Johnstone's Paint Trophy Final 2015 Bristol City v Walsall

Johnstone’s Paint Trophy Final

Sunday 22^nd March 2015

Bristol City v Walsall

Wembley Stadium

Wembley

HA9 0WS

K.O. 3.30pm

Half time 1-0

Final score 2-0

1-0 Aden Flint  15 mins

2-0 Mark Little  51 mins

Ticket £42  Block 240  Row 7  Seat 20

Programme, £5, A4, 112 pages not including the cover, 27 pages of adverts.

Miles travelled approximately 60

Attendance 72,315

Introduction

Trust them to go and stuff it up.

In all the years I’ve been a Walsall fan, I’ve always secretly loved the fact that we’ve never been to Wembley.  I cannot begin to tell you how many times I’ve said to some debutante at a cocktail party how we are only one of four league teams never to play at Wembley… before being thrown out for gate crashing…

Johnstone’s Paint Trophy Northern Area Final 1^st leg

Wednesday 7^th January 2015

Preston North End v Walsall

At 10pm on Wednesday 7^th January 2015 my alarm clock went off. I got up and checked my phone, no text messages. I put the TV on, no results. I switched my porn machine on, BBC Sport, Preston 0 Walsall 2. I put the kettle on. I put the shower on. WTF! Did I just read that right? I rushed back to my porn machine, yes I did, there it was, PRESTON 0 WALSALL 2… I have no real memories after that. I got to work at midnight and I spent Thursday 8^th January 2015 in a state of shock. Every now and again I would snap out of it and start giggling like a school girl.

By the time I’d got home after another 15 hour shift the reality was sinking in, were we really only 90 minutes from Wembley… AGAIN! 

The second leg got moved, then moved again, original tickets will be valid… blah blah blah… Eventually my ticket arrived in the post and I just had to sit and wait until someone decided when we would play the second leg.

Johnstone’s Paint Trophy Northern Area Final 2^st leg

Tuesday 27^th January 2015

Walsall v Preston North End

At midnight on Monday 26^th January 2015 my alarm clock went off. I put the kettle on. I put the shower on. I got to work at 2am and all I could think about was… well… you know… Walsall.

Walsall, my team, who yet again found themselves just 90 minutes from Wembley, 2 Nil up and at home, all they had to do was not lose, but as I said, this is WALSALL and Walsall being Walsall were not beyond stuffing it up and neither was I.

I wasn’t sure if I would finish my shift in time for me to get up for the game. My shift crashed in on 12 hours and by 3.30pm I was on the way to Walsall. In the end, I didn’t get to Bescot until just after 7pm.

I parked the car just to time to witness it going off, not one decent punch thrown between them, bunch of clowns, couldn’t throw a paper plane never mind a punch that connected. I bumped into some of the Great Escape Committee. I got a programme. I got a coffee from McDonalds. I went back to the ground and the rest of the night was a bit of a blur.

Normally I’d sing like a canary, but I could barely speak never mind sing or shout, I just kind of stood there numb. I tried, I really tried, but I just couldn’t find my voice, it didn’t matter how much I tried to make some noise.

Cue the pitch invasion… Wait for it… Wait for it… GET OFF THE PITCH! In the middle of a few hundred fans rushing onto the pitch someone “faced up” to Preston’s keeper. I’d have punched him three days past the middle of next Wednesday afternoon if I’d have been the keeper. As it was, he kept his cool.

All the invasion did was to extend our torture and give Preston a chance to think and regroup. GET OFF THE PITCH!

That’s a FA investigation coming our way then… *SIGH*

How many added minutes? You’ve got to be having a laugh. Somebody somewhere is having a Toffee Crisp.

NOW! Like time lapse film of maggots eating their way through a dead animal, fans enveloped the pitch as players and officials speedily got swallowed and in the end it was all good humoured stuff.

Was that the best 0-0 I’ve ever seen or the worst? Who cares?

At the Final whistle I cried like a girl. I haven’t cried like that since my daughter was born.

