Christy
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Posts: 389
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« Reply #41 on: Saturday, October 21, 2017, 23:27:09 » |
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It's been a while. Carlisle away, first game of the season, when I last put pen to paper to share my thoughts. I'm not going to lie, it's been tough, this League Two lark, But now, now, I have acclimatised: I AM MATCH FIT.
So this acclimatisation: my enthusiasm has been such that I couldn't even take in the short hops to Forest Wherever or Cheltenham, I've not read every post in the TEF every day, and sometimes I don't even know who or where we're playing until like, days before. So at last I understand, aided by AN Other's description of this as 'roulette football' - there's basically nothing not left to chance. Smash the ball into a massive bundle of players and at the end of 90 minutes, someone has won a header or something and it's all 'great togetherness' and 'fantastic organisation' until the next spin of the wheel, when it's probably a 'microwaved process' or 'long term losing mentality'. This week it's been suggested elsewhere that pole dancing could be an Olympic sport. If that's so, say I, surely League Two football is worth a shout? There's more difference to this keen observer between games played in the Premier League and our humble basement level home than there is between the entire codes of Rugby Union and League, so why not? Maybe a rule or two would need formalising - every set play must start with a fifty yard kick or throw of the football, and must be headed by the next player, in competition with a minimum of three other players, for example - but I see no issue there.
Oh sorry. I always start with the intent to write about the game, but then forget and go rambling off somewhere else. So the game, and there were a few minutes there today when I did genuinely forget I was supposed to be watching. The ball was over the other side, intermittently disappearing into the pack before shooting back into the sky, and then getting lost by the steward or someone fell over or...you can see why I drifted away. It was minutes before it inadvertently appeared again in the vast green space over here, before the hunting pack chased it down again. In the last few days, we've had the pleasure of hosting the Cowleys of Lincoln, those terribly bright young things, and the long-lasting if less lauded Ainsworth of Wycombe and my-oh-my, if these are the future of football, take me to the pole dancing. Such terrific exponents of the dark arts - Lincoln, blocks, borderline thuggery and 'game management; Wycombe, time-wasting from the off, feigning injury...doubtless we're not saints either (thank goodness after the limp and putrid Williams reign), but hey, this is my piece and partisanship rules.
Already the game, such as it was, is confined to the great junk folder in my head. Another poor game made worse by the wind. Or, entirely optimistically, maybe the conditions ruined what might have been an absolute classic. Interestingly, we adopted an extremely narrow 4-3-3, with McDermott popping up here and there in what looked a more fluid approach, and at times we certainly had more players seemingly capable of anticipating where the ball might eventually land than of late. The goal was wonderful, a high loopy sort of cross characteristic of the enthusiastic Taylor, and Big Harry got in front of his man to then land a speculative volley in off the post. To say he missed three or four better chances would be harsh on him, and their keeper, who otherwise smartly saved what was thrown at him.
Credit too where it's due to the defensive performance, largely keeping Wycombe at bay, and for showing the sort of desperation to keep what we've got, that has been sadly missing from the DNA for a wee while. I'll stick my neck out and recognise that Purkiss did relatively well given what was thrown at him, but genuinely, there was plenty to applaud from a yes, teamly, togetherness and resilient perspective. Despite the x-rated style and performance, we're in the top seven, which must be the absolute minimum expectation: if ever there was a case of the end justifying the means, this must be it. If we don't find a way to get promoted, please don't expect me to talk nicely to you come May.
And to the best bit, Flitcroft on the radio afters. I have never heard a man so delighted to have beaten Wycombe Wanderers 1-0. This coldest of hearts melted as he regaled us with tales of Professor Funk, of his tinpot band with Gazza (the Ainsworth one), and of his utter joy for his team. This is a good thing, although I'd prefer it if he moved on from his obsession with that Lincoln defender and his mentality just about now. This is what winning games means, this is what we've missed. It matters.
This is why we need to get behind our roulette football and ensure that if League Two football does make the Olympics, we're the ones watching it rather than competing in it. Three pages on the match day thread indicates we have some processes to microwave before we're all on that page.
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