CCFC 3 v 1 WOLVES

The preamble ramble...

2012-13 will be our 10^th consecutive season in the Championship. The season has barely begun and already our indifferent form has undermined raised expectations. So far, so disappointing, so ruddy typical.

There are indications however that the pattern of false hope followed by crushing but somehow inevitable disappointment might be about to change. Witness the approach to the transfer window. Traditionally as September beckons we have grown used to the inevitability of the club cashing in its most valuable assets in order to appease the banks, the Luxuriantly Eyebrowed One and other less than sympathetic creditors. The gaps in the painstakingly constructed jigsaw were replaced by ill-fitting loanees as a frustrated manager desperately picked through the Premier League detritus in a hopeless search for a few missing pieces. They rarely fitted but Dave Jones was forced to shove them in anyway and the completed picture rarely convinced.

This year’s window opened up not to the cruel winds of change but to the sweet smell of success wafting tantalisingly through the crack towards our expectant upturned nostrils. Not only have we retained our crown jewels we have bagged a few cut-price cut-glass gems lest our more precious stones should fail to radiate with the expected splendour. At last we have a squad with quality cover in just about every position. Apart from defence.

But we are so well-blessed in the middle of the park with, at the last count, 13 midfielders in the squad that Malky’s tried and distrusted default 4-5-1 formation may well be adjusted to accommodate all his assorted playmakers, controllers and creatives. Perhaps he’ll play Marshall as a goalie-when / goalie-rush, just behind a defensive midfield with Whittingham forming a link with central midfield and Mason playing in the hole just ahead of a forward midfield and lone striker in a 1-9-1 formation. That will allow room on the bench for another 4 midfielders to stir the crowd from their slumbers up later on...

And so today we welcome back our old friends from Wolverhampton who have been doing more yo-yo-ing than Wandering in the last few years, occasionally threatening to re-establish themselves as a Premier League outfit before gently parachuting back down to the Championship to regroup and try again. With 30 million notes to break their fall it shouldn’t take them too long to find their feet.

We were exhorted by Ali to welcome our red-shirted strangers, variously introduced as ‘making his full debut’ or ‘making his home debut’ and wondered how long it would take them to remember each other’s names and translate Cockney to Korean, Slovakian to Scouse let alone contemplate the required telepathic understanding between players.

The Huddersfield opener was a worry as relatively few new players were bedded into an established unit and played like strangers. So how would this starting eleven, who in every area of the pitch were strangers cope? Within minutes all our fears disipated as we played flowing, controlled exciting football, every inch the cohesive unit that we had no right to expect. Wolves were also at the top of their game which led to a frenetic opening 15 minutes. They took the lead on 10 minutes as a poorly positioned wall allowed Sako to place a free kick 20 yards beyond Marshall. A soft goal and an early blow from which it would be vital to bounce back as soon as possible. Within the minute preferably.

Noone and Whittingham duly obliged, the former’s turn of pace in the box causing Zubar to upend him and the latter striking the resulting penalty straight up the middle. 1-1.

Just three minutes later a slick City counter-attack sent the Wolves defence in all directions, opening up an opportunity for an unmarked Whitts to strike a low screamer past the despairing Ikeme. 2-1. At this point you expected every move to end with a goal and although it was to be some time before the net was to bulge again, the quality of the entertainment on display from both teams meant that this was one of the most entertaining halves in recent times and something at last worthy of the live Asian TV broadcast. Noone in particular was having a cracking debut, turning and twisting a panicked Wolves defence all ways and providing the wide options that we missed all last season and which we expected the absent Bellamy to provide this year. On this evidence Bellers will struggle to command a regular start.

The second half was fairly even but just as Wolves were gaining the upper hand up stepped Whitts again with a trademark dipping angled free kick from 25 yards, up and over the defensive wall perfectly placed beyond the keeper into the top corner. Peter Whittingham 3, Wolves 1. Not for the mild-mannered Whittingham some idiotic histrionic pumped-up celebration. No, a bashful grin, a raised hand and a saunter back for the restart that said ‘Just doing my job, mate’. What a guy!

The goal knocked the stuffing out of Wolves and although they had plenty of possession they didn’t create anything and didn’t threaten the City goal again. Malky made a number of substitutions bringing on Mason, Cowie and Gunnarsson aimed at preserving the lead rather than extending it. This meant that disappointingly there was to be no home debut for Kim Bo-Kyung.

Last season it was often said that we were punching above our weight and we exceeded expectations with a fairly thin squad. Many, including me were critical that we were unable to capitalise on our early success and were disappointed at Malky’s reluctance to move to a Plan B, relying on a packed but uninspiring midfield and a lone striker. And his reluctance to invest in his threadbare squad when he had the chance was perplexing. There’s every indication now that he was biding his time having tracked Noone, Maynard, Smith and others for some time, waiting for them to become available. Patience is not a virtue that sits easily with a footie fan but this season perhaps we should learn to sit ‘patiently as the spider weaves the broken web’.

2012-13 Match Reports CCFC v HUDDERSFIELD

17.8.2012

CCFC 1 v 0 HUDDERSFIELD

Our opening game had been chosen as the pre-cursor to the entire season, The Footie 2012 Opening Ceremony if you like. If Danny Boyle had been directing events we’d have opened with a time-honoured pastoral idyll being replaced by a revolution orchestrated by Vincent Tan, played by Sir Kenneth Branagh, heralding a new dawn, looking to the future with confidence, finding our place in a brave new world. And hoping that this season will be more Bond than Bean.

