due to loan restrictions and a virus respectively. Webb’s Hull colleague Nathan Peat was also forbidden to play against his ‘real’ club, so in the absence of any other striker in the squad with a first team start of any sort, Shaggy was reluctantly forced to pick himself for one (more) last hurrah, and paired himself with midfielder David Bridges, who played a few games up front for the youth team a few years ago. So we had two strikers, both playing basically from memory. Anticipating an afternoon of pressure from both flanks, Shaggy and the Prof went for a wing-back system, Angus and Murray wide of three centre backs in Duncan, Goodhind and Venus with the same midfield three as last week in Guttridge, Tann and McCafferty. The bench may as well have been renamed the crèche as it was filled by five youngsters with a grand total of one start and seven substitute appearances between them. They didn’t need tracksuits so much as Winnie the Pooh romper suits.
No such problems for the hosts, showing off new keeper Boaz Myhill from Aston Villa, playing against United for the second time this season after appearing at the Abbey for Macclesfield, and numerous expensive quality signings such as line leader Ben Burgess, midfield raider Jason Price and Jamie Forrester, scorer of many a spectacular strike against the U’s: ten all told for Hull, Scunny and Northampton. Hull could even afford to leave Aussie goal-poacher Danny Allsopp on the bench. Additional spice was provided by the hosts’ ex-United contingent, skipper Ian Ashbee, defensive no-goal machine Marc Joseph and, on the coaching staff, the legendary Sir Steve Butler, doggedly following Peter Taylor from job to job like a lanky puppy. The former two were, of course, roundly booed at every available opportunity, as is only right and proper.
KC Sunshine Banned
Today CUFC Official launches its latest initiative to brighten up football with the introduction of Strike Idol. Due to the club’s entire choice of strikers being reduced to a selection of crocks, pensioners and babes in arms, we have lined up four glitzy new potential forwards and will be asking you, the general public, to select your favourite for that coveted amber nine shirt. And what an exciting, multinational choice we have for you!
First candidate is Cheryl Tweedy from the pop group Girls Aloud. Strong and direct up front, especially after several Bacardi Breezers, her aggressive, no-nonsense approach would stand her in good stead in her bid to become the first female Football League pro. She comes with the recommendation of midfielder Neil McCafferty, who is squiring bandmate Nadine Coyle at present. We think he said ‘squiring' … To vote for Nadine, text PSYCHO to 59876.
Second candidate is self-styled magic man David Blaine. David is unfazed by intense public scrutiny and loves to explore new ways to get his picture in the papers, although he would prefer that people do not pelt him with eggs when lining up a spectacular 30-yarder. 'I can accomplish anything simply with the power of my mind, states the moody American, even scoring goals for these lame-ass Limeys.' To vote for David, text NAPPY to 59876.
Third candidate is Mohammed Saeed al-Sahhaf. Resting between jobs since taking early retirement as Iraq's information minister, Mohammed says he is only 27 and in peak condition. Furthermore, he had successful trials with Manchester United, Real Madrid and Juventus when he was younger but nobly chose to serve his country. 'I would relish this challenge,' he stated from behind the curtains at his granny’s pied-à-terre in downtown Baghdad, 'and I guarantee that I will score at least three goals every game, just as sure as my country defeated those invading Americans last year!' To vote for Mohammed, text CHINNY to 59876.
Fourth candidate is former funny man Michael Barrymore. He believes that his height and gangly frame would make him an awkward customer in any penalty area, and he has vast experience in tussling with men of all shapes and sizes. 'I’m a great believer in forgiveness, whines the poor man’s Bruce Forsyth, 'and I think this grass roots, everyman reintroduction to the world of entertainment would benefit both United and myself. I’ll even shower on my own if you like. Awright?' To vote for Michael, text PARIAH to 59876.
Good luck to all participants, and may the best man/woman/deviant win!
In the meantime, United’s ever-dwindling, rag-tag-and-bobtail squad wended its way to Hull’s sumptuous KC Stadium, one contender (with Huddersfield) in a two-horse race for best ground in Division Three. Sorry, Boston and Doncaster. The Tigers’ new home is named after Howie ‘KC’ Casey of Sunshine Band fame, who was born and raised in Hull before moving to Florida with his parents in the late 60s and eventually creating his distinctive ‘Miami Sound’ with hits such as Get Down Tonight, Shake Shake Shake (Shake Your Booty) and Give It Up. Possibly.
The route to the KC takes one through a smorgasbord of edge-of-town retail outlets and car showrooms, and many has been the away supporter who has spotted the gigantic warehouse that looms in the middle distance and assumed that it is the football ground. That certainly appeared to apply to the away travel coach driver, who took his charges halfway towards that mighty edifice before turning round and following the signposts for the KC.
One passes dear old Boothferry Park on the way, only a mile from Hull’s new home, and still standing proudly but in reduced circumstances behind Iceland and its entrance down one side that still rather poignantly states ‘Welcome to Hull City FC.’ We also passed a tattoo parlour with the most painfully honest name ever: Blood, Sweat and Tears. Which would you like first, dear? The KC is just as impressive as we remembered, now with the bonus of a car park that has been tarmacked over instead of the muddy, puddle-strewn wasteland we had to wade through last year. A pleasingly elliptic oval bowl shape both inside and out, it hosted over 23,000 fans last week for the local(ish) derby with Doncaster. Fans could avail themselves of a (plastic) glass of cold beer and a slice of pizza as they congregated in the concourse to enjoy the warm-up entertainment of Watford versus Chelsea on the many Skyed-up TVs, and warming is certainly what they needed: heating was apparently not considered when constructing the supporters’ facilities.
The United fans were allocated a reduced space compared with our last visit, large swathes of the away end’seating having been cordoned off, presumably because Hull council couldn’t be bothered to clean it afterwards, but there was just about sufficient room for the travelling hordes without having to rub noses Eskimo-style on a cold, grey Yorkshire afternoon.
Last week’s strike force of Danny Webb and John Turner was unavailable due to loan restrictions and a virus respectively. Webb’s Hull colleague Nathan Peat was also forbidden to play against his ‘real’ club, so in the absence of any other striker in the squad with a first team start of any sort, Shaggy was reluctantly forced to pick himself for one (more) last hurrah, and paired himself with midfielder David Bridges, who played a few games up front for the youth team a few years ago. So we had two strikers, both playing basically from memory. Anticipating an afternoon of pressure from both flanks, Shaggy and the Prof went for a wing-back system, Angus and Murray wide of three centre backs in Duncan, Goodhind and Venus with the same midfield three as last week in Guttridge, Tann and McCafferty. The bench may as well have been renamed the crèche as it was filled by five youngsters with a grand total of one start and seven substitute appearances between them. They didn’t need tracksuits so much as Winnie the Pooh romper suits.
No such problems for the hosts, showing off new keeper Boaz Myhill from Aston Villa, playing against United for the second time this season after appearing at the Abbey for Macclesfield, and numerous expensive quality signings such as line leader Ben Burgess, midfield raider Jason Price and Jamie Forrester, scorer of many a spectacular strike against the U’s: ten all told for Hull, Scunny and Northampton. Hull could even afford to leave Aussie goal-poacher Danny Allsopp on the bench. Additional spice was provided by the hosts’ ex-United contingent, skipper Ian Ashbee, defensive no-goal machine Marc Joseph and, on the coaching staff, the legendary Sir Steve Butler, doggedly following Peter Taylor from job to job like a lanky puppy. The former two were, of course, roundly booed at every available opportunity, as is only right and proper.
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Hull started on the up, and alarm bells rang as early as the second minute when Marshall failed to call for a Burgess cross, seeing Duncan head away when he could have caught it with ease if he'd opened his ever-closed mouth. Two corners were scrambled away, followed in the first ten minutes by shots from Forrester and Burgess, both collected by Dancing Shaun. But as United continued to weather the storm, it became apparent that their system might just work, Hull’s danger men on the flanks, Price and Stuart Elliott, marshalled by Murray and Angus as closely as if they were jostling for bargains in the January sales.
Murray was watching Price like a hawk, and nipped in smartly to foil the man who scored a hat-trick last Sunday as Elliott’s cross skipped towards him. United were gaining increasing amounts of possession, and the midfield trio knocked it around well; they also began to find themselves hamstrung by a lack of forward options, neither Taylor and Bridges looking remotely as mobile or alert as Turner or Webb, and moves foundered in the final third. |
Steve Butler: following Peter Taylor like a lanky puppy
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Hull continued to take the game energetically to United, Elliott blasting over on 16, Burgess repeating the trick three minutes later, Shaggy replying in kind on 20 then Dawson foraging forward from left back to sting Marshall’s hands from just outside the area. The back three held firm, Duncan strong and resolute down the middle and covering for Venus when he lost possession to Price. As United continued to assert themselves possession- if not chances-wise, the amber hordes huddled in their temporary hibernation nest began to make themselves heard over the 14,000 restive but quietened Humbersiders, and United’s game plan promised to yield at least parity. But over-confidence, like pride or an argument with Jack White, oft comes before a fall, and the occasional misplaced pass served to keep visiting team and supporters aware that one error could make all the difference.
Shaggy gave Myhill a fairly comfortable save with a header from Murray’s cross on 31, then Price did the same to Marshall from Dawson’s cross a minute later, and on 35 the Terpsichorean custodian did well to fist a cross off Burgess’ expectant bonce. But just as it was looking as if the interval would be reached with a clean sheet, came that mistake we'd been dreading. Three minutes from half-time, Angus was caught in possession by Elliott on the right flank as he strove to deal with a Forrester pass. Stev tumbled feebly to the floor as his opponent raced infield towards goal, and with Burgess lurking in the middle, he suddenly shot for goal from the narrowest of angles; and Marshall was utterly embarrassed as Elliott’s decent strike flew between him and the near post. Two instances of poor defending, one goal down.
Ashbee led the celebrations in ungracious style (in fairness, he was only giving as good as he had got) and compounded his unpopularity by clattering Shaggy, the man he had described as a ‘close friend’ in the programme, with a dreadful tackle that went unpunished by invisible ref Pugh. And with the boys in white all foreplay and no penetration, a frustrating second half looked in prospect unless they could produce some sort of cutting edge.
The half-time PA played Girls Aloud’s Jump, doubling as a treat for our Mr McCafferty and an instruction to our forwards to win more than one header each in the next 45, then played a little something by local boys the Beautiful South, which is presumably compulsory on pain of death within Hull city limits despite their recent commercial fall from grace; their last two singles missed the top 30 with all the unerring inaccuracy of a Marc Joseph volley.
The Tigers resumed part two where they had left off part one, as within a minute of the restart Burgess evaded Goodhind and set up Price for a fizzing shot well pawed round the post by the leaping Marshall. England’s Number One then repeated the trick from Burgess’s header from the resultant corner before Murray finally cleared the danger. United hung on gamely, their back five resisting stoutly, and they even gained a corner of their own on 54 after Guttridge’s exquisite diagonal ball sent Angus scampering down the right flank; after a little pinball it was Murray who got his shot away, but Damien Delaney deflected it away from a sea of bodies.
United were being stretched, not helping themselves with too many sloppy passes giving possession away, and one such break on 56 saw Ashbee slide a ball through for Burgess to go clear with just Marshall to beat: the big centre forward’s cheeky chip from the edge of the area was cheered netward by the home crowd, but bounced off the top of the bar. A minute later it was Forrester’s turn to scoot through like a hedgehog on rollerskates, but he over-deliberately placed his effort wide, then Dawson’s cross found Price’s head but Marshall again clutched. But just before the hour the dam broke again.
Forrester gained possession 30 yards out as the defence failed to deal with a bouncing ball, Elliott made a perceptive run down the left channel and Angus was too slow to spot him, chasing vainly as Forrester’s sliderule diagonal ball set up his colleague for one touch then a clinical finish past the helpless Marshall low in at the far post.
Given United’s lack of creativity in the final third, it looked like game over. But the boys in white responded gutsily, taking the game to their hosts, although on 61 Forrester broke through again but could find only the side netting. And on 63 came the visitors’ best effort of the match, as Murray embarked on a swashbuckling run worthy of a slightly less camp Johnny Depp (OK, very less camp); he careened at full speed through the opposition, played a perfect wall pass with his player-boss and looked to have steered into goal for his first-ever score until Myhill produced an excellent reflex save. Two minutes later Freddie received the only booking of the game for a clumsy lunge at Forrester, then Elliott headed wide from Green’s ensuing free kick before Forrester sent another effort into Marshall’s gloves on 68. Three minutes Shaggy decided to retire (from the match, that is), shaking hands with his marker and former colleague Jerry before being replaced by rookie Ryan Lockett for his debut less than eight weeks after his 17th birthday. Forrester was replaced at the same time by Andy Holt.
United continued to battle gamely but toothlessly, and curiously, Hull showed little inclination to press the game further, seemingly happy to see out the match with a two-goal margin of victory. McCafferty cheered up the away contingent by having a shot on 76, with some power but straight at Myhill, but it was just nice to see someone going for goal instead of the usual pass sideways or backwards. The Tigers responded with a blocked Delaney shot, then on 80 it was Lil’ Luke’s turn to blaze over with the finesse of a rabid weasel. Seconds later came another sub for Hull, Alton ‘Towers’ Thelwell for Stuart Green, and soon after Marshall saved well from Burgess after good work by Holt. Final sub came on 84, Ryan France for Price, and a minute later came a gilt-edged chance for United to set up a grandstand finish.
Guttridge’s ball over the top found Bridges springing the offside trap, and the stand-in striker was clear eight yards out to the right of goal. Unfortunately he panicked, slashing wildly over the bar when a cool finish low past the exposed keeper would really have been rather nice, old chap. Sadly it summed up Bridgo’s dismal, out-of-focus day a treat.
Murray was a little fortunate to avoid a second yellow for a characteristic slash at Holt’s legs, but there was still some amusement left for the travelling hordes when France had a shot palmed out by Marshall and our old friend Mr Joseph gleefully tapped in the rebound … only to be denied by the offside flag. Older readers will recall that Jerry, who of course holds the record for the number of appearances for the U’s without ever scoring, once ‘scored’ against us at the Abbey when playing for That Lot Up The A1, and that was also disallowed after he had made a fool of himself, larging it in front of the NRE. Face it, Jerry, it just ain’t gonna happen. Ever.
The final whistle was soon upon us, and we were left to reflect on the unpredictable way by which the most predictable result of the season had been arrived at. Quite simply, a team without a cutting edge isn’t a team at all, just an incomplete collection of moving parts. Full credit to Shaggy for doing his best to complete a jigsaw with two pieces missing, and the tactical readjustment might have worked were it not for individual errors, but a team with the most ineffective front two since the nightmare days of Neil Horwood and Ian Benjamin is never going to get a result against a team with the resources of Hull, for all its spirit and nice approach play. We need strikers, now. Mr Taylor, you have one week, starting … now! Good luck!
Marshall 6 – Sloppy goalkeeping for the first goal, no chance with the second, otherwise OK.
Angus 5 – Mostly tidy but, I’m afraid, at fault for both goals.
Murray 7 – Energetic, fiery, never gave up, and so unlucky not to score his first-ever goal for United.
Goodhind 6 – Mainly neat and resolute.
Duncan 7 – Back to some semblance of his best.
Venus 6 – Quietly efficient.
McCafferty 6 – Plenty of good, accurate passing without doing anything to hurt the opposition.
Tann 6 – Battled well all over the park.
Guttridge 6 – Busy as ever but did most his work nearer his own goal than Hull’s.
Bridges 4 – Never looked remotely comfortable; off the pace and out of touch.
Taylor 4 – The unpalatable truth is that, sadly, the old boy’s legs appear to have completely gone. Totally ineffective.
Lockett 5 – The kid got involved as best he could.
Soundtrack of the day: Ballboy/Welcome To The New Year
Match summary: United’s ragtag army gave it their very best shot but were gunned down by Hull’s superior, gleaming artillery.
Man of the match: Freddie Murray. Inspirational, up-and-at-'em performance full of fighting spirit.
Ref Watch: Pugh 7. Didn’t exactly have the busiest of the days and kept an agreeably low profile.
JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the KC sounds. 'Nice build-up, with a tasteful mix of Britpop sounds like Oasis, Paul Weller, the Verve etc, then as kick-off approached, the DJ went into a pre-recorded megamix affair which threw in pieces of Born Slippy, Town Called Malice (what’s the message there?), Three Lions, World In Motion, Coldplay’s Clocks (presumably for the time reference), and Bowie’s Heroes. Then it got really strange, with a reading of the first few lines of William Blake’s Tyger, Tyger Burning Bright poem, a snatch of old fave Carmina Burana, Rob Dougan’s Clubbed To Death interwoven with more mumbles of Tyger, Tyger and finally the spooky Welcome! bit from Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s Welcome To The Pleasuredome. Top marks for effort. Although it didn’t hang together entirely successfully, at least they dared to be different. JTJ verdict: Fascinating! (8/10)'
Shaggy gave Myhill a fairly comfortable save with a header from Murray’s cross on 31, then Price did the same to Marshall from Dawson’s cross a minute later, and on 35 the Terpsichorean custodian did well to fist a cross off Burgess’ expectant bonce. But just as it was looking as if the interval would be reached with a clean sheet, came that mistake we'd been dreading. Three minutes from half-time, Angus was caught in possession by Elliott on the right flank as he strove to deal with a Forrester pass. Stev tumbled feebly to the floor as his opponent raced infield towards goal, and with Burgess lurking in the middle, he suddenly shot for goal from the narrowest of angles; and Marshall was utterly embarrassed as Elliott’s decent strike flew between him and the near post. Two instances of poor defending, one goal down.
Ashbee led the celebrations in ungracious style (in fairness, he was only giving as good as he had got) and compounded his unpopularity by clattering Shaggy, the man he had described as a ‘close friend’ in the programme, with a dreadful tackle that went unpunished by invisible ref Pugh. And with the boys in white all foreplay and no penetration, a frustrating second half looked in prospect unless they could produce some sort of cutting edge.
The half-time PA played Girls Aloud’s Jump, doubling as a treat for our Mr McCafferty and an instruction to our forwards to win more than one header each in the next 45, then played a little something by local boys the Beautiful South, which is presumably compulsory on pain of death within Hull city limits despite their recent commercial fall from grace; their last two singles missed the top 30 with all the unerring inaccuracy of a Marc Joseph volley.
The Tigers resumed part two where they had left off part one, as within a minute of the restart Burgess evaded Goodhind and set up Price for a fizzing shot well pawed round the post by the leaping Marshall. England’s Number One then repeated the trick from Burgess’s header from the resultant corner before Murray finally cleared the danger. United hung on gamely, their back five resisting stoutly, and they even gained a corner of their own on 54 after Guttridge’s exquisite diagonal ball sent Angus scampering down the right flank; after a little pinball it was Murray who got his shot away, but Damien Delaney deflected it away from a sea of bodies.
United were being stretched, not helping themselves with too many sloppy passes giving possession away, and one such break on 56 saw Ashbee slide a ball through for Burgess to go clear with just Marshall to beat: the big centre forward’s cheeky chip from the edge of the area was cheered netward by the home crowd, but bounced off the top of the bar. A minute later it was Forrester’s turn to scoot through like a hedgehog on rollerskates, but he over-deliberately placed his effort wide, then Dawson’s cross found Price’s head but Marshall again clutched. But just before the hour the dam broke again.
Forrester gained possession 30 yards out as the defence failed to deal with a bouncing ball, Elliott made a perceptive run down the left channel and Angus was too slow to spot him, chasing vainly as Forrester’s sliderule diagonal ball set up his colleague for one touch then a clinical finish past the helpless Marshall low in at the far post.
Given United’s lack of creativity in the final third, it looked like game over. But the boys in white responded gutsily, taking the game to their hosts, although on 61 Forrester broke through again but could find only the side netting. And on 63 came the visitors’ best effort of the match, as Murray embarked on a swashbuckling run worthy of a slightly less camp Johnny Depp (OK, very less camp); he careened at full speed through the opposition, played a perfect wall pass with his player-boss and looked to have steered into goal for his first-ever score until Myhill produced an excellent reflex save. Two minutes later Freddie received the only booking of the game for a clumsy lunge at Forrester, then Elliott headed wide from Green’s ensuing free kick before Forrester sent another effort into Marshall’s gloves on 68. Three minutes Shaggy decided to retire (from the match, that is), shaking hands with his marker and former colleague Jerry before being replaced by rookie Ryan Lockett for his debut less than eight weeks after his 17th birthday. Forrester was replaced at the same time by Andy Holt.
United continued to battle gamely but toothlessly, and curiously, Hull showed little inclination to press the game further, seemingly happy to see out the match with a two-goal margin of victory. McCafferty cheered up the away contingent by having a shot on 76, with some power but straight at Myhill, but it was just nice to see someone going for goal instead of the usual pass sideways or backwards. The Tigers responded with a blocked Delaney shot, then on 80 it was Lil’ Luke’s turn to blaze over with the finesse of a rabid weasel. Seconds later came another sub for Hull, Alton ‘Towers’ Thelwell for Stuart Green, and soon after Marshall saved well from Burgess after good work by Holt. Final sub came on 84, Ryan France for Price, and a minute later came a gilt-edged chance for United to set up a grandstand finish.
Guttridge’s ball over the top found Bridges springing the offside trap, and the stand-in striker was clear eight yards out to the right of goal. Unfortunately he panicked, slashing wildly over the bar when a cool finish low past the exposed keeper would really have been rather nice, old chap. Sadly it summed up Bridgo’s dismal, out-of-focus day a treat.
Murray was a little fortunate to avoid a second yellow for a characteristic slash at Holt’s legs, but there was still some amusement left for the travelling hordes when France had a shot palmed out by Marshall and our old friend Mr Joseph gleefully tapped in the rebound … only to be denied by the offside flag. Older readers will recall that Jerry, who of course holds the record for the number of appearances for the U’s without ever scoring, once ‘scored’ against us at the Abbey when playing for That Lot Up The A1, and that was also disallowed after he had made a fool of himself, larging it in front of the NRE. Face it, Jerry, it just ain’t gonna happen. Ever.
The final whistle was soon upon us, and we were left to reflect on the unpredictable way by which the most predictable result of the season had been arrived at. Quite simply, a team without a cutting edge isn’t a team at all, just an incomplete collection of moving parts. Full credit to Shaggy for doing his best to complete a jigsaw with two pieces missing, and the tactical readjustment might have worked were it not for individual errors, but a team with the most ineffective front two since the nightmare days of Neil Horwood and Ian Benjamin is never going to get a result against a team with the resources of Hull, for all its spirit and nice approach play. We need strikers, now. Mr Taylor, you have one week, starting … now! Good luck!
Marshall 6 – Sloppy goalkeeping for the first goal, no chance with the second, otherwise OK.
Angus 5 – Mostly tidy but, I’m afraid, at fault for both goals.
Murray 7 – Energetic, fiery, never gave up, and so unlucky not to score his first-ever goal for United.
Goodhind 6 – Mainly neat and resolute.
Duncan 7 – Back to some semblance of his best.
Venus 6 – Quietly efficient.
McCafferty 6 – Plenty of good, accurate passing without doing anything to hurt the opposition.
Tann 6 – Battled well all over the park.
Guttridge 6 – Busy as ever but did most his work nearer his own goal than Hull’s.
Bridges 4 – Never looked remotely comfortable; off the pace and out of touch.
Taylor 4 – The unpalatable truth is that, sadly, the old boy’s legs appear to have completely gone. Totally ineffective.
Lockett 5 – The kid got involved as best he could.
Soundtrack of the day: Ballboy/Welcome To The New Year
Match summary: United’s ragtag army gave it their very best shot but were gunned down by Hull’s superior, gleaming artillery.
Man of the match: Freddie Murray. Inspirational, up-and-at-'em performance full of fighting spirit.
Ref Watch: Pugh 7. Didn’t exactly have the busiest of the days and kept an agreeably low profile.
JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the KC sounds. 'Nice build-up, with a tasteful mix of Britpop sounds like Oasis, Paul Weller, the Verve etc, then as kick-off approached, the DJ went into a pre-recorded megamix affair which threw in pieces of Born Slippy, Town Called Malice (what’s the message there?), Three Lions, World In Motion, Coldplay’s Clocks (presumably for the time reference), and Bowie’s Heroes. Then it got really strange, with a reading of the first few lines of William Blake’s Tyger, Tyger Burning Bright poem, a snatch of old fave Carmina Burana, Rob Dougan’s Clubbed To Death interwoven with more mumbles of Tyger, Tyger and finally the spooky Welcome! bit from Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s Welcome To The Pleasuredome. Top marks for effort. Although it didn’t hang together entirely successfully, at least they dared to be different. JTJ verdict: Fascinating! (8/10)'
Three lions: on the playlist
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10 January 2004: U's 1v2 Huddersfield
Home help needed
Hello. Welcome to Kilroy. Whenever I open my mouth I put my foot and most of my leg into it! Not me of course, but my guests this morning who will be confessing all in front of you, the nation’s workshy and unemployable. First up we’ve got Philip. Tell us about it, Phil!
‘Well, to be perfectly honest I think it’s other people who have the problem. I believe in calling a spade a spade and a commoner a piece of vermin, and they should bally well know their place! If I offend someone, it’s because they want to be offended. Foreigners have no sense of humour anyway! And as for That Woman, I was damned right every time. That’s why we had to bump her orf. Oh blast, done it again.'
Thank you, Philip. That was quite movingly frank and I agreed with every word, particularly the bit about foreigners. Especially swarthy ones, eh? Next up we have John. What’s your story, mate?
‘Tommy rot, Robert, as well you know! I’m just a simple Yorkshireman who believes in speaking his mind in as convoluted and incomprehensible a way as possible. That’s the way of politics, lad! All right, I told Bush he were a jumped-up little twerp and Clinton that he were a poncy college boy who couldn’t keep it in his trousers, but I were just speaking me mind. Tell it like it is, son, and hang the consequences, that’s my motto! You should have heard what I said to that do-gooder Sister Teresa! I said …'
Yes, thank you, John, as forthright as ever and as subtle as a hand grenade in the underpants. Our third guest is another John, who we’ll call John B John?
‘I’m a great believer in honesty, Robert. Honesty and sincerity. And I can honestly and sincerely say I am the greatest football coach who ever lived. Now some people can’t handle that level of self-belief, even if they’ve chucked a few hundred thousand grand at you and you’ve spent it in creating the best team in the League that just happens to be resting temporarily near the bottom of the Second Division. So they lash out and sack you. I ask you, a man of my fathomless talents! But I’m not bitter, and I confidently predict that the club I left behind will take the world of football by storm any time now!’
You’re one who really does need help, John. I know, I’ve seen them play! Our last guest is a surprise that even I don’t know about yet. So who is it, Mr Director? It’s who? Me? Ah …
Words. There have been a lot bandied around recently concerning the giddy whirligig that is the good ship CUFC. And there were plenty more at half-time today. But what matters most is what happens on that swathe of green around which we all congregate every Saturday. And there are plenty of words to describe that, although several of them are not repeatable in a cuddly family forum like this. Ahem …
Mid-season, middling form, mid-table. As the first home game of 2004 arrives, how long it seems since the first League game of the season at Huddersfield in conditions hot enough to roast a Christmas turkey. The Terriers were glad to be starting the season at all after a fraught summer in which extinction was narrowly avoided, while United sought to reignite promotion hopes that had been so thoroughly extinguished during the disappointing second half of 2002/03. Two goals by Jon Stead kick-started what has been a tremendous term for the Yorkshiremen’s young gunslinger, while United’s scorers, Chillingworth and Kitson, have followed very different roads since that sweltering day.
Only six players remained today from that United starting line-up, with only three still in place for Huddersfield, and in a patchy season for both clubs, it is the visitors who still lurk around the play-off places after three consecutive wins; the boys in amber’s promotion bid is for a variety of extenuating reasons beginning to resemble Britain’s heroic mission to become the first country to dump 69kg of scrap metal on Mars.
Shaggy and the Prof made three changes from last week at Hull, with a welcome return for the youthful strikeforce of Danny Webb and John Turner in place of the disastrous Taylor/Bridges combo, and the even more welcome reappearance of Shaun Tudor instead of Stev Angus. United kept to the same formation, a back three with wing backs, although Tudor was to be shadowed all game by a man-to-man marker in the limpet-like form of Anthony Lloyd. For some reason Tudes was roundly booed by the away contingent from the start, presumably for some long-forgotten (by us) indiscretion, although if we were to bear a grudge for the reckless lunges, taps, pushes and kicks that Peter Jackson’s team inflicted on us at the McAlpine, we may as well just have catcalled continually from start to finish.
The teams lined up with identical formations, three at the back and five each in a congested midfield, although with Tudor and Lloyd locked in their own private battle on the United right, much of the early action took place on the opposite flank. It took five minutes for the first corner to be won, by the visitors, and they gained a second three minutes later when the impressive Stead glided past two amber shirts but saw his goalbound shot deflected behind by Duncan. The resultant flag kick found the head of Nat Brown, Town’s other striker who can also play centre back (like York’s Jon Parkin, but with a modicum of skill and half the tonnage), and his looping header came off the top of the bar. The tackles were flying in from the visitors but ref Andy Hall (famous for awarding a second yellow then red to a player to whom he hadn’t awarded a first yellow) took a softly-softly approach initially with a word in the ear rather than a card in the face.
On ten we saw the first flash of Tudor magic as he picked up possession wide right in his own half, and with a smart shuffle and turn hared away from the bewildered Lloyd and headed straight for goal. He was typically up-ended by Steve Yates not far from the penalty area (lecture only), and Lil’ Luke Guttridge’s free kick found Adam Tann who was wide with his header. United had plenty of possession and passed to each other tidily in their own half, but that old problem of the final ball was in evidence as the strikers ran around fruitlessly, trying to pick up the scraps of hopeful hoofs like a couple of junior Steptoes, and visiting keeper Phil Senior remained untroubled. Hall was finally forced to produce the book on 20 when Freddie Murray was unceremoniously clattered by Jon Worthington, but from Venus’s free kick Lil’ Luke went for a spectacular 30-yarder and produced a shot as wildly over the top as a Justin Hawkins jumpsuit. Only without the high-pitched screeching.
Two minutes later chaos came to the United penalty area as Shaun Marshall made a pig’s ear of a Lloyd long throw under pressure from Brown, the ball dropped into a forest of bodies in the six-yard box, and somehow Stead managed to scuff a shot towards the empty goal so badly that Warren Goodhind was able to welly clear from near his own line. Several more corners during the first 45 were to pinball around the United box before a last-gasp boot would avert the danger in Peter Kayesque style. On 28 Andy Holdsworth became the Terriers’ second booking for a foul on Neil McCafferty, but United remained all neat build-up and no finish. Duncan headed a Guttridge corner over on 30 and two minutes later visiting skipper Rob Edwards was forced to withdraw, to be replaced by Chris Holland. On 34 McCafferty sent a scudder wide from just outside the area, then Stead responded with a longer range free kick that buzzed a foot over Marshall’s bar.
A minute later Goodhind picked up United’s only card for a foul on Stead on halfway, then Duncan nodded another Guttridge corner wide as the game became dominated by set pieces, thanks in no small part to Hall’s increasing fussiness in stopping the game every 20 seconds. He should get into gridiron; all those stoppages would mean lots of lovely commercial break time. Closest squeak yet came on 42 as Brown’s cross from the right sailed over everyone to find Stead unmarked at the far post; he attempted to lift it back past Dancing Shaun into the far corner, but the Terpsichorean custodian produced a characteristically fine save to tip over the bar. Lucky Stead wasn’t at the Hull game last week or he’d have gone for the near post.
But United’s let-off was almost as brief as Britney’s marriage. Danny Schofield’s corner produced more richocheting rumpus, the ball bobbled around like it was made of wool and eventually it bounced up and hit the unfortunate Webb’s outstretched hand. Penalty, said Mr Hall somewhat harshly, and Stead despatched it with pace and precision despite Marshall’s good effort at stopping it, finally standing his ground and not diving the wrong way like a kamikaze keeper; it was just too powerful to stop, although Shaun still got a touch. A game that had 0-0 all over it could only have been undeadlocked by a penalty, and half-time arrived with worried U’s fans wondering where a goal might come from. The chairman’s faulty mic shenanigans during the interval are already well documented; suffice to say the NRE made more noise at him than they did at either teams or the away support throughout the 90 minutes of play.
Unlike some of their fans, United started the second half in positive fashion and Murray surprised us all and probably himself with a mazy run on 48 which culminated in a cut inside and right-footed shot from 20 yards that Senior did well to clutch at the second attempt. Both teams went at each other without troubling the keepers, much like the first half, until United should have equalised on 55. Guttridge whipped over a cross from the right; Senior flapped but failed to gather as he floundered in a sea of bodies, and the ball fell out to Goodhind of all people in the corner of the six-yard box. Faced with an open goal, he opted for the spectacular volley rather than simple tap-in, and his effort soared horribly over the top, surely harder to accomplish than score. Looks like Wozza’s after Jerry’s all-time non-scoring record, in which case he’s still got 92 games to go. But think what a legend you’d be, Woz, although surely even you couldn’t then leave and have goals against us disallowed while playing for two other clubs. Jerry’s a one-off, and no mistake.
United’s brief flurry failed to present any other opportunities, and after Guttridge had blocked a Holland shot, John Turner was withdrawn just after the hour to be replaced by Aggy Revell for his first game since September 13. His first contribution was excellent, playing a superb one-two with Tudor to sprint down the right channel and ping over a splendid cross that Webb just failed to wrest from Efe Sodje and his flying bandana, making its first appearance against us since Luton in November 1999. We had an attack then of Benjamin, Butler and Kyd, with some chap called Taylor on the bench. Halcyon days, indeed … I wonder how Martin McNeil is enjoying the glamorous world of high street banking?
The match became progressively scrappy, hindered by ref Hall’s incessant whistling and by the visitors’ tendency to spend as much time as possible lying on the ground while their physio dabbed at them with his magic sponge. Ant’s ice cubes would have got them up again in double quick time, particularly if used correctly. Remember Pulp Fiction? That would have been quite welcome in the summer heat at the McAlpine. Senior diced with danger on 73 as he rushed to intercept a through ball intended for Revell’s galloping run and stopped, clutching it to his ample belly literally on the line of the penalty area. Two minutes later Nathan Peat replaced Murray in a straight swap, Shaggy abandoning any thoughts of a formation change despite our distinct impression that we wouldn’t score if we played until Easter. We might need a resurrection by then.
Adam Tann took it on himself to play further and further forward and soon enough was effectively playing as an extra striker. On 77 Revell and Brown flung themselves at a cross only for play to be waved on as they both tumbled to the ground, and Webb was quickest to react as he attempted a stretching toe-poke for goal from eight yards that rolled just wide as he made contact with Senior. Needless to say the keeper milked his ‘injury’ for all it was worth and would doubtless have claimed to be as lacking in phenakism as Greg Rusedski. If he’s guilty, he’s Canadian, all right? United continued to huff and puff but were caught out on 84 as Stead picked up the ball on the edge of the United area, shimmied past two men and hit a low skimmer that was headed inside Marshall’s far post until he managed to tip it round. But the hosts’ let-off was as short-lived as Louis Saha’s agent’s patience. Schofield’s corner was headed up into the air by Duncan at the near post, Stead won it unchallenged near the penalty spot, and it dropped perfectly for Worthington to leap and score with an acrobatic (is there any other type?) overhead kick from six yards: 2-0.
Game over, surely. To their credit, United never gave up, but their crosses lacked accuracy until the last minute, when Tudor’s long cross from the right found Duncan racing in just past the far post; his stab hit the foot of the woodwork, but Tann was first to slide in bravely for the rebound and poke home from close range. Sadly, this was just an exercise in false hope raising, as United barely mustered another attack in the four added minutes, the Terriers keeping possession coolly, taking the ball into the corners and even gaining a flag kick along the way. Another day, another home defeat.
The next month is crucial; with six games against teams either below or just above us, a good stack of points will be needed to avoid being sucked into the void that is the relegation zone. More creativity and invention must be found from somewhere because all the pretty approach play in the world is useless if nothing is created in the final third. With less material to work with than Action Man’s tailor, Shaggy and the Prof are going to have to work some wonders with their tactical cotton and thread; let’s all get behind them with blankets of sound. Nighty-night!
Home help needed
Hello. Welcome to Kilroy. Whenever I open my mouth I put my foot and most of my leg into it! Not me of course, but my guests this morning who will be confessing all in front of you, the nation’s workshy and unemployable. First up we’ve got Philip. Tell us about it, Phil!
‘Well, to be perfectly honest I think it’s other people who have the problem. I believe in calling a spade a spade and a commoner a piece of vermin, and they should bally well know their place! If I offend someone, it’s because they want to be offended. Foreigners have no sense of humour anyway! And as for That Woman, I was damned right every time. That’s why we had to bump her orf. Oh blast, done it again.'
Thank you, Philip. That was quite movingly frank and I agreed with every word, particularly the bit about foreigners. Especially swarthy ones, eh? Next up we have John. What’s your story, mate?
‘Tommy rot, Robert, as well you know! I’m just a simple Yorkshireman who believes in speaking his mind in as convoluted and incomprehensible a way as possible. That’s the way of politics, lad! All right, I told Bush he were a jumped-up little twerp and Clinton that he were a poncy college boy who couldn’t keep it in his trousers, but I were just speaking me mind. Tell it like it is, son, and hang the consequences, that’s my motto! You should have heard what I said to that do-gooder Sister Teresa! I said …'
Yes, thank you, John, as forthright as ever and as subtle as a hand grenade in the underpants. Our third guest is another John, who we’ll call John B John?
‘I’m a great believer in honesty, Robert. Honesty and sincerity. And I can honestly and sincerely say I am the greatest football coach who ever lived. Now some people can’t handle that level of self-belief, even if they’ve chucked a few hundred thousand grand at you and you’ve spent it in creating the best team in the League that just happens to be resting temporarily near the bottom of the Second Division. So they lash out and sack you. I ask you, a man of my fathomless talents! But I’m not bitter, and I confidently predict that the club I left behind will take the world of football by storm any time now!’
You’re one who really does need help, John. I know, I’ve seen them play! Our last guest is a surprise that even I don’t know about yet. So who is it, Mr Director? It’s who? Me? Ah …
Words. There have been a lot bandied around recently concerning the giddy whirligig that is the good ship CUFC. And there were plenty more at half-time today. But what matters most is what happens on that swathe of green around which we all congregate every Saturday. And there are plenty of words to describe that, although several of them are not repeatable in a cuddly family forum like this. Ahem …
Mid-season, middling form, mid-table. As the first home game of 2004 arrives, how long it seems since the first League game of the season at Huddersfield in conditions hot enough to roast a Christmas turkey. The Terriers were glad to be starting the season at all after a fraught summer in which extinction was narrowly avoided, while United sought to reignite promotion hopes that had been so thoroughly extinguished during the disappointing second half of 2002/03. Two goals by Jon Stead kick-started what has been a tremendous term for the Yorkshiremen’s young gunslinger, while United’s scorers, Chillingworth and Kitson, have followed very different roads since that sweltering day.
Only six players remained today from that United starting line-up, with only three still in place for Huddersfield, and in a patchy season for both clubs, it is the visitors who still lurk around the play-off places after three consecutive wins; the boys in amber’s promotion bid is for a variety of extenuating reasons beginning to resemble Britain’s heroic mission to become the first country to dump 69kg of scrap metal on Mars.
Shaggy and the Prof made three changes from last week at Hull, with a welcome return for the youthful strikeforce of Danny Webb and John Turner in place of the disastrous Taylor/Bridges combo, and the even more welcome reappearance of Shaun Tudor instead of Stev Angus. United kept to the same formation, a back three with wing backs, although Tudor was to be shadowed all game by a man-to-man marker in the limpet-like form of Anthony Lloyd. For some reason Tudes was roundly booed by the away contingent from the start, presumably for some long-forgotten (by us) indiscretion, although if we were to bear a grudge for the reckless lunges, taps, pushes and kicks that Peter Jackson’s team inflicted on us at the McAlpine, we may as well just have catcalled continually from start to finish.
The teams lined up with identical formations, three at the back and five each in a congested midfield, although with Tudor and Lloyd locked in their own private battle on the United right, much of the early action took place on the opposite flank. It took five minutes for the first corner to be won, by the visitors, and they gained a second three minutes later when the impressive Stead glided past two amber shirts but saw his goalbound shot deflected behind by Duncan. The resultant flag kick found the head of Nat Brown, Town’s other striker who can also play centre back (like York’s Jon Parkin, but with a modicum of skill and half the tonnage), and his looping header came off the top of the bar. The tackles were flying in from the visitors but ref Andy Hall (famous for awarding a second yellow then red to a player to whom he hadn’t awarded a first yellow) took a softly-softly approach initially with a word in the ear rather than a card in the face.
On ten we saw the first flash of Tudor magic as he picked up possession wide right in his own half, and with a smart shuffle and turn hared away from the bewildered Lloyd and headed straight for goal. He was typically up-ended by Steve Yates not far from the penalty area (lecture only), and Lil’ Luke Guttridge’s free kick found Adam Tann who was wide with his header. United had plenty of possession and passed to each other tidily in their own half, but that old problem of the final ball was in evidence as the strikers ran around fruitlessly, trying to pick up the scraps of hopeful hoofs like a couple of junior Steptoes, and visiting keeper Phil Senior remained untroubled. Hall was finally forced to produce the book on 20 when Freddie Murray was unceremoniously clattered by Jon Worthington, but from Venus’s free kick Lil’ Luke went for a spectacular 30-yarder and produced a shot as wildly over the top as a Justin Hawkins jumpsuit. Only without the high-pitched screeching.
Two minutes later chaos came to the United penalty area as Shaun Marshall made a pig’s ear of a Lloyd long throw under pressure from Brown, the ball dropped into a forest of bodies in the six-yard box, and somehow Stead managed to scuff a shot towards the empty goal so badly that Warren Goodhind was able to welly clear from near his own line. Several more corners during the first 45 were to pinball around the United box before a last-gasp boot would avert the danger in Peter Kayesque style. On 28 Andy Holdsworth became the Terriers’ second booking for a foul on Neil McCafferty, but United remained all neat build-up and no finish. Duncan headed a Guttridge corner over on 30 and two minutes later visiting skipper Rob Edwards was forced to withdraw, to be replaced by Chris Holland. On 34 McCafferty sent a scudder wide from just outside the area, then Stead responded with a longer range free kick that buzzed a foot over Marshall’s bar.
