Christmas time, mistletoe and whine. Yep, it carries on unabounded.
We thoroughly deserved that win on New Year’s Day, we really did.
As Gary has mentioned, Tetbull were superb – I actually think Alex Tettey outshone our first goalscorer – and Josh Murphy had an excellent game. And as for that sublime reverse from Alex Pritchard to James Maddison for the winner – wow! It looked brilliant from the Barclay and must have been even better from the River End viewpoint.
Steve Morison’s strike was something of wonder and/or conjecture – he sure never did anything like that for us. His celebration didn’t rekindle the love I never had for him. Maybe we should have kept Mark Tierney instead but that’s another story altogether.
We fought back, closed them down and played the entire second half like we meant it. Which we did and it was refreshing. Millwall couldn’t – and didn’t – touch us, despite the hoofing, huffing and puffing.
Yet another poor referee offered little protection – not even to Millwall’s George Savile, the only member of their outfit who wanted to get the ball down and play football. I’d like him in our side, but I guess it won’t happen.
So, three great points, and back onto the whines. Or just one in particular in this case.
The great selection debate about Burton. Daniel Farke made a very strange call indeed. Half a dozen changes, then bring on Pritch and Madders in the last 20 minutes to mug them. It didn’t work, obviously.
But very, very many people have suggested that Farke had this selection imposed upon him in order to save our “top shelf” for Millwall.
Not to exact revenge upon them for the 4-0 drubbing but to ensure The Smiths were not booed at the end of the game.
To me – as much as I despise the Delia regime (see previous columns) – this just does not ring true.
I cannot imagine a head coach in the land who would let anybody interfere with his team selection in this manner.
So, I’ll file that one with Roswell and its space aliens, the JFK murder and the strange case of Sonny Liston before his rematch against my all-time hero, Muhammad Ali.
In other words, a load of Jackson Pollocks I don’t believe in. (I know very little of American art, but have an understanding of rhyme).
Anyway, a massive and heartfelt Happy New Year to all our readers and writers.
And as for Cliff Richard, he should have cut Move It and stopped right there.
I’d just like to sign off with a short but sweet tribute to John Faulkner – Mike Walker’s assistant coach in two incarnations. I only met him two or three times, but he was a lovely man indeed.