Lags Hit Tier Two Heights
The Exclusive World Cup Diaries of Lag Supremo, Dave 'Skippy' Richmond
Fri 23 June: POWER LUNCHING
For me the LogicaCMG World Cup 2006 started in earnest on a sunny Friday lunchtime in Charlotte Street, 23rd June, not far from that other HQ down the road. Lunch with the perennial Lags' Supremo, Mark Abbott, brokered by Lu Zurawski.
I had made the decision to come out of retirement some time ago after a long call in French to my long time inspiration, and now I was here to confirm my commitment to the cause once more. Company was good, lunch was very good and the wine supplied by Lu was… expensive.
It was in this heady, power-charged environment the question from Mark was posed with enigmatic reserve, "Skip, I have something to ask you. Will you be Captain of the Lags this year?". After due respect to the question, I said "Yes". Immediately for me the Lags World Cup touah had suddenly become more than a just serious quest for glorious victory, it now became a responsibility. I was responsible for success or failure, and, just as important to me, I was responsible for fellow Lag’s enjoyment or disaffection.
For the next week the responsibility weighed heavy. But the only way to deal with it was to prepare for it and I would like to thank Mark for the extensive files he provided for each Lag and prospective new Lag detailing favoured positions, levels of fitness, speed and agility. One week later I felt thoroughly prepared with numerous formations and player combinations in mind. Above all I was excited. I was back.
Fri 30 June: WARMING UP
After the journey up via Mitch’s house to see 'that TV', it was great to be in the World Cup village and to see the billiard table flat pitches for the challenges ahead. Even with the small interest of a quarter-final in that other World Cup tournament, the lure of a warm-up and kick-about was too strong for a clutch of Lags including myself, Mitch, Kev and Abbo. It was awesome to watch - raking 80 yard passes flying off each boot; slick short interchanges around sharp movement; keepy-uppies of Latin American proportions ... well, we knocked it about a bit and tried not to strain anything! However, what was to be eventually telling was some penno practice. There were a few misses to start with of fitting blooper proportions, notably from Mitch and myself, but then they got rifled in with power and precision. We were ready, and the lone spectator spy from the India team had more than enough to report back.
This first night saw the first wave of Lags hit town with a vengeance looking surprisingly smart, if not uniform, without the stylish leisurewear synonymous with previous ventures. After a rousing history lesson from James McCabe stirring up passion and timeless obstinacy, we got down to the games ahead. Advice to me streamed in from all ports, well, from James anyway. "The key is to attack, '2–2–6' Skippy, there’s just no time and if they score first we won’t win". Sage advice for sure, and there was something about corners being important too.
Sat 01 July: THE NUMBERS GAME
After a sleepless night dreaming of eleven James McCabes playing with blue faces in tartan skirts and taking on the Italians, I woke early – today was 'it'. Also it was time for a new kit and apparently a missive of import from afar penned by a Lag of repute and of large fat pay cheques – Sid was here in spirit if not in (considerable) body.
After a leisurely breakfast we all assembled in the apartment’s lounge area for the giving out of the kit – and what a kit it was. Great job Mark, the kit was superb and devoid of markings unsuitable for the Scottish squad members. Unfortunately such was the interest with the new kit and who got what number there was no time for the missive reading – could this prove telling?
After grabbing boots and assorted medical accompaniments - balms, tubigrip support, etc - we arrived pitch-side. I duly gave the inaugural speech, which I felt was suitably comprehensible and brief and then announced the first line-up in a 4-4-2 formation.
MISSED OPPORTUNITY
GROUP B: ENGLAND LAGS 2-2 SHELL
Scorers: Tony Meeuwsen, Ewen Brown
The Shell game kicked off with the Lags struggling to find fluency and speed, with the all too familiar 'slow start' written all over it. The oppo decided on a less than continental 'marauding' approach and had early success in winning tackles and getting first to the ball in midfield, industry that was rewarded with a free-kick 45 yards out after just five minutes. The innocuous floated cross found its way through a sluggish defence to their centre forward who, unchallenged, knocked it on for another Shell player to advance un-marked and slot home past an exposed Ferry [0-1]. Skippy and Tony Mee did not cover themselves in early glory for sure.
