Author: Dave Thomas

BRIGHTON 2 BURNLEY 2

We’d been in Kent for the week tootling round picturesque villages in the sunshine, and National Trust gardens and homes, and then drove home on the day of the Brighton game hoping to get back in time to watch at least the second half on TV (we didn’t). The injury time Wolves equaliser was still an image that hadn’t quite gone away and made the Brighton game all the more important. One hates to say that the Brighton game was one we could not afford to lose; especially in this case with several games still remaining so that a defeat was not the end of the world, but it was another thought that wouldn’t quite go away.

Meanwhile it was with great sadness that we learned that Ian Britton had been admitted to Pendleside and had then later passed away. All of us who attended the Orient game in May of ’87 will never forget the headed goal he scored; one, because he was just about the smallest man on the pitch but rose to pinpoint the header home and two, because it was a goal of such staggering and historical importance it could well be described as Burnley’s most important goal ever, and in that we include those scored by Wade Elliott at Wembley in 2009 or Bert Freeman’s at Crystal Palace in 1914. Two goals were scored that day in May; the other by Neil Grewcock, but it’s the Britton goal we remember. Neil might well understandably feel a bit left out of things I suppose, but that’s just the way it is. Ian stayed in Burnley and became a familiar face, a cheerful and laughing one at that and always ready for a chat and a jest or two. Even at the very end he was larking about in his hospital bed with what my grandmother used to call the gazunder.

It was a week of news in fact, Burnley posting a profit of £30million, Ronnie Corbett passing away, Middlesbrough beating QPR, the wonderful T20 midweek win against New Zealand, and the news of Blackburn’s horrendous £100million+ debt.  But the Ian Britton news overshadowed all that and affected us all. In his latter football years you might say he was a bit of a journeyman, but that followed 10 great years at fashionable Chelsea with a memorable hairstyle to match. They paid him a huge tribute on hearing the news.

Part of his journey landed him at Burnley; thank goodness it did because without him and that priceless goal who knows where this club would now be, or even if there would have been a club.

Players come and go, some make no impression at all and just disappear, some leave a memory or two that might last a few years; but others leave a long and lasting impression. Then there is the small cluster that enters the realms of folklore and Ian Britton is one of them. In 50 years’ time which are the names that will still be mentioned, his for sure, alongside the likes of Jimmy Mac, Bert Freeman, Jerry Dawson, Tommy Boyle, Brian Miller and a tiny smattering of others.

Few names will be written on the Burnley history pages with as much significance as his. ‘That goal’ will be talked about by those that saw it, and then those that will read about it. Its value was incalculable. As a place Burnley has its detractors but as an outsider I often wonder why. To me from 40 miles away it seems homely with a real community feel, a place that has given roots to so many people, and a place that has been adopted by people like Ian Britton as the place where they chose to stay. He became a part of the place he helped to save which made him all the more worthy of the affection and respect bestowed upon him.

A hero but modest, a legend but approachable, so sociable, no airs or graces, none of the conceit that comes from the trappings of wealth or ostentation that so many of today’s players display. There was none of that for Ian when he hung up his boots so that he had to work for a living afterwards. He was an ordinary bloke and remained an ordinary bloke despite that moment of fame and glory that transformed him into an immortal. He fulfilled our own fantasies. Which of us have not imagined or pretended that we have scored a winning goal for Burnley in a massive game? These blokes who possess the talent that we do not, become extensions of ourselves out there on that pitch on a Saturday afternoon when in our heads we kick every ball with them.

Of course there were 10 others out there on the pitch that day but it was Ian Britton who was in the right place at the right time to save Burnley Football Club. I can still picture Whoosh Deakin, Taffy James and limping, galloping Joe Gallagher and I can still see the shot that Neil Grewcock blasted home; but it remains Ian Britton and an iconic photograph where he wheels away, arms wide, face creased by the biggest grin in history, that capture the drama of the moment and the intensity of the passion that he and we all felt.

In football, there are heroes, legends, cult figures, journeymen and galacticos, but it is the word hero that best sums him up, a word that fits him like a glove.

We haven’t quite got to that particular season with former groundsman Roy Oldfield; we still have the John Benson relegation season and then the next one that featured Martin Buchan and Tommy Cavanagh and this was the season at the end of which the club was an inch away from closure. If during the months before Wembley 2009 the club was teetering on the financial edge, then at the end of season 85/86 it was actually well over the edge and hanging on by a cliff-edge tree root by one finger. It was so bad that the club printed extra programmes for the final game just in case the club did fold and it would at least leave souvenir programmes as a memento of a once great club.

So: if the club was close to extinction on the day of the Orient game, it was actually in an even more vulnerable state the season before. You could argue that the seasons from 82/83 to 86/87 were the five worst seasons ever in the club’s history, a sort of football equivalent of the Twilight Zone, a mixture of drama, fiction, fantasy, horror and suspense. To have been a supporter then was an endurance test of faith and loyalty with those that were still turning up game after game true heroes. There was a messageboard suggestion that special badges should be minted to give to the hardy souls (some would say barmy) that stuck with the club when gates dipped below 2,000.

It’s the Orient season that receives the focus so it may well go unnoticed that the end of this season, 2015/16, marks the thirtieth anniversary of the club incredibly close to going out of business a full year before that unforgettable game. It makes the £30million profit just posted even more remarkable. The club’s debts then were simply enormous. In a bundle of scrapbooks I borrowed to help with the ‘Roy’ book, there were cuttings relating to the state of the club and what horrendous reading they make. Money was in such short supply that Roy Oldfield used to take his wheelbarrow around Gawthorpe and collect all the soil from the molehills to use as filler and levelling. Reading that you might think it’s some kind of April Fools spoof, but it isn’t.

Saturday of the Easter weekend and in the olden days there’d have been a game, and in the very olden days there’d have been three games over the Easter weekend, three games in four days. We used to love them. Win all three and you could win a title; lose all three and you could end up in the relegation zone. Thank goodness this time round there was the T20 game against Sri Lanka and then in the evening the Germany England game. These T20 games have been getting better and better and this one was a nail-biting thriller with England winning by ten runs when it looked like Sri Lanka batting second, were about to pull off a quite improbable win. It’s not often I’ve sat on the edge of a sofa so engrossed in a game. And then in the evening there was the England football game. How often have we sat and cursed these friendly games that get in the way of club games at a time of the season when the last thing you want is a break. But this one was a treat to watch with as dynamic an England team as we’ve seen for a years. 2-0 down to the Germans (and was that the music from the Dam Busters we heard in the background at one point), then 2-1 with a Harry Kane twist, turn and shot, then 2-2 with a Clyne cross, a Vardy back-flick that was so quick if you blinked you missed it, and then in the dying minutes 3-2 with a thumping header from a corner. This was a simply stunning day of cricket and football.

In mid-week Sean Dyche had committed himself to Burnley for the time being at least. It’s not a forever story he said, you can be hero one minute and zero the next, modern fans get fed up of a manager’s rhetoric and eventually feel the need for change, but for now he had no intention of running out of here, as he put it. The reference to managers’ talk was true enough inasmuch as there are only certain things a manager can keep on saying and they can soon become repetitive. Nobody minds what a manager says then the team is winning, but start to lose and the words for certain lose their effect and fans stop listening.

But after the Brighton game in the SKY post-match interview his comments were absolutely spot-on. It was in fact a stunning day at Brighton with a game that was packed with talking points, a goal that was but wasn’t, a Joey Barton controversy, er nay two, a last minute Burnley equaliser, all played in brilliant sunshine, and a sell-out game that Brighton must have thought was done and dusted as the final minutes ticked away with them 2-1 ahead and three points nearer Burnley. This was no lazy afternoon on the beach; this was a high-octane, adrenalin-filled, Championship frenetic slug-fest. A ‘don’t get beat’ game said Dyche that Burnley had taken over in the latter stages.

Gray was due a goal and got one to equalise the first goal by Brighton but then as we drove back up the motorways from Kent, Brighton scored again before half-time and we thought it would be their day from that point on. But what can you say about this Burnley side? The words have been used often enough, never-say-die, unyielding, unrelenting, determined, dogged and unwavering. Not for them a collective long face when a good goal was not given, clearly a foot or more over the line. Within a couple of minutes they did score again and deservedly so.

Football two weeks earlier had kicked us in the teeth when Wolves equalised in the last minute and we went home morose, feeling like we had lost. Now it was Brighton’s turn to feel exactly that, and our turn to feel like we had won despite the solitary point. Much as we would have loved to have won, this was a marvellous point and probably one that most of us would have settled for before the game.

Joey Barton was in fine form on twitter in the evening announcing that football was a contact sport and not quite crown green bowls. It followed his character assassination by all and sundry (most notably by Paul Hayward in the Telegraph) after firstly he had appeared to stamp on a leg that was underneath him as he tussled for the ball and hurdled the player beneath him. As he came down his boot landed fair and square on Kayal’s leg. The twentieth slow-motion replay and compulsory close-ups made it look bad as they always do. Normal speed and you simply thought accidental. Then, secondly, there was an alleged elbow in the face when he rose to head the ball, against the same player. They’d given each other stick all afternoon no quarter asked and none given. But where was the outcry when Barton was clearly hacked down later on and then got a sly knee in the back as he lay on the floor. Where was the Brighton indignation then?  There was none – funny that.

‘But,’ said Hayward, ‘Kayal had brought Joey the old enfant terrible, back to life.’

‘Flat track bullies,’ wrote a Brighton blogger though I couldn’t quite work that one out given that Burnley have the best disciplinary record in the division by a mile. What they are though is an image of their creator, hard, uncompromising, organised, few if any frills and gritty as any moorland crag. Burnley are not lace embroidery, they are hard-wearing Lancashire cotton whilst Brighton would have us believe Burnley are shoddy.

‘I can’t stand Barton or Dyche,’ added the blogger clearly miffed at the result ending with ‘I never want to see Joey Barton or referee Craig Pawson at the Amex again.’ At least it shortens his Christmas card list. One wonders if this blogger had seen and counted the number of times that Brighton’s Bruno held Ward in a blatant bear hug at corners? For sure the ref and linesman weren’t interested. And when Gray smashed the ball home for his goal, Bruno was unable to do anything about it because he, the nearest Brighton player, was too busy on the floor with Ward.

How often have we said this season, this was not Burnley’s best performance; it was hard to find anyone who said they’d played dazzling football but most were agreed that Barnes, Marney and Taylor coming on made a difference. But they’re good at what they do, said Hughton. Somehow they are top of the league, the leading scorers and unbeaten since Boxing Day, just 10 defeats in the last 90 championship games. Heck, they must be doing something right and by the way, there’s nowt wrong with shoddy. My Uncle Ted made a fortune out of it.

BURNLEY 1 WOLVES 1

There’s a team in the land of the weavers, their colours are claret and blue. They’re a team of renown, the pride of the town, and their football so clean and so true.

You couldn’t really argue with that and how could you not predict a win against Wolves. Whilst Middlesbrough had lost three out of four, Hull had just one win in five, Brighton two wins in six; and all the while Burnley cruising serenely onwards stacking up six consecutive wins. The heart said it had to be a Burnley win. But:

This is Burnley, there’s always that tiny flicker of doubt; we wouldn’t be fully qualified Burnley fans if we didn’t just take a step back and urge caution. Then someone found an interesting stat that way back in 1968/69 there had been a winning run of six games, but then who came along but Wolves to draw 1-1.

Things were just so good, we thought after the Huddersfield win, all so different to how things were 30 years ago. We’ve got to the bit with Goundsman Roy Oldfield when after the promotion of ‘81/82 and everything in the garden was rosy, to when it all began to go wrong leading up the appointment of John Bond. What a chaotic club it became, and not all down to John Bond either, as the money was frittered away, crowds dropped lower and lower, disharmony pervaded the boardroom, and then by the end of ‘86/87 the club was on its last legs and only saved itself by the skin of its teeth. It’s a period that makes for grim reading and the anguish continued until that famous night in York.

Tod claret amongst others could remember it was a time when you had the Longside almost all to yourself; sometimes the pies were still frozen at half-time, the entertainment were parades of dogs. We lost at home to teams like Crewe and Rochdale and 0-6 at home to Hereford in front of just 1,961 fans, and the fiercest local rival was Stockport County. Teams like Telford and Chester knocked us out of the First Round of the FA Cup. Rochdale fans in particular rejoiced in our discomfort.

Contrast all that with now: in the Prem twice, a third time is a clear possibility, the steelwork is going up at Gawthorpe and it’s a club that knows what it’s doing and it’s impossible not to think of the Prem millions within touching distance. But when you’re up at the top, there are no easy games. One game at a time then; so be it.

Sean Dyche, yet again was full of praise for Joey Barton and impact on the squad, saying that he and Jones were excellent. He pointed to Barton’s reading of the game, his will and desire. Players when they get older can morph into something different, when they want the ball but the work to get the ball softens. His doesn’t. ‘His desire to work for the team and do the ugly side as well as the nice side of the game; he’s got a very healthy mixture to his game.’

Next game Wolves:  In season ‘82/83 there was a home game that was a 0-1 defeat. It was that daft season when there was glory in the cup competitions but relegation by the end, a season when a club was in the unusual situation of being relegated whilst making a healthy profit at the same time. The Wolves game on April 2 was one of the games late in the season that sealed their fate. You can view it on Youtube but what the video portrays so well is not so much the defeat but the conditions that the game was played in. A picture is worth a thousand words they say and the film shows exactly the kinds of surface that Burnley played on all those years ago. There’s the briefest moment when you catch of glimpse of groundsman Roy Oldfield sitting on his bench by the players’ tunnel.

It was a day that began bright and sunny before lunch but by the time the first half ended the soft surface was cutting up and the pitch was littered with divots. The field that had begun looking green and smooth within 45 minutes was heading towards ruination. After halftime the hail came down in buckets. This was followed by heavy snow and Roy noted in his diary that from his bench he could barely see the full length of the field. Play continued, it’s what they did in those days, the whole pitch turned white, divots were everywhere lying in the mud, a green smoke bomb hurled from the terraces added to the general fun. Burnley’s Kevin Young threw it off the pitch.

At the end of the game the players scurried off, drenched and frozen leaving Roy to survey the wreckage of his once green pitch. ‘Now completely ruined,’ he wrote. He made no attempt to put the divots back, there were simply too many. All he could do was use the light roller and level everything. It was the stuff of groundsmen’s nightmares.

Jimmy Greaves was the studio pundit and laughed at the whole thing recalling the days when the Spurs bus with him in it would roll down Manchester Road into Burnley.

‘It was horrible stuff,’ he said of the game. ‘It reminds me of the old days. This wasn’t Brigadoon this was Burnley, we were a goal down before we even got off the coach.’

