When will I see you
again?
Burnley 2 Cambridge 0, 29 April
2000
Firmo
I tried to make the most of the visit. On the
train up, with 26 other London Clarets and, if you wanted omens, a match report in a 100
year old reprint of the Daily Express summarising a Burnley home win, on the bus over the
tops from Manchester and in the walk through the town, where the colours of Claret and
Blue were ubiquitous, to the ever welcoming Sparrow, I tried to soak up and store a bit of
Burnley. This was the last home game of the season - perhaps. One interesting aspect of
this end of the season has been the uncertainty. What we shall all be doing in May is
still to be decided. Here, at least, and elsewhere, in Wigan, Bristol and Preston, some
matters were made clearer. This win left us definitely in the play-offs, and likely to
finish somewhere between 2nd and 4th. Our win, combined with Wigan's
defeat caused by their failure to win their usual dubious penalty, left us second with one
game left. Not a bad position to be in, even if it did leave us thinking about the unusual
prospect of making a trip to the Priestfield to support Cardiff in Gillingham's game at
hand. Supporting Cardiff; promotion campaigns make for odd alliances.
What was impressive about our win was the utter
routineness of it all. There were no jitters here. Cambridge have done well to lift
themselves from relegation candidates to safety, but they did not worry us. I found the
team selection on the odd side, though. Cox's enforced absence had seen West brought in,
with Thomas reverting to central defence in a back four alongside Davis. Nothing
particularly surprising there, although I'm never filled with confidence by West's
inclusion, and he put in the usual non-footballing display. Against that, Thomas looked a
far better player back in the middle, ensuring that Cox wasn't missed. More worrying was
the disappearance of Little. I thought he played badly at Brentford, but if you want to
maximise your chances of winning a game, you still have to find a place for him. Instead,
we had Mellon and Johnrose in the middle, supported by Mullin and Cook.
We could get away with it against opposition out
for a stroll. Still, it took a goal of real talent to take a lead. It's hard to describe
because I'm still not sure how Payton did it. One minute he was advancing into a penalty
area thick with defenders, options looking slim. The next second he'd turned, somehow gone
the wrong way and had flicked the ball into the top right corner. It was a moment of
genius from a player we have come to rely on. And you can rely on Payton. When he scored
the clinching second - a routine right place right time finish into an unguarded net after
Cooke's header came back off a post - he put himself on 27 season league goals. Andy
Payton scores goals. It's his job. Before this game, he'd gone a few without scoring,
which meant that someone, somewhere was going to pay. Lean spells never last long.
And that was that, as the game more or less
died. Fair enough. The mission was to get the points, then take it easy. The half time
verdict was that we'd played quite well, were passing nicely, the game was ours and we
should now not overexert ourselves. That may have been the team talk, because the second
half was a polite jaunt. The two sides played the game out, and up in the top right of the
Harry Potts Longside we allowed our attention to wander. We admired football's best view
out over the moors, speculating if we would see it next on a sunny day in August, or as a
dark shadow on a Wednesday night soon. The game slowed and we watched the cricketers
occasionally attempting to start up a game, in between bouts of unfurling and refurling
the covers as the drizzle drifted on and off. Hill views and a cricket match;
truly, Turf Moor is at its evocative best these days. The logic of further redevelopment
will one day sweep these away, so enjoy them while they last. Scores occasionally filtered
through. Things mostly seemed to be going our way. I couldn't help think what it might be
like one week later at Scunthorpe, when every other person would have a radio pressed to
their ear.
It was one of those games where it was hard to
choose a man of the match. Davis and Thomas were sturdy in defence, Thomas in particular
catching the eye with a calm and authoritative display in which he dispossessed any
attacker who dared come near him. In midfield Cook was quiet, but the other three
impressed. Johnrose took charge, Mellon did simple things well and Mullin continued the
recent good form which has forced me to revise my opinion of him. The forward scampering
and drive to get involved we saw at Brentford were once again in evidence. Up front,
Payton's two goals naturally overshadowed Cooke's rather subdued contribution. Perhaps he
wasn't fit, as he was replaced by Wright, allowing us the rare sight of the division's two
best strikers playing in the same attack. Wright, having apparently picked up some kind of
Premier League hall of fame gong while we were in the pub drinking perhaps the season's
last pint of Moorhouse's Premier, was interested in the game but pretty well handled by
their defence. Further subs duly came. Fat arsed Ronnie Jepson replaced Paul Cook to no
great effect and Little was at last allowed to play some part of the game, albeit that it
brought the unwelcome sight of Payton going off. A hat trick for Payton would have been
nice, but we were prepared not to get too greedy, and perhaps he was still carrying the
injury that had seen him taken off at half time at Brentford.
Mullin, now in attack, linked up well alongside
Wright. The two clearly enjoy playing together. Little enjoyed a few runs, but it was
mostly justifiably dull stuff. Their loan keeper Perez, who had been inspired against us
when he played for Scunthorpe, made the obligatory error he was always going to make, but
we somehow just couldn't get a clean shot from the ball he dropped. We could also have had
a penalty when Johnrose was shoved in the box, but the referee judged the offence to have
been committed just outside. From Cambridge there were no real scares, not even the late
goal to leave us nervously hanging on for a one goal lead, and the game rather drifted
towards its end, with Cambridge's best chance of making us worry probably being a header
that went wide.
The massed ranks gathering at the bottom of the
stands signalled the coming end of the game and the pitch invasion. Perhaps they'd decided
it was the last home game of the season, then. It brought home to me how much we'd
progressed. At the last two end of seasons I have merrily invaded that pitch, both times
to mark a successful fight against relegation, when we faced down champions Fulham and
when we survived and sent down Plymouth in our place. This time, I couldn't have done it.
The season is still alive. I suppose I'd acknowledged as much when I'd decided to stick to
the upper tier from where I've watched all my season's home games. From there an attempt
to get on the pitch would take some ingenuity; a little pre-planning and a lower tier
ticket would have been required. So we had to content ourselves with watching the
thousands pour on, and see with amusement the two Cambridge players - a keeper and a
defender - who hadn't been quick enough of the mark to escape the hordes, negotiating a
path to the safety of the tunnel by pretending that they really liked supporters and
really hoped we went up now. Although, we noted with something like contempt, no one had
followed our lead and gone to sit in the dugout.
As they announced that yes, the final (?) match
would indeed be showed on a big screen at Turf Moor, we took a poignant look round - you
never know - and left, to return again in either a few months or a couple of weeks time.
Over a quick pint in the White Lion we learned that Scunthorpe had lost their relegation
battle one week early, which wouldn't do us any harm. And if you want more omens, the bus
we boarded back to a frantic Manchester drinking session had Ian Wright on the side, our
substitute advertising coffee with the slogan, 'no substitute'.
Where will it all end, then? At Scunthorpe? At
Wembley? At Turf Moor? This season has taught me not to even contemplate guessing. My
every pronouncement on the season has been proved wrong. So now, I'm saying nothing. And
for the next week, I don't think I'll be thinking about anything else either.
Team: Crichton,
Thomas, Davis, West, Branch, Mellon, Cook (Jepson 60), Johnrose, Mullin, Cooke (Wright
56), Payton (Little 65). Subs not used: Brass and Lee.
The away game
