Cardiff v Sunderland, Chris Foy's magical watch and sheer, unadulterated panic.

 

I don’t know what it was like on the Titanic as it upturned, nor what it was like in John Major’s loo as the bottom fell out of his ERM world. Nor indeed could I know what a mouse feels when it meets a King Cobra in its tunnel. But I can still feel the shrill, mind jarring panic shaking my being of the last 5 minutes of Cardiff v Sunderland.

Two nil up against the bottom of the league no hoppers from Sunderland, just ten minutes on normal time pieces. We celebrated Cardiff play football as we haven’t seen it played in red, or blue shirts, since The men of Harlech last did battle, well at least sang about it. Cardiff city players swept the ball around the field with pace and accuracy. Not your usual  City tactic of booting the ball up field for the indefatigable Campbell to chase like an eager puppy on a windy beach. Nope. This was sublime, quick witted, one-twos leading directly towards the enemy goals.

And then like a drunken uncle turning up to spoil the Christmas party Sunderland scored in the 82nd minute. Still at that moment panic was safely sleeping on another planet. Just a few minutes left. We can do this.  But Sunderland seemed to know that Chris Foy was about to pull a disgraceful stunt.

His magical watch found 5 minutes of injury time. Five minutes. So you are probably thinking the trainers were on and off that pitch like crazed terriers, offering balm and magic words to stricken players? Nope. I don’t recall a single trainer getting so much as his boots soiled on that pitch in the second half.

The reason Foy found an extra five minutes was because he was hacked off with the way the Cardiff city players were sauntering gently from the pitch. Every time the board came up the substituted player mysteriously found he was on the opposite touchline. Being good natured souls each of the three substituted players would shake hands with their colleagues and opponents, wish them well. Then they would inquire as to the well being of their mum and whether they had seen Doctor Who before eventually reaching the opposing touchline.

Yep it is wrong. Yep it is cheating. Yep it is on par with players diving, especially when it is your team chasing the game. But it happens. And until FIFA do something about it then it will continue to happen. Chris Foy cannot just create extra time to punish the cheating team …erm cheating? I mean the team playing with just one eye on the rules and the other locked on the scoreboard.

So then the panic set it in. Like a routed army we found ourselves scarpering backwards. Back and back, terrorised by players who would not get into the Cardiff City team even if a bug had swept through the dressing room just before the match. We all knew the outcome. It was inevitable. We were on our feet. Booing, screaming, and pleading with Foy to stop his spiteful trick. Yet time moved like a snail towing a tractor with flat tyres - and the match ground on. I think species had fallen into extinction while the ball bounced towards the Cardiff penalty area. The watch on Foy’s hand refused to advance. Even if it did he didn’t bother looking at it.

The goal happened in the only way possible for such a pitiless night. Cruelty upon mega cruelty. Jack Colback who hadn’t found the back of the net in the last two seasons fumbled a shot. He practices fumbling shots until he is the king shot fumbler. How else can you explain his inability to score a goal in two seasons? The ball hit the ground, it hit the Cardiff defenders leg, it bounced with all the venom of a cute bunny rabbit at a tea party before wondrously curling past the goal keeper. David Blaine would have to practice for years to perfect such a trick.

Injustice and cruelty blended with Chris Foy’s watch you get the unfairest two- two result in the annals of football.

Our stand in manager is David Kerslake. A man who looks as if the term 'back room support' was created just to describe his personality. Shine a light on him and he vanishes into a an embarressed 'please don't talk to me' bashful sort of way. Yet it was that same Kerslake who had discovered these players could actually play football and contrived to fashion those skills into what would have been a winning game. he had the guts to get them to play with verve and gusto. His one tatctical error was in forgetting to add Chris Foy's magical watch to his blackboard, or his iPad, or whatever it is managers  use these days. 

The crowd should have been chanting Kerslake's name but the chances were they didnt even know it. Wondering who was that track suited, chubby gentleman standing on the touchline looking like Santa had forgotten him. So I will do so now. Nice one you shy genius, I won't forget how we played that heartless night, I promise