It was in this same game that striker Terry Donovan left the field suffering from hypothermia. Roy Oldfield says that they had to wrap him up in some kind of special blanket and by the time he got back to the dressing room he had stiffened up and had to be undressed and lifted into the bath. Kevin Young, Alan Stevenson and Martin Dobson were similarly affected although not to the point of having to be helped into the bath, two of them suffering from severe shivering.

Roy worked at a time in all weathers and never had a penny in any kind of clothing allowance. He bought his own, in winter piling on extra sweaters and working sometimes when it was so cold one pair of ex-army boots he had almost froze to the ground when he stood still as he did on one occasion speaking to someone on the pitch. On days like this it was actually painful to work outdoors. On some days he was soaked to the bone during a downpour; trying to work on the pitch the day after a game when it was imperative that any repair work was done as soon as possible.

The weather was his constant worry especially on Friday nights before a home game during any unpredictable spells. He would watch every weather forecast on all the TV stations and had a weather centre he could telephone for local forecasts. He said it used to drive his wife Eva mad and she’d scold him and tell him what there was no point worrying there was nowt he could do about it.

The newly formed Burnley Supporters Club, a group that had been encouraged by John Jackson, was busy raising money to help the club. Under Derek Gill’s guidance the club got itself solvent again, indeed for a short time there was a healthy bank balance, but initially in the Jackson period there was not a penny spare. So the Supporters Club set to work and one of the first things they did was buy Roy a new wheelbarrow. The old one, said Roy, was wrecked and ruined, rusting away, falling apart and stained with old concrete that had never been cleaned out properly. And then along came the new one and he thought it was Christmas. The old one should have been put on display at Towneley Museum, he said. It must have been the only wheelbarrow that limped, added Ray Lott a former secretary of the Supporter’s Club, down from Cumbria for the day to visit his old friend.

Wolverhampton Wanderers: big, strong, muscular and arrived with a plan. They defended, hassled, harried, pressed and crowded and had done their homework. They also attacked; it wasn’t all just defending or shutting up shop. It might just be that Jackett is fashioning what could be a very effective side. Anybody who thought that three easy points were on their way was well wide of the mark. They were an impressive outfit.

To have beaten them Burnley would have had to have been at their best; but they weren’t. The run of six straight wins ended but it was so close to continuing. With just two minutes of extra time remaining Wolves equalised from a corner that originated from the ball being lost cheaply when a hoof into Row Z might have been the answer with the final whistle so close.

It was time for the Batth and he powered a spotlessly clean header into the net to connect with the corner kick. But then Mee did just the same at Huddersfield. When a Burnley player scores from a corner we say what a great headed goal; when the opposition score a goal we ask where were the defenders. What was hugely disappointing was that it was so close to the whistle and we could just about see three more points to add to the total.

Whether three points would have been deserved or not might have been the question, but if we had won, who cares at this stage how Burnley win the points. They didn’t though and the analyses began. Websites can be cruel places on a Saturday night.

Unbeaten since Boxing Day, six straight wins and still unbeaten, but you might have thought it was the day Burnley had imploded from some of the reactions. Sure, it wasn’t the best of weekends with Boro winning the night before, and Brighton winning as well with the added frustration of their opponents MK Dons missing the chance to equalise with a penalty in the final minute. But there were Burnley still at the top, four points clear, with the bonus of a goal difference worth an extra point.

Boyd, Mee, Keane and Vokes were the pick today but it certainly wasn’t the best of performances, with two or three individuals clearly having an off day. There were too many long balls from the back over the top of midfield that in general were comfortably mopped up by the Wolves six-footers. You frequently looked for a wide man to receive a pass, but too often there was no wide man. Too often Heaton looked for runners for the throw but there weren’t any. Passes went astray or the ball was given away loosely.

But it happens: and still Burnley got a point when on another day Wolves might have stolen a 1-0 win. Had it petered out into a 0-0 draw we might well have come away not exactly happy, but nevertheless thankful. But when you are winning 1-0 with just two minutes remaining and the opposition score, it feels like a defeat especially when you’ve lost the chance to be six points clear.

But football is funny: had Burnley been losing 1-0 and equalised in the final moments we’d have whooped and hollered as if we’d won at Wembley and come away happy as Larry. The most sensible view expressed by many was that this result was certainly not disastrous, that it did not derail the promotion possibility, and that it was a timely reminder that Burnley will not win every game.

Burnley’s goal was a beauty, Vokes majestically rising and powering home a terrific header from a Barton cross. How ironic that one missed it whilst one was making use of the gentlemen’s facilities down below. But what an interesting moment and sensation it was down below. Whilst I’m standing there in mid-stream there was this almighty roar and the ground and the walls actually shook visibly. The last time this happened I was in the basement loo of a villa in Greece at the commencement of an earthquake. It was quite alarming really. I can tell you I didn’t loiter down there.

Bloody missed it, I moaned as the porcelain stopped wobbling, this being only the second time in all these years of watching Burnley that this has happened.

Reading between the lines of his post-match comments, Sean D was not too chuffed with the crowd suggesting they need to be more patient, teams don’t come to Turf Moor just to roll over and lose, that some of them do actually come with a plan that works, and that goals whether we like it or not, can be conceded from set plays.

Perhaps we had already had too much of a good thing this week, with that marvellous twenty/twenty win over South Africa in the cricket, for sure one of the best games I’ve ever watched. Then there was the resignation of Iain Duncan Smith architect of the bedroom tax and other such financial wheezes designed to exterminate the poor. After hearing all the details of the case Richard 111 was declared fit for work by the DW&P. There was the triumphant English Rugby Union team and the climax to the marvellous ‘Happy Valley.’

Burnley 1 Wolves 1 was not quite a good thing but almost. On the way home, the steak and ale pie at the Hare and Hounds in Todmorden would have mellowed Victor Meldrew himself. By the time I’d cleaned the plate I wasn’t thinking about two dropped points, I was thinking bloody hell that was fair tasty, and for the next two weeks we’d be top of the league by four points, five if you add on goal difference and in a week we’d be off on the first jolly of the year. At that point there seemed nowt to worry about and with a loud burp that escaped quite accidentally, sat back feeling well fed and all’s well with the world.

FULHAM 2 BURNLEY 3

HUDDERSFIELD 1 BURNLEY 3

Sunday after the Blackburn game was spent looking at the league table, not quite all day, but more than usual, then watching the game again, and then writing up the latest batch of Roy Oldfield stories. One of them was the day Fred Trueman took him to the boardroom after a game.

Cricketing legend Fred did football reporting after he had finished playing and after one game he was last to finish and Roy went up to ask him had he quite done, and to tidy up. Fred chatted for a few minutes and then insisted that Roy went over to the boardroom with him for a drink. Roy, aghast at the idea, spluttered his excuses for not going over, the primary one being that he couldn’t possibly go in there dressed in his wellies, jeans and donkey jacket, looking bit like Compo from Last of the Summer Wine. Despite Fred speaking in broad Yorkshire and Roy in broad Burnley they did manage to just about understand each other. Fred insisted on him going over, telling him not to worry, Bob Lord wouldn’t dare say anything if he was with Fred. Ay but he might on Monday, thought Roy.

Over they went with Roy in fear and trembling that Bob Lord would give him short shrift for daring to go in there. Fred and Roy had a brandy each with Roy trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in his wellies but he knew Bob Lord had seen him. He made to leave but by this time Lord was standing by the door and there was no way Roy could avoid him. Lord looked at him with a straight face. Oh hell, I’m going to get a bollocking, Roy thought.

‘Everything all right Roy?’ asked Lord with a slight grin. That was all that was ever said.

‘I think he was in total awe of Fiery Fred,’ says Roy years later. ‘I think he knew that if he’d said anything, Fred would have torn a strip off him there and then without batting an eyelid. Nobody mucked about with Fred Trueman.’

It was at our last get-together that Frank Casper came along; they’d worked together for years at the club; at this meet-up Roy discovered who had almost ruined his pitch. Roy had just had a few days off and when he returned he found the pitch so flat and level it looked like green cardboard. Not a blade of grass was upright. You could have played bowls on it. When Roy saw it he was horrified but nobody ever said how it had had got like this. Whatever had been done, had done the pitch no good at all because wonderful though it looked, the compacted, flattened surface now hindered drainage.

Somehow it cropped up in the conversation and all these years later Frank Casper owned up. He grinned.  ‘It was me Roy. You were away and I went next door to the cricket club and borrowed their sit-on heavy roller, drove it round here and rolled the pitch up and down for half a day and made it flat as a pancake. I kept quiet when you came back and saw it. It was me Roy.’

Roy’s mouth dropped wide open, ‘And I’ve wondered all these years how it got like that,’ he said. Roy too used to borrow the cricket club roller but the trick was just to roll the pitch once not ride up and down for hours several times.

Did manager Paul Lambert really say, ‘Burnley had a head start on us financially,’ after the defeat at Turf Moor? Does he really have any idea of the financial histories of the two clubs? Did he really say that ‘they have more money than us?’ What an utterly mind boggling thing to say. Does he not know that Blackburn once bought a title? Does he not know that the current owners are Indian millionaires? Does he really not cotton on to the sheer irony of all this? I just burst out laughing and nearly fell off the kitchen stool when I read that.

Sunday’s Football League Paper and Chris Dunlavy had a spot-on summary of the game: ‘That chin is still jutting. Just as at Bolton last week Burnley were pummelled and pressed, dragged to the limits of their endurance. Yet just as last week they walked away with the points. Blackburn dominated possession but couldn’t breach an impeccably drilled back four, just how do you beat this Burnley side? Since Hull’s 3-0 victory on Boxing Day, nobody has the answer.’

Sean Dyche praised Tom Heaton: ‘Big keepers make big saves. He’s had very quiet periods. We’ve had 15 clean sheets which suggest the team have protected him. But what good keepers do is respond when they’re needed. Sometimes that’s not a save, it’s clean hands, good distribution and all manner of things.’

He praised Joey Barton and said what most of us think, that he gets some rough treatment but just calmly walks away: ‘He’s been a credit to himself, first of all, and then to us. He gets questioned, some of it brought on by himself and some not and I’m amazed at how little he’s been protected this season. The number of harsh tackles he’s had on him and he hasn’t responded once is a credit to him. He absolutely loves the environment and the culture we set here and the group. So he’s enjoying his football and said to me probably as much as he’s ever enjoyed it.’

Just two wins from the last 19 visits to Fulham and over the previous 50 years, and this was a game with jinx written all over it. London based it may be but Fulham has always seemed to be one of those little, inoffensive, homely clubs that no-one dislikes, Craven Cottage is such a nice name that makes you think of little old ladies with secateurs tending their olde English garden. It’s a club that seems a million miles away from clubs like Arsenal, Chelsea and Spurs. The only daft thing they’ve ever done down there is erect a statue of Michael Jackson. Like Burnley they were up with the top goal scorers in the Division and in McCormack had a player who has scored a bundle against the Clarets over the years. The last time Burnley won there was 1980. But on this night Burnley had a stunning win.

The football Gods are with us, wrote one person, what a staggering run we are on. It’s almost unbelievable the run we have gone on, wrote another. Not one of the top ten teams kept pace with us, was yet another comment. At the 25-game stage of the season Burnley were 10 points behind the top team, Middlesbrough and here they were after 36 games four points ahead with Boro still to come to Burnley.

You could sense people’s amazement at the night’s result, Fulham 2 Burnley 3 at a place that has been a graveyard for so long and where in this game they were under the cosh for long spells. It was the night that Burnley went four points clear of the top and six points clear of the third placed team and were made 5/4 favourites with William Hill for the title. And though we might have hoped for this, few people probably expected it or took it for granted. At 2-2 we probably might have settled for that but then up came another shade of Gray to settle the game. This was a brilliant night of Craven cottaging. It was Richard Osman who was pointless, not Burnley (a stolen joke I have to admit).

What a magnificent result too, for Rotherham beating Middlesbrough with a goal just two minutes from the end; Brighton could only draw, Hull of course were involved in an FA Cup replay. It was a night when everything went right, even coming back from a 2-1 deficit to go on and take the points. Vokes scored twice and Gray once; Gray’s goal another 20 yarder smashed home that followed turning his marker who looked like he was glued to him. Vokes’ first was a classic header powered in from a corner; his second from the penalty spot after Barton was clearly brought down. A trip on Boyd in the area went unpunished. It was a game of the good, the bad and the ugly, said Dyche with the fans seeing a bit of each.  The bad was in the first half but the back-of-stage gossip says the lads got a bit of a Dyche straightener at half-time to get them back on track.

The next-day papers were unanimous, this was a pulsating, end to end game of chances and attacking football in which Burnley refused to lie down, and Fulham belied their lowly position. It was another night when little Joe was sleeping over and at quarter to ten I had to tiptoe into his room and prop a card on the bedside desk that said won 3-2 for when he woke up.

Huddersfield next and it was his first away game, almost a rite of passage. I guess we all remember our very first away game, how old we were and who we went with. Mine was away to Leeds for the first game of the ‘59/60 season with a few pals on the train from Todmorden on a scorching hot day and we won 3-2. Not a bad season to travel for your first away game.

Huddersfield just down the road from us: spring in the air, sunshine over the Pennines. Yesterday was the first brown bin collection day of the year so it must be spring, winter must be over. The potatoes are chitting, the onions sit  ready for thumbing in, greenhouse ready for tomato growbags, Joe wrecking what bit of grass we have kicking a ball into the mini net in his new football boots, Daffodils and Snowdrops all o’er the place int garden. Goldfinches, bullfinches, chaffinches, tits of all shapes and sizes, robins, thrushes, blackbirds, devouring everything we put out for them; and their early morning, dawn-chorus, cacophonous songs and twitterings enough to give you a migraine by the time you get up. What’s a peaceful lie-in anymore?

Who will crack first:  In this staggering run that Burnley had been on since mid-season, they had gained 12 points on Middlesbrough and Brighton, 13 on Hull and TWENTY on a faltering Derby, the latter from being nine behind to 11 ahead. But Derby of course came out with some nonsense that promotion was never their target this season. Up at Middlesbrough there were strange stories emerging that manager Karanka had walked out telling the players he was fed up after the defeat at lowly Rotherham. Whilst Burnley were beating Huddersfield, Derby and Hull could only draw.

At Huddersfield, Joe learned a whole lot of new words and that at away games you need to be able to stand up for 90 minutes. It might only have been a 50 minute trip but his picnic box was obligatory to eat sausage rolls and chocolate buns on the way. Sometimes I wish I could be 9 again as well. We found what we call the secret car park very close to the ground well before 2 and happily paid up the car park fee. It isn’t a secret at all but for some reason we have never yet found it full and from there to the ground is not much more than a stroll of 100 yards with the river on the right pleasantly filled with old bikes, shopping trolleys and assorted tyres. Kingfishers in these parts need tin hats.

