Sheffield United Away

Dean Holden has been appointed as Walsall coach. Fresh from spell at Oldham but previously signed as a defender at Walsall. Maybe we need his enthusiasm, different pair of eyes and defensive knowledge. This is going to be a run-in and a half. Burton Albion slipping up and their results bring them closer to us – just the matter of a couple of games in hand to deal with. Oh and three consecutive away games: Sheffield United, Oldham and Gillingham to be precise!

We have also signed a twenty one year old defender, Matthew Pennington on loan from Everton. I am not sure whether this was some kind of knee-jerk reaction to the injury to James O’Connor. But we also have the impressive Matt Preston available; but some depth in numbers – as long as it is quality – may be what we need. A young gun, ready to fill his boots, make his name and add his weight to the race-for-the-line.

Speaking of which the Oxford v. Cambridge Boat race was last weekend. The newly-added women’s race was astounding: the Oxford boat seeming to lose its way, while the Cambridge boat, already behind, followed the “racing line” and shipped so much water the pumps failed to work and the top of the sides of the boat were, literally level with the surface of the Thames! Credit to them that they managed to dig and finish. Credit to the Oxford cox for steering their boat into calmer (and winning) waters.

In the international break our very own Tom Bradshaw finally played for the Wales full team; coming on for twenty minutes as sub.

And a campaign to raise awareness of prostate cancer has TV Sky presenter Jeff Stelling doing a walk from Hartlepool to Wembley. He was joined on his midlands stretch by officials from local clubs, including the Saddlers. The campaign is called Men United.

So, following ‘phone calls I volunteer to do the driving to Sheffield United’s Bramall Lane home. The weather forecast is for showers to have passed and sunshine to be flooding in – and I grab the tickets from the box office beforehand. There’s a Transit Rail white van with Wolves supporters and Baggies fans involved in some banter outside the window there, but all cheerful enough.

Saturday comes round after news of international steel company Ta Ta deciding to sell the steel plants in Port Talbot and the government, faced by international corporate business and, either confounded by European Union rules or using this as an excuse unable/unwilling to do much. It is so much easier, of course, to be in opposition … but to be making the decisions (or avoiding them)? I mention this because, once upon a time Sheffield was the earth’s home of steel, particularly the stainless variety, the place was synonymous with quality cutlery and pen-knives. Hall marked!

And this indeed is where the nickname of Sheffield United comes from: the Blades! Their mascot is a rather pantomime pirate figure – up-staged only at half time by a rag-tag bunch of super-heroes (a lanky Spiderman, an aged-looking Captain America, Deadpool, and – a token DC character – Batman who parade around the ground, posing for photos and waving to sections of the nineteen thousand and some crowd.

Exactly when and where did this “nicknaming” of clubs start? The derivations of names from local industry/trade (obvious in names like Luton Town’s Hatters, Scunthorpe’s The Iron) gives something of the history – and pride of places the clubs are based. But, rather hollow in places like Sheffield, far more famous in its current guise for the Don Valley Stadium, and coach trips to one of Europe’s largest shopping malls at Greenhall Meadows. Coach trips to a shopping centre, I ask you. Really?

Walsall still has saddleries of some repute, including one which provides saddles for the Spanish Riding School (based, naturally enough in Vienna, capital of Austria!) And, I remember pootling around a cowboy store in Montana, finding saddles badges with made in Walsall.

But I get ahead of myself. The weather brightens after a trip to the library. By the time I get to my brother’s the roads are beginning to dry and by the time I have picked up the other two and am pulling out of the Alrewas petrol station things are looking up.

The car zooms speedily enough along the A38, the M1 and grinds to something of a stutter as we hit city centre traffic. Finding a parking space is never easy, but Bramall Lane is unusually close to the actual city centre. Loads of roads are permit-only and bristle with monitoring wardens. Eventually after riding all of the famous seven hills of the city (some of ‘em more than once) we chance upon a spot and disembark.

Inside the ground we get some pies and beers in (though I’m still resolutely non-alcohol – at least until we get beaten) and climb stairs to find we have a super view, from behind the goals of a well-sponsored, well-maintained ground. Which lacks the floodlight pylons it once had, but looks enormous from this angle. Feels rich too, though it may not be.

