Monday 7 December 2009

Arsenal (a) - Saturday 5th December - An acceptable defeat.

It's hard to get too bothered by a 2-0 loss away at the Emirates. The best passing team in the league has completely decimated other sides on their home turf and realistically we were never likely to get anything out of the game.

For this encounter I was resigned to an afternoon refreshing the BBC online vidiprinter as not only was it an expensive trip to the capital which i couldn't afford, but also, alas, I was in work.

Relying on the internet is always a particularly unsatisfying way of monitoring a football game. If you can't be there in person, then it is a truth universally acknowledged that sky sports news with Jeff and the boys (and to a lesser extent BBC's final score with....whoever they can scrape together) is the next best thing.

Refreshing a web page to keep yourself updated is a far from efficient method of following football. You never feel at all in control and are left at the mercy of your Internet provider. I had the vidiprinter on one tab, the BBC 'live premiership scores' on another, the online 'BBC Final score' on another (on mute...obviously), and finally the Stoke Oatcake message board on another. Much like a man wearing two watches never truly knows the time, this myriad of online updates ensured that I was continually on edge, flicking continually between them all in the hope that one of them had match updates a few seconds quicker than the others.

During last season, I was in a similar situation when Stoke played away at Chelsea. It was an emotionally draining and permanently scarring afternoon which had a profound effect on my football watching from then on. I had managed to find an OK stream of the game online and was sneakily monitoring our progress in between calls at work. With 87 minutes on the clock, Stoke were somehow a goal up. Delap had sprinted past two defenders and deftly chipped Cech in the Chelski goal. (This in itself is enough to have you rubbing your eyes in disbelief...but it gets worse.)

On 87 minutes, I could take the pressure no more and did what any sensible person would do. I locked my computer, cut off all connection with the outside world and went and sat in the toilets, thus permanently freezing in time events at Stamford Bridge. Or so I thought. It would appear no one informed the Chelsea team of this little rule and I returned 4 or 5 minutes later to see Chelski had equalised and were really piling on the pressure. The following is a vague outline of my stream of conscience in the next minute or so:

Right, ok, I can accept this. A draw away at Stamford Bridge is nothing to be scoffed at. Mind you, Frank Lampard is looking a bit dangerous. He's pushing on quite well. There's no time left though now. 93 minutes. Game over. A hard fought draw. Frank is really pushing on though. Crikey, we should have cleared our lines there. Oh god. What's he doing there...no. Oh god no. Tackle him. Frank, FRANK, FRAAAAANNNNKKK NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. *smash*. WE HAD A DEAL FRANK. I FROZE YOU!!!!!!!!!!

That smash was the sound of me slamming my head-set against the monitor as Mr Lampard rifled home a winner from the edge of the area to scenes of pure ecstasy from John Terry and his motley crew.

This wasn't meant to happen. I froze you in time Frank.

This match almost tipped me over the footballing edge, it was just so brutal. There is something so apparently unfair about last minute goals. It's the finality of it, the lack of time for any response and the fact it makes the other 90 minutes seem completely pointless. It's even worse when it comes against a top team that you have so very nearly claimed a memorable scalp off.

Ever since this Chelsea game, I have developed a phobia of sorts towards last minute goals going against us. Ohforfuckssakephobia, we shall call it for now. As Keeling Senior can confirm, there is now never a game that goes by that I don't genuinely assume we will concede a last minute goal. It is actually an alarmingly common occurrence for Stoke, so it isn't entirely ridiculous. Our usual gameplan which sees us sneak a lead and then sit back and soak up pressure, is always asking for trouble.


I am mainly sharing this anecdote with you to illustrate the potential hazards of monitoring your team's progress online. Another reason however is that Stoke's away day at Arsenal was so run-of-the-mill and predictable, it barely warrants a blog entry of it's own.

A game where one team has 67% possession to the other team's 33%, is only ever going to end one way and if it wasn't for Tommy Sorenson in Stoke's goal, it could have been much worse.

There was one shock in store for Stoke fans however, as Tuncay Sanli was handed his first start for the mighty potters. Ricardo Fuller is one yellow card off a suspension, and seeing our upcoming home game against Wigan as far more winnable and thus important, Tony wisely relegated him to the bench for the trip to the Gunners. This presented Tuncay with a superb chance to achieve automatic Stoke legend status. Unfortunately, from all accounts, despite a lot of hard graft and tireless running, all Tuncay managed to achieve was a nomination for the Filippo Inzaghi award for most offsides in any one game.

Sure enough though, the BBC website informed me that Fuller was about to make his expected cameo performance. With the game only at 1-0 and Arsenal struggling to unlock our defence, he was all set to secure a memorable draw for the Potters. Naturally, I assumed Tuncay was coming off. James Beattie was already on for Mama Sidibe, so obviously we would trade like for like.

Tone had other ideas however. Maybe it was a rush of blood, maybe he hit his head and had a momentary lapse in concentration, but Tone decided to do something practically unheard of in the Potteries for the past 4 or 5 years. He opted to keep three forwards on the pitch. That's right folks. You heard me correctly. 3 forwards.

I could almost picture him now, cackling like a deranged mad scientist at the audaciousness of his hair-brained scheme. "That's what I'll do, I'll play three forwards mwahahahahahahaha. They said it couldn't be done, they said no team has ever done something so dangerous, but I'll show them. I'LL SHOW THEM ALLLL!!!!" . And with that Tony threw caution to the wind and went all out for that illusive goal.

About 3 minutes later. Arsenal scored their second and the game was safe.


We had had three forwards on the field for mere minutes, and our defense had been breached.

I can picture Tony now, baseball cap dropped to his feet, hands clasped to his sweating furrowed brow, and a a vacant stare into the mid-distance like a shell-shocked soldier. "What have I done. What did I do!!!!! How can I ever look Big Sam in the eye again?????".

"Never again!" Thought Tone, as he turned his back on the field of play and collapsed into Peter Reid's arms a broken man. "NEVER AGAIN!!!"


This dramatisation may not be quite how it happened, but you can bet that Tone would have taken note of what had occurred this fateful day. He would think twice before eschewing his tried and tested 'keeping it tight' method again.

The match day experience brought to me by BBC and the Oatcake message board was once again fairly disappointing, but this 2-0 loss was both expected and acceptable.

Unlike that dark day back in January. God damn you Frank Lampard.

Some wounds never heal.

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