Turn the
music off
Burnley 3 Wimbledon 2
Report by Firmo
So, here we go again. First home game of the
season, therefore, first transport foul up the season. Having bemoaned the Hillsborough
trip forcibly taken by car, this was a day for the railways to show us what they could do.
Which they did. Four trains, all late. At least the excuses are getting better. We've
never had a suspect package at South Kenton before (Euston-Preston) or a crossing problem
(Burnley-Preston). All, however, is trumped by my brother's 'protesters on the line'
(Ormskirk-Preston). Ho, and hum.
Such is the life of the exile. Dick Branson's
absurd clockwork railway allows ample slippage time in its schedules, such that we still
had a chance of catching our connection at Preston. In the end, it took the intervention
of a slow-moving hen party at Wigan to make sure we just missed the thing. As we slid into
Preston platform three, the Burnley-bound wagon pulled out from platform two. Ah. Well.
This called for a charge to a boozer, a few swift 'uns and a return an hour later, for a
train seemingly filled with children. To take the piss this crate stopped for an age at
Blackburn, the new station of which so closely resembles a public toilet that they might
as well install a load of urinals now, for the sake of convenience. And either Blackburn
tunnel's got longer or the train's getting slower. Anyway, onto Burnley for a visit to the
town's best two pubs, a natter with familiar faces and some more beer, taking the
pre-match pint count to a very reasonable seven. And, while accentuating positives, at
least we were kicking off at three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon.
We even made the kick off. From our less than
ideal perch in the extreme Beehole corner of the upper Longside we looked down on a team
unchanged but for Weller's absence, with Moore (Alan) making his first start on the left
and Briscoe filling in in the middle.
Not much happened before Wimbledon scored. I was
someone distracted by my pie, which was excellent. Meat and potatoes like meat and
potatoes should be. I knew we'd be better off with Holland's. Can't wait until they
concoct the balti version. Less welcome was the introduction of a second bloody bee thing,
imaginatively called 'Bumble'. Must have taken seconds to come up with that name. This
Bertie clone performed similarly irritating routines along the touchline. I recall that
there had been some speculation about Bertie getting a girlfriend, but Bumble is surely a
bloke bee. I therefore offer Burnley my congratulations for delivering such a message of
tolerance, with what must be the first mascot homosexual relationship.
Back to the game, and Wimbledon's first came
from an Armstrong mistake. He lost track of an innocuous ball into the area, leaving their
player with an easy job to finish. Perhaps Stretch thought NTG would clear it, but for
defenders the policy should be, if in doubt, get it away. Put it down to an early season
communication error. Literally dozens of Wimbledon fans cheered their good fortune. We
didn't have time to get gloomy, as a couple of minutes later a Wimbledon cock up made
things level. Davis (Kelvin), Wimbledon's goalkeeper (for want of a better word) made a
hash of a clearable ball, and it found its way wide to A Moore, who didn't mess up a
straight shot into the net. Good to see A Moore getting up there in the thick of things.
Celebration and relief turned to annoyance as
the tannoy blared music. There really is no bloody need for this. For more than a hundred
years, we seem to have got by perfectly well without having idiotic tunes to encourage us.
Now, it seems, our own efforts are no longer enough, and we must be led by the hand. I
know there's precious little atmosphere at Turf Moor, but this is not the answer. We need
not resort to artificial means. I have always mercilessly ridiculed away game clubs that
use goal celebration music. I am mortified that we are now aping this witless trend.
Anyone who joins in should feel ashamed. We are Burnley and we are prouder than this.
Please stop it now.
We were destined to be treated to that snatch of
music twice more in the first half, as we dominated the game in the area that mattered.
Wimbledon play some nice stuff these days, but we were more active in front of goal, with
Moore (Ian) showing willing. Indeed, we might have had a penalty for a push on I Moore and
we might have had a penalty for a handball. Fortunately, in between we did get a penalty,
again for a foul on I Moore. Paul Cook stepped up and only needed the one go this time,
sensibly opting to put it high as Davis K dived the wrong way.
Is it just me or does there seem to have been a
lot of penalties around at the start of this season? And who would have said Cook would be
top scorer after two games?
More fun from Davis K handed - probably not the
right word - us our third. Can't recall the last time I saw a keeper have such a
Kendallesque mare. Perhaps due to disappointing results hitherto, Davis K now determined
to eschew the use of hands, deciding instead that Davis (Steve's) header could best be
chested to safety. Not a wise choice, as Armstrong, lurking with intent, stuck the thing
home for one of his rare goals. 3-1 up and sort of cruising.
A downpour of Biblical proportions erupted at
the start of the second half, turning the player's shirts a darker shade of Claret and
proving that the new pitch drains better than before. This was rain so heavy it was noisy.
Surprising the deluge wasn't saved for an hour later to enliven the climb up Manchester
Road. Davis K ran out to grateful applause from the Bee Hole. Despite the damp, Armstrong
might have got another, of all things, with a good free kick, while Davis S went close
after a surge from way back. However, any hopes that we might add the fourth to seal the
game and test Wimbledon's faith in the Three Goal Rule were challenged as Wimbledon
increasingly asserted themselves.
