The second leg promised to be one of ‘those’ matches where we had to go for it. There was no second chances and no George Cain, which was a blessing. This time the referee was to be Mike Pike, a name that perhaps won’t be remembered with as much vitriol, but should be.
Anyone who thinks Lincoln travelling in numbers is a new phenomenon should have a look at the picture below of the packed away end. City sold out the allocation and could have done so twice over I’m informed. We may have trailed 2-1 from the first leg, but Keith instilled belief in his sides, just like Danny does now. Just because we were losing was no reason to assume we’d roll over and let the Terriers into the final.
Before the game I remember walking into the bar at the ground, unawares we weren’t really meant to be there. As we walked through the door everyone stopped and stared, it was like the wild west, even the pool balls on the table turned to look at us. We made our way to the bar and stood there for ten minutes, not being served. All around us people we getting beers whilst we got ignored. I wasn’t going to be put off so I tried to force my way in when this huge hand came down in between my friend and I and landed on the bar. It had HTFC tattooed on the fingers and looked like it belonged to Bigfoot. The barman looked above me to whatever lurked behind and asked what he wanted, and this strong Yorkshire voice said “These two have been waiting too long. Serve them. Now.”
We turned to say thanks and the giant said “You best leave when you’ve had them.” I’ve never downed a pint so quick.
In the ground things weren’t quite as scary, City clearly arrived eager to redress the balance. In what later became a typical Peter Jackson performance, Huddersfield looked shell-shocked as we hit them with everything we had and the first half really belonged to the boys in dark blue. On 38 minutes a Mark Bailey ball into the box caused chaos, Marcus Richardson getting between the keeper and Efe Sodje, they all collided and in the confusion, Richard Butcher hooked the ball into an empty net.
The 3,000 odd travelling fans erupted although perhaps the video replays suggest it was the boos from the home support that were loudest. They expected to win this and we had got ourselves back into the tie. Within 60 seconds, we’d turned it on its head.
This time Bailey was the scorer, Richardson involved yet again. A ball from the left found Richardson who in turn cleverly picked out Bailey. He took the ball on his chest, strode past his defender and slotted home the Imps second of the game. 2-0 on the night, 3-2 on aggregate and suddenly Lincoln City were going to Cardiff again.
Let’s end the blog there, shall we?
Huddersfield came out all guns blazing but City defended resolutely. Iffy Onoura believed he had a penalty shout when he headed into the chest of Ben Futcher, but the replays don’t show a hand ball. Referee Mike Pike correctly turned the appeals away, but the 16,000 home fans got right on his back and not long afterwards, he buckled. A long ball over the top had Jamie McCombe chasing Andy Booth, the latter tumbling theatrically in the area. The linesman gave it, the referee gave it and to this day I argue it wasn’t a penalty. Booth dived. We’d been robbed once again.
They scored to level the tie and in fairness after that they got the crowd behind them. With seven minutes left on the clock, Rob Edwards struck a decisive effort from twelve yards to give them the win. In the stands, we were heart broken, the perceived injustice burning harder than the defeat. Edwards goal had been well taken and on the balance of play, a draw seemed fair, but we’d been cheated. Again. Even now, fourteen years later, I watch that penalty and it upsets me.
The aftermath wasn’t nice, their fans invaded the pitch and I recall Kevin Ellison giving one of them a jab to the temple as he goaded him. I liked Ellison, seeing that made me hopeful we’d find the £100k needed to bring him to the Bank permanently. We didn’t.
On the way out of the ground we got lots of stick from home fans, all very happy they’d beaten long-ball Lincoln, ironically helped by a dodgy penalty from a long ball. Peter Jackson made typically Jacko comments after the game too, ensuring when he eventually turned up at Sincil Bank that he never had my backing.
Ellison didn’t sign, Mark Bailey left and perhaps the finest Imps team of a generation began to break up. We had one more season before Gain, Butcher and Taylor-Fletcher left, amongst others, but many think that evening was the one chance we had to truly kick on.
What it did teach me, what we can still hold dear today, is that success breeds success. Even losing Ellison and Bailey didn’t stop our surge to three more semi-finals. Tomorrow is just the start, not the culmination of our success. Exeter come with experience of play-offs and they’ll surely be favourites, no matter what anyone says. Remember, success is catching and it breeds. We won’t be losing key players (hopefully, eh Neal?) next season so whatever the outcome, we’re staying on this trajectory.
I just hope it isn’t Ben Toner we’re talking about in 48 hours time, or a dive or poor decision, because in a league season you can move quickly on from them but believe me, in a play-off semi-final the pain never subsides. To a degree I’ve forgotten the penalty against Luke Waterfall against York last season, but if the same happens tomorrow I’ll be writing about it with a tear in my eye well into my 60s.
THANKS TO GRAHAM BURRELL FOR THE EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS
Thanks for this excellently written piece Gary – it brought back some bitter-sweet memories of the team and that night in particular – a real roller-coaster of emotions on that warm evening, including feelings of excitement, injustice and ultimately disappointment. I’m convinced we would have gone on to win the play-off final if we’d have got through. One other image I can recall at the end was Mark Bailey walking towards the way way end through the crowd of away fans to applaud/say his goodbyes to the Imps fans. I’ve always had an irrational dislike for Huddersfield Town since then, and never took to Peter Jackson. As a postscript, my daughter started at Huddersfield Uni a couple of years ago and I regularly have to drive past the John Smith Stadium – life can be cruel….
Good read Gary, was thoroughly enjoying it until I read your last paragraph. Oh no not Ben Toner again, he’s already got his infamy for allowing his assistant to persuade him to give a handball when he himself had by far the better angle and had already said no three times. Not saying it cost us the FA Trophy semi but it certainly was a massive factor.
Hope you’re on the mend and can see some light at the end of the tunnel