On a weekend when the whole footballing world was craving some good news following Fabrice Muamba's tragic collapse, how fitting that it should fall to Fernando Torres, a man who hadn't scored in light years, to come up trumps. Leicester of course must have fancied their chances at the Bridge, but Chelsea have suddenly fallen in love with the game again over the last few weeks and on Sunday it showed.
I must admit I didn't really know what to expect from the game given that Chelsea had been relatively abject during the previous two occasions I had watched them, but a glance around the stadium minutes before kick off hinted at a change in fortunes; there was a tremendous buzz around the ground, no doubt a reaction to Chelsea's sudden change of form after AVB's exit. Leicester to be fair also played their part, a strong 6,000 odd crowd full of life throughout the game. Moments before kick off a round of applause was held in recognition of poor Muamba's plight, with fans chanting his name.
The football matched the fantastic atmosphere from the start. Chelsea immediately looked strong, getting the ball on the floor and prancing around the pitch as if in some kind of communal ballet dance. At times their movement was terrific, attacking together as a team and then immediately moving behind the ball when they lost it.
Though Leicester tried, they simply couldn't match the movement, skill and speed of their London opponents, and it wasn't long before Stamford Bridge erupted in a spontaneous explosion of delight as Cahill, their bright new centre back, scored his first goal for the club from a corner. Chelsea were in full control, which was increased by a second goal minutes later. It was a superb team affair, whose main contributor was a flying Spaniard down the right wing, Torres escaping the defender then cutting the ball back to set up Kalou who slid the ball past the onrushing Schmeichel.
Game over. For Leicester fans, it seemed they had nothing but their pride to sing for, and determined they were to keep singing. The flowing ballet style display Chelsea had thus far maintained suddenly began to unravel as the half went on; there was a 20 minute period when Chelsea merely kept the ball, without creating any further decent chances of note, and Leicester maybe sensed an opportunity to establish themselves. Of course, they did no such thing, the game belonged to Chelsea and I was genuinely disappointed to hear the half time whistle.
And Chelsea deserve credit for maintaining control in the early stages of the second half, other teams may have baulked under the pressure of a 2 goal lead in such a high tempo game. Midway through the second half came the game's showpiece moment; the point of no return, the twist in the tale as Torres, who had been lively and pretty damn superb in his role on the shoulder of the last defender all day, finally got the goal he had been waiting for....well, for a bloody long time. And to think it was merely an innocuous flick of the boot, on any other day, in any other game, it could have gone anywhere. For Fernando, however, after leaving his boot, the ball did something it hadn't done for months..cross the line. Instantly, the whole stadium, save 6,000 Leicester fans, exploded in celebration. I am no Chelsea fan, but I must admit I was genuinely delighted for the guy.
Within seconds, a whole host of events took place that probably hadn't happened for a long time; Torres smiled, he was hugged, his fellow players groped his hair. The stadium announcer announced shouted his name. The poor guy hadn't had this kind of adulation since the glory days at Anfield. It was almost emotional.
Torres' goal turned the game from being a Chelsea walkover into a spectacle, a delight to behold. The Bridge was rocking, cheering every touch of the newly revered Spaniard...and then there was Leicester, eleven players who no one seemed to really care about but who could still have a huge impact on the outcome of events. That became immediately apparent when in the 77th minute, a Leicester attack resulting in a close effort hitting the post, bouncing towards the lively Jermaine Beckford who tapped in to score in front of his own fans. It was a bolt from the blue for Chelsea.
But the game remained theirs.
The last 20 minutes were characterized by end to end football, both teams throwing caution to the wind in the search for glory. In the end, glory came to both teams, but more prominantly Chelsea who were just too much for Leicester. The celebratory atmosphere was given further fuel by the occasion of Fernando's second goal of the game, a neat near post header from a corner that sent Stamford Bridge into delirium. It was a sight to behold..and much credit should be given to Chelsea fans who had stuck by the lad for so long, now enthusiastically applauding his sudden return to the scoresheet. And he deserved it. Torres was at the heart of almost every Chelsea attack from start to finish, looking lively; his first touch was exquisite, his awareness of the team around him admirable.
Yet incredibly, despite Torres' heroics, the award for the best goal of the game must definately got to Leicester's Ben Marshall. Cutting in from the right, Marshall drove at the Chelsea defence before unleashing a tidy strike from 30 yards that left Cech standing aloof. Once again, another testament to the unpredictability of this great competition.
And there was more. With just minutes left, Torres ran down the left wing, lashing onto a throughball, urged on by the crowd who no doubt had visions of a magnificent hatrick. Unfortunately for the fans, Fernando disappointed them by cutting inside, and sliding the ball across to Raul Meireles who in turn shot neatly passed the hapless Schmeichel, who must have by now been wishing the full time whistle to come early.
It was a fantastic cup tie, a genuinely enjoyable game to watch, a buoyant atmopshere, some superb attacking football, the theatre of Torres' performance and goals, and even the Leicester fans were in full voice throughout. And so, rather predictably it seems, Chelsea have booked their place at Wembley for the semifinal, a dramatic turnaround of events considering the mid season loss of form they had. I am no Chelsea fan, but it is pleasing to see a group of players playing for each other, and playing for the manager, and I have lots of admiration for the way in which Torres has dealt with his loss of form in recent months. He deserves his turn of good fortune, and so do Chelsea. Question is, will their semi-final at Wembley be their first and last appearance this season? More importantly, will I be there?
Thursday, 22 March 2012
Wednesday, 7 March 2012
Birmingham City 0 Chelsea 2
I am a big believer in doing things out of the ordinary, thinking outside the box, going the extra mile. In all fairness, it is highly unlikely that I will ever enter St Andrews Kop corner ever again, so in that respect alone it was a momentous occasion. I couldn't help but be occupied by the hilarity of the situation however, sitting alone in McDonalds before the game, surrounded by Birmingham fans, I felt like I was going undercover. Back in the day of course, in August, I never thought that the FA Cup run I had embarked on at Boldmere would take me anywhere near Small Heath, yet this is where I found myself. In St Andrews. In the Kop.
Birmingham City is a weird little club, I have decided. Their fans have long been viewed as more passionate and vocal than their Birmingham based rivals; and more committed. Yet I didn't see this while watching highlights of their recent league game against Derby. All I saw was empty seats. Further alarm bells rang as I began reading Chris Houghton's programme notes. In his first sentence, he suggested that the replay tie was 'a welcome distraction from the npower Championship'. Why? True, a home tie against one of the biggest teams in the country is a big deal, but Birmingham are playing in arguably the most exciting and entertaining league in the country, and have a good chance of being promoted.
And then of course you have the stadium. St Andrews is an old ground, and looks it. The Kop swings round to the Tilton in one tier, while the Garrison Lane end has a huge lower tier below a comparatively small upper one. The whole stadium looks out of proportion. But then I am biased. The Tilton is no Holte End after all.
And so to the football. Chelsea were coming into this game having lost their manager, and looking like losing their season if they couldn't get anything here, and they immediately set out to gain an advantage, their lively forward Mata unlocking the Blues defence after barely 3 minutes. Birmingham soon recovered after this initial scare, and appeared to be carrying on from where they left off in London; tight at the back, determined and focused in midfield. Trying hard not to allow Chelsea room to play. The result was a bleak stalemate at halftime after a first half of little note.
If the first half had been bleak, the second half transformed the game into a tantalizing tussle that quickly developed into an end to end spectacle. I am not sure what Birmingham's bright young manager said to them at half time, but it certainly didn't work as Chelsea came out storming, their pressure gifting them first blood. Minutes later, a superb solo effort from Meireles all but ended Birmingham's hopes of creating a cup upset. Chelsea maight have gone to hell and back over the past few weeks, but a devastating 6 minute episode showed us all what they are capable of.
And it was all over.
Well, maybe not. You see, for Birmingham's fun loving fans there was one genuine moment of celebration to be had, and even if it didn't win them the game, it was worth seeing. Shortly after going 2-0 up, Chelsea were awarded a penalty in front of their own fans. From where I was, I couldn't see if it was a dive or not, but seconds later, Juan Mata was stepping up to increase the lead. As we all watched and waited for the inevitable, Birmingham fans began chanting for Torres to take the spotkick. It wasn't Torres, it was Mata. And it was saved, saved by the hero of the original tie, Colin Doyle.
The save sparked Birmingham back into life and gave them confidence to play for the last fifteen minutes. It was of course, to no avail. When Blues were crying out for some ingenuity, some creativity and flair, they had Nikola Zigic. They bright young star Nathan Redmond, was hardly given enough service throughout the game, and must have been furious.
In the end, it was all too much for Birmingham who had tried hard but failed miserably. For Chelsea, this victory is hugely significant as it gives them genuine hope of winning a trophy this season, after the disaster of the last few weeks. They will surely fancy their chances now of beating Leicester at home, and making Wembley for the semi final. For Birmingham, their 'Road' ends here...for me and Chelsea... Blue is the Colour!
Birmingham City is a weird little club, I have decided. Their fans have long been viewed as more passionate and vocal than their Birmingham based rivals; and more committed. Yet I didn't see this while watching highlights of their recent league game against Derby. All I saw was empty seats. Further alarm bells rang as I began reading Chris Houghton's programme notes. In his first sentence, he suggested that the replay tie was 'a welcome distraction from the npower Championship'. Why? True, a home tie against one of the biggest teams in the country is a big deal, but Birmingham are playing in arguably the most exciting and entertaining league in the country, and have a good chance of being promoted.
And then of course you have the stadium. St Andrews is an old ground, and looks it. The Kop swings round to the Tilton in one tier, while the Garrison Lane end has a huge lower tier below a comparatively small upper one. The whole stadium looks out of proportion. But then I am biased. The Tilton is no Holte End after all.
And so to the football. Chelsea were coming into this game having lost their manager, and looking like losing their season if they couldn't get anything here, and they immediately set out to gain an advantage, their lively forward Mata unlocking the Blues defence after barely 3 minutes. Birmingham soon recovered after this initial scare, and appeared to be carrying on from where they left off in London; tight at the back, determined and focused in midfield. Trying hard not to allow Chelsea room to play. The result was a bleak stalemate at halftime after a first half of little note.
If the first half had been bleak, the second half transformed the game into a tantalizing tussle that quickly developed into an end to end spectacle. I am not sure what Birmingham's bright young manager said to them at half time, but it certainly didn't work as Chelsea came out storming, their pressure gifting them first blood. Minutes later, a superb solo effort from Meireles all but ended Birmingham's hopes of creating a cup upset. Chelsea maight have gone to hell and back over the past few weeks, but a devastating 6 minute episode showed us all what they are capable of.
And it was all over.
Well, maybe not. You see, for Birmingham's fun loving fans there was one genuine moment of celebration to be had, and even if it didn't win them the game, it was worth seeing. Shortly after going 2-0 up, Chelsea were awarded a penalty in front of their own fans. From where I was, I couldn't see if it was a dive or not, but seconds later, Juan Mata was stepping up to increase the lead. As we all watched and waited for the inevitable, Birmingham fans began chanting for Torres to take the spotkick. It wasn't Torres, it was Mata. And it was saved, saved by the hero of the original tie, Colin Doyle.
