Sammy the Seagull, Rest in Peace
West Ham United 2 Burnley 2
Report by Julian Booth
Sometimes, there are days that just don't go your way, when it seems the whole world is against you, and whatever you do, it all goes wrong. This was definitely one of those days. It all started off in the middle of the freezing cold night, when my alarm broke the silence of my peaceful sleep. This was the day I'd had the great idea of flying down to the game at West Ham - well, at first it seemed a good plan, but soon things would go completely "pear-shaped". The plan was hatched a few weeks earlier when my brother spotted some cheap flights on the Internet, and the first seeds of my plan were planted. I managed to recruit another willing volunteer for this intrepid journey, who also decided that a flight down was eminently better that a cramped, busy, bustling trip on the ever-reliable train network. You all know this pub-reviewing Northern Alliance founder - but if you don't, you will just have to guess!
The journey began at O-Six Forty Five, and, to steal Robin Williams' joke, the O stands for "OH MY GOD, IT'S EARLY!". It's not a long drive to Blackpool airport, and at that time of the morning there was little traffic, so the start to our weekend away was smooth and uneventful. We parked the car, and made our way into the airport terminal (or shed, as it is more commonly know). We checked in at check-in desk number two, which is easy to find: if you have never been to Blackpool airport, it's the middle one! After the thorough bag check and the near strip-search, we made our way into the departure lounge to wait eagerly for our impending getaway to the big smoke. I say the "big smoke", but what I actually mean is some 30 miles outside London.
We chatted about football experiences of the past to while away the half an hour until we left, and the time soon flew (get it?!). Never mind - our plane arrived, and the passengers from Stansted disembarked along with their luggage. We knew we would board soon, and there was a feeling of anticipation in the air. Then, nothing happened. Nothing at all: we just sat there, as our departure time came and went. I looked out onto the tarmac to see what I now know to be engineers looking with great concern at the plane's left engine. I thought nothing of it at the time, just "Don't they have thorough checks on their planes at Blackpool airport?".
The first announcement asked us to return to the main terminal building, as the flight had been delayed due to technical problems. This was a short walk (to give you an idea of scale: from one side of the Sekforde to the other). A few short minutes later came the fatal second call that the flight was indefinitely delayed due to damage to the plane's left engine. The announcer then went on to tell us exactly what had happened. It was one of those times when you look round to see where the camera and Jeremy Beadle are, as it sounded like a joke. The pilot did not want to take off, as a seagull had been sucked into the plane's engine when it was landing a short time before. Now, you cannot imagine that a bird would do that much destruction when colliding with a jet, but the mechanics were beyond repair.
There was pandemonium in the airport as people congregated around the check-in desk to fire a volley of questions at the poor check-in staff. The offer of a replacement flight was given to us: it left at 8pm that evening, so we politely declined and considered our options. We approached a member of the ground crew and asked for the number for the low-cost, non-ticket Irish airline we had booked with. We then asked him what the chances were of a replacement plane arriving soon. He looked at us with a smile, and said: "None. I'm just about to declare the cancellation of the flight". And on that note, a sharp exit for the car was our only alternative. Just to rub in the fact that we were flying nowhere, we saw lots of the team congregating in the departure lounge, along with the high-paying fans who had decided to take their trip in style with the First Division superstars.
As we made our way to the car for the drive south, we just laughed and cursed our bad luck (well, if you can't laugh, then Burnley's the wrong team for you). A quick fuel stop, and the high-speed journey began (within the speed limit, of course!). The drive didn't seem to take that long, and thankfully there were no hold-ups. After a quick pitstop at Watford Gap services, we arrived at my sister's about 12.30. The train times had been investigated as we drove, and our train left Ponders End station in about 20 minutes - this meant a QUICK stroll to the station. We arrived just in time (with me almost getting run over on the way), to find out that the train had been cancelled due to engineering works near Stansted. This was when we all got that sinking feeling: would we ever get to the game, and what else could go wrong? The next train was a 25-minute wait, and it was when we were making our way to Liverpool Street that we heard that the Hammersmith and City line was suffering delays due to a derailed train. At this point, you do believe all your luck has deserted you, and we thought we were never going to make the pre-match pint, let alone the game. However, quick thinking and a quick detour via Mile End, and the Central line got us to one of the meeting pubs. Light refreshments were partaken of by all.
