Dirty old team

Fuck’s sake. That was a bit shite, wasn’t it?

I was in bed feeling under the weather and debating whether or not to go to the game at 2pm last Saturday. I did eventually drag myself to the Rocky, but I didn’t go the pub, and apparently I missed out on Salford’s fans singing ‘Oldham’s a shithole’ on the Clayton. Ewan MacColl famously wrote a song about Salford being the Paris of the fucking North, of course.

The guest of honour was Hartley, the Dr Kershaw’s mascot, as there was a bucket collection for the great work that the hospice does. I can’t help but feel that it was a missed opportunity for Hartley and Chaddy to have a dance-off. Or a fight.

📸 Dr Kershaw's Hospice

Our list of injured players keeps growing, with Drummond and Payne both out of the squad last Saturday, and Micky Mellon was very keen for everyone to know that we’re down to the bare bones, only naming 5 substitutes. I’m not a fan of that, to be honest, I can’t see how having two empty spaces on the bench is better than putting two kids who’d love the opportunity to be involved with the first team there. Huge kudos to whoever played Fighting Fit by Gene over the tannoy, top bantz.

We could hardly have got off to a worse start. The referee set the tone for the afternoon by booking Woods for a seemingly innocuous tackle – I thought it was a foul, but it was never a yellow card. Oluwo wasn’t picked up at the resulting free kick, and his header put us 1-0 down inside 4 minutes. And I wished I’d stayed in bed.

The first half did not get much better from there. Woods was struggling a bit to keep up and track back, and playing nearly the whole game on a yellow card was the last thing he needed. Hudson, who must have been gutted that we pissed his chance to break the clean sheet record up the wall so early, made a good save with his legs from Graydon.

Our best chance of the half came from Woods’ free kick, which Fondop played into the box from the right, but Robson’s header was well saved. Given that Fondop was our only striker, you’d rather have him getting his head onto crosses into the box, and it was far from ideal that he kept ending up out wide.

📸 Phill Smith

Their second goal was far too easy. Their keeper played a long ball forward, neither Monthe nor Simeu picked up Udoh (I’m not keen on singling players out, especially a youngish player who hasn’t played much, but Simeu was far too slow to react, and not for the first time), and it was almost a tap-in. Which he celebrated by cupping his ear to the family enclosure, the fucking oddball.

We needed a huge improvement in the second half. Specifically, we needed Joe Garner’s shithousery to compete with theirs, and he came on for Hammond (not the player I would have brought off, to be honest). It could hardly have been worse, but to be fair, we did give it more of a go.

I’m glad I did drag myself to the game, or I would have missed what might have been the goal of the season. Pett hooked the ball to Hawkes, who spotted the keeper off his line and chipped the ball beautifully off the outside of his right boot. It really was quite something, and deserved to be more than a consolation.

📸 Phill Smith

Joe Garner got his customary booking shortly afterwards, and it was probably deserved, but it was more than a little infuriating that Salford were getting away with fouling, diving and time-wasting. If you give a free-kick for a player kicking an opposition player in the head, is that not a yellow card?

Karl Robinson’s shitbag anti-football tactics were best summed up by their keeper going down with, ahem, ‘cramp’ bang on 70 minutes. Yes, goalkeepers often suffer from their legs seizing up in the latter stages of the game, what with all the running they do. Fuck’s sake, lads, make it half plausible, would you?

Hawkes was great second half, and had several chances to equalise that were probably easier than the one he scored. In fairness, he also showed a great burst of pace to track back and put Graydon off his shot when he was clean through after they hit us on the break.

📸 Phill Smith

Alas, it wasn’t to be. Even with four minutes added on (I’m pretty sure their keeper was sat on his arse pretending to have cramp for longer than that), we couldn’t find an equaliser. We could feel hard done to, having massively improved in the second half, but the damage was done before half-time.

What the fuck was Karl Robinson doing at the end, by the way? Looked like he was giving his players a bollocking on the pitch, like Phil Brown did that time when he was the Hull manager. Except that was at half-time. And Hull were losing. And the Hull players all thought he was a twat and took the piss out of him for it. What a colossal wanker Karl Robinson really is.

Mellon, reasonably enough, spoke a lot about how many players we’ve got out injured, but did admit that we weren’t competitive enough in the first half and gave two cheap goals away. He did want to congratulate the players on the run that they’ve been on, and, as always, us, for being fucking great: “the crowd were fantastic today, they always are”.

📸 Phill Smith

Curiously, he emphasised that “play-offs was never the goal”, which somewhat contradicts both what he’s said in recent weeks and what he said at the start of the season. Fair enough, play-offs might have always been unlikely, but ‘never the goal’? Hmmmm. Bit of an eyebrow-raiser.

Overall, though, it’s fair to say that we maybe have overachieved this season, and I really won’t be too disappointed, wherever we finish in the league. Although if they could try and finish 10th, which is where I predicted we’d finish, I really would be very grateful, because I fucking love being right.

Apparently Calum Kavanagh liked some Instagram posts, and I don’t have the energy to muster any thoughts or feelings about that.

There is, as always, much to be proud of off the pitch. OACT had their sleep-out to support local charities last night, and on Sunday, our CEO Darren Royle is running the London Marathon to raise money for MediCinema, who create and run cinemas in hospitals, specially designed to accommodate beds, wheelchairs and medical equipment. It’s a great cause that helps to give people something enjoyable and positive when they need it most, and you can donate here.

A trip abroad today for our last away day of the season. We might have nothing left to play for, but Newport, who are just a point ahead of Barrow and Harrogate in the relegation places, definitely have. The pressure is off us, so we can just enjoy a day out in fancy dress (and Bunkabin Man is the easiest fancy dress ever). And if the match is really shit, apparently Nicky Wire’s house isn’t far away, so I might sack the match off and do some stalking. See you there. Bring your hard hat. KTMFF.

📸 Phill Smith

Written by Arlene Finnigan