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NORWICH CITY AWAY 22-1-05
Written by Laurence I'Anson and Andy Morgan, Photos by Andy Craig
Time to go...
Another exciting adventure on Britain's National Railways awaited me when I woke up at 7am after barely two and a half hours sleep to catch the bus that would eventually take me to York station and to a three and a half hour journey to Norwich. But I was used to this battered old whore of a system, what with my travelling to many away days this season.
Yet even that is no diversion from the fact that when feeling like death warmed up and puked out by the Devil, the last thing you want is a long train journey. With a stop off in Peterborough. Oh joy.
Meanwhile, in Yarm
Norwich away- what a day. I travelled to Norwich with my brother and his friend Louis on the Yarm Reds coach. We just made the trip on time at 6.10am. We took seats half way down the bus to sit behind our mates.
We weren't long into the journey when a load of lads at the back got the alcohol flowing full-time. It reminded me of the scene from Football Factory with Chelsea hooligans who smoked this and sniffed that. Wasn't exactly the same but you know what I mean.
Meanwhile, on the train...
Peterborough is always depressing. I remember going to London Road once and seeing Brentford getting stuffed 4-1. That has somewhat coloured my memory of the place. And to add further insult to the already haemorraging injury, it was in the LDV Vans Trophy. The lowest of the low, the deepest cut to the already fissured vein.
But on a sunny January day surely nothing could depress me, beyond the hour long wait for the Ricketts train (i.e. painfully slow and piss-poor value for money) to Norwich, for I had the Boro to watch in action. We had been leaking goals, we were playing poorly and we were fucked by injuries but surely we could beat Norwich! After all their goal ratio was less than one per game and as the Wiz subsequently said, they're not Premiership standard. How wrong we were.
Meanwhile, on the coach...
Roy 'Chubby' Brown on video was the main entertainment until we got to Dereham, about 20 miles outside of Norwich. Here we all got off for refreshments at two pubs in the town centre. We played darts, pool and had chips, chip shop style. We also watched the quite amusing Southampton vs. Liverpool game. Liverpool - crap, Southampton - crap.
We left the pub scene after a few more pints at 2pm. Next destination, Carrow Road.
Meanwhile, at The Riverside...
I found myself in Norwich's Riverside, a fair way away from the main city centre and all the sights. I say Riverside but in all honesty, the 'river' represented an impoverished canal scheme half-completed, as if no one had bothered to tell East Anglia that the railways had replaced the canals. Yet despite this, the Streamside developments of bars looked impressive and generic and as I walked through them, away from the station, I was surprised to find myself standing outside Carrow Road, home of bad football and extremely bad cuisine, by all accounts. Shame Delia couldn't write a book on 'How to Play Football' in many ways really but hey, if it's good enough for Fimbo (ask your kids) then it's good enough for Delia and her boiling eggs. But now we are getting personal.
Meeting up with Wiz and Andy, we walked to the nominated pub and imbibed in a few ales and soaked up the banter, all of which being particularly muted for some reason. This may have been the curse of the phenomenon known as the away fans only pub or maybe it was because we all expected three easy points but as the score from St. Mary's filtered through (Southampton 2-0 Liverpool) I felt it could be one of those days and that a draw could be on the cards. I shared my fears with the guys but they dismissed them readily. I wasn't so sure. I still wasn't sure as we entered the ground.
Meanwhile, in the ground...
After the coach parked up, we proceeded to the Boro end. Our entrance through the turnstiles was met by a thunderous Boro chant. My flag was put up right at the front of the stand beside the pitch.
The three of us continued up to the top of the stand to locate our seats. I stood with them until the kick-off preparing ourselves for the run out with repeats of 'Pigbag'. With me having a separate seat, I had to move along the row. However, I decided to stay put in front of a group of very loud lads who definitely made themselves heard. It wasn't my seat but who gives a shit?!
Meanwhile, a few seats along...
