Diamond Geezers, Episode 73: Stumbling Towards the Title
We’re out of all our cup competitions before the end of the season for the first time since I took over as Rushden and Diamonds manager. We’ve won knockout silverware in both our other seasons: the Vans Trophy in Division Three, and that remarkable League Cup run last season in Division Two, but this year, we came up against some tough opposition in the League, FA and UEFA Cups, and eventually, we’re left with only the league to compete for. The thing about that is, it stopped really being a competition quite a while ago. We have nine games left to play, and right now, we’re top of the table by an eye-watering 18 points — and we’ve got a game in hand.
Using every drop of GCSE maths I’ve got left in my body, I calculate that we’ve got 27 points still to play for, the teams around us only have 24 because of the extra game they’ve played, and if we win our game in hand, we’ll be 21 points clear. So, if everyone in the top six wins their next two games, we’ll only be a point away from securing the league title. In that case… we’d better go out and win ourselves some football matches.
First up are 15th-placed Grimsby. Am I going to change the team that just outplayed and beat Barcelona 1–0 at Nene Park? Am I bollocks.
Tell you what — the Catalans are good, but they’re not the Mariners.
It would have been nice for Pinheiro to show up, but his confidence is obviously still shaky after that 5–0 drubbing in the Nou Camp, and he has panic attacks every time the ball goes anywhere near him. As a result, after an even first half and us bullying of Grimsby for the whole of the second, Danny Coyne has a decent game in goal for them, and we end up with this nonsense. It’s a good thing we’ve got such a cushion at the top of the table.
Kim Källström subsequently wins the March Player of the Month Award, probably because he wasn’t involved in that debacle — and you can bet he’s going to play in our next game against Watford. In the meantime, Tranmere Rovers fax me a £350,000 offer for Mattias Andersson, who’s never quite kicked on attributes-wise and has been on the transfer list ever since our Finance Director started texting me every morning. Because I’m a straight-up baller, I attempt to renegotiate them to a cool £500k — there are other teams interested as well, so perhaps I can start a bidding war.
However, there’s no time to find out whether they’ll agree to my ham-fisted bartering before we’re forced to welcome the Hornets to Nene Park. I ring the changes for this one; Couto was garbage last time out, as was Pinheiro, so they both drop out of the starting team and are replaced by Lucic and Schmeichel. Källström and Hysén come back into midfield and Cherno Samba can partner Javan up front. Why not?
Well, we’ve left it incredibly late, but the three points are ours. Källström celebrates being named Player of the Month by phoning in a performance of the lowest quality and is upstaged by both his central midfield partners, plus Baggio when he comes on in his place. After Schmeichel does a Hugo and lets one of the two shots he faces sneak past him to give the Hornets the lead through Allan Nielsen, we continue to make chances, but can’t put them past John Connolly in the Watford goal.
I frustratedly make a couple of changes after 73 minutes, expecting they’ll make no difference — but in fact, my two substitutes change everything, and are eventually the ones who win us the game, proving that I knew what I was doing all along. First, Cesare Bovo, on for the seemingly out-of-depth Jamie Victory, gets down the right and puts a ball into the box for Tobias Hysén to head home the equaliser, and then, with the very last action of the game, Byron Bubb jinks past a couple of Watford players and crosses to Roberto Baggio, who rolls back the years and catches a sweet volley that lashes past Connolly and in for 2–1 — and that’s how the game ends. Back-and-forth stuff that could have gone either way, but in the end, despite my limp backline, we’ve snatched an arguably deserved win.
And with that result, our promotion is finally confirmed. Only the combination of Crewe Alexandra and a bout of swine flu decimating my entire squad could stop us from winning the league at this point — but the important thing to concentrate on is this: next season, regardless of anything else that happens… Rushden and Diamonds will be in the Premier League!
That’s an amazing thing to know, but it’s not enough for me. I’m not stopping until we’ve won this division outright.
In other news, Liverpool and Newcastle’s reputation for playing each other in the craziest games of football you can imagine is extended further in the League Cup Final, where the Magpies go 3–0 down after half an hour, pull the game back to make it 3–3 in the last minute of normal time, take the lead in extra time before Robbie Fowler scores a 120th minute equaliser to make it 4–4 — but then go on to beat the Reds on penalties. Phew. It’s exhausting just writing about it.
Tranmere do come back with £500k for Mattias Andersson, which I accept, and await the news of our latest wad of cash. A click later, he accepts their offer, citing a “clash” with me as the main reason for wanting to move. I don’t want to call you a liar, Mattias, but we’ve never clashed. I’ve not even spoken to you for six months.
Speaking of clashes, the door to my office is suddenly kicked in by Benjani, whose recent calm and rational demeanour has given way to the standard shithousery we’d normally expect. He demands a transfer because he wants more first-team football. You want more first-team football? I played you from the start in both legs against Barcelona, you were awful in both, then rotated you out for two pointless league games, and this is your response? I’m sorry, but I’ve had enough of this. I don’t need people like you at the Nene Way elite sports complex and secret underground bunke… I mean, multi-screen cinema. Benjani — you just made the list.
