Boring boring Boscome
Burnley 0 Yawnmouth 0, 17th April
1999
Firmo
This was a game
of two halves, neither of them particularly interesting.
In the first we were poor, and perhaps lucky to leave the
pitch level. For the second we were much better, and could be considered unfortunate not
to score. Given Bournemouth’s lack of ambition, if we had it would have meant a win,
and near safety.
The pattern seems to have been set that in most games we will
play better in the second half. Perhaps Ternent should give his half time talk before the
game kicks off.
We didn’t, collectively, quite compensate for the
substantial individual loss of Payton, who failed a pre-match fitness test with a thigh
strain. We missed his deftness of touch and quickness of thought, as well of course as his
unceasing appetite for hard work up front. Cooke attempted to fill the gap with no less
effort, but clearly lacks the skills and experience required to substitute properly. He
was joined by Branch, playing almost up front.
I had early information of these team changes, as I watched
the game from the unusual perspective of an executive box, a first and something I thought
I would never do. The occasion was the first formal gathering of the internet Clarets, an
unofficial collective of net nerds and web heads who communicate on a daily, more like
hourly, basis on all matters pertaining to, and many not, our great club. Around twenty of
us stumped up the requisite readies to gain access to that previously forbidden sanctum,
enjoying a surprisingly organised and efficient afternoon’s hospitality bereft of the
usual Burnley crapness. I thus had the faintly surreal experience of hurrying to Turf Moor
at ten to one clad in mandatory shirt and tie. At 5.30 that morning when I'd risen to face
the ironing board, I had doubted what I was doing. Thankfully, the e-Clarets turned out to
be a great bunch of people with an adequate sprinkling of beer monsters, and seats outside
the boxes spared us the spectre of watching football the wrong side of glass.
As well as food and coffee and mints, we were given
photocopied team sheets and information straight from the dressing room, courtesy of a
couple of non-playing players. No need to spend most of the first half working out who was
playing where then.
Payton failed his fitness test but Johnrose passed his. It
was hard to see how. He had a horribly ineffectual afternoon, devoid even of his customary
lunging, and dived at every opportunity in an attempt to cheat the ref, or possibly just
avoid the ball.
Our flat team, again short of discernible width, faced what
we expected to be our toughest test of this good run, playing for the first time against a
side with something at stake at the other end of the table. As it happened, the opposition
offered no real threat to our goal. They did, however, defend excellently, particularly in
the first half. Their captain, sweeper and No. 7, Ian Cox, strolled through the game with
unruffled majesty. He controlled the game from the back. If it hadn’t been
frustrating it would have been a pleasure to watch. Every time one of Bournemouth’s
defenders found themselves pressured or short of options, they were able to play a simple
ball back to Cox, who would take a touch or two then roll it out to someone in the same
coloured shirt. By this means they were able to slow the game down and play it at a pace
to suit them.
It was irritating because we were also playing with an
ostensible sweeper wearing 7 on his back and a captain's armband. The comparison was
therefore begging to be made. In the last few games, this has become Armstrong’s
latest position in our manager’s bid to secure a safe berth for his undroppable
skipper. And, compared to his dismal forays at left back and in central midfield,
Ternent’s captain has not done badly. He could even be said to have fared reasonably
well. He makes fewer mistakes, isn’t responsible for as many of their chances, and
doesn’t lose the ball as much.
I suspect this is because he hasn’t been exposed to
particularly ferocious attacks, in which case, let’s hope Fulham don’t fancy it.
He has also benefited from the luxury of playing behind a solid and unvarying central
defensive partnership. And his job is one where you can get by doing simple things when
expectations are low, like pressing for the ball, and when you get it kicking clear. If
you do that you come through games underscathed and uncriticised. For Armstrong, I guess
that’s bliss.
However, Cox handed out a lesson in how the role of the
sweeper could be pivotal and proactive, prompting the game from the back rather than
reacting to events. Instead of Armstrong, shadowing Davis around the pitch and holding
back from taking charge, wouldn’t it be great to have someone around who could do
this job? I’d almost believe in playing five at the back if we could do it like this.
