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The
Year of the Phoenix
The 1991-92 season game by
game - part ten
April
Writing at a time when success for Burnley will be defined as finishing in the top six in the First Division, this sounds ridiculous, but I'd sort of always assumed that Burnley would be a lower division club, bumping along in the bottom division year after year. That was what they were when I started supporting them, and I'd seen nothing to make me think they'd ever be anything else. It may have been a failure of my imagination, but I'd never been able to understood the expectations many Burnley supporters had of playing at a higher level, or the casual assumption other supporters would make that Burnley were bigger than a Fourth Division side. To me, we were where we were because we deserved to be there. We evidently weren't very good, and it was hard to see how that was going to change. I'd started supporting Burnley because they were my local League football club, not because I imagined they might take me on an incredible journey through the divisions. But they did, and that journey began in 1992, when our promotion after seven years at the bottom was confirmed in April.
Looking back now, from a perspective ten years on, our rise from the depths seems inevitable. Of course a big club like Burnley couldn't stay in the Fourth Division forever! But it wasn't easy, and it wasn't something that just happened because of who we were. It took seven years. Martin Buchan, Tommy Cavanagh, Brian Miller and Frank Casper failed to do it. Promotion had to be won, and it was hard.
When Jimmy Mullen took over from Frank Casper, Burnley were eleventh in the table. It looked like just another season. Then things changed. This was Jimmy Mullen's promotion. In April, he wrote his name in Burnley's history.
4 April
Crewe 1 Burnley 0
It got off to a duff start, though. We had quite a bad record at Gresty Road at that time, I seem to recall. Crewe had faded a lot since we had played them at home in September, when they'd been top and a draw a good result for us. Conceding their free kick a few minutes from the end was a blow. We didn't even have time to mount our usual fight back.
I wasn't at this game. I couldn't get a ticket, would you believe. It was an even smaller ground then than it is now, and our small allocation must have been snapped up by season ticket holders. There were accompanying dire warnings not to go there without one. They always were a bit paranoid at Crewe.
The other thing to note is that injuries were beginning to tell a bit. Although John Deary was back from suspension, our line up missed Ian Measham, Adrian Randall, Steve Harper and John Francis.
Team: Pearce, Farrell, Jakub, Davis, Pender, Monington, Yates, Deary, Painter, Conroy (Lancashire), Eli. Sub not used: McKenzie.
Attendance: 5,530.
7 April
Burnley 0 Stockport County 1, Autoglass Trophy Northern Final First Leg
Those injuries told in this game. Now inspirational leader of the front line Mike Conroy was missing, with early season prodigy Graham Lancashire stepping in. Meanwhile, with Robbie Painter cup tied from earlier in the season when he was at Maidstone, the comically fat and useless Ian Bray actually got a game. We were so stretched that the ineffectual Mark Yates had now played three games on the trot, while forgotten man David Hamilton, who had last been seen on stretcher in September, returned to the bench. He didn't come on, but recent signing Paul McKenzie, ex of the Highland League and the Royal Mail, did, to play the first game of a brief Burnley career.
To lose was disappointing, as we were on some sort of double here. Naturally this game wasn't nearly as important as any League match, but we were a two-legged win away from Wembley, which would have capped the season nicely. Stockport might have been one division higher, but so were Huddersfield in the round before, and we weren't used to losing to anyone at home. We hadn't lost to anyone at the Turf in 1992, and we'd even held First Division Derby in the FA Cup. Still, in the end those injuries counted, and although it could have been a draw, the identity of the scorer was no surprise. Stockport's giant freak of nature Kevin Francis always scored against us, and so it proved here.
Team: Pearce, Farrell, Jakub, Davis, Pender, Monington, Yates, Deary, Lancashire, Bray (McKenzie), Eli. Sub not used: Hamilton.
Attendance: 13,255.
15 April
Stockport County 2 Burnley 1, Autoglass Trophy Northern Final Second Leg (3-1 on aggregate)
So, it wasn't to be. There was no trip to Wembley. Ah well, we'd get over it. Promotion was the main thing. Ultimately we paid the price for defeat in the first leg, and although the team showed signs of recovering from its injury problems, Stockport were expected to win at home and duly did just that. Kevin Francis predictably scored from a header after just six minutes to give them a comfortable lead. Although John Pender equalised to give us some hope and we then had a go, we just couldn't force a breakthrough, and they made sure near the end.
