“A Big Ask!”:Play Off Semi-Final, second leg … Barnsley at home

Been so busy gardening, trying to tidy up the back garden, maybe as a subliminal way to distance myself from the disappointing display up at Barnsley last week. I give great credit to the Barnsley team, but it has been rare this season to see such a collapse – even against a superior team. And, make no bones about it: Barnsley out played us in every department.

But, as the day of the second leg dawned I set about tasks with a will: hanging baskets, strimming, moving pots …

Inside my head I was telling myself that we didn’t need to score four goals. We only needed to score three. That would take it into extra time – then we could get the fourth – winning goal. If we could score an early goal; say within the first twelve minutes we would then have seventy eight minutes stretching before us: one goal every thirty nine minutes.

Oh, and, of course, not give one away.

How hard could it be?

My brother dropped in to pick me up – and we were cocooned in traffic for the final three and a bit miles. Police had closed the West Bromwich Road for some reason … and we later found out that there was a convoy of travellers “being escorted” through the region. The whole Sky TV paraphernalia and outside broadcast circus was in place. Vans, cables, barriers and baloney. So a long walk round, past the very happy-before-kick-off (and why not?) Barnsley fans. A lot of coaches: fine away support unsurprisingly in good voice and gooder spirits.

And, inside the ground they are packed into the away end and I am momentarily envious. They have the upper hand (three goals ahead!), this is – at worst – a matter of not conceding goals. They are in confident mood. Indeed, they are the form team in League One, having overcome problems before Christmas – on a roll now – and only ninety minutes away from Wembley. Bit greedy, they’ve been once already in the Johnstone’s (dare I mention it?) Paint Trophy.

And into the ground via the Savoy Lounge. Cully and Andy had had to work hard to protect my reserved seat. And the camera, with that miserable looking camera-man who scowled at me last time he was here, were in a slightly different position – so it actually was my season ticket seat.

Kick off – and Barnsley pushed straight up. We got stuck in too. Three goals to get, heads down, let’s get about it.

But Barnsley had lost none of their edge. They were prepared to attack: our attempts to play just three at the back looked, at times dangerous. But O’Connor was giving nothing away; a real rock alongside Downing and Andy Taylor. Rough and tumble. Rico Henry is such a star: versatile, skilful and waspish when he loses the ball. Playing this evening up the left wing; opposite Jason Demetriou.

Tom Bradshaw and Jordy Hiwula are paired together up front. It might work, but we have to get the ball to them – and the two very capable Barnsley centre halves are a classy partnership, with an excellent goalie behind them.

Barnsley miss, or are denied a couple of early chances. We go close a couple of times, but seem to lack a self-belief which has been present until these play offs. But there is no lack of effort. From either team.

Then the worst thing happens. They, pressing forward in numbers, get the ball into the net. I am convinced that it was actually off-side But the referee gives it. And now the pressure is on!

Barnsley, having proved their superiority, settle back.

We have to push up a little more recklessly t this point. Leaving us vulnerable.

But what else to do?

Then a little bit of character comes back. A bit of backbone. We are losing, but stand up and get stuck in again.

But, sure enough we concede another goal. Five goals behind!

It would have been the first time any team has come back from three goals behind in a play-off semi-final … but five?

Jordan Cook comes on. He is all action, busy and calm enough to open up his body and place a brilliantly cool shot past the Barnsley keeper. But I think we all know: too little, too late.

Rico Henry makes an uncharacteristic blunder at the back – and Barnsley are three one up on the night.

It has been a super season, but this is bitterly disappointing.

There can be debate about the role of the play offs. It certainly makes money, extends TV coverage and has more teams involved in promotion struggles up to the very end-plus-some of the season.

In the old days, Walsall, finishing third, would have simply been promoted after an intense league campaign.

Who will be in the team when the friendlies begin? We have seen some extremely talented players. Sawyers, classy on his day; Henry, surely destined for the Premiership at some stage. Bradshaw, off to join the Welsh squad warming up for the European Championships in a couple of weeks. Not all of those called up will be in the final squad, but his twenty goals this season must stand him in good stead.

We’ve had three managers; easy to forget that somehow, a few blips, some storming away games – and, this being football and, more specifically Walsall, there have been some slip-ups.

But, having said all of that – for my brother and I – enough is enough. We leave, dejected, before the final whistle and are back at the car before all the celebrations (last game at Bescot for a while) are complete.

Barnsley go to Wembley, we go to find a pub and sink a few beers.

Next season will be around soon enough and, hey we are still in every competition – until we are not!

