Taking Care of Business

HOME.

9TH September, 2015

 

A bit dubious watched the England V Switzerland game on TV last night. Dubious because, while I appreciate the amazing talents of the international-set players I have precious little time for the often too-casual, lacking in pride antics of these sometime prima-donna stars who subvert their skills with, well, frankly cheating (diving, moaning at the officials, protesting and general petulant behaviour). Why else would we be reduced to the referee needing to use a spray to mark the distance between free kick position and the defenders?

But there was a good chance that the match might see a record broken. Wayne Rooney, in the San Marino game scored his forty ninth England goal (to bring him level with Bobby (now Sir Bobby) Charlton’s long standing record) and could possibly become our all-time leading scorer in the game this evening.

Within minutes Febian Delph goes down: apparently having pulled a hamstring. Really? Did he not warm up enough? Was he carrying the injury anyway ? In which case why was he chosen? At this level – and I am sorry for the player – but this is just crazy. Harsh … and hey, what do I know?

But the remainder of the first half was dull. Switzerland looking good on occasions, England being very professional and cool. We have qualified for the final stages of this competition (Euro finals) in France next summer, so need not be frantic about it. But, a little bit of pride eh boys?

I almost decide to watch something else – anything else actually – but my mother is desperate to see Switzerland (yes, you read that correctly: Switzerland!) win. So we watch the second half. Because she is egging the cuckoo clock makers on I suddenly become extremely patriotic – and Harry Kane (Spurs striker who scored twenty for Tottenham last year but has not scored this time round for his club) neatly drills one into the net.

“Come on England!”

It is not just the goal, they are actually better in this second half. I become aware of the fact that, back when I started watching football leading clubs in the upper leagues (what was then the First Division – now the Premier league) had far different tactics to clubs like Walsall in the lower echelons we generally just lumped it up and hoped somebody would latch on to it, ride the tackles – and score.

No longer. England are playing the same way Walsall have done in every game so far this season: defenders passing carefully across the pitch, midfielders holding, passing back, tracking back, tackling back, keeping possession (I believe it is currently called “game management”) then spotting a longer opening-up pass. Different quality obviously, but essentially the same range of skills.

Rooney is playing a modest, dropping back role, not at all impatient to get that prestigious goal, but Sterling takes a tumble (no more in my eyes) and the ref blows up: penalty!

And the attention is all on Wayne Rooney. He looks steely, if not completely calm, short couple of steps … unleashes a corker that … flies into the back of the net …

… and we have a new record holder. Now I have no idea what the goal scoring records are for other nations, but this is a special moment. The celebrations are short lived but Rooney, now in his er more mature years and deservedly England captain is modesty personified. Short, humble speech in the dressing room. He has, like most of us do, grown from the cocky, brash youngster and is now, though it seems strange to be typing this on of the game’s elder statesmen. With this comes the responsibility of passing on his experience to those coming up through the ranks. He can do this now with the respect that being the all-time goal scorer for his country deserves: the old king is dead, long live the new one!

Speaking of which – and I will not be publishing this before 5.30 p.m. which is the Buckingham Palace calculated time at which Queen Elizabeth II will become our longest-ever reigning monarch. Since her great-grandmother Queen Victoria. As a child at primary school I remember having the Victorian Empire and the fact that she was our longest – and likely to be always so – reigning monarch pushed at me at, it seemed every possible opportunity … and now (or rather at 5.30 p.m.) that will all change and, if they get to be told anything at all in schools kids will have a new fact to toy with. Sixty three years, seven months and three days – and still counting!

   

She is the only queen that I – and so many others have ever known – so it seems normal and, while I went through a phase of complete disinterest in the whole question of monarchy: good or bad, I can now state that I am proud of the system that gives us the figurehead, the traditions and, not least the income drawing potential. Queen Elizabeth has come to represent stability and grasp change during her reign – in times when the world itself has progressed, not always easily and she has worked hard to meet, understand and serve the nation, the Commonwealth and the world on its way to now.

She will not make a big fuss during the day we are told, but will be business-as-usual in Edinburgh to open a railway service to the Scottish borders. Taking care of business? You bet!

Bristol City (home)

I am just setting this down (or a first draft* of it anyway) after watching an absorbing second half of extra time in this year’s F.A. Cup semi-final between Arsenal and Wigan Athletic. Wigan, last year’s winners are in the Championship this year and lost in the penalty shoot-out.

I arrived at the banks’ Stadium with plenty of time to spare. Time to collect a ticket ordered and efficiently saved by the friendly box office team (thanks to each and all), time to get in and find a seat, take of my coat and ponder the Hillsborough disaster (25 years ago on Tuesday to be date-specific).