It ‘s been a difficult week coming down after the fantastic fortnight of Olympic highs. Much has been made of the contrast between the Great British athletes, the humble self-effacing response to their successes and their articulate insightful interviews, compared with the monosyllabic single-brain-celled automatons of the footie world. The best example amongst many for me was Victoria Pendleton’s dismissive comment ‘I just get on a bike and turn left for a living’. Can you imagine John *!!@!**! Terry saying ‘To be fair all I do is run around kicking a wind-filled pig’s bladder’ or Ashley Cole wishing to ‘inspire a generation’?

The athletes’ honesty and unwillingness to suffer media fools gladly was clear in Mark Cavendish’s response to being asked if ‘the Tour de France was a tiredness factor’ in his failure to win a medal ‘Stop asking stupid questions. Do you know anything about cycling?’ he told the BBC’s head of sport.

And a fine antidote to the old Bill Shankly line that ‘Football’s not a matter of life and death; it’s more important than that’ has to be Beth Tweddles’ Dad replying to an interviewer’s concern about what he ‘must have been going through this week’. He shrugged ‘I’ve been laying a patio’.

And so to today’s opposition, Huddersfield Town. It seems a long time since we welcomed the Terriers and the fixture has the ring of an old school Division 3 basement bash about it. It’s just a year however since we beat them 5-3 (aet) in the first round of the League Cup, long before anyone sat up and took any notice of a potential ‘run’ in the competition. That particular distraction will not be bothering us this year since our U-14s lost out to a load of old Cobblers at Northampton in the week. We last faced Huddersfield in the league in a League 2 fixture in 2003. A team featuring the definitive centre back partnership of Fan Zhiyi and Spencer Prior went down to a narrow 1-0 defeat. Ah, happy days.

Keen to get into the stadium to escape the rain, the stadium is eerily empty as I walk to my seat. I stand at the end of the row and check I haven’t been allocated a new seat as mine appears to be taken by a rather portly gent. He stands up. ‘Hi, I’m Fat’. Have I gatecrashed a meeting of Porkers Anonymous? No, he said ‘Matt’. I introduce myself but I still can’t find my seat. Then I realise it’s occupied by Fat Bloke’s right cheek. ‘Are you here just for this game?’ (Please!) ‘No I’ve moved here for the season’. Oh dear.

There were still blocks of empty seats as the players ran out to an enthusiastic but less-than-deafening roar. Interestingly we’d decided to play our first home game of the season in our away kit! Some of the crowd had obviously got wind of this cunning plan as they also turned up in red! Unfortunately the ploy didn’t seem to be working as we were playing like the away team and Huddersfield, playing in blue, had the best of a tepid first half.

The Terriers had two excellent chances early on but they found Marshall in imperious form. Fortunately for us, last year’s 40 goals top scorer Jordan Rhodes had conveniently tweaked a minor muscle ahead of a proposed big-money transfer so the away / home team were lacking in firepower.

We had the bulk of the possession but most of it was played across the back as the our centre-backs searched in vain for an outlet, the midfield too keen to push forward to help out Helguson and the full-backs unable or unwilling to break down the wings. We did have one decent chance when Helguson’s header crashed against the bar but it was a disappointing opening 45 minutes.

We were brighter at the start of the second half as Bellamy and Mutch dropped back in search of the ball and McNaughton got forward down the flanks. But on too many occasions the final ball was wayward and easily dealt with by a solid Huddersfield defence. Worryingly Whittingham was missing in action. This happened during Bellamy’s last spell with us. Mackay needs to find a way of optimising his talents in a packed midfield.

Of the new boys, Mutch was mutch of a mutchness showing flashes but uncertain of his role playing too far forward, but he clearly has plenty of potential. Spring-heeled Helguson may not be the tallest striker but he’s capable of winning the toughest of aerial battles and when the dust settles and the service improves he should be able to impose himself. Bellamy huffed and puffed and showed a few nice touches and plenty of commitment but was shackled by an opposition keen to prevent him having too much influence.

The crowd was as thin as a Bobby Charlton comb-over as the inevitability of a dull draw was becoming apparent. We were still making the occasional foray into enemy territory as the Terriers tired so there was still hope. The board had already gone up showing 5 minutes of injury time as the opposition failed to deal with loose ball in the penalty area that found its way to a rampaging Hudson who planted the ball firmly into the corner of the net. It was tough on a hard-working opposition who would have been confident that they’d secured a point, but on this performance they should have a comfortable first season in the Championship. On the way home, from 4,000 possibilities the car’s mp3 randomly chose Tom Petty’s ‘Even The Losers Get Lucky Sometimes’. Quite.

I left to the strains of the crowd singing ‘We are top of the league, we are top of the league’. For 24 hours. Can we stay there? On this performance the task is Olympian, but there is plenty of time for our Chef de Mission, Mr Mackay to work things out. Few of us could contemplate dropping into the play-offs repechage again and let’s hope that the 2012-13 closing ceremony doesn’t conclude to the sound of a generation’s hopes fa-fa-fading away...

2011-12 Match Reports CCFC v WEST HAM

3.5.2012

Play Off Semi Final

CCFC 0 v 2 WEST HAM

The Preamble Ramble...