Just the Ticket? Port vale Away.

Back in 1971, a friend and I stared at some strapping, side-burned man in a too-tight jacket having his photo taken on the pitch at Fellows park (Walsall’s previous home ground). He was physically impressive and had an air of real thuggish menace about him.

“He’s havin’ his photo taken,” my mate explained, “’cos he’s been banned from the ground and all the entrances need to know what he looks like …”

That massive hulking figure was none other than Bernie “the Bolt” Wright. A giant, uncompromising old-fashioned centre forward who terrorised defences with his ask-no-mercy, expect-no-mercy brand of play. He moved on to Everton, was involved in a very unsavoury incident there when he floored a coach but left a mark as he created an impression on the Everton fans, who, Wikipedia has it, remember him for using his head to accidentally break the toe of Sheffield Utd defender Eddie Colquhon during an attempted diving header.

He came back to Saddlers, played with us for a further four years and ended his league career at Port Vale. This weekend’s last-scheduled game of the season.

Travelling to away games, concerts or work back in those days we imbued him with supernatural powers – if there was thunder we’d say it was Bernie’s temper. Either that or Keith Moon playing Heaven’s drums.

Saturday and I’m driving back from my mother’s. She wasn’t in and it was unseasonably hot. I was thinking of getting out the fire-pit and sitting outside later in the evening with a beer. But the sky grew dark – and memories of associating thunder with Bernie came flooding back.

Here was a behemoth who plied his trade at both grounds. Was the long lasting thunder – and seriously heavy downpour some kind of omen? For whom?

I’d reminded my brother that I had the tickets for the Vale game … and that it was a 12.30 kick off. Arranged to get him at ten o’clockish. A steady drive I’m thinking; I can find the Vale ground with my eyes closed (actually incorrect and rather risky). But then – help – I could only find one ticket for the match – an all-ticket occasion, local derby!

Then it dawned on me – he had bought the tickets and kept his own. Panic over – at least for the moment.

Saddlers Widow had baked some lemon meringue pies – courtesy of passing through Bakewell on the route home from Sheffield United – https://saddlersfan.wordpress.com/2016/04/04/sheffield-united-away – for each and every one of us (that’ll be seven then).

The M6 is apparently closed so we slip along the A34, miss the Longton turning and end up going the long way round via the A500. Stuck in traffic, there will be three thousand three hundred Walsall fans on the roads, rails and pavements. We dodge in and out of the rabbit warren side streets and end up with a near perfect spot on top of the hill. Long, warm walk down the Hamil Road, carrying the pies in a carrier bag. Half way down, compulsively checking I realize that I no longer have my ticket.

Rude words!

I send my brother onwards and go and check the car. Phew! There it is, down the side of the hand-brake! The rest of the “team” are inside, the pavements are crowded, flashing lights, police motor bikes, searched before we go in: fortunately there is no problem with the bag of desserts; though we have to take off our hats and have them rousted.

Once inside we have to queue to get through to a wonderfully crowded away end. Behind the goals. Seats are scarce but Cully has some saved for us: good spot. Quick nods and we stand and watch. It is noisy: the Saddlers fans are giving it the twelfth man business!

 

We know what we have to do; win by two clear goals at a team with one of the best home records this season … and a mean defence too. Then we depend on Doncaster beating Burton Albion, who start the day three points ahead of us.

There is tremendous energy about those pre-kick off moments: the pitch, the skies hot and clear. Just around the corner from “our end” are the Port Vale “choir”; strange that the two opposing fans are so close together: this is not normal … but, seriously? The Walsall fans are there to support their team, egg ‘em on, drive the team on. And the songs and encouragement is spinal Tap eleven. There are beach balls, inflatable crocodiles, killer whales, balloons, and bananas bobbling about. People in fancy dress. Big smiles, handshakes, and a will to win!

…oh and a killer Lemmy track to get the blood stirred up (Lemmy Kilminster born in Stoke on Trent: citizen of rock and roll excesses, bless ‘im).

We kick off defending “our “ end. Because that is the second part of the job: don’t concede goals!

Oh and did I mention we had to win by two goals?

Former Walsall full back ben Purkiss is pushing up forwards. He’s against the flying-all-season Rico henry, so is, we guess trying to deny him room to run. God luck with that then. Lalkovic is really fired up, he is so passionate and inclined to get carried away, but is a good ball carrier – and unpredictable. Perhaps we need that today?

Non-stop noise – and people all around with smart phones to get the news from Doncaster.

