CCFC 4 v 2 FULHAM

The Preamble Ramble

I have a soft spot for Fulham. OK, they’re the opposition today and obviously any sense of kinship is put aside, I mean, clearly, if it boosts our meagre chances of survival I hope we can put them to the sword and they continue their own miserable run, let themselves, their devoted fans and their billionaire owner down and fade once again into Championship oblivion. But I’m glad we were promoted together and would be tickled pink if we could both consolidate our Premier League status. This is not inconceivable, it’s just that, well, while there might be only one F in Fulham, there’s more than one F in iffy. And the prospect of both teams surviving is double effing iffy.

**Dodgy wikipedia facts alert. 

Fulham - nicknamed either The Cottagers, The Whites, or still worse The Lily Whites (probably the most sissyish set of non de plume outside Ernest Hemingway’s Wussy Van Milksop) were formed in 1879 as Fulham St Andrew’s Church Sunday School FC before becoming Fulham Excelsior and  have been playing at Craven Cottage since 1896. Uniquely for a Premier League team their boardroom does not contain a trophy cabinet. 

My earliest memories of Fulham date back to the early seventies when they were managed by Alec Stock, the inspiration behind The Fast Show’s Ron Manager. Self-effacing with bags of old-school charm, reflective and misty-eyed, the phrase ‘small boys in the park, jumpers for goal-posts’ might easily been a Stock throwaway line. Fulham back then were an average Division Two side with no obvious pedigree but Stock managed to entice thoroughbreds Bobby Moore and Alan Mullery to join their ranks and lead them to their only FA Cup final in 1975. This opened up the way for the likes of George Best and Rodney Marsh to loiter with the craven cottagers. 

City’s game against Fulham on New Year’s Day 1977 attracted - from memory - in excess of 26,000, the numbers swelled by the expected appearance of George Best. Typically, Best had a long-standing appointment with Oddbins and was unable to appear but this paved the way for a new legend to take to the stage. For this was the day that the ’Greatest Footballer You Never Saw’ made his debut for The Bluebirds. 

It was said that if George Best was the first pop star, then Robin Friday was its first rock star. Outrageously gifted, troubled and wonderfully off script, Friday began his all-too-short career at Ninian Park (he only played 22 games) by scoring twice, giving Bobby Moore the runaround and showing his contempt of the World Cup winning captain’s reputation as National Treasure by administering a trademark tweak of the testicles.

Friday was a folk (anti) hero as much for his exploits off the field as his skills on it. While at Reading having been told not to drink 48 hours before a game he took the order on board and instead dropped an LSD tablet. He celebrated scoring the late winner against Rochdale by kissing a policeman behind the goal because ‘he looked so cold and fed up I decided to cheer him up a bit’. That summer he disappeared, neglecting to tell the club that he’d joined a travelling hippy commune and had begun a new career as an itinerant asphalter.

Although he was voted ‘Player of the Season’ by the Reading fans, the club was desperate to offload him and we picked him up for a bargain £28,000. From the start he was unmanageable, erratic and unpredictable. He was arrested at Cardiff Central Station for travelling down on a platform ticket. His other transport trick was to wait until a passenger disappeared into the Gents, knock the door claiming to be a ticket inspector and demand that the occupant pass their ticket under the door for inspection. These jolly japes might have endeared him to his public, but ultimately no-one could save him from himself. He suffered a drugs-induced heart attack and died aged 38. Once told by a manager that he was wasting his god-given talents he replied ‘I’m half your age but I’ve lived twice your life’. The suspicion is that he was content with that.

Our last Premiership game against Fulham saw us achieve a rare victory under the short-lived reign of Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, briefly providing hope that we might avoid the drop. Ultimately both teams fell out of the top flight, and while we might have been sceptical about Solskjaer’s squad rotation policy, at least we didn’t have to suffer the indignity of explaining our manager’s instruction to his captain to treat an injury by placing a block of cheese on his strained thigh. Take a bow Felix Magath.

Fulham returned to the top flight after a season full of flair and panache and have spent heavily (more than £100m) so far to little effect. We stumbled over the line after a dogged campaign full of honest endeavour and decided to stay within budget with predictable results. So both teams need the 3 points, it’s just that our need is more desperate so we deserve them. That’s how it works isn’t it?

Driving to the game, radio on, coverage of the Chelsea v Man Utd game is interrupted to announce the line ups for our game. Which is nice. Changes in personnel today include a welcome return for Aron Gunarsson, slotting in for the suspended Joe Ralls, with Reid’s pace preferred upfront to an obvious target man. Ominously for the Cottagers their back four includes one ’T Ream’ presumably in the recognition that for them ‘Things Can Only Get Better’. Ouch!

