The heavens opened (naturally) while we were there so drenched to the skin, not an item of clothing dry, we headed home looking like water voles, us cursing the weather and little Joe laughing and chortling at the fun of it. I thought maybe there was a lesson in that; that next time we see a duff football display like we saw at Huddersfield we should just shrug it off, see the funny side and have a chuckle. The Always look on the bright side of life philosophy again. We decided to test the idea with the Plymouth game. Over the years we have been able to rely on Plymouth for a win when we have needed it. We needed a good win to expunge the memories of the Galpharm/John Smith from our systems – so we welcomed Plymouth and hoped for a few cracking cheery moments.
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| Junior Stanislas with the hop-skip-jump penalty |
To the Kettledrum first for tea: Kettledrum was indeed a horse (someone asked on a website) and was owned by Charles Towneley of Towneley Hall. This is going back to 1860/61 and the horse ran eight times and won four, two of the wins being the Epsom Derby and the Doncaster Cup. It came second in the 2000 Guineas and the St Leger. Charles Towneley used his winnings to finance a new church at the village of Dunsop Bridge up in the Dales and this is the only reason I know all this stuff. A year ago we had a long walk starting in the village and stumbled on the link between the horse, the pub at Mereclough and the Towneleys. For years we’d wondered why a pub should be called the Kettledrum.
So, in we went me looking forward to a curly wurly Cumberland sausage. Oh: sorry we don’t do food on Tuesdays said the girl behind the bar… but there’s a game we protested… you do when there’s a game… but it’s only a little Cup game she replied…
Off over to Nino’s next door then, the old Fighting Cocks, definitely more expensive, definitely more upmarket, but definitely a place to go again. My companion and I were taken to our table by Marco and from our table in the picture window we had wonderful, sweeping views of the stone bus shelter just across the road, with the hanging baskets that were in need of refreshment. But beyond that was the whole panoramic vista of what makes the Burnley landscape so stunning from Pendle Hill right round 180 degrees to Deerplay. Below was Towneley Park. Must say I nearly passed out when I got just two drinks from the bar that didn’t leave much change from £7 but after that the Lasagne my companion and I both had was outstandingly good with proper man-sized helpings – none of this nouvelle cuisine nonsense. I had creamed spinach as an accompaniment and my companion had the mixed salad.
“This is nicely tossed,” I commented.
“Italians alwez a mecca di besta tossers…” replied our waiter.
“Quite so,” I replied arranging my napkin with a flourish.
It was the last flourish any of us saw that evening and other than the Stanislas hop-skip-and-jump penalty there was little that raised the eyebrows. What a load of rubbish said an old guy walking out afterwards… I just can’t watch any more of this, said the guy who’d driven down from Horton in Ribblesdale sat next to us (but he did and stuck it out to the end)… the fourth worst match I have ever seen from someone behind us … seen nothing as bad since 1986/87 from someone else… if you thought Huddersfield was bad, then this game plumbed the depths of averageness and then some… (me).
I suppose you could argue though that this was Burnley Reserves versus Plymouth so what do you expect. Only Austin kept his place from Saturday. You could say that a whole bunch of players got some game time; some tested their fitness, for some it was good experience. You could also argue that Stanislas’ penalty attempt in the shoot-out was quite the most comical effort you’ll ever see.
You could say we saw Bartley have a storming first-half; Stock was decent enough in the latter stages, Duff and Mee were steady, Austin scored from a fab Bartley cross, Beast saved three penalties, Hewitt showed how to take a penalty… and by the end we had stuttered and stammered our way through. Sadly you could also say that so bad was the first 90 minutes that dozens of fans, bored witless (or needing to catch the last bus), streamed home unable to watch any more of it. Overall it was tough on Plymouth and the handful of fans that had travelled all the way up to Burnley, where surely you’d have thought they’d know by now, they always lose.
The five minutes of added-time after the 90 minutes were up, was the only time that any Burnley player looked remotely urgent as we willed them to score again and save us extra-time. Tindall sporadically slouched to the touchline, hands in pockets, to give an instruction to whoever happened to be the nearest player. Occasionally Howe joined him. Vitality and drive, however, seemed to be as absent from the touchline as it was on the pitch. Plymouth with a grim inevitability scored a last minute equaliser, something they had promised to do as the second half passed by and something we all suspected might happen.
Extra-time dragged by, our bums numbed by the wooden seats in the Bob Lord; then it was the penalties and goodnight Plymouth. It was midnight when we got home. Thank goodness then for Nino’s and the quality of Italian tossing. Oh and Bolton and Blackburn lost to lower-league sides.
