Still recovering from one of the best birthday presents I've had.
If it had been a Hollywood film, or JB was a Premier league 'director of football', everyone could have understood that it was all meant to be that way. Stanley allow The Gas the free run of their pitch, concede every loose ball, etc, etc and then, with 10 minutes to go, bring on Messrs Molyneux and Webber, the former chips a ball into the box from the left to the latter, who 'sets up' the killer strike from the Murph!
The best trick was to erect the invisible force field around Mr. Bettenelli's goal. Only 17 shots from Bristol? Sorry Chubbymam, I was watching the same game as Revived Red and at times it was like a fairground shooting gallery for them. But, like at many fairgrounds, the gun sights were dodgy. Despite the long range barrage, I think Mr.Betenelli only had a couple of easy saves to make.
The pitch didn't help (it didn't look that bad but I think it was a bit tricky to keep your feet and/or control of the ball) and the Stanley players gave their all but none of them had a 'good' game. Mingoia did cover a lot of ground but in the first half he barely got a touch. Naismith was bottled up by their left back. Kayode was pushed and pulled as ever and was very lucky not to get another red card for throwing an elbow in frustration late on. Mr. Bowerman did a lot of running and hassling but little came of it. The back four certainly earned their corn, And Hunt and Wilson got forward a few times, with Wilson firing one dangerous low ball right across their goal in the second half. In the middle of the pitch Messrs Murphy and Joyce were simply outnumbered and swamped, and could do little about it.
But then, around 70 minutes, as the blue and white quartered onslaught reached fever pitch and the 6,000 Brizzle fans roared on their team, it all became clear that they were never going to score, that it was a cunning plan devised by JB and his team. All that was needed now was for the magician's Wand to be waved. So on came the subs and, as if to test the nerves of the Stanley Few, the final act in the greatest escape since Stalag Luft III was timed to perfection.
