Coventry City at Home – Cup Fever

Monday night and things are about to move as far away from Graham Kelly’s velvety ball bag as possible. Two asinine presenters are going about their business, which appears to be patronising their normal viewers in to submission. Outside in a car park there are a lot of people in replica shirts who are about to joyfully shake hands. It’s like a dystopian novel where man-made fibre has taken over the world and started to melt people’s brains. Welcome to the cup fifth round draw.

Who did we want? “Someone shit at home” wrote my running mate Darren on NSC. And so it happened, a League Two side at The Amex. Female Vacuous Presenter announced gleefully that “Hove Albion would play Coventry City” and found a Coventry fan to interview about it. His kid spent the whole time trying to throw up over a cardboard replica.

But Coventry weren’t always shit. Under the less than glorious reign of SISU they have become a League Two team, had to groundshare with Northampton, and seen more and more of their current ground given over to use by a “London” rugby team. Their Number 27, Josh Barrett, looked like he’d been borrowed from said rugby club’s front row instead of Reading. We may complain about the train service but at least we can use it on match days.

Yet this was a club who won the cup in 1987 and for most of my youth were as permanent a fixture in the top flight as Everton. The Boy was born in 2006. In that season Coventry finished 17th in The Championship. We finished 18th in League One. Yet, because if his age, he thinks of them as a little club. It has to be said I have a great deal of sympathy for them. They’ve been through very similar to us.

Not so much sympathy that I didn’t want to beat them in to the dust mind you. Thanks to the way the club sold tickets we were in the North Stand, The Boy for the first time. The sun was shining and we’d been pretty much promised Locadia would start. I had a genuine spring in my step on the ten yard walk to the car, since the Coastway West was shut to trains and Steve’s wife had kindly offered us a lift to Brighton Station.

From there a train to The Amex full of noisy Cov fans on the sauce, determined to enjoy their day out. I paused to buy a pair of blue home shorts to use in next week’s Brighton Half and then we entered the hallowed area of the North Stand, which looked like it had been taken over by a Farmer’s Market. A true eye opener for the WSU regular. These people have a SPECIALIST pastry area. They have artisan looking pizzas. They have tiny beer queues and yet EVERYONE is drinking. I considered asking for a permanent move.

Once out – and kick off was delayed for 15 minutes – the reason for picking the WSU again became obvious. The atmosphere where we were was excellent and I do love watching from an end. It was the default growing up, Goldstone North Stand at home and away “end” away. Only recently have clubs started to shunt the away fans in to a distant corner. Plus, when I played, I was a centre back – I’m used to seeing the ball come towards me. But still the view was not great. Some people standing, some sitting (make your minds up) and the crossbar sort of in the way. And it’s much harder to spot tactical changes and how close players are to the far goal. Which is why I’m blethering away. The game passed by in a pleasant but undiscernible mush of beer, song and pastry.

We did, though, have a lot of changes, but also a very strong side with Locadia and Ulloa starting up front. It took the Dutchman hardly any time at all to make his mark. From a corner he swung the loose ball on to a post, missing out on a debut goal by inches. Then Coventry nearly took the lead from a set piece, hitting the bar. But just 15 minutes in our man had his goal. Knockaert, who’d been wasteful up to then hit a low cross (did he mean it? – couldn’t tell from the NS) and Locadia was first to react, driving home from close range. Ladies and gents, we have us a striker.

He could have had a first half hat trick, air slicing a March cut back and sliding agonisingly wide from another low cross. It was up to Goldson to make the whole place relaxed though, adding a second with a header from a corner and stuffing the ball up his shirt in a manner that suggested his good lady may be expecting.

The game was put to bed with one of those moments that made me glad we’d picked exactly the seats we did. Knocky back to Bruno, an excellent diagonal cross and That Man From Argentina got another goal at The Amex, right in front of us with a trade mark header. A thing of beauty, The Boy loving it. After that we sat back and had the odd break but it was job done, despite a consolation goal from the excellent Clarke-Harris who’s bothered us all game, drilling a loose ball low in to the South goal sparking celebrations that saw a smoke cannister and one of their Neds being led out by stewards the way the bouncers at The Gloucester used to chuck out moshers during a Nirvana record back in the day. Baldock, on for Locadia, hit the angle of bar and post in return and that was that.

My reward, later that evening was a most excellent gig by the man himself Paul Weller. Our reward, as I was sat in the pre-gig bar, was a trip to Man U. Oh well, at least there was no walking female answer to Hello magazine calling us “Hove Albion”.

