Overly long writings about West Ham United FC. This is the kind of thing you might like, if you like this kind of thing.
Showing posts with label Chelsea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chelsea. Show all posts

Friday, January 08, 2021

In Retro - The 50 Best West Ham Games of the Premier League Era (20 - 11)

20. Chelsea (a) 3-2 : 2002/03 Premier League
(Defoe (40), Di Canio (49, 84) - Hasselbaink (21 p), Zola (74))

In 2001, popular and populist manager Harry Redknapp was sacked by chairman Terry Brown and eventually replaced by lugubrious coach Glenn Roeder. Despite a drastically low set of expectations, Roeder steered us to a seventh place finish and in truth it looked like there were a lot of building blocks for the future. Youngsters Joe Cole, Michael Carrick and Jermain Defoe were emerging, Glen Johnson was on the way and England internationals Trevor Sinclair and David James were in place to complement the excellent strike pair of Paolo di Canio and Frederic Kanoute.  

The idea that we could get relegated in 2003 with that squad still seems absurd, but we somehow managed it, and an entire generation of outstanding youth players was wasted. However, one of the few bright spots in the season came in September when we travelled to high flying Chelsea, bottom of the league and still searching for our first win. 


Not pictured - Gary Breen, supreme

Things started poorly when Scott Minto conceded a ludicrously soft penalty and Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink scored his customary goal against us. Substitute Defoe snuffled an equaliser just before half time and then shortly after the interval Di Canio scored one of the best goals I've ever seen when he flicked up a loose ball with his right foot and smashed it home from thirty yards with his left. Even now, it perplexes me why that goal doesn't feature in more Premier League "Best of..." compilations. 

Minto carried on his tremendous day at the office by needlessly fouling Gianfranco Zola with a quarter of an hour to go and the Italian punished him with a glorious free kick. Di Canio, however, was not to be denied and with minutes to go he profited from some marvellously Mighty Ducks style Chelsea defending to pilfer a winning goal. This match was also notable for being the only time that Gary Breen would ever play well for us. What. A. Day. 


(Lanzini (3), Noble (29), Sakho (90))

When looking for reasons why Slaven Bilic remains so beloved by West Ham fans despite presiding over some truly abysmal football teams, I think you have to look at games like this. West Ham, incredibly, had not won at Anfield since 1962 before this game, which is the kind of losing record that you typically only see in wrestling where the matches are actually fucking fixed and one party isn't trying. 

But in 2015/16 both ourselves and Liverpool were different animals than we'd seen before or after. We had Dimitri Payet, while Brendan Rodgers was trying to mould a team while Simon Mignolet was in goal for him. Tough gig. 

We started brightly with Manuel Lanzini scoring after just three minutes on his full debut, and Mark Noble adding a second on the half hour after a wonderfully slapdash bit of defending from Dejan Lovren that was part falling over and part performative dance. Philippe Coutinho was then correctly sent off for a stupid lunge on Payet, which referee Kevin Friend decided to even up by sending off Noble for a perfectly fair tackle later on. It seems you still have to knock the big boys out to get a draw in the Premier League.

Diafra Sakho then broke away to score a last minute third and seal a 3-0 win at Anfield, which is the kind of sentence that thousands of West Ham fans thought they would never see in print. 


(Jones (37), Morley (60 p, 73), Marsh (80) - Sheringham (66 p))

Another day, another highly enjoyable visit to White Hart Lane. I think this Easter Monday victory lives long in the memory as it allowed thousands of teenage Hammers like me to strut around the various schools and workplaces of Essex and East London for quite a while, such was the comprehensive nature of our win. 

Things started cagily, with West Ham probably needing a win to be sure of avoiding relegation in our first Premier League season, and Spurs dangerously close to being pulled into the dogfight themselves. Peter Butler was injured early on and replaced by Steve Jones, which proved to be the turning point as he quickly ran on to an Ian Bishop through ball and smashed home his most famous goal for us. 

On the hour mark, Trevor Morley conned Kevin Scott into fouling him in the area and picked himself up to give us a two goal lead from the spot. Feeling the game needed an injection of life, Morley then went up the other end and gave away a penalty of his own to allow Teddy Sheringham to pull one back for the home team.  


I'm pretty sure this is Mike Marsh

However, with Bishop having a masterful game in the middle we never really looked like losing and Morley soon added a second after some more Ardilesian defending from Gary Mabbutt. Mike Marsh, another underrated signing, would add a late fourth as Spurs simply abandoned the notion of defending and we coasted to a thumping victory that left Spurs in 15th place and just three points above the relegation zone. Sadly, they would survive but it was enjoyably close for a while there. 



Back in 2001 the footballing world was a vastly different place. A year earlier Manchester United had withdrawn from the FA Cup in order to play in the FIFA World Club Championship and been pilloried for the decision. Unpopular anyway, this was seen as the ultimate snook cocking and a bridge too far for the English media. In typically modest fashion, United continued to refer to themselves as the holders of the trophy having won it in 1999 and their reputation was further enhanced when it emerged that they had already booked their favourite hotel in Wales for May, in anticipation of making the final again in Cardiff. 

When we were drawn against them in the Fourth Round it was a genuinely huge game, shifted to the Sunday to be covered by ITV and West Ham were given 9,000 tickets for the match. Alex Ferguson picked his strongest side, which was borderline unbeatable at the time, while we sweated over injuries to Shaka Hislop and Frederic Kanoute. The Mali striker was crucial as without him we tended to all but disappear in away games. 


Paolo, relaxing

Still, the omens weren't all that great with our back five containing the octogenarian pairing of Stuart Pearce and Nigel Winterburn, and Hislop patently unable to kick a ball. With United hammering at us early on, it never really felt like we were going to win and indeed most fans were having post traumatic flashbacks to our 7-1 defeat there a year before. 

However, the key to the victory was our brilliant homegrown midfield of Frank Lampard, Joe Cole and Michael Carrick. As Jacob Steinberg observed in The Guardian when he described this as his favourite West Ham game, the great sadness was that this performance heralded an end and not a beginning. The young trio controlled the game and gave us the platform to grow into the game and eventually steal a late winner. 

The goal itself is pretty famous, as Kanoute freed Paolo di Canio who ran into the box, ignored Fabien Barthez trying to tell him he was offside and slotted home the winner. We would be drawn away at Sunderland next, who were actually second in the league at the time, and beat them too before losing a borderline Shakespearean home quarter final to Spurs. 

I actually didn't even bother to apply for a ticket to this game, such was my pessimism, and I got what I deserved as I had to watch on TV with the rest of the world. When we were drawn at Old Trafford again a couple of years later I made sure I didn't miss out. 

We lost 6-0. 

Sometimes God is a little too on the nose, you know. Still, Let's All Do The Barthez.


(Antonio (67))

It's not often that football games live all that long in the memory. They feel important and substantial and then another one arrives five days later and suddenly that's the only game that matters. The value we ascribe to certain fixtures is rarely, if ever matched by their real life impact. It's therefore sometimes the case that you need a bit of history alongside the actual game to make it truly stick in the mind. 

So, what sets this 1-0 victory at White Hart Lane apart from the equivalent Dani game in 1996? Well, for a start this game was played in a totally different stadium. Having "lost" their attempt to win the Olympic Stadium and then benefitting from a weirdly fortuitous set of fires on land where they wanted to build, Spurs then spent $1 billion on building their new, incredible home. It might feature a cheese room, and ludicrous, unnecessary extras but it is undeniably an astonishing place to watch football, and will stand as an eternal monument to the half arsed job that was done on our new place. 

But if the stadia aren't comparable then all that remained was for us to go and make the pitch our own. And with Spurs unbeaten in their new home with no goals conceded, that looked a pretty formidable ask for Manuel Pellegrini's new look West Ham, who had picked up just one point from their previous eight away games and were struggling to cope with their managers indecipherable prognostications about having a "big club mentality". 

However, with Spurs focusing half an eye on their Champions League semi final with Ajax, it's also true that this was a good time to be playing them even if they did play their best available team. The game started in a characteristically frenetic style and Spurs edged a first half in which our influential forward Marko Arnautovic touched the ball just seven times. He would make up for this in the second period however, alongside Mark Noble who simply took the game over and began to pull the strings in the same way as Bishop in 1994. 

Eventually, on 67 minutes, Arnautovic got free on the right, picked out Michail Antonio and the striker smashed home the first opposition goal at the new White Hart Lane, and then celebrated by pretending to hump a donkey on a space hopper. As you do. 

Things got a bit Twilight Zone thereafter when the two best chances in the rest of the game fell to our marauding centre back Issa Diop and an enthusiastic amateur footballer by the name of Vincent Janssen who won a competition to play up front for Spurs for the final twenty minutes. 

Still, we held on and, as with The Emirates, planted an eternal flag as the deserved first winners at the new North London stadium. We were all also introduced to those to two Spurs lads who film themselves watching matches and, well, more from them later. 


(Boa Morte (30), Benayoun (57), Harewood (82))

I don't know if you guys recall this, but there was a stage in the 2006/07 season when it seemed like we might go down. In fact, after a Wes Craven directed last minute defeat to Spurs in March we were bottom of the league, 11 points from safety, without an away win all season and facing a run-in that involved trips to Arsenal and Manchester United. So, in summary, we were fucked. 

