Cod Almighty | Match Report
by Tony Butcher
31 May 2024
A bright, cloudless day with a warm sun and typically piercing wind wobbling sporadically around the ground. That's a completely packed ground, with one end claret and blue and three sides a red-capped monochrome. The Monkey and Banana returned (you know, for kids) and we had the slightly surreal sight of a monkey aping Gazza, with a banana on top. The players warmed up, as usual, with light jogs, sprints and aimless kickabouts. We then had the extremely surreal sight of Livvo smiling, just because the crowd cheered when his named was announced. Weird scenes inside the goldmine, I'm sure Livvo awoke before dawn too.
Dave Boylen continued his battle with dignity, losing again. Perhaps a dozen Mainstanders raised a pitiful cough in response. The balloon release was, similarly, quintessentially Grimbarian in planning and practice. The net was opened and three great big clumps of balloons stuck together and meandered across the pitch and up, up and not away, for they were not beautiful balloons. One lump or two? One got stuck round the floodlights, but not for long. There was more rabble rousing on the new stadium, with a brick being waved at the crowd. The police and stewards, disgracefully, failed to take any action. You could have someone's eye out with that, you know. Most applauded, some launched a 'Boo the brick' campaign (and Falconer wasn't even on the pitch!).
The pre-match events did create an atmosphere, and the Town players, at least, looked very jolly and confident. The substitutes' shooting practice against Croudson was more accurate than usual, even Livvo scored. Burnett, in plus fours, chipped Croudson, the ball hit the underside of the bar, bounced on the line, back over the bar, rolled on to the top of the bar and nestled like an auntie on top of the net. Now if a Brazilian had done that you would have said it was lucky. As the substitutes wandered off, Croudson ran over to a very small boy in the Lower Smiths/Stones/Findus Stand and gave him his goalkeeping gloves. Just before kick-off Groves changed his shirt; the second definitely had more flappage.
Burnley, on the other hand, were at the other end and didn't do anything remarkable or interesting in warming up. They were just blokes, with the exception of Johnson, who has had strange highlights placed erratically in his hair. They were the colour that pigeon droppings go if you fail to wipe them off your windscreen for four days. Mucky, greeny-brown.
Town lined up in the usual 4-4-2 formation as follows: Coyne, McDermott, Groves, Todd, Chapman, Cooke, Pouton, Coldicott, Butterfield, Allen and Boulding. The substitutes were Croudson, Ford, Burnett, Robinson and Livingstone. Everyone was where you'd think they'd be, with Chapman as Gallimore's replacement and Butterfield at left midfield. Allen and Boulding together again. Interesting. Burnley also started with a 4-4-2 formation and, for the sake of completeness, Mr P Gascoigne was a substitute. They started with a clogger (Ball) and a runner (Briscoe) in central midfield. Town had Coldicott and Pouton. No contest.
So this was it, 90 minutes to decide everything. The future is now.
1st half
Town kicked off towards the Pontoon; the roaring, raging wall of noise that was the Pontoon. Thankfully the torpor that smothered the ground against Sheffield Wednesday had disappeared. This was Noise City Arizona. Town didn't get where they are today by the Pontoon being smothered in torpor.
As early as the first minute Boulding almost broke free, only an errant linesman's flag stopped him skipping gaily down the right with gay abandon. Town crunched, Burnley headed the ball away for two or three minutes and it was obvious, even at this stage, that Burnley's players were content to stroll in the sun on their charabanc trip to the seaside. There were huge gaps between all their defenders, with Boulding, especially, seemingly free to do whatever he wanted.
After about four minutes Burnley finally cracked. Butterfield knocked a low, first-time pass straight down the pitch from an inside right position, just inside the Town half. The ball went straight, into a massive, massive unmanned area of the pitch, where the Burnley right-back, West, should have been. He was south. Boulding, from an inside right position, sprinted across the back line and, having given Davis 10-yards head start, beat him by five yards to the ball. The crowd, of course, rose in anticipation, giving out an awestruck hum. Boulding controlled the ball a couple of yards wide of the penalty area, cut inside between two defenders and, from a position about level with the near post and 15 yards out, carefully rolled a right-footed shot between Gnohere's hairless legs and into the bottom left-hand corner. The crowd went bananas, as did the monkey; the banana just went wild. The old ground started to bounce, the noise levels increased still further as the crowd (well, the Town portion) recreated last year's 'Wall of Sound' to intimidate and encourage.