A minute later Goodhind picked up United’s only card for a foul on Stead on halfway, then Duncan nodded another Guttridge corner wide as the game became dominated by set pieces, thanks in no small part to Hall’s increasing fussiness in stopping the game every 20 seconds. He should get into gridiron; all those stoppages would mean lots of lovely commercial break time. Closest squeak yet came on 42 as Brown’s cross from the right sailed over everyone to find Stead unmarked at the far post; he attempted to lift it back past Dancing Shaun into the far corner, but the Terpsichorean custodian produced a characteristically fine save to tip over the bar. Lucky Stead wasn’t at the Hull game last week or he’d have gone for the near post.
But United’s let-off was almost as brief as Britney’s marriage. Danny Schofield’s corner produced more richocheting rumpus, the ball bobbled around like it was made of wool and eventually it bounced up and hit the unfortunate Webb’s outstretched hand. Penalty, said Mr Hall somewhat harshly, and Stead despatched it with pace and precision despite Marshall’s good effort at stopping it, finally standing his ground and not diving the wrong way like a kamikaze keeper; it was just too powerful to stop, although Shaun still got a touch. A game that had 0-0 all over it could only have been undeadlocked by a penalty, and half-time arrived with worried U’s fans wondering where a goal might come from. The chairman’s faulty mic shenanigans during the interval are already well documented; suffice to say the NRE made more noise at him than they did at either teams or the away support throughout the 90 minutes of play.
Unlike some of their fans, United started the second half in positive fashion and Murray surprised us all and probably himself with a mazy run on 48 which culminated in a cut inside and right-footed shot from 20 yards that Senior did well to clutch at the second attempt. Both teams went at each other without troubling the keepers, much like the first half, until United should have equalised on 55. Guttridge whipped over a cross from the right; Senior flapped but failed to gather as he floundered in a sea of bodies, and the ball fell out to Goodhind of all people in the corner of the six-yard box. Faced with an open goal, he opted for the spectacular volley rather than simple tap-in, and his effort soared horribly over the top, surely harder to accomplish than score. Looks like Wozza’s after Jerry’s all-time non-scoring record, in which case he’s still got 92 games to go. But think what a legend you’d be, Woz, although surely even you couldn’t then leave and have goals against us disallowed while playing for two other clubs. Jerry’s a one-off, and no mistake.
United’s brief flurry failed to present any other opportunities, and after Guttridge had blocked a Holland shot, John Turner was withdrawn just after the hour to be replaced by Aggy Revell for his first game since September 13. His first contribution was excellent, playing a superb one-two with Tudor to sprint down the right channel and ping over a splendid cross that Webb just failed to wrest from Efe Sodje and his flying bandana, making its first appearance against us since Luton in November 1999. We had an attack then of Benjamin, Butler and Kyd, with some chap called Taylor on the bench. Halcyon days, indeed … I wonder how Martin McNeil is enjoying the glamorous world of high street banking?
The match became progressively scrappy, hindered by ref Hall’s incessant whistling and by the visitors’ tendency to spend as much time as possible lying on the ground while their physio dabbed at them with his magic sponge. Ant’s ice cubes would have got them up again in double quick time, particularly if used correctly. Remember Pulp Fiction? That would have been quite welcome in the summer heat at the McAlpine. Senior diced with danger on 73 as he rushed to intercept a through ball intended for Revell’s galloping run and stopped, clutching it to his ample belly literally on the line of the penalty area. Two minutes later Nathan Peat replaced Murray in a straight swap, Shaggy abandoning any thoughts of a formation change despite our distinct impression that we wouldn’t score if we played until Easter. We might need a resurrection by then.
Adam Tann took it on himself to play further and further forward and soon enough was effectively playing as an extra striker. On 77 Revell and Brown flung themselves at a cross only for play to be waved on as they both tumbled to the ground, and Webb was quickest to react as he attempted a stretching toe-poke for goal from eight yards that rolled just wide as he made contact with Senior. Needless to say the keeper milked his ‘injury’ for all it was worth and would doubtless have claimed to be as lacking in phenakism as Greg Rusedski. If he’s guilty, he’s Canadian, all right? United continued to huff and puff but were caught out on 84 as Stead picked up the ball on the edge of the United area, shimmied past two men and hit a low skimmer that was headed inside Marshall’s far post until he managed to tip it round. But the hosts’ let-off was as short-lived as Louis Saha’s agent’s patience. Schofield’s corner was headed up into the air by Duncan at the near post, Stead won it unchallenged near the penalty spot, and it dropped perfectly for Worthington to leap and score with an acrobatic (is there any other type?) overhead kick from six yards: 2-0.
Game over, surely. To their credit, United never gave up, but their crosses lacked accuracy until the last minute, when Tudor’s long cross from the right found Duncan racing in just past the far post; his stab hit the foot of the woodwork, but Tann was first to slide in bravely for the rebound and poke home from close range. Sadly, this was just an exercise in false hope raising, as United barely mustered another attack in the four added minutes, the Terriers keeping possession coolly, taking the ball into the corners and even gaining a flag kick along the way. Another day, another home defeat.
The next month is crucial; with six games against teams either below or just above us, a good stack of points will be needed to avoid being sucked into the void that is the relegation zone. More creativity and invention must be found from somewhere because all the pretty approach play in the world is useless if nothing is created in the final third. With less material to work with than Action Man’s tailor, Shaggy and the Prof are going to have to work some wonders with their tactical cotton and thread; let’s all get behind them with blankets of sound. Nighty-night!
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Marshall 6 – No chance with the goals, a couple of excellent saves, but could have commanded his area better at times.
Goodhind 6 – Competently unspectacular. Duncan 6 – Solid as ever. Venus 7 – Sound defensively and a good springboard for attacks. Murray 6 – Another decent game at wing-back and almost broke his duck again. Tudor 6 – A few exciting runs but was well marshalled by man-marker Lloyd. Tann 7 – Reliable in the middle and a revelation as an extra striker late on. Guttridge 6 – Motatorious as ever but far from his best game of the season. McCafferty 6 – As before, neat and tidy without ever threatening to hurt the opposition. Turner 6 – Sporadically dangerous but saw far too little of the ball. Webb 6 – Did his best with mostly inadequate service. Revell 6 – Satisfactory comeback with plenty of good running. Peat 6 – Had the odd moment. Soundtrack of the day: Hot Hot Heat/Oh, Goddamnit! Match summary: It was Shane MacGowan versus the Bee Gees at the Abbey as toothless United bit off more than they could chew against the fangs of the Terriers. Possession might be nine-tenths of the law, but in the wild back streets of the Nationwide League, only one thing counts: goals. And for now at least, they seem to have gone to Reading. |
Action Man: enormous dog tag you've got there, mate
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17 January 2004: Macclesfield 0v1 U's
Luking good
This week the Cambridge Union was privileged to host an address from FIFA’s president and the most powerful man in football, Sepp Blatter. Your official website was there to capture the highlights of a memorable evening.
‘Good evening. First of all may I say how delighted I am to be here, at the birthplace of modern football where the Cambridge Rules were first published in 1863. The game has since grown beyond its originators’ wildest dreams to become the most popular and lucrative sport in the world, and I am honoured today to be the most important and attractive man in the soccer universe.
‘But we must continue to expand in the face of ever-growing competition. Women’s football, for example, has attained a good standard, but now needs to make that vital jump to the next level of popularity. More spectators must be attracted, and my opinion is that those lovely ladies should maximise their most marketable assets by taking a leaf out of beach volleyball's book, with skimpy shorts made of skin-tight lycra (or rubber) and little crop tops. They could enliven games by shedding an item of clothing with every goal – ‘strip soccer’ rather than ‘soccer strip'. Ha! Ha! Could I have a glass of water, please? It is very hot in here, nicht wahr?
‘The men’s game's flagship continues to be those wonderful superclubs we know and love, like Real Madrid and Manchester United. I speak for all modern supporters when I say that everybody should be able to watch these fantastic teams play each other every week while sitting at home with a glass of wine, some fine Swiss cheese and an interactive remote control in their hand. So I have instituted a major funding reform whereby 95 per cent of all monies will be diverted to the elite 20 clubs so they can buy the best players and we can see them playing with each other to our heart’s content!
‘Four per cent of the remaining funds will go to me, that is to say FIFA, purely for administrative purposes, while the rest will go to all the other clubs in the world to help them run their quaint, uncomfortable grounds and their second-rate players for the handful of stubborn diehards who insist on watching football outdoors in the cold, without even an nice heated director’s box or a decent bottle of port to hand, against players they haven’t heard of who can’t find a famous girlfriend. How dreary, yes?
‘This will of course mean much belt-tightening for minor clubs like the Tottenham Hotspurs and Liverpool, and their players will have to live on £50 a week and get part-time jobs in DIY stores, and pay for their own kit and travelling expenses. In fact, I can now reveal to you that FIFA has been testing just such a scheme at your local club in this fine city, Cambridge United! We have been most impressed at just how a club can be run on practically no income at all and the input of its supporters and directors. People of Cambridge, I salute you! But do not forget to tune into the new McDonald’s FIFA Super-Fantastic Global Billionaires’ League next season, every night at midnight British time for maximum planet-wide impact. We are the future!’
Meanwhile, back on earth, 179 amber-shirted diehards were wending their way through the pleasant Peaks countryside to Moss Rose for what seemed like the sixth time this season in search of their side’s first League double of the season. After the multiple sending-off and penalty-miss shenanigans of previous recent encounters, the law of averages suggested a dreary nil-nil draw might be on the cards this time, or who knows, perhaps an untidily scrambled 1-0 win? Nah, that would mean keeping a clean sheet.
Macclesfield went into the match in buoyant mood under new manager and long-serving goalscoring club legend John Taylor, er, Askey; the Silkmen were unbeaten at home since late October and in an echo of the U’s of last season, had scored at least once in each of their previous 19 games. The clubs’ recent history certainly lent some spice to the occasion, Macc top scorer Matthew Tipton a target for the visiting boo-boys after his perceived diving while Shane Tudor got the same treatment from the home fans for his vicious assault on George Abbey’s fist with his head in the Cup, leading to the full back’s dismissal. Remarkably, Mr Abbey was missing this time due to a call from Nigeria for the African Nations’ Cup (no, really), but Macc’s other red cardee, Karl Munroe, was present after his incapacitation of our Shane at the Abbey last month, as was keeper Steve Wilson, a man who collects penalty saves like Bolton collect fat strikers. Four out of six versus the U’s so far.
United went into battle after a long discussion following last week’s dismal home defeat by Huddersfield, minus Mark Venus for some reason but in Shaggy’s words ‘flying’ after a good week’s training. Must have been that fighting 3-3 draw with the cones on Coldhams Common on Thursday. Wozza Goodhind moved to centre back and Stev Angus stepped in on the right, while Nathan Peat was handed his first start ahead of fellow loanee Neil McCafferty in a two-winger 4-4-2 set-up.
On a cold, bright day with a low sun shining directly into the away supporters’ and the home defence’s eyes, it was the hosts who made the better start with a series of corners, although a fourth-minute break down the right and cross by John Turner almost set up the in-rushing Danny Webb, poking wide of the near post under pressure from Wilson and Michael Welch. It soon became apparent that Macc’s main thrust would be down their left flank, where Colin Little and Danny Adams combined well, while for United’s part, the two ‘wingers’ played more like slightly wide-of-centre midfielders and instead of sprinting down the wings, waited for the full backs Angus and Murray to bomb past them on the overlap. Tudor and Peat also pitched in with a fair bit of deeper defensive cover work, so their job descriptions might better have been ‘auxiliary wing backs’ or ‘deep-lying wide men'. Shaggy and the Prof must have almost got through that coaching manual by now.
Home danger man Tipton (boo! Sorry, force of habit) had his first chance on ten, running on to Little’s through ball but blasting over from just outside the area and damaging his back in the process. Then it was United’s turn to threaten as Webb ran on to Guttridge’s ball down the left only to be apparently pushed to the ground from behind by Welch. In any other part of the field, fussy contact-o-phobic ref Ryan would have awarded a free kick, but this was in the penalty area. Let’s face it, we’d only have missed it anyway.
The only players who were not over-employed were the keepers as two game but limited teams probed each other but looked just what they were, 16th and 17th in Division Three and about as full of inventive flair as Milton Road is a seething cauldron of noise. Rumours that City are to adopt a new nickname, the Librarians, are plausible but completely made up. Having failed to recover from his injury, Tipton withdrew on 20 to be replaced by our (very) old mate Martin Carruthers, who was to make all the unforgettable impact of, er, what was his name again? Tann fed Webb a minute later for the young striker to get a shot in on goal, but his effort from 18 yards was too close to Wilson. In an end-to-end flurry Little blazed over for the hosts then an intelligent nod on by Webb sent Turner clear on goal, but his first touch was too heavy and Wilson rushed from goal to gather before he could recover. Miles then shot wide on 23 for the Silkmen.
Just before the half-hour the amber hordes were shouting for another penalty, gluttons for punishment that they are, when Turner ran on to a Webb pass but fell under the challenge of Munroe. The ref remained as uninterested as 30-stone world darts champ Andy Fordham being presented with a nice piece of crispbread and a stick of celery. The match became progressively less progressive as two toothless-looking sides slugged it out in midfield, Little finding Dancing Shaun’s arms with a shot on 36, then three minutes later the Terpsichorean custodian finally having some serious work to do with a good diving tip round the post from Danny Whitaker’s long-range piledriver.
As half-time approached, Murray became the first booking with a typically uncompromising clattering of Stephen Brackenridge, and final chance of the half fell to the hosts as the ball ricocheted around the United box before Whitaker aimed a blaster at the top right corner and found only Row L (or perhaps M). So ended an inconsequential half between two average sides who weren’t lacking in effort but were missing genuine quality where it counted. No red cards, no missed penalties; perhaps the teams now knew each other just too well, like a bored married couple. Not that anyone was suggesting a visit to Ann Summers or anything.
Part two began in the best possible way for United with a lead on 49. Lil’ Luke shrugged off a challenge in midfield, advanced into space down the left channel and found Turner wide, making another of his intelligent, ghosting runs. After a few paces he squared it back to Guttridge, now arriving in the penalty area and to his undoubted surprise finding the somnolent home defence backing off and affording him time and space to stroke a delightfully cool, measured finish past Wilson, for a goal which was made to look as easy as pie. Cherry, I think: 1-0!
Thus was the pattern of the rest of the match set: United sitting back a little, the winger/wing backs and Adam Tann protecting the back four while hopeful crosses rained in from all angles to be repelled by the commanding heads of Duncan, Goodhind and co. What Macc were lacking was that extra touch of quality that Turner and Guttridge had displayed so eloquently, in a move that seemed to belong to another game entirely. Just before the hour the hosts’ John Miles attempted a typical long-range curler when he caught Marshall slightly off his line, but cleared the bar by several feet. Then Welch picked up Macc’s first booking for an aerial clash with Tann that left the United pivot in need of the healing power of Ant Coole’s magic ice cubes. A couple of minutes later Michael Carr essayed a long, meandering run from right back, but his shot lacked the power to trouble Marshall.
Webb was next in the book on 69 for what looked like the most trivial of challenges on Carr, the card one suspects for an accumulation of fouls rather than that one in isolation. The hosts made their second sub on 71, Wednesday loanee John Beswetherick replacing Brackenridge; the delay in his debut was presumably due to the time spent in fitting his name on to the back of a shirt. A good left-side run by Peat on 73 saw his deflected cross run to Tann at the far post 15 yards out, but he blasted narrowly wide when he should have hit the target, then it was Adam’s turn for a booking for a trivial challenge on Chris Priest. The ref was apparently getting hungrier to fill up with bookings than those price-doubling pranksters at Northampton Town.
Four minutes later the galloping legs of Aggy Revell replaced Turner, then McCafferty replaced Tudor on 80 in another straight swap. Macclesfield continued to enjoy most of possession without doing anything more significant with it than lump more hopeful balls towards the United area, but the visitors’ doughty defenders were equal to everything thrown at them. Only frustration for the visiting hordes was their side’s inability to keep the ball when they won it to play out time – the boys in amber were more profligate than Mrs Beckham’s record label.
Desperate Macc, as lacking in quality final ball as their opponents have been recently, made a last throw of the dice on 88 in replacing Welch with Matt Haddrell and playing three up front, but with all the finesse of a rhinoceros with horn-ache they were always reliant on chance rather than design to present them with an equalising chance, and the United rearguard stood firm in search of that rare clean sheet.
Luking good
This week the Cambridge Union was privileged to host an address from FIFA’s president and the most powerful man in football, Sepp Blatter. Your official website was there to capture the highlights of a memorable evening.
‘Good evening. First of all may I say how delighted I am to be here, at the birthplace of modern football where the Cambridge Rules were first published in 1863. The game has since grown beyond its originators’ wildest dreams to become the most popular and lucrative sport in the world, and I am honoured today to be the most important and attractive man in the soccer universe.
‘But we must continue to expand in the face of ever-growing competition. Women’s football, for example, has attained a good standard, but now needs to make that vital jump to the next level of popularity. More spectators must be attracted, and my opinion is that those lovely ladies should maximise their most marketable assets by taking a leaf out of beach volleyball's book, with skimpy shorts made of skin-tight lycra (or rubber) and little crop tops. They could enliven games by shedding an item of clothing with every goal – ‘strip soccer’ rather than ‘soccer strip'. Ha! Ha! Could I have a glass of water, please? It is very hot in here, nicht wahr?
‘The men’s game's flagship continues to be those wonderful superclubs we know and love, like Real Madrid and Manchester United. I speak for all modern supporters when I say that everybody should be able to watch these fantastic teams play each other every week while sitting at home with a glass of wine, some fine Swiss cheese and an interactive remote control in their hand. So I have instituted a major funding reform whereby 95 per cent of all monies will be diverted to the elite 20 clubs so they can buy the best players and we can see them playing with each other to our heart’s content!
‘Four per cent of the remaining funds will go to me, that is to say FIFA, purely for administrative purposes, while the rest will go to all the other clubs in the world to help them run their quaint, uncomfortable grounds and their second-rate players for the handful of stubborn diehards who insist on watching football outdoors in the cold, without even an nice heated director’s box or a decent bottle of port to hand, against players they haven’t heard of who can’t find a famous girlfriend. How dreary, yes?
‘This will of course mean much belt-tightening for minor clubs like the Tottenham Hotspurs and Liverpool, and their players will have to live on £50 a week and get part-time jobs in DIY stores, and pay for their own kit and travelling expenses. In fact, I can now reveal to you that FIFA has been testing just such a scheme at your local club in this fine city, Cambridge United! We have been most impressed at just how a club can be run on practically no income at all and the input of its supporters and directors. People of Cambridge, I salute you! But do not forget to tune into the new McDonald’s FIFA Super-Fantastic Global Billionaires’ League next season, every night at midnight British time for maximum planet-wide impact. We are the future!’
Meanwhile, back on earth, 179 amber-shirted diehards were wending their way through the pleasant Peaks countryside to Moss Rose for what seemed like the sixth time this season in search of their side’s first League double of the season. After the multiple sending-off and penalty-miss shenanigans of previous recent encounters, the law of averages suggested a dreary nil-nil draw might be on the cards this time, or who knows, perhaps an untidily scrambled 1-0 win? Nah, that would mean keeping a clean sheet.
Macclesfield went into the match in buoyant mood under new manager and long-serving goalscoring club legend John Taylor, er, Askey; the Silkmen were unbeaten at home since late October and in an echo of the U’s of last season, had scored at least once in each of their previous 19 games. The clubs’ recent history certainly lent some spice to the occasion, Macc top scorer Matthew Tipton a target for the visiting boo-boys after his perceived diving while Shane Tudor got the same treatment from the home fans for his vicious assault on George Abbey’s fist with his head in the Cup, leading to the full back’s dismissal. Remarkably, Mr Abbey was missing this time due to a call from Nigeria for the African Nations’ Cup (no, really), but Macc’s other red cardee, Karl Munroe, was present after his incapacitation of our Shane at the Abbey last month, as was keeper Steve Wilson, a man who collects penalty saves like Bolton collect fat strikers. Four out of six versus the U’s so far.
United went into battle after a long discussion following last week’s dismal home defeat by Huddersfield, minus Mark Venus for some reason but in Shaggy’s words ‘flying’ after a good week’s training. Must have been that fighting 3-3 draw with the cones on Coldhams Common on Thursday. Wozza Goodhind moved to centre back and Stev Angus stepped in on the right, while Nathan Peat was handed his first start ahead of fellow loanee Neil McCafferty in a two-winger 4-4-2 set-up.
On a cold, bright day with a low sun shining directly into the away supporters’ and the home defence’s eyes, it was the hosts who made the better start with a series of corners, although a fourth-minute break down the right and cross by John Turner almost set up the in-rushing Danny Webb, poking wide of the near post under pressure from Wilson and Michael Welch. It soon became apparent that Macc’s main thrust would be down their left flank, where Colin Little and Danny Adams combined well, while for United’s part, the two ‘wingers’ played more like slightly wide-of-centre midfielders and instead of sprinting down the wings, waited for the full backs Angus and Murray to bomb past them on the overlap. Tudor and Peat also pitched in with a fair bit of deeper defensive cover work, so their job descriptions might better have been ‘auxiliary wing backs’ or ‘deep-lying wide men'. Shaggy and the Prof must have almost got through that coaching manual by now.
Home danger man Tipton (boo! Sorry, force of habit) had his first chance on ten, running on to Little’s through ball but blasting over from just outside the area and damaging his back in the process. Then it was United’s turn to threaten as Webb ran on to Guttridge’s ball down the left only to be apparently pushed to the ground from behind by Welch. In any other part of the field, fussy contact-o-phobic ref Ryan would have awarded a free kick, but this was in the penalty area. Let’s face it, we’d only have missed it anyway.
The only players who were not over-employed were the keepers as two game but limited teams probed each other but looked just what they were, 16th and 17th in Division Three and about as full of inventive flair as Milton Road is a seething cauldron of noise. Rumours that City are to adopt a new nickname, the Librarians, are plausible but completely made up. Having failed to recover from his injury, Tipton withdrew on 20 to be replaced by our (very) old mate Martin Carruthers, who was to make all the unforgettable impact of, er, what was his name again? Tann fed Webb a minute later for the young striker to get a shot in on goal, but his effort from 18 yards was too close to Wilson. In an end-to-end flurry Little blazed over for the hosts then an intelligent nod on by Webb sent Turner clear on goal, but his first touch was too heavy and Wilson rushed from goal to gather before he could recover. Miles then shot wide on 23 for the Silkmen.
Just before the half-hour the amber hordes were shouting for another penalty, gluttons for punishment that they are, when Turner ran on to a Webb pass but fell under the challenge of Munroe. The ref remained as uninterested as 30-stone world darts champ Andy Fordham being presented with a nice piece of crispbread and a stick of celery. The match became progressively less progressive as two toothless-looking sides slugged it out in midfield, Little finding Dancing Shaun’s arms with a shot on 36, then three minutes later the Terpsichorean custodian finally having some serious work to do with a good diving tip round the post from Danny Whitaker’s long-range piledriver.
As half-time approached, Murray became the first booking with a typically uncompromising clattering of Stephen Brackenridge, and final chance of the half fell to the hosts as the ball ricocheted around the United box before Whitaker aimed a blaster at the top right corner and found only Row L (or perhaps M). So ended an inconsequential half between two average sides who weren’t lacking in effort but were missing genuine quality where it counted. No red cards, no missed penalties; perhaps the teams now knew each other just too well, like a bored married couple. Not that anyone was suggesting a visit to Ann Summers or anything.
Part two began in the best possible way for United with a lead on 49. Lil’ Luke shrugged off a challenge in midfield, advanced into space down the left channel and found Turner wide, making another of his intelligent, ghosting runs. After a few paces he squared it back to Guttridge, now arriving in the penalty area and to his undoubted surprise finding the somnolent home defence backing off and affording him time and space to stroke a delightfully cool, measured finish past Wilson, for a goal which was made to look as easy as pie. Cherry, I think: 1-0!
Thus was the pattern of the rest of the match set: United sitting back a little, the winger/wing backs and Adam Tann protecting the back four while hopeful crosses rained in from all angles to be repelled by the commanding heads of Duncan, Goodhind and co. What Macc were lacking was that extra touch of quality that Turner and Guttridge had displayed so eloquently, in a move that seemed to belong to another game entirely. Just before the hour the hosts’ John Miles attempted a typical long-range curler when he caught Marshall slightly off his line, but cleared the bar by several feet. Then Welch picked up Macc’s first booking for an aerial clash with Tann that left the United pivot in need of the healing power of Ant Coole’s magic ice cubes. A couple of minutes later Michael Carr essayed a long, meandering run from right back, but his shot lacked the power to trouble Marshall.
Webb was next in the book on 69 for what looked like the most trivial of challenges on Carr, the card one suspects for an accumulation of fouls rather than that one in isolation. The hosts made their second sub on 71, Wednesday loanee John Beswetherick replacing Brackenridge; the delay in his debut was presumably due to the time spent in fitting his name on to the back of a shirt. A good left-side run by Peat on 73 saw his deflected cross run to Tann at the far post 15 yards out, but he blasted narrowly wide when he should have hit the target, then it was Adam’s turn for a booking for a trivial challenge on Chris Priest. The ref was apparently getting hungrier to fill up with bookings than those price-doubling pranksters at Northampton Town.
Four minutes later the galloping legs of Aggy Revell replaced Turner, then McCafferty replaced Tudor on 80 in another straight swap. Macclesfield continued to enjoy most of possession without doing anything more significant with it than lump more hopeful balls towards the United area, but the visitors’ doughty defenders were equal to everything thrown at them. Only frustration for the visiting hordes was their side’s inability to keep the ball when they won it to play out time – the boys in amber were more profligate than Mrs Beckham’s record label.
Desperate Macc, as lacking in quality final ball as their opponents have been recently, made a last throw of the dice on 88 in replacing Welch with Matt Haddrell and playing three up front, but with all the finesse of a rhinoceros with horn-ache they were always reliant on chance rather than design to present them with an equalising chance, and the United rearguard stood firm in search of that rare clean sheet.
Rhinoceros: looks like a dose of horn-ache
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Revell, Guttridge and McCafferty managed to keep a little possession up the Macc end, even gaining a corner when the latter’s goalbound shot was deflected wide, and there were groans at the away end as four minutes’ added time was indicated – further proof of the incontrovertible rule that the better United are doing, the more time refs give the opposition. But Macclesfield, one of the poorest teams we have played this season (and there’s some pretty stiff competition), just weren’t up to it and the U’s held on comfortably for their sixth away win of the season. It wasn’t a classic, it wasn’t actually very good at all, but the result was all.
It was the first time United had ever beaten Macc away in five attempts, although their first visit to Moss Rose yielded a win against Chester City in 1991: some chap called Taylor scored both goals in a 2-0 win in front of 1,015 spectators. The attendance wasn’t much better today, little more than 2,000 for the lowest crowd at a United game this term apart from Lancaster. So the amazing away results keep coming; but the target now must surely be to translate them to the Abbey. With Rochdale and Carlisle up next , Shaggy’s task is to set his side on the route to survival by putting this home hoodoo to rest. Then all those home fans might finally catch a glimpse of what the super-loyal away following have been treated to so many times this season!
Marshall 7 – Good saves when required, well protected by his defence.
Angus 8 – Secure defending allied to some good upfield forays.
Murray 8 – Another buccaneering performance, all crunching tackles and enterprising sprints down the wing.
Duncan 8 – A tower of strength in the middle.
Goodhind 8 – Proved his best position is centre back with a cool display.
Tudor 7 – Buzzed busily, although would have liked to see some more direct runs down the flank.
Guttridge 8 – Ran the show in the second half and got yet another vital goal.
Tann 8 – Important back-up.
Peat 7 – Good impression on his full debut with some splendid runs.
Turner 7 – Some characteristic good touches and another assist.
Webb 7 – Foraged energetically in the face of some sub-standard service.
Revell 7 – Got involved well in his usual leggy fashion in his 15 minutes.
McCafferty 7 – Solid contribution in the closing stages.
Soundtrack of the day: The Early November/Something That Produces Results
Match summary: It was sweet revenge at the Moss Rose for the fighting U’s as they produced a Martin Keown of a performance: it wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t great to watch, but it got the right result. If only we can do this at home …
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. He’s had better games, and this was very much a team triumph, but he was the leader and his one moment of true quality made the difference. And now the BGG has gone, he’s far and away the top scorer still at the club!
Ref watch: Ryan 5. No major rickets, but far too pernickety with stoppages for every small physical contact and some unnecessary bookings.
JT’s jukebox.John Turner lends an ear to the Moss Rose music. ‘With no apparent theme, Macc’s mishmash of sounds from the last 25 years gave the impression of someone playing some of their favourite records, which was refreshing. It was mainly good quality too, with the Jam’s mod classic Going Underground, Simple Minds’ stadium rocker Alive And Kicking, Manic Street Preachers’ You Stole The Sun From My Heart and Roachford’s under-rated Cuddly Toy, although 4 Non Blondes’ What’s Up hasn’t aged well. Pity, then, about the final disc, referred to as their anthem, which turned out to be Bon Jovi’s drearily blustering Keep The Faith. If you’re going to use a northern soul catchphrase, use a northern soul record! JTJ verdict: Meandering! (7/10)’
It was the first time United had ever beaten Macc away in five attempts, although their first visit to Moss Rose yielded a win against Chester City in 1991: some chap called Taylor scored both goals in a 2-0 win in front of 1,015 spectators. The attendance wasn’t much better today, little more than 2,000 for the lowest crowd at a United game this term apart from Lancaster. So the amazing away results keep coming; but the target now must surely be to translate them to the Abbey. With Rochdale and Carlisle up next , Shaggy’s task is to set his side on the route to survival by putting this home hoodoo to rest. Then all those home fans might finally catch a glimpse of what the super-loyal away following have been treated to so many times this season!
Marshall 7 – Good saves when required, well protected by his defence.
Angus 8 – Secure defending allied to some good upfield forays.
Murray 8 – Another buccaneering performance, all crunching tackles and enterprising sprints down the wing.
Duncan 8 – A tower of strength in the middle.
Goodhind 8 – Proved his best position is centre back with a cool display.
Tudor 7 – Buzzed busily, although would have liked to see some more direct runs down the flank.
Guttridge 8 – Ran the show in the second half and got yet another vital goal.
Tann 8 – Important back-up.
Peat 7 – Good impression on his full debut with some splendid runs.
Turner 7 – Some characteristic good touches and another assist.
Webb 7 – Foraged energetically in the face of some sub-standard service.
Revell 7 – Got involved well in his usual leggy fashion in his 15 minutes.
McCafferty 7 – Solid contribution in the closing stages.
Soundtrack of the day: The Early November/Something That Produces Results
Match summary: It was sweet revenge at the Moss Rose for the fighting U’s as they produced a Martin Keown of a performance: it wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t great to watch, but it got the right result. If only we can do this at home …
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. He’s had better games, and this was very much a team triumph, but he was the leader and his one moment of true quality made the difference. And now the BGG has gone, he’s far and away the top scorer still at the club!
Ref watch: Ryan 5. No major rickets, but far too pernickety with stoppages for every small physical contact and some unnecessary bookings.
JT’s jukebox.John Turner lends an ear to the Moss Rose music. ‘With no apparent theme, Macc’s mishmash of sounds from the last 25 years gave the impression of someone playing some of their favourite records, which was refreshing. It was mainly good quality too, with the Jam’s mod classic Going Underground, Simple Minds’ stadium rocker Alive And Kicking, Manic Street Preachers’ You Stole The Sun From My Heart and Roachford’s under-rated Cuddly Toy, although 4 Non Blondes’ What’s Up hasn’t aged well. Pity, then, about the final disc, referred to as their anthem, which turned out to be Bon Jovi’s drearily blustering Keep The Faith. If you’re going to use a northern soul catchphrase, use a northern soul record! JTJ verdict: Meandering! (7/10)’
24 January 2004: U's 0v0 Rochdale
In, damned spot
As the United squad becomes more and more depleted, places are opening up for new, exciting talent to make its mark at the Abbey. Your official website invited top agent and friend of the stars Garry Silkworm to tip us the wink as to the stars of tomorrow he has lined up to delight the devotees.
‘Football is now, more than ever, a global game. I have assembled the cream of world talent for John Taylor to look at, according to his criteria that they are talented, tactically aware, cheap and desperate.
‘First of all we have Galvin Klein. The American son of German émigrés, Galvin is a big lad at 6ft 4in and 18 stone, but he has a deceptive turn of pace, especially when he can smell a Fatburger ‘Chock Full o’ Lard’ Cardiac Attack Special. He made a big impression last year at quarter-centre-back for the AC-DC 69ers in the Washington Major Minor League and would relish the chance to improve his game in the UK, the home of football and fish ’n’ chips.
‘From Finland we have Antti Spumantti. A tall, rangy target man, he has the ability to ghost into positions unseen due to his near-translucent skin, especially if he is playing in white. After a triumphant season with FC Jazz-Maggs, he is looking to broaden his horizons while still playing somewhere cold and sunless, as he breaks out in sores when exposed to sunlight, followed by a slight coma. Particularly useful in evening matches.
‘Antoine Foucault Le-Petomane is one of the stars of the Andorran League, where he has impressed on the wing for FC Espece-de-Guignol. He is heir to the throne of Andorra, being the eldest son of King Eric, but does not lack the common touch, and the crowd loves his cheeky grin as his butler brings a refreshing glass of Bolly or Pimm’s to the touchline when he gets thirsty! His insistence on wearing a coronet when playing is unusual, but it does not affect his heading ability and he is prepared to tone down his preference for ermine-trimmed shorts if it is too much trouble. Gold leaf would do.
‘Alberto Jojoba-Ballsamm is an established star in his native Madagascar. A war hero from the country’s recent ice cream-inspired conflict, when he led the Whippee Faction to an inspiring victory over the invading Softee Brigade, he has won the admiration of the nation with his battling midfield displays for the Galloping Golden Gazelles despite the handicap of only possessing one eye, one lung and one leg, all of which are made of wood.’
When pressed, United manager John Taylor was frank in his assessment: ‘All of these lads’ attitudes are first class and they would all be a valuable addition to the football club’s squad. However, budgetary constraints dictate that I can only sign one of them, although I would like to thank Garry for his hard work in bringing them to my attention.’
And which one will you be taking on, John? ‘Alberto. He can take penalties.’
The Abbey may no longer be within the orbit of Venus, but the stars of tomorrow have certainly brought a shine to the old place after Tuesday’s inspiring FA Youth Cup victory at Leicester. But there was still a chill around Newmarket Road today, and not just a portent of Monday’s impending Arctic cold snap, as the amber hordes wondered if their team’s exceptional away form could finally be transferred to its home turf. Well, it would be nice.
United, understandably, made no changes to the team that ground out that 1-0 win at Macclesfield last Saturday, retaining the peculiar ‘wingless 4-4-2’ formation with four narrow midfielders and the full backs expected to provide width by overlapping. It’s not the most exciting of line-ups, but it works away from home so it was only natural to try it out at home as well; with this club’s lack of resources, perhaps it makes sense to try the low-on-thrills, high-on-efficiency method as so successfully evidenced by the likes of Dido and David Gray.
In, damned spot
As the United squad becomes more and more depleted, places are opening up for new, exciting talent to make its mark at the Abbey. Your official website invited top agent and friend of the stars Garry Silkworm to tip us the wink as to the stars of tomorrow he has lined up to delight the devotees.
‘Football is now, more than ever, a global game. I have assembled the cream of world talent for John Taylor to look at, according to his criteria that they are talented, tactically aware, cheap and desperate.
‘First of all we have Galvin Klein. The American son of German émigrés, Galvin is a big lad at 6ft 4in and 18 stone, but he has a deceptive turn of pace, especially when he can smell a Fatburger ‘Chock Full o’ Lard’ Cardiac Attack Special. He made a big impression last year at quarter-centre-back for the AC-DC 69ers in the Washington Major Minor League and would relish the chance to improve his game in the UK, the home of football and fish ’n’ chips.
‘From Finland we have Antti Spumantti. A tall, rangy target man, he has the ability to ghost into positions unseen due to his near-translucent skin, especially if he is playing in white. After a triumphant season with FC Jazz-Maggs, he is looking to broaden his horizons while still playing somewhere cold and sunless, as he breaks out in sores when exposed to sunlight, followed by a slight coma. Particularly useful in evening matches.
‘Antoine Foucault Le-Petomane is one of the stars of the Andorran League, where he has impressed on the wing for FC Espece-de-Guignol. He is heir to the throne of Andorra, being the eldest son of King Eric, but does not lack the common touch, and the crowd loves his cheeky grin as his butler brings a refreshing glass of Bolly or Pimm’s to the touchline when he gets thirsty! His insistence on wearing a coronet when playing is unusual, but it does not affect his heading ability and he is prepared to tone down his preference for ermine-trimmed shorts if it is too much trouble. Gold leaf would do.
‘Alberto Jojoba-Ballsamm is an established star in his native Madagascar. A war hero from the country’s recent ice cream-inspired conflict, when he led the Whippee Faction to an inspiring victory over the invading Softee Brigade, he has won the admiration of the nation with his battling midfield displays for the Galloping Golden Gazelles despite the handicap of only possessing one eye, one lung and one leg, all of which are made of wood.’
When pressed, United manager John Taylor was frank in his assessment: ‘All of these lads’ attitudes are first class and they would all be a valuable addition to the football club’s squad. However, budgetary constraints dictate that I can only sign one of them, although I would like to thank Garry for his hard work in bringing them to my attention.’
And which one will you be taking on, John? ‘Alberto. He can take penalties.’
The Abbey may no longer be within the orbit of Venus, but the stars of tomorrow have certainly brought a shine to the old place after Tuesday’s inspiring FA Youth Cup victory at Leicester. But there was still a chill around Newmarket Road today, and not just a portent of Monday’s impending Arctic cold snap, as the amber hordes wondered if their team’s exceptional away form could finally be transferred to its home turf. Well, it would be nice.
United, understandably, made no changes to the team that ground out that 1-0 win at Macclesfield last Saturday, retaining the peculiar ‘wingless 4-4-2’ formation with four narrow midfielders and the full backs expected to provide width by overlapping. It’s not the most exciting of line-ups, but it works away from home so it was only natural to try it out at home as well; with this club’s lack of resources, perhaps it makes sense to try the low-on-thrills, high-on-efficiency method as so successfully evidenced by the likes of Dido and David Gray.
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Rochdale arrived on the back of a mini-revival under new boss Steve Parkin, back for a second stint after failing at Barnsley, and sporting such notable wearers of the blue as Kevin Townson, at 5ft 5in the League's shortest striker (that’s about, er, 96.3 decilitres), and the shortest keeper in Neil Edwards, at 5ft 8in the smallest custodian since Ipswich’s Laurie Sivell in the 1970s. Sivell kept goal for Germany in the climactic game in the all-time classic Escape To Victory, a film so influential that Lionel Perez and Fabien Barthez based their unorthodox style on Sylvester Stallone. Funny no one signed him up. Dale’s ex-United loanee Paul ‘Rodney Trotter’ Connor could only make the bench, behind Walsall loanee Andy Bishop, where he was joined by their most talented but erratic player, Pat McCourt, now shorn of the electrocuted bog brush hairstyle he sported at Spotland . |
Dido, queen of Carthage: definitely looks low on thrills
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The opening exchanges were certainly low on thrills, looking as it was, an encounter between two teams in the lower half of Division Three. The first 15 minutes were played almost exclusively in the visitors’ half but could scarcely be described as a siege, more a polite knock upon the door. First real chance came on six when Gareth Griffiths fouled John Turner. Shane Tudor lined up the free kick just outside the area, but his low fizzer was not cleanly struck and ricocheted to Fred Murray, who blazed wildly over. If only we had a free-kick specialist on the books, eh? Then followed a series of left-wing corners, curled in by Lil’ Luke Guttridge, all too many of which were underhit and failed to get past the near post; it was also apparent that the Dale defence, with its twin towers of Griffiths and Daryl Burgess, would be as difficult to beat in the air as a golden eagle. Unless you’ve got an air-to-air missile, but that would be cheating. Perhaps the Football League should experiment with arming goalies with bazookas first. Imagine selling replicas from the club shop in team colours; all those orders from all over the world!
Edwards was first troubled on 11 when Lil’ Luke whipped over a high, swirling cross from the left that was arrowing into the top corner of the net until the bonsai custodian sprang to paw it over. Webb nodded a subsequent corner wide from close range as United continued to dominate possession, and on 16 the lively Nathan Peat saw a decent low shot deflected but clasped by Edwards at the second gasp. Two minutes later there were home shouts for a penalty when a blue shirt appeared to push Webb over, to no interest from ref Beeby, who in true classic compromise style declined to give either a penalty or a goal kick, but instead indicated a corner when Webb had clearly touched the ball last. These guys in black should be politicians.
Still United pressed, and on 20 Goodhind met a Tudor corner with his left foot in mid-air and sent a looping effort goalward that was clutched by Edwards. It took another two minutes for Rochdale to create their first chance as Townson’s cross found Bishop unmarked eight yards out, but Shaun Marshall flung himself superbly to his left to tip the header round the post. Another good home chance came on 26, Tudor finding Guttridge whose low diagonal ball seemed to be either missed or dummied by Turner; Webb was just beaten to it by Wayne Evans in the six-yard box. Just after the half-hour came the first card of the match, Townson booked for clattering Goodhind. Pick on someone your own size, pal, like a koala bear or something.
On 33 we enjoyed a vintage Tudor moment when an exciting left-channel run left two men for dead to create an opening, but the Orange One blasted disappointingly into the south stand. Murray was next to threaten, a thrilling run typical of his recent form climaxed with a right-footed curler wide of the far post. Webb then fired a well-controlled volley straight at Edwards before McClare shot wide with a rare goal attempt for the visitors just before the break. So ended a middling half between two teams lacking cutting edge, and it was a restless crowd that retired to its mobiles, radios and light snacks, after a good stretch and yawn.