To add to the mess, controversial summer signing Carlos Tevez had still not scored all season and his pal Javier Mascherano was apparently stuffing his face with pizza in a Docklands flat having failed to displace Hayden Mullins from our midfield. Still, by the time we got to Wigan, things were slightly brighter after unlikely wins over Blackburn Rovers, Everton and Arsenal, sandwiched around a truly awful defeat at relegation rivals Sheffield United. 

At one point it looked as though Tevez might not play in this game as the club had to mount the first of several legal defences regarding the validity of his registration. They emerged triumphant - in a fashion - with a record £5.5m fine, and the Argentine played and starred in this remarkable win. 

Things began with a huge army of Hammers heading north on coaches paid for by the players, at the arrangement of Lucas Neill and Nigel Reo-Coker. With around 7,000 fans packed in behind the goal there was a tangible fission of excitement on the air. A win would pull us level with Wigan and put increasing pressure on the likes of the faltering Sheffield United and Fulham. 


Boa Morte scores. Horsemen of the Apocalypse on their way

After an opening half an hour where we were well on top, Neill launched a through ball for Luis Boa Morte to run on to. Wigan keeper John Filan weighed up all possible options and chose the worst one available by running directly at Boa Morte, who lobbed him for his first goal in claret and blue. He would literally have been better off doing The Barthez,

Bobby Zamora could have made it two before half time, but we would soon seal the win with a fabulous breakaway goal where Tevez, Zamora and George McCartney would combine to set up Yossi Benayoun. Substitute Marlon Harewood added a late third, and The Great Escape was well and truly on. 

In the end, Sheffield United would end up being relegated, which I'm sure everyone would agree was a shame. Oddly, the long trip home was punctuated by seeing demoralised Charlton Athletic fans who had travelled to watch their team play at Blackburn Rovers as part of Alan Pardew's inspired "Operation Ewood" escape plan. They lost 4-1. 

Our karmic retribution would come in the summer when Henry Winter, Neil Warnock and a confused judge would request we pay £25m to Sheffield United over the Tevez affair. Still, we'll always have that goal from Luis Boa Morte. 


(Kouyate (43), Zarate (57))

Back to 2015/16 and back to those improbable away results conjured up by Slaven Bilic. On the opening day we made the short trip to The Emirates where it was reasonable to assume that we were going to get our usual hiding at the hands of Arsene Wenger's men, especially as we had only just returned from being dumped out of Europe at the hands of Romanian powerhouse Astra Giurgiu, or Astra Fucking Goo Goo to give them their full title. While it's true that the Arsenal of 2015 wasn't the Arsenal of 2005 it is also true that they weren't the shower that we've seen parading around the Premier League recently, so we were heavy underdogs.

The game was an entertaining affair, played out in bright sunshine and with a pleasing flow. New signing Angelo Ogbonna was rock solid at the back, while 16 year old Reece Oxford made Mesut Ozil disappear long before it became as fashionable as it is now. But the real star was new boy Dimitri Payet, who played in a nominal left wing role and was simply majestic. He crossed just before half time for Cheikhou Kouyate to give us the lead, while Petr Cech conducted an experiment in finding out exactly how badly a goalkeeper could misjudge a dive. 

The Czech's misery continued later when Mauro Karate fired past him from twenty yards and we hung on to seal a comfortable win. Notably Matt Jarvis and Kevin Nolan appeared as late substitutes, signifying a kind of handover from the old Allardyce era to what seemed like it might be a sun drenched modern adventure under Bilic. We lost 4-3 to Bournemouth a week later. Never change, lads. 


(Son (1), Kane (8, 16) - Balbuena (82), Sanchez (OG 85), Lanzini (90)) 

Oh baby. Lanziniiiiiiiiiiii!

You shouldn't really have a draw this high in a list of your greatest games, but then again you shouldn't draw a game where you are three goals down with eight minutes to play. For all those hundreds of games we watch and attend, for all those insipid defeats and tedious draws that we immediately consign to the wastepaper bin of history, it only takes one game like this to make you remember precisely why you first fell in love with the game. Football, bloody hell. 

To the neutral this must have been a bizarre match to watch. Spurs opened the scoring within a minute when we decided not to bother tackling Heung Min-Son, and Harry Kane soon added another couple. All three goals were brilliantly conceived and executed and at that point for West Ham fans it was simply a case of how many more they would score, and how much longer we would be able to keep watching. 

But Jose Mourinho isn't a coach to ever let loose the handbrake and David Moyes has imbued his team with a steel that hasn't been seen in a West Ham team for quite some time. Even at 3-0 we were still playing alright, with the obvious caveat that the home team had mostly gone into a mode of containment and were content to wait for chances to hit us on the break. As it was, Kane was denied a perfect hat trick by the post, and then everything went...nuts.


Manuel Lanzini. I love you

First, Fabien Balbuena made up for some questionable defending on the Son goal to head a consolation, and then Andriy Yarmolenko and Vladimir Coufal combined to force Davinson Sanchez to head a bit more consolation into his own net, and suddenly we had five minutes of hope left. The pivotal moment arrived when keen golfer and amateur footballer Gareth Bale went through and ruined his coming home party by shooting wide with the goal at his mercy. Reprieved, we went up the other end and with four minutes of added time already in the book Manuel Lanzini smashed home a thirty yarder off the underside of the bar, Moyes did a little jig on the touchline, we all felt extremely consoled and Mourinho took it all with the customary good grace for which he is famous. Oh, to have been in the away end when that went in. 

Better still, whenever I think of this game I am reminded of this - the best, and most dramatically executed headphone push of all time. 


No. No. No. No. NO. NO!


(Reo-Coker (25), Zamora (32), Etherington (80) - Henry (45), Pires (89))

Another entry into the history books and arguably the most unlikely victory on this list. In 2006, Arsenal were in the middle of Arsene Wenger's reign and as strong as ever. Filled with world class superstars, they were especially formidable at Highbury in their final season there before moving to The Emirates. They would lose just two home league games all season and this, famously, was one. 

We weren't in great shape going in to this game as we had no right back, with Tomas Repka having headed  back to the Czech Republic a couple of weeks previously, and were thus forced to deploy the extremely left footed Clive Clarke there. Things began predictably as Arsenal swarmed all over us, and Robin van Persie slammed a strike against the woodwork, but having battled through the initial flurry we broke away and took the lead as Sol Campbell channelled his inner Gary Breen and Nigel Reo-Coker snatched an opener. Seven minutes later Bobby Zamora slapped Campbell around like a piรฑata and curled home a beautiful second and all of a sudden it was one of those nights. 

Arsenal, however, remained Arsenal and Thierry Henry snatched one back on the stroke of half time to keep us all fidgeting. On another day the immense pressure applied to us in the second half would have seen a comfortable Arsenal win but between a heroic defensive performance, Shaka Hislop's heroics and some good old fashioned luck we kept them at bay. With just ten minutes left, Reo-Coker won the ball back high up the pitch and set up Matthew Etherington whose shot deflected twice on its way in. Sometimes it's just meant to be. 

Robert Pires did score in the 89th minute because why not, but we held on for a famous win and became the last away team to win at Highbury. Deliciously, we would then become the first team to win at The Emirates where Zamora bagged us a 1-0 win the following season as part of The Great Escape in another game that narrowly failed to make this list. 


(Sinclair (35), Moncur (43), Di Canio (65 p), J Cole (70), Lampard (83) - Windass (30), Beagrie (44 p), Lawrence (47, 51)

I know what you're thinking - just another typical 1-0 down, 2-1 up, 4-2 down, 5-4 victory. But this might be the definitive game of the Harry Redknapp era as it showcased almost everything good and bad about that time. We began the game in 10th position with the sense of yet another lost season hanging over the ground. Our main focus had been on the League Cup where we made a run to the quarter finals and actually beat Aston Villa in a thrilling, pulsating game that ended up being settled on penalties. 

In the purest West Ham fashion imaginable we then ended up having to replay that match after it emerged that substitute Manny Omoyimni, who didn't actually touch the ball while on the pitch, had already played in the competition and was cup tied. Rather than chuck us out of the competition as they probably should have done, the league let us replay the game knowing full well that would be a more painful process, and they were right as we lost 3-1 and Paolo di Canio missed a fateful penalty. 

By the time Shaka Hislop broke his leg two minutes into this game it seemed like more of the same. On came the much hyped young reserve goalkeeper Stephen Bywater, who looked like he was borrowing his big brothers kit, and played like he was wearing his mums oven gloves. 

Incredibly the game was still goalless on the half hour mark when Dean Windass headed in a corner with Bywater rooted to his line. Trevor Sinclair quickly equalised before John Moncur got in on the act with a screamer of a goal to give us the lead and then immediately conceded a soft penalty that Peter Beagrie put away. 

The key observation from those of us in the ground at this point was that in order to win the game it seemed pretty imperative that everybody did their best to ensure Bywater wasn't required to touch the ball for the rest of the match as he appeared never to have seen one before. Sadly this ploy failed as Jamie Lawrence took advantage of two further howlers to give the visitors a (sort of) shock 4-2 lead. 

While all this was going on Di Canio was engaged in a seemingly endless battle with referee Neale Barry as he was denied penalties on at least two occasions where the foul was certainly worse than Moncur's in the first half. After the second of this he ran across to the bench and demanded to be taken off, sitting down on the turf and generally turning in the kind of performance that would get you booed offstage in the West End for being too hammy. Instead of treating this as a shocking lack of professionalism everybody just shrugged and said "That's Paolo" and sang his name. {Insert eye roll gif}

Shortly after, Paul Kitson was fouled and the penalty was finally given. Nominated penalty taker Frank Lampard picked up the ball only to find Di Canio trying to wrestle it off him. Being a well run and thoroughly professional outfit everybody told Di Canio to piss off and reminded him that he'd missed his last penalty and wait, oh no, we let him take it because we're about as professional as your average Sunday League team. 