Burnley continued their passionless, half-hearted stumblings, with a game plan which seemed to consist of heading the ball out of play for a Town throw-in. They were truly awful for the first 20 minutes, with a defence that could have been hand picked by your average Town supporter. They were all we could ever ask for. "Are you Scunthorpe in disguise?" Whenever the ball was played down the wings Burnley panicked, they were scared stiff of Boulding, simply because he can run fast. Perhaps they should have taken note of Groves and Todd, who were against similarly quick forwards in Moore and Johnson. We were glad they didn't.
After about six minutes Town should have scored again. Cooke, out on the right, hit a superbly weighted curling pass behind the defence for Boulding to run onto, in a central leftish position. The ball landed perfectly at Boulding's left foot 25yards out, but he miscontrolled the ball, sending it hurtling towards the onrushing goalkeeper, who just managed to block at the edge of the area. Corporal Jones was somewhere in the Burnley defence.
Around the 10 minute mark there were a couple of scares for Town, firstly when Chapman conceded a corner after he fell trying to head a huge clearance by the goalkeeper. The corner was curled in towards the near post and there was an almighty scramble, with Town players flying, diving and throwing various limbs at the ball. Todd calmed matters by bullying his way through a challenge, he took man, ball and several inches of turf with him as he swept majestically out of the penalty area, like a horde of wildebeest flowing across the Savannah. The Burnley supporters claimed a penalty, but who was listening to them? A minute or so later Town faffed about out on the left, with Chapman, eventually, being dispossessed near the edge of the penalty area. Little weaved his was down the bye-line and crossed into the near post. Groves glided across the green, green grass of home and diverted the ball away for a corner. Another inswinger, another minor scramble. Danger over.
With Burnley playing a high line in defence they were asking for trouble, which duly arrived after about 11 or 12 minutes. The ball was played up to Allen, on the halfway line, who was bundled, barged and tripped from behind. The crowd called for a free kick, but the referee played advantage. What advantage? There is none. We booed, we bayed, we cheered as someone in the middle (after another foul) chipped the ball down the right flank. Boulding scampered after the ball, reaching it near the corner of the penalty area. He awaited Gnohere's tackle, which never arrived. By this time Boulding was in the area, Gnohere put his right leg across and Boulding simply stepped aside, reaching the bye-line, about eight yards wide of the goal. He looked up (yes, yes yes!), saw Butterfield hurtling into the six-yard box and carefully rolled the ball across. Butterfield side-footed a first time shot, which hit the goalkeeper and squirmed across the open goal. Two defenders trotted back, Allen sprinted forward and, from two yards out and just beyond the far post, side-footed the ball into the left-hand side of the goal. The ground bounced even more, though I did detect a slight tilt to the Osmond as 2,500 Burnley supporters, in unison, sunk below their seats in despair.
What happened in the next 10 minutes? I don't know, the crowd were too busy singing and dancing. At this point someone called for a quiet moment of reflection, our thoughts were with Kevin Donovan at this 'sad' time. Of course, it's about ambition, Mr Jellyfish, isn't it. There were some grating tackles, some Pouton surges, the referee seemed intent on not booking anyone and was letting a few fouls go unpunished. It all added up to a rumbustious, satisfying, and typically Town (in April) afternoon. Burnley were simply being brushed aside. So they made a change. Off came their right-back, on came Paul Weller (make your own joke, it's far too obvious). They switched to a 3-5-2 formation and then had a five or 10 minute spell where they were Town's equal, even having a few attacks.