As Chelsea were making their way to an unlikely Champions League final the TV pundits were suggesting that their victory against all odds was ‘fate’ ;as if their passage to the final was granted by divine providence, the act of a beneficent god. Well, it’s possible I suppose but only if the Omnipotent One is a Bayern fan out to prove a point to the Special One. I tend to favour the ‘cock-up’ theory ahead of conspiracy or supernatural intervention.

It wasn’t always the case though. I used to believe in the potency of superstition, convinced that outcomes were directly influenced by the unlikeliest of events. Back in the mid seventies when we were pushing for promotion from the old Division 3, standing on the Bob Bank with Dad and his friends, when ‘Uncle’ Des passed the wine gums around I knew that if I pulled out a black one 3 points were guaranteed. And the chances of us getting promoted were directly influenced by my ability to sing the whole of Bohemian Rhapsody in my head including the guitar solo and the operatic bits without making a mistake. It seemed to work as we were duly promoted in ‘76.

Footballers are notorious for their superstitious traits:

Milan’s Gattuso prepares for every game by reading Dostoevsky on the loo. Presumably ‘The Idiot’.

David James refuses to speak to anyone from Friday night through till the end of the game. His England colleagues often reacted likewise after the game.

Sergio Goycochea, the former Argentina goalkeeper had a legendary routine for facing penalties which involved him urinating on the pitch.

Adrian Mutu, the former Chelsea striker sacked by the club following a failed drugs test and ordered to repay the club £17m for breach of contract, believes he can only perform well on the pitch if he wears his underpants inside out. What is he ON?

Superstitions can get out of hand. The coach of the Zimbabwean side Midlands Portland Cement sent his squad of 17 players into the crocodile-crowded Zambezi River in a ritual cleansing ceremony, intended to restore their harmony ahead of their next game. Only 16 of his players emerged minutes later. They lost their next match.

So as we prepare for our third successive season of Play-Offs heartbreak what can we expect? I think it’s probably more helpful to look at the stats rather than rely on superstition to get a realistic assessment of our chances. A glance at the current form table shows us tucked in nicely behind the Hammers in third place, both teams having won 4 and drawn 2. Historically in all games since we first met in 1920 we have won 7, lost 8 and drawn 6 of the home fixtures against the bubble blowers. So far so-so. On the only occasion where we have contested a two-legged affair, in the League Cup in 1966 we lost 3-10 on aggregate. Ah, not so good. Clearly current form is the best guide.

In any case, Chelsea’s victory proved more than anything that superstition and statistics are no match for tactical nous, preparation and belief. A large slice of luck will also play its part. But if all else fails it might be time to pass round the wine gums.

Disappointingly as we took our seats it was clear that the anticipated ‘full house’ was not quite going to be realised, despite the return from exile of one of Ninian Park’s favourite sons, former Grange End acolyte and the man responsible for three generations of abject sporting misery, the Thomas clan patriarch; the one they call ‘Gramps’. Anticipating the requirement for supernatural intervention he’d come equipped with his ‘lucky’ bobble hat.

(As the game was televised ‘live’ I should emphasise that the following report is purely subjective, an honest ‘view from the terraces’ unfettered by forensic TV punditry and does not necessarily accord with the facts.)

We started well and after five minutes had the game in the bag and were looking forward to another stop off at Costa Coffee on Beaconsfield High Street. Fantasy football. ‘Pop!’ I hear the sound of bubbles forever bursting.

That didn’t last long as The Garnetts stormed back into the game. With less than 10 minutes gone Vaz Te collected the ball out wide, drifted past Blake deputising for the injured McNaughton and sent a curling cross over Turner to Collison who dispatched the ball past Marshall at the second attempt. 1-0. A soft goal celebrated to the sound of fallen crests.

The goal knocked the stuffing and any self-belief out of our lot as we continually gave away possession allowing their midfield to dominate. Perhaps it’s unfair to single out one individual but the timid, ponderous, clueless midfield chump formerly known as Peter Whittingham was having a stinker. As the relentless claret and blue tide threatened again and again the hope was to hold out until half time and take the opportunity to regroup. It wasn’t to be. 

After 42 minutes the ball fell to Collison just outside the box and he took full advantage of our failure to close him down, letting fly with a screamer that took a deflection past the marooned Marshall. 2-0. Another poorly defended goal, celebrated to the sound of 20,000 hearts sinking.

The second half saw an improvement and we carved out a number of decent chances. Miller, Hudson, Mason and Earnshaw went close but there was to be no cigar. We left, deflated and resigned to our May Day Bank Holiday fate. Instead of the hoped for ‘See you at Wembley’ smiles and back-slaps it was ‘Have a good summer’ scowls and shoulder shrugs.

It might be a bit premature to conduct the post mortem as the patient isn’t technically dead but it is at best in a persistent vegetative state and there is no moral imperative to postpone the inevitable. Looked at objectively we’ve had a decent season again but have fallen at the last hurdle. Again. So what might have turned a relatively successful campaign into a triumphant one? Where did it all go, if not wrong, then not quite right?

·       

       Failure to capitalise on our promising start to the season. Amongst much talk of ‘over-achieving’ the fact is that we were making steady progress with a small squad of solid but unspectacular journeymen and unproven talent.

·         Failure to buy a proven striker and a decent wide man in January.

·         Failure to get a proven striker and a decent wide man on loan in February.

·         Few options on the bench.

·         The Carling Cup run.

·         Failure to win the Carling Cup.

