The Longside Reference

The fat lady sang superbly

I had the eulogy half written a couple of days ago. All I needed to do was fill in the score and be thoroughly miserable. Unfortunately the astonishing final result meant I had to tear up everything I had written.  We’ve all said it a hundred times. It’s a funny old game. 

     Something I did write though was that, whatever the score, this game was a celebration – a celebration of that memorable day a year ago when we cried tears of joy at Wembley. No matter what I felt about the season as a whole, the behaviour of Owen Coyle, the discontent; I wanted the final game to be untainted by anger and disappointment. I wanted to feel good things about my Burnley team and think warm thoughts of gratitude. I had a lump in my throat when they came out, and when they left the field. They gave us a season in the sun and a taste of the best league in the world. This would not be the time to criticise. That might come later when we pick over the bones of the season.

     In truth I expected this to be another routine defeat. I expected to see the usual bad luck that has blighted so many games. I expected the Spurs superstars to comfortably put the Burnley underdogs in their place. ‘Arry was in town, many peoples’ choice for manager of the season and the players on his subs bench would have walked straight into most first teams.

     This was no warm May Day with sunshine streaming down. This was a dull, chill afternoon but on a pitch that was once again lush and green, perfect for football on the ground. It was another near full house which was pleasing. You might have thought a couple of thousand would stay away now that the season was as good as over. The mood was good. It was clear that this would be a day of mellow feelings and appreciation not abuse. Little Burnley had endured some lowspots but no humiliations save for Man City and that was just a one-off.

  
     But, before you could say ‘relegation’ Burnley were 0 – 1 down and you could be forgiven for thinking here was another 0 – 4 on the cards. Lennon left Fox for dead, whipped the ball across and Bale eventually slammed it home. Bale in a rich vein of form was never going to miss from 15 yards.

     Class tells and it was then Modric who put Spurs 2 – 0 up with a goal of such sublime skill and speed that the home supporters applauded it. Mrs T tells me that some of the Burnley players applauded too it was so good. Just a piece of individual skill and brilliance at breakneck speed and then a shot of such power and accuracy that even the most  niggardly football supporter would surely have extolled its virtue. 0 – 2 and game over and here we go again, we thought.

     But no, it was Elliot who began the fightback. He picked up a flick from Fletcher in the box and drilled it home. I’ll bet a few hundred quid that no supporter or Burnley player thought at that point that it was the start of something so remarkable. Except at half time Mrs T turned and said, “we’re going to win this 3 – 2.” I nodded my head in agreement, but thinking what a poor misguided little old dear she was. If I’d have actually said that, she’d be making me iron my own shirts or something similar as punishment.

     Something strange had happened though. Laws had restored the banished Bikey to the centre of defence alongside Caldwell. More than a few of us muttered “bloody hell, sense at last.” Bikey the best centre half at the club restored to his rightful position, and how it showed in a masterful display of power and dominance. Where has he been these last couple of months? Just what has he done wrong? Crouch must have thought he was playing against a steamroller.

     Paterson too was in good form. There are no frills or fancy Dan stuff with this lad, no Alice band or Ferrari. He runs at players, and gets crosses in and from one deep cross there was young Cork rising in the 6-yard box to power the header home for his first Premier League goal. He says he is prepared to leave Chelsea. Get him signed. God there was bedlam at this point. Spurs, from coasting home and playing for third place were rocked to the foundations and from that point on no-one could have thought that Burnley might lose. There was only one team in it. And don’t let anyone say that Spurs weren’t bothered. They were pleased enough at 2 – 0 and ‘arry said on MOTD that he had the ‘ump going home.

     The second half was quite simply one of the best Burnley performances of the past two years. Why oh why couldn’t we have played like this in just two or three other games since Christmas. The wins would have come; the points would have ensured safety. This was the third game where we had no bad luck, no defensive blunders, no poor officials, and we had what one might call normal, routine, fair-share, run of the ball. The others were Hull and West Ham. We won those as well.

    At last there was passion, determination, a real will to win and a great team spirit. Belief grew with the equaliser and when the third goal went home there was utter delirium. Fletcher did great work with the ball, broke free and played a diagonal ball across. This was no easy chance. It was just outside the corner of the 6-yard box and could easily have been sent wide. But no; Paterson with calm skill stroked the ball home and he couldn’t have had a better reward for all his hard work.

     Mrs T was right I thought; 3 bloody 2. Can you believe it? And then when the fourth was scored by Thompson with minutes to go, glanced home from a shot by Elliot, the ground erupted. This was a release of all the frustrations felt since January. Burnley were not a laughing stock after all. Burnley would go down, but with dignity and a superb last day victory. They ended 5 points behind the chaotic soap-opera that is West Ham who in my opinion deserve to go down far more than Burnley. But since when does football deal in fairness? If it did, Portsmouth would have been kicked out of football months ago and their points expunged. As it is, over £130million in debt, they are in a Cup Final. How daft can football get?
     There is sentiment in football after all. Blake was brought on for the

final minutes even though it looks as though he will leave. His name was chanted over and again. This was presumably goodbye to one of the best players Burnley has seen. At his best there were moments of certain skills when he was the nearest thing seen to Jimmy McIlroy. Some of the goals he has scored have been stunning. He is a player who will be remembered for a long time. Maybe he will stay, but nothing is known for sure at the moment. Fittingly in his cameo performance there were more moments of class. Robbie we thank you.

     Eagles too came on. Will he leave? Will he be sold? Who knows but it seems likely he will be gone. He played his part in some memorable wins and at his best running at the opposition he could put the fear of God into retreating defences.

     Caldwell played well but if the squad is to be trimmed and he is out of contract and the club has so many centre halves then it is logical to think he will be released. He hardly put a foot wrong against Spurs and the combination of him and Bikey was immense. Every single Burnley player played their part. Paterson was MOTM but it could have been won by Bikey or Caldwell. Jensen did not put a foot wrong save for the occasional goalkick that went out of play.

    And luck played its part on two occasions. Caldwell or King (couldn’t tell which one) headed against the crossbar. On another day it would have been a goal. Today it went out of play. That was the difference today. A cross shot hit the far post. It wasn’t a lucky win at all, it was thoroughly deserved but what was significant was that there was none of the bad luck that we have seen so much of – especially those innumerable cruel deflections that have cost us so many goals.

     By the end there was a carnival atmosphere. The vast majority of the crowd stayed behind to wave their farewells and say their thankyous. For once only a small handfull of numpties ran on to the pitch. Faith was restored and hope returned that the new season might not be so bad after all. At the end as the players paraded around the pitch, affection and appreciation rained down on them from the stands. Some of the players who we suspect want to leave might just take that into consideration when they wonder if the grass elsewhere is greener. And which of the toddlers made your heart melt the most – it was a tossup between the Jensens or the Bikeys.

     The lump in my throat re-appeared at the thought that I had seen the last of the little magician Robbie. It was there for quite a while as I kept on thinking if only we’d played like this against Portsmouth, against Blackburn or Wolves. If only lady luck had been just that little more kindly disposed… if only… if only…

Dave Thomas May 9th 2010