Geordie Al's Groundhopper Scrapbook: BFC 3-2 Oxford United, Sunday 3rd April 2016 (JPT Final)

Monday 4 April 2016

BFC 3-2 Oxford United, Sunday 3rd April 2016 (JPT Final)

‘It was like going from Athersley to Arsenal’

Barnsley 3-2 Oxford United, Johnstones Paint Trophy Final, att. 59,230

Welcome to Wembley!

What a glorious time to be a Reds fan. A fabulous day, spent with some of the people I love the most, watching the Super Reds win their 1^st national trophy since 1912 (or 1955, depending on your standpoint) in a thrilling game. Londontykes past and present, converged on The Smoke from far and wide, (Vienna, Devon, Darfield) and sat together to see one of our greatest days. Thanks Mr W for sorting the tickets and seating plan. It will be a day to never forget. Till the Alzheimers kicks in.

Reds and yellows on Wembley Way.

For the Coal Hole contingent, it was a promising start. I expected 3 or 4 waifs and strays to be having a beer in an empty central London pub. Instead, there were 30 to 40 Londontykes and hangers on. And a bloke who;d come in to read his newspaper who spent a good 10 mins ranting about the Tories. I don't remember anyone disagreeing with him. Salisbury had printed out the vouchers for a reduction on the Nicholsons’ breakfast (how very Yorkshire!), which was much needed after my previous late nite (in a ‘garage club’ in Camden; the epitomy of awfulness – the club that is).

What are we doing in Club Wembley? Whatthehell IS 'Club Wembley'?

So after a couple of false starts, a dozen of us set off. A call came in on my phone….’Where are you?’ ‘I’ve just left the pub’ ‘Well, I’m at Wembley. You could have told me….’ Oh yes. My other half had escorted a couple of pensioners wishing to avoid the pub and was now a bit p***ed off I hadn’t got to the Green Man early. THAT’S what happens when you wait for others. Luckily, it then took over 10 minutes for Phil to buy a tube ticket at the station. Do these people not own Oystercards? Or credit cards wot work. Christ. At least everyone else was irritated by now. Of course, by Baker Street, the weak bladders amongst us were close to bursting. Another hold up. F*** em. I had people to meet, so off I went, passing an escalator full of chanting Oxford fans. The Met Line was much quieter. Indeed, it was half empty. I thought there was a game on?

The teams are paraded.

One advantage of getting there early was I could put the flag up. Least, I could till an over officious steward (Wembley seemed to have a few of them on Sunday) came over and (nicely) told me I couldn’t put it there – at the front, hanging off a bar which was made for it. Apparently it would block the sponsors (John Stones) name out. Thing is, ‘Johnstones Paint’ was emblazoned all the way around that tier and I’d have thought the BEST chance they’d have of the media taking any notice of it would be for the odd banner to be hung off it. I guess this is why I don’t work in advertising.
The other Londontykes filtered in. As already mentioned, Wadd had done a sterling job in sorting out seats; all the kids in the front row. Save for Tim’s two of course, cos he’d kicked them out for himself. But I enjoyed having folk to chirp at on all 4 sides, front, back, left, right. And Slacki (see later). Game on!

The full panorama.

Sadly, no-one told BFC. For most of the 1^st half we appeared to freeze. Balls were easily intercepted, midfielders couldn’t get on the ball, Isgove kept dribbling it to them and the fullbacks (especially White) resolutely failed to stop the crosses coming in. Thus it was no surprise when Oxford took the lead from one of these, a right wing cross seeing O’Dowda (?) climb all over Williams at the back post to put the ball across Davies. Oxford should probably have gone for the jugular but at half time I remained optimistic; though not as optimistic as Tim, who allegedly stuck £700 on us to win and came out £4k richer. Perhaps, like me, he thought we couldn’t possibly play as badly in the 2^nd half and, for all our ineptitude, we’d still fashioned a couple of half chances. Winnall overestimated his ability and curled one high and wide with the outside of his boot, Hamill had a 25 yard half volley tipped over, while Fletcher stayed on his feet when he could have gone to ground under pressure from the keeper. Still, it was Oxford’s half.

Don't panic. Repeat, don't panic.

What a difference a half time team talk makes. I’d been telling the father-in-law who our best player was (is) and he couldn’t understand why we weren’t passing him the ball. All this changed, with Hamill ‘on it’ from the start. Having won an earlier corner, he whipped in a beauty of an inswinger which was met by Winnall for the equaliser. Cue delirium, and Slacki asking where his money is. Double delirium a few minutes later as the scoreboard announced it was an OG. Winnall will NEVER get to 20 this season, a fact I reminded Slacki of with pleasure.

'Winnall 52' arf arf.

The tide had turned. All the action was in their half as we pressed high and another cross from Hamill created carnage, as Fletcher missed it, Toney shot, and the rebound fell to Fletch to hammer it home, off the keeper’s hand and defender. From nowhere we were in the lead. Oxford looked shellshocked. However, not so shellshocked that they didn’t nearly go and score, Davies making a match winning instinctive save as their player broke through. Our name really was on the cup/trophy (what’s the difference?)

The Barnsley End.

Then the icing on the cake. Hamill picks the ball up on the halfway line and strides forward. He shimmies one way, then another, drops a left, goes right…and curls the ball into the far corner from 20 yards. The goal of the season. We have won! There is no coming back for Oxford now. Hicksy goes down the row kissing everyone he meets on the lips. Oxford score. Oh bolloc*s.
Yes, White fails to cut out another cross and the outswinging ball is met with a full on header into the top corner. A great goal – if it was ours. There were still 15 minutes left, but we saw it out relatively scare-free. They were so desperate they even brought on ex-Reds loanee carthorse George Waring. ‘Well, he’s never gonna score’ I shouted. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted you to be right’ said his #1 fan Loko.

Match action.

If anyone was going to score it was us, as Hammill had one blocked near the line and sub Chapman dribbled in from the left and forced a save (and a mouthful from a better-placed Hammill). Oh well, who cares? WE’VE JUST WON AT WEMBLEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now for the play-offs. Same seats again, Paul.
*** Hamill. With every week that passes we love him more – and hopefully it’s reciprocal. Beats players, sets up chances, scores. If he can only get us promotion, maybe he’ll stay (please).
** Roberts. Someone has to head the ball away if the fullbacks can’t defend.
*Davies. THAT save, plus a couple more, as well as decent kicking and handling.
Londontykes MOTM:
*** Hamill
** Roberts
* Hourihane

'GET IN!'

Drink du jour: lager, lager, lager. Actually, I don’t remember drinking anything else. Though I did miss 3 hours of drinking in Mabels Tavern by taking the oldies for dinner. There were a lot of casualties by the time I arrived back, none more so than Hicksy who, under instruction to go and get some food, hopped on to a train back to Wembley to a hotel whose name he didn’t know, who didn’t answer their phone and he didn’t know where it was. THAT’S how little he wanted to stay at my house. And good to see Reds legend Brian Howard come for beers, as well as adorning his flat cap at Wembley. Sunday nite of course means reduced licensing hours. No probs: onto the Radisson (where Salisbury was staying) and £40 a round (4 drinks). Nobody cared. Did I mention WE’VE JUST WON AT WEMBLEY!!!!!!!!!! As for the Reds fan in the hotel bar who ordered a round while his trousers were round his ankles…I presume he knows these places have CCTV?
YOOOOOOUUUUUUUUU REDDDDDZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Damage:
£48 ent
£5 prog (x2)
£10 scarf