Burke, O’Neill and the ‘Magic Plane’

In a week when the League of Ireland has reverted to form with reports of yet another club, in the form of Limerick FC, admitting to financial hardship and struggling to pay their players, Graham Burke has delivered a much needed shot in the arm for the reputation of the League of Ireland and the talent that lies within.

However, it’s O’Neill’s opinion that the player needs to play at a higher level to cement international consideration that has attracted most news and has been met with criticism from many quarters around Irish football.

Upon Burke’s initial inclusion, the sceptic in me screamed tokenism. It seemed O’Neill was simply caving into the incessant cries of a toddler, in this case League of Ireland chest thumpers, and relinquished control of the telly so the annoying child could watch what it wants. You see, O’Neill’s been here before with Daryl Horgan and Seanie Maguire so you could understand if this was his motivation.

Nevertheless, whatever the reasoning, Burke’s inclusion is huge progress. O’Neill gets a somewhat quieter house and the League of Ireland gets some much needed recognition with a home based player involved on the biggest stage.

Despite his many detractors, I hold an admiration for what Martin O’Neill is doing and I have two main gripes to address, well one really but there’s two parts. The first being the ‘magic plane’ argument that constantly gets laid at O’Neill’s door regarding home based players needing to move away to bolster international ambitions and the second is the ensuing criticism of Martin O’Neill of treating the domestic League with disdain regarding international consideration.

Let’s cut straight to the chase, the ‘magic plane’ argument is completely justified. As far as I’m concerned, the situation regarding Limerick this week is the beginning and the end of the argument and we all know there’s more clubs teetering on the brink with the players of these clubs looking over their shoulders always being the collateral damage of financial meltdown. It happens all too frequently and lessons still aren’t being learned.

Quite simply, judging a domestic player’s ability to step up to international football is, to say the least, difficult to gauge. We’ve already been here with many players before with Seanie Maguire being the most recent and most high profile. Maguire had to move away to cement an international spot and has answered any doubts about his ability to step up a level in profound fashion by scoring frequently for Preston in the English Championship but we shouldn’t kid ourselves and assume all players are the same.

As far as the league’s standard is concerned, it’s not inconceivable to suggest that a player at a Cork, Dundalk or Shamrock Rovers could finish as the league’s top scorer by plundering goals against the weaker sides without ever laying a glove on higher tier opposition where sides are more equally matched.

For this reason, Martin O’Neill has every reason to be cautious in dealing with domestic call ups. Instead of criticism, he should be applauded for including Burke in his plans and promoting the quality that lies within the league. He’s raising player profiles as well as the league’s and putting players on a stage where their career might explode.

It’s a win win for everyone involved one might think but unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be enough for some League of Ireland die hards. They want more, with the mentality if he can do it in the League of Ireland he can do it anywhere but Burke’s career to date suggests otherwise and maybe this is what O’Neill ponders on.

Let’s look at some facts, Burke currently has 10 goals in a similar number of games and is 24 years of age. I can think of Roy O’Donovan, Eamonn Zayed and Dave Mooney off the top of my head that, at the same age, were equally if not more prolific domestically but were never serious international considerations whilst plying their trade in the League of Ireland. Instead of being critical of O’Neill, let’s instead be thankful that we have an international manager willing to showcase domestic talent and help the chosen players reach their potential and progress their careers.

Let’s instead get behind O’Neill and use the Burkes, Maguires, Brownes and Horgans as beacons of homegrown success and what could be achieved more regularly if widespread measures were put in place to promote and improve our domestic league because let’s be honest, as it stands, the league’s credibility is, has and always will be more than questionable without infrastructural change.

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Football’s Academy Rejection Dilemma – What about the parents??

I felt I had to write a piece about an article I read online about young players being rejected from academies and how this rejection has a detrimental affect on their life after sport. I have a few issues with this article but none more so than the fact that parents seem exempt from any responsibility. If you wish to read the said article then the link can be found here  ‘Football’s biggest issue’: the struggle facing boys rejected by academies | Football | The Guardian


Please feel free to comment below and/or retweet.

Everyone in this day and age knows the football industry is ruthless, in fact all industry is ruthless such is the competition for career places. A young footballing apprentice not turning up on time, not showing progression or not showing a good attitude and being difficult to deal with is going to receive the same result as a young apprentice in any profession acting and performing in the same way. Suffice to say, like any opportunity, you rarely get a second chance. Mess it up and there’s always someone else that will gladly take your place. It’s the conveyor belt mentality and it’s not just prevalent in football. This is nothing new.

Like all performing arts, you need some degree of talent before hard work and other attributes are taken into consideration. In football, hard work doesn’t guarantee success but it is essential. In fact, you can make the same argument for ‘talent’. The best players at 7 and 8 years of age are not always going to be the best players at 12 and 13. In fact, the best players at 15 and 16 aren’t always going to be the best players at 17 and 18. There are just too many developmental factors to consider, alongside the added threat of injury that makes it almost impossible to predict who makes the grade and who doesn’t. Whilst talent within sport is probably the only realistic barometer with which to measure possible career success, we should all know by now that talent is nothing without hard work and in the case of football, attitude and hard work mean nothing without talent. In this day and age, it is either ridiculously naïve or plainly moronic to be shocked at the ruthless nature of football and the low success rates of academy players ‘making the grade’.

Where the difference lies, however, is that, in football, kids begin their apprenticeships as young as 7 or 8 years of age. Ultimately, it is the parents who decide this. It’s exciting, you may even say every kids dream or dare I say, every parents dream, but as we should all know by now, it does come with certain ramifications. Ramifications no bigger than the eye opening statistic that ‘less than 1% of footballing apprentices nationwide go onto forge a career in the game’. This statistic should forever echo in the ears of hopeful parents. The academy route for players generally revolves around three possible scenarios. The first scenario is that some kids enter the academy system and may remain in the system from foundation phase right through to professional phase, if they’re lucky, or at the very least the development phase before rejection hits or a professional contract is offered. The second scenario is that some kids flit in and out of the system right throughout their young sporting lives on the basis of their development and deal with rejection regularly before the main rejection blow is dealt or professional contract offered. The third scenario is that some kids are deemed not good enough early on in their sporting development and are rejected outright never to return to academy life. The point being, rejection in football is inevitable, it’s just a case of dealing with it ‘when’ not ‘if’ it comes. If all these rejected players are to achieve their dream, then they are forced to go off and find another route.

Without question, the professional clubs aren’t perfect, perhaps focussing more on sporting development more so than academic performance and holistic development, but let’s not kid ourselves, that is their industry. They are in the business of producing footballers and whilst more could be done in the holistic development of all players, top level academies do provide a platform for success both academically and sportingly. A platform which provides a Plan ‘B’ in case the ‘very slim’ chances of Plan ‘A’ don’t materialise. It’s up to the player to take advantage of this and it’s safe to say that not all do. It all just seems too easy to cry foul and blame the system when a child’s dreams are crushed but who, truly, has allowed this to happen?

Surely, it is the parents who should be the main drivers in their own sons holistic development and as such, should be held accountable when all their sons eggs, placed in one flimsy basket, smashes to smithereens. I’ve been there and got the tee shirt. Every aspiring footballer believes he’s going to be a superstar and every aspiring footballer, indeed most if not all teenage boys, detest academic life. I was no different. However, what my parents insisted upon before I signed any professional contract, much to my disgust, was that I remained in Ireland to complete my Irish ‘A Level’ equivalent qualifications. It turned out to be a masterstroke. That very decision allowed me to sidestep the ‘football scrapheap’ and go onto university. It opened the door to life after football.

