Jones In, Jones Out, Shake It All About

Well, this isn't one of those "time to go" rants, but I feel the fact that I'm still up at 4am after our loss at Oakwell yesterday means it's affected me mentally in some way.  Therefore it seems only right that I go for a bit of a post mortem on this one, for the first time ever.  By the way, I am having real problems typing the letter 'V', so bear with me on that front.

So, yes, living in Sheffield gives me a great base to follow the City around South Yorkshire, and I've duly done that this season - although I missed our defeat at Doncaster because I was back in South Wales then.
It never seems to be a very happy hunting ground for us, this part of the world.  It was a delight when we (eventually, and just about) beat Sheffield United 4-3 at the local this time round.

But yesterday was a different story.  Fresh off an international break, there was all sorts of action coming from the treatment room in the days prior to the game.  Centre back Anthony Gerrard was ruled out on Thursday, leaving the widely sought-after Gabor Gyepes to come back into the fold (in for the wrong man if you asked many, who pointed at Sheffield United and Nott'm Forest as examples of why £1m captain Mark Hudson should not be in the starting line up).

Adam Matthews picked up a calf injury on international jaunts with Wales, while Stephen McPhail has contracted/developed a lymphoma, which is an early form of cancer.  The messages of good luck he has recieved from Cardiff fans prove how well he's done to make his form come full circle in the last year, if he isn't better now than he ever was (see Cardiff  6-1 Derby for examples).

MY prediction for the day was "1-0, but I've no idea who to!"

I arrived at Barnsley train station at about 12:40 and wandered under the dual carriageway and up to the "Metrodome" which had been mooted as the away fans drinking hole.  I couldn't help but marvel, that early in the day, at the amount of police that were present. 
I was not happy when we got to the Metrodome though - it was a leisure centre with a bar, boiling hot and accompanied with that horrible smell of dodgy "fries" and chlorine.  Nontheless, they served alcohol, and Liverpool v Man City was on at this point so we ended up watching that.  It was good to see the place fill up with City fans gradually, as initially there were about twenty Barnsley fans in there and a handful of us. 

By the time the Premiership match ended, it was chock-full of City fans, and everyone realised what the time was and scarpered down the bank to the ground.  The police seemed to want to stand on the road itself though, so they made us walk down a grass verge, which was possibly the most pointless task I've ever seen a law enforcement officer engage in.

Only when I stood at my seat did I discover that, that very morning, Jay Bothroyd had been ruled out
 - but for what I still have been unable to find out.  It was interesting to see Magennis back in the squad, but it says everything that he couldn't get on in front of Feeney later in the game.  I really hope he comes good because he is very fast.

So, off we trudged, the sky pretty much the same murky grey as it had been since I woke up at 10am in Sheffield.  I say trugded, because the first 5 minutes of the game were about as scrappy and dull and boring as you're likely to find at a football match.  That said, I think Barnsley had the better of the opening 5 or 10 minutes, before Ross McCormack had a curved shot from the right hand corner of the box which took a deflection and fell just to the left of Luke Steel's post.

It was good to hear the fans singing Stephen McPhail's name loud and proud at the start of the game, which took a turn for the worse for City as McNaughton started limping having quite obviously pulled his hamstring, and had to be brought off a few moments later with the not spectacular Paul Quinn coming on to replace him.  At this stage, our back line resembled the weather, uninspiring and dull are two words that come to mind.

However, fair play to Quinny as he managed to put in a few strong challenges in that first half, one of which was simply too much for Hugo Colace, his theatrics on the floor, which lasted a good two minutes, earned him the dubious honour of being likened to Thierry Henry by our fans.  Annoyingly enough, it also earned Quinn a booking.  I'm not saying the referee was wrong, but I don't think it was a booking.  So really I'm saying the referee is wrong.  That wasn't the first time that happened mind, the inconsistency from all the officials was infuriating at times, with some of the softest of challenges being penalised and several incidences of shirt pulling went unnoticed on both sides.

The first half petered out with nothing much else in the way of outstanding opportunities.  We tried to get the ball to McCormack and Chopra but it's just not meant to be.  They were beaten in the air every time and when your wingers are as good as ours you need someone big in the box for them to aim for.  There wasn't today, and maybe this is why neither were as effective as they'd been in previous games this season.

So along came half time, and a meat and potato pie, and a rather lovely blond female steward at the bottom of the steps.  Almost the highlight of the day actually.

