We are back!
1999-2000 - Firmo's Season
Passing
through my old home city of Leeds on way to a Christmas up north, we found ourselves with
a little morning time to kill before the opening of the Duck and Drake, so went for a
mooch round the Corn Centre, meandering around those shops too expensive for students and
too trivial for anyone else. There I saw possibly the most ludicrous piece of
football-related tat in my life: little men painted in football kit colours but with
something in the shape of a nutshell where one might expect the head to be. Don’t ask
me why. Naturally I did what any Claret does when confronted with such football
paraphernalia: scanned expertly the rows, resisting to be fooled by the false gods of West
Ham and Aston Villa, looking for a Burnley model. (Amazing the facility we develop to do
this. Even now I pass London street sellers of unofficial scarves with a penetrating
glance, and of course, am always disappointed. I did find a Burnley keyring on Walthamstow
market once. But I digress.) I was transfixed by this awful thing and knew only that I
needed one. I persuaded my wife that she should buy me this gift then retired to lurk
embarrassed in a shop selling discotheque mirror balls until the deed was done. It took a
long time. Turns out that these artefacts are handfinished with names and numbers painted
on their backs. I thus became the proud owner of an ‘Andrew – 7’ Burnley
nut. Interestingly, while customising it, the craftsman revealed he was a Gillingham
supporter, and was looking forward to visiting Turf Moor when they played us.
At the season’s end, I couldn’t stop
thinking about that little moment of fate, that transaction between supporters of the two
clubs which would eventually contest promotion. It seemed somehow a moment of symbolism in
a way I can’t pin down. I wouldn’t even say the nut was particularly a lucky
mascot. I took it to one game to see what it made of it all and that was the nightmare of
Bury away. After this it was confined strictly to the bedroom mantelpiece with all the
other tat.
Ultimately, we went up because we didn’t
bottle it and Gillingham did. But what was odd for a season which ended in the euphoria of
automatic promotion was how many times I became convinced that any chance of automatic
promotion was over. Partly this might have been down to the usual superstitious pretending
that the worst will happen, but I was for most part genuinely unconvinced that we would
make it. After Preston, Luton, Bury and Gillingham at home, I knew it was over. Naturally,
I now feast daily on the thousands of words I produced to support this line of argument,
and pretty good they taste too. Yum yum.
Looking back now, although it might not always
have seemed so at the time, this season was clearly more enjoyable than most. It must have
been, because it went so quickly. It seems but a week or so since I went, jetlagged,
sweaty and short of sleep, to the graveyard known as Adam’s Park and watched us
emerge with a creditable point. We should have known something special was in the air then
and there. Standing sunsoaked straining on the shallow terrace of the Memorial Ground for
a view of the season’s easily most crooked display of refereeing is surely something
I did a few days ago. From there to that joyful and life-affirming day at Glanford Park
seems the blink of an eye.
Getting statistical for a minute, having gone
through the fixture list it would appear I attended some 30 games in all, slightly up on
recent seasons, I assume partly because of our cup run and partly because at the end of
seasons like this you find yourself going to games you’d normally give a miss. These
were somewhat unevenly divided between home and away games, with only 7 visits to Turf
Moor and 20 away league trips plus 3 in the FA Cup. Every season I set myself the target
of going to more home and fewer away games and every season I somehow fail, with a
combination of short distance trips to southern grounds and days out in fine drinking
towns proving hard to resist. I can’t imagine missing a Burnley game in the south for
anything but the most cast iron reasons, as it seems rude not to turn up when they’ve
come down here, although Luton was missed for the first time in years as I was stuck in
another hemisphere at the time.
In passing I give due thanks to the FA Cup,
which was unusually good this season. I was mystified at the claims that the competition
had somehow gone flat in the absence of everyone’s favourite football PLC. I’ve
never known a fourth round draw so exciting. I was on the very edge of my seat.
