I don't normally do a blog for games I don't go to but then, Critch doesn't normally pick a forward line from a 1989 Div 2 teamsheet and games don't usually kick off at 12:30 to effectively make going to them a choice between a dangerous lack of sleep or not seeing the match (cheers for that Sky you fucking leeches on the beautiful game...) so lets break all the rules. They're only in your head anyway*
*please don't cite this blog in court as a legal defence. It's just possible the idea that the law is only a mental construct might not stand up to scrutiny.
Imagine being Shayne and Jerry hearing that line up. I bet there was a sideways glance to each other and a shady little eye roll. I don't care though. It's like my childhood has been reanimated. Big lads up front and a ground made of corrugated iron and mismatched, patched up stands.
Lets go and batter these kit stealers.
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It's not the ideal start. A ball lifted over the top. Husband is turned around and gets back to get half a touch, Keogh gets a deflection but the ball is slid across and turned home. Nathan Jones chews with a nervous aggression despite his side's success. Crazy Uncle Richard looks a bit pensive. He claps a bit to try and sort himself out. Maxwell shouts angrily at an injustice that seems to be in his own mind only. Jimmy tries to avoid everyone's gaze.
Trickie Dickie has perked up. He's now marching about with the urgent and purposeful gait of a farmer who has spotted that the sheep have made a hole in the fence and needs to quickly get the wood and the hammer sorted.
Gaz flicks, CJ teases. Kirk goes down in the box. Nowt doing. CJ slaps a first time volley. It goes up... up... up then down...down...down and wide. Keshi and Jimmy both whip delicious balls with no end result to them.
Callum Connolly reveals a long throw he's kept hidden thus far. Why Callum? It's good! Do more of them! It bounces straight through... Madine pivots and lunges and... misses it completely. Shut up. He's a goal machine. He makes up for it (sort of) with a sexy as fuck behind his legs pass 60 seconds later but we probably should be level. Connolly reaches a free kick from deep and heads wide. We float more crosses. Remember when we used to pass it about? Like, er... last week? We are a totally schizophrenic side. In a good way I think.
Critch has full Sunday at the garden centre body warmer and sweatshirt vibes today. I don't really know why, but I can see Nathan Jones as a former navy officer in the 18th century who has deserted to become a pirate but now regrets it. He's got both a wildness and a kind of buttoned down quality at the same time is what conjures up that thought perhaps..
Snodgrass reminds me of caricature portrait done in charcoal. It's like his facial features are too big for his body and really dark. He takes a free kick like a dream. It hangs, it hangs, it's headed back, hooked away, knocked back in and Luton are through but Maxwell makes a tremendous stop, a drilled effort repelled by razor sharp response. At the other end, CJ is in... He cuts inside, toe pokes it hard and it loops up off the defenders ankle, back to Connolly who floats a terrible cross that almost looks like being a genius effort on goal as it drops over the bar with the keeper back peddling.
Jimmy takes a free kick. Jimmy? Why? Are we all just having a go at things we don't usually do today? It's a good one though, flashing across the face.
Kirk finds himself in. He looks a bit overwhelmed by the moment and plays a really underwhelming pass as if he doesn't trust himself to really try something here. The game becomes a bit underwhelming in general. Maxi race out and twats it long to the Luton box where their keeper races out and belts it long in response. It's definitely 1989 again. Are back passes allowed again yet?
Snodgrass delivers, it's just horrifically good, first time, swinging and dipping to the perfect height and it's headed a few inches over. We respond with more nice play but nothing that comes close to being as near as that. A CJ cross that fades nicely but no one gets to, a Keshi effort that befits the cliche of 'speculative' and Beesley nodding wide from a really nice deep diagonal from Husband the best of what remains of the half.
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We've huffed and puffed and probably had the better of play but Luton have scored, created the best other chance and their set pieces are lethal. It feels to me like one of those games where we'll say 'a manful effort' but lose 2-0. I am often wrong.
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The Luton announcer starts at 'bloke on the waltzers' pitch and works up to 'world heavyweight boxing championship' pitch. The crowd clap politely in response to his crescendoing intensity. It's a bit flat considering this lot are on the edge of their best season in a million years.
