A bloke’s relationship with his team is like no other he’s likely to experience. It’s one we enter into willingly and enthusiastically - usually at a vulnerable age - with unreasonably high expectations. We soon learn that it’s one love we’ll never have any control over and it’s not necessarily reciprocal. It’s a strange dynamic - our opinions don’t count and our complaints go unheeded but we sense that the other party is desperate for our approval and responds well to encouragement.
We’re frequently left frustrated and astonished at her capacity to make bad decisions and wrong choices which we know will ultimately harm us both. We could turn or backs and walk away; many of us have done so from time to time but the ties that blind us pull us back in spite ourselves as the power of the memory of shared ecstatic highs and abject lows defeats all reason and proposition.
Recent events would challenge the most solid of relationships and the walk to the ground today was full of anxiety and self doubt. I’ve done no wrong but there’s a part of me that feels somehow responsible and I want to do the right thing. I’m giving her another chance. It may be her last.
The heir to my misgivings was apparently in the grandstand as the beleaguered back room boys Scott & Gabbidon (that aspiring firm of gentlemen’s outfitters) took charge for their third and final game. After the wretched display in midweek losing to Bournemouth in the Capital Cup this was always going to be their swan song, assuming the lawyers can agree on a form of words that will grant Russell Slade, former P.E. teacher (think Brian Glover in ‘Kes’ with a baseball cap…) a chance the lower league journeyman coach no doubt thought had passed him by. And with an array of starry no-nonsense-get-the-job-done managers awaiting the call to arms, why would he think he was in with a shout?!
Tan’s crimson handsomely upholstered seat up in the director’s box was spared its owner’s facile flatulence again today, one of many empty seats in a crowd officially put at 21,000 - an implausible figure boosted by a strong away following and ghosted season ticket holders.
I passed a group of twentysomethings outside the ground debating where exactly ‘the old ground, you knows, that Ninian Park’ used to be. The clouds parted and the ghost of Jimmy Scoular struck them down before I could summon up a glance of sufficient disdain. There was a nod to the more recent past as former central defender and current Wednesday captain Glenn Loovens was introduced to the crowd, temporarily bringing to mind the days of glorious cup runs and credible promotion campaigns.
Our line up included a brace of Morrisons - one restored to centre back alongside Manga, the other in the unusual position for him of sitting on the bench rather than appearing before it. The biggest plus was seeing Fabio restored at left back. It’s seems hardly credible that so much could have happened since he left the field at half time against Norwich with the home fans purring after witnessing a revitalised City coming good at last, anticipating the great times to come under Solskjaer. Hmmm…
Wednesday started the stronger looking more organised and confident, unbothered by the distraction of a 7-0 midweek thumping at The Etihad. They passed up an early opportunity to take the lead as May found space in the box and rounded Marshall, the central defence’s blushes saved by a last ditch goal line clearance by the ever alert Fabio.
Two main areas of concern under Ole were the team’s fitness levels and the ability of eleven talented individuals (in many and varied combinations) to play as one cohesive unit employing a system that all were comfortable with and which reflected their individual strengths.
The lack of time together on the pitch was again evident in the first half today as options were limited for the man on the ball and passes went astray. Upfront the towering, tireless Kenwynne Jones was imperious winning every ball, but noone - least of all Noone - seemed capable of anticipating the flick on or the knock down into space.
There were promising signs that all is not lost just yet as the previously unconvincing Pilkington and the effervescent Daehli combined well, with the restored but not fully match fit Noone showing flashes. The best move of the first half saw Daehli and Pilkington turn the Wednesday defence inside out as a floated ball into the box was met by Gunnarsson, his powerful header parried into the path of Jones arriving late at the far post but unable to direct the ball goalwards.
Shortly afterwards on 38 minutes more good work in midfield resulted in a free kick and a booking for left back Mattock 30 yards out. It was the perfect angle but a bit distant for a Whitts special. No problem. After all, The Mercurial One ‘does what he wants’. He chose to send in a perfectly weighted cross, met powerfully by defender Morrison for City to take a hard fought, but on the balance of play perhaps unexpected, half time lead.
The Owls started the second 45 worryingly well and were rewarded for their pressure when Morrison restored the balance, deflecting a whippy cross from Maguire past his own keeper. Wednesday now really stepped up the pace sensing an opportunity to capitalise on the home team’s flaky self-belief. After recent events it didn’t seem unreasonable to fear the worst.
It was a huge boost then to see the team soak up the pressure and hold its nerve before launching a succession of counter attacks. Whittingham and Gunnarsson both went close with efforts from distance before the game turned as Jones rose in the box to head powerfully down, the ball taking an age to settle at a height for Pilkington to dispatch a powerful volley into the net.
Young Morrison was immediately introduced, replacing the tiring Noone, and easily distinguishable from his namesake not least by size, ethnicity, natural ability and ego, but playing under the moniker ‘Ravel’ to avoid any unlikely confusion.
As a 16 year old Man Utd wunderkind Ravel Morrison was described by none other than Sir Alex Ferguson as ‘the best player I’ve seen at that age’ (don’t forget he signed Ryan Giggs at 14…). on his untimely dispatch to West Ham, Sam Allardyce called him ‘a brilliant footballer. Brilliant ability. Top class ability’ before adding with some ambiguity ‘He needs to get away from Manchester and start a new life’
It didn’t take Big Sam long to decide that he also needed to get away from the East End, sending him on a season-long loan to Birmingham and last season to QPR. His colourful life off the pitch has been as troubling and inconsistent as his career on it. The phrases ‘witness intimidation’ ‘homophobic threats’ and ‘common assault’ are a jarring and unwelcome intrusion into any 21 year old’s Wikipedia biog.
Putting all that to one side, if he can continue the form he showed in his brief but conspicuous cameo appearance today he could change not only his own fortunes but that of his temporary club. You sense there’s always the potential for a 2am Chippy Lane Incident but be in no doubt this boy is a player. A genuine talent capable of lighting up the stadium and our season. His time on the pitch witnessed a step change in our composure and belief. We were now winning second balls, looking sharp and hungry as The Troubled One panicked a tired Wednesday defence.
We were unlucky not to increase our advantage in injury time as a neat move put Macheda in the clear, only to be ruled narrowly offside.
A timely boost then to put the off-the-pitch shenanigans in the shade for a while; and to rekindle the love. Walk away? Who am I kidding? In the words of Michael Corleone ‘Just when I thought I was out….they pulled me back in’. Again.
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