Vale are a physical team, bit rough in some of the challenges. We have the players to go toe-to-toe with this, but, when one of our runners is fouled we all want a free kick. The referee waves play on. We have the ball, the advantage – and Downing is running in to put the ball. Into. The. Net.

The away end, crammed and crowded goes bouncing crazy. One nil up? So early! Wonderful. Just what the doctor ordered! And Downing? Pushing up so far forwards?

Well, don’t knock it, if it works.

Soon we are pushing up again. Using the wings – and Forde is a revelation – again. Chambers using his energy and experience. Everybody standing up – off the pitch as well as on it. Another sweeping attack and the ball is in the net again. Tom Bradshaw has got his twentieth goal of the season! Tanking through in a way that Bernie Wright would have recognised.

That’s the two goals then! What’s next?

Because if, just if, Doncaster could get that one simple, single goal, this could be a real party!

Just more and more pressure from a team that is in full flow, showing togetherness, skill and determination. A great final game of the season, now if Doncaster could just …

We have the ball in the Vale net again; this time it is Forde. Three goals! I am sure everybody is thinking this – or maybe just me – this is truly miraculous; it means we can give a goal away – as we often do – and still have the necessary two goals in the bag.

Half time. I slump into the seat. All that standing up! I need a rest. What a remarkable turn around since that day up at Bradford: real character from Whitney and the team. Respect. Still nil-nil oop north. But at least Burton aren’t winning – and anything can happen – so quickly in a game of football.

At half time there is a procession of teams around the ground. I guess these are the Port Vale under elevens, under thirteens and so on. It would swell the gate to have their parents here. And, credit to the Walsall fans: we give them a round of applause as they pass by. A cynical part of my brain, meanwhile is thinking: good commercial move, the team has nothing to play for, so get a few more bums on seats by parading the teams and their parents, friends et cetera make up the numbers. Like I said, the cynical side …

In fact, lemon meringue pies consumed and approved, we are on our feet again, the second half has kicked off and some guy in front of us looks up from his phone and announces that Doncaster have scored. Well, it seems they had the ball in the net – but the ref disallowed it.

 

Port Vale at this point seem to be rather going through the motions. They were canny enough in the first half but they have little to play for, probably didn’t bother with full training this week and may be off to catch planes to holiday destinations before the sun sets over the Potteries canal bridges.

 

And we go four nil up. Sloppy clearance lands for Antony Forde, who races forwards, skillful ball control and belts it into the net.

Just. Need. That. Goal. Atdoncaster!  There are substitutions: Sam Mantom comes on. He hasn’t been on long when the ball drops for him and he rifles it straight into the net.

This is amazing stuff.

Come on Doncaster!

But we get to hear that Doncaster are down to ten men. Not sure if somebody has been sent off – but they have used all their subs. Maybe Burton’ll score an own goal?

Then, strangely Doncaster are down to nine men. Nigel Clough’s bully boy tactics? Intimidate the opposition? Whatever it is, it is working for them

We are five nil up – but points behind.

Still, this has been an exhilarating season – and it doesn’t finish at the final whistle.

Automatic promotion? No. But the play offs are now next for us now. We play Barnsley away next Saturday, then at home the following Thursday.

Port Vale generously allow the Walsall team and management to come over and celebrate the last game of the league season (play offs are a separate entity). While this is happening, most of the home fans join in the applause, but a few spoil it with rude behaviour. Including one “hero” who, probably drunk and a bit, launches himself over the wall, tries to barge through the police lines and ends up, red-faced and restrained by the boys (and girls)in blue. Good job!

We squeeze out and travel along gently friendly roads. Still a chance of getting up then.

There is no point at all, though it is doubtless being done on coaches, paths and in cars, wondering where we could have nabbed those extra few points (for me, ironically the game at Burton) that would have us promoted already.

It is enough on this bright, warm day to have seen such a display: dominant, aggressive, skillful and entertaining.

Credit to Burton Albion: promotion wasn’t won by a single game, but by a gradual aggregation of points, goals, knock-backs and hard work. A small club, with a tiny budget, doing well through dogged determination and pride, against the odds. Respect is earned; you have mine.

But super credit to our players, to all of those who have worked in the back-rooms, pits and engine-rooms; to those I have been on the road with – and …

…we are still in it: still shouting, still up for it.

Dare to believe, indeed!

Springing Eternal: Fleetwood at home.

Saturday, 1^st May.

