Johnstone’s Paint Trophy Final
Sunday 22nd 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 1st leg
Wednesday 7th
January 2015
Preston North
End v Walsall
At
10pm on Wednesday 7th 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 8th
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 2st leg
Tuesday 27th
January 2015
Walsall v
Preston North End
At
midnight on Monday 26th 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,
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,
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.
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 22nd 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 14th 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 20th 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.
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...
THE END...
