The Longside Reference

PLAY-OFF FINAL THOUGHTS

     This piece is dedicated to the memory of my friend John Fielden who died in 2007. We always sat together in a little row of four seats behind one of the stairways. His seat remains empty and I miss him still. How he would have loved to have been going to Wembley, seen the play-off semi-final games, and before that the Bristol City and Sheffield United games. How he would have enjoyed the wonderful Carling Cup games and the cavalier, attacking style that Owen Coyle has put before us since he arrived. Whatever happens on the 25th none of us can grumble. This has been a very special season, a season to remember. 

     They’re coming from all points of the UK compass, east, west, and north and south; from the tips of Scotland and the far corners of South-West Cornwall, from the Home Counties and the hills and valleys of Wales. They’ll come from all parts of Ireland, Dublin and Belfast. And Burnley itself will be nigh on empty as half the town descends on Wembley on Monday next.
     From Philadelphia, Sydney, Adelaide, Melbourne, Wellington, Mexico, Bulgaria, California, Vancouver, Atlanta, Seattle, Yemen, Kazakhstan, Florida, Belgium, Malta, Norway, France and Cyprus they are coming. The umbilical cord that ties so many people to Burnley is as strong if not stronger than ever.

     Typical is John Gibaut from Seattle. He’s sold his soul to the devil he says, to raise the cash to fly over. Though he lives thousands of miles away he has been a Foundation Club member for several years, simply to help the club. He flies to London on Saturday, drives straight up to Burnley where he still has family. He’ll spend Sunday in Burnley, walk around the ground for old times sake. On Sunday evening he will drive back down to London to stay near Wembley. And he is just one of dozens who will be flying in from all over the world. For those not flying over they’ll be watching in bars from Savannah to Manila to Singapore, through Spain, Portugal, Greece, Turkey and probably just about every other European country.
 
     Obtaining tickets for many people has been little short of an obstacle course with horrendous queues, 8 hour waits and more, hours on telephone lines, crashing on-line systems, ticket muddles, and blocked postal codes. And when the remaining tickets went on general sale the queues began to form at 7 in the evening before the ticket office was due to open the next morning. They waited with chairs, umbrellas, sleeping bags, books, packs of cards, flasks, sandwiches and a determination that matched that of any MP claiming expenses. What was it Kitty Usher claimed for? A ceiling should be imposed on what these people are allowed to do.

     At a typical Burnley game this season the attendance has been around 12,000 maybe. Suddenly more than 36,000 want a ticket for the final game. The favourite game in Burnley at the moment begins with “I spy something beginning with Q.”

     How many miles have we travelled this season to watch them play? Which of us over Christmas during the run of losing games did not feel deflated? Who on earth at the beginning of the season during that awful opening spell did not think that this way failure lies? But what have been the high spots? Which have been the moments when we have had goosebumps on the backs of our necks? Which have been the moments when we have thought “hey, something special is happening here?” What were the games when we thought “hell we can do it?”
 
     From the feeling of despair when Derby’s equaliser went in during the last minute, to the feeling of elation when we beat Sheffield United, we felt the whole range of emotions. The joy of the final game against Bristol City, the utter exhilaration when Pato’s world-class goal went in at Reading; the utter mad, wild, crazy feelings of uncontained joy when Thompson scored his extraordinary dipper, will be memories that live for years to come. And all that is before we have even mentioned the Carling Cup games, the indescribable scenes at Chelsea, the three goals we put past Tottenham at the Turf, and McDonald’s wonderful goal against Arsenal. How often have we said “what a season this has been?”

     We’ll all have our special moment of the season and for me it was the Plymouth weekend. It was a weekend away with the Supporters’ Club. The team were in the same hotel. The weekend was warm and sunny and the Cornish Pasties to die for. It was a game we won and my memory is of Blake’s goal and his celebration in front of our end. It was then I seriously thought for the first time “hell we CAN make the play-offs.”

      I know it’s an artificial phrase, but we really are ‘the people’s club’. We are admired for the Herculean efforts we have made this season with such slender resources; one of the smallest squads, one of the smallest budgets… the little club against the city clubs with their parachute payments and unfair advantages; the little town that nestles in the vale that has known such hard times and suffers so many social disadvantages.
 
     “Little Burnley,” I keep saying it and writing it for that is what we are and within our grasp is the chance for the little club to take on the might, muscle and money of the big club Goliaths.
 
     The pundits, the journalists and the media, Ian Wright, Stan Collymore, Alex Ferguson et al, want us to succeed. They remember the heartbreak of that Tottenham night when the Carling Final at Wembley was just two minutes away. The message boards are filled with messages from supporters of other clubs who wish us well. We are a modest club. We have to be. But what a history we have behind us. How ironic it would be to succeed next Monday, when we are about to begin the celebrations of the 50th anniversary of the 1959/60 title win; a return to the Premiership exactly 50 years after we were one of the greatest teams in the land, dazzled by Jimmy Mac et al; and this, the same club that so nearly went out of the League in 1987 and only a couple of years ago under the previous manager set a club record for the number of consecutive winless games.
 
     I can’t think logically about how we will perform on Monday, or whether or not we will win. I daren’t really contemplate the prospect of life in the Premiership. If we lose they will be heroes still. But if they win, they will be legends forever.

Dave Thomas May 19th 2009