In the dark days of last season, bringing two Premiership teams back to the SoL was a real source of hope amongst the gloom. The Bolton game in particular was pure joy – a young Sean Thornton running the show and a wonder goal from crowd hero (but not getting his league place) Julio Arca. This season we have different worries – can we either force our way into the top two or do something in the play-offs – but still the FA Cup is helping keep our spirits up. The red and white army obviously appreciated this as there was a tremendous turnout – filling the whole stand along one side of the pitch.
The teams came through while we were in the Station pub (err, the one next to the station). The biggest talking point was that Oster was dropped to the bench. I’m not sure if that was because of his form or was tactical. He had been very poor at Millwall but it would be harsh if he was dropped because of that – he remains a beacon of creativity in a team generally lacking in it (except for our southern hemisphere god of course). However, it has to be said that sometimes games are a fight and unfortunately Johnny is not a fighter. He let’s the other side see he is scared of getting kicked, which is fatal. I assume Mick Mac had that in mind (as well as Joe Royle’s cynicism) when dropping him to the bench. While I was a bit disappointed about that, I was pleased to see Thirwell (plus broken nose) back in the starting line-up. Thirwell was playing really well earlier on in the season but just hasn’t managed to break back into the team since he has been available again. A combination of Thirl and Jeff in CM didn’t suggest a massive push towards the 18 yard box, but it did suggest that the Ippos would not be controlling the centre of the park. This mean Trigger was pushed out right – he’s OK there I guess but I think he’s generally more effective in the centre. Arca unfortunately had to continue on the left wing – the available players just don’t allow us to accommodate him back at his much better position of LB. Wright was injured so Dazza joined the settled Babb, Bjork and Ringo. Up-front Stew was suspended and so Kyle partnered Smith (nice for Smith to play his much better position of striker).
As was flagged beforehand, the Ippos have the best scoring record in the first and we have one of the best defensive records. It certainly is true that they took the game more to us than we did to them. However, the first half was pretty even – them having a bit more territory and us having the better chances (Poom didn’t have a save to make). The weak-bladdered had been down and had got back feeling relieved, those who have sloppy meat deficiency syndrome (which means that they can’t survive three quarters of an hour without eating a pie) were busy stocking up and we were congratulating ourselves on a job well done when suddenly the Ippos broke out towards us on their left wing. Although the ball was still in their half, it was two against one (the one being Dazza!) and there was little cover behind him – we’d all been concentrating on the attack. For a fleeting moment it looked as though the ball was just a bit in front of their player, opening up the opportunity for perhaps a 40% chance of a tackle – and bloody hell Dazza had spotted that as well. He went racing in and performed a “spirit of Bally” slide straight through the player sending him up into the air and came out the other side with the ball. The tackled Ippo did a “spirit of Joe Royle” rolling on the ground going “ooh, ooh I have a life-threatening blow to my dignity, please stop the game” until he realised the ref was having none of it so he sprung up and chased after Dazza. Dazza, having thought he was Bally then decided he could be Buzza as well and got down to the 18 yard box and sent a beaut of a ball in. If that was all just too good what came next lit up this encounter. Their defence was a little out of shape from the charge out. Tommy Smith had made space in the centre of the box and met Dazza’s ball with a glancing right foot to send it into the far corner well out of reach of their goalie.
So that was jolly. Now we had a job to do. And we were well and truly up to it. Many are now saying it but Babb is really in good form at the moment. The whingers will trot out their trite “he’s found his level” nonsenses. The supporters know he’s our player and he’s doing bliddy well so we’re pleased. Bjork alongside him also had a good game. Then came a moment of pure genius. If you work for Sky Sports you think genius is flukey goals scored from spectacular positions. If you actually watch football, you think genius is Ian Wright. He’s one of my favourite players. I used to admire him as a harmless ball would come into the box and he’d chase in for it. Nothing would happen. Then nothing would happen the next 1,000 times. But Wrighty would still chase in. Then on number 1.002 something would happen and Wright would be there to shoot home. Journos and other lazy gits would either say “oh and what an easy tap in for Wright” or “wasn’t it amazing that Wright somehow knew the ball would come loose?”. Neither was true – his genius was that he never gave up, his head never dropped, he followed in every time no matter how certain it was that there was nothing to go for. Well we too have a genius – his name is Julio Arca. Yes he can do the rinky dinky stuff, he can score the most spectacular of goals, but the reason we love him as much as we do is that he combines that with an absolute dedication to the red and white cause. So half way through the second half, we get a free –kick near the left side of the box. Macateer floats in a spectacularly bad ball straight into their goalkeeper’s arms. Everyone turns away to trot back to position for the kick-out. But the goalie spills it and in an instant Julio is there to slot it between the goalkeeper and the defender who had been on the line. Was it an easy tap-in? Did he somehow know the goalie would drop it? No! He scored because he is a fecking genius! Julio came reeling round to celebrate with us lucky to be down that end of the stand and then the whole stand gave one of the most rousing renditions of his “Always believe” song that you’ll ever hear.
A word for Poom. Unlike in the first half, Poom did have a couple of saves to make. One in particular was quite preposterous. The ball came over from the left and their striker got a glancing header sending it to the same spot as Smith has done in the first half. Poom leapt across and got a good strong hand to it. Unfortunately another Ippo striker was there ready to follow in. Unfortunately for him our little genius was there to clear before their striker could think “I hope that Julio Arca isn’t anywhere near”.
The end was a bit strange. We had been fairly comfortable. We were trying to shield the ball in their corner and failed so Macateer lashed out at their player. He got booked but could easily have been sent off – bloody iodiotic. I am all for physical play. In fact I love it. But that was just stupid violence – Mick Mac better have a word with him. We conceded a goal but I’m not quite sure how – everyone (including their fans and players) seemed to have decided the end was inevitable. It all made injury time a bit more nail-biting than it needed to be. Ramsden came on at the end, which was nice for him (nee idea what he did mind – I was too busy going “oh god, please let the whistle go” to be bothered with such things). Thornton made a welcome return with about two minutes to go (although he was tiring towards the end).
So we all departed to head off home – the long trek for the NE-based lads and lasses – even quite a mini-trek for us Hertfordshire based lot. On the way back, we were discussing who we’d like in the draw. My 13 year old son said Chelsea because “I’d rather be knocked out by someone good”. I reminded him of when I was his exact age and in the fifth round we got a team that had won the league a couple of years earlier. We brought them back to Roker and won. We then defeated the recent double winners Arsenal in the semis and beat the then best team in England in the final. He still wants Chelsea – but in order to knock them out. What is the point of being a football supporter if not to dream?