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This is one which, at the start of the season, we’d have expected to win. But you can’t really play as badly as City did in the first half, concede 2 goals in 20 minutes, and still feel confident. At that point, we’d have been delighted to know that we would end up with half the points, and a second half renaissance, with excellent goals from new-boy Akinde and old stager David Noble, sent us home with smiles on our faces, and “You f*cked it up two nil” ringing in our ears.
Sir Gary seemed pretty pissy with the fans at the end, though, applauding the East End singers, but pointedly shaking his head as he turned his back on the Dolman – presumably he felt that the support during the first half was rather poor. But really Gary, even I, the happiest clapper of them all, was beginning to despair – it really was a woeful performance. Let’s just put it behind us, remember the last half hour, and rejoice that we have players like Trundle, Nobes and Akinde to come on to change the game as dramatically as they did. And, dear Gary, you turn on your own fans at your peril.
The Mayor of Wessex, and Bob
I caught a small amount of the golf this weekend, the British Masters at The Belfrey, including the exciting last few holes in which Lee Westwood narrowly lost to a Spanish bloke on the third playoff hole. Golfers usually behave well in victory and defeat, and it struck me that a neutral observer would have been hard pressed to know which player had actually won when the final putt decided it – not because it didn’t matter to them (if nothing else, there was £100,000 difference in first and second place prize money), but because they know how to behave.
I also enjoyed a vintage Peter Alliss moment on the commentary. His fellow commentator, during a lull in the golfing action, mentioned Carol Vorderman, the famously sexy hostess on the word game “Countdown”. “Ah, Carol Vorderman“, said Alliss, dreamily, “I was watching her the other day and I got aroused“. (Stunned silence for a beautifully judged few seconds…). “Yes, 7 letters – not bad for a lad who left school at 15…“.
Elsewhere in the sporting weekend, City slumped to a 2-0 defeat at Wolves. It wasn’t really unexpected, given that Wolves seem to be running away with the Championship, but disappointing nevertheless. (And a cautionary note to cocky Wolves fans – this time last year, it was Watford who were romping, and look what happened to them…)
I was glad not to have listened to the game on the radio, opting instead to wander down to the “Best of Bedminster Show” on North Street Green. It was a great little event, along the lines of the traditional village produce show, with people submitting jams, cakes and strangely shaped vegetables to be judged by ladies from the Women’s Institute. I was delighted to win 3rd prize in the “Best Photograph” category – I won a medal (made of baked sour dough) and a packet of seeds. The prizes were presented by 2 women dressed as men, one claiming to be the Mayor of Wessex, and the other her son, Bob. Once the ceremony was complete, the sun burned through the misty clouds, and the Ambling Band played some pleasant (and suitably whacky) music. It was the sort of thing that makes me really enjoy living here.
The Ambling Band
Not wanting to be responsible for another City disaster (my failure to raise the Lucky Flag being one of the reasons for our midweek defeat against Birmingham), I got the flag up good and early yesterday. And we cruised to a comfortable win, so I think that proves it works. Doesn’t it?
A rather tense first half yielded few chances, and City looked rather lacklustre. But at half time, Sir Gary put something in the boys’ tea, and before we knew it we were 3-0 up. Much to the relief of the crowd, new boy Nicky Maynard was responsible for both of the first two goals, winning a penalty with a flamboyant dive (which, away from home and with a different referee, might have been rewarded with a yellow card instead of a penalty), and slotting away a cool second from a well-worked move. Happy Days are here again, and the pleasure of watching one’s team defend a comfortable lead (for once) cannot be underestimated.
