A mild, damp and windswept late October Tuesday evening. Our journey from Birmingham was a constant crawl via the M42 and M1 until after Sheffield where we got a clear run along the M180. Racing along the flat North Lincolnshire coastal plain one’s nostrils were alerted to various different aromas: the foundries and smelters of Scunthorpe, the petro-chemicals of Immingham and finally the fish of Grimsby. Indeed, a blind man on a galloping horse would have known what area of the country he was in.
Yes, by George, one must have fish and chips in Grimsby! Not only was there a vast chippy within vinegar-sprinkling distance of the ground, there was a parking space in the side street next to it. Five minutes later, armed with a cod so big my teenaged daughter and I struggled to finish it between us and chips so hot they burnt your mouth (“that’ll be £3.50, luvver”) , we flourished our one adult and two free concessions tickets at the turnstiles. The kids were given free sweets (Grimsby had decided tonight was to be a Halloween “spooktacular”) and we were in.
All these omens were good. Grimsby were a poor side, we were on a roll even though we’d come a cropper against Pompey, and surely we’d get back to winning ways tonight, wouldn’t we? No-one at kick-off could have dreamed of what we were about to witness.
The Clarets took to the field in a sort of 4-3-3 formation, McGregor filling Coxy’s boots with Glen consigned to the bench. The Grimsby targets for Claret abuse were ex-Bast*rd Steve Livingstone and a somewhat rotund keeper Coyne who earned his time-wasting reputation last time. As has become a rather disconcerting habit this season, before anyone had warmed their seats and got comfortable we were a goal behind. One of their players made a run down the left and Steve Kabba, on loan from Palace, hammered it past Marlon. Our back four had got the jitters again and were looking severely fragile. A Steve Davis free kick was encouraging for the travelling support and, after another Kabba effort had fizzed wide, Gareth Taylor drew us level with a stooping header. We were back in it. Not for long! Five minutes later, Livingstone planted a header past the flapping Marlon with the back four (g)nowhere in sight. No matter, the Grimbo defence was (nearly) as bad as ours. Ian Moore astutely brought down Briscoe’s centre and, turning and shooting in one fluid action, restored parity.
Phew! 2-2, and only half an hour gone. The Claret faithful had hardly drawn breath before more woeful defending saw Grimsby’s lead restored, again the pacy Kabba taking advantage of a dreadful howler from Arthur. Kabba is one of those players who opposition teams often seem to have and we don’t. He’s fast and was causing mayhem all night. Every time he got the ball it looked like he’d do us some damage. Why don’t we ever seem to get players like this on loan? Well, I suppose we did have David Johnson for a while. Five minutes later we were 4-2 down, Campbell poking in at the far post.
At this stage, Stan decided to re-shuffle the pack, taking off the King (who looked a busted flush this time out), replacing him with Moore A. Continuing the playing card metaphor, he then put the Joker at centre-half. Now in many people’s eyes di Branchio is not even a left-back, never mind a central defender, especially if Steve Davis happens to be on the same pitch. But there you go; that’s Stan for you. Subsequent events on the pitch only confirmed that this bizarre move made precious little difference to the status quo.
Meanwhile, Robbie Blake continues his transmogrification from “What a waste of money” into “Burnley’s best buy ever”. Controlling and blasting the ball in for our third raising hopes just before the interval, he underlined all that is good about his play: he has close control, is useful with both feet and often wrongfoots defenders with quick thinking. He also plays good one-twos if there’s anybody around alert enough to feed. I like him. He’s beginning to look worth a million.
So half time and 4-3 down. Time to get our breath back. Glen, Dimi, Cook and Grant entertained us with their “Who can hit the bar” shot routine and naturally Glen claimed the glory, bowing to the cheers of the faithful behind the goal. I opined that the next goal would be the crucial one; 5-3 down would see us out of it, but 4-4 and we could well win it.
Four minutes into the second half, the lads duly obliged, Taylor thumping home a Moore I cross. But, dear reader, it is Burnley we are talking about here. Seven minutes later, we were behind again. Referee Danson adjudged McGregor to have deliberately handled when protecting his face and gave a penalty. Harsh, bordering on the “you cannot be serious” but given and then converted. I do wish refs would strive for some consistency as to what constitutes “deliberate” when a penalty is the upshot. If it was deliberate, why was there neither a yellow or indeed red card? Penalties change games more often and more categorically than any other refereeing decision and we should be able to expect the defender to get the benefit of the doubt in these matters but, alas, not tonight. Worse was to follow with Ford heading home unmarked from a Grimbo corner; another example of inept set-piece defending. In the meantime, the ever-buzzing Kabba had narrowly missed a chance to make it seven.
Into the last ten minutes and Papa (on with Glen for Moore I and McGregor) went down under a heavy challenge. As ever, a poor ref had to even things up in his own mind and gave us a penalty. However, it didn’t even up the momentum loss we suffered at the time of the first penalty and even though Blake scored, with time running out, it was over. It was a pity because I think it was a game we could have won. However, let’s face it, if you concede six you deserve nothing, even if you do score five. The attempts at defence were truly pathetic. It would be an insult to kids to call it schoolboy defending. I hope it was a one-off but I’m worried about the reserve (or lack of) resources. Hey, if di Branchio is the best we’ve got at centre-back, we really are in the sticky stuff. And of course, this habit of losing early goals means we’re chasing the game from the word go and therefore all the more likely to get hit again when exposed.
So, I’ve been following the Clarets for 40 years and saw three things I’d never seen before: eleven goals in ninety minutes, seven goals in one half, and Burnley scoring five away from home. It’s more often than not a trial supporting this club. A 300 mile round trip, getting home at 1.00 am and not a point to show for it. But we’ll be back again wanting more. God help us!
Subs not used: Cook, Grant.
Subs not used: Allaway, Parker, Mansaram, Rowan.
Scorers: Grimsby: Kabba 3 and 31, Livingstone 28, Campbell 36, Pouton 56 (pen), Ford 72 / Burnley: Taylor 22 and 49, Ian Moore 31, Blake 45 and 83 (pen).
Attendance: 5,620.
Referee: P S Danson (Leicester).
Eddie's man of the match: Oh, Robbie Robbie, Robbie, Robbie, Robbie, Robbie, Robbie Blake.