The save sparked Birmingham back into life and gave them confidence to play for the last fifteen minutes. It was of course, to no avail. When Blues were crying out for some ingenuity, some creativity and flair, they had Nikola Zigic. They bright young star Nathan Redmond, was hardly given enough service throughout the game, and must have been furious.
In the end, it was all too much for Birmingham who had tried hard but failed miserably. For Chelsea, this victory is hugely significant as it gives them genuine hope of winning a trophy this season, after the disaster of the last few weeks. They will surely fancy their chances now of beating Leicester at home, and making Wembley for the semi final. For Birmingham, their 'Road' ends here...for me and Chelsea... Blue is the Colour!
Sunday, 19 February 2012
Chelsea 1 Birmingham City 1 FACR5
Back in August 2011, when cooking up this adventure with lifelong Villa fan John Burns, never did I foresee a situation where I would be actively following the fortunes of my big local rivals. However, on a sunny Saturday afternoon in London, this is where I found myself. The draw had meant I would be following Chelsea following their lucky defeat of QPR in the previous round, and fate had demanded that they play Birmingham City at home. In recent weeks, I had visited the Chelsea website to research tickets and membership options, only to be immediately informed that membership for this season was closed. Hence, my best chance of getting a ticket to this game was in the away section, which meant watching the whole game surrounded by Birmingham City fans. I consoled myself in the days leading up to the game that, at least, it would be an experience.
And so it proved. I had acquired a ticket with my uncle, and met him at the top of the upper tier, right at the back of the Shed End, the view allowing us to survey the narrow Stamford Bridge pitch, and speculate on the chances of a Birmingham victory. As I looked round nervously at the Birmingham supporters, it suddenly occurred to me that I had an old Villa ticket stub in my coat pocket.
Certainly, as far as the football was concerned, it was hard not to hope for a safe passage to the next round for plucky Birmingham, who came to the Bridge with a game plan and a determined and focused attitude. Their aim, it was clear from the start, was to stifle Chelsea and restrict the space, preventing them from playing their normal fluid football. Thus Chelsea effectively moved from right to left, but found it difficult to make any inroads towards the Birmingham goal. Chelsea unfortunately, came with baggage; a world class striker who hadn't scored for years, a manager dramatically losing the support of the players, a Russian owner who is probably becoming increasingly disillusioned with the fortunes of his club.
And for Chelsea it showed. They dominated possession in a way which you would expect, but lacked a cutting edge going forward. Their lone ranger Torres, looking increasingly forlorn, was almost invisible.
Birmingham's plan, though untidy, was working. The result was a messy stalemate which took hold of the game until midway through the first half when Birmingham, incredibly, gained a remarkable advantage, thanks to some woeful Chelsea defending. They had threatened a couple of times already with corners, and with Chelsea failing to deal with yet another, it was left to David Murphy to smash in from close range for the Blues. Cue hysterical celebrations. For the neutrals among us, there was more, as Chelsea gained a penalty barely minutes after Birmingham's goal, this time Sturridge going down after a sloppy challenge inside the area. As he does. The penalty was saved however, to the delight of an increasingly jubilant set of away fans, and it suddenly looked like Birmingham's day.
They did well to make it to half time, though the substitute of Torres for Drogba was an ominous sign that things were going to change. Chelsea predictably began the second half with more verve and pace going forward, pushing Birmingham back, leaving their only attacking threats of Rooney and Redmond isolated. Midway through the second half, the inevitable happened.
And so the game ended as it had began, both teams had had a go, both had cancelled each other out. The last twenty minutes returned the match to its stalemate-like status. It should be noted that Birmingham had chances to win that were hopelessly squandered, with their young star Nathan Redmond being the guilty party, shooting tamely at Cech just minutes before the end.
The tie is indeed delicately poised, for Chelsea their recent troubles seem to continue, the last thing they would want is the prospect of a replay on a Tuesday night away in Birmingham. For the Blues however, they must surely view this game as a job well done, and will relish the prospect of taking on the London club at home in front of their own fans. As for myself, as if an away tie with Birmingham wasn't punishment enough, my next move in this FA Cup adventure sees me, as a lifelong Villa fan, go to St Andrews on the 6th March. And with the way the competition is going this year, with Manchester Utd, Manchester City, Arsenal all out, a Birmingham City victory is probably my best chance of getting to a Wembley final.
And so it proved. I had acquired a ticket with my uncle, and met him at the top of the upper tier, right at the back of the Shed End, the view allowing us to survey the narrow Stamford Bridge pitch, and speculate on the chances of a Birmingham victory. As I looked round nervously at the Birmingham supporters, it suddenly occurred to me that I had an old Villa ticket stub in my coat pocket.
Certainly, as far as the football was concerned, it was hard not to hope for a safe passage to the next round for plucky Birmingham, who came to the Bridge with a game plan and a determined and focused attitude. Their aim, it was clear from the start, was to stifle Chelsea and restrict the space, preventing them from playing their normal fluid football. Thus Chelsea effectively moved from right to left, but found it difficult to make any inroads towards the Birmingham goal. Chelsea unfortunately, came with baggage; a world class striker who hadn't scored for years, a manager dramatically losing the support of the players, a Russian owner who is probably becoming increasingly disillusioned with the fortunes of his club.
And for Chelsea it showed. They dominated possession in a way which you would expect, but lacked a cutting edge going forward. Their lone ranger Torres, looking increasingly forlorn, was almost invisible.
Birmingham's plan, though untidy, was working. The result was a messy stalemate which took hold of the game until midway through the first half when Birmingham, incredibly, gained a remarkable advantage, thanks to some woeful Chelsea defending. They had threatened a couple of times already with corners, and with Chelsea failing to deal with yet another, it was left to David Murphy to smash in from close range for the Blues. Cue hysterical celebrations. For the neutrals among us, there was more, as Chelsea gained a penalty barely minutes after Birmingham's goal, this time Sturridge going down after a sloppy challenge inside the area. As he does. The penalty was saved however, to the delight of an increasingly jubilant set of away fans, and it suddenly looked like Birmingham's day.
They did well to make it to half time, though the substitute of Torres for Drogba was an ominous sign that things were going to change. Chelsea predictably began the second half with more verve and pace going forward, pushing Birmingham back, leaving their only attacking threats of Rooney and Redmond isolated. Midway through the second half, the inevitable happened.
And so the game ended as it had began, both teams had had a go, both had cancelled each other out. The last twenty minutes returned the match to its stalemate-like status. It should be noted that Birmingham had chances to win that were hopelessly squandered, with their young star Nathan Redmond being the guilty party, shooting tamely at Cech just minutes before the end.
The tie is indeed delicately poised, for Chelsea their recent troubles seem to continue, the last thing they would want is the prospect of a replay on a Tuesday night away in Birmingham. For the Blues however, they must surely view this game as a job well done, and will relish the prospect of taking on the London club at home in front of their own fans. As for myself, as if an away tie with Birmingham wasn't punishment enough, my next move in this FA Cup adventure sees me, as a lifelong Villa fan, go to St Andrews on the 6th March. And with the way the competition is going this year, with Manchester Utd, Manchester City, Arsenal all out, a Birmingham City victory is probably my best chance of getting to a Wembley final.
Friday, 3 February 2012
QPR 0 Chelsea 1
HAHA! Gotchya! Bet you didn't think Id be writing this little number did you? As it happens, just acquiring a ticket for this game was a drama in itself. Days of emails to the FA and phone calls to QPR had yielded no results, 3 days before the game I was almost giving up.
In the end, I have Rebecca, of the QPR ticket office to thank, though why they chose to send me my ticket to my home address, when I told them I would collect it from the Box Office I don't know.
And so there I was, just after 9am on Saturday morning, taking a gentle walk along South Africa Road, to pick up my ticket. To say that I was excited for this tie was a complete understatement; despite QPR being incredibly lucky in both games against the Dons, they now found themselves facing their formidable local rivals, Chelsea of Kings Road. To add even more spice to the mix, it was the first meeting between Mr Terry and Mr Ferdinand since allegations of racism had marked the last match between the two clubs.
The atmosphere was extremely tense, police vans, and dogs, everywhere, blokes hanging around shouting for tickets. Half an hour before kick off, the Chelsea team ran on to warm up, to a chorus of jeers and boos from the majority of the crowd. Cries of 'SCUM, SCUM' ripped through the midday sunshine like lightening, with special treatment reserved for the Chelsea captain. It is definitely the most violent atmosphere I had seen at a football match. Fans had been speculating about whether the 'handshake' would happen or not, and in the end we were robbed of finding out, as the FA cowardly decided to forget about fair play, conveniently disregard the anti racism campaign, and cancelled it. To the astonishment of both sets of fans, the 22 players merely ran onto the pitch and took up their positions.
The football, then, was always a secondary event. When it did happen, it was clear to all that Chelsea were by far the better team. QPR had a game plan, namely, to get men behind the ball, to restrict space for Chelsea to move, to prevent them from getting near their 18 yard box. Credit then, to QPR because for the entire first half, the plan worked. Chelsea, for their part, were content to get the ball on the floor and play from left to right, maybe to take the sting out of the atmosphere. Up front, their lone ranger, Torres, cut a forlorn figure.
It has been suggested by many in recent weeks that El Nino should leave Chelsea, that he isn't good enough, that he is not worth £50 million. I actually feel rather sorry for him. Its not his fault Chelsea spent £50 million. Its not his fault that he was offered the wages he is on. Its not his fault that he plays for a team who seem unable to give him the service he so badly needs. Torres huffed and puffed, but he was, as he so often has been this season, largely ineffective.
QPR on the other hand were bustling with talent, desire and great organisation, spearheaded by the return of their captain Joey Barton. Say what you like about JB, the fact is that he was pulling the strings for QPR throughout the first half. Everything the Hoops created consisted of a Barton pass or move; almost every chance created was from a Joey assist. He was their midfield general, their motivator, their engine. I am no fan of Joey, but it was great to see him play such a positive role in QPR's fortunes, so focused on the game, so calm on the ball.
Yet despite all of the classy possession by Chelsea and the verve and organisation of QPR, the first half ended in stalemate, the crowd amusing themselves with chants of 'We know what you said, we know what you said, John Terry we know what you said'.
The second half began in exactly the opposite fashion. Gone were the shackles of the first 45 minutes, gone was the nervous anticipation, gone was the fear. Both sets of players were up for it and it showed, the game quickly turned into attack v defence as Chelsea's monopoly on possession had given way to a more even game. That said, Chelsea still looked the better team on the ball, and as QPR began to lose discipline at the back, the Blues began to make more incisive runs, more telling crosses, forcing more hurried clearances from the Hoops defence.
Such a shame that the goal that would ultimately separate the two teams came from a blatant dive, an attempt to con the referee and rob the game of its hitherto respectful style of play. I couldn't see from where I was if it was a penalty or not, but TV replays show that Sturridge cheated, dived, simulated...call it what you will. It has no place on the football field. It was left to Chelsea's best player, Mata, to convert the chance and give advantage to blue half of West London.
