Easter: Eggs and Reflections.

No games this weekend for the “mighty Saddlers”. To summarise this season for Walsall Football Club?

Is it even possible?

We are, amazingly, experiencing all of the joys and wallops that a season can bring. Out of all cup competitions at relatively early stages the somewhat pale excuse that we can “now concentrate on winning promotion” is being borne out.

I have been to and enjoyed a whole range of games, buoyed by this success. Seen highlights and a few of the lows. Our strange topsy-turvy away-form-better-than-home-form is enigmatic, but makes travelling exciting.

We have been through managerial changes and speculation, transfer shenanigans (loan and otherwise) and kept the players that we all thought were jewels in our league one crown: Tom Bradshaw, Rico Henry and Romaine Sawyers. We have taken on a super new goalkeeper and introduced some stars-for-the-future (for me Kieron Morris and Matt Preston particularly.

But this weekend we have an enforced “international break” while our league rivals get games in. One of the great things about the season has been the emergence of our internationals. Jason Demetriou (Cyprus), Romaine Sawyers (St Nevis and St Kitts – who knew?), Neil Etheridge (Philippines) and Tom Bradshaw (Wales).

   

The fact that they are international players brings a certain cache and means of course that they are talented players (with the likes of Bradshaw: week in and week out). They go away, brush shoulders with some of the brightest and best players (either as team mates or as opponents) and this can only be good experience. Bradshaw, at the very least, training alongside Gareth Bale is a splendid example; Bale so talented he would deserve a place in any international team. Experience that will rub off. But might also make the players realise what they are not able to get at Bescot. Not least salaries and incidentals: heated, contoured chairs in the dressing room for starters?

Whatever else we are, we are a club that so far has managed tight resources (including money)frugally. It has always been the case methinks. But this season the board seems to have become a lot more committed to the chase for promotion and I, for one, appreciate the efforts. Long may it continue!

So … a fine balance, but in the words of the song let’s look on the bright side.

The Germany versus England game was on TV. Played in the impressive Olympiastadion, Berlin it began with, sadly predictably a minutes silence for those who suffered in the Brussels terrorist attack.

The game was fast flowing; England looking sharp on the counter attack, but Germany went in at half time leading 2 – 1 (having had another disallowed for off-side).

Most of the pitch side adverts were for English (or England-based companies); Trade Point, Vauxhall (not Opel) and, ironically, given the history of our two nations as enemies in two world wars: World of Tanks (O.K. it’s just a foolish computer game, but having just had a silence to consider the follies of blowing up innocent people I had to pause …)

Some impressive, skilful and energetic performances from England players against the World Champions. But this was never going to be enough. England got back into the game through a Harry Kane goal, then equalised and went on to grab a deserved injury time winner (sounding somewhat familiar perhaps?).

The European Championships are getting closer … and this and other friendlies will set out respective stalls.

Will the inane Glen Hoddle (superior footballer in his day still be commenting on the England games? His “he should have looked to put the ball in the opposite corner” aside when Kane scored – scored, mind you! – was ridiculous!

Tom Bradshaw didn’t play in the Wales v Ireland game: a “hamstring niggle” apparently. Whoops …

Sad news that Johann Cruyf has passed away> one of the great internationals, the Dutchman was part of the very first “total football” sides. The tactics and training that came from that era a re seen in all matches nowadays.

The clocks swing forwards overnight. It will be Easter Sunday and I am free to drink alcohol again. I stopped, not so much for Lent, but after an encounter and chat with a guy in the steam room at the local gym.

I don’t feel any different for not drinking, and wasn’t sorely tempted …

… it’s just that while I haven’t been drinking my football team hasn’t lost.

Any advice?

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.

A Trip Too Far: Fleetwood Away.

Still buzzing after the lift the season suddenly got with the win – and blistering performance and commitment – at Chesterfield the weekend gone.

But work is work – and my car needed to undergo its annual Ministry of Transport test. Duly booked in for the day we play at Fleetwood. Enough time to do a day’s work, pick it up and get to the Highbury Stadium just north of Blackpool?

 

So concerned with the M.O.T. that I left my lunch time sarnies at home, the canteen food does not appeal to me and, dammit I was unable to get out because a) I was too busy and b) honestly, I just couldn’t be bothered to go through the rigmarole of keys and going off-site.

So made do with a few chocolate biscuits, some birthday cake (a tradition where I am working) and coffee. Great, but neither healthy nor enough to fill a belly that grumbled all afternoon.

Some work – a back spring was needed to get the car its roadworthiness certificate. The garage managed it, and I arrived to get the car at around 5.30. My time to get to Fleetwood? Two hours and five minutes said my sat-nav gadget.

But there’ll be speed restrictions between here and Stoke, queues around Manchester … so, a little chicken headed, and still needing food, I decided to stay home, find a way to keep up with the scores, if nothing else while typing.

I check out the official web-site: there’s something called Saddler’s Player (but it costs money I haven’t got) but BBC WM are covering the full match. So I pile up the cushions, and listen to a very positive, energetic pre-match build-up. What a refreshing change: no patronising, simple fast-paced segues of past goals, interviews and some latest news, interspersed with humour.

“it wasn’t broken, somebody tried to fix it … didn’t do a very good job,” says one presenter about our playing style.

