I don’t like bloodsports. If you get your kicks from killing living creatures for nothing more than sport, quite simply, you’re an awful person.
That said, I understand the hunt. You wait and watch, let your prey do as they please, frolic in the fields, dance and cavort, and you just wait for the moment to pounce. When you pounce, with a gun, a dog, a knife, or your bare hands, you do so quickly, without mercy, and with complete and utter ruthlessness. That’s what happened yesterday. 27% possession. Four goals. We let Mansfield do what they wanted, lulled them into a false sense of security, but when we saw the opening, the moment their guard was down, we went for the throat.
It helped that for the first two goals they showed us their throat, with a big sign saying ‘cut here’ courtesy of a couple of keeper mistakes, but still, we did what was needed to get the hunt finished. No actual Stags died in the making of this thrashing either, which was lovely.
August 2007. Umbrella (ella, ella) had only just been knocked off the number one spot. There were still three Harry Potter films to be released at the cinema, and The Fast and the Furious was still only a trilogy, rather than a dead horse being flogged mercilessly. Also, City beat Mansfield 3-1 at Field Mill, our fifth win against the Stags in fewer than four years. There was no reason to think we’d have to wait another five years. Or ten. Or 15. Or bloody 17 for the next league victory against them.
Wait, we did, like a patient hunter waiting for their prey. For 6,216 days.
Okay, that’s enough of the drama. City made a couple of changes to the side that lost against Barnsley and they made perfect sense. Conor McGrandles returned for his first start since signing for a third time for us, and Dylan Duffy dropped to the bench, with Dom Jeffries slotting in at left wing-back. One was a shoo-in, the other perhaps a more defence-minded option, given that Mansfield play strikers at wing-back. Jordan Bowery once hit a brace against us for Crewe as we lost 4-1 at home, and he wore the number nine shirt coming up against Tendayi Darikwa on the left of their defence.
I felt this was going to be a challenging fixture. Mansfield have quality across the park, ageing quality in places, but still quality. Lucas Akins, Aden Flint, Stephen Quinn and Lee Gregory have a combined age older than the cathedral (probably), but they’re respected players, able to help keep the Stags in this division. Nigel Clough is a wily manager, and he plays a certain type of football that is easy on the eye. They were the division’s leading scorers coming into the game, so I felt we’d be under the cosh for a bit.
We hadn’t quite clicked this season. As it turns out, one piece of the jigsaw was amiss – McGrandles. I like our 3-5-2. I like our wing-backs, and two up top, but for it to function, the midfield has to be perfect. Ethan Erhahon holds, mops up like Kim and Aggie on amphetamines and is generally too good for the division. Tom Bayliss probes like a doctor’s finger looking for the prostate, but in a more pleasurable way (unless that’s your thing). Still, the balance hasn’t quite been there. I like McKiernan, he’s going to be special for us, but he’s another Bayliss, and two fingers is too much. McGrandles (or indeed Hamilton) are different; they can work between the two, bridging the gap, completing a Holy Trinity that suddenly gives the side real balance. Even with that, and with an early Bayliss shot stopped by Pym, Mansfield looked decent.
They held the ball well and for perhaps 25 minutes, they edged the game. We weren’t on the ropes, one Louis Reed effort was all they had to show for their endeavour, but it was a game that I felt could go either way. One slip at the back (which we have in us) and they’d get the 1,800 travelling fans excited. One break for us, and 8,000+ would come to life. Oddly, it felt like a game where winning the crowd, won the game. I know that’s not the case, but it felt like an atmosphere tug-o-war. On 29 minutes, we pulled the rope the hardest.
Or, to put it another way, Christy Pym let go. We shouldn’t really have scored, despite the nice build up and succinct Sean Roughan cross. Adam Jackson arrived to nod the ball towards goal, and if their keeper had stayed on his line, he’d gather with ease. He didn’t, he came rushing out, and Jacko’s header dropped into the back of the net. It doesn’t matter how they go in, as long as they do.
Mansfield didn’t have an effort after that until the second half, as we threatened to run riot. Darikwa broke down the right and squared when a shot might have been better, which doesn’t show as xG but absolutely should. Makama made a great chance for Paudie, who had strode forward like a prime Franz Beckenbauer, only for his beautiful touch to come back off the bar courtesy of Pym’s fingertips. It was reminisce of last March, where Bristol Rovers and Cambridge Utd felt the full wrath of Michael Skubala’s hunters.
We did kill off our prey just before half time, and while fingers will point at Pym, it was a perfect example of our relentlessness. Seb Stockbridge had indicated a minute of added time, and we got a free kick with maybe thirty seconds left. We could have settled for the lead, but Bayliss took it quickly, and we immediately got another, down by the corner. Roughan wandered over and (definitely) intended to loft the ball over Pym and into the net. Pym, stranded through below-average positioning, could do nothing as yet another Imps defender got on the scoresheet. 2-0 City.
They say just before half time is a good time to score, and I usually say any time is a good time to score. However, if Mansfield go in at 1-0, they can come out punching, start fast and be back in the game before you know it. At 2-0, we’ve stamped on their hopes, ripped up Clough’s team talk and given ourselves a shot of ‘we’re winning this no matter what’ juice in the process. Yesterday, there was no better time to score.
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