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.
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