Though QPR had barely created anything meaningful, I did feel sorry for them. The game quickly became a scrappy affair as things started to turn ugly. The fans were also doing their bit with chants of 'John Terry, your mum's a thief' and '1-0 to the racist scum' filling the air with hatred and anger. Ironically, it was in this moment of increasing bitterness, that one of the more humorous stories of the day took place:
The Loftus Road end has 3 gantries potruding from the upper tier, one on the left, one on the right, and one in the middle. The left gantry was occupied by a cameraman, the middle and right gantries empty. While Ramirez lay injured on the pitch for 6 minutes, one QPR fan decided to climb down from his seat, onto the right gantry, and, jumping up and down waving his Cockney hands in the air, began to lead the Loftus Road end in chants against Terry, Chelsea and the like. Stewards quickly tried to persuade the fan to climb back up, he ignored them. This bizarre situation only ended when a steward eventually climbed down onto the gantry with him, remonstrated with the plucky fellow, and then lifted him up by his legs, while a colleague pulled him back up by his arms. The fan was promptly escorted out of the stadium, to the cheers of thousands.
In the end, QPR could not find a way to equalize against their rivals. Chelsea had huffed and puffed, and when that failed, cheated their way into a Fifth Round tie. For John Terry and Anton Ferdinand though, things could have been a lot worse...imagine if they had had to shake? The result leaves QPR hopelessly dumped out of the only competition that could have bought them some success this season; instead they lie stagnant, close to the edge of the abyss of the Premier League.
Chelsea on the other hand, rightly or wrongly, now have an intriguing tie against Birmingham City to look forward to. Which leaves me, as a Villa fan, with the terrifying prospect of having to watch the fifth round of this great competition, in a stand full of Birmingham City fans...
In the end, I have Rebecca, of the QPR ticket office to thank, though why they chose to send me my ticket to my home address, when I told them I would collect it from the Box Office I don't know.
And so there I was, just after 9am on Saturday morning, taking a gentle walk along South Africa Road, to pick up my ticket. To say that I was excited for this tie was a complete understatement; despite QPR being incredibly lucky in both games against the Dons, they now found themselves facing their formidable local rivals, Chelsea of Kings Road. To add even more spice to the mix, it was the first meeting between Mr Terry and Mr Ferdinand since allegations of racism had marked the last match between the two clubs.
The atmosphere was extremely tense, police vans, and dogs, everywhere, blokes hanging around shouting for tickets. Half an hour before kick off, the Chelsea team ran on to warm up, to a chorus of jeers and boos from the majority of the crowd. Cries of 'SCUM, SCUM' ripped through the midday sunshine like lightening, with special treatment reserved for the Chelsea captain. It is definitely the most violent atmosphere I had seen at a football match. Fans had been speculating about whether the 'handshake' would happen or not, and in the end we were robbed of finding out, as the FA cowardly decided to forget about fair play, conveniently disregard the anti racism campaign, and cancelled it. To the astonishment of both sets of fans, the 22 players merely ran onto the pitch and took up their positions.
The football, then, was always a secondary event. When it did happen, it was clear to all that Chelsea were by far the better team. QPR had a game plan, namely, to get men behind the ball, to restrict space for Chelsea to move, to prevent them from getting near their 18 yard box. Credit then, to QPR because for the entire first half, the plan worked. Chelsea, for their part, were content to get the ball on the floor and play from left to right, maybe to take the sting out of the atmosphere. Up front, their lone ranger, Torres, cut a forlorn figure.
It has been suggested by many in recent weeks that El Nino should leave Chelsea, that he isn't good enough, that he is not worth £50 million. I actually feel rather sorry for him. Its not his fault Chelsea spent £50 million. Its not his fault that he was offered the wages he is on. Its not his fault that he plays for a team who seem unable to give him the service he so badly needs. Torres huffed and puffed, but he was, as he so often has been this season, largely ineffective.
QPR on the other hand were bustling with talent, desire and great organisation, spearheaded by the return of their captain Joey Barton. Say what you like about JB, the fact is that he was pulling the strings for QPR throughout the first half. Everything the Hoops created consisted of a Barton pass or move; almost every chance created was from a Joey assist. He was their midfield general, their motivator, their engine. I am no fan of Joey, but it was great to see him play such a positive role in QPR's fortunes, so focused on the game, so calm on the ball.
Yet despite all of the classy possession by Chelsea and the verve and organisation of QPR, the first half ended in stalemate, the crowd amusing themselves with chants of 'We know what you said, we know what you said, John Terry we know what you said'.
The second half began in exactly the opposite fashion. Gone were the shackles of the first 45 minutes, gone was the nervous anticipation, gone was the fear. Both sets of players were up for it and it showed, the game quickly turned into attack v defence as Chelsea's monopoly on possession had given way to a more even game. That said, Chelsea still looked the better team on the ball, and as QPR began to lose discipline at the back, the Blues began to make more incisive runs, more telling crosses, forcing more hurried clearances from the Hoops defence.
Such a shame that the goal that would ultimately separate the two teams came from a blatant dive, an attempt to con the referee and rob the game of its hitherto respectful style of play. I couldn't see from where I was if it was a penalty or not, but TV replays show that Sturridge cheated, dived, simulated...call it what you will. It has no place on the football field. It was left to Chelsea's best player, Mata, to convert the chance and give advantage to blue half of West London.
Though QPR had barely created anything meaningful, I did feel sorry for them. The game quickly became a scrappy affair as things started to turn ugly. The fans were also doing their bit with chants of 'John Terry, your mum's a thief' and '1-0 to the racist scum' filling the air with hatred and anger. Ironically, it was in this moment of increasing bitterness, that one of the more humorous stories of the day took place:
The Loftus Road end has 3 gantries potruding from the upper tier, one on the left, one on the right, and one in the middle. The left gantry was occupied by a cameraman, the middle and right gantries empty. While Ramirez lay injured on the pitch for 6 minutes, one QPR fan decided to climb down from his seat, onto the right gantry, and, jumping up and down waving his Cockney hands in the air, began to lead the Loftus Road end in chants against Terry, Chelsea and the like. Stewards quickly tried to persuade the fan to climb back up, he ignored them. This bizarre situation only ended when a steward eventually climbed down onto the gantry with him, remonstrated with the plucky fellow, and then lifted him up by his legs, while a colleague pulled him back up by his arms. The fan was promptly escorted out of the stadium, to the cheers of thousands.
In the end, QPR could not find a way to equalize against their rivals. Chelsea had huffed and puffed, and when that failed, cheated their way into a Fifth Round tie. For John Terry and Anton Ferdinand though, things could have been a lot worse...imagine if they had had to shake? The result leaves QPR hopelessly dumped out of the only competition that could have bought them some success this season; instead they lie stagnant, close to the edge of the abyss of the Premier League.
Chelsea on the other hand, rightly or wrongly, now have an intriguing tie against Birmingham City to look forward to. Which leaves me, as a Villa fan, with the terrifying prospect of having to watch the fifth round of this great competition, in a stand full of Birmingham City fans...
Thursday, 19 January 2012
QPR 1 MK Dons 0 - the end of the dream?
This was a day I was secretly hoping would not come, the moment when I would have to suddenly break free from the safe routine of the working week to travel to some dark football ground in search of a conclusion, an ending, a termination of a tie that would propel the FA Cup from the non league to the Premier League 'business end' of the competition.
A late change to my travel plans was a telling example of my uneasiness about the game, which I had had to take a days annual leave for. Originally hoping to take the train to London, I realised that should the game go to extra time or penalties, I wouldn't make the train home. I drove. Into Central London.
Loftus Road lies at a jagged angle to the long boulevard South Africa Road, its exterior facade almost jutting out onto the road itself. Either side of the road are apartment blocks, a pub, and behind the stadium is a local school. The inside of the stadium is not much better. Loftus Road is mainly famous for being the only ground in top flight English football to have a synthetic pitch,apart from that, it is a truly unremarkable stadium. Away fans enter through the turnstile and walk along a narrow corridor, which opens up onto a long concorse, to the left of which are the stairs outside into the terraces. Lets get something straight. Loftus Road is like a 1970's football stadium with seats. While QPR have been under the leadership of a new wealthy owners for some time now, the School End lower tier remains a place of ugliness, of pokey piss stained concrete walls and cramped stairways.
One MK fan observed to me that 'no one was sitting in their right seat, so just sit anywhere.' Great. The lower tier were buoyant, and one thing I immediately observed was how claustraphobic it all was, with the roof of the upper tier very close to your head. To my right was an MK fan who can't have been much older than 20, with a mouth that suggested that he had been one of Mick Jagger's lovechildren. On my left was a fan of similar age, wearing a burberry scarf, who looked on the whole far too Joey Essexlike to be seen near a football stadium. To make matters worse, they had Buckinghamshire accents.
The football was predictable. QPR, as the home side, barely touched the ball inside the first 10 minutes, it was a good 20 minutes before they had their first serious chance. MK began the game as they had left off, full of running, eager to establish their slick passing style on the home team. On the whole I was impressed with the Dons, I honestly thought they would struggle away against a Premiership team but QPR did nothing to suggest that they knew what they were doing or where they were going as a club. They looked, to all intents and purposes, like a team struggling to justify their Premier League status. MK, however, were full of confidence, their busy centre forward Ibehre backed up by a busy midfield who knew how to play the ball on the ground.
Once again however, just like in the original tie, MK displayed a punishing weakness in the final third, often wasting a chance by playing one too many passes. They were occasionally guilty of being too casual when trying to play the ball out from the back, modest intentions cut short by a telling reminder that they are after all, no Barcelona. QPR DID go close themselves in the first half, and they have Shaun Wright Phillips to thank for contriving to miss a great chance to put them 1-0 ahead. For the most part though, QPR were pretty dire.
With a 0-0 scoreline at halftime, I was left contemplating the possibility of spending an extra 45 minutes in this rotten poor excuse of a stadium, when I caught sight of a member of the general public, frantically running around an illuminous yellow pole potruding from the ground between the centre circle and the 'D'. The man, after running around the pole 10 times, then attempted to run back towards the penalty spot where he would then try to score past the QPR mascot. The first fan fell over after 3 steps, to the delight of the home fans. The second fan incredibly made it all the way to the ball, slipping over as he made contact. Finally, the last fan managed to overcome the forces of giddiness, scoring a sublime effort. Say what you like about the Premier League, you can't knock half time entertainment.
Soon, the game resumed. MK were on top. Yet again. This was exasperating me, as I was honestly hoping for an end to end game in which both teams would play their part. Instead, MK looked even better after the half time interval, creating several good chances in the first 15 minutes. My evening changed however, as QPR somehow scored a goal from nothing, seemingly condemming the brave Dons to defeat. No one in the grotty lower tier could believe what we were seeing. Rangers had played so poorly in both games, yet were winning with barely 10 minutes left. Their professionalism alone was enough to see them through if nothing else.
