It’s funny how you tend to associate football clubs with certain things, almost like you’re giving your memory something to hang its hat on. Try this with your friends: say the name of a football club and ask them to say the first thing that comes into their head. For example, with me it’s
West Ham = Bobby Moore; Derby County = a young Brian Clough; Millwall = violence. And Leicester, what enduring image does that conjure up? Lineker and crisps?? No, for me it’s Frank McLintock. Yes, the bloke who shows up with other has-beens on Sky Sports Saturday. I know it’s strange but when I was at school in the early 60’s we collected football cards from bubble-gum packets and I kept getting bloody Frank McLintock of Leicester City. (I also had about five swaps of Peter Broadbent)
I digress. Leicester City has for long been one of the country’s “yo-yo” teams, along with the likes of Sheffield, Nottingham and Birmingham; a large city not quite able to sustain top-quality football, ergo top quality footballers (or vice-versa) for quite long enough. But they’ve had some good un’s in my time. In no particular order there’s been Frank Worthington, David Nish, Gordon Banks, Alan Smith, Emile Heskey, Peter Shilton, St. Gary of Lineker, not forgetting Keith Weller, the bloke who memorably turned out one winter afternoon in white tights. The club also managed three FA Cup finals in one decade, the 60’s. Not bad eh?
Several visits to the now defunct Filbert Street left me with the impression that it was a proper football club, a bit like our own. The terraces were full of locals with their strange East-Midlands vowels and the ground, close to the city centre, was always quaintly decrepit. But that’s history and so now to the Walkers Bowl. As one who was raised eating Rishy crisps, I’ll refrain from too many potato allusions. However, it’s strange when they get a ground of that name they promptly change shirt sponsors. Maybe Walkers have it in the deeds that they have the option of turning it into a state-of-the-art crisp factory in the event of total collapse.
Yes, another club in dire straits - £30m worth of dire straits, apparently. Leicester, like others, may well be heading over the brink of oblivion. Still desperately trying to off-load overpaid players, they were recently mighty thankful to see the back of that nice Mr. Dennis Wise to Meewaw, who as a farewell gesture wants to sue them for £2.3m in lost earnings. Cheek or what? Izzet, Walker, Deane, Sinclair and Elliott will surely be others who earn more in a week than you and I do in a year. So the Foxes become another club to compliment neighbours and arch-rivals Forest and Derby who drank at the Premiership trough and are now finding the after-effects distinctly unpalatable. Apparently the players have “deferred” 20% of their wages. They will collect their full dues at a later stage but the fat-cat players will have their overflowing bowls full of double cream one way or another.
The atmosphere on the concourse under the stand was optimistic, not unlike that famous Cup win at Derby. The fans were up for it. Lots of singing and chanting and guttural growls of “Come
On!”. Up in the seats, the view was great. Autumnal sunshine bathed the pristine playing surface. We knew this was going to be a real test but surely the lads wouldn’t let us down, would they? The Clarets took to the field with what have become the usual suspects. The exact numerical formation being played was difficult to determine. I couldn’t quite decide whether we had three centre-backs as Davis was sometimes behind, alongside and in front of Arthur and Cox. The next minute, they’d all changed positions. Taylor up front was supported by Blake and Ian Moore, with Briscoe and Glen roving around in the middle, Fred and di Branchio acting as full/wing backs.
The nomadic Brian Deane, who seems to have played for every club east of the Pennines, fired in a snap shot for the home side after 30 seconds which caused all the Clarets present a flutter. Any forebodings that it was going to be an Alamo type of afternoon were, however, unfounded, as most of the first half descended into midfield slogging with chances few and far between. Taggart could easily have seen red for elbowing Briscoe but got off with yellow, one of six (three apiece) referee Hill found it necessary to dispense. We managed four free kicks, one retaken for a Leicester encroachment and a couple of corners, all of which failed to beat the first defender. Some training ground practice needed there, Stan. The best move of either side came in a sweeping Burnley attack involving Arthur, Little and Moore, culminating in a Blake shot saved by Walker. Burnley matched anything the Leicester prima-donnas could conjure up and there seemed to be an air of collective confidence that had been conspicuously absent in the opening four games. Branch was having no problems at full-back and Moore looked more incisive than he often does. And of course, for the moment we’ve got a keeper worthy of the job description.