Rochdale could hardly have been more passive in the second half, and after a few doubtless choice words from Parkin they emerged with more of a spring in their collective step. Townson tested Marshall early on, but the most significant moment of the game was soon to arrive at the other end. Ironically, it was in the 49th minute, the exact point at which Guttridge notched the winner at Moss Rose a week ago. This time, Luke’s through ball intended for Turner ran for the in-rushing Webb, who was felled clumsily by Evans near the penalty spot. Yup, penalty time again. Despite United’s wretched recent history from the spot, there were celebrations around the Abbey, although not from yours truly. I’m sure I was not alone in experiencing a feeling of impending underwhelmation. The celebrators’ anticipation of pen-induced victory was, of course, entirely flambuginous.
Lil’ Luke it was who stepped forward as Edwards tried vainly to make himself look big, or at least bigger than an overgrown gerbil. Luke’s kick deceived the Dale keeper, arrowing towards the right-hand post as he went the other way, but it cannoned off the inside of the post. Peat latched on to it first, but he chose to take a touch before shooting, thereby taking himself nearer Edwards, and the man in green was able to block the Hull loanee’s goalbound effort from close range when Peat should have scored. Second miss in a row for Luke, one of five players to have missed from the spot this season alongside Walker (you must remember), Duncan, Taylor and Venus. This one was about as welcome as a truckload of Thai chickens.
Peat had a shot saved a minute later, but you almost see the belief slowly draining out of United as they saw their best chance of grinding out another 1-0 win whirl away like so much chaff. Guttridge wellied wide on 53, but Dale were starting to get into the contest; Griffiths met a corner with a powerful header on 56 which was straight at Dancing Shaun.
United responded on the hour with a Turner effort, straight at Edwards, and five minutes later Murray became the hosts’ only booking for a characteristically enthusiastic cruncher on Bishop. Dale introduced Connor and McCourt for Townson and Doughty on 68, but the match remained bogged down as the hosts huffed and puffed and the visitors took their time; for them a draw was beckoning as enticingly as the prospect of shower time with Jordan and the girls in the Aussie outback. United began to run out of steam: too many hopeful high balls were aimed at the front two, who were frequently outjumped by their markers, and when they did managed to win a flick-on or a knock-down, the four midfield players were all lounging a good 20 yards back, leaving a yawning gap between themselves and their forwards.
The 221 away fans (as opposed to exactly 3,000 home, spookily) thought their team had scored on 75 as Bishop shot for goal and saw his effort deflect off Duncan and change direction to leave Marshall stranded, and the Terpsichorean custodian was mightily relieved to see it trundle past his far post as the Lancastrians’ cheers turns to groans. Aggy Revell was introduced for Turner, but United’s cautious midfield still failed to get forward to support their strikers so any attack foundered before it could begin. Scott Warner replaced Gary Jones for Dale on 82, and much to the amber hordes’ frustration, their side seemed to run out of positivity and ideas in the dying minutes, retreating to allow the visitors to pressure them and Connor essaying an effort wide.
Most dangerously, Murray fouled Connor two minutes from time, Kevin Donovan crossed and there was Griffiths rising above a crowd of bodies at the far post to head downward and … just wide of the post. Home relief was palpable, but there was a significant smattering of disappointment when the final whistle signalled an end to an underwhelming encounter which will be remembered solely for that penalty miss.
Such is the fine line between a second consecutive efficiently ground-out win and a dour, boring let-down. Other results ran United’s way, indicating that most teams are as ordinary as each other in this division. What the Abbey faithful are looking for is something just a little extra-ordinary, to give them hope for the rest of the season, especially with Carlisle coming next week. We’re not looking for Okocha-style entertainment, Henryesque goals, Giggsian extravagance; just a petite quelque chose to look forward to on a bleak Saturday afternoon and give us something to talk about afterwards. And I don’t mean a chicken balti pie …
Edwards was first troubled on 11 when Lil’ Luke whipped over a high, swirling cross from the left that was arrowing into the top corner of the net until the bonsai custodian sprang to paw it over. Webb nodded a subsequent corner wide from close range as United continued to dominate possession, and on 16 the lively Nathan Peat saw a decent low shot deflected but clasped by Edwards at the second gasp. Two minutes later there were home shouts for a penalty when a blue shirt appeared to push Webb over, to no interest from ref Beeby, who in true classic compromise style declined to give either a penalty or a goal kick, but instead indicated a corner when Webb had clearly touched the ball last. These guys in black should be politicians.
Still United pressed, and on 20 Goodhind met a Tudor corner with his left foot in mid-air and sent a looping effort goalward that was clutched by Edwards. It took another two minutes for Rochdale to create their first chance as Townson’s cross found Bishop unmarked eight yards out, but Shaun Marshall flung himself superbly to his left to tip the header round the post. Another good home chance came on 26, Tudor finding Guttridge whose low diagonal ball seemed to be either missed or dummied by Turner; Webb was just beaten to it by Wayne Evans in the six-yard box. Just after the half-hour came the first card of the match, Townson booked for clattering Goodhind. Pick on someone your own size, pal, like a koala bear or something.
On 33 we enjoyed a vintage Tudor moment when an exciting left-channel run left two men for dead to create an opening, but the Orange One blasted disappointingly into the south stand. Murray was next to threaten, a thrilling run typical of his recent form climaxed with a right-footed curler wide of the far post. Webb then fired a well-controlled volley straight at Edwards before McClare shot wide with a rare goal attempt for the visitors just before the break. So ended a middling half between two teams lacking cutting edge, and it was a restless crowd that retired to its mobiles, radios and light snacks, after a good stretch and yawn.
Rochdale could hardly have been more passive in the second half, and after a few doubtless choice words from Parkin they emerged with more of a spring in their collective step. Townson tested Marshall early on, but the most significant moment of the game was soon to arrive at the other end. Ironically, it was in the 49th minute, the exact point at which Guttridge notched the winner at Moss Rose a week ago. This time, Luke’s through ball intended for Turner ran for the in-rushing Webb, who was felled clumsily by Evans near the penalty spot. Yup, penalty time again. Despite United’s wretched recent history from the spot, there were celebrations around the Abbey, although not from yours truly. I’m sure I was not alone in experiencing a feeling of impending underwhelmation. The celebrators’ anticipation of pen-induced victory was, of course, entirely flambuginous.
Lil’ Luke it was who stepped forward as Edwards tried vainly to make himself look big, or at least bigger than an overgrown gerbil. Luke’s kick deceived the Dale keeper, arrowing towards the right-hand post as he went the other way, but it cannoned off the inside of the post. Peat latched on to it first, but he chose to take a touch before shooting, thereby taking himself nearer Edwards, and the man in green was able to block the Hull loanee’s goalbound effort from close range when Peat should have scored. Second miss in a row for Luke, one of five players to have missed from the spot this season alongside Walker (you must remember), Duncan, Taylor and Venus. This one was about as welcome as a truckload of Thai chickens.
Peat had a shot saved a minute later, but you almost see the belief slowly draining out of United as they saw their best chance of grinding out another 1-0 win whirl away like so much chaff. Guttridge wellied wide on 53, but Dale were starting to get into the contest; Griffiths met a corner with a powerful header on 56 which was straight at Dancing Shaun.
United responded on the hour with a Turner effort, straight at Edwards, and five minutes later Murray became the hosts’ only booking for a characteristically enthusiastic cruncher on Bishop. Dale introduced Connor and McCourt for Townson and Doughty on 68, but the match remained bogged down as the hosts huffed and puffed and the visitors took their time; for them a draw was beckoning as enticingly as the prospect of shower time with Jordan and the girls in the Aussie outback. United began to run out of steam: too many hopeful high balls were aimed at the front two, who were frequently outjumped by their markers, and when they did managed to win a flick-on or a knock-down, the four midfield players were all lounging a good 20 yards back, leaving a yawning gap between themselves and their forwards.
The 221 away fans (as opposed to exactly 3,000 home, spookily) thought their team had scored on 75 as Bishop shot for goal and saw his effort deflect off Duncan and change direction to leave Marshall stranded, and the Terpsichorean custodian was mightily relieved to see it trundle past his far post as the Lancastrians’ cheers turns to groans. Aggy Revell was introduced for Turner, but United’s cautious midfield still failed to get forward to support their strikers so any attack foundered before it could begin. Scott Warner replaced Gary Jones for Dale on 82, and much to the amber hordes’ frustration, their side seemed to run out of positivity and ideas in the dying minutes, retreating to allow the visitors to pressure them and Connor essaying an effort wide.
Most dangerously, Murray fouled Connor two minutes from time, Kevin Donovan crossed and there was Griffiths rising above a crowd of bodies at the far post to head downward and … just wide of the post. Home relief was palpable, but there was a significant smattering of disappointment when the final whistle signalled an end to an underwhelming encounter which will be remembered solely for that penalty miss.
Such is the fine line between a second consecutive efficiently ground-out win and a dour, boring let-down. Other results ran United’s way, indicating that most teams are as ordinary as each other in this division. What the Abbey faithful are looking for is something just a little extra-ordinary, to give them hope for the rest of the season, especially with Carlisle coming next week. We’re not looking for Okocha-style entertainment, Henryesque goals, Giggsian extravagance; just a petite quelque chose to look forward to on a bleak Saturday afternoon and give us something to talk about afterwards. And I don’t mean a chicken balti pie …
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Marshall 6 – One excellent save, but rooted to his line a few times at set pieces.
Angus 7 – Sound defensively and decent overlapping, too. Murray 7 – Continued his rich vein of current form with more determined tackling and some exciting runs down the flank. Duncan 7 – Another strong defensive display. Goodhind 7 – As sound as his central back four colleague. Tudor 6 – Some good moments, if some way from his best. Guttridge 6 – One of his quietest games of the season, capped with another penalty miss to boot. Tann 7 – Put in plenty of useful work in the engine room. Peat 7 – Made a good, hard-grafting contribution. Webb 6 – Never gave up but second best aerially against Rochdale’s twin towers. Turner 6 – Another who had an anonymous afternoon; often left isolated by his slow-to-support midfield. Revell 6 – Loped around busily but to little effect. Soundtrack of the day: Scissor Sisters/Comfortably Numb |
Alex Revell: loped
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Match summary: Another outbreak of groundhog infestation at the Abbey saw more valuable points disappear as that old penalty-miss hole opened up under the U’s once again. I don’t know how deep it is, but we all got a good look at the depths of tedium today.
Man of the match: Freddie Murray. A red-hot poker in a tepid bath of a match, his fearless, energetic forays down the left and no-nonsense tackling were a highlight of a greyly forgettable day.
Ref watch: Beeby 7. It would take a pretty poor ref to make a hash of such a non-event of a match as this, and Mr B is nowhere near that bad, just a tad over-fussy when it comes to physical challenges. Nice easy day.
Man of the match: Freddie Murray. A red-hot poker in a tepid bath of a match, his fearless, energetic forays down the left and no-nonsense tackling were a highlight of a greyly forgettable day.
Ref watch: Beeby 7. It would take a pretty poor ref to make a hash of such a non-event of a match as this, and Mr B is nowhere near that bad, just a tad over-fussy when it comes to physical challenges. Nice easy day.
7 February 2004: Southend 1v0 U's
Still got the Blues
Welcome to your latest weekly update of CUFC’s very own reality gameshow I’m A Calamity, Get Me Out Of Here! The camp has been looking a little depleted of late since Veno’s dramatic walk-out, following Justin and Terry’s ejection and Big Dave’s transfer to the Biscuit Factory, the long-running Reading-based docusoap. So the club has decided to allow a batch of new entrants to spice things up a little. Here are this week’s highlights.
Monday: The players gather in the Harris Suite for the first test of the week, the Typhoo Challenge. The older lads have no problem in brewing up a decent cup of tea in less than five minutes, but the younger ones are baffled when faced with a kettle, 18 cups and five tea bags. 'I only drink Ribena,' claims Lil’ Luke as he is sentenced to go to bed at six o’clock without any supper.
Tuesday: A day’s light training leaves the players in contemplative mood. Nathan claims to be missing his girlfriend, to ribald comments. Aggy has dyed his hair blond and offers to do the same for Shane, but he ruefully declines, saying only Dave knew how to handle it. He is still pining, poor lad.
Wednesday: Two new boys from New Zealand, Steven and James, are introduced. Their first task is a Bush Tucker Trial, in which they are challenged to eat as many pork scratchings as they can in two minutes. If they manage a whole packet, they will be allowed a barbie for everyone and to earn additional pocket money to supplement their £30 weekly wage by working behind the Supporters’ Club bar. They succeed, and take to the bar work as if they have been doing it for years. Which, as it turns out, they have.
Thursday: Bimmo is still complaining about his knee, the weather, his chilblains and the price of Werther's Originals. The others say the old man is just trying to wind them up and his threats to go home are just for dramatic effect. Bimmo suffers a recurrence of his Tourette’s syndrome and tells them exactly what he thinks of them, before storming off and falling over because his knee is still knackered. There is an emotional reunion later with lots of hugs when he thinks better of his outburst. But he still looks like Old Man Steptoe when he frowns.
Friday: Another new arrival in the shape of the enigmatic Gilbert, an impressively be-mulleted Austrian who has brought with him as his luxury item a CD of Great Teutonic Superhits featuring classics from the Goombay Dance Band, Modern Talking, Trio, Opus and the Art Company. The team is less than impressed. Then comes another new boy, Jermaine, and his collection of bling-bling garage and two-step meets with instant approval from everyone except Wozza, who says he always rather liked Rock Me Amadeus. The camps splits into two factions for a while until they agree to settle for Luther Vandross and Phil Collins like all good footballers.
Saturday: The team goes on a day out to Southend. Nothing happens.
It was nice for the amber hordes to go anywhere today after two weeks without a game. They went to Roots Hall with nightmarish memories of the game at the Abbey on Boxing Day, when the Shrimpers picked up three points against a feeble United with one of the more impressive performances by a visiting side this season. So it was a surprise to note from Southend’s excellent programme that their only win in their eight games since then was against QPR in the LDV. They had failed to score in five of those matches, hence the loan signing this week of Northampton striker Lawrie Dudfield.
Not that the Mighty U’s entered the fray in much better shape, having scored only two goals in their last four, and not seen a goal from a striker since Danny Webb’s effort at Lincoln on December 28. Not much chance of a Spurs-Man City-style goal-feast, then. United also introduced a new forward to ameliorate matters in the shape of 22-year-old Welshman Jermaine Easter, a former Wolves colleague of Shane Tudor and now at Hartlepool. He became only the seventh player whose surname begins with the letter E to play League football in the black and amber; can you name the other six? Answers later, Hold on to your anoraks, fact fans … answers later.
Easter started up front with Danny Webb, John Turner rested to the bench, with the only other change enforced as the suspended Adam Tann was replaced in midfield by Neil McCafferty. Ex-Cambridge interest in the hosts’ line-up was restricted to former U’s trainee Jamie Stuart, a little surprisingly considering the vast number of players who have turned out for both clubs over the years: the good (Crown, Webster, Butler), the bad (Richards, Benjamin, Polycarpou) and the ugly (McDonough, Westley, Robinson). The Shrimpers’ ex-City players, Tes Bramble and Che Wilson, were on the bench.
Still got the Blues
Welcome to your latest weekly update of CUFC’s very own reality gameshow I’m A Calamity, Get Me Out Of Here! The camp has been looking a little depleted of late since Veno’s dramatic walk-out, following Justin and Terry’s ejection and Big Dave’s transfer to the Biscuit Factory, the long-running Reading-based docusoap. So the club has decided to allow a batch of new entrants to spice things up a little. Here are this week’s highlights.
Monday: The players gather in the Harris Suite for the first test of the week, the Typhoo Challenge. The older lads have no problem in brewing up a decent cup of tea in less than five minutes, but the younger ones are baffled when faced with a kettle, 18 cups and five tea bags. 'I only drink Ribena,' claims Lil’ Luke as he is sentenced to go to bed at six o’clock without any supper.
Tuesday: A day’s light training leaves the players in contemplative mood. Nathan claims to be missing his girlfriend, to ribald comments. Aggy has dyed his hair blond and offers to do the same for Shane, but he ruefully declines, saying only Dave knew how to handle it. He is still pining, poor lad.
Wednesday: Two new boys from New Zealand, Steven and James, are introduced. Their first task is a Bush Tucker Trial, in which they are challenged to eat as many pork scratchings as they can in two minutes. If they manage a whole packet, they will be allowed a barbie for everyone and to earn additional pocket money to supplement their £30 weekly wage by working behind the Supporters’ Club bar. They succeed, and take to the bar work as if they have been doing it for years. Which, as it turns out, they have.
Thursday: Bimmo is still complaining about his knee, the weather, his chilblains and the price of Werther's Originals. The others say the old man is just trying to wind them up and his threats to go home are just for dramatic effect. Bimmo suffers a recurrence of his Tourette’s syndrome and tells them exactly what he thinks of them, before storming off and falling over because his knee is still knackered. There is an emotional reunion later with lots of hugs when he thinks better of his outburst. But he still looks like Old Man Steptoe when he frowns.
Friday: Another new arrival in the shape of the enigmatic Gilbert, an impressively be-mulleted Austrian who has brought with him as his luxury item a CD of Great Teutonic Superhits featuring classics from the Goombay Dance Band, Modern Talking, Trio, Opus and the Art Company. The team is less than impressed. Then comes another new boy, Jermaine, and his collection of bling-bling garage and two-step meets with instant approval from everyone except Wozza, who says he always rather liked Rock Me Amadeus. The camps splits into two factions for a while until they agree to settle for Luther Vandross and Phil Collins like all good footballers.
Saturday: The team goes on a day out to Southend. Nothing happens.
It was nice for the amber hordes to go anywhere today after two weeks without a game. They went to Roots Hall with nightmarish memories of the game at the Abbey on Boxing Day, when the Shrimpers picked up three points against a feeble United with one of the more impressive performances by a visiting side this season. So it was a surprise to note from Southend’s excellent programme that their only win in their eight games since then was against QPR in the LDV. They had failed to score in five of those matches, hence the loan signing this week of Northampton striker Lawrie Dudfield.
Not that the Mighty U’s entered the fray in much better shape, having scored only two goals in their last four, and not seen a goal from a striker since Danny Webb’s effort at Lincoln on December 28. Not much chance of a Spurs-Man City-style goal-feast, then. United also introduced a new forward to ameliorate matters in the shape of 22-year-old Welshman Jermaine Easter, a former Wolves colleague of Shane Tudor and now at Hartlepool. He became only the seventh player whose surname begins with the letter E to play League football in the black and amber; can you name the other six? Answers later, Hold on to your anoraks, fact fans … answers later.
Easter started up front with Danny Webb, John Turner rested to the bench, with the only other change enforced as the suspended Adam Tann was replaced in midfield by Neil McCafferty. Ex-Cambridge interest in the hosts’ line-up was restricted to former U’s trainee Jamie Stuart, a little surprisingly considering the vast number of players who have turned out for both clubs over the years: the good (Crown, Webster, Butler), the bad (Richards, Benjamin, Polycarpou) and the ugly (McDonough, Westley, Robinson). The Shrimpers’ ex-City players, Tes Bramble and Che Wilson, were on the bench.
Jermaine Easter: impressive turn of pace. Photo: Andrea Thrussell
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We were accorded a warm welcome in the Supporters’ Club, but Roots Hall remains one of the less impressive stadia in the League, its tight pitch evincing a distinct feeling of claustrophobia. The away end, once the home, is a former terrace with uncomfortable bucket seats bolted on, leaving just enough leg room for the average dwarf. It also descends to several feet below pitch level, giving a mole’s eye view to those daft enough to sit at the front.
The opposite end, once a vast open terrace, is now a poky two-tiered all-seater effort dwarfed by the unattractive flats behind that were built when the club sold most of the terrace off, presumably to a company that specialised in prisons and silos. Most bizarre sight of all is the mascot Sammy The Shrimp, who with his huge white pointed head looks from a distance as if he should be burning crosses in the deep South rather than spreading slightly disturbing cheer to the good burghers of Southend.
The match kicked off late in sunny but cold conditions and within the first ten seconds Andy Duncan had been flattened in an aerial clash with Boro reject Drewe Broughton. Extended treatment to his back ensued from Ant ‘Mr’ Coole and his magic ice cubes, but he was to last barely half an hour. Early exchanges were lively but lacking in finesse, as one might expect of two teams scuffling in the lower reaches of Division Three. New boy Easter, however, made a good initial impression, showing an impressive turn of pace, awareness and willingness to run, and he was to get on the end of several Danny Webb flick-ons (the latter was back on one of his old stamping grounds as the locals were keen to remind him). He had the better of most of his early aerial exchanges with the relatively short Mark Warren, although as heavyweight contests go it was hardly in the Ferguson-Magnier class. And with a darned sight fewer dirty tricks, thankfully.
Easter had his first chance on eight, galloping on to Webb’s knock-on but delaying his on-target shot slightly too long and seeing it blocked for a corner by Leon Cort. Kevin Maher had the hosts’ first decent chance three minutes later but scuffed wide, then Leon Constantine blasted wide from Broughton’s header. United were playing a conventional 4-4-2 system, with wide men Tudor and Peat using the full width of the pitch, although neither man seemed inclined to take the ball to the goal-line, choosing to lay off or swing the ball in early. Lil’ Luke looked subdued in midfield, his recent slip in form continuing, although perhaps he was concerned at the lack of Tann-sized cover behind him.
Webb saw a decent header saved comfortably by Darryl Flahavan in the home goal, before Jay Smith was allowed to scuttle towards goal without challenge before blasting wide from 25 yards. Then on 17 came United’s best chance so far, a good run and cross by Tudor finding Webb between the two central defenders eight yards out, and as Flahavan dashed from goal, the amber-shirted number seven nodded past him but agonisingly wide of the unguarded goal. United would not get as close again all match as their struggle for form began to decline as desperately as someone trying to make sense of the ‘revised’ offside interpretation. Must have lost something in the translation from the original Double Dutch.
Southend began to look increasingly dangerous, and on 20 Dudfield’s neat turn and shot was well blocked from close range by Shaun Marshall, and three minutes later Dancing Shaun made his best save of the match when a Route One goal kick ('Phwoarrr!' – John Beck) found Dudfield’s head, and his nod on was met first time by Constantine from a fairly narrow angle with a stonking drive that was arrowing into the roof of the net until acrobatically tipped over by the Terpsichorean custodian. The home pressure continued from the ensuing corner, Maher finding the side netting, then Gower also shot wide before Marshall foiled Dudfield again on 29. Not long after, Cort ran onto a Gower free kick unchallenged but guided his header wide of the near post. As if all this was not enough, Duncan decided that he could not go on (a feeling felt by many United supporters this season), and was replaced by Aggy Revell. This meant a major reshuffle for the U’s, Fred Murray moving to centre back, Peat to left back, Tudor to wide left and Revell wide right, leaving four players out of position – all rather puzzling as a straight replacement centre back, Dan Gleeson, remained bench-bound.
Lil’ Luke took over the captaincy, and four minutes later came Southend’s first enforced change as Smith was chopped down by Goodhind as he essayed another thrusting run and was carried off while Wozza saw yellow. Mark Bentley, recently signed from Dagenham & Redbridge, stood in. Mark Gower’s free kick found the noggin of Broughton, but he could only find Marshall. Murray managed a shot at the other end which was on course to be the UK’s second mission to Mars until deflected for a corner, but the hosts’ dominance over a United defence that looked more exposed than Janet Jackson’s, er, right-hand asset, finally told two minutes before the interval. Maher’s short corner found Gower, he crossed from the left wing and Dudfield was alone in the corner of the six-yard box facing him; he flicked on with a hopeful back-header, and no one was more surprised than him to see it arc gracefully and lethiferously over Marshall and into the far corner of the net. And if he claims it was deliberate, his scripts are written by Andrew Gilligan.
Within a minute United at last produced an incisive move that didn’t involve a high ball hoofed at Webb; the alert Easter seized upon a loose ball on halfway as Southend dithered, found Webb and he slid it into the path of the galloping Guttridge to bear down on goal. He only had time for a toe-poke as Jupp came across to cover, and he slid narrowly wide from the edge of the area. And that was that for the first 45, a promising United start fizzling out due to their own lack of invention and an increasingly dominant if not scintillating Southend deserving their lead on the balance of chances created.
The interval was enlivened for many by the on-pitch dancing of a troupe of scantily clad young ladies, who attracted the attention of Martin Brennan among others as he warmed up. So interested, in fact, was Mr Brennan that a couple of times he ‘accidentally’ knocked his ball close to the gyrating girls in the centre circle and was forced to trot over and retrieve it in a somewhat lingering fashion. Sadly for him, one of the girls kicked it away the second time. Better luck next time, Casanova.
The opposite end, once a vast open terrace, is now a poky two-tiered all-seater effort dwarfed by the unattractive flats behind that were built when the club sold most of the terrace off, presumably to a company that specialised in prisons and silos. Most bizarre sight of all is the mascot Sammy The Shrimp, who with his huge white pointed head looks from a distance as if he should be burning crosses in the deep South rather than spreading slightly disturbing cheer to the good burghers of Southend.
The match kicked off late in sunny but cold conditions and within the first ten seconds Andy Duncan had been flattened in an aerial clash with Boro reject Drewe Broughton. Extended treatment to his back ensued from Ant ‘Mr’ Coole and his magic ice cubes, but he was to last barely half an hour. Early exchanges were lively but lacking in finesse, as one might expect of two teams scuffling in the lower reaches of Division Three. New boy Easter, however, made a good initial impression, showing an impressive turn of pace, awareness and willingness to run, and he was to get on the end of several Danny Webb flick-ons (the latter was back on one of his old stamping grounds as the locals were keen to remind him). He had the better of most of his early aerial exchanges with the relatively short Mark Warren, although as heavyweight contests go it was hardly in the Ferguson-Magnier class. And with a darned sight fewer dirty tricks, thankfully.
Easter had his first chance on eight, galloping on to Webb’s knock-on but delaying his on-target shot slightly too long and seeing it blocked for a corner by Leon Cort. Kevin Maher had the hosts’ first decent chance three minutes later but scuffed wide, then Leon Constantine blasted wide from Broughton’s header. United were playing a conventional 4-4-2 system, with wide men Tudor and Peat using the full width of the pitch, although neither man seemed inclined to take the ball to the goal-line, choosing to lay off or swing the ball in early. Lil’ Luke looked subdued in midfield, his recent slip in form continuing, although perhaps he was concerned at the lack of Tann-sized cover behind him.
Webb saw a decent header saved comfortably by Darryl Flahavan in the home goal, before Jay Smith was allowed to scuttle towards goal without challenge before blasting wide from 25 yards. Then on 17 came United’s best chance so far, a good run and cross by Tudor finding Webb between the two central defenders eight yards out, and as Flahavan dashed from goal, the amber-shirted number seven nodded past him but agonisingly wide of the unguarded goal. United would not get as close again all match as their struggle for form began to decline as desperately as someone trying to make sense of the ‘revised’ offside interpretation. Must have lost something in the translation from the original Double Dutch.
Southend began to look increasingly dangerous, and on 20 Dudfield’s neat turn and shot was well blocked from close range by Shaun Marshall, and three minutes later Dancing Shaun made his best save of the match when a Route One goal kick ('Phwoarrr!' – John Beck) found Dudfield’s head, and his nod on was met first time by Constantine from a fairly narrow angle with a stonking drive that was arrowing into the roof of the net until acrobatically tipped over by the Terpsichorean custodian. The home pressure continued from the ensuing corner, Maher finding the side netting, then Gower also shot wide before Marshall foiled Dudfield again on 29. Not long after, Cort ran onto a Gower free kick unchallenged but guided his header wide of the near post. As if all this was not enough, Duncan decided that he could not go on (a feeling felt by many United supporters this season), and was replaced by Aggy Revell. This meant a major reshuffle for the U’s, Fred Murray moving to centre back, Peat to left back, Tudor to wide left and Revell wide right, leaving four players out of position – all rather puzzling as a straight replacement centre back, Dan Gleeson, remained bench-bound.
Lil’ Luke took over the captaincy, and four minutes later came Southend’s first enforced change as Smith was chopped down by Goodhind as he essayed another thrusting run and was carried off while Wozza saw yellow. Mark Bentley, recently signed from Dagenham & Redbridge, stood in. Mark Gower’s free kick found the noggin of Broughton, but he could only find Marshall. Murray managed a shot at the other end which was on course to be the UK’s second mission to Mars until deflected for a corner, but the hosts’ dominance over a United defence that looked more exposed than Janet Jackson’s, er, right-hand asset, finally told two minutes before the interval. Maher’s short corner found Gower, he crossed from the left wing and Dudfield was alone in the corner of the six-yard box facing him; he flicked on with a hopeful back-header, and no one was more surprised than him to see it arc gracefully and lethiferously over Marshall and into the far corner of the net. And if he claims it was deliberate, his scripts are written by Andrew Gilligan.
Within a minute United at last produced an incisive move that didn’t involve a high ball hoofed at Webb; the alert Easter seized upon a loose ball on halfway as Southend dithered, found Webb and he slid it into the path of the galloping Guttridge to bear down on goal. He only had time for a toe-poke as Jupp came across to cover, and he slid narrowly wide from the edge of the area. And that was that for the first 45, a promising United start fizzling out due to their own lack of invention and an increasingly dominant if not scintillating Southend deserving their lead on the balance of chances created.
The interval was enlivened for many by the on-pitch dancing of a troupe of scantily clad young ladies, who attracted the attention of Martin Brennan among others as he warmed up. So interested, in fact, was Mr Brennan that a couple of times he ‘accidentally’ knocked his ball close to the gyrating girls in the centre circle and was forced to trot over and retrieve it in a somewhat lingering fashion. Sadly for him, one of the girls kicked it away the second time. Better luck next time, Casanova.
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After a considerable wait in the queues for the pitifully inadequate gents’ at half-time, part two began in reasonable style as three minutes in, Tudor’s left-wing corner ran across to the in-rushing Guttridge on the edge of the area, but he blazed disappointingly wide. Lil’ Luke’s inaccuracy extended to his free kick two minutes later that sailed over everyone, but he was far from alone in this; United’s crossing and dead ball taking was uniformly dismal, especially in the second half, far too many free-kicks overhit, too many corners underhit to the near post, all as misguided as Peter Andre’s belief that he is attractive and talented.
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Casanova/Brennan: form a queue, ladies
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The match began to settle into a morass of mediocrity, Southend sitting on their lead and their visitors unable to do anything about it with a midfield chronically lacking in creativity and invention, strikers criminally starved of service and a back four all too willing to hoof it long and hopeful rather than apply cogent thought to their distribution. Goodhind charged down a Constantine shot on 58, Guttridge saw an effort fly wide on 65, Gower did the same for the hosts, then in a rare decent move Luke sent Revell away to find Easter with an effort that was cleared for a corner by Stuart. Peat’s corner ran to Guttridge at the far post but his on-target effort was blocked by Constantine before United’s brief flurry of pressure expired.
Fred Murray showed some welcome fire and passion, so lacking in many of his colleagues’ performances, on 71 when penalised for a trivial ‘offence’ by nit-picking ref Armstrong, protesting with such vehemence that Goodhind had to escort him away and almost got headbutted for his troubles. The man in green was not amused, booked Murray and advanced the free kick ten yards: Gower’s effort deflected off Angus but was claimed by Marshall.
With the game petering out like Scott Parker’s and Louis Saha’s enthusiasm for playing for an ‘unfashionable’ club, there were changes for both sides, Steven Clark replacing Constantine on 77 and John Turner coming on for the encouraging Easter a minute later, Revell moving to centre forward in a not-at-all-desperate 4-3-3. It was not to work, simply because the supply line behind them was so inadequate. United did, however, go close on 81 when a rare good cross from Tudor found Revell ten yards out, but it fell at an awkward height and his bravely improvised volley was clutched by Flahavan.
Angus, victim of a first-half clattering that bore a hint of elbow from Broughton but went unpunished, found his way into the book on 83 for catching Dudfield’s heels, but Southend were now in the business of closing the game down and toothless, idea-less United were helpless to do anything about it.
It turned out to be a vital win for the Shrimpers, with both Darlo and Carlisle below them also victorious, and it left United a mere six points and six places off a relegation place. With the next three games against those bottom two plus Bury, the fate of our season could be given a substantial pointer over the next couple of weeks. One thing is sure: they will need to improve 100 per cent if this season is not to turn into a disaster. Don’t panic yet by any means, but if we lose the next three, hiding out in the jungle might become a tempting option, with or without irritating celebs for company.
Marshall 7 – No chance with the goal, otherwise looked secure. Kicking still needs some work.
Angus 6 – Competent at the back and a few decent overlaps first half.
Murray 7 – Sound, no-nonsense game at full-back and centre-back.
Duncan 6 – Did OK until forced off.
Goodhind 6 – Steadily unspectacular.
Tudor 5 – Seems to have lost his ability to beat an opponent; disappointingly quiet.
Guttridge 5 –United’s player of the season has hit something of a trough form-wise and his inspiration was noticeably missing today.
McCafferty 5 – The occasional nice pass didn’t compensate for his lack of really telling involvement.
Peat 5 – Anonymous on the wing, then did his best at left-back when obviously not particularly suited to the role.
Webb 6 – Did a decent job as target man in the first half, and was starved of service by his pedestrian midfield in the second.
Easter 6 – Promisingly lively debut and looks like he will provide goals with a decent supply line. One of very few positives today.
Revell 5 – Played out of position yet again for most of the time and made little impression.
Turner 5 – Hardly got a chance to touch the ball in his brief cameo appearance.
Fred Murray showed some welcome fire and passion, so lacking in many of his colleagues’ performances, on 71 when penalised for a trivial ‘offence’ by nit-picking ref Armstrong, protesting with such vehemence that Goodhind had to escort him away and almost got headbutted for his troubles. The man in green was not amused, booked Murray and advanced the free kick ten yards: Gower’s effort deflected off Angus but was claimed by Marshall.
With the game petering out like Scott Parker’s and Louis Saha’s enthusiasm for playing for an ‘unfashionable’ club, there were changes for both sides, Steven Clark replacing Constantine on 77 and John Turner coming on for the encouraging Easter a minute later, Revell moving to centre forward in a not-at-all-desperate 4-3-3. It was not to work, simply because the supply line behind them was so inadequate. United did, however, go close on 81 when a rare good cross from Tudor found Revell ten yards out, but it fell at an awkward height and his bravely improvised volley was clutched by Flahavan.
Angus, victim of a first-half clattering that bore a hint of elbow from Broughton but went unpunished, found his way into the book on 83 for catching Dudfield’s heels, but Southend were now in the business of closing the game down and toothless, idea-less United were helpless to do anything about it.
It turned out to be a vital win for the Shrimpers, with both Darlo and Carlisle below them also victorious, and it left United a mere six points and six places off a relegation place. With the next three games against those bottom two plus Bury, the fate of our season could be given a substantial pointer over the next couple of weeks. One thing is sure: they will need to improve 100 per cent if this season is not to turn into a disaster. Don’t panic yet by any means, but if we lose the next three, hiding out in the jungle might become a tempting option, with or without irritating celebs for company.
Marshall 7 – No chance with the goal, otherwise looked secure. Kicking still needs some work.
Angus 6 – Competent at the back and a few decent overlaps first half.
Murray 7 – Sound, no-nonsense game at full-back and centre-back.
Duncan 6 – Did OK until forced off.
Goodhind 6 – Steadily unspectacular.
Tudor 5 – Seems to have lost his ability to beat an opponent; disappointingly quiet.
Guttridge 5 –United’s player of the season has hit something of a trough form-wise and his inspiration was noticeably missing today.
McCafferty 5 – The occasional nice pass didn’t compensate for his lack of really telling involvement.
Peat 5 – Anonymous on the wing, then did his best at left-back when obviously not particularly suited to the role.
Webb 6 – Did a decent job as target man in the first half, and was starved of service by his pedestrian midfield in the second.
Easter 6 – Promisingly lively debut and looks like he will provide goals with a decent supply line. One of very few positives today.
Revell 5 – Played out of position yet again for most of the time and made little impression.
Turner 5 – Hardly got a chance to touch the ball in his brief cameo appearance.
Scott Eustace: surname begins with E, unlike many players
|
Soundtrack of the Day: Eberg/Plastic Lions
Match summary: Off-colour United stumbled to defeat against the Blues as their red-faced midfield hit a collective creative block on a black day in darkest Essex. A massive improvement will be required from everyone if amber is not to turn into the white of surrender at the end of the season. Man of the match: Freddie Murray. On a day when many underperforming teammates sleepwalked through the game, the Tipperary Tough showed the blood-and-guts, up-and-at-'em attitude that United will need to survive this season – in two different positions. Ref watch: Armstrong 3. This whistle-happy chap seemed determined to ruin what little flow this match produced, stopping play for the most trivial of challenges and ignoring clear opportunities to play advantage. His keenness to book United players while failing to speak to their opponents when committing similar offences was also deeply irritating. JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the Roots Hall sounds. 'This was the most difficult jukebox to do so far, mainly because the music was on so quietly it was like standing next to someone wearing a Walkman. Some anonymous dance stuff was eventually interrupted by an announcer at 50 times the volume, who proceeded to play Eiffel 65’s one hit wonder Eurotrash Blue followed by a forgettable amateur-hour ‘song’ about being Southend Til I Die. The players’ entrance music was even cheesier, 2 Unlimited’s antique Get Ready For This, and to pile cliché upon cliché, we were finally treated to Queen’s We Will Rock You. All in all about as enjoyable as having your ears syringed. JT verdict: Risible! (1/10)' Who were the other E’s? In alphabetical order: Terry Eades (1969-1977), Wayne Ebanks (1987-88), Efon Elad (1994-95), Scott Eustace (1998-2000), Doug Evans (1979-81) and Ian Evans (1983-84). |
14 February 2004: Bury 1v0 U's
A richness of embarrassments
In an effort to give his club’s players a vital edge today, United chairman Gary Harwood got in touch with the radical psychologist and motivator known only as Tom of London, who recently helped Leicester out in similar circumstances. Dale Brooks was, however, somewhat sceptical and, locking Tom out of the dressing room, took the pre-match team talk himself. Your official website was listening in:
Lil’ Luke: ‘But Uncle Dale, Gary said to take us the psychologist’s …’
Dale: ‘Waste of money! I’ll have a bash myself. How difficult can it be?’
The scene was somewhat different at half-time as the United players trooped in after a lifeless, goalless display. Let’s listen in again now:
Gary: ‘I’m here! WHAT happened?’
Dale (thinking quickly): ‘Terrible motivator. Leave it to me – I’m just waiting for the manager to get back, then whoo! Is he in trouble! I told him to let that Tom bloke talk to them!’
Brooksie crept off to a corner of the dressing room and got out his mobile phone, frantically dialling Shaggy’s number up in the stand.
Dale (in hushed tones): ‘Some eejit’s given the boys a rubbish team talk. Yes please. There’s one more thing I need you to do – let me explain …’
Dale ushered Gary out of the room, explaining he would have to watch the next team talk through the window in the door in the interest of morale. A minute later Shaggy joined them in the dressing room. Dale launched into a carefully prepared rant: ‘I know you’re not to blame, but the chairman is watching and I want him to think that you did this. So if you will sort out this terrible mess for me, I'll buy you a double! You’re a very, very nice person!’
The rest is history. United came out fired up for the second half, laid siege to the Bury goal … and lost. If anyone has Tom of London’s contact number, please email the club at helpwearedesperate@cambridgeunited.com.
The search for a goal began for many United supporters in one of the friendly, unpretentious pubs in the cobbled streets adjoining Gigg Lane as they enjoyed a good old-fashioned cup tie on the telly between the two Premiership clubs based just up the road. Of course our suspicion after a six-goal, one red card thriller that our afternoon had already peaked pleasure-wise and we would be best off remaining in the pub until five o’clock had to be ignored as we trooped dutifully to Bury’s pleasant, tidy ground. After all, United had not lost there since March 1991 (remember the David Lee hat-trick?) and had won five out of six matches since then in this part of Greater Manchester. No problem there then …
In addition, the shaky Shakers came into the match on the back of a run of just one win in their last 12 games, although their team was unchanged from that which lost to Carlisle (don’t look behind you!) last week. By way of contrast, there were four changes to the visitors’ line-up, unsurprisingly after the Southend yawnathon, although none of them were directly related to form. Adam Tann made a welcome return from suspension in place of Neil McCafferty, recalled from loan by Charlton for some reason. Maybe they want to hear some more stories about Girls Aloud.
Tanny was joined in midfield by David Bridges, in place of the unwell Shane Tudor, and another new loan signing in the shape of Ashley Nicholls, fresh from Darlington and looking for a move back nearer his home town of Ipswich. In a remarkable oversight by the management, he appears to be almost six feet tall, a good six inches taller than most of the loan recruits to which we have been treated this season. That’s about 900 millilitres or something in metric. Fourth change was up front, Aggy Revell getting his first start since Torquay at home on September 13 in place of Jermaine Easter, confined to the bench with the same bug as Tudor. You haven’t been playing about with his hair, have you Tudes?
The side lined up with a sort of narrow diamond shape in midfield, anchored by Tann with the attack-minded Nicholls at the spearhead, flanked by Bridges on the right and Luke Guttridge on the left. The bench must have been the most attack-minded ever, with three strikers and one winger including John Turner and new non-contract signing (can you sign a non-contract?) Matt Robinson, another ex of Ipswich.
This match between the teams lying 17th and 18th, with one win each since Christmas, was fittingly heralded by the start of a steady stream of slate-grey drizzle as kick-off arrived, the funereal atmosphere engendered by a tiny home crowd only enlivened by the sterling efforts of the newly drummed-up away support. And what a start it was, as Bury took the lead within 61 seconds. United predictably lost the ball in midfield, Dave Challinor hoofed a hopeful high ball over the static defence, Jon Daly flicked on and there was Gareth Seddon outpacing his flat-footed foe and racing in on goal down the right. As he reached the corner of the penalty area and Stev Angus got level with him, he fired an unerringly accurate low scudder across Shaun Marshall, who could perhaps have been positioned better, and into the far corner of the net for the best possible start for the form-struggling hosts. We looked on in surprisingly unsurprised disbelief.