I remember going to this. We thought an away Autoglass Trophy match was a pretty hardcore thing to do. Our supporters' coach was in fact a double decker bus, tree branches slapping at the windows as we drove through the Manchester suburbs. I remember a mild, pleasant evening as we stood on the crowded open away end. It felt rather like a pre-season friendly. There must have been a large steward or policeman, because the away following spent most of the match singing 'Who ate all the pies?'. This was the song of the moment. I remember an old bloke in front of me turning round and complaining, "We're getting beat and all they're interested in is singing about pies."
Did you notice there was no Saturday game between these two legs? This was one of those of those curious years, caused by League restructuring in the face of the imminent Premier League, when we started the season with an odd number of teams, so each Saturday one club must lie fallow. It was our turn to be the side with nowt to do that weekend.
Team: Pearce, Farrell, Jakub, Davis, Pender, Yates, Harper (McKenzie), Deary, Francis, Conroy, Eli (Monington).
Burnley scorer: Pender (22).
Attendance: 8,329.
18 April
Rochdale v Burnley (postponed)
For the second Saturday running, we had no game. This was annoying. Me and my brother were pottering about in Rochdale at about two o'clock looking for something to do, when someone told us the game was off. It had been raining, and we were wet, but I still remember being surprised. Apparently the pitch was waterlogged. Grumbling about the inadequacies of Rochdale's drainage, we diverted to the record shops of Manchester.
The game was re-scheduled for Thursday 30 April, which would mean four games in eight days, and three away games in a row as we looked to finish off the job of promotion.
20 April
Burnley 1 Scarborough
Finally, on Easter Monday, we played a League game, our first in a couple of weeks. You'd have thought we'd be itching to get going in the League again, but this ended up being two points dropped.
Both sides had early chances. Pearce flapped at and horribly missed a corner, but fortunately Gabiaddini's shot was cleared on the line by Joe Jakub. Down at the other end, a good move down the left by John Francis and Roger Eli fed Conroy, but Scarborough's keeper Ford pulled off a great reaction save from his volley. It was to be the first of many unbelievable saves to keep us at bay.
Eli's goal on nine minutes settled our nerves. It was a fine one. Measham's long ball from defence saw Conroy race off in pursuit down the right. He knew what he was doing, having looked across to see Eli charging through the middle. Conroy hit it first time, sending a precise cross into the box. Eli got there just in front of the defender to produce a firm, precise header, capping an excellent move at speed.
We all sat back - metaphorically in those days - and waited for the attacking football to flow and the goals to come. Well, we got the football, but not the goals. We had chances - lots of them. A terrific surge from the back by Painter produced nothing better than a mis-hit shot by Francis. Then Eli made his own chance with a great turn and shot in the box - but again, their keeper found a reaction save to match it.
A goal would surely come. One did, but at the wrong end. Their goal was our mistake. It was another corner, and another Pearce flap and miss. He got nowhere near it, then chased after it, only managing to shove it straight to them. With no one in goal they were able to knock it back in for an easy finish.
In the second half the nerves got to us as we chased a winner. Deary had a free kick touched over. Then Eli, having a brilliant game, held off his defender through sheer strength and pace, ran into the box and pulled it back for Deary. Again, Ford made another good save.
We threw everything forward, but the break just wouldn't come. When Harper shot from outside the box, we had seven men in attack. Finally Measham picked up a slack, headed clearance and chipped the ball into the box. Pender lurked unmarked at the far post, with the goal gaping before him, the keeper for once in the wrong place. He must not have expected it, because somehow he got under it and scooped his header over. That was the last chance of a game we should have won.
Funny how these little runs come, though. Suddenly we hadn't won in four games. Counting the Autoglass games - and Mullen certainly treated them as first team games - we'd now lost three and drawn one in April. But it was a small slump, and it wouldn't take us long to make up for it.
This turned out to be Pearce's last game for Burnley. He picked up an injury which kept him out until the end of the season, and he was one of a slew of players released by Mullen as we prepared for life in a higher division. It was a sad note for his time at the club to end on, with a final costly mistake.
Team: Pearce, Measham, Jakub, Davis, Pender, Farrell, Painter, Deary, Francis, Conroy, Eli (Harper). Sub not used: Yates.