Kick off and some urgent scuttling about. Pennington is making his debut. Looks big, plays with confidence and energy in a 3 – 5- 2 system (if Sawyers can be considered a striker that is – even he is not sure).

Rico Henry running the left wing. Fast, tricky, but his crosses after wonderful runs are wasted. Either because he doesn’t look or because we just don’t have bodies up there (take your pick) and we go a goal down.

Sheffield using the wings well, carrying the ball. Well, they are at home. But Walsall are still, somehow, underwhelming. Was it the international break lay-off?

Reece Flanagan, picked because he had impressed in training, is ineffective, or swamped by Sheffield players, Sam Mantom cannot make up the ground and Chambers, always willing is last-ditch tackling and covering like a maniac.

Soon we are two goals down.

There is a spirited spell in the second half. Milan Lalkovic comes on, Hiwula too, but it is too late to make a real difference. Bradshaw up front, for the first time this season is unable to run on to the balls that are pumped up to him.

So we file, quietly out and find our way – eventually across the non-motorway Peak District therapy. By the time I am pulling into the drive at home most of the below-par performance has been erased.

Still in it: heads-down boys and pull for the top spots!

Oh, and I can now drink alcohol without feeling too guilty: thanks boys!

This Could Go Either Way.

Tuesday evening: home game in prospect against Nigel Clough’s Sheffield United. They’re trying to get promotion, are on a good run and will, like any team managed by a Clough be determined and make a game of it. The only question I am asking as I motor towards the ground is: will we?

We are closer now to the relegation zone than we are to promotion (though neither is mathematically impossible – yet). We have had ten games in a few weeks and for our small squad this is punishing. I am not prone to making excuses, especially where my own (team, family or self) are concerned, but the cracks are plain to see. Tom Bradshaw out again, with what is now a recurring hamstring problem, Andy Taylor took a serious knock against MK Dons on Saturday and young Michael Cain who has looked genuinely exhausted recently. I am beginning to genuinely believe that it is possible to play too many games.

Oh, and maybe he game at Wembley will be playing on players’ minds, making them, even if just a little, lacking in commitment tonight. This is a game that really could go either way.

Cully is there, with his son (Jay) who was at Man united at the weekend to watch them dominate a game against Tottenham (winning 3 – 0) with Wayne Rooney showing a wonderful sense of self-deprecation and humour in a goal celebration.

Big changes in the team: Mal Benning is in at left back (recalled from loan at York City), Amadou Bakayoko is on the bench. On the field Jordy Hiwula is leading the line and Forde gets a second start. Sam Mantom is back again. These are the players who will possibly be springing into action for us on Sunday – at Wembley. We start on equal terms, but Sheffield begin to boss it, territorially. They get a lucky break and score a goal from twenty five yards: a powerful shot which leaves O’Donnell diving, but too late and too slow. We back off, passing poorly, too many long hopeful balls, lack of confidence, too few honest challenges. There’s a young lad (eight, nine, ten) sitting in front of me. He’s travelled up from Milton Keynes to meet his granddad, a Sheffield United supporter at the game. But, though this is a marvellous show of family they say little to each other: his granddad far too involved in the football, the lad taking a liking to Walsall. And, actually not surprising, as Sheffield look short of ideas. They rather close up shop, bang a few long balls up, five players back in defence and do not support their forwards. Their mistake. As was the mystifying feigning of injury by a couple of their players – taking up at least six minutes. Playing for time? Be serious! Refereeing decisions can, likewise, be out-of-left field, but this referee decided to overlook some pantomime theatrics and play only three minutes of additional time.

I had been thinking driving over to the game that this was a game that could go either way; indications at half time were that it was going away from us. A real shame. I have spent so long believing  that against all the odds, on a shoestring and a smile budget we could finish in the top ten (at worst), but now it seems we may have a dogged battle to avoid relegation. What again? Really? But second half we snapped back. More possession, more adventure. No feeling sorry for ourselves. Some fine surging forward runs from Benning (nominally full back but such an attacking player and so devastating for pace and have-a-go attitude), great inventive wide play from Forde. Hiwula a natural as main striker. He is denied a penalty by the referee after being fetched down, ungraciously in the box while on a very aggressive diagonal run with the ball. He is single minded, this player, but running out of energy as the game progresses. Is that because he is so deserted up forwards?