Their goal when it came was more disappointing
than surprising. Once again, in an error strewn game, it was a gift. Armstrong, who it's
probably fair to say had an eventful afternoon, left his man as the ball swung in.
Shipperley, who appears to have fetched up at Wimbledon in his mission to play for every
club in the first division, had an easy enough job to head in past an unmoved Niko.
It was tough for us after this. We made it hard
for ourselves. Their goal was cue for the Clarets to retreat into their shells for most of
the rest of the game. We more or less stopped playing, content to defend only in dangerous
territory. It was back to the bad old days of Burnley living dangerously. Fortunately, S
Davis and Cox could offer their usual back line heroics, but someone will punish us for
trying to do this at some point.
In mitigation, it might be suggested that our
midfield was on the makeshift side. Ball and Weller are both important players. Their
replacements tried hard, but weren't of the same calibre. Cook, as we know, will not hide,
but tired, while Briscoe, having proved a point at Hillsborough the weekend before, worked
as hard as we would expect in central midfield, but some wayward passing underlined the
fact that he is not a central midfielder. Little, a Wimbledon-born lad, struggled to shake
off his markers and do the things he can.
Moore A was brighter on the left. I thought he
played really well. If he can prove his fitness, he could be a good addition. Referees
don't like him, for some reason, as he picked up another undeserved booking here to go
with his card for being on the pitch at Hillsborough. He tired later on, but after such a
long time out it will take him time to get used to playing again.
As Wimbledon continued to enjoy the better of
the game, we looked in vain towards the subs bench. Moore I dropped further back, leaving
only Taylor up front. This invited Wimbledon forward, and they had their best chance to
get level when a long shot eluded NTG, hit a post and rolled across the goalmouth. Very
worrying.
The subs came late. Moore A went off to a
deserved good reception, replaced by Mullin, and then right towards the end Moore I gave
way to, of all people, 36 year old Tony Ellis. Well. Not sure if he's supposed to be this
year's Jeppo, but Ellis' arrival was one of Uncle Stan's strangest transfers. When we,
ahem, captured the striker ahead of Telford, I couldn't see what Ellis might offer. Two
substitute appearances later, I'm still none the wiser. I know Stan is always right, etc,
but I wondered what the unused Andy Payton made of it?
Ah well, on the pitch we weathered the storm
while off the pitch the rain petered out. There was time for Blakey to give us a five
minute cameo of his talents with a couple of dippy charges forward. One mad man-beating
run promised to rival his Bristol Rovers Goal of the Century, until he was checked at the
last.
And that was game over, another first division
three points and the faithful left reasonably contented. It was, I suppose, quite a good
game for a neutral. Hmm. Could all the neutrals form an orderly queue, please?
Nice, too, that Terry Burton thinks we're
becoming a bogey side. Given that they only landed in this division last season, that's
quite a compliment.
Post match it was time for the sweaty yomp up
Manny Road, there to be told that the Preston horse and cart was twenty minutes late. Why
change the habits of a political lifetime? Not ones for standing around on station
platforms we repaired to an adjacent pub. When the thing did arrive it was a jocular
minibus on wheels, and the journey to the Land of Moyes had stop and start in equal
measure. There are two trains back to London, but the first was long gone by the time we
got to the station. Not a problem with me - I prefer a few pints and a late train - but
for people with another train to catch on return to London, a real pain.
The half hour Late Arriva had left us to play
around with yielded a creditable three pints and a kebab before the last train home. This
was filled with Wimbledon fans. Of course, Dons fans have been getting their emotional
highs and lows off the pitch rather than on lately, but this was odd: not only did they
make a lot more noise on the train than in the ground, but there appeared to be more of
them. Naturally, like all right-thinking supporters, we're glad they're not being replaced
by a Milton Keynes club, and it was all good humoured stuff, culminating in a mass 'piss
on Milton Keynes' station. This took its time in coming, due to the usual unexplained
stops and the familiar diversion through Northampton. This town isn't on the way to
London, and it entails an automatic twenty minute delay. Presumably the train crew knew
about it, so why not tell people in advance so they can make plans based on reality? Just
a thought.
Still, for all my gripes - including those
rather grumpily expressed while stuck at Manchester Road station, for which apologies to
all within earshot - you can't do much more than win two games out of two, and with
Blackburn getting beat by relegation-tipped Derby, what more can we ask for? And from a
personal point of view, I'm glad I covered a win, something I don't seem to have managed
since QPR away last October, which is quite a run. As a match-reporter, I would have
preferred fewer Moores and Davises on the pitch, but there you go. A putative table puts
us third. We've hit the ground running. Let's see…
Team: Michopoulos,
West, Davis, Cox, Armstrong, Briscoe, Cook, A Moore (Mullin 86), Little, Taylor, I Moore
(Ellis 90). Subs not used: Cennamo, Gnohere, Payton.
Scorers:
Moore A (12), Cook (31 pen), Armstrong (40) / Nielsen (10), Shipperley (65).
Crowd:
14,473.
Referee: M Jones.
Firmo's Man
of the Match: Kelvin Davis (oh alright then, Ian Cox).
This match last season
