It sometimes feels necessary, when talking about Lincoln City, to ignore a game and focus on the bigger picture.
Earlier in the season, maybe it is easier to focus on the action. You’re looking for patterns, signs of growth, elements to give you hope for what is to come. When it gets to game 44, and you need a point to secure the Championship, the actual game of football, the 90 minutes of action around which our lives often orbit, feels inconsequential.
Go out, get the point, come home. No analysis, no fuss, no need to look for signs or patterns. It’s all about the final result.
To ignore the 90 minutes we spent on the field last night (100, I think, with injury time) would be to do a disservice to a group of players who showed exactly why they are League One champions.
Aside from the first 15 minutes, where both sides looked a little tepid, this was classic Lincoln City 25/26. Doncaster, without key players and safe for the season, were there for the taking, but we took them, and in truth, 2-0 flatters them. Doncaster were as bad as Rotherham were a few weeks ago, and in truth, 3-0 or even 4-0 wouldn’t have done us a disservice. It’s almost fitting that all the things that made us Champions were on display.
We attacked nicely, played with a bit of verve and desire, and that’s commendable. We could have cruised; we needed one point from three games, we’re already going to Molineux next season, but that isn’t in this team’s nature. After a few beers post-Reading, and a night out last weekend after Orient, a few of the players might be forgiven for being jaded, but again, that never looked likely.
That wasn’t all, though. Jack Moylan was back to his indomitable best, getting bums off seats, drifting out wide and inside, looking to cause problems. He certainly did that for Harry Clifton, and the Rovers player had little choice but to bring him down. Clifton was quite canny after that, taking an age to put his boot back on, and appealing what was an obvious spot kick. Did that put Rob Street off? Maybe. He deserved a goal, though, he really wanted it, but their keeper made a good stop, and celebrated it like a goal. Fair play, there wasn’t a lot to celebrate for them all evening.
There started another demonstration of why we’re Champions. After a missed penalty, heads could drop, but I never felt worried. In the past, and I’m talking Appleton/Kennedy past, if we missed a penalty, you’d lament that as a moment that could cost us the game. Not once did I think ‘we won’t score here’. Not once did I worry that we’d missed our chance. The penalty miss was just something that happened, a shrug of the shoulders and an ‘oh well, next time’ attitude.
Chris and I had a moment after that, thinking maybe they were going down to ten men. It’s easy to mix up ’22’ and ’23’, so when Jack Senior blocked off Varfolomeev, we thought it might be a second yellow for Robbie Gotts! It’s interesting that it’s the second game in four days where we’ve seen the Ukrainian surging out of defence, only to be crudely blocked off by a player showing zero intent on winning the ball. On an evening of great performances, Ivan really stood out for me, and between him and McGrandles, the midfield was locked out.
Before half time, Doncaster were locked out of the game. In truth, they hadn’t been in the game at all. I praised Hanlan beforehand in an article (one based on what I’ve seen, which up to last night was a single game, just for the haters to be aware) and he did look like he had the potential to get behind, but a lot of players have. Elliot Lee worked hard and has a bit of quality, and I thought maybe, once or twice, they might combine. Haks showed some nice touches, but it didn’t feel like he was up for it like the last time he came up against a former employer who had let him go. Despite minimal flashes (like lightning in Grimsby when you’re in Lincoln, that sort of flash that makes you go ‘was that a flash’ and then realise it probably wasn’t), 43 minutes arrived, and we licked the envelope of our title win.
It all comes from Conor McGrandles, and if Lincoln City’s brilliance was a river surging through League One like the Nile, McGrandles is the Rukarara River, the bit that Jeremy Clarkson and his pals drive to find. He is so often the source, and it was his pinpoint, clipped ball down the flank after making a recovery that started it. A horrible shank from Pearson allowed us the chance, and that was that. Moylan to Oné, back to Moylan as House comes down the outside. Unselfishly (another trait of a title winning side) Moylan finds House who finished like a 20-goal striker. House’s finishing has occasionally been questioned, but his shot was precise, measured and accurate.
1-0, and even at that point, it was game over. The henchman, the nameless antagonists, merely there to accentuate the heroes’ rising, were already a spent force. They wriggled a bit as we pressed our heel on their throats, Adelakun setting up Senior for him to get closer to the corner flag than the goal, but it was never going to trouble the league’s meanest defence. We’ve conceded six goals fewer than anyone else, so the bare minimum for getting past us is not putting shots close to the corner flag.
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