I walked into town and met up with Dave in The Imperial. At midnight he gave me a lift back to my car, only to find the car park locked and my car the wrong side of the barrier, which wouldn’t open until 7am. So a long night in the car it was, still I’d been up since the previous midnight so getting some sleep was probably the right thing to do.

Just for the record I got home just after 11am.

Chaos – it’s only a theory

Slowly and surely the chaos that surrounds an appearance at Wembley began to surface.  

The local papers ran photo stories from the Preston game and interviews with anyone that had a voice or an opinion.

The club issued a statement about ticket sales. No one listened and the day they went on sale to Season Ticket holders they still turned up at 3am and started to queue. Frankly, they could have had 50 tickets each and we still wouldn’t have sold our allocation. STUPID!

Walsall fans being Walsall fans took it upon themselves to use our appearance at Wembley to raise money for charity.

Someone designed T Shirts with all the profits going to Autism West Midlands,

http://www.upthesaddlers.com/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=46341

Two blokes decided to cycle to Wembley in aid of Acorns Children’s Hospice,

http://www.upthesaddlers.com/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=46443

While some lunatic decided to walk to Wembley in aid of Walsall Society for the Blind,

http://www.upthesaddlers.com/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=46257

http://walsalltowembley.com/

While all of that was going on and not content with doing the standard we’re going to Wembley song, we managed to have two songs and no, I’ll save you the links…

A local brewery brewed a Wembley beer as did the Walsall Football Supporter’s Trust.

Even the Hippo got painted.

Rome may have the Trevi Fountain but we’ve got a concrete Hippo.

And I wondered who’d be the first person to put a hat on Sister Dora?

While all of that was going on “Up The Saddlers” became a second home.

http://www.upthesaddlers.com/

Remember last year when I was banging on about Hull City in the Cup Final? Well the same thing was happening again. While all of the chaos continued up in and around Walsall, I felt none of it. I was completely dislocated, disconnected from it. All I could do is watch it from afar. Night after night, I’d come home from work and my porn machine would give me access to the silliness that was going on.

The Express and Star ran a piece about all the times that Walsall FC had got to a Semi Final or Area Final and stuffed it up while the only time we’d actually got a to a final it was played in Cardiff. I’d like to think that I’ve paid my dues.

That’s when it all started to go wrong

Back tracking for a moment, because I’d given my season ticket up some years ago it meant I wasn’t able to get tickets in the first phase of ticket sales, but I was able to get tickets in the second phase. I’d got access to six tickets, but I’d had more than six people ask about tickets. In the days that followed and once the hysteria for them had worn off, most of those people just melted away leaving just six people needing six tickets. A plot was hatched. What could possibly go wrong?

The second phase ticket sale clashed with half term. Not only do I not live in Walsall anymore but I was on holiday with my daughter 300 miles in the other direction. The plot was to meet up with Billy and Chele at Bescot on the Wednesday and get the tickets at the same time etc etc etc… We’d all agreed and let’s be honest, Does the above sound complicated to you? It’s hardly rocket science is it…? All everyone had to do was turn up on the Wednesday. Buy the tickets. Sit back, relax and wait for Sunday 22^nd March to roll around.

I cut my holiday with my daughter short by one day. I slept in the car somewhere near Penrith Tuesday night into Wednesday morning. I got to McDonalds at 6am-ish where I got more sleep in the car before nipping inside for a coffee only to have the McDonalds staff take the piss out of me for getting locked in the car park two weeks before.

Just before 9am I got a text off Chele confirming she was on the way. There was a slight panic as she couldn’t find her passport and wasn’t sure if she’d allowed out of Willenhall.

You all know what’s coming now don’t you… or more to the point who wasn’t coming. All he had to do was get there from Brum. But no. To complicated. Too easy to let me know in advance. Let’s wait until it’s too late to doing anything about it.