A clever free kick nearly works for us. Beesley, not for the first time is on the shoulder as a long ball goes over and forces the keeper to take action. At the other end, Keogh pulls out a spectacular block.
CJ cuts inside, he's got a chance, he drifts... Shoot!!!, he takes it on instead, he's blown it... but he hasn't cos his little stutter has thrown the defender and he's still going and now he's clipped, falling and there's the whistle! Penalty!
Madine. SMACK! Bottom corner. Gaz the coolest man in the house. Walks away. Doesn't give a fuck. Shrug. 'Aye. I scored. C'mon lads. It's just a goal'.
All goals are great goals but Gary goals are the greatest. ALLEZ. ALLEZ. ALLEZ.
It's anyone's this now.. Luton fans scream for a penalty for no reason as Marv defends well. Snodgrass nearly wriggles through but Maxi's off his line. Kirk gets smashed. No whistle. Beesley wins the second ball and gets clipped. He does get a free kick. Dougall and Hamilton work it, a cute diagonal, Hamilton cutting it back, the keeper at Madine's feet.
Beesley rises, knocks down, Madine strikes it first time from the edge of the box. It's a comfortable stop but it would have been my favourite goal of the decade (the 80s remember) had it gone in. Luton then get a chance, the ball in the box hits Dougall awkwardly, it falls to Luton, a shot gets lashed in, bounces out, Anderson slides in. It looks like it could be a penalty but it isn't and Pool race away, Hamilton is chopped down but the referee isn't interested in that either and books Hamilton for getting fouled.
Luton chuck on a striker for a defender. We chuck on Bowler for Kirk. Corners follow. Nothing comes of them. A long ball. Madine off his chest and a sublime layoff. Dougall on the edge of the box. A foul. Anderson and Connolly over it... Anderson puts it into the stand. Connolly's body language says that he feels he might have done better.
Lansbury comes on for them. He seems to have been around for about 20 years now. Lavery for Beesley for us.
A long throw yields another penalty shout as Connolly and Adebayo fight for the ball at the far post. Bowler does one of his magical runs where he just seems to move through the defence like a hologram and wins a corner. Madine with controls the ball on his chest with gentleness like a young mother holding her baby for the first time. His cross is cleared though. Jimmy chips the clearance back down the line for CJ with a deftness equal to Madine. Hamilton crosses well but we can't force it home. Good stuff.
Cj kills a long ball. Beautiful. CJ shanks his shot so badly it ends up further away from the goal than when he hit it. Less beautiful. Madine heads a Husband cross wide. We're all over it right now.
Luton have a counter attack that ends with a shot so weak that Maxwell has to wait for it to get to him. Marvin does some football in the box. It's really clever. He does more football. It's less clever. He loses it. Snodgrass crosses and 58 year old Cameron Jerome rises and heads wide...
Bowler charges into the box. He goes down. The ball breaks but Lavery is too busy shouting for the spot kick to pick up the pieces. Luton assert themselves a bit more. Bell charges at Bowler who might be able to glide through defenders like he's just shifting, phasing, shimmering energy that can slip between lumbering physical bodies like water between stones in a river, but he's also prone to letting players run through him like he's little more than puddle. Maxwell takes the cross... Thank fuck...
Adebayo runs Keogh who might be possibly the most intelligent defender I've ever seen but he's also got the pace of an old British Leyland car with a faulty gearbox trying to accelerate from a standstill whilst stuck in third gear. Keogh tries to stay with him, he crashes to the ground. The cross comes in. The ball is struck home but the goal is ruled out. Thank fuck again...
A late free kick. Shit..! Luton blow it though... A tame shot at Maxwell from a flick on with Jerome in acres of space is a big let off. Thank fuck for the third time.
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We did well. Considering Luton demolished us at Bloomfield without really even seeming to particularly sweat, to go there and have periods where it seemed we might win is a step forward. We're yet further from really knowing who the hell we are as a team and how we actually play (does that matter?) but two big lads has got us a decent point. We're a footballing chameleon. At least we don't change the colour of our home shirts...
Luton, I really hope do it. It would be grand to see someone defy the parachute payment monopoly again (like Brentford) and good craic to see Kenilworth Road hosting the show ponies and instagram stars of the biggest clubs.
If they can. We can.
Onwards
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