To get to the car park by 11 it meant a 9 30 departure from Leeds on a sunny but cold day. The day before, West Ham, humiliated in mid-week by the rampant and surprisingly fluid Wolves had lost again 0 – 1 this time to Stoke City, keeping the slender 3-point gap between them and Burnley. There was something reachable about it. It looked small and bridgable. The pressure was really on. Manager Laws made all the right noises as hope and optimism still remained. A Division below, Newcastle and West Brom looked like they would be the ones to come up, but as yet there were still no certainties for relegation other than Portsmouth. Bolton, in relative safety, were trounced 4 – 0 at home by Manchester United. The wine we had with dinner tasted all the sweeter.
Before the game David Dunn had demonstrated that he isn’t quite the sharpest tool in the box with his crass comments that he hoped Blackburn won 10 – 0. But he had the last laugh when he scored the solitary goal. Des Kelly in the Mail bemoaned the daftness of Jermaine Defoe writing his new sports column. Kelly commented that Defoe would probably be writing it very slowly in crayon. It was the only thing funny on a disheartening weekend.
If the game began in hope, by two o clock, all optimism and even interest had vanished. “That’s why you’re going down,” sang the Blackburn hordes, and it was hard to disagree after a Burnley no-show and a horrible 0 – 1 defeat. The words and anguish poured out of the supporters as they left the ground, or got home and got their computers out:
Gutless, spineless, inept, shameful, weak, timid, outclassed, outplayed, outthought, tepid; toothless, lacklustre, uninspired, boring, lightweight, abject, clueless, second-rate; woeful, embarrassing, depressing; it was quite a list.
But, another one was ‘cheated’. A non-penalty won the game for Rovers, referee Mike Dean making up for his generosity to us at Wembley in May, with a howler of a decision here, when he fell for the oldest dive trick in the book when the Rovers player went over Jensen even though there was absolutely no contact. It was cheating of the highest order and sadly decided the game. But in truth the blame lay with Jensen himself. I have never been one to blame or criticise individual players in any write-ups I have done for previous games but this time I wanted to scream at Jensen. In fact I did. Here’s me, a grown man, pillar of the community an’ all that; but patience and tolerance was finally exhausted.
“Throw the ball for Gods’s sake,” I, and others, yelled at him as Paterson hared down the wing in acres of space. WHY will this goalkeeper so rarely throw a good ball out to a player? Chelsea at Burnley scored a gem of a goal as the ball left the goalkeeper’s hands from a superb throw and ended up in the net seconds later. It was text book. But Jensen; he dillied, he dallied; he dithered and then eventually hoofed the ball up with a trademark stratospheric kick into the opposition half. Of course it came straight back and bingo Blackburn had their penalty. Never mind that it was unfairly given. Had Jensen seen the opportunity and thrown to Paterson, the penalty incident would never have happened. “I bloody despair,” I moaned to Mrs T. “These kicks and missed opportunities go on game after game.”
Not that Paterson had anything resembling a good afternoon. Along with the Fletcher and Nugent he was never in the game and contributed little. Without Eagles or Blake there was no width. In midfield Alexander and Elliot were simply swamped. Blackburn had little to beat. Where was Bikey, the forgotten man, along with Gudjonnson? For all their limitations Bikey is a crunching centre-back and Gudjonnson could have put himself about a bit to add some bite to a limp, timid midfield. Rumours abounded that Bikey had upped sticks and left before the game in a huff and that Gudjonnson had been told he was finished at TM after a spat with Laws.
At the other end Burnley might have had their own penalty when Samba upended Elliot just inside the box. We Clarets screamed but just an inch outside the box decided Dean. His other rank poor decision was to miss a blatant handball outside his area by the Blackburn goalkeeper. The free kick might have brought a Burnley goal. I emphasise ‘might’. On such a day as this Mears would probably have hit the back of the stand with a free kick.
On a threadbare, second-rate pitch, flowing football was impossible. First touch passing was a lottery. The ball bobbled and bounced and reared up. Since Blackburn played little football of note anyway, it was no real hindrance to them. But they were first to every ball, won the tackles and most of the headers. They had the Premiership nous and experience that Burnley did not. Their scruffy win took them to tenth in the table and this was the defeat that probably ended Burnley’s season.
I drove home with part of me thinking what a depressing wasted afternoon it was. Why was I bothering to go? Where was the enjoyment or entertainment? It was now a dismal experience watching this disjointed, mediocre Burnley side lose yet again. The regression was dreadful. And if we went down what would the next season bring if the better players left and only the mediocre remained led by a manager in whom fewer and fewer people believed. In truth there was little to make anyone think that this was a side that could do well back in the Championship. What we were watching was not even an average Championship side way out of its depth even against a side as limited as Blackburn Rovers.
And yet the ever-Claret part of me did think how long could this bad luck last? When will it turn, or did we use it all up in the last few weeks of the promotion season? And logic and reason reminded me four recent defeats were by just the odd goal, a far cry from the regular thumpings early in the season. Surely there was some comfort in that? But no, the feeling came back. This wasn’t just humiliating. It was abject. The pledge made to enjoy the season, come what may, was fast disappearing.
Were we being harsh after this game? Where does blame lie - luck or lack of it; Coyle for ripping the heart out of the club and shattering the players; the new manager for being out of his depth, or the directors for appointing him in the first place with such a mediocre win-percentage throughout his career. Or the players who can no longer lift themselves for even a game like the Blackburn derby. Should we even be in this Division in the first place? Could we not accept that most of these players, hard though they tried, were just not good enough anyway?
But the debate about the Laws appointment would not go away. The airwaves hummed. The pubs rocked with argument. Phone calls and texts flew back and forth asking the same question. Just what was the thinking that lay behind the appointment? What could be done? What should be done?
Eleven defeats out of thirteen, since he took over, was a pretty damning statistic we debated after the game. But If Laws was the wrong man; then who was the right one after such a destructive, traumatic managerial turnabout? Just who was available; who of note would have been interested? And, would it be any use changing the manager, with just six games until the end of the season?
“The fat lady hasn’t sung yet,” texted a friend. “But unfortunately the pianist is getting the music ready.”
“Can things get any worse?” someone moaned coming down the stairs. “Yep, we could be in Division One and lost 0 – 1 to MK Dons,” his mate replied. Amen to that. Kind of put it in perspective for a brief moment. After the Wolves game the boos rang out loud and clear round the ground. After this game they did not. It was as if people realised there was no point. Resignation had replaced displeasure. The game was up, the dream was over.
Such a wonderful symmetry though. Mike Dean helped us into the Premiership with his very generous decisions at Wembley. Against Blackburn he probably sent us back down again. Kind of funny really I suppose – or maybe not.
Dave Thomas March 28th 2010
