Just who is Serigne Ababacar ?
The day had finally arrived when the mighty SFC were to take on Carlisle in the Final of the Johnstone’s Paints Trophy at Wembley Stadium. Though it’s been open a few years now, it is my first trip to the New Wembley Stadium which looks very impressive on the TV, with the arch and all that.
Having travelled to the game on Greyhound Bus No.4, the excitement started to build as the traffic ground to a halt on the A40, in the queue for the Hangar Lane Roundabout which is the worst roundabout to drive around, this side of the Arc de Triomphe. As we queued, in the distance away to the left was the arch. Once the roundabout from hell was negotiated, the shop from hell was spotted when Ikea, Brent Cross came into view. I used to have to come here before they built one of the big yellow and blue boxes in West Quay and the memories came flooding back of the time when I was in the procession of misery round Ikea, a procession that women love and men despise. I stopped because the person in front of me stopped and the trolley behind smacked into my achilles. Sharp intake of breath and off we went again until we stopped again and I was trolley assaulted again – this time I turned round and glared at the small woman who was guilty. Off we go, stop, bang, pain. “Look, it’s perfectly fucking simple, when I stop, you stop”. After this outburst it got very dark. I then looked up (I’m 6 foot 1) to see where the light had gone and saw this woman’s son glaring at me. He looked like an American footballer with the pads sewn in under his skin. She bashed her trolley into me twice more on the way round and I didn’t say a thing.
Anyway, round the back of Ikea and up a hill, through and Industrial Estate and there we were, in the coach park – no time to get excited at all. The coach was parked at the arch side of the ground and it (the arch) really didn’t look that big or impressive from the outside. One of the things I loved about the Old Wembley was the look of it from the outside with the Towers and the white walls etc. The new one looks dull as you like and is completely lacking in character. I thought that the big area around the stadium would be full of vendors selling beer and food etc (like they have at the Rose Bowl for example) but there was nothing which of course is a ploy to make you buy stuff inside the stadium. So, there are no vendors and there is precious little of interest aside from one statue of Bobby Moore and that’s it. Is there a Museum or anything ? I assume so but I didn’t find it…
I then made the mistake of going in the Wembley Shop which sold England kit and associated merchandise but also merchandise from the Big 4 and believe it or not, Celtic. What the fuck is going on here. I find it really sad that the National Stadium is not above all this pandering to the big boys and is just another JJB Sports Shop. It should sell England stuff, it should sell Wembley stuff, it should sell stuff for the teams competing on the given day but it should not be selling Man Utd, Liverpool, Arsenal and Chelsea gear when they’re not playing today and it especially shouldn’t sell fucking Celtic gear when they’re not even English and never play at Wembley except in meaningless pre-season tournaments when no one cares. It gets even worse… I went round a corner in the shop and was confronted by a German national team strip. I wanted to be sick or at least, blow my nose on it. At least I can imagine them shifting a few Man Utd shirts but who’s gonna buy a Germany shirt. If you were a German living in London, I can’t imagine you’d think of going to Wembley to pick up a replica shirt. I don’t know if there was a Scotland shirt as I didn’t hang around to find out.
Instead, I went into the ground because I was starving. The food inside was ridiculously overpriced and shite. I asked for a Chilli Dog and the bloke looked at me like I was mad. I pointed out that it was on the menu and not a special request and he disappeared for 5 minutes and came back saying ‘no chilli’. A Chilli Dog without Chilli is of course, a Dog or rather a Microwaved Weiner in a stale bun which I could have brought from Tesco for about 30p. £4 but it tasted so good so it was worth it. Irony Alert !!!!.
