Take Me To Church, Ep 8: The Rovers Return
With a big shout out to the Coronation Street Ultras, we begin today with preparations for the visit of Bristol Rovers to The Stadium in what is easily the biggest game of my tenure. However, as I rise from the bed of my penthouse suite and start making a fresh Americano (wake up on the floor of the room above the pub and put the kettle on), my phone, lost under a pile of sheets and pizza boxes, is buzzing.
Maltese 102-cap wonder Joe Brincat has agreed to join on January 1st, so as always, I delay the transfer for a week to see how my other deals progress. Honestly, he’s a good player, and permanent centre-mid cover is always welcome. He’s only going to cost £1k on an initial deal until the end of the season, so it seems like a no-brainer — however, since he won’t arrive for 7 weeks, delaying for one doesn’t hurt anything.
It’s good to see that ageing former internationals are interested in coming here, though. I’ve cultivated an excellent rapport between my squad, apart from all the ones complaining about not playing or being put in positions they don’t like, and the allure of Hornchurch and surrounding areas — there’s a great shopping centre in Romford — is enough to pull interest from high-profile foreign superstars. I mean, I’m also giving them a grand a week with no strings attached, but I’m sure they’re in it for the project.
Anyway: Bristol Rovers. They haven’t started the season brilliantly by all accounts. 14th in League Two, knocked out of both the League Cup and the LDV Vans Trophy in the first round and losing star midfielder David Savage to division rivals Macclesfield Town, Rovers are a bit all over the shop by their relatively high standards. They do, of course, have some good players — familiar ones to me are Craig Disley, Aaron Lescott, Junior Agogo and former Northampton Town striker Jamie Forrester, a black cat who has crossed my path one too many times in several previous lives. They’re likely to line up in the 4–4–2 that my 4–1–2–1–2 seems to negate fairly well, and wanting to keep both Lee Sharpe and Gustavo Cabrera in the team, I make a pretty bold decision. Stand by.
Mark Booth (suspended) and Adam Birchall (international duty) are unavailable, y’know, just shorn of my two best players in our biggest game of the season, no big deal. In response, recently fit again Pegger takes up a spot in central midfield alongside Howell, while Ruel Fox moves into AMC… and Lee Sharpe goes up top with Windross. That’s right. I enjoyed the way it worked in the last game, Sharpe’s left foot has contributed five goals and eight assists so far this season — mostly from set pieces, sure, but still: I want him in the team, and I also want someone next to Windross rather than having him as a lone striker, since I think he might end up being too isolated. We’ll start this way and see how it goes. We’re not expected to win, but I’ve got a sneaky, sneaky feeling that we might be able to put our foot on The Gas, amazing work, thank you.
Rovers are, you’ll be amazed to hear, rather good. They come straight for us in the opening minutes, playing the ball around the edge of our box and looking threatening at every turn. Their movement off the ball is different to anything I’ve seen this season, which obviously checks out since they’re two divisions higher than anyone we’ve played, and Forrester tests Corderoy with an early stinger that he holds well.
Sarge launches a free-kick into the box that goes a bit too far and Kevin Miller in the visiting goal has to tip over, and from the corner, Windross thumps his header in at the far post — but the whistle has gone for a foul against our big striker. I’m encouraged, though: we’ve had the ball in the net. It’s not often I get a psychological advantage over anyone, but today could finally be the day. I give my opposite number Ian Atkins what’s meant to be a smirk, but his look of embarrassment on my behalf suggests I shouldn’t look at anyone else ever again.
After 15 minutes I check the player ratings and get a familiar sinking feeling: Ruel Fox is on a 3 and Lee Sharpe a 4. Why. WHY can’t I just have nice things. Sharpe I can sort of understand, but Fox? In AMC? As an AMRC? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING.
Sighing into Jorge’s shoulder, I make the only change I can really think of without hauling both of them off and putting them in a cab to the North Sea.
It’s not ideal, it might leave Windross isolated, but if they actually follow their instructions, they should be around him enough to pick up his knock-downs.