In the end, it was a heartbraking, if not ultimately predictable finish to an eventful cup run for the Dons. They can take heart from the fact that they played so well throughout, and national TV audiences have had the pleasure of seeing their own brand of attractive football, that will no doubt see them well through to the end of the season.
For myself however, this result represents a severe change in my own FA Cup fortunes. QPR are due to play Chelsea in the 4th Round. Of all ties, not only is it in London, but it is also a local derby, and initial inquiries suggest that the game will not even enter general sale. A grotty, cold, piss poor night in Central London, could this be the end of my FA Cup dream?
A late change to my travel plans was a telling example of my uneasiness about the game, which I had had to take a days annual leave for. Originally hoping to take the train to London, I realised that should the game go to extra time or penalties, I wouldn't make the train home. I drove. Into Central London.
Loftus Road lies at a jagged angle to the long boulevard South Africa Road, its exterior facade almost jutting out onto the road itself. Either side of the road are apartment blocks, a pub, and behind the stadium is a local school. The inside of the stadium is not much better. Loftus Road is mainly famous for being the only ground in top flight English football to have a synthetic pitch,apart from that, it is a truly unremarkable stadium. Away fans enter through the turnstile and walk along a narrow corridor, which opens up onto a long concorse, to the left of which are the stairs outside into the terraces. Lets get something straight. Loftus Road is like a 1970's football stadium with seats. While QPR have been under the leadership of a new wealthy owners for some time now, the School End lower tier remains a place of ugliness, of pokey piss stained concrete walls and cramped stairways.
One MK fan observed to me that 'no one was sitting in their right seat, so just sit anywhere.' Great. The lower tier were buoyant, and one thing I immediately observed was how claustraphobic it all was, with the roof of the upper tier very close to your head. To my right was an MK fan who can't have been much older than 20, with a mouth that suggested that he had been one of Mick Jagger's lovechildren. On my left was a fan of similar age, wearing a burberry scarf, who looked on the whole far too Joey Essexlike to be seen near a football stadium. To make matters worse, they had Buckinghamshire accents.
The football was predictable. QPR, as the home side, barely touched the ball inside the first 10 minutes, it was a good 20 minutes before they had their first serious chance. MK began the game as they had left off, full of running, eager to establish their slick passing style on the home team. On the whole I was impressed with the Dons, I honestly thought they would struggle away against a Premiership team but QPR did nothing to suggest that they knew what they were doing or where they were going as a club. They looked, to all intents and purposes, like a team struggling to justify their Premier League status. MK, however, were full of confidence, their busy centre forward Ibehre backed up by a busy midfield who knew how to play the ball on the ground.
Once again however, just like in the original tie, MK displayed a punishing weakness in the final third, often wasting a chance by playing one too many passes. They were occasionally guilty of being too casual when trying to play the ball out from the back, modest intentions cut short by a telling reminder that they are after all, no Barcelona. QPR DID go close themselves in the first half, and they have Shaun Wright Phillips to thank for contriving to miss a great chance to put them 1-0 ahead. For the most part though, QPR were pretty dire.
With a 0-0 scoreline at halftime, I was left contemplating the possibility of spending an extra 45 minutes in this rotten poor excuse of a stadium, when I caught sight of a member of the general public, frantically running around an illuminous yellow pole potruding from the ground between the centre circle and the 'D'. The man, after running around the pole 10 times, then attempted to run back towards the penalty spot where he would then try to score past the QPR mascot. The first fan fell over after 3 steps, to the delight of the home fans. The second fan incredibly made it all the way to the ball, slipping over as he made contact. Finally, the last fan managed to overcome the forces of giddiness, scoring a sublime effort. Say what you like about the Premier League, you can't knock half time entertainment.
Soon, the game resumed. MK were on top. Yet again. This was exasperating me, as I was honestly hoping for an end to end game in which both teams would play their part. Instead, MK looked even better after the half time interval, creating several good chances in the first 15 minutes. My evening changed however, as QPR somehow scored a goal from nothing, seemingly condemming the brave Dons to defeat. No one in the grotty lower tier could believe what we were seeing. Rangers had played so poorly in both games, yet were winning with barely 10 minutes left. Their professionalism alone was enough to see them through if nothing else.
In the end, it was a heartbraking, if not ultimately predictable finish to an eventful cup run for the Dons. They can take heart from the fact that they played so well throughout, and national TV audiences have had the pleasure of seeing their own brand of attractive football, that will no doubt see them well through to the end of the season.
For myself however, this result represents a severe change in my own FA Cup fortunes. QPR are due to play Chelsea in the 4th Round. Of all ties, not only is it in London, but it is also a local derby, and initial inquiries suggest that the game will not even enter general sale. A grotty, cold, piss poor night in Central London, could this be the end of my FA Cup dream?
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
MK Dons 1 QPR 1
Sitting on the train travelling towards Britain's most famous 'new town' it suddenly hit me that I really could be at the scene of an FA Cup giantkilling. MK were in hot form in the league, 4th in the table and playing some great football, well placed to challenge for a promotion place to the Championship. QPR on the other hand, had lost the momentum they began the season with and they had also lost their enigmatic captain Joey Barton the previous week. Unbeknownst to them at the time, they would be soon to lose their manager as well.
Of course, the giantkilling didn't happen, but it nearly did. What struck me about the game was that both sets of players played their part in making it a spectacle, a superb end to end 'proper' cup tie, evoking the finest traditions of English football. Also surprising, was the appearance of an unlikely 12th man. In my previous visit to the Stadiummk, merely 5,000 fans had bothered to make the journey from the surrounding towns and villages. Today however, Milton Keynes had bizarrely managed to acquire about 10,000 extra fans for this tie, and the stadium was nearly full to capacity and boasted a record attendance of 19,508.
MK were well up for this tie, and wasted no time in taking the game to the London outfit, controlling the midfield, and had a goal disallowed in the first 10 minutes. QPR by contrast, looked like a team who were struggling big time. Warnock had made some pre match excuses by suggesting that he wouldn't be able to field a full strength side anyway, but even so, it was a team containing Manchester United striker Macheda, experienced first team players in Luke Young and Shaun Derry. If they had wanted to win, surely they could have.
In the end however, it was left to the home side to turn on the quality, creating chances left right and centre, If there was a criticism of MK, it was merely that they were trying to walk the ball into the net, often playing one pass too many instead of taking a shot at goal. It came as no surprise then, when their talismanic striker Dean Bowditch put them ahead in the second half. MK were flying, the stadium was rocking and even at only 1-0 with over 20 minutes to play, it seemed a foregone conclusion. A fact embellished by the injury to Faurlin, which left QPR having to finish with 10 men after using their subs. QPR were so bad that at one stage, their own fans were mimicking the home fans taunts of 'Premier league, you're having a laugh'.
Enter MK Dons goalkeeper, David Martin.
Two minutes from time, as a long ball came hurtling towards him, Martin committed an error that even Peter Enckelman would have been proud. Running out of his box, Martin failed to deal with the long ball, which fell to the onrushing Helguson, who then dispatched it into an empty net. Two minutes from a memorable giantkilling. A million miles away from everything they had worked so hard for in the previous 88 minutes.
For Dons fans, it was such a cruel end to a totally enthralling cup tie. For Rangers fans, a chance to take the Dons back to Loftus Road for the replay for which they will surely fancy their chances in front of a home crowd. Back in August when I started this blog, I wondered what it would be like to get down to London for a midweek replay. This time next week i'll be finding out.
Of course, the giantkilling didn't happen, but it nearly did. What struck me about the game was that both sets of players played their part in making it a spectacle, a superb end to end 'proper' cup tie, evoking the finest traditions of English football. Also surprising, was the appearance of an unlikely 12th man. In my previous visit to the Stadiummk, merely 5,000 fans had bothered to make the journey from the surrounding towns and villages. Today however, Milton Keynes had bizarrely managed to acquire about 10,000 extra fans for this tie, and the stadium was nearly full to capacity and boasted a record attendance of 19,508.
MK were well up for this tie, and wasted no time in taking the game to the London outfit, controlling the midfield, and had a goal disallowed in the first 10 minutes. QPR by contrast, looked like a team who were struggling big time. Warnock had made some pre match excuses by suggesting that he wouldn't be able to field a full strength side anyway, but even so, it was a team containing Manchester United striker Macheda, experienced first team players in Luke Young and Shaun Derry. If they had wanted to win, surely they could have.
In the end however, it was left to the home side to turn on the quality, creating chances left right and centre, If there was a criticism of MK, it was merely that they were trying to walk the ball into the net, often playing one pass too many instead of taking a shot at goal. It came as no surprise then, when their talismanic striker Dean Bowditch put them ahead in the second half. MK were flying, the stadium was rocking and even at only 1-0 with over 20 minutes to play, it seemed a foregone conclusion. A fact embellished by the injury to Faurlin, which left QPR having to finish with 10 men after using their subs. QPR were so bad that at one stage, their own fans were mimicking the home fans taunts of 'Premier league, you're having a laugh'.
Enter MK Dons goalkeeper, David Martin.
Two minutes from time, as a long ball came hurtling towards him, Martin committed an error that even Peter Enckelman would have been proud. Running out of his box, Martin failed to deal with the long ball, which fell to the onrushing Helguson, who then dispatched it into an empty net. Two minutes from a memorable giantkilling. A million miles away from everything they had worked so hard for in the previous 88 minutes.
For Dons fans, it was such a cruel end to a totally enthralling cup tie. For Rangers fans, a chance to take the Dons back to Loftus Road for the replay for which they will surely fancy their chances in front of a home crowd. Back in August when I started this blog, I wondered what it would be like to get down to London for a midweek replay. This time next week i'll be finding out.
Monday, 12 December 2011
Barnet 1 MK Dons 3
It was cold. It was wet. And worst of all, it was at Barnet, some backwatered shithole in North London. Yet this tie was something I was extremely excited about, because it presented to me exactly the kind of experience I have been craving since I began the cup run.
I am a child of the heath and safety generation, an age which roughly began as the terrible events unfolded on an April afternoon in Sheffield in 1989. The consequences of the disaster have changed football stadiums forever in this country, something superbly demonstrated by the stadiummk.
This tie however, gave me a chance to experience life on the terraces for the first time ever. Barnet's stadium is the epitome of the old fashioned football ground, the away terrace is accessed via a long passageway, a couple of seating areas sit uneasily with the open air terraces along the length of the pitch. There is actually a slope. The away terrace hosts one small refreshments 'cupboard'.
After purchasing my meat pie, I decided to perch myself at the back, assuming the further towards the back I was, the better the view I would have. I was wrong. Seconds later I dropped my plastic fork down the other side of the railings and the grim reality of no seating was starting to hit me. I had to spend the rest of the game in a cold terrace up close and far too personal to some idiot mk fans (how funny, I thought, that they can barely muster a 4,000 attendance for a home game, yet when away they suddenly find their voice). Towards the end of the game I had had enough of standing and perched myself on a metal bar running the length of the terrace. Old school indeed.
As for the game, I consider Barnet to be extremely unlucky, on virtue of a spectacularly missed chance in the first half; the front man hitting the ball on the turn and, with nothing but an own goal to aim at, shooting wide from 10 yards. It was clear to all that MK were the better team on the ball though for the majority of the game there was little to speak about; neither team being able to open up the other. Cruel then, that the Dons should score first literally minutes after Barnets wasted chance.