OK – time to check out the seats. Once you get sight of the pitch, your impression changes as it’s seriously impressive. Talk about wow factor but now, I’m going to do some more moaning but I don’t really know if I’m moaning at Wembley or at the Saints Ticket Office. I booked into blocks 127 to 131 and I did it on the first day, in the £44 section. I was a wee bit disappointed that I was in block 127 in row 11, looking along the goal-line. Block 131 was near the half way line and was where I really wanted to be and row 11 is too low, especially when you’re in a corner. Some of my mates who are not Season Ticket Holders who booked after me, were in Block 131 so whoever allocated the tickets obviously started at block 127 and worked upwards. Annoying. Anyway – I promise I will stop moaning now….
As we approached kick off time, the 44,000+ Saints fans looked absolutely magnificent. Though the colours were different, it was lump in the throat time, like at Cardiff in 2003. To the team and the outstanding issues were resolved as follows. Morgan Schneiderlin had not recovered from the tight hamstring he picked up last week and was replaced by Paul Wotton whilst Michail Antonio was fit for the first time in about a month and took cup-tied Jason Puncheon’s place on the right wing. Also cup-tied was Lee Barnard whose place went to Papa Waigo N’Diaye whose name caused a few seconds of panic for the stadium announcer. Carlisle had only two players I was vaguely familiar with – Ian Harte who takes a mean free kick but can’t run and Graham Kavanagh who is now 36 but doesn’t look any older than he did when he was 25 when he looked about 50. National Anthem, teams introduced to Mawhinney the Arse and away we go.
For the first 10 minutes, if anything Carlisle were the better side, looking to pass it about in midfield and work their openings. From their first corner, Harding decided that the way to go was World Wrestling Federation and grabbed hold of Grandad Kavanagh as he made his run. At the time I thought nothing of it but when you see a replay it’s pretty bad and I think we can count ourselves a bit fortunate. Most of the Carlisle play revolved around getting the ball out to Robson on their left who was playing against our left footed right back in Harding who comprehensively won the first challenge between the pair which immediately resulted in Robson throwing himself to the floor the next three times he got near the ball. The ref was having none of it though. The tide began to turn when Hammond and Wotton started to get a grip in midfield and Carlisle started to try long balls up to their lone striker who was never going to get an joy competing against the classy Fonte and the brick shithouse Jaidi.
Antonio had started up front with Waigo on the right but when Antonio found himself on his natural right hand side for the first time, he put over a cross towards Lambert where for some reason, the centre back flapped it away with the palm of his hand. From where I was you couldn’t tell what the ref had given but it was as obvious as you like. The only debate was whether he should have been sent off or not. When Sir Rickie is on the pens, the centre back may as well have caught it and thrown it in the net himself as there is only ever one outcome. Bang, top right, 1-0 despite goalkeeper Collin being about five yards off his line when the kick was struck.
Suddenly it was all Saints with two chances in quick succession falling to Lallana. At first I thought he’d scuffed both of them but in fact he made a really good contact with the first and was unfortunate that it buried itself in Collin’s midriff. The second was a bit of a half hit effort and I always feel with Adam that he needs to take a leaf out of Sir Rickie’s book and try and break the net.
Carlisle came back with a couple of efforts of their own with a header from Harte bouncing off the top of the bar and a hooked shot from Marc Double-Barrell landing on top of the net – neither of which caused me or Kelvin Davis any bother. Every time they attacked, Saints looked likely to score and Sir Rickie fashioned an opening for the impressive Antonio that he hit well but Collin turned aside.
Ian Harte is an interesting player in that he won 50+ caps for Ireland and played in the Leeds side that played in the Champions League Semi Final and then he kind of dropped off the map and ended up playng for a crap Spanish side (Levante if memory serves). He was only about 27 when this happened and now he’s only 32 but you can see the problem. He was a left back in his prime and even then was regarded as being a bit slow and having the turning circle of a ocean liner. He is now, even at league 1 standard, too slow to play left back and not good enough in the air to play centre back. Holding midfield role I reckon. Anyway, today he’s a centre back and was getting comprehensively beaten to every header by Sir Rickie including an important one on 44 minutes when Sir Rickie flicked on a long Antonio throw from the right and Lallana stole in completely unmarked at the back stick to head past Collin for 2-0.
