Another two League games this week, another 11 goal-fest for watching neutrals. However, if you’re a Claret, seven went in at the wrong end and our four were never going to count for 'owt. Yes, after shipping four at Sheffield midweek, another three had gone in without reply after only 66 minutes. Yet another game where we made ordinary, if not poor, opposition look like Brazil on a good day.
Don’t be fooled by the scoreline; this game was over and Claret heads were down with a third of the game still to go. The damage had been done as usual with rank bad defending - and having had one dodgy keeper relegated to the bench, it now looks like we’ve got another. Marlon had a particularly bad afternoon and is clearly short on confidence. Whether he can ever regain his sparkling form of yesteryear at his age must be questionable.
A lovely, sunny, early spring afternoon looked like an invitation for good football. The pitch was in excellent nick, and there was barely a breath of wind. I had a short journey with no problems, but lots of northern Clarets had a torrid time on the motorway, and were filing in all the way through the first half.
There was another shuffle of the pack. Fred West was dropped, making way for McGregor, and the midfield was culled post-Bramall Lane, minus Briscoe and with Davis and Little warming the bench. Ian Moore came in and supposedly was on the right of midfield, though by half time, Stan was having second thoughts.
Burnley opened brightly, and for 20 minutes we were probably the better team. Walsall keeper Walker held on to a close-range drive from Alan Moore, and then dived well to his right to tip over a shot from Grant. It wasn’t to last. Alarm bells had begun to ring when di Branchio, attempting a long ball down the left, had hoofed it onto the M6, and from the resulting throw-in, defensive dallying nearly brought a Walsall goal. It wasn’t long in coming, though, when after 24 minutes Aranalde swung in a cross which Leitao nodded into the net. This was dire in two respects: (a) McGregor was 20 yards out of position and Leitao had time for a quick fag before getting the cross in; and (b) Marlene got both hands on it, and, although low down, should have stopped it.
Ah well, here we go again. It got worse nine minutes later when our custodian managed to drop a ball he had comfortably gathered under minimal pressure, and it fell at the feet of Carbon who made no mistake from short range. Two down, and things looking grim. Grumblings from behind the goal (and pillars). It’s at times like these that you realise how threadbare and poor our squad actually is. People talk about the size of the dog in the fight and the size of the fight in the dog, and we’ve got where we are with spirit, endeavour and (sometimes) astute tactics; but the beautiful game it certainly aint. This season, too often it’s been painful to watch.
The last three games I’ve seen, Walsall, Watford and Stoke, we’ve hardly strung three passes together. The ball’s been thumped and cudgelled within an inch of its life. For every 90 minutes it must have spent 80 in the air. We have had precious few shots on goal, and taken an alarming number of yellow cards; indeed our disciplinary record reflects our style of play – pernickety referees or not. "We are Burnley, no-one likes us, we don’t care"...well, I do. If, as it appears, our season is over, we’re going to rake in precious little money in "roll-ups" at the Turf playing dreadful stuff like this - and when we had a chance to make a few friends with a free 90 minute advert on national TV last week, we blew it big time. I had any number of colleagues last week asking me if they always played like that. (Well, as a matter of fact, yes, quite often.)
At two-nil down today we showed surprisingly little fight, and it was yet another game where you could see no real escape from the predicament of our own making. Paul Cook was doing his Ray Wilkins impersonation, square and backwards, and more than one of our corners ended up two passes later back in Marlon’s gloves. We don’t seem to be able to go forwards. Alan Moore was at his worst, acting like it was beneath his dignity to tackle or even pressurise the opposition. Ian Moore was just clueless. Grant worked hard to little effect, which left only Taylor looking up for it. How the bloke behind me could call him a "f****** lazy get" is beyond me.
Half time, and wholesale changes. Presumably Stan blistered the paint in the dressing room, and Grant, Moore I and Cox made way for Glen, Blake and Davis. There was little difference on the pitch, though, and despite minimal huffing and puffing from our midfield and a few nice touches from Blake, nothing improved. Glen made zero impression, trying flicks and shimmies which just didn’t come off. Worse was to come. From one of our corners, the ball arrived at Cook’s feet on the edge of the Walsall box. He took a little too long to shoot; it was charged down, swept upfield, and after a reasonable first save from Beresford was gleefully smashed home by Matias. Great. 10 seconds after a Burnley corner, and it’s in our net.
That was enough for scores of travelling Clarets, who headed off for a very early pint. Well, they missed a fightback of sorts, but it was all too late. Taylor got us a penalty when he latched onto a through ball. He was always just going to get there ahead of Walker, and he was always going to go down. He didn’t disappoint in either department, and a geological age later, Blake converted the spot-kick past new keeper Ward, on for the dismissed Walker.
With 15 minutes plus stoppage time left, you would have expected us to give it a real go. In truth, we didn’t. If you hadn’t known it, you wouldn’t have realised we had an extra man. As we moved into time up, Glen did a quick one-two with Blake and bent a lovely left-footer into the top left of the net. In other circumstances, it would have brought the house down, but now it was simply too late. For the first time now, everyone was flying in and exerting themselves as if their very lives depended on it: why can’t they do this at 0–0? There was even time for a Taylor shot which flew wide instead of bringing an unjust share of the spoils. Game over. The players applauded the fans, and quite a few clapped them back. I wasn’t one of them. It was yet another very poor display, and we were well beaten by crap opposition before a flattering and unlikely attempted comeback.
So, all in all, a bad couple of weeks. One point from three League games, and a non-performance at Watford in the Cup. I’m worried that we’ve now been found out after three decent seasons in this League. Plan A seems to be: team spirit, work hard, close down the opposition, and hoof it to Taylor. There’s not much evidence of a Plan B. The facts show that whatever the permutation, we’ve got a fairly useless defence. The squad just continues to age - and where are the eager, young, fresh faces banging on the first-team door? There are none. It doesn’t bode well for the future. After a rotten start this year, we dusted ourselves down and got it (sort of) sorted. Next season could be very difficult indeed.
Subs not used: Michopoulos, Papadopoulos.
Scorers: (Walsall) Leitao 24, Carbon 33, Matias 66 / (Burnley) Blake 74 (pen), Little 90.
Attendance: 6,327.
Referee: P Walton (Winwick).
Eddie's man of the match: Difficult, but Gareth Taylor.
