The last time there was a genuine top of the table clash at Turf Moor was in the olden days of 1992 when a cloth cap clad crowd (judging by the black and white TV footage) of over 18,000, plus a few thousand whippets, watched Burnley face Blackpool in the Fourth Division.
On that occasion, Roger Eli went on and on and in, only to see our team's lead pegged back when Dave Bamber fell over and a Trevor Sinclair cross hit his head, leaving both teams to play out a draw on a gluepot pitch.
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| This is Danny Ings. He's not Charlie Austin. |
Things are bit different these days, the pitch is slightly better for a start, meaning the football is a little bit better, but there are similarities too. Sean Dyche has got Burnley playing with real confidence, where we know that the opposition are going to have their work cut out to beat us, reminiscent of that season under Jimmy Mullen where we proved ourselves the best team in the division. Today we played the team that is widely regarded as the best in the division - certainly the best collection of individual players and certainly with the biggest wage bill - and we won. And we won well.
The afternoon started on a sour note as I saw that Mick at Mack's Tackle Shop in Burnley Wood is imminently facing demolition. The tackle shop has been there as long as I've been going to Burnley games but now Craig Kershaw, Demolition King has got his hands on it, it'll soon be but a memory. I've never been in.
At the Turf there were a lot of people. A rarity in recent times, but such was the anticipation of the game that the three home stands were virtually full. On the pitch the teams lining up served to remind of the task facing Burnley as QPR boasted the likes of Kranjcar, Green, Dunne, Hoilett and the philosopher Joey Barton. Unsurprisingly, Barton was to have an incident-packed afternoon.
The first half was an even contest, the flow of the game not helped by a referee who had forgotten the advantage rule and who had seemingly relinquished control of the match to Barton following one of the most feeble attempts to book someone you will ever see. The second half was more of the same but with Burnley forcing the issue a bit more and the deserved rewards soon came. The referee, who was seemingly on a mission to produce more cards than Clinton's, allowed a fair Dean Marney challenge when he looked as though he might not. Marney fed Ings, who played a one-two with Vokes - beautifully reversing ball back into his strike-partners path - and after one touch to control, Ings curved the ball over Rob Green. Liquid football.
Harry Redknapp, orchestrating things from the window of a Range Rover parked by the dugout, made some changes to try and get back on level terms but with little effect. This Burnley side works so hard from back to front that opposition are severely limited in the number of chances they can create. Instead it was us who continued to create, Keith Treacy putting across one of those curling balls that makes strikers wish they wore really long boots; a mere toe from Ings would have sent it into the net. Ings was to get his second, however, with two minutes left, referee Barton sportingly awarding a penalty against himself. Ings sent Green the wrong way and Burnley comfortably clear at the top of the league, leaving Barton to consider Nietzsche's theories on perspectivism.
Nothing is better than winning and winning well, especially against the top teams. There is nothing lucky about this, we are where we deserve to be. There is nothing to fear in this league, except Burnley.
Charlie Austin also played in the game, I think. He's not Danny Ings.