·         A shortage of wine gums.

·  

So Malky claims that it’s not all over (bless him) and that ‘2-0 is a dangerous score’. Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps Big Sam is even now castigating his charges for their failure to secure an honourable draw. I’d like to think we can rely on Malky’s tactical nous and preparations to turn things around but I can’t help thinking we’re going to need all the help we can get so I’ll be watching the game stroking a black cat in the company of a chimney sweep sitting on a bed of four leaf clovers and rabbit’s feet. That ought to do it. ‘Wem-ber-ley, Wem-ber-ley...’

2011-12 Match Report CCFC v LEEDS

21.4.2012

CCFC 1 v 1 LEEDS

Comedian Robin Williams reckons ‘if you remember the 60’s you weren’t there’, a reference to drug-fuelled hedonism.  I remember the 60’s (well, some of the later bits). I was there, football coursing through my veins, high on the only drug in town - a bitter little blue pill that left me with a distorted sense of reality from which I was never to recover. Catch ‘em young and they’re hooked for life.

I experienced the delirium of (welsh) FA Cup victories, European Cup (Winners Cup) runs and a deluded belief that we were on the verge of breaking through into the top tier. (Sound familiar?). The psychosis continued into the 1970’s as we naively laboured under the delusion that success was just round the corner. In 1971 cold turkey came in the form of an end of season 1-5 reversal against Sheff Utd who were promoted at our expense. The following season we avoided relegation by 1 point and in 1973 we escaped by virtue of a slightly better goal average (0.74 to Huddersfield’s 0.64). We were eventually relegated in 1975.

It pains me now to admit it but during these difficult times coming down, I relapsed and went in search of a juvenile quick fix. I was young, impressionable and I sought comfort in something that I am now profoundly ashamed of. In search of a hit I fell in with the wrong crowd. And this was to be no casual fling, no passing fancy. This was the type of infatuation that only a 10 year old can experience. I acquired all the paraphernalia required to feed my addiction. We’re talking full first and reserve team kits, bedroom wall posters, scarves, rosettes and most shamefully school desk and neighbourhood wall graffiti fanaticism. The object of my devotion? None other than today’s opponents Leeds United. The 1970’s cheating, cynical, disreputable, corrupt, downright nasty but spectacularly successful league and cup winning version. May your god forgive me.

This week saw the start of a series on BBC 2 taking a wistful look back at the 1970s. Which goes to prove that nostalgia ain’t what it used to be. This was the decade remember that brought us industrial strife, the Austin Allegro, the Disco Duck, Spangles, Mary, Mungo, Midge & Maggie and the sight of your mum in a ‘trouser suit’. If you can remember the 70’s it’s probably because you’re still struggling to make sense of it all.

Fast forward four decades and here we are again with the sobering prospect of another doomed attempt to throw off the mantle of Plucky Losers. The signs are not good – despite a good run of results we’re not playing consistently well. But it would be typically Darren Perverse of our team of contrarians to prove the doom-mongers wrong. We must keep the faith. As Robin Williams also said ‘You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it’.

The afternoon began with a long and sincere tribute to Eddie May, the applause began well before Ali’s announcement had finished and was acknowledged all round the near-capacity stadium. The full extent of Eddie May’s contribution to the club was revealed earlier this week by former chairman Rick Wright who as the then owner of the Barry Island holiday camp had been asked to step in and balance the books. When the manager’s position became available Eddie impressed him and his board so much that they agreed to make funds available and to continue their involvement with the club, saving it from going out of business. God bless you Eddie May.

We started well and looked ready to put any lingering doubts about our play-offs qualification to rest. It was Leeds however who missed the first real chance of the game, former Bluebirds favourite Ross McCormack placing a header wide of the post with the goal at his mercy. It had already been a disjointed affair with a couple of stoppages for head injuries when Leeds defender Bromby fell awkwardly and had to be stretchered off after half an hour. S

hortly afterwards City broke quickly out of defence and got the ball to Whittingham, recently voted the best player outside the Premier League and who today was playing with greater freedom than he has been used to. He spotted Mason making a run and floated a superbly judged pass beyond the central defence into the striker’s path. Mason controlled the ball and turned in one movement, placing the ball beyond the advancing keeper. 1-0. Mason and Miller were rampant in the first 45, their pace and ingenuity causing panic amongst a plodding Leeds defence. Half time came and the mood was relaxed. So much so that Dave Brubeck’s ‘Take Five’ floated across the stadium as Ali made his half time announcements. Nice.

This time last year Neil Warnock was masterminding QPR’s return to the Premier League. He hasn’t been able to repeat the feat this year but his half time briefing inspired his current charges as his team came out transformed. Leeds took to game to us as yet again we sat on our lead. Warnock made a double substitution on the hour and Leeds settled into a near 4-2-4 formation as they went in search of an equaliser. After Lonergan had made one of the best saves seen at the stadium, diving low to his left to turn a vicious Taylor volley round the post, Leeds got what they deserved on 73 minutes when the impressive Becchio rose to head beyond Marshall. 1-1.

Belatedly we were spurred into action and played our best football of the afternoon producing wave after wave of attacking football and were denied a couple of shouts for penalties. But we just couldn’t find the finishing touch that would have settled the game.