Burnley scorer: Eli (9).
Attendance: 12,312.
22 April
Burnley 3 Cardiff 1
What a night! I know there have been bigger matches at Turf Moor - this was only the Fourth Division after all - but for me, this is one of the great home nights. This was the night when it was impossible to believe we were going to do anything other than win promotion, a jubilant and joyous occasion.
The 1991/92 highlights video, which I watched repeatedly while writing this series, is particularly memorable when it comes to this game. Before it starts the peculiarly ugly, almost deformed, Rob McCaffrey, with his extraordinarily long hands, sits in the Bob Lord Stand, alongside a motley bunch of kids. When cued by the Thin Man they intone, not entirely convincingly, "Five games left. Seven points needed... [they find this bit tricky] ...for the Championship. No problem! Yeahhhh!" Class or what?
Pearce's absence through injury, and the fact that the transfer deadline had passed, meant a first appearance of the season for reserve team keeper David Williams. First appearance for us, that is. He had, of course, already played at Turf Moor earlier in the season, for Rochdale, while on loan, against us, when his match-winning performance in our 1-0 defeat had epitomised the rottenness of the Frank Casper regime. He was known for his big kicks, and not much else. Meanwhile, Eli finally succumbed to the injury he'd been struggling with for some time. Randall came into the team, while Painter pushed up front. Eli had played his last game of the season for us, and sadly would never recover to be the player he'd been this season. Otherwise, it was a strong team.
There was no time for doubts to creep in tonight. We kicked off at 7.30, and at 7.30 we were 1-0 up. Robbie Painter's goal was timed at 16 seconds. It was and remains the fastest Burnley goal I’ve seen. How many quicker have we ever had? Deary touched the kick off to Randall, who played a high ball towards the corner. At this point, the video shows Mullen jogging from the tunnel to his dugout. On the pitch, Cardiff’s no. 5 was rather casually watching the ball roll out of play. So he thought, but Francis had other ideas. He appeared from nowhere on the touchline to keep the ball in. The defender got it back but, flustered, and under pressure from Francis, played a tame ball out. The man he played it to didn’t quite know what to do with it, and as he thought about passing Measham stole in, took the ball, and banged a quick cross in towards goal. Conroy at the near post had two players around him, so he stepped over it – a favourite trick – and left it for the unmarked Painter, who sidefooted it into the far corner. Mullen hadn’t even got to his dug out. It was a goal that owed not a little to skill – Measham’s accurate cross, Conroy’s intelligent dummy – but much, also, to determination. Francis and Measham had made something of nothing. While Cardiff were still on the blocks, we were pressing forward. After failing to beat Scarborough, our hunger was there for all to see. It must have been one hell of a team talk. And what a way for Robbie Painter to score his first Burnley goal!
But Cardiff were a good team, at the time making a late push up the table, and after our blistering start they came back at us. Their goal was a decent one, too, and for once, no one’s fault in particular. The delightfully named Cohen Griffith, fast and nifty, set off on a mad run down the touchline, dribbling from defence and taking out Jakub and Davis before playing it in to Carl Dale in the box. He spun away from Measham and crossed. At the far post, future Bastard Nathan Blake took the chance well.
We came back strongly in the second half, sealing with the game with two goals in a few minutes. Our first was a nice move, started and finished by Farrell. He took Conroy’s pass and squared it out to Measham, then trotted down the centre. Measham chipped a high ball into the box, and Conroy rose to head it into Farrell’s path. The ball sat up awkwardly, he struck, it bounced in front of the goalie and it was in. Conroy’s knock down showed again that he was almost as good a maker of goals as a scorer of them, while the goal was just reward for Farrell, a player who was one of the team’s lesser lights, perhaps, but a willing worker who never let us down. And what a night for Measham, another of our under-rated players, with the right back playing a key role in two goals.
The highlights video adopted an unusual camera angle for this game, somewhere in the corner between the Bob Lord Stand and the Beehole Lane End. They must have known something. It gave a great view of Measham’s ball and Conroy’s header, and it was in the perfect place for our third. Jakub’s corner was flicked across goal by Conroy. Davis headed at the far post, but somehow a defender got in the way. The ball came off him across the goal, and there was Conroy storming in to head home from close range. Next thing we knew he was on the Beehole fence, triumphant. They knew how much this win mattered.