Remarkably, it was the first time that Bury had scored in the first 15 minutes of any game this season. CUFC: we’re not just there for the nasty things in life. It didn’t get any better for the visitors as the game unfolded with the hosts on top, although for all their pressure they gave Dancing Shaun precious little to do, even from ex-Tranmere man Dave Challinor’s famed long throws. The only long throw we’ve got at the Abbey is that cream-coloured one that covers the sofa in the players’ lounge. Lee Connell forced a fairly comfortable save from the Terpsichorean custodian on 12, but by now it was apparent that we had a repeat of last week on our hands: a dour encounter between two very ordinary, struggling sides who couldn’t muster a flowing passing move any more than Man U can keep a clean sheet.
United actually won – egad! – a corner on 16, but it inevitably came to nowt, and we had to wait another five minutes for a proper attempt on goal: it came from Nicholls, the best of a poor bunch in midfield, his effort from the edge of the box deflected over by Challinor. Bury were next to threaten, Seddon’s shot hitting Daly and trundling wide of the stranded Marshall, then on 25 Nicholls got in another strike, unfortunately mistimed and not troubling the welcoming arms of home keeper Glyn Garner. The next 15 minutes can best be described as a genus of footballing black hole, a huge void sucking the life out of anything in its radius, rivalled in its blank nothingness only by Michelle MacManus’ new album, with less wobbling flesh on show. The unwatchable performed by the unpalatable watched by the incorrigible. I love going to the football, don’t you?
Seven minutes from the blessed sanctuary of half-time Webb was penalised for the umpteenth time for climbing all over his marker in going up for one of his colleagues’ hopeful high balls, and the ensuing free kick was swung in from deep on the left flank by Tom Kennedy; it arrowed all the way to the far post, Fred Murray slipped and it fell invitingly to Seddon, unmarked in the corner of the six-yard box. Thankfully he failed to realise just how much time he had with his marker parked on his behind, and slashed at it on the ambitious volley, endangering only the visiting fans behind the goal.
United’s fantastic travelling support kept up a magnificent barrage of noise, in direct contrast to the mewling, whimpering affair they were witnessing out on the pitch; their team was truly uninspired, with nary a hint of the pass-and-move football of yore and instead some lame, lazy hoof-and-hope in the general direction of the hapless strikers. Nicholls and Tann were doing a half-decent job in the middle, but David Bridges again looked woefully ring-rusty and Lil’ Luke remains a shadow of the player he has been for most of this term. Uninspired? Atomic Kitten look like creative colossi in comparison. Bury were little better but were being made to look brilliant.
Surely this nightmarish state of affairs would be remedied by Shaggy and the Prof at half-time? After a seemingly interminable wait for the officials to rejoin the teams on the pitch (Mr Prosser was probably praying for a chance to use his cards), our prayers were answered with a resounding ‘Yeah, baby!’ as United immediately went on the offensive, and should have equalised within 30 seconds of the restart. It was created by Angus, providing some much-needed width as he overlapped down the right; his cross was exquisite, perfectly flighted to land on the head of Revell lurking unmarked at the far post five yards out. He met it firmly, heading downward into … the keeper’s legs as he dived blindly in a successful bid to get in the way. Our cries of ‘goal!’ stuck in our throats like a piece of Hubba Bubba gone down the wrong way while trying for a face-clinging bubble.
For the next ten minutes United laid constant siege to the Bury goal, eight corners sailing to and fro across the besieged penalty area but no one able to apply that killer touch as the hosts defended stoutly. Tann got his head to one, Duncan to another, but the amber shirts were simply crowded out by a doughty sea of white and any attempted shots were unable to reach their intended target.
Bury had to make a change to relieve the almost constant pressure, and on 56 they replaced Lee Connell with Simon Whaley. A few minutes later the home sub managed the not inconsiderable feat of blasting a shot over the stand and out of the ground from ten yards out. There’s only two Jonny Wilkinsons! He continued his busy game by clattering Nicholls from behind on halfway, for which he was penalised but surprisingly avoided a booking. In fact there was only one card shown in the whole game, and that was to David Flitcroft on 69 for a cynical clogging of Nicholls as he essayed an adventurous run down the left. By then United’s cavalry charge had slowed to rather sedate meander and the promise of parity was beginning to look distinctly flambuginous. On 72 Flitcroft was replaced by Paul O’Shaughnessy; United swapped the ineffectual Bridges for Jermaine Easter and went 4-3-3.
The Hartlepool man showed a few classy touches, but the service to the forwards was still far from comprehensive. On 75, though, came another good chance for Revell, this time shooting low and Garner seeing it late as it came out of a crowd of bodies; the keeper made a good save low to his left. If Aggy had truly got hold of it, it would have flown past him into the net, but then if Mike Tyson had a brain he’d be a multi-millionaire. No offence, Mr Tyson sir. You wouldn’t hit a man wearing contact lenses, would you?
United continued to dominate a side whose only target was to hang on to its lead, but for all their possession Garner remained untroubled. Joe O’Neill replaced Terry Dunfield with ten on the clock, then in a rare break Seddon tried a long-range lob that sailed over Marshall’s goal at very long range indeed. A man’s gotta know his limitations. In a not-at-all desperate throw of the dice, John Turner came on for Angus and United went 3-4-3 with Revell slightly behind the front three, but our overwhelming impression by now was that for all their huffage and puffage, they could play until Euro 2004 and not score. O’Neill shot wide on the break, Tann blazed wide from 20 yards, but for all the away support’s noisy prompting, they could not inspire a goal.
Bury were delighted to hang on for a victory they scarcely deserved, barely able to believe they had won while playing so mediocrely, while United were left to rue yet another good-45 bad-45 performance and an intrinsic lack of final-third creativity that has yielded just two goals in the last six games. The next two home games, against Carlisle on Tuesday and Bristol Rovers on Saturday, might just be a couple of the most important matches this club has ever faced in its 34 years of League history. Get down to the Abbey. Your team needs you!
Ratings: 4 each for that wretched first half. Slightly better for the second:
Marshall 5 – Little chance with the goal, little to do second half. Still far too many kicks going straight out of play, though.
Angus 6 – Fine at the back, good occasional support to the attack including best cross of the match.
Murray 6 – Never stopped battling and also got forward at times.
Duncan 6 – Caught out by his bugbear, the ball over the top, otherwise OK.
Goodhind 6 – Another afternoon of quiet efficiency.
Bridges 4 – Still looks woefully lightweight and out of touch, I’m afraid.
Nicholls 7 – Promisingly energetic debut.
Tann 6 – Battled strongly all match.
Guttridge 5 – Still searching for his old form and being played out of position wide left didn’t help.
Revell 6 – Should have scored and had a few decent moments.
Webb 5 – Struggled with unimaginative service but gave away far too many free kicks unnecessarily.
Easter 6 – Looks like he will score goals if his colleagues can create any chances for him.
Turner 5 – Not on long enough to make any impression.
Soundtrack of the day: Scissor Sisters/It Can’t Come Quickly Enough
Match summary: Schizophrenic United went from dismal in the first half to dominant in the second but once again could only shoot blanks in response to Bury’s early unfriendly fire. Anyone got the Cisco Kid’s number?
Man of the match: Ashley Nicholls. In truth, the only people in amber who performed in any way outstandingly were the away supporters, but the latest loanee made a favourable impression with plenty of lively running and passing.
Ref watch: Prosser 6. The King Of The Cards only needed two yellows to make his hundred for the season (in addition to his 13 reds), but so poor and uneventful was the match that he could only make it to 99. Shame. Fussy but mercifully restrained.
JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the Gigg Lane sounds. ‘I’d have liked to listen to the music, but the PA was so quiet it make Southend last week sound like an aeroplane taking off! I could just about make out some apologetic, tinny dance beats, then what sounded like Annie Lennox, then the last record played before the players came out was, appropriately for the morgue-like atmosphere, Blur’s mournful, downbeat Out Of Time. Really get the crowd going, eh? Runout fanfare was the old favourite Also Sprach Zarathustra (2001 to you and me) but by then the PA had failed miserably to create any sort of excitement or even interest. JT verdict: Miserable! (1/10)’
A richness of embarrassments
In an effort to give his club’s players a vital edge today, United chairman Gary Harwood got in touch with the radical psychologist and motivator known only as Tom of London, who recently helped Leicester out in similar circumstances. Dale Brooks was, however, somewhat sceptical and, locking Tom out of the dressing room, took the pre-match team talk himself. Your official website was listening in:
Lil’ Luke: ‘But Uncle Dale, Gary said to take us the psychologist’s …’
Dale: ‘Waste of money! I’ll have a bash myself. How difficult can it be?’
The scene was somewhat different at half-time as the United players trooped in after a lifeless, goalless display. Let’s listen in again now:
Gary: ‘I’m here! WHAT happened?’
Dale (thinking quickly): ‘Terrible motivator. Leave it to me – I’m just waiting for the manager to get back, then whoo! Is he in trouble! I told him to let that Tom bloke talk to them!’
Brooksie crept off to a corner of the dressing room and got out his mobile phone, frantically dialling Shaggy’s number up in the stand.
Dale (in hushed tones): ‘Some eejit’s given the boys a rubbish team talk. Yes please. There’s one more thing I need you to do – let me explain …’
Dale ushered Gary out of the room, explaining he would have to watch the next team talk through the window in the door in the interest of morale. A minute later Shaggy joined them in the dressing room. Dale launched into a carefully prepared rant: ‘I know you’re not to blame, but the chairman is watching and I want him to think that you did this. So if you will sort out this terrible mess for me, I'll buy you a double! You’re a very, very nice person!’
The rest is history. United came out fired up for the second half, laid siege to the Bury goal … and lost. If anyone has Tom of London’s contact number, please email the club at helpwearedesperate@cambridgeunited.com.
The search for a goal began for many United supporters in one of the friendly, unpretentious pubs in the cobbled streets adjoining Gigg Lane as they enjoyed a good old-fashioned cup tie on the telly between the two Premiership clubs based just up the road. Of course our suspicion after a six-goal, one red card thriller that our afternoon had already peaked pleasure-wise and we would be best off remaining in the pub until five o’clock had to be ignored as we trooped dutifully to Bury’s pleasant, tidy ground. After all, United had not lost there since March 1991 (remember the David Lee hat-trick?) and had won five out of six matches since then in this part of Greater Manchester. No problem there then …
In addition, the shaky Shakers came into the match on the back of a run of just one win in their last 12 games, although their team was unchanged from that which lost to Carlisle (don’t look behind you!) last week. By way of contrast, there were four changes to the visitors’ line-up, unsurprisingly after the Southend yawnathon, although none of them were directly related to form. Adam Tann made a welcome return from suspension in place of Neil McCafferty, recalled from loan by Charlton for some reason. Maybe they want to hear some more stories about Girls Aloud.
Tanny was joined in midfield by David Bridges, in place of the unwell Shane Tudor, and another new loan signing in the shape of Ashley Nicholls, fresh from Darlington and looking for a move back nearer his home town of Ipswich. In a remarkable oversight by the management, he appears to be almost six feet tall, a good six inches taller than most of the loan recruits to which we have been treated this season. That’s about 900 millilitres or something in metric. Fourth change was up front, Aggy Revell getting his first start since Torquay at home on September 13 in place of Jermaine Easter, confined to the bench with the same bug as Tudor. You haven’t been playing about with his hair, have you Tudes?
The side lined up with a sort of narrow diamond shape in midfield, anchored by Tann with the attack-minded Nicholls at the spearhead, flanked by Bridges on the right and Luke Guttridge on the left. The bench must have been the most attack-minded ever, with three strikers and one winger including John Turner and new non-contract signing (can you sign a non-contract?) Matt Robinson, another ex of Ipswich.
This match between the teams lying 17th and 18th, with one win each since Christmas, was fittingly heralded by the start of a steady stream of slate-grey drizzle as kick-off arrived, the funereal atmosphere engendered by a tiny home crowd only enlivened by the sterling efforts of the newly drummed-up away support. And what a start it was, as Bury took the lead within 61 seconds. United predictably lost the ball in midfield, Dave Challinor hoofed a hopeful high ball over the static defence, Jon Daly flicked on and there was Gareth Seddon outpacing his flat-footed foe and racing in on goal down the right. As he reached the corner of the penalty area and Stev Angus got level with him, he fired an unerringly accurate low scudder across Shaun Marshall, who could perhaps have been positioned better, and into the far corner of the net for the best possible start for the form-struggling hosts. We looked on in surprisingly unsurprised disbelief.
Remarkably, it was the first time that Bury had scored in the first 15 minutes of any game this season. CUFC: we’re not just there for the nasty things in life. It didn’t get any better for the visitors as the game unfolded with the hosts on top, although for all their pressure they gave Dancing Shaun precious little to do, even from ex-Tranmere man Dave Challinor’s famed long throws. The only long throw we’ve got at the Abbey is that cream-coloured one that covers the sofa in the players’ lounge. Lee Connell forced a fairly comfortable save from the Terpsichorean custodian on 12, but by now it was apparent that we had a repeat of last week on our hands: a dour encounter between two very ordinary, struggling sides who couldn’t muster a flowing passing move any more than Man U can keep a clean sheet.
United actually won – egad! – a corner on 16, but it inevitably came to nowt, and we had to wait another five minutes for a proper attempt on goal: it came from Nicholls, the best of a poor bunch in midfield, his effort from the edge of the box deflected over by Challinor. Bury were next to threaten, Seddon’s shot hitting Daly and trundling wide of the stranded Marshall, then on 25 Nicholls got in another strike, unfortunately mistimed and not troubling the welcoming arms of home keeper Glyn Garner. The next 15 minutes can best be described as a genus of footballing black hole, a huge void sucking the life out of anything in its radius, rivalled in its blank nothingness only by Michelle MacManus’ new album, with less wobbling flesh on show. The unwatchable performed by the unpalatable watched by the incorrigible. I love going to the football, don’t you?
Seven minutes from the blessed sanctuary of half-time Webb was penalised for the umpteenth time for climbing all over his marker in going up for one of his colleagues’ hopeful high balls, and the ensuing free kick was swung in from deep on the left flank by Tom Kennedy; it arrowed all the way to the far post, Fred Murray slipped and it fell invitingly to Seddon, unmarked in the corner of the six-yard box. Thankfully he failed to realise just how much time he had with his marker parked on his behind, and slashed at it on the ambitious volley, endangering only the visiting fans behind the goal.
United’s fantastic travelling support kept up a magnificent barrage of noise, in direct contrast to the mewling, whimpering affair they were witnessing out on the pitch; their team was truly uninspired, with nary a hint of the pass-and-move football of yore and instead some lame, lazy hoof-and-hope in the general direction of the hapless strikers. Nicholls and Tann were doing a half-decent job in the middle, but David Bridges again looked woefully ring-rusty and Lil’ Luke remains a shadow of the player he has been for most of this term. Uninspired? Atomic Kitten look like creative colossi in comparison. Bury were little better but were being made to look brilliant.
Surely this nightmarish state of affairs would be remedied by Shaggy and the Prof at half-time? After a seemingly interminable wait for the officials to rejoin the teams on the pitch (Mr Prosser was probably praying for a chance to use his cards), our prayers were answered with a resounding ‘Yeah, baby!’ as United immediately went on the offensive, and should have equalised within 30 seconds of the restart. It was created by Angus, providing some much-needed width as he overlapped down the right; his cross was exquisite, perfectly flighted to land on the head of Revell lurking unmarked at the far post five yards out. He met it firmly, heading downward into … the keeper’s legs as he dived blindly in a successful bid to get in the way. Our cries of ‘goal!’ stuck in our throats like a piece of Hubba Bubba gone down the wrong way while trying for a face-clinging bubble.
For the next ten minutes United laid constant siege to the Bury goal, eight corners sailing to and fro across the besieged penalty area but no one able to apply that killer touch as the hosts defended stoutly. Tann got his head to one, Duncan to another, but the amber shirts were simply crowded out by a doughty sea of white and any attempted shots were unable to reach their intended target.
Bury had to make a change to relieve the almost constant pressure, and on 56 they replaced Lee Connell with Simon Whaley. A few minutes later the home sub managed the not inconsiderable feat of blasting a shot over the stand and out of the ground from ten yards out. There’s only two Jonny Wilkinsons! He continued his busy game by clattering Nicholls from behind on halfway, for which he was penalised but surprisingly avoided a booking. In fact there was only one card shown in the whole game, and that was to David Flitcroft on 69 for a cynical clogging of Nicholls as he essayed an adventurous run down the left. By then United’s cavalry charge had slowed to rather sedate meander and the promise of parity was beginning to look distinctly flambuginous. On 72 Flitcroft was replaced by Paul O’Shaughnessy; United swapped the ineffectual Bridges for Jermaine Easter and went 4-3-3.
The Hartlepool man showed a few classy touches, but the service to the forwards was still far from comprehensive. On 75, though, came another good chance for Revell, this time shooting low and Garner seeing it late as it came out of a crowd of bodies; the keeper made a good save low to his left. If Aggy had truly got hold of it, it would have flown past him into the net, but then if Mike Tyson had a brain he’d be a multi-millionaire. No offence, Mr Tyson sir. You wouldn’t hit a man wearing contact lenses, would you?
United continued to dominate a side whose only target was to hang on to its lead, but for all their possession Garner remained untroubled. Joe O’Neill replaced Terry Dunfield with ten on the clock, then in a rare break Seddon tried a long-range lob that sailed over Marshall’s goal at very long range indeed. A man’s gotta know his limitations. In a not-at-all desperate throw of the dice, John Turner came on for Angus and United went 3-4-3 with Revell slightly behind the front three, but our overwhelming impression by now was that for all their huffage and puffage, they could play until Euro 2004 and not score. O’Neill shot wide on the break, Tann blazed wide from 20 yards, but for all the away support’s noisy prompting, they could not inspire a goal.
Bury were delighted to hang on for a victory they scarcely deserved, barely able to believe they had won while playing so mediocrely, while United were left to rue yet another good-45 bad-45 performance and an intrinsic lack of final-third creativity that has yielded just two goals in the last six games. The next two home games, against Carlisle on Tuesday and Bristol Rovers on Saturday, might just be a couple of the most important matches this club has ever faced in its 34 years of League history. Get down to the Abbey. Your team needs you!
Ratings: 4 each for that wretched first half. Slightly better for the second:
Marshall 5 – Little chance with the goal, little to do second half. Still far too many kicks going straight out of play, though.
Angus 6 – Fine at the back, good occasional support to the attack including best cross of the match.
Murray 6 – Never stopped battling and also got forward at times.
Duncan 6 – Caught out by his bugbear, the ball over the top, otherwise OK.
Goodhind 6 – Another afternoon of quiet efficiency.
Bridges 4 – Still looks woefully lightweight and out of touch, I’m afraid.
Nicholls 7 – Promisingly energetic debut.
Tann 6 – Battled strongly all match.
Guttridge 5 – Still searching for his old form and being played out of position wide left didn’t help.
Revell 6 – Should have scored and had a few decent moments.
Webb 5 – Struggled with unimaginative service but gave away far too many free kicks unnecessarily.
Easter 6 – Looks like he will score goals if his colleagues can create any chances for him.
Turner 5 – Not on long enough to make any impression.
Soundtrack of the day: Scissor Sisters/It Can’t Come Quickly Enough
Match summary: Schizophrenic United went from dismal in the first half to dominant in the second but once again could only shoot blanks in response to Bury’s early unfriendly fire. Anyone got the Cisco Kid’s number?
Man of the match: Ashley Nicholls. In truth, the only people in amber who performed in any way outstandingly were the away supporters, but the latest loanee made a favourable impression with plenty of lively running and passing.
Ref watch: Prosser 6. The King Of The Cards only needed two yellows to make his hundred for the season (in addition to his 13 reds), but so poor and uneventful was the match that he could only make it to 99. Shame. Fussy but mercifully restrained.
JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the Gigg Lane sounds. ‘I’d have liked to listen to the music, but the PA was so quiet it make Southend last week sound like an aeroplane taking off! I could just about make out some apologetic, tinny dance beats, then what sounded like Annie Lennox, then the last record played before the players came out was, appropriately for the morgue-like atmosphere, Blur’s mournful, downbeat Out Of Time. Really get the crowd going, eh? Runout fanfare was the old favourite Also Sprach Zarathustra (2001 to you and me) but by then the PA had failed miserably to create any sort of excitement or even interest. JT verdict: Miserable! (1/10)’
Cisco Kid: that horse has got cataracts, surely?
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17 February 2004: U's 2v2 Carlisle
A case in point or a point in case
‘Hellooo! And welcome to the Late Late Late Show with your host, Dessie Byrne. Welcome to my Party Special with some of the many friends and stars I've met over the years as a professional footballer with Wimbledon, Cambridge United and Carlisle. In a packed programme tonight I shall be talking to a veritable galaxy of greats who will be sharing some fascinating stories with us.
* Scott Eustace will be providing us with some top tips on how to impress the ladies with only a pint of lager and a hamster kebab!
* Richie Foran will be talking about his book The Cumbrian Guide to Real Alcopops!
* Steve Guinan will be telling us all about his triumphant run in the touring show of Puppetry of the P****!
* John Terry is dropping by to tell us some hilarious anecdotes about nightclubs and to remind me where I was last week!
* Jody Morris is coming in to introduce his internet guide to the Best Laybys in Yorkshire!
* Lloyd Opara will be telling us about his recent enrolment in the Steve Slade Baad Attitude Is Good Attitude self-help course!
* Neil Mackenzie will be spilling the beans about his involvement with Dennis Wise’s video Britain’s Naughtiest Taxi Drivers!
* We shall have two mystery guests whose names I can’t reveal because their cases haven’t come up yet!
* And to round it all off, we shall have a fantastic sing-song from the Newcastle Wild Boys - Kieran, Ian, Jonathan and Craig - of Chest Nuts Roasting On An Open Fire and ‘Little Red Roaster!
* Armand One has unfortunately dropped out at the last minute because he was unable to get out of bed.
Oh excuse me, there’s the telephone. Hello? Boss? Oh, nothing. I was just, you know, thinking about my career and the future like you said when you banned Richie and me from travelling to Cambridge. Yes, I’m really, really sorry. You’re going to fine me how much? A*se! Drink! Girls!'
Fifteen games to go to the end of the season, and it looks like there is going to be a lot of demand for FRT (Fingernail Replacement Therapy) by May. You could almost smell the tension in the air at the Abbey; either that or the wind from Milton had changed. Tonight was what ruddy-faced horse sperm enthusiast Alex Ferguson would term squeaky bum time, literally so in the case of one nervous but aromatic individual in the Habbin just before kick-off. But enough scatology: time to get off the pot and play.
Shaggy, whose first name seems to have changed to Under-Pressure these days, selected the same starting line-up from Saturday’s letdown at Bury (Guttridge and Bridges swapping flanks), even down to the same attacking subs’ bench, while Carlisle did likewise following their draw with Hull. Talk of the Cumbrians being the worst team in the division and therefore beatable was wide of the mark; only three players survived from the abject selection that still managed a draw with the U’s in early season, and this current team had won five of its last nine games – more than the hosts could boast.
Player-boss Paul Simpson’s revamped team included former U’s favourite (well I liked him) Tom ‘Braveheart’ Cowan at left back and others with a wealth of experience such as wise old journeymen Andy Preece, Kevin Gray and Chris Billy. They may have lost 12 out of 14 away games this season, but this lot were definitely not to be underestimated. Their second ex-amber wearer, ‘Dessie’ Byrne, was (ahem) unavailable after he and Richie Foran broke a club curfew a few nights ago. Sounds strangely familiar.
The hosts kicked off, but the visitors were on to them in a flash, chasing and harrying as if their lives depended on it and catching the U’s unawares. Preece led from the front as he started a fierce match-long duel with Wozza Goodhind, Cowan and co were unflinching in the tackle at the back and Simpson, like Peter Beagrie at Scunny, may be advanced in years but talent never ages. Carlisle’s high-pressure approach paid off with only seven minutes on the clock. Under pressure, Stev Angus essayed a somewhat desperate diving header of a back pass from 30 yards out; Dancing Shaun Marshall remained rooted to the spot, expecting it to run to him just inside his area down the right channel. But youthful loanee strikee Matt Fryatt had other ideas, haring in after it and causing the Terpsichorean custodian to dive and fumble under challenge. First to arrive on the scene as the ball spun loose was Simpson, and his curling finish into the empty net from a narrow angle made the reasonably difficult look decidedly easy.
The impressive 412-strong turnout from Cumbria was ecstatic; the amber hordes, drum and all, were suddenly and shockingly silenced by their heroes’ glaikery. Just what the doctor did not order, unless his name was Crippen. The only positive from such an early goal was that Carlisle relaxed and their play began to lack its initial frantic intensity. This did not apply to Mr Cowan, of course; he was booked on nine for clattering home debutant Ashley Nicholls, then robbed David Bridges with a superbly timed challenge in his own area.
Shellshocked United began to haul their way back into the game. Bridges had a shot blocked by Carlisle skipper and former Bauhaus frontman Peter Murphy, then a ball across the area by Lil’ Luke found Fred Murray galloping in from deep; sadly the Tipperary Terror managed the not inconsiderable feat of ballooning the ball clear over the South Stand in a display of wild uncontrollability worthy of Gary Neville. Young Fred came considerably nearer on the quarter hour: a free kick 25 yards out was touched to him by Guttridge and his low scudder was heading inside the far corner until a deflection diverted it onto the outside of the post. Goal kick was the decision, so it either hit a teammate or the ref got it wrong. Hard to believe, I know.
Danny Webb had a header comfortably saved a minute later by keeper Matt Glennon, and on 20 a tame header by Nicholls from a Murray cross plopped on to the roof of the net. United were not exactly playing beautiful total football, but their more direct style was at least exerting a degree of pressure on the visitors’ defence. Goodhind air-shotted on 25, while Lil’ Luke, beginning to look more like his old self after a poor run of form, blasted narrowly past the top corner as the half hour ticked up. But if the anxious Cantabrigians thought this mediocre huff-n-puff was going to produce an equaliser, they were wrong. In fact it should have been 2-0 to the visitors on 32 as an extraordinary series of incidents unfolded in Marshall’s goalmouth. First Fryatt burst clear of the United back line from near halfway, looking offside for all the world, but not that of the linesman, Mr Zyxzzvoom from Uranus.
A case in point or a point in case
‘Hellooo! And welcome to the Late Late Late Show with your host, Dessie Byrne. Welcome to my Party Special with some of the many friends and stars I've met over the years as a professional footballer with Wimbledon, Cambridge United and Carlisle. In a packed programme tonight I shall be talking to a veritable galaxy of greats who will be sharing some fascinating stories with us.
* Scott Eustace will be providing us with some top tips on how to impress the ladies with only a pint of lager and a hamster kebab!
* Richie Foran will be talking about his book The Cumbrian Guide to Real Alcopops!
* Steve Guinan will be telling us all about his triumphant run in the touring show of Puppetry of the P****!
* John Terry is dropping by to tell us some hilarious anecdotes about nightclubs and to remind me where I was last week!
* Jody Morris is coming in to introduce his internet guide to the Best Laybys in Yorkshire!
* Lloyd Opara will be telling us about his recent enrolment in the Steve Slade Baad Attitude Is Good Attitude self-help course!
* Neil Mackenzie will be spilling the beans about his involvement with Dennis Wise’s video Britain’s Naughtiest Taxi Drivers!
* We shall have two mystery guests whose names I can’t reveal because their cases haven’t come up yet!
* And to round it all off, we shall have a fantastic sing-song from the Newcastle Wild Boys - Kieran, Ian, Jonathan and Craig - of Chest Nuts Roasting On An Open Fire and ‘Little Red Roaster!
* Armand One has unfortunately dropped out at the last minute because he was unable to get out of bed.
Oh excuse me, there’s the telephone. Hello? Boss? Oh, nothing. I was just, you know, thinking about my career and the future like you said when you banned Richie and me from travelling to Cambridge. Yes, I’m really, really sorry. You’re going to fine me how much? A*se! Drink! Girls!'
Fifteen games to go to the end of the season, and it looks like there is going to be a lot of demand for FRT (Fingernail Replacement Therapy) by May. You could almost smell the tension in the air at the Abbey; either that or the wind from Milton had changed. Tonight was what ruddy-faced horse sperm enthusiast Alex Ferguson would term squeaky bum time, literally so in the case of one nervous but aromatic individual in the Habbin just before kick-off. But enough scatology: time to get off the pot and play.
Shaggy, whose first name seems to have changed to Under-Pressure these days, selected the same starting line-up from Saturday’s letdown at Bury (Guttridge and Bridges swapping flanks), even down to the same attacking subs’ bench, while Carlisle did likewise following their draw with Hull. Talk of the Cumbrians being the worst team in the division and therefore beatable was wide of the mark; only three players survived from the abject selection that still managed a draw with the U’s in early season, and this current team had won five of its last nine games – more than the hosts could boast.
Player-boss Paul Simpson’s revamped team included former U’s favourite (well I liked him) Tom ‘Braveheart’ Cowan at left back and others with a wealth of experience such as wise old journeymen Andy Preece, Kevin Gray and Chris Billy. They may have lost 12 out of 14 away games this season, but this lot were definitely not to be underestimated. Their second ex-amber wearer, ‘Dessie’ Byrne, was (ahem) unavailable after he and Richie Foran broke a club curfew a few nights ago. Sounds strangely familiar.
The hosts kicked off, but the visitors were on to them in a flash, chasing and harrying as if their lives depended on it and catching the U’s unawares. Preece led from the front as he started a fierce match-long duel with Wozza Goodhind, Cowan and co were unflinching in the tackle at the back and Simpson, like Peter Beagrie at Scunny, may be advanced in years but talent never ages. Carlisle’s high-pressure approach paid off with only seven minutes on the clock. Under pressure, Stev Angus essayed a somewhat desperate diving header of a back pass from 30 yards out; Dancing Shaun Marshall remained rooted to the spot, expecting it to run to him just inside his area down the right channel. But youthful loanee strikee Matt Fryatt had other ideas, haring in after it and causing the Terpsichorean custodian to dive and fumble under challenge. First to arrive on the scene as the ball spun loose was Simpson, and his curling finish into the empty net from a narrow angle made the reasonably difficult look decidedly easy.
The impressive 412-strong turnout from Cumbria was ecstatic; the amber hordes, drum and all, were suddenly and shockingly silenced by their heroes’ glaikery. Just what the doctor did not order, unless his name was Crippen. The only positive from such an early goal was that Carlisle relaxed and their play began to lack its initial frantic intensity. This did not apply to Mr Cowan, of course; he was booked on nine for clattering home debutant Ashley Nicholls, then robbed David Bridges with a superbly timed challenge in his own area.
Shellshocked United began to haul their way back into the game. Bridges had a shot blocked by Carlisle skipper and former Bauhaus frontman Peter Murphy, then a ball across the area by Lil’ Luke found Fred Murray galloping in from deep; sadly the Tipperary Terror managed the not inconsiderable feat of ballooning the ball clear over the South Stand in a display of wild uncontrollability worthy of Gary Neville. Young Fred came considerably nearer on the quarter hour: a free kick 25 yards out was touched to him by Guttridge and his low scudder was heading inside the far corner until a deflection diverted it onto the outside of the post. Goal kick was the decision, so it either hit a teammate or the ref got it wrong. Hard to believe, I know.
Danny Webb had a header comfortably saved a minute later by keeper Matt Glennon, and on 20 a tame header by Nicholls from a Murray cross plopped on to the roof of the net. United were not exactly playing beautiful total football, but their more direct style was at least exerting a degree of pressure on the visitors’ defence. Goodhind air-shotted on 25, while Lil’ Luke, beginning to look more like his old self after a poor run of form, blasted narrowly past the top corner as the half hour ticked up. But if the anxious Cantabrigians thought this mediocre huff-n-puff was going to produce an equaliser, they were wrong. In fact it should have been 2-0 to the visitors on 32 as an extraordinary series of incidents unfolded in Marshall’s goalmouth. First Fryatt burst clear of the United back line from near halfway, looking offside for all the world, but not that of the linesman, Mr Zyxzzvoom from Uranus.
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With Angus in hot pursuit, he delayed his shot until 15 yards out, but was foiled by a sterling reaction stop from Dancing Shaun, staying big under pressure (must get some tips from him later). Fryatt retrieved the ball, but was well marshalled by Angus who blocked every effort to get another shot in as his colleagues funnelled back. The ball was eventually laid back to Murphy 25 yards out, and seeing that Marshall had come off his line, his magnificent lob-volley was arrowing into the top corner until the Dancemeister flung himself backwards and pawed it almost off the line. Still the danger wasn’t clear as Fryatt latched on to it on the byline, squared it for Brendan McGill and by hook or by crook Duncan and Tann managed to clear up the whole horrible mess. Haven’t seen such a shambles since Worzel Gummidge had a bad hair day and woke up in the back of Steve Claridge’s car.
Fee-fi-fo-fum. The visitors smelt blood and went for the throat like a rabid Keown. McGill’s free kick from the right on 38 found Preece unmarked ten yards out, but mercifully his header was just over, its ripple effect on the netting causing celebrations from the South Stand that died in the throat. United hung on until the break, managing one more shot on goal (a hopeful and deeply inaccurate Guttridge long-ranger), but a pall of gloom was evident over three-quarters of the Abbey as the team trooped off for tea and no sympathy. Two goals scored in six games? Comic cuts goals conceded? 1-0 defeats ad nauseum? This was prime relegation form. Terrace discussions began on the merits of Margate, Gravesend and Northfleet to name but three, and how refreshing it would be to visit these unfamiliar grounds with their cheery natives in peasant smocks plying us with home-made shepherd’s pie and real ale with twigs in it … no, I’m not convinced either. |
Uranus: looks incredibly dull
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Deep in the bowels of the main stand, Shaggy was surely now undertaking the most important team talk of his short managerial life. Defeat tonight was unthinkable, the consequences unbearable. Was our old hero the man for the job? Could he overcome his intrinsic niceness and inspire his young troops to perform in the white-hot crucible of the Abbey microscope? Within ten minutes we had our answer: HELL YEAH! The half started with another Marshall collywobble, his suspect kicking proffering Simpson a half-chance 30 yards out which he punted wide. But there was an aura of lantern-jawed determination about the boys in amber, and although the football they were playing was as pretty as Anne Widdicombe wearing a fur-lined leather bikini sitting in a skip full of pork scratchings, its directness began to bear fruit against an increasingly fragile-looking Carlisle back line.
First sign of vulnerability came on 51, Nicholls’ cross from wide left won determinedly by Webb, whose header was heading for the bottom corner until scooped away by Glennon. United kept the pressure on, and two minutes later a similar speculative punt from wide, this time by Murray, found the Cumbrian keeper flapping at air as Bridges stole in to head home at the far post, although some witnesses say Aggy Revell might have a claim too. Whatever, it was 1-1 and a great weight just lifted off the roof off this grand old stadium.
Three minutes on and it felt like the roof really had lifted off as sheer momentum and determination saw United take the lead. The second goal was even untidier in its conception than the first, a hopefully hoisted high hoof from Murray bouncing towards the penalty spot pursued by Guttridge, Nicholls and two visiting defenders. Somehow it was the smallest of them, Lil’ Luke, who muscled his way to the front of the queue, controlled it, held off his marker and slotted coolly home from 12 yards for 2-1. Ecstasy was unbridled at this most unexpected and dramatic of dreamlike developments. Just one question, and one that could have been levelled many times in recent seasons: why hadn’t they played that way from the blimmin’ start?
Carlisle were reeling on the ropes, and if United had managed a third in the following ten minutes, it would have all been over. Simpson was booked on the hour, flattening Angus, and three minutes later the visitors made their first change in replacing young Fryatt with Craig Farrell. Gradually they clawed their way back into the contest, Marshall saving from Simpson at one end then Revell blazing ambitiously wide at the other. Carlisle’s second sub followed on 69, Will McDonagh replacing Murphy, and United hearts were in mouths at a series of visitors’ corners, Bridges clearing off the line from Byatt then Preece seeing a header clutched by Marshall, and on 77 it was United’s turn to ring the change as John Turner replaced Revell after another performance that was hard-working but as fruitless as the North Pole in a grocer’s strike. On a bank holiday.
Now Carlisle were pressing for an equaliser and United, as frustratingly as they have in the past, found themselves retreating deeper until they were defending on the edge of their own box while affording their opponents huge yawning spaces in midfield from which to measure their unchallenged crosses. On 81 Preece danced into the area but unfathomably spurned the obvious shot and instead chose to square it inaccurately. But this was only the bitterest of teases, for a minute later Carlisle were level with a goal that owed much to fortune but just as much to United’s fearful negativity. As the hosts camped in their own area, Paul Arnison stabbed a pass towards Farrell near the penalty spot; his attempted shot was scuffed leftward, but his team had men over on that side as Angus once again found himself sucked in towards the middle. And who would be the one player on the Carlisle side that you would not wish the ball to fall to, wide left ten yards out? Yep, Simpson was there again to rifle home across Marshall and into the far corner.
A draw would be a satisfactory result for neither side, so a pulsating finish was to ensue as both went for the win. Three minutes from the end Webb fired in a magnificent volley from the D that was headed for the bottom corner until athletically batted away by Gleeson on his line; Simpson saw another blaster blocked. And as we entered the third and last minute of added time, Tann conceded a free kick just outside the box in the left channel … just perfect for the deadly left foot of Simpson and a potential hat-trick. The wall lined up, the area filled with bodies, and the Cumbrians’ player-boss fired low towards the far corner. Marshall must have seen it terribly late as it flashed through a sea of legs, but instinct took over and he got down to scramble it away as cheeks puffed out in relief from the amber hordes like several thousand Satchmos.
The resultant corner was cleared, then the final whistle to a nerve-wracking but entertaining encounter sounded. At half-time we’d have taken the draw. At 2-1 we’d have been disappointed to see the win slip away. At the end: well, at least we didn’t lose. Make no mistake, Carlisle are better than their position suggests; the team that lost 12 consecutive games has long since been consigned to the dustbin. But once again United could only produce (slightly less than) one half of fully satisfactory domination. Somehow they must learn how to reproduce that first 20 minutes of the second half over the full 90. And quickly. There is too much at stake to fail now!
Marshall 5 - Handed Carlisle their first goal and his kicking seems to be getting worse if anything. Good save at the end, though.
Angus 5 - Below-par game from a player we know can do much, much more.
Murray 7 - Great attitude and some exciting dashes forward.
Duncan 6 - Battled characteristically against old pro Preece.
Goodhind 6 - Solid complement to his skipper.
Bridges 6 - Substantial improvement on recent form and the goal can only boost his confidence.
Nicholls 7 - Another very encouraging display from the new boy.
Tann 6 - Reliable team performance.
Guttridge 7 - Not back to his very best but seems to be getting there. Well-taken goal.
Webb 7 - Got stronger as the game went on and did a good job as target man.
Revell 5 - As ever, no faulting his effort but to precious little effect.
Turner 6 - Looked dangerous in his all-too-brief cameo appearance.
First sign of vulnerability came on 51, Nicholls’ cross from wide left won determinedly by Webb, whose header was heading for the bottom corner until scooped away by Glennon. United kept the pressure on, and two minutes later a similar speculative punt from wide, this time by Murray, found the Cumbrian keeper flapping at air as Bridges stole in to head home at the far post, although some witnesses say Aggy Revell might have a claim too. Whatever, it was 1-1 and a great weight just lifted off the roof off this grand old stadium.
Three minutes on and it felt like the roof really had lifted off as sheer momentum and determination saw United take the lead. The second goal was even untidier in its conception than the first, a hopefully hoisted high hoof from Murray bouncing towards the penalty spot pursued by Guttridge, Nicholls and two visiting defenders. Somehow it was the smallest of them, Lil’ Luke, who muscled his way to the front of the queue, controlled it, held off his marker and slotted coolly home from 12 yards for 2-1. Ecstasy was unbridled at this most unexpected and dramatic of dreamlike developments. Just one question, and one that could have been levelled many times in recent seasons: why hadn’t they played that way from the blimmin’ start?
Carlisle were reeling on the ropes, and if United had managed a third in the following ten minutes, it would have all been over. Simpson was booked on the hour, flattening Angus, and three minutes later the visitors made their first change in replacing young Fryatt with Craig Farrell. Gradually they clawed their way back into the contest, Marshall saving from Simpson at one end then Revell blazing ambitiously wide at the other. Carlisle’s second sub followed on 69, Will McDonagh replacing Murphy, and United hearts were in mouths at a series of visitors’ corners, Bridges clearing off the line from Byatt then Preece seeing a header clutched by Marshall, and on 77 it was United’s turn to ring the change as John Turner replaced Revell after another performance that was hard-working but as fruitless as the North Pole in a grocer’s strike. On a bank holiday.
Now Carlisle were pressing for an equaliser and United, as frustratingly as they have in the past, found themselves retreating deeper until they were defending on the edge of their own box while affording their opponents huge yawning spaces in midfield from which to measure their unchallenged crosses. On 81 Preece danced into the area but unfathomably spurned the obvious shot and instead chose to square it inaccurately. But this was only the bitterest of teases, for a minute later Carlisle were level with a goal that owed much to fortune but just as much to United’s fearful negativity. As the hosts camped in their own area, Paul Arnison stabbed a pass towards Farrell near the penalty spot; his attempted shot was scuffed leftward, but his team had men over on that side as Angus once again found himself sucked in towards the middle. And who would be the one player on the Carlisle side that you would not wish the ball to fall to, wide left ten yards out? Yep, Simpson was there again to rifle home across Marshall and into the far corner.
A draw would be a satisfactory result for neither side, so a pulsating finish was to ensue as both went for the win. Three minutes from the end Webb fired in a magnificent volley from the D that was headed for the bottom corner until athletically batted away by Gleeson on his line; Simpson saw another blaster blocked. And as we entered the third and last minute of added time, Tann conceded a free kick just outside the box in the left channel … just perfect for the deadly left foot of Simpson and a potential hat-trick. The wall lined up, the area filled with bodies, and the Cumbrians’ player-boss fired low towards the far corner. Marshall must have seen it terribly late as it flashed through a sea of legs, but instinct took over and he got down to scramble it away as cheeks puffed out in relief from the amber hordes like several thousand Satchmos.
The resultant corner was cleared, then the final whistle to a nerve-wracking but entertaining encounter sounded. At half-time we’d have taken the draw. At 2-1 we’d have been disappointed to see the win slip away. At the end: well, at least we didn’t lose. Make no mistake, Carlisle are better than their position suggests; the team that lost 12 consecutive games has long since been consigned to the dustbin. But once again United could only produce (slightly less than) one half of fully satisfactory domination. Somehow they must learn how to reproduce that first 20 minutes of the second half over the full 90. And quickly. There is too much at stake to fail now!