The second half was a great deal more entertaining, as the weather turned colder, darker, and both sets of players seemed to have woken from their first half slumber party. Barnet however seemed unable to break down the solidity of MK's defence, and it wasn't till MK were comfortably 2-0 up that the Bees seriously began to threaten. Getting a goal back late in the second half threatened the prospect of a dramatic comeback, only to be cruelly swept aside by the fluidity of the Dons passing, and at 3-1 it was all over. Thankfully, time to exit a freezing stand and get the hell out of there.
I am a child of the heath and safety generation, an age which roughly began as the terrible events unfolded on an April afternoon in Sheffield in 1989. The consequences of the disaster have changed football stadiums forever in this country, something superbly demonstrated by the stadiummk.
This tie however, gave me a chance to experience life on the terraces for the first time ever. Barnet's stadium is the epitome of the old fashioned football ground, the away terrace is accessed via a long passageway, a couple of seating areas sit uneasily with the open air terraces along the length of the pitch. There is actually a slope. The away terrace hosts one small refreshments 'cupboard'.
After purchasing my meat pie, I decided to perch myself at the back, assuming the further towards the back I was, the better the view I would have. I was wrong. Seconds later I dropped my plastic fork down the other side of the railings and the grim reality of no seating was starting to hit me. I had to spend the rest of the game in a cold terrace up close and far too personal to some idiot mk fans (how funny, I thought, that they can barely muster a 4,000 attendance for a home game, yet when away they suddenly find their voice). Towards the end of the game I had had enough of standing and perched myself on a metal bar running the length of the terrace. Old school indeed.
As for the game, I consider Barnet to be extremely unlucky, on virtue of a spectacularly missed chance in the first half; the front man hitting the ball on the turn and, with nothing but an own goal to aim at, shooting wide from 10 yards. It was clear to all that MK were the better team on the ball though for the majority of the game there was little to speak about; neither team being able to open up the other. Cruel then, that the Dons should score first literally minutes after Barnets wasted chance.
The second half was a great deal more entertaining, as the weather turned colder, darker, and both sets of players seemed to have woken from their first half slumber party. Barnet however seemed unable to break down the solidity of MK's defence, and it wasn't till MK were comfortably 2-0 up that the Bees seriously began to threaten. Getting a goal back late in the second half threatened the prospect of a dramatic comeback, only to be cruelly swept aside by the fluidity of the Dons passing, and at 3-1 it was all over. Thankfully, time to exit a freezing stand and get the hell out of there.
Monday, 14 November 2011
Milton Keynes Dons 6 Nantwich Town 0
The sun was shining brightly as I headed south towards Milton Keynes for this 1st round tie, a hugely momentous occasion for the away side Nantwich Town, who I had encountered in the previous round. Memories of 2 weeks ago were still fresh in my memory as I drove along the A5 all the way to Britain's last 'new city' and possessing a ticket in the away end of the ground, I was full of optimism and anticipation of a cup upset of David v Goliath proportions. It turned out that I wasn't alone, hundreds of Nantwich fans making the journey south for the biggest game in their clubs history, and who could blame them.
The setting for this scene of anticipated giant killing possessed nothing of the traditional beauty of the northern market town. Milton Keynes at best, can be described as a bold attempt to create a socialist paradise in Britain, at worst, an artificial, fake amalgamation of concrete and roundabouts. The Stadiummk effectively symbolises the city's lack of identity and culture. It is undoubtedly huge, with plenty of space around the edge for car parks. There is a nice little walkway from the stadium going to the nearest Asda. Upon gaining entry to the stadium, you find yourself on a sheltered concourse area that spans the length of the stadium, splitting the two tiers in half. The seats are clean, spacious and very comfortable. Every penny has been spent to ensure the comfort, health and safety of the many spectators in the venue. Yet this is where the problems begin.
There are no fans.
The stadium can hold up to 20,000 people, and incredibly, there are plans to use the upper tier to increase capacity to 32,000. Yet on Saturday, the day of the 1st Round of the greatest cup competition on earth, only 4,000 odd fans were in attendance. True, the local authorities are hoping to use the stadium for other events such as music concerts and other sports, which is just as well. There was a shocking lack of atmosphere throughout the entire game. It almost seemed like the home fans were continuing the minutes silence throughout the whole first half.
The Nantwich crowd however, were showing no signs of laxity towards the experience. They were vocal, dressed in absurd clothes and wearing funny hats and genuinely having a good time. In fact, they provided as much entertainment as the game itself.
Nantwich certainly started brightly, and for 10 minutes it actually seemed as if our pre game optimism could realistically be transferred to those on the pitch. MK were always going to be the better team however, and it took them just half an hour to go two goals ahead, both goals coming from some slick passing from midfield, which Nantwich failed to cope with. At half time, I already knew who I would be following in the next round.
The second half brought little respite for the Dabbers, any hopes of a comeback were dramatically dashed by a freekick soon after the restart. From then on it was merely a case of counting down the minutes until the end, though it was heartening to see Nantwich, unburdened by the pressure of being within a chance, actually having a go. The problem was that MK were just too quick and sharp for them, a fact demonstrated by the last two goals as they merely soaked up any Dabber pressure, and calved them open on the counter attack.
It was at this moment that I decided to turn my attentions to what was going on in the stands. Not the MK end of course, they were all asleep, but the lively section of Nantwich fans in front of me behind the goal. I had noticed at various points throughout the game that members of the MK Safety Team had been circling round the group, pointing and wagging various fingers with concerned looks on their faces. At one point, a member of a safety team waded into the crowd, and appeared to have a disagreement with a bloke who to all intents and purposes looked like he had the word 'HOOLIGAN' on his forehead. Another Safety Team member, I don't know his name but shall refer to him as Captain Jobsworth, told a fan several times to stop smoking.
All this was very lighthearted, but things started to get a little more serious as the group of fans, no doubt aggrieved by their teams poor showing, began to take their frustrations out on a certain member of the Safety Team. This guy was the wrong side of chubby, a fact no doubt taken into consideration by the group, who began a superb rendition of "Have You Ever Seen Your Dick", pointing to the guy in question.
This again was quite funny, until two of the fans, including Hooligan Boy I have previously mentioned, incredibly started fighting each other. The Safety Team wasted no time in wading on in there, determined to sniff out the offending imbeciles, and they swiftly hauled them out, one by one amid much raucous laughter and jeering. Though Captain Jobsworth was watching from the sidelines, the real hero of the hour was the fat guy who they had been singing to moments before, grabbing several fans by the throat and literally dragging them out. In all, about ten fans were evicted.
This whole incident lasted merely 10 minutes, yet it was easily the most entertaining period of the 2nd half, though MK had dominated proceedings, it was a shame that their fans had not turned out in droves to make a real atmosphere. For Nantwich and their fans, it had no doubt been a memorable occasion, albeit one that ended with the inevitable conclusion, a 6-0 drubbing. Still, history had been made for them, I am sure they will savour the experience for years to come.
For Milton Keynes, a tie away at Barnet awaits them, and one can only hope that their fans will experience a proper atmosphere there, and maybe pick up some tips.
The setting for this scene of anticipated giant killing possessed nothing of the traditional beauty of the northern market town. Milton Keynes at best, can be described as a bold attempt to create a socialist paradise in Britain, at worst, an artificial, fake amalgamation of concrete and roundabouts. The Stadiummk effectively symbolises the city's lack of identity and culture. It is undoubtedly huge, with plenty of space around the edge for car parks. There is a nice little walkway from the stadium going to the nearest Asda. Upon gaining entry to the stadium, you find yourself on a sheltered concourse area that spans the length of the stadium, splitting the two tiers in half. The seats are clean, spacious and very comfortable. Every penny has been spent to ensure the comfort, health and safety of the many spectators in the venue. Yet this is where the problems begin.
There are no fans.
The stadium can hold up to 20,000 people, and incredibly, there are plans to use the upper tier to increase capacity to 32,000. Yet on Saturday, the day of the 1st Round of the greatest cup competition on earth, only 4,000 odd fans were in attendance. True, the local authorities are hoping to use the stadium for other events such as music concerts and other sports, which is just as well. There was a shocking lack of atmosphere throughout the entire game. It almost seemed like the home fans were continuing the minutes silence throughout the whole first half.
The Nantwich crowd however, were showing no signs of laxity towards the experience. They were vocal, dressed in absurd clothes and wearing funny hats and genuinely having a good time. In fact, they provided as much entertainment as the game itself.
Nantwich certainly started brightly, and for 10 minutes it actually seemed as if our pre game optimism could realistically be transferred to those on the pitch. MK were always going to be the better team however, and it took them just half an hour to go two goals ahead, both goals coming from some slick passing from midfield, which Nantwich failed to cope with. At half time, I already knew who I would be following in the next round.
The second half brought little respite for the Dabbers, any hopes of a comeback were dramatically dashed by a freekick soon after the restart. From then on it was merely a case of counting down the minutes until the end, though it was heartening to see Nantwich, unburdened by the pressure of being within a chance, actually having a go. The problem was that MK were just too quick and sharp for them, a fact demonstrated by the last two goals as they merely soaked up any Dabber pressure, and calved them open on the counter attack.
It was at this moment that I decided to turn my attentions to what was going on in the stands. Not the MK end of course, they were all asleep, but the lively section of Nantwich fans in front of me behind the goal. I had noticed at various points throughout the game that members of the MK Safety Team had been circling round the group, pointing and wagging various fingers with concerned looks on their faces. At one point, a member of a safety team waded into the crowd, and appeared to have a disagreement with a bloke who to all intents and purposes looked like he had the word 'HOOLIGAN' on his forehead. Another Safety Team member, I don't know his name but shall refer to him as Captain Jobsworth, told a fan several times to stop smoking.
All this was very lighthearted, but things started to get a little more serious as the group of fans, no doubt aggrieved by their teams poor showing, began to take their frustrations out on a certain member of the Safety Team. This guy was the wrong side of chubby, a fact no doubt taken into consideration by the group, who began a superb rendition of "Have You Ever Seen Your Dick", pointing to the guy in question.
This again was quite funny, until two of the fans, including Hooligan Boy I have previously mentioned, incredibly started fighting each other. The Safety Team wasted no time in wading on in there, determined to sniff out the offending imbeciles, and they swiftly hauled them out, one by one amid much raucous laughter and jeering. Though Captain Jobsworth was watching from the sidelines, the real hero of the hour was the fat guy who they had been singing to moments before, grabbing several fans by the throat and literally dragging them out. In all, about ten fans were evicted.
This whole incident lasted merely 10 minutes, yet it was easily the most entertaining period of the 2nd half, though MK had dominated proceedings, it was a shame that their fans had not turned out in droves to make a real atmosphere. For Nantwich and their fans, it had no doubt been a memorable occasion, albeit one that ended with the inevitable conclusion, a 6-0 drubbing. Still, history had been made for them, I am sure they will savour the experience for years to come.
