Diamond Geezers, Episode 7: First Degree Burnley
Turf Moor. The Theatre of Schemes. A whimsical nickname that would be a lot more appropriate if I had even the first idea what to do about Burnley’s formation or tactics. I mean, look at this mess.
Ok, so they start out in a 5–3–2, which becomes a frankly absurd 3–3–4 when they attack, and then the players have to fall back into a… 6… 2… 2? When they’re defending? With Lenny Johnrose riding on Steve Davis’s back? It seems bananas, but on further investigation, they have two players with 20 for Stamina and almost their entire starting team has 15 or more, so I guess they can make up the ground. After all, they are 4th in Division 1, with five wins and a draw from their first eight games. Something is obviously working, and it seems likely that their success is built on being good on the counter. My attacking style might play right into their hands. I wander over to my tactical magnetic whiteboard and move all the little pieces around into a question mark shape.
The good news is that flying winger Chris Hackett and midfielder Martin Rowlands are both cup-tied, so won’t take part. Defender Dean West, an ever-present this season, is out injured, and their top scorer is striker Ian Moore, who has only scored three in eight. They have two strikers with 20 for Finishing but they’ve barely featured this season, and they aren’t great passers overall — the highest in the squad is right back Mark McGregor with 13, which means they’re likely to go direct. My research makes me feel like we can take them with our organised pressing, offside-trapping, tiki-taka style, and I don’t think I need to change anything to start with. I hope the presence of a DMC in my team, plus three central midfielders, will be able to nullify their counter attacks, and when their full backs and midfielders come flying forward, it must surely leave huge gaps in behind for us to exploit. And I note that both Ferdinand and Møller have higher numbers for Strength, Jumping and Heading than both of Burnley’s favoured centre backs. I reckon we can pull off a shock here.
I pump up the players in the dressing room with a solo rendition of Eminem’s Lose Yourself (he gave me a sneak preview) and send them out in front of the Turf Moor crowd. Come on lads.
The first 12 minutes go by agonisingly with no commentary. I am sweating internally. McKinlay lifts the ball into the box and Underwood cannons a shot back off the bar. Møller has a chance that Michopolous turns around the post. It’s a good start and I am catatonic with tension.
Then, we are in trouble. Burnley realise they are two divisions above us and start playing like it. They rain down crosses and shots that my defenders mostly handle, but they do manage to break through twice. And when they do, Pinheiro is ready. He’s playing like someone spilled his margarita, keeping us in the game with two remarkable saves from point-blank headers, first from Gnohéré and then from Taylor. We are properly clinging on to 0–0.
The game swings back to us again, and we start getting on the ball more. The players are wound so tightly that, on the stroke of half time, Ferdinand wins the ball from Cook with a slide tackle of all things, plays a one-two with Bubb, then gives it to Møller inside the box. Møller drives the ball at the bottom corner and — GOAL! It’s 1–0! Burnley have no time to react, and it’s half time. I am genuinely breathless. My defenders are all on 6s, but most of Burnley’s team are too — half time is a distraction. Get back out there boys. Let’s finish this.
The second half is played on a knife edge. It’s impossible to separate the teams. We’re struggling to make proper chances, but we’re in the commentary more often and are still just about getting the best of the game. Burnley are dangerous on the counter, as I expected, but Pinheiro is massive at the back, claiming everything that enters his airspace. On 77 minutes, I make a change. Byron Bubb is running on fumes at 62%, so I replace him with Farnerud, but otherwise the team are looking strong and playing well. I don’t want to disrupt them. Keep scrapping lads. You’re almost home.
There are 85 minutes on the clock. I’m sweating like Ted Striker from Airplane. Tarkan Mustafa, my unsung hero this season at right wing-back, lifts the ball forward towards Les Ferdinand. He powers a header at Michopolous, who has held on to virtually everything in this game — but this time he can only parry it as Gary Mills gallops into the box and crashes home the rebound! It’s 2–0 with just a few minutes to go! I take the hint and move to Plan B: Gray enters for Brandon and we move to two DMCs in front of our back four. We’re conceding the ball to them for the last period but we just need to hold out. Gordon Armstrong collects the ball for Burnley, beats Mustafa, and slams a shot towards goal — but it goes over the bar, and that’s it! It’s all over! We’ve only gone and bloody beaten Burnley away!!