The cliché from Sam Mantom is a cliché only because it is correct, but, even as he says it, I am wincing (his turn-around performance was, after all, key to our success on Saturday

https://saddlersfan.wordpress.com/2016/03/13/here-comes-the-new-boss/). Even so …

The teams are unchanged: pleasing news.

Heads down and trust in the Lord, it’s almost time.

Half time and the enthusiastic energy of the commentators is flagging. There are no goals and there are only so many ways, I guess, that you can describe passing about the pitch. There are no pundits “back in the studio” to share the load, although former goalkeeper and current Community manager, Mick Kearns gives a few sage words of uncompromising opinion at half time. I have always admired his no-nonsense honesty, even when it is harsh.

And, I am going to have to eat some of my earlier words here (or edit them out).

On forty nine minutes Hiwula and that man Mantom (with a back-heel) combine to work the ball to Tom Bradshaw who scoops the ball into the Fleetwood net.

“Goals change – er, ahem – games after all!”

This is our game in hand, being played at the third time of asking: postponed twice because of poor weather. And if we can hold on to those three points we are, at last, level with Wigan: second but for goal difference (that’ll be third then, I hear you thinking).

And I’m thinking it doesn’t seem so long ago that Stephen Pressley and his son were siting talking to us at Bescot, commenting on what a great job Dean Smith was doing at Walsall on a miniscule budget. Now he’s manager at Fleetwood – and losing so far.

Our “big-engine” leader by example Chambers is injured; left knee. Long term? Who knows, but is taken off and the willing Liam Kinsella comes on. And Etheridge keeps us in the game near the end with a couple of excellent saves.

Three hundred and thirty some Walsall fans managed to get to the game. I am satisfied. And am raring to go to the home game on Saturday: let’s get some more goals then: Colchester at home.

Here Comes The New Boss

The extremely attractive and ever-purposeful Maria Sharapova was in the news and on TV this week: admitting to –and trying to explain away- the positive results of a drug test.

She has, she says, been taking the drug meldonium (don’t ask me) for ten years. But it was recently added to the banned substances list by the World Tennis Association. She hadn’t realised this and was pronounced guilty.

Hmmm: I find it interesting. Not only because she is not hard to look at, but also because this is the latest in a line of successful athletes (she is undoubtedly that and demonstrably committed to her sport) finding themselves on the horns of this performance-enhancing dilemma.

To be successful, and remain so, sportsmen and women need to be at the peak. This needs every possible source of help possible: financial, psychological, physical and medical. This, in turn, means they attract sponsors and make money through endorsements (none of which is even vaguely wrong). But, in this world of easy access to steroids, legal, not-quite and downright risky: where to draw that line?

It is hard to believe, too, that such a dedicated, perfectionist-in-preparation would not have noticed. Hard to believe, but not impossible (and she knows how to get her retaliation in first!). In her presentation she appeared honest and prepared to accept whatever judgement is pronounced.

But her sponsors (including Nike, Porsche and Tag Heuer) are already backing away from her: cancelling contracts and fees left, right and centre.

Speaking of money and affordability: the Premier League will be placing a cap on prices for away supporters next season of thirty pounds. What a welcome decision, though not as welcome as it being set at twenty pounds and including any league in which Walsall might be playing next year.

At some point I had this off-the-wall idea that all four top league clubs should be allowed a “joker”. To be played when they feel they could beat the team at the bottom of the Premier League (in an aggregate-scored home and away legged match). So Aston Villa are struggling (painfully so) at the bottom of the premiership as I type the Walsall hierarchy might decide to play the joker. We get two games arranged: we win (in my imagination by a significant score line). Then, literally swap places. Walsall are now at the bottom of the Premiership, Villa in League One (play-off places as it happens).

So, Reading- not quiet chosen at random – (from the Championship) decide to play their joker and the two games are duly organised and played. Perhaps Reading would win: Walsall drop into the Championship and Reading are – at last – in the premiership. It would bring a whole new dimension to every season: politics, and a greater desire to avoid that perilous bottom place.

Any thoughts?

Anyway we have our third “new” manager, though actually it is our one-time physio Jon Witney, back in charge of team affairs again. He is an excellent motivator, thoughtful and inspirational when he talks: engages people well and, so far, has been able to press the right buttons with the team. Noticeably during our last home game against Barnsley, while Sean O’Driscoll stood, a little forlornly outside the dug-out (body language! Body language!) Witney was up and shaking his fist, pointing …

So maybe we have impetus again. Witney has certainly stepped up to the oche media wise.

My comments re the articulate nature of O’Driscoll when interviewed but became stale with “other teams recognise how we play now and will shut us down” style repetitions. Reminiscent to me of Graham Taylor as England manager making excuses even before kick-off. And while he undoubtedly had experience he was somehow failing to connect somewhere. “Funny,” Andy will say to me “how in football we so little about what actually goes on …”

So, do I chance going to Chesterfield on Saturday? Risk humiliation? Frustration? Victory?

Do the neighbourhood cats use our front garden as a toilet?

I text Andy.

Yes, we’re all set.

Saturday is the second consecutive sunny warm day: spring is a creeping up on us (although according to the Met Office their spring is already under way) I visit the barber’s, just down the road and around the corner. There’s a guy and three primary school age lads in the queue ahead of me.

