I wasn’t sure I was going to make this match. I’d spent most of Thursday and Friday in bed. It might have just been a cold, although personally I think it was Avian Flu – which is strange, as I generally don’t eat Colonel Matthews Gobbling Turkey Burgers. Anyway I still felt like crap but we decided we’d hit the road. Like many others we had a hotel booked in Plymouth for Saturday night but there was no way I was up to partying. All a bit of a bugger as we still had to pay for the hotel.
So having negotiated the relatively short journey (well Plymouth is closer to my Hertfordshire home than the SoL) we met up with lads and lasses in the Britannia over the road to Home Park. Some had been on coaches since midnight while some had set off in the wee small hours. I ordered a pint of diet coke (I told you I was poorly) but we all know god doesn’t like teetotallers and I fairly soon knocked it over when I moved some coats to let someone sit down. Not one to further risk the wrath of the gods of the black stuff I switched to Guinness. Plymouth is strange in that, while it has a host of great pubs generally there are almost none anywhere near the ground. In fact this one is probably the only one there is. We were told that for games where there are worried about trouble it got closed (thankfully we have a fairly good reputation). They also have a sign “no chanting”. We were told that earlier in the season Leeds fans had been chanting; the Plymouth fans had chanted back and then fighting had kicked off. It is a pity that football is still ruined by tossers like Leeds and Newcastle (see their happy holiday videos on the internet this week smashing up Breda in the Netherlands) when for most of us having a beer in mixed company is one of the pleasures of being a football supporter.
So, into the ground with the other approx 1,600 travelling red and white army. We had really crap seats. Row 5, right over by the corner. The forecast was rain ‘n all. Fortunately the rain never came, as we would have got soaked. Martyn McFadden, the supreme overlord of ALS had even worse seats two rows in front of us. I felt like saying “do you know who we are?” to someone. But there was no one to say it to. They wouldn’t have known in any case. And, if they had, they quite rightly wouldn’t have cared. The away ticket lottery I suppose adds an element of interest to being an away fan. Well at least we were dry. But we had little idea what was going on most of the time. Didn’t stop us arguing with offsides down the other end mind – but such is the prerogative of the football supporter.
What you don’t see from shots of Home Park from the TV gantry is that one side still has a terrace in front of ancient seating. It is like the Clock Stand at Roker. In the corner next to us, as is traditional, stood the charvers there to exchange insults. However, this lot did seem quite remarkable young. I don’t go in for trading insults with opposition fans much but if I did I think I’d at least have a rule that my “opponents” should have testicles on the outside rather than the inside.
What we could see from our unelevated position was how very boggy the pitch was. It must have been draining for the lads (for Plymouth as well of course). The first half itself was pretty boggy. However, I was fairly happy. We were well organised. Fulop was in goal for the injured Ward (I had ungenerously thought it was just an international week “injury” but it seems not). I though in the first half Fulop looked fairly nervous. He is a big bloke and I do like that in a goaly. But you also need to be a communicator and from the evidence in front of us Big Mart is not that. Never mind he got better as the game went on. Simpson was starting – but he was right over the other side so I didn’t see a lot of him. A couple of our party thought he’d not looked great. Evans and Noz looked rock solid again. However, the only real “heart in mouth” moment was a header from a corner that Edwardes headed off the line. Down the other end our best chance came from a looping header from Stern John in literally the last few seconds of the half, which the goaly did well to claw away.
So we kicked off the second half attacking our end, which regular readers will know I prefer. We had Edwardes right in front of us – I am getting more optimistic about him as time goes on and he looked a real threat. Yorke and Whitehead totally had the midfield sown up while it was great to see Connolly smashed up face ‘n all causing problems in the box. I was unimpressed with Stern John – but as I’ve said he did have the best chance of the first half and apparently he did the flick for our second goal (only read that after the match mind) so I guess you’ve got to give him credit for that.
It has been a real feature of this season in my opinion how much luckier travelling SAFC fans have been in seeing some entertaining football than those who attend only at the SoL. At the SoL I enjoyed the West Brom game and probably the last half hour of the Leeds game. But I struggle think of many other games where I’d say I been “entertained”. As an SAFC supporter first and foremost of course, I am primarily interested in the result – but entertainment is nice. I also think it is something of a drag factor in Quinny’s admirable efforts to get ever more bums on seats. However, away from home we’ve seen some canny football. It was the same again here. After weathering early Plymouth pressure with Fulop making one excellent point blank save, we gradually started to step up a gear. With less than half an hour to go Keane made it clear that we were here for the 3 points, taking off Hysen and bringing on young Stokes. “Bloody hell” I thought “are we going to play 4-3-3?”. Before I could answer, the question became moot. A lovely carry of the ball by Whitehead and he cut it back to Stokes outside the box. Stokes showed the naivety of a young striker who comes onto the pitch to score goals and hasn’t had that instinct drummed out of him by arses with Howard Wilkinson coaching badges. He just shot. And if you shoot – you might score – and so he did. Great stuff and hopefully the first of many to come.
As the celebratory songs were ringing out, we suddenly broke again with the ball coming through to Connolly. He seemed to stumble over the ball as he attempted to go round the keeper. But this ended up being to his advantage as it put the goaly off while Connolly kept control and ended it with a firm side foot into the net.
The rest of the game was a master class in the modern Keane SAFC. You knew for certain after the blasting the players got at Sheff Wed that there’d be no conceding. However, although we did revert to a 4-4-2 sharpish (Leadbitter coming on with Simpson going off and Whitehead dropping back to right back) we actually didn’t sit deep and continued to press forward as well as stand tall at the back
So a great three points and a fine reward for those who’d travelled well over 400 miles. As I got back in the car to head home with me box of Kleenex at my side and a mass of mucous thumping inside my head I still felt very jealous of those who were staying on to have a night of celebration down by the sea.
John aka Herts