For Milton Keynes, a tie away at Barnet awaits them, and one can only hope that their fans will experience a proper atmosphere there, and maybe pick up some tips.
Sunday, 30 October 2011
Nantwich Town 1 Nuneaton Town 0
There can be few finer places to finish the qualifying rounds of the FA Cup than the historic town of Nantwich. Fate had delivered me what I had secretly been hoping for since I began my cup exploits at Boldmere, a trip away from the Midlands, one that would promise a new experience, a new scene, maybe a different style of football.Though for a while I was flirting with the dull prospect of a home tie at Nuneaton, I was glad to be driving up the M6 to Cheshire and I was not disappointed by what I found there. I decided to set off a bit early for this one, not merely to allow for traffic, but I set my sights on taking in all that Nantwich had to offer.
Nantwich today stands aloof from the bigger economic powerhouses of the North West, namely Manchester and Liverpool, and thus retains much of its market town character. The town is mainly associated with two events in English history. It was the scene of a "Great Fire" in 1583, superceded only by London's calamity almost a hundred years later. Even more prominent was the role Nantwich was to play in the battle for power between Parliament and the Royalists during the Civil War. Nantwich was the only town in Cheshire to support Parliament and was the scene of a siege lasting 6 weeks in 1644. Today you can still visit the sight of the battle, and it is reenacted annually.
Back to more important matters, and after sampling some of the local culinary delights it was time to take one's place inside the Weaver Stadium. On asking a local where the best place to stand would be, I was swiftly whisked away through some doors and tunnells, past the officials and into the club shop, where I was given a ticket which allowed me to sit undercover. Nice. It turns out that Nantwich and Nuneaton are fairly matched on the football field, the first half was an entirely cagey affair, with few chances for either side. Nuneaton fans, though few in number were extremely vocal in their support, and it certainly looked like the home side would have a tough task ahead of them.
The referee was certainly not helping matters, dealing his first yellow card of the game just 2 minutes in, and attempting to stop the game at every opportunity. It was cold. It was breezy. And for almost the entire first half, it was quite boring. How often it is though, that goals change games. Though neither side had had many chances, though it was clear that the Dabbers were the better team on the ball, more composed, more creative than their opponents, and a spell of possession soon worked a chance to cross the ball from the right hand side. A fine cross it was, though evading everyone except the Nuneaton goalkeeper who will no doubt be forever cursing his moment of tragic horror. It was an error worthy of mention alongside that of Mr Enkelman, the keeper failing to get a sure grip on the ball, spilling it, and looking back in anguish as its momentum carried it over the line into a gaping net, prompting the eruption, the spilling of hot coffee, the clapping of hands from roughly 800 Nantwich fans. Neil Collett, take a bow.
Instantly, the game changed. Both teams realised that this was the moment, this was their time, and Nuneaton to their credit wasted no time in galvanizing themselves, coming ever so close on a number of occasions. This game was finally turning out to be the spectacle we had all imagined it could, and then....enter our card happy official. A fifty fifty ball near the halfway line resulted in a challenge which the referee was clearly not too pleased about, but few Nantwich fans foresaw the straight red card that was to follow. Still, the unsavoury dismissal made the situation all the more desperate for the home side, who were now surviving constant Nuneaton attacks and were clinging on to their advantage. The Dabbers themselves could have made it 2-0 moments before the end but Danny Mitchley's shot smacked the woodwork, bouncing out for a throw.
It was with much relief that the whistle eventually came, and it wasn't until that moment, as I witnessed the jubilation, that the true scale of this tie hit me. Nantwich Town had just made it to the First Round draw for the first time in their 127 year history. For the players, fans, and anyone else connected with the club, today was surely the biggest game of their lives, it was their cup final. Or maybe not. We have already learned today of Nantwich's opponents in the first round, an away tie at MK Dons awaits them.
We have only just finished the qualifying rounds, still 3 rounds before the prospect of a Premier League giant killing, yet already the FA Cup has demonstrated its ability to captivate, enthrall and surprise thousands of fans throughout the country with days like this.
Nantwich today stands aloof from the bigger economic powerhouses of the North West, namely Manchester and Liverpool, and thus retains much of its market town character. The town is mainly associated with two events in English history. It was the scene of a "Great Fire" in 1583, superceded only by London's calamity almost a hundred years later. Even more prominent was the role Nantwich was to play in the battle for power between Parliament and the Royalists during the Civil War. Nantwich was the only town in Cheshire to support Parliament and was the scene of a siege lasting 6 weeks in 1644. Today you can still visit the sight of the battle, and it is reenacted annually.
Back to more important matters, and after sampling some of the local culinary delights it was time to take one's place inside the Weaver Stadium. On asking a local where the best place to stand would be, I was swiftly whisked away through some doors and tunnells, past the officials and into the club shop, where I was given a ticket which allowed me to sit undercover. Nice. It turns out that Nantwich and Nuneaton are fairly matched on the football field, the first half was an entirely cagey affair, with few chances for either side. Nuneaton fans, though few in number were extremely vocal in their support, and it certainly looked like the home side would have a tough task ahead of them.
The referee was certainly not helping matters, dealing his first yellow card of the game just 2 minutes in, and attempting to stop the game at every opportunity. It was cold. It was breezy. And for almost the entire first half, it was quite boring. How often it is though, that goals change games. Though neither side had had many chances, though it was clear that the Dabbers were the better team on the ball, more composed, more creative than their opponents, and a spell of possession soon worked a chance to cross the ball from the right hand side. A fine cross it was, though evading everyone except the Nuneaton goalkeeper who will no doubt be forever cursing his moment of tragic horror. It was an error worthy of mention alongside that of Mr Enkelman, the keeper failing to get a sure grip on the ball, spilling it, and looking back in anguish as its momentum carried it over the line into a gaping net, prompting the eruption, the spilling of hot coffee, the clapping of hands from roughly 800 Nantwich fans. Neil Collett, take a bow.
Instantly, the game changed. Both teams realised that this was the moment, this was their time, and Nuneaton to their credit wasted no time in galvanizing themselves, coming ever so close on a number of occasions. This game was finally turning out to be the spectacle we had all imagined it could, and then....enter our card happy official. A fifty fifty ball near the halfway line resulted in a challenge which the referee was clearly not too pleased about, but few Nantwich fans foresaw the straight red card that was to follow. Still, the unsavoury dismissal made the situation all the more desperate for the home side, who were now surviving constant Nuneaton attacks and were clinging on to their advantage. The Dabbers themselves could have made it 2-0 moments before the end but Danny Mitchley's shot smacked the woodwork, bouncing out for a throw.
It was with much relief that the whistle eventually came, and it wasn't until that moment, as I witnessed the jubilation, that the true scale of this tie hit me. Nantwich Town had just made it to the First Round draw for the first time in their 127 year history. For the players, fans, and anyone else connected with the club, today was surely the biggest game of their lives, it was their cup final. Or maybe not. We have already learned today of Nantwich's opponents in the first round, an away tie at MK Dons awaits them.
We have only just finished the qualifying rounds, still 3 rounds before the prospect of a Premier League giant killing, yet already the FA Cup has demonstrated its ability to captivate, enthrall and surprise thousands of fans throughout the country with days like this.
Sunday, 16 October 2011
Daventry Town 1 Nuneaton Borough 2
It was a shortlived spell that I got to see Daventry play in this season's competition, however they have so far been the team that has captured my attention with their hunger, desire and for the atmosphere inside the ground. Coming to Daventry has felt like coming to a proper football club, one that stays true to its roots but can also harbour ambitions of success.
Right from when the draw was announced I had a feeling this tie was going to be special. Firstly, having spent the best part of a year working in the town of Nuneaton, I had the pleasure of knowing some of the locals, for all their charm and quirkiness. Secondly, I happened to be acquainted with the home side's assistant manager, Mr Andy Reece who had, for the previous game, generously provided me with a signed programme. My interest in this game was to heighten even more upon learning that a certain Mr Lee Hendrie might be making his Daventry debut.
Unsurprisingly, I was rooting for the hosts, though in reality they had little hope. Nuneaton are 2 divisions above them, playing in the Blue Square Premier, which for Daventry, was quite a leap in standard. However it proved to be a much tighter game on the pitch, Nuneaton were quiet in the first half, unlike their fans, and by half time the scores were still level. Both teams had had chances but it was certainly Daventry who were controlling long passages of play, their main attacking outlet being my friend Lee. The former Villan showed some neat touches and seemed more than capable of fitting in to his new team.
How often it is though, that games are won and lost in the second half. Daventry were by now playing with the sun in their eyes and it showed, Nuneaton scoring just after the interval and in a second seemingly undoing all of Daventry's excellent first half work. Still, it was harsh on the home side, the goal only being scored courtesy of a huge deflection. And they deserve a lot of credit for the manner in which they fought back, still going forward, still creating some good chances, their only failure being totally unable to hit the target. Up until the disasterous second goal, Daventry still had an excellent chance. This changed however, after a defender failed to clear the ball, instead choosing to make life incredibly hard for himself....do I need to tell you what happened next?
Yet still, at 0-2 down, with barely a third of the match remaining, they kept coming, and to my mind they thoroughly deserved their goal when it finally did come, and what a finish it was too, a cracking strike from 20 yards out. Had a close range header been just inches lower it would surely have sent the vast majority of fans into a state of delerium just seconds from the end, but it wasn't to be.
I cannot help but feel quite sad about Daventry's exit. They matched Nuneaton for long periods of the game and to concede two goals the way they did must be crushing. To be honest, I'm not exactly relishing the idea of a home draw at Nuneaton either, I used to work there, working for the local community and I'm bound to bump into someone I know. So here's to an away draw!
Right from when the draw was announced I had a feeling this tie was going to be special. Firstly, having spent the best part of a year working in the town of Nuneaton, I had the pleasure of knowing some of the locals, for all their charm and quirkiness. Secondly, I happened to be acquainted with the home side's assistant manager, Mr Andy Reece who had, for the previous game, generously provided me with a signed programme. My interest in this game was to heighten even more upon learning that a certain Mr Lee Hendrie might be making his Daventry debut.
Unsurprisingly, I was rooting for the hosts, though in reality they had little hope. Nuneaton are 2 divisions above them, playing in the Blue Square Premier, which for Daventry, was quite a leap in standard. However it proved to be a much tighter game on the pitch, Nuneaton were quiet in the first half, unlike their fans, and by half time the scores were still level. Both teams had had chances but it was certainly Daventry who were controlling long passages of play, their main attacking outlet being my friend Lee. The former Villan showed some neat touches and seemed more than capable of fitting in to his new team.
How often it is though, that games are won and lost in the second half. Daventry were by now playing with the sun in their eyes and it showed, Nuneaton scoring just after the interval and in a second seemingly undoing all of Daventry's excellent first half work. Still, it was harsh on the home side, the goal only being scored courtesy of a huge deflection. And they deserve a lot of credit for the manner in which they fought back, still going forward, still creating some good chances, their only failure being totally unable to hit the target. Up until the disasterous second goal, Daventry still had an excellent chance. This changed however, after a defender failed to clear the ball, instead choosing to make life incredibly hard for himself....do I need to tell you what happened next?
