It was good to be sat in our little row of seats again, the ones behind the stairwell in the end of the JH nearest the Jimmy Mac stand. We like it there, right on the goal-line for close-ups of near misses, penalty claims and Charlie firing home. The worst ever close-up memory was seeing City put three past us in the first six minutes of that nightmare game in the Prem.
The last time we sat there Eddie Howe was manager and we’d never have thought he would soon be heading south again. Now we sat there with Terry Pashley in charge. I liked what I saw of him when he was interviewed on Sky Sports. I liked what I saw of him some time ago in a youth game at Bradford at Apperley Bridge. He did wonders getting the youths to the semi-final of the Youth Cup. Probably every club has its long-serving staff member who works without fuss and rarely enters the limelight. Pashley is Burnley’s.
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| Junior Stanislas had a storming game |
He only played 18 league games for Burnley way back in the 70s but went on to make over 200 appearances for Blackpool, and another 200+ for Bury. He knows his football and has survived the comings and goings of a procession of Burnley managers – testimony in itself to his value and the respect he generates.
Roger Eli in his book (er um copies still in the club shop) tells the story that Terry Pashley was first appointed at Burnley by Jimmy Mullen way back when Jimmy had lost his driving licence. Jimmy also lived in Blackpool at the time and needed a chauffeur. Jimmy is long gone and Terry is still here.
He still lives in Blackpool just to add a little irony to the fixture and Holloway used to live in the Burnley area. He was full of praise for all the Burnley people he met. Am I right in thinking that he had as good as accepted the Burnley job pre-Cotterill; but then on reflection changed his mind for very genuine family reasons to do with his daughters who are deaf and were then attending a school for the deaf in Bristol.
It was fun watching and reading the betting odds for the new manager post. Coyle led the way much of the time along with McCarthy. The notion of Coyle returning seemed too daft to be true and I’d hazard a guess anyway he’d never repeat his success of 2009. The circumstances now are different; it’s a different bunch of players, and Brendan Flood who was so high profile back than and so supportive financially, now takes a back seat. Nevertheless it was his tweet that said we have to move on completely from Coyle.
But wait a minute: did it mean forget him, he ain’t coming back? Or did it mean move on from our angst in case he comes back? A Lancs Telegraph poll indicated that half the vote wanted him back. But was it sabotaged by voters from Blackburn? On the messageboards a good number favoured McCarthy on the grounds that he had a proven track record of getting teams promoted. But would such a high profile possibility be interested they asked – probably not. Would he be willing to work with Burnley’s budget? He publicly chortled at Owen Coyle’s Premiership budget.
Meanwhile Blackburn were said to be pursuing Holloway but who in their right mind would work at Blackburn if flying to India to see the Venkys once a month is part of the job? An interest in hens was thought to be a pre-requisite. Me and Mrs T used to keep hens in our garden in the old house we used to have. It was so satisfying going down in the morning to collect the eggs. We trained them by the end to lay them straight into the egg box. Simultaneously all was quiet on the Bolton front although the newest rumour was of an internal appointment and Sammy Lee stepping up.
I was very grateful to Clarets Mad the other day when I asked what was up with my car - an ageing Peugeot that has done over 80,000 miles. Parked in town I turned the key and it was silent, unmoved, and deader than a Monty Python parrot. Not a stir, a whir or anything resembling life – just total inert stillness. With a duff battery you usually at least get an er er or something but not even that. Twice more I turned the key and the same result. The only sound was me expleting, “start you bastard car.” Then on the fourth turn it started.
The question I put on the messageboard got 34 responses within the hour. The helpful said it was the degenerator, or the incapacitator, or the thingummybob, or the alternator, or the starter motor. A guy by the name of ‘sausages’ advised that I should beat it with a branch like Basil Fawlty (I’d already done that), and then gave a link to a Peugeot messageboard. I added later that I would probably contact the AA if I could find the card. One guy replied you don’t need a card for Alcoholics Anonymous.
Well: apparently you do if you need a drink.
The car started OK next morning but the omens were not good. At Bradford we realised we didn’t have the season tickets; so it was all the way back home again to get them. Gonna be one of those days I thought. Plus there was another worry. Blackpool were having a bad run and teams having bad runs usually find Burnley help them get back to winning ways. But I needn’t have worried. On a glorious autumn day with one of those wonderful red sunset skies at the Cricket Field End, there was a win, a clean sheet, a great all-round performance, a double world-class save from Grant, and yet another Austin goal that decided the game.
