Huddersfield Town 2-0 BFC, Tuesday 8th October 2024

‘Get it forrad!’

I walked to last nite’s match. Can’t remember the last time I walked to a game from home. Even when I lived in Peckham, I’d cycle to Dulwich Hamlet. I guess it would have been c.1994, Arsenal v Auxerre. Stood in the all-seater Clock End, rain pouring down, with my half-Dutch mate attending his first game in England. A man rolling his programme up and p***ing through it onto the terrace. Still the only time I’ve ever seen that.

Where was I? Oh yes. A lovely walk along the canal towpath down the Colne Valley. Well, up until the bit that’s closed for repairs that are not forthcoming, about half a mile from the town centre. Broken Britain (cont.). On my lonesome, the world my oyster, so pre-match drinks in Brewdog and Parish, where a couple on the table next to me discussed their impending affair. Her: 30s, pigtails. Tidy. Him: late 40s, not discernibly handsome, receding hairline, peach or pink trousers, jacket, no charisma. Obviously some work power dynamic going on, but, really, this woman must be desperate. ‘Tell them it never ends well’ texted A. Divorced Londontyke. But marriage never ends well, does it? Divorce or death, it’s one of the two.

Where was I (part II)? Oh yes, I’m off to see Barnsley reserves in the lower division trophy, whatever it’s called this week. Do you remember when it first came out? The Freight Rover Trophy. Now it’s the Bristol Street Motors Trophy, via Papa Johns (I believe they do pizzas), The John Stones Trophy (aptly won by us) and Lord knows what else. Yes, I’ve seen the team. 9 changes from Satdy, 10 if you count Humphreys given a trot out in his preferred position up front. Personally, without a game this Satdy (international call-ups for Reading remember), I’d have forced the 11 who failed on Satdy to play, see if they could beat a mostly Terrier reserve side.

Huddersfield had made 7 changes, enough for Herbert Kane to be given a start. And if I said the 2 highlights of the match involved Kane being booked, and Kane being dispossessed in our box while he thought he had time to kill, that will tell you all you need to know. We gave starts to players such as Barratt (who?) and Nwakali (isn’t he our latest Great Exotic Hope? A midfield version of Oulare, or Iseka?) There was no Yoganathan or Jalo, on international duty. This match was made for them. As it is, I read this week that by 19, Tommy Lawton had top scored for a 2nd season for Everton. Jalo, meantime, can’t get a start for a middling third division side. He plays more games for Portugal Under 19s than he does us.

Kilip was in goal, and a good job too. Like Satdy, our keeper was far and away MOTM. Made several excellent saves, caught crosses in the rain and looked confident. Gent and Barratt were the fullbacks (they can’t be wingbacks if they don’t get out of our half, surely?) The opening half, Gent actually looked like a footballer and even made a couple of tackles. Second half, he was made to look foolish a couple of times. Centre halves were McCarthy (tidy, but unimposing) and Pines…who made a couple of good runs forward from defence before being sent off late second half. A ball had fortunately run to a Terrier who, one-on-one with Pines, got taken out trying to round the juggernaut. An apologist later said they’d heard a pink shirt was covering so it shoulda been yellow. Not a chance. Barratt was the other side of the field.

In midfield, Benson for Beds broke down again. Half an hour. He should be sponsored by the RAC or someone. ‘Breakdown assistance required for Josh.’ I’d put him on a stretcher and leave him by the side of the motorway for all the use he’s been over the last however many years we’ve had him. I know, I know. I should feel sorry for a player who, through no fault of his own, is continually injured. And I might, if he was on 200 quid a week. Oulare Nwakali came across to cover him in centre mid (did nothing). Russell was there too. I’ve a tip for him (no need to pay me). If you’re the slowest footballer on Earth, DO NOT, under any circumstance, find yourself the wrong side of your opponent. He will have left you for dead and they will be 3 on 3 on our goal. Lofthouse played (I’m told). I can’t tell you where he played, just that he was there.

Up top, we had Humphreys and Marsh. The latter, on a one-way journey to National League North, continued his descent. He had one chance, as a sweet, sweet move at the beginnning of the second half promised brighter things. The defence split, the ball came across from the right, Marsh ran to the front post, but on his wrong foot (another professional footballer with only one foot) he flicked it wide. Hauled with 18 minutes left for Alker (who he?) Humphreys battled, and might have done better had he been around better players. I can now see why the likes of Connell, Phillips, Cosgrove et al are undroppable. The dross in reserve is palpable.

