The opening goal was always going to be crucial, and that is no different from spells under Michael Appleton or Mark Kennedy, when conceding could leave you wondering whether we possessed the tools to respond. We do have attacking tools now, but falling behind at Ashton Gate would still have changed the atmosphere and allowed Bristol City to play with greater assurance. Instead, we kept the place uncertain, and it was quiet for considerable periods, although the home crowd did become loud later. I am not interested in shaming their support, but the ground didn’t feel full, the pyro and lights didn’t really seem to have the desired effect, and there was an opportunity for us to make the occasion uncomfortable. We took it.
I imagine a full Ashton Gate, watching a team playing good football, is quite an experience, but a Tuesday night banana skin against a recently-promoted side who haven’t been the same level as you since 1986, with 8,000 empty seats, are sub-optimal conditions.
Scoring after half-time helps swing the mood as well. An opponent who concedes before the interval can regroup, look at screens and discuss adjustments together. Concede during the second half, and those messages have to be delivered while the game continues. Michael Skubala did try to change things, but we had already put Bristol City into a position that suited us. His suggestion afterwards that we come for a moment was understandable, although I would argue we come for several. The problem for opponents is that if we make one count, for want of a better expression, you’re up the creek without a paddle, because we will defend that goal like we’re defending a litter of newborn kittens from a rabid dog.
The goal was so recognisably us. In concept, it reminded me of the pressure behind one of our goals against Cardiff: make the opponent uncomfortable, force an error and have someone ready to exploit it. Ben was alive to the situation, fighting for the ball while Tickle and Dickie found themselves in trouble. That does not happen just because a defence generously decides to give you something. You have to be there, ready to take it.
Freddie still had to finish, too. An unguarded net does not remove the need for composure when everything has happened quickly, and he supplied exactly what was required. We spent the opening weeks talking about being clinical, with Blackburn and Portsmouth showing the consequences when opportunities go begging. Take them, and you can win at Preston, Bolton and Bristol City. I am particularly pleased that Freddie and Ben are contributing goals at this level when, a year ago, some people were telling me they were not good enough for League One. They have earned the chance to answer that on the pitch, and so far, have done just that.
Once we scored, there was a sense of the game settling into our hands, although that did not mean mine were entirely steady. Joe from the club was sitting near me in the press box and asked whether my hands were shaking – they were, and the palms got a bit sweaty as well, not just from the height. The occasion carried extra weight because of Michael Skubala, because of Ashton Gate, and because this felt like a scalp beyond the away games we had initially earmarked. We had our foot on their neck and were asking them to get up, but they didn’t. The dog wasn’t getting the kittens this time.
There were frustrations with the officiating, particularly the confusion surrounding George’s booking for time-wasting. Afterwards, the discussion among the Bristol journalists concerned why it had not resulted in a corner, while I was wondering about the absence of a visible countdown. I am not going to turn that uncertainty into a definitive explanation of the law, but it illustrated how unclear the process felt to people watching. Added time prompted similar irritation when the minimum seven minutes ended up as eight. What baffles me is how a referee can add seven minutes on for a 45-minute spell, but then find another minute in the seven. The first half, he found one minute in a whole 45, but he then found a minute in seven at the end, eventually blowing on 98. It didn’t make a big change, but it seems delays in added time are worth more than delays in normal time.
Of course, Rob Dickie’s injury was horrible to see and understandably caused a lengthy stoppage, which is why we saw seven minutes. Chris Cohen showed class to address it before discussing the win, and I hope the eventual news is better than those scenes suggested.
Finally, a word on Michael Skubala, because I think some of the reaction to him claiming ownership of last season misses the point. His pre-match interview saw him saying things like methods ‘I’ initiated, and some reacted angrily to that. It was, of course, collaborative, and Chris was open in acknowledging his contribution, but Michael’s name was over the door. His neck was on the chopping block. Had it gone wrong, he would have been the one dismissed, while others might have remained, as Tom did after Mark Kennedy. He has every right to claim what he achieved here, and I do not see that as evidence of some desperate need to be the main character.
If he says things like ‘it was a collaborative effort ‘, and then Lincoln beat them, what does it suggest? To the ill-informed, they might wonder if they’ve got the face, and we’ve got the genius behind it. That’s the optics, not the facts, so of course he’ll say ‘I’. Also, if (as we did) we win, he can point to it and say ‘that’s what we’re going to be like’. Not identical, they have a budget to get in ‘better’ players, but at least Michael can hold us up as an example. To say anything other than ‘I’ when describing our success would be crazy for him, and I’m sure behind the scenes, he acknowledges the team effort in our title win.
We can now put the apprentices versus the master behind us, begin to wish Michael Skubala and Bristol City well (or not, depending on which side of the fence you sit) and move on. Whatever your stance, what we know beyond argument is that we have won three Championship away games 1-0 by doing these Lincoln City things.
Perhaps “teams like Lincoln” no longer needs to mean Championship clubs being beaten by the club that was losing at Dover or Barrow, or whose familiar big occasions involved Mansfield and Peterborough. Perhaps it means tough, big, awkward teams that limit your creativity, deny you good areas and make expressing your ability desperately difficult. You can know what is coming, make all the right noises and repeat everything the last opponent said. You still have to beat us, and I think that is a huge compliment.
Up the Imps.
You must be logged in to post a comment.