The Ecstasy......and of course.....the agony
1 -v- 1 
Wednesday United
I’ve said it before but I hate these games.
I set off from South London at 8:00am as nervous as I’ve been in a long time. The drive up was nice and clear, with the only problem being the various scenarios playing themselves over and over in my head.
I don’t need to explain to anyone reading this that this was the biggest derby in years. The concept of them doing the double over us and in so doing condemning us to almost certain relegation didn’t bear thinking about, but that didn’t stop my imagination from showing me the dancing away end full of red and white at the full time whistle after a 3-0 defeat. Trying to replace them with visions of Jeffers curling in an 89th minute winner didn’t work either. Every thought increased the feeling of sickness.
I arrived in plenty of time to wander round to the shop and finally pick up my free copy of last season’s double DVD. I thought that at least if the worst happened I could go home and pretend it wasn’t true and bask in that victory at the Lane instead. I also finally got a new car sticker for our 6 month old car (which may now stop Mrs Baldy’s father from trying to put a Bristol City one in there) which I hoped to be beaming with pride from the back window on the way back down the M1 at 3:00pm.
The pork sandwich shop wasn’t open which wasn’t a good sign, but I grabbed a chip butty and wandered into the ground much earlier than originally intended to due to the need for a piss. Sitting in my seat 45 minutes before kick off is a rare scenario for me on a match day and I hardly needed any more chance to build up the nerves, but that is all it served to do.
At about 12:20 the Wednesday team ran out to warm up, followed a few minutes later by the Blades players. Just as their team hit the grass the PA system suddenly blasted out “Here Come the Girls” at top volume, before shutting it off and going back to the song that was originally playing, at a much more normal volume. Not the sort of mind games that is likely to affect the players but very amusing for us in the stands.
I was watching Grant in the warm up and he was letting everything go through his hands. All shots that came his way were either fumbled or slipped through and I was very worried that he looked nervous and the occasion might overcome him. That was the last thing we needed.
 | The ground filled up and just before kick off Jessica Ennis was welcomed
onto the pitch. She got a great ovation from the home fans, and about
45 of the away fans. The rest of the away end just stood there looking
bemused, baffled by the idea of applauding a Sheffielder who, being as
she was obviously a guest of the home side, could potentially have been a
Wednesdayite, but then she’s done very well, but actually who is she,
but she looks pretty fit, but who does she support, should we clap,
should we boo, WHAT THE FOOK IS GOING ON?!?! The apparent mental anguish
of their decision nearly caused 5 and a half thousand aneurisms. The
thick twats. One final little mind game from the hosts backfired slightly as they played a track from “the band’s new album” – the tune of “If you don’t fookin bounce”. I think the idea was that it would encourage the Owls fans to start bouncing simultaneously, but instead it prompted the majority of us to start singing “At the Lane…”. I enjoyed that much more than a bounce anyway, but I have a feeling that when that was planned it wasn’t meant to cause the aggressive chant that it ended up doing. |
So onto the game.
THE MATCH
They won the toss and changed ends – I hate it when that happens.
Unsurprisingly we started nervously. They forced about half a dozen corners in the first 10 minutes, one of which resulted in a downward header being deflected onto our own post by either Purse or Nolan. Maybe that was a bit of luck we finally needed, although if it had gone in it would have been unlucky. Either way we rode that initial storm and started to get a grip of the game.
| James O’Connor was literally everywhere in that first half,
tackling, winning headers, setting up attacks down the flanks, mostly
the left hand side. I had been hoping that JJ would be fit for this as
he always scares United but he was struggling to get into the game.
