Respecting the point (again)

West Ham 1 Middlesbrough 1

In Ken’s Café Nigel’s just got on Twitter and looks very pleased with himself, though strangely he can’t find the Ken’s Café Twitter account, which would presumably consist of endless tweets of “Fifty nine!!!! Who’s got fifty nine???”. Rumour has it he may soon prefer watching the game exclusively on Twitter.

Not a lot happens in the first half, though it’s an improvement on Doncaster. Both sides move the ball quickly without creating many chances, though we have a clear penalty for handball by Bates turned down. Our five men at the back look secure but Maynard hardly gets a chance and Carlton has one of his more frustrating games up front.

Our half time entertainment is provided by Nigel producing a crayfish and rocket sandwich to a chorus of “middle class football fans, eh?”

The crowd does well to get behind the side with some choruses of Bubbles at the start of the second half. 

“Drawing drawing West Ham…” mutters Mystic May, just as we take the lead on 67 minutes. Faye’s header takes a deflection of Bennett and loops high over the keeper. It’s lucky but he got his head on the ball and made it happen. Faye is the 24^th West Ham player to score this season, which is impressive, if only our strikers could score too.

The Bobby Moore Stand sing “How shit must you be we’re winning at home!” which I’d have to agree with Big Sam is too negative.

SHARD ATTACK

Big Sam replaces Cole with Carew, a strange decision as his legs appear to have gone, and Maynard with Collison.

“That’s a very Allardyce idea. Take off a big man and bring on a bigger man,” says Nigel.

“It’s like watching the Shard try to get on the end of a cross,” muses Matt in a surreal architectural metaphor as Carew lumbers into the box.

We should wrap the game up, when Tomkins’ header is turned onto the bar by Steele. Then after a t defensive howler Taylor lobs the ball over the keeper but places it past the post. It could be 3-0 by now.

Sure enough, on 84 minutes Bart Ogbecha cuts inside and fires home from the edge of the box. It’s a fine goal, in off the post, though should be just a consolation if Taylor had taken his chance.

Matt's attempts at logical positivism end with a torrent of 'f' and 'w' words aimed at our strikers after a bizarre game of head tennis in the Boro box comes to nothing. 

Baldock comes on after 87 minutes and looks pacy though misses a good headed chance. It’s strange that Morrison is left on the bench as we’re crying out for something unexpected in the final third.

BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD

Boro skim the bar late on and almost snatch an undeserved win. The final whistle goes to a chorus of boos from some members of the crowd, which I don’t like, but is understandable after five draws in a row.

We move into the back bar at the Black Lion where we respect the pint and drink Doom Bar, hoping it’s not a comment on our automatic promotion prospects. We try to imagine things that are slower than Carew, but can't. Gavin texts to say that we have not won a Tuesday night game for eight years. The Gav has left the dog at home and has left early to walk him, but unlike West Ham he probably won’t lose the lead.

We try to think positive. We’ve been a little unlucky tonight. Weirdly, nine games unbeaten is probably the best run we’ve had since we were last in the Championship.  If we draw our final nine games we should make the play-offs. We’ve respected the point – though perhaps Allardyce should start telling the players to respect three points too. 

You're going down with the Shearer!

West Ham 2 Middlesbrough 1

Ken’s Café is free of fry-ups at 3.30 pm on Sunday as we experience yet another kick-off time. DC arrives and then glides away to the Doctor Martens, while Matt and Lisa listen to cheers from the pub as Millwall lose to Scunthorpe. Big Phill is regaling us with tales of giving that Brian Dear and Paul Brush a lift home in the back of his cab after the End of season Gala Evening.

Boro need to win to have any hope of staying up. We have to win to finish either ninth or tenth. We have an ambient end-of-season feel to our game, but at least Cole is back up front and Zola has dropped both Di Michele and Tristan in favour of a five-man midfield.

Johnson fires over from a good position for Boro and inspires chants of “That’s why you’re going down!” Upson does well as Boro press without really threatening. Junior hits the bar with a deflected effort for WHU. Then on 33 minutes Luis Boa Morte plays a great ball through to Herita who crosses for Carlton Cole to slide the ball in to the net.

Boro come into it after the break and inevitably score. Tuncay is allowed the freedom of our area to pass to O’Neil who scores from an angle. But just to prove why they’re rubbish, Middlesbrough let us straight back. Junior Stanislas does well to shoot from the edge of the box but Bates allows his shot to squirm over the line.

“Down with the Geordies! We’re going down with the Geordies!” chant the admirably humorous Boro fans.

Luis Boa Morte has a storming game, winning tackles and running at the Boro defence, being rewarded with his own song from the Bobby Moore Stand. Who’d ever have thought it?

For the last 15 minutes Tristan and Di Michele come on to give us their full repertoire of badly weighted passes and stupid dribbles. “How shit is that? It’s like watching Laurel and Hardy!” rages the vicar’s son beside me. Kieron Dyer makes a couple of runs into their box and looks as knackered as the break-dancing 73-year-old on Britain’s Got Talent. Gav texts to ask us our orders for the Central. We wondeer if he'll be able to sit there alone with five pints, or if it will be like Poo Bear and the honey. The ground breaks into end-of-season choruses of Bubbles and "West Ham 'til I Die!"

We win and Boro go down. Their players collapse. Jeremy Nicholas plays Heroes, two clowns gather in the crowd beside the pitch (Are they Diego and David in disguise?) and it’s announced after the Doris award goes to Junior that Scott Parker is the official Hammer of the Year. Zola who's only five foot three and comes from Italy gives a speech with a feedback-inducing microphone and the lads parade around the stadium.