The first real Burnley effort on goal (I'm sure their supporters could dream up a few, they do have a vivid imagination at times, especially when their players are tackled) came after about 25 minutes. They were given a free kick near the halfway line and took it immediately, from the wrong place. The ball was chipped down their left wing and Moore outpaced Groves, burst into the penalty area and, from about 10 yards out and perhaps six yards wide of goal, totally and utterly miskicked a left-foot shot. The ball bounced four or five times before it reached Coyne, who simply stood up, hands on hips and let the ball roll under his right boot, where he stood on the ball, surveying the scene in front of him. The scene was a sea of happy faces, jumping up and down, definitely waving not drowning.
Burnley had two or three headers on target in the minutes that followed, all after dribbles and crosses by Little down their right. Each header was weak and straight at Coyne. Each player was unmarked, though none of them ever looked like scoring. The whole Burnley team had a weary, sorrowful body language, as if they thought they'd never score. Fine by us.
Town had occasional attacks, with many a fleeting moment of excitement as Boulding was sprinting towards the ball after it had been chipped behind the full-backs. Allen was playing some fine link passes, and shielding the ball well, particularly around the edge of the Burnley penalty area, where we had minor Reesian memories with Butterfield, Cooke and McDermott trying the old one-two. It even worked, with the resulting crosses being cut out rather desperately in the centre. Cooke curled a free kick, from about 20 yards, just to the left of centre, a foot over the bar. Ooh-able, but never goalable.
The day was so glorious, and Town so imperious, that Coldicott took a break from his destructive duties to have a couple of late runs to beat the offside trap. A fantastic crossfield pass by Groves from the centre circle released Coldicott down the Town right, the goalkeeper raced out of his area and just managed to get there before our cuddly Conan, the ball flying off for a throw-in. Funny bloke their keeper, he kept running out of his area and fly kicking the ball at out for throw-ins at 90 degrees. Well, we were laughing.
We laughed even more three minutes before half time. Near the managers' dug out, just inside the Town half, Cooke sprinted, skidded and hooked a pass down the right touchline. Superb, the ball had looked like it was rolling out and his determination kept a move flowing. Boulding, who else, sprinted forward as the ball went towards the left edge of the penalty area. The goalkeeper ran out and seemed to panic, for the ball was just inside his area, about 12 yards out. He slid forward to tackle Boulding, but only succeeded in knocking the ball against the little scamp. The ball rebounded and rolled towards the bye-line. Boulding, about six yards out and right on the edge of the penalty area looked up and saw what we saw - an open goal. The ground fell totally silent as Boulding rolled the ball, with his right foot, towards goal. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the ball trundled across the grass, onto the muddy bit in the middle, and towards the far post. Still silent. The ball crept inside the far post. ROAR! An incredibly calm finish, and a wonderful one too, for at that moment the Town supporters realised that safety was not a possibility, but a probability.
The crowd celebrated not just a goal, but the goal, and a season. And they celebrated a bit more when the mobile phones announced events at Oakwell. Everything's comin' up roses in Groves' garden.
In the remaining few minutes Town had another couple of joyous, flowing, intoxicating passing movements, both down the right. Again the old Reesian wall pass reared its beautiful head, with Coldicott, Chapman, Boulding and finally Butterfield all involved. Butterfield's jink and dink produced nothing more than a routine catch at the near post by the goalkeeper, but what the heck, there was no poverty of ambition; it was Buckley but at pace and with goals. Marvellous. And more marvellous still the Pouton surge, just before half time, when he beat four Burnley players, then another, before turning on the edge of the penalty area, beating another, then finally being dispossessed. Olé, olé, olé, olé. Pouton, supremely Pouton.
The Town fans cheered and cheered and cheered the players off the pitch. This was like last year's Great Escape, but with something extra. Yes, the emotion, the raw passion, the roaring rollicking crowd, the indefatigable esprit de corps. But something else too. Football: excellent, free-flowing, one-touch football. After a hesitant start Chapman had settled into a very solid, competitive performance, rising like a…sprightly parr, to win headers against Little, who was a foot taller (and so wasn't little). Todd and Groves were extremely solid and unperturbed in the centre, despite being against very fast opponents. McDermott was his usual self, there is no higher praise possible. Coldicott and Pouton were magnificent in the centre, especially Pouton, who ran and ran and ran, tackling everything, including Butterfield at one point. Nothing passed them. Cooke was not as effective as against Norwich, but he too got into the spirit of the team, tracking back tirelessly, making some hefty challenges. Up front, Boulding scared the living daylights out of the Burnley defence, with Allen playing intelligently, if less obviously involved.
