If they can take 4 points off us when their idea of a transfer fee is John Coleman sending Jimmy Bell to wash the selling team's chairman's car and give him a tip on the horses, then we surely can unearth some diamonds with our new scouting system and our new reputation as *not run by the O****n family* and therefore not known throughout the game as 'one to avoid if you can'
Now we've got young stars galore. It's insane to think I'd never even heard of Jerry Yates, Marvin Ekpiteta, CJ Hamilton and I didn't even know Kenny Dougall was a bleach blond all action Australian midfielder and not a bloke who does plumbing and a few other bits and bobs in the Pollockshields area of Glasgow.
Logic says this is a very winnable game. That sounds like pundit speak so I'll rephrase that. Logic says it's a piece of piss of a game, what with Accy shipping 7 (seven) and 5 in recent games and us finally in the sort of form that makes Brazil 1970 look like a team of predictable journeymen going through the motions.
Logic says this is a very winnable game. That sounds like pundit speak so I'll rephrase that. Logic says it's a piece of piss of a game, what with Accy shipping 7 (seven) and 5 in recent games and us finally in the sort of form that makes Brazil 1970 look like a team of predictable journeymen going through the motions.
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| Fig 1: The difference between us now and us at the Crown Ground earlier this season as expressed in grey circles |
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| Fig 2: High level tactical dispersal system (key phrases Critch has written in Mike's notebook so he can shout them at the right moment) |
Lets see what the roulette wheel has provided tonight for us... Neil has given it just a tiny nudge and Jordan Gabriel comes in for Ollie Turton. Demi is back on the bench. All good. Sprinklers are sprinkling, light is twinkling, the camera lens refracting a shaft of light giving the picture a psychedelic quality. The referee is tying the string on his shorts, Simon Sadler is in the house and here come the Mighty to Ten Pole Tudor...
Tony Parr is echoing before a minute's silence, which is more of a minute of the oblivious cry of seagulls. Not for them such reflection on mortality, just the bestial cries of hunger and desire. We're off and the sun tinged camera lens is all green, red and yellow dots. It gives the action a disco feel, which is only enhanced as Ellis Simms and his 70s retro hair is involved in the early tussling. Accy take one of those silly short goal kicks, then get some possession on the edge of the box, but Smith miskicks and lets it run out of play.
We take a silly short goal kick. Dan Ballard is the recipient, strolling forward 10 yards, pointing in a commanding way and slicing the ball wildly out of play. Gretarsson has quality though as he lifts it long to Simms, Sullay is on his shoulder, he picks up the knock down, comes inside his man with a velvet first touch and side foots precisely, low towards the corner of the net, bringing a sharp save from the Accy keeper.
Pool are gaining a bit of a grip on the game and putting pressure on. Gabriel, Embleton and Yates play some fantastic football, triangles doesn't do it justice. It's intricate, clever, instinctive but it only results in a cross cut out at the near post by the keeper. There's a moment when the camera hits a certain spot around half way where the whole screen goes green and everyone suddenly becomes a negative image. It looks like the special effects on a 1970s Doctor Who or an early 80s low budget film depicting the horrors of a nuclear attack.
I assume that Bloomfield isn't in the blast radius of an atom bomb or the focus of a Dalek invasion as play goes on and Grant Ward lashes a deflected shot from thirty yards, hitting the target and working the keeper. Amazingly, Gretarsson got through last week without agony, but he's clattered and on the floor wincing early in this one. I don't think I've ever seen a player suffer as much week in week out.
Accy calm it down a bit and gain their own little foothold in the game, neat football, a good switch of play and the mobility of Dion Charles force Dougall into a foul and a booking on the edge of the box. The freekick is deflected over and the resultant corner defended well. Accy continue to press well. They force us back and maintain the pressure to create little mistakes from Maxwell and Ballard.
Accy earn another corner, but Pool break well but the referees chooses to penalise Accy, rather than let the play flow as Yates rides a foul challenge and looks set to bear down on the defence. At the other end, there's a moment of anxiousness as it looks like the already carded Dougall might have pushed an Accy man, but the ref lets that go so maybe we're even. He gives Ballard a right telling off a minute later as he argues the toss about a free kick in the corner, from which Accy make their presence known in the box without being able to force a header on goal.