Half-time and no particular worries. Well, on the field, at least. It was my great joy and privilege to be seated with two of my kids about ten rows below the Burberry baseball caps. These scum with their chants of “Town full of Pakis” and “No surrender to the IRA”, no more than about 30 in number, spent the first half looking for an excuse to start trouble. Ten minutes before half time, the Leicester Constabulary moved in and took a couple of teenagers away. The Police drew batons and hit a few. Good. It’s about time somebody did. Why on earth can’t the club identify these pieces of excrement and kick them out for good? They aren’t Burnley fans and have no interest in football save the fact it’s about the only vehicle these days where they can openly vent their bigoted hatred.
Back on the pitch, Burnley/Villa/Leicester legend Andy Lochhead was introduced to the crowd. What a player he was. I once saw him score all four goals at Turf Moor one afternoon and then get carried off on a stretcher after nutting himself on the post diving for a fifth. Nice one, Andy. Generous applause all round. A 21st Century brand spanking new stadium and the two records they played were Tom Jones’ “It’s not unusual” and the Monkees’ “Daydream Believer”. Perhaps it’s still Gordon Banks picking the music.
The second half began with us in the ascendant. We had lots of possession and took the game to them. A Leicester attack ended with the ball in our net but to Claret relief, the linesman had his flag up. Minutes later we were ahead. Pressure down the left led to a corner taken by Glen. The ball was headed back in by Steve Davis, helped on by Arthur and then nodded home by Moore. The noise level of Claret ecstasy only served to underscore the quiet lethargy which had seemed to envelop the home side’s fans all afternoon. I can’t remember hearing a serious chorus from them.
We took a collective deep breath and awaited the inevitable onslaught. But inevitable it wasn’t. Burnley played probably the best football they’ve played so far this term. We kept possession, we defended high up the field, we kept solid and what’s more we took the game to them. We had two excellent chances to increase the lead. Walker showed his credentials with a fine one-handed save from Taylor, and when Blake put Briscoe through, his parried shot was bobbling goalwards before it was diverted on to a post and back into the keeper’s grasp. Gripping stuff. Of course, Leicester had some quality possession and came at us. But there was only one real occasion when a goal looked a certainty and Marlon came up trumps to chants of “Ooh, ah Beresford”. Various late substitutions did nothing for Leicester, and the same for Burnley wasted vital seconds as time ticked down. Weller, Dimi and Grant all came on at different times for less than five minutes. One final poor ball, skied over the bar from Frank “loadsomoney” Sinclair and four added minutes were over and three more points were in the bag.
It was the sort of afternoon which makes you feel great to be a Claret. This was a really excellent performance. The team played as well as at any time last year (possibly bar Coventry away); we were the better side throughout and deserved the spoils. Leicester could have no complaints and no doubt will be re-examining the worth of their ex-Premiership playing staff. We are on the march again. All we need now is to rid ourselves of the fascist dregs who cling to the Claret and Blue like the faeces they are.
I hope all the Stan-doubters of a few weeks ago are helping themselves to generous slices of humble pie. The man’s a genius. Whatever was wrong in August is not wrong any more. I’ll tell you what – whatever happens at Ipswich and against Portsmouth, they won’t fancy taking us on in this mood, and we certainly won’t roll over and die as easily as we did at Reading. Come on you Clarets!
Subs not used: Cook, Maylett.
Booked: Gnohere, Little, Davis.
Subs not used: Heath, Reeves.
Booked: Taggart, McKinlay, Dickov.
