Due to illness, I hadn’t been to a game since the away snore-draw at Rotherham, so I was very much looking forward to Saturday. Well, I’d saved up all my energy for the FA Cup glamour tie!
I was soon reminded of the pleasures of long-distance travel. The obscenely early alarm. The mad scramble to get ready and catch the train. Once on the train, the man opposite me (not Paddy, I hasten to add) repeatedly coughing and sneezing, spraying germs around the carriage like a human aerosol. Actually, “aerosol” is pretty much what I was thinking about him, give or take a few letters. And – of course! – there was engineering work on the tube.
Still, we arrived at King’s Cross in plenty of time, and our train up to Doncaster was a Eurostar. Now, call me a train-spotter (actually, please don’t), but I do like the Eurostars. They’re so big – almost like travelling villages, with two buffet bars and something like twenty coaches! (You can probably tell I’m not a real train-spotter, because if I was I’d be talking in Benyon-ese about classes, gauges, differentials, and so on.)
But the best thing of all was that our reserved seats were right in the middle of an empty carriage – empty, that is, except for Mr and Mrs Middle-Class-Leisure-Traveller. The look on the woman’s face when we all sat down was a joy to behold. Throughout the remainder of the trip, she was clearly uncomfortable – well, being football supporters, obviously we were about to riot. As the journey progressed, her facial expression changed from one of wariness to one of contempt. Ironically, Mr Middle-Class-Leisure-Traveller sported a Burberry-type cap.
When not swearing, spitting and hitting each other over the head with bottles, we were entertained by the conductor’s discovery of an abandoned bag in our carriage. (No, not the woman referred to earlier.) Rather than make an announcement asking the owner to claim the bag, the conductor (assisted by a nosey passenger) went through it. Thank goodness it wasn’t a bomb, else I wouldn’t be writing this report!
We arrived in Doncaster on time, and hung around waiting for the next Cleethorpes train. As Barbara and I left the waiting room, we advised a group of Burnley lads which station to alight at. To which they responded “Are you Burnley supporters, then?” No, we dress up in Burnley colours and get the train up from London, just so we can hang around Doncaster railway station. Doh!
Once in Cleethorpes, we made a big mistake. Lee, Dermot and I decided to go for fish and chips. As recommended by a local, we went to Becketts – and the local was right, the food was excellent. On arrival at the fish bar, we booked a taxi to pick us up at twenty to three and take us to the ground.
To cut a long story short, the taxi arrived (after several phone calls) at five past three. We got to the ground at ten past. The surly cabbie explained – as if it was obvious to everyone except us – that the scheduled taxi had gone to “Freeston Street” by mistake. (Freeston Street, you say? Oh – that explains it! We should have realised!) He then had the cheek to ask for a tip. He didn’t get one! Worse, Lee realised that his wallet was missing, lost somewhere between King’s Cross and the chippie. We were not happy bunnies.
A helpful steward escorted us into the ground, and we were pleased to hear that we hadn’t missed any goals. We quickly found empty seats at the front – and then soon found out that they were empty because they were wet! As we sat down, the Clarets were attacking up the other end. The first thing I saw was Tony Grant passing the ball out to Alan Moore on the left wing – and seconds later it was in the back of the net. 1-0 to Burnley!
As I settled back and caught up with what was happening, it seemed that the Clarets were playing 4-4-2. Marlon was in goal, of course. McGregor was at right back (replacing Fred, who was suspended following his red card at Gillingham). Coxy and Arthur were in the middle of the defence, with di Branchio on their left. The midfield consisted of Alan Moore, Grant, Weller and Ian Moore, and Papa and Blake were up front. Taylor was missing, as he was also suspended following his red card at Gillingham.
I had just about caught up with who was playing and where when the unthinkable happened, and we scored again! It was difficult to see what was happening, given that I was looking through the net, but someone (I later found out it was Ian Moore) had a shot; Danny Coyne saved it, but Paul Weller was lurking and fired a close-range effort into the net. 2-0! I felt quite light-headed! Better still, we were playing well (despite the absence of a number of key players). Nor did Grimsby look particularly threatening. Possibly their best player from the 6-5 League win, Steve Kabba, had departed for Sheffield United. Terry Cooke, a player I’d previously hoped Burnley would sign, would probably offer some threat out wide, but their main striker, a guy called Mansaram, looked fairly inept.
Half time came, and we were still enjoying a two-goal lead. I managed to track down the other London Clarets, but decided to stay in my “lucky” seat…
The players – now including Paul Cook, who had replaced our injured captain, Weller, towards the end of the first half – came out for the second half, and I fondly imagined a couple more Burnley goals. Those around me, though (who had been to Brighton) seemed apprehensive.
