We did just that. We came out with a renewed purpose, and I recall Ben House firing a good chance over from about six yards out, which Wyscout doesn’t even have down as a chance. That came from a cross by the excellent Sorensen, nodded back by O’Connor. Ben just couldn’t strike in cleanly – I think it came off his thigh, which might be why it didn’t ‘count’ as such.
However, we were beginning to get ourselves into the game, and in the 53rd minute, our chance arrived. Erhahon slipped a ball into Mandroiu, who looked likely to score. Tom Lowery barged him from behind, and Sunny Gill pointed to the spot. This was the moment. I truly believe that if we had scored from the spot we could have closed the game out. I spoke on the podcast recently about how Mandroiu had been perfect from 12 yards, and yet I just had a deep sense of foreboding when he stepped up. I almost couldn’t watch, but I did, just in time to see him slip over as he struck the ball. One slip. That’s what our season came down to. One slip.
There were still chances after that as we began to throw caution to the wind. A good ball in almost reached Makama, while an ‘injured’ Will Norris recovered spectacularly to make a save from Sorensen after. Anyone watching the Fallout series on Netflix might wonder if the keeper is a ghoul, given he was poleaxed in the area one minute, then rose like Lazarus to tip the ball over the bar. Mind you, as his bad luck would have it, the next time he had to catch a ball, his miracle recovery was rescinded, and he collapsed in a heap again.
On this point, let’s talk about Portsmouth’s questionable tactics. I’ll be honest; I expected more from the champions. The time-wasting, the injuries, the hours taken over every set piece, even at 0-0. They didn’t need to do it, but in terms of integrity, they should, if that’s how they’d behaved all season. I didn’t like it, but Oxford didn’t like it when we did it to them. The issue is the referee not stamping it out, and in my eyes, Sunny Gill really failed this weekend. He’s a good referee, one I have a lot of time for, but when a sub is made, the player should go off at the nearest touchline. It’s been enforced multiple times in recent weeks; Joe Taylor I recall having to do the lap of shame against Orient (I think).
Why then, did Gill allow Pompey players to take an age to wander off wherever they chose, and not book them? Instead, he pointed to his watch and said how he was noting the time. That’s very noble, Sunny, but it’s not 2006 anymore; there are rules in place that mean you don’t have to point at your watch. It didn’t make a difference, but protocols were put in place to stop this behavior, and when referees don’t apply those protocols properly, it hacks me off. Readers of the site know I feel the same when it’s the other way. Game management is a big part of the game which I will always expect to see the referee stamp out.
There were other chances, a Joe Taylor header from Mandroiu’s pinpoint corner was almost a free hit, but he couldn’t get it on target. The harshest truth is we had the chances to win the game; it ended with us having an xG of 2.0 (without the House chance Wyscout didn’t count) and that’s more than any game since Bristol Rovers. We had a penalty, and Mandroiu hasn’t missed one all season. It was all in our hands, and we just lost the ability to convert chances at a very inopportune moment.
I mention xG, Pompey were a little less than us, 1.97, which suggests the game should perhaps have been 2-2. However, 0.77 of theirs came in injury time as we pushed forward, and their goal came from only their second effort of the second half. We’d pushed forward, we’d made changes, and we committed. When you do that, you’ll get hurt, and we got hurt. We searched for a goal, and attack broke down, and their 44, a player who had been as much of a problem with the ball at his feet as when he opened his mouth, got a goal I’m sure he loved. That was the moment we knew it was all over.
What really hurt was that moment came from our attack. Another good Mandroiu corner found Tyler Walker, who tried to spin and finish, but was beaten to the ball. Walker, a surprise inclusion, was returning after a long injury, and I’d convinced anyone who would listen that the story was written; he’d come on and grab the goal that would change the game. Instead, he had the touch before they broke and scored. It wasn’t his fault, there’s no blame in this piece, only a sad resignation we didn’t quite do it.
After 90 minutes, we kept trying to get up the field, but Pompey defended well and we really didn’t threaten after they scored. They scored again, a decent strike after some sustained pressure, just to put the final stab through our play-off chasing hearts. It felt like the scene in Game of Thrones (SPOILER ALERT) where the Night’s Watch stabs Jon Snow, and the young kid sticks the knife in. It felt like a needless stab, a little insult to everything we’ve achieved over the past few games. Paddy Lane ran off rubbing his eyes as if to say ‘Lincoln are crying’, and he immediately elevated himself to Danny Hylton-style wanker status in my eyes.
