It's now one win in 16, and nothing at Loftus Road in seven matches, for increasingly desperate and bereft Queens Park Rangers, whose slide from first place in mid-October has now reached the familiar ground of sixteenth in the Championship.
In the 1995/96 season Mick McCarthy’s Millwall side set the early pace in the First Division. They won five and drew one of their first seven league games — Grimsby, Port Vale, Portsmouth, Reading and Luton were beaten. A 1-0 loss at home to Barnsley in game six and a 2-1 set back at The Den against Sunderland in round ten would be their only league defeats in their first 18 matches, and they pumped Premier League Everton 4-2 at Goodison Park in the League Cup for good measure. A 1-0 loss at Stoke on November 25, a first defeat in ten games, was not enough to prevent them entering December as the first placed team in the division. The Premier League braced itself for the sort of invasion towns in this country hadn’t seen since the time of the Vikings.
That 1-0 defeat in the Potteries started the rot. Four games and four defeats later, stop me if you’ve heard this one before, the manager walked out on them for a better gig — Mick McCarthy the fairly obvious choice to succeed Jack Charlton as Republic of Ireland manager. His last game was a 6-0 defeat to Sunderland on Wearside. Jimmy Nicholl succeeded him but couldn’t stop the freefall — Millwall would win only four, and lose 19, of their remaining 30 matches. The 34 points they’d posted in their lightning start was almost enough to keep their head above water, and a 2-0 home success against Birmingham five games out from the end of the season lifted them to 51 — a total that would have secured safety in every season at this level since bar 07/08 when Leicester went down with 52, and 12/13 when Peterborough dropped with 54. But they then lost at Huddersfield and at home to Oldham and Stoke meaning a win was required at Ipswich on the final day and a 0-0 draw sent them down on goals scored from Portsmouth.
Such a thing has never happened in this division since, and if that’s to remain the case then Queens Park Rangers are going to have to do a good deal better than they are at the moment. Top of the league in October, 31 points posted before Michael Beale walked out, Rangers are now back in the warm embrace of their favourite sixteenth position on a run of one win from 16 games, no wins in nine, no home victories in seven attempts. They have a ten point cushion to twenty second, and have already posted 38 points which would have been enough to keep them up last season. Cardiff, Huddersfield, Blackpool and Wigan below them aren’t showing a great deal of interest in chasing down the teams above them, currently boasting just one win in their last 40 fixtures between them, but having failed to win at Cardiff or Huddersfield recently, and with away trips to four of the bottom six looming on the horizon, it’s starting to look and feel like QPR are going to run this thing close.
That it was Millwall on Saturday, winning at Loftus Road for the first time since 1989, made a difference only in as much as it gave me the chance to tell that little tale in the match report intro. Playing like this, and particularly defending like this, this could be Rotherham, or anywhere, Liverpool or Rome, cos QPR aren’t beating anyone, anyone at home.
Let the formalities begin with the calling of the register — spot the persistent truants. Leon Balogun, off washing Mick Beale’s car perhaps, or licking his bumhole, who knows? Who cares? Jake Clarke-Salter, one quick outing at Huddersfield, one daft free kick given away for their goal, and that’s him done for the week apparently — bye Jake, take care. Tyler Roberts, mortally wounded at Hull, might be fit for this one they told us in the pre-match… was not fit for this one after all. Can’t believe it. Cannot ruddy believe it. This is what shock feels like then. Shall I be able to continue? Taylor Richards… not sure this guy actually exists. Might be a fictional character. More chance of Mr Benn getting a QPR kit from the shopkeeper and turning out in our midfield for one of his adventures — couldn’t be any less effective than Andre Dozzell to be fair to him. Joe Gubbins made the bench — waves at Joe, hiya Joe. Thirty-four-year-old freebie Chris Martin was among the subs — close to where all the pies are I guess, help get him settled in — and Sinclair Armstrong got a second start of his career up front. Danny McNamara, oh how he must lose sleep over QPR’s failed attempts to bring him across London last summer, tried to go shoulder to shoulder with him early doors and this was not a conspicuous success — Armstrong bouncing him ten yards through the air onto the gravel track and giving him a good, hard stare would prove to be the highlight of the afternoon for the home crowd.
We’ll do the first Millwall goal now, count the errors with me, play along at home. It started with Kenneth Paal giving the ball away, and getting away with it as McNamara put it straight out from a throw in. Let me ruin watching QPR for you forever more now — they give the ball away from every throw in they have, within two touches. Every time. It’s infuriating. Watch them. Once you notice it, it cannot be unseen. They are incapable of throwing the ball onto the field of play, to a team mate, and still having it two touches later. More likely to see them win a cup game than accomplish this. On this occasion Paal and Johansen took turns playing hospital balls to each other until George Honeyman swept in and showed how it’s done. Sam Field tried to help, and made things worse. Sam Field could have fouled Zian Flemming, taken a tactical yellow card for the team, but didn’t. Thanks for playing Sam. Now, some U11s stuff. Everybody to the ball, all of you, all at once, charge, big cloud of dust — that’s it Rob, Jimmy, Ken. Ethan wasn’t here, in fact I’ve watched it through a few times and I can’t for the life of me figure out where Ethan is, possibly hanging around wherever the fuck it is Jake Clarke-Salter and Taylor Richards spend their fucking Saturday afternoons. Duncan Watmore is standing where Ethan should be, all alone, unmarked and onside because of course he’s onside — the Acme Corporation sets better traps than this QPR defence. One touch to set and then woof, top corner. From our throw in, in their half.