Anyway, he scored and everyone sang his name so that was great. {Insert eye roll gif}. A few minutes later Trevor Sinclair set up Joe Cole for the equaliser, and with Bradford quite rightly still reasoning that if they could just get a shot on target they'd win, everybody stopped defending and it was all tremendous fun. 

With seven minutes to go, Lampard got some sense of redemption when he picked up a Di Canio pass and smashed home a left footed winner from the edge of the box. What a springboard for the rest of the season, I hear you say. Not really, we lost 4-0 at home to Everton the next week. 


In Retro - The 50 Best West Ham Games of the Premier League Era (30 - 21)

 30Chelsea (h) 2-1 : 2015/16 Premier League

(Zarate (17), Carroll (79) - Cahill (56))

The 2015/16 season remains a curiosity in the Premier League archives, largely because it took the unusual step of actually being interesting. Most West Ham fans look back upon the season as a great success as we marauded to 7th in the league behind the brilliant Dimitri Payet and generally played entertaining football that proved a stunning antidote to that produced by Sam Allardyce.

Personally I felt it was a missed opportunity. Manager Slaven Bilic didn't seem to have much more tactical acumen than just telling his team to give it to Payet whenever possible, and as with so many before and after him, he chose to discard effective combinations elsewhere in order to crowbar Andy Carroll into his side. On certain days however, that strategy was to prove exceptionally effective and this was one. 

Jose Mourinho's side arrived here as champions but finished the day in 15th as Upton Park offered up yet another barnstorming London derby and sent another local rival home sheepish in defeat. We opened the scoring early with a smart strike from Mauro Zarate, and held that lead comfortably as Chelsea then saw Nemanja Matic correctly sent off for two yellow cards. 



Mourinho in repose - 2015, Artist Unknown

At this point Chelsea went collectively mental, everybody got booked and Mourinho was sent to the Directors Box, which produced this absolutely gorgeous Renaissance painting of a photo when we would later score our winner. In the intervening period, however, Chelsea would shape up pretty well with ten men and Gary Cahill bagged a deserved equaliser. 

With time slipping away Bilic sent on Carroll, which is akin to releasing a lion in a classroom to sort out an unruly set of teenagers. Even so, Carroll thunderbastarded an Aaron Cresswell cross into the net with ten minutes to go and the roof nearly came off the ground. We went up to third and then promptly lost 2-0 at Watford a week later to highlight why it would be Leicester and not us who would take advantage of a season of madness. 


(Amalfitano (21), Sakho (75) - Silva (77))

When Sam Allardyce arrived at Upton Park, this was what we were promised. A well organised team, sprinkled with skilful attackers in front of a solid defence and a few bloody noses for the big boys. In truth, he didn't particularly deliver on that but he did briefly stumble upon an exciting looking combination in the first half of the 2014/15 season. 

This game is included primarily because Manchester City were the real deal at this point, and defending champions to boot. They came fully armed with the likes of Sergio Aguero, David Silva and Yaya Toure and this victory remains one of the few times we have laid a glove on them in the modern era. 

This West Ham team was anchored around the wonderful Alex Song, who was magnificent this season, and led by the attacking duo of Enner Valencia and Diafra Sakho who feasted on service from a rejuvenated Stewart Downing. 

We opened the scoring here when Song and Valencia combined to set up  Morgan Amalfitano for a tap in. We then rode our luck quite significantly as City did the cross bar challenge for an hour. Sakho seemed to have wrapped it up with a thumping header late on, but a frankly brilliant Silva goal meant the last ten minutes were terrifying. Still, we held on and rose to fourth before Allardyce changed the system to try and get Carroll back into the team. We won just three games after Christmas and finished the season in twelfth. 

Another waste. 


(Zamora (57))

While I don't generally have fond recollections of our Play Off adventures as I think they simply tend to highlight the debacle that various boards have made of running the club, it's also true that as purely theatrical events they can't really be beaten. 

This was no different, although by this stage these games had devolved into paralysing, nervy affairs rather than the free flowing buccaneering matches of old. 


The. Exact. Same. Haircut

This match was particularly tight, as Preston seemed to freeze a little, perhaps wary of the growing tradition for sixth place teams to arrive in the play offs and beat those who had finished above them. We actually started the better team and some unholy combination of events led to Tomas Repka hitting the post in the first half. Preston improved after the break, albeit we continued to look more threatening and it wasn't all that surprising when man of the moment Bobby Zamora swept in a Matthew Etherington cross to give us the lead. 

After that we retreated to defend our advantage and try and hit them on the break, which did wonders for cardiac health in the East End, and also threw in a horrific looking injury to goalkeeper Jimmy Walker as well. 

We clung on, as we probably deserved to, but in truth I think there were very few fans who watched this game and felt particularly confident about Pardew's men in the Premier League. Still, a day to say you were there and it felt like something approaching a catharsis considering that we had lost the equivalent match a year previously with a dismal display against Crystal Palace. 


(Soucek (45), Antonio (51), Yarmolenko (89) - Willian (42 p, 72))

Ah, the London Stadium! There aren't too many matches from the Indian burial site on this list, largely because we've been almost unrelentingly shit since we've moved there, but this one from the middle of a pandemic makes the cut. 

At the start of the day we were out of the bottom three solely on goal difference and seemingly staring relegation in the face after an especially insipid 2-0 defeat to Spurs. However, the arrival of Tomas Soucek and Jarrod Bowen had given an added thrust to our attack while Michail Antonio was about to go on one of those red hot streaks that make him such a favourite for Fantasy League managers. 

Here we were mugged initially, when a Soucek goal was bizarrely ruled out by VAR on the grounds that Antonio was lying down in an offside position, and made to pay immediately when Willian gave Chelsea an undeserved lead. However, the Czech midfielder wasn't to be denied and headed us level right on half time. Antonio soon gave us the lead before Willian smashed in a fantastic free kick to leave us staring at a, frankly, not terrible point. However, Andriy Yarmolenko got free in the last minute to run on to an Antonio through ball and steal all three points and, essentially, seal our survival. The Ukranian is a bit of a poster boy for the stupidity of the Pellegrini/Sullivan axis but there's no doubt about him on two fronts - firstly, he should never be given any defensive responsibility, and secondly, he is deadly if you let him on his left foot. 

For all that I think we have actually benefitted from not having to play in front of crowds, I can't help wishing I had been there to see this particular last minute winner. Not that I don't generally enjoy the fruity conversation while we all stand aimlessly at a Stop/Go sign in the middle of the set of 28 Days Later but it would all have felt just a touch more romantic on this balmy July evening.  


(Moses (6), Sakho (31) - De Bruyne (45)

In truth, the reverse fixture from this season was a better game - a pulsating 2-2 draw that saw a Dimitri Payet masterclass at Upton Park. However, it also worth remembering that this was a win against the then most expensive starting line up in Premier League history, and the first defeat of the season for the unbeaten City. This remains our only league win at the Etihad and for that reason I have included it here - you just don't win there very much these days. 

Things began well when Victor Moses beat Joe Hart low to his left from long range (who knew?), and got even better when Diafra Sakho added a second on the half hour following a goalmouth scramble. Kevin de Bruyne pulled one back on his home debut but Adrian was unbeatable in a lively second half and we hung on for a remarkable victory. 

This win actually took us into second place but we would draw the following match at home to Norwich which was entirely in keeping with our wildly unpredictable form this year. I can't think of many sides who could win successive away matches at Arsenal, Liverpool and Manchester City and still lose 4-3 at home to Bournemouth but that was to be our lot this season. I don't think Slaven Bilic was a great manager, but you can't deny that he managed some great results. 


(Carragher (OG 21), Ashton (28), Konchesky (64) - Cisse (32), Gerrard (54, 90)) 1-3 on penalties

Too soon? It's too soon, right?

I still can't really talk about this game. Objectively it's probably the best Cup Final of the modern era and subjectively, the bravest West Ham performance I've ever seen, but I still can't even really devote any emotional real estate to it. It simply makes me sad. 


Yes, it's too soon

We had some luck in the semi final when we were drawn against Middlesbrough and Liverpool were left to deal with Jose Mourinho's borderline invincible Chelsea, a team we had little chance of beating. As it was, Rafa Benitez took care of his long time nemesis and we met in the match that was once the highlight of the English season. 

Truthfully, we should have won - even Alan Hansen was to admit as much in his BBC column - but were denied by the force of nature that is Steven Gerrard. I can't deny the brilliance of the man but I begrudged him that day. He won plenty in his career. This one was ours. 

Things began brightly when Dean Ashton and Lionel Scaloni combined to force Jamie Carragher into putting through his own net. Ashton followed up with a second shortly after and I admit that I foolishly began to dream. Gerrard, however, was just revving up and he soon set up Djibril Cisse for the first Liverpool goal and then smacked home an equaliser. Boyhood Hammers fan Paul Konchesky then fluked a cross into the net to put us 3-2 ahead and it seemed that he would be the hero of the day until a moment of oft overlooked controversy. 

