I am often accused of being negative about
Burnley. It’s even been said that I go to games in the hope of seeing us lose, to
maintain pressure on the board, or some such nonsense. Not true. I always go to see
Burnley hoping that we will be excellent, even if often fearing the worst, a self-defence
mechanism familiar to many. I might not necessarily have high hopes, but I want us to
dazzle, or if not that then be just good, or as a minimum, display basic professionalism
and honest competence. But what is one to do when they let us down? I can’t pretend
we’ve been better than we were, or claim back luck when we’ve been simply poor.
Unlike those with low standards at Anfield, I cannot cheer a sad display. If you do that
when they’ve been bad, what do you do when they’ve been good, and how do you let
them know you expect better? I am not prepared to give my applause lightly.
I always go wanting good things, but I can’t pretend when I
don’t get them. Nevertheless, I am not a negative man, and there were several good
things about this day. Here’s the list in full:
1) In both directions between Manchester and Burnley (we had
forsaken our familiar Preston watering holes, what with discretion being the better part
of, er, cowardice) we got to travel on `bendy buses’, the long European style
articulated buses. I suppose no-one would be surprised to hear we all sat at the back.
2) The beer in the Sparrowhawk was as excellent as we expect.
3) I got in the Harry Potts Longside upper tier for £11 instead of
£14, thanks to a knocked down spare season ticket. (I’ll avoid any identification,
since it’s against the rules.)
4) My distant ex-Bastard in-law, Michael Holt, was suspended and
therefore unable to play for Preston.
5) Nogan started the game; Beresford was restored; Harrison was fit
again.
6) David Reeves did not score.
7) My half time pie was well up to standard.
8) Ash and Babybird records were played at half time; progress
indeed.
9) London Clarets presented our sponsorship
cheque for the community scheme - a very important step forward for the club.
10) Man Utd fans sung `Willie Morgan on the wing’ in a
Piccadilly pub.
11) My horrendous hangover cleared by early evening.
12) We got to go drinking in Stockport (a fine drinking town, except
for one day in the year, which this year is 12 April) and sampled excellent Porter’s
beers there.
13) Although the journey back to London was long, we travelled with
some Wimbledon fans, and very quickly formed a mutual appreciation society and exchanged
favourite songs. The Grimsby Fish Song got its final ever (honest)
airing.
14) After the fine display against Bury there was palpable optimism
in the air before this game. We had a good attendance, with a reasonable away contingent.
At last, the new ground almost made sense. There weren’t huge empty spaces, the west
stand justified its new role as the away end and the atmosphere, although nothing like it
would have been in the days of the Longside, was a splendid improvement on normal
standards. The sun was shining and everything seemed set for a good game of football.
And then the game started. Er, that’s it with the list of good
points. You’ll notice there wasn’t much about the actual game in there. This was
anticlimactic fare of the first order.
What hurt most about losing to Preston is that they were so bloody
bad. They were, admittedly, a damn sight better than us. They only had two forward players
who were utterly incapable of controlling the simplest of balls, whose every touch sent it
skidding away across the choppy surface. They only had a shambles of a defence who looked
likely to panic every time that little white round thing came near them. They only had a
goalkeeper who looked hopelessly out of touch, apparently unable or unwilling to
communicate with his defenders. See, I told you they were better than us; we laughed in
the face of simple faults like these and concentrated on doing things really badly.
What they had that we didn’t was heart. What we lacked was any
comprehension that this side might be there for the taking. We seemed prepared always to
regard defeat as an option. Preston’s defence in particular looked like it might
crumble at the first sign of pressure, but ours managed to beat them to it. An early goal
very effectively crushed any new found optimism. Unlike in some other games (Plymouth and
Wycombe at home), I never got a sense that we would recover from the early setback to go
on and get the win. The game finished with Preston’s haphazard defence left largely
untested.
I can’t remember the last time I saw so many different Burnley
players commit basic errors in the same game. Except for the promising Glen Little, who we
should avoid heaping with expectation, because you know what happens, every player was
haphazard and eccentric. Brass, for example, one of the few consistently good players of
recent months, did some brilliant and some dreadful things. Players would make terrific
tackles only to indulge in suicidal passes five minutes later. Meanwhile, up front, both
our strikers were choosing to have off days. It quickly became apparent that we could not
afford this. Nogan’s problems are well documented, of course, and can only have
affected the way he played, but Barnes’ poor form was more mysterious. I’m
something of a Paul Barnes fan; I can see how supporters of other teams might hate him. He
may be a dirty bastard, but he’s our dirty bastard. Usually. Preston supporters must
have loved him in this game. He scored the goal, but everything else he did went wrong.
I think that was the last chance for promotion just went begging,
don’t you? Given our away form is of its normal unacceptable variety - fanzine
editors may wish to take note of this, and ponder why the manager whose praises they sing
so highly has not changed this one jot - we have to win virtually all our home games to do
anything. We can’t chuck fixtures like this against poorly placed opposition.
I wanted Mullen to go, but sometimes I need to check the programme
just to see if he’s still around. Sure, Heath has done some good things, but
it’s about time he stopped being a beginner who needs time to learn and became an
established manager who can apply his experience. Watching a manager - I hope - learning
from his mistakes is never much fun.
So, that’s it for another year. Things would almost be less
frustrating if we were a truly terrible team, for at least then there would be something
to get angry about. But, while we have occasionally looked very good (Wrexham and Bury at
home) and occasionally very bad (Rotherham and York away), most of the time we are
somewhere in between. We are a mediocre team, and this is a nothing season.
I occurs to me that it’s about time our manager started having
to earn our respect instead of getting it for nothing.
