Glynis Wright thinks the Bulls will need to look far more lively if they want to progress in the Play-offs.
Hereford United's last home Conference game was struggling Southport. I have to say that the clime on that hour and a half's drive was seriously good; distinctly chilly when we first set out, but once the 'Lickey Bank Effect' (see columns passim) had kicked in, the sun began to peep coyly from behind the clouds from time to time, its newly-liberated warmth exerting a most uplifting effect upon the ambient temperature, and, indirectly, gently persuading all those buds not open as yet to come and join the vernal fun.
So uneventful had our journey been, we even managed to arrive at the ground with a good 30 minutes to spare. Not before kick-off, mind - Simon, in one of those peculiar rushes of blood to the head everyone gets from time to time, had volunteered to give the Hereford fanzine "Talking Bull" a bit of expert assistance on the selling front. Once more, we pitched our metaphorical tent and camels right outside the public toilets adjacent to the ground - but not before visiting a nearby ice-cream van doing a roaring trade on account of the unexpected appearance of that strange golden orb in the sky above the famous cathedral city.
Having polished off some strawberry flavour in double-quick time, it was time to commence flogging duties for our chums. So enthusiastic was my other half in the performance of his duties, he even managed to shout "Grorty Dick" on more than one occasion! Yeah, I know - can't even get the fanzine sellers these days!
Flogging not being a two-person job, I contented myself with watching, in a schadenfreude sort of way, the antics of a goodly number of parents trying to get small offspring to 'the throne' before small bladders gave up the unequal struggle. Mind you, it would have been much better for everyone concerned had those blasted toilets been open for business in the first place! Dearie, dearie me.
The Bulls had their play-off place booked, of course, their Easter Monday victory over Tamworth finally sealing the deal, so nothing of note for them to play for - but you certainly couldn't say the same of today's opposition Southport. Hovering just above the relegation zone, they were, and their supporters not at all confident of escaping gravity's vice-like grip, so with that amount of added frisson to take into account, at least both sides weren't in the game to simply fulfil the fixture, and not much else.
The only other occurrence of note took place not long before we were due to strike camp and hand over the loot to those nice 'Talking Bull' people, and it primarily concerned one of the Hereford programme sellers. The lady in question, seemingly not one of nature's brightest, suddenly took violent exception to our presence, so we had no alternative but to shift to a better 'ole' before she took it upon herself to grab one of the local bobbies, or something. It was while we were stood there, I suddenly realised that some of the Southport lot had decided to commemorate the last one of the current campaign by 'glamming up' in fancy-dress outfits of one description or other. God knows how many 'schoolgirls' I spotted swanning through my field of vision in that short space of time; clearly, the fact they were, for the most part, resplendent with beards, clearly indicated a pressing need to keep taking those hormone tablets!
As befitted the final home game of the season, the sun shone in a cloudless sky as the home side kicked off their last home fixture of the current season. The gate, however, proved to be quite disappointing. Only around half of those who turned up for the recent Kiddy thrash had bothered to attend this one, play-offs or no play-offs. Hereford didn't stand on ceremony, either; just 5 minutes played and they'd already forced the Southport keeper to parry a shot for a corner, something that raised expectation levels to well above normal in that home end.
It was during a lull in play I happened to notice, for the very first time, how noisy the visitors actually were. Only 180 in their little section - plus the by now seemingly-obligatory drum in tow, a musical phenomenon that seems to have captured the imaginations of Conference followers the entire length and breadth of the country, if not their headaches - but the racket they were producing in there was totally out of proportion to their numbers, and far more impressive than that produced by their Meadow End counterparts.
The above observations apart, for much of the time, the game bore more resemblance to a midsummer stroll in the park rather than an important Conference game, and it was to be a good 15 minutes before the home side seriously threatened again, their efforts once more producing a corner. But those few brief spurts of interest apart, the whole affair was more or less taking on the distinct air of 'end of term syndrome'. If there ever was a game that had 'end of the season' written all over it, then this was surely the one.
But, there was still a modicum of drama left in the old dog, yet. With 30 minutes gone, The Bulls managed to get the ball into the back of the net, finally - only to have the effort ruled out so that the home side could take a free-kick they should have had the moment their lad was fouled in the first place! Needless to say, this daft 'jobsworth' decision brought out the very worst in the audience; no sooner had he twigged what was going on, 'Talking Bill' was onto his ample feet and roaring fit to bust about the awful cack-handed way in which the rule had been interpreted in the first place, the whole spectacular eruption climaxing with an explosion of nuclear proportions, ending in an almighty bellowed: "?.and you shouldn't have given the free kick in the first place,, you bloody stupid *&%$$!??." Sounded like Bill had belatedly recovered from testing his powers, then!