Yet still, at 0-2 down, with barely a third of the match remaining, they kept coming, and to my mind they thoroughly deserved their goal when it finally did come, and what a finish it was too, a cracking strike from 20 yards out. Had a close range header been just inches lower it would surely have sent the vast majority of fans into a state of delerium just seconds from the end, but it wasn't to be.
I cannot help but feel quite sad about Daventry's exit. They matched Nuneaton for long periods of the game and to concede two goals the way they did must be crushing. To be honest, I'm not exactly relishing the idea of a home draw at Nuneaton either, I used to work there, working for the local community and I'm bound to bump into someone I know. So here's to an away draw!
Sunday, 2 October 2011
Daventry Town 2 Leamington FC 1
"Sports serve society by providing vivid examples of excellence" - George F. Will (1941 -)
Too true, George. One could have been forgiven for thinking that they had landed in a sort of football heaven yesterday afternoon, strolling around the Communications Park Stadium. Not only were there the examples of excellence on the field to which Mr Will was aluding to, but also one could point to the sublime cornish pasty I was eating, the swanky bar with its flatscreen tvs showing sky sports, and of course, the Indian Summer weather as such vivid examples of excellence.
However, the joy of the afternoon was not quite so apparent during the car journey there. I had managed to procure a companion, by the name of Mr Lee Wood to join me on my latest trip across the English football universe. The trip began promisingly, topics being discussed included exactly which group of supporters we should include ourselves in; was the great Debbie Hodgkins going to make an appearance; would Daventry Town have a bar named after a local hero like their Leamington counterparts? Pretty soon however, Lee, or Poosh as he is better known, was overcome by the heat and descended into a nap on the passenger seat. I also inexpliceably lost concentration and contrived to enter the M1 driving in the wrong direction.
We eventually arrived about 3 minutes late, and by the time we had negotiated the queue at the burger bar and actually acquired our lunch, it was almost halfway through the first half. Not that we missed much during that time. Both teams seemed evenly matched with Leamington just shading the possession but unable to make anything count. Daventry Town took advantage of their opponents inability to put in a decent cross, twice creating two chances on the counter attack, and converting both.
Perhaps this would be an ideal time to revert back to Mr Will's wise words at the beginning of the article; yes the weather was good, yes the cornish pasty filled a hole, but these examples of excellence surely pale into insignificance when you consider Leamington's sublime example of how not to defend. The first goal was a terrible one to concede, a low cross towards the near post, both defender and goalkeeper combined to make a complete hash of clearing the danger, and it was left to an onrushing Daventry player to tap in.
Though Leamington worked hard, they failed to deliver one decent cross into the box, too often struggling in the final third to create a decent chance, and it was the collapse of yet another attack that Daventry were able to capitalise on, within seconds finishing off at the other end with a tidy finish from about 10 yards out. All this before half time, and I couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for Leamington, who had had more than their lions share of possession. However, from 2-0 down it was always going to be a battle and so it proved, though not for the want of trying. I feel the Brakes deserve credit for their courageous fightback in the second half, and they certainly finished the game the stronger of the two sides. I was also quite pleased when they managed to gain some reward for their hard work, a penalty in the last minute of the game.
However, the tie belonged to Daventry, who provided a superb example of counter attacking football to win the match, and both me and Poosh agreed that the best team had won.
And so we have come to the end of yet another FA Cup weekend, so far Boldmere have graced themselves, Leamington have provided a short distraction, but now my attention turns to Daventry Town FC and I await the draw on Monday with a keen anticipation.....
Too true, George. One could have been forgiven for thinking that they had landed in a sort of football heaven yesterday afternoon, strolling around the Communications Park Stadium. Not only were there the examples of excellence on the field to which Mr Will was aluding to, but also one could point to the sublime cornish pasty I was eating, the swanky bar with its flatscreen tvs showing sky sports, and of course, the Indian Summer weather as such vivid examples of excellence.
However, the joy of the afternoon was not quite so apparent during the car journey there. I had managed to procure a companion, by the name of Mr Lee Wood to join me on my latest trip across the English football universe. The trip began promisingly, topics being discussed included exactly which group of supporters we should include ourselves in; was the great Debbie Hodgkins going to make an appearance; would Daventry Town have a bar named after a local hero like their Leamington counterparts? Pretty soon however, Lee, or Poosh as he is better known, was overcome by the heat and descended into a nap on the passenger seat. I also inexpliceably lost concentration and contrived to enter the M1 driving in the wrong direction.
We eventually arrived about 3 minutes late, and by the time we had negotiated the queue at the burger bar and actually acquired our lunch, it was almost halfway through the first half. Not that we missed much during that time. Both teams seemed evenly matched with Leamington just shading the possession but unable to make anything count. Daventry Town took advantage of their opponents inability to put in a decent cross, twice creating two chances on the counter attack, and converting both.
Perhaps this would be an ideal time to revert back to Mr Will's wise words at the beginning of the article; yes the weather was good, yes the cornish pasty filled a hole, but these examples of excellence surely pale into insignificance when you consider Leamington's sublime example of how not to defend. The first goal was a terrible one to concede, a low cross towards the near post, both defender and goalkeeper combined to make a complete hash of clearing the danger, and it was left to an onrushing Daventry player to tap in.
Though Leamington worked hard, they failed to deliver one decent cross into the box, too often struggling in the final third to create a decent chance, and it was the collapse of yet another attack that Daventry were able to capitalise on, within seconds finishing off at the other end with a tidy finish from about 10 yards out. All this before half time, and I couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for Leamington, who had had more than their lions share of possession. However, from 2-0 down it was always going to be a battle and so it proved, though not for the want of trying. I feel the Brakes deserve credit for their courageous fightback in the second half, and they certainly finished the game the stronger of the two sides. I was also quite pleased when they managed to gain some reward for their hard work, a penalty in the last minute of the game.
However, the tie belonged to Daventry, who provided a superb example of counter attacking football to win the match, and both me and Poosh agreed that the best team had won.
And so we have come to the end of yet another FA Cup weekend, so far Boldmere have graced themselves, Leamington have provided a short distraction, but now my attention turns to Daventry Town FC and I await the draw on Monday with a keen anticipation.....
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Leamington 5 Boldmere St Michaels 0
I was genuinely looking forward to this clash. For me, an away trip to Leamington represented the first real 'road trip' style experience that I am expecting to have over the next few months. It was also going to be interesting to see how Boldmere could handle a team that was 2 whole divisions above them. As the scoreline suggests, they couldn't, but what was more intriguing about this tie was the discovery of new surroundings, of a club in possession of higher trappings of fame and fortune, and ambitions.
The New Windmill Ground is situated in the middle of nowhere deep in the Warwickshire countryside, and is a very smart set up. Home fans were heard loud and clear in the stand behind the goal, and seen clearly too thanks to the many flags draped over them. The club boasts a large modern clubhouse, where you can enjoy a post match pint with fans and players alike, in the Ed Mullard bar. During the match, should you fancy striking up a conversation with the locals, you could always pop across to the club shop, where you would be served by club stalwart Debbie Hodgkins. I know this, because I was informed by the professional matchday programme, a snip even at this level, at only £2.
Back to the football, and it was clear right from the start that Leamington were a club who knew what they were doing on the pitch as well as off. They were faster, pacier, sharper and fitter than their Birmingham based opponents, who found it hard to get much possession in the early stages of the game. That said, Boldmere were only 1-0 down by half time, there was every chance of scoring a goal in the 2nd half and the game was by no means over yet.
This changed however, after the Boldmere captain hauled down a Leamington player in the penalty area, the resulting conversion doubling Leamington's lead. From then on it was clearly game over. Boldmere lost their cool, leading to a dramatic collapse in the final 10 minutes, conceding 3 more goals.
It was hardly surprising, but at the same time a fascinating contest, both teams trying to play football, but one team clearly miles ahead than the other in terms of quality and fitness. At the end of the game, I decided to follow the programme's recommendations and sample the atmosphere in the Ed Mullard bar, where I could sit and watch Debbie Hodgkins in action, whilst reflecting on Boldmere's short and sweet FA cup run. The draw is on Monday, and this is where it begins to get really exciting. There are hundreds of teams in the 2nd Qualifying round...I could be traveling anywhere between Leamington and Carlisle......
The New Windmill Ground is situated in the middle of nowhere deep in the Warwickshire countryside, and is a very smart set up. Home fans were heard loud and clear in the stand behind the goal, and seen clearly too thanks to the many flags draped over them. The club boasts a large modern clubhouse, where you can enjoy a post match pint with fans and players alike, in the Ed Mullard bar. During the match, should you fancy striking up a conversation with the locals, you could always pop across to the club shop, where you would be served by club stalwart Debbie Hodgkins. I know this, because I was informed by the professional matchday programme, a snip even at this level, at only £2.
Back to the football, and it was clear right from the start that Leamington were a club who knew what they were doing on the pitch as well as off. They were faster, pacier, sharper and fitter than their Birmingham based opponents, who found it hard to get much possession in the early stages of the game. That said, Boldmere were only 1-0 down by half time, there was every chance of scoring a goal in the 2nd half and the game was by no means over yet.
This changed however, after the Boldmere captain hauled down a Leamington player in the penalty area, the resulting conversion doubling Leamington's lead. From then on it was clearly game over. Boldmere lost their cool, leading to a dramatic collapse in the final 10 minutes, conceding 3 more goals.
It was hardly surprising, but at the same time a fascinating contest, both teams trying to play football, but one team clearly miles ahead than the other in terms of quality and fitness. At the end of the game, I decided to follow the programme's recommendations and sample the atmosphere in the Ed Mullard bar, where I could sit and watch Debbie Hodgkins in action, whilst reflecting on Boldmere's short and sweet FA cup run. The draw is on Monday, and this is where it begins to get really exciting. There are hundreds of teams in the 2nd Qualifying round...I could be traveling anywhere between Leamington and Carlisle......
Coleshill Town 0 Boldmere 1
Im not gonna lie. There were several times during the course of this match when I seriously began to question my motives in taking on this challenge. An FA Cup replay on a cold, wet Tuesday evening? Great.
This one had to be done however, and being a local derby, it had every chance of becoming a classic. It wasn't. In reality it was a game of little incident, Boldmere scoring the games only goal by means of a free kick that flew past everyone in the box, including the goalkeeper, into the net. In the second half, the weather deteriorated further, and I ended up watching the rest of the game in my brother's girlfriends car.
For Boldmere however, the importance of the result of this tie cannot be overstated; a tough away win againt a team higher placed in the league, a local derby as well, this was a great result for them. Now for Leamington....
This one had to be done however, and being a local derby, it had every chance of becoming a classic. It wasn't. In reality it was a game of little incident, Boldmere scoring the games only goal by means of a free kick that flew past everyone in the box, including the goalkeeper, into the net. In the second half, the weather deteriorated further, and I ended up watching the rest of the game in my brother's girlfriends car.
