CCFC 0 v 5 MAN CITY

THE PREAMBLE RAMBLE

So who’s up next? Ah, Man City. Well ‘It never rains but it pours…’ 

and the creditable performance against the Gooners in a narrow defeat last time out at the CCS might now be seen as the first drop of rain in the following storm. The subsequent 4-1 defeat to Chelsea was more than a bit demoralising as after a bright start we were overwhelmed by the singular footballing genius of Eden Hazard stepping up to rain on our parade. What can we reasonably expect today against the raining, sorry, reigning champs, a team on their day probably the finest on the planet? 

On balance I think anything short of catastrophic will be a fair outcome. 

Where might we look for words of inspiration, encouragement, consolation as we face the apocalypse? When I find myself in times of trouble and Mother Mary can’t be found, in the search for someone speaking words of wisdom I often turn to the candy-flossed master of sweet reason, the Leader of the Free World, Donut J Trump. Perhaps we can all take solace in these fine words as he settled the nerves of a restless nation ahead of the recent Hurricane Florence:

‘We are ready. We are as ready as anyone has ever been. This is going to be a very big one. Tremendously big and tremendously wet’

Well can I get an ‘Amen’? I said can I get an Aaaaaaay-men?’ No. I didn’t think so. 

An analysis of Trump supporters has identified certain psychological traits, one of which is Relative Deprivation, defined as ‘the discontent felt when one compares their position in life to others who they feel are inferior but have had more success than them’. Which rather neatly sums up the mental state of the majority of long-suffering Bluebird fans. Perhaps The Donald’s our man.

After all, in a post-truth world where appealing fictions override facts our approach to today’s game might benefit from some fantasy football, delusion and denial. Yeh, it’s gonna be totally great, absolutely tremendous, the best, beautiful, mark my words...

In the event this was the mismatch that we all feared it might be. Sean Spicer and Comical Ali would have struggled to find an alternative truth to hide behind. Warnock made a couple of changes at the back, bringing in Cunningham and Peltier and moving Manga alongside Morrison but it proved no more effective than rearranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. This ship was going down with all hands.

The gulf between the teams was tremendously big, played out in conditions that were tremendously wet. The driving rain and swirling winds might have provided grounds for optimism, as poor conditions are often seen as ‘a leveller’ and for 30 minutes we looked capable of at least competing. Sure, there were signs, Sane and Sterling breezing past our hapless full backs as Aguero and Gundogan made their darting runs, somehow finding space in a crowded box. Gundogan inexplicably blasted over from 6 yards but our centre backs weren’t fazed by the task, Manga in particular controlling the line with some decisive interceptions. 

The midfield occasionally hit The Sky Blues on the break but the disconnect with a hesitant front two was in stark contrast with an intuitive opposition and we always looked vulnerable to a quick break out. Guardiola the master tactician, interviewed after the game hinted at frustration to make an early breakthrough and indeed cut an exasperated figure at times. The tactical changes he directed were so subtle as to be imperceptible to the untrained eye (mine) but profound in their impact as suddenly we were two down, Ageuro’s opener on his 300th appearance for the club quickly followed by an impudent Bernado Silva looping header.

We looked demoralised and it was no surprise when Gundogan effectively ended the game as a contest just before the break, firing into the top corner after neat interchanges with Sana and Sterling. 

A pattern has emerged over the last three games. We seem able to compete in the early exchanges but once found out we’re not capable of adapting. Perhaps a lack of resources doesn’t allow for tactical changes but the apparent inability to spot the flaws and make the necessary alterations is troubling. We set up with a 4-4-2 and stuck with it. And perhaps this will be sufficient against the less stellar opposition to come. Warnock has huge reserves of goodwill to fall back on generated by our surprise elevation to the PL but pressure from the terraces and in the boardroom will intensify in the coming weeks if we fail to pick up points against our peers in the (footie lexicon alert!) ‘relegation dogfight.’

The players left the field at half time as Bob Marley exhorted us all not to ‘worry bout a ting’ but I searched the leaden skies in vain for ‘tree lickle’ birds’, finding nothing but a mocking flock of seagulls, providing little reassurance that every lickle ting was gonna be alright in the second half. And so it proved.

Peltier was stretchered off within a minute of the restart as in an effort to keep track of Sana his head turned a full 360 degrees in its socket, the physios unable to reconnect it with his torso. Guardiola’s charges continued to bewilder, befuddle and discombobulate at will. On the hour Aguero (current value £72m) was granted the rest of the day off, replaced by the £60m Riyad Mahrez. Warnock responded by replacing the £1m Danny Ward with (fee undisclosed) Kenneth Zohore. 

Mahrez’s impact was immediate and tangible as within minutes he whipped in the first goal since his summer signing. Despite some well received taunts aimed at the travelling fans from the Canton End (sample: ‘Four nil and you still can’t sing’ and ‘we’re gonna win 5-4’) the majority of the home fans decided they’d seen enough. As they filed out, a tired, benevolent Manga passed the ball out to Mahrez to allow him to complete his ‘brace’ - a strange antiquated term normally associated with the shooting of grouse in an uneven contest between the rich and influential and the vulnerable and defenceless. So entirely appropriate. 