I’m so proud of the players. This was a truly excellent performance against a team theoretically streets ahead of us. The magic of this pointless cup is alive and well! We march on towards my coveted quarter final spot. I’m going to savour this victory. I’ve already had several glasses of rum to celebrate and the game only finished a minute or two ago.
However, the celebrations don’t last long. A mere two clicks later, I’m forced to neck my last measure as we face the prospect of Rochdale at Nene Park, a fixture I can’t afford to be drunk for. They are 4th in the league and spearheaded by star forward Paul Connor, who has eight goals in ten games. His strike partner Clive Platt has four in ten with three assists, so they’re not short of firepower. Freddie the Fence is only at 90%, but I don’t want to rest him for this one. He starts, as does everyone else from the Burnley game except Byron Bubb, who’s off to an expensive American clinic for a leg transplant, so Farnerud takes his place. We go again.
The moment I press Start Match, Pinheiro is already making his first save of the day from Paul Connor, and I am concerned about a Burnley hangover. I’m already developing mine. However, the players are in far better nick than me, and eventually Underwood gets forward down the left and whips in a cross that Sir Les meets at the near post to put us a goal up.
Then, the game starts to go a bit sideways. First, we win a penalty, which Underwood smashes straight at Neil Edwards. Then, we waste a few changes to go a second goal up, before Dale attack down their left — Paul Teather beats Mustafa and floats in a cross, which Platt heads home past Pinheiro right on the stroke of half time. It’s 1–1 at the break.
The boys are downbeat. It’s time for a stirring team talk. I can’t think of one, so instead I switch Kah (6) for Convery and start the second period holding an ice pack to my head.
On 57 minutes, Ferdinand’s quality drags us back into the lead. McKinlay belts one forward and Les does all the work in the box to force the ball home for 2–1. We still look shaky as Connor and Platt are regularly on the ball, and to make matters worse, Convery goes down with an injury — my replacement centre-half now has to be replaced. I cringe as I put midfielder Stuart Gray into the back four and close my eyes. I open them just in time to see Mustafa marauding down the right flank and spanking a shot in at the near post to take our lead to 3–1. Thank goodness.
We have half an hour to go, and I can’t properly explain what happens next. Instead of rallying his dangerous team, I see Rochdale boss Steve Parkin pulling on a clown costume in his technical area. The commentary indicates they are sitting back and “showing a more patient approach” at the very moment they need a bit of grit and urgency, and we sucker punch them into next week. Ferdinand grabs his hat-trick, then immediately sets up Brandon for 5–1. The commentary now says that Rochdale are “defending in numbers”, obviously keen to consolidate this four-goal defeat, before displaying the Jean-Luc Picard ‘facepalm’ meme as Edwards slices a goal kick straight to Mills, who plays a simple pass to Møller in the box, and he calmly passes the ball into the net for 6–1.
A bizarre second half is over. I go to shake Parkin’s hand, but he squirts water from a lapel flower into my face and dances off down the tunnel.
Convery is out for at least three weeks with a broken toe, and Kah hasn’t impressed me at centre-back. Plus, he keeps swanning off on international duty, so I decide to redouble my efforts to find a new defender. I go back for Teddy Lucic yet again, while also submitting a £500k bid for QPR’s Chris Plummer. I also scout a few young defenders who are listed for loan, who could be good backup players if my scouts agree. We are sweeping all before us, it’s true, but I can’t shake the feeling that my defence is just one bad game away from taking the wheels off this runaway train.
QPR instantly accept my bid for Chris Plummer. I’m excited: he’s good, pretty quick, and worth more than what I’ve offered. His wage demands are very reasonable and he’s happy as a rotation player. Plus, with Flair 2, he’d be my favourite, most no-nonsense defender. We tie everything up very quickly, and I am satisfied. Welcome to sunny Irthlingborough, Chris! I’m sure he didn’t really want to play for QPR anyway.
It’s time for the League Cup third round draw. It doesn’t matter who we get, of course, since we already know it’s coming home. I go with the automatic draw for the sake of drama. The big hitters of Manchester United, Liverpool and Shrewsbury Town come and go, and eventually, we are drawn against Division 2 Tranmere Rovers away. Some would be disappointed with that. I think it’s fantastic that we’ve dodged a trip to Anfield or Old Trafford on our march to Wembley. The path of least resistance is the path of the mighty, and I can almost reach out and touch the last 16. This demands a celebration. Pass the rum!
