On the second reading I began to ponder on John B’s notes entitled ‘Getting the balance right’. Much of it we’d seen, read, or heard before, either from the chairman or Brendan Flood; not throwing money at a promotion or bust scenario, not saddling the club with unserviceable debts once the para money is gone, trimming the wages, and all at the same time as giving the manager a decent budget and providing the right facilities to identify and nurture young talent. All of it made sense of course unless you think it’s all happening a season too early.
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| Andre Amougou - why is he out of favour? |
But alas there was one bit when my eyes opened just a little wider. It was the bit where Mr B mentioned that we finished 8th last season and “in reality this was a very respectable position for a club undergoing a period of change.”
I wondered if the majority of supporters agreed that 8th was a very respectable position especially when one recalls the utterly tame end to the season; a season at the beginning of which we’d had such high hopes and the party line was that top six was the target.
As an ‘average’ fan I’d fumed that we had only finished 8th and saw it as a direct result of the folly of the Laws appointment and then the need for the mid-stream replacement, a replacement that some Board members wanted sooner. It was a season when there was still a good bunch of players and the first slices of the not inconsiderable parachute money. So I remember it as an utterly disappointing and frustrating period; the end product being predictable long before the season finished. I remember it as a wasted opportunity. I belong to the group that thinks not finishing in the top six was a failure, bearing in mind the players we had and the jar on the mantelpiece was certainly not empty. Ten years from now if someone has all the facts and writes the history of this period in an objective, dispassionate way, from when Coyle left until now, I doubt it will make happy reading.
The Peterborough game was the first away game for some time for me and Mrs T – unless you count Garforth. The coach from Turf Moor set off at 10. We’d left Leeds at 8.15. Somebody asked why we didn’t just do the journey from Leeds by car direct. Answer: we felt like a coach trip and a bit of company and it saved having to mess about parking in a strange place. Plus which we hadn’t seen our chums that we usually see on the coach since we’d been to Bristol for the weekend last season. I love to listen to all the moans and groans and the craic on the journey about how well/badly we’re playing and about this player and that and where’s all the money gone? Coyle’s name usually comes up and Laws and what are the directors playing at? Plus which, Joyce makes such good coffee and soup, and I always enjoy listening to Stefan’s rants. Mrs T says he’s worse than me.
There was no news of any of the loan signings that we so desperately need although somebody said they’d heard we’d signed someone called A. Trialist. It was a player/name that kept cropping up at the reserve games. Common sense said the Shotton deal at last was seen as a ‘no’. The manager spoke about the difficulty of bringing in the right calibre loan signings. He felt the squad was strong though short on numbers. And then he said,”In certain areas a little more experience would be good.” I thought immediately of the last minute sale of Wade Elliott. From (forgive me mentioning this yet again) being a side that the manager felt needed just a couple of tweaks, this was now a manager who was struggling to obtain the loan signings that were so desperately needed to shore up a decimated squad.
I am sorry to report that Mrs T broke her finger the other day. It wasn’t quite bad enough to stop us going to the game. She mashed it in a chemist’s shop doorway. She showed it to the chemist who said “doctor.” She showed it to me and I nearly passed out. It looked like an aubergine. She showed it to the doctor who said “casualty.”
The day after, I was with Roger Eli having our weekly meeting in the Potting Shed café at the Woodbank Garden centre, working on the book we’re doing. Ironically it was an extra meeting so we could catch up a bit; we are so behind. But after an hour, Mrs T rang to say could I come home and take her to the hospital. Luckily we had just finished our breakfasts. If I’d only been halfway through I’d have had a big decision to make – to finish it or not.
We opted for the Minor Injuries Unit at Otley instead of casualty at Leeds General. Good decision we were in and out in an hour and indeed it was pronounced broken. It was very worrying. There was still the ironing to do. I had to laugh at the bloke who came in afterwards. He was limping badly. I listened as he explained at the desk. I love to eavesdrop. I get some good material quite often. He had discovered that the safety catch on his rifle was not as safe as he thought. He had shot himself in the foot. You couldn’t make it up. I lifted the newspaper in front of my face, and in silence, shoulders heaving, shook with laughter. Mrs T said I was very cruel.
For some reason the safety catch thing reminded me (I don’t know why) that I’d read a newspaper report “that the last airworthy WW2 Blenheim aircraft had crashed.” I remember thinking if it had crashed it couldn’t have been so airworthy.