So far this season although we’ve competed well and there’s been no lack of effort we’ve failed to adapt sufficiently to the pace of the game against the better teams and not taken the rare opportunities that have come our way. There will be no excuses today against an opposition that we know well and who beat us 4-2 in the corresponding Championship fixture last season.

From the start tactically the game is a revelation. Out with the indecisive long ball from the back, conceding possession, the ponderous build up, the static front line. Today we find the confidence and the belief that we can play pacy, intricate, dare I say ‘sexy’ football (a phrase I just googled to confirm its provenance. Blimey, that was a mistake… It was Ruud Gullit by the way). With Gunarsson to the fore we are a dominant, creative midfield force, dictating the tempo of the game for the first time this season.

Within 5 minutes we have our first real chance as Murphy skips around Chambers, firing to the left of the diving England squad keeper Bettinelli who palms his shot away for a corner. Fulham’s defence is looking shaky, Warnock’s decision to go with pace upfront immediately vindicated as we continue to press.

Then a real sucker blow on 10 minutes as out of nowhere (I’m making notes and miss the shot. There was no obvious danger) a Schurrle curler finds the top corner. 0-1 against the run of play and considering the pattern of previous games this season, a reason to feel utterly demoralised.

It’s testament to the team’s vitality, and hugely encouraging, that they’re able to hit back immediately, the excellent Murphy finishing well with a precision shot past Bettinelli. And it’s about to get a whole lot better.

Murphy turns Chambers again, securing a free kick on the edge of the box and a booking for the hapless on-loan Gooner. We make a complete Horlicks of the free kick but it breaks free to Reid who keeps his cool to put us ahead. Cue wild celebrations and a conviction that today is our day.

This is the Premier League and whatever the opposition even if you’ve been granted your laurels it’s not feasible to rest on them. In a frenetic finale to a frenzied first forty five Sessegnon draws the Lily Whites level taking advantage of a defensive line temporarily losing its bearings and (**Not Very Interesting Stat Alert) becomes the first player born this millennium to score a goal in the PL.

Fulham finish the half the stronger and almost take the lead before half time as following a botched clearance by Etheridge he charges out of his area, successfully throwing his torso at the ball with an attacker bearing down on goal. Games are won or lost by small margins and if Etheridge’s timing had been out or the angle of his body one or two degrees askew it’s a clear red card offence. 

After a physical first half with three bookings and plenty of action for the medics an additional 5 minutes is allowed before the teams march off to well-merited thunderous applause in recognition of one of the most entertaining halves in recent memory at the CCS.

Former Swansea centre back Mawson is brought on to shore up the Fulham defence at half time and receives the anticipated generous appreciation from the fair-minded impartial free-thinkers behind the opposition goal.

Reassuringly, the same levels of commitment and determination to get the desperately needed first win are maintained throughout a scintillating second half. With more neat passing, quality possession and some clever work off the ball this is an anxiety-free performance finally delivering the belief that, whilst we will need to work hard to get any return against the aristocrats we can hold our own against our fellow riffraff.

Paterson finds himself free after finding space to latch onto a neat ball played over the top of the Fulham defence but his role as a makeshift centre forward is based on instinct and determination. Given any time to weigh up his options he’s likely to be confused and sure enough the chance disappears in a haze of discombobulation.

On 65 minutes Paterson gets ahead of his defender and latches on to a loose ball finding just enough leverage to turn the ball past Bettinelli to put the Bluebirds back in front.

For all their ineptitude at the back, given space Fulham always look a threat going forward. The tiring Gunarsson makes way with 15 minutes left, Harris replaces Man of the Match Murphy and the midfield looks exposed. Fulham force a corner, the rising Mawson fires a bullet of a header low to Etheridge’s left which the Philippine international does well to keep out.

On 87 minutes a slip from T Ream allows us to D Ream, Camarasa finds a marauding Harris and suddenly things are a whole lot better. 

Four goals doubles our tally for the season, we’re off the bottom and running. Next up it’s an away trip to Anfield but we then have a run of winnable games in the lead up to Christmas.

I’m off on an American odyssey for a few weeks, joining the ranks of the frontiersmen in the Wild West. Let’s hope by the time I return we’ve staked our claim as PL settlers in our little old sod shanty in CF11.

CCFC 1 v 2 BURNLEY

The Preamble Ramble

‘There’s a nervousness you can feel when you are still waiting for your first win…when you’re in our position you can’t just wait for things to happen, you have to push to make them happen.’

This was Burnley manager Sean Dyche’s response to his side’s 4-0 defeat of Bournemouth last weekend, a win which took them off the bottom of the table after a lacklustre start to the season which has been complicated by an unlikely qualification into, and early exit from, the Europa League. 

Today’s game will determine the extent to which Neil Warnock can start to make things happen  for The Bluebirds after a run of dispiriting defeats. 