There is a substitution for Walsall which creates some wry comments. Ashley Grimes is put on to replace Jordan Cook. Of course we cannot help – there being scouts from the likes of Ipswich sitting nearby – that this is a masterstroke, that Grimes is such a marvellous player, blah blah blah … a well -judged substitution. But it’s all said ironically …

Many a true word spoken in jest I can hear my grandmother saying as – sure enough – Grimes is in the right place to balletically head in a fine cross – one of many – from overlapping Ben Purkiss. The floodgates open and we pepper the Sheffield goal; a header off the post, a free kick close, but not enough on target.

Suddenly we look fierce, and the crowd, having waited long enough is singing.

“Che Sera Sera

We’re going to Wembley”

Which gives everybody linked to Walsall real heart. Not enough to win the game, but enough to turn the mood.

A game that could have gone either way ended up going both ways – a reasonable performance overall.

And it is true. We will be at Wembley in just a few (five) days. Eleven games gone by, the tiredness surely lifted by the occasion – and a wonderful surface to be playing on, in front of a seventy thousand crowd – twenty nine thousand and some from the Walsall area!

Bradshaw, Blades and Christmas Coming Up …

So … that convincing home win against Barnsley stretches an unbeaten run and puts us four points off the play off places. For those of you unsure about the system: top two teams in the league get automatic promotion to the Championship and those placed three to six enter a play-off with home and away games aggregated score deciding which two teams play in the final for the third promotion spot. To qualify we have to finish better than sixth. That is real progress after a very poor start to the season and, I will reluctantly admit goes some way to vindicating the outwardly calm, no-panic approach of the management team. 

Walsall Football Club always seems to be run on a shoestring budget: if we cannot afford it we ain’t gonna risk it kind of approach. I’m all in favour of that, especially since we have a fine system of scouting that turns up gems like Tom Bradshaw (below right) and get some superb loan players in – Michael Cain (below left)  from Leicester is a current example. It must also be about the relationship between players and staff of course – so I guess something is going well. It certainly felt like it watching the Barnsley game!

 

But our next three games pit us against quality teams who are above us in the league: Sheffield United away, Swindon at home on Boxing day  followed by MK Dons away.

Sheffield United, the Blades, fresh from knocking Premier League Southampton out of the Capital One Cup are managed by Nigel Clough. They play at Bramall Lane. Sheffield, once the knife and cutlery making capital of the world: once the home of the mighty British Steel and the sought-after “made in Sheffield” mark meant quality all across the world. Certainly my grandmother had some of it, set, she always said in whalebone handles.

 

Before the game we take a trip to Cannock Chase to buy a Christmas tree. Choosing a five footer that is now decorated and set up in the corner of the living room. Sentimental attachments to many of the decorations that are reminders of our daughters growing up and of places we have visited. And, so pleasing when the lights come on …

Dreadful news from Peshawar, Pakistan, where a hundred and forty one people, including a hundred and thirty two children have been killed during a so-called terrorist raid. It seems inconceivable that any religion can claim that educating children is wrong but this seems to be the twisted logic behind the raid. Outrageous! Cowardly! The future can only be poorer unless everyone gets and education – surely? Although many students in the developed world may not see it as such – learning – and learning how to learn – is a privilege. The fact that  there are regions of the world that do not have this yet makes us all poorer. That a culture would try to prevent it is feudal and ignorant. Thoughts with the families there – for the very, very little that it is worth.

As a result the Pakistani prime minister has reinstated the death penalty.

Back to sport, where there is some degree of sanity. Rugby Union team Wasps have played ther first game at their new home, the ricoh Arena in Coventry – a long-running saga this one. One-time F.A. Cup giant-killers Hereford United have been declared bankrupt – after ten  court winding up hearings.  While in this year’s F.A. Cup lowly local team Worcester City, having forced a gallant draw in their  first game at Scunthorpe went out in a dramatic replay with a new record number of shoot-out penalties before resolution: thirty in all. Hope it brings few new fans to the Aggborough club.

BBC has had its annual Sports Personality of the Year, reflecting the highs, lows and dramas of sport. Lewis Hamilton (Grand Prix driver) won the overall people’s vote: Cristiano Ronaldo the international player of the year and the first ever GB team from the Invictus Games getting a fine award, with a marvellous tribute from Prince Harry who when asked how he felt gave credit to the athletes but added “like a proud dad!” with a  big, genuine  smile. I am really proud of how far sport for the disabled has come and how that label “disabled” carries no stigma in my country.

