Bailey’s Time
Tottenham Hotspur v Liverpool
11th of January, 2020.
Davie greeted me at the door.
‘Leicester are losing’, he happily told me. That was a shock, as I had deliberately made sure I was un-aware of any football scores.
Dean was there and Carly – Davie’s wife, so ‘the gang was all there’.
‘Crumbs Crouch, what are you doing here so early?’ Carly laughed, as usually I arrive with ten minutes to spare before kick-off.
It was good to be there. It was almost as though I had waited around all day for the game. Just going to Morrisons and then back home and trying to see where I can go with a long – term story of Leighton Phillips.
I decided to do a Timeline of his career and fill in some details of his Welsh appearances – with his club appearances on the other side. To do that though I had to research a Rothman’s book and to do that meant tidying-up my mini library of books. I got to his 25th appearance in the end though, much like Liverpool seem to have acquired this fantastic knack of grinding out wins.
So, as I plonked myself down on the sofa, akin to taking my old seat at Anfield; Leicester only went and equalised. ‘2-2’.
‘I’ll take that Crouch’ Davie said, smiling.
‘Too right’ I agreed.
Then, then, then, those three letters, which can mean so much, appeared on the screen of the BBC studio. ‘VAR’. We all held our collective breath’s and went, ‘YES!!!’ as though Liverpool had just scored. Well, they had in effect but only ‘if’ they could win their game, which was fast approaching like brighter days after four o’ clock.
I was armed and dangerous. Though the sweet bowl was full I had in reserve, akin to Klopp now being able to call on Shaqiri and very soon Fabinho and Joel Matip, bought little white mice sweets, along with a bag of chocolate and cream hundreds and thousands – three for a pound in Morrison’s (get on it!).
With Carly doing me a tea and also a doughnut – I was being spoilt, again, by my adopted family. So, we were set, especially as the others had opened bottles and cans; back home I had a Bailey’s on the rocks waiting for me.
Spurs away. Always dodgy. Even more so now that Jose, the ‘Not so Special One anymore’ was in charge of them. We just, just knew that he would not park just one bus but if he could, all 151 model buses which I had inherited from my late dad. They look fantastic by the way in his cabinet, with his photo inside of it, as you go into my house; I think he would have approved.
It was going to be a battle of attrition, akin to a slogging match like the 3rd Battle of Ypres in 1917 and this time we hoped that right would prevail. To say we had history with Jose was an under-statement. We never meant to hate him but Carly hit the nail on the head when she just said, ‘When I look at him, I ate him’. Quite.
That game, we all know the one, when he scuppered our chances as Chelsea manager, weighed heavily on our minds before this game. We just could not stand it if he did us over again.
Jurgen Klopp selected his strongest Liverpool team. It goes to show how stable it is as any red can rattle off at least nine of the starting 11 without even thinking about it. Alisson was in goals. Trent Alexander-Arnold (who was December’s player of the month) and Andy Robertson were the attacking full-backs. Virgil van Dijk and Joe Gomez were the centre-halves. Jordan Henderson (captain), Gini Wijnaldum and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain were in the middle with the terrible trio up top in the form of Mo Salah, Bobby Firmino and newly crowned African Footballer of the Year, the very humble, Sadio Mane.
As for Spurs, they were without Harry, I’m going to claim any goals I possibly can, Kane. A player I did not always dislike but do now after he tried to claim a goal and deny Mo Salah his Golden Boot in 2017-18. He was a big loss but they still had Son, who I would love to see in a red shirt and hope that our new signing, Takumi Minamino, takes inspiration from. Lloris was missing as well but there was still the coveted Christian Erikson – another player I’d gladly take off Tottenham’s hands – to warm our bench.
Liverpool attacked, almost after starter orders had been sounded. Bobby Firmino was inside their area, to the right of the screen as we looked at it. He shaped-up to shoot and their keeper, Gazzaniga, made a good save. Then Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain was Johnny-on-the-spot and fired in the rebound which we all thought was going to creep inside Gazzaniga’s right post; only it didn’t.
We all disappointedly sat back down.
‘That was a real chance’ Deano said; as an early breakthrough would have made all the difference against Spurs who were set-up in a typical 10-1 Jose formation.
Liverpool though continued to probe. Passing out wide at every opportunity – we just had to be patient I tried to keep telling myself as I got increasingly hyped-up, with Carly looking at me and Davie saying, ‘Alright Crouch’ at my angst boiling over at Jose – did I mention I don’t like him, or as my mum would say, ‘I don’t like the look of him’ and my brother would say, ‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him’. Exactly, anyhow I was riiled and just desperately wanted Liverpool to score.
Sadio Mane put the ball over the bar as he almost lay flat on the ground. By his standards we knew it had been a chance.
‘How did he miss that?’ Dean said in exasperation as Davie continued to have ‘if looks could kill’ glances from Carly every time he called Jose a ‘*unt’.Davie though led his defence with a rock solid alibi, as though aided by Virg and Gomez, ‘it’s football love’, with Carly disapprovingly shaking her head. It would have been an opportune moment to have joked that Davie was going to get another bruise after we left, as we jokingly jest that Carly is the boss in the house; they are both so funny and Davie winds her up at any opportunity.
