That Is The Question … Bradford Away

Bradford is a place of many memories for me.

Our good friend and fellow Saddlers supporter, Stuart (a.k.a. “Snowy”) was at university there. At a conference up there Saddlers Widow and I saw our first I-Max film, the documentary “Yellowstone” (I had done some background work relating to it) that inspired us to actually travel to the States for the first, but definitely not the last, time. We were once on a Walsall coach trip there for a game – back in the days of prevalent football hooliganism – and escorted this bitterly cold December (possibly November) evening to a safe parking spot outside the police station, then walked by police to the then-very-different ground.

After the game we got back to the coaches to find that one had had bricks thrown through the front window. It was completely smashed. The attitude of the local police was of complete disinterest. So the driver stoically knocked out the rest of the glass and we set off for Walsall. Our coach driving just ahead in some probably highly irrelevant attempt to part the air. So we ripped letters from the ubiquitous newspapers and held them to the back window

“Ice Cold Drinks Available” being the one example that’s ticks in our minds. How we laughed as we watched the huddled up passengers.

Then, more poignantly Cully and I were there for a Saturday game. 1985. Nothing unusual, sitting in the wooden benches, walking on the wooden planked floors of the terraces, or visiting the toilets beneath the seats. Bits and pieces dropped by spectators would drop through the holes in the tiered flooring and collect on this ground. On this day I particularly remember discussing with Cully just how much junk there was: newspaper, tickets, crisp packets, chip wrappers, cardboard cups. All just left. How casually we wondered what it would be like if a cigarette end were dropped down, ignited the … Because these were the 1980s. Smoking was known as unhealthy, but remained fashionable and there was no ban on smoking in public places as there is now.

Then, inevitably I guess, we moved on to discuss more important matters (beer, women, films, concerts). And, just a few weeks later I got home from a home match to find my wife worried by reports and film on the TV of a fire in a stand at a (then) third division ground. She thought maybe it was Walsall (all grounds – when did we start calling them stadiums? – looking pretty much the same in those 1980s days. It was Bradford. Fifty six people died in the fire, which spread and destroyed the whole stand in less than ten minutes. A real pity.  People who had gone to see football, indeed to celebrate Bradford’s promotion season.

That was 1985, football grounds are such different places to be now, although Valley Parade is in its traditional setting, largely re-built but still surrounded by houses. Rather than the current trend to put grounds in out of town shopping centres (Reading is a super example of this). And there is something of the familiar and reminiscent about this. But the ground is improved, better safety standards we would hope. Although, once inside the toilets leave something to be desired.

We recall these things as we drive up the M1. Dismiss talk of promotion via the play-offs. Why talk about it, we can still be promoted automatically. Cross the bridges when we get to ‘em we sagely decide.

Bradford looks bleak. Once a town of thriving woollen mills some of the tall characteristic chimneys remain. The street we park in is cobbled: big proper cobbles too. It is a cul-de-sac and at the end of it, is the Job Centre. Appropriate? Back on the corner with the Main Street is the Bradford Arms. This is the pub nominated for away fans by the police, apparently. We go in for a beer. It is decently old fashioned. Small? Tiny, rather.  But I get the beers in (Tetley’s Bitter, a Carling and a Coors Light) and we sit under the big screen. The Derby Sheffield Wednesday game is on. But no commentary. Instead piped music blares out of the speakers set on the coach backs in the corner. Including a lengthy version of Purple Rain by Prince, American singer/musician who died this week. Sad indeed.

But the music has no real depth or tone; it is tinny and loud.

Until that is a whole shed load of Walsall fans enter. Unceremoniously as is normal. And start some serious drinking and er … what might be described as singing. But seriously good natured. The songs are non-stop, some old favourites (Alan Buckley gets a name call, as does Ray Graydon – and even the I.R.A). Then, patriotically there are renditions of Rule Britannia, God save the Queen (whose 90^th birthday was celebrated roundly last week) and a version of Happy Birthday …

One of the participants was costumed as a Crusader-version of St George. So I can now say I have had a beer with the patron saint of my own country.