Accy are on top now. Pool's breaks are breaking down. The light has faded and the pitch is unadorned by colour other than the natural ones. The vacant stands are gaping reminders of the last year. With shops open and people in beer gardens, thinking, hoping for normality, it feels stranger than ever. Accy are probing, working different corners, doing everything but creating a clear chance. Even Sullay tackles back a few times.
Pool need to play football more, deeper on the pitch. Simms and Yates had some space and a bit of joy early on, but now, whenever the ball comes near either of them, there's 2 or 3 players around them. Gabriel makes a weak clearance and Accy look like they could be in. Pool are saved by a wild shot. Pool respond with an extended bit of pressure and some lovely football, culminating in Garbutt trying to pull back to Embleton but not quite reading Embleton's run. Critch then goes absolutely mental on the touchline. His body contorted, he leans back to wind up and then hurls himself forward into the screaming, arms windmilling. I don't know what it's at, but it's a bit of jolt to the system to witness this side of him.
Then there's a handball given late against shirtless Jerry and Critch is actually being blocked off by the 4th official as projects his rage towards the referee. Where is the polite man in the polo shirt who usually manages us? Even Steve Banks is coming off the bench, waving his blue folder in anger...
It's attritional for a while but Accy end the half on top. Sullay conceding a corner in a fairly mysterious manner, heading out under no real pressure from anyone, Accy score from it, but it's offside and I'd imagine we're in for a half time masterclass after that half.
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I wrote that Pool need to play deeper but the Accy forwards are working back and bringing extra men into midfield and giving no space for us to play anywhere. It's not as if Accy are creating chance after chance, it's that they're stopping everything we do. It feels as if a switch is needed, as if we need to pose them a new question. Coleman is very canny and he'll react to it, but to me, we need to try an extra man in midfield or someone to float really freely or get Yates to come and sit on the touchline and pull a defender or two with him - basically something... as we look as if we're victim of a manager who is very, very experienced in getting his instructions listened to and has done his homework and set up to not concede 7 (seven) above anything else.
Every single Accy player is pressuring their opponent. We don't look imperious at the back, we look frankly, a bit rushed at times and then a bit lost for what to do when the ball reaches midfield.
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| Fig 3: Emergency plan 'Let Colin do the half time' |
It's Accy who make a sub and the half starts with a long throw into the box from Accy, followed by a corner where Colby Bishop escapes his man, leaps high and heads wide. It's a let off and it's certainly not the start we wanted. We do get a bit of possession up front, Sullay skids a ball across goal but the keeper is again equal to it.
Accy put the pressure back on. We break several times, but get nowhere. Maxwell sprawls and cuts out a cross. Sullay picks up a little touch from Simms and drives it crisply from thirty yards, it hits a defender, flies up in the air and the enigmatic genius doesn't challenge for the second ball, looking tiny as Nottingham charges in and clears.
Embleton down the right, he tucks it inside to Simms. He shows terrific awareness and maturity to find Yates in the box, who takes it, spins,, he can't set up the shot and then offloads to Sullay. He's in acres of space, the goal is gaping. Sullay places it but somehow the keeper hurls himself across and claws it out. Kaikai collapses on the turf in disbelief. Better though.
Pool have a decent spell, but there's no further chances. Accy's workload is unbelievable. Pool's movement is better for a while, but everywhere we go, they go. They're not impotent either, forcing us back well, quick to break, a run on the right and a ball in the box needing a sliding near post interception. From the corner, they score another offside goal. Again they come at us under the right. The move ends up in a shot from distance from Charles, but more notable is three failed tackles in a row. Ok, the first one is Sullay who can't tackle, but the other two are Ward and Ballard who have been so rarely beaten in the challenge recently but are brushed aside.
Simms works really hard, fighting with Nottingham. The Sherriff clears, but we've got a bit of pressure and possession. It falls to Dougall who drives the ball against Ward and it goes for a throw. It's not a big moment, but it's indicative of the way we've been forced into rushing. Even the usually unflappable footwork of Maxwell fails, a dreadful and totally uncharacteristic clearance forcing Gretarsson to belt it away for a throw, from which, there's another headed chance and a penalty shout as Simms clears with a high foot.