The atmosphere was incredible, the mood one of celebration. This is one of the most purely enjoyable games I’ve been to. We had other chances. Davis had a header just over from Jakub’s deep free kick, while Painter got in a delicate snap shot that flew across the face of goal. But 3-1 was enough – our goal difference was pretty good anyway. In fact, we regained the top of the table position we'd lost through not playing, on goal difference.
This had been a challenging game, but after a couple of bad results, how we’d stormed back. No way were we going to blow it now, and everyone in the ground knew it. The party had begun. We had four games to play, and four points - a point a game, relegation form - would do it. Everyone else only had two matches left.
Not that the team were being anything other than professional about it. After that match, in response to an interviewer trying to get him to admit we'd done it, Conroy played it by the book: "If you look at the table we still have four points to get to win the Championship, so it’s not over by a long shot yet." But this reaction to the goal gave the game away. Now we had to complete the formalities.
Team: Williams, Measham, Jakub, Davis, Pender, Farrell, Painter, Deary, Francis, Conroy, Randall (Harper). Sub not used: Yates.
Burnley scorers: Painter (1), Conroy (60), Farrell (63).
Attendance: 12,408.
25 April
Carlisle 1 Burnley 1
This was a strange day: memorable, but a little disappointing. It was the day we got promoted... more or less. It was a day when we had fancy dress and a party atmosphere... but also violence inside the ground. Nothing is ever simple in Carlisle, it seems.
People came from Burnley in their thousands. This is what happens when you get towards the season's end. You find yourself going to matches you'd never dreamed of seeing. Suddenly me and my brother, home stalwarts, were going to away games. It being close to the end of the season, many came in their fancy dress. Brunton Park can never have been a more colourful sight than on this fine, sunny day. There were the blokes in Elvis masks, blokes in alien masks, and one or two gorillas. Everyone remembers the man who invaded the pitch, set a lilo down on the centre circle, and paddled furiously. Clarets kept pouring in, and they kept having to find room for us. Carlisle were not about to turn away their season's biggest pay day, so they moved the Carlisle supporters into smaller and smaller spaces. The line of segregation kept advancing, and the home supporters were pushed into the minority in their own ground. There were Clarets on three sides.
For a time it got ugly. Both sides' yobs took the opportunity offered by an inadequately thin line of the law to square off and at one point the Burnley yobs surged forward and chaos briefly reigned.
It's important not to overstate this little ugly moment. Most people - thousands of us - were here for the promotion party. It was reckoned that 8,000 Clarets had turned up - games were rarely all ticket - and when the attendance was announced it was a suspiciously round 10,000, although it was later revised down to a figure that looked less like a guess.
Everywhere, there were people with Claret and Blue faces. Jimmy Mullen, wearing a Burnley home shirt, acknowledged these. He said, "I've just been out there today and had a look at all the painted faces, the kids, the children with Claret and Blue cross faces and chequered faces and striped faces. You know, that's what football should be. That's what it's all about." Winningly, he went on, "For me, they're the best supported club I've ever been at. I've been at four or five different clubs, but Burnley Football Club is the greatest in terms of passion and feeling." Bless.
It didn't quite work out as planned. The Clarets fans all around the ground saw our team start rather nervously. The occasion had got to them a little. Williams had to tip over a chip from long range, then they broke down our right. Their left back hit a cross across goal. Williams dived very late and missed it as it bounced in front of him. Fortunately they only had one player up, and he missed it too.
Our goal when it came was a great one. So many times in writing this the phrase 'great goal' has appeared in my notes. Conroy played it ahead of Francis on the left. Francis took on the right back, before playing it back to Deary. He shot from outside the box, but it struck a defender ahead of him. Deary managed to get to the rebound and knock it to Harper on the edge of the box, who squared it left to Francis. Francis still had so much to do. There were two defenders close to him, but he dribbled, cut back, and from the left hand corner of the box unleashed an unstoppable shot into the far side of the goal. There were six defenders in the box. Francis had bypassed them all with a strike of true quality. And if we hadn’t realised how much we were in a majority at the game, we did now. Three sides of the ground celebrated the goal.