Those around me obviously knew more than I did, as the second half was to prove a huge disappointment. Firstly, Grimsby played better than they had in the first half. They began to press more, whilst we started to sit back and invite them onto us – a dangerous (and all too familiar) tactic. This meant of course that the majority of the action was once again down the other end of the pitch – not ideal for nerves or for match reporting! Indeed, bar Paul Cook chasing down Danny Coyne a couple of times, there was precious little happening near the away end at all!
The Mariners’ breakthrough, however, owed more to poor officiating than anything else. Grimsby got the ball into the box, and it seemed to bobble around in front of our defence. Referee Graham Laws, whose presence always seems to be a bad omen for Burnley, blew his whistle, and we settled back in our seats waiting for Marlon to take the free kick. Almost as if in slow motion, we realised that the free kick had actually been given to Grimsby. That is, they had been awarded a penalty.
There was a belated cheer from the home fans as they realised what had happened. One of our members was in the home stand, and can confirm that even the most ardent Mariners around him had no idea why the penalty had been given. Even the players looked bemused. I’ve seen the incident several times on TV since, and I still can’t understand why it was a penalty. Apparently the ref gave it for a foul by Coxy, but unless standing in the penalty area is now an offence, I can’t fathom it out. Anyway, Terry Cooke duly despatched the spot-kick, and our lead was halved.
Thereafter, the Clarets were obviously rocking. In such circumstances, I’m not sure whether the crowd’s nerves can be sensed by the players, or whether those watching pick up on the players’ lack of confidence. Either way, despite some superb vocal support from the away end (which even drew a couple of glances from Coyne - not that he had much else to do) it was clear that the Burnley players feared another Grimsby goal.
However, instead of using that fear to spur them forward, the Clarets chose to sit back even deeper. My earlier optimism had all evaporated, and, like most other people in the away end, I knew that Grimsby were going to score. It was just a question of when, and how. My money was on another dodgy penalty, but as it turned out, Grimsby didn’t need any help from Mr Laws. Burnley were to provide all the assistance required, short of actually putting the ball into our own net.
It pains me to recount the goal, as “soft” doesn’t even begin to describe it. The hitherto anonymous Mansaram picked up the ball miles away from our goal, and then (as Brent aptly described it) crossed the pitch a couple of times, cooked himself a burger and chips, painted a watercolour of the scene, picked a nice-looking spot in the Burnley net, and shot. Totally unchallenged. Totally unmarked. Total crap, Burnley. The finish may have been good, but given the time and space the guy had, even Diana Ross would have scored.
I’ve no idea what happened in the remaining minutes – we did replace Papa with Gordon Armstrong, but by then it was too late to care. At the final whistle, there was an odd combination of stunned silence, booing and clapping from the away end. It was just so surreal, we didn’t know how to react.
The tin hat was put on the day when Dermot was then accused of “assaulting” the woman next to him. He’d punched the air in irritation as the game had ended, and his arm had brushed against her on its way down. No-one except the woman involved (and possibly Mr Laws) could possibly have perceived any assault. As a female football supporter, this kind of thing irritates me. If you go to football, you must expect people to shout, swear, and occasionally jump around. Overreacting in such a ridiculous fashion just looks stupid, and further fuels the view (still perpetrated by many people) that women shouldn’t be allowed into football grounds, because all they do is whine and look at the players’ legs.
Still upset by the score, we got lost on the way back to the railway station (how I don’t know, as we’d all been there before). Fortunately, we still made the train in plenty of time. Our connection back to King’s Cross was also on time, and once we’d settled back into our seats and had a drink or two, the general mood had improved. We even found time for a couple of laughs. Firstly, at an irritating brat who was running amok up and down the carriage. After half an hour of screaming and shouting (and that was just us!) a well-placed foot from Paddy took care of things. Secondly, I invited Barbara to see a picture I’d taken of Marlon with no clothes on. I’m not sure what the women’s 100 metres record is, but I’m pretty sure Barbara broke it! She was a bit disappointed when it turned out not to be the Marlon she was hoping for (well, I did name my cat after Beresford!).
At the end of the day, the opinion was that the away draw hadn’t been a bad result, but the manner in which we had let our lead slip had been very disappointing. Looking on the bright side, the replay will generate some cash, and hopefully home advantage will count. Bring on the Brentford!
Subs not used: Michopoulos, Earl Davis, Waine.
Scorers: (Grimsby) Cooke 57 (pen), Mansaram 87 / (Burnley) Alan Moore 14, Weller 18.
Referee: G Laws (Whitley Bay) - 7/10 (kept his cards in his pocket, but a ridiculous penalty).
Attendance: 5,350.
Pauline's man of the match: Ian Cox.
Fish, chips and a cup of disappointment, please