You see, parents are the only person(s) that have, or indeed should have, the 100% best interests of their son at heart. Mine did and whilst I didn’t agree and rebelled with everything you’d expect from a sulky teenager, I had to accept it and get on with it. In this case, they protected my interests and I am forever grateful. Correct me if I’m wrong but it is the parents who agree to day release programmes from school, it is the parents who are coerced by their son to sacrifice education in favour of football, it is the parents who agree to send their child to a professional academy at the age of 7 and 8. In my experience, there’s never a gun pointed at heads when decisions have to be made. When a child is 7 or 8 years of age, is it really the kids dream to play at an academy or is it, more so, the parents’? Is a child’s enjoyment compromised for bragging rights?

Similarly, as the player progresses up through the age groups, what do the parents do when their son’s academic performance drops in a professional academy environment? What do the parents do when they see or hear that their son is showing a bad attitude, whether it be not listening, answering back to a coach or simply not working hard during a session? Further to this, what do parents do when they notice that their son is not enjoying his football or is just not up to the standard in which he takes part?

Yes, of course, the clubs could do more but it’s all too easy to lay the blame at the door of professional football clubs. Guess what, you don’t always get what you want. Disappointment is part of life but unequivocally, the stage of life this disappointment arrives is a decisive factor in a person’s ability to deal with and overcome such adversity. In the case of youth football, this responsibility lies with the parents. For the vast majority, parents are the only people that can educate, develop and shape their son’s attitude and application as well as broaden their horizons with 100% unconditional and unbiased guidance. Kids might not always like what they hear but more often than not, parents know best. Being a parent brings this responsibility and we are the only people who 100% have our sons best interests at heart but perhaps, when it comes to football, this isn’t always the case.

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E10 Mess

So with Andy Edwards leaving the club over the weekend, it would appear appropriate to ask the last man standing in E10, if he would kindly switch off the lights. What, indeed, is happening at  Leyton Orient Football Club? The sad truth is, I don’t think anybody quite knows. Use any cliché you want, whether it be likening the club to a circus or an asylum where the lunatics are in charge, I’m sure you get the picture of just how sorry a state the club finds itself. The recent club statement, released by Chief Executive Alessandro Angelieri last week, only served to increase bewilderment amongst O’s fans. Whilst I just about give the benefit of doubt to their statement that their actions were always done in good faith, I find their labelling of the inherited squad as, being one ‘without future’, mindboggling at best and desperately disrespectful at worst. I left the club in 2013, with the club finishing 7th in League 1. As I’ve said before in previous blogs, it was gut wrenching to leave. Not only was I leaving a fantastically run club with a fantastic dressing room but more significantly, I was leaving a club on the verge of success. I was gutted I wasn’t going to be part of it.

We had a dressing room of seasoned professionals, experience and youth blended in equal measure. Players who knew the league and how to get results. Equally, we had a manager, in Russell Slade, who knew the league and how to get results. The ingredients were in place, it was just a case of putting it all together and that’s exactly what happened in 2014. The club led the division for much of the season with much of the same team that finished 2013, before finishing in the play offs and missing out on promotion through the lottery of penalty kicks. So close yet so far. Nevertheless, the club was in a good place, still very much on an upward curve and in possession of a dressing room of not only good professionals but good lads very much in their prime.

What happened in the initial months after the takeover sowed the seeds for the position the club finds itself today. To suggest that the inherited squad was in decline is utter nonsense. The majority of those same players are now,  either plying their trade in a higher division or are fighting it out at the top end of League 2. It was the new decision-makers at Orient who destroyed the dressing room and ultimately destroyed any progress the club was making. Out went Russell Slade and in came players on silly wages  with pea hearts, piggy backing on the success of others. In one fell swoop, all dressing room harmony was lost. A harmony that, in any sport, is priceless. The club’s key ingredient was gone and it is yet to recover. I very much doubt that the owners wanted any of this to happen. Why would they?

However, in sayin that you must seriously question their decision making skills, as through some ridiculous managerial appointments and poor player recruitment together with constant boardroom meddling and several off field distractions, the club now finds itself rudderless in League 2’s basement. I hope for the sake of the club and all O’s fans, in particular long serving kit man Ada Martin, that Leyton Orient retain their football league status. As Bill Shankly once said, “football is a simple game complicated by idiots”. I don’t think truer words were ever spoken but alas, at least all O’s fans can rest easy in their beds knowing that the owners of their beloved club have passed the Football League’s ‘fit and proper persons test’. Oh, what a sham.

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Wayne Rooney – A Boo Too Far

Is booing one of your own players ever acceptable? What about if that player is the captain of your country. In light of the treatment of Wayne Rooney at Wembley by his own nation’s fans. Do you agree that supporters should stick to supporting? 


Let’s get straight to the point, the booing of Wayne Rooney at Wembley Stadium against Malta was not only disrespectful but downright absurd. Unquestionably, everyone that watches sport has an opinion and is, quite rightly, entitled to that opinion. However, the argument that Rooney should be dropped is one thing but to boo the man whilst he represents the nation he clearly loves is a sad indictment of English football and the wider context of social media-led opinion in sport. The English, it would appear, love to destroy their own. In fact, it’s a trait shared by us Irish. We’re all experts at self sabotage. A case of not knowing what we have until it’s gone. In the modern age of smartphones, any person with access to an electronic keypad can now voice an opinion and it would appear, that the anonymity of the computer screen encourages people’s darkest, most spiteful feelings to erupt in the hope of gaining a ‘notoriety’ which modern day media loves to report. It is modern day ‘mob rule’, and what starts and snowballs on social media is now, sadly finding it’s way into our stadia.

What has Wayne Rooney done to deserve such a backlash? Apart from the crime of declaring for England over the Republic of Ireland, very little. The man is, undoubtedly, a footballing legend and is living his, and every other Englishman’s, dream. Perhaps, there lies the problem.

Football is a team game but it seems England’s failures are being solely laid at the feet of an ‘out of form’ Wayne Rooney. He doesn’t pick the team, nor has he made himself captain. He doesn’t call up injured players in place of inform club regulars nor does he choose his own position, team formation or style of play. Despite being the last English ‘street footballer’ since Paul Gascoigne, to my knowledge he never threatened Gareth Southgate with taking his ball and going home if he didn’t play against Slovenia. He bravely faced the media when it would have been easier to fade into the background, and then reiterated his pride in playing for England. He publicly committed to doing anything and everything to win his place back. Now, I don’t know about you but surely this is a good thing. The act of captain you might say. 

Let’s not forget, this is no ordinary footballer. This is a player that has represented his country since the age of 14 at under 15 level. To put his outstanding ability into context, this is a player who played and scored in the Premier League at the age of 16, played for the senior England side at 17, and remains England’s youngest ever goal scorer. At such a young age, he showed tremendous loyalty to the Cross of St. George as he spurned other country’s advances, all because he sees himself, in his own words, as being “English through and through”. He has represented the England senior side 117 times and worn the captain’s armband for much of those. In those 117 caps he has scored 53 goals, just shy of a goal every other game. He is England’s all time record goal scorer. He is a PFA player of the year, a PFA young player of the year and a Football Writer’s player of the year. He is a Champions League winner, an FA Cup winner, a multiple League Cup winner and a multiple Premier League champion. His accolades, both collectively and individually, go on and on. He has never said no to his country, hence the reason why he’s closing in on England’s all time appearance record.

If he is guilty of anything, his crime is being a proud Englishman and being the outstanding English footballer of a generation. He has carried the hopes of a nation alone for too long. Here is a player that displayed potential as a kid and fulfilled it. He rose from the backstreets of a council estate, been mega successful and is now a multimillionaire. He’s had pressure since the age of fifteen and he’s not only dealt with that pressure, but embraced it, and consistently achieved success. How dare anyone boo this man. If England fans are to boo anyone, then boo Theo Walcott for building false hope of being a ‘rooneyesque’ wonderkid and who, instead developed into a player who now, at the age of 28, still doesn’t know whether he’s a winger or a striker. His performance last night against Slovenia showed up all the inconsistencies in his game. Inconsistencies that have been ever present since he first came to prominence. It’s utterly nonsensical.

