3.5.2012
Play Off Semi Final
CCFC 0 v 2 WEST HAM
The Preamble Ramble...
As Chelsea were making their way
to an unlikely Champions League final the TV pundits were suggesting that their
victory against all odds was ‘fate’ ;as if their passage to the final was
granted by divine providence, the act of a beneficent god. Well, it’s possible
I suppose but only if the Omnipotent One is a Bayern fan out to prove a point
to the Special One. I tend to favour the ‘cock-up’ theory ahead of conspiracy
or supernatural intervention.
It wasn’t always the case though.
I used to believe in the potency of superstition, convinced that outcomes were
directly influenced by the unlikeliest of events. Back in the mid seventies
when we were pushing for promotion from the old Division 3, standing on the Bob
Bank with Dad and his friends, when ‘Uncle’ Des passed the wine gums around I
knew that if I pulled out a black one 3 points were guaranteed. And the
chances of us getting promoted were directly influenced by my ability to sing
the whole of Bohemian Rhapsody in my head including the guitar solo and the
operatic bits without making a mistake. It seemed to work as we were duly
promoted in ‘76.
Footballers are notorious for
their superstitious traits:
Milan’s Gattuso prepares for
every game by reading Dostoevsky on the loo. Presumably ‘The Idiot’.
David James refuses to speak to
anyone from Friday night through till the end of the game. His England
colleagues often reacted likewise after
the game.
Sergio Goycochea, the former
Argentina goalkeeper had a legendary routine for facing penalties which
involved him urinating on the pitch.
Adrian Mutu, the former Chelsea
striker sacked by the club following a failed drugs test and ordered to repay
the club £17m for breach of contract, believes he can only perform well on the
pitch if he wears his underpants inside out. What is he ON?
Superstitions can get out of
hand. The coach of the Zimbabwean side Midlands Portland Cement sent his squad
of 17 players into the crocodile-crowded Zambezi River in a ritual cleansing ceremony,
intended to restore their harmony ahead of their next game. Only 16 of his
players emerged minutes later. They lost their next match.
So as we prepare for our third
successive season of Play-Offs heartbreak what can we expect? I think it’s probably more helpful
to look at the stats rather than rely on superstition to get a realistic
assessment of our chances. A glance at the current form table shows us tucked
in nicely behind the Hammers in third place, both teams having won 4 and drawn
2. Historically in all games since we first met in 1920 we have won 7, lost 8
and drawn 6 of the home fixtures against the bubble blowers. So far so-so. On
the only occasion where we have contested a two-legged affair, in the League
Cup in 1966 we lost 3-10 on aggregate. Ah, not so good. Clearly current form is
the best guide.
In any case, Chelsea’s victory
proved more than anything that superstition and statistics are no match for
tactical nous, preparation and belief. A large slice of luck will also play its
part. But if all else fails it might be time to pass round the wine gums.
Disappointingly as we took our
seats it was clear that the anticipated ‘full house’ was not quite going to be realised,
despite the return from exile of one of Ninian Park’s favourite sons, former
Grange End acolyte and the man responsible for three generations of abject
sporting misery, the Thomas clan patriarch; the one they call ‘Gramps’.
Anticipating the requirement for supernatural intervention he’d come equipped
with his ‘lucky’ bobble hat.
(As the game was televised ‘live’
I should emphasise that the following report is purely subjective, an honest
‘view from the terraces’ unfettered by forensic TV punditry and does not
necessarily accord with the facts.)
We started well and after five
minutes had the game in the bag and were looking forward to another stop off at
Costa Coffee on Beaconsfield High Street. Fantasy football. ‘Pop!’ I hear the
sound of bubbles forever bursting.
That didn’t last long as The
Garnetts stormed back into the game. With less than 10 minutes gone Vaz Te
collected the ball out wide, drifted past Blake deputising for the injured
McNaughton and sent a curling cross over Turner to Collison who dispatched the
ball past Marshall at the second attempt. 1-0. A soft goal celebrated to the
sound of fallen crests.
The goal knocked the stuffing and
any self-belief out of our lot as we continually gave away possession allowing
their midfield to dominate. Perhaps it’s unfair to single out one individual
but the timid, ponderous, clueless midfield chump formerly known as Peter
Whittingham was having a stinker. As the relentless claret and blue tide
threatened again and again the hope was to hold out until half time and take
the opportunity to regroup. It wasn’t to be.
After 42 minutes the ball fell to
Collison just outside the box and he took full advantage of our failure to
close him down, letting fly with a screamer that took a deflection past the
marooned Marshall. 2-0. Another poorly defended goal, celebrated to the sound
of 20,000 hearts sinking.
The second half saw an
improvement and we carved out a number of decent chances. Miller, Hudson, Mason
and Earnshaw went close but there was to be no cigar. We left, deflated and
resigned to our May Day Bank Holiday fate. Instead of the hoped for ‘See you at
Wembley’ smiles and back-slaps it was ‘Have a good summer’ scowls and shoulder
shrugs.
It might be a bit premature to
conduct the post mortem as the patient isn’t technically dead but it is at best
in a persistent vegetative state and there is no moral imperative to postpone
the inevitable. Looked at objectively we’ve had a decent season again but have
fallen at the last hurdle. Again. So what might have turned a relatively
successful campaign into a triumphant one? Where did it all go, if not wrong,
then not quite right?
·
Failure to capitalise on our promising start to
the season. Amongst much talk of ‘over-achieving’ the fact is that we were
making steady progress with a small squad of solid but unspectacular journeymen
and unproven talent.
·
Failure to buy a proven striker and a decent
wide man in January.
·
Failure to get a proven striker and a decent
wide man on loan in February.
·
Few options on the bench.
·
The Carling Cup run.
·
Failure to win the Carling Cup.
·
A shortage of wine gums.
·
So Malky claims that it’s not all
over (bless him) and that ‘2-0 is a dangerous score’. Perhaps he’s right.
Perhaps Big Sam is even now castigating his charges for their failure to secure
an honourable draw. I’d like to think we can rely on Malky’s tactical nous and
preparations to turn things around but I can’t help thinking we’re going to
need all the help we can get so I’ll be watching the game stroking a black cat
in the company of a chimney sweep sitting on a bed of four leaf clovers and
rabbit’s feet. That ought to do it. ‘Wem-ber-ley, Wem-ber-ley...’
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