A pleasant game of golf in the morning (albeit one littered with disastrous shots), and an evening spent watching the Ryder Cup (featuring an incredible array of outstanding shots) completed a thoroughly enjoyable day. The weather this weekend has been stunning – almost too hot at times, but I’ll be lynched if I grumble – and this morning I helped Stephen erect his new shed, which turned out to be a most pleasant thing to do. It was one of those jobs which, on a bad day, could have been a nightmare (bits missing, parts not fitting together, hammers striking thumbs, etc.) but which, on this occasion, was plain-sailing, and very satisfying. I think there’s something very special about sheds. And there was also something very special indeed about the warm flapjack that Helen produced to encourage the workers. Trust me, there’s flapjack, there’s good flapjack, and there’s Helen’s flapjack. Yes siree.
So, City’s unbeaten run in the league came to an abrupt end last night. We feared the worst – Birmingham have started the season really well, and boast a number of really good players who will probably see them bounce back up to the Premiership at the first attempt. It could have been a lot worse, and when we were 2 down after half an hour, I thought we might be heading for one of those humiliating 6-0 drubbings (remember Ipswich last season?). But the second half was altogether different, we got one back, courtesy of a Lee Trundle wundergoal, and could well have equalised, or even won it. We didn’t, but we ambled back up the hill in reasonably high spirits, ready for another chance of our first home win of the season on Saturday, this time against relatively lowly Doncaster.
I do feel I have to shoulder some responsibility for last night’s defeat. At the start of the season, I decided to hoist the City flag outside the house for every home game, thereby ensuring our success on the pitch. And, until last night, it worked – unbeaten in the first 5 games. But yesterday, what with it being an evening game, my having to work late, and lots to do before setting off, including cooking the chilli con carne because Jon was coming to eat before the game, I didn’t get around to the flag-hoisting ritual. So I’m sorry. (Although actually, if Jon hadn’t been coming to eat, I might not have bothered with the chilli, and would have given the family their usual bread and gruel instead, thereby giving me the time for the more important matters. So it’s probably as much his fault as mine. We’re both sorry.)
We didn’t make the trip across the Severn, and probably never will as long as the rivalry between the 2 clubs’ fans crosses those thin lines between banter and abuse, rivalry and hostility. They call these potentially ugly encounters “bubble matches” – rhyming slang for trouble, I’ve always assumed – and the main drawback is that the only way of attending is by travelling stupidly early on one of the official coaches, and being herded around like cattle, and criminal cattle at that, once you get there. So I had to settle for the agony of Radio Bristol commentary, followed by 20 minutes of highlights on telly, which confirmed that the City Boys:
a) played well,
b) rode their luck at times,
c) were unlucky not to score, especially from a Nicky Maynard curler which nearly found the top corner.
On balance, the fact that Cardiff should have been at least one up within the first 15 minutes leads to my verdict that we should be happy with a point, especially given that last season they beat us 2-1 in the equivalent match. Our season so far is closely echoing last year, and if we continue to edge the odd point where last time around we failed to, we should do very well. Tomorrow night will be a huge test, when we welcome recently relegated Birmingham City. The equivalent match last season was the visit of West Brom, who demolished a below-par City side, and went on to win the league in style. So if we can get a point off Birmingham, I will be very happy.
Elsewhere in football, England cruised to a 4-1 thrashing of Croatia in the World Cup qualifiers, which has reignited the nation’s interest in the whole business. Young Theo Walcott scored a hat trick, the commentators went overboard with paltitudes about the boy becoming a man, and Fabio Copello paced the touchline looking grumpy.
Newcastle United are in crisis, after the departure of the Messiah, and were beaten at home by Hull. It surprises me a bit that I’m happy for Hull, who are currently 4th in the Premiership after a surprisingly good start. It should, of course, have been us, but I really don’t begrudge them their success. But as for Stoke, well that’s a different kettle of fish altogether, and I was delighted to see them beaten at home by Everton yesterday.
QPR will have gone home happy after this one, having played almost the entire second half with only 10 men. The sending off of Emmanuel Ledesma (who had been one of their most effective player in the first half, and recently scored a hat trick) was great fun, especially as it occurred in the corner of the pitch furthest from the players’ tunnel, meaning that he had a very long walk in which to enjoy the taunts of the home fans – football really is a pantomime at times. But it was the visitors who had the last laugh, putting all the remaining players behind the ball, and defending well for the draw.