If England fan’s want a reason for their side’s underachievement then the blame lies squarely on the shoulders of all those managers and decision makers who failed to build a team around a young Wayne Rooney. The golden generation were sold short by not embracing their match winner, their boy wonder. Too much pandering and accommodating of lesser stars. Only one question needed to be asked when picking an England team, ‘who will help Wayne Rooney flourish?’ Unfortunately, it was never that simple. It’s too late now. Time waits for no man, particularly in football. Should he retire? Absolutely not. Why should he? I hear ex-players on UK sport radio saying he should walk away and I just can’t understand it. Perhaps it’s headline hunting or maybe even a touch of bitterness. Whatever it is, he should be supported, particularly from those that have played the game. International football is the pinnacle of footballing achievement, why should anyone give up on it? Why let the boo boys win? Form is temporary but class is, indeed, permanent. A bristling, resurgent Wayne Rooney will come again. That you can be sure of. He might not possess the gusto on the pitch he once did when he burst on the scene but unfortunately, that’s a fact of the ageing process. He still has a lot to offer and the fact is, England, on last night’s evidence, need him now more than ever. 

With age comes transition. As Manchester United struggle to identify a new style of play, so too is Wayne Rooney. Let us not forget that Wayne Rooney is only 30 years of age and much of that career was spent working under the steady stewardship and success driven juggernaut of Sir Alex Ferguson. Rooney is now trying to find himself in a new regime and he’s in a period of form where, like all players, he needs support from his team’s ‘supporters’, in a ‘we’ve got your back’ show of support. Instead, Rooney was subjected to the modern day equivalent of ‘off with his head’ but that would appear to be the modern way. The English way. Whilst Zlatan Ibrahimovic is universally revered at the age of 35, Wayne Rooney, according to the British media, would appear to be ‘washed up’ despite being five years Ibrahimovic’s junior.

Indeed, Rooney’s only crime is loyalty to the cause and desperation to play a part in his nation’s upturn in fortunes. Rooney, like all English fans, is desperate to banish the memory of Iceland and the Euro’s. He knows things need to improve and wants to be part of that. He wants his international legacy to finish on an upward curve. There’s much to admire about that mindset and he’ll need to fight tooth and nail to get back into the side. However, the greatest crime of all is that Rooney, at the age of 30 and for everything he has achieved and will go on to achieve in the game, will always know he’s underappreciated at best and scorned at worst by those English fans who he’s given so much.


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Reluctantly Irish – Do me a favour.

Why do we bend over backwards to accommodate the ‘reluctant Irish’? Time after time, every effort is afforded to coax individuals to play for the Republic when their heart quite clearly belongs to another land. It’s time we start developing the next Robbie Keane and Damien Duff rather than be preoccupied converting other nation’s also rans.

There’s something about Ireland’s pursuit of Brentford’s Scott Hogan that just doesn’t sit well with me. In fact, his hesitancy to declare for the Republic equally rankles. International football is seen as the pinnacle of achievement in the footballing world. The best of the best are always internationally recognised. There should never be any hesitancy in declaring your nationality. In this instance, you either see yourself as Irish or you don’t. We’ve had it before with Jamie O’Hara and more recently with Jack Grealish. The cringeworthy pursuit of a mediocre player at worst or a promising player at best, followed by the usual response which screams, “Let’s see what happens with England first before I commit to being Irish”. If footballing rumour is to be believed, then Harry Arter is apparently planning an international U-turn. Such a move would open up the biggest can of worms about national representation since the days of Tony Cascarino. It would make a mockery of the ‘competitive game’ rule and be following ridiculously down the same slope as athletics where we see Kenyan after Kenyan defect to the oil rich nation with the highest cash incentive.

It’s time we stop this pursuit of the ‘reluctant Irish’ and put our efforts into nurturing genuine Irish talent that would walk barefoot on glass to wear the green jersey at the Aviva. If that means making do with an average team then that’s fine by me. Let’s not kid ourselves, pursuit of these 1st and 2nd generation ‘Irish’ footballers is, and always has been, a desperate measure to paper over the cracks of our dwindling ability as a nation to produce international class footballers. Instead of investing hard trying to produce and unearth the next Damien Duff and Robbie Keane, we’re going the easy route and converting other nation’s also rans.

I’m particularly surprised at Roy Keane using the phrase, when referring to Hogan, “please God he’d like to come on board”. This for a player, who, only a few years ago was playing for Woodley Sports in the far reaches of England’s non league. If we’re at the stage where we’re praying to God for Scott Hogan then surely we’re screwed anyway and that’s no disrespect intended to Scott Hogan.

As a player, I never had the opportunity to play for Ireland at any level but had the honour of singing the national anthem once before the FAI Cup Final in 2007. It was one of the most emotional, inspiring and hair raising experiences of my career. If the national anthem of your country doesn’t do that to you then you’re playing for the wrong country. Need I remind you all that ‘Irishman’ Matt Holland once belted out the English national anthem at the  play off final. An unfathomable act in any Irish eyes.

International football is dangerously becoming an extension of club football. Players are switching allegiances, and the nationalising of individuals is becoming an all too regular practice. I would much rather watch Dundalk’s Daryl Horgan or Cork’s Seanie Maguire in an Irish shirt then some chancer using our national team as a reserve choice. How proud did it make you when watching Robbie Brady’s tears after his dream was realised at the euro’s? That’s what international football should be about. What message does it send out to those lads, like Maguire and Horgan, who are coming through the Irish system and excelling but are constantly being overlooked? Being Irish is indeed a wonderful thing, just ask James McClean, or Martin O’Neill for that matter.

Given our history and the vast Irish diaspora dotted around the world, being Irish is a special honour and privilege. Wherever Irish descendants raise children, they’re children are either brought up Irish or they’re not. In the case of Arter and Hogan, both were born in Britain with the former representing Ireland at underage level. These lads will feel Irish or they won’t. They’ll know the basics such as ‘tayto’ means crisps and that chocolate kimberley only come out at Christmas but joking aside, there should never be any hesitancy in declaring your nationality, in particular, your Irishness. You’re either a proud Irishman or you’re one of the unlucky ones whose allegiance lies with another nation.

If Arter does back track on Ireland, and I find it unimaginable that he will, then it will be perceived in the eyes of  all Irishmen and women as a despicable act of treason. If he does back track, then whose underage and senior caps has he stolen? Whose progression has he hampered or stopped altogether? If he wants to go then good riddance, and maybe we’ll be forced into promoting Stephen Gleeson whose been a regular at a resurgent Birmingham City this season, and must be brain damaged at this stage from banging his head against that international brick wall for so long. 

As a footballing country we owe it to ourselves to develop and promote our own but unfortunately, like other international teams, it seems the pursuit of instant results overrules any hope of promoting our own and building a homegrown, or home based legacy for the next generation. The beauty of Roy Keane, Robbie Keane, Damien Duff, Paul McGrath, Liam Brady and I could go on, was that they were unmistakeably Irish. They captured the imagination. They inspired a generation. That’s what we should be striving for and that’s where our priorities should lie.

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Dundalk vs Legia….Where the tie was Lost

An underdog in any sport needs to maximise their strengths to increase their chances of success. Dundalk FC missed a trick against Legia Warsaw and paid the price. Playing the first leg of their play off at the Aviva Stadium may have cost them their Champions League dream.

So Dundalk’s Champions League dream is over for at least another year as they crashed out of the competition last night, succumbing to the flair and exuberance of their higher ranked Polish opponents. If only that was the case. Whilst Dundalk can hold their heads high for capturing the imagination of a nation, they must surely be cursed with thoughts of what might have been.

The sad truth is that Legia Warsaw, over the two legs, showed very little to suggest they are anything but a distinctly average side. Indeed, they were there for the taking and their current form in the Polish Premier League would suggest the same. In fact, such was their ordinariness, it’s safe to say that an Irish side will never have a better opportunity to qualify for the Champions League proper. So, where exactly was the tie lost?