 

 

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West Ham at Home – Magnificent

“Must win game”. Is this an overused phrase? In reality there are only a few and we should know all about them. Cup finals, playoff games and Middlesbrough. We all know what they meant, win or lose. But games in February? Isn’t that a bit hyperbolic? And yet I’m sure at some point in the build up I described West Ham at home as “must win” and I’m sure a few of you did too. With the bottom of the Premier League massively congested and West Ham down there with us, and with a mass of players out injured, this was a genuine six pointer. Wednesday’s game against Saints may have divided the crowd between a point gained or two dropped (for me a point gained, albeit with a frustratingly poor and unambitious performance) but there was no doubt the Amex wanted, expected, demanded a win.

Talking of Wednesday I will never complain about getting to and from the Amex again. Having taken three and a half hours to get to Southampton via Chichester in rush hour traffic and still having to park miles from the ground, here was a return to normality. Nice easy meet up at the station, trains on time, walk to ground from Falmer. A bit crushed perhaps but otherwise all good.

A pint then and a chat. The boys, now familiar with the whole place, getting sweets and a programme and sitting in their favourite spot. All so very normal and routine that it seems mad to remember that without Hereford which was, of course, a must draw none of this may be happening. But it feels like we’re already taking the Amex for granted. In return, yesterday, it staged a beauty for us.

Now. Wednesday had seen us dominate the first fifteen minutes, and in that time we’d missed a sitter after only a couple, and then scored a penalty. After that we’d sat back and invited Southampton back in to it (for my money anyway, but the debate rages on, I appreciate you may not agree). So was scoring early here going to be a good thing or would it lead to a bus parking? We were about to find out anyway, thanks to the best piece of refereeing all season. Stephens picked up a loose ball in midfield and fed Knockaert who was chopped in half by Cresswell. The ref had the whistle to his lips but the loose ball fell to Groß who fed it instantly through to Murray. Play on was the call and Glenn coolly slotted past the keeper to give us an early and deserved lead. After the celebrations had finished I turned to Steve and grinned “eighty three minutes of defending now”. It was meant only half-ironically, but luckily I was to be proven completely wrong.

And the early signs were all about West Ham being there for the taking. Is there a slower and more obviously deficient centre back combination in this league than the one they put out yesterday? Collins looks about eighty bless him. Someone should have nipped on to the pitch and given him a hat, some Sanatogen and a rug. As Creswell picked up a yellow for his challenge (and replays suggested it was quite red-like) I really should have been weighing up how many we’d score.

So while we’re talking refereeing let’s discuss this. Who understands the handball rule better, Roger East or The Complete and Utter Shyster (aka Mike Dean). I say that because exactly the same incident – a shot blocked from point blank with a raised arm – resulted in a free kick against Dunk at Southampton, thanks to Dean, but now did not get us a penalty after good work from Bong on the left, thanks to East. Two identical incidents, one given, one not. Both going against us. Had it been given we’d have had a great chance for two and the game would have been buried. The boy howled, though he habit of marking referees in the minus one millions seems to have gone for now. Besides, East was still in credit for our opener.

So, for a while we sat back and, guess what, West Ham had their only decent passage of the game, culminating in a lovely goal. At this level it doesn’t matter who you are playing, you can never switch off, and there’s always some quality just round the corner. Would Burton or Bolton have scored a goal like this? No way. It was a beauty. Hernandez picking up a loose ball and exchanging two quick one-twos before dribbling in to a gap and driving in to the top corner. One all and we needed to get back on top.

The rest of the half played out evenly. The boy was tense, the North Stand tried, West Ham sang Bubbles and Sack the Board at alternate moments and we went in at 1-1. Half time chatter thought we could win it though, that West Ham were poor, there for the taking and it proved prophetic. It took though, a moment of genius and one that will live with me no matter how old I get. Indeed, when I’m dribbling porridge over a copy of TV Weekly during my bedbath, all but incapable of speech, I will still manage to bore the nurses with the story of Izquierdo’s brilliant goal and celebration.

It started innocuously, the ball scrambled forwards and West Ham putting it out for a corner under pressure from Schelotto, who we decided on last week’s Albion Roar, is a marauder. The ball in was knocked out to the corner of the penalty area where it found Izquierdo. He curled, quite deliberately, an absolute beauty in to what the Boy calls top bins. The. Very. Top. Corner. Then he took off down the length of the Amex wing, ripping off his shirt, before Ryan put his skills as an Aussie to use and rugby tackled him. BUNDLES! We, meanwhile, were going just as potty, though without the ability to do a length of the stadium.

West Ham were vanquished there and then, you could see the heads go down. We, however, were not done. The woeful Collins gave the  ball away to Propper under pressure and he found Groß who turned in to space and fired a wonderful shot in to the corner, in a similar finish to the one Hazard had produced at the same end against Chelsea. And there was more. Groß again having a shot saved with Izquierdo missing the rebound, and March firing over an open goal.

Were we happy? Yes. Did I have TWO beers afterwards? Hell yes. Was The boy grinning from ear to ear? Absolutely. Was it a must win game? Certainly.