Emperor waddle, you’re naked
Gillingham 2 chris waddle 0, 3 January 1998
I blame waddle
After this game I lost my voice for a week. I
was horribly ill on Sunday, got sent home on Monday, and stopped in bed on Tuesday and
Wednesday. I spent the next weekend exhausted and lacklustre, watching the win on Ceefax.
I could, of course, blame the insidious virus passed on from a Northern relative, and the
chest and throat infection which ensued. I could mention Saturday’s exposure to
frequent rain, high winds and cold weather, which left me soaked to the skin and chilled
to the bone. I could even, if pressed, concede that the alarming level of alcohol
consumption was a contributing factor. But this would be to miss the point, in rather the
way of some supporters who spent much of the game calling for Teasdale out. I have a much
more plausible explanation for my current ill health. I blame waddle.
Admittedly, LTS trains got the day off to the
wrong start. I was supposed to be taking the Tilbury river crossing to Gravesend, the
theory being that abject surrender is more palatable when preceded by a boat journey. All
was going to plan as I purchased my train ticket, at which point my train was promptly
cancelled. With the ticket man’s cry of "sucker!" ringing in my ears I hot
footed to Victoria for plan B. Truly, for yet another season, I had missed the boat. Draw
your own satirical conclusions. I hope to finally take that ferry ride next season. If
Brighton don’t move again.
A lot of wind
We had a lot of weather that day, and this made
playing conditions difficult. Cynical after my Oldham experience, I didn’t believe
the game would be played. It was wet, the pitch was slippery and the kind of wind that
will always be called swirling made it hard to control balls in the air. So that’s
the excuses done (from page seven of the club’s by now rather dog-eared copy of The
Jimmy Mullen Book of Excuses). Of course, Gillingham had to play under exactly the
same conditions, and coped rather better. But at least we’ve got a manager people
have heard of. Gillingham’s manager won’t be expert summarising for the world
cup this summer. Hopefully, ours won’t be either. waddle can if he wants, though.
Why Neil Moore is crap
After eight minutes Gillingham scored, and that
was the game over. The goal was a small gem, a perfect example of all that is wrong with
the team. So-called classy defender Moore wandered vaguely out of position towards the
fellow who had the ball, but as is customary, did not consent to actually dispute
possession. When the man had got to about where he wanted to be, he played the ball in.
Lee Howey (no relation, we would like to make absolutely clear, to waddle, or, if the way
he plays is anything to go by, to Steve Howey either) was in the vicinity. Conveniently,
he was stood immediately behind the man he should have been marking, who promptly scored.
Lee, try standing between them and the goal, it’s better. Howey’s deficiencies
are known to all, of course, but frequently overlooked is the fact that Howey forms but
half of the Worst Burnley Central Defensive Partnership Of The Nineties. His colleague
Moore is just as bad, only in a different way. Where Howey’s shortcomings are
obvious, because he always lunges at the ball and misses it (waddle take note:
there’s no point saying no-one tries harder when his lack of simple skill is there
for all to see), Moore never attempts to win the ball. Still wearing our Steve Davis
tinted glasses, we mistake this for quality defending. But defenders should tackle, win
headers and make the simple pass. Moore hides, keeps out of the way, runs alongside his
man. Do not mistake this for skill. Should he get the ball, we do not get the composed
pass we might expect. More often than not we get the punt forward that, when it came from
Winstanley’s boot, was cause for scorn.
The usual
For the rest of the game we scurried round to
little effect. Occasionally we tried to fool ourselves that we were playing good football
by farting about before we lost possession, whereupon Gillingham would promptly play the
direct pass and catch us asleep. Guess what? Gillingham were no good. The game was
terrible. We could have no complaints about losing. And that is true of virtually every
game this season. We are bottom of a rotten division. Perhaps if we had occasionally tried
to get the ball to our strikers, amongst the best in the division last season, we would
have scored. It’s not just that we couldn’t get balls and bodies in the box,
it’s that this team could never achieve this simple feat. We lacked creation in
midfield, we started the game with no width (odd for one of the best wide players of his
generation, although we over-compensated by ending the game with three wingers) and we
expected Brass and Vinnicombe to play as "wing backs", when they can’t
attack, and even had a job defending given the gaping hole at the centre of defence.