We made the kick-off (once we had negotiated our way through the whole of the Metropolitan police force and their numerous checks). Our arrival at our seats was greeted with the usual mirth and humour I expect from all the London Clarets, as several did their impression of the non-existent flight we hadn't taken.
The game was well worth the effort that had been made getting there, and the performance much improved from the debacle of Ipswich on Tuesday evening. The tackling was evident rather than absent, passing more accurate than wayward, and the luck that had deserted my fellow travellers and me was heaped on Burnley. It did look only a matter of time before West Ham would score their first goal, but a combination of sheer blind luck and a flag-happy linesman ensured we held out until the twentieth minute. The accuracy of West Ham's passing soon opened up our defence, and Connolly scored after the Beast had blocked an initial shot. The save was good, and he was unlucky where the rebound fell, but he seemed to lose all interest in where the ball had gone, and watched just like the rest of us as it hit the back of the net.
I didn't get that feeling, though, that another slaughter was on the cards, as we seemed to have found some resolve, and the real King Arthur was back with a vengeance. The passing was better, but there were still errors - and Paul Weller paid for his with an early substitution, to be replaced by Tony Grant. The Clarets were riding their luck, but it all paid off in the 38th minute as a slick passing move found Ian Moore on the right in space with the ball at his feet. He managed to slide it by an advancing David James and across the area. Running in at the back post was a goalscoring machine, who gleefully tapped in his fifth goal in three games. Well done, Delroy. The comparative safety of half time was reached, and a collective sigh of relief taken by every Burnley fan in the ground.
The second half started with the opposition hitting the crossbar and missing a gilt-edged chance inside the first minute - was it going to be our day? It was an end-to-end game throughout the second half, with both sides having chances. Perhaps if I'm honest we were hanging on a bit, and West Ham looked dangerous in their approach work (but poor in their finishing, especially Defoe). The game was heading for a draw - which we would have all taken with both hands before the kick-off - when something amazing happened. It all came from a long punt from the Beast, which sailed over the West Ham team and landed at the feet of Farrelly, who played through Ian Moore. His first shot was half stopped by James, but the ball bounced through and headed towards the goal. It was a race between Moore and Repka, with the Hammers defender trying every means (fair and foul) to stop the speedy Clarets striker. Despite Repka's pulling and pushing, Moore stayed on his feet to knock the ball into the empty, gaping net, and there was an element of pandemonium on the terraces as the Burnley fans erupted in delight. Eight minutes to go, and we were 2-1 up at Upton Park.
The thoughts of victory were short-lived; only four minutes, in fact, as the Hammers drew level with a volley even the incredible Beast (who had seemed to block everything) could not quite grasp. The final drama came at the end of a never-ending three minutes of stoppage time, when somehow the Beast made another wonder save he had no right to, and the point was ours. The performance was immeasurably better than the Suffolk nightmare, with tenacious tackling from everyone on the pitch; never-say-die defending; skilful, accurate attacking; and a Danish goalkeeper who silenced the boo boys. Which I have been guilty of being a member of... sorry, Brian. This was a team that did not want to let themselves or their fans down, and looked like they would run until they dropped. And the luck that deserted me nearly got us an incredible win.
There is always next time at Upton Park: I don't think West Ham will go up unless they improve, and win the games where they have countless numbers of glorious chances. They perhaps played with a bit of arrogance, thinking: "This is only Burnley - we'll roll over this lot no problem". But not today, boys: this was a Clarets showing we can all be proud of. As for man of the match, it's a tough choice, which is a nice thing to say for once, but it has to be the BEAST.
Finally, I wish to thank the birthday boys for their kindness and generosity in putting on a top do at the Sekforde after the match. I must thank them both for inviting me, and letting me bring along my brother and two of my friends. Thanks must go also to all who organised the do, especially our kind hosts. Cheers, Dermot and Danny: what a great end to an extraordinary day.
Burnley: Jensen, West, Camara, Gnohere, Branch, Weller (Grant, 27), Chaplow, Chadwick, Facey, Ian Moore, Blake (Farrelly, 78).
Subs not used: Roche, O'Neill, Pilkington.
Scorers: (West Ham) Connolly 20, Hutchison 86 / (Burnley) Facey 38, Ian Moore 82.
Referee: Iain Williamson (Berkshire).
Attendance: 31,474.
Julian's Man of the Match: the Beast.
As with all articles on the site, the views expressed in the match reports section are those of the individual contributor, and do not necessarily reflect the view of the Burnley FC London Supporters' Club.