Do you know, I had to look up where Peterborough was, although I knew it was somewhere east of the M1. It’s a place I have never previously visited. Their long excellent home record had been dented the week before by Hull City. That boded well for a good Burnley result. But in the back of my head was something about Peterborough 7 Ipswich 1 or something similar. The alarm bells rang. They rang even louder when Peterborough went 1–0 up within minutes.
As someone said on the coach on the way home: “Nice day out just marred by a football match.”
We left Burnley in the pouring rain. Peterborough was bathed in warm sun. It was glorious. What an eye opener the ground is. This was a trip back in time to a distant age of rusting iron turnstiles, dilapidated stands, and a crumbling car park. Once inside, the dust and grime of ages long gone coated every wall and ledge. Pigeon droppings on the seat were date stamped – some of them 1926. The tip up wooden seats and iron supports were Victorian. The standing terraces behind each goal were remnants of a bygone age. The pitch though was perfect, so was the Peterborough start.
You feared a rout. This was the same team that was so abject against Middlesbrough. It was a team that desperately needed the inclusion of some beef and muscle – Bartley and Amougou the likely lads, in fact the only candidates. This was a team that desperately needed players like the Peterborough right back who rampaged up and down all afternoon, a 6 ft lad, with pace and power. It desperately needed a centre forward like Peterborough’s Sinclair who terrorised Edgar all afternoon – another 6 ft lad with pace and power. This was a team that needed someone who could put over a decent cross (Wade Elliott anyone).
Make no mistake, this is a team that lacked most things needed for even a mid table finish. On the assumption that the chairman and all the directors were there, I hope the message was clear enough. You cannot get rid of almost a complete team and replace it with players who are just not up to the job, when they are either decidely average, below average, or in the case of McCann and Rodriguez, good players who are currently well below their best, though to be fair, McCann had his best game of the season and on occasions looked something like his old self. There seemed little evidence of motivation and inspiration from the touchline. Call me old-fashioned but a few Stan Ternent style bollockings might not go amiss, or forgive me, some Owen Coyle passion. Stanislas when he came on made not one jot of difference. Oh for a Sinclair snatched from Macclesfield by Peterborough on transfer deadline day for probably half the price.
“The end is not nigh; but the writing is on the wall unless this lot do better,” said the sage sat behind us at the end of the game. He wasn’t a grumbler or a groaner; he was supportive and vocally backed the team all afternoon. Not once did he criticise a player. He seemed like he knew what he was talking about.
“I don’t know what Wallace has done in this game,” said Mrs T.
“More than Treacy,” I replied just as he pulled back his foot and before I’d finished the sentence had scored a belter. Bloody hell, I thought. That made it 2–1 when they went off at halftime. 2–2 at that point would have been a fair reflection of the attempts on goal. I was sure there were more goals and felt that Burnley would get an equaliser. But the second half was a let down. There was possession, yes. There were passages of good play, yes. It was far better performance than that against Middlesbrough. But there was little created in the penalty area and in particular, in the 6-yard box. Sinclair could have sealed it near the end for Peterborough with a sublime bit of skill but then hit it wide with only the keeper to beat.
On the coach going home the mood was sombre. The talk was of just how bad things had become. Why was Amougou out of favour? Someone said there are 800 players on the PFA free list looking for work. There must surely be some who are worth looking at. The relegation word was used but usually with the caveat that surely we would scrape the necessary wins to stay up. Of course there was talk of money, parachute payments and how much the directors had reclaimed. Someone asked if we go down would we still receive the remaining parachute payments? A few people had noticed that in the pre game warm-up there were 7 backroom staff on the field – was this a record? And sadly, the big question was asked. Is Eddie Howe really up to this job? Does he lack the necessary network of contacts within the game? Has too much experience been sacrificed too quickly? And whose policy was this – the manager’s or the Board’s? Has all the cost cutting been a season too soon?
And then of course the whole subject came up of Boardroom decisions since Coyle walked out. Was this a Board that had now lost its way? What were Barry Kilby’s plans for remaining as chairman? Such questions were never on anyone’s mind at the start of the season were they?
Burnley ended the day joint third from bottom. As the bus trundled back home along the A1 the general consensus was that the end is not nigh. The writing that is on the wall is as yet, only faint. It’s very early days. 40 games remain. But the current position should certainly give a wake-up call to the hierarchy at Burnley Football Club. This was never in the script.