I’d cut my holiday with my daughter short by a day. I’d completed a 700 mile-ish round trip and for what…

I meet up with Chele and Charlie at the ticket office but between me and Chele we can’t afford all six tickets. Game over.

The days plodded on and the ticket sales moved closer and closer to 20,000 and all those fans that queued up at 3am to get their tickets suddenly started to look sensible and not stupid. It was me that was starting to look… STUPID!

Before I knew it, getting six tickets together became impossible. One here, two there, but that was as good as it got. Texts to and from Chele continued, “Every man for himself” seemed to be the best option.

Eventually… I found a single ticket while Chele patiently waited for pay day while I secretly panicked more and more as the ticket sales rose and rose and rose again. Finally we were sorted, five tickets on Level 5 and me by myself in the middle tier. Well, when I say by myself in the middle tier, I won’t be by myself per se I’ll be with lots of other Walsall fans… but you know what I mean. Stop being a clever knickers.

Just for the record, Chele (Stoke), Charlie – Chele’s son (Chelsea but now thinking of getting a Walsall season ticket), Janine (Stoke), Billy (Seal = Villa), Cameron – Billy’s son (Chelsea). Chele, Janine and Billy have all paid their dues and have been to many a Walsall game home and away.

How many…?

Once the ticket situation had been sorted out, I could relax. I did that by changing jobs, which means I’ve now got my weekends free again. I spent more and more time on Up The Saddlers, LA Porn sites got worried, the Security Services got bored with watching me, more weird and wonderful stories appeared and I started making plans to visit my daughter.

Ticket sales continued to climb. 20,000 became 22, then 25, then 27, slowly and surely the figure edged closer and closer to 30,000 tickets. Believe it or not, not everyone was happy. Can you believe that some people out there think it’s wrong? Apparently we should only take 3,000 fans because that’s all we get at home.

Fans started to post information about how they were coming over from NZ, Canada, USA, Hong Kong, Singapore, Scandinavia, Bloxwich…

One of the strangest stories to get posted was how some of the Walsall fans who’d pre booked into the Official Car Park were now being moved because there were too many coaches going to Wembley. How cool is that? Well, unless you’re one of the car drivers being moved.  

There were 46 Official coaches, 10 Supporters Club coaches. Not including the un-official coaches. At the close of play on Friday, the last I’d heard is that we’ve sold 29,000 tickets. And let me give credit where credit is due. WELL DONE TO THE TICKET OFFICE!!! Well not the office because it’s just brick… it’s the people that work inside the ticket office. What a fantastic job they have done. TWENTY NINE THOUSAND TICKETS!!! Normally we’d take three months to shift that amount of tickets and they have done it in three weeks. Brilliant stuff.

I envy them

As the weeks dragged on I began to envy those who live in Walsall (Did I really just write that?). Night after night, day after day, story after story, I’d read about this or that and I so wanted to part of it.

“Paint The Town Red”? WOLFSBANE!? What does it have to do with Wolfsbane? I re-read the story properly. GUTTED! No Wolfsbane…

On Saturday 14^th March I went to the MK (not a real team) Dons game, it was a great excuse to finally be part of what was going on.

Hold on. What’s going on? Where’s all of this paint the town red stuff? Apart from The Hippo, Yates’s, the Job Centre and one young lady selling Wembley Merch’ in Park Street, no one seemed to care. Where was this 24 hour party I’d been reading about?

I got to Bescot nice and early. I bumped into Andrew Poole, who just for a change was stuffing his face… WHAT!? Anyway, I battered his head… just for a change… hahaha… Question after question, poor kid barely had a chance to breathe never mind answer before I threw another question his way.

At half time during the MK (STILL not a real team) Dons game, Graeme Brookes set off on his walk to Wembley. It wasn’t until I was reading about his walk in the match day programme, while I was still being abused by the McDonalds staff for THAT night, that I realised I knew his dad and his brother too. By fluke I bumped into his dad at half time before going back behind the goal to catch up with his brother… Weird how things work out…

Fickle Fans and Glory Hunters

A lot was said about fickle fans and glory hunters, instead of embracing old fans back to the club and welcoming new ones in, people still found the energy to moan.