However it was not long before the youthful centre-back (that’s Tony) made amends. Good flank play down the right by Ewen and Abbo won the Lags a corner. The defensive header out from around the penalty spot found Meeuwsen loitering 30 yards out, and with majestic simplicity, he controlled it on his knee and volleyed it back first time, the ball crashing in just under the crossbar for the equaliser [1-1].
As the half wore on, the Lags began to dominate, and Shell were forced to resort to long clearances. It was from one of these that the Scottish side regained the lead. The Lags' midfield had been 'sucked in' to the attack, and a huge header away landed in a yawning gap in the middle of the park. The ball was quickly advanced, and with Shell out-numbering the Lag defenders, the ball was moved neatly to the inside-left channel from where their produced a brilliant finished into the top corner [1-2]. It had all happened so quickly, almost a classic route-one goal. James' words were ringing in my ears – we were down again with the end of the half approaching.
But the Lags' experience is vast, and such set-backs can be taken in their languid stride. We knew we were playing well, and heads did not drop. For the remainder of the game it was wave after wave of Lag pressure bringing chance after chance, whilst the defence of Skippy and Mitch easily repelled the odd sortie from Shell. Within ten minutes of the restart we were level. Another fine passing move down the right could only be stopped with a desperate foul, and Ewen Brown, who had greatly impressed on his Lag debut, simply flashed a low drive across the keeper and just inside the far post [2-2].
There was an air of complete conviction about the Lags now, even though opportunities were being spurned. With time running out the crucial chance arrived. Again it was excellent passing movement that created the space for Brown to advance just outside the box. He let fly and the Shell keeper did well to get a hand to the ball at full stretch. But Abbo had anticipated, and was onto the loose ball in a trice just four yards out with the keeper stranded and the goal unprotected. Somehow, mainly due to an awkward 'half volley' situation, the perennially lethal marksman contrived to get under the ball and stroke it on to the underside of the cross bar. The rebound could have gone anywhere, but unfortunately it landed straight in the arms of the prostrate Shell goalie and the chance had gone: this crucial first game ended in just a draw. The calculators were out, but in reality we had to win both our remaining games to be certain of a quarter-final berth.
LAGS LEAVE IT LATE TO GO FOR INDIANS
GROUP B: ENGLAND LAGS 4-0 INDIA
Scorers: James McCabe, Mark Abbott, Ian Reeves, Stewart Adams
Next up was India which eventually proved to be the predicted victory, although the World Cup debutantes' inventive formation (7–0–3 mostly) did contrive to frustrate the Lags for longer than was good for the nerves. Inside the first minute the tone of the game was set. The Lags midfield were able to pick up possession unopposed but, in the face of no challenge, were tempted into overly long runs with a lack of incisive passing. To be fair, facing 7, 8 or at times 10 Indian defenders protecting the box, an incisive pass was equivalent the threading the proverbial needle, and when space is offered up to the edge of the box, why not run in to it and have a go?!
Simon McHattie exploited this space and freedom to most effect, fully relishing the left side position and the chance to quickly cut inside on to the right peg and fire in a shot. Reevsie and Stewart equally revelled in the lavish space, which only served to frustrate the Lag attack of Spence and Abbo as service was virtually non-existent, perhaps not surprising when the pair out-numbered by a ratio of 4:1!
The break-through finally came from a predictable source, as we finally managed to exploit our aerial dominance. Suddenly it became clear what McCabe had been banging on about on Friday evening, as he timed his run into the box to meet a perfect Reevaldo corner and thump the opening goal into the back of the net with his head [1-0].
The second half began in similarly frustrating fashion, until the Lags worked out that the best approach was to work the ball down the flanks. One such attack down the left resulted in a dangerous cross that was only half cleared. Stewart Adams, loitering with intent just outside the box pounced, but didn't quite connect with his low shot. No matter, for Abbo took the drive in his stride, and for once did not mess about as he fired clinically into the roof of the net from twelve yards. [2-0]
It was not long before we added a third, which Reevaldo described to Garth Crooks after the match. "The goal of the tournament, which you have somehow forgotten, is also something of a blur to me. A cross came in from the right (I can't remember who from, so let's assume it was a 'hopeful lump into the box'). I soared majestically above several muscular Indian defenders, ignored the call from behind of "Skippy's!", withstood the impact of Wolverhampton's finest clattering into the back of my head, and ,er, powered home an arrow-like header. Well, it looped up over the keeper and into the goal, anyway." [3-0].