The second half was a bit better initially, the front four looked faster, more lively and more likely to do something with the ball than they had at the start of the game, but to no avail.  When you've got Peter Whittingham crossing the ball to little Burke in the penalty area, you know something's not quite right.  Burke was being shut out of the game on the floor as well, at times Barnsley had 3 men on him when they realised he was more difficult to get hold of than Whittingham.

The rain came, and with it City's chances evaporated really.  After Colace had a shot deflected wide off Rae, and we had a bit of banter with Toby Tyke, the Barnsley mascot, we seemed to be sitting back from then on.  It was as if Jones has a "sit back and let them attack you" switch he switches on in the players' brains in injury time of every single game.  I think it's been on permanently in Joe Ledley's mind for the last year and a half or so, and in this game it was switched on as the daylight disappeared and darkness enveloped Oakwell.

Ross McCormack, in fairness, had been running all game, but was probably not match fit and was brought off for Warren Feeney on, unsurprisingly, 70 minutes.  In a game as vapid as this one, the addition of a player of Feeney's lack of quality only proved to further enervate the City fans who were, by now, asking each other when it was going to happen.

It took a bit more of Barnsley running at full backs and through the centre midfield - if we even had a centre midfield that is - before it did happen. 

I'll admit when three minutes was held up for extra time I stood there bellowing for the players to come and attack our end of the field.  I should have known better as the "sit back switch" was fully active by now and Barnsley had two late free kicks.  One sailed harmlessly over but the other, conceded as fans streamed out of both ends hoping to go and sit in their cars out of the rain as quickly as possible, no doubt, was something new.

Mr Hudson had conceded it, and, whilst he was comfortable in the air all day, I can only wonder how he copes in training as our attack must run rings around him, he's that slow.  It was a handball, and I don't think, after the controversy of Henry's midweek antics, the referee would've dared to let it go.  That said, with this referee you didn't really know - it's a bad sign when both fans give the man in black ironic cheers for a free kick to their team.  It's also a bad sign when you find out then goal you've conceded came in the 4th minute of three minutes of injury time.

I don't quite know what it was.  Maybe it was the Barnsley fans who had stopped, and sat in the nearest seat to watch, or the quiet, unnerved murmur that washed through the away end like another drive of the cold, misty rain that had been falling for an hour now.  But I could do nothing but stare at three Barnsley fans who, from my viewpoint, were sat on the crossbar in the Pontefract End.  I didn't look at anyone, or anything else, as the ball was driven low and hard, in hope more than anything I think, by the Stoke loan man Dickinson.  Almost in slow motion I saw the three fans rise in unison and the deflated, winded noise that comes from being in an away end, far away from some quiet home fans - who did sound loud when they cheered the goal in fairness.

I'm not sure I expected anything else as I slid my eyes down to fix them on the crossbar itself until the final whistle.  Inwardly, I'm almost certain my conscience was smiling - never has the rule "If you don't laugh, you'll cry" been more appropriate than as a Cardiff fan.

I'm glad I did wrench my gaze away from that crossbar as the final whistle went as otherwise I would've missed something very interesting.  Other than the chap sat next to me (who shall remain unnamed) telling Jones where he should go, I made a point of clapping McCormack, Burke and Chopra (the only people who ran during the game).  I also made a point of booing Hudson and Ledley - as captain and local boy, it is these two who have the responsibility to lift the team in awful games like this, something they clearly didn't - hell, they failed to raise themselves, let alone anyone else in the team.

Passions were running high as the teams walked into the tunnel, below and to our right.  Some of our own fans down the very front, at pitch level were to be seen shouting at the players.  Mr Ledley stepped to the side of the tunnel entrance, towards the stand, and was seen to address these fans.  I have absolutely no idea what was said by either party, but there remains a fact that Ledley motioned for these fans to "come on then" as if to square up to them.  It's a sad indictment that he had to be taken into the tunnel by a steward

Dickinson's goal was his first ever career goal.  Congratulations, I'm sure.
_________________________________________________________________________________

The question after the game was "where do we go from here?".

The concept of Jones being pushed out of his position was mooted again, the theory being that he's had four years to develop a sufficient squad, that he brought in those of the ilk of Feeney, Taiwo, Hudson, Quinn and Comminges, that he gave Scimeca a new contract when he blatantly isn't fit (if he was, he wouldn't have brought in Taiwo), that his teams seem to consistently concede in the last 5 minutes of games (including injury time), and that he doesn't know how to play against a five man midfield.

However, I couldn't help but thinking during the game;  "What can we possibly do?  There's nothing different on the bench that will improve the team or change the style we play".  Injuries are not Jones' fault, but that's where the squad argument comes in again.

