This is not a Crystal Palace vs Newcastle United match report, more a few musings after the trip to Selhurst Park yesterday.
Unlike my great niece, Jessica, and her dad, Jordan, whose 600-mile marathon began in Newcastle at 4.30am when they boarded a supporters’ coach, I set off from West Sussex for a relative sprint to South London at 9.45am. Free bus to Brighton with a pensioner’s pass, cheap Thameslink train to East Croydon.
That journey whizzed by because I sat next to a football fan who believes his successful manager will quit at the end of the season, frustrated by PSR and SCR rules that have hindered his attempts to challenge the status quo.
His club had to sell a top midfielder to avoid punishment, his squad are lacking the depth needed to compete effectively on four fronts. The supporter reckons this manager has taken the club as far as he can.
Welcome to the world of Aston Villa and Unai Emery.
While Villa and Newcastle United have some similarities, the demand for tickets is not one of them. Like me, the Villa fan is a member, not a season-ticket holder. The day home tickets for any Premier League match go on sale, he buys one after spending perhaps 10 minutes waiting. No ballot with 60,000 or more members ahead of him, no “unfortunately” email two days later, no fruitless scramble in the resale.
Villa Park has a 42,600 capacity; ours is more than 52,000 and I believe there is an 80k latent demand. We sold out every match in the second tier a decade ago, with nothing but hope sustaining the supporters. Four years six months on from the Saudi PIF takeover, two Champions League campaigns and a League Cup later, why are we waiting?
Back to yesterday. East Croydon railway station is a short walk from the bus stop to Selhurst Park. A short walk but a confusing one. After wandering aimlessly in search of my second free bus of the day, I entered the cavernous and soul-destroying Whitgift shopping centre. Think the ancient Greek labyrinth on Crete or Hotel California. There was, in truth, no minotaur and no pink champagne on ice but there were plenty of entrances and, seemingly, few exits.
Eventually, having become lost in a multistorey branch of M&S, I fled and found the right bus stop for the 468 to Selhurst. Silently chanting that old Tom Robinson post-punk hit to myself (all it needed was a 2 and the joke would have worked perfectly) I boarded a packed double decker. Upstairs were a lot of Palace fans, downstairs a few Toon Army members.
The guy next to me had been a season-ticket holder for more than 50 years but this was his first away match in years. It might be his last, he said, because he is terminally ill. Puts football into perspective . . .
There was none of the OTT security outside the ground I encountered last season. And no dangerously crammed corridor behind the wing stand. There was, however, an almost lethal super-heated chicken balti pie, thankfully with chilled lager on hand to prevent my mouth melting. With London pubs charging £7 or more for a bog-standard pint, the £10.80 for a Pukka and a Carling seemed reasonable.
One or two things tend to catch my eye whenever I’m lucky enough to attend a Premier League match. Yesterday was no different. At 1.20, a young member of the Palace catering crew removed his green tabard, laid it on the concrete floor in the corner of the corridor, kneeled and prayed to Mecca. Maybe he was also praying for a home win.
The next bit of kneeling was witnessed at 1.50, when two members of the Palace ground staff struggled to dismantle the temporary goal frame that Aaron Ramsdale had occupied during the warm-up. They tipped the frame forward 90 degrees until it rested on its bar and posts. The guy holding the left upright freed his section quickly; too quickly. His mate couldn’t release the other post because the frame was now crooked. The only solution, as the clock ticked nearer to kick-off, was to put it back and start all over again. They finally got their act together, after much pushing and pulling, rose from their knees and departed with heavy metal in bits. As I was at their cumbersome antics.
By now, you know what transpired over the next two hours. Everyone will have an opinion. Mine is that we lost three points we barely deserved on the balance of the first 60 minutes’ play because Eddie Howe and his assistants failed to respond when Palace threw on their best players.
Much as I hate saying it, Jacob Murphy had a stinker. He kept losing possession in the first half. Over and over again. When he did make an opening on the edge of the box, a reluctance to shoot let Palace close the door.
If we had trailed at half-time, would Murphy have stayed on? When was the last time we made a proactive substitution while holding the advantage? We just about deserved to lead, though Aaron Ramsdale had to rescue his teammates with a big double-save.
Will Osula, making a rare Premier League start, did well to occupy his markers despite being isolated most of the time. Sandro Tonali, just in front of the centre-backs, worked well, as did Lewis Miley. Joelinton was busy and, when he moved left, promised to help open a compact Palace rearguard. Lewis Hall did his high reputation no harm. Tino Livramento was less dynamic.
Anthony Gordon was often careless when he did see the ball, which was not frequently enough.
Palace were happy to let Malick Thiaw and Sven Botman have possession, confident neither would burst forward or play a defence splitting pass. How we have missed Fabian Schar’s creative ability.
If Osula had finished the chance he did well to force a few minutes after the interval, the outcome might have been different.
A tight 1-0 win looked far less likely once Palace played their three aces. Even before they joined the battle, we were losing momentum.
Livramento has been blamed by some for the late equaliser and Botman by many more for the late, late penalty. Yes, there were mistakes in the build-up to both goals, the sort every player is prone to make occasionally, especially as they tire, but there is a bigger picture here.
Palace seized the initiative, our coaches didn’t. Neither did they respond until we were chasing shadows.
Barnes for Gordon made little sense when Osula had already run his race. Murphy was retained when he needed replacing. Miley, on his first start since a lengthy absence, was running on empty, having been pushed forward nearer the centre-forward in the second half. As I say, those are all opinions, worthless in the grand scheme of things. Only one man can make the calls.
Joelinton’s booking and subsequent two-match ban might be good news because Jacob Ramsey, the midfielder Villa were forced to sell for PSR reasons, looked impressive in his cameo. A central three of Miley, Tonali and Ramsey, aided by Livramento and Hall bursting forward, sounds decent in the absence of our much-admired skipper.
Will they be strong enough to overcome Bournemouth next weekend? We will find out on Saturday.
As I stepped off my final bus of the day, feeling United had yet again this season allowed priceless points to slip away by failing to press the refresh button, I was looking for inspiration or at least a promising omen.
Pecking away at the grass verge were a pair of magpies, which soared gracefully into the branches of a tree when I approached.
Selhurst Park proved to be one for joy, two for sorrow. A second consecutive 2-1 defeat despite taking the lead.
Our manager rolled the dice with his team selection in South London and ultimately paid the price. That’s 25 points lost from winning positions in 32 Premier League matches. Something or somebody has to change.