“Their mother’s broken her foot,” he informs me. The lads are, generally well behaved, the youngest is for years old; bit squirmy, even with a free lollipop. They had a tour of Molineux (the home ground of Wolverhampton Wanderers and the pitch was being sprayed with something that smelled of garlic. That has me wondering – of course it does!)

Up to Rugeley, in the plush freshly cleaned by charity fundraiser and we sweep onto the roads.

Get there early. Sit and chat in the car until around ten past two (all public transport should be free to everyone), wander across to the Proact Stadium, purchase the tickets from the Away fans ticket office and through the automated gates without fuss. Couple of coffees and a simple burger and we watch the players warm up. The Forde is injured and out rumour scotched: he’s training and on the bench for the kick off.

 

And while we’re choosing a place to sit – behind the goals in the sun-flooded North Stand we smile at an announcement coming over the public address system:

“We would like to apologise to those in the West Stand for a fault with the speakers that means you may not be able to hear announcements made this afternoon”.

????

Only at an English football match, surely?

And we kick off and control the game. Full of energy. Jordy Hiwula starting this game.

There are around eight hundred Walsall fans around me: noisy, irreverent and self-deprecating. There are some, rather cruel and un necessary chants aimed at O’Driscoll. I guess he is at home, drinking a cup of tea. That we are the last thing on his mind now. I wish him well, but … back to the game.

Where Chesterfield are having a few attacks … from this point of view alarming holes seem to regularly open up in our defence; and the Chesterfield strikers are passing accurately and it is very hard to win the ball back …

… and O’Connor puts the ball into our net. He and Etheridge exchange a few choice words. This isn’t what we came for! I have been impressed by Etheridge this season: he gets involved, he’s agile, usually commands his area and gives advice to players on the field (the goalkeeper always has a view because the game is all in front of him).

But he is at fault here: he should have gone out and taken the ball.

Test of character? Pivotal moment?

Do we roll our eyes, give up and go belly up at this point? We’ve not played well recently; not won recently: our manager has been sacked?

No1. We roll up our sleeves, metaphorically speaking, and get back to the job. Although Mantom seems indecisive and Sawyers less involved that earlier in the season.

Still, there is soon another own goal: this time at the other end.

Half time. Time for the Witney chat!

Second and the Spire-ites seem less happy, jaded and we see a lot of the action. Right in front of us. And we look determined now, steely. Hiwula puts in some neat touches, Bradshaw as always keen to run things down. Rico henry is sharp and as a point to prove – after being left out by O’Driscoll. He is the shortest player on the pitch but has great ability in the air too.

The Chesterfield goal is under siege. A passing move across the front of their area… oh no, just one pass too many?

Absolutely not. The ball is at the feet of Sammy Mantom and put into the net.

Two – one!

Sheer delight! Players and fans! The blessed relief of it is undeniable. Then comes the pantomime. Walsall players surging towards us travelling fans have a Chesterfield player in amongst them: swept up in the frenzy. He is pushed about and looks stunned, but, honestly couldn’t get out of the way. Other Chesterfield players come swarming in: a punch is thrown by Dion Donohue, the referee is whistling, whistling, whistling but nobody is paying much attention. Players coming in to calm things down get carried away …

… eventually the referee regains control, has a conference with his two assistants (one of whom is shaking his head (“ I was too far away, didn’t see anything” presumably).

But the thrower of the punch is shown a red card and the floodgates open.

Chesterfield had, it seems run themselves out of energy in the first half … but not us.

Jordy Hiwula picks up a sloppy bit of defending, beats the goalkeeper, skilfully.

And the Walsall fans are calling for four.

Sam Mantom, playing with much more purpose now gets on the ned of a sweet pass and slots in the fourth.

The journey home is smooth enough – and the sun is still beaming down as I pull into my own drive.

Anyone for the trip to Fleetwood on Tuesday?

Another Striker? Barnsley at Home

Thursday night I get in, pick up the Express and Star from the porch. Glance at the back page: it’s the Walsall edition so usually the biggest headline is a Saddlers one. And I need a double take.

Sean O’Driscoll has only been and got a striker in!

Has he been reading this blog? Or what?

There was some scuttlebutt about maybe possibly thinking about seeing what might happen if we played another striker up with Tom Bradshaw …

But this is definitely the best news.

He’s with Championship Huddersfield at the moment, but not getting enough first team games. So he was at Wigan on loan; now he’s come to Bescot. He has energy and a super scoring record. An out and out striker!

Oh and did I mention that the striker is Jordy Hiwula. The same Jordy Hiwula that came to us on loan last season … and scored just four minutes after his first start?

So, he’ll know the set-up if not the new manager. Knows the players; knows the dressing room.

Got to be good!

Because, after all, we didn’t lose against Scunthorpe. We managed to sneak into third place because results elsewhere went for us … and now we have another striker!

A big part of me is shrieking “about bluddy time!” but all of me is thinking it’s time to kick on!

I ‘phone the club on Thursday, trying to get my Savoy Lounge Pass, but, unfortunately (stupidly) I do not have my credit card so cannot pay for it, so cannot reserve it. I am in a bit of a quandary because the limit is a hundred and fifty and after that sales stop. Great, because we will have room to breathe. Not great because I haven’t got mine yet. Oh and there is nothing to stop them tinkering with that number at a later point is there?