WARSAW, POLAND - AUGUST 23: Robert Benson of Dundalk FC scores the goal for his team during Legia Warsaw v Dundalk FC - UEFA Champions League Play Off 2nd Leg at the Wojsko Polskie Stadium on August 23, 2016 in Warsaw, Poland. (Photo by Adam Nurkiewicz/Getty Images)

I’m not going to delve into the tactics used or the technical differences between the teams as both are governed by the quality of players available to each manager which is in turn dictated by finance. For starters, Legia have a ground that can cater for European football and I’m sure they pay their players 52 weeks of the year. On both counts, Dundalk don’t. Legia, quite rightly were the higher ranked side and consequently, the more established European side. They were supposed to steamroll little Dundalk, right? Wrong.

In spite of the gulf in turnover between the sides, it didn’t turn out that way. Football’s great like that. The underdog always has a chance but it needs help.

Unfortunately, Dundalk didn’t help themselves. They couldn’t. Their ground was deemed unfit for purpose and so needed a Champions League approved stadium to fulfil the fixture. The game was lost not on the field but on the decision to play the first leg at the Aviva Stadium. Prestige aside, there’s not a great argument supporting the view that playing at the Aviva Stadium would improve the team’s chances of achieving the seemingly impossible feat of Champions League qualification. In fact, quite the opposite.

WARSAW, POLAND - AUGUST 23: Michal Kucharczyk of Legia Warsaw (L) fights for the ball with Sean Gannon of Dundalk FC (R) during Legia Warsaw v Dundalk FC - UEFA Champions League Play Off 2nd Leg at the Wojsko Polskie Stadium on August 23, 2016 in Warsaw, Poland. (Photo by Adam Nurkiewicz/Getty Images)

Unquestionably, the game wasn’t big enough for the grandeur of the Aviva Stadium. It would have been more suited to a smaller capacity ground albeit one that would have to meet UEFA requirements. Irish football needs investment. It needs forward planning. In games of such magnitude, maximising home advantage is critical. Creating a partisan crowd is essential.

A home crowd can intimidate as much as it can inspire. As it stood, the game was played out in front of 30,000 spectators spread out between upper and lower tiers at the Aviva. The Home of Irish football accommodated not only the Dundalk bandwagon jumpers but also the large Polish community living in and around the capital. Any opportunity for Dundalk to capitalise on home advantage was lost. At the top level, these things can make the difference.

I would also hazard a guess that the dimensions of the Aviva pitch weren’t altered in line with that of Dundalk’s Oriel Park. It certainly didn’t look that way. I say this because if dimensions weren’t altered, then playing the game at the Aviva would prove as much of a handicap to Dundalk’s players as it would Legia’s.

Maybe this explains the Dundalk player’s inability to attack with any real gusto in the latter stages of that home leg and instead concede a killer second goal. A goal that ultimately cost them the tie.

Investment right throughout the League of Ireland is needed. Especially now when we have a team on a European adventure and capturing the imagination.  As a footballing nation, we continue to sabotage ourselves. We seem to persevere with mediocrity when the real prize is there for the taking. At the top level, small decisions make big differences. Whatever about other sports, the footballing mentality certainly needs to change and when it does maybe we’ll all be celebrating an Irish side winning the euromillions of Champions League qualification instead of the football pools of the Europa league.

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Congrats Dundalk, but nothing will change

So, once again, we have an Irish side, in the form of Dundalk FC, guaranteed Europa League football and one tie away from the holy grail of the Champions League group stages. They could be joined in Europe ‘proper’ by Cork City in a few weeks. Surely, it’s time to get excited. Hang on though, we’ve been here before haven’t we? Remember Shels vs Deportivo in 2004 or more recently, Shamrock Rovers European exploits in 2011. 
I was fortunate enough to be in the crowd to witness ‘the hoops’ against Spurs at White Hart Lane and I remember the level of excitement I felt. Seeing old team mates and old adversaries fighting it out against the household names of the Premier League. I would have loved to have been out there testing myself against the best, albeit in a Rovers jersey. However, that envy stretched only to European nights. I wouldn’t have traded my position in England’s League 1 to return to our domestic league. Why? The League of Ireland is the same now as it was then and always has been. There’s been no investment and no improvement in structure. If anything, it’s declined. Where’s the desire to keep aspiring Irish footballers in Ireland.  
Despite many trips to Turners Cross as a kid, the League of Ireland failed to inspire me. A combination of poor weather, poor style of play and the pull of English football. What’s changed? A shift to summer football has to a certain extent improved conditions for play and supporters but as a footballer, England will always be the place to be. That needs to change and investment is much needed. We’ve been saying it for years. Of course it’s a tall order, but any sort of attempt by our home association would be nice. We now have, like we’ve had in the past, teams in positions where they are capturing the imagination of the footballing youth in Ireland. Teams that are fighting it out to dine at Europe’s top table. These clubs are actively promoting the league at a time when they have the nation’s undivided attention due to the English close season. They are showing what our league could be and it could be great. 
Sadly, our domestic league is seen as nothing more than a skidmark on the underpants of Irish football by our home association. To use their own words, “a problem child”. Right now, we should be excited, dare I even say it, optimistic. However, both Cork and Dundalk are playing in a league, governed by a national association, that oversees the common practice of professional footballers training for six weeks without pay in pre season and then sign on the dole as soon as the final whistle blows at the final game. 
Here, we have Dundalk, a team on the cusp of Champions League qualification and the strongest domestic side over the past few years, who must play European games miles away in Dublin as their home ground is inadequate. Where’s the investment? The sad truth is, many League of Ireland grounds wouldn’t look out of place in England’s non-league Conference North. 
For starters, the winners of the Airtricity Premier League wins a measly €110,000, but I suppose they can always rely on the €350,000 a year FAI chief’s €5000 ‘strategic plan’ loan proposal. Such a proposal is pitiful and a prime example of the contempt shown to our domestic league by our own association. When real measures need to be put in place, what we get is nothing more than a patronising rub of the hair for our league, followed by a “here you are, go on away and don’t be annoying me”. 
Unfortunately, aside from the clubs concerned in Europe, nothing will change. They will earn their money and continue to dominate, while the rest of the league ambles along in disguised, or worse still, deluded professionalism. Irish clubs are doing their best and undoubtedly deserve better. I hope I’m wrong, but like every other League of Ireland success story, time will pass and the forays of Dundalk, and hopefully Cork City tomorrow night, will be consigned to nothing more than memory and the FAI’s ‘problem child’ will remain as problematic as ever.

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Stand up for the Boys in Green

So the Irish adventure is over but at least this was an adventure with purpose and pride rather than the previous foray
into tournament football which ultimately saw the Irish team as nothing more than ‘also rans’. As an Irish fan, there was nothing more annoying than hearing reports that the outstanding support in the stands wasn’t matched by performances on the pitch.

Indeed, Roy Keane was damning in his assessment when a pundit on ITV. It was about time that the national side gave the fans and the nation something worth celebrating. Something worth spending money on, and more importantly, something worth remembering. Irish football needed it. I grew up watching Italia 90 and my childhood was taken over trying to recreate Kevin Sheedy’s goal against England and Quinn’s equaliser against Holland. I can’t even tell you how many goal kicks it took to provide the perfect Packie Bonner kick out, together with his hop, to recreate that one but the important thing was we were out there trying it. Fast forward to 1994 and we had Alan McLoughlin’s equaliser in a qualifier against the Northern Irish to whet the appetite and get the kids entranced in Irish football. This feel good factor was rammed home by Ray Houghton’s goal against Italy which got us all back on the street trying to recreate that golden moment. Whether on grass or on concrete it was always followed by that famous forward role of his.