Barnes and Cooke had to feed off only scraps. In this game we had two clear chances on
goal. Our useless manager can comfort himself that this means we should have scored two
goals, but if that was the case then most games would finish with double figure
scorelines. This one might have been 8-2. The reality is that if you have perhaps ten
shots on goal in a game and defend sensibly you might score a couple and win. Similarly,
we won the corner count in this game. Whoopee. All that means is that Gillingham kicked
the ball out a lot of times. If we could have taken corners that might have meant
something. Smith in particular, on after waddle had stuck by his usual schedule of
substitutions, didn’t realise that in strong winds you should stop sending in high
and hanging corners, at least after the first three or four times it went wrong.
The reaction of our manager to our attacking
shortcomings was of course to swap one unfit centre forward for a slightly less fit one.
For sale
Also substituted was the laughably bad (if he
played for anyone but us) Williams, who ran around a lot but unfortunately can’t kick
a football, and Ford, who hides when the going gets tough and concentrates on avoiding
mistakes by avoiding everything. If he wants to see what a hard-working hard man really
looks like, I suggest he studies Harrison, who was head and shoulders above everyone else
and gave effort and determination to put more recent signings to shame. That’s the
player we’ve been trying to give away, of course. Similarly, Matthew, also for sale,
and Little (utterly ignored, given the odd fifteen minutes now and then) were the other
players who tried hardest. All the worst players were the ones waddle signed.
At some point Gillingham scored again, a goal I
will confess I can remember nothing about. We were treated to the late and pointless sight
of our false messiah and then we got to go home. Chants of waddle out at the final whistle
showed you can’t fool all the people all the time. Detailed analysis of the papers
the next day showed that waddle is apparently a liar as well as a useless manager, given
that the man who dares call us an embarrassment said "if they don’t want chris
waddle here, just tell them to sing it and I’ll get out of the way." He must
have heard us, so what can it be? Perhaps it is that those of us who call for this
necessary sacrifice are not really fans.
Go now
That was certainly the opinion of one fellow
Claret on the terraces, who told me that I was not helping the team and if I didn’t
like it I should go somewhere else, or words to that effect. I really am tired of saying
the same things to these witless fools, so, for the last time, I support Burnley and
no-one else, I go to as many games as I can, pay money and am entitled to express an
opinion provided it is within the law, and it is not my job to help the team. If it is now
okay for the manager to criticise the supporters, then the gloves are off and it must be
fair for us to criticise him back. He is privileged, and has access to a wide range of
media which will uncritically report his opinions. Our only opportunity to be heard comes
at the match. If I see a crap performance I will not pretend it is good. The team’s
job is to provide entertainment and to win games. If they win games, they and the manager
rightly take the credit. If they lose, it is therefore their and his fault. If it is the
fan’s fault when we lose, then it must also be thanks to us that we win, and the
board are therefore foolish in paying large sums of money to managers and players. If we
swing the results of games, then clearly we should get together and demand remuneration
for our services, rather than pay to get in.
I really could live the rest of my life without
getting into another fight on the terraces with another fellow Claret. It is a few years
since we have sunk to this level, and surely a sign that we are in desperate trouble. I
maintain that Burnley supporters are divided into two camps: those who know our manager is
useless, and will say it, and those who know the same, but won’t admit it. Thankfully
the latter camp is shrinking fast.
If rumours are to be believed (careful) then
this is irrelevant and waddle could soon be out when the club, not before time, changes
hands. Assuming he can read, he will know this too. Good. Unfortunately, this being
Burnley, it looks like the process will drag on for months, long enough for waddle to take
us down. This doomed board should make it their last act to sack waddle and his cronies. A
less famous man - and that includes Heath - would already have had his marching orders by
now. It’s often said we can’t afford to pay off waddle’s contract. I think
we can afford to go down even less.
