BFC 0-2 Dirty Leeds, Saturday 25th November 2017

‘We’re f***ing s***, we’re f***ing s***, we’re f***ing s***'

Welcome to...Oakwell and the Sky lorry.

I am cold. I am frustrated.  I am depressed.  It must be November and I must be at a home game at Oakwell, as we fail to win again.  I blame physiology myself.  Our players simply aren’t cut out for anything other than 3pm on a Saturday, our capitulations in live games v Dirty Leeds and Villa proving this season; but hang on, we don’t win 3pm games at Oakwell either.  Another theory goes the way of the rest.  Personally, I knew we were going to lose when a lady came out of the toilet on the train and wiped her feet on the carpet.  Never a good omen.  Slacki sent a Whatsapp message; he’s recording it, so don’t spoil it for him.  I told him we were two down after 20 minutes.  2 hours before the match even kicked off.  I was only 29 minutes out, as Dirty Leeds bagged the crucial 2^nd 4 minutes into 1^st half injury time.  Drat.  (An understatement.)

The Super Reds line up.

And it all started so well.  Actually, I don’t even remember it starting averagely.  We were played off the park from start to finish in the 1^st half as DL pressed high up the pitch with 3 players and had two more in back-up in our own half.  We simply didn’t have the ability to pass it around them.  Think the Super Reds under that magical spell under Flitcroft when we did the same to others.  Would we start missing our players out and going long?  Well, on the rare occasion we did, a DL centre half simply strode across, headed it back and we were under pressure again.  It was one of the most dispiriting halves of football from the Reds in a long while, and against this set of Jimmy Savile-loving reprobates as well.  Not happy

Dirty Leeds.

The one bright spark to our day was going via Sheffield, so a chance to sample an ale in the Tap, which turned into two when our train was cancelled.  Great.  We stood up all the way to Londontown.  Good job we’re athletes.  Still, the journey always goes faster when there’s plenty to moan about – and there was plenty to moan about.

We went behind when DL picked up a ball in our half (Williams the wrong side) and was allowed to stride 15 yards unchallenged before firing home low to the keeper’s right, classic Redfearn.  Why the centre halves stood back and let him please himself, I’ve no idea.  As for Davies, what’s he doing? Trying to scoop it clear?  JUST BLOCK THE THING, MAN.  Poor all round from our point of view.

Idiot Corner blocked off this season.

Thereafter, it’s all a bit scrappy, but there’s some light as a scuffle ends in Barnes and their fullback being booked.  Brilliant. Barnes will skin him, get the bloke a 2^nd yellow and we’re in this game.  Only the opposite happens, and Barnes escapes a blatant early bath when the ref takes pity and doesn’t book him for a blatant tug.  This leads directly to their 2^nd, as Barnes pulls out of fouling their man for fear of being sent off and the ball runs to another DL who hits a triffic strike into the far corner with his left.  Christ. Just as I was thinking we could limp to half time and have Hecky change things for the 2nd half.

The Ponty v DL.

Hecky does change it at half time: Barnes is off, before he’s sent off.  All hope evaporates.  Who else is going to set something up?  DL are put through and nearly score a 3^rd.  We never look like bagging and send on Ugbo.  We never look like bagging and we send on Hedges.  We must be desperate.  However, this week the left-footed one is played on the LEFT and looks a world beater, whipping in two glorious low balls across the box and beating a couple of players for our only decent effort on target.  I don’t know how one cross didn’t end up a goal, with the defender shinning it over the bar from 4 yards.  At least there was some entertainment to be had, but too little too late.  At least the early kick off allowed me to get back to London for a party.  Silver clouds and all that.

DL defend a corner.  (We had a corner?)

*** Hedges.  Fabulous cameo. ** No-one.
* No-one.

Twitter MOTM: Hammill

Londontykes' MOTM:  1. Hedges  2. No-one  3. No-one.

Despatches:
Absolutely nobody else came out with any credit, Hecky included.  It was going wrong from the start.  Be bold.  Make a raft of subs, change the formation, anything.  Don’t wait for the inevitable, followed up by its sequel.  Two down it was effectively game over.
As my dad said, none of our players would have made Leeds’ team today.  Everyone was tragic in their own way.  Davies could have done better for the 1^st and his kicking and throwing were back to their woeful worst.  Yiadom kept overrunning the ball in taking players on.  Fryers’ deadballs were just that. Williams made a few tackles, but continued his record of giving the ball away.  Hammill was the Twitter MOTM, possibly for one blocked shot.  Lindsay and MacDonald looked like strangers, while the former suddenly decides he wants to play it short all day when, for once, the ball needs to be hoofed. Bradshaw was Bradshaw (I can smell that money now.  He’s never gonna get 12 by Xmas at this rate.)  Barnes did beat a player, but as mentioned, was an accident waiting to happen.  Potts was anonymous, or as anonymous as a 6ft 3 blond can be.  And talking of Moncur, he was so invisible Reedy and I hadn’t realised he was taken off.  Mind, it wouldn’t have mattered had we had a dozen players on the pitch.  And that Gardner bloke.  Christ.  Have I seen a worse footballer in a Reds shirt? It was pitiful and all in front of the nation too, courtesy of Sky (tho I’m not sure how many would tune in for this.)  So at least we got paid (big?) bucks for a game destined for a lunchtime kick-off anyway.  Hopefully it paid for all the police who were there today, there were dozens of them, including some from Scouseland. 

Police vans as far as the eye can see.

Finally, great to see Cardiac Jones back in action after his health scares.  He wasn’t drinking neither, which was handy, cos he made the run up the hill in Sheffield for the booze.  But I can’t help feeling his resistance to temptation was somewhat undone by his diet on the way back: Ham sarnie with lashings of butter, cheese crisps and a pork pie washed down with a walnut whip.  The meal of champions.  I give him two months.

Onwards and upwards!

Away: 4.530.  And at least they didn’t crow too much.  The atmosphere was a bit muted all round once they scored.  Job done, I guess.

Drink du jour: Weihenstepaner in the Tap and Erdinger on the train.  I wasn’t allowed to arrive in London too hammered.

The Damage:
£24 train

The Tunes:
Until the Hunter (Hope Sandoval and the Warm Inventions)
Slowdive (Slowdive)
Claustrophobia (Scuba)

Panorama from the Ponty.

Panorama from the East Stand.