‘I have to put-up with this all the time, Crouch’ she said to me, with me trying not laugh!
I love them – fair do’s, in my typical Welsh manner…
We could hear the Liverpool fans – after Deano had tried to figure where they were located in the ground – Spurs new ground on this, Liverpool’s debut there. They were behind Alisson’s goal and soon had something very significant to sing about and dreams to more than day-dream about.
After great build-up, Mo Salah was inside the centre of the Spurs area. Three players surrounding him. Don’t dare tell me that Mo doesn’t make a major contribution to our team. It was akin to the King himself, Dalglish in his pomp with his bum sticking out, shielding the ball; that’s the highest praise I can bestow on Mo. With a flick of his boot he squeezed a square ball to his right, to Bobby Firmino, who was on the edge of the 6 – yard area. Bobby did not even look as he struck a left-footed shot which arrowed straight into the left netting of Gazzaniga’s goal. It was as though Bobby had just flicked the switch of a kettle, that’s how easy he made it look.
‘Yes’ we all shouted with me jumping off the sofa, fist clenched. It was a vital breakthrough.
But lo, hang on a cotton picking second, as my dad used to say, when I were a lad, as we had to wait in mid-ecstasy, almost, as we looked at the screen with VAR checking the goal. It was such a let-down moment. I could use an ecstasy fuelled analogy here but let’s just keep it clean, and say it must be like calling a ‘House!’ in bingo and having instantly having it checked.
‘It’s a goal!’ one of the other three said and we were pleased to say the least.
Liverpool still probed a tad before the break but not too so much of an extent. It was all on Spurs now as we had torn Jose’s blue-print into little pieces; we had forced him to go back to the drawing-board.
At the break, with Carly kindly making me another tea, as she said, ‘I do everything in this house’ whilst looking at a smirking Dave who had, to be fair, whipped his measuring tape out, to suss out if a set of draws could be transferred from one girls bedroom to one of the others. Kayla, the oldest you see, wants to have her room re-decorated, especially as she is about 14 now, and of course, you can’t do one room without doing the other two, and also Carly wants something done to the hall again as well – it seems they never stand still in the Wheatstone House; a bit like Liverpool continually re-developing Anfield and striving to emulate the Old Trafford football stadiums of this world!
I put the three bags of assorted sweets in the bowl. ‘I don’t like chocolate ones Crouch’, Davie wise-crackingly moaned.
‘Don’t worry Crouch, I love chocolate’ Carly said, smiling in anticipation of having more of the sweet brown stuff. So, like a magician producing a rabbit out of the hat, I put a bag of the soft refresher favourites on the table; just for Davie.
‘That’s better, Crouch’ he said, as the second half began with no changes and Liverpool just passing, passing, passing, side-ways, back, side-ways, back, between Joe Gomez and Virgil van Dijk, to Henderson, occasionally to Gini Wijnaldum and on rare occasions to a bursting Trent Alexander-Arnold or Andy Robertson – who one time went into a full throttle tackle which he could not avoid, due to his natural rhythm. No foul. End of.
Many times though, we all were concerned. Just wanting Liverpool to kill the game stone dead with a second goal.
‘Just one Spurs chance; that’s all it takes’ Dean the sage said, echoing how I felt. Just knowing a Spurs goal would alter the whole complexion of the game.
We did not know what it was; over-confidence, a lack of concentration or something which Spurs had done, by maybe pushing-up more, because all of a sudden, in the best story-telling way, Liverpool began to look rattled.
Henderson should have cleared the ball near half-way, someone else could have got a tackle in, Virgil van Dijk and Joe Gomez were hesitant and if anything got in each – others way, as Spurs broke-through a few times.
Just at the point of a Spurs player pulling the trigger, Virgil van Dijk made a brilliant block-busting goal saving tackle, flinging himself at the ball like Tarzan swinging from a tree to rescue Jane. It was as vital as a reds goal.
However, Spurs should have scored, again, as I looked at the clock which was ticking as slowly as though I was stuck in a long Post Office queue collecting my mums pension before Christmas, as Son pulled a shot wide and then Spurs sub, Lo Celso in near Alisson’s right near post and I held my head in my hands, as though a crash was going to happen, just expecting the net to bulge. Miraculously though, Lo Celso somehow put the ball wide of Alisson’s left post, with the ball having skimmed the goal-line…
It was a real let-off and you could almost have heard a pin drop in the Wheatstone’s living room.
‘Oh my God, how did he miss THAT?’ Dean sighed, expressing our sentiments…
In response, Divock Origi, who had come on, had a bit of twinkle toes magic; beating three players to get a shot off which was comfortably saved.
Alisson then saved and he took heed of our frantic instructions; ‘TIME! Hold the f**king ball’, we urged collectively, just hoping we could waste more precious seconds.
‘Blow-up you *rick!’ I screamed at the referee, Martin Atkinson, as he tried to give Spurs more time to equalise.
All the while, I just kept trying to keep a check on my mounting excitement as another victory drew closer, closer, closer, all the time, with every kick away, with every tackle, with every last Liverpool players breath of desire; as finally the whistle blew.
Phew!
We had won but as The Duke of Wellington said of the Battle of Waterloo; ‘it was a mighty close – run thing’.
It signalled ‘Bailey’s Time’.
12/1/20
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