Aside from that one move, we could not put a pass together. I realised 25 minutes in that I couldn’t remember us passing it to one of our players while we were in Huddersfield’s half. In the 20 minutes that followed we DEFINITELY didn’t find a pass in their half to one of our own. Just digest that. Once the ball was in their half, we didn’t find a single Barnsley player. Yes, we may have touched the ball in their half (rarely) but the next player who had it wore blue and white. Not even a flick-on in their half went to us, as we camped in our half, in a game we had to win to stay in the tournament, against a 3rd division side with Herbie Kane in it.

I didn’t walk back.

Onwards and upwards!

*** Kilip. Kept us in it 1st half with a series of saves and punches. (That’s what I wrote about Slonina, Satdy!)
** No-one. Absolute garbage, Barnsley!
* Gent. It’s charity week. He was ok 1st half.

Londontykes’ MOTM: 1= Kilip/No-one 3. No-one

Despatches:
This tournament gets worse. I blame letting in the under 21s teams of Big Clubs, but we little teams don’t help ourselves. Playing so many reserves must account for last night’s crowd…I think they said 2,182. That’s just over one-tenth of the attendance on Satdy. At half-time, the PA implored us to stay at full-time if it was a draw. He made the appeal twice, in case everyone f***ed off before the penalty shootout. (Thankfully it didn’t come to that, Town were out of sight by then.) What will our crowd be in our final dead rubber, at home to Donny? I’m getting my excuse in early. I’m out of the country.

Official stats say they had 25 shots to our 1. It didn’t feel like that, possibly cos only 7 of them were on target (none for us) and 10 were blocked. They won 2-0. A cutback sidefooted into an empty net and a cross toe-poked home in injury time. Last nite’s performance was so bad, it made me yearn for Satdy. Which made me yearn for Wycombe at home last week, which made me yearn for Stockport home,before that which…ad infinitum. A more generous man than me might say this season isn’t quite going to plan.

Drink du jour: Elvis Juice in Brewdog, Gamma Ray in Parish. Plus a nice pint at the station and a chat with the barman. He was a Town fan who’d chosen not to go as well.

Away: 342

The Damage:
£10 ent
= £10

*Even my travel was free, as I fare-dodged the journey home. Had to add SOME jeopardy to my evening!

Huddersfield Town 2-0 BFC, Saturday 5th October 2024

‘Herbie, Herbie, where’s your hair?’

‘Sacked in the morning, you’re getting sacked in the morning.’ So the chant rang out pre-match, as we faced former manager Duff, with 4 defeats in 4 games. But, as someone said, who ya gonna call when you need a result? That’s right. US. We were woeful, and if anyone stayed at full-time, only one of those managers would’ve faced that chant, and it wasn’t Duff.

It was awful. Against a side who’d lost their last 2 home games to Blackpool and Northampton (one Cameron McGeehan scoring), whose confidence must be shot, who’re missing their star player Helik (yes, THAT Helik...centre half and top scorer last season!)...we ceded the early advantage and were never in the game. Slonina made a series of saves, Earl blocked another goalbound attempt and other efforts were high or wide. We squeaked to half-time with one paltry effort on target ourselves, a 20 yard bobbler from Connell. Half-time, a talking to from the manager, a tactical tweak, kicking towards our end...we could win this.

No we couldn’t. We retreated towards our goal and got up to 11 players behind the ball. With no-one up the pitch, balls came straight back. Was it a deliberate tactic, sucking them forward to launch cross after cross to our big centre halves, before we broke? Well, the first part was right, as we conceded 17 (seventeen) corners. It looked like a practice session, attack v defence. Try and break down the massed ranks of pink shirts. But with an hour gone, we’ve weathered the storm, and it’s time for Coach Clarke to take charge and make his move. On comes Jalo (Jalo Jalo), Benson for Beds and O’Keefe for Gent, Humphreys and Cotter. I’ll say this, Clarke’s changes this season have increasingly gained consistent (negative) results.

We went from an ostensible 5-3-1-1 (more like 8-1-1) to 442. KISS. Keep it simples, stupid! Hauling Gent was a no-brainer. Have we paid money for this guy? Humphreys hadn’t done too badly, considering he was playing midfield. No-one shoves him off the ball. Cotter? Well, putting on O’Keefe in his place defies explanation in my world, unless Cotter’s had his legs broken (plural; I’m sure he’d be better with one good leg than O’Keefe.)