Bob Woodward’s recent expose, Fear: Trump In The White House takes its title from the shrieking pumpkin’s claim that power depends on frightening people. It’s all very well for Gary Lineker to say that this was ‘not a game to judge Cardiff’ but we are frightened. The ‘ill-fitting suit full of chickens coming home to roost’ would surely approve.

CCFC 2 v 3 ARSENAL

Preamble Ramble

‘That old September feeling, left over from school days, of summer passing…obligations gathering, books and football in the air'

- Angel Of Repose, Wallace Stegner

As the dying embers of our summer hopes and dreams succumb to mean winds and fade into the ether on a relentless, pitiless zephyr, cruel September arrives, invoking the fear and panic of the guileless, conflicted schoolboy leaving the comfort of small town elemental education to mix it with the big boys and the bullies. Today holds the prospect of the first of an anticipated triple whammy duffing up at the hands of the PL prefects.

At the end of August last year we were on the crest of a wave, maximum points taken in an epic first month, the best return in the entire ‘English’ pyramid scoring ten goals in the process. Today we’re minnows caught in the undertow, in danger of being swept away as we contemplate the frightening prospect of a run of games against the Premier League big fish. And we do so with the unenviable record of the worst goal-scoring record in the four leagues. In front of goal we are the Kevin Phillips Bong of the PL, a candidate for the Slightly Silly Party, with a nil return. ‘Not a sausage. Bugger all’ in fact.

Today is a chance for the team to provide some comfort to the restive fans that they can hold our own at this level. Arsenal, in transition both on and off the field have so far this season failed to convince and sit just three places and one point above us. That fact alone might provide grounds for some optimism (or at least put my inner Eeyore back deep into the Hundred Acre Wood for 90 minutes). Hey, it’s a lovely day and we’re playing The Arsenal! What’s not to like?

‘Don’t blame me if it rains’ said Eeyore.

The stats tell us that Arsenal have a proud history, winning 13 league titles in their time and the same number of FA Cup triumphs. We on the other hand are pretty much defined by our single FA Cup win, particularly as the subsequent 91 years have been more or less unproductive. Our 1927 victory, was of course courtesy of The Gunners’ Welsh keeper (sepia goalies always look rubbish but Lewis’ fumble would have raised a few eyebrows today) and since when no Arsenal keeper has apparently taken to the field in a new shirt.

It was uplifting to take our seats today in an expectant full ground, the atmosphere generated by both sets of fans making for a special occasion; one to put the gloomy old grey donkey in Row L Seat 798 to shame. 

Arsenal set up in the expected way. We’re used to conceding possession, running around chasing shadows, aggressively closing the opposition down and hitting them with a long ball out of defence (not too easy on the eye, but generally effective) but the contrast of styles today could not have been greater. Arsene Wenger may no longer be in charge but his legacy has been embraced by Unai Emery whose charges retain an almost pathological  proprietorial interest in the ball. This doesn’t always work in their favour.

On more than one occasion today Petr Cech in the Arsenal goal was almost caught in possession dilly-dallying inside the six yard box looking to pass the ball out of defence. City were unable to take advantage, the normally reliable Harry Arter guilty of blowing the chance to give us an early lead. One of the main lessons from an otherwise creditable performance today is that chances are likely to be as rare as a brain cell in the Oval Office and when they arrive they must be taken.

Unfortunately our profligacy in the opposition’s box was matched by defensive ineptitude in our own. Indecision by Morrison led to an unnecessary corner from which Mustafi headed into the back of the net unchallenged.  0-1 with only 12 minutes on the board. Soon afterwards Manga’s blushes were spared by a point blank save from Etheridge. 

A Home Office security announcement appeared on the screen above our goal providing the crowd with advice in the event of a terrorist incident. With a genuine prescience it was headed ‘Do you know the game plan?’ Erm, hope? Pray?

Surprisingly, and worryingly for the Gooners, Arsenal failed to capitalise on their domination and although in control of the game seemed to lack a killer instinct, more content to play exhibition football mincing around in midfield with a flounce here and a sashay there. We were being allowed a second chance and as the half wore on were actually having the better of the play. It was still a shock however when we drew level deep into time added on, Camarasa turning Monreal and lashing the ball past Cech for our first goal of the season and (Pointless Stat Alert…) 1597 days since our last goal in the Premier League.

The equaliser seemed to give us the edge in the early stages of the second half. We were now playing with a real belief, keeping a high line and closing down the Arsenal defence, almost taking advantage of Cech’s lingering nonchalance in his own area.

It was a crushing blow to the home fans when Aubameyang was given too much space on the edge of the box and turned to whip a shot past Etheridge and restore the Gunners’ lead. However, we responded well and in a manner that provides real hope for the future. A Ward header found the inside of the post to set up a rousing finale to a game that was providing more entertainment and ambition than we had dared to hope for.

Shortly after Reid had been set free by Ward, his tired shot limping tamely to Cech, Arsenal confirmed their natural superiority as Lacazette found space to lash a late winner past Etheridge. 

We expected nothing from this game and the table shows that’s exactly what we got. But sometimes it’s not the result but the performance that matters. We can only do what we can do with what we’ve got, or as Eeyore himself said ‘We can’t all and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.’