After this, we should have had more. Francis was on fire, confidence buoyed by his goal, trying ridiculous stuff. He took Jakub’s free kick on his chest and attempted an overhead shot! Unfortunately neither Harper nor Conroy could keep the rebound down. We bloody nearly had an own goal too. Francis, in the right back position, waved our players forward and played one long in front of Conroy. Conroy got to it and played in a cross which Painter just missed, but a defender headed it past his keeper, Kelham O’Hanlan. O’Hanlan let it slip through his hands, but as it bounced towards goal, just managed to turn round and grab it. Lucky escape.
We regretted those chances when Carlisle scored a jammy goal close to the end. Their player turned Measham and lobbed in an agricultural cross to no one in particular. Their attacker missed his header, but Deary badly mis-hit his attempted clearance. As Deary slid in to block the follow up, Carlisle’s blasted shot deflected in off him.
Naturally, it put a dampener on our promotion celebrations. A draw against a side destined to finish bottom couldn’t be considered a good result, and the Claret multitudes had come to Carlisle to see us go up. That hadn't happened... quite. With nearest side Mansfield also having drawn, we were left in the unsatisfactory position of being just about up. We were promoted in all but maths. If Mansfield won their last game and scored loads while we lost all our remaining three heavily, they would deny us. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen, and we could now look forward to playing a division higher next season. But after seven years, we needed that formal confirmation. We needed to see (P) beside our name in the table, needed to see us in green on Ceefax. And anyway, now we were greedy. We didn't just want promotion. We were the best team in the division, and we wanted the title to prove it.
Speaking after the game, Deary's disappointment was evident. He said, "We've just had a little discussion in the dressing room there and we're disappointed. Although we're near promotion we're still disappointed with the result. But you know, we've got three games to get it right, and we'll be starting on Tuesday at York."
And so to York on Tuesday. We needed one more point to be sure of going up properly, and three for the Championship. Even if we didn't do it at York, we had two games after that: Rochdale away on Thursday and, if it came to it, Wrexham at home on the Saturday. But I needed us to do it at York. Even though I'd been there at two o'clock the other week, and had a ticket, I couldn't go to the rearranged Rochdale game. A long standing commitment clashed. But I had to be there to see it happen. So simply, they had to do it at York. They did.
Team: Williams, Measham, Jakub, Davis, Pender, Farrell, Painter, Deary, Francis, Conroy, Harper (McKenzie). Sub not used: Monington.
Burnley scorer: Francis (43).
Attendance: 9,051.
28 April
York 1 Burnley 2
At 9.46 pm on 28 April 1992, Burnley FC became Champions of the Fourth Division.
This was the game rearranged from March 10, postponed then due to the death of apprentice Ben Lee. I was out of work as soon as could be, to travel with my brother on the supporters' club coach to York. As our coach slowed to a crawl in traffic miles from York, we started to worry. There was every prospect of missing the kick off. Of course, we knew later that the reason why traffic was so heavy was that something like 5,000 Clarets were descending on Bootham Crescent, most of them coming from the same direction. It was probably a good thing I didn’t know this then. I’d only have become convinced that we’d never get in. Ludicrously, this was not an all ticket match.
When we finally arrived, there was a queue stretching away from the ground and past the end of the street. There was nothing we could do but join it. People took photographs of the queue. TV filmed it. Down the human chain news filtered back that kick off had been delayed, so everyone could relax. Past the terraced houses we filed forward, and eventually in. I never heard any stories of people being locked out, so I suppose everyone who wanted to got in. Like Carlisle, York were not going to turn down their windfall. They found themselves as adept at squeezing Clarets into previously neglected corners as Burnley fans were in infiltrating home parts of the ground. Thankfully, the North Yorkshire police were ridiculously tolerant too, even enjoying banter with the crowd.
Who could forget the people on the roof? A small flat-roofed hut in one corner looked a perfect vantage point for a bunch of latecomers. Eventually the police coaxed them down to the amusement of all.
It was shortly after eight when the game kicked off. Unfortunately, as we crammed into that overfull terrace, straining for a view of the game, it quickly became obvious that nerves had got to the players. York had the better of the first half. The swagger with which we had taken apart Cardiff was gone. This attacking side couldn’t get its moves together. On the terraces the party atmosphere dissipated and was replaced by a creeping edginess. We couldn’t blow it, could we?