Warnock’s candid, self-deprecating pre and post match interviews may have entertained the neutrals but it’s time now to reassure the faithful and show a more steely resolve. Any close season optimism was predicated on picking up maximum points against relegation rivals, gaining a few sneaky draws against middling opposition and surviving with honour intact against the high-fliers. Last week’s mauling by Mansour’s Mancs disabused even the most deranged amongst us of any notion that we might be able to compete at their level. 

Having already passed up opportunities to capitalise on the misfortune of fellow contemptibles Huddersfield and Newcastle when they were reduced to 10 men it’s now essential that we start to compete against any team beyond the blue-bloods. 

Last week’s headlining appearance on MOTD (albeit as foils to the main attraction) will be replicated on MOTD2 today for the very good reason that, erm, ours is the only game in the top flight. The final day of the Ryder Cup is Sky Sports’ major attraction so presumably the decision was taken to clear the schedules to ensure advertising revenue is not compromised. I imagine TV receipts from City v Burnley would at best be on a par with ‘Sunday Teatime Classics’ on DAVE with Norman Vaughan-era The Golden Shot and Pinky & Perky. 

This fixture might be seen as an opportunity to get back on track but the opposition should not be underestimated. What Burnley lack in natural resources they more than make up for in high levels of organisation and efficiency. In achieving 7th position last season they amassed 54 points from only 36 goals scored. 

Our game of course tends to focus on sitting back and allowing the opposition to concentrate on the finer points of the beautiful game, while we unashamedly play ugly, hitting them on the break and bullying them in their own box. Today’s game promises to be attritional; engaging for the committed but otherwise dreadfully dull. The nervousness Dyche refers to will no doubt permeate the stands. It’s now time for our players to ease the burden and give us a reason to believe. 

Warnock made four changes - two enforced, two tactical - Bamba returning to partner Morrison in the centre of defence with Manga slotting in at right back replacing the injured Peltier. Josh Murphy made a welcome return out as the left-sided wide man, with fans’ favourite Paterson forming the link between midfield and the recalled Zahore. 

Despite a subdued atmosphere we began well, the anxiety on the terraces after last week’s humbling fortunately not transferring to the pitch where the midfield without stamping any real authority looked comfortable with the new set up. Paterson’s enthusiasm was as infectious as ever and Zahore, perhaps inspired by Warnock’s plea to ‘show more’ was looking to make runs beyond a fairly static rearguard. The pacy, artful, Murphy was unsettling the Clarets’ defence and  he almost caught out Joe Hart after one surge into the box, the former England stopper spreading himself and just managing to deflect his shot onto the post.

After failing to make an early breakthrough and with the pedestrian opposition failing to enthuse their meagre muffled support, the game evolved into a disjointed affair lacking any hint of individual flair to get the pulse racing. Neither side was making a convincing case to be regarded as anything other than a Championship side temporarily on loan to the Premier League. With half time approaching, a distracted Canton End community choir amused itself by resorting to some tiresome Jack-baiting and monotonous dirges executed with all the joie de vivre of Gregorian chant. It was all very dispiriting.

It’s fair to say we had the best of the first half and put up a reasonable case for suggesting that we’re slowly finding our level. What we’re lacking is some belief, a bit of luck and some PL nous which will only come with experience as we slowly adapt to the new challenges. 

Burnley came out for the second half showing greater intent but it was still galling to go behind to their first effort on target when after 50 minutes, following a quickly taken throw in and some slack defending, Gudmundsson rose at the far post to head down past a scrambling Etheridge. 

We responded well however. A Camarasa volley rocketed over the bar from inside the box and shortly after the stylish Spaniard linked well with Manga whose incisive cross was met by Murphy sending his first time shot curling past Hart to level the scores. The initiative was with The Bluebirds, now playing with conviction and backed by a reinvigorated crowd. Another goal would have been fair reward for our endeavours but just desserts have been temporarily removed from the menu at Chez Oiseaux Bleus.

Shortly after another fine effort by Murphy was tipped over the bar by the excellent Hart, Burnley broke out and with the backtracking City defence out of position Vokes found space in the box, deftly placing a header past Etheridge.

A demoralised City struggled to pick themselves back up and Burnley successfully killed the game off, sitting deep and dealing comfortably with the home team’s increasingly desperate attempts to take something from the game. 

Hart irked the home crowd with blatant time-wasting, drawing some good humoured badinage, referencing his relative fall from grace in recent years (‘You’re not famous anymore’ / ‘England, England’s number 4) and sympathising with him over the loss of his Head And Shoulders contract to which he responded with a good humoured thumbs-up.

As we trudged off, the TVs in the concourse pronounced our plight confirming the worst start to a season for 54 years.

Earlier today I read an article in the Sunday paper which suggested that 60% of Brits still believe miracles happen. I’d normally respond to belief in the supernatural with a derisive snort. I’m now coming round to the idea that divine intervention probably represents our best hope.