Marshall 5 - Handed Carlisle their first goal and his kicking seems to be getting worse if anything. Good save at the end, though.
Angus 5 - Below-par game from a player we know can do much, much more.
Murray 7 - Great attitude and some exciting dashes forward.
Duncan 6 - Battled characteristically against old pro Preece.
Goodhind 6 - Solid complement to his skipper.
Bridges 6 - Substantial improvement on recent form and the goal can only boost his confidence.
Nicholls 7 - Another very encouraging display from the new boy.
Tann 6 - Reliable team performance.
Guttridge 7 - Not back to his very best but seems to be getting there. Well-taken goal.
Webb 7 - Got stronger as the game went on and did a good job as target man.
Revell 5 - As ever, no faulting his effort but to precious little effect.
Turner 6 - Looked dangerous in his all-too-brief cameo appearance.
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Soundtrack of the day: The New Main Street Singers/Just That Kinda Day
Match summary: In a battle with more ups and downs than Jordan and Peter Andre in a Travelodge, United roared back from a limp first half with a rampant second period comeback but just failed to last the distance when fulfilment seemed to be within their grasp. Now if only they can keep it up for a full 90 minutes on Saturday, we might all be satisfied. Man of the match:Ashley Nicholls. We have been crying out for a midfielder like this: powerful, strong, positive and influential. How nice to see a player whose first instinct is to stride forward and look to play a decisive pass rather than just lay off an easy sideways ball like some others we could mention. Ref watch: Olivier 7. This little fellow has ruined many a U's match in the past, so it's good to note that he seems to be improving with practice. His early booking of Cowan sent out a message and he was gratifyingly unobtrusive for most of the evening. |
Peter Andre: least said …
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21 February 2004: U's 3-1 Bristol Rovers
A gleesome threesome
Cambridge United has a long and proud history, extending all the way back to its first informal game under street lamps in 1912, to its first Cambs League match in 1921, its first official programme in 1947 and all the way through to the inauguration of your very own official website way back in 2002. But one fascinating part of the club’s story has gone largely unrecorded thus far: its musical history! Now fanatical supporter Martine Gordon has taken it upon herself to track down those obscure songs of devotion spanning the best part of a century. Martine herself takes up the story:
‘I’m sure many people will remember the Moose Troop’s searingly emotional Amber & Black, which was such a bestseller five years ago. But not many people know that United and music have been linked for much, much longer than that. Back in the 1950s, Willingham skiffle trio the Wingdingin’ Washboards released a limited edition 45 entitled Mannion’s The Main Man, Daddy-o in a tribute to the great Wilf, to great acclaim. In Willingham.
‘The Sixties brought us The Abbey Is Fabbey by Brian Boggis & His Beat Combo, and a highlight of local legends Pink Floyd’s psychedelic sets at the UFO Club was their Richard Habbin Raga, which they would often incorporate into their epic masterpiece Interstellar Underpants. The punk rock revolution of the late 70s did not pass United by when Raw Records released Tom Finney Is Anarchy by Ziggy Phlegm & The Bile Ducts, recorded locally at Spaceward Studios, while the New Romantics were also catered for with Chatteris pretty boys Pink Potato’s Fade To Greygoose, and the acid house movement spawned E Is For Ebanks by Yoorin-8.
‘But the earliest, and rarest, of all U’s-related recordings dates back to around 1935: only a few 78s were thought to have ever been pressed of Woke Up This Morning With Them Penalty Miss Blues Again by legendary Fens bluesman and inside forward Short-Sighted Aubergine Scroggins. I have been
A gleesome threesome
Cambridge United has a long and proud history, extending all the way back to its first informal game under street lamps in 1912, to its first Cambs League match in 1921, its first official programme in 1947 and all the way through to the inauguration of your very own official website way back in 2002. But one fascinating part of the club’s story has gone largely unrecorded thus far: its musical history! Now fanatical supporter Martine Gordon has taken it upon herself to track down those obscure songs of devotion spanning the best part of a century. Martine herself takes up the story:
‘I’m sure many people will remember the Moose Troop’s searingly emotional Amber & Black, which was such a bestseller five years ago. But not many people know that United and music have been linked for much, much longer than that. Back in the 1950s, Willingham skiffle trio the Wingdingin’ Washboards released a limited edition 45 entitled Mannion’s The Main Man, Daddy-o in a tribute to the great Wilf, to great acclaim. In Willingham.
‘The Sixties brought us The Abbey Is Fabbey by Brian Boggis & His Beat Combo, and a highlight of local legends Pink Floyd’s psychedelic sets at the UFO Club was their Richard Habbin Raga, which they would often incorporate into their epic masterpiece Interstellar Underpants. The punk rock revolution of the late 70s did not pass United by when Raw Records released Tom Finney Is Anarchy by Ziggy Phlegm & The Bile Ducts, recorded locally at Spaceward Studios, while the New Romantics were also catered for with Chatteris pretty boys Pink Potato’s Fade To Greygoose, and the acid house movement spawned E Is For Ebanks by Yoorin-8.
‘But the earliest, and rarest, of all U’s-related recordings dates back to around 1935: only a few 78s were thought to have ever been pressed of Woke Up This Morning With Them Penalty Miss Blues Again by legendary Fens bluesman and inside forward Short-Sighted Aubergine Scroggins. I have been
Scroggins: rarity
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searching for this item for many years and I would appeal to everyone to check their lofts and sheds. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated!’
The rarest sound heard at the Abbey this season is our old friend Coconuts, and with only one airing since our victory over Macclesfield in the first home League game of the season, most of us have only a hazy memory of how it goes. So determined were the fans to hear its jaunty strains that a deputation was organised to recreate the away following’s magnificent vocal support in the south Habbin, complete with drum, creating something of a sensurround effect in the north of that venerable stand. Don’t they know some people are trying to get some sleep? United had the same line-up and subs for the third consecutive game, encouraged by signs of promise that is yet to be reflected by results. Rovers were on the crest of a slump, a decent start having been followed by a decline leading to their parting with manager Ray Graydon and a team on a run of four wins in its last 20 games. No one is more aware than us that a poor run of results could result in any team in the bottom half doing a Shrewsbury and tumbling into the arms of the Conference – an embrace as welcome as a French kiss from Shane MacGowan. There was plenty of experience and no little talent in the Pirates’ starting line-up, including chunky veteran keeper Kevin Miller, tricky ex-Chesterfield midget Ryan Williams, former Brentford full back Ijah Anderson, the man with the best name in Division Three, Junior Agogo, and – avast behind! – ex-U Kevin Austin. Big Kev formed part of a back three alongside skipper Adam Barrett and Bluebeard lookalike Christian Edwards – a defence that did not lack nous but did lack lack pace. |
On a chilly afternoon, United set their stall out quickly to warm their followers with a dynamic, hard-working start, with good movement and energy from every part of the team. First Aggy Revell showed off his pace by chasing down a Barrett back-header, taking it away from Miller but also away from goal; after a few moments’ kerfuffle involving Danny Webb and some desperately covering Rovers defenders, Lil’ Luke was flagged offside. The visitors responded with their first shot, Lewis Haldane’s 20-yard effort causing Shaun Marshall about as much disturbance as being told that there is no Santa Claus (sorry, Luke). United responded on six, Guttridge’s corner nodded on by Revell but Ashley Nicholls missing the target on the volley. Two minutes later Rovers should have been in front as Agogo sprinted through the hosts’ offside trap to go one-on-one with Dancing Shaun, but the Terpsichorean custodian stood his ground and athletically blocked the rampaging Pirate’s over-deliberate scudder from 15 yards. One suspected that he might have been confused by the proliferation of orange balloons meandering around Shaun’s goalmouth. Hmm, must try that tactic more often.
Before we knew it Agogo was breaking through again, but this time he hesitated and Warren Goodhind plunged in with a vital saving tackle. Rovers paid Barnet £110k for this? We’d never be that daft, would we, Wozza? An exciting contest like this deserved a goal, and 13 minutes in, it got one … and for a change it was United who got the early breakthrough. A hopeful ball forward by Guttridge was headed on perceptively by Webb, and suddenly there was Revell sprinting clear of Rovers’ ponderous back line, with only Miller to beat. Aggy’s finish was clinical, sliding it coolly past the large-trousered goalminder into the far corner like a veteran: 1-0!
United’s energetic youngsters kept the pressure on and were soon almost two up, a splendidly intricate passing move leading to Webb feeding the marauding Murray, whose low cross found Adam Tann at the far post; his blaster was pawed away impressively by Miller, who also managed to clutch Revell’s follow-up header. The hosts’ tails were now well and truly up (not literally, you understand; the last United player to possess a tail was Jon Rattle, possessor of a hereditary trait that meant he had to wear a specially made rubber jockstrap, which goes some way to explaining his displays at left back. He now sells the jockstraps through his Ann Summers outlet in Tunbridge Wells; autographed black and amber ones are available from the club shop with a matching free gimp mask for the first 50 orders. Hurry!).
Rovers responded with an Agogo header wide on 18, while Nicholls shot wide on 22, but four minutes later United had doubled their lead. The visitors lost possession inside their own half, Nicholls fed Bridges in space and his delightfully lofted through ball found Lil’ Luke scurrying through unmarked; he adjusted his position, looked up and smashed the ball confidently past the helpless Miller from 12 yards out.
At last this United team had come good. Its big problem area, the midfield, has been transformed by the arrival of Nicholls, and with the return to form of Guttridge and Bridges, it is now a formidable unit full of positive running, inter-passing and aggression, closing down and harrying the opposition at every turn and breaking quickly when the opportunity arises. The full backs are willing to assist on the break, and combine this with two determined, strong and leggy strikers and you have a team that suddenly inspires one with a modicum of confidence and cautious optimism. Fumbling Rovers, for all their Red Bully strip of blue and white quarters with red print, were by comparison flying on the wings of an asthmatic bee with agoraphobia and piles.
Miller saved another Revell shot on 27, then a minute later came the first booking of the match for Goodhind, who initially miscontrolled to let Agogo in then collided clumsily with him in trying to retrieve the situation, although the Rovers striker seemed to go to ground surprisingly easily. United were dominant, Rovers increasingly poor; surely we had reached the comfort zone with only half an hour gone. But this is the U’s we are talking about here, n’est-ce pas? On 32 Simon Bryant floated a corner from the right wing to the middle, and Barrett met it square on the edge of the area; his header flew through a forest of bodies down the middle, straight towards Marshall and two defenders on the line. Routine, right? No. Shaun failed to claim the ball, Fred Murray, standing next to him, swung at it, and it pinged between them and into the back of the net for 2-1. All Shaun had to do was shout ‘keeper’s!’ or ‘mine!’ or ‘leave!’ (or ‘shooglenifty!’ if he’d liked) and he could have collected it without moving. But his silence cost his side a goal in the most embarrassing demonstration since someone pitched an idea to Sky One for a reality show called Guantanamo Baywatch in which bikinied babes would be parachuted into the American prison camp and inmates would be released according to how long they could resist siliconed temptation.
So once again the U’s had contrived to do things the hard way. Their cause seemed to be hindered further five minutes later when Revell and Austin clashed horribly on halfway and both went down clutching their heads. The big Rovers defender, made as he is of reinforced concrete, soon recovered but poor Aggy clearly had no idea what day it was and had to be stretchered off to be replaced by Jermaine Easter. Still at least Ant ‘Mr’ Coole won the race of the physios, aided no doubt by his magic ice cubes.
Before we knew it Agogo was breaking through again, but this time he hesitated and Warren Goodhind plunged in with a vital saving tackle. Rovers paid Barnet £110k for this? We’d never be that daft, would we, Wozza? An exciting contest like this deserved a goal, and 13 minutes in, it got one … and for a change it was United who got the early breakthrough. A hopeful ball forward by Guttridge was headed on perceptively by Webb, and suddenly there was Revell sprinting clear of Rovers’ ponderous back line, with only Miller to beat. Aggy’s finish was clinical, sliding it coolly past the large-trousered goalminder into the far corner like a veteran: 1-0!
United’s energetic youngsters kept the pressure on and were soon almost two up, a splendidly intricate passing move leading to Webb feeding the marauding Murray, whose low cross found Adam Tann at the far post; his blaster was pawed away impressively by Miller, who also managed to clutch Revell’s follow-up header. The hosts’ tails were now well and truly up (not literally, you understand; the last United player to possess a tail was Jon Rattle, possessor of a hereditary trait that meant he had to wear a specially made rubber jockstrap, which goes some way to explaining his displays at left back. He now sells the jockstraps through his Ann Summers outlet in Tunbridge Wells; autographed black and amber ones are available from the club shop with a matching free gimp mask for the first 50 orders. Hurry!).
Rovers responded with an Agogo header wide on 18, while Nicholls shot wide on 22, but four minutes later United had doubled their lead. The visitors lost possession inside their own half, Nicholls fed Bridges in space and his delightfully lofted through ball found Lil’ Luke scurrying through unmarked; he adjusted his position, looked up and smashed the ball confidently past the helpless Miller from 12 yards out.
At last this United team had come good. Its big problem area, the midfield, has been transformed by the arrival of Nicholls, and with the return to form of Guttridge and Bridges, it is now a formidable unit full of positive running, inter-passing and aggression, closing down and harrying the opposition at every turn and breaking quickly when the opportunity arises. The full backs are willing to assist on the break, and combine this with two determined, strong and leggy strikers and you have a team that suddenly inspires one with a modicum of confidence and cautious optimism. Fumbling Rovers, for all their Red Bully strip of blue and white quarters with red print, were by comparison flying on the wings of an asthmatic bee with agoraphobia and piles.
Miller saved another Revell shot on 27, then a minute later came the first booking of the match for Goodhind, who initially miscontrolled to let Agogo in then collided clumsily with him in trying to retrieve the situation, although the Rovers striker seemed to go to ground surprisingly easily. United were dominant, Rovers increasingly poor; surely we had reached the comfort zone with only half an hour gone. But this is the U’s we are talking about here, n’est-ce pas? On 32 Simon Bryant floated a corner from the right wing to the middle, and Barrett met it square on the edge of the area; his header flew through a forest of bodies down the middle, straight towards Marshall and two defenders on the line. Routine, right? No. Shaun failed to claim the ball, Fred Murray, standing next to him, swung at it, and it pinged between them and into the back of the net for 2-1. All Shaun had to do was shout ‘keeper’s!’ or ‘mine!’ or ‘leave!’ (or ‘shooglenifty!’ if he’d liked) and he could have collected it without moving. But his silence cost his side a goal in the most embarrassing demonstration since someone pitched an idea to Sky One for a reality show called Guantanamo Baywatch in which bikinied babes would be parachuted into the American prison camp and inmates would be released according to how long they could resist siliconed temptation.
So once again the U’s had contrived to do things the hard way. Their cause seemed to be hindered further five minutes later when Revell and Austin clashed horribly on halfway and both went down clutching their heads. The big Rovers defender, made as he is of reinforced concrete, soon recovered but poor Aggy clearly had no idea what day it was and had to be stretchered off to be replaced by Jermaine Easter. Still at least Ant ‘Mr’ Coole won the race of the physios, aided no doubt by his magic ice cubes.
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Easter showed almost immediately was a dangerous customer he is, shooting just wide of the far post after a typical jet-heeled run. But the extensive injury hold-up had stemmed the flow of the game and honours were even for the rest of the half, Bryant booked for fouling Guttridge while neither keeper was troubled until Lil’ Luke produced a good reaction save from Miller with a close-range shot in added time. So ended a thoroughly enjoyable first half in which United had gelled as an exciting attacking force. Only caveat to our optimism was the knowledge that the U’s tend to balance most games these days with one good and one bad 45 minutes every 90. So would the second half bring another Jekyll and Hydesque transformation? Or would we keep young and beautiful?
Within five minutes of the restart we had our answer. Easter, so quick and alert, intercepted a pass intended for Edwards, shrugged off the defender, ran into the area and squared it for Webb; his low shot was palmed out by Miller, but only to David Bridges, who like a good attacking midfielder was waiting to pick up the scraps. He tapped home and celebrated ecstatically in front of the Corona: 3-1! Relief was palpable; we were back in charge again. The Pirates were holed below the waterline. |
Reinforced concrete: or possibly Kevin Austin
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For a time the only question was whether United could add to their tally and approach the heights of their 6-1 mauling of the same opposition this month 12 years ago. Easter ran the Rovers back line ragged, Webb put himself about, the midfield pushed and probed; but Rovers held out doggedly like Sol Campbell regretfully declining another invitation to play in an England friendly. Miller saved a Bridges shot from Nicholls’ cross on the hour, while a Rovers free kick three minutes later summed up their fruitless afternoon as Bryant struck it feebly into the United wall. Easter had a shot blocked by Barrett on 67, but the hosts began to run out of steam and the match began to drift into mediocrity. As United’s impetus declined, and they found themselves playing steadily deeper, Rovers slowly but surely gained more and more possession.
One problem: looking utterly without inspiration, they could produce absolutely nothing of any substance and Marshall looked on, as much a spectator as the bejacketed hordes watching from the stands. The nothingness expanded and we found ourselves staring into the void. United sat back, Rovers looked like one of the poorest teams to visit the Abbey this season, as empty as a Ryanair plane (seats? Nah mate, that’s a luxury. Enjoy your cushion!).
Highlights of the last 20 minutes? As rare as an NHS dentist, and about as entertaining. We were in the comfort zone, cruising to victory, while impotent Rovers flailed inadequately in a bid to salvage some pride. Ten minutes from time Lee Hodges replaced Haldane, and in a moment of almost-excitement the sub blasted over on 84 from a narrow angle. Only other moment of note was Williams’ cross-shot across the face of goal on 87, and although the Pirates gained a few corners, the skull and crossbones had long since been replaced by a white flag.
The final whistle was deliciated joyously by the vociferous amber hordes who had inspired their young team to an encouraging, hard-working and thoroughly deserved victory. United had scored three goals in a game for the first time since THAT game with Doncaster on September 30, and had accomplished their first ‘double’ of the season. And if they can keep up this level of performance, there is no reason why they cannot embark on a run that would at least secure their manager’s future, and that of their club. Now how did that song go again? I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts, something something tum te tum te toe … they don’t write them like that any more, do they?
Marshall 6 – Not exactly over-employed, but must hold his hands up for the Rovers goal. Only one duff kick, mind!
Angus 7 – Starting to get back to his old form, thankfully.
Murray 8 – One of United’s best players in 2004 and showed why again today.
Duncan 7 – Typically rock-like at the back.
Goodhind 6 – Mostly comfortable but a smattering of sloppy moments.
Bridges 8 – How good it is to see Bridgo returning to the form of which he had looked capable. Plaudits also to Shaggy for sticking by him.
Guttridge 8 – Another player who has come through a rut and emerged unscathed the other end.
Tann 8 – The anchor of an outstanding midfield.
Nicholls 8 – Continued his excellent form with an all-action display.
Revell 7 – Energetic as ever, but this time delivered with a splendidly taken goal.
Webb 7 – Led the line with a strength and determination that belied his tender years.
Easter 8 – Fantastic turn of pace and directness gave United an extra dimension when he came on.
Soundtrack of the day: Go Home Productions/Rapture Riders
Match summary: At last! United sizzled their way to only a second home win in six months by wearing their opponents to a frazzle with some up-and-at-’em razzle-dazzle. If they can keep cooking on gas like this they’ll soon be burning their way up the table.
Man of the match: Luke Guttridge. He’s had his dip in form and today roared back to somewhere near his best with an all-action, box-to-box performance that inspired United’s previously insipid midfield to a match-dominating display.
Ref watch: Leake 6. Every ref has a weakness (some have several dozen) and this one’s was his inattention to the many fouls perpetrated on United players in aerial challenges. Otherwise, no major rickets.
28 February 2004: Yeovil 4-1 U's
The Glovers' Guide To Scrumpy-Pumpy
The last few months have not been the happiest time for all at Cambridge United, notwithstanding the fans’ fantastic achievement of raising £100,000 just before Christmas. But during the last week, the worm seems to have turned and suddenly the Abbey is the home of good news and smiling faces again. So your official website this week highlights some of the many positive stories relating to the Mighty U’s at the moment. There are plenty of them!
‘Professor’ Dale Brooks, football's most qualified man, has added once again to his list of honours with his completion of the coveted FIFA AA++ Ultra Badge, which entitles him to coach any national team in the world that he wishes on alternate Tuesdays and to have the full run of Sepp Blatter’s wife.
Stuart Bimson has been passing his extra free time usefully, and has secured a role in the next Star Trek film, The Chairman Of The Borg, as a mutant clone of Data. His hairless pate and steely grey eyes made him a natural for the part of the Federation’s first Scouse cyborg, and he won’t need make-up.
Alex Revell has been chosen as the face of Ultimo’s new male underwear brand. The ladies’ garment manufacturers wanted someone tall and blond looking as similar as possible to their female ‘face', Rachel Hunter, and young Aggy fitted the bill to a T. In fact, his legs have already appeared in Ultimo ads as stand-ins for Ms Hunter’s when she was unavailable. Aggy was flattered but not too keen on the waist-to-toe waxing.
And the best news of all today: we don’t have to play Yeovil again this season!
It has been 24 years since the U’s last visited Somerset, when Yeovil were still playing at their infamous old Huish ground with its legendary sloping pitch.
The Glovers' Guide To Scrumpy-Pumpy
The last few months have not been the happiest time for all at Cambridge United, notwithstanding the fans’ fantastic achievement of raising £100,000 just before Christmas. But during the last week, the worm seems to have turned and suddenly the Abbey is the home of good news and smiling faces again. So your official website this week highlights some of the many positive stories relating to the Mighty U’s at the moment. There are plenty of them!
‘Professor’ Dale Brooks, football's most qualified man, has added once again to his list of honours with his completion of the coveted FIFA AA++ Ultra Badge, which entitles him to coach any national team in the world that he wishes on alternate Tuesdays and to have the full run of Sepp Blatter’s wife.
Stuart Bimson has been passing his extra free time usefully, and has secured a role in the next Star Trek film, The Chairman Of The Borg, as a mutant clone of Data. His hairless pate and steely grey eyes made him a natural for the part of the Federation’s first Scouse cyborg, and he won’t need make-up.
Alex Revell has been chosen as the face of Ultimo’s new male underwear brand. The ladies’ garment manufacturers wanted someone tall and blond looking as similar as possible to their female ‘face', Rachel Hunter, and young Aggy fitted the bill to a T. In fact, his legs have already appeared in Ultimo ads as stand-ins for Ms Hunter’s when she was unavailable. Aggy was flattered but not too keen on the waist-to-toe waxing.
And the best news of all today: we don’t have to play Yeovil again this season!
It has been 24 years since the U’s last visited Somerset, when Yeovil were still playing at their infamous old Huish ground with its legendary sloping pitch.
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And what an unhappy hunting ground that was for United, with one win in eight visits and the last six all ending in defeat. Our paths have only crossed once since then before this season, when United slumped to FA Cup defeat at the Abbey in 1987. Astoundingly, their awesome attacking force of Jon Purdie and Ian Benjamin failed to find the target as their team lost 1-0.
Our first visit to the sexy new Huish Park got off to an inauspicious start when some dingbat phoned our beloved local radio station to tell them the game was off, which disinformation they relayed to their dozens of listeners without actually checking. I look forward to their announcement that Peterborough has been demolished as a health hazard when I call to tell them next week. Strensham Services was awash with Bolton and Middlesbrough supporters on their way to a jolly weekend in Cardiff, but the amber hordes were to be denied the sights of olde Yeovil towne: the new Huish is in an unlovely industrial estate; there is only one way out, leading to a half-hour wait to get back to the main road. Great planning, guys. |
The old Huish: also used for cheese-rolling
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Huish Park is a pleasant, modest little place, all green ’n’ white and neat ’n’ tidy, with shallow seated stands along each side, a covered terrace at one end for the home supporters and a good old uncovered terrace for us riff-raff. We were welcomed by the mascot, the Jolly Green Giant, a rather alarming figure resembling the Incredible Hulk’s rather slow brother who has been locked in a back bedroom for 30 years. With disturbingly baggy knees.
United remained unchanged for the fourth game in a row, subs and all, on a dizzyingly heady unbeaten run of two, while the hosts changed their central defence from last week’s 3-2 defeat at Darlington, including the dropping to the bench of their 6ft 7in Portuguese freakboy Hugo Rodrigues. The programme included pen pictures of the home players, a good idea for us visitors, although their entries for the United players raised a few eyebrows: apparently Justin Walker is ‘a player who always gives his all', Mark Venus a ‘tremendous organiser’ and Terry Fleming a ‘human dynamo’ who ‘never lets anyone down'. The things you learn, eh?
The U’s were welcomed by an impressive Yellow Pages tickertape display from the visiting hordes, leaving half the pitch looking reminiscent of Argentina '78 and provoking a rueful smile from the home staff already looking forward to clearing it all up. Nice to see people so happy in their work. United responded by dominating the first four minutes. If only League matches weren’t so ruddy long. Within 25 seconds they had gained a free kick just outside the box after home skipper Terry Skiverton upended Aggy Revell; but the usual predictable routine ensued, two players tippy-tappying to each other to give the opposition plenty of time to get close enough to charge down Lil’ Luke Guttridge’s eventual shot. No change there, then.
The visitors came much closer on three, Lil’ Luke’s corner flicked on at the near post by Revell and it looked like going in until Darren Way cleared off the line with a stooping header. No one was following up; United still need a fox in the box, and I don’t care what the RSPCA say. Two minutes later Yeovil started to show off their impressively speedy brand of pass and move as Gavin Williams sprinted down the left, leaving the United defence eating his dust, and his cross was nodded wide by an unmarked Simon Weatherstone. Then Williams did it again, this time finding Andy Bishop who this time found the target with his header but also the arms of Shaun Marshall.
At the other end Webb headed Guttridge’s free kick over and United saw another corner cleared. Then that man Williams was at it again with another cross headed over by Skiverton. The visitors responded with a splendid through ball from David Bridges for Ashley Nicholls, but he hesitated a fraction of a second and was dispossessed. An exciting, end-to-end start promised much, but ere long it was to turn as sour as an Ann Winterton joke about cockle pickers. The hosts’ breakthrough came on 17. Lee Johnson’s floated corner from the right was inexplicably handled by Andy Duncan, and no one argued as ref A (Ancient? He did look pretty old) Marriner pointed to the spot. No card, though. Time for Predictable Moment No 2, then, as Williams lashed the ball to Marshall’s right, and as is his custom, he dived in the opposite direction. What an obliging fellow. The hosts rubbed it in by deafening us with a blast of hoary old 60s relic Glad All Over in celebration. It would become an irritatingly familiar tune over the next hour.
There were two wheels on United’s rickety wagon a mere minute later as their misfiring defence self-destructed; and once again, it was Andy Duncan, so consistent this season, who goofed. Weatherstone made a run and cross from the right, it ran through to the United skipper, and while he dithered with the ball at his feet eight yards out, Bishop simply whipped it off his toe and lashed it into the net. Do the Calamity Crush: 2-0.
The shellshocked U’s responded with a Bridges header from Angus’s cross, just wide, then the darting hosts almost made it three as Bishop shook off the hapless Duncan but Marshall sprinted from goal to clear the danger. But the United back four was looking more insecure than four Wes Browns, Duncan having a nightmare, Wozza Goodhind slow, Stev Angus frequently out of position and Fred Murray playing like a puppet with its strings cut, an unco-ordinated mess of miskicks and slices with the ball control of an arthritic elephant. Where was the dashing young blade of last week? It was all over on 27 as ponderous United were once again exposed by the Glovers’ speed of foot and thought. Revell was caught dithering halfway into Yeovil’s half, he was easily robbed and Way’s ball over the top down the left found Adam Stansfield, yards clear of Angus, who bore down on goal and finished clinically across Dancing Shaun from just outside the six-yard box. He’s been around the world but he, he, he won’t find a simpler goal: 3-0.
United now flapped like a headless chicken, the midfield that looked so impressive last Saturday resorting to too many lazy hoofs up to the strikers rather than playing it through as they did against Bristol Rovers. They didn’t need Clare Short to leave them exposed. Webb blasted over on 28, Weatherstone fired wide on 29 and Guttridge did the same a minute later. Decisive action was required, and on 34 Jermaine Easter replaced Bridges as United went 4-3-3, a welcomingly positive move. But the rearguard still looked as jittery as a bat going nose-to-nose with Ozzy Osbourne, Marshall beating Stansfield to Goodhind’s unconvincing back-header then stumbling against the ball and conceding a needless corner, to the home support’s derision.
Unfortunately, Easter only lasted nine minutes (yes, I know it usually lasts four days). He essayed an adventurous run down the middle and ran into the vast bulk of Colin Pluck; if the big defender didn’t actually foul him, he certainly fell on him afterwards, and as it turned out, knocked him spark out. Astoundingly, Marriner had a quick look, saw no reason to stop the game and Angus was eventually compelled to knock the ball out of play to get the insensible sub the treatment he urgently required. Needless to say, the amber hordes were incandescent with rage at the man in black’s irresponsibility as Easter was stretchered off to be replaced by Shane Tudor. Making up his own rules, Marriner then awarded a drop ball instead of the throw-in that Angus had conceded. Ever considered a job at the Beeb, mate?
Just before the first 45 was up United gained another free kick on the edge of the area, the usual two-touch routine leaving Murray about a millionth of a second to shoot and his effort was inevitably deflected off for a corner. But Guttridge’s flag kick was cleared only to Adam Tann, under pressure to the right of goal by the byline, and he twisted to loft in an immaculate cross for Danny Webb to bury his header from six yards. 3-1! Fired up by the Easter incident (no, not the crucifixion), the visiting supporters saw their objects of slight regard leave the pitch with renewed hope for the second half; could Webb’s goal herald an epic, Spurs-style revival? At least Yeovil didn’t play their blasted club song again during the interval, although the home fans’ adaptation of the wretched Hey Baby to Hey Gary Johnson was not much of an improvement.
But all the false hope of a result against patently superior opposition was dispelled within four minutes of the restart. Tann was penalised for a dubious foul on Way, Johnson crossed from the left wing, Bishop climbed to win the ball comfortably in the air, his header was well palmed out by Dancing Shaun, but the Terpsichorean custodian could only watch in despair as Pluck rampaged in to poke home from point-blank range for 4-1. Oh well. The game was up. Webb set up Guttridge to hit the post with a low drive in an encouraging immediate response, then Tudor shot over, but Yeovil were now playing well within themselves. In fact, for the rest of the match their search for the perfect goal was to prevent them from making the scoreline even more embarrassing for their outplayed visitors, whose chances of a comeback were now worth about as much as a Leeds United share certificate.
The back four was especially susceptible to direct running , and on 53 Bishop ran at Duncan and Murray, beat both with ease and squared it for Weatherstone to shoot at an open goal; somehow Goodhind managed to whisk the ball off his toes to save his colleagues’ embarrassment. A response came in the unlikely form of Angus, overlapping down the right, cutting inside, weaving his way daintily past two defenders then testing home keeper Chris Weale with a low left-footed scudder. Two goals in one season? Come on, that’s as likely as Peter Andre getting another number one. Hang on …
Yeovil's joint top scorer Kevin Gall replaced Bishop on the hour as the match continued in faintly unreal mode, United flailing desperately while Yeovil were superior but set to cruise control. On 65 Williams ran at and straight through the middle of the visitors’ porous defence, only foiled by Marshall’s superb one-handed reaction save in their one-on-one. Tudor blazed over a minute later, then on 69 the under-serviced Revell was replaced by John Turner as Shaggy moved a few deckchairs around. On 72 United were carved open yet again, Stansfield causing havoc with a run then squaring it for Gall, unmarked on the left with a gaping goal to aim at; in another let-off, he scuffed horribly wide to demonstrate why he was on the bench to start with.
Turner was almost clear on 76 but couldn’t get the ball under control, Guttridge gave Weale a comfortable save two minutes later then Turner blazed wide as United enjoyed a brief spell of possession, or to look at it another way, Yeovil took a breather. Andy Lindegaard then replaced Stansfield.
On 80 we almost witnessed a moment of United history as Fred Murray decided he may as well try to break his goalscoring duck with a remarkable blast from 25 yards, and he was unlucky to see it cannon off the post with Weale a surprised spectator. Way shot into Marshall’s stomach on 83, and as the merciful release of full-time approached, Tann won a free header from a corner but it carried insufficient power to worry the Yeovil keeper. As we entered added time, though, and home fans started to drift away to gallows-humour cries from the amber hordes of ‘You’re going to miss your fifth one!’, we were almost proved right with a final moment of high comedy. A hopeful long ball into the United area was chested down by Goodhind as he indicated for Marshall to collect it, but it didn’t carry sufficiently and the alert Gall pounced. Dancing Shaun, galumphing from goal, upended the hapless home sub as the ball ran to Murray to hack clear, and it was the clearest penalty you could ever wish to see. But Marriner, obviously yearning for the quiet life (he hadn’t awarded a yellow card all match), ignored the whole thing and airily waved play on.
Then it was mercifully all over. Make no mistake, Yeovil are a good side who play quick, skilful (sexy?) but simple pass and move football of a sort one suspects United are aiming for; but today the boys in amber made them look like world-beaters by failing to play any sort of flowing football, undone by a back four putting on a horror show, and a midfield lacking in the energy, drive and ideas that it demonstrated just seven days ago. Better opposition? Too many players in the comfort zone? In a season of challenges, here is Shaggy’s latest one. And he’s got until Tuesday to sort it out. No pressure, then.
Marshall 5 – Not directly to blame for any of the goals but rarely looked in command. Did manage some decent saves amid this shambles.
Angus 5 – Average day, although struggled in one-on-ones down his flank, but at least managed one splendid run and shot.
Murray 4 – After recent excellent displays, Fred was due a stinker and delivered, looking as if he'd just washed his feet and couldn’t do a thing with them.
Duncan 4 – Like Freddie, endured a nightmare from the moment he conceded the penalty. The mother of all bad days at the office.
Goodhind 5 – Found it hard to cope with the speed and precision of Yeovil’s attacks, but at least managed a few decent interceptions.
Bridges 4 – Struggled to get into the game from the off (hardly alone in that) and was the obvious choice for the early substitution.
Nicholls 5 – Laboured gamely but couldn’t rouse his slumbering teammates.
Tann 5 – Anonymous except for his superb cross for Webb’s goal.
Guttridge 5 – Never stopped trying, but often seemed to be running uphill through treacle. In diver’s boots.
Revell 4 – Always a trier, but made a negligible impression.
Webb 6 – Did a reasonable job as target man and scored a confidence-boosting goal.
Easter 5 – Made a good impression in his nine minutes until flattened by Pluck.
Tudor 4 – Minimal impact summed up his disappointing season.
Turner 5 – Put himself about, but the game was already dead by the time he got on.
United remained unchanged for the fourth game in a row, subs and all, on a dizzyingly heady unbeaten run of two, while the hosts changed their central defence from last week’s 3-2 defeat at Darlington, including the dropping to the bench of their 6ft 7in Portuguese freakboy Hugo Rodrigues. The programme included pen pictures of the home players, a good idea for us visitors, although their entries for the United players raised a few eyebrows: apparently Justin Walker is ‘a player who always gives his all', Mark Venus a ‘tremendous organiser’ and Terry Fleming a ‘human dynamo’ who ‘never lets anyone down'. The things you learn, eh?
The U’s were welcomed by an impressive Yellow Pages tickertape display from the visiting hordes, leaving half the pitch looking reminiscent of Argentina '78 and provoking a rueful smile from the home staff already looking forward to clearing it all up. Nice to see people so happy in their work. United responded by dominating the first four minutes. If only League matches weren’t so ruddy long. Within 25 seconds they had gained a free kick just outside the box after home skipper Terry Skiverton upended Aggy Revell; but the usual predictable routine ensued, two players tippy-tappying to each other to give the opposition plenty of time to get close enough to charge down Lil’ Luke Guttridge’s eventual shot. No change there, then.
The visitors came much closer on three, Lil’ Luke’s corner flicked on at the near post by Revell and it looked like going in until Darren Way cleared off the line with a stooping header. No one was following up; United still need a fox in the box, and I don’t care what the RSPCA say. Two minutes later Yeovil started to show off their impressively speedy brand of pass and move as Gavin Williams sprinted down the left, leaving the United defence eating his dust, and his cross was nodded wide by an unmarked Simon Weatherstone. Then Williams did it again, this time finding Andy Bishop who this time found the target with his header but also the arms of Shaun Marshall.
At the other end Webb headed Guttridge’s free kick over and United saw another corner cleared. Then that man Williams was at it again with another cross headed over by Skiverton. The visitors responded with a splendid through ball from David Bridges for Ashley Nicholls, but he hesitated a fraction of a second and was dispossessed. An exciting, end-to-end start promised much, but ere long it was to turn as sour as an Ann Winterton joke about cockle pickers. The hosts’ breakthrough came on 17. Lee Johnson’s floated corner from the right was inexplicably handled by Andy Duncan, and no one argued as ref A (Ancient? He did look pretty old) Marriner pointed to the spot. No card, though. Time for Predictable Moment No 2, then, as Williams lashed the ball to Marshall’s right, and as is his custom, he dived in the opposite direction. What an obliging fellow. The hosts rubbed it in by deafening us with a blast of hoary old 60s relic Glad All Over in celebration. It would become an irritatingly familiar tune over the next hour.
There were two wheels on United’s rickety wagon a mere minute later as their misfiring defence self-destructed; and once again, it was Andy Duncan, so consistent this season, who goofed. Weatherstone made a run and cross from the right, it ran through to the United skipper, and while he dithered with the ball at his feet eight yards out, Bishop simply whipped it off his toe and lashed it into the net. Do the Calamity Crush: 2-0.
The shellshocked U’s responded with a Bridges header from Angus’s cross, just wide, then the darting hosts almost made it three as Bishop shook off the hapless Duncan but Marshall sprinted from goal to clear the danger. But the United back four was looking more insecure than four Wes Browns, Duncan having a nightmare, Wozza Goodhind slow, Stev Angus frequently out of position and Fred Murray playing like a puppet with its strings cut, an unco-ordinated mess of miskicks and slices with the ball control of an arthritic elephant. Where was the dashing young blade of last week? It was all over on 27 as ponderous United were once again exposed by the Glovers’ speed of foot and thought. Revell was caught dithering halfway into Yeovil’s half, he was easily robbed and Way’s ball over the top down the left found Adam Stansfield, yards clear of Angus, who bore down on goal and finished clinically across Dancing Shaun from just outside the six-yard box. He’s been around the world but he, he, he won’t find a simpler goal: 3-0.
United now flapped like a headless chicken, the midfield that looked so impressive last Saturday resorting to too many lazy hoofs up to the strikers rather than playing it through as they did against Bristol Rovers. They didn’t need Clare Short to leave them exposed. Webb blasted over on 28, Weatherstone fired wide on 29 and Guttridge did the same a minute later. Decisive action was required, and on 34 Jermaine Easter replaced Bridges as United went 4-3-3, a welcomingly positive move. But the rearguard still looked as jittery as a bat going nose-to-nose with Ozzy Osbourne, Marshall beating Stansfield to Goodhind’s unconvincing back-header then stumbling against the ball and conceding a needless corner, to the home support’s derision.
Unfortunately, Easter only lasted nine minutes (yes, I know it usually lasts four days). He essayed an adventurous run down the middle and ran into the vast bulk of Colin Pluck; if the big defender didn’t actually foul him, he certainly fell on him afterwards, and as it turned out, knocked him spark out. Astoundingly, Marriner had a quick look, saw no reason to stop the game and Angus was eventually compelled to knock the ball out of play to get the insensible sub the treatment he urgently required. Needless to say, the amber hordes were incandescent with rage at the man in black’s irresponsibility as Easter was stretchered off to be replaced by Shane Tudor. Making up his own rules, Marriner then awarded a drop ball instead of the throw-in that Angus had conceded. Ever considered a job at the Beeb, mate?
Just before the first 45 was up United gained another free kick on the edge of the area, the usual two-touch routine leaving Murray about a millionth of a second to shoot and his effort was inevitably deflected off for a corner. But Guttridge’s flag kick was cleared only to Adam Tann, under pressure to the right of goal by the byline, and he twisted to loft in an immaculate cross for Danny Webb to bury his header from six yards. 3-1! Fired up by the Easter incident (no, not the crucifixion), the visiting supporters saw their objects of slight regard leave the pitch with renewed hope for the second half; could Webb’s goal herald an epic, Spurs-style revival? At least Yeovil didn’t play their blasted club song again during the interval, although the home fans’ adaptation of the wretched Hey Baby to Hey Gary Johnson was not much of an improvement.
But all the false hope of a result against patently superior opposition was dispelled within four minutes of the restart. Tann was penalised for a dubious foul on Way, Johnson crossed from the left wing, Bishop climbed to win the ball comfortably in the air, his header was well palmed out by Dancing Shaun, but the Terpsichorean custodian could only watch in despair as Pluck rampaged in to poke home from point-blank range for 4-1. Oh well. The game was up. Webb set up Guttridge to hit the post with a low drive in an encouraging immediate response, then Tudor shot over, but Yeovil were now playing well within themselves. In fact, for the rest of the match their search for the perfect goal was to prevent them from making the scoreline even more embarrassing for their outplayed visitors, whose chances of a comeback were now worth about as much as a Leeds United share certificate.
The back four was especially susceptible to direct running , and on 53 Bishop ran at Duncan and Murray, beat both with ease and squared it for Weatherstone to shoot at an open goal; somehow Goodhind managed to whisk the ball off his toes to save his colleagues’ embarrassment. A response came in the unlikely form of Angus, overlapping down the right, cutting inside, weaving his way daintily past two defenders then testing home keeper Chris Weale with a low left-footed scudder. Two goals in one season? Come on, that’s as likely as Peter Andre getting another number one. Hang on …
Yeovil's joint top scorer Kevin Gall replaced Bishop on the hour as the match continued in faintly unreal mode, United flailing desperately while Yeovil were superior but set to cruise control. On 65 Williams ran at and straight through the middle of the visitors’ porous defence, only foiled by Marshall’s superb one-handed reaction save in their one-on-one. Tudor blazed over a minute later, then on 69 the under-serviced Revell was replaced by John Turner as Shaggy moved a few deckchairs around. On 72 United were carved open yet again, Stansfield causing havoc with a run then squaring it for Gall, unmarked on the left with a gaping goal to aim at; in another let-off, he scuffed horribly wide to demonstrate why he was on the bench to start with.
