Dog face

Bury FC 2 - 1 Rochdale AFC

Journey:

09:00. Waiting. Waiting for Mr. Keane to arrive. Granted, he wasn't due to arrive until 10:30. But I was waiting none the less. Today is derby day. Rochdale vs. Bury. A 12:00 kick off with Premiership referee Alan Wiley calling the shots.

I tried watching TV. I saw an interview with Danny Boyle about the Oscar winning 'Slum Dog Millionaire'. If you have been living under a rock in recent months, Slum Dog Millionaire is about a young man from one of the less desirable parts of the world who gets his break in life through the entertainment industry. Quite where Bury born, Hollywood movie director, Mr. Boyle got his inspiration from is not exactly clear.

It passed a few minutes. After that I had to fall back on pacing. I am a pacer. When I am nervous or excited - or both. I pace. It was pacing that would almost literally lead to my downfall.

While I pace, my dog follows me. Back and forth. Back and forth. Somewhere on lap 200 and something I turned a little more rapidly than my dog was prepared for. We could dwell on exactly what happened next - or on some of the oathes I utterd. Lets just say I arrived in the kitchen a little more quickly than I had planned.

I rounded on the dog who was loitering in the kitchen doorway and started to make my feelings known. It was pointless. Dog's have a trick. The dog face. Muzzle down, eyes up. In seconds the fury had bled away and I was left feeling very slightly foolish.

Anyone who has a dog knows about this. Any amount of shredded clothing, chewed furniture or suspicious puddles can be explained away by the dog face. It works every time. From full blown, hysterical anger to ruffling the fur behind said canine's ears takes less than a minute.

They may be saying 'it wasn't my fault', or 'I didn't mean it', or perhaps - just perhaps 'sorry'. Whatever it is, it works.

At 10:30 and with my composure now fully restored, Mr. Keane arrived.

As today is a special day, something special had happened. For the first time in the 2008/09 season we had a full compliment of the Littleborough Debating and Choral Society: Dale Supporters Section. Myself, Mr. Keane, Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Jones and in the shock of the season - Mr. Turner had put aside his numerous media commitments and joined us for the trip to Gigg Lane.

Food:

Cheesburger, fried onions, sweet chilli sauce. £2.20. It did nothing for my diet - but what the hell, this is derby day.

Ground:

The easy thing to do would be to rubbish Gigg Lane. This is the personal preserve of all Dale fans. A pleasure few can resist. Personally, I just find it confusing. It looks like several people were given the task of designing the ground - but were never allowed to talk to one another while they were doing it. There are some good bits - the side and end which have been joined at the corner are tidy. The main stand is good if a little dated.

The Manchester Road End - in which I would find myself today is a bit poor. It doesn't matter where you sit, there is always a iron stancion in your line of sight. Kind of like Old Wembley - but without the charm. In spite of the impeded view, I am pleased to report that Dale completely filled it - along with a large section of the main stand.

Finally, have you ever wanted to relieve yourself into a hole in the floor? Don't waste your money trekking to sub-Saharan Africa or the Indian sub-continent. Get that real third world feeling in the Manchester Road End latrine's at Gigg Lane. A life changing experience.

Action:

Barnet had been a huge disappointment. Dale really should have earned themselves a point. As it was, they walked away with nothing. As if today wasn't important enough already, it was now more important than ever that Dale get something today. The encounter at Spotland earlier in the season had been a tight affair - both sides gaining a well earned point. What might today hold?

The team news was a little strange. Jones continued absence seemed to point to a rare start for recognised central midfielder Clark Keltie - erm - no. Thompson would partner Toner in the middle of the park. Considering his recent run of form, Adam Rundle was a certainty to start on the left - erm - no. Rundle would drop to the bench - Bury old boy Adams would start on the left and Buckley would start on the right. Sometime Bury favourite, Tom Kennedy, would be Rochdale's captain for the day. McEvilly would make way for Thorpe upfront - other than that, as you were.

Mr. Wiley got things underway and the Shakers quickly got into their stride. Jones down the Bury left producing some penetrating runs and useful looking crosses which neither Bishop or Morrell could profit from. Having weathered the initial onslaught Dale, through Buckley, produced some probing runs of their own which had Bury biting their finger nails.