On the day of the Preston home game,“Asteroid 2004 BL86” came to town, not sure where she got her ticket from…

While over the weekend of the final we had The Spring Equinox, The Super Moon (and no that’s not some fat bloke showing his big fat hairy arse) a Solar Eclipse and a Comet, the name of which escapes me but it was probably something like,  !”£$%^&*()_+:@~?>< - 001 (you’ve got to love those wacky astronomers). Just how pissed off would you be to be that Comet only to find out that your visit clashes with a Solar Eclipse…

El Glossico

By Friday 20^th March, we were safe in the knowledge that there would be at least 70,000 fans at Wembley. SEVENTY THOUSAND! Hold on a second. Seventy thousand for what is basically a Division Three game of football. Only in England would seventy thousand fans turn up for a third division game of football.

Suddenly the rest of the football world started to wake up to the fact that this game, our game, was not only going to be the biggest game in England but probably the whole of Europe. Then someone mentioned the “El Clasico”. Frankly, bollocks to the El Clasico, you can go and stick it where the sun does shine, on the bright side of The Moon (she what I did there… KEEP UP!).

So what if Barcelona v Real Madrid pulls in 98,000 it’s supposed to, it should, that’s its job. What about a Spanish Division Three game? Does Spain even have a third division? Frankly I don’t care and I’m too lazy to Google it.

From now on Bristol City v Walsall in The Johnstone’s Paint Trophy Final will be forever known as El Glossico.

Paint > Gloss> Glossico… I’M NOT GOING TO EXPLAIN EVERY JOKE!!!

Let the silliness begin

Saturday arrived, well, the fact that Saturday arrived proves that the Soothsayers were wrong, The Spring Equinox, The Super Moon, the Solar Eclipse and that Comet did not stop the world from spinning, in fact, in the part of the world that I call home, apart from it being dull, grey and cold, the world looked fine and dandy.

My day was going to be very simple. Into town, over to Wembley, do the photo thing and get all the merch so I didn’t have to carry it around on Sunday, go back into town to get some things for my daughter before making my way to The Globe pub to meet up with a few Walsall fans from Up The Saddlers. So, that’s what I did.

Was it the weather? Was it the fact that I’m living so far away? Was it because it was my team? Either way, I was still waiting for the buzz. There was nothing… Until…

I remember being on the tube, pulling out of King’s Cross, looking up at the map and reading the location Wembley Park and I just started to smile and giggle. My heart began to race. I actually stood up. I was on an empty tube, but I still stood up, I’d got so much energy pumping through me I wanted to jump up and down or run up and down the empty carriage. This is it. WE’RE GOING TO WEMBLEY!

I got to Wembley Park walked out the station and… Is that it? No really. IS THAT IT!? Where was everyone? Where was everything? The Buzz got back on the tube went home put the TV on and waited patiently for my return…

How completely, unbearably shit is this? I’ve been to League Play Off’s, FA Cup Finals, European Finals and the Olympic football at the new Wembley and there has always been something going on. There has always been a kaleidoscope of colours, corporate sponsors, in fact, all the roads to Wembley had ended up looking like an explosion in a paint factory, (oh the irony…) and what do we get at The Johnstone’s Paint Trophy? NOTHING! Shameful.

My now usual photo of this and that, but all I really wanted was the Walsall FC badge in the photo. As I walked around a very cold Wembley I thought back to last season’s FA Cup Final and how I’d thought to myself, I’d LOVE to see Walsall do this one day. Just ONE day and I’d be happy. Not twice, not three times, just once in my life I’d love to see Walsall play at Wembley and come win or lose as long as I could say I’ve seen us play at Wembley and here it was, it was about to happen.

Massive electronic signs on the side of the stadium lit up the dull grey sky line and as it grew darker the brighter the Walsall badge shone.

