The Gould Old Days
Wales 1 Finland 1
Oh Christ, why do we bother?
This has to be the worst week this fan can remember in 15 years
of traipsing round Europe watching Wales. Chased down the road
by a psycho with a metal bar in Milan and then put through the
mangle by the very players you thought you could rely on.
It was terrible and all the papers missed the story. Which is,
top place was there on a silver salver with a victory in Serbia.
Pursuit of victory was declined by pant-pooping players in the
second half.
Then, with Italy drawing in Belgrade, we were left with this incredible
incompetent performance against a side who should have hammered
us 4-1. Top place was there on a plate again, and we've chucked
it away. That's twice in case you're counting.
We're lucky to be getting a third bite at the cherry let alone
a second. And now everyone's bleating about the UEFA seedings
and getting distracted. Excuses are coming in early and when,
not if, we are knocked out, UEFA will get the blame and not our
lack of bottle over the last three weeks.
The fact is - WE SHOULD HAVE ALREADY WON THE GROUP.
The last half hour was purgatory and the play-offs will be even
worse. Going through the mind was just the thought: "There's
no way we can win any play-off if we play like this."
I'd fancy us to lose to the Faroes. I'd fancy us to lose to the
mums of the Faroes. I'd fancy us losing to the bat that flew across
the North stand. He was surely trying to get out early to beat
the rush at the Old Arcade. Him and 10 of his mates would surely
give us problems (especially in the air).
It was terrible times 200. After pigs were sick on us in Milan
it was time to feel pig-sick. It was worse than having the epidural
for my bad back six years (ooh, that was painful, honest). If
we want to feel this bad all the time we can just get a job with
a train company. It got me thinking whether I could break into
my mum's pharmacy and steal a prescription for Lithium.
The lady from The Sun on the Monday got it right. Her message
to the players was simple - stop feeling sorry for yourselves.
Perhaps the infected the Finns with their self-pity. Was I the
only person in the ground who wondered why the Finns didn't look
too chuffed when they equalised? It was almost an apology for
a goal, as if they wanted us to win the group instead of the Italians.
This year we've been lucky to get draws with Bosnia and Finland.
We were easily outplayed in the US, Serbia and Italy and only
useless Azerbaijan were overcome. 2003 is turning out to be as
bad as 2002 was great. Perhaps that's it, we only get one good
year - just like Poland did in the 2002 World Cup qualifiers when
they qualified on the back of a great start only to fall apart
at the seams a year later.
Maybe, as my sister, a good friend and myself ran down a street
in Milan we weren't being pursued by a fan intent on maiming us
with his weapon. Perhaps it was a messenger of mercy from the
football gods. The message was: "I'm here to save you from
yourself. Pack Wales in and I won't hammer you. Take up another
brain-deadening pastime, like macrame. Or golf. I'm warning you
- carry on and I'll break your legs."
Well I'd have chosed the broken legs, obviously. Anything but
golf. But even after the Romania defeat and the 7-1 Eindhoven
debacle this fan can't remember feeling so disheartened by the
result.
Popping back into Cardiff the day after the game, one of the tramps
outside the central station was reeling round singing: "Why
does it always rain on me."
It seemed spookily apt.
Fan of the day:
Nepotism rules this week. After sis scooped the Milan medal, Uncle
Eirwyn from Alltwen gets it. For no other reason than he came
to his first Wales international for 40 years, since the glory
days of Ivor Allchurch and John Charles merrily mashed Northern
Ireland at Ninian Park and a lovely cup of Bovril was 2d. At the
end I was too afraid to ask if he would be coming again.
Best player:
Clearly Jones. But you know your team's been tripe when you notice
Rhys Weston stands out. This fan's not rated him before and maybe
never will again, but you have to take your hat off to him - he
did brilliantly and we missed him after he came off.
Fans' player of the year:
The game fried my brain. But this award, flagged up in the match
programme, boggled the mind. I thought it about for 20 minutes
and still couldn't decide who to vote for. Perhaps the physio
would be the best choice. One player has stood out for me this
year - John Oster for his superb display against the Azeris. And
he hasn't played since. In the end it was Pembridge for no other
reason than he's short and ginger and the world doesn't do enough
for short, ginger types.
I hope that whoever wins this award shows humility, donates his
crate of Carling to charity and apologises for his performances
this year.
Best moment:
There was only one and it was several hours after the game. Up
in Clwb Ifor Bach's top floor, without prompting from anyone,
the DJ threw burning hot fat into an already fried brain desperately
wondering who to vote for in the player of the year award. Years
of pursuing the Holy Grail of persuading dumb DJs to play a decent
record were swept away. No he didn't spin Agadoo. He banished
the cranial crisis by playing London Calling by The Clash.
So maybe there is hope after all.
adecolley@hotmail.com