So we finish the season with another draw, our speciality, with 40% of all games producing a stalemate. The lack of a cutting edge and the failure to invest in an experienced striker has ultimately cost us dear. I hear a lot of people console themselves with ‘we’d have taken that at the start of the season.’ Fair point and it’s great that we are realistic contenders again but experience suggests that at some point something’s gotta give. This might just be as good as it gets. And I haven’t got another 40 years for our chance to come around again!

Post Script: Just watched Boro grab an unlikely victory against Southampton. Play offs still not certain. We may need to get a result at Palace next week after all. Sleep well my fellow Bluebirds!

2011-12 Match Reports CCFC v DERBY

17.4.2012

CCFC 2 v 0 DERBY

As I sit here compiling this half-baked tosh raising my eyes in search of inspiration my gaze settles on my framed picture of a Ninian Park vista taken high up in the Bob Bank looking down on the City v Derby game from April 2009, one of the last games played at the grand old tin shack where I misspent my youth. The result that day was 4-1, the following year we put six past the Rams, and last year we thumped them 4-1 again. The chances of a similar return tonight seemed pretty remote. We have been spoilt in recent years with a succession of strikers capable of scoring in excess of 20 goals in a season – Chopra, McCormack, Earnie, Whitts(!) etc. – but this season it’s often been difficult to see where the goals are coming from with top scorer Miller on 11 & Mason on 10. (In fact even a half-baked Tosh would be very welcome). The midfield has only helped out sporadically and it’s unreasonable to expect your central defenders to help out (but more of this later...)

The evening began with tributes being paid to Eddie May, manager between 1991-94, who died this week. Ali’s eulogy was still in full flow when the game began, Referee Lee Probert sent down from the Premier League not exactly endearing himself to the crowd as the Canton End continued their ‘Eddie May’s Barmy Army’ chant. Probert warmed to his task as the game progressed with a number of questionable decisions, even overruling his linesman on an offside decision on one occasion! A new one on me.

Derby started very brightly. Typical of visitors this season they squeezed midfield cutting off our supply routes and didn’t allow our creative players time on the ball. But they kept our central defenders busy by playing two strikers and the Tyson / Robinson combination almost gave them a deserved lead on 15 minutes, the linesman coming to our rescue. Soon after, a speculative shot from distance (more of this later...) from Gunnarsson came close but it was very much against the run of play when Mason put us ahead, reacting first when a Miller strike came back off the post. Derby continued to dominate and it was a relief to go in at half-time 1-0 ahead.

The second half saw us, if not taking hold of the game then at least competing, but still the majority of chances were going Derby’s way. They were to be frustrated by an imperious display from Marshall and a solid performance from Turner and Hudson. Ah yes, Hudson.

In years to come many pints of the Brains family’s finest will be quaffed to the sound of misty-eyed reminiscences and claims of ‘I was there when...’ The distance of the strike and the numbers witnessing the event will be so engorged by exaggeration that even those of us who have kept our ticket stubs as an alibi will begin to doubt if ‘that goal’ was merely an outrageous urban myth.

My eye-witness account confirms that on 63 minutes the Derby keeper Fielding cleared the ball but only succeeded in finding captain Hudson standing outside Harry Ramsdens in Cardiff Bay. Without looking up from his chips Hudson took one touch to steady himself and struck the ball over the Senedd, up Bute Street in the direction of Penarth Road; it re-entered the stadium to find a panicked Fielding staggering backwards alive to the danger too late as the ball bounced over the goal line. 

Mark Hudson has cemented his place in Cardiff City folklore. Books will be written, statues erected, ashes scattered and glasses raised to one of the defining moments in the history the sport. The legacy has already commenced. I read earlier today that ‘Lionel Messi wears Mark Hudson pyjamas’.

2-0 with 25 minutes still to play. You might think that Derby would feel so aggrieved that they would now surrender. That had every right to. Not a bit of it. They continued to dominate the game but it was not going to be their night. A superb Marshall save diving full length to parry a late shot confirmed this.

The game will live long in the memory for one incident, and rightly so. But with Boro failing to beat the already condemned Doncaster the win is more significant as, barring another Deepdale denouement of Prestonian proportions, it more or less confirms our place in the play-offs. 

The manner of the win was scrappy, scruffy and came with more jam than a gig by a Paul Weller tribute band having a jam session while stuck in a traffic jam outside the Robertson’s jam factory in Jamaica. But we’ve covered every play-offs permutation from missing out by one goal over a whole season, losing in the semis and losing in the final. There is only one more outcome to complete the list. This is our year! After what we witnessed tonight anything is possible.

2011-12 Match Reports CCFC v WATFORD

9.4.2012

CCFC 1 V 1 WATFORD

‘The natural state of a football fan is bitter disappointment, no matter what the score’.Nick Hornby

We’ve recently had the 20^th anniversary of the publication of Hornby’s Fever Pitch, a book credited with / blamed for delivering The Beautiful Game to the middle classes. Traditionally the preserve of the working class - all cloth caps, fags, rattles and rosettes - the fortunes of the sport reached a nadir in the 1980’s when blighted by hooliganism, crumbling stadiums and clueless administrators the game was described as ‘a slum sport for slum people’. Hornby’s book coincided with the post-Hillsborough Taylor Report (which led to all-seater stadiums) the advent of the Premiership and satellite TV. Suddenly ‘soccer’ was cool; marketable.