I popped into the Design Center where I met my first Walsall fans in the ADIDAS shop before diving into Luke Roper’s shop. HOW MUCH!? You’re having a laugh. Don’t put it in a bag, stick it a frame and I’ll hang it on the wall when I get home, I’ll throw the Picasso in the bin…

Back into town and Hamleys. I got what I wanted to get for my daughter (Anna, can you not read this bit please because it’s supposed to be a surprise… Ta.. XxX) before bumping into a family of City fans. We chatted about the game and they seemed to be as worried about the game as I was. There was none of the arrogance or over confidence that you would expect from fans of a team who are running away with the league.

I got to The Globe just in time to see England getting dicked by France at rugby. Slowly and surly Walsall fans arrived before going off to a pub around the corner which was a lot more peaceful. It was great to meet up with a few UTS’s and put faces to names. I spent the rest of the night listening to stories, thoughts, opinions, of what was or wasn’t wrong with Walsall FC and what would or wouldn’t happen tomorrow, while all the time texting replies to in coming silliness.

Just as we were leaving the pub this bloke walks over to me, shakes me warmly and firmly by the hand and says, “Good luck tomorrow, I’m a Rovers fans…” before disappearing into the cold night air like Jack The Ripper.

Eventually I found myself on the Underground with Walsall FC’s very own boy band (you know who you are) before watching a guitar duo carrying their back stage rider… a gold fish… not quite an octopus in a bath with naked young ladies but not everyone can be Led Zeppelin.

I got to Tottenham Hale and bumped into a Hartlepool fan. Random! He wouldn’t let me take his photo, believing it stole his spirit… No, really!

Who takes flowers to a football match?

So this is it, our day of destiny.

Everyone I’d spoken to yesterday, when I asked them about to today, did the same thing. They took a deep breath, winced, sucked in air through their teeth, looked upwards, looked downwards, rocked backwards and forwards on their heels, and then after careful thought all said the same things, “I hope we don’t get battered/spanked/slaughtered”, “I hope it’s a tight game”, “I hope we score first”.

Everyone also said that they hoped Walsall would play in the way that we know they can, or should. There is a fine tradition of Walsall FC beating the biggest teams when we are at our lowest ebb and today’s team has a lot to live up to and frankly none of us are sure if they understand what is expected of them.

Just for the record the facts of the matter are this.

Bristol have 83pts, Walsall have 46pts.

Bristol City games in March WWWDW, Walsall games in March WLDD.

Bristol City are not only top of the league, but are run away league leaders. They are Champions elect. They have a goal difference of +41 while we have only scored 36 goals all season.

Frankly, it didn’t look promising. If I’m being honest, I was expecting us to not only be beaten, but to beaten by a stupid amount. I was dreading it. But I’m a Walsall fan and I’m used to feeling like that. Bring them on.

For the second day in a row I beat my alarm clock. Do you think I’ll be able to take it back and get a refund…?

I listened to Graeme being interviewed on Breakfast TV. He must be buzzing his tits off at what he’s done and doing.  

9am arrived and so did the texts from Chele informing me of the madness that was Bescot. I so wanted to be there. I really wanted to be there, to see it, be part of it. While here, I was still waiting for the buzz. I couldn’t believe it. I should have been bouncing around the place but I wasn’t. It still hadn’t really sunk in. Was it fear? Was it nerves? Was I still in shock at actually getting to Wembley?  

I walked to the train station and by 9.35am I was on the way into London. The sky was blue. The air was crisp. Texts continued and as silly as it sounds I did actually fell part of something bigger. A pilgrimage? My mind wondered to the people who I might meet and I smiled like a loony at the thought of seeing old friends again.

Liverpool Street St. I find a child’s red/pink mitten. I track down the father. My good deed for the day is done, I then pushed a nun under a train…

At Baker Street the tube got mobbed by Bristol. Just me then is it? Where were Walsall? Still in bed? Suffering with a hang over? Already at the Green Man?