With The John Smith not the happiest of hunting grounds for Burnley there were no assumptions that this would be an easily winnable game. How wrong could you be? At halftime, club guest Steve Kindon doing the draw summed things up beautifully with the score already at 3-1 to Burnley.

“They’re clinical up front and defend well at the back.”

What more can you say. He can never resist a laugh though can he and told us that the little girl he had with him was the granddaughter of a friend and she had already been crying three times, each time after a Burnley goal.

3-1 at half-time, Burnley so comfortable, Huddersfield so poor, that the figure 6 did actually cross our minds.  All we did though in the second half was comfortably see out the game, with Heaton barely having a shot to save despite a fair bit of Huddersfield possession and several neat moves.

Ward, Vokes and Mee scored the goals and the Mee goal, headed in from a corner, must have felt like a kick in the stomach to the Huddersfield players who had just a minute or two earlier pulled a goal back to make the score 2-1 when Lolley popped one in after a brilliant solo run.

Their goal, however, was a mere hiccup in a thoroughly efficient performance in which Vokes, Mee, Keane, Ward and Boyd were outstanding, Barton showed again he is the best scrapper in the Championship, and Gray ran himself into the ground.

“Hope you go up,” a Huddersfield fan said to us on the way to the car.  Another couple walked in front of and we could hear them talking. “They score plenty at one end and barely give you a chance at the other. No wonder they’re top.” “Focused, concentrated and aggressive,” said the Huddersfield manager.

After finishing off the Hula Hoops, Joe fell asleep in the car on the way home. Surrounded by 3,000 supporters filling the away end and producing a non-stop volume of noise and songs that was deafening at times, close up to his favourite players and all three goals; first away games can be such a draining experience. Back at home he was asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, one hand clutching the programme.

BURNLEY 1 BLACKBURN ROVERS 0

A Leap Year and an extra day at the end of the month of February; an extra day to look at the league table and think hey that looks OK, an extra day to think about how far this club has come along.

I was rooting through old scrapbooks and found something from a book that covered the promotion season of 1981/82. It was a joyful season filled with hope. Bob Lord had just died, John Jackson was the new chairman, and Derek Gill was sorting out finances and clearing up debts with new sponsorship deals. He had summed up the situation the club was in, in a few words:

     The club was in an administrative shambles; in fact it was verging on insolvency as Bob Lord was reaching his final months. Suppliers were not being paid, the position with the Inland Revenue on PAYE and National Insurance was chaotic, and the VAT commitment was something to ignore and hope it would go away.

The new board had huge decisions to make and although within two or three years it had all turned toxic in the boardroom, for their first 18 months it seemed they could do nothing wrong.

But one early subject was what to do with Gawthorpe? It was at an AGM that Chairman John Jackson dropped a bombshell when he said that there was a chance they would have to look at Gawthorpe with a view to selling parts of it such was the need to raise income levels.

‘We may come to the conclusion,’ he said, ‘that Gawthorpe is too big for our needs. Possibly some of the acres could be sold at the right time.’

Then he went on to have a dig at Old Bob: ‘The club would not sell players in order to ‘live well’ and Burnley would not become the first club with a three-tier stand called ‘The Trevor Steven Stand.’

But he did go on to pay tribute to Lord: the most knowledgeable man I met in football, he said. But, if he had appointed a public relations man to work alongside him he might have gone even further, added Jackson.  On the one and only occasion I met Ken Bates, he said exactly the same.

We can look now at the aerial shots of the building programme at Gawthorpe and take pride in all that is going on. But did the club come close to selling chunks of it in 1981/82; I don’t suppose we shall ever really know.

With Brighton winning early in the week on Monday against a decidedly puny Leeds United; they were 4-0 up by half-time, it meant that just two points covered the top four as they began to pull away from teams below. Leeds were a disgrace in that first half and you wondered if Evans would get the sack at half-time. But no, at the end of the evening he still had his job. Cellino was there but left at half-time ordering Evans not to speak to the media.

Next up was Blackburn versus Middlesbrough on the Tuesday. For once we really wanted a Blackburn win; if Middlesbrough won they would go top again. How often do we want Blackburn to win, very rarely if ever, but this was an occasion to put old grudges aside and wish them well. Blackburn did indeed win to our amazement; we rejoiced and then asked the Lord would he wash our mouths out with soap and water. By coincidence a website topic had been the riots of ’83 at Ewood Park when there were appalling scenes and a roof was wrecked. Despite amazing cup-runs, 1982/83 was not the best of seasons with relegation at the end of it, and the Rovers game was when frustrations were let loose and exploded on Easter Sunday, April 2 and the declining Clarets lost 2-1.

They’d been promoted to the Second Division debt free, with a new chairman, fresh board and a team of promising youngsters including the mercurial Trevor Steven but alas it all went pear-shaped by the end. It was the season when Miller was replaced by Casper and they promptly went to London and beat Spurs 4-1 in the Milk Cup. It was the occasion when a snooty Spurs director after the game was saying he couldn’t believe the score, but Burnley man Derek Gill, taking great pleasure, replied that all he had to do was look in the newspapers the next day for confirmation. It was the season when Burnley beat the all-conquering Liverpool 1-0 at Turf Moor.

1983: and the occasion of the ‘riots’ at Ewood Park was prompted by a bit of fun with a wellington boot being tossed around in a small corner of the away end. The police decided that this had to be stopped and the bit of fun escalated dramatically to the point of thudding truncheons and heavy boots. The tough, hard lads that stood up in defiance were caught up with all the innocent bystanders. Then, faced with an uncompromising plod back in an era when the idea of police restraint was quite alien, the hundreds of fans cornered in the Darwen End utilised the plastic, rotten timbers and asbestos that was so easy to find to hurl at the police. Frank Casper spoke to calm things down and was ignored.

When the game resumed for the second half the disturbances started again and the players were taken off. This would be the third of five consecutive defeats and the elation of the previous season had been replaced by resignation and anger at the plight of the now sinking club. ‘The Match That Died of Shame,’ headlined the papers the next day. This game was a huge stain on the club and its fans, and if fans wondered if things could get any worse, the club still faced the John Bond season, boardroom tensions, relegation under John Benson, and then the ensuing wilderness years that would last what seemed an eternity.

Reading up on all of this only serves to underline the stable, respected and hugely optimistic state of the club at the moment. The Burnley of the 80’s and the Burnley of today are two entirely different worlds.

Wednesday and there was an article in an online magazine that suggested that the coming game against Blackburn would be Burnley’s best ever chance to batter them.  It described Sean Dyche as like a trained killer moving on from one target to the next. It lauded Burnley and belittled Blackburn. It was the time to stick a few past them and we were fed up of odd-goal wins. Then it reminded us there hasn’t been a home win against Blackburn since Boxing Day 1978. Saturday is the time to put Blackburn to bed it ended.  I cringed reading it, not because I didn’t share the sentiments but because putting it all down on paper seemed to be inviting an upset. Blackburn were on a roll, confidence would be high. This was no game to take for granted and crow about battering them.

Thursday and we sat glued to Birmingham v Hull on TV. Now then, if at the beginning of the season you’d said to me and Mrs T that on March 3, we’d be engrossed in a game like Brum v Hull we’d have said yes and the moon is made of cheese. But we did. Top spot in the division was at stake, and on an awful night of rain and sleet and in front of a miserable, sparse looking crowd, Birmingham did the job we hoped for and won by the one solitary goal. And what a corker it was too. It’s reasonable to think that few if any Burnley fans at the beginning of the week would have put money on Burnley still being top on Thursday might. But there we were and whereas Dyche never entertained the idea of automatic promotion in 2014 until late on, ‘I’m a different animal now,’ he was saying, meaning that he was accepting the notion that Burnley were promotion candidates.

The X Files were back on TV, North Korean President Kim Jong Wrong Un had ordered his military chiefs to get his nuclear missiles ready for use, and deep in space, mystery, fast, alien radio signals were being picked up from a faraway distant Galaxy. The European IN campaign was suggesting if we leave the EU we might even be invaded by giant rats.

An Atlantic front had brought ice and snow a couple of days earlier. But who cared about all that, this was Burnley versus Blackburn. Middlesbrough had gone back to the top of the table with a win 2-1 over an abysmal Wolves side that somehow did manage a goal towards the end of the game. It was just too much to expect another result in Burnley’s favour. What struck you again though were the rows and rows of empty seats, hundreds of them. No so at Turf Moor where the ground was packed with just a few empty seats and those probably belonging to Season Ticket holders, ill maybe, or sunning themselves in Tenerife. The snow had gone but the route was again littered with red lights and roadworks. On one of the messageboards someone had posted that it felt like a Christmas morning, a morning when you can’t wait to get up and enjoy the day, but you don’t really know what to expect, you don’t quite know what’s under the Christmas tree.

My God, what a game, what an afternoon; what a nerve shredding experience that was. It was up and under, it was up and at ‘em, it was trench warfare; it was no holds barred, in yer face, get stuck in and just good old fashioned last-man-standing no nonsense. And in between all that there were moments of dullness and tedium.

‘Blood and thunder and muck and nettles,’ said Dyche adding that it was not the best they’d ever played but he’d not lost to Rovers yet since he had arrived and dedicated the ‘double’ to the fans.

Pretty it was not, silky smooth it was not, Burnley football at its finest it was not. This was not the beautiful game; this was Burnley versus Blackburn on a raw afternoon and all of this sucked out your emotions and drained us of anything resembling calmness and cool heads as we willed that final whistle to blow.

It had everything ranging from moments of decent football, to passages of Hoofball, to head tennis to downright sloppiness. It had thundering challenges, sliding tackles and last ditch clearances. It had a referee, Mike Jones from the Prem, that drove us nuts with some of his decisions but he gave the one decision that we applauded him for. The foul on Boyd was clear cut, his feet were taken away, the ref pointed to the spot and Gray did the rest.

For some of the rest of the first half Burnley played some decent stuff, Blackburn forced two top class saves from Heaton whilst at the other end there was one particular passing move of such blistering pace and geometrical precision that had the move been converted into a goal it would have been the goal of the season. Only a last ditch interception saved Blackburn as the ball flashed past the post by a whisker for a corner.

And then the second half and Blackburn came out fighting and moving and passing. It was Blackburn versus the Burnley defence as they dominated the game, found space, got crosses in, filled and crowded the box, had corner after corner; but Burnley stood firm and there was just no way past. For all their possession and moves the ball rarely got as far as Heaton, but when it did, there he was in total control. Blackburn may well feel aggrieved and that they deserved something from the game but they got nowt. It was payback time for past games they won undeservedly, in the Prem under Coyle when they won 1-0 having been awarded a penalty for as blatant a dive as you will see;  then at Ewood when a goal was scored with Blackburn players a yard offside.

Pinned back for long spells in that second half, blood pressure rising, you couldn’t question any Burnley player for commitment, grit, guts, blood, sweat and passion. Barton was crowned MOTM but a word for Boyd. Today he was Boyd the Destroyer, chasing, tackling, harrying, harassing, blocking and covering all parts of the pitch. And, it was Boyd that won the penalty.

Who cares if Blackburn fans were arguing they were the better side. It matters not one jot if you don’t score. Burnley scored and Blackburn didn’t so there’s the end of it, giving Burnley the double this season and the first win at Turf Moor since 1978. And to top all that, Burnley went back to the top of the division. Of the top four, which two will crack first; so far, not Burnley.

After this game there should be a Government health warning on Turf tickets:  Watching Burnley FC can be harmful to your health. But wadda week, Sean got us all a double: and as David Frost used to say and Millicent Martin used to sing: “That was the week that was.”

BOLTON WANDERERS 1 BURNLEY 2

Must admit I was wondering if and when Joey B would get a book into print. So now we know, No Nonsense is coming later this year.

Simon and Schuster have promised that this will be a game-changing autobiography, peppered with controversies for various on-field and off-field incidents, reaching a low-point when in 2008 he was sent to prison for assault. Since then he has found a new path, following the birth of his children, and established a reputation for candid, insightful analysis, even appearing on BBC Question Time. In between playing footie and appearing as a pundit all he seems to do now according to his Twitter account is lead a quiet life and watch sport on telly.

An editor added: Joe Barton is quite simply the most fascinating figure in British football, the first player to harness the power of social media to tell it as it really is, no filters, no media handlers. In an era of often bland celebrity memoirs, Joey’s book will be raw, honest, entertaining and outspoken. Love him or loathe him, it will be the must-read autobiography of the year.

Joey B said: You may think you know me, but prepare to be surprised. No Nonsense looks beyond Joey Barton the caricature. I’ve not spared myself because I know only unflinching honesty will put the controversies into context. I acknowledge my mistakes without indulging in superficial contrition. I reveal what it takes to survive in modern football, a sport that eats people alive. I take you inside the dressing room and the prison cell. I give you a firm promise: this is not the usual vanilla-flavoured memoir.

The blurb says it will be written with author and journalist Michael Calvin. Calvin is good; I have one of his books. But Joey, I’d have done it for half the price.

Talking of vanilla-flavoured memoirs neither is the Roger Eli book Thanks for the Memories sickly sweet and shallow. It is a proper warts and all book. He wanted to produce a book that shows the heartaches of being a pro footballer and he had plenty. He had injuries galore and more hard knocks than a builder’s thumb; he endured more angst than anyone deserves and they’re all there in his book. Tim Quelch who knows good writing when he sees it commented that it is almost a text book of what any aspiring young apprentice can expect and should be required reading for young footballers. Roger had just the one glorious season and even that was cut short at the end.

This season, there’s no question that Barton has been an inspiration and he remarked on the Burnley club web that he was here to win the league, rather than be content with second place. There hasn’t been a game when he has given less than 100%; the way he has bounced back up when he has had a whack has been sensational with never a moment of retaliation. Any bookings have been the result of desperation to win rather than calculated malice. His involvement for the full 90 minutes, his box to box running, his energy and sharpness, have been astonishing for a 33-year old. Signing him was a masterstroke and the fact that it seemed that no-one else was prepared to take the chance on him, was pure gold for Burnley.

Bolton v Burnley and much as we may try, it is difficult if not impossible to avoid making comparisons between the two clubs regarding their current positions and their financial situations. Since Christmas 2010 and all the shenanigans, oh how much has changed.