'Twas a pity the referee had to stop it, it was great.
Half Time Toilet Talk
"Groves better sort it at half time. I don't come here to be happy." "Dad, why are they at the top and us at the bottom?" "Lennie who?" "I've been hugged by a man in a red cap." "What do you call a pickled jellyfish?"
2nd half
As usual Town ran out a couple of minutes after Burnley, which gave us plenty of time to size up the Burnley substitutes, for on came Taylor and Gascoigne, one of them to a personalised reception. I'm sure Gascoigne will now feel his footballing career, not to say life, is complete, for his boyhood dream of running out on the lush turf of Blundell Park has now been fulfilled. Some wags adopted the Birmingham 'joke 'of shouting "who" when his name was announced. We'd find out soon enough.
The second half was a damp squib for Town, with players and fans alike merely waiting for the referee to end the game. The players sank back and seemed to be content with holding what they had. That'd be three extremely important points. Town had perhaps two efforts on goal. Maybe, and I can only remember one of them.
Butterfield turned on the middle left edge of the penalty area and tried a spinning, first-time, left-foot chip over the goalkeeper. The ball dropped behind the goal, so it must have missed comfortably. Half way through the half Cooke clipped an interesting flat, spinning cross which seemed to get a couple of deflections before being hacked away from the edge of the six-yard box. And that was it as far as Town attacks go. Burnley completely dominated the second half, without ever seeming to have any belief that they'd score, let alone win. You could see it in their faces, each player looked thoroughly dischuffed at having to play at Blundell Park, there was a lot of shoulder shrugging and face pulling.
They had many moments when they almost had chances, and the most important moment was the first, after about 50ish minutes. The ball was knocked over the top of the Town defence, down the centre. Briefly it seemed that Johnson was free. Chapman ran back and fell over Johnson, right in the middle, right on the edge of the penalty area. Chapman stayed down clutching his face, the linesman appeared to signal for a Town free kick, the referee waltzed over, stroked his chin, looked again at his linesman and merely gave Burnley a free kick. Chapman finally got up when he realised he wasn't getting sent off.
After an interminable delay, where McDermott kept retreating to the near post, then back to the wall, Gascoigne chipped the free kick into the wall and over the bar for a corner. Cue more baiting from the Pontoon. Gascoigne's face was already purple, even though he had done little running. It was noticeable that all his energy was expended in dribbling with the ball between the halfway line and the Town penalty area. He hardly went anywhere else on the pitch. If anyone was running the game it was him, but fortunately he was having one those days where he was King Midas in Reverse. The Town players took it in turns to have the honour of tackling him and, as one Pontoon wag pointed out, 'even' Butterfield got the ball off him, so what are we frightened of?
Well, his footballing mind, not his feet, which continued to spray passes out for goal kicks and into Coyne's arms. Just after the free kick, Moore side-footed a shot high and wide from 20 yards after a quick breakaway (instigated by Gascoigne) had pulled Town's defence into an unusual shape, like a flaccid soufflé. There were a few moments of danger when Gascoigne started to run at the Town defence, but his passes kept rebounding off Town shins, or the Burnley strikers were offside.
What tension and fear existed for the Town fans finally ended about 20-odd minutes from the end when Gascoigne had a golden chance. He ran through the back line following a half clearance, the ball was returned into the penalty area and he made a diagonal run from left to right. He controlled the ball on his chest about eight yards out, drifted wide of Coyne and clipped a first-time, half-volleyed pass-shot across the face of the goal and a yard or so wide of the right-hand post. The crowd rose as one to applaud Gascoigne, chanting his name, which he acknowledged. We knew that he was no longer Gazza, merely Gascoigne, a footballer.