2002 provided Matt Holland’s moment against Cameroon, Robbie Keane’s rocket against Germany and Damien Duff’s mesmerising skills in the Irish attack. The kids were back on the streets and they had, once again, home grown heroes to aspire to. Since then, it’s been flat. Yeah, we’ve had our moments and near misses but the football has lacked a certain something, perhaps a certain “Irishness” to recapture the national imagination. The qualification campaign for France was a mixed bag, the lows of defeat to Scotland coupled with the highs of victory against world champions Germany.

It was Long’s strike in the latter, similar to McLoughlin’s in 1993, which got the nation believing. Here was an Irish team and manager which went a long way to restoring the Irish doggedness that was so fruitful in the Jack Charlton era. Just like the teams of Charlton and McCarthy, when an unlikely result was needed, just like Northern Ireland in 1993 and Holland in 2001, it was usually delivered.

The bar was set with that result against Germany and so, the tournament performance needed to follow suit. The Sweden game was cagey. We should have won but at least the next generation of Irish footballers got their moment to recreate in the form of Wes Hoolahan’s perfectly executed volley. The Belgium game was forgettable and this led to a do or die clash with the Italians. This was the game that recaptured the Irish imagination.

An inspired team selection followed by an inspired team performance and the birth of a new Irish footballing hero. That man was Robbie Brady. When a team performance is needed, a team needs a star and Brady delivered. He was everything Irish football needed. Home grown, technical, hungry and passionate. That moment against the Italians was special. The euphoria, the passion, the tears. With one flick of his head, he united a nation in optimism and joy but more importantly he got the kids back on the streets with a ball.

For 56 glorious minutes against the French it looked like the jubilation would continue but alas, it wasn’t to be. We might have gone out, but at long last we went out matching the performance of our fans and providing much needed memories for young Irish players to aspire to. I’m happy to say that, despite the defeat, I’m a proud Irishman. Now, let’s hope the wave of positivity created is capitalised on. COME ON YOU BOYS IN GREEN.

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Leicester City’s Rise was Stockport County’s Fall

With Leicester City sitting pretty at the top of the Barclay’s Premier League and Stockport County languishing in the middle of the Conference National North table, it made me think back to a game played between the two sides in 2009 which would, unknowingly at the time, prove to be a watershed moment in the history and fortunes of both clubs.

The date was the 3rd of March 2009. The venue was the ‘Walkers Stadium’, or what you all know today as the ‘King Power Stadium’, and the opposition facing Leicester that night was a fresh faced, newly promoted Stockport County side in which I was a starter. For highlights of the game and to refresh memories of the occasion then just follow this link: https://youtu.be/iD6bD4z2d0w . However, the highlights and result are, to a certain extent, immaterial. Undoubtedly, not many people will remember that game or hold it in high regard, but they should, particularly Leicester City fans and certainly Stockport County fans. For this was a game that, you could argue, defined the rise of one club and the decline of another.

Going into the game, Leicester City, under the guidance of Nigel Pearson, were flying high at the top of League One. They were nine points clear of second placed Peterborough United and had the additional benefit of a game in hand. Further to this, they were unbeaten in 21 games and seemingly coasting towards promotion. Nevertheless, it was this apparent coasting which was unnerving Leicester City supporters. Undeniably, previous years of continued failure were the root cause of this strange sense of angst amongst ‘Foxes supporters’, and on the night of that Stockport clash, those feelings provided a very apprehensive atmosphere.

In contrast to the Leicester City juggernaut, Stockport County went in to this game in 8th position. We found ourselves three points off the play offs only a mere eight months after gaining promotion from League 2. The reason I say ‘in contrast’ is that, we, as a club, had just gone through a January jumble sale to stave off administration and the general consensus was that the team’s performance and play off push would be adversely affected. However, two months after the club saw it’s most saleable playing assets stripped, we were still managing to continue our grapple with the League One big boys. The off-field financial troubles seemed to galvanise both fans and players and in spite of the uncertain future, everyone was enjoying the ride.

Going into that game, I distinctly remember our tactical brief, outlined by our manager Jim Gannon, which was to simply “out football” them. For him, it was clear the score was immaterial. What he wanted, on a stage like ‘the Walker’s Stadium’, against the league leaders in front of 17,000 bellyaching home supporters, was to prove his side played the better football and showcase our ability as players and his ability as a coach. And boy did he get his wish. The teams for that night were as follows, I’m sure you’ll recognise a few names

Screen Shot 2016-03-10 at 12.09.24As the highlights show, we went behind as early as the first minute to a somewhat fortuitous goal. The stadium relaxed. You could sense the relief, an almost collective sigh signalling a “we should stuff these now” mentality which reverberated around the ground. But, that’s as good as it got for the home side. From that point on they were out played in every department. We equalised within five minutes through a superbly taken goal by Leicester City old boy Chris O’Grady and with that, we just relaxed into the role of underdog. Nothing to lose but a lot to gain. The crowd grew in frustration and this transferred itself onto the players. Who were this shower, and how dare they, with their team of nobodies come down here and give us a game.

We went about executing Gannon’s instructions with great confidence and composure, and should really have taken all three points. The two styles contrasted greatly that night. Leicester’s tactic of long punting the ball up to Steve Howard didn’t sit well in the stands, especially when the lesser known opponents were playing out from the back, switching play and interchanging positions akin to some sort of footballing red arrows. In the end, we had to settle for a draw and on the whole, the result bore little significance in the promotion race. However, what happened at the end of that 90 minute showcase proved very significant indeed. As we went to applaud our away fans in the corner section of the ground, we were applauded by all sections of the stadium. As the home side trudged off to unsatisfied grumblings, the vast majority of the crowd that night stayed to clap us off the pitch and down the tunnel. It truly was a surreal moment. It was a real moment of footballing appreciation and having been released by Leicester City six years previous without kicking a first team ball, made it all the sweeter for me.

In the dressing room after the game, the manager gushed in his pride of his team’s performance. We spoke about sticking together and continuing to try and achieve the seemingly impossible. We were a team full of belief in our own ability and in how our manager wanted us to play. The arrogance of youth you may say, to go and take on a League One super power at playing football in the right way, but that’s exactly what we did. If you take our elder statesman at the time, Matty McNeil, out of the equation, then the average age of that Stockport County match day squad was a shade over 21 years of age. The future looked bright. Everything about that tie was David versus Goliath, and to use a boxing comparison, although the result may have said 1-1, we certainly won on points.

The aftermath of that game however, couldn’t have been more different to the performance on the field and the feelings of hope and confidence it instilled. Leicester City went on to win the division and gain promotion to the championship. In 2014, they gained promotion to the premiership, again under Nigel Pearson, and are now top of the pile under Claudio Ranieri with 9 games to go. As for Stockport County, well, you can’t help but think what might have been. After that March night, we lost 8 of our next 11 games and went into administration before the last game of that 2008-2009 season, just avoiding relegation despite a ten point deduction. However, the following season, after a significant turnover of players and management, the club were relegated from League One with a record low points total and in the following 2010-2011 season, finished bottom of League Two and were relegated out of the Football League.

Those of you that know football, will look at the above team sheet from March 2009 and recognise a lot of familiar names from that Leicester City side. I’ll draw your attention to one in particular, Andy King. From that night in 2009, he remains the only survivor of Leicester’s rise from the ashes. Forget your Vardys’, Kantes’ or your Mahrez’, how fitting would it be for English football for King to lift the Premier League trophy. A wonderful story of loyalty and development where a one club man rose through the ranks and the divisions, winning the most coveted crown in English football. We can only but wait and see.

I’m guessing, apart from the fans of the clubs us County boys played for, not many of our names will register the same level of familiarity to those of our Leicester counterparts. But on that night in 2009, like Leicester City are doing right now in the Premier League, the underdog outperformed it’s superior and was revered for doing so by those who witnessed the audacity of it. Unlike Stockport County, let’s hope Leicester City can give their underdog story a fairytale finish and like the Leicester fans did that night in 2009, the rest of us will stand and applaud.