This time it was a Bolton fan writing to his local paper criticising his own club, but lauding our own, whilst nicely managing to refer to Coyle’s disastrous tenure there.  He noted that his own club was £180million in debt; was badly managed, just missed extinction by 30 minutes and had been in a relegation position all season. Burnley meanwhile debt-free, in an automatic promotion place and were astutely managed. It made good reading. Much as we may try to expunge the Coyle memory and the Gartside poaching, the history books will not. It is even possible that Bolton fans dislike Coyle more than Burnley fans do, many of them laying their current demise at his door. But what is equally true is that their growing problems pre-dated him by quite a few years. They are what they are; a small Lancashire club that built a swanky modern stadium, which lived above its means for a decade, whilst everyone with a brain knew that the Eddie Davies largesse would one day end.  What no-one there ever did was figure out a plan to cope with that.

I remember going there several years ago to talk to one of their directors about Harry Potts. He had been secretary at Blackpool when Harry Potts was manager there. Even back then the size of their debt was considerable but he talked of it being no problem, that they were well able to ‘service the debt.’ All that bit of jargon meant was being able to pay the interest on all their loans, not all of which were from Eddie Davies. Accountancy has never been my strong point but even to me back then, they seemed to be living in cloud-cuckoo land as if they could carry on like this for ever.

My neighbour came out one morning as I was getting the milk in. He is envious. Sadly he is a Leeds United supporter and had been to Elland Road and seen the draw with Fulham and was thankful they hadn’t lost heavily with the number of chances Fulham made.  We could do with your manager, he said plaintively. Well it’s not just the manager is it, it’s the way the two clubs are run, I said to him. On the one hand you have Cellino and no money and we have sensible people running Burnley with money in the bank. We might occasionally grumble at this and that but I can’t really remember anything major other than the Lee Hoos season ticket mess-up, paying £100 in advance for the next year’s season ticket, and that was a couple of years ago. And they haven’t repeated it. Both the CEO and his deputy are two blokes with both feet planted well and truly in the real world. And one’s even a Yorkshireman and Yorkshire as we all know is the home of good old-fashioned ee by gum common sense.

There was an air of expectation before the Bolton game began. All away tickets had been sold. Everyone knew that a win would send Burnley top since Hull had only drawn the night before. Two teams at opposite ends of the table but look closely and Bolton’s home record was not too bad. Plus they had the boost of having been taken over (bar the rubber-stamping) by a consortium during the week. They had a future and their staff might even get paid on a regular basis.

But, the words banana skin popped up again. Nothing is ever certain in football and when Bolton took the lead in the second half, after a scrappy first, you could have been forgiven for thinking a big upset was on the cards. Derby had already lost and were well down in the chasing pack, but Middlesbrough were 2-0 up at Fulham. For a while Burnley were down to third. But then Stelling partly calmed our nerves here in Leeds when Gray equalised. He’d been due a goal; things had not been going well for him, but good strikers always come good eventually and so he did. Not only that, on he went to grab the winner when Ulvestad put him through and he scored with just a few minutes remaining. Just fewer than 4,000 Burnley fans went wild. They knew they had gone top of the league and out rang the cries:

    ‘We are top o’ the league, we are top o’ the league; we are top o’ the league, we are top o’ the league.’

    What a sight the league table looked on the TV screens and on FB and twitter. How good is that, we asked? Top of the pile, you can’t beat it. To Gray the plaudits, but Tom Heaton needed to make a stunning save in the dying moments to keep the points safe.

Gray’s first was a terrific volley from a Lowton cross, the keeper parried and Gray swept in to nip the ball home from a tight angle. The second was pure class, a classic Gray collection of the ball, dinked over the top by Ulvestad, touched on  in one movement whilst running at pace collecting the ball and moving it forward, beating the defender on his shoulder for speed, and then a superb and powerful left foot strike low on the ground from just outside the area. From collection of the ball to back of net could have been no more than 3 seconds, a perfect demonstration of the three P’s, power, pace and panache.

But opinion was pretty much united. Bolton might well have won this game with better finishing. Burnley were not at their best. In fact one Sunday paper said they had a battering. ‘How did we win that?’ more than a few fans asked on the websites. But teams that grind out results are the ones that end up at or near the top of the pile.

Another report said: ‘beaten senseless for 70 minutes and punch drunk… an outrageously deserved victory.’ But Dyche responded and quoted something Ian Holloway had said weeks earlier that Burnley have got an unbelievably tough chin.

‘You’re seeing that now,’ said Dyche, the mentality is so firm here, it gives you a hell of a chance. There is a chin of granite, this Burnley side has many qualities but none so impressive as its durability.’

Joey B may well achieve his target, promotion with Burnley and the top spot at the end of the season. Talks of a new contract were under way with Barton saying that Burnley were in a good spot, he wouldn’t trade places with any other team in the Championship, daily and training habits were exceptional.

‘We’ve got the top scorer in the Division, we’ve got competition in all key areas, we’ve got players coming back to fitness, and we’ve got a really strong bench; all that plus Dyer raring to go and Marney on the verge of coming back again, Ashley Barnes back on the grass, great times at the club. Since the defeat at Hull on Boxing Day we’ve been the best team in the league.’

We had chums over Saturday night for supper. He’s another Leeds United supporter with a season ticket. We met a few years back in Kalkan when he emerged to sit by the pool with legs so white I thought they’d been emulsioned. Anyway, on that occasion we sat and listened to Leeds 1 Burnley 2 in the season we went up. I’m not one to crow (much) about BFC with other supporters from clubs not doing too well and vowed that out of respect to friendship I would not mention Burnley first.

So: it was his fault that I burst out into a quick chant of we are top o’ the league, we are top o’ the league. He came in and the first thing he said was he’d told his wife that he didn’t want to come because he knew I’d be unbearable (eh moi?) That’s the first thing that was said. So I thought ‘right’ and out came the quick chorus – several times – and then again while we ‘ad us pudding. At the moment it’s good to be a Burnley supporter.

It wasn’t so good back in the late 70s and for much of the 80s and I only mention that because in the chats with ex-groundsman Roy Oldfield and in his diary, we’ve got to the bit where he gets a new wheelbarrow. Things were so tight back then that Lord Bob used to shout out ‘Albert tell them I’m not in’ when creditors used to knock at the door. Except for a very brief period when Derek Gill got the club solvent again and even in profit, Roy worked without a pay rise for something like four years, had to repair his ageing spades and forks as the club couldn’t afford new ones, bought the cheapest of everything so that the fertiliser was usually lumpy, worked with a mower that was forever breaking down, and worked alone for long spells because the secretary would rarely sanction a bit of extra casual labour from the Labour Exchange at times when the pitch was in a real mess or buried in snow. He once bought some second-hand stuff from Burnley Corporation out of his own mone,. These were the days when people like Manager Brian Miller, Assistant Frank Casper and Coach Ray Pointer could all be found forking and spiking and driving the tractor and generally getting their hands dirty and mucking in to get the pitch fit.

Poor as church mice they might have been but there was fun as well, especially when the farmer’s cattle used to break into and onto the training fields at Gawthorpe. Players and management (Roy on the tractor whooping and hollering like Rowdy Yates) would round them up and they were always under instructions not to shoo them back to their own fields but to bring them up to a pen near the Gawthorpe buildings and fasten them in. This was on Bob Lord’s instructions who insisted that the farmer had to ask permission to collect them. It must have been sorely tempting for the irascible chairman to hang on to them and make them into pies – although Lord once replied indignantly that he had never made a pie in his life, in a response he made to a letter from ex-director Derek Gill.

But, in that one season when there was a bit of joy and Burnley got back up to the Second Division in ’82, Roy actually had some good news. New chairman John Jackson encouraged the new Supporters Club that old Bob had always swatted away, and one of the first things they did was buy Roy a new wheelbarrow. He thought it was Christmas.

It’s far too soon to start thinking of the Prem millions but if Burnley are still top in May just think; they’ll need another new gold-plated wheelbarrow to put the money in the bank.

BURNLEY 2 ROTHERHAM 0

BURNLEY 1 NOTTINGHAM FOREST 0

Did you see that huge fuss there was about the Messi/Suarez penalty routine when Messi slipped the ball sideways so that Suarez could run onto it and score. You’d have thought it had never happened before. You’d have thought it ranked alongside the invention of the wheel or the knife and fork.

But guess who did it in 1957 when everything was in black and white, TV sets were few and far between, SKY was what was above your head, if you had a car you were either a doctor or a bank manager or a mill owner, children still said please and thank you, somebody in Bacup had just got a telephone, Worsthorne was marvelling at electricity and in Burnley there were still mills and coal mines, and fish and chips was still cheap.

Well: Jimmy Mac and Danny Blanchflower did it in an international game against Portugal. They’d kept it well secret even from their team-mates so that today Billy Bingham and Harry Gregg can still talk about it with eyes wide open and mouths dropping in amazement.

‘And what if they’d missed?’ said Billy Bingham. ‘They’d have looked right silly buggars.’

‘Disrespectful,’ said Joey Barton who clearly doesn’t like this style of taking a penalty.

Beg to differ Joey: were Jimmy Mac and Danny Blanchflower disrespectful; two of the greatest football thinkers of the century? It’s a perfectly legitimate way to score a goal. What was that word Sean D used – discombobulate? What did Billy Dougal used to say – always do the unexpected. You do what you can to confuse and surprise the opposition at every opportunity.

At the latest meeting with Roy Oldfield to hear yet more Tales of the Turf, Jim Thomson came along as well. Jim was a player in the 70s when Roy was groundsman, beginning a long friendship that lasts to this day. Jim was also commercial manager at the club for a year or so, a period that included the Orient Game; and regular requests, at least two a week he says, from people wanting relatives’ ashes scattering on the pitch. Keen grassiculturalists will know, of course, that spreading deceased folks’ ashes on the pitch, no matter how much you love them, does not do the grass any good at all. Except for the dead of night when no-one is looking, it is a practice that has been discontinued at most football grounds.

Jim Thomson in his brief spell as CM had never heard of the great Reg Attwell, one of Jimmy Mac’s favourite players, and one of those legendary players of the early 50s who loved a drink or two, and a couple of pints before a game never did him any harm. So, when Jim received a request from a local undertaker for permission for the family to scatter the deceased Reg Atwell’s ashes on the pitch he simply asked, “Reg who, who on earth is Reg Atwell?”

Roy Oldfield, by the way, hated ashes being spread on his beloved green turf because it spoiled his perfect pitch.

On learning that Reg Atwell was an esteemed former player, of course Jim agreed and on the appointed day went to the office to collect the urn that was in a box, but for some reason known only to Jim he emptied the ashes into a green M&S carrier bag, which in those days were entirely free and did not cost 5p, and went to find the secretary, Albert Maddox.

“He’s here,” said Jim to the secretary, Albert Maddox who was back at the club.

“Who?” said a nonplussed Albert looking round the room.

“Reg Atwell,” replied Jim pointing to the green M&S carrier bag. “He’s here in the bag, his ashes, to scatter on the pitch.”

“Oh, right,” said Albert looking wide-eyed at the carrier bag. “He’s in there is he? You’d better go and see Roy and ask him where to put them?

“Oh God,” mumbled Jim, “he’ll be mad as hell.”

So Jim found Roy and told him, “I’ve got Reg Atwell here… in the carrier bag… his ashes… his family would like them scattering.”

Roy looked, furrowed his brow and pointed; pointed to the corner area between the Cricket Field Stand and the Bob Lord. “You can put ‘em there. You can put ‘im with Arthur.”

Jim looked puzzled. “Arthur who?” said Jim.

“Arthur bloody Woodruff. He played for Burnley. You can put Reg Atwell with Arthur Woodruff in that corner there.”

Jim duly emptied the carrier bag, taking great care that none of the ashes were on the actual pitch. And then he thought, that was the end of that.

But: a few days later there was another phone call from the undertaker. The undertaker apologised and explained that he was so sorry that these weren’t the ashes of the great Reg Atwell, there had been a terrible mistake and that the ashes of Reg Atwell had been confused with a woman who had died, and it was the woman’s ashes that had been sent in the urn, in the box, that Jim had emptied into the green M&S carrier bag, and had then spread in the corner where Arthur Woodruff had been sprinkled.

“So who is the woman?” asked Jim quite mortified at the mix-up; that it was not Reg Atwell, because the only reason he had said yes, was because it was, he thought, the late, great Reg Atwell.

“Can’t really say,” said the undertaker. “It’s a woman but we’re not too sure at the moment. You don’t still have Reg’s ashes do you?”

Jim, by now aghast at the thought that some unknown woman had been scattered out on the pitch by mistake, mumbled, “No I don’t, they’ve all been scattered… with Arthur Woodruff.”

It was years later when Jim bumped into the son of the undertaker and he found out who the unknown woman was. But that, as they say, is another story.

Neil Warnock was back in football. Now he was back with Rotherham. The guy has seen more retirements than Status Quo. He said he’d taken the job on because he fancied it, like he did the Torquay job years earlier when they seemed doomed but he’d ended up having a smashing time.

For that reason alone this could easily have been a banana skin game, the kind of game you expect to win but then it can easily all goes pear shaped, that is to say, if indeed a banana skin game can actually go pear shaped. But we exited with three more points, two more goals, another clean sheet and immense games from Ben Mee and Joey Barton, and Burnley moved up to second place.

Plus the added interest of an excellent female linesman, or whatever you call them these days. A legacy of the promotion to the Premier League and its requirements was that the club now has two sets of changing rooms for the officials, one for the chaps and one for the ladies. The latter hasn’t seen much use but I hear it’s where they do the ironing.

First goal was a penalty for Vokes that he converted with ease tucking it into the corner while the ‘keeper went the other way. Boyd was certainly brought down but Warnock was at his cantankerous best after the game berating the ref for guessing it was a penalty suggesting that he could never have seen it clearly from where he was. We miss Warnock when he is ‘retired’ and then chuckle when he’s back slating officials, a sort of elderly Mourhino without the good looks.

The second goal was from a pass by Gray to an unmarked Arfield who made no mistake. Things are not running smoothly for Gray at the minute, but even so he hit the bar with a thumping header and made Arfield’s goal.

Heaton had just one save to make all game, he’ll never earn an easier week’s wages but at 1-0 the Rotherham number 22 made a total hash of a wonderful chance he made for himself to make it 1-1, putting the ball wide when clean through. That plus a routine header was the sum total of Rotherham efforts on goal. It meant Burnley won this whilst never getting into top gear, never needing to get into top gear, which in turn meant that this was an eminently forgettable game beneath yet another grey, leaden sky.

‘Sometimes the hardest game is the one you are expected to win,’ said Sean D. And that’s exactly how it turned out. We all turned up pretty much expecting to win. But this is Burnley, and until that second goal it was far away from any comfort zone.

