The Imps exited the Carabao Cup last night. Whether 1-0, 8-0 or on penalties, the outcome is the same – we won’t get the fourth-round tie that our play so richly deserved.
That’s the function, the outcome, stripping the result back to nothing but its barest form. However, there are few Lincoln City fans who could possibly have left the ground filled with anything other than pride at a really good night for our club.
It felt a little like an away day for me. We changed our routine thanks to the Lincolnshire Poacher being closed, so ended up in the Bailgate for food. Word of warning – don’t order the chicken tacos from the Prince of Wales if you’re hungry! It was fun with Dad, Chris, and Dave, and in town was just the same. I went in the fan zone for the first time this season to soak up some atmosphere, and it was nice to hear a few cockney voices praising the setup. We then decided to get into the ground early, which seemed like a good choice. I heard a turnstile broken down, so whilst we got in with 20 minutes to spare, many missed kick-off and the tribute to Colin Murphy.
They also missed something I had long wanted to see – the West Ham fans singing I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles. I’m a traditionalist, and like Liverpool fans singing You’ll Never Walk Alone or that bloody Pompey cowbell, it’s nice to see something considered a part of English football tradition on your own turf. I’m not as keen as their ‘champions of Europe; we know what we are’ chant – my efforts to start ‘champions of Thursday’ didn’t really get off the ground. I’m almost pleased it didn’t – I actually enjoyed their European triumph last season, so why shouldn’t they have their moment?
Away from the occasion of the night, there was a football game to play, a tactical battle between a side that cost an estimated £170m against a team that cost an estimated £400,000. We knew they’d have a lot of possession, and they’d need to break us down. I envisaged the game in three portions – the first 45, then 15-minute increments. Get to half time at 0-0, and we’d be in a good position, then we just took each third of the second period as it came. That was how I saw the game.
There’s no doubt West Ham are a good side with some wonderful players. Benrahma and Kudos both had all the little tricks and flicks, and in fairness West Ham did look dangerous whenever they had the ball. They should – their starting XI is littered with international players, even if they were resting some big names. It felt like the perfect balance for me – a team with enough big names to justify the big crowd but who are not quite in a position to do what Liverpool did a couple of years ago and bring a team of kids that can score seven past you.
Let’s be honest – West Ham were the better team, of course they were. They moved the ball around nicely, they found space with ease, and just their final ball let them down. They floated a lot of crosses over Jensen’s bar in the first half, as much a reflection of the conditions as anything. It certainly shouldn’t be forgotten how bad the wind really was – Jensen’s kicks held up constantly, and the flip side was balls in the air toward our goal often looked overhit.
Whilst we knew they’d be the better side in terms of technique, we had to find a way to combat that and to give ourselves a chance, and I think we did that. However, one slip, one moment, could have cost us. Sean Roughan didn’t put a foot wrong all night, bar one moment where he slipped on the turf. That led to an immediate break and a super double save from Jensen, underlining his ability. I fear if they’d got an early goal, then maybe they could have gone on to get three or four, so to keep that one out was massively important.
I didn’t think we’d have chances to cheer, but we did, and they provided some talking points. First, we got a shot on target after Sorensen’s surging run created space for Hackett. Then, just before the half hour, we scored. Okay, we didn’t actually score, but we did have the ball in the net. Haks’ long throw, the sort of secret weapon you only dream about, got launched into the box, and Smith sliced an effort goalwards. It looked like it was going in, but Millwall loanee Mitchell made sure, bundling the ball home. The flag immediately went up, but it was still a split-second surge of joy.
Was it offside? Yes. Was it going in any way? I don’t think so.
The next big chance also fell to us, which feels odd when we’re playing a team that won a European Trophy last season. A delicious delivery from Ali Smith saw Hackett raise highest, unchallenged in the area to force Fabianski into a fine save. From our angle, it looked like a world-class save. The moaning Minnies might say Hackett needs to do better with the time he had, but let’s not forget he’s a winger playing up top. Nine times out of ten in League One that goes in. Sadly, this isn’t League One, this is an £8m international keeper, and he made the save.
Danny Ings, one of the few disappointing performers for West Ham, had a great chance to break our hearts before halftime, almost immediately after our big chance. He fluffed his lines, firing wide, but it was one of few chances for the illustrious visitors. By the time Josh Smith blew for halftime, we were still in with a shout.
There weren’t many moans around me either. Lukas Jensen doesn’t have a fan in the chap that sits next to me, but aside from that, most people seemed delighted with how the game had gone. They should be – we were superb, organised, and committed, harassing and chasing even when the ability of the other side far outweighed us. Okay, at times, we were just kicking it out for them to start again, but if we’d done that on Saturday, we’d probably have taken three points from Fratton Park. There wasn’t a player on the field in the first half I could rightly single out for more praise than another.
Apart from Hakeeb Adelakun. I still cannot believe his redemption story, his return from the cold. Remember, when we played one of our pre-season friendlies, he posted an Instagram story of himself at a gig in London. He was further away from a first-team appearance than my mate Dave six weeks ago, and yet last night, he worked his socks off. He covered so much ground in an unnatural position and perhaps was inches away from turning one tasty cross into a fairytale story. His throws will become the stuff of legend, like Jude Stirling, and even though I still feel he’ll be gone when his contract ends, I’m kinda excited to see what the next couple of months hold for Haks.
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