I got Wembley Park at 11am. Loads of fans doing what I did yesterday. CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! Camera after camera captured the image of the arch.

“Buy or Sell” shouted the voices at the bottom of the steps. Tickets touts at a Walsall game. Ha! Ha! Ha! Just how cool is that… I never thought I’d see the day.

Phone calls, texts, “I’ll meet you at the Booby Moore statue”, and as I made my way to the said statue I got grabbed by The Express and Star photographer.

By the time I’d taken this photo, his photo of me was already online.

As I waited, Chele, Charlie and Janine turned up, just in time too, Janine did the honours as I managed to get my photo taken with Ivan and Malcolm. Strange, I’ve got more respect for those two than I have for the whole of the present team. 

Finally Billy and Cameron arrived which meant we could now all go off to the pub, so off to The Green Man it was.

Beers bought, it was time to track down the members of the Great Escape Committee. Beer in one hand, phone in the other, I wondered around the car park while trying to find Tom, Dick and Harry. Suddenly I heard, “NOGGIN!” it was Dick, he was the other side of the fence. I had Tom on the phone and Dick in front of me. Eventually we managed to stand in the same place at the same time. Tom then tried to remove the fence panel for me to walk through, “No, I need to go and get the others”, I said and we arranged to meet under the tree, which was easier said than done.

Once I’d found The Slaney Road Crew (TSRC) it was back to the tree were we found Tom, Dick and Harry, it was that classic case of everyone knowing everyone by sight. Let the drinking and storytelling begin.

With about 90 minutes to go, we slowly made our way down to Wembley. We just spent the time catching up. Talking about nothing and everything. From the moment I’d stepped off the tube I’d bumped into face after face after face. Some of these people I hadn’t seen for 20 years, maybe more. Names I couldn’t remember. Names I never knew. It hadn’t changed from the moment I’d meet up with TSRC, with Chele meeting so many of her ex pupils she could have started her own Breakfast Club.

I wasn’t to know it at the time, but as we got closer to the turnstiles it would be the last time I’d seem them. Because we were on different levels the plan was to get in, I’d then go up to Level 5 and continue to catch up while admiring the view from the top deck while having another drink or three. I failed.

Unable to find a way up to Level 5 I went for a wonder. A few Bristol fans nearly came unstuck. Did they really think I’d back down from three of them? *SIGH* Round towards the half way line. I can see my seat from here…

Was it my imagination, or was it flat inside the stadium? There seemed to be very little atmosphere. Was it because the Walsall fans were diluted? Still, it was 60 minutes to KO.

With about 20 minutes to KO, Wembley suddenly started to fill up, the atmosphere arrived and the tension built quickly. I’d got a text from Paul Brookes earlier telling me in was in 240 and so was I. What are the odds on that? I popped down (three rows) to Graeme to say hello and well done. While I was doing the photo thing, his dad and brother arrived. I looked around and realised that I must have known at least 20 people in that little section. This was it, familiar faces, familiar songs and chants, this was more like it. I remember standing there and consciously looking around at the now filled seats, everywhere I looked all I saw was red, 70,000 fans and 30,000 were there for Walsall. Can we do this every season please?

Graeme Brookes, “Bringing colour to the beautiful game”, I don’t just throw this stuff together you know…

I missed his goal but I got the shot… Paul and Graeme, Father and Son.

The cancer that is slowly and surely eating football alive from the inside out showed its ugly face… Yes you’ve guessed it, cheer leaders, CHEER LEADERS at a footy match. FUCK OFF! I’d like to give you a well-balanced and coherent argument against cheer leaders at football matches but I can’t. It’s wrong. FUCK OFF!