The very first Staffordshire Day. We are hailed, in local promotional stuff as the “creative county”, but nobody was creating much of a hoo-hah for this day. Something big going on in Stoke – which, at one point wanted to leave Staffordshire and become a unitary authority. Something happening at Rudyard Lake, A video message from Robbie Williams (born and raised in Burslem) …

Anything else?

Oh yeah a couple of minutes on the local news TV channel.

Reginald Mitchell anyone? Josiah Wedgwood, Cannock Chase? Staffordshire Moorlands? the highest pub in England (Flash)?The Staffordshire Hoard?

Tamworth, once capital of Mercia? Lichfield?

Nah … nobody seemed too bothered to be honest.

Shame, we need a bit of self-promotion, putting on the said map. But we have lots of houses flying Black Country flags – as if we haven’t got a bona fide Staffordshire one!

Weather poor: some thunder – and me hoping to influence the Burton Albion score by avoiding all contact with commentaries and results. I managed it too, but the Brewers still snatched a last minute winner to beat Gillingham 2 – 1.

Meaning we need to win our next two games to get automatic promotion!

And did I mention Burton have to lose – and the goal difference must swing in our favour by some five goals.

So, setting out for the 12.15 kick off we all know what we need to do today. Lose and we are in the play offs. Win and we take it to the last league match at Port Vale! Get some goals in the bag and we’re putting pressure on the team up the A38!

Now the game was rearranged to fit in with Live Sky TV so the whole circus is across the car park: cables, outside broadcast vans – and a diversion around the safety fencing. Large boas of cables run alongside the stadium walls and once inside – how could I forget – there is a camera scaffolding next to our delegated seats.

But first a sausage bap and a pint of Stella in the lounge; link up with Cully and Andy: both fed up with the razzamatazz about Leicester City – almost but not yet – winning the premier league title. Me? I’m happy that a different team will be in the spotlight – not a fashionable team. And a manager, Claudio Ranieri, with charm and enthusiasm – and quiet, sparkling passion.

We stroll out, squeeze along the narrow channel behind the last row of seats to our seats, scowl at the camera and unsettle a couple nearby. They may not have the right seats? Correct: the lady is sitting in my actual seat; but the seats are not so precious so we smile and make them welcome. Their first visit to Walsall, they are down from Paisley in Scotland: football fans who, last time they were down this way, went to a Wolves game. I tell them this is bound to be a far better experience. They are St Mirren fans – and we exchange a bit of banter.

We kick off – and two minutes later fast raiding full back- come-winger Jason Demetriou slings the ball across and Tom Bradshaw turns it first time into the net.

We are stunned: two minutes barely gone and we are one goal up!

If we can win three nil, then beat Port Vale by one goal and Burton lose by a goal at Doncaster – we are promoted automatically … oh the permutations!

But we are hardly a free scoring team at this stage, so sit back and watch.

But we are cracking shots in! Winning corners – and Romaine Sawyers is in the box for one, having a good push-shove go with a defender, before peeling away, leaving Paul Downing to side foot a cool one into the net. Eighteen minutes gone.

On the side line Fleetwood manager is going through a whole aerobics work-out, signalling, bending, living the game ball by ball: more effort from him in his skin tight trackie bottoms than from his players who are being out run and out thought in front of his eyes.

Fleetwood is a seaside town, a few miles north of Blackpool. In the league they are also neighbours: Fleetwood, two points clear of Blackpool, but both struggling to avoid the drop. As we watch, it is easy to see why.

One advantage of having the telly cameras here is that, after each goal a replay is shown on the score board screen. Thank goodness we are winning then.

At half time we retire inside. All being well we may not be back again this season, although we have our passes and season tickets ready for next season. But which teams will we be playing?

We are a decent little club honest and hard working. Held back by a small budget, but fired up with confidence and able to take teams on at this level. A season in the championship will ,doubtless see us struggle to win. But if we could just hang on, get the better of a few teams, spring a few surprises – what we could d o in a second season.

And how attractive we might be for players to come to – on free transfers, on loan.

Hold o n; stop dreaming. One game at a time. There is work to do here. here and now.

But this is an excellent team performance, only young Kieron Morris looking out of it; perhaps because he is being played inside rather than on the wing. Ford and Demetriou meshing nicely. On the other wing Henry and Lalkovic too.

Sawyers is having an effective game – and he links well, running into space and, from outside the penalty box whacks a low shot into the inside of the net, just inside the post. Three nil.

