Being on the 'Spion Kop’ and not having had a clear view of the build up to Argyle’s first goal last night I did have a little chuckle when I saw footage of the Zak Rudden ‘Hand of God’ incident this morning. At this point I must stress that I am normally in the extremely old fashioned camp of preferring Argyle to win (and, if necessary, lose) by fair means rather than foul. I would no more wish to benefit from a ‘cheated’ goal than I would have to swallow a defeat in similar circumstances. In that regard I suppose I am unlike the majority of Scunthorpe fans who went ballistic with joy when their cheating scumbag of a forward chipped a crippled Matt Macey in the final game of last season.
The first ‘goal’ against Orient last night, however, did bring back specific memories of a cold and miserable pre-Xmas Saturday afternoon in 1983. I was living near Watford at the time and, ever eager to see Argyle when they were anywhere in the south east, I made the tortuous car, train and tube journey to Brisbane Road for a third-tier match against Orient (they had dropped the ‘Leyton’ then, before its more recent reinstatement). The Argyle team on the day contained a wealth of legendary club nicknames - ‘Crudgie' in goal, ‘Nissie' at left back, ‘Uzzie' at right back and ‘Hodgie' in midfield. They even had ‘Stannie' (Gordon Staniforth) up front. Sadly, Sir Tommy Tynan was out for that match and Tony Kellow (‘Kelly’?) took his place up front. Although most of the team were destined to run out at Villa Park in the F.A Cup semi-final just over a year on they could hardly have been described as ‘pulling up trees’ as far as the league was concerned.
Ploughing my way across London, avoiding the hordes of Xmas shoppers, I had no illusions about the fare that was to be dished up but, as we all know, that is what being an Argyle supporter is all about. I moaned inwardly about the impossible hold ups and travel delays, not finding out until I had got home after the match that it was due to an I.R.A bomb that had gone off in Harrods that very afternoon (the death toll put the annoyance of what was soon to be another Argyle defeat in context…)
Anyway, I arrived at the ground just after kick off (I hadn’t missed anything special) and due to the crowd of 2,684 (thanks, Greens On Screen) I was able to sit virtually anywhere. In those days it was distinctly inadvisable to attend a football match in deepest East London sporting away colours or chanting ‘Westcountry, la la la, Westcountry, la la la!’ As I enjoyed my teeth being in the position they were I was in the habit of quietly sitting amongst the home fans and gradually revealing my alliegance if I was satisfied that the guys sitting around me were football fans rather than neanderthals. Thus,I took up a position a few rows from the pitch, directly in line with the goal that Argyle were defending.
The Argyle defence were taking a bit of a battering and it was a ‘backs to the wall’ first quarter of an hour. We were holding our own, however, when a long ball was played along the ground into the channel directly in front of where I was sitting. The race was on between Nissie and the Orient winger but as the ball got nearer to the dead ball line and the corner flag it became apparent to me, those around me and - most importantly - Nissie that it was going to go out of play for a goal kick. It was clear that he had turned off the afterburners and visibly slowed as the fast-travelling ball approached the line. The Orient winger was clearly of a different mindset, however, and in chasing the clearest mother-of-all-lost-causes he continued to race after the ball at breakneck speed. I found this admirable but totally ridiculous as he stood no chance of getting to the ball before it went out of play. And, indeed, he did stand no chance of getting to the ball before it went out of play. The ball crossed the line and continued for a further 2-3 feet (yes, as far as that!) towards the advertising hoardings before the Orient winger stretched out a right leg at full speed and launched the ball towards the Argyle goal. Watching in wide-mouthed horror, I followed the flight of the ball as it arced towards an Orient forward who smashed it into the Argyle net.
The referee signalled a goal and ran back to the centre circle. The linesman on the line nearest to me followed suit. More importantly, the lineman on the other side, whose job it was to ensure that it should have been a goal kick rather than a goal was also trotting merrily back towards the middle. The dozens of Orient fans around me were up on their feet cheering and celebrating whilst I was pointing out to them that the ball was WAY out of play before it was crossed. ‘Was it?’ one of them replied with a broad smile on his face. Crestfallen, all I could do was say ‘Yes!’. “Ah, but WAS it?’ replied my opposite number, with a huge grin, accompanied by a Cockney wink.
Argyle went on to lose that match 3-2 but despite seeing my team score two away goals (a rare sight in those days) all I could remember of the match (and still do) was a burning sense of injustice at such an obvious and glaring example of incompetence on the part of the officials.