How would you cope with going to another football match if you had lost friends or relatives at that game? If you had been in the stadium, in that fateful Leppings Lane End yourself? I thought about this for a good twenty minutes (an, truth to tell, I am still considering it as I type). The terrible, terrible pressure and events inside the ground while it was going on. The attempts to save people, lifting them up to the higher terraces, passing children up the fence, straddling the fence to reach down …

All bad enough.

But the facts which have since emerged are, if it is possible, shades worse.

The attempts to blame (no other word will fit the facts now coming to light for me) innocent people who had gone to watch a game. To, at best, suggest they were bent on trouble, had done something wrong, tried to get in without tickets, were drunk, were badly behaved hooligans.

The changing of evidences given, the manipulation of times and timelines …

Said simply at the beginning of a minute’s silence (a mark of deep respect) at today’s game in the following words:

“Twenty five years ago, ninety six Liverpool fans went to a game and didn’t make it home afterwards …”

Poignant words, saying it like it was. I am not sure whether this was a scripted piece and the same words read out at every ground … but it was completely silent inside the stadium. I could hear the lorries growling their ways up and down the nearby M6. It seems these days I am more affected by these memorial silences. Perhaps it is a sign of maturity/old age, but in joining in with the “respectful silence” I was engaged with it. Those poor people, those poor families and friends – then and now. So may lives ended (shocking thing that: ended!) so many lives changed: immediately then and still now.

Ended by the referee’s whistle and the game began. Bristol City, in some danger of relegation had bought a big host of fans. Crowded in and noisy behind the goals. Some good banter across the length of the pitch.

Bristol City song: “More fans than you’ve got,

                                We’ve got more fans than you’ve got.”

Walsall reply; “More points than you’ve got …”

Sharp start from both teams in the bright sunshine. We’re a passing team playing shapes and passes like the Premiership clubs do and I love to watch the skill; the way Walsall players know where another one is going to be. It hasn’t always been that way. I am pleased that it is now. We’re even having some decent shots at goal.

Bristol City are struggling to stay in League One. But they struggle purposefully. They close down, harry and while we look confident they slowly but surely peg us back. Still fine passing but a long way from their goals. And, once or twice the defence looks under pressure and I’m thinking those “if only” thoughts.

“If only we had a way of scoring from our possession … if only we had a striker (be damned to the who-to-leave-out quandary) … if only we could give the defence some breathing space by netting early on …”

There’s some kind of nonsense across on the left wing. Ngoo, on loan from Liverpool, is fouled (apparently) and the big centre half who did it ends up on the floor. hold your breath. Is it a red card? Ngoo looks furious. but the referee is lenient and simply gives him a yellow card. the referee lets quite a few things go actually (dives (and there are a lot of those from Bristol City) and fouls) but it adds a bit of old-fashioned needle to the game.

And while I’m thinking Andy Taylor, befuddled by a stray ball in the box, tries to turn and clear (at least that’s what I think he was doing) and trips up a Bristol City striker. Did I mention it was in the penalty area. Sam Baldock stepped up and scored and their fans were delighted – and noisy. Who can blame ‘em. Getting themselves out of trouble, setting themselves up for another crack at us next season to, I shouldn’t wonder.

It’s a woeful traipse into the lounge. Nobody’s asking for season tickets any more.

Second half? How many times have we seen this? We’ve gone behind so we step up the pace, the aggression, the momentum.  Ngoo goes down in the box … penalty. Who is going to take it? Our usual Mr Football penalty taker is suspended, remember?

Ngoo had a crack at one way back and missed. Sam Mantom, like a twenty first century Alf Tupper places the ball on the spot. We’re happy with that. He’s got a powerful shot, scored some useful ones from outside the box. Steps up, places the ball (not power-blasting it) and the goalkeeper has time to make the save look effortless.

Heads go down.

Brandy is everywhere, Baxendale looks sharp, but cannot get forwards, Sawyers is his usual irritatingly talented but casual self.

McQuilkin comes on, plays with ferocity and determination and it’s furious, furious, furious. Another long last minute.

Nothing will of nothing come and Cully’s been saying “pointless” all game. A good prediction. We are! And, almost certainly out of the play-off stakes now.

BBC radio WM informs me on the way back in the car that we have now won fourteen games, drawn fourteen and – you’ve guessed it – lost fourteen. Consistent or what.

Elsewhere, Wolves have beaten Crewe (away) to clinch promotion. Good luck the them, Kenny Jackett has turned the club around (no easy task).

*Actually I let most of it stand as I typed it: a few typos to tweak and punctuation errors. Oh and I did just say something good about Wolverhampton Wanderers and let it stay in.

Photos courtesy of Bristol Post.