We were on a roll now, and Stewart Adams got his just rewards for two fine displays when he did fire home from the edge of the box after another precise build-up [4-0]. The Indians did enjoy a couple of counter-attacks as we pushed for more goals, but Mitch was imperiously on hand to tidy up even when outnumbered 2 or 3 to one! In the end we had to settle for a 4-0 scoreline, although perhaps more importantly, Shell and the Czechs had drawn 0–0.
Calculators were quickly pulled from the kit bag and the permutations punched in. The Czechs had despatched the Indians 8–0. It was safe to assume Shell would do likewise (they did precisely that with another 8-0 scoreline), which quite simply meant we had to defeat the Czechs to qualify. Not the desirable situation, and the draw against Shell was being severely rued. However, there was no doubt that a victory was within the Lags’ capability, especially after the dominant second half performance against Shell. And if they had only drawn with the Czechs, logic drew its obvious conclusions ... bring it on!
LAGS CZECH OUT
GROUP B: ENGLAND LAGS 0-1 CZECH REPUBLIC
Scorers: None
After concerted Lag limb stretching and robust rousing within the squad, the Czech game kicked off under a baking, Rome-like sun – global warming had reached St Andrews. The Czechs were a noticeable step up from Shell but easier to handle in a way, playing in a less marauding style but still with dangerous control and movement. More noticeable was the lack of time and space given in any position on the park, especially the flanks which had been a consistently profitable route for the Lags with excellent work from both Ewan Brown and Stuart 'Simon' McHattie operating in wide midfield roles.
It was soon apparent that making a telling dent in the Czech defence was also going to be hard, as chances up front for the Lags seemed to be stifled either by early strong challenges in midfield, or by hard physical marking at the back. Readie made some telling challenges, winning good possession, and Reevsie had some early weaving success, but all ended in nought. The Lags defence held firm with strong performances from Mitch, and the duo of McCabe and Clarkie once again proved consistently impenetrable fullbacks, as this back line gave reassuring stability to the Lags performance.
The first half ended in stalemate, but comprised a pulsating game of two strong defences penning in a compelling midfield dual spanning the width of the park. The heat, the effort of concentration needed to anticipate a lively Czech attack, plus this being the third match of my short rein, was all starting to take its toll on my incisive squad rotation. Although an injury to Spence forced me to bring on Abbott just before the break, no changes made at half time in an attempt to maintain some stability to the start of the second half. But instructions to warm up were given to Brother Duggan.
The second half continued in the same pattern as the first and it was now clear only a mistake was likely to lead to the vital goal required by both sides. First opportunity fell to the Czechs, not through any mistake, but via a slick and sudden break leading to a clear run on goal by the quicker Czech striker. But a magnificent save/block at his feet by Ferry kept the stalemate intact.
The Lags were now tiring and I knew the time had come to live up to my personal goals to both strive for success and to give everyone a chance to shine! The defence, though, was in commanding form repelling the Czech attacks, and I felt I couldn't make change there. Thus the late arriving Brother Duggan had his chance to shine probably not in the position he expected, but rather on left wing. Certainly he proved a revelation and more than a physical handful for the Czech defence when in thundering flight – with or without the ball at his feet!
Then the pivotal moment arose and in bizarre circumstances. A Czech attack down their right was effectively nullified and brought to a complete standstill just inside the Lags 18 yard box by excellent cover marking from Dan Orteu who had performed in exemplary fashion on the left all day. With Dan covering an outside move and Skippy second cover 6 yards behind Dan protecting a run inside, play (and time itself it seemed) effectively stood still in a stand-off. The three of us were motionless for almost a minute, which was an eternity in this frenetic match, and it must have transfixed both sides. I was on the point of moving up to force a move when a Czech midfield player broke free from the trance of the moment evading a Lag marker (obviously still transfixed), and from a position of no threat to the Lags defence, a pass was slipped in to the box and the ball slotted past Ferry in to the corner [0-1].