City’s performance in the second half was pretty inept, but at least Lee Johnson had a good game, which should silence some of his critics who, with some justification, blamed him for the Derby debacle. We don’t have to look much further for plenty of other reasons to be cheerful, most notably that we’re 4th in the league, unbeaten, and averaging 2 points per game. And, while Manchesters United and City are signing players for £30 million in the transfer frenzy, we’ve also been flashing the cash, paying all of £140,000 for one John Akinbe from Ebbsfleet United. Who said there’s a big gap between the Premiership and the Championship?!
Spookily enough, the same scoreline as last year’s visit to Coventry. I wasn’t there to see it, but it was, by all accounts, a confident, competent performance to get the season off and running. We’re now 3rd in the table – although league tables mean little at this early stage of the season. Credit to Steve Brooker, for scoring his 3rd goal in 4 games. Upwards and onwards!
If we’d been told a couple of years ago that we’d be playing Derby soon, let alone getting a point off them, we’d have been delighted. The fact that we came away feeling that we really should have beaten them is a measure of how far we’ve come.
That said, we also have a long way to go. After a good first half performance with a hatful of chances and a first league goal for Nicky Maynard, it really looked like an easy win. But Derby in the second half were a different team, and the City boys seemed to have spent all their reserves of skill, flair and panache. The Derby goal came from a real howler by Lee Johnson, which will give his many critics enough ammunition to keep them going until next season (at least). Such a shame. Only time will tell whether this season’s Derby turn out to be a good team to have won a point from, or whether they end up doing as badly they did last season in the Premiership – who knows, the point they won at Ashton Gate on Saturday may turn out to be their only one this season…
It felt rather strange seeing the people who sit in our bit of the Dolman Stand for the first time since our triumph against Palarse in the playoff semi-final, and very little talk of the Wembley let-down, but it was great to be back, and all good fun. Brendan particularly enjoyed abusing Nathan Ellington for being ex-Rovers, and Robbie Savage for being… well, just Robbie Savage.
Not the greatest game that we’ll see at Ashton Gate this season (I hope), but a good result which sees us through to the next round of the League Cup. “We’re going to Wemberley“, sang the East End, which may be a tad premature, given our distinctly mediocre performance – in fact, we were quite fortunate to win against a side from the division below who played with more creativity, and a great deal more commitment.
Highlights were the well taken close-range goals from Carey and Brooker, the tannoy announcement asking “Mr Pete Borough to go home immediately“, and the final whistle. (Everyone was extremely relieved that the Posh didn’t equalise, not because we might have gone on to lose, but because we’d have had to endure 30 minutes of extra time.)
The low points (and there were many) included Christian Ribeiro getting seriously injured 20 minutes into his first team debut (it looked like a broken leg, but fortunately turned out to be ligament damage), Peterborough scoring an easy goal from a defensive cockup to take the lead, and the shite weather (August has turned into November).
One thing’s for certain – we’ll have to be better against Derby on Saturday if we’re to continue the winning start to the season.
So, the season has started again, and the magnificent City boys picked themselves up in their first proper game since the Wembley “disappointment” to win their opening game in style. In truth, judging by the radio commentary and TV highlights, we were rather lucky to win, but a win’s a win. And after all the shenaninigans around getting a decent striker on board, new boy Nicky Maynard wasted a couple of excellent chances, and it fell to substitute Steve Brooker, the old workhorse, to score the winner, from a very difficult angle, in the 90th minute. The City fans, including Brendan and me huddled over the radio in the kitchen, went wild, and the neighbours, unaware that the season had started, probably thought ”Oh no, not this again already…”.
Nicky Maynard provided the best quote of the day, saying afterwards that although he was sorry not to have scored, he was made up for Brooks, it was all about the team, etc., and he was just glad that “we are another step closer to promotion“. Well, Nicky, we are all delighted to be off the starting blocks, but let’s not get too carried away!
