An old fitter pal of mine at the Gas Depot in Great Harwood was summoned into the boss’s office one Friday after the gaffer, extremely well refreshed as was his custom, made a rare late afternoon appearance.
“You’ve grafted this week,” he beamed, handing an initially nervous and perplexed but delighted Pete, who well knew his supervisor’s tea-time visits were seldom bestowed in order to exchange pleasantries, a tenner.
But as he relaxed, Brian’s face immediately assumed a thunderous countenance rather more choleric.
“But I also note that you’ve also been late every fucking morning. Now go and get yourself a reyt alarm clock and make sure you clock on at eight on Monday and every other day or you’ll find yourself down the job centre.”
Rovers got the wake-up call they and a fair proportion of the fans badly needed on Saturday at Southend and having already claimed they had received one in the final friendly at Carlisle, one hopes Tony Mowbray was similarly unforgiving and quick to summon them for a rollocking after what, in the wake of so much silly talk about walking the league, amounted to a humiliation at Roots Hall.
“They couldn’t have complained if they’d been 5-1 down at half-time,” said a long-suffering eye-witness, “and it said everything that at 2-1 down we were the side hanging on as they pressed at the end as well.”
I’m absolutely convinced that a proportion of our supporters began the campaign firmly in the belief that no other side in the division had acquired any decent players in the summer or even possessed any to start with.
Two of those I warned about in last week’s column, Ryan Leonard and Michael Kightly, put Rovers to the sword while one of those much-travelled and oft-rejected lumbering, seldom-scoring beanpoles we have struggled to cope with for generations, Marc Antoine-Fortune, took advantage of a central defensive pairing which is possibly one of Rovers’ most capable in a footballing sense but lacks the kind of dominant aerial presence we were afforded by messrs McNamee, Hawkins and Keeley on the occasion of our previous lower league adventures.
I was sat on Trent Bridge Cricket Ground on Saturday and roughly in the concurrent time it took Alex Hales to smash 50 from his first 19 balls received Rovers were two down, a depressing echo of last season’s “we’ll look-to-begin-at-a high-tempo-but-we-never-do” repeated pattern of beginning games dopily then pledging sincerely not to do so again.
My head was spinning enough watching Hales go completely beserk for a 30-ball 95 without that.
It’s an absolute must that it was a one-off aberration. We will lose games for sure but to surrender the initiative in the opener that early and squander the residual feelgood factor a promising summer spread among fans was a pitiful effort.
I could have done without reading one of our lot was up and down in a nightclub after limping off with a tight hamstring. But as his in amorata that evening is rather more newsworthy currently than is he, perhaps he was the incidental support B-feature in the story, a fact hammered home by the fact that his surname was erroneously spelt, to the tune of one vowel, “Deck” by one newspaper. Oh well, that could have been a whole lot worse I suppose.
I was amused by the fans who banged on about how the lass in question was “entitled to her privacy.” If anybody who has just come off a TV reality game show, or whatever the hell Love Island is, hasn’t hired a PR firm to extend their 15 minutes of fame and brief the press as to where and when they can locate them, I’ll knit myself a mankini and wear it at Ewood on Boxing Day.
Dack wants to study the Leon Best and Anthony Stokes files and see how long the “big popular summer signing” cache lasts with lads who are prone to act the goat.
Back to the football, one supporter made a decent point that around 17 or 18 of our fellow League one rivals had played at least one friendly against a team from a higher division or at least semi-decent continental opposition. It might have benefited us more to take on a Stoke or Everton, even a Leeds or Middlesbrough, rather than strolling about peppering a York team virtually having to advertise in the paper shop window for players.
As a largely irrelevant aside I’m also baffled by us playing in the home kit against a side whose shirts are primarily blue. Modern football often baffles me. I hate to see us change from our proud, unmistakeable traditional unique strip when we don’t actually need to but it looked weird.
Lovely, though, to be able to reflect on a midweek boost from a win in a competition which has provided us with all kinds of opportunities to make life hard work for ourselves in recent seasons.
I know a lot will say we could do without additional fixtures but progressing in any cup means: A) you get to look forward to and enjoy the draw a lot more
B) It’s another midweek match night.
I’m on holiday at the moment but I insist with every fibre of my existence that any working week with a match in the middle of it, home or away, going or following it from afar, is more enjoyable than a blank footballing week. Well, I say that now, ask me again when it’s Plymouth at home on a Tuesday in October.
I note Stanley had a fine win too, congratulations to Coley and his boys, and having missed out on a rare competitive meeting with our closest neighbours in the Checkatrade I’d like to see it happen in the League Cup.
So well done to Mowbray for putting a strong side out – I’m not entirely sure how seriously Coventry were taking it with six changes from Saturday – and to players like Smallwood and Samuel who I believe impressed. Evans’ goal was a stunner – when was the last time two central midfielders scored in a game for us?
The fans who’ve put in all those miles this week at considerable cost deserved a performance and the possession and shots stats suggest they got rather more for their money on Tuesday.
One hopes that Mulgrew limping off was a precaution, however it seems Lenihan might be a while with his foot injury. That might just dampen the ardent and persistent upfront pursuit of the Irishman by Sheffield United.
Lose either or both of those short-term, long-term or permanently and a centre-back of some experience becomes a priority if it isn’t one to start with.
I’ve no problems with Chris Wilder being honest.
I know people will say: “He’s trying to unsettle our player,” but guess what? All players are informed and know full well when someone wants to sign them. That’s how we sign players other clubs don’t really want to sell us and always has been.
It would be unfortunate to be without the pair for the visit of Doncaster, themselves off to a decent start under a manager who knows this league well in Darren Ferguson.
They had a fine promotion campaign last season, inexplicably collapsing for the final four games after sewing up promotion with a great run from October to April only to miss out on the League Two title which looked theirs for the taking.
Like most, their summer signings consist of a couple of interesting Premier League and Championship loanees such as Manchester City’s Rodney Kolongo and a smattering of frees though Alex Kiwomya, son of Chris, signed permanently from Chelsea, is out through illness and unable to replicate his fine performance here for Shrewsbury a year ago.
Let’s hope for one of those sunny August Saturdays and a decent turn-out from both sets of fans to provide a bit of atmosphere.
It will be grand to be back at Ewood but I must admit I have an ulterior motive in hoping for a baking hot afternoon – before setting off to take my seat in the Riverside I’ll be taking in the first part of Church’s Worsley Cup final reply to Darwen’s 186 all out last Sunday before rain wiped out the home team’s innings.
A Rovers win and a possible Church Worsley Cup win? Something tells me one excited lad won’t need an alarm clock to get up this Saturday.
- Everything I have is blue
- Oh Mr Porter! We only wanted to go to Peterborough now we have to go to Crewe
- Dice tumbling right for Tony as table turns our way
- Tony must turn heat up on Gas then give Gary a right good going over
- How we found the island resting place of the last Mighty Magyar. Hungarian football odyssey 3.
Alf Hookem on Oh Mr Porter! We only wanted t… blueyedboy on Oh Mr Porter! We only wanted t… Paul Reger on Oh Mr Porter! We only wanted t… blueyedboy on Tony must turn heat up on Gas… Alf Hookem on Tony must turn heat up on Gas…
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