Believe me when I say I am the punctual one> so, unsurprisingly I get to my brother’s about the time I said I would. But it is ridiculously early. So we drift to the parking space and have time to sit in the car, watch others park (which can be entertaining) and talk of families (and arrange a Mothers’ day celebration between us). Then stroll to the ground.

He is thinking of getting a season ticket or next season. Joining the queue to find out about my savoy Lounge Pass I see many others snapping them up. But wander into the savoy Lounge. The Tottenham v Arsenal game is on the big TVs. They are respectively second and third in the Premier League and the game kicked off early (TV coverage). The result is a hopeful one for Leicester City (who are surprise leaders of their league so far) because it is a score draw.

Cully and Andy are there. We smile, chatter about the hype, misinformation and obsession with the Brexit campaign: politicians for you!

But the team news is that Hiwula will not be starting the game! I am truly shocked; anticipation and excitement drains away. What the … ?

We are bidding, Andy suggests to become the team that has the most on-loan players that never uses them!

So far this season we have, indeed, used the fewest players (21) of any team in any of the top four leagues.

But, to consider, deliberate, get and not use a striker?

Into our seats; a group representing the sponsors are cheerful and there is some friendly banter: beards, aunties and agility in there somewhere. It is a fine thing about the seats we have and the type of people who come to the games that we can so quickly build up a good relationship with others (these guys from In Touch With Walsall), the scout from Ipswich …

Barnsley are the in-form team at the moment. Sean O’Driscoll rates them and has said so publicly. Now I am not so sure if this is a good thing, but every manager has their own style, and I have to think he knows how to do the psychological part of his job.

But once the kick-off is over we can see we are in for a game And then again, we seem a little short of ideas; too many clever, short passes and long, hopeful balls in the general direction of the ever-willing, but not superhuman, Tom Bradshaw.

Long story short: we go goal down, find some spirit somewhere and get an equaliser. Then spend some time bossing the game. A comedy moment when the referee is injured and seeks medical attention. The players mill about, energy drinks and a conversation between Sam Mantom and a couple of the Tykes.

There’s a good crowd here from Oop North. Which goes wild when they nick a deserved second goal.

Walsall fans, rather harshly but nonetheless saying it as they se it begin a chant of

“He’s Sean O’Driscoll;

He hasn’t a clue.”

Prompting substitutions: Lalkovic on for a below-par Kieron Morris and Hiwula on for Romaine Sawyers. Bradshaw is suddenly limping, cannot carry on and Jordan Cook is brought on.

Barnsley get a third, but frankly I cannot remember at which stage of the game-of-subs.

Cook over-extends himself, stretching for a high ball and collapses.

Hiwula is full of running, but does not have the time to make an impact.

The drive home is rather subdued.

Did we just blow our chances of automatic promotion?

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.

 

Super Tuesday? Really? Whisper It At Bescot Please!

Super Tuesday – At Bescot? : Scunthorpe at Home

I’m feeling rather optimistic (if you’ve read any other entries in this blog you may spot the somewhat-inevitable, optimistic- football fan pattern) .But why not? My team made the League One leaders look less than ordinary on Saturday – at their ground. OK, OK we failed to win, but looked far superior (yes, we failed to win, don’t bring that up again … please).

And this no-win streak can only go on for so long can’t it? The runes have got to be for us at some point: surely?

So why not the home game on Tuesday against Scunthorpe?

Yes optimistic indeed.

I hear on the radio that medical researchers are up in arms and trying to get “the tackle” banned from school rugby. Citing it as an unnecessary element of a game that is, by its nature, contact and confrontation. I have no opinion one way or the other. I went to a grammar school too late to be sucked in to the sport but on the other hand have had some seriously riotous nights out with rugby players.

My game is with the properly shaped ball; I have little to say about either of the two forms of the Rugby code.

Meanwhile Adam Johnson ( sacked by Sunderland) is found guilty of sexual offences involving a child. He had shown real talent as a footballer, but got carried away by the fame and, almost doubtless, the money. Footballers nowadays are akin perhaps to the rock and roll celebrities of the 1970s: young, rich and pandered to. Just without the drugs and alcohol.

Brighter news is that eh World Track Cycling Championships starts this week; Sir Bradley Wiggins and Laura Trott amongst others will be doing their respective things round and round the London Velodrome.

 

And, across the Pond people in the good old U. S. of A are in the excitement and hoo-ha of democracy: seeking to choose candidates for each party who will represent their parties (Democrats and Republicans) in the nation’s presidential elections.

Donald Trump, successful yet abrasive businessman seems to be winning for the ; while Hilary Clinton (wife of former U.S. president Bill Clinton and a career politician seems to be getting the votes for her side.

 

It is kind of interesting to see a different type of political system in action> In the U.K we vote locally for party candidates who have already chosen their party leaders. First past the post polling means the party that gets the highest number of Members of Parliament wins control in the House of Commons. We do not vote for a Prime Minister in the way the Americans vote for a president. Which system is better? Both are equally good, perhaps and at the same time equally flawed.