If you are worried about Ethan Laird’s whereabouts then hold off on the milk carton advert just for a moment because I’ve found him. Watch, for Millwall’s second goal, from a long throw into the box, as he decides that Jimmy Dunne and Rob Dickie challenging each other for an aerial ball while Seny Dieng remains rooted to his line is a situation crying out for the involvement of a fourth QPR player. Into the melee he charges, the three of them jump together as one, the ball lands at the feet of visiting sub Ollie Burke, and he scores into the broad side of the goal from point blank range unchallenged. Fairly damning, but not at all surprising, that these QPR players can’t even beat themselves in the air.
Some tales from the notes I made in the first half. McNamara crossed low for Tom Bradshaw — tight shorts, dreadful beard — to whip a better chance than QPR have created for several weeks over the bar after, checks watch, 17 seconds of play. Ooooh, keep it tight early lads. Sinclair Armstrong’s various kick and chase attempts behind the Millwall defence caused alarm, panic and comedy in equal splits — he was the only QPR player who seemed to be playing with any confidence or belief at all. Ilias Chair shot high over the bar when Kenneth Paal was dying to be played in down the left, curled another one a few yards wide of the far post with our best effort of the half, and later strode onto a nice touch off from Armstrong and executed a shot so badly it went out for a throw in further back down the pitch than where he’d struck it from. Fuck me dead. Jamal Lowe had a shot over the top as well, then stood and put his head silently into his hands. The feeling was more than mutual.
Director of football Les Ferdinand defended these players in his interview with us in the week. Manager Neil Critchley has questioned their mentality, publicly, twice in recent weeks after shambolic losses at Fleetwood and Hull but Ferdinand repeatedly bit back at the notion that they are not trying, don’t care, or have downed tools because they came here to play for a manager and the manager left — he would, of course, have to deny this latter point, because it’s exactly what having a director of football is meant to prevent. Instead he was keen to paint this now four-month long horror show as a confidence issue and, to be fair to him, this performance and what we saw on Saturday was definitely one that leaned towards the team simply being bereft of any self esteem or belief whatsoever, rather than one that wasn’t trying. In the case of the two Millwall goals — players rushing towards the ball in a big group trying to solve the problem individually rather than staying in shape and tackling it as a team — certainly brought this line from the interview to mind: "You’re trying to get your part right and you’re thinking ‘if I get my part right everything will be ok’, but then he's saying the same thing, and so is he, and we look disjointed. That’s where we are at the moment.”
That lack of confidence was most palpable, for me, on Saturday in the performances of Dickie and Laird. Watching Dickie try to play out from the back in this game was traumatic. One, in the first half, in the vague direction of Sam Field, could have got the poor bastard’s leg broken — you can’t be playing passes like that while our ambulance service is in this state of crisis. In the second half Johansen laid one off to his right for Dickie to walk onto and play first time down the line to Laird, but he was ten yards deeper than he should have been, and took a touch he didn’t need to take, slowing the play, losing the moment, to Johansen’s clear, obvious, verbalised and arm-waving exasperation. Not, it should be added, the first or last time the QPR players seemed to be in open, brazen, stand up arguments with each other on Saturday. Laird, my God, the near post defenders in the Championship appear to be passing a giant magnet around between them with Laird’s smiley face on it — every, single, bloody, cross, scuffed, low, mishit, straight into the first defender standing in front of him. Over and over and over and over again. Where’s that Ethan Laird who was driving inside full backs and posing a goal threat, where’s that Ethan Laird who was stripping opponents down the outside and cutting assists back from the byline? We’re just sitting here watching the life drain out of these players. The crowd isn’t really getting angry with them either, the whole place just goes quiet. It’s so sad.
What I would say in their defence, is the amount of times you see Dickie and Dunne looking for passes to play down the field, only to be greeted with seven or eight team mates standing still, next to their defenders, staring back at them blankly is chronic. Dickie, in particular, increasingly forlorn and frustrated at the lack of people showing for a pass. It’s often difficult to work out who, exactly, is meant to be marking who when you watch QPR players just standing next to an opponent, pointing constantly this way and that rather than showing up for the ball themselves. For all his poor decision making and selfishness in shooting positions, Ilias Chair is the one who does at least consistently drop off, move about, want the ball, and offer an option.
