Actually I did watch – half heartedly. A 3–0 win away should have had us all dancing on the roof but it didn’t. For some reason watching England is like watching paint dry. And the game against Wales was even worse. Still at least the cricketers keep walloping the abject Indians.
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| Wade Elliott was the best crosser of a ball we had |
There was I suppose the Johnson Watching Paint Dry Trophy. That was on Sky but Bradford v Sheffield Wednesday wasn’t quite the same as Man U 8 Arsenal 2. The shock waves from that result lasted for days. Watching Arsene Wenger being laid bare to his soul was a sad spectacle. Suddenly the emperor had no clothes. And then he went on a spending spree at breathtaking speed in the last 48 hours of the transfer window. But, it was all rather desperate, a bit like delaying the shopping at Harrods and making do with a late night Netto.
The closing of the transfer window was one of those things that Sky do so well with reporters everywhere that they could turn to for “breaking news.” I watched it hoping for Burnley news. The guy at Stoke did a fantastic job considering he was surrounded by baying morons. They must bus them in for the occasion. Other clubs must have supporters of this ilk but there’s none as good as the Stoke numpties on nights like this. Peter Crouch comes across as a good intelligent guy. Does he know what he’s playing in front of at Stoke?
Sky has the happy knack of catching Harry Redknapp at the gates of the Spurs training ground. With Harry it’s a wind the window down and chat routine and he always obliges and you wonder if they feed him on budgie seed. I could listen to him all day. You half expect him to have a boot load of gear for sale on his way darn the market, or three unwanted players on the back seat he’s delivering somewhere.
QPR was a hive of activity. Shaun Wright-Philips was interviewed later in the evening after he’d signed. It sounded like he had a mouth full of marbles. The interviewer told him what a tense day it had been in case he didn’t know, and asked him what he’d been doing. Was it a nervous time for him she asked? “Noh aw bin chillin.” He replied. Had he wondered where he’d be going? “Noh aw bin chillin.” Was it a worrying time? “Noh aw bin chillin.”
At the Sky desk they had Dave Bassett and Ian Dowie burbling away telling us how it was exciting, nerve-wracking, frustrating, annoying, for managers to be gazumped at the last minute. A huge display on the front of the desk counted down the hours. On the stroke of eleven they cut to a picture of Big Ben as it bonged. This was a year when there was a lot to report and every time there was more breaking news they had to produce an intelligent soundbite. The soundbites were easy; it was the other bit where they struggled.
There was a lightweight signing for the Turf Moor faithful to get mildly excited about – if at all. Junior Stanislas signed for three years from West Ham. “Who,” said the goodly Mrs T yet again? Every signing we’ve made she’s had to ask, “Who?”
Another West Ham young lightweight player, promising by all accounts; but I can’t help thinking that we need some muscle, some beef, some power, somebody who can battle, scrap, get stuck in, make things happen, and patrol the midfield. This was another signing that left me underwhelmed. West Ham fans however spoke highly of him, but less so of Hines. My heart sank when I read the words ‘Hines has never been the same since his injury.’
But almost at the last minute I stared in amazement at the screen and read that Wade Elliott had gone to Birmingham. Don’t forget it had only been a few weeks since Howe had said the side only needed a few tweaks and yet now here was another one out the door. His sale polarised opinion. This guy was still the best crosser of a ball we had. This guy for me would still be first pick in his best position at wide right. This is nothing to do with sentiment or the memory of the Wembley goal, this is the pragmatic view that you can’t get rid of every experienced player, that a squad and a bench has to have some depth, and that Elliott still had a lot to offer. This smacked too of confirmation and acceptance that top six, certainly top two this season, was no longer an official target. It seemed to be yet more haste to rid the club as soon as possible of players on the higher wages, a strategy that existed at the same time as substantial parachute payments were still coming in. If the aim was to get rid of the high earners, then the loan move of Cort to Charlton was just about the last part of the demolition programme.
If the board, Barry Kilby and Brendan Flood had been the target of previous criticism for the transfer decisions so far, this time there was a deluge of anger from those in the Elliott corner. The Elliott sale was the last straw for many people. It was a sale that no-one saw coming. There were those who saw the sale of Elliott himself as a poor decision, and those who saw it in more general terms that this was yet another player gone from an already under-sized squad that could ill afford further depletion.
Another group defended it with the view that only the Fox sale made no sense, and that we had seen the best of Elliott and that it was another smart deal to get money for a 33-year old. Many added that there was still the loan market and that surely there was still a defender and a midfielder that needed bringing in as an urgent priority. The name Shotton would still not go away but still there were no new arrivals in time for the next game.