But their goal was scrappy and undeserved. McCarthy hit a shot, Williams didn’t hold it, and Blackstone put the rebound in. It was just before half time.
At least we emerged for the second half full of greater purpose. Mullen later revealed that he’d told them to just go out and give it a go. We gave it a go. We started to exert the kind of relentless attacking pressure we had grown to expect. Conroy, finishing the season superbly, was at the heart of everything, making play and taking shots.
We quickly developed a dislike for their goalkeeper Dean Kiely, so it was satisfying that he was at fault for the equaliser. Pender headed the ball to Conroy, who intelligently punted it for Painter to chase. Kiely came out, but with Painter pressing, missed it. Painter raced after it towards goal and attempted the world’s lowest header, and as the ball fell free, Deary thundered in to his left and crashed it in without hesitation. An hour gone, 1-1, and suddenly we were back on track.
Kiely, clearly annoyed at his own mistake, kicked out at Painter, who was running to celebrate. Deary immediately abandoned his goal celebration to concentrate on attempting to persuade Kiely of the error of his ways by means of gentle pressure applied to the neck. That was Deary all over. If someone picked a fight with a teammate, he picked it with him. He grabbed Kiely and swung him round into the back of the goal. As everyone else went mad, Kiely and Deary were joined in the net by the referee, who showed leniency appropriate to the occasion with a yellow card. The scorer of the goal had been booked for attempting to strangle the opposition goalkeeper! Truly, this side had team spirit in abundance.
Would a point be enough? Yes and no. As we’d sort of gone up against Carlisle, a point would certainly have put the final seal on our promotion. But we wanted the title. And of course, I wanted it - needed it - tonight.
More Burnley pressure came to nothing, and our watches couldn’t hide from us the fact that time was running out. Did I honestly have to go to this thing on Thursday? Couldn’t I fall ill? I still had the ticket.
In injury time it happened. Jakub, capping a fine season, cleared an aimless York ball out of defence to Conroy. Just over the half way line, he brilliantly spun away from his opponent, and ran into the penalty area on the left, always just ahead of their defender. Francis was running full pelt into the box. Conroy played the ball across low and hard. The rest is history.
I didn’t actually see the ball hit the back of the net. Did anyone? We saw it heading in and the terrace fell apart. There was a mad rush to the front. Everyone ended up in a different place from where they started. It was all that makes football the world’s only great sport. We were jubilant. It was insane. There were seconds left, and we were Champions.
The video inserts a note of reality. It wasn't the greatest goal. The build up was good, but it bounced in of some part of John Francis’ leg. Possibly a thigh. Still, it went in. that’s enough. And Francis somehow had the knack of being a player for the big occasion.
The game was over, and as they performed the token ritual of kick off, supporters had a single aim: to get on that pitch. Seconds later, we poured on. The sensible police didn’t try to stop us. Those quick off the mark grabbed souvenirs and chair our heroes from the pitch. Somewhere above the crowd I saw Deary being carried. The smell of the mud and the unevenness of the surface were the two things that struck me. The vanguard raced to the tunnel, and me and my brother ambled over to join them.
Of course, at the time we couldn’t see it, but the video underlines the territorial dominance of our support: Clarets fans poured on from all four sides of the pitch.
We danced and sung. ‘Championes’, a chant which was to become familiar, got its first airing that night. Although it’s often associated with our play off success of two years later, and the way it returned to haunt us the year after, this was also the first time I heard people sing ‘Burnley are Back’. ‘Jimmy Mullen’s Claret and Blue Army’ was naturally done long and loud too. It was a proper tribute to the man’s inspirational management. He had instilled tremendous self belief into his charges, and again, on this night, that was what had got us through. These were players who, in the main, had unexceptional careers in the lower divisions. Most of them didn’t do anything when they left. Yet under Mullen, they became a tremendous side, in which they made the most of their talent but melded to it a ferocious will to compete. We were the best team in the division, and at York, we proved it.
We hugged strangers, patted unknown backs and shook unfamiliar hands. Eventually, other chants gave way to one of ‘Bring on the Champions’. Up in the middle of the main stand around which we clustered, in the Director’s Box, something was stirring. The players, most of them shirtless, conducted by Conroy, had emerged to lead the singing. Normal roles were reversed. They were up in the stand, fists in the air; we were on the pitch, looking up. But we were singing the same songs, stemming from a shared euphoria. It was one of those rare moments when the cynicism of the game could be put aside. It felt like us and the players were united in the same cause.