Plus: there was a cross-field diagonal 50-yard (some say 60) ball of such magnificence from Duff that probably the whole ground blinked and stared. In fact I think it was his second of the game and it was the one that created the move for the goal. Truly this was the pass of the decade, a thing of beauty and symmetry as it arced and sped its way over to the touchline. Joey G used to do this regularly except his usually went with precision and accuracy into the Bob Lord. Straight to Stanislas it went who controlled it on his chest, eventually to Wallace wide on the right who pinged in an in-swinger to Austin who headed home. On a sabbatical from building walls, he had it in the net for his 16th goal of the season equalling the record for scoring in seven consecutive games.
Stanislas had a storming of a game. He was involved throughout, until he was substituted. This was a game when he hugged the touchline, collected and controlled every ball that came his way, got over cross after cross, led Blackpool a merry dance and vied for man of the match. Maybe Grant earned that accolade. In a game where he had little to do, suddenly he made a Gordon Banksesque save from a perfect header that was going into the bottom corner. He flung himself across, tipped it away and then followed up within a Nano-second to block the shot that came and looked like it too would level the score. By contrast at the other end Gilks was in constant action and a 1–0 lead was scant reward for Burnley’s play.
But then: at just about twenty to seven Blackpool woke up. A swift move and an Ince shot into the side netting seemed to make them realise that Burnley were tiring or losing their edge. The lump that is Delfumblo was taken off and replaced. Suddenly Blackpool were swarming all over Burnley and Burnley had little or no answer. It was during all this that the Grant double save kept them in the game. Clearances went with uncanny regularity to Blackpool players. The ball was hoofed anywhere. It seemed a matter of time until Blackpool must surely score. It was stirring do-or-die stuff, a bit like Rorke’s Drift in that film Zulu. We should have sung Men of Harlech for the last ten minutes. Instead of Jack Hawkins and Stanley Baker we had Duffo and Shacko. Instead of Michael Caine we had Marney the sponsor’s man of the match.
But Burnley weathered it all. Duff and Shackell repelled the hordes. Marney covered every blade of grass. Mee made header after header and Trippier ran like a whippet. By this time Stock who’d had an exemplary first 45 minutes had been replaced. Pashley started with him and he gave an Alexander style master class of relieving pressure, always being there for the pass, protecting the back four and getting forward whenever he could. On came Bartley to stiffen things up with a bit more muscle. On came Paterson to give Blackpool a bit more to think about. And bit by bit Burnley weathered the storm, and in the last few minutes could have made it 2–0 when Vokes forced yet another save from Gilks.
The way this derby game was played was in total contrast to the underlying nastiness and petulance of the Wednesday v Leeds game I watched on Friday. God knows how many times Leeds had already been on; it’s totally out of order the way in which Sky boosts their income and as good as ignores other clubs. It was a game when Joof was at his snarling, moaning, face- pulling worst. He’d win a gurning competition without really trying. The way the Leeds fan ran on (he wasn’t the only one) and shoved/slapped Kirkland to the ground was as vile a thing as you could see on a sports field. He ran back into the crowd with total impunity with a ‘wasn’t that great’ smirk on his face. The guy was boasting about it the same night – how’s that for brains?
Meanwhile back at Forbes Solicitors (according to one guy on the messageboard) manager interviews were taking place. Suddenly out of nowhere, but mostly the Daily Mail, Paul Ince’s name came into the frame. The two chairmen said they’d already spoken to several promising and ‘hungry’ candidates. They should have gone to Nino’s not Forbes then. Five of us went there again after the game. The first time we went was on a Tuesday and it was quiet. But this time, a Saturday night, it was filled with Burnley’s glitterati and beautiful people. I counted at least 12 and felt perfectly at home (only kidding). The salad was beautifully tossed again – because Italians make the best… ah sorry did that gag last time didn’t I?
Meanwhile Fletch’s book was officially ‘out’ on the 20th. The launch is on Nov 1st in the UCFB in the Jimmy Mac with lots of players, Stan T and Jimmy Mac; tickets still from Bob Lord Reception. It should be a Totally Wicked night.