I can sort of live with the silliness of the inflatables, gas jets and even the confetti canons for the winners of a Cup or a Trophy, but only just and only at a Final… And don’t get me started on that stupid huddle stuff that players do before the KO. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON THERE!? Walsall were half way through theirs before they realised that they had a player missing, it just goes to show how important it is, well that and the fact we lost, so it obviously works as a motivational tool too. Motivational Tool? Yeah I can show you 11 tools… none of them motivational…

Eventually we were ready for the KO. The Ref blew his whistle, the game kicked off and then there were three. Accrington Stanley, Crawley Town and Hartlepool United are now the last three league teams to play at Wembley.

Bristol kicked off and promptly set about attacking our goal. We were neat, tidy, tight, held our shape, followed the runners, we were being muscled off the ball at times but nothing to serious and just for a change we had nothing up front, in the last third we just grind to a halt.

First blood went to Bristol, who fired off a long range shot from just outside the box, but it cleared the bar and bothered no one except the ball boys.

Anything Bristol can do we can do better. Forde found himself just outside the Bristol box where he cut inside before letting fly with a lovely shot but it went straight down the keeper throat.

The game wasn’t really going anywhere, neither team was taking the game by the scruff of the neck but I always thought that Bristol looked the more positive, but they weren’t really making us work and we were more than capable of dealing with anything they tried.

GOAL! Bristol won a corner on 14 minutes, it came in from the Walsall left and was headed over the bar by anyone of the 23 players in the box, either way it was another corner to Bristol but this time coming in from the Walsall right. This time Flint out maneuvered his marker. Not only out jumping Downing but basically bulldozing him out the way. Great Centre Forward play from a Centre Half.

The goal was timed at 15 minutes but on 16 minutes a round of applause crept around the stadium in memory of Becky Watts (the murdered Bristol school girl). Walsall fans being Walsall fans obviously joined in, the only problem is that it looked like we were applauding their goal.

You would have thought that being 1-0 up would have meant that Bristol went for it a little bit more than they did. You’d be wrong. The game continued to be scrappy, nothing really flowing, we were too slow, not quick enough, it wasn’t boring but neither set of supporters had much to cheer about and eventually the atmosphere died.

Walsall dealt with Bristol attacks while Bristol didn’t have to worry about Walsall attacks because no one in the Walsall team wanted to shoot.

In a vain attempt to improve the game, Bristol City decided to take all ten outfield players off the pitch and go one v eleven using the old “Rush-back Goalie” rule…

Just before half time Taylor almost put Walsall level, but his volley from the edge of the box sailed just over, but it gave us all a lift and Bristol something to think about. That was more like it. If you don’t shoot you don’t score.

Half Time 1-0

Bloody hell that went quick. Very quick. Too quick. It is usually a sign of a good match. Still, every rule has its exceptions. 

Eventually I managed to get a coffee and by the time I’d got back to my seat, the game had already kicked off a massive 45 seconds earlier. The game pretty much carried on from where it had left off.

GOAL…! GAME OVER…! Bristol worked the ball down the Walsall right where Freeman was shepherded into the corner. He calmly kept the ball. Faked a cross, faked a second, a third, over came the ball, what a cross, perfect, simply perfect and as the ball dropped onto the edge of the six yard line Little out jumped two Walsall defenders, he actually went between the pair of them… Far too easy. It was school boy stuff. GOOD GRIEF!

The Walsall keeper O’Donnell actually pulled off a fantastic instinctive save getting a very strong hand to the header, perhaps to strong. The ball came straight back out and hit Little deflecting it back past O’Donnell. Cruel, so cruel.

Bristol fans suddenly found their voices. While we didn’t.

If all of that wasn’t bad enough Cook went down the Bristol right and delivered a cross, or at least he tried to, he sliced the ball which instead of swinging out swung in beating the keeper and hitting the far post. That ball could have gone anywhere, as it was it hit the inside of the post and bounced out. How the hell does that work? At the very least it should have hit the keeper and bounced in. WHAT!?

The first player to get to the ball was a Walsall player, it didn’t matter because from six yards out he hooked his shot which just bobbled wide so slowly the grounds man actually game out and cut the grass once the ball had finished rolling by. A truly awful effort. Was it deflected?