For Boldmere however, the importance of the result of this tie cannot be overstated; a tough away win againt a team higher placed in the league, a local derby as well, this was a great result for them. Now for Leamington....
Sunday, 4 September 2011
Boldmere St Michaels 2 Coleshill Town 2
And so the FA Cup brought me back to Boldmere on a mild Tuesday evening for a local derby clash with high flying Coleshill Town. Lets face it, it was never going to be a walkover. While the first round had served up a rather entertaining clash against a team a division below, this one presented Boldmere with a much tougher challenge, made tougher still, by the comparative loss of form since the last tie.
And so it proved.
Boldmere again set their stall out to play as unattractive, direct football as possible, their sole attacking strategy being to hit the channels in the vain hope of releasing a pacy winger, or giving service to the big man up front. In truth, this direct style of play seemed like it was paying off, as the huge Number 9 struck a superb left foot shot in from about 18 yards. However, false dawns are aplenty in non league football, and it was only a matter of time before Coleshill's industrious play was to yeild them rewards. They equalised, and soon went 2-1 ahead.
What I have seen already in both ties is that a football game rarely opens up until late in the second half. Boldmere started the half better, quicker and set about their task with new enthusaism. Their archillies heel however, was yet again the tactics they were to employ, making little use of any centre midfield intricacy they did have. Meanwhile, both sets of players quickly began to use the match as a method of stress relief, Boldmere suffered injuries in quick succession, and gaining a penalty soon after. Though the penalty was saved, Boldmere were able to gain some reward for their hardwork by eventually equalising.
At the end, it was a truly dour affair, suitably rounded off at the very end, by a scuffle, an argument, and a centre midfielder getting sent off AFTER the game had finished. The result? Iv got to do this all over again on Tuesday for the replay.
And so it proved.
Boldmere again set their stall out to play as unattractive, direct football as possible, their sole attacking strategy being to hit the channels in the vain hope of releasing a pacy winger, or giving service to the big man up front. In truth, this direct style of play seemed like it was paying off, as the huge Number 9 struck a superb left foot shot in from about 18 yards. However, false dawns are aplenty in non league football, and it was only a matter of time before Coleshill's industrious play was to yeild them rewards. They equalised, and soon went 2-1 ahead.
What I have seen already in both ties is that a football game rarely opens up until late in the second half. Boldmere started the half better, quicker and set about their task with new enthusaism. Their archillies heel however, was yet again the tactics they were to employ, making little use of any centre midfield intricacy they did have. Meanwhile, both sets of players quickly began to use the match as a method of stress relief, Boldmere suffered injuries in quick succession, and gaining a penalty soon after. Though the penalty was saved, Boldmere were able to gain some reward for their hardwork by eventually equalising.
At the end, it was a truly dour affair, suitably rounded off at the very end, by a scuffle, an argument, and a centre midfielder getting sent off AFTER the game had finished. The result? Iv got to do this all over again on Tuesday for the replay.
Monday, 22 August 2011
Boldmere St Michaels 5 Bartley Green 2
So the first tie of a long journey took me to Boldmere St Michaels on a sunny Saturday, and if this is anything to go by, I have some mouthwatering ties coming up. With the first round proper not beginning till November, I felt it was important to witness an interesting game right from the start, and it couldn't have started better than this.
Not that the afternoons excitement would have been remotely apparent to me during most of the first half however, with the home side's sole attacking tactic being spraying long balls from defence to the big lad up front. The game in its early stages beared all the hallmarks of a classic Wimbledon league match. It was as if the midfield were invisible. Though Boldmere managed to muster a 1-0 lead, the team looked lethargic, dazed, slow, and even uninterested. Bartley Green, for their part, threatened to spoil the party by daring to equalise. Though by half time Boldmere had regained the lead, the home side were looking distinctly bad value for money considering the £5 admission fee.
It is said that those small 15 minutes between halfs can change the course of history. Whatever happened in the dressing room, it was clear that Boldmere had been given something of a talking to by the way they set about in the 2nd, though it wasnt till they scored their 3rd that they began to actually play football. Halfway through the 2nd half, it was Bartley Greens turn to show the FA that they hadn't been included in the competition merely to make up the numbers, and provide the tie with a genuinely comic moment, bringing on their diminutive number 15, who must surely be the worlds shortest footballer. Sadly for Bartley, not even this cross between Maradona and Steve Sidwell could alter proceedings in their favour, and Boldmere rounded off the game with a moment of genuine quality in the dying minutes, a classic training ground rehearsed set piece finish.
And so it was Boldmere, the long ball specialists, who make it to the next round of this years greatest football cup competition, with a local derby against Coleshill Town in the next round. Though I silently fancied a trip to the other side of Birmingham to take a peek at Bartley Green's gaff, on this showing I won't begrudge a return to the Trevor Brown Memorial Ground in a few weeks time. Apparently, the winners take on Leamington, so it seems il have to wait a while for my first real FA Cup journey.
Not that the afternoons excitement would have been remotely apparent to me during most of the first half however, with the home side's sole attacking tactic being spraying long balls from defence to the big lad up front. The game in its early stages beared all the hallmarks of a classic Wimbledon league match. It was as if the midfield were invisible. Though Boldmere managed to muster a 1-0 lead, the team looked lethargic, dazed, slow, and even uninterested. Bartley Green, for their part, threatened to spoil the party by daring to equalise. Though by half time Boldmere had regained the lead, the home side were looking distinctly bad value for money considering the £5 admission fee.
It is said that those small 15 minutes between halfs can change the course of history. Whatever happened in the dressing room, it was clear that Boldmere had been given something of a talking to by the way they set about in the 2nd, though it wasnt till they scored their 3rd that they began to actually play football. Halfway through the 2nd half, it was Bartley Greens turn to show the FA that they hadn't been included in the competition merely to make up the numbers, and provide the tie with a genuinely comic moment, bringing on their diminutive number 15, who must surely be the worlds shortest footballer. Sadly for Bartley, not even this cross between Maradona and Steve Sidwell could alter proceedings in their favour, and Boldmere rounded off the game with a moment of genuine quality in the dying minutes, a classic training ground rehearsed set piece finish.
And so it was Boldmere, the long ball specialists, who make it to the next round of this years greatest football cup competition, with a local derby against Coleshill Town in the next round. Though I silently fancied a trip to the other side of Birmingham to take a peek at Bartley Green's gaff, on this showing I won't begrudge a return to the Trevor Brown Memorial Ground in a few weeks time. Apparently, the winners take on Leamington, so it seems il have to wait a while for my first real FA Cup journey.
Saturday, 20 August 2011
Magic Sponge, anyone?
So im watching a depleted Arsenal team try to establish a foothold on the game against Liverpool, and I feel this is the right occasion to voice an argument I have believed in for some time. It has been noted that several teams have players who are struggling for full match fitness at the start of this season. The first weekend of the Premier League triggered a few injuries to big name players which would suggest that the pre season techniques of various clubs isnt working. Take Vidic and Ferdinand, for instance. Petr Cech injured himself last week.The injury list stretches up and down the country, with the likes of Shay Given, Chris Samba, Mikel Arteta, Hugo Rodagella all struggling for match fitness in the early throes of the new season.
All these are key first team players for their respective teams, all these players have undertaken pre season training of some kind, yet none are certain to be in the first eleven this weekend.
Why?
I believe that the cause could be the emphasis on promotional pre season 'tours' undertaken by various clubs, mostly to far off places like the US and Asia. Personally, If I was a footballer, I wouldn't appreciate have to take long haul flights to the other side of the world, just to play three games, followed by a long haul flight home. Is this the best method of getting players ready for a new season?
Exactly what is more important these days, an increase in shirt sales in Thailand, or the match fitness of your star player? Look on the injury lists of the 'big 4' clubs in English football, and you have your answer.
On the plus side, there is one group of players who should revel in the injury list situation. Ignasi Miguel, the hitherto unheard of Spanish Under 19 defender, has just come on to make his Premier League debut for Arsenal, replacing yet another casualty, Koscielny, who has suffered a back spasm.
A chance for the young lad to shine, one would feel.
All these are key first team players for their respective teams, all these players have undertaken pre season training of some kind, yet none are certain to be in the first eleven this weekend.
Why?
I believe that the cause could be the emphasis on promotional pre season 'tours' undertaken by various clubs, mostly to far off places like the US and Asia. Personally, If I was a footballer, I wouldn't appreciate have to take long haul flights to the other side of the world, just to play three games, followed by a long haul flight home. Is this the best method of getting players ready for a new season?
Exactly what is more important these days, an increase in shirt sales in Thailand, or the match fitness of your star player? Look on the injury lists of the 'big 4' clubs in English football, and you have your answer.
On the plus side, there is one group of players who should revel in the injury list situation. Ignasi Miguel, the hitherto unheard of Spanish Under 19 defender, has just come on to make his Premier League debut for Arsenal, replacing yet another casualty, Koscielny, who has suffered a back spasm.
A chance for the young lad to shine, one would feel.
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
In the beginning....
Tuesday night. Atherstone Town away. After watching yet another misplaced pass, another poor first touch, and yet another corner being drilled in far too deep, I slumped back in my seat, probably sporting a rather dissatisfied look on my face. So this is it, I mused. This is what non league football has to offer. A grim 0-0 draw in some backwatered hell hole in the Midlands. Literally the only positive thing about the whole game was that the tea was cheap.
Assisted by a conversation I was having with my Dad's best mate, and life long family friend John Burns, it hit me that non league football simply had to offer more than this. John then mentioned the idea of the legendary "92 Club", a kind of secret sect of football fans who had visited all 92 football league grounds. Impossible, I thought. Then, glancing down at the fixtures in the matchday programme, I discovered that Boldmere's next fixture was a home tie against Bartley Green, in non other than the Extra Preliminary round of the FA Cup. I then had what can only be described as an epiphany, a mental shock that jolted me into life and to all intents and purposes gave me an almost religious conviction I had hitherto lacked. What about following a tie, an FA Cup tie all the way from the Preliminaries, to Wembley? Such an activity would surely allow me to experience all the highs and lows and romances of non league football, while always teasing me with the lure of the glamour of Wembley Stadium at the end.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, here I am. Boldmere are due to play Bartley Green at home on Saturday 20 August. And I will be there.....
Assisted by a conversation I was having with my Dad's best mate, and life long family friend John Burns, it hit me that non league football simply had to offer more than this. John then mentioned the idea of the legendary "92 Club", a kind of secret sect of football fans who had visited all 92 football league grounds. Impossible, I thought. Then, glancing down at the fixtures in the matchday programme, I discovered that Boldmere's next fixture was a home tie against Bartley Green, in non other than the Extra Preliminary round of the FA Cup. I then had what can only be described as an epiphany, a mental shock that jolted me into life and to all intents and purposes gave me an almost religious conviction I had hitherto lacked. What about following a tie, an FA Cup tie all the way from the Preliminaries, to Wembley? Such an activity would surely allow me to experience all the highs and lows and romances of non league football, while always teasing me with the lure of the glamour of Wembley Stadium at the end.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, here I am. Boldmere are due to play Bartley Green at home on Saturday 20 August. And I will be there.....
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