It comes to something, though, when you find yourself defending your team's manager on the merit that you wouldn't know what to do yourself.  As Jones would say, what do I know, I've never played the game professionally.



Kelvin Etuhu, the big winger/striker has been out for a while now, but is set to resume training next week.  I only hope we don't rush him back like we seem to have done with McNaughton and we did with Capaldi last year.  We'll see if he gives us a different dimension, that, as I say, was so badly lacking today.

That, otherwise, is that.  Next up is Ipswich at the Cardiff City Stadium.  I did just write Ninian Park there, but I nearly had a heart attack when I went down for the Wales - Scotland game and could see the Bob Bank Terrace from Sloper Road.

Before we played Forest, I said I'd accept no less than 8 points from these four games.  We've failed that.  The maximum now is four before we enter the potential hell that is Preston, West Brom, Boro and Leicester.

I'm finding myself wondering how many places we can avoid sliding down the table before Christmas.  This is bad.  Still, next up for me will be the Hawthorns to join in our protest against West Midlands Police. 

As much as my heart will hate me for it, I'll always support the City. 

Standing on a cold, wet stand in Barnsley watching your team concede a last minute free kick, it's what football's all about, isn't it?

Is it?  Christ, we must all be a bunch of masochists then.  Psychologists dream.  A demain mes amis.

Low lie the fields of Saint Denis

"Oh merde."

That was my instant reaction when Monsieur Gallas scored that 104th minute goal at the Stade de France last night.

I had little clue that what would happen all of thirty seconds later would make me shocked and disappointed. 

You see, I, like Martin Hansson evidently, did not see the handball by Monsieur Henry.  I, however, was 454 miles away in the student's union at Sheffield.  Hansson was no more than 20 yards away, and as a professional referee failed to realise his duty of putting himself in a position on the pitch from where he can judge all the action fairly.

Such was his positioning that he was the other side of Henry as his hand curled round and scooped the ball back onto his right foot, enabling him to square the ball to Gallas, who, in fairness, played professionally in playing the whistle - which never came.  Meanwhile Shay Given, marooned at the near post, and three defenders who had failed to keep tabs on the runs of Henry and Gallas in turn.

Yes, the implication there is that the Eire team simply did not deserve to win the tie outright because they wasted their chances frequently.  Their players were out on their feet in the final 30 minutes last night, and all the fight in the world won't see you come out on top against players of the calibre of Henry, Anelka and Malouda.

Now Mr Keane has thrown in his two pence - telling the Irish to get over it. 
   If there's one person who would never have gotten over it, it's Mr Keane.  So he's made himself seem more than a little silly with those comments.

So what is the proper solution to this drama if getting over it is out of the question?
Well, you have Mr Henry himself saying a replay would be the fairest option.  FIFA, contradicting all their consistent messages of achieving victory through fair play and honesty, have joined the FFF (the French FA) in refusing to entertain the idea of a replay.

Personally, because of the logistics of a replay and to shut the English up because of their incessant "If Ireland replay this game we should replay the Argentina game cos of Maradona innit guv", I'd say no to a replay as well.  Though for one-off games such as this in the future the idea should certainly be considered.

For me, Henry should be banned for 6 games for club and country (each) - the international ban should come at the start of the World Cup and not ensure that he'll miss friendlies earlier in 2010 which he would probably miss anyway.  The club ban would be punishing enough for any team. If it were to happen again to Mr Henry in such a blatantly deliberate manager, then I would have no qualms with seeing him miss 6 months of competitive football.

This sort of cheating has no place in football.  Those who say it's "just one of those things" should examine their apathy and wonder how they'd feel if they were robbed.  Being robbed happens, but it'd still hurt - certainly not just "one of those things".  Yes, a different thing, but football is a highly charged, highly emotional game, and this particular match had the hopes of a nation pinned on it, with economies potentially being boosted by the results.

The Republic of Ireland national football team have every right to feel cheated, and to throw the book at France, Henry and FIFA.  But, due to the apathy of the bigwigs, it seems this one is fizzling out far more quietly than the eruption that triggered it.

Shame on you Thierry.  J'ai perdu tout de mon admiration pour vous.

Back with a vengeance

Okay, so I lied. I haven't managed to plate up the 'veritable feast' I promised last time out.

That was because I failed some university exams and therefore my summer was taken up with work and re-sits.

But now I'm a free man, I'm back to blogging, so here you go.

I'll have to resort to football again; for now at least.


This is because it's come to my attention that the Wales v Russia World Cup Qualifier, to be played in the 78,000 capacity Millennium Stadium, has so far only managed to sell 10,000 tickets.