The first thing that happens is Windross knocks down a long ball to Howell, Fox makes an incredible run past the defence but stays onside, and gets through 1v1 — only to blaze over the bar. Frustrating at the end, but hello hello — is this going to work out?
Rovers are still threatening as ever, and Forrester forces Corderoy into a marvellous low save that’s deflected on its way through, but from the corner, a ball is swung into the box, Fox loses Steve Elliot, and the Rovers man heads past Corderoy to put the league side 1–0 up at half time.
I’m honestly not unhappy with how it’s gone overall. Goal aside, we’ve had more of the ball, more chances, more shots on target, completed more tackles, passes and crosses — it’s not all bad. I know my formation has gotten all ballsed up, but it’s sort of working. I’m going to leave it until the hour mark and see what happens.
On 54 minutes we have two more huge chances. Sarge drills a high drive that’s tipped over for a corner, which is cleared, but Elcock sends Windross straight back through on goal — and he manages to hit the target, although sadly his idea of a target is, in this case, the corner flag. Really disappointing, but the chances are still coming. We are very much in this game.
However, with Sharpe and Fox stuck on what’s now becoming traditionally horrible match ratings, I eventually get sick of them and wag my finger at the subs bench…
It so nearly works that I’m still crying as I write this sentence. Sarge wins a header in midfield, Pegger pushes forward to Cooke, he plays a one-two with Windross and lays the ball through for Harrison — it’s a gift, which of course, Harrison squanders by hitting the side netting when there’s twice as much goal to aim for. I was literally out of my seat when he received the ball, but with 88 minutes gone, that’s our last chance. It’s a real shame. That one header from Rovers decides the game, in the end the stats look pretty even, but make no mistake: we played really well here, even with all the mines I managed to tread on along the way. I’m proud of my players. Well, most of them.
So, we’ve learned that 4–1–2–1–2 is a good system for when we want to play four at the back, Lee Sharpe isn’t a striker — fair enough — and Ruel Fox doesn’t want to play AMC despite literally being an AMRC. I just… it’s no wonder I spend all my wages in the Windmill, is it? This “I don’t want to play there” situation is maddening.
Having both a DMC and an AMC with two regular CMs is a good system, though. The players operating between the lines get loads of space and see plenty of the ball against 4–4–2s. The 5–3–2 works well too, as long as I put Cabrera and Elcock as actual full-backs rather than wing-backs because they both seem to get scared if they’re too close to Sarge — understandable, though not great for the thing I want.
The problem with both these systems is that they can’t include Lee Sharpe, since he moans and underperforms anywhere except left midfield, but at this point, I’m starting to wonder how much I care. Sure, he has goals and assists, but they’re almost all corners and pens. Sarge can take corners and pens almost as well as Sharpe; he doesn’t actually warrant me changing my whole tactical “plan” around. Plus, I can’t bloody stand a moaner. That’s it, you know. Sod him. I’m doing things my way, and Newport County are about to find out exactly what that means.
Lawless and Cooke both miss incredible chances in the opening half hour, and we get punished for our profligacy. On 30 minutes exactly, Newport stick a free-kick down the middle and into our box, for some reason Jason Bowen is given enough time to comfortably turn and wind up a shot, it flies straight at Corderoy… past him, and in. The Lamppost returns to “action”, but my defenders don’t cover themselves in glory either. It’s a horrible goal to concede, especially since we’ve looked the more likely up to now, and it’s the only time they get into our third of the pitch in the entire first 45.
I don’t change anything at half time since I’m not unhappy with the performance, and instead of messing everything up by getting involved, I decide to trust the players to dig me out of this latest hole. The second period starts quietly, but we’re still doing better. We continue to restrict Newport to a couple of half-chances while making decent ones for ourselves, and as my finger is twitching over my tactical magnetic whiteboard on the hour mark, we finally make one count. A great bit of defensive tidying up between Simek, Corderoy and Cabrera releases Mark Booth in the centre of the pitch with a bit of space around him. Windross and Cooke are offside, but Booth delays for a moment, waits for movement, then releases the perfect pass over the top and into the path of the onrushing Lawless. He takes two touches to steady himself before burying a low finish past Roger Freestone and in for 1–1.