In injury time, with West Ham in possession we put the ball out to allow a Liverpool player to receive treatment, but when the ball was thrown back to Scaloni he was immediately pressured by Liverpool players. It's not a huge scandal - it was the last minute after all - but faced with that pressure the Argentine miskicked it aimlessly to the middle of the park. From there the ball was headed out to an exhausted Gerrard who, well you know. 

Extra time continued in the same vein and despite our evident physical superiority we couldn't snatch the winner we deserved. In a moment of huge pathos, our own brilliant skipper Nigel Reo-Coker headed against the bar and the rebound fell to the injured Marlon Harewood who screwed the ball wide with the goal gaping. On such moments do cup finals hang, and we then took the worst set of fucking penalties in history and that was all she wrote. As a game this should be higher, and as an emotional experience this probably shouldn't be on the list at all. I'll let you decide whether this rating feels right. 


(Zamora (61, 72))

Context needed. 

In 2004 we had powered into the play offs, lost our first leg game at Portman Road and then simply blown Ipswich away in the return leg. This time around we needed a final day victory at Watford to edge out Reading and claim sixth place, and in truth while there is often a narrative around destiny that is attached to teams who finish sixth, we were a nervy bunch heading into the 2005 iteration. 

In a twist of fate we faced Ipswich again, but this time with the first leg at Upton Park. We blitzed them once more to go two up before collapsing and letting them get away with a slightly undeserved draw. Much of the pre match discussion therefore focused on whether we would crumble as Ipswich had done a year earlier in the second leg - traditionally games that end up being on the insane side of mental. With a younger team featuring Elliot Ward and Anton Ferdinand at centre back, I suppose that wasn't completely crazy but we made a mockery of such fears with a splendid display. Again, Tomas Repka was an unlikely early threat but the real damage was done by Bobby Zamora who scored two second half goals, with the second being a fantastic first time cushioned volley, off an inch perfect through ball from strike partner Marlon Harewood.

Actually, both goals were created by Harewood who was in fine form, while Matthew Etherington was sublime and for a second consecutive year we brushed Ipswich aside pretty easily. They must hate us down there. 


(Sheringham (46), Reo-Coker (62), Etherington (80) - Todd (18))

Just a few months after that victorious night at Portman Road we were back in the Premier League after a two year absence. These days I think there is an acceptance that the gap between the bottom of the top flight and the top of the Championship is pretty minimal. However, in 2005 we snuck up with a squad of players picked up from other Championship teams and then supplemented them with a number of other largely unproven types like Danny Gabbidon, James Collins and Yossi Benayoun. 

Over time those fears would be dispelled, and probably should have been dispensed with the minute we saw that Blackburn were captained by Andy Todd, but after we went one down in the first half (to a goal by Todd, naturally) there was a communal sense of nervousness. 

With the rain falling, and the team kicking towards the Bobby Moore end, there was a general feeling on the air that something special needed to happen.  Teddy Sheringham got things going by rolling in an equaliser after Todd turned back into a pumpkin, and then Nigel Reo-Coker smashed home a fabulous second just after an hour. 


Better than we remember, I think

We extended our lead with a late goal from Matthew Etherington and everyone went home feeling pretty good about our newly minted young side, except for Mark Hughes, which just added to the glorious sense of occasion. 


(Dicks (55 p), Kitson (68, 90) - Vialli (26), Hughes (87)) 

Upton Park under the lights, man. Was there anywhere better to watch football? Well, yes, when you're watching your team lose to Stoke, but on other nights you'd swear the place was doused in magic. 

By March 1997 we were slumped in the bottom three and desperately pinning our hopes on the newly arrived strike pairing of John Hartson and Paul Kitson. The squad was a slightly strange mix of the old - Dicks, Potts, Bishop, Dowie, Breacker - and the new - Porfirio, Lampard, Ferdinand, Williamson - and while that may have looked good on paper, it was turning out to be pretty shit on actual grass. 

This was shaping up to be another typically disappointing night when a Bishop mistake allowed Gianfranco Zola to slip in Gianluca Vialli for an opening goal. This held until the 55th minute when Julian Dicks nearly took the net off when he smashed home the equalising penalty. Not long after, Kitson smartly gave us the lead but we seemed to have blown it when Mark Hughes headed an 87th minute equaliser. Undeterred we went up the other end in injury time and Kitson smuggled in an Iain Dowie header to give us a deserved, and vital, win. 

I once wrote of Upton Park that as Neil Young said, "when she danced we could really love", and this was one such night. Songs rising up to the roof and then bouncing around the place and seemingly dragging the team forward like an invisible magnetic force. Looking back, Kitson's winner wasn't so much an event at a football match as it was a cosmic certainty. It's not that the London Stadium can't offer up such moments but they seem totally out of place when they arrive. At Upton Park they were constantly hovering just out of sight, permanently imminent like a song you hear in the back of your mind, or a fight in a McDonalds. God, I miss that place. 


(Antonio (7))

Some games of football carry a weight. From the day I got up on the March 2, 2016 until the moment the final whistle blew I carried a lead lined blanket on my chest. This was the last time Spurs would visit Upton Park, this was their first chance of going top of the league in March since 1964 and it's not an exaggeration to say that this felt like the pivotal game in the title race so far. A win was really the only acceptable outcome. 

We were battling injuries, and indeed finished this game with a back three of Cheikhou Kouyate, a hobbling Angelo Ogbonna and teenager Reece Oxford. It didn't matter, as we dominated from start to finish and totally outplayed a Spurs team who didn't manage a shot in the first half and did nothing to dispel the myth that they tended to bottle the big occasion. 


Would I let him drive me home? No, but the man scores big goals

From the moment that Michail Antonio headed in a Dimitri Payet corner in the 7th minute, the away supporters were forced to stand in silence and watch as Slaven Bilic wrung yet another manic performance from his charges. Payet was supreme but so too were Mark Noble and Manuel Lanzini, while the famed Tottenham pressing game foundered repeatedly on a rock solid backline. 

It's true that when I researched this piece I could have picked about twenty games with Spurs. The really sad truth is that for all the drama and late goals, for Spurs they have generally been winners and for us they've typically been equalisers. But when we've won games, they've really meant something in terms of stopping Spurs. I'd really rather that these matches were about our success rather than their failure but I suppose that's the truth of the era we're currently in. So yeah, fuck it, we derailed their first title bid in years and it was really rather enjoyable. 



Wednesday, October 03, 2018

The Week of Waking Up

"My mind is open wide
And now I'm ready to start"
- Arcade Fire, "Ready to Start"

Act One - Zabaleta Earns Hazard Pay : West Ham 0 - 0 Chelsea

I don't know about you guys, but I'm quite enjoying this good start to the season that we have made, whereby one must discount the actual beginning to the season and instead pretend it all kicked off last week.

Chelsea were the first to arrive, kickstarting our week of waking up by strolling into the Kitten's Den with a 100% record and leaving with just a point, and a great deal of appreciation for Andriy Yarmolenko's aerial ability. Our first home point of the season was hard fought and well earned, and a generally optimistic glimpse at a slightly brighter future.


Worst game of "Simon Says" ever

That said, I think we have to be realistic about what this point says about us, and what it says about the wider landscape of the Premier League. This was a counterpunching performance, whereby we allowed Chelsea's dreamy midfield to dominate possession, relied upon channeling their most dangerous players into places we could deal with them and then looked to our counter attacking ability to create chances.

Such a strategy is perfectly in line with where we are as a team, with where Chelsea are under Maurizio Sarri, and also with the ever widening gulf between the Big Six and the rest of us. While we may wish for something more offensive, the truth seems to be that opening up against these sorts of teams rarely works well for middling types such as ourselves. So Manuel Pellegrini kept the structure tight, and watched as we bundled Chelsea up quite nicely in a shrewdly put together defensive blanket.

Key to all this was the midfield trio of Declan Rice, Mark Noble and Pedro Obiang, who ceded possession to the fabulous Jorginho - Mateo Kovacic axis in the middle of the park, but brilliantly blocked off passing lanes and made important tackles and interceptions when needed. Because of the way Chelsea play, their midfielder with the most licence to roam is N'Golo Kante, of all people, and we were probably fortunate that two of their better chances fell to him. He popped up in our box with all the confidence of your parents trying to cope with series linking a recording on Sky Q, and duly deleted all your stored episodes of Band of Brothers, blazing over both times

Interestingly, Eden Hazard was kept largely under wraps by the outstanding Pablo Zabaleta - with some help from Fabian Balbuena and Rice - and even though the FA Level 1 coach in me was purring at his ability to "hide, manouevre and reveal" the ball - he had little impact until late on when he switched sides and started getting in behind Arthur Masuaku. As it was, the best chance of the game for the visitors fell to Alvaro Morata who capitalised on a piece of defending from Yarmolenko that can charitably be described as "worse than Farage turning up for dinner", only for Lukasz Fabianski to rush off his line and save with his face. I should note that Morata was so impressive when he came on that it took me four days to realise it was him and not Giroud who missed the chance. Sixty million quid. Modern football.

Meanwhile, our first half counterattacks were working now and again, and a lovely piece of skill from Felipe Anderson set Michail Antonio away, only for him to blaze wide. Shortly after, Rice and Yarmolenko combined to get him much closer to goal, but Kepa blocked his shot, and his afternoon was best summed up by him being substituted just as he was starting to physically dominate David Luiz. Those chances remained the sum of our threat until substitute Robert Snodgrass picked out Yarmolenko late on with a sublime cross that found the Ukrainian totally unmarked at the back post. With the goal at his mercy, he somehow achieved the impossible by heading wide and actually making me yearn for Andy Carroll.