If Burnley win promotion it will be because of a number of factors; all the usual ones, toughness, relentlessness, organisation, willpower, team spirit, doggedness and currently being Championship top scorers, but also the fewest errors.  Gordon Banks once said the best goalkeeper are not necessarily the ones that make all the greatest saves, but simply the ones that make the fewest mistakes. At the moment Burnley is a team that makes the fewest mistakes. After this win it was nine unbeaten games, scored 20 and conceded 3, and in all probability 10 more wins needed for a final top-two place.

Three days later, Nottingham Forest, and a far sterner test expected. Things had been quiet over there lately and with Lansbury injured we were mercifully spared any more attempts to sign him. Most of the day and the day before had been spent reading and listening to the first salvoes in the great EU in or out battle. Call-me-Dave had come back with his ‘agreement’ a bit like Chamberlain came back waving his piece of paper after he had seen Hitler, and was only too pleased to stick a political knife into Boris in the House of Commons when Boris announced he was of the OUT party. Their relationship now seems to be a bit like Burnley v Blackburn.

Maybe I’m not hearing it right but the INS seem to be saying Britain will be safer, stronger and better off if we stay in. And on the other hand the OUTS seem to be saying Britain will be safer, stronger and better off if we opt out. From a purely Burnley FC point of view surely staying in is the best way forward as that’s the best chance Burnley have of being in Europe. I liked the response of one guy on one website though, when he said he is happy to be out of Europe as long as we can go somewhere warm like Florida.

But it wasn’t warmer at Turf Moor for the Forest game. As the sun vanished, the temperature dropped and by the time the game had ended cars were covered in frost and the ends of most noses were turning blue. Fortunately me and Mrs T were filled with inner warmth, courtesy of good pub pre-match grub at the Kettledrum. Gammon, chips and two eggs highly recommended.

‘Gonna be cold tonight,’ I remarked, so we had sticky toffee puddings as well to build up our layers of insulation.

What a cracking game though on a crystal clear night, a credit to two highly organised sides that both played attacking football, mostly Burnley in the first half who did everything right but score. In the second half Forest dominated much of the half but it was Burnley that scored the single goal that won the game.

Despite carving Forest open time and again in the first 45 minutes, alas the strikers could not for the life of them see the wood for the trees and missed golden chances to score. That plus last ditch blocks by defenders and some inspired goalkeeping constantly thwarted Burnley. A peach of a curling Barton free kick in the first 5 minutes had us all screaming goal as both Vokes and Gray burst forward to get on the end of it at perfect head height, but Gray headed over. The poor bloke is having a torrid time in front of goal. Elsewhere he ran Forest ragged but his next goal is proving particularly elusive.

No way could Forest be so limp in the second half but in spite of all their good play and sizeable support,  it was hard to think of one good chance they created or any save that Heaton had to make, save for a punched clearance. Dyche described the back four as a wall, and indeed they were with Tarkowski immense, but Mee totally superb. If there is a better Championship centre back at the moment then my name is Boris. Ward gets better by the game and gets forward as impressively as any left back we’ve had for ages. Vokes got the goal, his tenth of the season slotting home the Ward cross when Boyd stepped over the ball and left it to him. One day we can describe one of his goals as a Vokes poke, but not this time; it was a crisp sidefoot. Only a deflection in the first half prevented Vokes scoring as another sidefoot shot was heading home.

Two snatched chances and misses in the second half by Boyd and then Gray when more or less clean through, would have made the score more respectable. All in all Burnley had eight clear scoring chances. Perhaps the Forest manager missed them as he seemed to think that Forest should actually have got something out of the game. It was hard to see exactly what he based this view on, since for all their approach play, Forest were to put it mildly, quite toothless in front of goal.

So: ten league games unbeaten and seven clean sheets. Hull, Middlesbrough, Burnley and Brighton all won, all bunched at the top. Which will be the two that crack? And for the record I’m with Boris.

READING 0 BURNLEY 0

After all the rain on the day of the Hull game, rain that clattered down all morning and then all through the game and into the evening, I still couldn’t get over how good that pitch was even by the end of the game. The amount of rain that came down it would have been no surprise to have seen Noah’s Ark slowly floating down Brunshaw Hill.

My head went back to the mudbaths of previous decades and then I thought of Roy Oldfield’s diaries that I’ve borrowed and how day after day the word rain crops up. For Roy it really was Man versus Weather and from his notes you can see how on so many days he experienced real frustration and exasperation.

30 years ago it would have taken Roy a couple of hours after the game to get the pitch back in some semblance of order, then either another couple of hours on Sunday morning, or Monday afternoon with the apprentices. They would have been repairing slide and skid marks, replacing divots, forking, brushing as best they could when it was wet, to remove the debris that if left would form a fine compacted layer that would make drainage even worse. Then after all that it would possibly need rolling to get a level surface back again.

Today Head Groundsman Paul Bradshaw with his team can have it done in an hour with the worst damage described by him as scuffs. What made matters worse for Roy were the frequent occasions when training took place on the pitch which added to periods when there were two games a week and meant it was a daily job undertaking pitch repairs. He remembers one occasion when a manager took training on the pitch just four hours before a game.

Paul Bradshaw no longer needs the tons of sand and topsoil that Roy needed for repairs and filling and levelling. The biggest difference, he said, in terms of time-saving, are the rotary machines he has that literally hoover up the post-match fine debris that Roy had to rake and sweep up. Funny how things come round: Paul, whose father was club secretary Bob Bradshaw, as a schoolboy helped in the summer on the pitch working for Roy. And now he is back as Head Groundsman. He came from Liverpool FC where he worked on the Academy pitches. Then he came to Burnley FC to take responsibility for a purpose-built pitch at Gawthorpe that was constructed during Steve Cotterill’s time. He became Head Goundsman in 2008.

The machinery and mowers he has at Turf Moor would make Roy Oldfield’s eyes water. Roy had his wheelbarrow, a mower, manual labour plus ingenuity. He bought cheap polythene sheeting and borrowed a couple of heaters to try and fashion a heated tunnel on particularly frozen days. He used fireworks to chase away the pigeons that swooped down on any newly seeded patches. The pigeons used to sit on the Bob Lord stand roof and watch him seeding. The minute his back was turned they were down feeding.

Roy and Brian Miller heard of a place in Huddersfield that sold fireworks on ropes that went off at intervals. They brought several lengths back and fixed them to chairs that they then spaced out over the pitch. But the pigeons were smart. They must have been to the UCFB. They learned to wait until the last firework had gone off and then down they came again. Roy used to get so mad. George Bray and Jimmy Holland used to be in stitches when they saw him cursing ‘these bloody pigeons.’

One of the pluses of being in the Prem I always used to think was the regular coverage that Burnley and Sean Dyche got in the national press. There was something most days in at least one paper and of course on Sundays you got a decent report, sometimes most of a page. I must have spent a fortune on scrapbooks. Today it’s hard to spot anything Burnley and the scant coverage of anything Championship, never mind Burnley, is a disgrace. In the Sunday Telegraph after the Reading game there was not one reference to anything Championship. If it’s not Premier League, it doesn’t seem to matter.

So: it was something of a surprise to see a big feature on Sean D in the Daily Express the other day. What seemed to have inspired it was that someone had heard that he had used the word ‘discombobulate’ in a pre-match talk. ‘I think I heard it on the Simpsons,’ he told the reporter.

Apparently the word means to confuse or disconcert someone and this is what is attempted in any game.  In the olden days Billy Dougal used to tell players at Burnley ‘always do the unexpected’. That way you catch the opposition out and surprise them. No team can prepare for what they don’t expect was his message. Billy had he known the word ‘discombobulate’ might well have used it. New word it might be, but there is not much new in football although to hear some of the jargon and coachspeak, we might think there is.

So: when Sean D is telling his players to discombobulate the opposition it ain’t new. Billy Dougal was saying it 60 years ago. Football remains basically a simple game. Like Brian Clough used to tell his players: ‘just kick it and head it, and everything else is a bonus.’

Something that Sean D is adamant about, however, is that no club will ever emulate the promotion that Burnley achieved in 2014. No club will emulate what Burnley did because never again will it be achieved on such a small budget.

As in most interviews with Sean D there is reference to Brian Clough. ‘In one of my first games he came in and just said to treat the ball like your girlfriend, look after her and take care of her…and then wished us all the best.’ Then he went out. And we won. On another occasion Forest had gone something like 8 games without a win so he just said: ‘have a few days off, see you at the ground on Saturday.’ In they came and beat the champions Everton.

It was possibly the same day as the interview that the Daily Express had front page headlined with something about weekend blizzards and minus-10 temperatures. Of course there weren’t, once again they’d got it wrong. An Express weather forecast is about as reliable as a Cameron EU promise.

There wasn’t a hint of a blizzard over the Reading ground, though people did say it was damned cold. There was a snittering of snow over our neck of the woods here in Leeds; for the rest of the day the sun shone. For this game the evergreen Michael Duff was not on the bench, replaced by new man Tarkowski. Is this the end then for Duff, a wonderful servant for the club over the years since Cotterill signed him?

The temperature rose in the front parlour chez moi when Gray missed a penalty. Hot air and choice words filled the room. Furious Reading players protested that Gray had dived. It took an age for the penalty to be taken which may well have unnerved Gray. A Reading player scuffed up the penalty spot. There were claims that the goalkeeper was well off his line when he saved the penalty.  Hot air and choice words filled the office yet again when a picture on FB showed Sam Vokes rising above the crowd in the Reading goalmouth whilst having his shirt not just tugged but pulled clean off his shoulder. It’s a wonder he didn’t catch pneumonia he was so exposed. How do referees or linesmen not see these things? Or do they see them but pretend they don’t, and just let them go unpunished 999 times out of a thousand?

‘Things hotting up now that Al Habsi has saved the penalty,’ reported Tony Cottee on Sky. ‘Joey Barton already in the book and a few tackles flying in.’ Bruising was another description of the encounter on a very poor surface. By now both Hull City and Brighton were winning. Meanwhile twitter was making the game sound almost exciting as it reported dangerous crosses from Lowton and then Jones hitting the woodwork. By all accounts it was all Burnley in the final ten minutes with the consensus that this was two points dropped. According to reports all the best chances fell to Burnley who really should have taken the lead within minutes but Gray side-footed over from point blank rage.

Andy Payton on twitter was sympathetic. It happens, good strikers bounce back.

The penalty controversy rumbled on. Dyche vehemently condemned the Reading gamesmanship preceding the kick, the kicking away of the ball, the roughing up of the penalty spot, and then later in the evening pictures clearly confirmed that Al Habsi was almost three feet off his line as Gray took the kick. You could only echo the question asked – what on earth was the referee or linesman looking at. No wonder the shot was saved with the narrowed angle. Added to that there were Reading players (and Burnley) encroaching inside the penalty area before Gray even took the kick. Commentators and reporters were unanimous that they had never before seen anything like the scuffing of the penalty spot.

What a pleasure it was to listen to Jimmy Mac, Alex Elder and John Connelly on the SKY re-run of Time of their Lives, which looked mainly at the title win of 1959/60, occasionally straying into other areas as well.  A few years have passed since it was first screened but I remember thinking when I first saw it that Alex Elder still looked like he could play for 90 minutes and all I could say back then was I wish I was as good looking as Jimmy Mac. John Connelly, sadly, is no longer with us of course. It all took place in a studio set that looked so comfy that it could have been your own front room.

Names that came across were those of Alan Brown, Harry Potts, Bob Lord, Billy Dougal and a sprinkling of opponents – Tom Finney, Maurice Setters, Eddie Clamp, Tommy Banks and Don Megson.  Connelly was quite clear in his assessment that the foundations of the title winning team were laid down by Alan Brown. Jimmy Mac was of the opinion that Harry Potts was almost too nice to be a football manager and that everything he learned came from Billy Dougal; and Alex Elder, according to Pele at one time, was the best left back in the world. And we had him at Turf Moor. If you can remember Roberto Carlos at Real Madrid we had Alex Elder doing the same stuff at Burnley. We were blessed.

In the old grainy black and white clips of Burnley games of the period two players stood out, Connelly and Ray Pointer. Seeing the blonde bombshell again on film, that pale, boyish, slight, almost frail figure, just a few days after his funeral; brought a lump to the throat. What wonderful players there were in that team orchestrated by McIlroy and Adamson.

They talked of the astonishing game at Spurs when Spurs went into a 4-0 lead, but Burnley came back to draw 4-4. John Connelly said the toughest full back he played against was Tommy Banks of Bolton. Alex Elder hated playing against Cliff Jones of Spurs.  When Alan Brown brought John Connelly to Burnley in his car it was the first time he had been in a car. When Alex Elder was selected to play for a Rest of the World team, a huge honour then that really meant something; he then broke his leg at Gawthorpe in training and missed the game. Five of the Burnley lads in the title team worked at Bank Hall Pit in lieu of National Service. A whole generation of young folk now maybe won’t know that years ago National Service in the Forces for up to two years was compulsory.

Jimmy Mac never liked playing against Maurice Setters, then of West Brom, who kicked him so high in the air one game that Mac landed and dislocated his shoulder. But in those days he was patched up, his arm was put in a sling and out he came to play on the wing just to try and be a nuisance. Hard to imagine that today, they all agreed. When Jimmy Mac was sold to Stoke City he was almost joined by Maurice Setters in ’65 and would have had to play against him in training every day, instead of just twice a year. But, to his great relief Mac went to Oldham thus avoiding Setters. But somebody who was at Stoke City with Jimmy was hard man Eddie Clamp, another one that used to kick Jimmy at every opportunity. Now he had to train and play against Clamp every day in practices. It was Clamp, Jimmy said, that made him think twice about time wasting by the corner flag if Clamp was playing, in the days when he was the Wolves main hatchet man.

I spent a lazy Sunday watching wall to wall football on SKY. Well. After all it was Valentine’s Day and Mrs T wanted to spoil me. The Aston Villa display was embarrassing and humiliating. It made me realise just what efforts Burnley put into every game in the Prem two seasons ago. They fought to the bitter end and never gave in. Villa were a disgrace against Liverpool losing 6-0 and their fans exited in droves long before the final whistle. Not once did we have to suffer at Turf Moor like those Villa fans watching their team demolished by Liverpool. A little lad says to his dad (a Villa fan) what time’s kick off today dad? And his dad replies every 15 minutes son.

Disappointing though it was not to have won at Reading with the chances created and the penalty, nevertheless bearing in mind how infrequently Burnley do manage to beat Reading, it was generally felt this was a decent point. Better to be a Burnley fan at the moment than a Derby supporter. They lost at home to M K Dons and their miserable run continues. Blackburn lost again, but that we now take for granted.

BRIAN JENSEN at BURNLEY

 He is known as the Beast and he has had this name since his West Brom days;

And the Beast, Brian Jensen, is someone for whom Chumbawumba might have specially written their hit song ‘Tubthumping’, with its line that goes:

“I get knocked down… but I get up again… you’re never going to keep me down.”

