Danny said at half time that you can either be a victim or a fighter, and for a few minutes after half time I felt we might have become the former. The injustice of the penalty was clearly still playing on people’s minds, not least the people around me. That injustice was furthered when Terry Hawkridge was booked for a challenge that didn’t look any worse than two or three perpetrated by Tranmere in the first half.
I say ‘didn’t look worse’, at first glance I actually thought Terry might have got a red. It looked like a challenge born of frustration and anger, and had one of their lads done it I would have clamoured for a straight red. It wasn’t the only crunching challenge in a frantic ten minute spell either, Bradley Wood rattled the bones of their wide man with a tough challenge, and the big lump McNulty let Rhead know his card was marked as well. It appeared that we were in a fight, and perhaps brute force would win the game.
Harry Anderson came on for Hawkridge and the game turned in an instant. That isn’t a sleight on Hawkridge, but Anderson seemed much more direct and asked some different questions of the Tranmere defence. For the first time since our early opener we began to rise to the occasion, and we were desperately unlucky not to get a penalty when Theo Robinson was blocked off by McNulty. I suppose it’s hard not to be blocked off by a guy who is bigger than a tank, and twice as slow. When McNulty runs backwards I expect to hear a warning that ‘this vehicle is reversing’.
Theo then missed a great opportunity when a rare ball straight down the field fell at his feet and he lobbed over the keeper and the goal. Overall I thought he ran himself into the ground this afternoon. It wasn’t to be his day, and we made our second change with ten minutes to go.
At this stage I had settled for a point. Barrow were drawing, Dagenham were losing and on the face of it a point would be enough. We still had a game in hand, we were still masters of our own destiny. Since his injury Adam Marriott has been a bit part player, and although the fresh legs might cause an issue, I didn’t feel we were under pressure to chase the game. I’m not the manager though, and our players wanted to be fighters, not victims. Danny wanted them to be fighters, and bringing on Marriott was a master stroke. He offers something different (again) to Theo, rather than legs and pace he offers grace and a natural instinct for sticking the ball in the net.
Marriott’s goal showed all the poise and class that he threatened earlier in the year, and if he’s going to bring that to the table over the next few weeks then Dover can keep Ricky Miller. He showed the cheat Mangan what a centre forward should do, picking up the ball with a lovely touch and finishing with all the panache of a top flight striker. Cue delirium.
Certainly it made this writer forget he is in his late thirties and not as nimble as he used to be. Seeing the boys heading over in the rough direction of my seat, I seized the chance and charged down the steps to celebrate with them. I got caught up in the moment, arms flailing in the air in celebration and my gaze directed at the players now running away from me. Unfortunately I was too fixated on them and not enough on myself, I slipped and went arse over tit down a couple of steps. I didn’t let it phase me though, I got up and just managed to pat Marriott on the shoulder as the inept referee chose that moment to flash another card. Presumably celebrating a winner with your own fans is a booking these days.
When I fell I didn’t even do the terribly British thing of looking around to see if it had been noticed. Like a child at Christmas I was focused on one thing and one thing only: celebrating the goal with those bloody heroes in red and white. I suspected I might be a little bruised when I finally stopped cheering and singing, but luckily that wasn’t until about 6.30pm.
We could have made three one in the last ten minutes, Harry Anderson had a good opportunity but he opted to leave us hanging on through injury time rather than wrapping the game up. That’s not critical of him, he did make a real difference with his injection of pace. As the game got stretched both him and the sublime Nathan Arnold found more and more space. The last ten minutes it felt like a cup tie, end to end with an ‘anything could happen’ vibe about it. Nothing did happen though, nothing that would affect the score sheet, or remind me to think about the growing pain in my wrist.
So it came to pass that Lincoln City will be top come Christmas 2016. Five minutes of injury time turned into eight, Matt Rhead left the field with a yellow festive greeting from the increasingly bewildered official but we held on to secure yet another win, our second from ‘top v second’ games in just under a month. The Lincoln Loco, it rolls on and on. Not even a team with 800 strong travelling fans can derail us.
Will it also come to pass that on Easter Monday a little over two and a half years later, the same opposition will, provide the backdrop for our title-winning afternoon? Will we flood the pitch at the final whistle, carrying our heroes aloft and to whichever public house they want to drink dry? Or, will we have to wait until Newport away and beyond?
Who knows. What I will guarantee is that there will be no broken wrist this time around, unless Chris Illsley gets me in an armlock at half time which I’m led to believe isn’t part of the hospitality package on offer.
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