The ground is not really of Premier League standard but it's friendly nonetheless. It's also not a bad ground in terms of atmosphere, certainly not lacking like at Highbury or a multitude of other grounds I could name this season.
The teams warmed up, we took our seats and the match kicked off. And I suddenly found my voice and was in the flow of the game.
The first half...
The game started pretty balanced as both teams put a couple of attacks together. The Boro fans were in buoyant mood until.. 1-0 Norwich. A tap-in, initially viewed as offside by hundreds of us. But this only urged the team on, Downing down the left and Zenden through the middle being the attacking forces.
Then mid-way through the half, Hasselbaink deflected in a Downing shot to score for the first time in donkeys. It had to be a deflection 'cos he wasn't going to score any other way to get this goal. The Boro fight back was on. We attacked with near simplicity but ultimately lacked the final touch. This was resolved soon after the break.
Can I also mention about the shocking and disgusting behaviour by one fan during the first half. My friend James Ward suffered breathing difficulties when he was grabbed by one fan and inadvertently strangled. He was accompanied by a number of stewards and paramedics during half time who gave him extra oxygen in order to retain his regular breathing. The police were involved and I hope that they still are so that the offender can be rightly punished.
On a happier note, singing and drinking was the priority for a number of Boro lads who gave us a rapturous performances of old favourites from The Holgate.
Nice one Jimmy...
We started off brightly, carving out at least three opportunities in the first five minutes of the game, which had the effect of increasing our confidence slightly. Then they attacked us, although their balls were often misplaced, either being mis-hit or completely mis-directed. They looked little threat and we finished the first fifteen minutes the stronger.
Then we had our first silly fifteen-minute spell. The defending was shambolic, the goal conceded soft and 1-0 down amidst throngs of cheering Canaries, the Boro crowd fell into disbelief. 'Why wasn't Huckerby marked on the far post' was a common question that I heard repeated for the rest of the day, largely by the Wiz. He was right. It was ridiculous.
But we still felt we could get the points because we were cutting through them far too easily. Yet Norwich had other ideas as they started to create waves of opportunities, trying to build on their already incredulous lead. And they nearly came close too.
Our defending was awful but we did start to gain more composure as a team towards the end of the half and in the 36th minute it paid off as Queudrue supplied the ball to Hasselbaink who expertly flicked the ball behind him and into the net. 1-1! Get in! The Boro fans went wild in relief and Hasselbaink had finally broken his scoring duck. From this we started to grow in stature and as the half time whistle blew we were again in the ascendancy and felt we could win the tie easily in the second half. No one predicted what was to come.
The Second Half
The second half had started and substitute Morrison was already on the attack by the time I got back into the stand. I found "my seat" had been taken so I gladly moved up a row to stand with a load of lads and we shared four seats between six of us.
Like the fans, Boro seemed joyous to attack the opposition. A Downing corner found a path to Queudrue's head which he used gladly to get the lead. It left the fans celebrating like only the Boro could celebrate.
Then by the time we had calmed down, another Downing corner was put in. A flick by Southgate then a second finish of the day by Franky sent us fans crazy. Boro were now in full flow and top gear. Nothing was going to get in the way of a deserved three points now. A 25-yard Hasslebaink free kick put us 4-1 up with me expecting the fifth to be soon on the way.
Sounds like we are cruising...
Half time with it's failed attempts to get a Delia pie filtered into the second half and our superior quality started to show through, a quality that was largely contributed to by the removal of the frankly inept Doriva for Jim Morrison, 12 (as Bassett would say). Eight minutes in and an outswinging Downing corner was headed firmly into the net by Queudrue and again we went wild. A wildness that was granted, tempered with disbelief as Downing had finally managed to beat the first man with a corner. But it was worth waiting for, our first goal from a corner this season scored by one of our own players. And it was textbook.