It nearly got even better a minute later when following a dreadful foul on Papa Waigo on the left wing, Sir Rickie swung in the free kick which went about a foot wide of the far point having just avoided the lunging Jaidi. Half time and so far so good. My feeling was that our only problem was going to be if Carlisle got one back straight away but I really couldn’t see it. They seemed to have nothing up front and it was carnage every time we got near their penalty area.
The second half started like the first with Carlisle having a spell of keeping the ball and zipping it about but the first time they gave it away, Sir Rickie went gallivanting up the left wing and laid it inside to Papa Waigo who hit a delightful pass with the outside of his right back back to Sir Rickie who had continued his gallivant. Before he collapsed of exhaustion he crossed it to where Horwood was the covering defender. He tried to let it run across him being completely oblivious to Antonio behind him who burgled him and smashed it goalwards where it was parried upwards by Collin’s face. There waiting for it to come down was Papa Waigo who nodded into the empty net for 3-0. The celebrations were long and milked for all they were worth – a run to the crowd in the corner (where I was), a group hug with Lallana and Lambert and then he remembered that he hadn’t done the Waigo shuffle and set off behind the goal to perform his masterpiece. The only questions now were – is it called a parry if it comes off his face and how many would we get ?
Deflated, Carlisle resorted again to hoof and hope – Jaidi headed everything away and Fonte was so laid back he was in a deckchair. Harding and Mills had totally shut down the flanks and whilst not offering much going forward – they didn’t really have to because others were doing just fine on their own. On 59 minutes, Sir Rickie won another header before the ball broke to Antonio who nudged it past a defender and smashed in a left footed half volley which gave poor Collin no hope. 4-0 and a dance for the crowd to match the Waigo effort from earlier.
To be honest, the next half an hour was shite and who can be surprised. The game was won and Carlisle were deflated. To be fair, Carlisle kept trying and following a magnificent spirit lifting performance from Golden Elvis in the crowd, Carlisle got a consolation goal in the 86th minute when sub Madine flicked in an Ian Harte free kick which was given for sod all but it would be churlish to complain too much.
Saints threw on all three subs in the last 15 with Simon Gillett on for Papa Waigo, David Connolly on for Paul Wotton and finally, for what will probably be his last appearance for Saints, Chris Perry on for Radhi Jaidi. Only Gillett made any kind of mark on the game with a snap shot at the near post which Collin tipped wide.
Final whistle – Southampton 4 Carlisle United 1. Southampton win the Johnstone’s Paints Trophy 2010.
Following Carlisle’s trudge up the steps, it was our turn and soon, Dean Hammond and Kelvin Davis were lifting up the seriously large Johnstone’s Paints Trophy. Papa Waigo managed to get himself too excited and tried to get in the way of all the photographs at the key moment. Typical Papa, always five yards ahead of where he should be.
Watching the presentation – it seems funny to me that Markus Liebherr has his own little camera which he takes to every match. I’m hoping that some of his photos get published in the Saints website one day. Nicola Cortese looked very happy and it was a nice moment when he and King Alan were together. A rift? I don’t really think so. Don’t believe the hype, don’t believe the Daily Echo and don’t believe that fat oaf Martin Samuel in the Daily Mail. All it is, is their opinion but written in a forceful way so you think they have the inside track. As we know, the Daily Echo does not have the inside track and I think it’s safe to assume that Martin Samuel doesn’t either. We’re all better off forming our own opinions.
I’ve followed Saints since 1976 as I’ve said before, I was a 7 year old thinking we’d win something every year. I’m now 41 and we’ve finally won something to add to the FA Cup in 1976. Call it a minor competition, call it what you like – I don’t give a shit. I was there. 50,000+ of us were there as it turns out and we had a fantastic time. Wembley, the playing arena is fantastic. Wembley, the rest of it is a bit disappointing but nothing ruins the day – not even the two hour wait to get clear of Hangar Lane on the way home..