Two nil was coming long before two nil arrived. A front three of Flemming, Bradshaw and Watmore is streets ahead of anything QPR are able to field — this, remember, a Millwall team we absolutely took to school and pulled apart at their place in September. Watmore shot into the side netting on 54 minutes, slipped Bradshaw through on goal on 58 but for a desperate cover tackle which led to a corner and the first of several goalmouth scrambles in the second half, then the pair combined for a goal on the hour disallowed for offside. When Jake Cooper started the wrong side of Sam Field, stayed the wrong side of Sam Field, and was the wrong side of Sam Field throughout the delivery of a wide set piece, Sam Field stupidly and obviously wrestled him to the floor for an obvious penalty not given — excellent referee Dean Whitestone’s only error on the day, and it was a bad one.
QPR’s response, my God, can I bring myself to even type it out? Let’s see. Attacking a cross from the right, Sinclair Armstrong made the decision to try and fist the ball into the net from 15 yards out. In the process of jumping, punching, landing, and getting booked (because obviously), he cramped up and had to go off. This meant a substitution earlier than Neil Critchley had planned, and because it was earlier than Neil Critchley had planned, our substitutes were sitting down in the dugout, and not warming up on the touchline, because why on earth would you warm up on the touchline if you’re a substitute who might be called into the action at any moment? On came Chris Willock, two bad hamstring injuries in the last year and counting, with our terminally half arsed half time warm up drill inside him. Down the left side went the pass for Chris Willock to chase and cross, after the ball Chris Willock went, ping went Chris Willock’s hamstring again, and that’s the end of him for the next few months. Bye Chris. Strike a fucking light. Fell in a barrel of boobs and came up sucking the Ebola virus.
Chris Martin replaced Stefan Johansen for his debut, and when Ilias Chair got the cross spot on eight minutes from time he was able to glance home a goal to halve the deficit. It was QPR’s fourth goal at the Loft End this season, their first in nine games, their first not scored by Lyndon Dykes since Easter Monday, their first not involving Lyndon Dykes since February 22 and their first in open play not involving Lyndon Dykes since February 19. It’s been a long year in the Lower Loft.
Martin banged his big hands together, whirled his arms around, and set about inspiring the unlikeliest of comebacks. The closest they came was the method used to perform a similarly improbable salvage job at Sunderland in August. Whitestone added a generous six minutes of time to the end of the game, and pointed high into the sky for a late corner. Here came Seny Dieng. Gary Rowett saw him crossing the halfway line, and broke the glass on his emergency Ryan Leonard to charge on from the bench and mark him. It made no difference, Dieng was right there in the thick of the action, the ball dropped, a mad scramble, Wawll get it away, Dieng chases after it, now he’s tight to the touchline, with two for company, and no support, and he’s trying a bloody Cruyff turn, and it’s working. Another corner. Another scramble. More panic. It falls to Jimmy Dunne. It’s a good chance. It’s an ugly finish. High and not so handsome. The game is over. Seny Dieng is not the worst outfield player we have. How desperate does this situation have to become before we go all Stuart Pearce-David James on this and just chuck him up there for real?
I suspect we’re going to find out. Sunderland and Middlesbrough to come later this week. Huddersfield, Cardiff, Fleetwood… it’s difficult to really see who QPR are going to beat playing like this.
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QPR: Dieng 6; Laird 4, Dickie 4, Dunne 4, Paal 4; Dozzell 4, Johansen 6 (Martin 64, 6), Field 5; Lowe 5, Chair 5, Armstrong 6 (Willock 69, - (Adomah 76, 5)
Subs not used: Kakay, Archer, Gubbins, Iroegbunam
Goals: Martin 82 (assisted Chair)
Bookings: Armstrong 69 (handball)
Millwall: Long 6; McNamara 7, Cresswell 7, Cooper 7, Wallace 6; Mitchell 7, Saville 6; Honeyman 7 (Leonard 90+2, -), Flemming 7 (Shackleton 85, -), Watmore 8 (Burke 68, 7); Bradshaw 7 (Boglsammer 85, -)
Subs not used: Malone, Bialkowski, Esse
Goals: Watmore 31 (assisted Flemming), Burke 78 (unassisted)
Bookings: Honeyman 85 (foul)
QPR Star Man — Chris Martin 6 Scored.
Referee — Dean Whitestone (Northants) 7 Like I say I thought Field's challenge on Cooper was an obvious penalty, and that’s a big decision wrong, which is a shame because I thought other than that the referee was excellent, allowing a good, physical London derby to play out with a light touch, no play-acting or histrionics fallen for, no card fest… very good.
Attendance — 15,335 (3,000 Millwall approx.) Massive fucking congratulations to the knobber who felt brave enough to shout "fuck off Millwall” during a minute’s silence for the Turkish earthquake from behind the safety and security of a fence and a line of police, simultaneously making us all look like cunts, and winding an already boisterous and loud travelling support up behind their team even more. Thick as a whale sandwich.
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Pictures — Ian Randall Photography
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