And, so down the streets to an almost-hidden Valley parade, clinging on to the side of what is indeed a steep valley; so that when you are on the level of away supporters entry gates the town towers above you. Into the ground. It is tight at this end. A lower egg box section, staggered stairs to a better-view floor. Where we settle, right at the front.  Bars set at eye-level, meant to keep us safe. However a serious piece of angle iron, about eight feet long is completely loose. If dislodged could fall on to the seats below and … Recalling the what-if discussions in 1985 I report this to one of the stewards. Will she actually pass the message on? Honestly? I would love to say yes, but that wasn’t the impression I got.

The team are warming up. Tom Bradshaw not starting again. Rico Henry as winger, Taylor as left back. Matt Pennington has been recalled by Everton (playing man United in an F.A. Cup semi final today) so James O’Connor back at centre half.

There is very little to say about the actual play. We were poor, bossed out of it. Simple as …

Lucky to get in at nil nil after a fraught forty five minutes. Sure somebody would get it right in the half time talk, sure our fitness would get us through.

But no, no and no.

One nil down, then very quickly two. By the end big old-style, bustling centre forward James Hanson has a hat-trick and Bradford are four nil to the good. Unfortunately, but unsurprisingly Burton have beaten Colchester three nil. So behind now on both points and goal difference.

We are downcast. Jon Witney is stirring in his after-match comments. How appropriate on Shakespeare’s birth and death day.

“It was not good enough,” said Whitney afterwards. “I am not going to stand here and insult the fans’ intelligence. “I have asked the players to have a look at themselves. I’m not going to stand there and lose my head like the old Jon would have done years back. “I want to look at it logically. I want the players to go home and ask themselves, did you really, really do enough to challenge Bradford? “Did you do enough to want to get promoted to the Championship? Were you willing to put your head on the line because sometimes that is what you have to do in football. “It’s not always about playing pretty football. We have to match them physically and we didn’t do it second half and then we lose heavily.

Now we wait – the short wait – until Tuesday’s home game against Shrewsbury. We hope the words stir something up! We need to see a stunning performance. The team need to come back from a “reet spanking”! by a strong Bradford team.

We discuss, as fans will, changes we would make to the line-up. But realise the manager has an unenviable job … but wouldn’t we each like to be giving it a go?

Whether Witney will be manager long term is a matter for the board, who have been supportive this season. If so, inevitably he will be on a steep learning curve. With players almost or already out of contract, who will be playing for us at the start of the next campaign. And, in the Championship?

Back at home: there is a fantastically varied programme on BBC 2 with snippets of Shakespeare interspersed with details of his life. So many famous actors and up and coming ones too. Dealt with seriously with moments of comedy and music. Wonderful to see even royalty getting involved: our very own Prince Charles in a Hamlet sketch.

“To be or not to be …”  where oh where to put the emphasis? (This should be the question the coaching team at Walsall are setting their minds to.

As I tap this out, TV is showing the London Marathon. Somewhere out in space Tim Peak, strapped to a treadmill is doing his own marathon.

Cut Throat but Brave? Living in Hope.

 

I’m sitting at home. Mulling over the thrashing we were given by Barnsley. Just mulling. Oh and checking out Facebook. Did I mention it was Mother’s Day?

I’d been up at the allotment and was back at home expecting my brother to appear with my mother. For dinner.

… and, like a kick to the stomach I am reading an official statement from Walsall F.C. that we have parted company with Sean O’Driscoll. While I’ve been sitting, pontificating the board have taken a massive step – and dismissed the manager (well, technically the head coach, but who’s splitting hairs here?). I am shocked.

So: we are now seeking our third manager in one season.

The failure to win home games: the perceived – hey, even I could see it – lack of enthusiasm, the strange loan-signings not used and unusual team selection choices finally flipped the switch.