 In truth Brian Jensen has had more ups and downs than a fiddler’s elbow but he symbolises the old maxim that if you keep at it, work hard, persevere and believe in yourself, you get there in the end.

 In a number of seasons he was a keeper prone to making regular errors that cost points and games. At West Brom he was replaced by Russell Hoult. At Burnley he would win his place and then lose it. Other goalkeepers were bought to replace him, but it was always temporarily as he inevitably fought back and hung on to the shirt. In his own words he was always being “kicked in the teeth.”

 Despite all this, by season 2008/09 through sheer hard work, dedication, application, and intense practice, he was thought of in some quarters as the best keeper in the Championship, shared the Burnley player-of-the-year award with Robbie Blake, was named the Carling goalkeeper of the tournament, and gave several master classes in the art of goalkeeping. In ten out of Burnley’s 61 games he was voted man of the match on the Clarets Mad website. If 2008/09 was one of the greatest seasons in Burnley’s illustrious history, Brian Jensen was one of the major reasons.

 During that season there was an early home game against Reading when Burnley won 1–0 but the day belonged to Jensen who defied a rampant Reading with a string of saves. It was a portent of things to come. In the final run-in, including the play-offs, there were six clean sheets in the final eight games. At Chelsea in the Carling Cup on that never to be forgotten night in November he made great saves during the game itself and then saved two of the Chelsea penalties after extra-time had finished.

 “When we were watching a video of Chelsea the day before the game, the gaffer broke the ice by saying, ‘come on lads they’ve just been beaten, it’s easy to turn them over’. Yeah they’d lost a couple of weeks earlier to Liverpool, their first home defeat in 86 games. Everybody started laughing and the boss said, ‘Just go out there and enjoy yourselves. You’ve come this far, it will be a great experience you’re never going to have again, make sure you enjoy it’. That was how we approached it, and maybe the fact that we were so relaxed is why we did so well. Drogba scored, but we came back and equalised in the second half and after that we always felt we could cause an upset.

 In the shoot-out, as I saw it, there was no pressure. We’d already done ourselves proud in taking Chelsea that far at their place, so although the outcome was massive, I didn’t feel under any pressure – even with 40,000 breathing down my neck. I saved their first penalty, from Wayne Bridge, and their last from John Obi Mikel so I was portrayed as the hero but really all 14 players we used were heroes. If I was a hero it was only for 10 minutes, they were heroes for the first two hours.”

 The night will be associated with two players; Akinbiyi who came on as substitute and scored the equalising goal, and then the defiant Jensen. Of the two, it was Jensen’s night. He broke Chelsea hearts but sent 6,100 Burnley fans home in raptures.

 In the next Carling game, at home to Arsenal, he had a truly amazing game, saving a procession of one-on-ones. If it was Chelsea that was the glamour night, the night of shock and astonishment; it was the Arsenal night, when Burnley won 2–0, that brought back memories of those great Cup nights of the sixties at Turf Moor. His performance was truly astonishing.

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Born and raised in Norrebro, Denmark, Jensen began playing football as a defender. The team he played with, however, lacked a tall goalkeeper so the job went to him, (in his own words) “the biggest and the dumbest.” Attracting the attention of AZ Alkmaar he then impressed further in a youth tournament in the Netherlands where he was named best goalkeeper. From Alkmaar he was loaned to a small club for eight months, Hvidovre back in Denmark and at the same time finished an electricians’ course. Returning to Alkmaar he played just one game in the championship being second-string keeper behind Dutch international Oscar Moens.

He was next invited to train with West Bromwich Albion and here he was bestowed the soubriquet ‘Beast’ when the West Brom first choice Chris Adamson told reporters that he was “nothing but a beast.” The name stuck as soon as the fans shouted the name at him in his first game. He moved to West Brom on March 2000, reports vary as to whether it was £80,000 or £150,000, and made his debut against Tranmere Rovers keeping a clean sheet in a 2-0 win.

He stayed at West Brom for three years and was a regular for much of 2000/01 until the arrival of Russell Hoult saw him lose his place. Injuries and the form of Russell Hoult blocked his return and left him frustrated in the reserve team.

“I went on trial to West Brom,” he said in a later interview, Brian Little brought me over in March 2000. I arrived on the Friday, I was on the bench the following day when we lost 3–0 at home and Brian was sacked on the Monday. I have a lot to thank Brian for but I never got to work with him. I played the last 12 games that season, and then the new manager Gary Megson brought in Russell Hoult. What could I say? We won 28 games, 23 of them 1–0. It was clean sheet after clean sheet. Russell was brilliant. When somebody is doing that well in your position, you have to take it on the chin. Fortunately Burnley came in for me. I would have taken anything, just to prove West Brom wrong.”

His first-team place was never regained so that in 2003 Stan Ternent at hard-up Burnley, eager to replace goalkeepers Marlon Beresford and Nik Michopoulos, saw Jensen as the replacement and signed him on a free transfer.

“West Brom gave me my big opportunity and I’m thankful for that. It was a good achievement for me and it was nice to be there.”

Despite the aggravations at West Brom and an opportunity to return to Denmark, Jensen opted to remain in English football where he was determined to stay. “I had a couple of offers from Denmark but I told all the managers in Denmark that my first priority was here. I wanted to stay in English football because that’s my style of football.

The giant Dane put his name to a two-year contract and looked forward to the new challenge – and a regular place in the side. “It’s a challenge and I’m just going to do my best,” he said.

With that supreme irony that happens so often in football his first League away game for Burnley was against West Brom. Burnley lost 1–4 making it seven goals conceded in the first two League games. It was a far from easy season for the Clarets who by the end were just two points away from relegation. His form had its ups and downs during the season but one particularly stunning game was at Sunderland. Burnley came back with a 1–1 draw and it was down to him with a series of remarkable saves.

“There were three saves I could pick out.” The save from a Kevin Kyle header was his favourite. “It was just a reaction save and how it went round the post I don’t know.” The spectators’ favourite, however, was the injury time tip over the bar to foil Marcus Stewart.

Being someone able to analyse his own game Jensen knew that at this time he was not consistent enough. “I’m starting to be a little more consistent but I’d like to keep a few more clean sheets. It’s irritating me that the goals are going in,” he said at the time. Sometimes it was not his fault and certainly he had several very good games.

“Jensen stems a deluge,” began the Independent report by Norman Fox on the Millwall Burnley Cup game in February 2004 when Burnley lost.

The final season of Stan Ternent’s tenure was beset by shortage of money. At one point relegation looked a distinct possibility but one game stemmed the downward tide. It was at Bradford City and there was an unlikely 2 – 1 win with a last minute Ian Moore goal. But prior to that, it had been Jensen’s day with what Bradford manager Bryan Robson called, “a world-class display,” when he made save after save.

For the new season new manager Steve Cotterill looked for a more consistent keeper and Welsh international Danny Coyne was brought in from Leicester. If Jensen was irritated or dissatisfied he did not show it as Coyne took the jersey. Coyne began well but a bad injury at QPR put him out of the game for six months. Jensen duly came back into the team.

With Coyne fit again, Steve Cotterill introduced a clear policy to alternate the two goalkeepers – Coyne and Jensen – and it was up to each of them to stake their claim. The decision to alternate the two raised some eyebrows. Coyne was happy; it was the chance to get some games. Jensen was polite and tactful. “The manager has told me there is no number one round here. He plans to play us both on and off until the end of the season. It’s a strange one really but I can see what the gaffer wants to do. At the end of the day we are both good keepers and I think his decision will work out well for the club. It gives me a break after playing in the last 29 games and I certainly think it can work.”

It is not unreasonable to assume that privately Jensen might well have been far from happy with the situation, but to have said so publicly would have resulted in another period where he was ostracised by the manager.

He was awarded a new three year contract and asked the Denmark manager, Morten Olsen, to take a look at him. “I thought that last season in particular they would have come out to watch me. I broke the record here for clean sheets at Turf Moor and I thought personally I was doing pretty well and so did everybody else. They never even sent anyone just to have a quick look. I was a little disappointed.”

On recovery from his injury Danny Coyne eventually regained his place ousting the Dane. But again another freak injury put Coyne out. Again Jensen came back into the side for most of 2005/06.

Consistency was still elusive, Coyne suffered a third injury on his return, and in January 2007 manager Cotterill unhappy with Jensen’s performances took Mike Pollitt on loan from Wigan. There were differences between Jensen and Cotterill and he was not even on the bench. Supporters thought this was ridiculous. There is the story, apocryphal perhaps, that it was the chairman’s wife who persuaded Cotterill that it all looked rather silly and would look even sillier if there was an injury to Coyne, after he’d returned for the departed Pollitt, during a game and Jensen was sat in the stands twiddling his thumbs. As it happened back came Jensen yet again.

But still Cotterill looked to find a replacement for him. The injury prone Coyne was released and in came the Hungarian Gabor Kiraly, he of tracksuit bottom fame. Again Jensen was relegated to the number two spot. Having seen off a Welsh international, he now faced a Hungarian international.

Kiraly began well but his eccentricities were evident. Jensen came back for a couple of Carling Cup games and won the game for Burnley at Grimsby in the penalty shoot-out. He was equally impressive in a 3–0 win over Oldham. He kept his place for the next game at Colchester but a last minute clanger in the next game against Blackpool at Turf Moor allowed Blackpool to take a point. Back came Kiraly. In truth the goalkeeping situation was becoming a joke and being dropped again after the Blackpool game led to another rift between himself and Cotterill.

“It’s all very well being dropped but it has to be justified. Everyone knows I didn’t think that was the case otherwise I wouldn’t have asked to be on the transfer list. There were a few things that the manager Steve Cotterill and I didn’t agree with, but that’s how it goes in football.”

Manager Cotterill was next replaced by new manager Owen Coyle. Kiraly at this point had the goalkeeper’s jersey but two dreadful games where he came in for vast criticism, a 0–3 defeat at Blackpool and a home Cup defeat against Arsenal, saw him lose his place. Yet again back came Jensen.

Still the pantomime was not over. Bad mistakes by Jensen saw Kiraly come back yet again. But then Kiraly had a nightmare game against Wolves. Once more in came Jensen and 2007/08 petered out with no solution in sight to the goalkeeping problem – except that out went Owen Coyle to sign Peruvian international Diego Penny – the new number one for season 2008/09.

Penny looked OK. Pre season games had been excellent. Confidence was high. New signings were in place. There was a quiet optimism. The first game of the season was away at Sheffield Wednesday, but within minutes at Sheffield, Burnley were 0–2 down and the game was lost 1–4. Penny was shell-shocked and Jensen came back yet again for the next game at Bury in the Carling Cup. His performance was so good that Coyle retained him. Faced with competition from a Welsh international, a Hungarian international, and a Peruvian international, here was Jensen back again and the stage was set for what was going to be a marvellous season both for him personally and the team as a whole.

Perhaps the first indication of what was to come was the game at home to Reading on October of ‘08/09. “Brian Jensen heroics deny frustrated Reading,” began the Telegraph report. “While Blake took the scoring accolades, it was goalkeeper Brian Jensen who emerged the real home hero producing a string of sterling saves.”

“He really replicated what he does in training. He is a top class, quality goalkeeper,” said his manager. Those words were music to Jensen’s ears and his display was a foretaste of even better things on the horizon. It was about to get even better.

**************************

Arsenal arrived at Burnley for the 2008/09 Carling Cup game, not quite as all-powerful as they had once been, not quite the same wonderful team that they had been with Pires, Henry and Viera, but nevertheless still one to be to be much admired and respected. A top four side definitely, but inconsistent, beatable, and their days of title and Cup wins were over. It had been the ‘reserves’ and youths who Wenger had played so far in the Carling Cup and they had swept all before them with big wins over Sheffield United and Wigan Athletic. The nation purred at their silky skills, their interplay, the lovely passing, their technical skills and certainly the quality of the goals.

These had been home wins though and it was generally felt that these youngsters, good as they were, would find a cold, wet, inhospitable night in Lancashire, changing in cramped, basic dressing-rooms, to which they were unaccustomed, a far different prospect than the comfort and sophistication of the Emirates Stadium. Nothing had changed in these claustrophobic, tiny changing rooms since they had been built 40 years earlier in the days of Bob Lord. “All they get is a chair and a coat hanger,” said CE Paul Fletcher with a twinkle in his eye, “this isn’t a hotel.”

With Fulham and Chelsea already despatched, (capital punishment was the slogan), Burnley, the team town and supporters relished the visit of Arsenal. There was a palpable sense of a win in the air especially as conditions on the night were appalling. Snow had fallen in Burnley and the surrounding areas. It was horribly cold. It was bad enough to prevent some fans getting to the ground. But the pitch was clear and the night was right for an upset. Thanks to a wonderful team display, and a marvellous individual performance by Jensen, the upset duly came.

19, 045 people were there on December 2nd 2008. It was a match of a lifetime for Jensen and a game to remember for the Burnley fans who roared themselves hoarse. Burnley had not been in the quarter-finals of a major competition for 25 years.

The bare stats say that a goal in each half from Kevin McDonald won the game but give no inkling of the pulsating 90 minutes that took place with millions watching on TV and Jensens’s heroics.

4 mins: A sign of things to come came when Jensen saves from Nicklas Bendtner who beats the offside trap and is clean through.

Two minutes later the Clarets are ahead but within minutes of that Jensen saves a certain equaliser when again Bendtner has a golden chance.

10 mins: Carlos Vela’s flick-on puts Bendtner in the clear again. Jensen saves the one -on-one.

12 mins: Jensen saves a shot from Merida.

20 mins: Jensen saves from Carlos Vela.

37 mins: More opportunities come the Clarets way but in the 37^th minute Jensen again keeps Burnley in the game when the best move of the game sees Mark Randall break through and shoot powerfully. The shot is beaten away by Jensen. It seems over and again that Jensen must be beaten as Arsenal play their one-touch football.

41 mins: Jensen again as he saves from Carlos Vela.

49 mins: Merida shoots having beaten three defenders but Jensen’s positioning forces him to put his shot wide.

57 mins: Goal by Burnley as McDonald latches on to Eagles’ throw and scores with the outside of his foot. Instead of being three or four goals down, Burnley are now ahead. 2–0 it might be but the game is far from safe as Arsenal still make chances and force more saves from Jensen. There are occasions when you think they must score but there is just no way round, through or past the giant keeper.

87 mins: A slip from Caldwell lets Vela in. His cross is hit by Bendtner whose shot is smothered by Jensen who again positions himself well and the ball flies over the bar. The look on Bendtner’s face says it all. “This man is unbeatable.”