This weeks xG map from Caley Graphics does a good job of showing that while we certainly could have won, it's not entirely accurate to say we should have done. Chelsea had lots of shots from good locations and on another day might have sneaked one in. Let's, gulp, respect the point.

***

"He knows so much about these things"
- The Smiths, "This Charming Man"

Perhaps the most encouraging thing about this performance was the overwhelming feeling that Manuel Pellegrini had finally hit upon a tactical system that made sense in the context of the match. At Liverpool it seemed be the case that he wasn't budging from a flat back four playing high, and we were duly treated to an afternoon of chasing after disappearing Scousers. This time, he took a more pragmatic approach and cut his cloth according to the situation. Thus we restricted the attacking excesses of Masuaku, and focused our midfield efforts on stopping Hazard.

Is it entirely inaccurate to suggest that this was the kind of performance one might have expected if we were still managed by a furiously masticating Brummie, swigging from a pint of wine on the touchline? Maybe not, but we set up to stifle Chelsea and stayed in the game with the intention of hitting them on the break. It wasn't quite the cavalier attacking we were promised during the glorious summer, but then again, those statements are a lot easier to make when the whole season is pregnant with possibility. When you've lost four of your first five games, however, and a winter relegation battle is beckoning then pragmatism is a much more comfortable bedfellow. And fair play to Pellegrini for finally compromising when it was needed.

Further abroad, Antonio was deployed up front in the absence of Marko Arnautovic, and struggled along manfully. I didn't think he did as badly as some people felt, but I also remain unconvinced that he is fully recovered from his hamstring injuries. As a player he rather resembles a toy electric car, wound up and left to ping explosively about the place, crashing in to things and generally causing havoc. On days such as this, we missed the slightly cooler thinking Arnautovic.

And imagine how panicky you have to be if you're considered less clear headed than a 29 year old man who dyed his hair peroxide blonde.

***

"Cause I ain't gonna be made to look a fool no more, 
You done it once too often, what do you take me for?"
- Chas n' Dave, "Ain't No Pleasing You"

I should admit that I am often wrong about things. I write down my thoughts after each game, committing them to cyber stone, and thus they can be thrown back at me when they later prove incorrect. And this happens frequently. And it has happened again.

I've written about the mixed bag of a summer that I felt we had. Issa Diop and Ryan Fredericks are my favourite signings, and I hated the decision to take on Jack Wilshere. The others all lay on a line somewhere between those two points, including Lukasz Fabianski. about whom I was largely ambivalent. And I was wrong. Totally.

Adrian, a man who plays as if permanently chasing after an imaginary raccoon, is someone who I love like a brother, or a friendly newsagent, but whose time has sadly come. Fabianski exudes calmness. Indeed, such is the feeling of serenity that he engenders that I found myself watching this game and thinking fondly of the Seinfeld episode where all the characters yell "serenity now!" when they get angry, and then slowly go crazy through repression.


Serenity now! Insanity later!

As it is, Fabianski simply radiates a feeling of security through the team that even seeps all the way to the crowd. For all Chelsea's late pressure I don't ever recall thinking that they were remotely close to scoring, such is the confidence I had in the big Pole. Barring peak Robert Green or Ludo, I can't really remember feeling like that for an awfully long time.

So, a point gained. Traction. A foot on the ladder at home, and a journey begun. I'll take it.

***

"Dream it while you can, 
Maybe some day I'll make you understand"
- Oasis, "Fade Away"

Act Two - Not Shrewsbury : West Ham 8 - 0 Macclesfield

As I get older, I like to think that I've grown as a person. I no longer see opposition fans in the same way as I did when I was a kid, as enemy combatants to be taken on and somehow beaten. Now I just see other people exactly like me, who happened to be born elsewhere. In other words, I am no longer thirteen.

And so as we smashed eight goals past Macclesfield I began to feel rather sorry for their supporters. Bottom of the league or not, they still would have harboured hopes for this game. It is the trick we all pull on ourselves as football fans - to conjure belief where none really ought to exist. And thank goodness we do, because a lot of stadiums would be empty if we didn't. So we can all sympathise with their predicament here, as they would have spent the day finding a way to view this game through a prism of optimism, only to have that view shattered by three first half goals.

From our perspective, the joy in this game came more from the unexpected nature of it all, as we eschewed our usual policy of not scoring against lower league teams until extra time and instead starting smashing goals in from the start. While we have generally stopped our habit of losing to smaller clubs, we have instead tended to make interminably heavy weather of it, even managing to go two nil down to Spurs at one point, before managing a second half revival at Wembley last year.



Nobody has ever looked this happy to score against Macclesfield

In truth, just about the only way for a game like this to mean anything for a Premier League team is if this happens. Winning 8-0 is almost pointless, but it is infinitely preferable to sneaking past in extra time as we recently did against Accrington Stanley and Shrewsbury. Worse still was that we turned in those awful, laboured performances with players like Payet, Lanzini and Arnautovic on the pitch. Those games tended to shine a light on our glaring inadequacies, rather than allow us to build any confidence.

This time around, we played the guys who needed minutes and not only did they sweep Macclesfield away as one might expect, but everyone who needed the confidence boost of a goal got one. Michail Antonio, Lucas Perez, Angelo Ogbonna, Ryan Fredericks and Robert Snodgrass all scored, with the latter managing a particularly joyous double. Better still, perhaps, was the debut of Grady Diangana, who played out wide and linked up with fellow youth team new boy Joe Powell rather well. Both looked as though they have enough in their games to play at this level, although the question remains as to whether beating a team who would rather have been at the dentists is much of a barometer.

My favourite moment amid the carnage was the sheer joy shown by Snodgrass at scoring his first West Ham goals. It's easy to be snide and condescending about goals against Macclesfield, and players signed from Hull, but isn't Snodgrass everything that we want in a player? He cares, he tries, he wants to be here and he takes joy in our successes. A player like that in a squad can be invaluable, especially when he is prepared to bide his time as a substitute. His brief cameo against Manchester United roused the entire ground as he chased fruitlessly after the ball for a full minute before needlessly fouling someone. And how the supporters seemed to be galvanised by this. If the divergent careers of John Moncur and Freddie Kanoute taught me anything, it's that you need to look like you're showing effort, irrespective of what you're actually doing. Snoddy has this nailed, and I rather like him for it.

Elsewhere, there was a pleasant hue to the evening as Powell, Diangana, Declan Rice and Conor Coventry all finished the game, giving us the merest hint that maybe our decrepit Academy might be about to splutter into life once more. Our reward for this jolly run out is a home tie with Spurs, just as their fixtures take a turn for the brutal. What's past is prologue, dear friends - history awaits us.

***

"Whenever I'm asked who makes my dreams real
I say that you do"
- The Temptations, "Get Ready"

Act Three - The Pay Off : West Ham 3 - 1 Manchester United 

Isn't this the point of it all? Isn't this why we go? Why we moved ground? Why we pay over the same money to watch our team as Manchester United fans, even though they're the casino and we're the idiot pensioner about to blow our savings on the roulette wheel? This is it, friends, and I'd advise you never to look past such moments. Savour them. Revel in them. Drink them in. This is why we do this. 



I enjoyed this

Things started well, as the marvellous Zabaleta took a pass from the equally marvellous Noble on five minutes, drove in behind Luke Shaw and crossed for Anderson to flick brilliantly past David De Gea. After that start, we continued to push the visitors back, as their play was as weak as their godawful salmon pink strip, and we duly scored a second when Yarmolenko's shot took a heavy deflection off Victor Lindelof just before half time. I googled it and Lindelof is actually a professional footballer, as opposed to a competition winner, by the way.

What was interesting was that this was another game against a decent side, where we showed we actually had the ability to throw a couple of punches back in their direction. Whether it was Arnautovic bullying their many and varied centre backs, Anderson and Yarmolenko getting in down the sides, or Mark Noble reinventing himself as a central playmaker, we continued to pose problems all game and were well worthy of the 3-1 scoreline, earned against a team full of players who are hugely pricey and used to be good when they played for other teams. Tellingly, our own version of that player - Jack Wilshere - has missed all three of these games. One wonders where he will fit in when he returns.

Once more our tactical setup was both thoughtful and successful. The visitors played with three at the back, and consequently were able to create lots of crossing opportunities for Ashley Young wide on the right. He drifted in behind Anderson frequently, and with Masuaku engaged in the inside right channel by either Fellaini or Martial, this looked to be their best hope of scoring. This in itself was odd given that Romelu Lukaku was playing, and he scores a goal a game against us, but such was the excellence of Issa Diop that he was almost invisible. Ironically, Mourinho congratulated "the scouts who found Diop" after the game, which means we are about two weeks away from David Sullivan claiming credit for his signing.

However, for all those moments of success for the visitors out wide it amounted to little and our midfield trio were once more excellent in controlling the centre of the park, with Noble repeatedly finding himself alone in acres of real estate. He  responded by creating the first and then picking out Arnautovic for the third, when the Austrian calmly drew De Gea before sliding it past him with ease. Whisper it quietly, but that front three is starting to look the part, as well they might for the £80m they cost us.