It was the most bizarre passage of play I had experienced. With not much time left the Lags threw everything at the Czechs. Stewart Adams forced two half chances, the first a difficult header back across goal, the second a rasping drive from the edge of the box that flew inches too high. Abbo pulled off a classic Cruyff turn on the left wing, before looping his cross wastefully onto the roof of the net. Back on came Clarkie for the exhausted, nippy winger that was Duggan, but even with this shrewd tactical switch, time finally ran out on the Lags in this game and on another tilt at the trophy. Even a draw which would have been a fairer result would not have been enough to secure a quarter-final berth.
A weary Lags side trudged off to watch another England team fail to progress in a parallel tournament which only added to the gloom for some, although buoyed the spirits of others – namely James in particular! But it was further testament to the Lags spirit that over a re-energising curry, it was resolved that 'tomorrow was another day'. Infallible logic as ever, and we had 'our final' to battle for – to be winners of the Second Tier competition. And what a day it turned out to be.
Sun 02 July: TIER TWO AMBITION TOUAH
After an alcohol stimulated evening of reminiscing, reiterating how close we had come to achieving at least the semis, and listening to some "catch 'em and eat 'em" tales about derring-do survival trips in the highlands of Crocodile-Dundeesque proportions from Stewart, I awoke to the daunting task of salvaging something memorable from this touah.
At breakfast everyone seemed a tad tired but making a good show of being up for it, myself included. The main table talk revolved around the missed-out missive from our distant girthy 'Lag of Repute', everyone wondering when we were going to at last hear the inspirational piece of prose.
We all duly assembled pitch side before the first game, which was to be against Manchester A – our old foes who had put paid to our Roman hopes with the last kick of that game. It was time for the reading. Inspiring and humorous as it was, would it have made a difference yesterday? No, but it did set a good tone for the day: enjoy, but go all out and win; be big and be clever – I think?! Even Abbo's musical rendition of the Silver Ball ditty failed to dent our fiery ambition to achieve three straight victories today and be crowned Tier Two Champions. Malc would be turning in his silver-laden personal trophy museum.
REEVALDO HEADS FOR GLORY
T2 QUARTER-FINAL: ENGLAND LAGS 2-1 MANCHESTER A
Scorers: Simon McHattie, Ian Reeves
After some team stretching and short-passing warm-ups, the trusted 4-4-2 trusted formation welcomed Brother Duggan back to a more familiar defensive position. After initial probing runs by both teams, and some decisive, 'make a point' tackling, the Lags got into their stride with some good use of the flanks. Ewen and McHattie provided plenty of wide options for Reeves and Readie, whilst Abbott and Spence made themselves targets time and again with intelligent running.
However, as seems to be the way in the first game for the Lags, Manchester opened the scoring against the run of play. They broke down the right with some crisp passing and finished off with a low shot angled across Ferry and into far corner [0-1]. Again, as on Saturday, the Lags simply shrugged this injustice off and renewed the rhythm slowly, penning Manchester further and further back. Some classic Lag making-the-ball-do-the-work (which is becoming more of a necessity nowadays) certainly wowed the crowd, and seemed to literally peel back the years. From defence through midfield there was slick passing, especially between McCabe, McHattie, Reevsie and Spence. Readie was positively revelling in midfield, making good challenges and providing excellent link play out to Ewen on the right. After a number of close calls, a telling McHattie run powered the Lags into the box. He slipped the ball into Abbo's feet, who played an outrageous yet noncey back-heel beautifully back into the path of McHattie, who had continued his run. His first effort was blocked, but momentum carried Simon on and he fired in the rebound from an acute angle [1-1].
This promised to open the flood gates but yielded only one further goal before half time – but it was another Reevsie 'bonce blockbuster'. Lag pressure had forced a corner which was beautifully delivered by Ewen Brown and, without the 'blue on blue' pressure from myself, Reevsie expertly pulled off his marker to meet the cross and angle a downward header in at the far post [2-1].
A couple of changes at half time saw Stewart on for Readie, Tony on for Clarkie, and myself on for the Brother. Squad rotation had assumed a smooth regularity with familiar positional pairings aiding to the smooth transitioning. It was also made a little easier by the second day absence of Dan Orteu (back complaint), Spence Junior (back complaint) as well as the complete non-appearance of Sumo (back complaint) – an unnerving consistency of weakness that should be addressed by the fleet of Lag physiotherapists next year.