So Tuesday evening comes around. I’m still optimistic. Reasons as detailed above – oh and a good week at work helping out too. And the fact that Saddlers Widow was good enough to drag herself to Bescot Ticket office on the first morning of season ticket sales to nab my season ticket for next year.  I would have had one anyway I think, so why not take advantage of the Early Bird discount –and get a free Walsall at Wembley: History in the Making book at the same time. The joke at work is that the first thousand to buy season tickets get one free copy of this souvenir book (souvenir of a day that was brilliant until the first whistle, then went swiftly downhill) – and that anyone else who buys a season ticket after that gets two free books. Cannot beat that football-fan irony can you?

My bro has to join the queue for his ticket but I breeze through the savoy Lounge entrance, a bit of banter with the two always-friendly front of house attendants who laugh that, after all, there are only another six homes games left aren’t there?

Do they know something I don’t.

We are fourth as I walk past them. Play off places. That will mean at least one more home game.

Or we finish first (yes please!) or second and get through automatically … or seventh and don’t need to be at Bescot again until the friendlies see us off to another League One season.

I meet Cully in the Lounge. He’s a bit rueful: mentions he has already got his season ticket and Savoy Lounge Pass (this is being offered only to existing pass holders and on a first come first served basis. I smile and tell him I also have my season ticket, but not my Lounge Pass yet.

We sink a beer, then head out to join my brother. Same team as Saturday: keeping faith. And we look good for all of ten minutes, then are pushed, bullied and lacking in authority as Scunthorpe with s few loyal fans (credit to them!) turn the screw. Neither team doing much seriously to threaten the other’s goal, but neither team looking very fluent either.

It is frustrating. I start getting annoyed with the tiniest, least relevant of things. Sublimating, I suppose yelling negative comments at my own team, whose performance is so much below the standard I was expecting. Bad day at the office syndrome maybe, but this is yet another bad day: we need to clock up some wins. At half time results were going for us: Burton drawing, Wigan not winning, Gillingham the same. We could be picking up points and places. But we look jaded. Tom Bradshaw is manful as always, people running, Downing looking positively Brazilian as he runs the ball out of defence and plays us in to a chance. But overall we are just running on the spot.

There is a round of applause to celebrate the life of a Walsall fan who was murdered while on holiday in Tunisia. So, it was a terrorist attack, but the guy was murdered; let’s just get it straight eh? Two other members of his family were also tragically murdered in the cowardly attack.

Full time drags itself around and we have a second consecutive clean sheet: yippee for that then!

But, somehow have crept up the table to third place.

Desperate after the ordeal we have suffered we decide we need a beer (well, that’s what we tell ourselves) but are caught in traffic and the first pub we try has stopped serving.

But the good old Royal Oak (Norton Lane) is in Tuesday night quiz mode and we down a couple in there.

Barnsley at home on Saturday. Got to get a win then surely?

Getting a striker is an entirely different matter.

Fire Regs at the Beech Hotel: Burton Albion Away.

“Fire Regs” at the Beeches: Burton Albion Away.

I read in the local paper that we have made another loan signing (though last midfield “box-to-box” loanee from Middlesbrough has yet to fire a shot in anger).

A striker! It has to be a striker doesn’t it? We need somebody to help take the pressure off hard-running Tom Bradshaw, win balls for him to run on to, so that he can use his devastating close ball control to engineer more goals and ease us into the final stretch of the season and a winning run …

So, surely be Gad (as my maternal grandfather would have said) I will read on to find we have snapped up a forward; for me, preferably a target man type, but any flavour will do. Surely … ?

No, reading on, and I guess it’s no real surprise that we’ve hooked up another “versatile” midfielder. Admittedly from Premier League Bournemouth (could never have imagined I’d be typing those words in the same sentence) … but, still …

On Thursday night we were at The Garrick Theatre, lovely little local theatre watching A Murder is Announced by Agatha Christie. A typical whodunit featuring the nimble-minded Miss Marple. It’s a story I don’t know but manage to predict the eventual ending( all the while sitting next to a tight-lipped saddlers Widow who remembers the plot from a TV adaptation).

Good to be at the theatre: live entertainment and nights getting both lighter and, dare I say it? Warmer?

But we need two cars to get to the game at Burton on Saturday. Having a good season means that there is now a regular brood of six from Rugeley: and that means an extra car.

Home to one of the biggest breweries in Europe (once upon a time it was Bass, founded in Victorian times, taken over by Banks’ now operated by U.S. giants Coors) Burton is about seventeen easy miles from my house. I worked there once upon a time and have some magical memories of people and events there. (Burton also houses other breweries and a fine micro-brewery at The Bridge.) No surprise that the team is nicknamed the Brewers, with Billy Brewer being the mascot.

 

I offer to do the driving and, after having a quick chat with visiting-home daughter Bec and Scott I top up with petrol and am just a few minutes late. I like to be organised: decide we will park at the official Burton Car park, but as we turn off the A38 get the message that there is a perfect parking spot opposite the Beeches pub and slide gently backwards into the said space.

The Beech Hotel (pub) is the “traditional away fans pub”. At 12.30 the car park is already full, the bar heaving, choruses of Goin’ Down the Wednesbury Road” floating up to blue skies and a ruck of police officers and security men around.