Turner was almost clear on 76 but couldn’t get the ball under control, Guttridge gave Weale a comfortable save two minutes later then Turner blazed wide as United enjoyed a brief spell of possession, or to look at it another way, Yeovil took a breather. Andy Lindegaard then replaced Stansfield.
On 80 we almost witnessed a moment of United history as Fred Murray decided he may as well try to break his goalscoring duck with a remarkable blast from 25 yards, and he was unlucky to see it cannon off the post with Weale a surprised spectator. Way shot into Marshall’s stomach on 83, and as the merciful release of full-time approached, Tann won a free header from a corner but it carried insufficient power to worry the Yeovil keeper. As we entered added time, though, and home fans started to drift away to gallows-humour cries from the amber hordes of ‘You’re going to miss your fifth one!’, we were almost proved right with a final moment of high comedy. A hopeful long ball into the United area was chested down by Goodhind as he indicated for Marshall to collect it, but it didn’t carry sufficiently and the alert Gall pounced. Dancing Shaun, galumphing from goal, upended the hapless home sub as the ball ran to Murray to hack clear, and it was the clearest penalty you could ever wish to see. But Marriner, obviously yearning for the quiet life (he hadn’t awarded a yellow card all match), ignored the whole thing and airily waved play on.
Then it was mercifully all over. Make no mistake, Yeovil are a good side who play quick, skilful (sexy?) but simple pass and move football of a sort one suspects United are aiming for; but today the boys in amber made them look like world-beaters by failing to play any sort of flowing football, undone by a back four putting on a horror show, and a midfield lacking in the energy, drive and ideas that it demonstrated just seven days ago. Better opposition? Too many players in the comfort zone? In a season of challenges, here is Shaggy’s latest one. And he’s got until Tuesday to sort it out. No pressure, then.
Marshall 5 – Not directly to blame for any of the goals but rarely looked in command. Did manage some decent saves amid this shambles.
Angus 5 – Average day, although struggled in one-on-ones down his flank, but at least managed one splendid run and shot.
Murray 4 – After recent excellent displays, Fred was due a stinker and delivered, looking as if he'd just washed his feet and couldn’t do a thing with them.
Duncan 4 – Like Freddie, endured a nightmare from the moment he conceded the penalty. The mother of all bad days at the office.
Goodhind 5 – Found it hard to cope with the speed and precision of Yeovil’s attacks, but at least managed a few decent interceptions.
Bridges 4 – Struggled to get into the game from the off (hardly alone in that) and was the obvious choice for the early substitution.
Nicholls 5 – Laboured gamely but couldn’t rouse his slumbering teammates.
Tann 5 – Anonymous except for his superb cross for Webb’s goal.
Guttridge 5 – Never stopped trying, but often seemed to be running uphill through treacle. In diver’s boots.
Revell 4 – Always a trier, but made a negligible impression.
Webb 6 – Did a reasonable job as target man and scored a confidence-boosting goal.
Easter 5 – Made a good impression in his nine minutes until flattened by Pluck.
Tudor 4 – Minimal impact summed up his disappointing season.
Turner 5 – Put himself about, but the game was already dead by the time he got on.
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Soundtrack of the day: Blonde Redhead/Misery
Match summary: It was no steps forward and three steps back for turgid United as lively Yeovil gave them a lesson in pass-and-move that left them looking flat-footed and ponderous. Will the real United please stand up? Preferably on Tuesday night? Man of the match: Danny Webb. The only flash of yellow in a bunch of brown bananas, he gave his all with little ammunition and proved he can score. Ref watch: Marriner 4. At best mediocre, but struggled all afternoon with injuries and whether to stop play or not, and his crass ignoring of the unconscious Easter could have had serious consequences. |
Andre Marriner: crass
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JT’s jukebox. John Turner cocks an ear to the Huish Park sounds. 'Plenty of good music on offer with something for everyone from pop fans (OutKast) to indie rockers (Doves’ stupendous Pounding), Euro-dancers (Daft Punk, Supermen Lovers), big-shorts boys (Blink 182), golden oldies (Jam, Specials, Happy Mondays) and even the tone deaf (Toploader). Sadly, it all tailed off in the build-up to kick-off with the team’s own Top 40 hit, a ghastly combination of clichéd ooh-arr Wurzel music and Two Little Boys, World Cup oldie Dario G, We Will Rock You (snore!) and a tune that seems to have been revived all over the place recently, The Liquidator. JT’s verdict: Listenable! (7/10)
2 March 2004: U's 0v1 Swansea
O for the wings of a Swan
Cambridge United announce film club: This week Cambridge United is proud to announce its latest fundraising venture: a members' film club with free membership. The club will show new and classic films in the Harris Suite on alternate Thursdays for a small admission fee, with a supporting bill of highlights from classic United matches.
Excitingly, the first film to be screened will be a UK-exclusive showing of Mel Gibson's controversial historical epic, The Passion Of The Colin. Gibson's depiction of the last 12 months in the United career of Colin Alcide is based on the sacred writings of the prophet Randall Butt (writes Barry Normal). The film is shockingly explicit in its unflinching portrayal of the violence, swearing and sheer boredom of life as a professional footballer. Alcide's (played by Denzel Washington) dialogue is presented in the original Yorkshire dialect, with subtitles.
The film opens in the Fez Club toilets, where he is struggling to accept that the ultimate sacrifice of a free transfer is looming. The battle of good and evil is laid bare; in the shadows lurks John Beck (Gary Oldman), a sallow-skinned, hollow-eyed demon, ever trying to lure Colin from Cambridge to his growing burger van empire. We flash back to the fateful day that Beck first signed Alcide to United, the ritualistic handing over by Reg Smart (Joe Pesci) to York City of £30,000 of silver a theatrical catalyst to the momentous events that befall him over the next year.
From the moment Colin is dropped, then picks up his fateful injury, we are immersed in a world of Deep Heat, half-empty terraces and derision; derision that is initiated by the menacing authority figures known as the Habbin Moaners. The Moaners stand condemned in the movie. We are given no clues as to their motivation, only their desire for bloodletting. But their hostility (and that of their paramilitary wing, the NRE) is tempered by enlightened Cantabrigian figures who show support to Colin in his final days, such as St Graham (Derek Jacobi) and Suzi Magdalene (Scarlett Johansson).
Of all those who judge Colin, only John Taylor (Pierce Brosnan) and Dale Brooks (Matt Lucas) show compassion or reason, and it is with sorrow that they pass the final judgment of a free transfer on the Cantabrigians' hapless object of abuse. Colin's ultimate harrowing suffering, on loan to Gainsborough Trinity, is excruciating to watch, but is at least tempered by flashbacks to his earlier, happier life in Lincoln, frolicking across the Fens with Terry Fleming (Flavor Flav) and Justin Walker (Julian Clary). The moments are chosen to demonstrate his capacity for love but also the danger of excessive self-belief.
O for the wings of a Swan
Cambridge United announce film club: This week Cambridge United is proud to announce its latest fundraising venture: a members' film club with free membership. The club will show new and classic films in the Harris Suite on alternate Thursdays for a small admission fee, with a supporting bill of highlights from classic United matches.
Excitingly, the first film to be screened will be a UK-exclusive showing of Mel Gibson's controversial historical epic, The Passion Of The Colin. Gibson's depiction of the last 12 months in the United career of Colin Alcide is based on the sacred writings of the prophet Randall Butt (writes Barry Normal). The film is shockingly explicit in its unflinching portrayal of the violence, swearing and sheer boredom of life as a professional footballer. Alcide's (played by Denzel Washington) dialogue is presented in the original Yorkshire dialect, with subtitles.
The film opens in the Fez Club toilets, where he is struggling to accept that the ultimate sacrifice of a free transfer is looming. The battle of good and evil is laid bare; in the shadows lurks John Beck (Gary Oldman), a sallow-skinned, hollow-eyed demon, ever trying to lure Colin from Cambridge to his growing burger van empire. We flash back to the fateful day that Beck first signed Alcide to United, the ritualistic handing over by Reg Smart (Joe Pesci) to York City of £30,000 of silver a theatrical catalyst to the momentous events that befall him over the next year.
From the moment Colin is dropped, then picks up his fateful injury, we are immersed in a world of Deep Heat, half-empty terraces and derision; derision that is initiated by the menacing authority figures known as the Habbin Moaners. The Moaners stand condemned in the movie. We are given no clues as to their motivation, only their desire for bloodletting. But their hostility (and that of their paramilitary wing, the NRE) is tempered by enlightened Cantabrigian figures who show support to Colin in his final days, such as St Graham (Derek Jacobi) and Suzi Magdalene (Scarlett Johansson).
Of all those who judge Colin, only John Taylor (Pierce Brosnan) and Dale Brooks (Matt Lucas) show compassion or reason, and it is with sorrow that they pass the final judgment of a free transfer on the Cantabrigians' hapless object of abuse. Colin's ultimate harrowing suffering, on loan to Gainsborough Trinity, is excruciating to watch, but is at least tempered by flashbacks to his earlier, happier life in Lincoln, frolicking across the Fens with Terry Fleming (Flavor Flav) and Justin Walker (Julian Clary). The moments are chosen to demonstrate his capacity for love but also the danger of excessive self-belief.
Brooks/Lucas: shows compassion
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The film's power derives from its visceral depiction of suffering. Gibson has fashioned a film that is simultaneously a work of art, a study of mankind and the best football picture since the seminal Escape To Victory. Its first showing anywhere in the UK will be in the Harris Suite on March 18. Don't miss it!
And speaking of pain and suffering … The paragraph headings from Shaggy’s programme notes said it all about Saturday’s disaster at Yeovil: ‘Horror Show’; ‘Exasperated and Angry’; ‘Really Pleased.’ Although the last one might have been about something else. But United really don’t have the capacity to panic, so wholesale changes were not the order of the day; the only change to the starting 11 was injury-forced, Wozza Goodhind replaced at centre back by Adam Tann while Shane Tudor took his place in midfield, wide left opposite David Bridges with Guttridge and Nicholls in the centre of the diamond. This left United with a team whose average age was just 22. By the end of the match that would be down to 21.5. Never mind jockstraps and Deep Heat, this lot need nappies and Germolene. |
Swansea arrived without their star turn, Lee Trundle, but with a galaxy of big names in their line-up, including George & Mildred star Brian Murphy in goal, leader of the opposition Michael Howard at the back and former cabinet minister Leon Britton in midfield. Norman St John Stevas and Yootha Joyce were both suspended. Best-known names to U’s fans were former Posh veteran Kevin Nugent and our old friend Izzy Iriekpen, still sporting those white sign-me boots and still doubtless dreaming of a move up the divisions. Join the club, mate. Early signs were promising as Tudor warmed us on a cold night with an exciting second-minute run and shot that brought back memories of the Orange One in his pomp a season-and-a-bit ago. But Swansea are no mugs, having been well placed for the play-offs until distracted by their Cup run, and they responded with Andy Duncan blocking a Roberto Martinez shot from which Andy Robinson blasted over.
Two minutes later Howard found himself in space almost 30 yards out and sent a screamer towards the top corner that Shaun Marshall did superbly well to tip over. But ‘twas only a brief respite as Martinez’s corner was nodded on at the near post and fell into a sea of bodies. It was inevitably that man Iriekpen who poked gleefully home from inside the six-yard box. Further proof, as if it were needed, that the only corner United can defend is a Fruit Corner, and only then if they surround it in a circle and link arms.
The Jacks threatened again on seven when Angus fouled Robinson and the visitors’ striker floated his free kick just wide of the post from 25 yards. United’s best chance of joy looked as if it would come down the left flank, Tudor and Murray making some decent runs but failing to provide the killer cross their strikers craved. Robinson shot wide again on 12 as play seesawed from end to end, but the quarter hour saw the hosts’ best chance to equalise: a penetrating move down the left saw Danny Webb cross low towards Bridges; he got a toe to it before Iriekpen to divert it across and past Murphy, but just as the amber hordes were acclaiming a goal, it cannoned off the inside of the post and out. Alex Revell latched on to the rebound, but fired low into a phalanx of figures and it was Izzy again who got his body in the way of Aggy’s effort. United had been as well foiled as yer average Kit-Kat.
United continued to press and on 18 Bridges floated one just wide, while on 20 Tann nodded a Tudor corner over the top. But then it was corner collywobbles time again as another Martinez effort was half-cleared, Stuart Roberts pumped one back in and all of a sudden there was Iriekpen again with a free shot from less than ten yards out; mercifully he scuffed it. The U’s were as keen on corners as Ancient Roman road builders.
Now the match began to lose its way. Swansea were comfortable, their big centre backs nonchalantly nodding United’s hopeful high crosses away as if they were beach balls while the hosts struggled to find enough invention to break them down. A good run down the flank and cross by Murray on 35 saw Murphy flapping, but as on so many occasions no United player could get near enough to take advantage. The crowd grew restive, despite the presence of the drum-led contingent in the south Habbin and the mad Danes in the Corona. Angus crossed for Webb to head over on 40, and a minute later injury forced a straight swap for the Swans as Kristian O’Leary replaced Alan Tate at the back. But the only further incident of note before the interval was Nugent’s catching of Murray with his arm as they challenged for an aerial ball. As the Tipperary Tough crumpled to the ground the home contingent bayed for the ex-Posh man’s blood (even the main stand was heard to grunt 'Harrumph!' before returning to its newspapers), but ref JJ Ross hadn’t seen the clash and his lino was not convinced of deliberate villainy. So it was just a wag of the finger all round. Lucky boy.
United, while not playing badly and certainly better than at Yeovil, needed to step it up several notches in the second half if they were to salvage anything from this. Financial constraints mean Shaggy was unable to give his players the ‘hairdryer’ treatment at half-time, having to make do with the My Little Pony hairbrush, which for my money lacks a cutting edge. First chance of part two went the visitors’ way, Bridges fouling Robinson and the latter again trying his luck with the free kick, and again just wide. Duncan then robbed Roberts in a dangerous position, but from then on United took control with a concerted spell of pressure more dogged than Stan Collymore in an NCP car park. Remember, Stanley, mirror-signal-manoeuvre, OK?
United’s crosses continued to have more of a ring of hope than precision, but Murray’s bouncing curler over the top on 53 needed just the merest touch from either Webb or Bridges to put in; they both failed to make contact by inches. Webb got his forehead to another one a couple of minutes later, but only into Murphy’s clutching arms. Tudor produced another teasing tempter on 59, but Lil’ Luke just failed to get a toe to it at the far post, then Tann retrieved Tudor’s corner and crossed for Revell to send a looping header on to the roof of the net. The flying winger set up Aggy again two minutes later, but his snap shot was well held by Murphy.
The substitutions started in earnest on 65, Brad Mylett replacing Roberts for the Jacks. Jonathan Coates was booked for persistent fouling as he tugged Guttridge before Jermaine Easter was introduced for the willing but ineffective Revell. United’s territorial superiority almost counted for nought on 70 as Robinson broke into the box, but before he could pull the trigger he was robbed by a magnificent saving tackle by Tann, looking as settled back in central defence as Peter Jackson collecting his umpteenth Oscar. Only without the help of quite so many little hobbits, except Lil’ Luke of course.
Swansea’s last sub on 73 was another straight swap, youngster James Thomas for ye olde Nugent, and three minutes later Easter’s electric pace came into its own when he latched on to a Tudor pass and raced down the left channel, but with Webb and Bridges pleading for a square ball across the six-yard box, he hesitated for a second and saw his attempted cross-shot blocked by the ubiquitous Iriekpen. With the attack needing bolstering for the final assault, United’s next substitution caused so much head-scratching it seemed there had been a mass outbreak of nits: Shaggy swapped right backs, Dan Gleeson replacing Angus. Me neither, but young Dan is a fine prospect who deserves a bit of first-team action. He wasted no time, in fact, in feeding Webb with a cross, but Bridges could not quite convert his nod on.
Two minutes later Howard found himself in space almost 30 yards out and sent a screamer towards the top corner that Shaun Marshall did superbly well to tip over. But ‘twas only a brief respite as Martinez’s corner was nodded on at the near post and fell into a sea of bodies. It was inevitably that man Iriekpen who poked gleefully home from inside the six-yard box. Further proof, as if it were needed, that the only corner United can defend is a Fruit Corner, and only then if they surround it in a circle and link arms.
The Jacks threatened again on seven when Angus fouled Robinson and the visitors’ striker floated his free kick just wide of the post from 25 yards. United’s best chance of joy looked as if it would come down the left flank, Tudor and Murray making some decent runs but failing to provide the killer cross their strikers craved. Robinson shot wide again on 12 as play seesawed from end to end, but the quarter hour saw the hosts’ best chance to equalise: a penetrating move down the left saw Danny Webb cross low towards Bridges; he got a toe to it before Iriekpen to divert it across and past Murphy, but just as the amber hordes were acclaiming a goal, it cannoned off the inside of the post and out. Alex Revell latched on to the rebound, but fired low into a phalanx of figures and it was Izzy again who got his body in the way of Aggy’s effort. United had been as well foiled as yer average Kit-Kat.
United continued to press and on 18 Bridges floated one just wide, while on 20 Tann nodded a Tudor corner over the top. But then it was corner collywobbles time again as another Martinez effort was half-cleared, Stuart Roberts pumped one back in and all of a sudden there was Iriekpen again with a free shot from less than ten yards out; mercifully he scuffed it. The U’s were as keen on corners as Ancient Roman road builders.
Now the match began to lose its way. Swansea were comfortable, their big centre backs nonchalantly nodding United’s hopeful high crosses away as if they were beach balls while the hosts struggled to find enough invention to break them down. A good run down the flank and cross by Murray on 35 saw Murphy flapping, but as on so many occasions no United player could get near enough to take advantage. The crowd grew restive, despite the presence of the drum-led contingent in the south Habbin and the mad Danes in the Corona. Angus crossed for Webb to head over on 40, and a minute later injury forced a straight swap for the Swans as Kristian O’Leary replaced Alan Tate at the back. But the only further incident of note before the interval was Nugent’s catching of Murray with his arm as they challenged for an aerial ball. As the Tipperary Tough crumpled to the ground the home contingent bayed for the ex-Posh man’s blood (even the main stand was heard to grunt 'Harrumph!' before returning to its newspapers), but ref JJ Ross hadn’t seen the clash and his lino was not convinced of deliberate villainy. So it was just a wag of the finger all round. Lucky boy.
United, while not playing badly and certainly better than at Yeovil, needed to step it up several notches in the second half if they were to salvage anything from this. Financial constraints mean Shaggy was unable to give his players the ‘hairdryer’ treatment at half-time, having to make do with the My Little Pony hairbrush, which for my money lacks a cutting edge. First chance of part two went the visitors’ way, Bridges fouling Robinson and the latter again trying his luck with the free kick, and again just wide. Duncan then robbed Roberts in a dangerous position, but from then on United took control with a concerted spell of pressure more dogged than Stan Collymore in an NCP car park. Remember, Stanley, mirror-signal-manoeuvre, OK?
United’s crosses continued to have more of a ring of hope than precision, but Murray’s bouncing curler over the top on 53 needed just the merest touch from either Webb or Bridges to put in; they both failed to make contact by inches. Webb got his forehead to another one a couple of minutes later, but only into Murphy’s clutching arms. Tudor produced another teasing tempter on 59, but Lil’ Luke just failed to get a toe to it at the far post, then Tann retrieved Tudor’s corner and crossed for Revell to send a looping header on to the roof of the net. The flying winger set up Aggy again two minutes later, but his snap shot was well held by Murphy.
The substitutions started in earnest on 65, Brad Mylett replacing Roberts for the Jacks. Jonathan Coates was booked for persistent fouling as he tugged Guttridge before Jermaine Easter was introduced for the willing but ineffective Revell. United’s territorial superiority almost counted for nought on 70 as Robinson broke into the box, but before he could pull the trigger he was robbed by a magnificent saving tackle by Tann, looking as settled back in central defence as Peter Jackson collecting his umpteenth Oscar. Only without the help of quite so many little hobbits, except Lil’ Luke of course.
Swansea’s last sub on 73 was another straight swap, youngster James Thomas for ye olde Nugent, and three minutes later Easter’s electric pace came into its own when he latched on to a Tudor pass and raced down the left channel, but with Webb and Bridges pleading for a square ball across the six-yard box, he hesitated for a second and saw his attempted cross-shot blocked by the ubiquitous Iriekpen. With the attack needing bolstering for the final assault, United’s next substitution caused so much head-scratching it seemed there had been a mass outbreak of nits: Shaggy swapped right backs, Dan Gleeson replacing Angus. Me neither, but young Dan is a fine prospect who deserves a bit of first-team action. He wasted no time, in fact, in feeding Webb with a cross, but Bridges could not quite convert his nod on.
Someone scratching his head
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The U’s continued to turn the screw as the volume increased, and with ten minutes to go there was more woodwork agony, Webb (free of a marker for once) rising to beat the frantically flailing Murphy six yards out, but seeing his header cannon off the underside of the bar and in the ensuing melee Easter got hopelessly under the ball and ballooned over the Supporters’ Club.
Martinez shot wide on 83 in a rare Swansea break, then the final throw of the dice saw John Turner replace Shane Tudor for the last five minutes, a surprising candidate for replacement given his dangerous evening and the very small amount of time left, although he was, it seemed, close to out on his feet. The amber hordes were by now beside themselves with frustrated tension, although thankfully they didn’t have to pay double admission. Iriekpen and O’Leary seemed to be in two places at once as well. Martinez was booked for a crude foul on Nicholls, then Turner blazed wide of the near post as the board indicated three added minutes. On 92 good passing by the hosts saw Guttridge find Turner wide on the left, and his pinpoint low cross was caught first time by Lil’ Luke who seemed to have diverted it into the far corner of the net; but no! Murphy, having seen little serious action all night, produced a marvellous diving save low to his left to concede the corner. Duncan met the flag kick, but his header drifted wide of the far post.
The 94th minute ticked up and now Easter was scampering away clear of the Swans defence, but his decent shot from the edge of the area was palmed away by that man Murphy. Last chance. The box was so packed even a sardine would have complained about its human rights, but the only result was an unseemly melee that seemed to be triggered by Coates falling to the floor. Iriekpen lost all his considerable cool and had to be restrained by several teammates as he tried to get at an unidentified opponent.
Referee Ross calmed everyone down then blew his final blast on the whistle: it was all over. And while United had never hit the heights, a solid performance had deserved at least a draw. But when you’re on a bad run football can be a cruel, unforgiving game, and one moment of slackness cost them so very dear. All they can do is stay positive, learn from their mistakes and move onward and upward to Saturday lunchtime’s local derby with Northampton. Cobblers? Hope not, we need the ruddy points.
Marshall 6 – Rooted to his line once again for the goal, made a couple of fine saves later and had very little to do at all second half.
Angus 6 – Still struggling for form but let no one down.
Murray 6 – Competent outing after Saturday’s catastrophe.
Duncan 6 – Also recovered well from Yeovil without pulling up any trees.
Tann 7 – United’s best defender with plenty of telling tackles.
Bridges 6 – Had a few moments, although anonymous for much of the time.
Guttridge 6 – Not at his best but worked hard and was unlucky not to equalise at the death.
Nicholls 6 – Patchy, but looked best when throwing caution to the wind and getting forward rather than worrying about holding his position.
Tudor 7 – United’s best attacker is still some way off last season’s form but this was a welcome step in the right direction.
Revell 5 – No one tries harder, but made no impact on the Swansea back line.
Webb 6 – Another grafter, came off worse in most aerial challenges but was another unfortunate not to score when he bravely hit the bar.
Easter 6 – Mobile livewire who seemed to want to take one touch too many when faced with a shooting opportunity.
Gleeson 6 – Solid contribution from a rather unexpected substitute.
Turner 6 – Excellent impact. If only he had been introduced earlier.
Soundtrack of the day: Hundred Reasons/Stories With Unhappy Endings
Match summary: The bar, the post and the goalie’s left hand were the unholy trio denying unlucky United vital points on a night when nothing short of divine intervention looked like bringing them a much-needed goal. At least this much-improved performance hints that our prayers for another win might be answered on Saturday.
Man of the match: Shane Tudor. Last season’s peak form remains a distant memory, but there were enough flashes of exciting runs and crosses last night to hint that he might just be on the way back at last.
Ref watch: Ross 5. JJ has been excellent in the past, but he seems to have gone backwards since last season and was far too fussy in penalising innocuous challenges, sometimes when he could have played advantage.
Martinez shot wide on 83 in a rare Swansea break, then the final throw of the dice saw John Turner replace Shane Tudor for the last five minutes, a surprising candidate for replacement given his dangerous evening and the very small amount of time left, although he was, it seemed, close to out on his feet. The amber hordes were by now beside themselves with frustrated tension, although thankfully they didn’t have to pay double admission. Iriekpen and O’Leary seemed to be in two places at once as well. Martinez was booked for a crude foul on Nicholls, then Turner blazed wide of the near post as the board indicated three added minutes. On 92 good passing by the hosts saw Guttridge find Turner wide on the left, and his pinpoint low cross was caught first time by Lil’ Luke who seemed to have diverted it into the far corner of the net; but no! Murphy, having seen little serious action all night, produced a marvellous diving save low to his left to concede the corner. Duncan met the flag kick, but his header drifted wide of the far post.
The 94th minute ticked up and now Easter was scampering away clear of the Swans defence, but his decent shot from the edge of the area was palmed away by that man Murphy. Last chance. The box was so packed even a sardine would have complained about its human rights, but the only result was an unseemly melee that seemed to be triggered by Coates falling to the floor. Iriekpen lost all his considerable cool and had to be restrained by several teammates as he tried to get at an unidentified opponent.
Referee Ross calmed everyone down then blew his final blast on the whistle: it was all over. And while United had never hit the heights, a solid performance had deserved at least a draw. But when you’re on a bad run football can be a cruel, unforgiving game, and one moment of slackness cost them so very dear. All they can do is stay positive, learn from their mistakes and move onward and upward to Saturday lunchtime’s local derby with Northampton. Cobblers? Hope not, we need the ruddy points.
Marshall 6 – Rooted to his line once again for the goal, made a couple of fine saves later and had very little to do at all second half.
Angus 6 – Still struggling for form but let no one down.
Murray 6 – Competent outing after Saturday’s catastrophe.
Duncan 6 – Also recovered well from Yeovil without pulling up any trees.
Tann 7 – United’s best defender with plenty of telling tackles.
Bridges 6 – Had a few moments, although anonymous for much of the time.
Guttridge 6 – Not at his best but worked hard and was unlucky not to equalise at the death.
Nicholls 6 – Patchy, but looked best when throwing caution to the wind and getting forward rather than worrying about holding his position.
Tudor 7 – United’s best attacker is still some way off last season’s form but this was a welcome step in the right direction.
Revell 5 – No one tries harder, but made no impact on the Swansea back line.
Webb 6 – Another grafter, came off worse in most aerial challenges but was another unfortunate not to score when he bravely hit the bar.
Easter 6 – Mobile livewire who seemed to want to take one touch too many when faced with a shooting opportunity.
Gleeson 6 – Solid contribution from a rather unexpected substitute.
Turner 6 – Excellent impact. If only he had been introduced earlier.
Soundtrack of the day: Hundred Reasons/Stories With Unhappy Endings
Match summary: The bar, the post and the goalie’s left hand were the unholy trio denying unlucky United vital points on a night when nothing short of divine intervention looked like bringing them a much-needed goal. At least this much-improved performance hints that our prayers for another win might be answered on Saturday.
Man of the match: Shane Tudor. Last season’s peak form remains a distant memory, but there were enough flashes of exciting runs and crosses last night to hint that he might just be on the way back at last.
Ref watch: Ross 5. JJ has been excellent in the past, but he seems to have gone backwards since last season and was far too fussy in penalising innocuous challenges, sometimes when he could have played advantage.
Luke Guttridge: unlucky, son
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6 March 2004: U's 0v1 Northampton
Unhappiness is just around the corner
The world of football was rocked this week by the latest in a series of shock revelations concerning its players’ recreational activities. This time it's little Cambridge United that is under the spotlight after their visit on Thursday to the Whittlesey Spatula Museum.
Curator Doris Haggis has complained to the local press that players:
Mrs Haggis continued: 'I was disgusted. They strolled in here like they owned the place, just as we were having a minute’s silence to commemorate the fifth anniversary of the death of that lovely Liberace. They didn’t seem to even know who he was – I ask you, the greatest entertainer of the last hundred years! And a big fan of spatulas. Not many people know that. He had a diamond-encrusted one, you know, for special occasions.
'They really didn’t seem interested in spatulas at all. I know, it’s amazing, isn’t it? They were scruffy – not a single tie between them – and cheeky too. And they seemed to find my museum funny, even though it has a three-star rating from Spatula World magazine and was ‘highly recommended’ by Utensils Illustrated. Praise doesn’t come any higher than that!
'I'd heard about all these "footballers" so I told my assistant, Lettice, to hide in the back room until they were gone. A young girl of 49 with a skirt showing her ankles wouldn’t stand a chance against such wolves! They didn’t seem at all impressed by my cucumber and liver sandwiches and spent more time playing with their mobile computer-phones than admiring my lovely exhibits. I was glad to see the back of them, I can tell you!'
United manager John Taylor rebutted Mrs Haggis’ claims unreservedly. 'My boys’ behaviour was first class at all times. This visit was all the football club could afford under its current budget, and I thought a glimpse of another side of life (boring, pointless) would make them appreciate how lucky they are to be paid to play the game they love. And I got a lovely snowstorm of a couple of crossed spatulas on a bed of broccoli for my collection, too!'
We all have different ways to unwind, but the frustration of Tuesday night’s undeserved defeat by Swansea remained fresh in the memory as the amber hordes gathered at the Abbey for a lunchtime kick-off, moved from 3pm because of some sort of posh people’s party on the telly. Although staging the match at the same time as Man U were playing Fulham on Sky rather defeated the point. Shaggy and the Prof made two changes from midweek, young Dan Gleeson getting a deserved first start at right back in place of the off-form Stev Angus, while Jermaine Easter replaced Aggy Revell up front in his last game before his initial loan from Hartlepool expires. You could almost hear him thinking ‘Please don’t send me back to that place!’ Poor lamb.
Northampton arrived on the back of a resurgence in form since Colin Calderwood took over as manager, a run of eight wins in 14 games taking them away from the discomfort zone. Their one familiar face was our (once) very own Tom Youngs, who until his sale last year had been at the Abbey since he was a foetus; he was just back from yet another injury lay-off and looked just plain wrong in claret and white. He took his place in a complex 3-4-2-1 formation, with three centre backs, two wing backs, two central midfielders and up top a target man in Marc Richards flanked by two deeper forwards in Martin Smith and Tiny Tom. Ain’t coaching badges marvellous?
Richards had first strike for the Cobblers, stinging Shaun Marshall’s gloves early on, but today United truly looked ‘up for it’ (that’s football, you Leicester fans), flying forward positively and determinedly winning the majority of physical challenges. On two Shane Tudor showed his mettle with a thrilling run from the halfway line, nutmegging Des Lyttle then sending over an excellent cross that Easter nodded nonchalantly into the net. Sadly, his margin of offsideness was almost as great as Lionel Richie’s missus’s monthly expenditure on ankle bracelets. Freddie Murray summed up United’s determination with an almost cruel domination of Tiny Tom, dispossessing him at will then surging forward in support of the attack. Danny Webb had the beating of all three centre backs in the air, while Easter looked mobile and lively, ably supported by the marauding Ashley Nicholls, David Bridges and Tudor.
Easter’s first real chance came on eight, a Luke Guttridge ball over the top seeing him outpace the Cobblers defence, win the ball bravely in the air against advancing keeper Lee ‘Ooh, My Leg’ Harper, then turn to face goal from a tight angle with two defenders between him and the line. He had to take the shot first time, before Harper got back and he was descended upon by the rest of his defence, and unfortunately he scuffed it wide. From the resultant goal kick there was much hilarity when Paul Trollope collided with ref Hegley, flattening the man in black to wild cheering from all corners of the ground. Chortling at an injured ref is one of life’s guilty pleasures, like laughing at the problem pages in the papers or flicking the Vs at a speed camera after bombing past it just over the limit. Or so I’m told.
Unhappiness is just around the corner
The world of football was rocked this week by the latest in a series of shock revelations concerning its players’ recreational activities. This time it's little Cambridge United that is under the spotlight after their visit on Thursday to the Whittlesey Spatula Museum.
Curator Doris Haggis has complained to the local press that players:
- Picked their noses in full view of small children
- Failed to tuck their shirts in properly
- Wore scuffed shoes that had clearly not been polished for several weeks
- Sported hair that had not been combed or brushed properly and in some instances touched their collars, like a girl’s
- Slouched instead of walking properly
- Laughed and joked loudly while other visitors were trying to sleep.
Mrs Haggis continued: 'I was disgusted. They strolled in here like they owned the place, just as we were having a minute’s silence to commemorate the fifth anniversary of the death of that lovely Liberace. They didn’t seem to even know who he was – I ask you, the greatest entertainer of the last hundred years! And a big fan of spatulas. Not many people know that. He had a diamond-encrusted one, you know, for special occasions.
'They really didn’t seem interested in spatulas at all. I know, it’s amazing, isn’t it? They were scruffy – not a single tie between them – and cheeky too. And they seemed to find my museum funny, even though it has a three-star rating from Spatula World magazine and was ‘highly recommended’ by Utensils Illustrated. Praise doesn’t come any higher than that!
'I'd heard about all these "footballers" so I told my assistant, Lettice, to hide in the back room until they were gone. A young girl of 49 with a skirt showing her ankles wouldn’t stand a chance against such wolves! They didn’t seem at all impressed by my cucumber and liver sandwiches and spent more time playing with their mobile computer-phones than admiring my lovely exhibits. I was glad to see the back of them, I can tell you!'
United manager John Taylor rebutted Mrs Haggis’ claims unreservedly. 'My boys’ behaviour was first class at all times. This visit was all the football club could afford under its current budget, and I thought a glimpse of another side of life (boring, pointless) would make them appreciate how lucky they are to be paid to play the game they love. And I got a lovely snowstorm of a couple of crossed spatulas on a bed of broccoli for my collection, too!'
We all have different ways to unwind, but the frustration of Tuesday night’s undeserved defeat by Swansea remained fresh in the memory as the amber hordes gathered at the Abbey for a lunchtime kick-off, moved from 3pm because of some sort of posh people’s party on the telly. Although staging the match at the same time as Man U were playing Fulham on Sky rather defeated the point. Shaggy and the Prof made two changes from midweek, young Dan Gleeson getting a deserved first start at right back in place of the off-form Stev Angus, while Jermaine Easter replaced Aggy Revell up front in his last game before his initial loan from Hartlepool expires. You could almost hear him thinking ‘Please don’t send me back to that place!’ Poor lamb.
Northampton arrived on the back of a resurgence in form since Colin Calderwood took over as manager, a run of eight wins in 14 games taking them away from the discomfort zone. Their one familiar face was our (once) very own Tom Youngs, who until his sale last year had been at the Abbey since he was a foetus; he was just back from yet another injury lay-off and looked just plain wrong in claret and white. He took his place in a complex 3-4-2-1 formation, with three centre backs, two wing backs, two central midfielders and up top a target man in Marc Richards flanked by two deeper forwards in Martin Smith and Tiny Tom. Ain’t coaching badges marvellous?
Richards had first strike for the Cobblers, stinging Shaun Marshall’s gloves early on, but today United truly looked ‘up for it’ (that’s football, you Leicester fans), flying forward positively and determinedly winning the majority of physical challenges. On two Shane Tudor showed his mettle with a thrilling run from the halfway line, nutmegging Des Lyttle then sending over an excellent cross that Easter nodded nonchalantly into the net. Sadly, his margin of offsideness was almost as great as Lionel Richie’s missus’s monthly expenditure on ankle bracelets. Freddie Murray summed up United’s determination with an almost cruel domination of Tiny Tom, dispossessing him at will then surging forward in support of the attack. Danny Webb had the beating of all three centre backs in the air, while Easter looked mobile and lively, ably supported by the marauding Ashley Nicholls, David Bridges and Tudor.
Easter’s first real chance came on eight, a Luke Guttridge ball over the top seeing him outpace the Cobblers defence, win the ball bravely in the air against advancing keeper Lee ‘Ooh, My Leg’ Harper, then turn to face goal from a tight angle with two defenders between him and the line. He had to take the shot first time, before Harper got back and he was descended upon by the rest of his defence, and unfortunately he scuffed it wide. From the resultant goal kick there was much hilarity when Paul Trollope collided with ref Hegley, flattening the man in black to wild cheering from all corners of the ground. Chortling at an injured ref is one of life’s guilty pleasures, like laughing at the problem pages in the papers or flicking the Vs at a speed camera after bombing past it just over the limit. Or so I’m told.
Speed camera: unusual angle
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It was all United for the next ten minutes, then suddenly Youngs slipped United’s offside trap and was ten yards clear on goal with only Marshall to beat. Another ex-player coming back to haunt us? Come on, this is Tiny Tom; never takes one touch when ten will do, never shoots when he can try to walk it round the goalie instead. As he dithered on the edge of the area, Dancing Shaun waiting nervously, Gleeson dashed back and whipped the ball off his toes with a superb saving tackle. Thanks Tom, we knew you couldn’t do it to us really. The incident did however spur Northampton into something of a comeback possession-wise, and Smith and Richards both went close with headers. United responded on 24 from a Guttridge corner, Adam Tann meeting it with a strong downward header eight yards out, but Harper blocked on his line; the ball eventually bobbled to Easter but he blasted over.
There were then brief flutters as Murray was caught in possession by Youngs near the centre circle, but Tom still hasn’t regained his pace and he was in turn robbed by Psycho Fred, reasserting his dominance over the wee man. Tom’s game was about successful as Alex Best’s choice in boyfriends.
Now United were back in the ascendant, and they almost took the lead from an unlikely source on 33: Andy Duncan found himself in space 30 yards from goal, thought ‘What the Peterborough’ and let fly with a powerful low drive that was scudding into the bottom corner until brilliantly tipped round the post by a sprawling Harper. From the ensuing corner the U’s skipper tried his luck again with not one but two headers as the ball bagatelled around the box. Still the breakthrough wouldn't come.
Murray had a go on the overlap on 35, but his effort was blocked by lank-haired tetchmeister Chris Hargreaves, and play swung from end to end until half-time, United repelling Cobblers corners with their customary mixture of hysteria, luck and blind panic, while Webb blazed ambitiously high and wide from long range on 42. Northampton finished on top with two corners on stoppage time, but United had won the half on points with an encouragingly gritty but skilful footballing display. Jut one thing missing: that goal.
The visitors made a change in defence for part two, Luke Chambers replacing Ian Sampson, and first attack went to them as Hargreaves found Youngs, but his dithering cost him possession before Robert Ullathorne wellied over. First booking of the day came on 53 for Nicholls, lunging at Ullathorne on halfway, and although his foul seemed no worse than several perpetrated by Cobblers players in the first half, the fact that his feet were off the ground when he challenged seemed to make Hegley’s mind up. The sky had been darkening for some time and rain began to fall as Tiny Tom was replaced on the hour by Derek Asamoah. He's a shadow of the player we used to love. Let’s hope he gets his form back soon, now he can’t haunt us again this season.
Next moment United came their nearest yet to scoring: another splendid Tudor run down the left, a perceptive cross into the middle and there was Nicholls galloping into the box from deep unmarked to send a diving header goalward ten yards out. As the home hordes acclaimed a goal, Harper somehow got a touch and palmed it on to the post and out. As unbelievable as the suggestion that horse racing is fixed. The hosts were dictating play again and it seemed only a matter of time before the ice would break. Tudor was the creator of another fantastic chance on 69, his wicked low cross to the near post met by Easter, but somehow he hoofed it over. Cue more groaning than on Princess Di’s audio tape.
The difference between Tuesday and today was that United’s football was of far greater quality, the boys in amber playing through the midfield and using both flanks well. On 73 a flashing Nicholls shot was tipped round by that man Harper (how many keepers have a blinder at our place?). A minute later Tann nodded a Guttridge corner on to the far post and there was Bridges, as close to goal as Easter had been five minutes before, and with the same result as, off balance, he also wellied over the top. Dear oh dear oh dear (etc).
Still United pressed, Guttridge seeing a shot blocked by Trollope on 76, and Lyttle became the Cobblers’ only booking on 83 for body-checking Tudor as he threatened to sprint clear. Shaggy resisted the temptation to introduce fresh legs or a different problem for the beleaguered visiting defence to deal with, and with the benefit of hindsight, that looks like a mistake. Another melee on 85 saw Tann’s shot from a corner blocked, and a minute before the three extra, the visitors replaced Lyttle with Josh Low, one wing back for another although the latter is more of an offensive specialist. No, that doesn’t mean he tells mother-in-law jokes and has a ‘blue’ stage act. That’s Tero Pilvi, now Finland’s number one comedian and host of their National Lottery show. You should see his John Beck impersonation.
Northampton made one last thrust as injury time started: Hargreaves’ free kick was headed down to Asamoah, and Tann blocked for a corner. The flag kick flew off what looked like an amber-shirted head and Marshall made a truly astounding save, clawing the ball back almost from behind him at full stretch. But the rebound was lashed into the roof of the net by Chris Willmott as the Terpsichorean custodian’s defence was still admiring his save: 1-0, from Northampton’s first corner of the half. All that practice defending set pieces (six months late, surely?) had counted for nothing.
Devastated, United tried desperately to respond, but it was too late. Their overall play had been as good as it has been all season; they had played with spirit, drive, and no little skill. But they had not taken their chances, and once again they had failed to defend their lines from those dreaded corners; 21st place in the League beckoned.
It seemed strangely apposite that as we supporters wended our weary way back home, the slate-grey heavens opened again and pelted us with hail and torrential sheets of rain. It had been a long day, and it was still only three o’clock. A rare afternoon in front of Sky Soccer Saturday with a warm cuppa (or something stronger) beckoned. The results were not encouraging. We can only hope that luck evens itself out over the season. If that is the case, a 6-0 win at Darlo beckons next week. But grim reality says that is as likely as a Premiership team going to a bar and enjoying a nice quiet cup of tea.