The big debate at the moment is do you buy in, or not, to what Eddie Howe is trying to do – which seems to be building up a passing side that keeps possession, playing from the back, playing it around, building up the passes and then striking with the speed and pace of a cobra (a la Swansea or Barcelona, or the old Arsenal). Unfortunately, such a style depends on having the players with the vision to play the killer through balls, plus of course, the players to make the runs at pace into the spaces to receive them. There is one slight problem… there don’t seem to be any cobras when Pato is absent. The result (so far) is that nobody does this, and we watch something that is painfully slow, tedious, and has no end product, resulting in the first faint twitches of dissatisfaction.
An interesting stat emerged. In the last 17 games that Pato has played, Burnley have won nine, drawn seven and lost one. Overall in the Championship he has been worth half a point each start; in every game he has played, (i.e. in 56 starts) Burnley have averaged 1.79 points. When he has not started they have averaged 1.28 points. A fit Paterson over a full season of starts averaging 1.79 points would on that basis, in theory, generate 82 points. That would maybe be enough for automatic promotion. Yes, I Know, it’s only a theory.
Next up was the Gus Poyet Brighton road show. Memories of his outrageous behaviour last season, and his if-it-moves-hack-it team had not gone away. Imagine a game involving Poyet and Di Canio on the touchlines. I’d pay extra to see it. Tuesday night was forgotten; we won and were into the next round; but then the anti-climax of a poor draw away to Swindon and Super Mario.
The last hours of the transfer window were as ever frantic. Sky Sports News as ever did it proud. They make it as nationally important as election night. Burnley gained Cameron Stewart, another winger. “Who,” said Mrs T?
Facing us from our seats in the JH Upper was the new Totally Wicked Bob Lord Stand with the childlike cartoon style lettering totally lacking any semblance of class. I realise the club is desperate for money, yours, mine, anybody’s but this Totally Wicked stuff the length of the Stand just looks a ghastly mess. Any chance of a totally wicked result we realised was not going to happen when it was clear quite soon that the Burnley First team were managing the impossible… that is to say putting on a worse performance than the reserves on Tuesday against Plymouth. Brighton took the lead thanks to a stunning strike courtesy of loose marking.
Pato came on for the second half and provided a brief injection of Viagra. Limpness and impotence was replaced by firmness and a bit of thrusting passion. The climax came with a Stanislas cross and a headed own goal. Pato was involved in the bit of distracting foreplay that resulted in the goal. Trouble is; this Viagra effect soon wore off. I have no personal experience, you understand, (never needed the stuff), but I always thought that the effects were supposed to last longer than just ten minutes. My mate says he had to wear an overcoat for a week when he tried it.
Exhausted after this short burst of energy and desire; the lads lay back panting whilst Brighton continued to have their way with them. Thus, Brighton scored twice more and won so easily it was embarrassing. The booing this time at the end of the game was loud and clear and it does not need saying that any more of this dross and they will get louder and longer.
Make no mistake this was another no-show, another afternoon of passing around the back, long punts, no end product, no ‘out’ ball or whatever it is they call it these days, and mediocre performances from too many players. The faithful-to-Eddie say ‘be patient’ it is only the fourth game of the season; others comment that there have been just 4 wins in the last 19 games and it is just a continuation of last season (in fact (I think) just 12 home wins since January 2011). Those who request patience are reminded that this was said 12 months ago; and ask in what way we have progressed. If the last three performances are to be the norm, then the bottom six, or even worse is the likelihood at the end of the season. The lowest attendance for three years told its own story. Lower attendances, less income and then we’ll have to have another Totally Wicked Bank of Dave Stand, or on the shirt fronts God forbid.
Meanwhile Austin tried his heart out and got some good headers in. Wallace had a thunderbolt brilliantly saved. Grant made some sharp saves. It’s hard to think of anything else of note. Oh the Stanislas cross – totally wicked – but apart from that he was invisible and bottled a header that might have made it 2 -1. It needs saying; there are players and a management team at this club who need an injection of longer-lasting Viagra that might produce some real dynamism both on the field and on the touchline. There aren’t enough people who are tough and cussed and can snarl and who HATE losing. This is OUR club. We’ve fought hard to become an established Championship side. The mere idea of losing that status is unthinkable. An attendance of fewer than 11,000 for the next home game, another fumbling display when what we need are Bolton performances and this will be a club, still in receipt of parachute payments that needs to smell the coffee.
Out came the whisky when we got home and a bottle of wine that went down rather nicely. But that Totally Wicked stop smoking message didn’t work on me. I haven’t had a ciggy for 40 years but I came out of that game irritated, frustrated and frazzled and absolutely gasping for a smoke.