Sometimes, a match report is pointless.
I’ll try to take you through events from last night, but you saw them as well. We all did, most of the world was watching. I know that’s an overstatement, but it felt that way, looking at Google Alerts, NewsNow and the like. Eyes were on us like never before, and while only pride was really at stake (and a fourth-round tie in the League Cup, worth less than pride), it felt high stakes.
Nerves? No, because this was win/win for Lincoln. If we lost, we were expected to. If Chelsea scored five, we’d shrug and say how their squad was probably worth 100 times what ours is and move on. Anything else, and we’d be heroes. Okay, if they scored ten, maybe we’d be a bit hacked off, but could we come out of yesterday smelling of anything other than roses? The question was how many roses we might smell like.
In my opinion, we came out smelling like roses, freshly cut grass, the first fallen leaves of autumn and the gently weeping pine cones of a Christmas tree, all rolled into one unbelievable scent. Chelsea might have won last night, but we were the winners. We don’t now have to taint our cup run with an away trip to Cardiff or something else so utterly underwhelming it buries the wonder of the game last night.
This is a different proud to how I’ve ever felt, This is pride tinged with regret. Leaving the ground, I was actually upset because I felt we deserved something from the game. Imagine that! We played the World Champions, at one point, a World Cup winner was on the pitch, and a European Championship winner. Not players who won those tournaments in the distant past – current reigning champions. Chelsea won the World Club Cup and the Europa Conference League. One of their players transfer fees alone would buy our club maybe three times over. And I felt we should have got more.
I’m not the only one either, am I?
When we lost 7-2 to Liverpool, they were the reigning Champions. They fielded a side that was talented, and we fought well, but we let in seven. I was proud. West Ham brought a strong side, but comparing West Ham to Chelsea is like comparing Waitrose to Sainsbury’s. Also, against West Ham, I was proud we kept the score down, and I could say ‘we might have nicked it on pens’. We did nick it on pens against Sheffield United (Waitrose compared to that little vape shop on a random street corner that also does foreign bread and lager), again soaking up pressure.
Last night, we strode out on our own pitch against the World Champions, stuck out chests out and gave it a go. Not in a brave, Scrappy Do style, lemme at ’em’ as we swiped in vain, but toe-to-toe.
And we didn’t even do it at full strength.
The team shocked a couple of us as we munched our way through some fast food before the game. A switch of tactics made sense, but recalls for Ryley Towler, Lewis Montsma and Tom Hamer at the back raised eyebrows. Ivan Varfolomeev made his first start at the Bank, while Rob Street got a run out up top alongside Freddie Draper. Everywhere you looked, the selection dripped narrative. Draper, a Chelsea fan. Street, our future number nine. Towler, a stalwart of the Imps defence for years to come. Montsma, a veteran (dare I say) of the Liverpool game, seemingly on the edge of the squad, playing a central role in (arguably) our highest profile home game ever.
Drip, drip, drip.
Can you imagine the narrative if Montsma, who scored against Liverpool, had opened the scoring? When David beat Goliath, he had a sling with stones in it. We had a sling(shot) throw in, a Tom Hamer launch that caused them issues all night long. With just two on the lcok he’d already given the Blues something to think about, and Montsma dragged a shot across the goal, off the inside of the post and out.
We were so close to getting the one thing we all wanted: a City goal.
It’s crazy to say, but from there, we utterly bossed the first half. We had our panto villain, Garnacho, who was roundly booed every time he touched the ball. I’m not 100% sure why. I know there was an early exchange with Tendayi where he seemed to dive and did a nice little roll for effect, but let’s be honest, we did have a few nice stabs at him.
I felt the referee was a bit overawed by the whole occasion. He could have given us a pen early – Chalobah slipped with Draper on his tail, and as he got up, Draper was trying to get over him and he lifted Draper off the floor. I have seen weaker given. I appreciate Chalobah can’t do a lot and is recovering, but a foul doesn’t have to be intentional, does it? If one player takes another out, stopping their progress, isn’t it a penalty? Maybe I’m reaching.
All over the field, we were excellent. I couldn’t pick a single player who was having a bad game. Bradley was a threat in the box, as were Towler and Montsma. Hmaer was so good, covering more ground to take throw-ins than I think any other player did in the course of open play. McGrandles and Varfolomeev were tireless, beyond the norm, with Ben House joining them in a deeper role.
The illustrious Premier League outfit didn’t manage a shot on target in the first half, but we did, and after bossing the half, we got exactly what we deserved, and what at least 8,000 of the home fans wanted. A goal. It came from a classic Imps approach of pressing high, forcing a team playing out from the back into an error. What a stinker as well, with a World Cup winner whipping a pass across the back to an England international, only for a player making his first home start in a new country to rob the ball, leading to a player who played fourth-tier football last season, scoring.
That’s such a derogatory way to put it, but it’s how the national media see it. Me? I saw Varfolomeev instinctively robbing Chalobah on the press, a dynamic press as well with interesting triggers. Street seized on the ball and on the opportunity to impress playing down the middle, and finished with the calmness of a player who regularly faced off against big teams in big games. No nerves, 1-0 City.
It was a bit of a shame to hear Alan Long say racist and homophobic comments wouldn’t be tolerated, the only stain on the night. I don’t have a personal issue with the smoke bomb, I know the club say no, but this was a big game, lots of great atmosphere, and being honest, I see a big red plume of smoke coming from our support as part of that. I know it’s not the PC thing to say, and I back the club on the homophobic chanting 100%, but I can’t condemn the odd smoke bomb on a night like this.
All game our press had been excellent, and really dynamic. It wasn’t just the usual three pressing high when they had the ball, Varoflomeev and McGrandles often came from deep and then dropped back into their roles. Also, while we’d let them have pointless possession, we seemed to have a two level press. We’d drive them back, and when they reset, look to hit them high. Of course, they had the ability to get out on many occasions, but then our energy to reset to ten or eleven behind the ball, even if they’ve got fifty yards across the pitch, typified what this team is all about.
Such an outstanding first half had to be backed up. As the whistle went, I felt we were 45 minutes away from what would be our most famous result, even perhaps more famous than beating Burnley in the FA Cup.
Really enjoyed your excellent report. Thank you!