Marshall 7 – Not overly troubled until injury time. What a shame his world class save was spoilt by his teammates’ inability to defend.
Gleeson 8 – Excellent full debut, full of solid defending, cool passing and even the odd foray upfield.
Murray 8 – Never gave Tiny Tom a sniff and coupled tough defensive play with useful overlapping.
Duncan 8 – Back to his best with great tackling and unlucky not to score himself.
Tann 8 – Matched his skipper challenge for challenge.
Tudor 8 – Continued his rehabilitation with some wonderful runs and crosses.
Nicholls 8 – Here, there and everywhere, the beating heart of the team.
There were then brief flutters as Murray was caught in possession by Youngs near the centre circle, but Tom still hasn’t regained his pace and he was in turn robbed by Psycho Fred, reasserting his dominance over the wee man. Tom’s game was about successful as Alex Best’s choice in boyfriends.
Now United were back in the ascendant, and they almost took the lead from an unlikely source on 33: Andy Duncan found himself in space 30 yards from goal, thought ‘What the Peterborough’ and let fly with a powerful low drive that was scudding into the bottom corner until brilliantly tipped round the post by a sprawling Harper. From the ensuing corner the U’s skipper tried his luck again with not one but two headers as the ball bagatelled around the box. Still the breakthrough wouldn't come.
Murray had a go on the overlap on 35, but his effort was blocked by lank-haired tetchmeister Chris Hargreaves, and play swung from end to end until half-time, United repelling Cobblers corners with their customary mixture of hysteria, luck and blind panic, while Webb blazed ambitiously high and wide from long range on 42. Northampton finished on top with two corners on stoppage time, but United had won the half on points with an encouragingly gritty but skilful footballing display. Jut one thing missing: that goal.
The visitors made a change in defence for part two, Luke Chambers replacing Ian Sampson, and first attack went to them as Hargreaves found Youngs, but his dithering cost him possession before Robert Ullathorne wellied over. First booking of the day came on 53 for Nicholls, lunging at Ullathorne on halfway, and although his foul seemed no worse than several perpetrated by Cobblers players in the first half, the fact that his feet were off the ground when he challenged seemed to make Hegley’s mind up. The sky had been darkening for some time and rain began to fall as Tiny Tom was replaced on the hour by Derek Asamoah. He's a shadow of the player we used to love. Let’s hope he gets his form back soon, now he can’t haunt us again this season.
Next moment United came their nearest yet to scoring: another splendid Tudor run down the left, a perceptive cross into the middle and there was Nicholls galloping into the box from deep unmarked to send a diving header goalward ten yards out. As the home hordes acclaimed a goal, Harper somehow got a touch and palmed it on to the post and out. As unbelievable as the suggestion that horse racing is fixed. The hosts were dictating play again and it seemed only a matter of time before the ice would break. Tudor was the creator of another fantastic chance on 69, his wicked low cross to the near post met by Easter, but somehow he hoofed it over. Cue more groaning than on Princess Di’s audio tape.
The difference between Tuesday and today was that United’s football was of far greater quality, the boys in amber playing through the midfield and using both flanks well. On 73 a flashing Nicholls shot was tipped round by that man Harper (how many keepers have a blinder at our place?). A minute later Tann nodded a Guttridge corner on to the far post and there was Bridges, as close to goal as Easter had been five minutes before, and with the same result as, off balance, he also wellied over the top. Dear oh dear oh dear (etc).
Still United pressed, Guttridge seeing a shot blocked by Trollope on 76, and Lyttle became the Cobblers’ only booking on 83 for body-checking Tudor as he threatened to sprint clear. Shaggy resisted the temptation to introduce fresh legs or a different problem for the beleaguered visiting defence to deal with, and with the benefit of hindsight, that looks like a mistake. Another melee on 85 saw Tann’s shot from a corner blocked, and a minute before the three extra, the visitors replaced Lyttle with Josh Low, one wing back for another although the latter is more of an offensive specialist. No, that doesn’t mean he tells mother-in-law jokes and has a ‘blue’ stage act. That’s Tero Pilvi, now Finland’s number one comedian and host of their National Lottery show. You should see his John Beck impersonation.
Northampton made one last thrust as injury time started: Hargreaves’ free kick was headed down to Asamoah, and Tann blocked for a corner. The flag kick flew off what looked like an amber-shirted head and Marshall made a truly astounding save, clawing the ball back almost from behind him at full stretch. But the rebound was lashed into the roof of the net by Chris Willmott as the Terpsichorean custodian’s defence was still admiring his save: 1-0, from Northampton’s first corner of the half. All that practice defending set pieces (six months late, surely?) had counted for nothing.
Devastated, United tried desperately to respond, but it was too late. Their overall play had been as good as it has been all season; they had played with spirit, drive, and no little skill. But they had not taken their chances, and once again they had failed to defend their lines from those dreaded corners; 21st place in the League beckoned.
It seemed strangely apposite that as we supporters wended our weary way back home, the slate-grey heavens opened again and pelted us with hail and torrential sheets of rain. It had been a long day, and it was still only three o’clock. A rare afternoon in front of Sky Soccer Saturday with a warm cuppa (or something stronger) beckoned. The results were not encouraging. We can only hope that luck evens itself out over the season. If that is the case, a 6-0 win at Darlo beckons next week. But grim reality says that is as likely as a Premiership team going to a bar and enjoying a nice quiet cup of tea.
Marshall 7 – Not overly troubled until injury time. What a shame his world class save was spoilt by his teammates’ inability to defend.
Gleeson 8 – Excellent full debut, full of solid defending, cool passing and even the odd foray upfield.
Murray 8 – Never gave Tiny Tom a sniff and coupled tough defensive play with useful overlapping.
Duncan 8 – Back to his best with great tackling and unlucky not to score himself.
Tann 8 – Matched his skipper challenge for challenge.
Tudor 8 – Continued his rehabilitation with some wonderful runs and crosses.
Nicholls 8 – Here, there and everywhere, the beating heart of the team.
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Guttridge 7 – Not at his best but played a useful part.
Bridges 7 – Decent performance in a supporting role. Webb 7 – Dominant in the air throughout. Easter 7 – Constant thorn in the Cobblers’ side, just missing that finishing touch. Soundtrack of the day: Weevil/Broken Match summary: Shoeless United were ruthlessly mugged by the well-heeled Cobblers after keeping them on the back foot for most of the match. The harsh lesson: if you don’t take your chances and can’t defend corners, nothing but the big boot awaits. Man of the match: Andy Duncan. A tower of strength at the back, he laid the foundation for an exciting performance and came oh so close to a score. Ref watch: Hegley 7. A new face and did OK for one so apparently inexperienced. Over-fussy with a few challenges, but played advantage when he could. |
Feet
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13 March 2004: Darlo 3v4 U's
Have yourself a merry little Easter
Another exciting new signing for United! Cambridge United is delighted today to announce that it has secured the services of Bryan McFadden until the end of the season. Previously a member of top pop group Westlife, McFadden (25) should be able to slot in anywhere at the back where he served his former employers with distinction for many years.
At a hastily-arranged press conference, McFadden said: 'I am delighted to have been given this chance to fulfil my dream of being a professional footballer. I'm sure many of you will know that my former Westlife colleague, Nicky Byrne, was once on Leeds United's books and he has been a great help to me in honing my soccer skills. Our five-a-side team took part in several tournaments over the last year and was very successful, only losing in the semi-final of the 2003 Smash Hits Trophy on penalties to Mis-Teeq, after excellent victories over S Club and the Tweenies.
'I am primarily a centre back, but I can fill in anywhere along the back four. I can also do a decent job at centre forward, and I model my game on Jon Parkin of Macclesfield, a great player and a super guy. I hope to help Cambridge stay in the safety zone in Division Three, and the club's proximity to London will enable me to stay close to my lovely wife Kerry and the family.'
McFadden has been allocated squad number 39 to match his waistline. In a surprise move, Justin Walker has moved in the opposite direction to Westlife in an unprecedented swap deal. A spokesman for the group said: 'We needed to keep the band's internal dynamic in place and Justin was the perfect candidate to fill Bryan's role of mooching around anonymously in the background while looking decorative. He's got big shoes to fill, and even bigger trousers, but we are sure his blond mullet and cheeky charm will prove an instant hit with our millions of fans.'
A second loan move, however, has hit a snag. Terry Fleming was lined up for a temporary transfer to veteran hip-hop legends Public Enemy as a replacement for the talismanic Flavor Flav, currently laid up in hospital with a hernia after trying to wear a grandfather clock around his neck. Fleming's agent is still in negotiations but baulked at the group's request that Terry increase his number of gold teeth from one to 12. 'We're trying to knock them down to six. This is an exciting opportunity for Terry and could lead to his becoming the next Dizzee Rascal.'
Of course, you could say that all this is as unlikely as United throwing away a three-goal lead in the last ten minutes of a match. Because that could never happen, could it? Excuse me while I take another couple of Anadin. It’s been a long, fraught day. Let me tell you a story …
Darlington has been a happy hunting ground for the U’s. Their last ten visits to Feethams had resulted in just one defeat since their equal-record 6-0 defeat back in September 1974, the heyday of Starsky & Hutch, flared trousers and Rod Stewart. How times change. But this season sees as big a change as one could imagine: Darlo have moved from their quaint old ground to the Reynolds Arena, a grand 25,000-seater edifice on the outskirts of town.
But that is only the beginning of the Quakers’ story; they can’t afford to run the darned thing and have gone into administration, with their main creditor the man who built it in the first place and modestly named it after himself, former chairman George Reynolds. The barking-mad, sorry, eccentric and loveable former safe-cracker, chipboard millionaire and sporter of the most preposterous ginger combover the world has ever seen, let ambition over-ride realism and sank countless millions into the Arena while cutting players’ wages. That has left a smart stadium inhabited by a relentlessly average, underachieving Third Division team which never had an earthly of even quarter-filling it. This meant that the collection buckets were out (sounds familiar), and generous Cantabrigians lent a hand in the shaking thereof, led inevitably by the redoubtable Carol Looker. The hosts later announced over the tannoy that United fans had contributed a very creditable £145.50 on the day, to grateful applause from the home support.
The Reynolds Arena is indisputably an impressive sight, perched on the edge of a roundabout a mile or so outside the centre of the town, all white piping soaring into the slate-grey sky. Unfortunately, its rural situation resulted in a powerful and all-pervading smell of manure that lingered like a particularly pungent mist over the whole area. Made us feel quite at home. Where’d you put the peasant smocks, Jethro? The visiting amber hordes were afforded a traditionally warm north-eastern welcome, making themselves comfortable in Bar 66, which offered a selection of liquid refreshments plus tummy-filling delights such as hand-filled baps with a choice of fillings, or good old chips ’n’ gravy. Rumbletumtastic, even if they did insist on serving Newky Brown in a plastic pint glass without the bottle. Tch! Whatever happened to local culture?
Have yourself a merry little Easter
Another exciting new signing for United! Cambridge United is delighted today to announce that it has secured the services of Bryan McFadden until the end of the season. Previously a member of top pop group Westlife, McFadden (25) should be able to slot in anywhere at the back where he served his former employers with distinction for many years.
At a hastily-arranged press conference, McFadden said: 'I am delighted to have been given this chance to fulfil my dream of being a professional footballer. I'm sure many of you will know that my former Westlife colleague, Nicky Byrne, was once on Leeds United's books and he has been a great help to me in honing my soccer skills. Our five-a-side team took part in several tournaments over the last year and was very successful, only losing in the semi-final of the 2003 Smash Hits Trophy on penalties to Mis-Teeq, after excellent victories over S Club and the Tweenies.
'I am primarily a centre back, but I can fill in anywhere along the back four. I can also do a decent job at centre forward, and I model my game on Jon Parkin of Macclesfield, a great player and a super guy. I hope to help Cambridge stay in the safety zone in Division Three, and the club's proximity to London will enable me to stay close to my lovely wife Kerry and the family.'
McFadden has been allocated squad number 39 to match his waistline. In a surprise move, Justin Walker has moved in the opposite direction to Westlife in an unprecedented swap deal. A spokesman for the group said: 'We needed to keep the band's internal dynamic in place and Justin was the perfect candidate to fill Bryan's role of mooching around anonymously in the background while looking decorative. He's got big shoes to fill, and even bigger trousers, but we are sure his blond mullet and cheeky charm will prove an instant hit with our millions of fans.'
A second loan move, however, has hit a snag. Terry Fleming was lined up for a temporary transfer to veteran hip-hop legends Public Enemy as a replacement for the talismanic Flavor Flav, currently laid up in hospital with a hernia after trying to wear a grandfather clock around his neck. Fleming's agent is still in negotiations but baulked at the group's request that Terry increase his number of gold teeth from one to 12. 'We're trying to knock them down to six. This is an exciting opportunity for Terry and could lead to his becoming the next Dizzee Rascal.'
Of course, you could say that all this is as unlikely as United throwing away a three-goal lead in the last ten minutes of a match. Because that could never happen, could it? Excuse me while I take another couple of Anadin. It’s been a long, fraught day. Let me tell you a story …
Darlington has been a happy hunting ground for the U’s. Their last ten visits to Feethams had resulted in just one defeat since their equal-record 6-0 defeat back in September 1974, the heyday of Starsky & Hutch, flared trousers and Rod Stewart. How times change. But this season sees as big a change as one could imagine: Darlo have moved from their quaint old ground to the Reynolds Arena, a grand 25,000-seater edifice on the outskirts of town.
But that is only the beginning of the Quakers’ story; they can’t afford to run the darned thing and have gone into administration, with their main creditor the man who built it in the first place and modestly named it after himself, former chairman George Reynolds. The barking-mad, sorry, eccentric and loveable former safe-cracker, chipboard millionaire and sporter of the most preposterous ginger combover the world has ever seen, let ambition over-ride realism and sank countless millions into the Arena while cutting players’ wages. That has left a smart stadium inhabited by a relentlessly average, underachieving Third Division team which never had an earthly of even quarter-filling it. This meant that the collection buckets were out (sounds familiar), and generous Cantabrigians lent a hand in the shaking thereof, led inevitably by the redoubtable Carol Looker. The hosts later announced over the tannoy that United fans had contributed a very creditable £145.50 on the day, to grateful applause from the home support.
The Reynolds Arena is indisputably an impressive sight, perched on the edge of a roundabout a mile or so outside the centre of the town, all white piping soaring into the slate-grey sky. Unfortunately, its rural situation resulted in a powerful and all-pervading smell of manure that lingered like a particularly pungent mist over the whole area. Made us feel quite at home. Where’d you put the peasant smocks, Jethro? The visiting amber hordes were afforded a traditionally warm north-eastern welcome, making themselves comfortable in Bar 66, which offered a selection of liquid refreshments plus tummy-filling delights such as hand-filled baps with a choice of fillings, or good old chips ’n’ gravy. Rumbletumtastic, even if they did insist on serving Newky Brown in a plastic pint glass without the bottle. Tch! Whatever happened to local culture?
Reynolds Arena: by no means a monument to one man's vanity
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Once inside, we were met by the sight of a totally enclosed, all-seater bowl, filled with red seats with various Darlo-related words picked out in black and white. No, not ‘skint'. All one tier, it is virtually identical all the way round except for one side, which holds the full-looking executive boxes and media centre. For all its scale, though, it seems fairly no-frills, with no luxuries like an electronic scoreboard or clock, and no barriers at the front, just strategically placed standalone advertising hoardings.
Darlo’s greatest folly is that the ground is way too big for them; unlike other clubs such as Walsall and Wycombe, whose homes have been designed to grow with them, they went for the full monty straight away and hoped it would magically fill. Perhaps Reynolds had a dream in which he was told ‘Build it, and they will come.’ Unfortunately they haven’t, unless the dream specified disgruntled creditors, and the first-day crowd of 11,600 back in August soon dwindled to attendances mostly in the 4-5,000 bracket.
Just over 5,000 gathered today, dwarfed by the scale of the venue, one entire side remaining unoccupied and the U’s contingent of a couple of hundred or so scattered across one whole end. First casualty was of course the atmosphere, and as the watery sun shone hesitantly down from the clearing sky, the match bore more of the air of a pre-season friendly than a vital basement battle. Except there was a cold, cold wind swirling around us to remind us that winter is still with us for a few weeks yet. Soon be Easter; start dieting … now!
Darlo came into the match on an impressive run of one defeat in their last nine games, including six wins, that had propelled them from the relegation zone to the dizzy heights of 14th, albeit only three points better off than their opponents. They have made no great changes to their team, Ashley Nicholls of course having joined the U’s on loan and so unavailable today, and their squad contained nothing more than a list of workaday lower-League pros who have, it seems, been moulded into something greater than the sum of their parts by returning boss David Hodgson. The programme comfortingly informed us that ‘Craig Russell has been paid at last’ (well, comforting for Craig), while also revealing the Supporters’ Trust has a ‘real ale spokesman'. They’ve got their priorities spot on and are prepared to deal with the issues that really matter to the average supporter.
For the Mighty U’s, Nicholls’ absence was counteracted by the return of Wozza Goodhind to central defence, enabling Adam Tann to return to midfield. Young Dan Gleeson deservedly retained his place at right back after his impressive full debut last week. The game started with the now traditional first-minute scare for United, Darlo top scorer Barry Conlon almost ploughing straight through the middle of a sleeping defence until Andy Duncan intervened, but after that the big-stadium, small-crowd ambience led to a curiously laid back, downtempo affair. Mmm, mellow.
First moment of excitement came out of the grey on seven. Goodhind’s forward ball was flicked on by Webb to Shane Tudor, who tried a cheeky first-time lob with the outside of his right foot from just outside the area that forced keeper Mike Price to twist and turn it on to his own crossbar and away. Now things started to warm up, and home skipper Neil Maddison was booked two minutes later for a crude foul on Tann. Having expected an early onslaught that hadn’t materialised, United began to dominate with the front two of Webb and Easter in particular looking dangerous; Webb won almost every aerial challenge and provided his speedy, alert strike partner with plenty of ammunition with which to torment a Darlo defence looking more overworked than Fergie’s new pacemaker.
No early breakthrough was forthcoming, however, and the hosts began to even things up. In fact they almost broke the deadlock themselves on 20 when Maddison beat Shaun Marshall to a Neil Wainwright cross and saw his shot hacked away from his own six-yard box by Duncan. Two minutes later it was time for our Marshall Moment: Ryan Valentine’s hopeful long throw could have been caught unchallenged by Dancing Shaun, but he failed to give Duncan, just in front of him, any sort of shout so the United skipper was obliged to head it past the Terpsichorean custodian for a corner. For some reason, Shaun felt this was reason to shout at his colleagues – if only he had done so seconds earlier when he should have done – and he was greeted with some choice language of his own by Luke Guttridge. When will Shaun learn to dominate his area and call, nay, demand that everyone leave the ball to him in decisive, stentorian tones? Gather from the buttocks, Shaun, and PROJECT.
Darlo’s greatest folly is that the ground is way too big for them; unlike other clubs such as Walsall and Wycombe, whose homes have been designed to grow with them, they went for the full monty straight away and hoped it would magically fill. Perhaps Reynolds had a dream in which he was told ‘Build it, and they will come.’ Unfortunately they haven’t, unless the dream specified disgruntled creditors, and the first-day crowd of 11,600 back in August soon dwindled to attendances mostly in the 4-5,000 bracket.
Just over 5,000 gathered today, dwarfed by the scale of the venue, one entire side remaining unoccupied and the U’s contingent of a couple of hundred or so scattered across one whole end. First casualty was of course the atmosphere, and as the watery sun shone hesitantly down from the clearing sky, the match bore more of the air of a pre-season friendly than a vital basement battle. Except there was a cold, cold wind swirling around us to remind us that winter is still with us for a few weeks yet. Soon be Easter; start dieting … now!
Darlo came into the match on an impressive run of one defeat in their last nine games, including six wins, that had propelled them from the relegation zone to the dizzy heights of 14th, albeit only three points better off than their opponents. They have made no great changes to their team, Ashley Nicholls of course having joined the U’s on loan and so unavailable today, and their squad contained nothing more than a list of workaday lower-League pros who have, it seems, been moulded into something greater than the sum of their parts by returning boss David Hodgson. The programme comfortingly informed us that ‘Craig Russell has been paid at last’ (well, comforting for Craig), while also revealing the Supporters’ Trust has a ‘real ale spokesman'. They’ve got their priorities spot on and are prepared to deal with the issues that really matter to the average supporter.
For the Mighty U’s, Nicholls’ absence was counteracted by the return of Wozza Goodhind to central defence, enabling Adam Tann to return to midfield. Young Dan Gleeson deservedly retained his place at right back after his impressive full debut last week. The game started with the now traditional first-minute scare for United, Darlo top scorer Barry Conlon almost ploughing straight through the middle of a sleeping defence until Andy Duncan intervened, but after that the big-stadium, small-crowd ambience led to a curiously laid back, downtempo affair. Mmm, mellow.
First moment of excitement came out of the grey on seven. Goodhind’s forward ball was flicked on by Webb to Shane Tudor, who tried a cheeky first-time lob with the outside of his right foot from just outside the area that forced keeper Mike Price to twist and turn it on to his own crossbar and away. Now things started to warm up, and home skipper Neil Maddison was booked two minutes later for a crude foul on Tann. Having expected an early onslaught that hadn’t materialised, United began to dominate with the front two of Webb and Easter in particular looking dangerous; Webb won almost every aerial challenge and provided his speedy, alert strike partner with plenty of ammunition with which to torment a Darlo defence looking more overworked than Fergie’s new pacemaker.
No early breakthrough was forthcoming, however, and the hosts began to even things up. In fact they almost broke the deadlock themselves on 20 when Maddison beat Shaun Marshall to a Neil Wainwright cross and saw his shot hacked away from his own six-yard box by Duncan. Two minutes later it was time for our Marshall Moment: Ryan Valentine’s hopeful long throw could have been caught unchallenged by Dancing Shaun, but he failed to give Duncan, just in front of him, any sort of shout so the United skipper was obliged to head it past the Terpsichorean custodian for a corner. For some reason, Shaun felt this was reason to shout at his colleagues – if only he had done so seconds earlier when he should have done – and he was greeted with some choice language of his own by Luke Guttridge. When will Shaun learn to dominate his area and call, nay, demand that everyone leave the ball to him in decisive, stentorian tones? Gather from the buttocks, Shaun, and PROJECT.
Shaun Marshall in action at the Reynolds Arena
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For a few minutes the United defence rolled, pitched and yawed unsteadily, their confidence in their keeper clearly shaken, and after a couple of near misses from a succession of corners, the inevitable happened. On 26 Russell’s short corner was slid low to Mark Convery 25 yards out, and as no one made any effort to close him down, he spotted a gap at the near post and fired easily and impressively past Marshall. A goal from a corner! Well I never. You know, that thing we’ve been practising defending every day for the past two weeks. Here we go again, we thought. But this time United struck back inside four minutes.
Guttridge was the provider, sliding a pinpoint ball down the left channel for Easter to sneak behind the Darlo back line and into the area. Such was the pass’s perfection, Jermaine had no need to take any controlling touch, just slide it coolly past Price and into the far corner. 1-1! As an on-loan Hartlepool player he had already taken some stick from the home fans, and he wasted no time in approaching the home end and inviting their comments. Not a particularly good idea, although perhaps he expanded his vocabulary with some interesting new words. |
Play now switched back and forth without troubling either keeper for ten minutes, Duncan a little fortunate to avoid punishment for a deliberate handball that prevented a Darlo breakaway before Marshall clutched a speculative Conlon effort on 39. Two minutes later United were, to our wondering eyes, ahead. Webb was fouled 25 yards out, and instead of the irritating tippy-tap three-touch free kicks that we have seen lately, Guttridge went straight for goal; his powerful drive bounced off Price’s chest, and first to the rebound was Webb to slide gleefully home: 2-1. How many times have we been frustrated this season by our lack of a poacher to pounce on such close-range chances? Another knotty problem solved. Now if you could just set your mind to the matter of world peace, Danny? Or failing that, just a cure for the common cold, or at least one for split ends? Ta.
Just before the interval Fred Murray was forced to withdraw, unable to recover from an earlier injury, to be replaced by Stev Angus in his first League appearance as a substitute, and on 44 Goodhind caused palpitations with an ill-advised header back to Marshall that was almost intercepted by the lurking Russell until the keeper snatched it like a hot potato. Half-time, and a euphoric away support celebrated a lead that had seemed markedly unlikely 20 minutes earlier when one down with a defence in disarray. The passing of Lil’ Luke and the overall play and finishing of Webb and Easter had made an incalculable difference. But what would part two bring? If only we had known.
Perhaps it was instructions, perhaps just human nature, but United started the second half on the back foot as Darlo took the game to them. But the visitors stood firm against a barrage of crosses and corners and Marshall was called to do little more than clutch the occasional high ball. Guttridge sent Webb clear on one break, but he lacked Easter’s pace and was just beaten to the ball by Price and his tumble was insufficient to convince ref Mathieson that he deserved a penalty. The man in green probably assumed he couldn’t have dived because why would he want to get us a spot kick? With our record? The only things we’re worse at than penalties is playing against ten men. Although our cribbage tactics also leave a lot to be desired, I gather.
Another United break down the middle saw what looked remarkably like handball by Craig Liddle under pressure from Webb, but he was facing away from Mathieson who couldn’t possibly have seen it. Most United play was down the centre, the boys in amber playing it narrow while the hosts utilised the full width of the pitch. Easter was booked just before the hour for a mistimed tackle on Matt Clarke, but United’s main problem around this stage was their inability to retain possession, so inviting more pressure. One such error, by Tudor near halfway, led to a Wainwright shot taking a wicked deflection off Goodhind that was heading inside Marshall’s near post until he changed direction to tip superbly round the post.
Webb tried a long-ranger on 62 then found himself in the book for a tackle on Valentine that appeared to take the ball but was deemed to be from behind. But on 66 it was another lightning United break that next altered the score. Duncan found Tudor on halfway and he slid another sliderule pass past the last defender and into the path of the jet-heeled Easter. Clear on goal, he had almost too much time and his first shot from just inside the area was blocked by Price. But Jermaine kept a cool head and lashed home the rebound as defenders began to funnel back. Super stuff: 3-1! This time he celebrated in front of his own supporters, although Mathieson seemed less keen on this than his first-half shenanigans with the home fans.
The quaking hosts responded with a triple substitution, a mass midfield replacement with Convery, Wainwright and Maddison removed for the fresh legs of Ian Clark, Clark Keltie and Keltie, sorry, Brian Close. United responded by bringing on John Turner for Easter, somewhat prematurely many thought given that he was on a hat-trick and on fire; perhaps his asbestos underpants had worn through. Young JT’s job was obviously to make a nuisance of himself up front, hold the ball up and help his team consolidate their lead, and he make a good, mature job of it. In fact he soon wriggled his way through on the touchline and squared it for what would have been a certain tap-in had a teammate been there.
But most of the pressure was now at the other end, Darlo raining in crosses and corners at every available opportunity. Funny, anyone would think they considered that some sort of weakness of ours. But the massed United bodies continued to repel all boarders as the hosts became increasingly desperate. Then with ten minutes to go came the comedy goal of the season. Liddle felled Turner near the left-hand corner flag, and Guttridge swung a free kick across that curled in towards goal and under the crossbar. The hapless Price hopelessly misjudged it, having initially come too far out, and heading back towards his own line, he leapt to clutch the ball in both hands at full stretch … and, incredibly, let go of it again, his momentum effectively throwing the ball into the back of his own net. 4-!! United supporters and players celebrated with broad grins and uproarious laughter as the red-faced custodian looked forward to a future of regular appearances in goalies’ goofs videos presented by Nick Hancock. The horror, the horror …
This was many home supporters’ cue to start heading for the exits: game over. Wasn’t it? United’s players and bench visibly relaxed, and Shaggy saw this as the ideal opportunity to hand Matty Robinson his League debut in place of Tudor for the last six minutes. Nice easy introduction, no pressure… except that this is of course Cambridge United we are talking about – the team that loves to make a drama out of a crisis. Darlo threw caution to the wind as the casual visitors all but lit cigars and tilted their hats at jaunty angles as they contemplated their three points.
On 85 Conlon set up Keltie on the edge of the area, and as once again no one showed much interest in closing him down, he picked his spot and curled a cracker into the bottom far corner: 4-2. Encouraged, they roared on, and a minute later a Valentine corner curled across the six-yard box, past the statuesque Marshall and Webb to Clarke rising unchallenged at the far post to head home with ease: 4-3!
Hearts sank like ten score Titanics at the away end as they witnessed their casual charges’ crapulous capitulation. Still the corners kept coming, and it was all hands on deck and in the lifeboats as United struggled to keep afloat. Brief respite came in the form of a flag kick for the visitors, but play soon switched up the other end as Guttridge conceded a naïve free kick in his own half. Price, desperate to atone for his multifarious sins, loped up to join in the fun, but this time Marshall soared to gather safely. For that relief, much thanks.
It could even have been 5-3 as the three minutes of added time ticked on, Guttridge chasing a hoof forward, losing his marker and mishitting a lob over Price which should have hit the target. But United held on for their third double of the season after the most unexpected and unnecessarily breathless of climaxes. It was the first time this season they had won a game after going behind. This was also the first time that United had scored four away from home since defeating Northampton 4-2 in the LDV in November 2002, and the first time in the League since walloping Cardiff 4-0 at Ninian Park in April 2000 with the help of a John Taylor hat-trick. Seems inconceivable now, doesn’t it?
At the end of the day and at this stage of the season, results are all: this was a win and overall a well-deserved one too. The management will rightly accentuate the many positives to come from the match: a magnificent front two that complemented each other perfectly, the return to form of Lil’ Luke, some splendid passing at times and given that Darlo has some 20 corners, most of them were well defended. But that is not to ignore the negatives: casual smugness that almost cost them dear, goals conceded from bog-standard corners, Marshall’s inability to deal with the manifest weaknesses in his game that affect his whole defence. But we are up three places and the next six-pointer is only two days away. Here’s to a Boston Three (Point) Party!
Just before the interval Fred Murray was forced to withdraw, unable to recover from an earlier injury, to be replaced by Stev Angus in his first League appearance as a substitute, and on 44 Goodhind caused palpitations with an ill-advised header back to Marshall that was almost intercepted by the lurking Russell until the keeper snatched it like a hot potato. Half-time, and a euphoric away support celebrated a lead that had seemed markedly unlikely 20 minutes earlier when one down with a defence in disarray. The passing of Lil’ Luke and the overall play and finishing of Webb and Easter had made an incalculable difference. But what would part two bring? If only we had known.
Perhaps it was instructions, perhaps just human nature, but United started the second half on the back foot as Darlo took the game to them. But the visitors stood firm against a barrage of crosses and corners and Marshall was called to do little more than clutch the occasional high ball. Guttridge sent Webb clear on one break, but he lacked Easter’s pace and was just beaten to the ball by Price and his tumble was insufficient to convince ref Mathieson that he deserved a penalty. The man in green probably assumed he couldn’t have dived because why would he want to get us a spot kick? With our record? The only things we’re worse at than penalties is playing against ten men. Although our cribbage tactics also leave a lot to be desired, I gather.
Another United break down the middle saw what looked remarkably like handball by Craig Liddle under pressure from Webb, but he was facing away from Mathieson who couldn’t possibly have seen it. Most United play was down the centre, the boys in amber playing it narrow while the hosts utilised the full width of the pitch. Easter was booked just before the hour for a mistimed tackle on Matt Clarke, but United’s main problem around this stage was their inability to retain possession, so inviting more pressure. One such error, by Tudor near halfway, led to a Wainwright shot taking a wicked deflection off Goodhind that was heading inside Marshall’s near post until he changed direction to tip superbly round the post.
Webb tried a long-ranger on 62 then found himself in the book for a tackle on Valentine that appeared to take the ball but was deemed to be from behind. But on 66 it was another lightning United break that next altered the score. Duncan found Tudor on halfway and he slid another sliderule pass past the last defender and into the path of the jet-heeled Easter. Clear on goal, he had almost too much time and his first shot from just inside the area was blocked by Price. But Jermaine kept a cool head and lashed home the rebound as defenders began to funnel back. Super stuff: 3-1! This time he celebrated in front of his own supporters, although Mathieson seemed less keen on this than his first-half shenanigans with the home fans.
The quaking hosts responded with a triple substitution, a mass midfield replacement with Convery, Wainwright and Maddison removed for the fresh legs of Ian Clark, Clark Keltie and Keltie, sorry, Brian Close. United responded by bringing on John Turner for Easter, somewhat prematurely many thought given that he was on a hat-trick and on fire; perhaps his asbestos underpants had worn through. Young JT’s job was obviously to make a nuisance of himself up front, hold the ball up and help his team consolidate their lead, and he make a good, mature job of it. In fact he soon wriggled his way through on the touchline and squared it for what would have been a certain tap-in had a teammate been there.
But most of the pressure was now at the other end, Darlo raining in crosses and corners at every available opportunity. Funny, anyone would think they considered that some sort of weakness of ours. But the massed United bodies continued to repel all boarders as the hosts became increasingly desperate. Then with ten minutes to go came the comedy goal of the season. Liddle felled Turner near the left-hand corner flag, and Guttridge swung a free kick across that curled in towards goal and under the crossbar. The hapless Price hopelessly misjudged it, having initially come too far out, and heading back towards his own line, he leapt to clutch the ball in both hands at full stretch … and, incredibly, let go of it again, his momentum effectively throwing the ball into the back of his own net. 4-!! United supporters and players celebrated with broad grins and uproarious laughter as the red-faced custodian looked forward to a future of regular appearances in goalies’ goofs videos presented by Nick Hancock. The horror, the horror …
This was many home supporters’ cue to start heading for the exits: game over. Wasn’t it? United’s players and bench visibly relaxed, and Shaggy saw this as the ideal opportunity to hand Matty Robinson his League debut in place of Tudor for the last six minutes. Nice easy introduction, no pressure… except that this is of course Cambridge United we are talking about – the team that loves to make a drama out of a crisis. Darlo threw caution to the wind as the casual visitors all but lit cigars and tilted their hats at jaunty angles as they contemplated their three points.
On 85 Conlon set up Keltie on the edge of the area, and as once again no one showed much interest in closing him down, he picked his spot and curled a cracker into the bottom far corner: 4-2. Encouraged, they roared on, and a minute later a Valentine corner curled across the six-yard box, past the statuesque Marshall and Webb to Clarke rising unchallenged at the far post to head home with ease: 4-3!
Hearts sank like ten score Titanics at the away end as they witnessed their casual charges’ crapulous capitulation. Still the corners kept coming, and it was all hands on deck and in the lifeboats as United struggled to keep afloat. Brief respite came in the form of a flag kick for the visitors, but play soon switched up the other end as Guttridge conceded a naïve free kick in his own half. Price, desperate to atone for his multifarious sins, loped up to join in the fun, but this time Marshall soared to gather safely. For that relief, much thanks.
It could even have been 5-3 as the three minutes of added time ticked on, Guttridge chasing a hoof forward, losing his marker and mishitting a lob over Price which should have hit the target. But United held on for their third double of the season after the most unexpected and unnecessarily breathless of climaxes. It was the first time this season they had won a game after going behind. This was also the first time that United had scored four away from home since defeating Northampton 4-2 in the LDV in November 2002, and the first time in the League since walloping Cardiff 4-0 at Ninian Park in April 2000 with the help of a John Taylor hat-trick. Seems inconceivable now, doesn’t it?
At the end of the day and at this stage of the season, results are all: this was a win and overall a well-deserved one too. The management will rightly accentuate the many positives to come from the match: a magnificent front two that complemented each other perfectly, the return to form of Lil’ Luke, some splendid passing at times and given that Darlo has some 20 corners, most of them were well defended. But that is not to ignore the negatives: casual smugness that almost cost them dear, goals conceded from bog-standard corners, Marshall’s inability to deal with the manifest weaknesses in his game that affect his whole defence. But we are up three places and the next six-pointer is only two days away. Here’s to a Boston Three (Point) Party!
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Marshall 6 – One excellent save but his quietness and hesitance seems to transmit a lack of confidence to his defence that is unfortunately reciprocated.
Gleeson 7 – Another strong, nerveless performance from this most promising of youngsters. Murray 7 – Decent effort until forced off by injury, which perhaps restricted his capacity for his usual forward runs. Duncan 8 – Battling and resolute as ever. Goodhind 8 – Like he had never been away. Bridges 7 – Quiet but played his part in a good overall team display. Tann 8 – All-action and energetic back in the midfield hub. Guttridge 9 – Back to his best with plenty of excellent passing and running. Tudor 7 – Had his moments, although lost possession too many times. Easter 9 – Magnificent exhibition of speedy, alert goal poaching. Could be the missing link we have been looking for up front. |
Fred Murray: decent
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Webb 9 – Superb centre-forward play, winning everything in the air and linking telepathically with Easter.
Angus 7 – Slotted in well seamlessly at left-back.
Turner 8 – Sent on to do a job and did it very well indeed.
Robinson 6 – Should have got a nice gentle run-out for his League debut, and not his fault that he didn’t.
Soundtrack of the day: Graham Coxon/Freakin’ Out
Match summary: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, often within five minutes of each other, but ultimately the result was all after a coronary-inducing thriller. Superb forward play, incisive passing and a spot of comedy goalkeeping edged out United’s habitual corner collywobbles.
Man of the match: Danny Webb. Exerted aerial mastery over the Darlo defence all game, set up Easter time and time again with perceptive flicks, helped the defence out à la Kitson and poached a well-deserved goal himself.
Ref watch: Mathieson 4. Seemed to be refereeing a different game to the one we were watching, blowing up for non-existent fouls, ignoring blatant ones and generally seeming out of step with everyone and everything.
JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the Reynolds Arena sounds. 'Adventurousness was definitely not the name of the game at Darlington as they spun a selection of safe, bland hits, almost all with female vocals: the MOR country-pop of Shania Twain, Mousse-T’s tacky floorfiller Horny, Run DMC, Sugababes, two from Madonna, Cher’s deeply overfamiliar Believe and a touch of Kylie before heralding the entrance of the players with a suitably unoriginal Also Sprach Zarathustra. All in all boring, uninspired stuff for anyone with an ounce of musical discernment. JT’s verdict: Yawnsville! (3/10).'
Angus 7 – Slotted in well seamlessly at left-back.
Turner 8 – Sent on to do a job and did it very well indeed.
Robinson 6 – Should have got a nice gentle run-out for his League debut, and not his fault that he didn’t.
Soundtrack of the day: Graham Coxon/Freakin’ Out
Match summary: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, often within five minutes of each other, but ultimately the result was all after a coronary-inducing thriller. Superb forward play, incisive passing and a spot of comedy goalkeeping edged out United’s habitual corner collywobbles.
Man of the match: Danny Webb. Exerted aerial mastery over the Darlo defence all game, set up Easter time and time again with perceptive flicks, helped the defence out à la Kitson and poached a well-deserved goal himself.
Ref watch: Mathieson 4. Seemed to be refereeing a different game to the one we were watching, blowing up for non-existent fouls, ignoring blatant ones and generally seeming out of step with everyone and everything.
JT’s jukebox. John Turner lends an ear to the Reynolds Arena sounds. 'Adventurousness was definitely not the name of the game at Darlington as they spun a selection of safe, bland hits, almost all with female vocals: the MOR country-pop of Shania Twain, Mousse-T’s tacky floorfiller Horny, Run DMC, Sugababes, two from Madonna, Cher’s deeply overfamiliar Believe and a touch of Kylie before heralding the entrance of the players with a suitably unoriginal Also Sprach Zarathustra. All in all boring, uninspired stuff for anyone with an ounce of musical discernment. JT’s verdict: Yawnsville! (3/10).'
16 March 2004: U's 0v1 Boston
Boys Keep Minging
Extra help for Taylor: As Cambridge United continue to struggle to find any consistency in their battle for Football League survival, the management team has recruited a new face to help them on the tactical and motivational front: none other than legendary Manchester United captain Roy Keane!
So how did this coup come about? John Taylor explains: ‘Back in my first spell at United, we signed Roy’s brother Pat from the Irish League. He didn’t stay long because of an outstanding injury that meant the transfer eventually fell through, but Roy came down to check things out for his little brother and we struck up an instant rapport. And we’ve stayed in touch ever since.’
Keane takes up the story: ‘I’m always happy to help out an old mate and while I’m serving a rare suspension John has invited to me to pop down and use my experience to put my stamp on the Cambridge team. I believe in being firm but fair. If someone steps out of line or fails to follow orders, they are a SINNER who must be SCOURGED of their DIRTY, DIRTY thoughts. Sir Alex favours the flying boot, but I tend towards a sharpened shillelagh to really RAM the message home. You can’t be soft in this game.
‘The power of SHOUTING cannot be underestimated either. The optimum distance from the recipient’s face is between one and four centimetres so they’ll feel like they’re on a speedboat in Galway Bay with the wind and the spray in their hair. Effective communication is SO important. Once you’ve established verbally who is boss, the BEATING with STICKS serves merely as a reminder to reinforce the message. Believe you me, the greatest motivator of all is fear ... the FEAR of GOD! And I will STRIKE DOWN upon thee with GREAT VENGEANCE and FURIOUS ANGER those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers, and you will know my name is THE LORD when I lay my VENGEANCE upon thee. That’s what my old mother always used to say.’
Taylor is effusive in his praise for the time and trouble that Keane has spared during what is after all a difficult time for his own club too. ‘Roy’s been first class. The boys affectionately refer to Dale and me as Captain Mainwaring and Sergeant Wilson, but it’s Roy who has really instilled some international-standard discipline in his time with us. His conversion of the Harris Suite to a punishment block was an interesting move and the boys responded on Saturday when he told them that anyone caught slacking would spend all day in there on Sunday with just him and two bricks. He has had to report back to Old Trafford now, so I was back in charge for the Boston game. I must read through his notes again.'
The temperature had lifted at the Abbey since last week’s defeat and so had spirits after Saturday’s encouraging victory at Darlington. The balmy night air was aglow with new-found optimism, with talk of opening up a 12-point gap over the bottom two once United had secured a routine victory over Boston and Macclesfield had inevitably lost again. Can it be that it was all so simple then, or has time rewritten every line? If we had the chance to do it all again, tell me: would we? Could we?
