The same Moli-old story. You turn up at Wolves just after your holidays, the weather’s baking hot, we lose a soft goal early on and it’s all downhill from there. Depressingly familiar. Oh, and the referee’s Jeff Winter.
Molineux is a striking stadium these days and although only about two-thirds full, with clear skies and very hot sunshine, the ubiquitous yellow made for a glaring, hand-over-the-eyes afternoon. But isn’t it a terrible indictment of all-seater stadia that all too frequently someone feels the necessity to drum up an atmosphere – and literally so on this occasion. Various drummers stood in the middle of the pitch and after the cacophonous PA system had stopped playing Slade and Chumbawumba our three friends started bashing away on their kettle drums. Quite what effect they thought they were producing is beyond me.
And so to action. Basically the match was over after seven minutes. In that time, NTG managed one of his trademark spills from a tame shot and ex-b*st*rd Blake gleefully smashed it into the roof of the net. Ironically the original shot came in after our Greek hero had prevented a poor pass- back from going out for a corner with his legs. Oh well. The Clarets’ faithful had barely taken this in when the team collectively started dishing out a few bone-crunching challenges which culminated in Paul Cook launching himself at Cameron. Mr.Winter took about three milli-seconds to flourish a straight red. On reflection (it happened right in front of me) it was probably a fair decision; it was an awful, thigh-high tackle with never a chance of a sniff of the ball and if it had happened to one of our players we would have been baying for the same expulsion. The annoying thing about these cases is the lack of consistency; we frequently see only yellow cards for this sort of thing and when a Wolves player two-footedly jumped in on Arthur sometime later, he got away scot-free.
So, one-nil down, ten men sweating like dray horses in punishing heat and only another 83 minutes left. It was one of those afternoons I wanted to go home at ten past three. You just couldn’t see how we were ever going to get back in it and of course we never did. NTG redeemed himself (somewhat) with a fine penalty save from Miller – again a dodgy decision which you sometimes get at home and rarely away, a handball which basically was ball to hand.
So the score was kept down to one at half-time which was the very least we could have got away with. You always had the feeling that chasing the game in that heat with only ten men would eventually tell; what would the second half bring?
Of course, it’s still a mystery round these parts how Wolves managed to blow it in such spectacular style in the run-in last season. The Hayward bank-rolled teamsheet shows various experienced names – the recently added Ince and Irwin, complimenting the likes of Blake, Sturridge, Rae, Oakes et al, most of whom are quality players who have played at a higher level. Certainly, this afternoon with the luxury of the extra man, they were never severely tested and could for the most part stroll around at some leisure, but there’s no denying the quality gap between the two sides. Surely Wolves will be there at the end this time around.
Our lot tried hard but never really looked like piercing their back four – a stirring run late on from Steve Davis and a feeble Taylor shot which brought a chorus of “What the f****in ‘ell was that?” from the assembled black-country masses was about all we could manage. Briscoe huffed and puffed (why is it he is so disliked?) but it was never enough to blow down Mr. Wolf’s house.
Even the Clarets’ faithful, disturbingly down on recent past seasons for this fixture (were there really that many away on holiday?) couldn’t work up any enthusiasm. When The Legend neared our touchline and urged some vocal backing there was a quick rendition of “Burn-er-lee, Burn-er-lee” and that was that. The bloke in front of me spent 20 minutes texting his mates rather than watching; it was that sort of afternoon.
The second half went entirely according to script: shortly after half-time Irwin rattled in an excellent free-kick past a static NTG to kill off any possible fantasies about a miraculous comeback, Arthur got another booking and we were all praying for the final whistle when Cooper rounded the keeper and flicked home number three with the outside of his foot. Game, set and match.
So where do we go from here? Hmmm. Bad starts to seasons are….. well….. bad. Until the first wins, home and away, and points are notched up, there’s a collective nervousness and worry that it might all go seriously pear-shaped. Let’s face it, we have a very average squad ability-wise, with little cover when the likes of Arthur and Cook get themselves suspended. And Super Glen went off after 70 minutes with a suggestion of a limp. Has that bloke been fit this year? And we’ve got a keeper who has now placed himself in the “seriously dodgy” category. I counted four times when he saved with his feet – make of that what you will – but he is hardly inspiring for the back four.
Let’s hope Sheff Utd. are in soporific mood on Saturday so we can get our noses in front and maybe, just maybe, some confidence will begin to return. One is left with the worrying feeling that last Autumn’s swagger, so cruelly crushed at Maine Road last Christmas, might have gone for good. I hope not; the winter could be a long one.
Subs not used: Payton, Blake.
Booked: Gnohere, Taylor.
Dismissed: Cook.
Subs not used: Murray, Proudlock.
Booked: Ingimarsson.