There is also “Little joe’s Burger Van”; with only on family queueing (it is quite early but I warn the woman who serves me that Saddlers’ fans love a burger). I am the only one eating: simple burger and chips and a pint of lager shandy.

Then, giving up one of the only three silver chairs at the only table I join the others to neck my shandy. And it is getting noticeably colder; or is that just the shandy? This provokes some discussion about the relative merits of leather gloves. I can only listen because I have left my own Thinsulate gloves in my other coat.

Jack and Chris decide there’s time for another round (there’s plenty of time as it turns out) but return, laughing about the fact that when Chris steps out of the bouncer- guarded door he is told he cannot go back in as there is a strict “one out-one –in” policy. He tries to tell the guy that he has just come out (the one out) but needs to go back in, to be told:

“Fire regs mate!”

There are times when it just isn’t worth the words …

Meanwhile, we wonder whether these two security guys actually realise that there is a whole separate entrance off the “beer garden” and that people are nipping both in and out of it willy-nilly.

Drinks duly drained we set off to walk the half mile or so to the Pirelli Stadium. This is a different approach: I know the one side of the ground reasonably well as a “conference venue” having attended umpteen meetings there back in the day. But never on a match day and never on a day when the Brewers are actually looking reasonably odds-on for a second consecutive promotion.

Today playing against another, very local and potential promotion candidate in the Saddlers.

And the ground is rammed.

I had been a little angry (unreasonably so) earlier in the run up because of wat I considered a grudgingly small allocation of tickets for away fans: there are reportedly one thousand eight hundred of us crammed into approximately a third of the ground. It is tine: neat, cantilevered stands, but still incredibly small. And we are sardined together: a throwback to the nineteen seventies games in a way: in the standing only section behind the goals. I have a reasonably good position in front of a crash barrier, but my legs are feeling the treadmill running I was doing last night at the gym. But, hey all those bodies crammed in make it warm.

And we are so noisy!

The P.A system is poor: indistinct and the mighty Queen song is reduced to mediocrity, sounding like a poorly practised cover band on a bad night.

Our manager Sean O’Driscoll has been trying, it seems, to play this game down in the media: but nobody here is taken in: we need to win and we want to win. I have my own, tribal instinct reasons to want to come out on top, but this is football.

Burton are managed by Nigel Clough: they are bound, because of this to be a physically tough team and also be fit. I fear it is a game we will do well to get out of with even a single point and everyone uninjured.

 

What would I know?

First off: the team news is good: we have reliable O’Connor back in the centre of the defence. He is combative but experienced and has a wonderful never-say-die attitude. Young Matt Preston has had a good couple of games while O’Connor was out injured, but this is a game that needs a level of maturity. Paul Downing will no doubt be calmer too. Andy Taylor is still at left back. Hmmm, what is going on with the super-talented Rico Henry (he is on the bench meanwhile)?

Before the kick off we actually see our new loanee, just dabbling at the side of the pitch; a few simple exercises. He is soon out of breath. Does he have the fitness we need? There is also Mick Kearns down there, talking with someone, perhaps for the on-line commentary?

By kick off the stand is so crammed I cannot raise my hands in front of me. It feels so confined: low roof, short distance to the pitch side wall. A real throwback to the earlier days of my football watching days. Except we are standing on well-made concrete steps not an ash bank or hard packed earth, and there are no holes in the stand walls for the wind to whistle through and there are no holes in the roofing for rain to find and drip drip drip down my neck. In fact at some grounds there just was no roof for away fans. The good old days?

And this is a sell-out crowd! A top-of-the-table clash local derby!

Walsall are up and at it straight away. Taylor and Lalkovic trying a few things down the left. That don’t somehow come off.

 

And we look good!

Indeed we look good for the whole game, but this left wing thing just is never going to work today. The team, however is up for it. Forde, in particular has been quite outstanding in recent games; more sensible, adopting a wider vision and making some killer runs. Bradshaw is having a busy time; nothing new there then. But he keeps on going. There seems to be something going on: Bradshaw knocking the ball back (under some hefty challenges ) to Sawyers. Sawyers making something happen, bringing in Forde or Demetriou, or Mantom. We also try some hopeful long balls, but these big defenders eat them up. But we are fast, winning some loose ball challenges and looking god. But we have to make this dominance pay. Get a goal! Get a second. We can pass, pass, pass, run, pass back all day but what we need is goals and, try as we might we cannot get a goal.

Half time and nobody is moving. We need to keep our spaces and wriggling out, getting coffee or having a pee, just looks like too much work. Then I get the nutter. He comes from somewhere, pushing and shoving his jelly-boned way through the masses. Ducks under the crash barrier and puts himself in the space. All of the second half he is gibbering, loudly on. And On. And on. What he is saying makes little or no sense; criticising players who are having a good game, moaning about O’Driscoll. Football grounds are not always places to have an in-depth discussion with strangers and there is just no arguing with some people. And arguing with an idiot just proves there are two idiots so … I keep my peace, smile grimly and watch the game.

Walsall kicking towards us in the second half. Still bossing the game. Still not scoring. Still getting knocked about. Little protection from the referee.

There is no scoreboard at the Pirelli Stadium to let me know how long is left to play and it is full time before I realise it.