I have to admit that I liked the talking-up done about O’Driscoll as he was ushered into the role (back in December). He was steady, had good experience, knew the set-up, promised not to change too many things too quickly, seemingly had good contacts and some credibility and a history of looking after youth development.

It all meant very little when it actually came to the Mr Smack moments.

And so, a little sadly, we bid him farewell.

Did he have enough games in charge?

There is never a right answer to that question is there, not really.

But, during his time with us, I have watched a genuine promotion gallop become a trot. I am glad that the Walsall board bit the bullet while there is still a chance to get back on the rails. Hell, there is even a chance to re-ignite the automatic promotion fuse again.

And this is a statement too about the board’s commitment to winning promotion. Fans have been critical in the past: conspiracy theories about how owner Jeff Bonser was more than happy for us to languish in this league; would rather we were not promoted.

But this?

Has to go against the flow of that tide.

We are in the best shape since “Sir” Ray Graydon was at the helm to make a move. And, it seems the board don’t want to waste the chance.

So the Cautious One is out … odds are being laid as to the next new man … perhaps Mark Cooper (one time manager at Tamworth and just “let go” by Swindon). Hang on, “just let go”; let’s think about that one shall we?

Might be a good move to go back to Jon Witney and Neil Cutler (with John Ward in the background) and see what happens.

Whatever happens I am positively thinking now about getting a posse together to head up to Chesterfield on Saturday.

Before this news I was struggling to be bothered.

 

Shock! Horror! a.k.a. The dawn of the Inevitable

So, while we were getting worked up about the time wasting antics of Bradford on Saturday, the behind-the scenes dealerings, the offer and counter offer, conditions, values and paperwork were being worked on, scrapped, re-done and finalised.

And, driving home today in weather conditions best described, I believe as squally I hear that dean Smith and Richard O’Kelly have taken on the management jobs at Championship Brentford.

I genuinely wish them luck. I hope that they can keep their jobs and retain the style of football there that we have been gifted with this season. I particularly wish to thank dean Smith for having the stamina and perseverance to get my football club into a reasonable position and win some credit for doing things the proper, if old-fashioned way. Money was tight: ever so tight!

It always has been at Walsall … and will be, until some tycoon or far away corporation decide we are a fancy enough toy to mess about with for a while. Until we lose our sparkle, I guess.

So we are – immediately – without a manager. Jon Ward, youth team coach (where Dean Smith was some years ago when the directors came knocking), Neil Cutler and fitness guru John Witney are in charge of team matters while the next steps are sorted out.

But the repercussions will, I suspect echo for some time to come.

For example, maybe the Bees will be looking to place bids for our current crop of stars; those who have been brought on so well by Dean Smith and Richard O’Kelly. If they have the money to back up their ambition they will be looking for players – and of course Smith knows these players so well.

But, while I wish Smith and O’Kelly all the best (unless they play the Saddlers of course), I cannot help but feel disappointed.

Why did they go?

Money and prospects, isn’t it obvious?

Brentford are known to be ambitious: Bournemouth set a big precedent last season, creeping into the Premiership – and currently third from bottom, so not shaming themselves too highly. Brentford could be the next team to take this mighty step up.

But they are also ruthless! They let the manager go who had them promoted from League One, saying he simply wasn’t Championship manager material and, until today had player Lee Carsley as caretaker manager. They have been leaking goals but stand just outside the play off places. I would expect that the former Walsall duo will have just over a year (but it may be less) to shake things about – an, although Smith now has experience and credibility it took him a good three years to establish his bona fides at the Banks’s.

He was the fourth longest serving manager in the top four leagues.

So, who’s up for the task now?

Honestly, as I type this – and I have just taken a ‘phone call from my mother asking if the news is correct – I have no idea.

Certainly they will take over a fine bunch of players. We are hard to beat and determined to do well.

How much that was inspired by the two who have departed  only time will tell.

But let’s clear the decks and run out the guns: we go to Shrewsbury tomorrow and have to get our heads down and do some business with the ball!

The king is dead; long live the king!