But that’s enough of the Lyric Round. Boston arrived at the Abbey with one of the worst away records in the League, with just two wins and eight goals scored. But then they were playing the team with the worst home record since Llanbusfair lost 23 games out of 22 played in the Mid-Cymru Swpalyg in the mid-80s (they forgot to turn up for the last one). The Pilgrims are now managed (again) by Steve Evans, reinstated after serving a ban for a carefree approach to players’ contracts, and theirs is a side stuffed with journeyman experience including ex-Madness saxophonist Lee Thompson and former U Paul Bastock. Most surprising face, however, was on the bench in the chunky shape of ‘Super’ Paul Raynor, 38 in April and seeing out his career with King’s Lynn as barrel-chested pointer and shouter in deep midfield until he received a call from Evans. Who could possibly forget Valentine’s Day, 1993, when he was sent off on this very ground for ‘putting the head’ on his own teammate, Mick Heathcote? Now that's attitude.
Boys Keep Minging
Extra help for Taylor: As Cambridge United continue to struggle to find any consistency in their battle for Football League survival, the management team has recruited a new face to help them on the tactical and motivational front: none other than legendary Manchester United captain Roy Keane!
So how did this coup come about? John Taylor explains: ‘Back in my first spell at United, we signed Roy’s brother Pat from the Irish League. He didn’t stay long because of an outstanding injury that meant the transfer eventually fell through, but Roy came down to check things out for his little brother and we struck up an instant rapport. And we’ve stayed in touch ever since.’
Keane takes up the story: ‘I’m always happy to help out an old mate and while I’m serving a rare suspension John has invited to me to pop down and use my experience to put my stamp on the Cambridge team. I believe in being firm but fair. If someone steps out of line or fails to follow orders, they are a SINNER who must be SCOURGED of their DIRTY, DIRTY thoughts. Sir Alex favours the flying boot, but I tend towards a sharpened shillelagh to really RAM the message home. You can’t be soft in this game.
‘The power of SHOUTING cannot be underestimated either. The optimum distance from the recipient’s face is between one and four centimetres so they’ll feel like they’re on a speedboat in Galway Bay with the wind and the spray in their hair. Effective communication is SO important. Once you’ve established verbally who is boss, the BEATING with STICKS serves merely as a reminder to reinforce the message. Believe you me, the greatest motivator of all is fear ... the FEAR of GOD! And I will STRIKE DOWN upon thee with GREAT VENGEANCE and FURIOUS ANGER those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers, and you will know my name is THE LORD when I lay my VENGEANCE upon thee. That’s what my old mother always used to say.’
Taylor is effusive in his praise for the time and trouble that Keane has spared during what is after all a difficult time for his own club too. ‘Roy’s been first class. The boys affectionately refer to Dale and me as Captain Mainwaring and Sergeant Wilson, but it’s Roy who has really instilled some international-standard discipline in his time with us. His conversion of the Harris Suite to a punishment block was an interesting move and the boys responded on Saturday when he told them that anyone caught slacking would spend all day in there on Sunday with just him and two bricks. He has had to report back to Old Trafford now, so I was back in charge for the Boston game. I must read through his notes again.'
The temperature had lifted at the Abbey since last week’s defeat and so had spirits after Saturday’s encouraging victory at Darlington. The balmy night air was aglow with new-found optimism, with talk of opening up a 12-point gap over the bottom two once United had secured a routine victory over Boston and Macclesfield had inevitably lost again. Can it be that it was all so simple then, or has time rewritten every line? If we had the chance to do it all again, tell me: would we? Could we?
But that’s enough of the Lyric Round. Boston arrived at the Abbey with one of the worst away records in the League, with just two wins and eight goals scored. But then they were playing the team with the worst home record since Llanbusfair lost 23 games out of 22 played in the Mid-Cymru Swpalyg in the mid-80s (they forgot to turn up for the last one). The Pilgrims are now managed (again) by Steve Evans, reinstated after serving a ban for a carefree approach to players’ contracts, and theirs is a side stuffed with journeyman experience including ex-Madness saxophonist Lee Thompson and former U Paul Bastock. Most surprising face, however, was on the bench in the chunky shape of ‘Super’ Paul Raynor, 38 in April and seeing out his career with King’s Lynn as barrel-chested pointer and shouter in deep midfield until he received a call from Evans. Who could possibly forget Valentine’s Day, 1993, when he was sent off on this very ground for ‘putting the head’ on his own teammate, Mick Heathcote? Now that's attitude.
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There were over 7,000 present that day to see a 1-0 victory over Brentford in United’s last season in Division One. Now both Super Paul and United are operating in much-reduced circumstances (waistline excepted) and tonight’s attendance was well under half of that. The hosts made only one change, Ashley Nicholls for David Bridges in right midfield as the amber hordes looked forward to a riot of exciting attacking football and goals galore – a bit like the West Indies expecting to clout Steve Harmison all over the park at the weekend, in fact. United’s vulnerability to corners, long throws, free kicks – anything that involves the ball getting within 20 yards of their back four – is well documented, and Boston wasted no time in flinging balls into the danger zone. It almost paid off as early as the second minute when Bennett’s cross found Jones for an unchallenged header, mercifully off target. If that should have been a wake-up call to a lethargic-looking home side, they decided to have a lie-in instead.
Tudor and Nicholls staged a quick break for the U’s, but the United winger set the tone for the match with a carelessly overhit cross. And in the sixth minute came an all-too-regular event: a goal conceded from a corner. Boston, pounding the home six-yard box with heavy artillery, had one corner cleared by Adam Tann, but the next one from Mark Angel flew across the box, everyone missed it and there was defender Stuart Balmer lurking near the far post, unmarked, to lash home without a care in the world. What do we have to do? Nail up the goal? Nail up the goalkeeper? That would be a novel way of celebrating Easter. Slothful United should have been galvanised by this early setback, but it was the visitors who looked energised. They caught the U’s napping again just two minutes later, Angel sprinting clear down the left and choosing to take his shot early, his long-range blockbuster looking goalbound all the way until it flashed narrowly wide of Shaun Marshall’s far upright. Two minutes further on it really should have been 2-0. This time Goodhind, looking as if he had just wandered on after a heavy night’s Buckfast drinking up Mill Road, was caught loitering without intent deep in his own half and Stuart Douglas, long locks a-flapping, latched on to a ball over the top to bear down unchallenged on goal. The ball bounced perfectly for him to aim a chip over Marshall but showed why Luton let him go by failing to find the none-too-difficult target. Another let-off. |
Mick Heathcote: nutted by teammate
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Where were the energy, movement and passion of Saturday? Is the League operating some sort of handicapping system so United had to carry 12 pounds for being above Boston in the table? The U’s were certainly playing as if they had the proverbial lead in their boots and could barely string two passes together against opponents who simply seemed to want it more. Nicholls managed a decent cross from the right corner on 15, cleared despite Danny Webb’s attentions, then visiting left back Ben Chapman picked up the game’s first booking by stupidly sloping off with the ball under his arm after his side conceded a free kick 30 yards out. Lil’ Luke Guttridge’s set piece found Tann’s head at the far post, but he couldn’t find the target and so far United looked about as likely to score as Michael Owen staring at the penalty spot with the look of a turkey reading a Christmas menu.
Boston had withstood the feeblest onslaught since Gerry the Gerbil headbutted Lawrence Dallaglio’s big toe, and hit back with another series of panic-inducing corners. The first, on 24, could have been comfortably caught by Dancing Shaun (rooted to his line as ever), but true to form he failed to call for it and Webb, standing just in front of him at the near post, had to head narrowly over his own bar as the Terpsichorean custodian flailed embarrassedly behind him. Don’t panic, Mr Mainwaring. The third flag kick in the series was caught by the keeper, but matters did not improve for a still somnolent-looking home side, a yard off the pace, slow in thought and action. Their lethargy even spread to young Dan Gleeson, his sloppy pass on 26 ricocheting off Bennett’s back to Thompson to run on to and lash over from just outside the box. Surely the U’s would soon awaken from this living nightmare.
A Tudor corner on the half hour was taken short to Freddie Murray, but his ambitious right-footed swinger troubled no one but the nearby bats, while Guttridge’s effort four minutes later was equally resistant to gravity. Tudor had a shot blocked by Balmer on 37, then Andy Duncan failed to control a header from Guttridge’s free kick as United at least exerted a rather ineffectual sort of pressure, although Bastock was still as severely underemployed as his head is under-follicled. Poor Jermaine Easter, the hero of Saturday, was starved of the service to feet or space that he craves, instead having to jump for a series of hopeless high hoofs against much taller defenders, while strike colleague Webb battled manfully with equally thin material. Easter finally got the ball at his feet on 38 and advanced dangerously into the area until his delayed shot was blocked.
Boston were content to contain their toothless opponents with nous and muscle and break sporadically, Angel blasting over on 42, but their one remaining quality move of the half almost doubled their lead as half-time beckoned: Bennett surged through the middle through a couple of half-hearted challenges and his low fizzer looked bound for the bottom corner until well saved at full stretch by Marshall. The ball rebounded to Douglas for a simple tap-in, but the offside flag put paid to his hopes. So ended a turgid 45 minutes, United unrecognisable from the dynamic young guns of Darlington and having been apparently replaced by 11 slow-motion Kieren Fallons, while Boston had done a solid job and probably couldn’t believe how comfortably they'd taken and held their lead after so little away-day success this season. Things could only get better. Couldn’t they? Please?
Initial impressions were at least hopeful, if no more productive in front of goal. Guttridge tried another ambitious long-ranger on 48, comfortably clutched by Bastock, while Easter was unlucky not to break free on goal, instead penalised for the flimsiest of ‘fouls’ by fussy ref Crossley. The hosts’ best opportunity by far came on 53. Instead of lumping another high ball upfield, Guttridge slid a ball down the middle to Easter just inside the area; his subtle pinpoint diagonal pass found Tudor to the left of goal skipping past the full back, and his low shot flew across the six-yard box … and just wide. Great chance to get back into it. There wouldn’t be another one along for 40 minutes.
On 58 Boston made a straight swap, Matt Hocking for Balmer, then Douglas almost skipped through the middle before the ball was whipped off his toe by Duncan. At the other end Webb headed just wide before Tudor tried his luck from a free kick: no pointless tippy-tap this time, but his attempted Beckham impersonation began and ended with a gormless grimace as he curled his effort well over the top. Webb ran on to a ball on 62 but was too quick to tumble and impressed no one with his half-hearted penalty claim, then Tann made a rare foray into the area to get on the end of a lofted Guttridge ball, which he headed straight at Bastock.
Boston had withstood the feeblest onslaught since Gerry the Gerbil headbutted Lawrence Dallaglio’s big toe, and hit back with another series of panic-inducing corners. The first, on 24, could have been comfortably caught by Dancing Shaun (rooted to his line as ever), but true to form he failed to call for it and Webb, standing just in front of him at the near post, had to head narrowly over his own bar as the Terpsichorean custodian flailed embarrassedly behind him. Don’t panic, Mr Mainwaring. The third flag kick in the series was caught by the keeper, but matters did not improve for a still somnolent-looking home side, a yard off the pace, slow in thought and action. Their lethargy even spread to young Dan Gleeson, his sloppy pass on 26 ricocheting off Bennett’s back to Thompson to run on to and lash over from just outside the box. Surely the U’s would soon awaken from this living nightmare.
A Tudor corner on the half hour was taken short to Freddie Murray, but his ambitious right-footed swinger troubled no one but the nearby bats, while Guttridge’s effort four minutes later was equally resistant to gravity. Tudor had a shot blocked by Balmer on 37, then Andy Duncan failed to control a header from Guttridge’s free kick as United at least exerted a rather ineffectual sort of pressure, although Bastock was still as severely underemployed as his head is under-follicled. Poor Jermaine Easter, the hero of Saturday, was starved of the service to feet or space that he craves, instead having to jump for a series of hopeless high hoofs against much taller defenders, while strike colleague Webb battled manfully with equally thin material. Easter finally got the ball at his feet on 38 and advanced dangerously into the area until his delayed shot was blocked.
Boston were content to contain their toothless opponents with nous and muscle and break sporadically, Angel blasting over on 42, but their one remaining quality move of the half almost doubled their lead as half-time beckoned: Bennett surged through the middle through a couple of half-hearted challenges and his low fizzer looked bound for the bottom corner until well saved at full stretch by Marshall. The ball rebounded to Douglas for a simple tap-in, but the offside flag put paid to his hopes. So ended a turgid 45 minutes, United unrecognisable from the dynamic young guns of Darlington and having been apparently replaced by 11 slow-motion Kieren Fallons, while Boston had done a solid job and probably couldn’t believe how comfortably they'd taken and held their lead after so little away-day success this season. Things could only get better. Couldn’t they? Please?
Initial impressions were at least hopeful, if no more productive in front of goal. Guttridge tried another ambitious long-ranger on 48, comfortably clutched by Bastock, while Easter was unlucky not to break free on goal, instead penalised for the flimsiest of ‘fouls’ by fussy ref Crossley. The hosts’ best opportunity by far came on 53. Instead of lumping another high ball upfield, Guttridge slid a ball down the middle to Easter just inside the area; his subtle pinpoint diagonal pass found Tudor to the left of goal skipping past the full back, and his low shot flew across the six-yard box … and just wide. Great chance to get back into it. There wouldn’t be another one along for 40 minutes.
On 58 Boston made a straight swap, Matt Hocking for Balmer, then Douglas almost skipped through the middle before the ball was whipped off his toe by Duncan. At the other end Webb headed just wide before Tudor tried his luck from a free kick: no pointless tippy-tap this time, but his attempted Beckham impersonation began and ended with a gormless grimace as he curled his effort well over the top. Webb ran on to a ball on 62 but was too quick to tumble and impressed no one with his half-hearted penalty claim, then Tann made a rare foray into the area to get on the end of a lofted Guttridge ball, which he headed straight at Bastock.
Deckchairs: need rearranging
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On 69 came the now-familiar deckchair arranging turn from Shaggy and the Prof, withdrawing Gleeson for John Turner and changing formation to 3-4-3. Desperate? Nous? Goodness me, no. And that girl with Frank Sinclair in the bar was demonstrating an ancient traditional African dance.
Webb just failed to connect with Guttridge’s hanging cross a couple of minutes later, but United were still firing on one cylinder. The defence looked sluggish and unwilling to push forward, the strikers were still under-supplied and the midfield wasn’t delivering: Nicholls was subdued, Tann anonymous, Tudor frustrating with runs up blind alleys and a series of poor crosses, while only Guttridge looked like he wanted to take some responsibility, and he couldn’t do it on his own. Goodhind picked up a yellow on 75 for a ho-hum foul on Angel, Nicholls robbed Thompson with a good challenge in a dangerous position, but the hoped-for onslaught did not materialise. Paul Ellender was booked on 82 for fouling Easter, but Lil’ Luke’s ensuing free kick was a lame effort whacked hopefully into a forest of bodies. Tudor was denied a run on goal by a harsh offside flag from the twitchy lino on the main stand side as a third consecutive 1-0 home defeat loomed large, as frustratingly mind-numbing as a bread sandwich. |
Tudor had another shout for a penalty denied, as did Jones at the other end, and with two minutes to go desperation became hysteria as United went to 3-3-4 with the introduction of Aggy Revell for Tudor and Guttridge was booked for upending Jones.
As the three minutes’ added time started, the U’s finally produced their best chance of the match. Easter, at long last given a chance to run at Boston, picked up the ball on the right touchline and with a stunning burst of pace sprinted to the byline and laid a tempting ball back towards the penalty spot; Webb, jostling with two defenders, just failed to get a touch, but it ran to Turner behind him. He had the whole goal to aim at but a posse of defenders bearing down on him, and the young striker failed to keep his head and blazed over the top from 12 yards as howls of agony filled the moonlit air as if the Abbey were inhabited by a horde of mid-transformation werewolves.
Boston made two time-wasting subs, Brown and Clark for Douglas and Angel, and Goodhind summed up the whole slipshod, substandard evening for the boys in amber when, presented with a chance to cross unchallenged from wide right towards half-a-dozen expectant colleagues, he lifted a dismal, lackadaisical ball miles over every single despairing head and out of play. Inexcusable. Unbelievable. Wibble wibble wibble.
United were deservedly booed from the field after this wretched excuse for a performance, all the more baffling as it followed so closely on from that thriller at Darlington. This time other results did not go our way, and the creaking sound of an opening trapdoor is starting to become ominously audible. But such is this young team’s consistent inconsistency, you still suspect they might go to Torquay and nick three points on Saturday. I ain’t putting them down on my pools coupon.
Marshall 4 - One good save, same old faults. Rarely looked in command of his area.
Gleeson 4 – Youngster was OK defensively but his distribution left a lot to be desired.
Murray 5 – Subdued by his standards.
Duncan 5 – Mostly adequate.
Goodhind 3 – The world’s first somnambulist footballer. Had an absolute stinker.
Nicholls 4 – Disappointingly quiet, little sign of previous exciting runs.
Guttridge 5 – At least he seemed to want the ball, but rarely found his range.
Tann 4 – Mostly invisible.
Tudor 4 – Few decent dribbles, crosses almost uniformly inadequate, missed best chance.
Easter 4 – Struggled with poor service, all too often aimed at his head for some reason. Broke free just once.
Webb 5 – Worked tirelessly with no reward.
Turner 4 - Hard to come on when your team is ‘playing’ as dismally as this. Spurned a great chance.
Revell 3 – Can’t recall him touching the ball.
Soundtrack of the day: Dashboard Confessional/Rapid Hope Loss
Match summary: What a difference three days make: on Saturday they were swinging, on Tuesday they were minging, now the alarm bells are ringing after wildly inconsistent United collapsed woefully for a third consecutive 1-0 home defeat. And the winner was conceded from a corner once again – sadly the one aspect of their play which is all too consistent.
Man of the match: Danny Webb. If the award were given for achievement, no one would get it: the team achieved nothing except embarrassment and humiliation. But Danny never gave up, in the face of awful service and teammates who looked like they'd never seen a football before.
Ref watch: Crossley 4. Another weird one, dishing out strange decisions all match. Gave too many free kicks for non-existent fouls while ignoring more obvious ones. Sadly, we can’t blame him for our losing the game, though; that was all our own work.
As the three minutes’ added time started, the U’s finally produced their best chance of the match. Easter, at long last given a chance to run at Boston, picked up the ball on the right touchline and with a stunning burst of pace sprinted to the byline and laid a tempting ball back towards the penalty spot; Webb, jostling with two defenders, just failed to get a touch, but it ran to Turner behind him. He had the whole goal to aim at but a posse of defenders bearing down on him, and the young striker failed to keep his head and blazed over the top from 12 yards as howls of agony filled the moonlit air as if the Abbey were inhabited by a horde of mid-transformation werewolves.
Boston made two time-wasting subs, Brown and Clark for Douglas and Angel, and Goodhind summed up the whole slipshod, substandard evening for the boys in amber when, presented with a chance to cross unchallenged from wide right towards half-a-dozen expectant colleagues, he lifted a dismal, lackadaisical ball miles over every single despairing head and out of play. Inexcusable. Unbelievable. Wibble wibble wibble.
United were deservedly booed from the field after this wretched excuse for a performance, all the more baffling as it followed so closely on from that thriller at Darlington. This time other results did not go our way, and the creaking sound of an opening trapdoor is starting to become ominously audible. But such is this young team’s consistent inconsistency, you still suspect they might go to Torquay and nick three points on Saturday. I ain’t putting them down on my pools coupon.
Marshall 4 - One good save, same old faults. Rarely looked in command of his area.
Gleeson 4 – Youngster was OK defensively but his distribution left a lot to be desired.
Murray 5 – Subdued by his standards.
Duncan 5 – Mostly adequate.
Goodhind 3 – The world’s first somnambulist footballer. Had an absolute stinker.
Nicholls 4 – Disappointingly quiet, little sign of previous exciting runs.
Guttridge 5 – At least he seemed to want the ball, but rarely found his range.
Tann 4 – Mostly invisible.
Tudor 4 – Few decent dribbles, crosses almost uniformly inadequate, missed best chance.
Easter 4 – Struggled with poor service, all too often aimed at his head for some reason. Broke free just once.
Webb 5 – Worked tirelessly with no reward.
Turner 4 - Hard to come on when your team is ‘playing’ as dismally as this. Spurned a great chance.
Revell 3 – Can’t recall him touching the ball.
Soundtrack of the day: Dashboard Confessional/Rapid Hope Loss
Match summary: What a difference three days make: on Saturday they were swinging, on Tuesday they were minging, now the alarm bells are ringing after wildly inconsistent United collapsed woefully for a third consecutive 1-0 home defeat. And the winner was conceded from a corner once again – sadly the one aspect of their play which is all too consistent.
Man of the match: Danny Webb. If the award were given for achievement, no one would get it: the team achieved nothing except embarrassment and humiliation. But Danny never gave up, in the face of awful service and teammates who looked like they'd never seen a football before.
Ref watch: Crossley 4. Another weird one, dishing out strange decisions all match. Gave too many free kicks for non-existent fouls while ignoring more obvious ones. Sadly, we can’t blame him for our losing the game, though; that was all our own work.
Dashboard Confessional: that's odd, he's playing some sort of SG, possibly an Epiphone, with a Gibson Les Paul headstock
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20 March 2004: Torquay 3v0 U's
More pain at Plainmoor
It was one of the saddest days in Cambridge United's history when club legend John Taylor was relieved of his managerial duties this week. But we must look forward, for both the short and medium term good of the club, and to that end the board has decided to break with tradition and offer the supporters a say in who replaces Shaggy in charge of team affairs.
We have drawn up a shortlist from the cream of the many exciting applicants so far received, and an event will be staged at the Abbey next Sunday in which all true fans are invited to participate. Candidates will complete a number of challenges, and after each round the one with the least number of votes will be eliminated.
The tests have been designed by JB Roleplay Consultants to show that each prospective manager has the necessary knowledge and skills to take charge of a modern, progressive football club. Order of play will be as follows:
09.00: Tactical acumen and leadership. In a wine bar are three part-time glamour models and eight players, who each want a turn with at least two of them. What formation do you instruct the lads to adopt to ensure that the desired result is achieved within three hours without the police or press finding out? Tracksuit, stopwatch, secateurs and loudhailer supplied. (Habbin Suite)
12.15: Man management. Moving on to the nightclub, a jealous local makes an offensive remark about your players' hairstyle/dress sense/attitude. You must 'talk them down' so that (a) no physical violence ensues (b) male pride is satisfied (c) no drinks are spilt (d) if a punch-up becomes inevitable, your players come off best without drawing too much attention. This test is in three parts: (1) players sober (2) players merry (3) players paralytic. Supporters are welcome to join in by shouting 'Leave it, he's not worth it!' or 'Do you know who you're messing with?' at regular intervals. (Ruston Suite)
14.00: Psychology. Your most experienced player has a hissy fit when you suggest he might be lacking in both pace and respect for his teammates. Demonstrate the best way to (a) calm him down without the use of strong drink or prescription drugs (b) appear to agree with him while mentioning that he will be playing for the reserves at Haverhill next week (c) get the whinging old has-been off the wage bill tout de suite. (Manager's Office)
15.30: Diplomacy. Your Directors instruct you to sell your three best players, two dozen jockstraps and the tea urn by the end of the week. Show your knowledge of the most efficient way to accomplish this task (list of contacts in address book, network of agents, eBay etc) and how you would mollify an angry mob of supporters who (a) beat down your office door armed with burning torches and a length of rope (b) moan at you on the internet while irritating you by spelling the as da, why as y, mate as m8 etc (c) approach you in the street and ask why you don't put your hand in your pocket yourself, you must be loaded, don't you care about the club and similar. (Board Room)
16.30: The Final - Dealing with the Media Karaoke Multitasking Challenge. Each candidate will sing his favourite song in front of a jeering audience armed with vegetables, fruit and cowpats while juggling with five hats and conducting an interview with a disinterested hack from a local free paper, while appearing calm and in control. Points deducted for singing The Power of Love or that one off Titanic. (On the pitch under the full glare of the floodlights)
Thanks to the 'Legs Akimbo' Travelling Players for the gratis supply of actors.
So we have paid our last visit to Shaggy Wonderland. The truth of the saying that football is a cruel game is thrown into stark relief when the finger of fate points at one of your own. John Taylor is a man of the utmost integrity, honest as the day is long, dedicated to the point of obsession and a thoroughly decent bloke. But the unpalatable truth of football is that it doesn't matter how many hours you put in, up and down the motorway, in and out of the office, it doesn't matter how many young players you nurture and bring through as fully-formed pros, it doesn't matter how much goodwill you foster in the community at large, and it doesn't matter how many painful financial and personal cuts you implement.
When it comes down to the final judgement, all that counts is what those 11+3 players do on the pitch for 90 minutes once or twice a week, and how that translates into the stark statistical listings of the League table. Shaggy was thrown in at the deep end in his first managerial role and faced challenges that would have daunted men with 20 years' experience: challenges that were not of his own creation. His learning curve was steep and difficult. And in the end, perhaps the truth is that he was in the right place at the wrong time. He will be sorely missed, and never, ever forgotten. We still love you, big man.
Managerial sackings are a fact of life in football, more so perhaps than in any other business. Dale ‘the Prof’ Brooks remained in temporary charge to add his name to the immortal pantheon of United caretakers that includes Paul Clark, Malcolm Webster, John Cozens and Ray Freeman. Ask your grandad. What devastating tactical masterplan could he devise now he had both hands on the reins?
It was early starts all round for the bleary-eyed travelling hordes as they made their only trip of the season to not-so-sunny Devon. The English Riviera bore more resemblance to the Thames: as grey, miserable, wet and windswept as Mike Read on a raft in the Atlantic Ocean. At least that might stop him singing. Alarmingly, upon admission we were handed ‘Abandoned Match Vouchers’, raising the question of how robust the ramshackle stands at Plainmoor are, and conjuring up images of a cavalcade of concrete and corrugated iron twisting up into the air like something out of The Wizard Of Oz. We weren’t in Kansas any more. Then again, we hadn’t been there in the first place.
As it turned out, several games were either postponed or abandoned because of the high winds lashing the country, including those at relatively new or refurbished grounds like Stoke, Northampton and Mansfield. In comparison, Plainmoor retains a certain quaint charm, more so now the away terrace is covered, so saving us from a soaking. The main stand occupies two-thirds of one side of the pitch, tiny and ancient as Barbara Windsor, while opposite sits the covered Popular Terrace. The other end is occupied by a relatively new, modest all-seater family stand, the whole ground now dwarfed by a new school looming over it. Best part, though, was the welcoming comfort of the Boots & Laces club, both sets of fans mingling amiably as they ate, drank and watched Watford’s display of comedy defending in the warmth.
More pain at Plainmoor
It was one of the saddest days in Cambridge United's history when club legend John Taylor was relieved of his managerial duties this week. But we must look forward, for both the short and medium term good of the club, and to that end the board has decided to break with tradition and offer the supporters a say in who replaces Shaggy in charge of team affairs.
We have drawn up a shortlist from the cream of the many exciting applicants so far received, and an event will be staged at the Abbey next Sunday in which all true fans are invited to participate. Candidates will complete a number of challenges, and after each round the one with the least number of votes will be eliminated.
The tests have been designed by JB Roleplay Consultants to show that each prospective manager has the necessary knowledge and skills to take charge of a modern, progressive football club. Order of play will be as follows:
09.00: Tactical acumen and leadership. In a wine bar are three part-time glamour models and eight players, who each want a turn with at least two of them. What formation do you instruct the lads to adopt to ensure that the desired result is achieved within three hours without the police or press finding out? Tracksuit, stopwatch, secateurs and loudhailer supplied. (Habbin Suite)
12.15: Man management. Moving on to the nightclub, a jealous local makes an offensive remark about your players' hairstyle/dress sense/attitude. You must 'talk them down' so that (a) no physical violence ensues (b) male pride is satisfied (c) no drinks are spilt (d) if a punch-up becomes inevitable, your players come off best without drawing too much attention. This test is in three parts: (1) players sober (2) players merry (3) players paralytic. Supporters are welcome to join in by shouting 'Leave it, he's not worth it!' or 'Do you know who you're messing with?' at regular intervals. (Ruston Suite)
14.00: Psychology. Your most experienced player has a hissy fit when you suggest he might be lacking in both pace and respect for his teammates. Demonstrate the best way to (a) calm him down without the use of strong drink or prescription drugs (b) appear to agree with him while mentioning that he will be playing for the reserves at Haverhill next week (c) get the whinging old has-been off the wage bill tout de suite. (Manager's Office)
15.30: Diplomacy. Your Directors instruct you to sell your three best players, two dozen jockstraps and the tea urn by the end of the week. Show your knowledge of the most efficient way to accomplish this task (list of contacts in address book, network of agents, eBay etc) and how you would mollify an angry mob of supporters who (a) beat down your office door armed with burning torches and a length of rope (b) moan at you on the internet while irritating you by spelling the as da, why as y, mate as m8 etc (c) approach you in the street and ask why you don't put your hand in your pocket yourself, you must be loaded, don't you care about the club and similar. (Board Room)
16.30: The Final - Dealing with the Media Karaoke Multitasking Challenge. Each candidate will sing his favourite song in front of a jeering audience armed with vegetables, fruit and cowpats while juggling with five hats and conducting an interview with a disinterested hack from a local free paper, while appearing calm and in control. Points deducted for singing The Power of Love or that one off Titanic. (On the pitch under the full glare of the floodlights)
Thanks to the 'Legs Akimbo' Travelling Players for the gratis supply of actors.
So we have paid our last visit to Shaggy Wonderland. The truth of the saying that football is a cruel game is thrown into stark relief when the finger of fate points at one of your own. John Taylor is a man of the utmost integrity, honest as the day is long, dedicated to the point of obsession and a thoroughly decent bloke. But the unpalatable truth of football is that it doesn't matter how many hours you put in, up and down the motorway, in and out of the office, it doesn't matter how many young players you nurture and bring through as fully-formed pros, it doesn't matter how much goodwill you foster in the community at large, and it doesn't matter how many painful financial and personal cuts you implement.
When it comes down to the final judgement, all that counts is what those 11+3 players do on the pitch for 90 minutes once or twice a week, and how that translates into the stark statistical listings of the League table. Shaggy was thrown in at the deep end in his first managerial role and faced challenges that would have daunted men with 20 years' experience: challenges that were not of his own creation. His learning curve was steep and difficult. And in the end, perhaps the truth is that he was in the right place at the wrong time. He will be sorely missed, and never, ever forgotten. We still love you, big man.
Managerial sackings are a fact of life in football, more so perhaps than in any other business. Dale ‘the Prof’ Brooks remained in temporary charge to add his name to the immortal pantheon of United caretakers that includes Paul Clark, Malcolm Webster, John Cozens and Ray Freeman. Ask your grandad. What devastating tactical masterplan could he devise now he had both hands on the reins?
It was early starts all round for the bleary-eyed travelling hordes as they made their only trip of the season to not-so-sunny Devon. The English Riviera bore more resemblance to the Thames: as grey, miserable, wet and windswept as Mike Read on a raft in the Atlantic Ocean. At least that might stop him singing. Alarmingly, upon admission we were handed ‘Abandoned Match Vouchers’, raising the question of how robust the ramshackle stands at Plainmoor are, and conjuring up images of a cavalcade of concrete and corrugated iron twisting up into the air like something out of The Wizard Of Oz. We weren’t in Kansas any more. Then again, we hadn’t been there in the first place.
As it turned out, several games were either postponed or abandoned because of the high winds lashing the country, including those at relatively new or refurbished grounds like Stoke, Northampton and Mansfield. In comparison, Plainmoor retains a certain quaint charm, more so now the away terrace is covered, so saving us from a soaking. The main stand occupies two-thirds of one side of the pitch, tiny and ancient as Barbara Windsor, while opposite sits the covered Popular Terrace. The other end is occupied by a relatively new, modest all-seater family stand, the whole ground now dwarfed by a new school looming over it. Best part, though, was the welcoming comfort of the Boots & Laces club, both sets of fans mingling amiably as they ate, drank and watched Watford’s display of comedy defending in the warmth.
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The matchday programme kindly reminded us of happier times, when in 1977 Pat Kruse obligingly scored the fastest ever own goal for United at this very venue. Six seconds it took him, a time from start to score that even Justin Trousersnake might struggle to match. It also informed us that it was this week five years ago that United hammered Mansfield 7-2 on the way to promotion (only Andy Duncan remains from that team), and the U’s drew 1-1 with close rivals Ipswich on their way to the Premiership playoffs in 1992. The only player to participate in both matches was some chap called Taylor. Bit of a legend, you know.
Torquay are flourishing under Leroy Rosenior’s guidance and had won 12 of their 18 home games. Most of the team were familiar faces, notably portly ex-United keeper Kevin ‘Breasts like Samantha Fox, body like Dr Fox’ Dearden, while their reserve goalie was another former U in Arjan Van Heusden, one of a long line of number ones who was a phenomenal shot-stopper but flapped at crosses like a Transylvanian sea lion. Alex ‘I’m good enough for Division One’ Russell was on the injured list. The Prof stuck with 4-4-2, Duncan’s injury absence forcing Adam Tann to move back to defence while Stev Angus was recalled at right back ahead of rookie Dan Gleeson. John Turner partnered Danny Webb up front while Jermaine Easter started wide right opposite Shane Tudor with Guttridge and Nicholls in the middle. There was also a new (old) face on the bench in the gleamingly bald pate of Stuart Bimson. The blisteringly blustery conditions were far from conducive to free-flowing football, the corner flags almost bent at right angles by the gale, which swirled thousands of bits of Yellow Pages released by the away support around, as if we were pieces in a snowstorm ornament shaken by a giant. We don’t play free-flowing football anyway, so that was all right. United started on the back foot, leaning into the gale, but they repelled the Gulls’ first corner as both teams struggled in the wind tunnel. Nicholls gave Dearden his first touch on six, a long-range trundler, before Goodhind foiled home top scorer David Graham with a good interception. Then there was some nice interplay between the U’s forwards but neither Turner nor Easter could get a clear shot in. |
Barbara Windsor: tiny and ancient
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United came their nearest to scoring on 13, an excellent left-wing cross by Tudor finding the head of Webb at the near post; his bullet header was screaming into the top left corner until Dearden proved that pigs can fly with a one-handed tip over. Tann got to the ensuing corner, but Gulls skipper Craig Taylor cleared, then Guttridge’s second flag kick was disappointingly cut out by the first man at the near post. Two minutes later Turner broke superbly away from his marker down the left wing, cutting inside along the byline and pulling it back for Easter, who was narrowly beaten to it and clattered into the bargain by Steve Woods. The spirited U’s kept up the momentum, Goodhind heading another corner wide at the far post, before Taylor tried his luck twice at the other end, one sailing hopelessly over under wind power and the other comfortably clutched by Shaun Marshall.
On 22 the hosts took the lead with a goal that was dodgier than a bottle of Dasani water. Jo Kuffour found Matt Hockley just outside the area, his strong shot towards the far corner looked to be covered by Dancing Shaun, but the Terpsichorean custodian could only look on in horror as Angus slid in to try to block the shot and instead deflected it unerringly into the opposite corner of the net for 1-0.
United heads did not go down, although goalscoring chances were as rare as a quiet night in for Courtney Love. Just before the half-hour they gained a free kick when Woods fouled Turner; but Lil’ Luke’s effort on his old stamping ground was feeble, struck lamely straight into the wall. The hosts struck back on 35, Hockley trying his luck from 25 yards and seeing his effort well held by Marshall, then Graham escaping from Tann to cut in but disappoint the Devonians with an underpowered effort straight at the visiting keeper. But on 39 came the killer blow. It was Martin Gritton’s turn to try his luck from the edge of the area, his power drive was parried but not held by Marshall, and Graham was first to the rebound to lash home from a narrow angle. It was a harsh scoreline on United’s willing triers, but their opponents had the confidence and cutting edge that they lacked.
On 41 Tann was very harshly booked by erratic ref Parkes for a ‘foul’ on Gritton, Graham shot over on 43 then Kuffour was stopped in his tracks in a dangerous position by a Murray tackle more thunderous than Graeme Souness’s face after a ‘chat’ with Cheshire Cat playboy Dwight Yorke. The half-time whistle left United disappointed by the scoreline but at least a little encouraged by the amount of play they had enjoyed. Would playing with the wind make the difference? It certainly does me after a Friday night curry.
After a chat with ‘consultant’ David Webb, the Prof swapped Easter and Turner for part two, and early on the Hartlepool loanee had a good shout for a penalty ignored when, in full flow, he appeared to be tripped by Woods. The ref then compounded United frustration by penalising Webb Junior for yet another tenuous transgression, then booking him for his protests. Perhaps he should have threatened to tell his dad of him. He was pretty fearsome in his day, or so I gather from the history books. But within five minutes of the restart, the match was effectively over. Liam Rosenior made a run down the left, Angus tried to intercept his cross but sent it spinning into the air across his own area, and there was the predatory Graham to flick lethally home from the edge of the six-yard box across Marshall and in at the far post.
The jig was up and we knew it. In fact, for a spell Torquay threatened to run away with it, Taylor and Kevin Wills missing from a series of corners, while any attempted United breaks were foiled by the linesman’s hair-trigger flag arm, especially against Easter. Jason Fowler replaced Rosenior when he picked up a knock on the hour. The nearest the hosts came to a fourth was on 62, after another harsh free kick for an Angus challenge on Graham. Fowler slipped a short one to Graham to the left of the United wall, he wriggled past and hit the near post, and in the ensuing mother of all melees Angus hacked one off the line, Marshall fisted another goalbound effort from Hill away and another goal-line clearance by Webb finally saw off the Gulls. It was like something out of Hitchcock’s The Birds, except with a bit less blood and feathers and a bit more Deep Heat and blond hair dye.
Tudor climaxed a rare run with a shot well wide on 64, then Guttridge was replaced by David Bridges, a puzzling move that was surely down to a not-immediately-apparent injury. But Torquay were now on cruise control, and for all their gutsy effort United simply did not look like making any impression. Bimson replaced Tudor on 72 in a straight swap but could hardly be expected to turn the game after so long out. Freddie Murray tried his luck from a free kick on 73, blasting narrowly over the angle from 30 yards, then Kevin Wills replaced Graham for Torquay. On 78 Angus’s good cross found Webb, but his header carried insufficient power to trouble Dearden. Two minutes Aggy Revell replaced Easter in a last throw of the dice, but an United comeback looked as likely as Rio Ferdinand passing the Mensa entrance test. He’s got plenty of spare time to practice in, mind.
On 22 the hosts took the lead with a goal that was dodgier than a bottle of Dasani water. Jo Kuffour found Matt Hockley just outside the area, his strong shot towards the far corner looked to be covered by Dancing Shaun, but the Terpsichorean custodian could only look on in horror as Angus slid in to try to block the shot and instead deflected it unerringly into the opposite corner of the net for 1-0.
United heads did not go down, although goalscoring chances were as rare as a quiet night in for Courtney Love. Just before the half-hour they gained a free kick when Woods fouled Turner; but Lil’ Luke’s effort on his old stamping ground was feeble, struck lamely straight into the wall. The hosts struck back on 35, Hockley trying his luck from 25 yards and seeing his effort well held by Marshall, then Graham escaping from Tann to cut in but disappoint the Devonians with an underpowered effort straight at the visiting keeper. But on 39 came the killer blow. It was Martin Gritton’s turn to try his luck from the edge of the area, his power drive was parried but not held by Marshall, and Graham was first to the rebound to lash home from a narrow angle. It was a harsh scoreline on United’s willing triers, but their opponents had the confidence and cutting edge that they lacked.
On 41 Tann was very harshly booked by erratic ref Parkes for a ‘foul’ on Gritton, Graham shot over on 43 then Kuffour was stopped in his tracks in a dangerous position by a Murray tackle more thunderous than Graeme Souness’s face after a ‘chat’ with Cheshire Cat playboy Dwight Yorke. The half-time whistle left United disappointed by the scoreline but at least a little encouraged by the amount of play they had enjoyed. Would playing with the wind make the difference? It certainly does me after a Friday night curry.
After a chat with ‘consultant’ David Webb, the Prof swapped Easter and Turner for part two, and early on the Hartlepool loanee had a good shout for a penalty ignored when, in full flow, he appeared to be tripped by Woods. The ref then compounded United frustration by penalising Webb Junior for yet another tenuous transgression, then booking him for his protests. Perhaps he should have threatened to tell his dad of him. He was pretty fearsome in his day, or so I gather from the history books. But within five minutes of the restart, the match was effectively over. Liam Rosenior made a run down the left, Angus tried to intercept his cross but sent it spinning into the air across his own area, and there was the predatory Graham to flick lethally home from the edge of the six-yard box across Marshall and in at the far post.
The jig was up and we knew it. In fact, for a spell Torquay threatened to run away with it, Taylor and Kevin Wills missing from a series of corners, while any attempted United breaks were foiled by the linesman’s hair-trigger flag arm, especially against Easter. Jason Fowler replaced Rosenior when he picked up a knock on the hour. The nearest the hosts came to a fourth was on 62, after another harsh free kick for an Angus challenge on Graham. Fowler slipped a short one to Graham to the left of the United wall, he wriggled past and hit the near post, and in the ensuing mother of all melees Angus hacked one off the line, Marshall fisted another goalbound effort from Hill away and another goal-line clearance by Webb finally saw off the Gulls. It was like something out of Hitchcock’s The Birds, except with a bit less blood and feathers and a bit more Deep Heat and blond hair dye.
Tudor climaxed a rare run with a shot well wide on 64, then Guttridge was replaced by David Bridges, a puzzling move that was surely down to a not-immediately-apparent injury. But Torquay were now on cruise control, and for all their gutsy effort United simply did not look like making any impression. Bimson replaced Tudor on 72 in a straight swap but could hardly be expected to turn the game after so long out. Freddie Murray tried his luck from a free kick on 73, blasting narrowly over the angle from 30 yards, then Kevin Wills replaced Graham for Torquay. On 78 Angus’s good cross found Webb, but his header carried insufficient power to trouble Dearden. Two minutes Aggy Revell replaced Easter in a last throw of the dice, but an United comeback looked as likely as Rio Ferdinand passing the Mensa entrance test. He’s got plenty of spare time to practice in, mind.