This was also the weekend of the Balloon Fiesta, which, of course, meant rain, wind, and an almost total lack of hot air balloons, all very disappointing for my sister and family who came over especially. It amazes me that the organisers persist in scheduling the event for August, which is such a famously shite month in Bristol – they’d stand a better chance of a successful event in the middle of January. But we did see the Red Arrows, a lot of mud, and a woman called Amanda in a pony and trap performing “stunts”, which consisted basically of her steering her unfortunate ponies over a series of speed bumps. Barking mad, but very funny.
Maynard made his debut last night in this pre-season friendly, scored a hat-trick, and sent the fans home feeling that yes, maybe this boy will provide the vital ingredient, missing for so much of last season, i.e. the ability to score goals. Certainly his three debut goals were taken with the confident ease of a very good footballer, and the man next to me was in no doubt that Maynard had already proved that he’s worth the money, and will deliver us to the promised land of the Premiership. Let’s hope he’s right, although it may be just a tad early to tell! (After all, many of us remember the brace of wonder goals that Lee Trundle scored against Scunthorpe in one of his first games for City…)
The match itself was great fun, and the Antwerp side were not as bad as the scoreline suggests. City played very well, with very few mistakes in any area of the pitch, and our other new boy, midfielder Gavin Williams, also looked promising. The real stars of the night, however, were the Antwerp fans. There must have been well over a thousand, and they sang throughout the game, giving their players a heroes’ send-off at the final whistle. Their finest hour was when they danced a conga to a chorus of “Let’s go f*cking mental” in perfect English when their side had just conceded yet another goal. It must be very heartening for the players to have such loyal fans, and I hope we manage to be even half as encouraging to our boys if things don’t always go well this season.
As none of my regular pals were able to come along, I spent quite a bit of time sending goal-flash texts, and soon realised that I’d need to add “Maynard” to my telephone’s dictionary. The best reply of the night came from Laz, responding to my “3-0, hat trick for Maynard!!!” text message. He asked “Yes, but can he finish?!”. Yes Laz, I do believe he can.
Anyway, here’s a clip of those fans:
When I last mentioned Bristol City, it was to rejoice in the signing of Emad Metoab, the Egyptian wunderkind who was going to score hundreds of goals and lead us to the promised land. Well, unfortunately, having agreed terms with City, posed in the red shirt, etc., Metaob then asked if he could play one more game for his old club in Egypt. Not unreasonably, City said that he couldn’t. But the silly boy went and played anyway. Result – one pissed off manager, and one torn up contract. So much for “M” number one.
With the start of the season looming, attention was turned to “M” number 2, Mifsud, a Maltese international (what?! he’s played for Malta?!) currently playing for Coventry. He also seemed promising, and had played there successfully with our Dele Adebola. Great, the dream strike partnership, reunited in red. Again, all seemed to be signed, sealed and (almost) delivered – Mifsud passed his medical, personal terms were agreed, and “M2″ said all the right things about how he couldn’t wait to start playing for “Bristol”, a club he’d always admired, blah, blah. But then his agent started making new demands, most notably a clause in his contract which allowed him to leave without notice or fee if a Premiership club expressed interest in him, i.e. if he does badly we get to keep him, and if he does well he buggers off. Hmmm… Not surprisingly, Johnson showed him the door, and “M” number 2 bit the dust.
Things at this stage were getting rather embarrassing, so desperate measures were called for. “M3″ was one Nicky Maynard, who was apparently the first “M” that the club had approached, but who was regarded as too expensive at the time, at £2.5m (which admittedly does seem rather a lot for a League One player unproven at Championship level). But with the season now only 10 days away, Lansdown decided that he had to dig deep, found the necessary dosh, and Maynard was duely signed, to the delight of the City faithful.
But will he deliver?