I don't know how long this went on. We seemed to be on the pitch for ages, churning the surface to mud. Eventually, it was time to get back to our transport before it went without us. The journey home was actually quite quiet. We sat, in little, self-contained bubbles of happiness, looking out of the window, waving at people who watched our convoy of coaches go by. I tried to let it sink in that we were out of this division. For the first time, I would watch us play at a level that wasn’t the lowest. This would take some getting used to.
When I got home, the only alcohol I could find was rum, which I didn’t drink, so I poured out several generous measures.
The next day I woke up to Radio Lancashire coverage of the result and subsequent festivities. Both local TV news programmes covered it too. It seems that Burnley was a ghost town for much of the night, bursting back to life with a vengeance later as people returned. Memorably, it was reported that local amateur dramatic performances were interrupted to report the news. The town waited on the score.
"The proudest moment of my life," was how Mullen, simply, described it. We'd done it.
Team: Williams, Measham, Jakub, Davis, Pender, Farrell, Painter, Deary, Francis, Conroy, Harper (McKenzie). Sub not used: Yates.
Burnley Scorers: Deary (60), Francis (90).
Attendance: 7,620.
The very next day, Mullen announced that six players were being released. (A seventh, reserve right back Paul France, would be released in May.) What incredible timing! No sooner had we celebrated our promotion than Mullen was making clear he was planning for the future. The timing was perhaps insensitive, but Mullen was showing he meant business. Five of the players who left were reservists: left back Ian Bray, who'd played in a handful of games for each of his two seasons; David Hamilton, a much-travelled midfielder whose two seasons with us had been plagued by injuries; Jason Hardy, a defender who'd come through the youth team to have six professional seasons, but had drifted a long way from the team; Peter Mumby, a striker who had never established himself in his three seasons; and Ian Walsh, the reserve goalkeeper who'd joined us the season before and never figured for the first team.
All fair enough. The other player released was rather different. Chris Pearce had been with us for five seasons, and in four he'd been our first choice keeper. He was one of a group of players who'd joined us in the aftermath of the Orient Game in 1987, when we'd so nearly gone out of the League, and had played an important part in our revival. He was ever present in his first season, which included playing for Burnley at Wembley in the Final of the Sherpa Van Trophy. He was a popular player with the supporters, particularly when he did his goalmouth dances. His last season had been dismal, and there was no doubt he needed to be replaced, but he'd joined us in the wake of our worst ever moment, and he'd given good service. He joined Bradford, but didn't feature in many games. A persistent back injury forced him to retire the following summer.
As for the others, Bray retired; Hamilton went into local non league football, including with Accrington Stanley, later going on to coach at Wigan; Hardy joined Halifax, who he'd played with on loan; Mumby was later heard of playing for Bradford Park Avenue; Walsh went into the local non league, including a spell at Nelson; France joined Altrincham. Their subsequent careers vindicated Mullen's decision to let them go.
30 April
Rochdale v Burnley (postponed)
Anticlimaxes don't come any more marked than this. Two days after the team made history, our match at Rochdale was called off for a second time, again due to a waterlogged pitch. How bad was this pitch? I expect the team were happy enough, assuming they'd had the odd moment of celebration after Tuesday. I was delighted, of course. I had my night out. Out of recognition that this was the first meaningless game in ages - we'd had whole seasons of them not so long since - I determined not to keep up with the score. Only when I couldn't find a result in the morning's paper did I realise I hadn't missed a thing. My brother had set off on a solo mission, but hadn't got further than the bus station before the match had been pulled. Best of all, he hadn't had a chance to flog the ticket I'd given him to get rid off. I would go to Spotland after all! Everyone was happy.
Except Barry Fry and Barnet. The last play-off place was between them and Rochdale. With the season running out, we wouldn't be able to complete our fixtures by the final Saturday. The game was rearranged for the following Monday - after everyone else had finished. Barry Fry was worried Rochdale would know what they needed, and we might not try. But we were professionals.
Firmo
April 2002
Part eleven - May 1992
The 1991/1992 season
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