Hornby’s next book Hi Fidelity dealt with his twin obsession, rock music, again a grassroots cultural phenomena hijacked and changed beyond recognition by the industry that built up around it until it became so overblown, pompous and ostentatious that it descended into self-parody (all Prog Rock bands had their Spinal Tap moments) and tedium. In the Silver Jubilee year of 1977 Punk rescued rock and provided a new context. (Where’s this going? Stick with me...)

The last 20 years has seen huge improvements in the game, on and off the pitch. And there’s a reasonable argument for saying that fans have been always been treated with contempt by their clubs but there can rarely have been a greater disconnect than there is now.   

And so, as we embark on another Jubilee Jamboree the call goes out for a new grassroots movement to rise up and wrest control of our sport (‘The Game That Ate Itself’) back from the excess, the oligarchs and megalomaniacs who seem to think football is like any other business; there to be exploited. But it’s not like any other business. If we the consumers don’t like the product we can’t shop around for a better one. We have no choice in the matter, we’re tied to our club from birth (or from when we were Born Again) for life. Our allegiance cannot be traded in as it is part of who we are and we’ll always be prepared to make sacrifices to retain the connection. This the owners know only too well.

The time has come to ask ‘Can we have our game back please?’ Perhaps the Occupy movement can help. ‘Occupy Footie’. It has a good ring to it. ‘God save our team (from) a fascist regime’ whether Russian Squillionaires, Libyan Chancers or Malaysian Burgermeisters. Call out the instigator because there’s something in the air. We’ve got to get it together sooner or later. Haven’t we?

Perhaps not. Not in a country where warm beer, uneven pavements and Michael Gove are tolerated and engaging in the political process means petitioning to get a knighthood for Brucie. Football for the people, by the people. It could happen. But it won’t.

“Not for the first time in my life, and certainly not for the last, a self-righteous gloom had edged out all semblance of logic.” Nick Hornby, Fever Pitch.

The Watford game? Bitterly disappointing.

2011-12 Match Reports CCFC v MILLWALL

31.3.2012

CCFC 0 v 0 MILLWALL

I gorrabehonest, I wasn’t going to bother. What’s to say when there’s nothing to report? I’m only doing so, and briefly, for the sake of completeness. Barring a complete disintegration (possible) or a miraculous return to form (unlikely) this is going to be the pattern from now until the end of the season. A victory in a lunchtime kick-off would have sent us up to 4^th. But then that would have been the case in each of the last 4 home games and we failed to capitalise previously so expectations were low. Betty was back in town and we tried our bit to ring the changes by relocating to the Grandstand to freshen things up. Perhaps Mr Mackay should try something similar.

Why the early K.O.? The South Wales Busies determined that this fixture still has the potential to panic the capital into submission. In the event, a rag-bag of about 150 pot-bellied Pitbull-fancying sons of St George decided that the fixture was marginally more attractive than taking the ferry to the English Defence League Euro-Fascist Scandanavian jamboree in Denmark. I have no problem moving out of the way for a Six Nations clash when clearly the wellbeing of our great nation is at stake, or taking our turn to entertain the nation’s armchair-dwelling lager-mitted lunchtime lounge lizards, and I’m quite happy to put myself out when our cup runs runneth over, but not to accommodate a bunch of sociopathic Cockney Geezers. 

In any case, the potency of the legacy of 1970s / 80s F Troop v Soul Crew thuggery is questionable and has been for some time. The last traditional 3.00pm Saturday afternoon kick off of the season was back in January. Madness!

Tactically the game turned out to be another Malky Mackay masterclass in the mundane. The fit again Miller once more ploughed a lonely furrow upfront, exasperated at the failure of the midfield to discern when and where he was going to make his runs. It’s April; if they haven’t worked it out by now, they never will. We completely dominated 2/3rds of the pitch, but yet again in the final third, the bit where it counts, we were clueless. 

It’s a bit like Heston Blumenthal spending a lifetime researching the perfect soufflé, forgetting to turn the oven on and wondering why it hasn’t risen. Malky would probably scratch his head and go back a beat a few more eggs. Malky, turn the bleedin’ oven on!

Too late in the day again he realised that we could do with a bit of width and brought on Conway, closely followed by Gestede and Earnie and we started to look, well, credible. We did manage to get the ball in the net but the assistant in front of us ruled it out for what? offside? an infringement? Anyway, a victory would have just papered over the cracks. I make that one win in the last eight; in Mr Mackay’s world that’s spun as one defeat in the last seven. There are facts, damned lies and an under pressure football manager’s statistics. 

Or, let’s spell it out:

de·ni·al n A defence mechanism characterized by refusal to acknowledge painful realities.              

fact   n  A truth verifiable from experience or observation.

Sadly we’re just not good enough (see ‘fact’ above)

2011-12 Match Reports CCFC v COVENTRY

21.3.2012

CCFC 2 v 2 COVENTRY

I think I might have mentioned last Sunday that the mood was a little flat. Not anymore. The mood has changed. It’s not flat, it’s subterranean. I don’t think I can take anymore. A ninety four minute, last kick of the match equaliser. NINETY FOUR! The truth is that Coventry deserved a point but it was a cruel finale to a game that we should have had sewn up by half-time. We entered time-added-on believing we had stolen back the game from a rejuvenated Coventry side which was unrecognisable from the clueless, dispirited, relegation-bound side from the first half.