“The 33-year-od Jensen was the scourge of Arsenal with a heroic display of goalkeeping as Owen Coyle’s Burnley ruined Wenger’s hopes of lifting the Carling Cup with the youngest team in the competition’s history. McDonald’s goal in the 6th minute put the hosts ahead, yet it was Jensen’s performance at the opposite end that defined Burnley’s night.” The Guardian

 “For all the clever touches, delicate passes and intelligent movement, the visitors could not find a way past Brian Jensen in the home goal. Four times in the opening half, Carlos Vela and Niklas Bendtner created opportunities. Four times the Danish goalkeeper stood tall to deny them. He remained a frustrating figure.” The Herald

 Arsenal’s kids… were unlucky to run into big Brian Jensen – the Best of Burnley – who has grabbed his share of glory in this competition. The keeper made a string of saves to deny the visitors a place in the last four. Jensen, the penalty shoot-out king who knocked out Chelsea put his frame in the way time and again as Arsenal went one-on-one so often. Nicknamed the Beast because of his bulk, Jensen made sure the Lancashire club’s Carling Cup adventure continues…” Daily Mirror

 “Burnley hero Brian Jensen has his sights on lifting the Carling Cup after dumping another of the big four… he overshadowed Claret’s two-goal Kevin McDonald with SIX great saves to deny Arsenal’s kids. Gunner’s boss Arsene Wenger said: we had six one-on-ones with their keeper sand did not score any of them…” The Sun

 “Burnley fought their way to the semi-finals on the back of a superb display of goalkeeping from the enormous Dane Brian Jensen. The 33-year-old made four point-blank saves in the first half alone… Daily Mail

 A stunning performance by goalkeeper Brian Jensen booked Burnley’s first major semi-final for 25 years.” Telegraph

    The reward for Jensen, as well as the not unexpected MOTM award, and everyone else was a place in the semi-finals against Tottenham. A rather more unusual and unexpected reward, was the presentation of a five-foot sausage sandwich to commemorate his sterling displays. Burnley butcher George Heys and baker Glen Whiteside decided to pay tribute to him by naming the huge sandwich “the beast.”

 “I’ve been in the game a long time,” said an astonished Jensen, “but having a sandwich named after you is something I never expected. Apparently they’ll come up with something else if we win promotion. It’s a shambles (he uses the word as we might use the word mad). A butcher turned up at the stadium with the biggest hot dog I have ever seen and now I have got a couple of bags of sausages back home. It was funny at first but I did so many interviews about it that when I was asked to do another one I said no. It was time to concentrate on football, not sausages.”

It is undoubtedly that concentration that has enabled Jensen to see off each rival who has arrived at the club and to bounce back from his early career setbacks. Club goalkeeping coach Phil Hughes has no doubts as to why Jensen had the best season of his career in 2008/09. “Brian Jensen is one of the hardest working keepers I have ever worked with,” he said. “Brian has always had the attributes to be a top goalkeeper. He has the size, the work ethic and technically he is absolutely fine.

“Brian is not a player who sulks or someone who turns his back on competition,” added Hughes referring to the arrival of each new keeper at the club. “He meets every challenge head on and he’s managed to keep ahead of everybody who has come in through determination, self-belief and hard work.”

The world of the goalkeeper is in the spotlight for the full 90 minutes of any game. Whereas one slip from an outfield player might not be costly, one mistake from the goalkeeper and fingers point and heads shake. One serious mistake can cost the game. If an outfield player can hide or have a quiet spell during a game, there is no such luxury for the keeper. A centre forward misses a golden opportunity and a week later if he scores the mistake is forgotten. Not so with a goalkeeper whose mistakes can be remembered for weeks. Only the strong survive, and Brian Jensen is very, very strong.

At the Gawthorpe training ground the goalkeeper arrives 30 minute early for individual coaching. They receive an hour and quarter specific goalkeeping practise each day. On top of that there is the shot stopping drill that comes when other players have their shooting sessions.

A goalkeeper might be called upon in a game to make routine saves and then perhaps two or three saves that are out of the ordinary and quite special. In the Arsenal game Brian Jensen made six saves that were quite extraordinary. It was his night and the match of a lifetime.

One set of Turf Moor programme notes, as his season of a lifetime came to a close, likened to his career as a soap opera – and one with a happy ending. “I have always had kicks in the teeth. The only season I have known for a fact that I would be playing was my first season here in 2003/04. Since then I have always been fighting with really good goalkeepers and it’s always been ‘here we go again’.”

After Arsenal came Tottenham in the semi-final. Having lost 1–4 at Tottenham in the first leg, despite a first half performance that could not have been bettered by Barcelona, the return leg at Burnley was won 3–0 so that at the end of normal time the tie was level. In other competitions the away goal they scored would have taken them to Wembley but not so in the Carling when Tottenham then had an extra 30 mins to try to score again. This they did with just two minutes to go.

The goal that took Tottenham through was a perfectly placed shot by Pavlyuchenko, but even so Jensen got a finger to it and nearly saved the day. It was a cruel, cruel ending.

“Because we were up against the wall against Spurs and everyone had written us off, we showed everyone what we were about and in the end it was a case of so near, so far.”

But referring to the Arsenal game he added: “When I made the early saves I felt nobody was going to beat me and I’ll tell you it’s the best feeling in the world.”

The reward for Jensen and all his perseverance was yet another never to be forgotten day at Wembley in May 2009. In the final weeks of the season everything went right for Burnley Football Club, and Jensen contributed to six clean sheets in the final eight games. How important they were. On Wembley day he wasn’t called upon to perform heroics as he had been in other games; the day belonged to Wade Elliott and his marvellous goal. The victory, though, meant Premier League football at last for ‘The Beast’, this amiable giant of a man. Everything comes to he who waits, goes the old adage. In Brian Jensen’s case what it should really say is, everything comes to he who works and perseveres damned hard.

Life after the Premier League season took another turn for Brian. Brian Laws upped his salary and his very entertaining book, full of insights, was an instant hit. He left the club at the end of season 2012/13 having been reserve to Lee Grant for much of the final two seasons of his Burnley career. An appearance at Barnsley in the FA Cup in 2013 was his final game and sadly it was marred by the kind of error that is a ‘keeper’s nightmare. It was a cruel way to appear for the final time other than a cameo few minutes in the very last game of the season on May 4th. With the 2–0 win assured, manager Sean Dyche brought him on so that the crowd could say a final thank you to him and he could have one last touch of the ball in the first team. It was an emotional moment.

Following the news of his release in interviews for the No Nay Never website with Kevin Robinson, Jensen provided insights into the managers he had had worked with at Burnley – all bar Brian Laws that is, upon whom he would make no comment. Stan Ternent he described as “old school”, a man you could learn from. “I was always fascinated by him and on top of that he was the nicest man in the world. “A good manager who really loved the club and his training sessions were really good.” With total honesty it was in this interview that Jensen acknowledged that in his first season he was so inconsistent, ten out of ten one week and “absolute garbage the next.”

“I just couldn’t work with Steve Cotterill,” he admitted. In fact in his book he is quite scathing about him. Whilst describing him as “not a bad manager, some of the stuff he was saying and doing was good,” simultaneously it was not a good time, in and out of the team over and again. Cotterill never convinced him that he was either wanted or rated. “Working under him was a battle.” Jensen was convinced he had upset him in some way but could never fathom why. Hence the transfer requests despite the fact that he never really wanted to leave. Since those difficult days he and Cotterill have been in touch and “there are no grudges held.”

About Owen Coyle he was quite adamant that had he stayed at the club he would not have been relegated. Coyle’s belief and man-management skills were inspirational. “And when someone believes in you 100% the difference it makes is massive… he just made us all feel wanted.” He was devastated when Coyle left and the impact of Coyle’s departure will probably never be properly calculated. The heart of the club was ripped out and a whole group of players were left in a vacuum. “Obviously there was a sour taste; he was a guy that believed in me… I’m devastated because I’m 100% sure that we would have stayed up. I’m sure he would have made sure we got those extra five or six points that would have kept us in the Premier League.”

He was sympathetic towards Eddie Howe hinting that resources that were promised to him never materialised so that he could never have taken the club on to promotion. Thus, Howe did not find it easy and Jensen had no issue with him going back to Bournemouth. Considering that Sean Dyche was the guy who released Jensen and he was indeed upset to be released, he was magnanimous in his appraisal of him. He too, he suggested needed the backing of the Board.

He says he will always be a Claret. “Burnley put my name around the world.” Say what you like about him, he served the club to the very best of his ability, for ten years. There were several memorable occasions when he was unbeatable. Some players are remembered for many, many years and some are soon forgotten. Brian Jensen will be one of those remembered with gratitude. That flying save against Chelsea’s last penalty in the Carling Cup will be an image that lasts for years; and will be in the club’s history books forever.

BURNLEY 1 HULL CITY 0

I got hold of another footie book the other week; ‘The Forgotten Fifteen’ by James Bentley, the story of Bury’s promotion in 1984/85 with just 15 players from the old Fourth Division to the Third. It was the side managed by Martin Dobson after he was excommunicated by John Bond and left Burnley. With Dobbo assisted by Frank Casper and Ray Pointer it’s as good as reading a Burnley book.

Add to the mix Terry Pashley, Joe Jakub, Kevin Young, Winston White, Wayne Entwistle and Leighton James, and then it pretty much is a Burnley book. In fact you could argue it’s the story of how Burnley were promoted in 1984/85 disguised as Bury, or was it Bury disguised as Burnley?

This was the hooligan riddled 84/85 season; the miners’ strike, Thatcher and Scargill, and the troubles of the times are fully dealt with. At the end of the season came the Bradford Fire, and the catastrophe at Heysel involving Liverpool. At Burnley John Bond had gone and it was the John Benson season when Burnley went down to the Fourth Division. Irony of ironies, Dobson with whom Bond had been so contemptuous took Bury up, whilst Burnley went down.

The interviews with the players and management in the Bentley book are lengthy and engrossing, and for Clarets those conducted with the Burnley contingent are essential reading. Not until I read it did I realise or remember just what other dire events took place that season.

James Bentley’s book is substantial, detailed and really well structured with alternate lengthy interviews and then accounts of the games. With so many mentions of old Burnley heroes there is never a dull moment. And in the background there are instructive accounts of two particular instances of the hooliganism that was close to wrecking the game; the games between Luton and Millwall, and then Birmingham and Leeds. Am I right in thinking the terrace cry of ‘You’ll Never Take the Longside,’ was well aired that season at Turf Moor.

The Bradford fire was mentioned by Roy Oldfield when I went to see him again. Roy had helped kit man George Bray taking the kit to Bradford on one occasion and had travelled on the coach with the team; in those days just the one skip as opposed to the lorry load they take today. As they unloaded things in the dressing room George Bray had turned to Roy and said: ‘If there’s ever a fire down here we haven’t a chance.’

A publisher has agreed to produce Roy’s tales sometime in 2017 so the questions keep on coming: What was Roy’s favourite team and whose pictures decorated his wall?                                                                                   Who was the visiting manager who was upset his picture wasn’t on Roy’s wall?                                                                     Who was the Burnley player who went to see Blackpool Illuminations in the daytime?                                                        What was the ingenious way Roy stopped pigeons swooping down on his seed?                                                                            Who was the Burnley player that refused to come off the bench when he was sub because he said the game was so awful?                                                                                                                                                     Which was the Blackburn player that broke Steve Kindon’s nose?                                                                                                         Which visiting team wanted a crate of milk instead of half-time mugs of tea?                                                                             Which Burnley player left Roy to look after his son after a game and then forgot him and went home without him?                                                                                                                                                                                   Which ’47 Cup Final player said he wanted his runner-up medal in his coffin when he passed away? Which famous long distance walker needed Jimmy Holland to see to his feet when he stayed overnight in Burnley?                                                                                                                                                             What did Albert Maddox say most nights as he went home?

Roy Oldfield might have been interested to see how the pitch played during the Hull game in the incessant rain. In his day it would have cut up, become a morass in the goalmouths and maybe down the centre, with slide marks everywhere and divots gouged out. Today there was barely a mark on it after the game. And mud, when was the last time we saw mud at Turf Moor? On one of the leading Hull fan websites their headline was Hull Slip to Defeat at Muddy Turf Moor. It left me baffled, where was this mud? The inference was that Hull lost to the mud, not Burnley.

The Big Match: Hull the visitors on a day so foul, wet and miserable, the journey from Leeds such a long, slow drag, that all it needed was a 1-0 win for Hull to cap the gloom and send me home to the whisky bottle.  Well out of the monsoon my chum Geoff Town was celebrating his 70^th with his Mrs in the 1882. His cake must surely be a contender for Gateaux of the Year.

But even the foulest of days can turn out OK, at least for Burnley fans. It was Hull who went home on the end of a 1-0 defeat in this crunch game that was so hugely important. A Hull win would have sent them even further ahead; but a Burnley win would close the gap to just one point. Scientists and mathematicians have pondered for decades and tried to decide if there is indeed such a thing as a 6-pointer, is there a fool-proof formula, but have failed to come up with an answer.   But the football fan doesn’t overthink these things and knows full well, there are indeed certain games that we can say are 6-pointers, and you could argue that this was one of them.

We came home cock-a-hoop. But what fickle folk we footie fans are. There were three ways to look at these 90 minutes. If we had lost we might have said this was a truly awful, dire, deadly dull game, I just wanna go home. If we had drawn we might have said well what a bore that was. But the win sent me and Mrs T home saying what a great game this was between two damned good teams. In fact it turned out to be an almost old-fashioned game, a ding-dong battle in atrocious rain under the floodlights, two heavyweights slugging it out, an all-out battle, no quarter asked and none given with a referee who permitted just a few meaty challenges to remind us of what football used to be like. All that was missing was the 1960’s mud and Brian O’ Neil.

After the warm-up Heaton had gone back in the dressing room and said the conditions might be difficult. It was possibly the understatement of the year. The conditions of endless rain and swirling wind were just ghastly so every player out there deserved a huge pat on the back for providing nearly 18,000 fans with a game that in truth was well worth watching. It must have been particularly horrendous for the goalkeepers and it could well have been the conditions that contributed to the Burnley goal when McGregor in the Hull goal spilled a long shot from Joey and Vokes slotted it home with what was almost a trick shot as the ball was behind him. Tough on McGregor then but Heaton was in superb form on a number of occasions, a contender for man of the match, save for one slip that could have been costly. McGregor’s gaff was the instant that cost Hull the game; Heaton’s slip didn’t matter, two moments that illustrated just how fine the margins were between the two teams.