Elsewhere, the First Division Players’ Select is decided, and for the first time, it’s not just Hugo Pinheiro who makes the team! He, Marcel and Javan are all in the best XI, and while Mike Duff almost makes the cut, it turns out he’s no Jon Olav Hjelde.
And so, after copious dillying and an even greater degree of dallying, the league title comes down to our game in hand. A game that could be against basically any team and manager in the league. Who could it be, I hear you ask? Well, dear Ultras, if you think about it, there’s only one team it can possibly be. Cast your minds back to seasons past. Who are the team we always seem to find ourselves up against, no matter what?
Yes, you guessed it. Queens Park Rangers, led by none other than Ian Holloway, are back for one more game. This is the seventh time we’ve played them in three seasons, despite not being in the same league for one of them. It’s amazing how often we’ve managed to play one another, so it seems serendipitous that we should find them in our way at this crucial juncture. The title is in the bag one way or another, sure — I realise that. But knowing that another win against Ian Holloway, keeping our 100% record against them intact, would take us up to the Premier League as champions of Division One? I’m as motivated for this game as I can possibly be.
My coaches tell me that Cesare Bovo’s performances in training deserve to be rewarded with an extended run in the first team, so considering he notched an assist from the bench in the last game and I’d like him to be visible to potential suitors, I make a bold move: the two-footed Mike Duff can try his hand at left-back, while Bovo can play on the right. It’s easily the most radical change to my side, which is otherwise very orthodox. Sir Les can line up against his old club for a bit of extra bite, while Bubb, Hysén and Farnerud are clearly my best midfield three — Player of the Month Award be damned. QPR are 23rd in the league and going down, barring a miracle escape, so they’ll be fired up to spoil our title parade. We can put ourselves up as champions, and thump some nails into Ian Holloway’s coffin while we do it. Beeeautiful.
Hugo. Mate. Make a f — king save, will you?
I can hear Holloway cackling all the way down to Division Two. Little shitbag.
We’ve been rocked by the games against Barcelona; the players have been shadows of themselves ever since those two legs. We’ve played three, won one, drawn one and lost one in the wake of them, and that sole win was a fairly lucky last-minute smash-and-grab against Watford. And so, our quest to be champions of the First Division takes my jaded warriors to the Black Country, where West Brom will greet us, invite us inside, probably kick us off the park, then have to give us a jump-start to get Chugger back on the motorway. I exasperatedly make some changes; can we please, please just secure the title so that I can get some sleep? I’ve been having night terrors since the Nou Camp. Geovanni haunts my dreams. Knowing we’ll get the first-place prize money will definitely help me forget all about it, so lads, if you could just win a game…
The first ten minutes are like déjà vu: three times in succession, Bovo gets down the right, crosses into the box, Javan meets the ball on the volley, and Kelvin Davis slaps it over the bar. It happens so regularly and predictably that I consider buying a watch and synchronising it, but eventually, it’s a more familiar combo that leads to the opening goal. Byron Bubb — who else? — takes a pass from Bovo and sets off to show him how it’s done, striding through midfield and laying the ball on a plate for Javan, who apparently can’t miss — and this time, he doesn’t, driving his shot low past Davis and finally, mercifully, we have the lead.
Four minutes later, Baggio gets the ball on the edge of the area and slips a ball through to Javan. He shimmies past Clement and shapes to shoot, but the defender nicks the ball away from him just before he can wrap his boot around the ball. However, it’s not clear, and Tobias Hysén arrives on the scene, takes a touch, and slams a low shot past Davis for 2–0 after 31 minutes, and after some pretty mediocre league performances, we’re finally back in cruise control.
Or so I think. Because, as is the way of things at the moment, Hysén is forced off injured a minute later, and 90 seconds after that, Branko Strupar goes on a weaving run past three of my players and wallops a pot-shot past Pinheiro to bring the score to 2–1. Just as I’ve let myself relax slightly, we’ve been pegged back by another team’s first shot on target for what seems like the umpteenth game in a row. I have no idea what to think of Pinheiro any more. He is either a 9-foot metal security door or a cardboard umbrella, and either can happen on any given day. Since Spain, he’s been nothing but the latter.
We restart for the second half against a completely different West Brom side. They hassle, harry and torment us for the whole of the second period, and while we do manage a few efforts of our own on Kelvin Davis’s goal, we are actually grateful to big Hugo in the end, who tips one Strupar effort over the bar, then goes on to make a miraculous double-save with just minutes of the game remaining. I guess he read my first-half match report during the break.
I’m on the edge of my seat so often these days that the whole rest of the chair is redundant, but eventually, an absolutely exhausting afternoon comes to an end. Neither team can change the score any further, and after what feels like the hundred years war, we’ve finally, finally, sealed the First Division title.
Susan? Could you organise a parade through Irthlingborough to celebrate our title win, please? Just get all the players onto Chugger’s roof and set off through the town centre, it should only take 20 minutes, half an hour tops.
Let the fans celebrate at the Rose & Crown without me for now. I’ll come out and meet them during the week. Right now… I need to lie down for a couple of days.
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