There are a few Fleetwood fans here and about six thousand Saddlers fans, getting behind this magical performance. We dare to dream: three nil: a near perfect score. All that has to happen now is we win by a goal at Port Vale and Burton Albion lose their final away game at Doncaster – and we are up; promoted automatically without the need for the play-off tensions and dramas.

There is the standard announcement about not invading the pitch at the end of the game … the players want to show their appreciation but will not be doing that if fans encroach on the playing area…

And then, dammit, Fleetwood have the nerve to score. Quite how the ball gets into the net, nobody, least of all any Walsall player seems to know. Etheridge looks shocked …

But we had gone off the boil, unusually.

And, at the final whistle a few enthusiastic fans dodge the stewards most are sensible enough to stay off the pitch and, of course, the players come out and pose for selfies, sign autographs.

I head out via the Savoy Lounge … but decide to wait for ten minutes or so for a sudden downpour to pass. I am not sure how long the players stay out on the pitch in this.

Then I am soon scooting home in my car. The drama continues …

Meanwhile Leicester City become champions by default: Tottenham only drawing against Chelsea means they cannot catch up on points by the end of the season.

Leicester deserve respect, of course. Five thousand to one outsiders to win the League back when the season started they have shown marvellous spirit and team work. Please let some of that rub off on us (as I dare say supporters of all teams are whispering just as I am).

Villa for Sale or Rent: Swindon at Home

Don’t doubt this club’s commitment – and plain common sense – to putting everything (well almost!) behind this marvellous push for promotion. Something I would often write, more in jest (or false optimism; which is the same thing surely?) than in hope:

“Promotion in our time…” is a looming reality. We just have to match whatever Burton Albion do, or better – oh and win our game in hand.

But commitment? No sooner had the ink dried on the pages of the Express and Star than the club announced a “Friend for a Fiver” game. Any season ticket holder could use up the E voucher in their season ticket and get a ticket for the said fiver to Tuesday evening’s home game against mid-table Swindon. Mid-table? No problem for the mighty Saddlers surely? And then there’s the cunning but well intentioned rabble-rousing (except we aren’t rabble are we?) from man-in-charge Jon Witney, in the press. Disguised as a too-early team news release he praises the Walsall crowd(who cheered –almost to a man, woman, child and dog)the team on to the win on Saturday.

Witney’s message is that “since you were so good on Saturday I pick you for the next game.”

Clever, shrewd, empowering – and meant to bring a few extras in to the game.

Incidentally we are consistently one of the last teams to announce, publicly, the starting line-up for any game. This from my social media vulture and sometime soul mate Jack. He who agonises every game day because the team hasn’t been announced (on Twitter or wherever) and then rages because it has and it doesn’t quite match …

But, news from elsewhere in the local football world. A few minutes up the M6 Aston Villa have – finally – been relegated. Losing to Manchester United was the final nail in their Premier League coffin. They have been imploding quietly for some time. But now?

Two directors resigned from the recently appointed football committee (there’s stickability for you then!) and the board have apparently decided to close down the Upper Tier of the Trinity Road stand, five hundred people employed there will, it is said need to lose their jobs …

So, just maybe some of the beetroot and blue-scarved ones’ll give up the ghost and convert to Saddlerism. Frankly I don’t care who comes to the Bescot at the moment as long as they don’t cause trouble, give us some positive vibe and pay some filthy lucre into the war chest.

But, I still owe my brother for the Port Vale ticket he got me so, after quick phone call, set out on Monday to snaffle the five pound ticket. Not expecting a queue: well you don’t do you? And, sure enough there was a bit of a queue – at least ten buyers ahead of me. The guy in front had a bag under his arm as if he had packed for a day waiting. Turned out he has diabetes and that was his bloods kit, insulin et cetera – just in case. We got to chatting; West Brom (that fabulous Paul Merson goal), Follows park ( the memorable low- level gents toilet with no roof (no really!)) and, eventually – how on earth could we possibly get out of , er … going up this season. Both of us, obviously veteran Walsall junkies. Experienced in all kinds of avoidance strategies: losing a cup game, not quite getting relegated for example. Pulling irons out fires; then sinking a beer or two.

Big, frustrating queues on the way home on Tuesday and I’d had hardly a drink all day. So dehydrated, but expectant. Strong coffee at bro’s house, the sun beating into our eyeballs on the way to the game. I’ll probably remember that I need sunglasses and do something about it around about September!

Parked up. Into the Savoy Lounge. Meting up with Cully, Andy, matt and Mike. The aforementioned social media furious one at home ill and suffering. None of us think that’ll prevent him getting the up-dates on Twitter.

