Where'd you learn to defend that
way?
Preston 4 Burnley 1, 7th November
1998
Firmo
Well,
this was terrible.
There were some worries before the game about
how we’d fare in the absence of Cooke and Little. We suspected attacks might be at a
premium and we might struggle to score, especially when we saw that, for the second game
running, Payton was playing as a sole striker. What we didn’t expect, given those
attacking absences, was that our defence would not turn up. We didn’t predict that
they would defend like schoolboys and look vulnerable to every Preston attack.
Ironically enough, on the train up we had got to
talking about heavy defeats and games we’d left before the final whistle. I pointed
out that one good thing this season was that we hadn’t felt the urge to walk out on
any games. And, although I felt some trepidation about how the match might finish, all
predicted that it would be close, and we might just get a draw.
The day didn’t start so badly, once the
half hour delay outside Preston station that was perhaps an omen was out of the way. The
sun was shining, the cab turned up and we just about made the kick off. We took our seats
high in the shiny new Bill Shankly Anfield Kop (such a shame Preston don’t have two
legends of their own to name stands after) and attempted to watch the game, distracted
though we were by the bizarre and convoluted pylons they use for floodlights.
Preston quickly took control of the match and
started to attack. It was against the run of play when we scored. I’m not sure how
much Eastwood knew about it. An Armstrong free kick was headed on by Reid, bounced off his
head and went in. Naturally enough, this didn't affect the nature of our celebrations.
Everything was going to be all right. We had nothing to fear here.
So it was an undeserved goal, and didn't serve
to break up the pattern of the play. Preston continued their attacks, and when they scored
shortly afterwards, we were disappointed, but not surprised. It was a decent goal, too: a
long range but fast and accurate shot which Ward could not hope to save.
At half time we cheered our team off. Though
depleted, as always seems to be the case, we had put up some good resistance. There were
some cracks, it has to be said. Morgan was simply awful, far off the pace of the game,
unable to get near their players or the ball. Vindheim was equally sluggish played at
sweeper, a position we were led to believe was his best. It wasn’t immediately
obvious, and he needs to have a good game soon before we start thinking that his early
impressive performances were a high watermark. His uncertainty at sweeper served to
undermine the rest of the defence. Reid was showing that occasional tendency to clear the
ball inaccurately that spoils so much of his good play, Scott was displaying keenness,
lunging in and looking beatable, and Heywood showed his inexperience. Up front, Payton was
seeing little of the ball and Eastwood was working hard behind him. Brass, played in
midfield, was proving that he can’t play in midfield, although the brain dead prats
behind me were determined to crucify him nonetheless. Armstrong, in the centre, might have
done something, but he sustained an injury towards the end of the half, limped on when he
should have gone off, and was finally replaced by Maylett at half time.
Whatever, if we hung on another 45 minutes we
would be happy with the point. At half time, in the ridiculous crush underneath Preston's
shiny new stand, we prepared ourselves for a characteristic battling performance.
Then the roof fell in. The identity of the
scorer was unsurprising. Nogan always does it. He’d been up to his familiar tricks of
gesturing towards the away end and successfully winding us up earlier. Thankfully, though
he got plenty of the ball, his shooting had been as erratic as you might expect. Sadly,
that didn’t last. The nature of the goal was as frustrating as the scorer. We had
numerous chances to clear. No-one seemed to want to take the final responsibility. There
are times when you need to kick the bloody thing away, and this was one of them. A couple
of Preston players had shots, the ball wasn’t cleared, and Nogan finished decisively,
before hamming up his celebrations.
Perhaps even more sickening than Nogan’s
obvious pleasure in knifing yet again the club that rescued him from the scrapheap was our
defence’s reaction. They stood around, yelled at each other and pointed fingers. This
wasn’t the sort of response that would get us out of trouble.
It’s possible that if someone had taken
responsibility for organising things, we wouldn’t have conceded the same goal again
for their third. Again we failed to clear, again they got to the rebound. The only
different thing was the identity of the Claret reject. David Eyres pounced to score. I
watched astonished as one or two people around the stand applauded. The point is he
doesn’t play for us any more.
This goal was enough to spark Preston’s
dismally quiet fans into some sort of sustained noise. It now fell silent on the away end,
in contrast to the previous noisy support.
The game was over then. We were never going to
come back. On the field we looked entirely dispirited. If we hadn’t won fifty-fifty
balls or rebounds before then, clearly we weren’t going to do it now. Eastwood had
pushed up to make a front two and Vindheim was replaced by the returning Ford, but that
wasn’t going to save us. The very idea of the ever timid Ford riding to our rescue is
ridiculous. As it happens, he was clearly short of fitness.
They scored their fourth on fifty seven minutes.
And that was the end of my game. I’d never thought when we talked about it on the
train up that I might have to leave, but rules are rules. My cast iron, time-honoured
practice is to leave any game the minute we go three goals down. (I have not observed it
once - at Wycombe the other year, because it was so early, but I went after four.) You
have a choice not to watch crap; there are better things to do with the rest of the day
than to sit through a game as bad as this. It’s called having standards. Someone
asked me afterwards why I did this; the question was wrong. It should have been, why does
anyone stay? So, with a small group of friends, I left. Someone called us "part time
supporters." I wouldn't even dignify that with a reply.
I am afraid my report grinds to a halt around
here. I understand that Preston had a hat full of chances - it could have been eight, was
the most common comment. Apparently only some inept shooting and excellent work by Ward
stopped it being so. That has a ring of truth to it: they were poor in front of goal and
Ward was one of the few players to emerge with any credit. It’s astonishing to think
he still isn’t ours. Reid was substituted for Henderson and, I’m told, stormed
down the tunnel in a huff. This is inexcusable behaviour from a senior player in a side
with so many kids. How about leading by example? And, to prove we were right to leave, it
finished 4-1 and the place was deserted by the end.
Us? We came out of the ground fast and furious
and a little disoriented. I’ve stood or sat in numerous places at Preston, so I never
know where I am when I emerge (in all these years, however, one fact is constant: you
always have to walk across a load of mud). At a loss, we spied a pub called the Deepdale,
and realising this would be our only chance to ever get a drink there, we promptly
entered. We shouldn’t have bothered. The place was full of Preston supporters who
weren’t at the match. They told us it was 4-1 and asked if we were Burnley
supporters. The one Cockney accent between us came in handy. We drank one quick pint and
made a swift return to the incomparably friendlier surroundings of the Lamb and Packet,
there to watch the score of the game we’d travelled all this way to see come up on Grandstand
and concentrate on our aim of drinking ourselves to oblivion. We succeeded.
Afterwards, Ternent shot out of the ground,
unable for once to think of anything to say, and called all the players in on Sunday for
an inquest. He later described himself as "embarrassed" and said he could now
understand what last season was like. In that respect only was this better than the many
woeful games of last season. We can now regard ourselves as having paid for the euphoria
of Colchester, and our brilliant win at Preston last season, come to that. The crucial
thing now is to concentrate on the basic arts of defending again, for if we defend like
that every week we will get beat. Let’s kick the ball away for a bit until we’ve
put the horrors of this display behind us. And may this be the last game I don’t see
the end of, for this season at least.
Team: Ward,
Scott, Morgan, Vindheim (Ford 55), Heywood, Reid (Henderson 61), Eastwood, Brass,
Armstrong (Maylett 45), Payton, O'Kane
The home game and the previous
away game
