Saturday's result against Peterborough coming through on the
teleprinter had been greeted with a resounding cheer, more relief than anything else but
so important especially with the other results going our way. After Tuesday at Brighton I
didn't think we had a chance, Division 3 was beckoning and there didn't seem to be any way
out. If we couldn't beat Brighton who could we beat? The tactics were appalling, playing
Nogan on his own up front in a game we had to win, the commitment non-existent, with one
or two exceptions, and the imagination and creativity sadly lacking. I have not been so
angry and frustrated after a game in a long, long time. Even Oxford away didn't compare
(5-0), because I went along to Brighton expecting a win and got nothing.
The Wednesday morning of the Swindon game passed so slowly at work
that an urgent remedy was called for. A drink in The Hobgoblin, Reading at lunchtime and I
felt much happier and much more like... like... spending the afternoon curled up asleep
under my desk in fact. Apparently it's not uncommon for such things to happen in times of
stress, for these were stressful times for Clarets fans. However, I think alcohol and lack
of sleep could have had slightly more but it was a nervous and fitful semi-conscious state
I endured waiting for five o'clock when Icould hit the highway and make the short hop from
Reading down the M4 to Swindon. He of the bald head and ginger beard, Monsieur Hego, was
hoping to make it to Reading to cadge a lift, but a phone call rudely interrupted my
slumbers and informed, Hego by train and meet me there. Fine, I give him the list of pubs
and I feel the tension rising as departure time nears, so I promptly go back to sleep
dreaming of Nogan goals, Winstanley tackles (pardon !!?)and Beresford saves. Swindon 1
Burnley 2. Dream on.
A short, uneventful trip and I arrive in the Old Town part of
Swindon. The pubs are easy enough to find and the crew are located in The Wheatsheaf on
Newport Street. Given the poor reputation of Swindon, I am very pleasantly surprised by
the Old Town and begin to regret being unable to partake of more ale in the local inns.
Driving to games does unfortunately have two major drawbacks. Anyway, I am able to console
myself by laughing my socks off (don't mention feet!) when our Woody, with the merest hint
of a broad grin, informs me that our esteemed Treasurer has a painful medical condition.
Yes folks, MICHAEL BENYON HAS GOUT! No, we shouldn't laugh. Oh go on then, if you must. He
has prescribed himself the Bill Werbenuik remedy which seems to involve drinking lots of
alcohol as a painkiller and is hobbling along the road to recovery. Get well soon,
Michael.
The second drawback to driving is that you have to park the car
somewhere, but Swindon proves trouble free as you can park on the nearby streets. Mr
Benyon is dropped outside the ground because he didn't want to struggle down the steep
hill from the Old Town for some unknown reason and the car is parked little more than five
minutes walk from the ground.
Arriving back outside the ground there are no signs telling the away
fans where to go. I bump into Hego, Firmo and John Trip wandering aimlessly around in
about as much confusion as the Burnley defence. Apparently we can't pay to go on the open
away end as Swindon are expecting a big crowd and want this area for their fans. Therefore
after a vain attempt to locate a steward Firmo inquires of an officer of the law,
"Bit foolish of us I know, but we want to get into the ground. How are we supposed to
manage this?" "Well," he replies, "the turnstiles are about 100 yards
down there," he says, pointing to his left. "Right," says Firmo, about it
hotfoot it (Sorry Benny) in that direction. "Wait a minute," says our friendly
bobby, "first you have to buy a ticket from a little hut in the car park about three
hundred yards in that direction," he continues, and then points the opposite way.
"Now why on earth didn't we think of that," Firmo shouts over his shoulder as he
storms off for the hut, abusing any Swindon officials along the way and trailing the rest
of us in his wake.
Eventually inside the ground, we find that the nice, new (ish) North
stand has very poor facilities. There is only one set of toilets for the entire stand; the
walkway under the stand is too narrow and quickly becomes congested (mainly due to police
and stewards standing around 'watching for any trouble') but worst of all the snack bar
has run out of pies before the game has kicked off. "Anybody seen Andy Jones around
here?" I politely ask the bemused snack bar staff.
Still fuming we scrutinise the tickets to find out which seats we
are allocated, only to be told, "Oh you can sit anywhere." "So why the
bloody hell did we need tickets in the first place?"
You can't win by arguing with them so Hego, Trips, myself and Shaggy
Dog, who had now joined us, went in search of seats. Firmo, still at boiling point, went
to get some complaint cards which he then distributed for people to make their feelings
known.
Having complained bitterly about the organisation and the
facilities, once in our seats it was quite clear that we were far better off than if we
had been on the open end. We had a good laugh at the fifty or so Swindon fans behind the
goal. Obviously nobody had bothered to tell the Swindon fans that they were allowed in
that end. At least now we could generate a bit of noise and get behind the Clarets.
From the start it seemed like a different team. The tactics were
different; only three at the back with Bishop on the right, Swan in the middle and
Winstanley on the left; Weller and Eyres played as wing-backs; Thompson, Joyce and
Harrison in midfield; Nogan and Robinson in attack. Beresford had replaced the suspended
Russell despite still suffering with a back injury. The attitude and commitment was also a
revelation. Every player worked hard shutting players down, tackling back and covering for
one another. Defensively, bar one or two mistakes it was excellent.
Attacking was a different matter, there was little imagination or
creativity. Thompson had a poor game in this respect, too often caught in possession or
selecting the wrong option. Joyce also contributed little, but Harrison did make a couple
of driving runs. In fact our best chance of the game fell to Harrison in the first half
after a three-against-one left him with only the keeper to beat. His shot was smothered
well by the advancing Digby, but Harrison should have done better.
The press reported Beresford as the saviour of Burnley, but for long
periods he was a spectator especially in the second half as the defence held firm. One
excellent save from ex-Bastard Thorne diving low to his right and a couple of fingertip
saves from long range efforts from Thorne and Allison in the first half and the rest was
routine stuff. A sound rather than spectacular performance from Marlon but perhaps I do
him a disservice.
I know as a supporter I am always totally biased and can only see
one side of things, but I did feel that the referee and one of the linesman gave us
nothing all game. Allison was allowed to get away with several offside decisions whilst
Burnley were penalised when Nogan was running back and Robinson was on the half way line.
Heath was incensed by the decision and he was in line with the official. The final straw
was a tackle on Robinson less than two yards from the linesman. The defender did not play
the ball and Burnley players had earlier been booked for similar tackles. With both
players on the floor the ball rolled into touch and the linesman gave a throw-in to
Swindon! At least four Burnley players were booked, yet two extremely late tackles by
Swindon players went unpunished. Swan was even booked when Allison dived, despite the same
linesman having a clear view of the incident.
Despite all this it was nice to know that Burnley had the last laugh
and spoilt the party with a richly deserved draw. The support was tremendous and the best
song of the night was 'You're sh*t and you're going up', as it had to be said that for a
team at the top of the table, Swindon were not very impressive. But the point was made
that if we had played more like this in the last six games we would have been in a much
better position and possibly in play-off contention ourselves. Relegation is still a
possibility but I feel far happier now that I did seven days ago. A week is a long time in
football!