Then, something remarkable happened. Far from crying, the whole ground erupted into spontaneous applause. Here we were, 2-0 down and looking at another season in League One (our longest stint in the Third Tier since the days of the north/south divide), and the ground showed its appreciation. It was poignant, a moment that felt incredible to be a part of. Usually, when something like that happens, there’s anger, but aside from the odd person walking out (I did see one storm out in anger or upset) a fan base was united. Pompey sang about being champions, about us staying down or whatever, and we responded by ignoring that and applauding the player’s efforts. We lost because we pushed forward, we went for the win, we gambled on the fact Exeter wouldn’t equalise. I respect that as a supporter. I’d rather go down fighting than rely on others. I’m proud of the fact we kept pushing for the win, 55 matches in, tired legs aching and bodies creaking, pushed to play out of position. We’ve had so much bad luck, I wonder if we broke into a hall of mirrors and went on a wrecking spree last summer, but here the team were, the season killed off in injury time of the final game, and the fans applauded.
We know. We know what a committed team looks like, a team of players fighting for the shirt, battling for each other, tested to the brink of complete breakdown and yet still swinging punches as the final seconds ebb away. We know, and we appreciate every last one of them. That’s why the ground erupted at Portsmouth’s goal and why Paddy Lane’s little cryin’ celebration backfired. Nobody was crying because Lane scored, far from it.
I was hacked off, and whilst I was happy to accept the defeat for what it was, I didn’t stay for the presentations. That wasn’t a reflection of anything other than my upset – I knew I was going to the presentation evening the following night with the podcast team, paid for by our talkSPORT advertising from the podcast. I knew I’d get my chance to cheer, applaud and appreciate, so instead, I went off onto the High Street and started an evening that ended very late, many units of alcohol later. The game had been forgotten not long after leaving the Imp and Angel, and the time of day and month had been forgotten before the last bus home. In fact, given that yesterday was largely a write-off, spent between the bed and the occasional cup of tea before heading off to the awards, this is the first time the cold, harsh facts of the day have hit me. We didn’t make the top six.
It didn’t quite feel like that at the Engine Shed last night. It felt like a celebration, not of what has been achieved because finishing seventh is great, but it’s not enough. No, it felt like a celebration of the future, of what can happen. Jack Burroughs and Sean Roughan ended the evening’s official bits by leading the squad in a rendition of the Skubala song, and for me, that summed everything up. The respect that comes from the players for the manager oozes out of everything they do, not a forced respect, but one that’s echoed privately as well. We might not have crept into the Championship with all the stealth of my mate Matt Warr creeping into Pop World, but it feels like we’ve moved up the queue. It feels like we’re dressed for the occasion, that we’re looking like a side capable of doing something next season. It emanates from the players in their chatter; it seeps out of the owners as they allude to us having a good chance next season.
Most of all, I feel it in the supporters. The current custodians of the club are doing a great job, but the hardest people to win over are fans. You’ll never have a 100% united fanbase; even when Cowley’s Imps won the league, many supporters left on the day of the presentation because we lost the game. However, talking to people last night and in the weeks leading up to the end of the season, there’s a belief amongst supporters that we’re on the right track. I’ll take that.
On Saturday, we hoped things would go our way, and they didn’t. Next season, I believe they could go our way, and that’s the difference. Hope is something you can hold in the absence of evidence. Hope is something that you can hide behind as an eternal optimist, something that may comfort you but will do little for others. Belief is different in a football sense. My belief comes from a place where there’s evidence my hope is not misplaced. Belief is something that has formed over time based on what I’ve seen and heard. Belief is spreading through our fanbase like a pandemic, infecting people and making it impossible not to be excited for next season.
I believe in Clive, Harvey, Liam, Jez, and the board. I believe in the players. Most of all, I believe in Michael Skubala. I believe we’re heading in the right direction. I believe that rather than this being the end, it is merely the beginning of a fantastic journey.
Up the Imps.
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