 

A pint of cool lager and, body fluids reaching some kind of equilibrium we take our seats. Yessss! The crowd is definitely up for it: loud, proud and, as usual could do with a few more bodies. But don’t doubt the spirit please>

Nor the players. Brave decision by the coaches to put main man (in theyes of many) Tom Bradshaw on the bench and start the team that eventually stopped Southend. And they are forward going. Hiwula looking really fresh and full of running. Lalkovic and Henry still seeming a little disjointed on the left but Demetriou and Forde doing well down the right.

But Swindon are not cowed. Indeed they seem to be finding spaces and getting through to have some, admittedly feeble or ill-directed, shots. Walsall, on the other hand are impatient – in a good way. Getting somewhere near and letting one go! Bomb! Bomb! Boom! Quite different from our usual pedantic don’t shoot until you can pass into the net kind of style. It’s impressive but, sadly no more effective. At half time we are nil – nil. Still not losing –and I am looking for any positives.

Arch rivals Burton are at home to league One leaders Wigan this evening. We are quietly hoping that Wigan do a job on ‘em, wreck their confidence and steal all three points. Yes, all right our destiny is in our own hands, but a little Wigan intervention wouldn’t go amiss would it?

 

Despite the weather forecast of closer-later it is still rather warm. There is talk of telegraph poles, Lawrence of Arabia, families, trying to plan a weekend away – but not knowing the fixtures – only four games left (barring play offs of course) and work.

Second half kicks off. Impetus with us; Swindon breaking skilfully now and then. I am suddenly, instinctively tense: they are breaking through the middle, having a shot. It is deflected away. But only to a running-on midfielder, Michael Doughty, who coolly slots the ball home.

How many times has this happened?

But, then again, how many times have we broken back – and made it all right?

There are substitutions. Demetriou, suffering after a knock, off and Liam Kinsella on. Lalkovic and Forde off: Bradshaw and Kieron Morris on. He’s only been on the pitch a couple of minutes, young Kieron when he picks up the ball, drops a shoulder, runs into the penalty area and swings a good boot through the ball – and we are in it again. But that is as good as it will get. Rumours around are that Burton have also come back from one nil down – another game that will end up as a draw: curses!

Needless to say, there’s a group of us heading up to Bradford on Saturday!

Riding the Luck: Colchester at Home

20th March: at home.

This is the week of the Cheltenham Festival: horse racing extravaganza just down the M5. Literally thousands of pounds being spent on corporate hospitality, wagers and flights from and to Ireland. The week of St Patrick’s Day.

 

The weekend when both Formula One and Moto GP begin new seasons.

And the week that begins with Walsall still in third place in League One. A seeming impossibility at the end of last season.

To mark the first former Olympic cycling champion Victoria Pendleton finishes fifth in an amateur race at Cheltenham. To mark the second (and Channel Four’s debut as the channel showing F1 there is an interesting Guy Martin programme (on said Channel 4). Set up as a duel between a Red Bull F1 car (complete with semi-trailer and fourteen man pit crew) and Martin’s own superbike(arrives in the back of a white van with one mechanic) in a range of race-offs at Silverstone. The programme also, interestingly drags in science and personalities: David Coulthard piloting the car. Guy Martin in any guise is very telly-friendly: knowledgeable, charming and with an infectious humour. Non-stereotypical he “brews up tea” at the drop of a thing that is dropped easily and often and is an eccentric workaholic. Alf Tupper in leathers?

  

The factors that give the car three victories out of four are analysed, but key to the programme is the relationship that develops between the biker and the Scot.

 

Strangely – and for the first time, races in both classes will be taking part on the same weekends this season. Is this deliberate competition? Or accidental?

More seriously we have had the pronouncements of the Conservative government budget. Amongst the unexpected measures are the setting up of a tax on “Excessively sugary drinks”, allegedly to combat “child obesity” but perhaps to fund a pledge to make every school an academy rather than under local authority control: the long-threatened centralisation of control.

… and, driving home on Friday evening I hear that the alleged ring leader of the dreadful Paris attack has been captured in Brussels.

In the Saddlers news we will now not be playing our Good Friday game away at Gillingham or the home game against Shrewsbury on Easter Monday. To Bradshaw has, deservedly been called up for the Wales games – so an enforced “international break”.

This has both good and bad sides: we will gain games in hand … but these are no good if you can’t win ‘em.

Both games are being rearranged and I am seriously thinking of making the long trip to Gillingham. This has been a truly wonderful season to date (wonderful encompassing roller-coaster and frustrating but standards and spirit have been marvellous).