Three minutes later, another corner, another goal as Southgate's glancing header was hit again on the volley by the unmarked Queudrue, two goals in three minutes. Franck for a hat trick was the call. Unfortunately he was not to get it.
The general mood in the Boro camp was high and we started taunting the Norwich fans with songs like 'you only sing when you're ploughing' which was an Andy Craig special. The mood was one of relief, the belief that the game was already won and that we could all go home and celebrate a comprehensive victory. This view was enhanced with Hasselbaink's free kick making it four but I was less sure. Our defending was dreadful and they still looked threatening, when they could be bothered to pass to each other. Yet with most Boro fans, 3 goals up with 10 minutes remaining, there was nothing but an away win on the cards surely. Again, how wrong we were.
But surely we win the game?
No-one was stopping the team or the fans as we chanted a number of piss-taking songs towards their ever decreasing crowd. The best of the lot was: "(Norwich) City go down and (Ipswich) Town go up". I laughed all the way home with that one, despite what was about to happen.
Then out of nowhere Norwich scored a second goal. But this only sent us wild once more as we celebrated Norwich getting a consolation. But a consolation it was not. This goal only spurred City on.
We faced attack after attack. It paid off for them as our defence was now in tatters and a third was conceded. But ninety minutes had been played. There wasn't time for an equaliser. Three minutes were added on. Shit.
How did they get three minutes?
When their second goal went in we all cheered, Canaries and Boro fans alike. How stupid were we to look. We thought it was a consolation but, again, a lack of marking and rank amateur defending resulted in the concession of another set-piece goal.
And then it got worse as Norwich finally found some desire and started playing. 87th minute, 3-4, another set piece, another lack of marking, and another disintegration. From comfortable we were now holding on and you could see we were lacking in composure. The rest of the team had no confidence in the defence (quite rightly it was piss-poor) and, as I looked out over the pitch with my head in my hands mumbling the words 'Please God, don't let this happen, this can't be happening', I secretly knew.
It didn't happen, did it?
It couldn't happen. It won't happen, I thought. Well it wouldn't have if McClaren had used his noddle and brought on a sub and wasted a bit of time to disrupt the now flowing Norwich. Our team looked shocked and tackles were nowhere to be seen. A corner conceded. The atmosphere was atmospheric. They were spurred on by the 22,000 that resisted the temptations to leave.
The corner was crossed with what seemed to be the slowest ball ever. On the end of it was a yellow shirt. A yellow shirt all alone in the penalty area. Drury the centre back duly obliged with a free header into the net past a pathetic attempt on the goal line by one of our hapless defenders. A bit of marking wouldn't have gone amiss.
Four one and we fucked it up...
My pain was realised three minutes later. And I knew that if we had to play another five minutes we would have lost the game. Granted, where the assistant got those extra three minutes from I don't know but that's a poor excuse for pathetic defending.
And as the whistle blew and the Norwich fans rightly celebrated we all trudged out sick, in disbelief that we had conceded such a lead to one of the poorest side in the Premier League with only 10 minutes remaining. Indeed, if we'd been three goals up after 45 minutes and had conceded three in the second half it would have been unacceptable. This just took the piss.
Meanwhile, in shock...
The final whistle blew. Silence was ushered upon us. A few of us booted the seats with all the venom they had inside them. Most stayed quiet. Many left at once. No-one could believe that we had just drawn 4-4 with Norwich City after being 4-1 up. Yes 4-1 up with just 10 minutes to play. Devastated. We left the ground very quietly. The coach was pretty silent as well.
Meanwhile, ironically...
The day was full of ironies. Despite Norwich's fightback, they still were the losers of the day as West Brom, S'ton and Palace all won whilst Spurs, Liverpool and Everton losing meant our point could look more like a point gained. But, as we dissected the match in the Angler again, what with Wiz's desperate attempts to put a positive gloss on things, we felt gutted. Philosophical but gutted. This mood was to continue throughout the journey home.
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