What Anderson's failure to track back also did, was give him a head start on Young whenever we broke, and it was noticeable in the second half how frequently he got the ball in advanced areas and just failed to pick out a pass. On other days, in colder climes, we might find ourselves getting a lot of joy from such swift counter attacks. If the manager was to blame for the underwhelming start to the season then he ought to get credit for things like that. I loved the way we played in the second half here.

To wit: I saw something today that I hadn't seen yet this season - the sense of a beginning - and Pellegrini deserves credit for that. I was fuming after the Wolves debacle, but this was clear progress even allowing for the woeful way in which Manchester United played. We have seen plenty of underpowered visitors waltz off with the points from our new home, so what a distinct joy it was to see this bunch of expensively assembled charlatans sent back empty handed. And all the while, there was Jose Mourinho, weeping, moaning and dissembling, desperately trying to get fired so he can move out of his Manchester Travel Tavern and get back to his hobby of shouting at the weather. What a lovely day it was, and what a fine week for us to have woken up. Lovely football, a stadium with a pulse, the hints of promise as new players settle down. Savour this. Revel in this. Drink this in. It's why we do this.

***

"You can't play it safe
And still go down in history"
- Emmylou Harris, "Belle Starr"

The three men that Manchester United took off cost them a cool £180m, and serve as a gentle reminder that sides such as these have privileges and head starts that we can only dream of. It is also why a result such as this is always presented as a Manchester United defeat and never as a West Ham victory. Don't get upset about it - instead, savour the moment we gave a bloody nose to the elite and won a hand even though the deck was stacked.


Hazard doesn't play for United yet as he's still good. Give it five years.

But we shouldn't get too carried away in lauding our attackers, when the base for all of this came from our increasingly decent looking defence. We shouldn't ignore the early season fragility, as there was a reason for that, but a couple of recent fixes have certainly helped an awful lot. Fabianski is wonderful, of course, and his save here from Fellaini was the equal of anything we will see from De Gea all year. But Zabaleta has returned on the right hand side and although he still plays as though he is twenty three and at Manchester City, he has added some undeniable zest to that side of the pitch. I don't think it's a coincidence that Noble has drifted wider and is playing so well in the space being created inside by the Argentines "Han Solo chasing after stormtroopers" style overlaps. 


Cover me Andriy!

Inside him Fabian Balbuena has really settled in, and has given us the kind of solidity that we might have got from Jose Fonte had we bought him before he became a cast member of New Tricks. The Paraguayan has brought some physicality to our back four that has been needed, and has slightly more recovery speed than the likes of James Collins or Ogbonna, which has proved useful when he's been needed to cover Zabaleta's Death Star frolics. 

His partner, Diop, has been equally good and his sixty yard accidental burst forward with the ball at his feet here was my moment of the match. It's been a long time since we had a central defender who could carry the ball in any meaningful way. The fact he looked terrified for most of his run shall not deter me. I want to see more. 

Perhaps the only concern is the way in which Arthur Masuaku has curtailed his forward surges to take a more conservative left back role. While that is probably a good thing for us defensively it does rather beg the question of why we would have him in the side, given that Aaron Cresswell is a better defender but doesn't offer the same threat going forward. Masuaku, we should remember, was quite literally one of the most successful dribblers in Europe last season. 

Perhaps the answer lies in who we have been playing, and we might get the more adventurous Arthur back once we start playing sides at a similar level to ourselves. For now, I shall take a watching brief - without that attacking threat, I am not sure I value Masuaku highly enough to play him over Cresswell. 

And in front of them is the glue that binds the whole thing together. Declan Rice, at the tender age of nineteen, already looks like he might be the most important player in our side. Certainly Arnautovic and Anderson are more eye catching, but each have understudies with some degree of competence. If Rice gets injured we will be reduced to stabbing voodoo dolls of opposition number tens, as the only way to stop them. 

His assurance on the ball is spectacular, and his new found ability to play passes off both feet is really the thing that has elevated him to another level. His ability to read the game is good, but with that range of passing he is no longer an attacking black hole, and indeed has started a decent number of counter attacks, simply by getting rid of the ball quickly and efficiently. I'm fairly ambivalent about the contractual impasse that we find ourselves in with him, reasoning that both sides are probably leaking equally, and that this is simply the culture of West Ham at present. I highly doubt that his contract negotiation is all that different to any other player, but for all of that, the club desperately need to make sure he sticks around. He is fast becoming indispensable. 

***

"Every minute, from this minute now
We can do what we like anywhere"
- Snow Patrol, "Open Your Eyes"

And there we have it. The week of waking up. The week when things came together and the fruits of that summer labour were finally borne. Perhaps that much lauded promise of playing attacking football was actually a distraction for a manager and a team who were getting to know each other, and couldn't realistically be expected to get into high gear without first turning on the engine. Perhaps we just needed to play bigger teams so that we might get into that counterpunching mode, and take our first baby steps that way. Perhaps I just need some new metaphors. 

In the end, I am just relieved that we are off and running. The very notion of taking seven points from fixtures against Everton, Chelsea and Manchester United seemed crazy just ten days ago, but there we have it. Picking up unlikely points was what propelled us up the league in 2015/16, and dropping them where we shouldn't was what curtailed our Champions League hopes. Maybe more consistency lies ahead, or maybe we'll just continue to be totally unpredictable. For all the joyousness of the last week, I still think a top ten finish would be a significant achievement for Pellegrini.



Worth more of your time

A word too, for West Ham women, who picked up their first win of the season with a 2-1 win over Yeovil, to complete a fine weekend for the club. It is a strange situation that the women are in, having come up two divisions into the Women's Super League, and having to build a squad from scratch. Given that, they have recruited unusually well for a West Ham side, and presumably the teenage Managing Director Jack Sullivan deserves some credit for that. Players like Claire Rafferty and Gilly Flaherty are outstanding signings for the team, although it was rather fitting that it was Rosie Kmita who scored the winner, as she is one of the only players held over from last season. In true West Ham fashion we missed about five outstanding chances in the first half alone, which suggests that the new girls are settling in to the West Ham Way quite nicely.

I will be writing more extensively on the women's team now that I have my season tickets sorted out to go and see them. They deserve a bit more support than they seem to be getting from the West Ham fanbase. Perhaps we've all still got some waking up to do.

***

"You'll never know just what you wanna do
Or where you wanna go, I think it's time"
- The Stone Roses, "What The World Is Waiting For"

Epilogue: The H List, An Announcement

As you may have noticed, this article is late and free wheeling and not at all what any of us are used to. It is those final weird series of Scrubs when everything was the same, but not really the same, and none of the jokes were funny.

This is partly because I've been ill this week, but also because finding the time to write so frequently about the club is proving difficult. My children are getting older and are demanding more of my time, and indeed my daughters Year 8 homework now includes quadratic equations, and that alone took care of me writing anything after Chelsea.

So The H List can't continue to be the weekly match report that it has been recently. Instead, I'll move to a less regular opinion piece, where I talk more generally about the club and less about specific matches. That will take some of the pressure off me to produce something each Monday after we have played, and also expose you to fewer articles that might well be reasonable but totally depress you on your way to work.

It will also allow me some more time to research a book that I have been thinking of writing for some time. I have finally decided to dip my toe into that murky stream, not allowing myself to be put off by my lack of experience, publishing deal or literary agent. If it's good enough for best selling author Katie Price, it's good enough for me.

I hope you'll all still keep reading.

Monday, December 11, 2017

West Ham 1 - 0 Chelsea (And Other Ramblings)

"You're part of the plan
For a new man, to come through"
- Van Morrison, "A New Kind of Man"

Yeah, so Match of the Day hasn't improved much since I last watched it in 2016.

Still, this might not have been a victory hatched hatched in Skokie, Illinois by a barbershop quartet, or required the services of a lawyer by the name of Kobayashi but this was a game won with a plan. And I am not used to that. We are a team that tends to win with the inexpert deployment of freewheeling chaos and lose with similarly spectacular implosions. What we have seen in these last two games has been something a bit more akin to precision engineering, as David Moyes has convinced his men to wed themselves to the notion of becoming hard to beat, and trusting in moments of quality to get a foothold in the game. 


Five at the back isn't a new idea

And so it came to pass that Moyes established himself as our very own Verbal Kint. The man with a plan. The Cockney Keyser Soze by way of Glasgow, who turned to the customary names - Adrian, Reid, Noble and Cresswell, to drive us through. And maybe at the end of the season it won't be enough and, like that, he will be gone but for right here and now there is much to admire about what he is doing, even if you've never seen the seminal The Usual Suspects and are wondering if the simple act of winning has pushed me into writing gibberish.

*Stops to pick up Alvaro Morata who has inexplicably just fallen over at my feet*

Anyway, perhaps the best thing about this victory was that it wasn't an "event" game. This wasn't Friday night at home to Spurs to end their title challenge. This wasn't a desperate save-the-bosses-job rearguard action against some fellow denizens of the depths of the Premier League. Instead, this was a big game, for sure, but it was more ordinary than the usual games we've tended to win since moving to the London Stadium. This was a derby, but not a vitriolic one, played in the low morning sun of a freezing December Saturday and without that frisson of something that hangs over such games when the lights are on. 

But what happened here was that the team gave us a lift. By scoring early and then by looking competent, hard to beat and organised they gave us something to latch on. It's hard to be bang up for a game when you've only been up for a couple of hours after a heavy Friday night, but it's a whole other plate of biscuits when Marko Arnatouvic has scored after five minutes, Arthur Masuaku is pirouetting past their wing backs like Darcey Bussell and Adrian has brought his wall shaped gloves. 