There are unexpectedly long queues at the ticket office when my brother and I get there; fans needing to get money back from the tickets they had perhaps bought for the postponed games, as well as some buying/collecting tickets for the game today.

There are just over a hundred fans that have made the trip from bottom-of-the-league Colchester. True fans indeed: my hat is off to them!

I decide to delay collecting my Savoy Lounge pass until after the game and head inside the Savoy Lounge. Nobody in there, so I politely nab a chair at a nearly full table and join in with chatter: the game at Burton Albion, a lady wanting to do her happy-dance goal celebrations who has just been given a job as staff nurse at Sutton Hospital and the sacking of Sean O’Driscoll.

Outside to join Cully, Jack and Mike at the pitch side. I hear about the successful trip to New York before we take our chairs.

Expectations are, of course, high; we are, after all playing the team that is bottom of our league Jon Whitney has done a fantastic job of getting the supporters behind the team (this man is a great motivator – we have yet to see if he is also a good manager). And the crowd is, quite literally, buzzing! Which is great to feel, to be part of.

 

But then reality sets in. Colchester are not going to roll over and give up. Far from it! They are keen, active, assertive and we struggle to get to grips with the speed at which they begin. Surely they cannot keep it up? Surely we will adjust ?

Then, with the ball in a totally different part of the pitch James O’Connor is down. Needing treatment. Looks serious: he is helped off the pitch, cannot put his weight on his one foot. Young Matt Preston; solid and physically awesome is shuttled on. He has already played a few games this season, but he is coming into a minefield this time. O’Connor has grown into the role of central defender over the course of this season – and has been another talisman.

Colchester’s much deserved goal comes from a corner. Lanky Owen Garvan leaping high to pop the ball past Etheridge into our net.

 

Maybe, we hope silently, the game will be called off because nine of the visiting fans run about a bit behind the goal.

Their team, cheekily and happily for them are one nil up – and looking good for it.

O.K. Fair enough we are without one of our “main men”, Adam Chambers. Young Liam Kinsella coming in for him is not having a bad game. And O’Connor is not out there, commanding the defence, but …

At some time we notice that both Jordy Hiwula and Tom Bradshaw are wearing black gloves. Tomorrow is the spring equinox, the day on which hours of sunlight and non-sunlight (technically sunlight is shaded from us by the earth itself) are equal: the first day of traditional spring, but this is the coldest day we can remember; low temperatures biting deep. Also the day, wouldn’t you know it when our gas boiler is being replaced at home (a combi boiler) so no central heating, some mess, lots of disturbance and clearing up to be looked forward to.

But, back to the gloves: I am minded of the Kirk Douglas gunfighter character in, I think, The War Wagon. But I am out-gunned by my peers who go for Robert Vaughn’s gambler-pistolero in The Magnificent Seven. Anything sometimes rather than watch poor football. Fashion and films can be a worthwhile distraction. And, is it true by the way that we can really only see 5% of everything that actually exists? That there is stuff in between the stuff that we can see?

At half time, gloves or no gloves, we are still we are one nil down. The crowd I still behind the team, but, as we kick off the second half, patience is wearing thin. We seem to be passing sideways – or worse, backwards, instead of going forwards. There is a tangible edge of frustration. How can we be so brilliant on the road and so poor at home. We haven’t won a home game in the last six. Are we jinxed?

The game continues; we are poor (and Colchester play a part, of course, dominating the game).

There are substitutions: Rico Henry off and Milan Lalkovic on (like for like or near as dammit) and Kieron Morris on for Kinsella. We stir a little after these moves. But Lalkovic cannot make an impression on the defence and is clearly annoyed with himself. Sawyers is booked (properly so for reacting angrily to a poor decision). The frustration is creeping onto the pitch.

Not sure where the plan came from but Matt Preston is now playing further forwards. Winning balls and knocking them down or on. The ball begins to go to our players, nit theirs. We are suddenly energised, realising maybe that we need to get a goal, get two: win the match … because time is running out.

Spectators all around me are adamant we will not get even a draw out of this. Me? I am not so sure.

And, faith pays off, as with a couple of minutes to go Preston finds Bradshaw who controls the ball inside the penalty area and drills a shot past the ‘keeper. We are level. Needless to say the atmosphere changes. The crowd is now baying: urging the team forwards, forwards, forwards.

Some more short, sideways passes. Long balls, crosses and we are in to time added on. Well into time added on. It seems impossible to score, but … we get a corner. Good cross from Lalkovic, the goalkeeper saves, the ball bobbles out to Bradshaw; fierce shot … comes off the bar.