After 74 minutes Livingstone raced onto the field, replacing Allen. Both players got suitable receptions. A minute later Livvo got his first touch – a foul. Livvo was rubbish, but as he is Livvo, a living legend in his own lunchtime (and Town were three up), all was forgiven. Five minutes later Robinson replaced Butterfield in a straight swap. Robinson touched the ball a few times, did nothing special, nor made any mistakes.
Around this time Burnley started to get closer and closer to the Town goal, mainly through Johnson, who had drifted into a right-wing position. Item one, he got to the bye-line, zipped in a cross which received the merest of touches as it flew through the penalty area and Taylor, unmarked at the far post, didn't jump. The ball bounced off his forehead in a very gentle arc, very high and a yard or so wide. Item two, Johnson got to the bye-line, inside the penalty area, whipped in a low cross through the six-yard box. The goal was wide, wide open. Davis lollopped towards the ball just beyond the far post and shinned it well wide and high. A couple of minutes later, after a corner was only half cleared, Davis, about 20 yards out on the left, sent in a curling cross towards the middle of the area, about 10 yards out. Briscoe ran into a gap and thumped a header straight down the middle of the goal. Coyne leant back, leapt up and tipped the ball over the bar. Ah, the Magnificat in goal.
With five or six minutes left, Gascoigne, right in front of the Lower Smiths/Stones/Findus near the halfway line, arrived a little late in tackling McDermott, who had slightly overhit the ball. McDermott stayed down in a heap and was eventually replaced by Ford, again in a straight swap.
Finally they scored. In the last minute Johnson was sent free down the Burnley left, near the corner of the penalty area. He raced to the bye-line and hit a low, hard cross in towards the near post, four yards out. Briscoe ran in, opened his body and steered a right-foot shot high across Coyne and into the top left-hand corner. Hardly a sound, no celebrations from the Burnley players, and eventually some ironic cheers and jumps from the remaining Burnley supporters. Half had gone by then. It's never fun being at someone else's party. They had sat silently listening to the Town fans party on down, dude, and watched as we bounced around contemplating another season of party pooping.
Ah yes, I've remembered the momentary attacks by Town. A Coldicott run down the right to beat the offside trap, resulting in a throw-in as the goalkeeper fly-hacked away most unconvincingly. And, in the last minute, another long ball down the right saw Boulding sprinting away. The ball went into the area and the goalkeeper came out to the left edge of his box, tried to control the ball with his stomach and dribble out of the area. He missed. Boulding was so surprised by this mad keeping that he stopped and the defender was able to clear.
Ah that's it. Game over, season safe, every paying customer who was left in the ground was happy. There was a very minor pitch invasion, with perhaps 100 youngsters streaming onto the pitch. After a tannoy announcement saying "get awf our land" they got off immediately, and five minutes later the whole squad came out to do a lap of honour. Only after the tannoy had announced the scores elsewhere.
Of course we cheered, but we already knew – there were enough radios and mobile phones to alert us to the relevant facts. There was particular schadenfreude at Barnsley's demise. A club with Premiership ambition and potential? Who's crying now? The only Town fans who left were those in the sponsors' seats in the Findus/Smiths/Stones Stand. You can imagine the scenes and the sounds. Groves got a massive cheer, and so he should. What's Paul Groves ever done for us, eh? Even Todd seemed to be content to be part of the team celebrations. Cooke walked around with a baby in his arms, Gallimore and D Smith looked ecstatic, and Willems walked around a bit sheepishly at the back. They were happy, we were happy. We're all happy.
Cometh the hour cometh the men, how could we doubt them? They did what they had to do in just 45 minutes, where they simply walked all over a team who are playing for a Premiership place. I'm smiling, are you?
Nicko's Man of the Match
So many to chose from again. Obviously Boulding was important, with two right-footed finishes. Two cool, calm finishes. Two great finishes. Todd was back to his arrogant best, and Groves was Groves. However Nicko, controversially, picks Alan Pouton, as he was irrepressible at times, and, especially in the second half, almost single handedly stopped any thoughts of a Burnley comeback.
Official Warning
M Pike
At times he was a bit too relaxed and insistent of letting the game flow, but overall he was sane. 8 out of 10, especially for not sending off Ben Chapman!