I feel strangely underwhelmed by this game. My attempts to persuade myself that we're only a favourable bounce of the ball away from turning this round haven't really worked. My head says one thing. My gut says another.
The team is thin wintery gruel. I like our options going forward. I like less the idea of the ball going the other way. We'll just have to attack. All the time.
---
Gathering dark clouds. Early ominous, shadowy floodlit advances by the team in blue.
Scrappy midfield warfare with rusty out of date armaments. Half convincing build up play falls apart at the final ball. Gloom becomes mist. I've enjoyed the World Cup. I can put my fire on and watch that. I think the team would probably rather still be in Spain.
Finally something happens. Williams with a nice ball forward. Madine with control every bit as good as anything in Qatar. Patino takes over and burrows forward before sending it wide. Garbutt finds a decent cross. and there's a stretching Madine and a diving Lavery. The ball bisects them both but at least it's worth clapping and hey, clapping warms your hands... A free kick shortly after that looks good, but Garbutt slams it into the wall. Brum go up other end very fast and win a corner. We give them all the space in the world to work it short, sling it in, nod it back and somehow, spoon it over the top. Was that the moment we needed?
Ref goes through a concerted spell of giving everything to them. That happens every week so it's barely worth commenting on.
We've ceased to exist as an attacking force. Birmingham break again from a Gaz flick on that no one picks up - it's three or four quick, incisive, direct passes and a square ball a man in space and surely a goal... but the ball comes off the inside of a post and somehow stays out. The relief is almost like we've scored.
Their wing back cuts in and out on the left, he dives into the box, he seems to torture our entire defence and then having put everyone he possibly can on the floor in a vain attempt to stop him, squares it to someone else who sweeps it home. The offside flag saves us. The offside flag prompts a rousing chorus of celebration in the North Stand and a mini riot in the East. Someone is on the pitch. Someone is bundled away.
---
We've struggled. Half time talk turns to the bench. It's difficult to see how we improve this much. Gallows humour abounds.
---
A really ropy ball out is intercepted. Birmingham are all in on their left. A deft ball to the near post to the near post. Maxwell, frozen (in more than one sense) is lucky to see it bounce through to him as not for the first or last time, Birmingham can't quite apply the finish.
Madine decides to play creator. Madine the schemer. It's a new look. It just might be all the rage... It doesn't go very well. His schemes amount to slowly controlling it, losing it and then watching with horror as Birmingham cut us open again then finally, looking relieved when they shot wide of left hand post.
Patino is getting all the love from the Birmingham defence who randomly decide to kick him about for 5 minutes. This is dire. I'm too cold to even bother getting angry at anything.
A corner! Here we go! Oh, for fuck's sake just forget it.
Finally we do something slightly good. An accurate cross from Carey. Madine holds off and nods it goalwards. It's always too slow and always too wide but we go 'oooooh' anyway just because we've been starved of anything to go 'ooooh' about. There's some anaemic chanting and the patchy crowd briefly rouse themselves.
Carey gives it away. Garbs is left exposed and trailing in the wake of the winger, he slides in late and is lucky that their man vaults his outstretched leg and then we're collectively lucky that he chooses to chip a bizarre cross as if he's trying to miss anyone on the middle.
We're under pressure again. It's so quiet you can here the players shouting at corners and goal kicks. Jimmy is not happy. Maxwell gives it to Lavery. It's a terrible pass. We get away with it. Birmingham pressure and Connolly with a brilliant last ditch tackle. Another through ball and Maxwell sprawls at the feel of an onrushing striker. It's a great stop.
Lavery and their number 6 have a war to see who can wind each other up most. The ref tries a strange tactic of getting them to come together and make friends. They square up
Poveda comes on for angry Shayne. The crowd collectively shivers and mutters 'I forgot about him.' Released from winding up Shayne, their 6 nearly runs through the middle. Poveda offers tricks but not tracking.
Pool put together maybe 10 passes. A Jerry flick, Poveda runs on to it and loses it, but we muscles it back. we go square. Garbutt is wide and then oh for fucks sake, he just passes it out of play. This is not vintage fayre.
Carey and Poveda exchange passes and spins. Carey is through! Carey pulls it wide... I clap like it was the greatest piece of football ever because, frankly in the context of this game, it felt like it. Poveda has given us a little bit extra and next, starts and then finishes a move that ends with him wriggling through, always too late, trying to get past the defender with the desperate lunging manner of a bronze medalist trailing the gold medal winner...
It's got the crowd going a bit. Allez. Allez. Allez. Charlie Pa-ti-no. He knew the place to go.
Husband has been good. He puts it out for a corner. The ballboy is sodden, his puffer jacket looks to have absorbed the fine foggy rain and doubled in weight during the game. In it comes... Fucking hell. Goal. Nope. Another offside. Another celebration for us. You have to find joy in whatever you can I guess.
Ball through. Williams dallies. They nip in. Maxwell stops it well again. Another good bit of work.
Then CJ... go on CJ, go on... He does. He flies, he cuts inside, he cuts it back. There's all sorts of hacking and chopping it at. A shot. Blocked. It nearly falls again... Handball? No. Maybe. I don't know. It's smuggled away...
There's time for Patino to slap it over the top and that is that.
---
That's a game that has been played out so many times on muddy, inhospitable December afternoons. It was scrappy, unsatisfying and lacking in quality. Birmingham will probably feel hard done by and we're probably not much more optimistic than at kick off. No one leaves games like this talking of the beauty of football and feeling they've witnessed magic. It's a world away from global brand ambassadors gliding across carpets in air conditioned stadiums and yet, what makes football magical is that this sort of weekly attrition is as much part of the game as any gloriously exciting back and forth final. Without the shade, then what is the light?
We didn't offer the attacking threat I hoped. We seem to start so deep. There were slim pickings for everyone who hopes to play in the opposition half. The midfield lacks the authority to control the middle of the pitch, the defence doesn't really bring the ball out, we're stuck knocking it amongst ourselves too often in areas that don't worry the opposition. We've no magic.
A clean sheet is something. Williams did well enough, Husband was good. Connolly is the grit we need throughout the team embodied in one man. Garbutt had his moments for better or worse. It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. Which is, I suppose, something. It's a long cold winter. We need more fire.
Onward
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