We have had no really cold winter weather yet. It gets dark, it is wet, sometimes windy and grey, but cold? Not yet.

So Saturday dawns and I get to the afternoon radio. BBC WM as is traditional for me. Better than BBC Sports Live as it concentrates on local clubs. I am reading with an ear open for the “goal horn” but the  irregular “catch up reports” from Sheffield are not exciting for either side. The commentator makes it sound dull – perhaps it actually is, but that’s not what I want to hear.

Neither some minutes into the second half is that Sheffield have scored. Better news shortly afterwards that Tom Bradshaw has equalised: a splendid header I later see as I watch highlights. That’s eleven goals for him this season so far …

A draw at Sheffield? Tom Bradshaw getting another goal? A run of seven unbeaten games? and Michael Cain’s loan period extended? Keeps me happy.

Merry Christmas!

Blades Out! JPT:Sheff. Utd. (home)

A little digression before we begin. The weekend passed while I was in Tallinn. Walsall crept a replay against Shrewsbury and Walsall Football Club paid a fitting tribute to Stewart Staples, long-time fan of the club – and a good friend to my family and I.

It was also Remembrance Sunday weekend. A hundred years since the beginning of a war which surprised everyone by its duration and the damage, loss of life and injury caused. Alrewas, just up the A38 from me is the proud home of the Memorial Arboretum. Funded by voluntary contributions the site has risen from quarried land to become a fine establishment and, this year one of the key sites for remembrance. Ironically during the war years Alrewas had a fine women’s football team, but at the end of hostilities the F.A. banned women from playing in public apparently. Imagine how the world might have been different if this decision had not been made.

 

Sheffield United suddenly became newsworthy at the start of the week. A former player, Ched Evans (a Welsh international) has been released from prison following serving a sentence for rape. His contract with the Blades ran out while he was inside.

Upon leaving prison he wanted a chance to “go back to work” (play professional football and his case was, it seems taken up by the Professional Footballer’s Association. He has been allowed to train at Sheffield United (managed by Nigel Clough). There has been a tremendous uproar from all quarters. From those connected with the club, from the shirt sponsors, from Jessica Ennis-Hill (Olympic athlete) who has a stand at Bramall Lane named for her, from TV presenter “Charlie” Webster (A club patron apparently) to name but a few.

 

 

While I confess to being mildly surprised I can, of course, understand the furore. However, given that the courts found him guilty he has served his time and deserves a chance to return to life. He will never be able to do it without stigma – inevitably – and, should he ever play professionally again, he will find that football fans have a unique way of dragging players’ histories up, again and again. But courts do not dispense justice: they dispense decisions according to the law. Evans is still claiming that he did nothing wrong is upsetting his detractors who feel, rightly that as a potential “role model” he should take responsibility for his actions. So … Sheffield United were due to play is in the regional quarter final of the Johnstone’s Paint Trophy on Wednesday night. But it is entirely possible that their minds were on other matters, not least a realistic promotion challenge this season.

On my own at the kick off, part of a disappointing two thousand plus crowd I find that a TV camera station has been set up blocking the view from my season ticket seat. The match, evidenced by the plethora of grey-not-quite-silver vans on the car park is being broadcast on Sky TV. I move along a couple of seats, dodge about as genuine seat owners claim their rightful places – and settle up between a trio of professional scouts and another regular. We were soon talking and a man, sort of familiar, tried to walk the narrow space between the back of our chairs and the windows of the windows of the lounge. I helped him past as he stumbled and looked like falling. Kenny Jackett (Wolves manager).

Good support from a couple of coach loads from up north.

Kick off and a bright start. To and fro football; Saddlers probably just edging it. Bradshaw, brave as always up front. Sawyers, Cain and Forde in midfield attacking roles. Ben Purkiss having another excellent game. So are the Chambers twins. Some fairly innocuous challenges seeing players yellow carded and a severe one which took Bradshaw down not even getting a free kick. Consistency please?

Good saves by O’Donnell – left exposed a couple of times.

 

Second half started without Bradshaw, replaced by Manset. I find out later he has “stretched a hamstring”. Quick forward work and we win a corner. Purkiss would say later in a radio interview that the set piece was “one of ten or so we rotate …” but Sawyers ran to the ball, got a neat flicked header which the defender at the far post, under pressure from Jordan Cook helped into the net. I am not a statistician by any means but cannot remember the last time we scored from a corner.