Vokes deserved his goal and was ridiculously yellow-carded by the referee in the second half for an alleged dive when it looked more like a penalty from where we sat right in line with it. Opinions varied after the game when it was dissected on the websites but since when has Sam Vokes ever been a ‘diver’? After one game a couple of years ago, he was taken to task by the MOTD pundits for not going down after he was clearly rugby wrestled by Swansea’s Ashley Williams if memory serves. He was clear on goal, Williams was hanging on to him round the waist, he stayed on his feet, ‘if he goes down it’s a penalty’ said Ruud Gullit, ‘the referee has to give it.’ After that game Big Sam said going down is not what he does. A manager like Neil Warnock would have shredded him. It’s stayed in my head ever since and for that reason he gets the benefit of the doubt that he did not dive in the Hull game. Referees are quick to label players as divers; conversely a good referee will learn which players do not dive and will stay upright if they can.

Jones was the sponsors’ man of the match and was a worthy winner, his control, tidiness, link-up play and ability to keep the ball moving; the way he is so hard to shake off the ball and rarely loses it were all exemplary. But it was Barton yet again alongside him that caught the eye so often. Is he really heading for 34? Where does his energy come from? Where does this drive and will to win come from when he is well-off enough to hang up his boots and is assured of a career in the media any time he chooses? For 90 minutes he stuck his head in, got clattered and got up again, ran, chased, tackled, sprayed passes and took the long distance shot that led to the goal.

Maybe the goal took all of us by surprise, maybe we were all convinced that this was a game heading for a 0-0 final result, that if they’d played until midnight neither side would score, that these were two strong sides cancelling each other out. So: when it came so unexpectedly 14 minutes from the end we went wild as if we’d just sealed promotion. There was that initial feeling of disbelief – what, have we really scored – and then it sank in, bloody hell we really had.

Hull upped their game, stung by this Burnley impudence, they must have felt it was undeserved and they were hard done to, they made chances but didn’t take them. Heaton, Lowton, Keane, Mee and Ward held firm, with Mee in particular having a giant of a game, one of possibly five players eligible for MOTM.

If Ray Pointer and Frank Teasdale had been looking down from somewhere up above they must have been well pleased. The minute’s silence was immaculate. The flowers placed on Frank Teasdale’s empty seat a poignant touch. The current chairman, Mike Garlick, paid tribute to him in the programme with a pointed reference to the abuse and torment he suffered in the lean years.

Later in the evening, at home, we watched and listened to all the tributes to Leicester City. But what I couldn’t help thinking about was that moment in the Prem season here at Turf Moor when Burnley missed a penalty at one end of the ground and a minute later Leicester scored at the other. It had been a crucial game won by Leicester, both teams down at the bottom end, but what might have happened if Burnley had scored that penalty. There are single moments in some football matches that as well as deciding the result of that game, can go on to re-shape the subsequent future of a football club, because the consequences are so huge. A similar goal was that of Wade Elliott in the play-off final. Of course it sent Burnley up, but it had a huge impact on Sheffield United. Immediate decline set in; look where they are now.

So there they were on Saturday night: Leicester, five points clear at the top of the Premier League. But think back to that penalty moment at Burnley and what might have happened had Burnley scored, and where might Leicester City be now.

Hull manager Steve Bruce summed up his miserable day: ‘On days like today, the ones that don’t make the mistake, win.’ The Sunday Telegraph described it as a game that would be decided by a moment of brilliance or a mistake in the wretched conditions. Both of them hit the nail bang on the head. There are more than a few furlongs left to be run, but there are signs that Burnley are moving from a canter to a gallop, added the Telegraph. Sean Dyche’s view was that stopping Hull increasing the gap mattered.

In the cold light of day 24 hours later, the victory over Hull seemed thoroughly deserved. It was easy to think on the day that a draw might have been a fair result, but taking into account Burnley might well have had a penalty with a different referee, they carved out three heading chances in the first 20 minutes, was it Barton that hit the crossbar with a vicious shot, for which the ref gave a corner deciding it was a finger-tip save, and Gray could well have made it 2-0 in the second half. Yes it was deserved, we decided; it was a massive, massive win and you could only marvel at their display of toughness and resolve in that ghastly rain, and admire the stoicism of those in wheelchairs down below us in the Jimmy Mac corner. They got yet another soaking today sat out in the open.

The next torrential downpour is due to arrive with Storm Imogen (who thinks these names up, my mother’s name Ivy would have been better). Fingers crossed it’s not on a matchday.

SHEFFIELD WEDNESDAY 1 BURNLEY 1

Monday was last day of the Transfer Window and we watched in anticipation; Tuesday was away at Sheffield Wednesday and Saturday home to Hull City. These are the weeks when it’s great to be a football fan with barely time to think. It’s all a much-needed antidote to Call-me-Dave’s European posturing, Trump’s trumpeting and the world’s glum news.

9 p.m. Sunday saw us all optimistic that Alex Pritchard was on his way, generally agreed to be a good signing; the local Hacks tweeting various positive stuff. Any deals for James Tarkowski or Alan Judge had faded into inconspicuousness. It seemed reasonable to assume that if promotion really was a serious target that Burnley might pay a serious price for any player they really wanted. But if two of them were Tarkowski and Judge, those deals had vanished into obscurity.

With £10million+ being spent at Gawthorpe and more millions being spent on new office blocks and retail come ticketing blocks, clearly these were the big priorities. But with the money to come from the Ings tribunal, it seemed reasonable to think that the jar on the mantelpiece still had a fair bit in it to make available.

10 p.m. Sunday night came the word that any Pritchard deal had been scuppered by West Brom and instead of a medical at Burnley on Monday; he’d be having one at the Hawthorns. You could hear the groans on all the messageboards as with just one day to go, yet again it looked like another window when clear targets would be missed.

The messages from the club during the month were as ever the same: they wouldn’t pay over the odds, missed deals wouldn’t be for the lack of trying, these things were like a jigsaw puzzle with so many pieces to fit together and any one of them missing would scupper the move, they were last minute so often because of the way the chain of people, players and clubs had to be completed, but so much could go wrong at the last minute.

But wait: 10 30 p.m. later still on Sunday night, Stuart James of the Guardian tweeted that Tarkowski was due at Burnley for a medical after a £3million fee agreed. The story grew a little; somebody knew a waiter at a local hotel and had spotted him there. Meanwhile other people were asking do we really need anybody as we are playing so well.

Monday a.m. and the SKY info bar says that Tarkowski is having a medical at Turf Moor. Twitter sources say we are still in for the Northampton goalkeeper Adam Smith.

Chris Boden tweets that it looks like Tarkowski is the only possible business for Burnley today; another tweet suggests that one fan has had his picture taken with him outside the club shop. Just one small problem there, the club shop has been demolished. Perhaps they mean the temporary shop.

Monday 11 a.m. depart for Wetherby, switch off SKY Sports News wondering if when we get back what news there will be. Car nearly blown off road but we battle on.

Monday 11.am: return from Wetherby and switch on SKY Sports news. There is no news.

Nobody has posted a picture on twitter of Tarkowski outside any club shop. But the newest story was that Middlesbrough and Burnley were battling to sign Graham Dorrans from Norwich City. Just at the minute when I’m wondering what’s happening with Tarkowski; Don Goodman is on the SKY sofa discussing the move and says what a good move it will be for both player and Burnley if it is concluded.  Jim White is in the building we are told by one of the totties with a large chest. It seems to be a pre-requisite of all these SKY cuties that they have large chests.

Monday 4 25 p.m. just seen him coming out of Padiham Medical Centre said David Hartley on FB, adding ‘honest’ minutes later.

How long does a medical take, people are asking? Just as I type, up it comes on SKY: James Tarkowski completes medical ahead of move to Burnley. We watch a couple of Frasiers; you can only watch SKY Sports News for so long. Burnley officially announced the signing and within minutes, sadly, the news of the death of former chairman, Frank Teasdale.

Frank Teasdale became chairman when the club was hundreds of thousands in debt and losing thousands more every week. The supply of talent had dried up, any decent players had been sold, the reserve team disbanded, and the scouting system and youth teams had to be pruned. He shepherded the club through the leanest years in its history and at the time received few if any thanks, in fact receiving constant abuse for problems that fans laid at his door. Things were financially dire during his tenancy until Jimmy Mullen with what was essentially Frank Casper’s team, at last got the club out of the old Fourth Division. You can argue that this was the beginning of the long road back to where we are today.

Before that though there was the traumatic Orient game in ’87 to sit through and who knows what went through his mind in the hours before the game kicked off. The club at that point was penniless but that awful day acted as a catalyst and woke up the town that then realised their club had almost exited the league. Astonishingly, Frank was at Wembley a year later for a Cup Final, Sherpa not FA of course, but a wonderful day out all the same for the club.

Roger Eli in ‘Thanks for the Memories,’ tells a nice story about him. After the success of ‘91/92, the team and Frank went to Bermuda to the Sonesta Beach Hotel. Frank had been through the torture of the Orient game and all the aggro and abuse hurled at him towards the end of Frank Casper’s reign, especially the Scarborough game. After York City, he had 10 days of enjoyment.

‘What a time we had in Bermuda. We took to going out with another group there on the motor bikes they’d hired. For one trip I had to nip up to my room to get some money. Up in the lift I went, still wearing my black helmet with the visor pulled down. Going out on a motor bike was a strict no-no for a footballer back then. If I remember right it was in the contract and a sackable offence. Then Teasdale got in. Bloody hell I thought, what if he knows who I am? I kept quiet, turned my head away, kept the visor down and let Mike Conroy do the talking. He won’t know who I am, I convinced myself. Up the lift went to my floor and out I got confident he didn’t know who I was. Hell, I’ve got away with it I thought.’

‘Be careful on that bike Roger,’ said Frank with a grin. If it was a film it would have been one of those sublime comedy moments.

‘He was an entertaining chap when he was relaxed. But I found out how stubborn he could be in the boardroom one summer when I was in a contract dispute that involved the PFA. There were definitely two Frank Teasdales; the hard-faced one who sat behind the desk, and the smiley-faced one in social settings when there was a bit of a laugh to be had.’

From the brink of non-league football in ’87 to the club that Burnley FC is today: a club that has experienced two spells in the Premier League, is now embarking on a £10million+ programme at Gawthorpe, is investing hugely in infrastructure, has a massively active Community Department, can spend £6million on a striker, and then a reported £3million on a centre-half; Frank Teasdale contributed to all this by keeping things going, despite the sit down demonstrations, the chants and mockery, all based on fans’ perceptions and frustrations that the club was going nowhere.

And yet: we owe Frank Teasdale a huge debt of thanks for keeping a sinking ship afloat and then when it was merely drifting, trying, with very little money, to give it some direction. His thumbprint was firmly on two key springboards, the promotion at York, and the promotion at Scunthorpe. It was Frank that appointed Stan Ternent, an appointment that was vindicated when Stan then went on to take the club to the championship.

He had so many tales to tell, by the bar he would chat away, but there were so many big questions to ask him; alas we will never know the answers that only he would have known. Sadly, he was always reticent about being interviewed and that was a pity. His was a good story filled with drama.

Sean D meanwhile had been thinking about footie boots. During any game you can sit and stare in wonderment at the garish colours that players wear today a million miles away from what we wore as kids years ago. When ah were a lad and barely a teenager my first pair were thick, stiff, brown, ankle high monsters with studs that were nailed in. It was like wearing clogs. No amount of dubbin, spit or polish would soften those things. I was 15 when I got something that vaguely resembled something comfortable but even then, boots were like Model T Ford cars, you could have any colour as long as it was black. But they at least had aluminium screw-in studs that went clip-clop went you went down Ferney Lee Road to the park.

So: Sean D was musing about boots the other day and in the boot room there was one wall where all the boots were black (staff) and one wall that looked like a rainbow (players). He says he began work in the Dunlop Factory in Kettering and his first pair were factory rejects that his mother got for 3 quid. He always cleaned his boots meticulously even taking the laces out to wash them. He said there wasn’t much else to do in Kettering. The ones he really wanted were £44, 1978 World Cup Adidas boots but at that price, that was the end of that. He coated the studs with Vaseline. As a player the only freebies he ever got were a few bits and bobs when Chesterfield got to the FA Cup semi-finals; his boots from that game are somewhere in his garage.

And so to Sheffield, the ground where you can take a bloody big drum in that gives everyone a migraine and bang it all night, but not a Tupperware box for your sandwiches, these have to go in your pocket. Not that it was our sandwich box but a chum came across and urged me to write that at Sheffield, for some bizarre reason Tupperware is banned and the stewards took his away. Fortunately, we’d eaten our sarnies in the car. We then pondered all night on the dangers of Tupperware. We wondered if the stewards have Tupperware detectors under their yellow coats. Perhaps they should erect big warning signs THIS IS A TUPPERWATE FREE ZONE. In truth we were bemused, let’s be honest if you’re going to throw something at somebody; what possible harm can Tupperware do? I can well remember the Tupperware parties my mother used to throw and none ever ended in a riot.

Both managers were satisfied with the point each at Sheffield. Before the game both sets of supporters would probably have taken the point. But as it progressed, both sets of supporters probably felt that the game was there to be won if either side had stepped up a gear. Burnley certainly didn’t with Sean D adding to the consensus that in the final third this was a night when it was more fumble than rumble and more bore than roar.

Burnley scored very early and then totally controlled the first half; if Arfield had kept his shot down from Boyd’s cross instead of skying it over the bar, and the score had gone to 2-0, you’d have been hard pushed to think Burnley could possibly lose this game. A Vokes header that was going in was scrambled away somehow by the keeper.

Instead the game remained 1-0 so that when Sheffield scored early in the second half and then more or less controlled the second half until very late on when Burnley rallied a little, it was their supporters who saw the game was there for the taking. And indeed it was had they upped their game a little as Burnley became more and more sluggish during the first 30 minutes of the half.

Things changed a little when the ineffective Boyd was taken off and Taylor came on with the latter providing decent crosses, one of them so perfect that it evaded the Wednesday keeper, plopped invitingly at Vokes’ feet by the far post as if guided by sensors, screamed (as we did) to be slotted home, but somehow Vokes’ feet seemed mesmerised and the chance was gone. Quite how he missed it we need replays to work out. We stood or sat heads in hands quite incredulous, quite disbelieving that it was still 1-1. Then in the very final minute the ball fell to Hennings. He shot straight at Westwood. Again we groaned.

A point then is better than nowt I suppose and how miserable we would have been driving home had we lost, on a night that got colder and damper by the minute. To my delight there was still one bacon sandwich in the box (Tupperware for the use of) in the car which Mrs T let me have, for it really belonged to her. We sped home reasonably happy with the point but still picturing the cross from Taylor, as accurate as a guided missile, and wondering what Vokes’ feet were thinking about.