Our boys began as if a great weight had been lifted. Perhaps buoyed up by the news that Gorgeous George had arranged for the nation’s pensioners to subsidise their next Baby Bentley, for 45 minutes they played with gay abandon passing the ball around, making neat little triangles, controlling the game like, well if not exactly Barcelona then perhaps Swansea Town (there, I’ve said it!). Not Premier League Swansea, more Championship Swansea ie. lots of patient build up play but with no cutting edge. Mr Mackay, without the services of the absent Miller (no explanation) brought McPhail in (good move) and played Mason as the lone striker (not so clever) leaving Earnshaw and Gestede on the bench (questionable, at best). 

Coventry had managed just four points on the road this season (four draws) and seemed determined to press the self-destruct button. Not only did they provide us with our first goal, a misdirected header in the box the like of which we haven’t seen since the days of Leo Fortune-West, they tried their damndest to double our lead when their full-back sent a bullet of a back pass to their startled keeper which had him scrambling back to head off his line and had the crowd laughing up their sleeves. It was the most comfortable 45 minutes witnessed all season and we had no reason to expect anything other than a second half stroll in the park. But that is not the Cardiff City way.

The half time call from the accountant advising that the dream home in The Vale paid for via Channel Islands Prima Donna Tax Dodgers Inc. will now be subject to crippling Stamp Duty and consequent anxieties about how they might break the news to Platinum Blonde Pamela that her Nail Salon allowance might suffer, understandably affected our Golden Boys’ second half performance.

Coventry dominated in a way that was inconceivable after their first half performance. We were suddenly on the back foot and after a first half that showed 76% possession (confirmed via Bath-based Statto) we couldn’t get hold of the ball, failed to compete in midfield and were chasing shadows. Coventry duly got reward for their endeavour, awarded a penalty after a Gunnarsson infringement. Up stepped the experienced McSheffrey to execute with Charlie Adams-esque aplomb a Row Z blast-over. A lucky break, time to regroup and get back on track. The tiring McPhail was replaced on the hour by Gestede which meant a midfield reshuffle and more potency upfront where Mason had been struggling to impose himself. However, before we could settle into the revised formation Coventry drew level through the impressive Jordan Clarke. 

Sensing an unlikely victory the Sky Blues brought on an extra striker and continued to take the game to us.

With 15 minutes left Earnshaw came on for Lawrence and settled into a good understanding with Gestede. The shape of the team was now much better with Whittingham getting forward more. And so it was in the 84^th minute that Whitts collected on the edge of the box to blast a daisy-cutter into the bottom corner. 2-1 and surely game over? The oft-repeated stat that we have taken the lead more times than any other side but also lost more points (25 and counting) from a winning position left a nagging doubt after the fourth official indicated that a barely credible extra four minutes would be played. Reports this morning confirm that it wasn’t until the 95^th minute that we finally but somehow inevitably capitulated. Wot a shocker!

After the Bristol victory, the hint of a return to form and the prospect of a favourable run-in beginning with three home games on the bounce, it would have been churlish not to talk up our chances of easing our way into the Play-Offs. 

After a measly return of 2 points from 9 and with Mr Mackay spinning that ‘we’ve only been beaten once in the last five games’ in a statement straight out of the Dave Jones Book of Self Delusion it would be easy to conclude that despite all the early-mid season optimism that the old frailties have not been expunged. 

Worryingly, the formerly irreproachable Malky is vulnerable to accusations of questionable team selections and tactics. How long before the watching Malaysian owners express their concerns over dwindling crowds, dwindling performances and the dwindling prospects of an immediate return on their investment?

2011-12 Match Reports CCFC v BURNLEY

18.3.2012

CCFC 0 v 0 BURNLEY

A nil score draw can sometimes be misleading, masking a thrilling battle between two evenly matched teams whose invention, enterprise and skill in attack is negated by heroic defending, where all the action is in and around the penalty box and there are skills, spills and thrills galore. Unfortunately this wasn’t the case today. Not in the slightest.

‘This is the day when things fall into place’ sang The Manic Street Preachers during the pre-match warm up. Well, yes and no. In a sense all is now transparent and everything is starting to make sense. But this is not a good thing. With 10 games left we all know what’s required to sustain a challenge. And we haven’t got it.

This was a tired display against a team of resolutely pedestrian mid-table also-rans. A performance as flat as a lorry load of pancakes with a flat tyre being driven by a man in a flat cap. On Flatholme.

We had the chance to freshen things up in January and have had the option of bringing in quality loan players in the positions that matter for weeks now. So why no action? Lack of funds? Lack of ambition? Complacency? Is Malky obstinately waiting for the right players to become available? If so this might not be a bad thing in the long run but our expectations were raised so high that to sacrifice the short term advantage in the name of longer term ambitions is a bit hard to take right now. I’ve always been intrigued by the phrase ‘a damp squib’. What is a squib? I’ve just looked it up. ‘A broken firecracker that burns but does not explode’. Enough said.