Just five minutes before the break, Hereford's scoreboard told a sorry tale of ineptitude elsewhere. Newcastle 1, Albion 0. Oh, whoops. Having said that, mind, I'd expected to see that scoreline, or one very similar, much earlier in the proceedings. But on with the game; while my attention had been diverted towards events developing elsewhere, The Bulls nearly ended up finding out the true cost of momentary inattention. Playing, seemingly, with one eye on the impending play-offs and another on late travel bargains up for grabs in town, they nearly gifted the visitors a goal of Laurel and Hardy proportions. And, that, save a creditable attempt by Purdie to grab some glory with but a minute of the half remaining, was the sum-total of the Hereford contribution that half. But not the opposition's - as the referee was raising his whistle to his lips, the visitors nearly broke the deadlock, their effort only just scraping over the crossbar.
Half-time, then, and an amazing tale. You think fixture congestion at our end of the league to be a pretty pressing problem? Well, spare a thought or three for poor Grays, then - no less than four games in eight days, and they're still pitching to get into the play-offs! Considering the vast majority of those games took place in parts of the country you'd shudder at, over distances that would see the average Premiership side collectively howling for Mummy, it's dead easy to see why I regard them to be the Conference's answer to that justly-famous Duracell battery advert!
The second half? Much the same as the first, really. With only five minutes gone, however, there was a bit of a mix-up between the Bulls keeper and one of their defenders that almost let Southport in for a crafty goal; fortunately, they had to settle for a corner in the end. A further burst of ennui then prompted 'Im Indoors to mutter darkly: "What's worse, I wonder? 2-0 down at Newcastle, or 0-0 here?"
With the half well under way by then, it was becoming clear that unless the home side started to concentrate properly, they'd fall victims to a sneaky strike totally against the run of play. At one point, the visitors managed to win a free kick almost on the curve of the 'D' adjacent to the edge of the box, closely followed by a series of Southport corners, one of which followed a deflection caused by persons unknown; had they not got in the way, accidentally or otherwise, the home side would have been holding a wake tonight, make no mistake.
For most of the half, 'Talking Bill' had kept his counsel mostly to himself, but that wasn't to last. This time, it was the referee that got it in the neck - or should I say his somewhat outlandish interpretation of the so-called 'advantage' rule? Whatever the wrongs or rights of the situation, the real loser was the game of football. And Bill's ire was aroused just minutes later when the referee failed to book Baker of Southport looking perilously-close to earning a red card for himself; five times he'd incurred the referee's displeasure, but without benefit of further sanction of whistling displeasure. It's at times like that Bill's demeanour approaches that of sweaty gelignite. One good giggle, though - the suggestion that the whole grim affair be marketed to the general public as :"A Nightmare At Edgar Street"!
The deadlock was finally broken with Hereford taking the lead, at long last, the strike the result of a cross to the near post, and Stansfield poking it in from a range of approximately ten yards out. With hand on heart, I truly have to say that they just didn't deserve it; Southport had looked far more likely to score for much of the half.
Five minutes later, trouble erupted. Baker again was seen to at least attempt to kick the Bulls keeper while he was on the ground and with the ball safely in his clutching arms, the intended path of the blow aimed directly at the poor sod's head. No wonder several of his colleagues then steamed in, intent on extracting revenge. As the guy had been a persistent offender throughout most of the game, popular opinion expected him to walk - but for some reason, unfathomable to man, he got yellow instead, something that caused most of the home support to erupt in an almighty roar of incandescent fury.
From then on in, Hereford should have won the game in a walk, but as I explained earlier, their minds just weren't on the job in hand. Just a minute from the end, Southport managed to equalise. As we all know to our cost, that's what happens when you back off, back off - and end up giving the other side what amounts to a virtual free shot on goal. In a nutshell, that's precisely what happened in this instance. Unsurprisingly, the minute the ref pointed to the centre circle, there was one hell of an eruption from their bit of the dug-out, players, backroom staff, the whole shebang celebrating their deliverance in frenetic fashion.
With that late, late equaliser, they'd been handed a buoyancy aid of totally unexpected proportions, and, when you sat down and thought about it, without too much in the way of effort, either. Hereford will have to look far more lively than today's showing if they truly want to achieve what they should have done in a walk just a couple of seasons ago. With the play-offs in clear sight, now, all the genuine angst and trauma is yet to begin in earnest for them.
Text at top (next game etc)
Next Game: Boston At Edgar Street On Saturday April 20th Kick-Off 3.00pm