Suddenly the game was open. We had the ball in THEIR half. We were giving Jalo the ball to his feet. He was running at them. Sometimes he didn’t even lose it. One run, as he cut inside, cut inside again, all the time onto his non-existent right foot, ended with him going down. My gut instinct was pen, but those at home confirm the ref was spot on. A dive, a yellow card. Our players can’t even cheat properly.

We also have a shot, as a half-cleared cross gives Cosgrove the chance of a snapshot from 10 yards. Over the bar. Difficult, but he’s a professional footballer. Oh yes, a BARNSLEY professional footballer. Wind in the neck of expectation. We have 20 minutes to hang on. But who’s this they’re bringing on? Herbert Kane! Christ, the match is in the bag now. Or b) we’re going to embarrass ourselves.

It’s b). Kane, the world’s second slowest player (behind, or ahead of, Jon Russell) leaves Earl for dead down their right after a quick 1-2. I don’t remember him ever doing that at Oakwell. With time, he can now pick a pass and he lays it inside for a Terrier to blaze it into the top corner from the edge of the box. That’s in the 83rd minute, but with time running out, they grab a second as the ball is half cleared and while 4 pink-shirted defenders stare at the spherical object, wondering what it is (the moon?), a blue and white shirt picks it up, strides forward and shoots low from 25 yards. Appalling from us, but it makes the scoreline a little more realistic. The away end streams out.

Onwards and upwards!

*** Slonina. Kept us in it 1st half with a series of saves and punches.
** Connell. Snapped into tackles and made 2 good runs.
* Jalo. I’m going to be generous to the former Boy Wonder. At least we attacked when he came on.

Londontykes’ MOTM: 1. Slonina 2. Connell 3. De Givigny

Despatches:
It was good to see so many pink shirts, the Reds deciding to wear pink for Breast Cancer awareness. Not that Mrs Reed liked it. She hates pink. Supporters’ Club reps handed out free pink shirts pre-match and Nozzer looked particularly fetching in his.

I was less amused with Huddersfield Town. Why DO they only give the away side 2,300 tickets when the stand holds 3,900? Wouldn’t they like to have (potentially) another 1,600 away fans paying £20-£25? That’s 30 grand they’ve turned down. Must have too much money. (For those who don’t know, since their Premiership days, what passes for their ultras have been given the rest.) Anyway, barely a couple of turnstiles open for 2,300 meant queuing for 15 minutes to get in. At least it was sunny.

Still, we got out of Hudds on the first train out and 7 minutes later were in the charming Pennine village of Slaithwaite where I chatted to a local Terrier. He wondered what we were chanting at Kane. ‘Well’, I said. ‘When your lot were chanting that he left us cos we are s***, he was the REASON we were s***. He gets the ball and he does f*** all.’ The fact Kane chose today to do one of those rare cameos where he actually does summat was the just the icing on the cake, the dogs*** on the shoe. The p*** that I’ve just licked from the nettle while doing an extremely accurate impression of a bulldog.

Drink du jour: post match Weihenstephaner in Hideaway (Slaithwaite).

Away: 2,366 (sellout).

The Damage:
£25 ent
£3.50 prog
£2.25 train
= £30.25

Huddersfield Town 2-2 Barnsley, Saturday 4th May 2013

'YORKSHIRE! YORKSHIRE!’

Yesterday, I saw scenes I’ve never before witnessed at a football match.  Whatever I write this week simply cannot do justice to what happened.  It wasn’t simply an amazing football experience, it was an amazing LIFE experience.

We all know what panned out.  The Super Reds, after being bottom at New Year, have fought and fought and here we are now, with our reward – Championship football for another season.  What a season it’s been and what a game it was.

Being the last day, the beers were out in force on the train up.  Even Mr Marshall left the school books at home and hit the Leffe early.  Of course, a 12:45 KO in Huddersfield didn’t really lend itself to a visit pre-match to the pub, and problies a good job too, since the (West Yorks police?) idea was to limit Reds fans to ONE pub in town and (allegedly) attempted to force any Reds fan they came across into said pub.  Nevermind health and safety issues INSIDE the pub, as long as fans weren’t fighting OUTSIDE.