  

 

We were then on top for a long spell. Nigel Clough had many a number of changes, while Dean Smith is keeping to his word and playing his “strongest team”. Whatever, despite a late flurry from Blades, and after five minutes added time we are into the regional semi-final.

A lot has been made by local media about the fact we have never played at Wembley in our entire history. This evening we are a step closer, in this competition than Sheffield United are going to be.

It was a good result. TV audiences would have switched sides long before the end I think: not enough action or drama! But sometimes a result is the only thing that counts. We are hearing the buzz word “momentum” around our club now. If that means the motivation/inspiration you get from putting a run together I’ll take it.

Driving home I notice how dark the skies are.

Somewhere out there, around three hundred million miles away the European Space Agency has landed an unmanned probe on a comet. How amazing is that? The rocket carrying it was launched ten years ago in a planned rendezvous. Called Rosetta the mission has the lander on the surface returning signals and data back to Darmstadt, Germany. It’s where science gets exciting.

 

In a script a little like The Martian, things are not quite as planned and the batteries of the lander may not be able to re-charge. But we’ll learn a little more from the information we get back.

A little closer to home David Moyes has taken up the manager’s job at Real Sociedad. Good luck to him.

Stags and Shrews (Shrewsbury at home: F.A. Cup First Round)

I walk out of the hotel. I’m going to be in a taxi, on a plane, in a minibus for the next ten hours or so. I need some fresh air. Some light exercise. Just an hour’s walk around to clear the cobwebs, get the blood circulating.

And to stand for two minutes silence at eleven o’clock. This is the first time I can remember when I have not been in England at a Remembrance Sunday service. And this one is a hundred years after the beginning of the war that everyone believed would end all wars.

I plan to hold my token silence at the War of Independence Victory Column just around the corner from the hotel. Outside looked very wet from inside the hotel, with rainwater funnelled off roofs by downspouts that resemble a giant’s speaking tube … emptying water not into drains but onto the pavement. But, by the time I am wrapped up and walking through the automatically operated doors there are patches of blue sky and it is not as cold as we had feared. Very hospitable climate indeed – and people too.

But I have a few minutes to spare before eleven – and want to explore a little more. I walk outside the Old Walled City. I notice some movement: a bloke climbing a stepladder, pulling plastic sheeting off … off,

Wow!

It’s unmistakeable: a section of the former Berlin Wall. And connections are made between what I had been watching on BBC’s World TV channel this morning.

It is twenty five years since the “collapse” of the Berlin Wall. I stroll, but rapidly across the tramlines and traffic (there really isn’t much). The people are preparing an official ceremony. Covering up the wall section with black silk. There’s a German flag on one side and an Estonian flag on the other.

I get two quick phone photos before it is covered (I can work out how to get them onto the internet later I hope). A lady there explains to me the significance. The figures tumble around inside my head.

Ten years ago Estonia got independence, twenty five years ago the Berlin Wall fell, a hundred years ago World War One began. Shocking! Numbers eh?

I manage my silence, get back to My City Hotel in time to clamber into a taxi, explain to the driver we want the airport not the seaport (others were not so lucky, trust me) and we are off into that zombie world of international travel. Bring on some form of teleportation that doesn’t end up with me having the head and limb of a random fly a la Vincent Price B movies.

I have had a great adventure on this “stag night trip”; met new people, seen new things and added to my knowledge. Lit a couple of candles in the Russian Orthodox Church for “absent” and inspirational friends. Hearing some rehearsal for an organ recital from the Lutheran “dome” church.

Awake all of Thursday night/Friday morning talking about horror films, families, jobs, houses and travel – and watching YouTube clips. Travelling down to Gatwick Airport in a cramped minibus and flying into Tallinn.

Hotel then a succession of drinking holes. A fascinating old walled city, magical in the flame-lamp lit, damp-cobbled evening. Good food, variety of places to eat and happy people: mostly tourists. A welcoming city, interesting sights with free-information signboards explaining historical significance and contexts.