Now I'm hoping that this is as well as the regular 15,000 or so signed up 'members' who attend all the qualifiers - I would make the point that I'm one of them, but I can't go tonight because it's my mother's birthday, and I've already seen us play Russia once (what a great night that wasn't!)

On that fateful night, now nearly 5 years ago, we were playing a play-off match to qualify for Euro 2004 in Portugal. We had come away from Moscow with a 0-0 draw (which I remember watching on the big screen in the MillStad with 5000 fans) and had beaten Italy 2-1, and thrashed Azerbaijan 4-0 in front of a sellout 78,000 crowd, in the group stage.

So if we could sell out then, why not now?


Alright, so we haven't beaten the likes of Italy this time round; an unlucky defeat in Russia thanks to a saved penalty, and inevitable defeats to Germany - 1-0 in Germany and 0-2 in Cardiff are all we have to show so far in this group. But I don't think that's the real reason we're lying in fourth, behind an ageing Finland team (who, by the way, had a 3-3 draw against the Germans in August last year).

I, like many others, firmly believe the blame can be laid at the door of Mr John Toshack.

His insistence on playing negative tactics have been the downfall of this highly talented, very, very young team. Toshack himself insisted we should judge him on this campaign - very well John. We're fourth in the group, and have lost to Finland at home. Indeed, the only teams we've beaten at home since you took over are San Marino, Liechtenstien, Cyprus and Azerbaijan.

Good performances at Russia and Germany, as well as good results in the friendly in Oslo, count for nothing when we can't beat the likes of Finland at home, or, indeed, put more than one past Azerbaijan. But then that's what you get when you play one striker, who's very short, and three midfielders, who have an average age of 20 and 29 caps between them, against these types of teams.

I'm not saying that the decision to bring through youth was the wrong one. God knows how much better I feel being able to say that Jack Collison is our holding midfielder, as opposed to Robbie Savage. Aaron Ramsey is the most talented player Wales has seen since the great John Charles - yes, he is better than Giggs.
But Toshack cannot be held up as the messiah responsible for bringing through this youth - it was the clubs (thank you BBC, for commending Cardiff City, who are set to contribute 6 of tonight's 11 men) who brought them through, and, if anyone, Brian Flynn who brought them into the international fold.

There's another point. Brian Flynn is playing 442 in his games, yet still playing the fast, passing football that the Toshack supporters insist he's trying to achieve. But with a 5-4-1 formation, Toshack will never achieve this. We are not his Real Madrid side of the 80's or whenever it was that he won La Liga with them.

His tactics are stuck in the past, and so is his mindset - the reason he's had to play youth is because all the older players can't stand him - Koumas, Savage, Thatcher, Collins, Oster, Speed have all retired or been ostracised from the squad by John, while even Simon Davies has said they don't see eye to eye on many things. You're not the only one, Simon. I can only hope he doesn't upset our youngsters.

Interestingly, it seems I can lower my blood pressure. We'll find out for certain tonight, but according to the Welsh media (yes, that bastion of honest, articulate, accurate reporting) Toshack is all set to play 442 tonight!

http://www.walesonline.co.uk/footballnation/football-in-wales/2009/09/09/john-toshack-ready-to-unleash-wales-against-russia-91466-24639755/



"If Toshack does go with the plan he is said to have adopted in training, it means he will play big Wolves striker Sam Vokes on his own up front, the boss having come to accept that Bellamy and Earnshaw cannot play that role."

Really?!

Wonders never cease. So it's taken Mr Toshack 5 years to realise that playing a short striker up front on their own against big, bruising, Eastern European defenders doesn't actually work. There goes my blood pressure again. Why on earth are we paying this man money to do something that most of the Welsh public who have a fraction of footballing knowledge could have told you after the Russian play-off defeat.

Swansea recently signed Stephen Dobbie as a replacement for Jason Scotland. They then brought in Craig Beattie, as Paulo Sousa immediately realised the short Dobbie is relatively ineffective up front on his own, despite the creative talents of his midfield. Yes, it's Championship level tactics, but look at our squad. Mostly very good Championship level players.

So Toshack's decision to (hopefully) play with 442 will be welcomed with gratitude by my heart, which has had to endure quite a lot of me venting steam to everyone who'll listen. But it's come a year too late. When Bale was fit in Moscow, he tore the left wing apart, was the one who provided the penalty, and created the goal. I think we would've drawn that night - but I remember us bringing on Wrexham's Steve Evans to shore up the defence against the fourth best team in Europe. And sure enough Pavel Pogrebniak scored an 86th minute winner.