So it was that we arrived in Hudds and I nipped off to the loo, only to bump into Matt, 1 of only 2 Huddersfield fans I know.  We both agreed we’d be very happy were both sides to stay up.  If only we knew what would come…

To the stadium, Sarah, Salisbury and I timed it nicely to coincide with the main Barnsley mob getting a police escort.  You heard them before you saw them!  This set it up nicely – I was worried the atmosphere in the ground would be muted, both sets of fans too tense to sing.  How wrong this was as well.  Fantastic noise throughout from the Barnsley, even when their goals went it.  It was one of those days when everyone knew they had to do their bit.

From the off, both sides went at each other.  This was no cagey game.  We had to win and we took it to them.  Still, it came as a surprise when O’Grady stroked it home at the far end.  From our angle, you had no idea it was on target till it hit the net.  Pandemonium.  ‘WE ARE STAYING UP, WE ARE STAYING UP’.  Town fans looked shellshocked.  Even more so when news came through that Posh were winning while Millwall was scoreless.  Town were going down.   Fast and furious as the game was, we spent most of the half clearly being the superior side and probably should have cemented victory there and then.  As it was, nobody complained as the players went off a goal to the good.  Even better, Palace had equalised just before half time.  A win for them and we could even escape with a draw.

Hudds brought on a couple of players at half time (ironically, one of the lads taken off was Norwood, our main transfer target last summer) and we were on the back foot from the off.  Steele made a super save, one-on-one and just as we wondered when Barnsley would get a grip, Hudds scored.  We can’t say it wasn’t coming, but the manner of it was annoying.  Crainie and Wiseman had been superb in the 1^st half and this goal seemed to go straight down the middle of them.  Ho hum.  At least they’d scored early enough for us to go hunt a winner.  Never did I think Hudds would dominate as they had done and so it proved.  For the whole half, momentum went with who NEEDED to score rather than whoever HAD scored.

Dagnall cut inside and from 18 yards struck it towards the far corner .  A goal all the way, I was right behind it.  Damn it if the keeper didn’t tip it round the post.  Then Dawson had the chance of the game saved.  He dummied the player, let it run in front of him then hit it on the turn across the keeper.  Another great save, though if truth be told it looked the shot of a tired player (yet Dawson wasn’t subbed for another 20 mins).  I was now seriously worried.  Would we get another chance like it?

As time ticked away, Scotland and Noble-Lazarus were sent on to save the situation, Daggers and Mellis making way.  I mused to Sarah how I could foresee Reuben hitting a sweet volley from the edge of the area off a cleared corner.  So you can imagine how perplexed I was when we GOT that corner and Reuben had to trot back to the halfway line as cover for every other bod piling into the box.  You could see this wasn’t planned – he looked around and realised if he didn’t do it, nobody else would.  And the ball?  Yes, it was cleared to the edge of the area, exactly where Reuben should’ve been.

But lo and behold.  Perkins gets free on the left (we’d done this 3 or 4 times without reward) and pulls it back for Scotland to head a low ball into the back of the net.  Did I say it was pandemonium when the 1^st one went in?  This was CARNAGE.  We were (literally) falling over ourselves while worried Terriers looked on.  (Note: worried about their own situation, not our health and safety.) YOU’RE NOT SINGING ANYMORE.  The volume was off the scale.  Town meantime were going down.  Posh were winning, Washday were winning, Millwall were drawing.  Only 15 minutes left. Could we hold on?  Have a guess.

7 minutes of jubilation turned to utter, utter despair as Town equalised again.  A lost tackle in midfield and Huddersfield looked like 2 on 1.  Could they possibly, possibly miss?  PLEASE!  No. No, they couldn’t.  Vaughan fires in and we’re staring relegation in the face.  There was no way Palace were going to rescue us, we NEEDED another goal.  And we huffed…and we puffed…and we couldn’t force the ball in.  We had the corners, we had the shots, we had a free kick.  We were doomed.  The fans roared, there was no self pity, no sitting, head in hands, waiting for relegation. It was all or nothing as everyone got behind the team.  News came in.  Palace had equalised. There was a glimmer of hope, but still minds were focused on the task in hand.  Then the unthinkable became thinkable.  More news filtering in.  Palace had scored again.  Reds fans started jumping around, celebrating.  Apart from me.  I’ve been here before and I’m not trusting anything approaching a scoreline rumour ever again after THAT year the Oakwell PA announced we’d made the play-offs (we hadn’t; a last minute goal elsewhere saw to that).  Mobile and internet reception was next to zero, so no confirmation there either  and the only thing Huddersfield appear to use their scoreboard for are adverts.  (An ‘advertboard’?)