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Cobblers and The Great Escape

So the fight for survival started on the 27th of January with me signing a deal until the end of the season. If I’m being honest, I’m not quite sure what I was expecting upon signing. The team was seven points adrift at the foot of the table staring openly at a non league future and with a horrendous goal difference and similarly poor “goals for” column, I think it’s fair to say that safety looked an insurmountable task. So, the wheels of change were set in motion and no greater statement of intent could have been issued than by the chairman’s actions of appointing Chris Wilder as manager and backing him to the hilt by ‘paying up’ some current players that weren’t in the new managers plans and financing the arrival of new faces to lighten the burden of negativity, improve the quality of the squad and give the club a fighting chance of survival. Arriving at the club were signings with big game and promotion experience and which the now, new manager described as “men, who knew how to win football matches”, whom he now entrusted to secure football league status. But would it all gel?. It’s always a risky business culling a team and recruiting in numbers, and this is applicable in the close season, so to do it at the end of January with little over three months of the season remaining could have been deemed lunacy but something drastic needed to be done and change was in full swing. The club was, indeed, in free fall and heading head first through the football league trapdoor. It was a team devoid of a defensive base and any real attacking intent, all in all a team in disarray, so the objective upon signing was “come in and let’s make a fight of it”, so I did and “the great escape” was on.

As I walked into training on that first day, I was very surprised to see how upbeat everything was. Despite all the uncertainty of players coming and going and all the trepidation the arrival of a new manager can bring, it certainly didn’t strike me as a club in crisis. On the one hand this was a good thing as the training ground needs to be an upbeat place of enjoyment to maximise work done and results, but on the other it probably showed the comfort zone mentality that had infected the group and got the club in the position they were in, but as I looked around at the quality now in the squad, I always felt on paper we’d have a chance but could we transform this into results which is a whole different ball game?

The first game came upon us fast, an away trip to Cheltenham who by their own expectations were having an average season but still harboured hopes of the play offs. I started the game on the bench that day and the reality of the task facing us was soon apparent as, before we had even taken our places on the bench, we were 1-0 down due to a long ball that bounced freakishly over our goalie. So much for the final instruction of keeping it tight. At that point you think, ‘we’re seven points adrift, don’t tell me ladyluck is against us aswell’, but thankfully we rallied second half. I made my Cobblers debut coming on after sixty minutes and we equalised through a well taken Matty Blair strike which injected hope and got us off the mark under the new managerial regime.

The following week gave us a full week to prepare before our next game at home to Plymouth which was important for the new lads to integrate into the group, get a grip on how the manager wanted us to play and work on partnerships all over the pitch. The weather right throughout February and March was atrocious so training was confined to astro turf which was far from ideal, and the fact we only had use of the facility for one hour at a time limited the task of coaching and hampered preparation no end but it was just another minor obstacle in comparison to the major objective of clawing ourselves off the foot of the table.

The Plymouth game the following Saturday was an absolute farce. I think it’s fair to say that everyone that witnessed that game will now agree there was no way it should have been played. The wind was probably the worst I’ve ever witnessed on a football pitch. The ball wouldn’t stay still for dead balls and at one point, Plymouth even took a free kick with someone lying and holding the ball a la American football. Goal kicks were kicked into the wind and once they reached the halfway line it seemed like someone was reeling the ball back towards goal which led to comical football. The importance of the pre game toss never mattered so much, but no surprise we lost that. We faced the wind for the first forty five minutes and conceded two terribly easy goals which cost us the game. Another game down, nineteen to go, but still no worse off than seven adrift. In the words of Steven Gerrard, “we go again”.

We didn’t have long to dwell on the Plymouth result as we faced a massive game at Torquay away on the Tuesday night which was the proverbial six pointer. Torquay occupied the place directly above us and to lose the game would have seen us move further adrift at the bottom, so if momentum was to be ceased and a message sent out that we were on the move then this was the game to lay the foundations for the great escape. We set off from Sixfields at 9am with the plan of getting down early enough to stretch the legs and have a sleep prior to the game. However, all plans were scuppered as we were stuck at a service station for almost two hours waiting for replacement windscreen wipers to arrive for the team bus which couldn’t go on in in the rain due to safety reasons. We arrived at the hotel long after the scheduled time, walked and ate pre match almost simultaneously before a swift return to the bus and onto Plainmoor. If we were looking for excuses for a poor performance then we certainly had them, especially upon arriving at the ground and realising the pitch was ridiculously soft and made of porridge like mud on the side of the main stand. If there was ever a game where you needed to start well, then this was it and thankfully, we raced into a two goal lead thanks to two well taken Emile Sinclair strikes. Although we conceded just before half time we saw out the second half relatively comfortably. Well, as comfortably as it can get when your bottom of the league with a one goal lead away from home against your closest rivals. To say the mood in the dressing room afterwards was jubilant would be an understatement, that game was a real turning point. It brought us together as a group and gave us the belief that when our backs were against the wall, like they were with the preparations, we’d fight tooth and nail for one another. That trip home, unlike the journey down, was very sweet and optimism was high.

We followed this result up with a loss away to Fleetwood conceding avoidable goals, one in each half, which then piled the pressure on the following two home games against promotion chasing Southend and play off chasing Hartlepool. We played Southend on a Tuesday night at Sixfields and not only was it a game for us to pick up points but we needed to get the crowd on side with a good performance and let them know we were fighting and wanting survival just as much as them. We scored an early goal from a corner which settled us but like so many games, conceded an avoidable equaliser. The message at half time was ‘are we now going to collapse or fight?’. We chose to fight and went ahead in the second half after great work from Sinclair down the right, who bullied their centre half and teed up Hackett who slotted home from eight yards. We went onto dominate the game and when a passing side like Southend began to go very direct, then we knew the three points were safe.

The fact that we had now beaten a promotion chasing side was worth more than your average win. We were now a team, predominantly, playing percentage football, putting the ball at minimum risk but more importantly, we felt we were now tough to beat and in times of struggle, this along with results was more important than being pleasing on the eye. Getting back in the dressing room after the game, sky sports went on to see the other results and not for the last time the other teams around us had won. This provided a certain sense of deflation but the manager always reiterated that if we do our job then the table will look after itself. So, onto Saturday against one of my old clubs Hartlepool. We started well and it was nice to be involved in our opening goal, getting taken down just outside the box resulting in the free kick that led to our opener. We led one nil at half time and this turned to two shortly after the restart and we comfortably saw out the game.

We now had back to back wins. Unbelievably, the teams around us had all picked up results but for us psychologically, we were now off the bottom, clawing back Torquay, and made the teams around us realise we still had a pulse and were getting stronger. Mission one was accomplished, the great escape was looking possible and if we could beat teams gunning for promotion then why couldn’t the seemingly impossible be done?

We welcomed Bristol Rovers to Sixfields at the start of March, who at that point in time looked relatively safe although a win for us would have dragged them to within five points of the relegation zone. From what I can recall, it was a terribly drab game with little or no chances for either side. I think it was fair to say that both teams didn’t want to lose more than they wanted to win, so a point was a just result and, at the time,9 I felt failing to beat them put them just out of our reach in the relegation fight. How wrong was I?. Another game down though and another point on the board, we were now building some definite momentum. Next up was a nice easy away trip to top of the table, unbeaten in twenty, Scunthorpe.

We went into that game with high hopes of getting something and again, the way the ninety minutes unfolded epitomised the new and still growing spirit in the camp. We played some of our best possession football in the opening forty five minutes, moving the ball well up until the final third yet lacking that bit of guile and end product to make our dominance count on the scoreboard. The mood was buoyant at the interval and we felt if we stuck to our gameplan then the goal would eventually come. The opening fifteen minutes of the restart couldn’t have gone much worse. We gifted Scunny a very soft goal, conceding from a corner and then had our skipper sent off on the hour for a second bookable offence. Our backs were well and truly against the wall but we were a different side now to the one that would perhaps have buckled pre January. We hit back from a set piece almost instantly with Zander Diamond flicking in a Carter delivery and produced a tremendous defensive display for the remaining twenty five minutes which ensured a point. I don’t think there’s a much better feeling as a defender than grinding out a result with ten men and hearing the home crowd boo their team off for a lack of penetration. It was a very significant point, and one which cemented our fans belief that we were now a team worthy of their unwavering support. All was good, until other results came through post game where third bottom Accrington had beaten high flying Chesterfield 3-1 to keep us six points adrift of safety. We weren’t the only ones fighting for our lives.