Mathematically, we have an incredibly slim chance of finishing second. I'd be delighted with 7 points from our last three games. If we play 442, I'd expect at least 4 points from the last two games in Finland and Vaduz.


In the meantime, commendations go to Jack Collison for showing tremendous mental strength in not only playing the West Ham - Milwall match three days after his father died, but for ushering fans off the pitch during the events we saw there (which were hideously over-exagerrated). Now the West Ham midfielder is set to sit on the bench tonight in the Millennium Stadium. His dad's funeral was on Monday. I have nothing but respect for Jack.

I'd also like to express my belated disappointment that the greatest Formula One driver who ever lived - yes, him - was unable to make a return for Ferrari following Massa's nasty little episode in Hungary. I was looking forward to seeing him wiping the floor with Messrs Hamilton and Button - putting the former back in his place a little corner cutting, lying cheat - though Button's done as much as possible to put himself back in his rightful "mid table mediocrity" position.


In other news, the Cardiff v Newcastle game is all set to be sold out amongst the peasants. The top tier of the Grandstand still hasn't sold out, and it won't until we get to the Premiership, when it's plastic time. Incidentally my mam works with a Welshman who's got a ticket for the Necastle end, and will be wearing his Newcastle shirt. Yeah, explain that one to me.
I've got my ticket for the Canton stand and I'll be there cheering on the mighty Bluebirds as they aim to regain their rightful spot at the top. I think we can do it too - although Hughton's threatening to pack the midfield, which is generally our downfall (see Harry Redknapp's Portsmouth back when they were good, FA Cup final 2008) I can see Chopra getting a goal, though the smart money's on him getting sent off. I wonder what odds I can get on that?

I love it when I'm proved right. Except when it means we lose.

Yes, it's another football blog folks.

Sorry about this, but in the summer, there'll be a veritable feast of time and space for me to create nonsense about things that aren't football.

But yes, I was right. In the league that no-one can predict, we've seen Wolves maintain their lead to see them finish up Champions with a game to spare.
Reading have been through a poor patch of form and come out the other side with a little run that sees them go into that fascinating game against Birmingham making it one big playoff final to see who goes up automatically and who gets another go at Wembley.

And, appropriately, my lot have had a nightmare. A fantastic run saw us looking like we would easily reach second in 4-1 and 3-1 wins against Derby and Burnley respectively, but 6 games in 18 days put paid to that when we were thumped 6-0 at Preston, closely followed by a near-defeat and only a point at Charlton, and a complete shambles of a final ever league game at Ninian Park against Ipswich.

But at Cardiff City, it doesn't happen any other way.

In 2002, we were in what is now League 1, and Leeds United were top of the Premiership and Champions League semi finalists.

We beat them 2-1 in the FA Cup and that, really, started their downfall.

We lost in the next game at Hartlepool and went out in the next round to Tranmere.

In the year we reached the FA Cup final; last year in fact, we were taken to court by... someone, something, nobody's quite sure what, but we were in a very precarious position. Paying the lawyers £50,000 a day and at one point we were half an hour away from administration.

Then you've got last weekend. The final weekend at Ninian Park, ever. We only needed one point against an Ipswich team who'd changed their manager during the week and ought to have been in disarray. But no. Not Cardiff City FC. Instead we lay down on the ground and said "Here, Jon Stead, you take the ball, we're too tired to do anything with it, please, you're our guest".

And the post match "End of an Era" celebrations consisted of the team we had just booed off coming back on the pitch with their children - in white t-shirts - to do a lap of honour, but not before being showered with confetti to the point of being buried out of view of the supporters in the stands and terraces. One fan joked that what they were being covered in was their shredded contracts. It wouldn't be at all surprising. We'd looked forward, though, to collecting our signed footballs which were to be kicked in the stands by the players.
But, once again, no. The 'footballs' were beachballs which were more than likely stolen from Barry Island and scribbled on by Wayne Nash and some of his cronies in the bowels of the Canton stand.

There was a fair wind as well, so the players found the ball coming straight back to them when they tried to kick it into the crowd. The same thing happened in the post match celebrations.

So, now we head to Sheffield Wednesday requiring that point, fully expecting a demonstration for the club in how to do a simple end of season celebration, not just a stadium goodbye, and with the demand of a voucher exchange at a services, somewhere. A scheme delightfully thought up by South Yorkshire police to allow us to stop off for refreshments on the long journey from Cardiff.

It's just a shame some of us aren't coming from Cardiff.