The second half saw some renewed vigour in Manchester, not to mention some younger legs which served to re-balance the unevenness of the first half. The Lags were not in trouble as such, but found freedom and space a little harder to come by and the slick passing of the first half became somewhat lacking as errant 'wank-last-ball-itis' set in. The only notable chance was a curly faff-shot from Abbo, who, like us all, expected a tad more lethalness in himself. As the end of the match drew near, Manchester pressed forward ever more purposefully. Only an outstanding double save from two thunderbolt drives by Ferry kept the lead in tact, but some cool-headed defending finally saw the Lags hold out for a deserved victory.
PHEW WOT A SCORCHER!
T2 SEMI-FINAL: ENGLAND LAGS 3-2 ESSEX
Scorers: Simon McHattie, David Richmond, James MCabe
We were though to 'our semi-final', and it felt good to be back to winning ways. Next up were Essex who, like Manchester, could be dangerous and were certainly not lacking in the physical department. We started with what had become the norm: a 4-4-2 formation with Mitch and Bro'D at the heart of defence proving an impenetrable barrier, and Clarkey and McCabe ably extending this veritably impervious wall across to the full-back positions. I'd also decided to partner myself with Reevsie in the middle to spice up the action. McHattie was playing inspiring stuff wide on the left, admittedly not in his preferred position, and new boy Ewan was still providing much needed width and penetration on the right. With trusted, albeit a tad mis-firing at times, Abbo and stalwart Spence up front [Skip, I know you've been out of the game for some time due to retirement, but you need to brush up your knowledge on the role of the modern striker. It is no longer to score goals per se, but rather to create space and mayhem to enable others to score c.f. Crouch, Owen, Ronaldinho, Toni, Pauleta, et al – Ed], the Lags were acquiring a formidable and imperious feel about them, not to mention quality on the bench! (Tony, Readie, and Stewart).
As with Day 1, the Lags started the second game much sharper and were in to our stride quickly, winning good possession in midfield and passing with authority, using the flanks well and defending with assured comfort. The Lags took the lead with a now typically incisive passing move culminating in a cross to Spence. Kev's Zebedee leap allowed a well directed, powerful header to beat the keeper but hit the post, rebounding perfectly [A classic example of what I was talking about – Ed] in to the path of McHattie who finished with aplomb, striking a low hard drive past the Essex 'keeper [1-0]. Good flank play had become the Lags' trademark route to the onion bag throughout the tournament, and now excellent link-up play between Ewen and Abbo down the right saw the latter cleverly peeling off wide [Ditto – Ed], and resulted in an inch-perfect cross that was dispatched with minimal fuss by myself, ghosting in effortlessly and unmarked to the edge of the six-yard box [2-0].
With the Lags coasting, Essex raised the aggression levels and some poor challenges came flying in from behind, admittedly from one player in particular, who was rightly scorned by his own team mates and received a yellow card for his efforts. However, although it changed the tone of the game, it didn't knock the Lags off course, and the half finished positively but with no added score. The second half, as with the Manchester game, saw the game take on an unmerited evenness about it. This had nothing to do with the smooth squad rotations, just a tendency to take the studded boot off the opposition's jugular when we should have been grinding it to mush. The half time benefited Essex more, and some scrappy play allowed our opponents to win a corner. A poor clearance led to some penno-box pinball, which unfortunately went Essex's way with a pokey reflex shot squirming through the throng and past a helpless Ferry [2-1].
The game became gritty and physical with a revitalised Essex feeling that they were still in the hunt. However the Lags were unbowed and stabilised the situation with solid defending and midfield tackling. Tony Mee, who had replaced McHattie on the left, was proving quite a handful down Essex's right hand side. A longer-than-usual ball from the Lags released Tony early doors, but after powering past the last defender, he fired wide, albeit from an acute angle. McCabe, who had started to ghost further up the left, interchanged with Tony and released a cutting pass to Abbo in the wide left channel. Drifting menacingly towards the danger zone, I immediately knew where this was all going, and stepped on the gas towards the left hand post. Sure enough, Mark arrowed a low cross in and with a final lunge I just arrived milli-seconds too late; any connection would have slotted the ball past the hapless Essex keeper, but instead he reflex-pouched the cross.