We set off for the Middlesbrough game with some trepidation. Tony Mowbray seemed well on the way to making them a decent side that would be challenging at the end of the season. We had a side that was more or less brand new. Some of us were still dizzy at the speed at which personnel had changed. Boro arrived having set a club record of 6 successive away wins in all competitions. It included 4 in the league. Their start to the season as a whole with no defeats was impressive. We had been resigned to a defeat at Derby but a win there kind of confused things and yet again raised our hopes that Howe had hit on the magic formula.
Oh boy was that idea blown to pieces against Middlesbrough. We sit opposite the dugouts and looking across at the management team was like watching rabbits in headlights as they wondered what to do next with their limited options. You wonder why this should be when we have a management team that’s big enough to occupy the whole front row of the team picture. There are yet more who aren’t in the picture. I thought this was a club that was economising and lost £4million last season. The changes, Hines and Stanislas, made precious little difference.
I counted the players we have on the back of the programme. It looked good but then you knock off the 6 that are away on loan, the three that are injured; the three that are goalkeepers and the one that is the boy Dom Knowles. That left a small threadbare group of outfield players available. And this is a club that is still receiving parachute payments and received further income from player sales.
Of the available outfield players those who played against Middlesbrough were given a lesson in every aspect of the game ranging from accuracy of passing, to movement, to determination, aggression, passion and spirit. This was a Burnley side that lacked organisation, solidity, cohesion, leadership, and muscle. Ignoring for the moment the play-acting and rolling around that the Boro players were guilty of all afternoon; theirs was a side that was superbly organised, played as a complete unit, moved up as a unit and defended as a unit. They were big, strong and Mrs T was also convinced they had twice the number of players on the field as Burnley. The minute any Burnley player was in possession he was surrounded by three Boro players.
Their first goal was the sort that teams in form tend to score; the ball gifted to a Boro player on the edge of the box by an Easton header. The soft, half-hit shot crept in at the post with Jensen possibly unsighted or wondering what was for tea when he got home. Their second was the result of the defence being sliced open. Jensen parried the shot to the feet of the incoming Bennett who accepted the gift. You might point the finger at Big Brian but you could also ask where the rest of the defence were at this point? If you’ve seen those statues that stand spread out on the beach at Crosby you’ll get the idea.
Our directors and hierarchy might argue that Mowbray had last season to get Boro sorted and organised and that this same facility must be offered to Eddie Howe; that we are in transition this season and patience is needed just as it was at Boro last season. Hmmm… remember pre-season it was said that our team only needed a couple of tweaks. In truth, it has all gone horribly wrong and what I couldn’t stop thinking about yet again was that team picture and the complete front bench was management; plus there are yet more that we couldnt see, and I thought this must be some sort of joke at a club that’s desperate to cut the wage bill.
Did the Derby win give false hope? Was it a one off and a fluke? Is what we saw against Middlesbrough the real Burnley? Is this what lies in store most games this season, tame, lightweight, powder-puff, toothless and ineffective? It was a pitiful team performance with some quite dreadful and woeful individual performances. Which was the one-off, Derby or Middlesbrough? Maybe that’s the current problem. We’ve no idea; it’s impossible to say.
But, if anyone was wondering what a team looks like that’s had the heart and soul ripped out of it they should have been at Turf Moor on September 10th, was one website comment. It was hard not to disagree. The old guy we see at the end of each game looked across as we came down the stairs. “It’s going to be a long hard winter if this continues,” he said. “That was absolutely bloody inept.”
The stats recorded that we had 9 shots and 8 were off target; nothing new there then. It was the same last season when we headed the teamwiththemostshotsofftarget table for much if not all of the season. According to the prog we still occupied it with 35 shots off target, with 8 to add to that of course.
Funnily enough I was kind of laid back about it much to Mrs T’s surprise. She thought I’d be in full Victor Meldrew mode, red-faced and apoplectic and vowing not to bother watching again.
“Far from it,” I told her. “Sadly, with all that’s gone on this season so far, I don’t expect much else. And on the evidence of today if the men at the top aren’t worried, then they damned well ought to be. This was men against boys. Still at least they’ve got a pool table and a dart board at the new training camp.”
“Glass half empty again,” she snorted, ever the optimist herself (sometimes her chirpiness gets you down), “Don’t you just love to say I told you so.” Nevertheless, with grim resignation, I booked tickets for the away game at Peterborough and then the weekend at West Ham. If there’s good news I wanted to be there. And if it’s bad at least I could have a classic Dave T moan and tell her, “I told you so… I don’t belieeeeeve it.”