On a night as windy and not quite as wet as Saturday at Pompey, the Lads, several of whom were new faces to most of us, outplayed the Imps to triumph 2-1. It could have been more convincing but for some desperate Lincoln defending, but I'm more than happy with the result and very happy with the performance. Many has moaned at LJ's frustration over next week's PJC (that's PapaJohn's Cup) game, but I'm behind him all the way on the subject. Why should we be forced to play with a weaker squad? Up yours, Man U.
I had flashbacks to Saturday's overall awayday disaster when, as the train passed Aycliffe, the guard announced that they'd be taking it slow into Darlo as there were some cows on the line and they didn't fancy corned beef for tea. Where's Casey Jones and the cowcatcher on the cannonball express when you need him? Thankfully, that's as spicy as the journey got, and Judith and I had time for a wander and some scran before I hooked up with Big Urchy (not that big, but taller than his brother...Little Urchy) for team selection. News came in of Russ and Gilly's encounter with Methven and Rodwell (Jim variety, but still...) in rural Lincolnshire. Apparently, the emergency services were alerted but not required.
We both got the team wrong. Very wrong.
Burge
Richardson Alves Younger Hume
Neil (c) Sonha Taylor
O'Brien Harris Pritchard
In our yellow and blue away kit, and with the home side confusingly in our home kit (near enough) and with Maguire at ten, we kicked off away from the impressively large visiting contingent. By the time we'd worked out who was who, captain Neil had moved forward and taken a pass from O'Brien, in the inside left channel and slashed a right-footed shot goalwards that swerved away from the keeper and inside his left-hand post. What a beauty. The young lad behind us explained that he was from Lincoln, but his family were from Sunderland, and that he'd actually gone to Wearside to watch Saturday's game. All he wanted was to stick one up his mates - happy days. I love it when that happens.
With that in the bag, we settled into a very solid shape and passed it about with aplomb. Younger and Alves held the back line impressively, with the movement of the former a joy to watch. In front of them, young Sonha constantly found space to either move it forward or pop it to his captain. There was a lot of nice football, with the home side relying on hitting it long to their right wing, or trying to get it to Maguire - obviously. He took a bit of stick from us, but smiled and put his tongue out. I've a feeling he enjoyed his evening despite the result.
Lincoln's play won them a few corners, which we dealt with, and a couple of shots and crosses which Burge did well to punch effectively away - the travelling fans certainly let him know if their appreciation...and it's easier to sing "Lee Burge" than any interpretation of Hoffmann. He had a few saves to make, and he made them, before getting the ball up the field for Harris to hit a beaut that bounced just wide. As the half drew to a close, O'Brien held it up well, as he'd been doing all night, but instead of popping it off to the buzzing Pritch or Wee Willie Harris, spun on the edge of the box and left the keeper for dead with a curling right-footer that hit the post high up and rebounded to safety. A single minute was added, and we ended the half deservedly ahead. 1-0, and it could have been more.
No changes for us for the second half, apart from the weather, which took on a scarily Pompey attitude - although the Sincil pitch was superb, a far cry from the tatie field that ended Martin Scott's career all those years ago. Despite being watered (yes, really) it allowed slick and swift passing, which suited us more than the Imps. Pritch had shown what he was all about, like a wasp buzzing about behind the front line and picking up more scraps than a mag outside a chippy.
With the Lads' tails well and truly up, the Imps were forced to spend a lot of time on their back foot. Several times we were through but couldn't quite fashion a scoring opportunity, and we began to get a tad nervous (SSS...Sunderland Supporting Syndrome, which decrees that, unless we're 7-0 ahead, there's always the chance it could gan aal wrang. Been there, seen it, got the commemorative underpants)
Maguire left the field to generous applause, mostly from our lot, and was smiling as he went
We continued to pass it about, and we continued to create chances. Harris was put through but couldn't beat the keeper, then they forced a tip-over from Burge, but we still had the upper had. Their keeper pulled off a couple of good saves, then we brought on Wearne for Taylor just after the hour. A cross from our left cleared the defence, Harris got a head to it, and Wearne ran on and chested it home. Gerrin, you beauty! Only Gordi Chisholm has chested in a Sunderland goal in my presence (at West Ham, ask yer dad), so girrup young man!
On came Luke for Harris with fifteen to go, presumably because LJ was sick to death of Mr Enthusiasm wanting to be on. Sadly, he only lasted seven minutes, having taken what looked like a kick to the ribs, and eventually went off to be replaced by Embleton. Younger was up for an attack, and took a real kick in the calf, but, as if to show Luke up as a softy, got up and (eventually) continued.
We had further chances to seal things, but Lincoln brought on a Git Big Fella for the last few minutes, and he drew a save or two our of Burge before eventually they whacked home a consolation in the added four minutes. He and Burge had a bit of nonsense as we, understandably, didn't want to restart too quickly.
Then it was all done. Urchy declared "I want a shirt" and clattered down the front, never to be seen again. I went for a celebratory bevvy, as you do. I've no idea if he got a shirt or not, but Burge and their big sub had a bit of a cuddle and made up as the rest of the Lads came and showed their appreciation for our attendance.
After Saturday, that was a very nice, and completely acceptable, way to bounce back, which showed the strength of our squad.
Man of the Match? A proper captain's evening from Neil, capped with a stunning goal, and a pair of central defensive masterclasses (sort of) from Younger and Alves, while Hume showed that he's still a positive option. For me and Big Urchy, though, young Sabha was simply superb.
Here's to the future, and the future's Red and White.
Mind you, I'm sick to death of getting soaked at the match.
