League Two: AFC Wimbledon v. Southend United
Today is what I imagined winter would be like in England. 10C (50F) and drizzling. Humidity about 250%. It didn't so much rain as perspire cold water everywhere. The dampness penetrated to my core after 5 minutes outside. I was decked out in oversized, hooded raincoat. Much like Arsene Wenger's puffy coat except for rain.
I decided to release my line-up on Thursday instead of Saturday morning.
GK: Chris Dunn
D: Cameron Dummigan, Kris Thackray, Andy Frampton (C), Jim Fenlon
M: George Francomb, Mark Tomlinson, Daniel Barlaser, Matteo Nole
F: Jack Midson, Michael Smith
Subs: Daniel Lincoln (GK), Reuben Hazell (D), Brad Smith (D), Steven Gregory (M), Leandro Depetris (M), Simon Johnson (M), James Loveridge (F)
"I want a win," I said. "If we're going to win this league, we have to beat the top teams. We let ourselves down last week. We let our fans down including Vinnie. I have faith that we can go out today and play the way we know we can."
"Smith is back," I continued. "He's our target man. Use him. Play off him. Make runs off him. Short crisp passing and work hard off the ball. Tight, alert defending. Watch for the man behind you making runs into the channel. Talk to each other."
"Let's go."
Today was a slow start. I'm fine with that. Feel the other team out a bit.
From a 9th minute corner, Matteo grabbed the rebound and dribbled 70 yards into the opponents penalty box. They just kept backing off. The left back made a nice tackle as Matteo made a move for the end line. The ball bounced out to the left flank and Fenlon tried to cross back post for Francomb but they cleared it.
Southend then brought the ball quickly upfield. They passed their way through our midfield and defense and striker Freddy Eastwood was played through. Thankfully, he shot weakly into Dunn's stomach.
We were getting the ball down and moving it around nicely. In the 12th minute, Dunn rolled a goal kick out to Andy who turned and fed it to Danny Boy. Danny zipped a pass up to Smith. Smith rolled off his defender and fed a pass into the path of Midson. Jack isn't fast nor is he that great of a dribbler, but he held off his defender until he could hit a shot. It whizzed just inches wide.
This is exactly the type of determined effort Loveridge hadn't been showing.
Midson headed high from a Francomb cross and Smith shot high in the next two rushes upfield. We were looking good. Southend, on the other hand were not looking threatening at all. When given a chance, they were wasteful or regularly chose the wrong pass. We also did a great job of recovering when they regained the ball. Unlike the last month's worth of matches, we were first to nearly every loose ball and when we weren't, we pressured them hard.
Every rush upfield looked dangerous, like this might be the one that breaks the deadlock and gives us the lead.
Then Southend midfielder Will Atkinson missed the ball with a late tackle and caught Francomb just below the shin pad on George's planted leg.
I screamed ****** murder. So did 5,000 Wombles in the stands. The ref awarded the free kick but jogged off to prepare for the ensuing free kick. The linesman who was 20 yards away and had a perfect view didn't wave his flag to indicate anything.
I pointed at Simon then walked up to the fourth official.
"How was that not a red card?" I asked the fourth official from about 2 inches away from his face. "He misses the ball and takes out his shin. He's bleeding from the wound for God's sake. His sock is ripped from the gash."
Francomb lay on the turf in obvious pain. Frampton jogged up to the ref and as Captain asked several questions. He must have been talking about the blood on Frampton's leg because he repeatedly pointed toward his own ankle. Tomlinson, Barlaser and Thackray surrounded the ref.
Atkinson had jogged back into a defensive position and Smith jogged over to where he was standing and glowered at him menacingly. Atkinson tried to ignore him, but Michael can get pretty intense. Several Southend players thought Smith was going to do engage in some ultraviolence and stepped in between them.
Smith was saying something to Atkinson, but I couldn't hear what it was because the fans had started singing a rude and obscene version
Three Blind Mice.
The ref ran over to stop the Southend players from shoving Smith. Smith is a big boy and they were having trouble pushing him away. Smith never raised his arms. Smith is also a smart boy.
"This game is going to get out of control if the alleged referee who is allegedly in charge of this match doesn't start stop ignoring FIFA's rules," I growled.
"Enrico, you'd better step back or I'll have you tossed," the fourth official said.
"If they try anymore ultraviolence, and that alleged ref doesn't do something, I'll protest that all four of you are incompetent," I shot back as I backed away.