All through the first half, we didn’t once pressure
their sweeper. In fact, at times Cox picked up the ball and sloped unchecked through our
midfield. Because he was coming from deep, our short sighted lot couldn’t spot or
stop his runs. It was alarming how little work Bournemouth had to do to get to the edge of
our box. Once there, however, they looked uncertain what to do about it. They were shot
shy, which may seem surprising, given that they had excellent-player-at-this-level Mark
Stein leading their attack, but he was man marked out of the game by Brass, who has found
his best position and was again given a role at which he excels. As well as this,
Bournemouth’s promotion chasing side has recently suffered a sufficiently severe case
of the jitters to turn them into a play off chasing side. They came happy enough for a
point to consolidate their position and arrest their slide.
That said, we might have taken an undeserved lead. Cowan
narrowly missed a header after a trademark late run into the box, although I suppose the
odds would have been on a miss. Then Davis, who spent most of the afternoon in a fouling
contest with their other striker, Fletcher, embarked on a forceful run which for the first
time breached their defence and slammed a shot against the bar, with the rebound cleared.
Finally, to complete the trio of early half chances, their goalkeeper dropped a ball he
thought he’d held, and as they slowly panicked Cooke didn’t react quickly enough
to poach a comedy goal.
They then took control of the rest of the half. They got the
ball wide and forward easily, our fullbacks once again looking unprotected with no one in
front of them, but Crichton didn’t have to stop any actual shots. Meanwhile, an
unnaturally fussy referee, typified by his decision to award a foul against Branch for
stretching to reach a ball ahead of their onrushing goalie, did his best to break up play.
Half time came as something of a relief, particularly as we
could sneak a pint of admittedly smooth beer at the queueless bar, providing of course
that we couldn’t see the pitch due to the absurd constraints of the law.
The second half brought the hoped for improvement.
Branch, who’d had a rather annoying first half, suddenly
looked faster and threatening. In the first half he’d performed a pantomime of finger
pointing and disgusted looks whenever one of his alleged teammates did something he
considered wrong. I’d found myself wishing he was half as good a player as he clearly
thinks he is. However, a double dose of iron tablets had obviously been fed to him in lieu
of the usual half an orange, and the transformation was particularly marked when Jepson
came on to allow him to play wider. Cooke hadn’t played badly, but again the sight of
our strong and direct centre forward running wide to scrap for balls he might play into
the box fell some way short of constructive entertainment.
Jepson gave a small masterclass in the art of the flick on
and knock down. With his introduction, we were playing something like 5-2-3. Not much
midfield, but when your main method for getting the ball to the attack consists of the
long kick from defence, you don't need much. Defenders slammed the ball to Jepson, who
shoved it into the path of Cooke or Branch, who attempted to score. Hardly subtle, this,
although it does cause the opposition problems. Surely a time will come under Ternent when
we play 5-0-5.
It nearly worked. Our best chance was an agonising miss.
Cooke got wide and around their defender in the face of some fairly physical defending,
and their goalkeeper foolishly lost his position and left the net unguarded. Cooke
crossed. Davis was there. A handful of yards out, an empty net: we knew the story. But as
we rose from our seats Davis blazed over. It's a cliché, but nothing says it better. That
is what he did. That was the chance, and if we couldn't score from that then it wasn't our
day. No one should blame Davis, who as a defender scores more goals than most Clarets
midfielders, but it was a hell of a miss. A quiet voice in the back of my head told me
Payton would have buried it.
We continued to pressure, but created few other clear cut
chances, apart from when Branch ran with the ball and opted to take a shot which the
keeper easily held. Cooke and Jepson had been well placed for a cross.
Bournemouth's approach to the game was summed up by the
substitution of Stein with a minute to go. He took an age to slouch off. It was surprising
Brass didn't follow him.
We took off Branch for Eastwood, which looked a strange move
when we should have been pushing for a late win.
The game finished and was quickly forgotten. We returned to
enjoying the hospitality and hobnobbing with the stars. Okay, Micky Mellon. (Who for once
had a legitimate reason not to pass the ball to Little.) While not a bad result, everyone
else's were better. We really should have made it safe by now, but we have drawn winnable
games and are managing to draw this season out right to the end.
Still, I suppose the thing to remember is that before the
game kicked off there was an immaculately observed minute's silence for the 96
Hillsborough victims of police incompetence, press stereotyping and political expediency.
That provided a perspective we should never forget.
Team: Crichton, Pickering,
Cowan, Mellon, Davis, Brass, Armstrong, Cook (Jepson 61), Cooke, Johnrose, Branch
(Eastwood 87). SNU: Reid.
The away match