Thankyou Markus, Nicola, King Alan, all the players and Serigne Ababacar who apparently is the Senegalese God of Offside.
Having travelled to the game on Greyhound Bus No.4, the excitement started to build as the traffic ground to a halt on the A40, in the queue for the Hangar Lane Roundabout which is the worst roundabout to drive around, this side of the Arc de Triomphe. As we queued, in the distance away to the left was the arch. Once the roundabout from hell was negotiated, the shop from hell was spotted when Ikea, Brent Cross came into view. I used to have to come here before they built one of the big yellow and blue boxes in West Quay and the memories came flooding back of the time when I was in the procession of misery round Ikea, a procession that women love and men despise. I stopped because the person in front of me stopped and the trolley behind smacked into my achilles. Sharp intake of breath and off we went again until we stopped again and I was trolley assaulted again – this time I turned round and glared at the small woman who was guilty. Off we go, stop, bang, pain. “Look, it’s perfectly fucking simple, when I stop, you stop”. After this outburst it got very dark. I then looked up (I’m 6 foot 1) to see where the light had gone and saw this woman’s son glaring at me. He looked like an American footballer with the pads sewn in under his skin. She bashed her trolley into me twice more on the way round and I didn’t say a thing.
Anyway, round the back of Ikea and up a hill, through and Industrial Estate and there we were, in the coach park – no time to get excited at all. The coach was parked at the arch side of the ground and it (the arch) really didn’t look that big or impressive from the outside. One of the things I loved about the Old Wembley was the look of it from the outside with the Towers and the white walls etc. The new one looks dull as you like and is completely lacking in character. I thought that the big area around the stadium would be full of vendors selling beer and food etc (like they have at the Rose Bowl for example) but there was nothing which of course is a ploy to make you buy stuff inside the stadium. So, there are no vendors and there is precious little of interest aside from one statue of Bobby Moore and that’s it. Is there a Museum or anything ? I assume so but I didn’t find it…
I then made the mistake of going in the Wembley Shop which sold England kit and associated merchandise but also merchandise from the Big 4 and believe it or not, Celtic. What the fuck is going on here. I find it really sad that the National Stadium is not above all this pandering to the big boys and is just another JJB Sports Shop. It should sell England stuff, it should sell Wembley stuff, it should sell stuff for the teams competing on the given day but it should not be selling Man Utd, Liverpool, Arsenal and Chelsea gear when they’re not playing today and it especially shouldn’t sell fucking Celtic gear when they’re not even English and never play at Wembley except in meaningless pre-season tournaments when no one cares. It gets even worse… I went round a corner in the shop and was confronted by a German national team strip. I wanted to be sick or at least, blow my nose on it. At least I can imagine them shifting a few Man Utd shirts but who’s gonna buy a Germany shirt. If you were a German living in London, I can’t imagine you’d think of going to Wembley to pick up a replica shirt. I don’t know if there was a Scotland shirt as I didn’t hang around to find out.
Instead, I went into the ground because I was starving. The food inside was ridiculously overpriced and shite. I asked for a Chilli Dog and the bloke looked at me like I was mad. I pointed out that it was on the menu and not a special request and he disappeared for 5 minutes and came back saying ‘no chilli’. A Chilli Dog without Chilli is of course, a Dog or rather a Microwaved Weiner in a stale bun which I could have brought from Tesco for about 30p. £4 but it tasted so good so it was worth it. Irony Alert !!!!.
OK – time to check out the seats. Once you get sight of the pitch, your impression changes as it’s seriously impressive. Talk about wow factor but now, I’m going to do some more moaning but I don’t really know if I’m moaning at Wembley or at the Saints Ticket Office. I booked into blocks 127 to 131 and I did it on the first day, in the £44 section. I was a wee bit disappointed that I was in block 127 in row 11, looking along the goal-line. Block 131 was near the half way line and was where I really wanted to be and row 11 is too low, especially when you’re in a corner. Some of my mates who are not Season Ticket Holders who booked after me, were in Block 131 so whoever allocated the tickets obviously started at block 127 and worked upwards. Annoying. Anyway – I promise I will stop moaning now….
