CCFC 1 V 0 SOUTHAMPTON

Here are some things you may not know about today’s opponents:

• In 1014 Viking King Cnut (or ‘Canute’) was crowned in Southampton after his forces beat King Ethelred the Unready. Ethelred was lining up the defensive wall with his back turned as the ref blew the whistle. Canute is of course better known in popular mythology for his attempts to turn back the tide. Mark Hughes tried something similar and was regarded locally as another useless Canute.

• An Anglo-Saxon settlement in the St Mary’s area near the new football stadium was known as  Hamwic or South Humtun. In 1338 the town was sacked by the French. This was the last recorded incursion by hostile forces prior to regular pitched battles in the 1980s with Portsmouth fans who are known locally as ‘Skates’, an obscure derogatory naval term deployed by Southampton fans who in turn refer to Pompey fans as ‘Scummers’, an obscure derogatory naval term.

• Rivalry between the fans is fairly recent and it’s not exactly clear when and why it began but some ascribe it to diverging economic fortunes in the 1980s. So it seems only right to blame Thatcher.

• Southampton is not Portsmouth. Controversially the two towns were merged for the purposes of the 2011 census to become the 6th largest conurbation in England, an area known as South Hampshire. But Southampton is not Portsmouth. South Hampshire is also known as Solent City, a metropolitan area that includes Southampton and Portsmouth. But Southampton is NOT Portsmouth.

• The city has a major port. Its most conspicuous contribution to maritime, social and world history is as the place where The Black Death entered the UK and where The Titanic departed it. Four in five of the crew, and around third of those who perished on board the liner were Sotonians.

• ‘Sotonian’ is the demonym for the citizens of Southampton, often confused with Satanian which is a Black Death metal band (or is that black Death Metal band..?) Celebrity Sotonians include Womble In Chief Mike Batt and renowned feminists Benny Hill and Craig David.

• The nickname of Southampton FC is ‘The Saints’. Historically more miracles and subsequent canonisations have taken place in the city than anywhere else in Hampshire. Chief amongst  venerated locals are Reg, Patron Saint of Bus Conductors, Theresa, Patron Saint Of The Hopelessly Conflicted and Craig, Patron Saint of Those Who Like To Meet Girls On Monday And Chill On Sunday.

• The new Southampton manager is Austrian Ralph Hasenhuttl who has been described as ‘The Alpine Klopp’ based on his managerial record in the Bundesliga, his penchant for short leather pants and suspenders, extreme dental glossing and flossing and a tendency to be annoying.

Under Mark Hughes, a great player, proud patriotic Welshman and very average manager, The Saints have recorded their worst ever start to a season. Southampton FC was established in 1885 so that really is, put simply, a very poor start indeed. The worst. Monosyllabically weak. Bad. The new manager held a 40 minute press conference this week in which he offered no guarantees about turning their fortunes around saying ‘If you want a guarantee, buy a washing machine’. Realistic perhaps but hardly reassuring. 

Hasenhuttl made 6 changes for his first team selection. He had expressed a tactical preference for playing 4-2-2-2 ‘but also 4-3-3 and 3-4-3’ (presumably not during the same game) so it was impossible to work out his set up at the start of the game with any degree of certainty. One thing was clear, that he intended to pack midfield. However, the wily Warnock had done his research, correctly predicting that playing with two speedy wide men might cause a few problems. He brought in Josh Murphy for Hoilett and gave a start to Mendez-Laing, returning after a lengthy injury. 

It was a stinker of a day in Cardiff. A swirling wind and greasy surface meant expectations for a footballing masterclass between these relegations rivals were low bordering on subterranean. In truth Southampton (Warning: footie cliche alert…) came out of the blocks as though they had a point to prove. The recalled Charlie Austin had chances early on to stake a claim before The Bluebirds settled into their game plan.

We had a succession of chances as both wingers set about an ineffectual Saints’ defence. Arter, Paterson, Mendez-Laing and Murphy all might have done better from good positions in the box. In addition Morrison was given space at set plays but couldn’t take advantage.

A half that had started brightly lost impetus as a heavily populated midfield played a version of schoolyard football chasing after the ball, and each other, in packs. It was similar to the recent episode of David Attenborough’s ‘Dynasties’ where the painted wolves were hemmed in by the hyenas. But without the tension. Or laughter. As half time approached the game was looking like a shoe-in for the MOTD ‘and finally’ post-witching hour game. Only two Premier League teams have failed to take a half time lead this season. That will be us, and, perhaps surprisingly, Arsenal.

The second half lived down to expectations as the weather deteriorated from inclement to quite frankly uncivilised and dashed uncouth. It was positively lubberly and oafish. (Just a sample there of post - No Deal Brexit vernacular as de Pfeffel Johnson and Rees-Mogg drive us forward to a brighter future. Some time around 1952.) As the teams struggled against the elements we had more chances to break the deadlock but it was the opposition midfield, picking up loose balls that became more influential with Gabon international Lemina the dominant force. The Saints had a reasonable shout for a penalty but Armstrong over-egged his dive in the box, referee Moss not convinced that there had been sufficient contact. 

On 74 minutes the inconsistent Moss made the best call of the game waiting to see if an advantage had accrued after Camerasa was taken down. The ball seemed to fall harmlessly to Vestergaard who fumbled under pressure from Paterson, the ever alert temporary striker stroking the ball past the advancing McCarthy. 

We saw out the remaining minutes without any real concerns to (*inane but accurate stat alert) record a third successive home victory in the top flight for the first time since 1963. We’re up to 14th (repeat ‘fourteenth!) in the league, 4 points clear of the relegation zone and closing in inexorably on mid-table Nirvana. Well ‘Hail To The Jewel In The Lotus. Hommmm…’