Personally, the FA Cup worked out superbly for me. The first round fell shortly before I
was travelling, so all I wanted was a game in the south, preferably somewhere I’d not
been before. Perfect. The second round I really couldn’t get to, so I wished for a
home game against beatable opposition. Splendid. For the third round all I asked was a
ground we don’t normally play at in a town with some good pubs. Well, I got this with
jam on. Derby is one of England’s premier drinking days out, a fair rival with
Nottingham, and Pride Park was of course a ground Burnley had never played on, so this was
a pure ‘tick’. The fact that we did something I had never seen us do, and knock
out a top flight team, was the delicious icing and marzipan on the cake. That we did so
with imperious ease as clearly the better of the two sides was the cherry on top of
everything else. The fair, positive and for once cliché-shirking reportage in the
following couple of days, was the sprinkling of hundreds and thousands and sugared,
toasted almonds on top of all that. It was magnificent, and I was proud to be a part of
it. The fourth round was a bonus. We hadn’t played at Coventry for years, so we
cleared the Good Beer Guide’s ten listed pubs just in case it’s a while before
we return. Another new ground for me, and I actually wanted us to go out before it cost
the league form, which was then looking slightly dicey. Hats off to the FA Cup!
All football fans are ground-tickers, and each
year I try to clear the division’s new places, rigidly enforcing the rule that only a
Burnley match counts. Promotions and relegations had brought four new grounds for me to
visit in addition to the FA cup matches, and these were duly despatched, with the last one
being Scunthorpe in some style, which brought my first away ground pitch invasion for two
years. As well as Pride Park, I was able to see Burnley step out for the first time at
Wigan’s chaotically-managed JJB ground, on a day when the rubbish stewarding was only
matched by the rotten quality of journalism, which subsequently reported people trying to
find somewhere to sit as a return to 70s style hooliganism. Next season brings a load of
grounds I’ve not been to before, including the ‘Reebok’, Carrow and Loftus
Roads and, of course, Deadwood Park. I’m not even pretending next season I might go
to more home games and less away. The website pub guides are going to take a bit more
effort too.
Just as importantly, 1999-2000 was the season
when I stopped going to Chesterfield, a decision of which I am proud, and which now has a
ring of permanency around it. This meant that there were very few crap days out, although
Barnet on a Sunday lunchtime was hardly the liveliest of places, and I wouldn't mind not
going to Oldham for a few years or High Wycombe ever again. As well as Derby and Coventry,
Bristol was also good, although both games were dire and the absence of any discernible
public transport means that Bristol loses its claim to be considered a major city. One of
the few disappointments of next season’s utterly tasty fixture list is that there is
no scheduled trip to Bristol. Indeed, the entire West Country is one of the whole swathes
of the country now out of bounds – we won’t even be going as far as Swindon next
season, or visiting Paddington station at all (I hear the Archery Tavern has had to put
the beer prices up in compensation) - along with the North East and Wales. Although
Norwich represents a new Eastern boundary, next season we will go no further West than
Tranmere and no further South than Portsmouth – and no further North than Burnley
itself. In fact, though the fine fillet of fish day out to Grimsby / Cleethorpes might
just shade it, there is likely to be nowhere harder to get to than Turf Moor.
Turning to the men responsible for setting up
next season’s feast, my player of the season was unquestionably Mitchell Thomas. Once
again, this represents another nail in the coffin of my crap punditry. When we were said
to be interested in Thomas, about a year ago, I confess I was horrified. I had memories of
some nervous and error prone Tottenham fullback. It quickly became apparent that what we
had signed was a colossal central defender, a determined and industrious preventer of
goals. It’s said that Thomas wasn’t signed to play in central defence. If so
then spotting that he could play there had to go down as a moment of blinding insight.
Thomas rapidly installed himself as the kind of hulking artisan every successful side
needs. You only have to look at the two games he missed – the collapse at Bury and
the embarrassing home game against Preston – to realise what his importance was. Hats
aloft, both to him and Ternent, for a considerable achievement.
Andy Payton was, once again, Andy Payton: an
egomaniac goalscorer concerned with sticking the ball in the net as many times as
possible. At times he carried the team. No one really scored enough except Payton. That he
finished the season top league scorer was its own tribute. That he scandalously didn't
appear in the PFA divisional team was a kind of recognition too. Not many defenders would
have voted for him. Some of Payton’s goals were spectacular. Some were tap ins. For
me, what turned out to be the last home game of the season, against Cambridge, summed up
his range. The first was a goal from nowhere created by a incomprehensible piece of skill.
