Derby County 4-1 BFC, Sunday 6th May 2018

‘Accrington Stanley, we’re coming for you.’

Welcome to .....

So it is.  The inevitable inevitably happened and we’re down.  We could blame Derby, for slamming us.  Or Forest, for failing at Bolton.  Or Bolton, for succeeding against Forest.  Or the ref at home to Bolton, for THAT decision (and those other indecisions).  But let’s face it, we simply haven’t been good enough.  The writing was on the wall last January (2017).  We lost Hourihane and Bree (…and Winnall)…later lost Scowen and Watkins and Roberts…and we’ve replaced them with (in no particular order) Potts, Williams, Barnes, Thiam, Moncur and Lindsay, not to mention about 30 others (we’ve had the most players of any club in the Championship).  Says it all.  We’ve given nearly 40 players a trot out at this level and few, if any, are good enough.  (Though 'trot' was probably the right word.  Carthorses.  Donkeys.  Asses.)  How fitting that in a match where victory would save us, we didn’t turn up.

Relegation beckons.

Optimism was low and spirits were high in the pub beforehand.  No, we hadn’t a cat in hell’s chance of winning, but so what?  The sun was shining, whiskeys were being drunk at half nine in the morning (welcome to Wetherspoons!) and we weren’t officially down yet. ‘You never know’ was the order of the day, as we dreamt of Bolton managing to do what they’ve done most of the season and fail.  Do the unthinkable (win) and we stay up on 44 points, surely a record.  The Sunday morning alcoholics, surprised at the early influx of dozens of customers with Barnsley accents, wished us luck.

Ice cream, sun, Greggs....is this what heaven looks like?

It was a hot, hot day in Derby, so good job we were in the shade.  2,700 (sold out) and bad news for Neil, who’d rocked up on the offchance of getting a ticket.  Further bad news:  he got one; someone’s mate was ill.  This was after being quoted £100 by a Derby fan in town.  I told him he could have mine for £100!  Farnham met me in a city centre pub having walked from Pride Park.  He looked destroyed in the heat, so, despite the weather, after a beer, we jumped in a taxi to the ground.

Fireworks...in the sun.  Go figure.

Upon entering the away end, it was a cauldron of noise.  The bar was packed, and we fought our way through to our seats, along with Reedy.  I even made kick off.  I didn’t want to miss a minute!  And it was fortunate I did, as for that 14 minutes, you could see Derby (needing a point to secure a play-off place) were absolutely BRICKING it, misplacing passes all over the place under little or no pressure.  So thank goodness for Conor ba5tard Mahoney, on loan piece of uselessness from AFC Bournemouth.  We have a corner, he swings it in and hits the 1^st defender, Shukeresque.  No matter, the ball has come back to him.  He loses it trying to take the player on, Derby run straight up the other end and score.  OK, they had to run 70 yards, but with most of our team in THEIR box cos we were trying to SCORE, we couldn’t get back in time and Derby always had a man extra.  At least I’ll have something to remember this pr*ck by.  Good riddance.

Us and them.

Derby scored again, 2-0…but hang on…it’s been disallowed.  No idea what for, though apparently handball.  A mild stay of execution for the Super Reds, we go in at half time, 1-0.  We were arguably the better side, but without looking like scoring. Kiefer was blocked off going for a header (has ‘obstruction’ officially been erased from the rulebook?) but otherwise, it was as it was at Oakwell, Derby winning without any effort whatsoever.  The half times come in; Preston are beating Burton (hurrah!) and Bolton are being held (double hurrah!).  We are still outside the relegation zone, somehow.

The teams come out.

We come out 2^nd half and collapse.  Derby pass and move, we watch, and it’s 2-0.  Two becomes three, becomes four.  We’ve still got 20 minutes plus injury time.  The players have given up.  We might as well stick Sky on the big screen (instead of the current match) cos this game means nothing now, other than a chance for Derby to rack up a cricket score.  Our chances are firmly in the hands of other teams.  Worse, Preston have had a man sent off. Worser, Burton have equalised.  We’re down.  After all, what do Preston have to play for anyway, knowing we’re getting slammed means they can’t eke above Derby.  (They have PRIDE to play for, and do indeed go on to win 2-1.PRIDE.  Imagine.)
By now, Derby are taunting us with ‘Accrington on a Tuesday night’, to which the instant response is ‘Accrington Stanley, we’re coming for you.’  By now, it is impossible to get updates on our phones, as 4G might as well be 1D.  Rumours abound and news of Preston’s second spreads.  ‘Come on Preston, Come on Preston!’ I refuse to sing.  Derby chant something along the lines of ‘you spawny ba5tards, you’re still staying up.’  If only.

Match action, Derby actually FAILING to score.

By now Moncur is on and he nonchalantly pops one into the top corner from 20 yards as if Derby have joined us in giving up. At least the fans haven’t: ‘5-4, we’re gonna win 5-4’ nobody believed.  Not even Jose.  Both teams go through the motions till full time and a silence envelopes the away end.  Have we gone down? Who knows?  There’s rumour and counter rumour.  The players’ reactions look as if we’re down; only really Hammill comes anywhere close to the away end.  Probably for the best.  The Adam Hammill Appreciation Society sings him off the pitch as our hero is visibly distraught. More than me, to tell the truth.  This relegation has looked on the cards for months.  Adam: so long, and thanks for all the fish.

Adam waves a last goodbye.

I didn’t properly find out Bolton had won till I left.  I’m pleased I didn’t know they were losing when I was in the ground; it’s the hope that kills you.  Nevermind knowing they'd bagged in the 87th and 88th minutes to seal survival.  Good luck, no hard feelings, etc.  We had beer to quaff, sorrows to drown, and it was 4 pubs before we could do that, despite various Derby fans offering consoling ‘don’t worry, you’ll be back.’  Yes, whatever I might think of us as a Championship side, we might be quite well set up for division 3.  And Jose’s gone.  Thank heavens for that.  Our worst appointment in a long time.

Onwards and upwards!

*** Hammill.  At least gave a s***.  Ran around all day from centre mid looking for gaps.  His run led to Moncur’s goal.
** Gardner.  Played well till we were overrun.
* Walton.  Caught a couple, saved a couple, but couldn’t do much against players 4 yards out.

A friendly fence, separating the fans outside.

Despatches:
As well as the 2,700 at (No) Pride Park, I can’t believe 3,000 watched a live beamback to Oakwell. I wonder what it was like there? Did they know the other scores??

I was really struggling for a top 3.  Everyone was s*** in their own way.  And did I really see Thiam come on?  How can a centre forward, bought for so much money, paid so much money, fail to score in open play the entire season?  Let’s hope the 3^rd division is more accommodating.  I'm off to spend my £60 of winnings.  You Reds!!!!!!!!!!

Drink du jour: Erdinger, Stella, vodka and orange.  It’s a wonder I didn’t end up in a fight. 

The Damage:
£26 ent

Programme?  Never saw one on sale.

Away: 2,700.  A great effort from all.  Players take note.

The Tunes:

Microshift (Hookworms)

Pride Park panorama.

Monument commemorating the site of the old Baseball Ground.

Come on you ewes!

The Old #7 gets its flag up.

Just get Sky on!

Resigned to defeat...and relegation?

Farewell, Adam.

We'll always love you!