All Bluebirds Column #10: The Road to God Knows Where
I’ve often wondered if Walsall itself actually exists, as we hurtle past on the M6 to other foreign fields further south. We have been to the Bescot a few times but visiting does not mean you have to go further than a Paul Farman punt from the motorway itself.
Freedom was in the air as we set off. For the first time in this league, we know that we will still be there next season. Our pressure free attitude has seen us embark on a good run with a decent game and draw versus Salford following the Bradford and Stockport wins.
The rock that built on is soundly defensive. The change in formation has certainly been key. Three five two has steadied us and gave us a better platform. This has enabled us to get the best out of Canavan, McClelland and Ray.
We arrived early to the outskirts of Wolverhampton and settled down for a comfortable couple of hours. Subjects covered included: chicken, Tottenham Hotspur, The Conference North, workplace bullying and the inability of people who are travel sick to take travel sickness tablets.
In varying states of health, our buses wended their way through a warren of distribution centres that may or may not have been towns, back onto the M6 then immediately off, below a Blade Runner style advert and into the away car park. In terms of ease, the twenty steps to the away turnstile was good. Walsall remains undiscovered. I’m still not convinced it exists and if it does, the Wikipedia entry on its charms has probably put the local populace in a somnambulant state of depression.
However, four thousand or so had appeared from somewhere, perhaps Poundland, which was proudly emblazoned all over one of the more ‘traditional’ out of town venues. The cheery, Yam Yam speaking hosts had a choice of cooking lager or radioactive looking cider. I chose to combine the two in an effort to recreate the acrid taste of teenage nights from my youth. Promise me son, not to do the things I’ve done.
Out we came with the away support in good voice. Walsall were a typical League 2 side. Big and strong but quite liked playing it out from the back. They had much more of the ball but we seemed fine with that. Their plan seemed to be to get our wing backs turned and get down the sides.
Each attack founded on the heavy rock of our very own power trio at the back, our backline baseline as tight as any metal anthem. Then we scored- Billy Waters is great at shaping to react quickly and here he squeezed onside to turn a slightly wayward drive beyond the hapless keeper. 1-0. Breaking out again, Jake Young went on a feisty, skilful charge the dragged a chance of his own making wide.
Half time came and went and we nearly wrapped up matters having the ball cleared off the line and hitting the post in a matter of seconds. Then we settled down for the siege. Leningrad, Gibraltar, Vicksburg or Tyre, our central three could have graced any of those battles with sheer strength and will.
Ray is the aerial specialist, winning header after header. Canavan raw power and the pillar of any structure, a leader. McClelland simply oozed strength and class, just enjoy him while we can folks.
Every cross or shot was headed away or blocked with a superb Paul Farman display behind them. Heroic. In front, all the players hustled and harried.
Like the team, we endured. Singing and singing ourselves hoarse. Into extra time, a final scare and that blessed whistle. Delight at the final whistle, mainly at the shift put in. Our players were out on their feet. Dragging themselves to celebrate with us, another large ground grumpy and emptying while we partied loudly.
All that remained was some bus park posturing from annoyed locals and delighted Barrovians, followed by an avoidable stramash over access to a parked car. On to the buses and away we went, Bohemians in rhapsody with another three points in the bag and heading up the table Bismillah!