The football season will be with us before we know it, and I was delighted to hear last night that Bristol City have finally secured the services of a new striker. We’ve paid £1.5 million for a 3 year contract with one Emad Moteab (pronounce “Metteb”, apparently), who’s a regular player in Egypt’s national side. Given that our main (only?) weakness last season was an inability to score goals, this is great news, and makes me look forward with relish to hoisting the flag outside the house for our first home game. He seems to be the real McCoy, and a proper hero in Egypt – he even features in their Coca Cola adverts, which is as good an indicator of celebrity status as any in this day and age.
His signing has prompted some very interesting exchanges on the fans’ forum about, for example, how best to welcome Emad – some are suggesting that the club shop should start selling a City-branded fez, whilst others propose that we should all turn up to the first home game in Pharoah costumes – and whether such cultural references would be offensive or appreciated. And the presence of City’s first ever Muslim player will certainly challenge some of the less enlightened opinions and attitudes still lurking at Ashton Gate. Let’s just hope he scores a goal or two early on!
OK, so we lost the playoff final, and we’re all gutted. But, four days on, here are some RTBC:
- Last season was the best ever in my time as a supporter, and next season could be even better.
- If we’d got promoted, we’d have probably lost most of our games next season. In the Championship, we’ll probably win most of our games. And we like seeing City win.
- In the Premiership, we’d have only had 19 home games. In the Championship, we’ll have 23. And we like seeing City play.
- We’re still a division above Leicester, Leeds, and, of course, the Gas.
- We get to beat Crystal Palace and Watford all over again.
- We won’t see Dean Windass, ever again. (Even if we don’t swap places with Hull this time next year, he’ll surely be too old, too fat, or too knackered to play football for much longer.)
We can go on about what a good day out it was, how really we need another Championship season to consolidate our position at that level, how Hull will probably “do a Derby” and come straight back down, but the bald, unavoidable fact is that we lost. And as we drove back into Bristol quietly last night, all I could think about was how different the city would have felt had we won, about all our missed opportunities in front of the Hull goal, about how close we came, and about how disappointed I felt.
Meanwhile, in the world of less important football, Man United beat Chelsea in the Champions’ League final in Moscow. It was a good game, I suppose, although I didn’t feel that bothered as to who won – if either of them had been playing anyone else, I’d have wanted their opponent to win. That said, I was marginally glad that United won, partly because of the whole Munich anniversary thing, partly because of Ryan Giggs breaking Sir Bobby Charlton’s record, partly because of Ronaldo’s brilliance, but mostly because of my irrational dislike of Chelsea. I was delighted that Drogba got himself sent off, and also that it was Nicolas “Couldn’t Give a Shit” Anelka’s penalty that was saved to give United the trophy. Alex Ferguson’s shiny suit was very unfortunate, and combined well with his crimson complexion and wobbly neck to put me in mind of a turkey prematurely wrapped in foil for the oven, but he seemed very pleased with himself nevertheless.
And so to real football. In precisely 24 hours’ time, the full time whistle will be blown at Wemberley, and one of three things will have happened. Hull may have won, and we’ll be shuffling towards the exit, left wondering if we’ll ever be successful in the playoffs. City may have won, and we’ll be losing control in a most undignified manner, singing “We are Premiership, say we are Premiership”. Or it may be all square after 90 minutes, and we’ll be bracing ourselves for the agony of extra time. How will we cope? My hunch is that Hull, the bookies’ favourites, will knick it with a late goal, but how I hope on hope that I’m wrong. This really is… The Big One.