Things settled down nicely and an intruiging contest began to unfold. It was somewhere around here that I turned to Mr. Turner and remarked, 'at least we haven't punched it into our own net this time!'. I really should keep my mouth shut. I really should.

On 19 minutes Simon Ramsden attempted a fairly ill-considered back pass to Fielding. Alert to the opportunity, the Shakers Bennet chased the ball. Fielding attempted to kick the ball clear. 99 times from 100 this would have worked. Sadly this was the '1'. Fielding's attempted clearance cannoned off Bennett, shot up into the air, over Fielding's head and dropped slowly, oh so slowly towards the Rochdale goal. A scrambling Kennedy could do nothing to prevent the inevitable. 1-0 Bury.

The home fans went mental. The Rochdale fans groaned.

Minutes later Bury could have been two to the good. A glancing header from Morrell clattered the inside of the post and bounced back into Fielding's rather relived hands.

Pleasingly Rochdale didn't give in. They could point to a Joe Thompson's header late in the half which needed to be carved off the line by Sodje - while the Bury keeper, Tyler, was little better than a spectator.

During halftime we were treated to an encore performance from a troupe of dancing girls. They had strutted their stuff in the run up to kick off to much ribald derision from the Dale fans. Their encore was met with disinterested silence. Things were not going to plan - Dale had to improve significantly to turn things around and the Rochdale faithful knew it.

As half time ebbed away and whilst we waved cheerily to the Bury fans, Mr. Turner and I turned our minds to a great and deepening mystery. Mark Jones. Specifically, where the hell is he? After all the pomp and furore surrounding his signing at the start of the season, I have seen him play just once. Mr. Turner was as mystified as I am.

If you have seen Mark Jones, please let us know where he is and what he is up to. It would be comforting to know.

Mr. Wiley once again got things started and Rochdale set about their task. For the first fifteen minutes or so the game was played pretty much exclusively in the Shakers half. The corner count rose steadily, McEvilly replaced Thorpe and Rundle replaced a decidedly lack lustre Adams - but in spite of the undoubted pressure Bury were under, they held firm. Sodje and Cresswell turning in an annoyingly competent performance in the centre of defence. A header slightly over the bar from St. Adam and a shot narrowly wide of the post from the Shaker Maker were the best of Dale's chances.

As Dale huffed and puffed Bury were finding the time and space to break out and cause some problems of their own.

On 84 minutes they became serious problems. An intricate passing move saw Bury waltz through the Rochdale defences and a clever pass from Bishop set up Jones to finish past Fielding from just inside the Dale area. 2-0 Bury.

The home fans went mental. The Rochdale fans voted with their feet.

With time tricling away there was a strong shout for a Dale penalty as a sprawling Cresswell patted the ball back to Tyler in the Shakers goal. Mr. Wylie saw things differently.

But - it wasn't quite over just yet. Deep into injury time a long ball forward found the Shaker Maker lurking on the edge of the Bury area. Tidy control, a deft turn to wrong-foot his marker and a rifled finish past a static Tyler. 2-1.

Too little, too late. Ten seconds after the restart Mr. Wiley blew his whistle.

The remaining Rochdale fans rose to applaud Dale off the field, surprisingly the whole team and management were walking towards the Manchester Road End applauding right back. Their expressions were familliar. Muzzle down, eyes up. The dog face. I may have been disappointed, perhaps angry, maybe even slightly embarrased - but I suddenly had the urge to ruffle the fur behind their ears.

It works every time.

Summary:

The journey back to Rochdale was a long one - through a horrendous traffic jam. An hour and forty five minutes in total. During which I had plenty of time to reflect on this afternoon's procedings.

Did the team selection make a difference? No. Had Thompson's header gone in, he would have been a hero.

Was the first goal a fluke? No. Bennet saw an opportunity and went for it.

Was the referee to blame? No. All in all Mr. Wiley did a decent afternoon's work.

Bury won today because they defended well and took their chances when they came. Rochdale didn't.

Turner Watch:

Mr. Turner is working on a movie script. It revolves around a young man from one of the less desireable parts of the world who goes on to have a surprising influence on world events.

7/03/09