To Preston, who is patience personified, waiting for the ball to drop, keeping his head.

Before he hammers it into the net … and the crowd goes crazy!

 

One we have literally pulled out of the fire.

For some reason the fourth official speaks with the referee and goalkeeper Etheridge is booked. Was he enjoying the goal/ Celebrating? He was too far away from the action. Cannot see this as anything other than an over-reaction. By the fourth official amazingly.

Happy with the three points. Still in third place: both Wigan and Burton above us winning their games (when less than secretly we were hoping they’d both slip up; give us a chance). But, honestly we had some real luck towards the end of this game and those few brave Colchester fans have every right to feel gutted on the way home to East Anglia.

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.

 

Port Vale: Away

Written on 6th April, 2014

I drove to Bescot to get the tickets for the Vale game. Burslem is not one of my favourite places in League One, though I have been there many times: it’s not so far to travel and there is usually fierce, not-quite-derby tension that brings excitement and skill out in both teams.

Driven in by my brother – cheers mate – and picking up Cully and Drew en route. Back lanes drive was a new way to get there for me, passing none of the landmarks and roundabouts I would normally be looking out for … and that’s not so easy from the back of an Alfa Romeo. Great parking spot and, hey there really was an oat-cakes shop (though it was closed) near the ground.

Brisk stroll; the ground looks so small and bodged together, with a patchwork ethos and stands that do not match. The roof of the stand we were in is apparently from Chester Football Club and so low it holds the sound in. The small-ish Walsall choir were buoyant, deafening (great support!) and, frankly discordant.

Grabbed a bite to eat at the café*: two coffees, two ciders a pie (only meat and potato) and a Mars bar. The cider was sticky and overly sweet.

That passion I was expecting (way back in the first paragraph)? No signs of it in the first half. Vale looking dangerous. Walsall looking a little lost and Ngoo in to replace suspended Westcarr didn’t quite work. The kid is talented, confident but doesn’t somehow fit in. Long legs like a young giraffe, very willing. Maybe just not enough match practice yet? Brandy looked tired and short of pace. James Chambers, unusually, was both out-paced and out-thought by the Vale winger, but we were hanging in there when the half time whistle went.

Playing towards us in the second half we seemed to have a better grip. Play was undoubtedly rougher – scuttlebutt going round the ground was that the teams above us (that we needed to lose to keep our remote play-off chances alive) were actually losing. Both teams here could capitalise on that – if they could win.

Some dubious refereeing decisions given both ways. Some harsh tackles: both ways, some diving: both sides … but when our centre half Paul Downing and a Vale player, Tom Pope, got tangled up in the penalty box – penalty.

Scored!

Cue substitutions: Brandy off for Lalkovic, Ngoo off for Bakayoko and Baxendale (largely ineffective) off for Hewitt.

Cue the traditional weekly last throw-down frantic paced everything and the kitchen sink and his wife and gundog melee as we hammer the Vale defence to get an equaliser and – in our eyes a shred of justice. Equaliser? Hell no; lets win the game!

I can never quite understand why we need to go one down before we start to play properly. Indeed there is a suggestion in the car as we drive back that we should hypnotise the team before the game, trancing ‘em into thinking we are one – nil down. Light the blue touch paper, stand back and watch the fireworks.

It’s history now, we don’t manage it. But there was a spirited first performance from Bakyoko, young but not afraid to get in with the big boys and their flying boots.

Elsewhere, the long-running saga of the Hillsborough Disaster continues. During my life there have been a number of football disasters, this being the worst of them. I cannot begin to imagine the torment the families of the ninety six people who died at what should have been a marvellous occasion have been put through. I salute their grit and determination to have genuine justice. It cannot have been easy.

Brighter news is that Birmingham City Ladies will be playing in the UEFA Women’s Champions League semi-final after beating Arsenal. Women’s football is booming at the moment, credit to everyone who has made it happen. Can we get a team at Walsall please?

And more international matches will be played at Bescot. My guess is that it is due to having the national training centre (St George’s Park) at Rangemore, because the games will be shared with Burton Albion. They are part of the UEFA European Under-19 Championship Elite Qualifying matches and will be played in May.

A horse from just down the road in Worcestershire won the Grand National while we were struggling to overcome the Vale and today Oxford hammered Cambridge in the Universities Boat Race.

*Oh yeah, the name of the café?

Would you Adam and Eve it ?