Today’s attendance is 72,315 WOW!

While we were gasping at the attendance, O’Donnell went and did it again. A very well worked cross came in from the Walsall left, from the edge of the box, straight across the six yard and from point blank range O’Donnell saved Walsall from going 3-0 down. The ref gave off side, but O’Donnell wasn’t to know that. The ball did come back in and bounce off the bar.

Here come the subs. What a waste. 2-0 down and… what’s the point in that…? We should have thrown men up front but we just did like for like. Stupid.

O’Donnell does it again. He was sold short by a piss poor back pass and just about cleared the ball. As far as I’m concerned, O’Donnell was Walsall’s man of the match by a long way. 

The Walsall end was empting faster than my bank account, nobody seemed to want to hang about, and the only problem with that is they were leaving from about 70 minutes onwards.

The game drifted slowly towards the end. I don’t suppose someone can strap an engine to it and just pilot it at full speed into the shore… I’d love to write that it was exciting end to end stuff where everyone in the stadium was on the edge of their seats, singing, shouting, chanting, gasping, groaning, well there was lots of groaning, but not the right sort… It was dull, depressing, predictable.

6 minutes? PLEASE JUST END IT NOW!

Thank you.

Full Time 2-0

All I could think about was, what a wasted opportunity to attract new fans. 30,000 fans in the Walsall end and this is what they’re exposed to. They didn’t even get to see a Walsall goal. Just how many of the kids that went today will want to come back to Bescot? We have well and truly stuffed this up, not just today, but our long term future has been dealt a massive blow.

The game was so bad Mr Brookes licked all the chocolate off his sponge finger…

As Graeme past me on the way out he said, “Well that was a wasted walk…” I guess you had to be there, but it was funny.

I stayed back to do the photo thing.

CONGRATULATIONS TO BRISTOL CITY. I’m just sorry we didn’t give you a better game.

Once I’d done the photo thing, I popped up to the Green Man, nothing doing really. But as I walked down the road to the Premier Inn to meet up with the Great Escape Committee it suddenly hit me. We’d lost at Wembley. Typical, the moment it finally sinks in that Walsall have got to Wembley is the moment I realise we’ve lost. Suddenly putting one foot in front of the other became really difficult. I’d been cold all day but now I was really cold, walking hurt, thinking hurt, being sober hurt, being a Walsall fan hurt. It really hurt.

Everyone tells you that losing in a Semi Final is the worst feeling in the world. Well I can tell you that they are talking complete and utter bollocks.

I got to the Premier Inn, walked into the bar an announced that, “I’d never seen Walsall play at Wembley and I’ve STILL haven’t seen Walsall play at Wembley”.

I spent the rest of the evening chatting and drinking with the Great Escape Committee in the hotel bar and didn’t I need it. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much. Just what the doctor ordered. I’m not too convinced I needed the third degree from Mick’s daughter, she’d make a great SS Officer, next time I’ll bring my own spot light. At least I now know how Andrew Poole feels… EEK!

I left the hotel after 9pm and made my way home and as I waited at Liverpool Street St I bumped into a Bristol fan, he didn’t take the piss… which was good for us both.

Believe this or not, when I got to the other end the train driver stuck his head out the window and asked how we played. I tried to answer but I couldn’t get my words out properly, in the end I just said, “The worst I’ve seen us play in over 30 years”. A bit harsh… but I’m not entirely sure that I’m wrong.

Flowers were placed at Wembley Stadium today to mark the passing of a once great tradition of playing with passion, punching above their weight and in the acceptance of defeat having the opportunity to walk away with heads held high. In a mark of respect Walsall FC wore black.

You know something the Soothsayers were right. The fires in the sky? The Asteroid, The Spring Equinox, The Super Moon, the Solar Eclipse, the Comet, we should have listened. It was a warning. Right, I’m off to get naked, paint myself blue, stand in the street and bark at The Moon.

GUTTED!

Trust them to go and stuff it up.

Noggin xx

THE END...