Although every game since I joined in January carried huge pressure, some games were undoubtedly more important than others and we faced Exeter away on the Tuesday night which was our game in hand on others around us and a game we simply couldn’t lose. Unlike the Torquay game, preparations went smoothly and we were fully able to rest up in a hotel prior to the game and get the journey out of our legs. Football is a very strange game at times and unlike the Torquay game where preparation was poor yet we shot out of the blocks, this was the polar opposite. For some reason, though the pitch was well sodden, Exeter decided to drench the pitch pre game making it almost unplayable, which was strange as it seemed to affect their game more than ours. To say we were awful in that first half would have been very kind but looking back perhaps playing with ten man the previous Saturday had taken its toll. We should have went one down early but their right winger contrived to miss a sitter from three yards. We got to half time largely untroubled after that early scare where for the first time the gaffer gave us a right rollicking. Gregor Robertson even got a rap on the chest for sitting too close to the arm gesturing of the gaffer in mid rollick stage which was one of those moments like at school where we all wanted to laugh but daren’t. We upped our performance second half and a moment of quality from Hacks on the right produced a delicious cross which Ian Morris done well to convert. That was all we needed and it was as comfortable a 1-0 win as you could wish for as they offered very little going forward. It was such a great feeling to get the win whilst not being at even close to our best, and for the dedication of the forty seven Cobblers that made the journey to support us I’m sure it was a journey well made.

That was now eleven points out of a possible fifteen, we were now three points behind Exeter and we had Mansfield at home on the Saturday who were a strong physical side but going through their own sticky patch of form. Confidence was high going into the game and we felt this was the weekend we’d get back on an even keel with the teams above us and set ourselves up nicely for the remaining ten games. We started the game very well and perhaps could and should have been two nil up after ten minutes but our inability to make life easy for ourselves was to haunt us as they played one ball over the top and a moment of indecision resulted in us being down by one. Half time was one of frustration as we should have been out of sight but found ourselves behind but we were told to keep playing the way we were and relax more in the final third. The second half commenced and we started the second period like we did the first and lady luck finally started to smile on us. They had a man sent off for handball on the line as he failed to deal with a cross from the right and Carts dispatched the resultant penalty to draw us level. Mansfield were now on the ropes but defended pretty doggedly and we just couldn’t find a second goal, although Hacks shot a great volley unmarked over the bar from six yards in the dying moments. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel like two points dropped but it was another point on the board, another game unbeaten and we were now only two points away from third bottom, as for the first time since my arrival, other results went our way. Lady Luck, it seemed had just bought a Sixfields season ticket and she was ready to play her part in the final ten games.

The 18th of March saw the two form sides in the division face off as high flying Rochdale arrived at Sixfields. At some point after a sequence of positive results, a blip occurs, an unexplainable performance that nobody sees coming and this was ours. Our Achilles heel of gifting an early goal struck again and Rochdale never looked back. They controlled the game from start to finish and even though they had a man sent off for over-celebrating a goal, we had nothing of note to offer despite playing against ten man for half an hour. In fact, they appeared more in control being down to ten men then they did with eleven. We lost 3-0 and the dressing room was dead afterwards. To be fair to the gaffer, he never got too excited with a win and never went the other way in defeat. The message was, ‘it’s one defeat in eight against the top team, you’ve done magnificent until now let’s make sure we bounce back’. Next up was Morecambe away.

We travelled to Morecambe on the Friday, training at Blackburn prior to the game. For the past few weeks, the astro turf we were training on had taken its toll on my lower back and the long journey to Morecambe didn’t help so despite giving myself every opportunity to play, I simply couldn’t turn without holding my breath so unfortunately I had to miss out. Sitting in the stand, not being able to play a part is a hard experience especially with the importance of the games growing week after week but after they hit the post early in the first half, we went one nil up through an own goal, but sat back for the rest of the game allowing them to gain a foothold and they eventually equalised with probably their best move of the game. Another point gained that we could so easily have lost, especially as we almost gifted them a goal in injury time as a mix up between our retreating defender and goalie saw their player nick in and lob the ball goalward but it thankfully fell just wide of the post. With the events of the past games, luck and fate would suggest that they were on our side, other teams were scoring our goals, players were being sent off and penalties awarded. Things were now looking very positive.

The arrival of AFC Wimbledon on the Tuesday night gave us our first chance to move out of the bottom two, I had recovered from my stiff back and went straight back into the starting eleven. Like so many other times, we conceded early and gave ourselves a mountain to climb. Like most football matches, but more significantly lower league football, the team that scores first usually wins the game so we were doing ourselves no favours. Sometimes I thought it would be better if the manager told us we were one down before we went out as we only ever seemed to settle after we conceded or scored early but all jokes aside this was a game where we needed something. After a scramble in the box from a corner, Midson blocked a goal bound effort on the line with his hand and was sent for a bath. I was happy to see him go because he caught me flush in the chest with a sneaky elbow that felt like I’d been hit by a truck and affected my breathing. It was such a blow, I’m still feeling it now. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t logged the incident and had him earmarked for retribution, totally fair, within the laws of the game retribution I hasten to add. So him going off gave me one less thing to worry about. Up stepped cool as you like Carts from the spot and the score was one one with over an hour for us to play against ten men. The second half was a tense game of cat and mouse. They sat deep with two banks of four and said come break us down and we struggled to create anything of note. With the game entering the latter stages, Carts let fly from twenty five yards which took a wicked deflection causing the ball to loop viciously, beating the keeper at his near post. At that point, we were out of the drop zone and against ten men with little over ten minutes to go. They threw everything at us but we were well in control, but Northampton being Northampton there was always going to be a twist. In the ninety ninth minute no less, they lumped a hopeful ball into the box, it broke to their player six yards out and the equaliser was theirs. Barely time for the restart. Back to the dressing room, dejected and feeling like a loss.

A heated exchange between me and Hacks followed from the pitch into the dressing room, with him ultimately blaming me for their equaliser saying I shouldn’t have been bombing forward into their box in the ninetieth minute. I understood where he was coming from to a point but my argument was, if the ball I played across the six yard box wasn’t on a plate for our striker to make it 3-1 or if we were the team with the ten men then I’d have accepted his viewpoint. I thought it was a harsh criticism but arguments like that, within reason, are a good thing in a dressing room as it shows it matters to the players. Sometimes, the easiest thing in the world is to say nothing and let it slide but we were all hurting and a good rant off is sometimes the best tonic. Needless to say we kissed and made up on the following Thursday training session and were fully focused for Bury on the Saturday.

The Bury game was Rochdale all over again, nobody could have quite seen this result. We went one down early down, then one became two after a looped effort deceived our keeper and two became three after a poor back pass led to their third. The less said about that game the better. We let ourselves and the fans down and it was a massive set back. The loss to Rochdale and the last minute capitulation against Wimbledon which felt like a loss was now compounded by a damning defeat to a fellow relegation threatened side. I think the phrase “lower than a snakes belly” sums up how we felt. Again, the gaffer didn’t lambast us which he would have been well within his rights to do but instead stated the importance of bouncing back like we had done before. Despite the g-up, that was the first time I felt we could go down. Thankfully that thought only lasted all night Saturday and Sunday, and after looking how other results went for us, checking our own fixtures, I was mister positivity again as Monday training arrived. Without question, football is, indeed, a mindfuck, but the focus was now shifted to Accrington away.