Subs are warming up as the light fades. The strange thing about floodlights is they make the pitch look warmer than it does in daylight. I feel like this game is going to unwind at some point. Someone is going to tire, someone is going to try to win it and leave space... A mistake, a moment of magic...
Embleton finds Sullay in the box, he takes it down, but he can't get it to sit for a shot, Sullay keeps it alive for what feels like 30 seconds in the box and eventually the ball is worked via Embleton again, back to Garbutt who unleashes a superb effort from 30 yards that cracks the base of the post as squarely as it possibly could. That could have been that moment. Arrrrrrrrrgh!
Kaikai again feeds Garbutt, a ball from the onrushing full back is returned by a smart flick. Garbutt strides towards the box and is hauled down. Sullay takes over for the free kick, curling into the gap in the wall but not getting enough lift and the keeper dives to his right and takes it comfortably.
We've had a good few minutes, but the game goes back to being a battle. I can't help feeling if we can hang in and keep moving, keep looking, keep probing we can force a mistake. C'mon Pool. Gamble! Chissy rages at Kaikai for trying a through ball. Our subs stay glued to the bench. Demi can't be fully fit surely if his pace isn't worth a go. He's the kind of player who can go past people... Accy lump another ball into the box and win more headers. Grant Ward does well to deliver a near post cross but Simms gets penalised for shoving his man as he goes in. It's frustrating.
Time is running out. Ballard gets caught late by Burgess. There's a yellow card. The same pattern resumes. Maxwell has no time to clear, clatters forward, it's headed back, it bounces awkwardly, Ballard has no time to control, so hoikes it out of play. From the throw, Accy hurl it back into the box, Gretarsson wins the first header, but it drops to an Accy man, Gabriel goes through him from behind and the penalty is awarded. It looks as if Gabriel chases and stumbles into him. There's a few half hearted protests, but Pool's response suggests it's not a terrible decision.
Colby Bishop steps up, drills it low and hard, just off centre to the right, Maxwell throws a hand down, stops it then adjusts his body as he lands to smother the ball and stop himself knocking it over the line. It is a very, very good stop.
Pool launch an attack. Maxwell leaping to his feat, belting it long. This could be heroic, but his ball to Yates curls out of play. There's time for us to fashion a quarter chance where a long cross to the far post finds Sullay but his effort to reach it only results in the ball glancing off his head and going further wide than it would have done if he'd left it. We have possession for the remaining minutes but we can't even get the ball in the box, nevermind shoot...
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I have no idea how that Accy side we've just played got hammered in two recent games. We've not been frustrated like that for quite some time. Ok, we drew at the weekend, but we created a lot. We created a lot less and whilst we had our chances to win the game, they also missed a penalty. As I said at the beginning, I felt robbed on Saturday, but tonight, it's a mixture of relief that Maxwell pulled of his heroics (and pleasure that he righted his mistake at weekend as I like him a lot) and a bit of concern about our inability to find a way to play consistently.
If I break it down, we forced two or three decent saves and hit the post, but we only really managed a couple of short spells of control. With Sunderland losing at Wigan, we're not going to be facing a complacent side and whilst they'll let us play more, we're in for another battle against a side with lots to play for. Accy played for pride tonight and can take a lot from that, we're playing for high stakes and I wondered if the freedom and confidence we've shown for the last month was stymied by a combination of pressure (both literally from their incessant pressing and the mental realisation of being so close to what they've worked for all year) and the lack of freshness, the lack of options to shake it up and inject the energy of someone without fatigue and with a point to prove. Oh, to have CJ and the Goal Machine to throw on and change it up. I can only assume that some of the subs (mainly Demi) were only to be used in an emergency.
At least it wasn't last year where they scored a winner in the dying seconds then a lad ran down the touchline in one of them computerised sports bras and their fans went mental and we muttered and grumbled our way out the ground. There'd definitely be muttering and grumbling, but we're still on course, just not quite as quickly as we'd hoped a few games ago. It's getting tense...
Still unbeaten. Onward!
utmp
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