Their right back, Connelly, looked vulnerable and I’ve never rated Nyron Nosworthy who was playing centre half but we never really got at them. Clarke and Tudgay were winning a fair few headers but we struggled to create much in the way if chances. Luckily they were doing the same and it really looked like a derby match – high on intensity, low on quality. We had a couple of corners of our own, one of which found Spurr at the far post completely unmarked but he couldn’t keep his header down and we really needed to start hitting the target with the few opportunities that came our way. |  |
The referee wasn’t helping – Chris Foy. Normally when Premier League referees come to our division they are whistle happy and stop the game every 5 seconds. When you’re playing a team like United, that try to bully you, that have players like Morgan and Henderson in the team with their niggly elbows and constant shoving, you actually welcome a whistle happy referee who will clamp down on that sort of fouling. Unfortunately Foy didn’t manage to do that, letting them get away with all sorts of pushing, holding and elbowing. When Varney got clattered by a late arm in a challenge he didn’t even give a free kick, waiting for the next foul to take place before going to see if Varney was OK and then calmly and slowly waving the physio on. It was a head injury, he should have stopped the game immediately and run over to see if he was OK. But all this was allowing them to bully us and he was giving our players no protection.
 | As the half wore the tension rose and the first inevitable kerfuffle
happened. There was a challenge in front of the south stand by Cresswell
on JJ that resulted in Cresswell needing to get treatment for blood
coming from his head. It didn’t look like there was anything in it from
our end of the ground, just a flailing elbow perhaps as they both hit
the ground (that sort of thing happens when you go through the back of
someone) but Cresswell was furious, screaming blue murder at anyone who
would listen. Again Foy could have handled the situation better, talking to him to calm him down, but instead he let him carry on ranting as he left the field to get treatment. It was while Cresswell was off the field that we took the lead. And what a moment that was. |
Varney got away down the left hand side and I was urging him to take Connelly on, but instead he cut inside and drifted a cross into the box. It didn’t seem to be going anywhere near a blue and white shirt but suddenly Potter appeared, charging through the middle of the pitch like a gazelle, like David Platt, Frank Lampard and Paul Scholes all rolled into one, and he guided the ball first time on the volley into the top corner. It took about 45 minutes for the ball to actually get there but when it did the place went absolutely mental. Potter ran to the Kop, I ran to the bottom of the steps, back up again, back down again, back up again. I didn’t know where to go, or what to do. I reckon I burned more calories in that 30 seconds than all the runners in next Sunday’s London Marathon will put together. All the problems our season has brought so far built up to that moment – the tension, the joy, the hope - we led in the derby and it was beautiful.
I think every fan was thinking the same thing at that point: get to half time, get to half time, get to half time…
Just as they were about to kick off Cresswell came back on the pitch. As he went past JJ he did the pointy-eyes thing to him – as if to say “I’m watching you. I’m watching you and I’m gonna get you.” Foy missed it of course, but I was hoping Cresswell would get the chance to go through JJ before half time, as if he did he would surely have been sent off. Mind you with this ref he’d have probably booked JJ for being fouled.
It was his partner in (quite literal) crime that should have gone in the book though, as Henderson went through Spurr when he had no chance of getting the ball and looked around all innocently. It’s what he does, and referees either clamp down or let him get away with it. A nice little chat later and it was clear which one Foy had done.
Just before half time we got a corner and I mumbled to my brother that it would be beautiful if we nicked a second. Spurr swung the ball over, Beevers rose like a, err, beaver and couldn’t get above the ball. Again though we’d found a man unmarked from a corner and the hope was there that it could be an opportunity for a second goal after the break.
For the first time in ages I enjoyed half time.