For me, one of the most irritating of football cliches involves bad decisions balancing themselves out over the length of a season. Without any actual scientific proof of this theory I have never given it much credence. After Zak Rudden’s clear infringement in the build up to Argyle’s opener against Orient last night, however, perhaps there is something to this ‘balancing out’ theory. Admittedly it hasn’t been over the length of a season but I’m happy to finally redress an Orient injustice after some 26 seasons.
The first ‘goal’ against Orient last night, however, did bring back specific memories of a cold and miserable pre-Xmas Saturday afternoon in 1983. I was living near Watford at the time and, ever eager to see Argyle when they were anywhere in the south east, I made the tortuous car, train and tube journey to Brisbane Road for a third-tier match against Orient (they had dropped the ‘Leyton’ then, before its more recent reinstatement). The Argyle team on the day contained a wealth of legendary club nicknames - ‘Crudgie' in goal, ‘Nissie' at left back, ‘Uzzie' at right back and ‘Hodgie' in midfield. They even had ‘Stannie' (Gordon Staniforth) up front. Sadly, Sir Tommy Tynan was out for that match and Tony Kellow (‘Kelly’?) took his place up front. Although most of the team were destined to run out at Villa Park in the F.A Cup semi-final just over a year on they could hardly have been described as ‘pulling up trees’ as far as the league was concerned.
Ploughing my way across London, avoiding the hordes of Xmas shoppers, I had no illusions about the fare that was to be dished up but, as we all know, that is what being an Argyle supporter is all about. I moaned inwardly about the impossible hold ups and travel delays, not finding out until I had got home after the match that it was due to an I.R.A bomb that had gone off in Harrods that very afternoon (the death toll put the annoyance of what was soon to be another Argyle defeat in context…)
Anyway, I arrived at the ground just after kick off (I hadn’t missed anything special) and due to the crowd of 2,684 (thanks, Greens On Screen) I was able to sit virtually anywhere. In those days it was distinctly inadvisable to attend a football match in deepest East London sporting away colours or chanting ‘Westcountry, la la la, Westcountry, la la la!’ As I enjoyed my teeth being in the position they were I was in the habit of quietly sitting amongst the home fans and gradually revealing my alliegance if I was satisfied that the guys sitting around me were football fans rather than neanderthals. Thus,I took up a position a few rows from the pitch, directly in line with the goal that Argyle were defending.
The Argyle defence were taking a bit of a battering and it was a ‘backs to the wall’ first quarter of an hour. We were holding our own, however, when a long ball was played along the ground into the channel directly in front of where I was sitting. The race was on between Nissie and the Orient winger but as the ball got nearer to the dead ball line and the corner flag it became apparent to me, those around me and - most importantly - Nissie that it was going to go out of play for a goal kick. It was clear that he had turned off the afterburners and visibly slowed as the fast-travelling ball approached the line. The Orient winger was clearly of a different mindset, however, and in chasing the clearest mother-of-all-lost-causes he continued to race after the ball at breakneck speed. I found this admirable but totally ridiculous as he stood no chance of getting to the ball before it went out of play. And, indeed, he did stand no chance of getting to the ball before it went out of play. The ball crossed the line and continued for a further 2-3 feet (yes, as far as that!) towards the advertising hoardings before the Orient winger stretched out a right leg at full speed and launched the ball towards the Argyle goal. Watching in wide-mouthed horror, I followed the flight of the ball as it arced towards an Orient forward who smashed it into the Argyle net.
The referee signalled a goal and ran back to the centre circle. The linesman on the line nearest to me followed suit. More importantly, the lineman on the other side, whose job it was to ensure that it should have been a goal kick rather than a goal was also trotting merrily back towards the middle. The dozens of Orient fans around me were up on their feet cheering and celebrating whilst I was pointing out to them that the ball was WAY out of play before it was crossed. ‘Was it?’ one of them replied with a broad smile on his face. Crestfallen, all I could do was say ‘Yes!’. “Ah, but WAS it?’ replied my opposite number, with a huge grin, accompanied by a Cockney wink.
Argyle went on to lose that match 3-2 but despite seeing my team score two away goals (a rare sight in those days) all I could remember of the match (and still do) was a burning sense of injustice at such an obvious and glaring example of incompetence on the part of the officials.
For me, one of the most irritating of football cliches involves bad decisions balancing themselves out over the length of a season. Without any actual scientific proof of this theory I have never given it much credence. After Zak Rudden’s clear infringement in the build up to Argyle’s opener against Orient last night, however, perhaps there is something to this ‘balancing out’ theory. Admittedly it hasn’t been over the length of a season but I’m happy to finally redress an Orient injustice after some 26 seasons.