Above all, what this reminded me of was a game at Upton Park. We arrived with a bit more hope, by virtue of the Manchester City performance and left with the cast iron knowledge that this team can actually compete, and with a bit more trust in the men in the dugout. The crowd were dragged into it, and stayed with the team even though our second half attacks were little more than speculative punts in the vague direction of Antonio and akin to lobbing coins at fighter jets. And when the final whistle went there was a feeling that, in some strange indefinable way we had got back a little of what we lost by moving ground. That will mean different things to different people, of course, but if I had to describe it I would say that by showing us he is a credible candidate to lead this fight against relegation, Moyes has successfully united everyone behind him. And that's a pretty good start. 

***

"When you're lucid, you're the sweetest thing
I would trade my mother just to hear you sing"
- Camera Obscura, "The Sweetest Thing"


This sort of thing. More often, please. 

I don't want to go too far overboard about a single victory, but there was much to be enthused about there. Certainly, if Moyes can extract this level of performance in the majority of the remaining games, and instil this level of discipline into our defensive efforts then we will stay up. If nothing else, this team should be able to get points at a greater rate than the likes of Swansea or the freefalling promoted clubs.

We won here by virtue of a lovely effort from Arnautovic, who exchanged pinpoint passes with Lanzini before curling home delightfully past an unsighted Courtois. He then jumped in the crowd with a Gene Kelly style sidekick, which at least reminded us all of the Golden Age of Hollywood while he was getting booked.


Arnautovic gets a yellow card

The Austrian was perhaps a surprise recall given that the Manchester City performance was largely built on hard work and defensive endeavour, but he performed admirably here, and served the important function of giving us an outlet further up the field. He played just behind Antonio who was the lone striker and was excellent in harrying the Chelsea back line with his pace and physicality. It was also a healthy reminder not to write off players too soon when injuries, illness, confidence and even unwelcome comments from chairmen might be affecting them.

*Stops to pick up Alvaro Morata who has inexplicably just fallen over at my feet*

What was so different here to the rest of the season, was that the team had more than one option when they looked forward. Either Arnautovic was drifting out left and looking to exploit the space ahead of Masuaku, or Antonio was running in behind Cahill and Christensen and forcing them to deal with a mobile threat. The contrast to those long afternoons of watching Andy Carroll play Musical Statues, or of Chicharito marooned out wide was stark. Indeed, watching these last two performances against two of the best teams in Europe should really be hammering home to people just how badly Bilic did in those first few months of the season.

I sense that while Moyes is determined to build from the back, he has decided that Arnautovic is a project worth pursuing, and you could see why today. He didn't have huge amounts of defensive responsibility but worked hard and, crucially, did enough in advanced areas to keep Chelsea occupied. What is encouraging is that against weaker teams, you can see how this set up can be progressive too. Masuaku can be pushed further forward, and Lanzini can be freed to get closer to the front two and we won't spend entire second halves frantically bailing water in the face of a continual onslaught.

Selecting Arnautovic does cause a certain problem for Moyes because he traditionally hasn't had too many of those mercurial types in his teams, and seems a bit distrustful of any one who doesn't get up and run five miles before breakfast, but if he can successfully integrate our record signing then you sense there may be more days like this ahead.

***

"Did you ever have to finally decide?
And say yes to one, and let the other one ride?"
- The Lovin' Spoonful, "Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind?"

It might have only been a few weeks but Moyes already seems to have made a few seismic decisions about this squad. His insistence that the players weren't fit enough might have just been the standard new manager schtick, but we are five games in and Joe Hart and Andy Carroll are on the bench, and Aaron Cresswell is a centre back, so I think it's fair to say that he's now forging his own path.

The goalkeeping decision was straightforward in terms of form, but not in the sense of the profile of the players involved. Hart's World Cup ambitions are what led him to us, and with typically short sighted hubris we lapped that up and forgot we already had his equal here. Quite apart from the cost involved, it's not difficult to imagine the raised eyebrows that might have caused among the strong Spanish speaking contingent in the squad.


Pashun, or PASHUN as we yell on the Costa del Sol

So Adrian deservedly kept his place here while Winston Reid undeservedly reclaimed his, and both were excellent in repelling an off colour but still dangerous Chelsea. In fact, calling them off colour is probably unfair to us - it's weird how both City and Chelsea both had off days when confronted with our well drilled back four isn't it?

In front of them Mark Noble returned at the expense of Edimilson Fernandes, which I initially thought was a mistake as the latter's mobility was a crucial factor last week, but once the game started and it became clear that Chelsea don't play at the pace of City you could see the merit.

Noble may be slowing like Damian Green's computer, but he still possesses the experience to manage games like these. Even in the first half when he misplaced a few passes and the crowd began to "weerrrrrr" he still kept playing, because he realised the crucial value of getting out of your own box and stretching these sort of teams. So it was that most of our better moves had Noble involved somewhere, and in the dying moments it was he who did most to keep the team from exposing our backline to the kind of rapier quick counter attack that did for us here last season, as astutely observed by Michael Cox at ESPN. 

While Chelsea dominated the ball they really didn't do a huge amount with it, instead choosing to pass it round a lot before losing patience at our surprisingly resilient defending and attempting something extravagant. Kind of like when your local decides to become a gastropub and then googles the price of quinoa and admits defeat.

*Stops to pick up Alvaro Morata who has inexplicably just fallen over at my feet*

What was also noticeable was how differently referee Anthony Taylor treated the fouling of the two sides. Like Manchester City last week, Chelsea are the masters of the sly foul to prevent teams breaking on them quickly. They tend to allow four or five seconds to recover the ball and if they don't they foul. The likes of Cahill and Fabregas have it down to a fine art. What's really interesting is that because these transgressions are generally so far from the goal and so innocuous, referees rarely book players for them, especially if the team in question is trailing. However, when a team is defending a lead, then it seems to me that players will almost certainly be booked immediately for any kind of foul, as officials seem to view these all as cynical attempts to slow down play. And so it was that while both teams committed ten fouls, we picked up six bookings and Chelsea managed just one. Must be nice.

But despite that we held firm for ninety five minutes, and should even have had a penalty when an Arnautovic flick was fairly obviously handled by Christensen. As it is, we are now a team who have conceded twice as many goals in our games against Watford and Everton as we did against Manchester City, Chelsea and Leicester. Welcome to East London, Moyesy, it's mad here.

Reid and Ogbonna were in their element today, however, as Chelsea started looking to hit Morata with crosses, and whenever they were absent then Cresswell was there to help out, as his positioning and passing were excellent. It is noticeable how much better we look when we pass out through the left with Cresswell and Masuaku then when it goes the other side through the Hit'n'Hope twins Zabaleta and Reid, who combined to make less accurate passes in this game than Cresswell on his own.

But for all that, the system worked and we funnelled plenty of attacks out wide and away from goal, and that showed up in the fact that Chelsea mustered just two shots on goal all day and both were in the first half. And so the Caley Graphics xG map might show a slightly fortuitous win, that doesn't tell the whole story. We battled, blocked and battered our way to a win, and what a feeling it was.


This was genuinely the first time I have a left a game all year where I couldn't really identify a poor performer in Claret and Blue. I could have picked any of them as Man of the Match and not been wrong. Drink up these days, for they don't come often enough.

***

"Get on yer dancing shoes
You sexy little swine"
- Arctic Monkeys, "Dancing Shoes"

On a day of claret cheeks and blue fingers, it was a bit of a surprise that our best performer was a twinkle toed African left wing back, but Arthur Masuaku has been defying expectations quite a bit recently. He has always looked comfortable on the ball but has generally displayed all the energy and drive of a traffic warden in his previous performances. But, somewhere at the end of last season he began to run with the ball, and he hasn't looked back - quite possibly because if he did he'd just see a massive wide open gap and Aaron Cresswell on his knees, weeping.

*Stops to pick up Alvaro Morata who has inexplicably just fallen over at my feet*

In this game Masuaku was exceptional, as his runs repeatedly gave us an option and a way out of from Chelsea pressure. Most fans were purring at his dragbacks and turns, but I just enjoyed seeing one of our players look like he could carry the ball into those rarefied advanced positions without getting a nosebleed, and his quick interplay with Lanzini and Arnautovic was a big part of our first half performance.


Call me after, yeah?

He also did his bit defensively, especially after Victor Moses came on, and it is to the credit of Moyes and his team that he didn't choose to make the Creswell/Masuaku decision a binary one and instead found a way to accommodate both. I could do with Masuaku toning it down a little bit in his own half, but given then he successfully went past 11 opponents in this game - a season high for the anyone in the Premier League - it's probably churlish to argue.

What I have also enjoyed about Moyes is that he seems to have got the team to buy into a concept bigger than themselves. We fans tend to view games as single, discrete events but there is little doubt that the confidence from the Manchester City performance bled across here. Now the players had some belief in what they were doing and that was never more evident than when Masuaku had the ball and we were going forward. With Antonio running the channels, and Noble and Obiang intelligently covering behind him we just looked so much more solid as a unit. This must have been what it was like when they finally fixed the Hyperdrive on the Millenium Falcon.

And as much as I'm loathe to say it loud, we have done most of this without Cheikhou Kouyate, who is perhaps the best example of a player who had deteriorated physically and tactically under Bilic, and seemingly has so much more to give then we have seen lately. I'll never not believe in the Senegal captain, in the same way as I will never accept that TJ Hooker was anything other than world class television programming, but when he comes back he is going to have to match this level of work and decision making to hold down his spot. Which is as it should be.