 | In the second half the pattern continued much as it had in the first. A
lot of huffing and puffing, they had more possession than we did but
created little and we looked dangerous on the break if we could get the
ball to JJ or Varney to attack their full backs, which was rarely. Then Nolan, who had gone down injured in the first few minutes of the game and despite carrying on hadn’t looked quite right since, got done by Stephen Quinn and he conceded a free kick for which he was booked. |
 | Williamson stood over the ball and swung over a cross that went over
everyone, hit the inside of the post and dropped in. The away end stood
motionless for a second as they obviously couldn’t see what had happened
but when they realised they, of course, went mad. Is there a worse sight in football than 6,000 Blades celebrating in our ground? BOLLOCKS! |  |
Williamson celebrated in front of the Kop which caused the inevitable scuffle, but they had got the luck that we just don’t seem to have had in front of goal at all this season. The goal knocked the stuffing out of us for a while but we managed to keep them at bay when they sensed they could win it, Grant saving unconvincingly from Camara and then more convincingly from the impressive Quinn. Quinn then got into a game of ‘rutting stags’ with O’Connor for which both were booked, but it wouldn’t be a derby match without a quick rutting stags session would it?
JJ then got cynically fouled by their left back Taylor, who injured himself in the process. JJ took a minute to get to his feet but didn’t need treatment – in fact the physio came on and Foy told him to go straight off as JJ had said he didn’t need treatment. So when they both got up and play continued, Foy inexplicably turned round and told JJ to leave the field. Eh? He hasn’t had any treatment you clueless clown!! This though should have given us the chance to attack Taylor, on a booking and not able to keep up with JJ, but we never gave him the chance and Blackwell wised up and took Taylor off. He moved Nosworthy to left back but we still couldn’t expose him.
| And so the clock ticked round to injury time and you could feel how flat the home fans were. The atmosphere at times had been very good (apart from when the band played “Wondering Wednesday” at the slowest pace imaginable) but now the realisation of our situation was hitting home. As the away end sang “We’re sending you down” there seemed no chance of us grabbing a winner. And then Varney span round Nosworthy and was away down the left hand side, Tudgay and JJ in the box, Soares arriving at the far post. All he had to do was keep his head, he got into the box and somehow blasted the ball miles past them all and out for a throw in. What a waste of an opportunity. It still wasn’t over though, as we threw everything at them once more, this time Varney flicking the ball through well for JJ to bring down in the box and as he hit it with his left foot his right gave way and the ball ballooned harmlessly over. 2 chances that would have given us a famous victory, the lift to take into the next 2 games, and surely survival and we blew them both. |  |
I haven’t stopped replaying those chances over and over in my head and I doubt I will, especially if we go down.
The full time whistle came and the cheer from the away end made it sound like they’d won. They hadn’t of course but they knew they had prevented us from taking a massive step towards safety, they’d kept the ‘bragging rights’ for this season and the home fans filed out dejected. The lack of applause was probably harsh on our players, but points is what it all means right now and we’d failed to take 3 yet again.
This was a strange game. In many ways it is hard to think of a player that had a BAD game, but not many had particularly GOOD ones either. Clarke goes from the sublime to ridiculous in a matter of seconds, Tudgay for all his workrate seems to get further and further away from being a striker, JJ seemed to lose interest as the game went on - hopefully a reflection of lack of fitness rather than desire - and Potter is influential when he gets involved, which is still nowhere near often enough. Beevers and O’Connor were excellent, Purse solid and the full backs had mixed games. Varney is just a white JJ – fast, exciting on the ball, makes the wrong decision almost every time.
I’ve got to say though, if I was Francis Jeffers I’d be wondering what the hell I’d done wrong. I know he is too lightweight for this division and we don’t play a style that suits him, but chuffing hell, when we’ve had 4 strikers on the pitch for significant amounts of the past few games and none of them are scoring why the hell isn’t he being given the chance?
I got home at 8:00 and headed straight for the pub for a reflective pint or 3. The feeling of what might have been will stay with us all throughout the week and only a victory at Cardiff will take that away. Unfortunately as the season goes on we look more and more like we deserve to go down. There is a chance it could all be over before we’re back at Hillsborough again, it seems like the best we can hope for is for it not to be decided before then. Another 30,000-plus gate could be our downfall or our inspiration but at least we’ll have got that far. Until then, we’re all QPR, Reading and West Brom aren’t we?
Oh and by the way – they’re all fookin wankers at the Lane.
Baldy.
Owls Alive
