Cheated!
Cheaterfield 1 Burnley 0, 15th
August 1998
Firmo
Burnley were cheated out of a draw we
deserved by the actions of an inexperienced referee. Although perhaps neither side in this
game deserved to win, Burnley had the better of the chances and Chesterfield’s
toothless attack never looked like scoring until the referee, M Jones of Chester, gifted
them the game in the 89th minute. In a crowded penalty area, an innocuous
overheard kick by the hapless Reeves struck Jepson, stood behind him, somewhere. It might
have been an arm or a chest and whatever it was it could not have been intentional, but
the referee, surely knowing it would decide the game, awarded Chesterfield a penalty.
There was no flag from the linesman, there was no appeal from any of the Chesterfield
players, but the referee made his decision quickly, without consultation, perhaps without
thinking about it. I had a good view, and when he blew the whistle, thought he had given
us the free kick, before I realised with horror that he was pointing to the penalty spot.
The Chesterfield fans, as unpleasant as usual,
typically did not have the good grace to look embarrassed about this outrageous act of
serendipity. They had spent all game watching a kind of football best described as
mind-numbing in which goalie for the day Gavin Ward did not have a serious shot to save (a
few shots in the first half, but nothing that would test even a half-decent keeper), and
must not have been able to believe their luck. Still, if they don’t find their
tenuous mascot, Chester the field mouse embarrassing, or are not ashamed that they come
from a town famous only for the locals’ inability to build a perfectly
straightforward church, they are not about to start feeling sheepish about a penalty
decision that had the away end conspiracy theorists mumbling. It was a decision as bent as
the spire.
Chesterfield’s sterile brand of football is
neither attractive nor effective, and it is hard to believe that this season will not be
John Duncan’s last. Entertainment is therefore as thin on the ground at Saltergate as
intelligent conversation, which is presumably why the denizens of that unreconstructed
stadium have to while away the time in puerile and predictable chanting. Now this fell
into their laps. David Reeves, naturally, who had done nothing all game, stepped up and
put it to Ward’s right. There was nothing our debutante keeper, signed the night
before on a month’s loan from Bolton, could do. Reeves celebrated by making abusive
gestures to the away supporters. Bastard.
Ward had a fine game, not the only Claret to do
so. Payton was typically hard working and determined, begging the question of if this was
what he looked like carrying an injury, how much running would he get through fully fit?
Little produced another splendid performance of the kind we are beginning to take for
granted. He never looks graceful, but he doesn’t often lose the ball and he usually
beats his man. He has more potential than any Burnley player I’ve seen for years, and
it is hard to imagine how we’d manage without him if he was to realise that potential
elsewhere. These performances partly compensated for the unusually subdued game Cooke had
– he went off clutching his thigh – and the usual anonymous show by Paul Smith,
who really must start producing his best form soon. The other Smith, Carl, had a quiet
game on the ground where he made his mysterious debut last year, and was substituted at
half time, allowing us to enjoy the sight of a Jepson-Moore midfield partnership one could
perhaps call "makeshift." Both did as well as they could out of position, and
when the lightweight Robertson came on for Cooke, Jepson moved to join Payton in the
attack, supporting well. It has to be said that Moore did pull off a goal line clearance,
but sadly it was from Little’s shot and not necessarily at the right end. The defence
performed better than of late, although there were predictable question marks over
Morgan’s distribution, and they will face sharper attacks in almost every game.
Burnley still have a long way to go before we
reach the desired quality, but this game provided some evidence that Ternent is arresting
the decline. We would have lost this game last season and it wouldn’t have been the
referee’s fault, although our then manager would have claimed it was anyway. It was
good to see Ternent, beer-belly constrained by tight T-shirt, wearing shorts and dangling
a fag, on the touchline coaching his players, and making a beeline for the ref after the
match. The last bloke would have simply waddled off, shoulders shrugged. We will have to
accept that this is a nothing season and take if from there, but for the moment, at least
we have a full-time manager who knows his team isn’t good enough. It doesn’t
sound much, but after all the nonsense of last year, at least this is a start.
Team:
Ward, Brass, Morgan, Moore, Blatherwick, Howey, Little, C Smith (Jepson 46), Cooke
(Robertson ?), Payton, P Smith. SNU: Williams.