Bed reasonable early. Breakfast good. A walk of the town: Toompea, the churches, the viewing points and embassies. Coffee and cake, then we visit military antique shops, one that, sadly has church icons for sale (from where and how old and with what traditions I cannot help wondering) and fail to reach an agreeable barter for a Quadrophenia Soundtrack vinyl LP (two Euros and a pack of unopened Walsall F.C. playing cards not having the buying power we expected you see). Then meeting “the lads” for a “sports fest” in a sports bar.

     

Beginning with the Chelsea Liverpool game (a couple of Liverpool fans on the trip disappointed by the result), Rugby Union: England vs New Zealand (final score 21 – 24) and the Formula 1 from Brazil.

Inevitably it gets raucous. I step out for bread and cheese and a coffee, wondering how Walsall are getting on against Shrewsbury in the F.A. Cup game (you can use your ‘phone where the group are, but have to pay a forfeit: roll the dice and drink a nominated drink: by now the rules are that you have to “neck it in one”).

When I get to find out we are losing 2 -1, but there’s a Tom Bradshaw (wouldn’t you know it?) deflected-off-the-knee equaliser in added time.

So – a replay for us … and a chance to go?

After the long afternoon of sport, there’s more serious drinking time. Four of us split off for a meal and when we get back there’s a short been bought for me. I neck it and, retreat being the better part of valour, retire early. With good memories and good company assured.

Sheffield United next in the regional semi-final of the Johnstone’s Paint Trophy.

What’s In A Word: Drone?

 

Earlier this week high drama at an international Euro qualifier match being played in Belgrade, Serbia against Albania violence erupted; first on the field of play, then involving spectators. Because of tremendous political enmity between the two teams Albanian fans were banned from the game. However, a drone (pilotless remote controlled flying machine carrying an Albanian flag entered the airspace above the players. One of the Serbian defenders, Stefan Mitrovic, ripped the flag from the machine and the Albanian players – offended perhaps by this abuse of their national banner – attacked the defender. The situation worsened. The experienced English referee, Martin Atkinson, lead the teams off the pitch. On the way off players continued to scuffle and fans also joined in. Thirty minutes later, with Albanian players stating that they were in no emotional state to continue, the game was called off.

 

 

Even if it was misguided, this is passion eh?

It’s been a busy week with wet weather and a visit to the Black Country Living Museum – thankfully in fine autumn sunshine.

… and swapping short text messages with a Mark Savage, author of e-book 120 Grounds for Divorce. We were trying to make arrangements to hook up before the game. I offered canned soup, bread and cheese at our house, he responded with The Saddlers Club at 2.15. No competition there then?

So my brother drifted in with fully lubricated Alfa Romeo (plus two new tyres on the front) and off we spun. Sun happily shining down and filled with the wonderful enthusiasm that’ll get the best of supporters when you know you are playing against the bottom team who are conceding goals at the rate of about three a game. So far that is.

This being me, I waltzed straight past the paying desk in the club and was about to be dragged to the ground by a reluctant but-still-burly security guy … before his feet could leave the ground I had slowed and turned to see my brother (cheers mate) paying my dues. I think the security man was also relieved.

 

Over to the bar, chatter pouring between us. They now have Febian Brandy – a one time rescue project and agile hit man loanee for us – playing for them (on loan from Rotherham). Have no doubt that he should have stayed at Bescot, but equally have no issues with him gong for the money he was certainly promised at Championship Rotherham… but not looking forward to his raiding runs against our defence – even with iron man Andy Butler there (for perhaps his last game for us; he being on loan from Sheffield United (ironically our November opponents in the next round of the Johnstone’s Paint Trophy – to be televised apparently).

 I ordered a pint from a tap displaying a label saying “Golden Ale” but even as I watched it being poured I knew it was no such thing. The bar man didn’t seem to understand …

“What? You think the label on it tells you what it’s going to be?”

Then a quick dash across the car park, up the stairs, through the Bonser Suite to meet the others. Walsall sat back in the first half. Cook the lone man up front – I am disappointed by this especially when we have so many forwards. Sawyers playing a blinder, energetic, challenging and physical: really up for it. So good to see. Ben Purkiss in at right back, Taylor (out with a sickness bug last weekend) as left back and Benning on the left wing. Crewe playing a wide attack, using the wingers a lot and attempting to push up and catch our players off-side.

A comedy moment when Richard O’Donnell saved well and the ball bounced off different bits of his body, between his legs before he got it under control. Well, I say comedy … could have gone seriously wrong.