When I turned, I nearly got knocked down by Hanks and Wools. They were rushing up to pull me off the ref.
"What the ****, boys?" I asked. "I wasn't going to touch him? Geez."
"When we can see the veins standing out on your skull from the bench, we fear you're about to commit GBH," Hanks said.
"What's GBH?"
"Gross Bodily Harm," Wools explained.
"Oh," I said.
The foul on George was just at the half hour mark. The remainder of the half was littered with exuberant tackles and fouls. We committed about 10 fouls. Several of them should have been cards. Southend committed about 15.
The only instance of football was in the 40th minute when Southend's Eastwood played a pass up to Akwasi Asante. Thax came through with a thunderous tackle that got ball then man and sent Asante flying. Eastwood got to the rebound and smashed a shot for a low corner that Dunn dove and tipped around the post.
"First off, if this was a boxing match, we just traded body blows and we're still standing," I said once we were in our locker room at half time. "I like your fighting spirit. Now let's go out there and pass circles around them. This means we're going to need to work harder off the ball. Clear? Okay. Thax and Andy, switch sides. I want Andy on Eastwood and Thax on Asante. Clear? Good."
"I want to build up more slowly than in the first half," I continued. "Let's camp in their half more and make them do all the hard running. We can up our game. I know you all have it in you. Let's show those *****ers."
They all cheered.
And they did what I asked. We had them packed into their box for the first 15 minutes of the second half.
Former Tottenham youngster Nabil Bentaleb ran over Barlaser in the 53rd minute.
Once more I bellowed at the ref and berated the fourth official while the Wombles sand
Three Blind Mice behind me. No cards were produced.
Whitney signaled that Daniel could play on. I got Leandro warming up. From the restart it was clear that Danny Boy wasn't running well at all. I subbed him out a minute later.
In the 58th minute, Fenlon got chopped down. The Wombles were singing
Three Blind Mice at every foul Southend committed whether the alleged ref called it or not. Leandro jogged over to take the free kick. I yelled at the ref and berated the fourth official some more.
Leandro curled in a ball to the near post. Simon had made the near post run and flicked it goalward. It hit the keeper. He shot into the keeper's midsection. The ball fell to Midson.
He gave the ball a poke like any striker worth his salt would do from 4 yards out in the middle of a melee of swinging legs and sprawling defenders.
1-0
Somehow it made it in.
For those of you who followed my little story about my so-called semi-exploits in the lower leagues of Spain and now England, you'll know that I'm deathly deathly deathly afraid that my team's opponents will take the ball straight down the field and score. For those of you who recall my days in Cadiz, you'll know that it happened quite a bit. But I wasn't worried today. We just had a fighting spirit in us. Tomlinson and Thax were timing their tackles beautifully and were inspiring their teammates. My back four won every header and we were first to every loose ball.
Southend were only able to manage long-range shots that flew over the bar or were relatively easy saves for Dunn.
At the 75 minute mark, I sent Stephen Gregory on for Midson. He'd run himself into the ground and deserved the ovation he got as he trudged off.
I switched to a 451 with Tomlinson in the defensive midfield role and Gregs would partner Leandro in the middle. I told Gregs to stay back and bottle up the middle.
Southend only managed one decent chance in the remainder of the match. And it was a close call. They won a corner. Their center back Luke Prosser timed his leap the best, hung the longest and got his head on the ball. But he couldn't head downward because he was only a yard or two from the goalmouth. He's header smashed against the crossbar and high into the air landing out of bounds.
View attachment 397233The rest of the time we held the ball well and frustrated Southend.
I held my breathe when their left midfielder tried to get a cross past Cam with 2 minutes of the 3 minutes of extra time gone, but Cam was up to the task and blocked the attempt out for a corner.
Dunn nabbed the cross from the ensuing corner and wasted some precious seconds.
The clock rolled past 3 minutes of extra time. The fans were all standing and screaming for ref to end it.
Leandro, of all people, crunched Bentaleb with a jarring tackle. I looked up at the clock. 93:11. He had to call it soon.
They lobbed a ball into the box that was headed by someone high and wide of our goal.
Then I heard those sweet three blasts from the blind mice's whistle and we'd done it.
There was a bunch of shouting and carrying on in our locker room after this one. I joined in. We'd played a solid match.
Everyone else in contention for a play-off spot had dropped points today except us. Consequently, we were in first at the halfway point of the season.
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