I am not disappointed, strangely. Pleased that we didn’t lose in the last minute (like last week) but this was a game that, surprisingly would have been so easy to win. We still need that striker … if anybody is listening.

It is simple, simple to slide the car out of the parking space, across the traffic, onto the generous A 38 and I have delivered my passengers to Rugeley and am at home in little longer than it takes to get back from a home game. Wigan ,still heads-down and charging win, taking them beyond our reach (at the moment) to second, but in the way that will happen (us being Walsall) to keep us o tenterhooks, other results go in our favour. We could have done with the win, but we hang on to fourth place (and still have a game in hand on second and third placed teams.

“First, second or seventh!” was the cry in he car on the way to Burton. Me? I’m thinking that if we need to get into the Championship via the play-offs, I’ll take it!

Up The Saddlers!

In or Out: Wigan at Home.

Sunday, 21st February; home.

We managed a walk around Walsall Arboretum this week. As David Cameron was whooshing around Europe trying to boost his “new Deal to reform the European Union”. The arboretum is, essentially what it says on the tin: a garden for trees, but is famous in my brain for the succession of autumn “Illuminations” (now cancelled). It has been largely refurbished, given a modern twist and is all the better for it. There is still the sense of space and tranquillity, still the large lake and, though the limestone rock is overrun by brambles and broken tumbled tree trunks the reflecting pool. What used to be the “nitty-gritty work area” and nursery is now a stylish café and visitor centre and the small stream still bubbles joyfully down the centre.

 

Cameron on the other hand has been having a hard time. His diplomatic scuttling has been at the beginning of a campaign that will end in a referendum here: about whether the UK stays in the EU or moves out. Sounds simple, but Dave the Cee has been wheeler-dealering to engineer new circumstances: with key points about sovereignty; the Eurozone; migrants and benefits and competitiveness. Tough talking going on and some close-to-the wire politics ended up with said P.M. announcing the referendum will be held in June of this year.

 

Watch this space.

Meanwhile – a lot more locally – another Dave – “Blind Dave” Heeley, the blind marathon runner who has raised hundreds of thousands of pounds for charity is about to embark on his toughest challenge.

He is learning to swim so he can take part in the Escape From Alcatraz triathlon in June. Competitors have to swim one-and-a-half miles from Alcatraz island, home to the notorious American prison in San Francisco Bay. They then cycle for 18 miles, and run for a further eight.

 

In 2008 Mr Heeley ran seven marathons in seven days on seven continents.

Of his latest challenge, he said: “I am questioning my sanity.”

So am I: but God bless yer Dave!

In the local sports pages Walsall players have been attempting to rouse up some support, by giving us credit for cheering the team on: it’ll be interesting on Saturday: Wigan, last year in the Championship are going great guns, mounting a real charge and throwing money at players like there is no tomorrow.

Indeed, when I turn off the main road to park, there are few spaces left – and there are five big Wigan coaches and three minibuses parked like fat slugs. The somewhat-smug car park stewards have coned the away car park off and are gleefully turning hopeful drivers away.

Inside the ground the Wigan fans are crowded and noisy. The Walsall fans, so noisy on the road are just the opposite.

I outlandishly predict that Tom Bradshaw will score three, make way for Jordan Cook who will score a further goal – ad Jack, looking nervous tells me he will “farm all the crops” on the allotment over Easter if that happens.

Of course – it was never likely to.

And, as we kick off we are just pressed back and only their poor shooting skills and some stout defending (twenty year old Matt Preston in again as O’Connor is still injured) keeps us in the game. Wigan have one-time Saddler Will Grigg at number nine and he has a few chances, but misses.

Bradshaw, as always is doing his best; but on his own has little or no chance. These are quality defenders he is trying to upset and bamboozle and he has no support.

Goalkeeper Etheridge’s kicking is staying on the field but long punts are just going to Wigan defenders.

Sawyers, is again a little off the pace and locking horns with a player who bests him, both physically and psychologically – and Sawyers cannot get away from him.

Matt Preston breaks out of defence, stretching his legs, but the ball is given away and very quickly Wigan have scored. It is a class move and, honestly had been a long time coming.

 

The second half opened with us more on the attack: and eventually a free kick came back off a solid Wigan wall to Sam Mantom who drilled a fierce shot back past the keeper and into the net.

 

Suddenly we were toe to toe with the team that had dominated proceedings so far – that and looking for the winner. Seesaw football, until, right at the death an efficient Wigan attack saw them net the winner. Sam Mantom got a goal on his birthday: Adam Chambers was, once again magnificent in his five hundredth game of his career, but a bit of a stutter in our promotion hopes.

Next week we are at Burton, who are beginning to open up a bit of a gap at the top of the table.

But, as I sent to my sick-in-bed brother “we are still in it!”

And, dare I add, safe from relegation?

Position	Team	Played	Goal Difference	Points
1	Burton	30	17	63
2	Wigan	32	22	59
3	Gillingham	32	19	58
4	Walsall	31	16	57
5	Millwall	32	11	53
6	Coventry	31	22	52

By Rail to The Railwaymen: Crewe Away

I’m on my way back from my evening German class (trying to learn the language once again!) and, suddenly remembering that West Brom (Premier league) are playing at League One Peterborough in an F.A. Cup replay this evening, turn on the radio to find the game has gone into extra time.