Flanagan had an exceptional game – guess he’ll be a star of the future – but ran himself into the ground and was duly substituted (Billy Clifford) in the second half which Saddlers started aggressively. Why oh why can’t we start games like that?

Manset came on, but this meant Cook was pushed out to the wing leaving us again with only one striker up front. Go figure, I have this fantasy about how well this pair – or Manset and Bradshaw – would play together in a 4 – 4 – 2. And Baxendale came on. But it was like some kind of shadow boxing, like watching one team play itself, with a lot of lateral passing and skill, but little attack and woefully few shots on goal. Either way.

In the stand we talked about preparations for the family bonfire, going to Crawley on Tuesday, why home fans boo-ed former players (in this case Brandy) and storylines in the classic Eagle comics. Of course there was also banter and work-talk.

But Walsall just couldn’t make the direct approach – perhaps because this is not possible with a target man alone. So there were passages of marvellous passing – from both teams actually, but little passion.

Until our defenders failed to clear a corner on eighty four minutes and Crewe centre half Dugdale stuck the ball in the net.

Crewe fans went wild – of course they did! – and they held out until the final whistle. Of course they did.

Now we are in the relegation zone and trouble is a wolf knocking on the door, while we listen to a different kind of drone in the media. About how the players and management are frustrated and upset and just cannot seem to score goals. Excuse me: whose job is it to sort that out?

The Drama and the Pantomime Villain.

World Cup Finals

Brazil vs Chile

I am sitting here, exhausted, less by a yesterday spent  helping to decorate our  daughter’s new house  than by the couple of breath taking hours I have spent watching exciting drama unfold in Belo Horizonte. A match full of thrills, spills, endless endeavour and end to end football. A game that showed skilful players can also go toe-to-toe, taking and dishing out hard – but generally fair – physical punishment. Long-range and accurate shooting, long mazy dribbles, one-two passes, headers, agility from both keepers, and a stadium filled with supporters out to enjoy the spectacle and give their teams total support. A game that had me on the edge of my seat. A game that would have made a marvellous final.

The stadium filled with fans wearing either the bright yellow of Brazil or the proud red of Chile. Fans grouped and mixed together. Another level of atmosphere altogether.

Effort, pride, skill and emotion as the game see-sawed from end to end. Brazil taking the lead. The Chilean manager Jorge Sampaoli striding like a Ted Hughes caged tiger in the technical area, tense like a fist. Prowling. The tactics he had given his team worked. A loose throw in, possession seized and the ball beautifully turned into the Brazilian penalty box for Alexis Sanchez to rifle the ball into the net.

Some refereeing I was, at first annoyed by, big tackles going without remark or warning. But credit to Howard Webb and his two assistants (retrospectively) for letting the tow teams rip into each other with full-blooded challenges and muscle. Braver still in the early part of the second half he disallowed a Hulk goal for handball … when t=it would have been far, far easier to let it stand and give the well-supported home team the edge.

Instead the decision seemed to rock the Brazilian team a lot. Chile pressed them back and back and back and were on top for long spells – just could not score.

Inevitably extra time came and went. Penalties!

Great saves by Julio Cesar kept the first Chile penalties out, but the team rallied. Drew level. A fine display of nerves from all involved, but especially Neymar, tempting Claudio Brava (Chile’s captain) into diving (he didn’t) before the ball was struck. Brazil went through when their last penalty taker hit the post.

But what a brave effort and what an inspiring spectacle for the world audience.

It could have been the final, so intense was the competition. It could have been none of the better English derby game, with the strength of tackles and challenges going in; the exhausting amount of commitment shown by all.

Contrast this to the despicable, truly irrational behaviour of a most talented but seriously misguided Luis Suarez, biting Italian defender Chiellini during a game. Not the first time he has done this, having previously done so while wearing an Ajax and a Liverpool shirt. Both punished.

This third offence, seen by a world wide audience is exactly the wrong kind of example, taking the glory from what is still a simple, beautiful and beautifully simple game. He has been given a four month football ban. Long enough?

I am truly not sure.

 

On a more mundane, but Saddlers-style note, we have failed to get Febian Brandy back. After he was released by Sheffield United he decided to go to Championship club Rotherham. Understandable: a higher level of football, more money. But disappointing at the same tie. Wish him well – unless we play them of course!