You can be trapped for an eternity in the industrial backstreets of Digbeth.
Whenever we meet at Hennessey’s
and try to walk to St Andrews we get lost and walk in circles.
Like a bunch
of teens in a budget horror film, we wander the dim-lit side roads, bypassing
abandoned warehouses, occasionally stopping to check Google Maps for a few
seconds before the phone battery conks out.
The place
has the feel of David Bowie’s Labyrinth, where the young Jennifer Connelly tries
to navigate through the giant puzzle but every night the goblins emerge from
the drains and move all the walls and doors around to totally change the
configuration of the maze and push her back to square one.
Except there’s
no goblins here, just dodgy mechanics and clampers.
Of course we
missed Gary Rowett’s WWF style entrance where they beamed his portrait on the
titantron and the new messiah emerged from the tunnel to the adoration of the
fans.
We were jogging up the Cattell road at that point. As we entered the
ground a bouncing, bespectacled, smiley woman in an oversized fluorescent steward’s
jacket, resembling a Mr Men character, chirped:
“You missed
the goal lads. The Blues are winning. Hurry up!”
Bloody hell,
we’d missed THE home goal. It might be another season before we saw the next one.
The pack of
Blues dogs had pounced on Watford’s effeminate defence after sensing an
opportunity and picked its pockets to recover the ball in a dangerous area.
Donaldson smashed a deflected effort into the back of the net to set up the
perfect start for the #RowettRevolution.
Watford
quickly equalised with a really frustrating astro-turf goal. Lloyd Doyley ran to
the left-hand by-line, Forestieri held his run and made himself available for
the cut-back [which you could see coming a mile off]. Blues were slow closing
him down and the dramatic Italian fired two attempts on goal with the second flying
in.
The Blues
fans started to panic – they’d seen this story play out before. The Watford 2nd
was a matter of ‘when’ in their minds.
My great
auntie used to have a rescue cat. The poor bleeder had been locked in a fridge
by its previous owners, so whenever we went to her house and opened the fridge
to get a drink, the cat would scarper. When the Blues fans saw their players
trying to play out of defence instead of just ‘getting rid of it’ they too
allowed previous bad memories to freak them out. They started getting jittery,
they shouted at the players, created a nervous vibe. Luckily the Blues players
ignored it and played some lovely patient football.
The move of
the game came about when Blues passed the ball from out of defence and worked
it wide to Caddis who pinged a bullet cross to the back post which saw Shinnie
misjudge the flight of the ball and head wide when it was easier to score.
Blues
continued to carve Watford open and create a plethora of gilt-edge chances.
Like a
scorpion, Blues held back, kept a controlled shape and when they saw a weakness
in Watford they jabbed them with a stinging counter-attack. When the move broke
down, Blues quickly re-assembled into defensive positions. Rowett had brought a
plan to proceedings. A Blues manager with a plan, how….rare.
The game
reached 40 minutes, 50, 60, even 70 and it played out in the same manner. Blues
were in control tactically, creating chances on the counter, restricting
Watford to pot-shots at Barry sitting in row Z in the Gil Merrick stand.
Shinnie was
looking tired. Where other managers would have hauled him off for Callum Riley to
shore up and take the point, Rowett knocked everybody off-guard and brought a
second striker on.
Aye up! Make or bust time. Hold on to your hats.
It wasn’t
too long before Thomas won a 50-50, held onto the ball, laid it back to
Cotterill who bent a cross into Donaldson to powerfully head the ball into the
back of the net - sending the crowd wild.
‘Gary Rowett’s blue and white army’
echoed around the storied stadium. Keep Right On was belted out, shaking the foundations
of the stands as it reached ear-popping levels of volume.
Here we
were, under the floodlights; the players were putting in a spirited performance;
the Tilton and the Kop were packed; the atmosphere was electric. This was the
Blues of old. The ghosts of Steve Bruce, Enckelman, Horsfield, Richard Wright,
AJ, looked on from the old famous nights. BIH hadn't taken our souls.
The
full-time whistle blew and the crowd continued to dance and clap and sing Gary
Rowett’s blue and white army.
Rowett walked onto
the pitch and saluted the four stands who cheered back. The Brummie hordes floated out of the stadium on a
river of positivity.
We all
melted back into the night, back into the industrial side-road labyrinth.