Back home, I grab a lager, swing upstairs and turn on the TV that is conveniently part of the computer. Play is just beginning …

… and I am not sure which team I want to lose (never mind win). WBA are just down the road and, while it’s always good to have a “giant killing” I don’t really (illogically) want Peterborough to steal any League One glory. So I just settle for watching the game; and it really isn’t much of a spectacle. But tense enough that I need something to snack on, so I drag out the very last (twenty or so) walnuts we bought to eat over Christmas and, well, finish ‘em off. On the TV the commentator is gibbering; I hear

“ … and now anything could happen …”

I think what? Like an alien chest burster could emerge from the chest of the referee?

Donald Trump could get a decent haircut, rather than the oh-so-obvious, ridiculous comb-over he now adopts?

Elvis will, finally reveal his whereabouts and announce that he has been busy finding a cure for all that ails mankind?

Amazing how walnuts can stir the imagination eh? In real life meanwhile eventually, and ingloriously, Albion sneak by on penalties: just about!

I have booked a train ticket from Rugeley to Crewe (hoping I have got the time (and station) correct). This Saturday’s trip is planned to be a “beer-and- train” trip to relegation-fight regulars Crewe Alexandra. Three points needed to bring back some confidence and momentum. It is the first of three big games (aren’t they all when you’re second and going hell-for-leather for automatic promotion?): Crewe away, On-a-charge- Wigan at home, then top-of-the-table (as at time of writing) Burton Albion away (ticket also secured).

The sheep getting sorted from the chaff. Well something like that anyway.

And, sure enough, arrangements made and modified there are four of us tipping out of Saddlers Widow’s blue car at around ten of the ay em on a bright Saturday morning. Rugeley Trent Valley Station; pretty bleak but several impressively tilting expresses thunder and whistle through. The automatic ticket machine is not working so, clutching my piece of paper I chat to a dad and his young son: they are en route to Everton v Albion. There’s a lad in a Wolves top and someone else in a Birmingham city scarf. (later on the journey a rowdy crew, possibly Stoke fans) bring unnecessarily crude language, poor fashion and volume into the carriage. An insight into both railways and traditional Saturday football fans of the more traditional type: travelling in hope, expectation or packs – but travelling. Not. Just. Sitting. At home. Watching on TV!

The train is delayed. My brother has failed to hear his alarm, but Chris is on board now. So we relax, there are Spanish and Indian beers and the train does its job. Not a ticket inspector in sight. Stoke, Kidsgrove, rolling over the Cheshire plains, puddled and flooded green fields, the canal (presumably the Trent and Mersey?)

We talk of families, maps, books, New York and why don’t we do this train thing more often.

Then we are waiting somewhere outside Crewe station, before gently rolling in. No need to rustle about looking for parking, just amble off the carriage, along the long, covered platform and out. To try and locate the much researched pub. What was it called? The Imperial Hotel (on Eddlestone Road) has been search engine to death by the technologically ept among us: and the eleven minute walk, zigging and zagging round perpendicular corners we spy it. Perfect landing place: plenty of space at 11.55, wall to wall TVs, a small stage for regular music events and warm sunshine filtering in the clean windows.

We get beers in (Pedigree for me: echoes of Burton?) and start the drinking. Man Utd go goal behind (to Sunderland) over my shoulder but the screen I’m watching has QPR v Fulham on it.

 

Just after I have ordered minimalist but it-is-what-it-says-it-is food Andy tips up: he’s spending a romantic weekend in Chester (eleven locomotive minutes away) and we settle to eat (burger and chips/pizza) and the good atmosphere sinking in.

The tiny ground is packed when we get there; a mass of saddlers fans in the miniscule, poor view low-roofed “away” end.

And we kick off a storm! In the first ten minutes we could have been three nil up – if our shooting had been better and luck on our side. Bradshaw is back in and doing the front-man job, linking well with Sawyers. Etheridge back in goals (though Roberts had a steady debut last week).

The first goal is a little crazy and due to Sawyers’ reputation: the defender marking him sticking out a hand to knock the ball away (in the way a tyrannosaurus might) and we have a penalty. Tom Bradshaw, cool as you like, puts it away and we expect a goal rush.

 

Expect? But don’t get one: Crewe managing to keep us at bay until half time, when it is decided we should all move to the end “where the goals will be” and take up new positions: only to lose them to people returning from pie-shopping and the toilets.

Second half has us sitting by a family who are clearly passionate but know so little about playing football (too much time on computer football games?) or simple psychology.

Every shout is in the “You-are-brilliant” mode or the extreme opposite (and every shout is for a Walsall player. Do these people think that Andy Taylor goes out, for example, not to play well?

I am pleased to see Lalkovic back in the side, but his runs and jinks have little real impact.Matt Preston is at centre back for stalwart James O’Connor –and he plays well: he looks solid and is dependable if a little lacking in pace.

Crewe equalise – the other end of course – and the game sparkles to life in the last ten minutes or so when we press just a little bit harder, but fail to make it count.

 

The train on the way back is less packed than I imagined and we change at Stafford. Our lift is ready and waiting at the station … and Gillingham have overtaken us (though we have a game in hand). Burton still surprising people by winning, winning, winning … oh but they ain’t played us yet; right?