As we approached kick off time, the 44,000+ Saints fans looked absolutely magnificent. Though the colours were different, it was lump in the throat time, like at Cardiff in 2003. To the team and the outstanding issues were resolved as follows. Morgan Schneiderlin had not recovered from the tight hamstring he picked up last week and was replaced by Paul Wotton whilst Michail Antonio was fit for the first time in about a month and took cup-tied Jason Puncheon’s place on the right wing. Also cup-tied was Lee Barnard whose place went to Papa Waigo N’Diaye whose name caused a few seconds of panic for the stadium announcer. Carlisle had only two players I was vaguely familiar with – Ian Harte who takes a mean free kick but can’t run and Graham Kavanagh who is now 36 but doesn’t look any older than he did when he was 25 when he looked about 50. National Anthem, teams introduced to Mawhinney the Arse and away we go.
For the first 10 minutes, if anything Carlisle were the better side, looking to pass it about in midfield and work their openings. From their first corner, Harding decided that the way to go was World Wrestling Federation and grabbed hold of Grandad Kavanagh as he made his run. At the time I thought nothing of it but when you see a replay it’s pretty bad and I think we can count ourselves a bit fortunate. Most of the Carlisle play revolved around getting the ball out to Robson on their left who was playing against our left footed right back in Harding who comprehensively won the first challenge between the pair which immediately resulted in Robson throwing himself to the floor the next three times he got near the ball. The ref was having none of it though. The tide began to turn when Hammond and Wotton started to get a grip in midfield and Carlisle started to try long balls up to their lone striker who was never going to get an joy competing against the classy Fonte and the brick shithouse Jaidi.
Antonio had started up front with Waigo on the right but when Antonio found himself on his natural right hand side for the first time, he put over a cross towards Lambert where for some reason, the centre back flapped it away with the palm of his hand. From where I was you couldn’t tell what the ref had given but it was as obvious as you like. The only debate was whether he should have been sent off or not. When Sir Rickie is on the pens, the centre back may as well have caught it and thrown it in the net himself as there is only ever one outcome. Bang, top right, 1-0 despite goalkeeper Collin being about five yards off his line when the kick was struck.
Suddenly it was all Saints with two chances in quick succession falling to Lallana. At first I thought he’d scuffed both of them but in fact he made a really good contact with the first and was unfortunate that it buried itself in Collin’s midriff. The second was a bit of a half hit effort and I always feel with Adam that he needs to take a leaf out of Sir Rickie’s book and try and break the net.
Carlisle came back with a couple of efforts of their own with a header from Harte bouncing off the top of the bar and a hooked shot from Marc Double-Barrell landing on top of the net – neither of which caused me or Kelvin Davis any bother. Every time they attacked, Saints looked likely to score and Sir Rickie fashioned an opening for the impressive Antonio that he hit well but Collin turned aside.
Ian Harte is an interesting player in that he won 50+ caps for Ireland and played in the Leeds side that played in the Champions League Semi Final and then he kind of dropped off the map and ended up playng for a crap Spanish side (Levante if memory serves). He was only about 27 when this happened and now he’s only 32 but you can see the problem. He was a left back in his prime and even then was regarded as being a bit slow and having the turning circle of a ocean liner. He is now, even at league 1 standard, too slow to play left back and not good enough in the air to play centre back. Holding midfield role I reckon. Anyway, today he’s a centre back and was getting comprehensively beaten to every header by Sir Rickie including an important one on 44 minutes when Sir Rickie flicked on a long Antonio throw from the right and Lallana stole in completely unmarked at the back stick to head past Collin for 2-0.
It nearly got even better a minute later when following a dreadful foul on Papa Waigo on the left wing, Sir Rickie swung in the free kick which went about a foot wide of the far point having just avoided the lunging Jaidi. Half time and so far so good. My feeling was that our only problem was going to be if Carlisle got one back straight away but I really couldn’t see it. They seemed to have nothing up front and it was carnage every time we got near their penalty area.