The second was a rebound stuck in from close range. And best of all, here was a Claret lad
doing it.
Honourable mentions are due to a few other
players. Little didn’t hit the peaks of last season, but he still scored the best
Burnley goal I have ever seen, at home to Bristol Rovers, along with the ultimate winner
at Scunthorpe. Burnley would be the best platform for him to prove his genius in the
uncharted waters of division one, and I hope it is to be. Steve Davis, I thought, had a
difficult season. There was a time around Christmas when nothing was going right for him,
but he plugged on, steadied, and towards the season’s end was back to close to his
best. His long header at Oxford, which was going in from the moment it left his head, had
to be one of the season’s most crucial goals. A couple of other players surprised
even this old cynic. Crichton played way above himself to put in some startling displays
of shot-stopping, not least at Brentford. His post season comment that he had never before
been involved in a promotion sums up a career low on achievement, but he found what must
have been far and away the best form of his career when it mattered. Graham Branch even,
if not our best player, did quite a bit to redeem some of the foppish performances of last
season. I’m still convinced that fullbacks make the best fullbacks, if you see what I
mean, but when called upon to fill in a number of positions in a variety of teams he at
last made use of his famed pace, and showed commitment and willingness to work. There have
probably been sentences I less thought I would ever write, but not many.
Have I missed anyone? Well, we were never a one
man club, and did have some quite good players before he joined, but it's hard not to
mention Ian Wright. Although he only started four games, playing in eleven more as a
substitute, and scored four goals, his impact on the club was far greater than that. His
signing captured the public imagination around the town more than any other before. It
brought thousands more through the turnstiles and put money in the bank that will be
needed as we strive to raise our game next season. Although it seemed a very
un-Ternentlike signing, it was also a statement of intent, along with the signing of Ian
Cox, a declaration that this season we meant business and were leaving no stone unturned
in our quest to get back to a decent level of football. Wright had a galvanising effect on
the club. Next season is, in part, an enduring legacy of his signing, and of the
imagination at the club which led to it. And without his goal against Gillingham, the
final table could have looked a bit different.
Returning to purely sociable matters, pub of the
year was undoubtedly the Black Lion in Bersham, near Wrexham, as mentioned elsewhere.
It’s almost a shame we won’t get a chance to go there again next season. A
special mention should also be made of the Will Adams in Gillingham, which remains the
only pub to have e-mailed me (in response to our online pub guide in which I’d
queried their opening hours) to tell me that the pub was indeed open before the match,
going on to detail precisely what beer was on sale. For that, and the boat trip, which was
once again undertaken last season, I was pleased it was them who won the play-offs,
notwithstanding their premature celebration when they beat Cardiff. If only Ipswich had
executed their usual disaster!
On a personal level, one thing that did
disappoint me in 1999/2000 was the absence of anyone falling down muddy banks, as happened
at Northampton and Stoke on previous seasons. I can only hope that we do better next year.
Possibly the most perilous journey was away from Wigan down the side of an unlit canal
towpath. I wouldn’t fancy a night match there. Inevitably we veered from the ideal
route and had to climb over no less than three different gates before we regained the
comfort of the pub. Most hazardous day out would have been Millwall, where I understand
the police held the away following back just long enough for a moment for 70s nostalgiacs
to savour at London Bridge, were it not for the fact that we spotted the local plod had
only blocked one end of the road, so ambled out via the other end and arrived safely ahead
of the trouble. The most heavily policed game was undoubtedly Cardiff. It wasn’t so
much the forced march to the station that annoyed as our half hour involuntary
incarceration in the carpark watching successive trains to Newport and beer pull out. But
what really hurt was their carefree admission that this was a mere dress rehearsal of the
policing plan for the game against Bristol Rovers! That said, I would be happy for next
season’s trip to Deadwood Park to be policed in exactly the same way. The train ride back from Cardiff was, however, something quite extraordinary,
akin to a long exhalation of breath. It’s almost worth going to Ninian Park for the
overwhelming sense of relief you experience at emerging unscathed and the corresponding
surge of joi de vivre. Almost.