The tide had sure enough turned back with the Lags, and a clinching third goal came from the man who would eventually be rewarded with the Silver Ball Award. In a virtual mirror goal to Tony's against Shell, a Lag attack spearheaded by Stewart resulted in a clearance which found McCabe out on the left touchline. The Scot controlled the difficult ball in one, and fired back a looping inch-perfect shot that dipped into the top right-hand corner over the hapless, flapping Essex 'keeper [3-1]. As Reevsie's heroine Ann Robinson would say, he really was their weakest link, although there was nothing he could do about McCabe's spectacular and pin-point effort, a worthy winner of the Sidaway prize.
With no time left Essex gained a somewhat fortunate consolation goal when a shot from distance contrived to hit the bar and rebound back off the prostrate and bemused Ferry into the net [3-2]. But there was absolutely no time left for any sweat to break out on the brow of the imperious Mitch - it was game over, and Final here we come.
SPOT PRIZE
T2 FINAL: ENGLAND LAGS 0-0 CALOR GAS B
(England Lags win 4-2 on penalties)
Penalty Shoot-out Scorers: Mark Abbott, David Richmond, Ian Reeves, Ewen Brown
The glorious, greenhouse gas fuelled Scottish heatwave of yesterday had spookily made way to growling thundery weather that provided an ominous backdrop to the final game, which indeed was ‘our Final’. We were up against a youthful Calor Gas side, who had humiliated the Lags by thoroughly thrashing them 4-1 in the last match in Speyer. We were showing signs of weariness, well, downright knackeredness to be blunt, and the pause between games had again brought the usual stiffening of limbs. But the spirit was very much alive and I was roundly joined in the pre-match rallying cry.
Everyone was up for it. Readie was positively turning back the years in the middle of the park alongside Reevsie, a perky colt compared to the Lag elder statesman. The game started at a lively pace which the Lags were more than meeting. Calor had a couple of nippy midfielders that caused some trouble initially until the imperious Mitch soon got the measure of them, marshalling the Lag rearguard to their impervious best. It was a fraught and frenetic contest in the middle but with neither side making much impact in front of goal.
Half time came quickly it seemed. Unlike previous matches where the Lags seemingly lost momentum early in the second half there was no drop in concentration or effort or momentum from either side. The match was a carbon copy of the Czech game with 0–0 written all over it and only a mistake through loss of concentration or flash of brilliance would tip the balance. The break-through almost came for the Lags late in the second half with, in this case, a flash of brilliance. A smart ball in to the box from Spence found Abbo, who controlled and turned in one fluid, Dalglish-like move, leaving the defender prone, but his low shot curled agonisingly inches wide of the far post.
Extra time loomed large like the storm clouds overhead, but more group rabble rousing at full-time somehow kept aching and tired limbs pumped with energy and adrenalin. We were exhausted, tired but resolute. Knackered, soaked, yet determined this would not end in despair. We were the Lags and this was OUR Final. Extra time kicked off to a cacophony of vocal urging-on of each other, plus some loud support from a small gaggle of Lag supporters, comprising the 'bench' and a band of ex-Lags – oh how they must have rued the decision to find glory in other teams, even pleading to get a place in the Lags side at the start of the game! No chance!
Calor were still a little quicker and a little fitter but in the end no match for the Lags’ experience and team spirit. Few chances were made in either half of extra time, and the final whistle signalled it was time for the ultimate test of footballing mettle, the word every Englishman dreads: penalties. Abbo took charge in the short time available to choose our six combatants: the first five to take would be Mark, Mitch, myself, Reevsie and Ewan, with Ferry as keeper, a man who had had a truly magnificent tournament, and whom hoped could produce just a few more heroics.
This is how the drama unfolded:
The Lags erupted with joy, yet showed sympathy for their young Calor opponents. It is a cruel way to lose, and I'm sure they'll be back next year, much the wiser for experience.
So we had achieved our Sunday objective, our hastily revised Plan B, and won all three games to lift the virtual Tier Two Plate trophy. It may not have been the Tier One trophy demanded by the ever-demanding saloon-bar pundits, but it was in reality a pretty impressive achievement for a team in which every outfield player bar two were well into their fifth decade, with even one of those "youngsters" scheduled to win his '40th cap' before next year's tournament. All that was left was to celebrate in classic Lag fashion: good food, vintage wine, and a cab to the airport. Still, a Lag hard-core remained behind, sampling the cliff-top bars long into the night with a large bevy of Pups for company, reminiscing about glories past, and, in a small way perhaps, present.