The second half started like the first with Carlisle having a spell of keeping the ball and zipping it about but the first time they gave it away, Sir Rickie went gallivanting up the left wing and laid it inside to Papa Waigo who hit a delightful pass with the outside of his right back back to Sir Rickie who had continued his gallivant. Before he collapsed of exhaustion he crossed it to where Horwood was the covering defender. He tried to let it run across him being completely oblivious to Antonio behind him who burgled him and smashed it goalwards where it was parried upwards by Collin’s face. There waiting for it to come down was Papa Waigo who nodded into the empty net for 3-0. The celebrations were long and milked for all they were worth – a run to the crowd in the corner (where I was), a group hug with Lallana and Lambert and then he remembered that he hadn’t done the Waigo shuffle and set off behind the goal to perform his masterpiece. The only questions now were – is it called a parry if it comes off his face and how many would we get ?
Deflated, Carlisle resorted again to hoof and hope – Jaidi headed everything away and Fonte was so laid back he was in a deckchair. Harding and Mills had totally shut down the flanks and whilst not offering much going forward – they didn’t really have to because others were doing just fine on their own. On 59 minutes, Sir Rickie won another header before the ball broke to Antonio who nudged it past a defender and smashed in a left footed half volley which gave poor Collin no hope. 4-0 and a dance for the crowd to match the Waigo effort from earlier.
To be honest, the next half an hour was shite and who can be surprised. The game was won and Carlisle were deflated. To be fair, Carlisle kept trying and following a magnificent spirit lifting performance from Golden Elvis in the crowd, Carlisle got a consolation goal in the 86th minute when sub Madine flicked in an Ian Harte free kick which was given for sod all but it would be churlish to complain too much.
Saints threw on all three subs in the last 15 with Simon Gillett on for Papa Waigo, David Connolly on for Paul Wotton and finally, for what will probably be his last appearance for Saints, Chris Perry on for Radhi Jaidi. Only Gillett made any kind of mark on the game with a snap shot at the near post which Collin tipped wide.
Final whistle – Southampton 4 Carlisle United 1. Southampton win the Johnstone’s Paints Trophy 2010.
Following Carlisle’s trudge up the steps, it was our turn and soon, Dean Hammond and Kelvin Davis were lifting up the seriously large Johnstone’s Paints Trophy. Papa Waigo managed to get himself too excited and tried to get in the way of all the photographs at the key moment. Typical Papa, always five yards ahead of where he should be.
Watching the presentation – it seems funny to me that Markus Liebherr has his own little camera which he takes to every match. I’m hoping that some of his photos get published in the Saints website one day. Nicola Cortese looked very happy and it was a nice moment when he and King Alan were together. A rift? I don’t really think so. Don’t believe the hype, don’t believe the Daily Echo and don’t believe that fat oaf Martin Samuel in the Daily Mail. All it is, is their opinion but written in a forceful way so you think they have the inside track. As we know, the Daily Echo does not have the inside track and I think it’s safe to assume that Martin Samuel doesn’t either. We’re all better off forming our own opinions.
I’ve followed Saints since 1976 as I’ve said before, I was a 7 year old thinking we’d win something every year. I’m now 41 and we’ve finally won something to add to the FA Cup in 1976. Call it a minor competition, call it what you like – I don’t give a shit. I was there. 50,000+ of us were there as it turns out and we had a fantastic time. Wembley, the playing arena is fantastic. Wembley, the rest of it is a bit disappointing but nothing ruins the day – not even the two hour wait to get clear of Hangar Lane on the way home..
Thankyou Markus, Nicola, King Alan, all the players and Serigne Ababacar who apparently is the Senegalese God of Offside.
'Twas a day to remember even for us overseas fans who couldn't get tickets... A mutual "congratulations" is in order, I think ;-)
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