But then I saw THE most bizarre piece of football I have EVER seen.  The ball went back to Steele, and Hudds, with a draw keeping them safe, didn’t bother closing him down.  I could see Flitcroft telling Steele to keep the ball, calm down.  So it was TRUE – Palace were winning (had won?)  And for nearly 2 minutes you had the queer sight of Steele dribbling the ball around to himself while every other player was stood on the halfway line.  Meantime, Town fans were encroaching onto the pitch to our right.  And all round the ground the chant went up ‘YORKSHIRE! YORKSHIRE!’  The ref blew.  Both sides had done it – they’d stayed up.  I could even forgive the half dozen or so Terriers who had earlier been waving pictures of Margaret Thatcher at us.  (Nice try lads.)

The players legged it off the pitch and on came the Town hoardes.  The thin orange line that were the stewards spread out to our front as Huddersfield came towards us.  But they came not in menace, but in joy, as both sets of fans continued chanting ‘Yorkshire!  Yorkshire’ with a cheeky aside of ‘We all hate Leeds scum’.  It was a complete Yorkshire love-in as the fans applauded each other.

Then, with their fans still at our end, the SUPER REDS circled round the pitch to take their acclaim.  The job had been done and you could see what it meant to this squad of players.  Last up came the manager.  And didn’t he look proud as he took the applause as we walked in a ‘Flitcroft wonderland’?  And so he should be.  Can you give Manager of the Year to someone who’s only done the job for half a season?  The players danced and celebrated with each other and Jim O’Brien put on one of them there Jamaican beanie hats that many Reds fans were wearing for the day.  And with the Hudds fans having been cleared off the pitch (presumably for their players to do a lap of honour) the last thing I saw before leaving was Sir Bobby coming onto the pitch.  A fitting end, I think.  ‘Oh Bobby Hassell, you are the love of my life….’

So, Salisbury, Sarah and I strolled to Tesco for the beers as policemen congratulated us and shook hands and fans of both teams floated down the road on an air of…what’s it called?  That thing we as Barnsley fans are so unused to.  That’s it – JOY!  We’ve been to Wembley, won play-off games, won at Anfield, won promotion to the Premiership, but this feeling (which I still have) is something else.  I have never been through so many emotions in a single game.  We have battled and battled this season and I am PROUD to describe myself as a Barnsley fan.

MOTM?  Oh yeah…

*** Perkins.  Thought he was everywhere.  Got in their faces, covered Dawson when Scannell exposed his lack of pace and, most crucially, got into the attack to set up the 2^nd goal.

** O’Grady.  Held onto everything and like every other big centre forward we ever have, gets absolutely nothing from the ref, however much they’re pushing, pulling, etc

* No-one.  Not that no-one deserved it, I just can’t pick a player from the rest.  It was a fabulous effort throughout, from everyone.

Despatches.  The lads were superb.  The match stats say it all – we deserved to win.  Everything was in our favour:  possession 53-47, shots 11-6, on target 8-3, corners 5-1.  (Note to Andy Jones: I’ve just looked that up – I can’t remember EVERYTHING!)  I know everyone’s gonna say we got lucky with that late Palace goal, but it would’ve been a travesty to go down on THAT performance and THAT run from January.

Drinks du jour:  Champagne, spiced rum and ginger ale, vodka and orange, Fosters (not me). Celebration time, come on!  Then onto London for an intended pitstop at the Flying Scotsman, but here’s where it all fell apart.  After a beer in Caminos, Tim, Matty and Salisbury disappeared, Andy got chatting to a girl in a Barnsley shirt (yes, a real life GIRL.  I believe she was visiting London with her job and was wearing her Reds shirt in celebration.)  Anyway, I don’t know how I got that pint down my neck, cos when I went to the toilet I realised how drunk I was and went home.  And yes, for the 1^st time since moving house and the last time this season, I fell asleep on the bus and had to be awoken at the end of the line by the driver.  Where I proceeded to cross the road, watch the bus turn around, and got back on again.  And while everyone else couldn’t sleep BEFORE the Hudds match, I found myself up at 7:30 this morn having not been able to get back to sleep.  This adrenaline rush is still going.  I may collapse later on…

DON’T WORRY…’BOUT A THING…COS EVERY LITTLE THING’S….GONNA BE ALRIGHT!

YOOOOOUUUUU REDDDDDSSSSSSSSS!!!!!