“It’s more a trudge of honour than a lap,” says Matt as the lads shuffle around the pitch accompanied by a banner and numerous injured stars in suits.

“We’re up a place from last season. That means we’ll win the Premier League in 2018,” I suggest to Fraser.

We adjourn to the blitz-themed beer garden at the Central where Gavin is getting the drinks in. We meet a Welsh Iron from the Valleys who now lives in Poland, over for the match. Matt presents Fraser with a designer cigar. We reflect on the likelihood of Nigel Quashie turning up in a Chadwell Heath broom cupboard over the close season. We’ve come a long way, from knowing what Dean Ashton looked like in August to relegating Boro and finishing ninth, while losing an owner, manager and sponsor. That’s good enough for us.

We're on the march with Franco's Army?

West Ham 1 Middlesbrough 1 (FA Cup)

At least the prices are cheap. It’s only a fiver for each of my kids, so Lola and Nell enjoy egg, chips and beans in Ken’s Café, with added salt and ketchup. Carol is very understanding about their mum’s mysterious turning down of a Valentine’s Day trip to Upton Park.

Then it’s off to the Newham Bookshop to purchase a Horrid Henry Meets the Queen and Ginger Snaps by Cathy Cassidy, as a Boro-accented miscreant bends one of Vivian’s spines. Good day out for the kids so far.

All those pictures of the Middlesbrough semi-final triumph in the programme have me fantasising about Zola’s glorious return to Wembley on May 30. The reality on the pitch is a little different.

Middlesbrough have two good chances in the first ten minutes, with Johnson and Downing shooting wide from good positions. We badly miss the injured Behrami. West Ham are second into tackles and Middlesbrough seem to want Cup glory (and that FA Cup final breakfast with Nigel) more. We come back into the game a little with Collison finding Noble, whose shot is well saved by Jones. James Collins then has a piledriver saved by Jones.

Then on 22 minutes O’Neil crosses, Collins completely misses the ball and Downing, playing in a free role, stoops to head the ball home.

Nell starts to cry. “Daddy can we go home? West Ham are going out of the Cup!” Matt and Lisa say they want to go home too (Nigel is allegedly at a dinner party in Winchester).

Nell goes through a major crisis of belief, asking, “Daddy will West Ham score a goal? They’re going to lose and my day will be ruined!”

It feels like a form of child abuse taking her to Upton Park and maybe I’ll soon have to explain my actions to social services. Even Haringay would probably take them into care.

Everything I have ever learned about parenting has come from football, but even so I have to trawl into my reserves of suitable aphorisms.

“It only takes a second to score a goal,” I say, hoping she’ll think it original wisdom. “And you appreciate winning all the more once you’ve been behind. Try to be like Fraser. He never panics.” Luckily the wine gums in my pocket seem to help her recover.

“Can I throw a peanut at Middlesbrough?” asks Nell, showing worrying potential as a junior ICF member.

"Dad, why are the people behind us being horrible to poor Luis Boa Morte?" asks Lola.

"You're going down with the Tottenham!" chant the Bobby Moore Stand.

West Ham rally too, with Di Michele juggling the ball in Di Canio-esque style before volleying wide. Nell greets every Boro free kick with chants of “Boo Middlesbrough!” which seems to work as they fluff them all.

Carlton Cole is taken off with an ankle injury. Our squad is worryingly thin. Tristan shoots hopelessly into Row Z of the Centenary Stand. Then on half-time Noble’s shot is palmed away by Jones into the path of Collison, who shoots over an open goal.

Lola has to remonstrate with Nell when she gets her Horrid Henry book out at the start of the second half.
“Nell, you can’t read that during the game,” says big sister.
“Yes, the only library is at the Emirates,” adds her dad.
Mind you West Ham have quite a few Horrid Henrys on the pitch and no Perfect Peters.

Alves shoots wide and Green saves smartly from Downing. Boa Morte who has at least got stuck in, has to go off with a facial injury.

Tristan wriggles through to shoot tamely. After a good move between Noble and the impressive Ilunga Di Michele stabs the ball over an open goal. Nell wonders why he’s being called “an anchor” by most of the crowd. Even 10-year-old Lola is moved to say “Flipping hell!” At least her distress at seeing us spoon over great chances seems genuine; maybe we’ve got her for life.

Come on West Ham this is the flipping Cup, our one chance of a trophy. The fans try to make a difference with "We are Franco's claret and blue army!" Sears can’t quite reach a goalmouth melee. We wonder why Savio wasn’t brought on earlier. He impresses in a wide left role and is prepared to run at the Boro players, admittedly from way too deep.

Then on 83 minutes Savio takes a free-kick following a Boro handball wide on the left. His nicely flighted ball evades the Boro defence and is headed home of Herita Ilunga. I find myself hugging Lola and picking up Nell telling her “I told you we’d score!”. I’m also relieved at appearing a little less of a sad loser in my children’s eyes. The winning goal won’t come, but the mood is one of relief that we’re still in.

We head to East Ham tube via the Dr Who shop where the Cybermen look more capable of bagging a goal than some of our players.

“You learned a lesson about faith today,” I tell Nell. “Sometimes you have to keep believing right to the end. And your use of ‘boo Middlesbrough’ seemed to work pretty well too.”

Our name might not be on the FA Cup. But at least we’re in the draw for the quarter-finals. And surely we have to play better in the replay?