Biggest off pitch disappointment was that
Reading no longer stinks. As if to compensate, though, our performance surely did. That
was the least enjoyable Burnley game I saw, possibly ever, followed by the aforementioned
Preston home and Bury away defeats. The Notts County away defeat was also a miserable
occasion, after the usual fine day out, but I might have relished the disappointment if I
had known then that I had just witnessed our last second division away defeat. Any Burnley
supporter who couldn't decide when the millennium starts will surely now be convinced that
it begins in 2001, so at least we have another chance not to lose the first game of the
next thousand years. The Preston home game merits special mention as my first ever
application of the Three Goal Rule at Turf Moor. A sad day indeed. The only other game I
had an opportunity to leave early was Bury away, but here the fact that I depended on a
lift on transport free Boxing Day and the fact that my driver rigidly insisted on stopping
until the last meant I unexpectedly saw both of our last minute consolation goals. Special
mention should be made here of Julian Booth, who left Oxford at 1-0 down, thereby missing
our stirring win, and Whitto, who couldn’t face what seemed the inevitable when
Gillingham went 2-1 ahead, and consequently left before Ian Wright’s goal.
The highs definitely outweigh the lows, as you
might expect, particularly towards the end. Both games against Oxford will stick long in
the memory, and Brentford was a satisfying experience. Derby and Scunthorpe were obvious
highlights, already covered in minute detail elsewhere. I’d also like to include
Gillingham, because our point ended my miserable 0% record on that ground. How about going
all the way and getting a win next season? They’re certainly one of the teams we
should be looking to finish above.
Next season is going to be strange. We’re
going to have to get used to not being the biggest club around the place, to our home and
away crowds being unremarkable, to our ground being nothing special. More than this,
expectations will have to change. Stuck in the second division, we have demanded success.
Nor that we were unrealistic. Consensus was that the most Burnley, a club from a small
town and without disproportionate resources, could achieve was to be an established first
division club. The hope we allowed ourselves was to get to division one and stay there.
We've done the first part. Now the rest might not be so exciting. If we meant what we
said, then our hopes for the rest of our football lives are to keep what we now have: this
division, year after year.
The first season is all about survival. The last
two times Burnley have been promoted to this level, we have come straight back down.
Success next season is avoiding the drop. And it might be hard for us to adjust to that.
We're going to have to set our sights on that. Sure, we've had survival battles one
division lower, but no one ever expected them, and it always seemed scandalous that we had
allowed ourselves to get into them in the first place. Now, the forthcoming survival
battle is our reward. And this might be difficult when we've only recently become
comfortable with the idea of beating most sides. Just when we've got used to going away
and winning, we might have to settle for going to defend and avoid defeat. A support which
was critical of us taking it easy when 3-0 up at home is going to have to grow accustomed
to the pursuit of a single goal followed by a shut up shop. Next season calls for
patience, endurance and determination. I feel that the novelty of the surroundings will
help take our minds off what may turn out to be the dour necessities of survival football.
Stick with it. I have more faith in Ternent to pull it off than any other Burnley manager
I can think of. Hard work, grit, pragmatism: I bet Ternent is relishing next season.
I reckon he'll do it. I can even think of three
sides to finish beneath us. Aware of my emerging status as an anti-pundit, however, I'll
keep them to myself.
Finally, I cannot finish without giving special
praise to one individual who distinguished himself as a titan among his class on May 6th.
Hats must be removed for one Burnley nightclub doorman, who on that night of nights
refused admission to the jubilant Ian Wright - because he was wearing trainers! In the
face of mass public euphoria, it takes a special kind of jobsworth with a real dedication
to the art of tosserdom to stick to such guns. Well done sir. Prepare to do the same for
next season’s survival party.
See you all in Division One.
Firmo
July
2000
Links - Season reviews from Cozzo, Hego,
Tim Quelch, Phil Whalley and Igor Wowk