Reflecting on the ‘This Is The Day’ track,  to relieve the tedium during the game I found myself thinking of songs, appropriate or otherwise, that might be signature tunes for our players this season. I came up with the following:

MARSHALL:  Hanging On Too Long - Duffy

McNAUGHTON:  Running On Empty – Jackson Browne

TAYLOR:  You’ll See Glimpses – Ian Dury

HUDSON:  What If We Give It Away? - REM

TURNER:  I Am A Rock – Simon & Garfunkel

WHITTINGHAM:  Please Don’t Go – Van Morrison

COWIE:  Long May You Run – Neil Young

LAWRENCE:  Almost Blue – Elvis Costello

GUNNARSSON:  Here There & Everywhere - Beatles

CONWAY:  Little Wing – Jimi Hendrix

McPHAIL:  Not Much Luck In Our House – The Unthanks

MILLER:  Alone Again Or - Love

EARNSHAW:  Consider Me Gone - Sting

MASON:  The Best Is Yet To Come – Tony Bennett

BLAKE:  Waiting For My Chance To Come – Noah & The Whale

HEATON:  How To Be Invisible – Kate Bush

GESTEDE:  A Massage For You Rudy – The Specials

GERRARD:  Am I Forgiven? – Rumer

AND ONE FOR THE FANS:  Are You Ready To Be Heartbroken? – Lloyd Cole

Please feel free to add your own tunes!

As I dropped Phil off after the game, the parting shot was along the lines of ‘Well that was bloody awful. See you Wednesday.’

‘Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I......’

2011-12 Match Reports CCFC v WEST HAM

4.3.2012

CCFC 0 v 2 WEST HAM

Seven days after the Carling Cup heroics and, as the BBC Sports site proclaimed,  ‘entertaining a nation with what was widely considered one of the great Wembley displays’  it’s ‘back to life, back to reality, back to the here and now’ for the City Soul II Soul Crew. 

The day dawned with the news of the signing on loan of Portsmouth journeyman Liam Lawrence. Heralded by some as a shrewd move by Mr Mackay, a ‘good bit of business’, this signing helps after recent events to place our aspirations for further progress into context. It’s just the sort of signing that we might and should expect from a manager fulfilling his brief to seek out quality players. On the cheap. Following the acquisition of a promising 18 year old winger from Wycombe and the loan signing of an exciting but unproven Premiership talent sent out to get some experience it’s not that getting Lawrence (on loan remember, to help Pompey keep the administrator wolves from the door) betrays a lack of ambition, rather it reflects the reality of our situation and emphasises just how well we have done to be up there challenging for prizes. And how difficult it will be to maintain that challenge against clubs with much deeper pockets.

The end of year accounts released this week indicate that the club has a total of £70m of debt, of which £40m is due to be repaid within the year! And the biggest average attendance for over 50 years resulted in a drop in gate receipts and match day income. (Eh?) A back to reality check for those of us disappointed that the squad wasn’t bolstered in the January window by a signing of Bellamyesque impudence.

Today we welcome a club on loan from the Premiership, bank-rolled by the Two Davids, those Twin Titans of Titillation, Old Penarthian porn peddler David ‘The Poisoned Dwarf’ Sullivan and his partner, a man of solid East End gangster stock, Mister Ann Summers himself, David ‘All That Glitters Is Not’ Gold (Sid James meets Hugh Hefner) owners of Dodgy Geezers Inc. aka West Ham Utd FC. Two of the most odious gits on Planet Football, but crucially with some very deep pockets in which to trouser their ill-gotten gains.

So to events on the field. As we were serving up a Sunday lunchtime special live on the Beeb a mercifully brief description of a dispiriting display is all that’s required. We began with the same personnel that triumphed in defeat last Sunday. There were some tired legs on display, none more so than Gestede who although he had some success against the mighty Hammers’ central defenders showed his rawness and lack of tactical awareness by continually failing to anticipate the final ball and showing a lack of pace against a Premiership quality back four. He pulled up after 30 minutes to be replaced by Vuckic, a midfielder. To emphasise the difference in the resources available to the managers, whereas we didn’t have a striker of any description on the bench, when West Ham’s Maynard was replaced after squandering a number of chances, Allardyce was able to call on ex-Chelsea and England striker Carlton Cole.

In a competitive first half of few chances West Ham were more well organised, fitter, keener, always first to the ball, dominating midfield and were the more likely to break the deadlock. And so it was on 43 mins that our defensive frailties came to the fore allowing the ball to break to (a suspiciously offside) Nolan who steered to ball wide of Marshall. My Fourth Official with the advantage of TV replays confirmed by text that the goal should stand (which shut me up and those sitting around me and emphasised what a difficult job linesmen have). 1-0 at half time.

The last time the Hammers visited Ninian Park, Ali was criticised for serenading the opposition with the theme from Steptoe & Son. The half time discs were less provocative today, but he still managed to sneak in ‘A Town Called Malice’ and with perhaps a nod to last Sunday and to the likely outcome of this game ‘Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One Before’. A more appropriate Smiths track might have been ‘Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want’ (Lord knows it would be the first time etc...) which neatly sums up a lifetime following the Bluebirds.

The second half produced 3 or 4 early opportunities for the opposition to emphasise their dominance. We were just spectators for 20 minutes while the Hammers fluffed their lines time and again. We had a decent spell during which Whittingham struck the post with a trademark free kick from 25 yards but after gifting their strikers a number of opportunities to put the game to bed eventually McCartney’s bout of ping-pong with McNaughton gave them the clincher. Disappointingly with 15 mins still left many hundreds decided they’d seen enough and headed for the exits. City drove forward in search of some form of consolation, Miller heading the ball against the bar as the game drew to a close. So, I make that 2 wins from eight while those around us hit peak form. The cup run was a wonderful distraction but on the evidence of this display, Malky’s men are distinctly lacking in ‘bouncebackability’.

Still, we should remain philosophical; worse things happen at (Chel)sea.