What are we all doing here? It's the FA Cup game that the FA doused in cold inconsistent water and drowned any bits of magic that lingered. The prize for winning a game that the manager emphatically doesn't want to play? An away trip to the not all that exciting team we played the season before in the cup. Woo-hoo.
Before the game I'm starving. My mind flits about. Things I think about include:
Isn't it weird how people used to call podcast apps 'podcatchers' but no one has used that phrase for at very least 5 years... I really hope Kenny Dougall's absence isn't a sign of some kind of unrest. He's been brilliant this season once he got back into his groove. Kenny Dougall doing Kenny Dougall things is such a vital cog in our (slightly unreliable) machine this season....How harshly the fella in front of me at the till speaks to his kid. In fact, looking around the shop as I studiously (I'm a coward) avoid the big fella speaking to a tiny kid as if he's going to land her one on the mouth, the run up to Christmas seems to have brought a pinched, harassed and anxious look to the faces of many. Ho ho ho ho. Merry Christmas.
That's a bit depressing innit. Think of Super Gaz dressed up as a jolly elf or something. In fact super Gaz would probably be the big man himself and Lavs would be his elf. Critch would be the shoemaker. Now I've said that I'm not sure if shoemakers actually feature in yer typical Xmas scene or not. For some reason they're in my head as doing playing some kind of part. Whatever, Critch would be one. I can imagine him working in Timpsons.
Sorry. This is a football blog.
Actually, just before I get to football I think I've got Christmas mixed up with 'the Elves and the Shoemaker' which may or may not feature Christmas but definitely features elves and a shoemaker. Lavs and Dembele with Critch putting nails in a pair of clogs wearing those little spectacles that I imagine all shoemakers wear. Do elves and imps get on? I don't know. Do they even belong to the same universe of small fictional creatures? This is possibly not the kind of conversation to have with yourself at the beginning of a football blog if you're aiming to be big in the world of 'shit fan blogging' is it?
Where were we?
The team. It's sort of a hotchpotch of players who mostly don't normally start with a few who do and there's no sign of Kenny. It will be nice to see Matty Virtue who is always just about on his way to becoming a favourite player of mine as he gets injured and then I forget about him for 4 months and repeat. In fact, I'm starting to hope that for Virtue's sake, he never plays well again as every genuinely good game where you can see why he was captain of Liverpool once, seems to come with cost of another 20 on the sidelines with another random injury.
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We start slowly. In fact, It's hard to work out if the game has started at all from the atmosphere. It's very quiet. Forest Green have brought about 25 fans and they're audible as the 3000 or so of us mutter quietly amongst ourselves. Even Tony Parr sounded downbeat before kick off.
I'll be honest, this game isn't one I want to linger on for too long. I didn't pay it rapt attention.
Some things happened in the first half. They included a goal. Beesley getting wrestled off the ball, possibly unfairly but that then resulting in a ball back that Owen Dale cut off before it got to the keeper and he sort of poked the ball round the goalie, vaulted him and walked it into the net. Never have I seen or witnessed a goal celebrated with less vigour than this one. It barely registered as a thing, let alone as the kind of maelstrom of blood vessel bursting, chest pounding, terrace tumbling, falling over the people and ending up in heap two rows down sheer release that a goal can be. All goals are great goals, but this one, well... I've seen routine clearances given more acclaim.
Other things included, Morgan looking like he's nearly really good but not quite. pulling off the clever things he tried. Virtue being his usual virtuous self, Dom Thom taking a long pass down beautifully, racing in on goal and then missing by, if not a mile, at least a good 10 yards and Forest Green almost equalising late on with a ball across the box that their striker inexplicably didn't chuck himself at.
The main highlight for me was being near the bench. I've not been so close to the dugouts since forever. A few things struck me. Ian Brunskill's coat is too small for him and he has the vibe of a Liverpool jazz busker dressed as a sports teacher as if a supply posting has got confused. Mike Garrity is bigger than you think he's going to be and looks like a fella who would chase after someone who'd been making trouble in the street going 'come back ere!!!' Critch though, is, at close quarters, more intense than you'd imagine. I'm usually at the end and at away games, if you're at the side, he's normally on the other. He's a bit of a coiled spring tonight... Is he always this edgy? I don't think he is...
Fooooooorwaaaard' bellows someone. Critch turns round, shakes his head. The cry goes up again. More head shaking and a gesture. Critch goes out and claps the player vigorously and exhorts them on. Another exhortation to attack from the stand. Critch turns and mouths something in response. He's icy when he's angry. Someone misplaces a pass. He throws his head skywards and has a little meltdown, like a John Cleese doing a Basil Fawlty tantrum but in a straightjacket. I like Cross Critch. Anger is an energy and football needs a bit of passion. He spits. It's a purposeful spit, it's the spit of a lad in tracksuit hanging out at a bus stop and spitting cos there's nothing else to do. You have to say, he's nailed that bullet phlegm action. It's very un-Critch. Maybe there's yet another Critch locked inside the endless onion layers of enigma that is Neil.
No more Lighthouse Family. Never Mind The Bollocks. Here's the new Critch. This one is all Jonny Rotten stares and incitement. I prefer that to love hearts, platitudes and respectful pre match interviews to be honest.
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It's all fine.
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We're better second half. There's much notepad scribbling in the dugout. Everyone except Critch seems to have some kind of folder or pocket diary to write in. Perhaps they're doing the menu choices for the Christmas meal. Who knows? Perhaps Neil has already chosen his and doesn't need to write anything down.
We have a load of chances we don't quite score. Joseph looks lively but not very deadly. Beesley nods one over. We even clap a few times.
Norburn comes on with Dembele. I'm surprised to see the little genius getting a game. It's Norburn though who provides the moment of the match, turning and spraying a fabulous raking ball right into Gabriel's path. He takes it on, draws the keeper and finishes nicely. It's a lovely goal.
We score again, but I don't actually see the move. I swear someone calls my name. It's possible some actually does, but it's not aimed at me as other people also have my name, but anyway, I'm looking round to see if I can see someone I know and when I turn around there's a mad scramble in the box and then Marvin is running away and I think the ball has basically hit him and gone in. It's probably not the worst goal to have half missed.
Weirdly Rhodes comes on and gets clattered a few times. It seems a bit odd to put him on but then Critch is as Critch does and I'm too scared of him after his first half fury to question it. I look at the clock and 88 mins has gone. It's been a really odd atmosphere. If you'd asked me, I couldn't have told you whether 57, 75 or 88 mins had passed in the game. It's been devoid of the usual atmospheric markers - the celebrations, the tension, even the howls of justice and derision. It's just kind of 'happened'
Critch gives a quick thumbs up and heads off down the tunnel to neck a bottle of JD and go out fighting*.
*Part of this sentence may be artistic licence.
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A sold performance and one that shouldn't be underestimated in that, despite the fact we clearly didn't want this match, we had a good go and we dominated a side that, ok, aren't the greatest team ever, but aren't the worst team in the world either. We kept going and looked as if we wanted to score a fourth. Norburn was poor at the weekend, but played well tonight, Virtue needs the minutes, Marvin had a solid enough game after his last outing was quite shaky, Gabriel played the full 90 and Thommo won man of the match and pulled off some spins and tricks, the best of which involved some pure Brazilian skill, followed immediately by him falling over which basically sums him up.
I quite enjoyed it.
Wembley is on. (multiple visits, sea of tangerine, endless glory is the only possible future etc)
Onward!
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