Just had a very nervous planning meeting with Laz and Andrew (the other drivers for the trip to Wembley on Saturday), which I think concluded with a decision to leave at 7:45… for a 3:00 kick-off 2 hours down the road?! Ah well, I’ll go with the flow. We’re rendezvousing at Reading Services, circa 0915 hours, there to prepare for a final assault on Uxbridge, there to storm the Metropolitan line. With a following wind, we could be at Wembley in time for morning coffee, but we’re hoping to outwit the northern forces from Hull, who will arrive 20 minutes later and find nowhere to park, so will have to go home again. And given that the most enjoyable part of the day will probably be the pre-3:00 bit, I suppose we might as well make the most of it. OK, we’ll leave at dawn…
“I’ve got something here that you’ll like“, said the postman, smiling broadly in the morning sunshine as he handed over an envelope marked “special delivery” – our tickets for Saturday’s playoff final. He knew what the envelope held because he, too, is a City fan and had received his envelope yesterday, and today he seemed especially happy in his work, spreading his bounty to the BS3 faithful. All over the city, the same scene was happening on thousands of doorsteps, from Easton to Ashton, Southville to Eastville (well, perhaps not Eastville…), and I couldn’t help wondering whether somewhere there’s a postie who’s a City fan who failed to get tickets in the free-for-all on Sunday, in which 20,000 tickets were sold in 25 minutes – imagine his pain as he hands over the envelopes to the lucky ones.
Ah, the playoffs! What a great idea. In the pre-playoffs era, City’s season would have ended weeks ago, with an unrewarded 4th place, with which we couldn’t have helped being disappointed, having spent so many weeks in the top 2. But, thanks to the playoffs, we’re having a fantastic time, watching the playoff matches, thinking about the final, planning our trip to Wembley, and, well, just hoping. And that’s what supporting City, or any other team, is all about – reflecting on past adventures and enjoying present challenges, certainly, but it’s the anticipation and optimism about the future that really keeps us going, that puts a spring in our step on matchdays, that makes us sing “Johnson says ‘Bounce around the ground‘” in the shower. It’s what’s giving me butterflies, even with 4 days to go, and it’s what turns a good season into a great one. And it’s what makes a postman smile.
Incredibly, we’ve made it to the final hurdle. A superb City performance in an electric atmosphere saw the boys beat Palace 2-1 for the second time in 4 days, going through to the Wembley showdown with a 4-2 aggregate score. It was scintillating, once-in-a-lifetime, tear-jerking stuff, which makes all those dreary 0-0 draws with Nowhere United on a wet Tuesday night in the third division so worthwhile.
Hero of the hour was Lee Trundle, who rewarded the fans’ patience with a superb goal in extra time. At the time, it always looked certain to go in, probably because of the mass of wishful thinking pushing it goalwards and the hours of pre-match fantasising about just such a fairytale ending. It was on the television replays that I realised just what a great goal it was - under pressure from defenders, and on legs that, after nearly 2 hours of frantic football, must have been running on the last rush of adrenalin, he curled an absolute peach into the top corner of the net. The mass euphoria was extraordinary, and almost frightening in its intensity, whilst Michael McIndoe’s sublime free kick minutes later put the icing on the cake and sent the Palace fans streaming towards the exit.
So now it really is The Big One, our beloved little Gary Johnson taking his little team on a charabanc to the big city, there to play for the biggest prize of all. I think I’ve just had a great idea for a screenplay…
A fine City performance when it really mattered, and two world-class goals from Carey (what a time to score your first goal of the season) and Noble (a superb curling drive from 35 yards out, leaving the goalkeeper with little hope of saving it).
But it’s only half time in this two-legged tie, and it’s still finely balanced. Palarse actually played rather better football than we’ve come to expect, and, if anything, were the less physical side. They will be desperate to win tonight at Ashton Gate, and Warnock’s proud boast is that he’s never lost a playoff semi-final. How we would love to break that particular record – I’m sure he’s a very nice man, but he keeps his charms so well hidden, and he certainly hasn’t endeared himself to the City faithful this season. He can look forward to a particularly warm welcome to Ashton Gate this evening, as can the loutish Shaun Derry, who clearly wasn’t taught good manners as a child. I bet he chews with his mouth open.
The drama of the occasion boils down to this. If Palace fail to score more goals than us tonight, we go to Wembley in a couple of weeks, there to compete in what’s been described as the richest club match in world football, worth an estimated £60 million to the winners. Suddenly, Bristol City find themselves on the brink of the Big Time.
