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What I.Saw: When The Big Boys Cry, A Weak Man Listens
Tuesday, 3rd Jan 2017 10:04 by I.Saw

Norfolk, Nelson’s County, England Expects….

Norwich, a trip so steeped in history, you almost expect a horse and cart instead of a tractor, or articulated lorry, to be the next obstacle waiting to be overtaken down roads which were surely less busy in roman times.

In Roman times no doubt you could leave your chariot anywhere (at least until Queen Bodica came along). These days it's a route march from the NCP and at £9.60 I expected, if not a red carpet, then at least a stairwell not smelling of pee. I didn't get it.

A far better deal, along the route march, provisions, the local paper where doing goodie bags of Two Newspapers, a bottle of Water, Crisps and Chocolate for a whole one pounds of your English Sterling.

Carrow Road, outside walking round, wind whistling, a steaming great big Sausage Roll for £4, I was tempted I tell you. If only they gave you one free with the £35 ticket.

Inside, plastic bottles intact, (at nearly 60 you don't get quite so many searches), we make changes, out goes Darren Bent and the suspended Will Hughes and Matej Vydra starts up front and Mr Jaggermeister is in midfield.

Game underway and Norwich are nervous, they give away the ball, we take it and treat it like Cricketers, toss it around a little between ourselves, polish it and then eventually return it to the furthest point away from the point of intended impact.

Can you win a cricket match by possession of the ball?

The Canaries cotton on.

They fly at us Rams.

We defend in numbers.

We have numerical superiority.

However.

We don't send anybody to the man with the ball.

A dose of salts couldn't do better than the home side.

We stand off.

Nelson Oliveira, all the time in the world, turns and drills a beauty past Scott Carson.

We trail to Norwich’s first shot on target. We don't get any better.

Trailing we time waste. Yes. You Carson. What's it all about please? Are you worried about conceding more?

We are lucky the coat of paint on the post saves us from Alex Tattey adding to the score.

We are lucky that Steven Naismith’s has no power rangers in his shots that are cuddled comfortably by Carson.

Norwich though are the mustard, we are the meat, they are always on top.

We are lucky we have Tom Ince; he puts in more than anybody could expect. Think back to those schoolboy days, the best player trying to drag his bunch of no hopers up to standard to make a team. Ince did more than we had any right to expect.

Could we expect a shot on target? The first half offered none.

The second half begins with a change. Andreas Weimann replacing Johnny Russell who had been largely ineffective after having his legs kicked off him with virtually every touch, yet not a single booking by the berk in Purple masquerading as a match official.

Having been one, it's seldom I have a full blown at referees but this one couldn't control a kindergarten. Even when they were sleeping. Inept would be akin to offering praise.

I'm not though going to blame Mr Match Official for the first forty seconds of the second half which saw inept defending gift the ball to Oliveira who from a narrow angle beat Carson and scrape the paint off the crossbar.

The writing though is on the wall as Norwich continues to press and have two glorious chances wasted, we could be four or five down. We couldn't have complained.

Ikechi Anya pulls up, cannot continue and Jamie Hanson comes on at left full back. Watching him playing out of position he showed a desire to win the ball and a passion so lacking in most of the more established stars.

Eleven became ten.

Jacob Butterfield wins the ball, clearly and certainly before Johnny Howson arrives. Yet the Rams player, committed follows through Howson's shin pad flies off and six or seven Yellow Shirts surround the Purple People Eater including keeper Ruddy who has run to the half way line to protest.

You might be interested to know the tackle happened on the half way line directly in front of the Assistant Referee who didn't even flag for a foul.

Yet we all know in Kindergarten those big kids rule. The mob ruled and Butterfield saw Red. A perverse Yellow was issued to Carson who was “stopped” fifteen yards away from making his thoughts known by his own players. When the big boys cry, a weak man listens.

Against the run of play, we have a chance.

Ince, in the box, free, yet not enough to beat Ruddy.

It could have been level. It wasn’t.

Oliveira, a free header, 2-0 and barely had the electronic scoreboard twisted enough to show the home fans their second goal before Olivera completed his hatrick with a volley that Carson should have saved.

Belatedly Bent comes on, a glorious chance to add some respectability; he blows it, straight at the keeper.

Final whistle, a three nil defeat that didn't flatter Norwich.

The true heroes the away fans in the stand who supported all the way though, they deserved better from those on the pitch, especially those who turned and walked off possibly expecting the worse.

Norfolk is Nelson’s County. Today it's Nelson Oliveira's.

All that's left is those slow roads home. Country Roads, John Denver anyone?

One final thought.

How does dropping your one striker who scores your goals help?

How does telling your whole strike force (one who is a record signing yet is as effective as an Alka-Seltzer would be in clearing toilet lime scale), that you want a former wardrobe (named after his lack of movement perhaps) back?

Hey it's January, it's Steve McClaren, welcome back.....

The sense of Déjà Vu is strong!


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