*Stops to pick up Alvaro Morata who has inexplicably just fallen over at my feet*

***

"Do you remember when the ship went down, you left me on the deck?
The Captain's corpse jumped up
And threw his arms around my neck"
- The Pogues, "The Turkish Song of the Damned"

There are other things I could talk about here - that very bizarre Antonio substitution, the general tendency Moyes is showing to make his replacements too late or the bird that literally died half way through the first half and fell from the roof to the athletics track after a particularly wayward Fabregas effort. But no, instead I'll address the elephant in the room - David Sullivan has given an interview everyone!

And so here we go - an H List within an H List. Kind of like Inception and dreams within dreams, except that Tom Hardy isn't riding around on a snowmobile shooting anyone and maybe you'll be able to understand this after just one viewing. Although I'm not promising anything.


"Oh excellent - the Chairman has been speaking to the Press. I foresee no issues at all"

If you haven't read the interview, you simply must stop what you are doing right now and click on the above link to do so. It is by The Guardian journalist, West Ham fan and friend of The H List, Jacob Steinberg, and I think it's a brilliant piece because it isn't confrontational but draws so much out of Sullivan.

Some might feel that focusing on this after a victory isn't the done thing, but it's timely and in some respects, more relevant to our long term future than any single game. Perhaps the easiest thing to do might be to take some of the comments and explore them in a little more detail. I accept that we can't be entirely privy to the tone or context of each of these statements, but I keep hearing about how Sullivan's spent thirty years in football, and therefore I'm going to assume that he understands how dictaphones and, you know, interviews work. Albeit, that's not a conclusion you would draw from actually reading any of it.

"I work my socks off, but sometimes it's not good enough"

It starts like every bad appraisal meeting I've ever had to take. It is such a common thread among poorly performing professionals that they equate how hard and how long they work with being good at their job. This isn't unique to Sullivan, by any stretch, but when you're in your office at 2am and all your peers are home in bed there's a reasonable chance it's not because they're less dedicated than you and far more likely that they are simply better at their job than you.

I should add here that the overriding feeling I had when I read this piece was one of sympathy. It's never fun to watch somebody try and do a job they care a great deal about, but don't really have any idea how to do. But sympathy can only go so far - I wouldn't be that understanding of a surgeon who was stood in an operating theatre quickly reciting "...the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone, the thigh bone's connected to the hip bone!..." before cutting open my patella. And so my empathy for Sullivan only stretches so far - he might be finding it harder than he imagined and he might be at a loss as to how he's ended up here but that's tough. There is another option available to him whereby he steps aside for someone competent, and every day he doesn't do that harms our club a little more.

"David Gold is 81, it's is whole life. He has nothing in his life except West Ham. He has no hobbies. He has a family but he has one granddaughter"

Excuse me a moment while I load up my shotgun and just blow a few of these fish out of this barrel.

(fires)

*In the distance Alvaro Morata falls over*

I have to imagine some of this has been lost in the translation. To talk so dismissively of an old friend and business partner is just odd. To insinuate, even unintentionally, that having a granddaughter is somehow worse than having boys is also a bit of a misstep, shall we say. The following morning Gold then "liked" a Tweet from a fan commenting that he felt sorry for Gold having Sullivan as a business partner.

(sighs)

*Loads up shotgun again*

"Jack's learning his trade, he was desperate to do it. He worked in every department at West Ham for a week. He knows everyone. He has opinions on everyone....He or Dave could possibly be chairmen in the future"

Leaving aside the rather obvious point that nepotism isn't generally a great trait for any business, this is still such a bizarre thing to say. I don't have any particular issue with Sullivan's two boys wanting to follow him into the family business, but I certainly have an issue with them doing it in such a public way. Wouldn't be nice if they were instead sent off overseas for a year or two to learn their trade at progressive, well run clubs overseas? He could find them internships at Bundesliga or MLS clubs and they could learn how different organisations operate, and gain crucial knowledge of overseas markets while they do it.

Instead they've done a week putting names on the back of shirts in the Club Shop and now Jack has just fired his first manager. Get up Morata, I want to shoot you again.

Perhaps even more galling is that Gold's two daughters - Vanessa and Jacqueline run large multinational, successful companies already. Giving people jobs because of who they are related to isn't generally ever a good thing, but we can't even get the bloody nepotism right.

"We're about £10m a year better off - it's not going to change our lives...I just think we feel like a big club. Not a tinpot club."

So, in the week that the Mayor set his sights on West Ham for having a one sided deal involving public finances, our owner decided to announce that a £10m a year profit wasn't all it's cracked up to be. I get that the context was probably vastly different, but it does rather highlight the constantly tone deaf nature of Sullivan's public utterances. E20 - who run the stadium - have a best projected annual return in the next decade of a £10m loss. The tabloids are circling. The mayor is fuming. Your local council are out £40m in a time of eye watering austerity. There's a time and a fucking place, man. 

But even that pales next to the notion that our Chairman feels like we are a big club. It inadvertently says so much about where we are now that our owner, presiding over a team with the 13th highest wage bill in Europe and the largest season ticket holder group in the country only "feels" like he's in charge of a big club. 

"I'm sure there's a hundred things I've said that I regret"

Today? In this interview? Have you ever considered not saying them? No? OK, as you were. 

"If we go down, we'll come straight back up. We always do...(but)...I should have got rid of him in the summer, but beating Tottenham in the last home game and beating Burnley was just enough. My family gave me such grief for not doing it"

So. Many. Things. 

Going down and coming straight back up isn't a skill you want to acquire. Spurs wasn't the last home game - we played Liverpool and lost 4-0 immediately after. We beat Burnley at a fancy dress funfare where a game of Premier League football broke out. Sofiane Feghouli played the whole game in a mankini and still scored. Basing any decisions off that result would be like deciding to hire me to direct the next Star Wars film because I did a great job capturing the cake cutting at a wedding on my iPhone. 

Your two teenage boys were giving you grief? And you care? And you think we care?

Where's that gun? Morata you better get back up again cos I'm definitely going to put one in your right foot, son. 


Every Google image of Morata looks like this

"I'm not really the Director of Football...I'm not involved in the strategy. The manager said he wanted Fonte and Snodgrass. My kids begged me not to sign them"

What's really noticeable at this point is how little the interview is really about West Ham, and how it's much more about Sullivan. Here, in two sentences, he throws five people under that bus we parked at Chelsea a few years ago. Bilic, Fonte, Snodgrass and his kids - all traduced in order to preserve the image of Sullivan as an innocent bystander. So, while he may have started by saying that he hadn't done well enough personally, we have really arrived at the meat of it here. Now he is upset that he's given Bilic too much rope, and is blaming Fonte and Snodgrass, two men he still employs, for the simple sin of accepting his stupidly bloated contract offers. You know, I begged you not to sign them too David, but once they joined I kind of expected that we would at least give them a chance to show what they could do before trashing them in a national paper. 

I wonder if the Board will ever be able to draw a straight line from comments such as these to their constant failure to hire the people they want to hire as managers, coaches or indeed players?

As for Sullivan not being Director of Football, let's just gloss over the incorrect statement from our Vice Chair in her annual report for the accounts, and simply gaze in wonder at the fact that we apparently have a huge gap at the centre of the club structure. Who is dealing with all those things that don't include coaching or recruitment? Who is looking at analytics and youth development? What about the link into the sports science department? Remember when Allardyce led that initiative to check the players teeth a couple of years ago? Or how about making sure there is sufficient language support for new foreign players? 

Maybe all of the above is moot and all that stuff happens seamlessly, but the very strong signal from these type of comments is that perhaps they no longer happen at all, or if they do, then nobody is tying it all together. 

I'd just like to point out at this stage that if they need someone to cover the position until Jack has finished his week in the ticket office, then I am available. 

(On a Director of Football) "There is one very good one in the Premier League. I would seriously think about taking him on in due course and I know he would come because he's approached me"

I won't lie - I'm deeply suspicious of anyone who has grown sick of the constant competence at another club and wants to work in our Looney Toons setup. On the other hand, perhaps the West Ham job is the ultimate goal because there is so much demonstrable opportunity. 

Where Sullivan does deserve credit here is for seemingly having the intellectual flexibility to think beyond what hasn't been working so far. Of course, the difference between talk and action is substantial, but perhaps there is a glimmer of hope here. He'd better hope we're still in the Premier League when he finally comes blinking into the modern age, however, or he'll find his options are far less appetising than than they might otherwise be. 

***

"I'm movin' on up now
Gettin' out of the darkness. My love shines on"
- Primal Scream, "Movin' On Up"

So on to Arsenal we go. I feel for Moyes because after Manchester City and Chelsea, he deserved something easier like Brighton or Newcastle but Bilic already wasted those games. Perhaps Wednesday will tell us a lot about the direction of our travel, or perhaps it will simply be a little detour before we crash into reality at Stoke on Saturday. 

But what he has done is instil something in all of the team and the crowd, and Moyes deserves credit for that. Maybe it won't last long, but so far the signs seem to point at us having Everton era Moyes rather than the Grim Reaper who turned up at Sunderland. Indeed, it feels like he's already achieved more here in a month than he did in an entire season in the North East. So, I continue to be cautiously impressed because, if nothing else, he seems to be a man with a plan.