We arrived at Accrington knowing it was basically a case of shit or bust and thankfully we got off to a flying start with Hacks converting a chance from the tightest of angles after four minutes. We were by far the dominant team and created several further chances first half to increase our lead but again failed to make life easy for ourselves. Despite coming under pressure in the last ten minutes with Accrington opting to go very direct, we dealt with everything they could muster and our goal was never really threatened. The final whistle went and we left the pitch with a well deserved one nil win and clean sheet in the bag. Now to see how the other teams got on, surely we were level on points with the teams above us? As you’ve guessed, both Wycombe and Portsmouth won, and Bristol Rovers drew keeping us three points adrift and with our goal difference being so poor in comparison with our relegation rivals, our jubilation soon turned to disbelief as news filtered through of these results. Was there any danger of results going our way? If the great escape was to be achieved, it was definitely going to have to be done the hard way, but our fate was in our own hands and I liked them odds.

The following weekend saw us pitted against Burton Albion who still had one eye on automatic promotion and were sitting comfortably in the play off places. The game was all the more special for me as my parents made the trip over from Ireland so I was desperate for them to see a good performance and a nice three points. We shuffled formation due to injuries and I was asked to play as one of three centre halves in a 3-5-2 formation. For me, playing different positions isn’t much of a problem but centre half, albeit in a back three, was a new one for me. It was a lovely day at Sixfields that Saturday. The sun was beaming and the crowd turned up in numbers to help us to victory. The club introduced ‘clappers’ on each seat to increase the noise level and the support we received that day was simply fantastic. Lady Luck again came to our aid as the Burton keeper threw in a John Marquis drive which 99 times out of 100 he’d usually save but we weren’t complaining in the slightest. It was a much deserved one nil win and a performance which belied our position. We now had back to back wins at a crucial point of the season. I had a win in front of my folks which was very pleasing and I ticked off another position played, which now left the position of goalkeeper as the only position I’ve not played in in league football, and let’s hope it stays that way.

With that win, we were now level on points with Wycombe, confidence was sky high and they were up next on the schedule away at Adams Park. That game was to be a tense affair, we stuck with the 3-5-2 formation but I moved from centre half to a more recognisable right wing back role. Coming out at the start of the game and being greeted by over two thousand of our own supporters was a special feeling and a phenomenal effort by all involved. We started brightly and a hopeful punt into the box by Ricky Ravenhill was caught and spilled into the Wycombe net by the home goalkeeper. It seemed as though we didn’t even have to score our own goals anymore as the opposition were doing it for us. Upon scoring, we endured a crazy fifteen minutes where we seemed desperate to press the self destruct button and it was no surprise we conceded the equaliser in this period, a bullet header from a set piece. We thankfully regrouped, and there was no further chances of note for either side until the last minute of injury time. A Wycombe free kick at the edge of our box was brilliantly saved by Dukey in net only for the ball to be tapped home. It seemed Wycombe had stolen it and with that our football league status but up went the linesman’s flag. Never have I been as relieved as I was at that moment. The game ended not long after and tv replays showed that that last gasp Wycombe goal should have stood but as I’ve said before, Lady Luck appeared to be a Cobbler.

With Friday over, we needed every minute of the weekend to recover and focus on the Easter Monday clash with Portsmouth at home. That Wycombe game was draining for all involved, and at right wing back I felt I had run a marathon. In a nutshell, I was spent both physically and mentally and quite a few of us were in the same boat but Monday was closing fast. No time to dwell on tiredness. The scene was perfectly set for us to break out of the relegation zone, could we now take our chance?

With Portsmouth selling out their away allocation, Sixfields was bouncing. The ‘clappers’ were out in force again and the atmosphere was why you play football. We set out again in a 3-5-2 that had worked so well for us in past matches, but we just couldn’t get going or get up the pitch. We conceded early again from a set piece knock down and despite matching them up in a 4-4-2, with me moving to right midfield, we simply couldn’t find an equaliser. I’m not making excuses for the loss, but perhaps Portsmouth securing survival on the previous Friday which allowed them to implement five or six changes for our game, gave them a slight edge in regards to freshness and energy but once again our opportunity to escape the dreaded drop zone had eluded us. The only silver lining was that results went in our favour, and it was now a four horse race to avoid that last relegation place between ourselves, Wycombe, Exeter and Bristol Rovers. Our fate was in still in our own hands.

Dagenham away was the place where our destiny would be decided. With Wycombe playing Bristol, and Exeter at home to table toppers Scunthorpe, we knew a win would put one Northampton foot in League 2 for the 2014-2015 season. I found out I was dropped for the Dagenham game on the Friday with not a word mentioned, which is always a shit sandwich, but more than that, I knew then, that that would be it for me in regards to an extended deal. We still had a huge job to complete and regardless of contract scenarios, we were all in it together and too much sweat had been spilt since January to let it slip away now. Dagenham had nothing to play for as they were safe in mid table and started the game in flip flops trying to pass the ball around like Liverpool. Who were they trying to kid? We pressed them high up the park and won the ball time and time again in their defensive third allowing us to gain real momentum. Cometh the hour, cometh the man and young striker Ivan Toney scored inside five minutes after a pinpoint cross from Ian Morris. One was to become two after twelve minutes as Dagenham half cleared a corner to the edge of the box and Ian Morris spectacularly volleyed home from twenty yards. Dagenham, at this point, were already in the queue for Sugar Hut and that man Toney bicycle kicked home an effort on forty minutes to seal the match. It truly was a fantastic performance from a young guy who saw no match action since I arrived in January, and it was an ingenious gamble by the manager to put his faith in someone so young and raw, but for him to explode onto the scene in such a fashion was truly fairytale stuff, you couldn’t make it up. Spare a thought also for Morro, he probably won’t score a better or more important goal in all his career and as everyone swooned over Ivan’s performance, Morro’s goal got lost in the furore. He mentioned it enough times on the journey back so I’m pretty sure it did really happen, what a strike though. That win proved monumental as, with Exeter somehow managing to beat Scunny and secure their own safety, a draw or defeat for us would have put our destiny in the hands of others. After nineteen games, it appeared we timed our escape to perfection and we were now out of the relegation zone at long last, needing just a point from our last game to ensure football league status.

And so, to the last game of the season against the gaffer’s old club Oxford who he left to take over at Sixfields back in January. It was always going to come down to this game wasn’t it? The question was, would there be a sting in the tail or would he get a sweet victory over the club that failed to back him? The sun was shining, Sixfields was packed with squeaky bums everywhere and we upheld our tradition of giving away a soft early goal from a set piece. You could cut the tension with a knife as that Oxford goal went in and with early news filtering through that Wycombe were beating Torquay and Bristol drawing, we were on our way out of the league. We looked nervous, and the longer the game remained one nil who knows what might have happened, but I’ve mentioned Lady Luck a few times in this blog and on that final Saturday she showed up in full Northampton kit, scarf and underwear. In the space of fifteen minutes, they had a man sent off for an off the ball incident, we equalised, and then went ahead. There was no stopping us now from achieving our great escape. Doumbs headed home early in the second half to make it a comfortable afternoon for us and the party had well and truly started.

The final whistle went and the inevitable pitch invasion of relieved spectators flowed onto the Sixfield’s grass. It truly was a very satisfying feeling having achieved the objective set forth in January. After twenty games of incessant pressure, we had achieved the seemingly impossible and along the way averaged over one and a half points per game, which was promotion chasing form. The job was finally done. I am very proud to have played a significant part in the club’s survival and be part of a very together, determined and banterful dressing room, but at the same time hurt and disappointed that, after all that commitment and effort, I won’t have the opportunity to carry on the progression of the football club but hey ho, that’s football. My mind, from January, was completely consumed by the relegation battle and the added stress of not knowing my footballing future. Now, that it’s finally done and the great escape has been accomplished, I can switch off and relax until my next port of call where it all starts again, and you know what, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

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