I withdraw my hands from my tactics board and allow the players to both celebrate the goal and keep the pressure on after the game restarts, and my confidence in them — or hesitance to balls everything up, whichever you prefer — continues to pay off. We’re getting forward regularly, moving into channels, getting crosses in and broadly looking like the menace we often are.
However, as we tick towards the 90, it’s still 1–1. We’re pushing, but Newport are stubborn and it doesn’t feel like our day. I make some last-gasp changes to try to make something happen. The exhausted Cabrera makes way for Sam Tillen (remember him?), while Stephen Cooke’s race is also run, so I pat Simon Lyons on the head and tell him that he can have a go in AMC, hoping beyond hopes that a 92nd minute chance doesn’t fall his way; just as a reminder, Finishing 1, Composure 1.
The game ticks into said 92nd minute. Elcock has a throw-in high on the right. He finds Pegger unmarked, who takes two touches past a defender, and whips a cross into the box. The defenders are statuesque, but it’s behind Windross, and it’s behind Lawless. A red dot appears roughly in the AMC position, thundering through the edge of the Newport penalty box, towards the ball.
Oh god.
Oh no.
Oh please.
…IT’S FRANKIE SIMEK! Lyons tripped over his laces at the near post! Simek lengthens his stride, takes the ball on the half-volley…
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!
Frankie Simek absolutely blockbusters the ball against the far post and into the back of the net, the entire team chases him into the corner flag to celebrate, I bear-hug Jorge on the touchline, Mick tries to get involved, it’s awkward, but we’ve won it! In the last minute of stoppage time!!
It’s honestly the least we deserve. We’re two or three times the team that Newport are on the evidence of today — they scored with their only shot on target — but damn, we need a finisher. A proper, out-and-out, fox-in-the-box finisher who’d push over his own grandmother for a tap-in. With the number of chances we create, someone who can get even 50% of his shots on target will get 40 goals a season. Maybe Lee Paul will be that man, but I have a feeling I’m going to need to continue my endless search for the next Rodrigo Astudillo.
(Incidentally, the man himself is very much on this game, but waaayyy outside my transfer budget. Rest assured, though: he is on the shortlist.)
There’s good news in the wake of this win. Until now all-conquering Margate finally lose a game away at St Albans, and I complete the outgoing transfer of Liam Leahy to Hitchin Town. The deal is for just £3k, but it also represents £500 per week off my wage bill. He wasn’t playing nearly enough to justify that salary, and the combination of my reverting to a flat back four plus that Polish lad arriving in January means he really was surplus to requirements. I really should learn the new guy’s name… ah, it’s a future-me problem.
Remember that endless search I was talking about earlier? “Endless” was not hyperbole.
All work permit applications here are either rejected after appeal or rejected on first hearing, so they go to appeal, but BLIMEY it’s hard to get anything past the buggers at immigration. Don’t they understand the power of our collective lust for 37-year-old chain smoking Argentinian journeymen?
With this in mind, I order a sixth pint and confirm the transfer of Jerome Vareille from Airdrie Utd. I’m basically down to two working strikers, one of them being Adam Birchall, whose loan will expire in early Feb and who won’t be eligible for a further extension since I’ve now used up all of my loan allocation for this season. He’s only 30, he can actually shoot, he’s not completely one-footed, although mostly — it’s fine, it’s fine. He’ll do. It’s just until the end of the season anyway. We’ll make better plans in the summer, probably.
I go to the bar with my empty glass and ask for another. Big Sooz looks at me. “It’s Saturday afternoon,” she says, knowingly. “Haven’t you got a game kicking off in a minute?”
I don’t know how many people have been hit by cars as they spill out of the Windmill, over the road and into The Stadium, but I almost add to the tally. I make it to the dressing room just as Mick is about to speak, shove him into a toilet cubicle, and make up a starting eleven on the spot. Don’t worry lads, it’s only, er… who are we playing today? Weymouth! It’s only Weymouth.
YES LADS! Everyone back to the Windmill, drinks are on me! Mick, unrelated, I need to borrow another £100.
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