1st January 2007 - Cardiff City 1 Plymouth Argyle 0
The M4, New Years Day, 8.30am. Racing in my Korean built Kia Picanto at 70mph – any faster and the steering wheel shakes and the CD skips, listening to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, read by the simply magnificent Stephen Fry. Ron Weasley, what a card. Hogwarts, a death trap, why haven’t the inspectors haven’t closed it down? Very few National Curriculum subjects taught. The kids may know what the “Were” in “Werewolf” means but I dread to think how poor their mathematical and English skills must be.
I pull over into Leigh Delamare Services, the car park is deserted. I am tired, not from revelling in Bracknell’s bustling town centre’s new years festivities the night before but from staying up late reading. I am not rock and roll. I buy an espresso, £1.69, it tastes and looks like tar. A few miles after these Services, if you keep your eyes peeled, you can sometimes see a fantastic bird of prey (I think it’s a buzzard), sitting majestically on the fences alongside the motorway. Again, continuing the ornithological theme the game is the Bluebirds against the Pilgrims. Neither bluebirds or pilgrims can be found on these Isles. The Pilgrims set sail from home to the new world while there are no bluebirds on the British Isles, their natural habitat being in the Americas. So, we had two very American concepts coming head to head under the guise of the Welsh capital versus the Cornish capital.
The Bob Bank terrace was full. One man wearing a blue, white and yellow bobble hat entered the ground holding aloft a Toblerone like a knight of the round table (a Christmas present from a loved one no doubt), I think it was one of those new fruit and nut ones. A gentleman beside me had prepared a small packed lunch, two cheese (grated) sandwiches, a scotch egg and a flask of tea. There was nothing left of the sandwiches before kick off.
The Bluebirds started neatly, their almost exclusively left-footed midfield giving their right footed Plymouth counterparts the runaround. After a less than satisfactory decision from the man in black the frustrated Sylvian Ebanks-Blake hoofed the ball away (much to the chagrin of the Cardiff support). The offence went unpunished. Had this not been a one o’clock kickoff with more drinking time in the pubs in Canton, the surly Ebanks-Blake could have expected a triangular shaped piece of chocolate to whistle past his head. Instead the comatose Cardiff support watched blearly eyed as the ball was returned via three ballboys, a steward and a Cardiff full back.
And then, one-nil, a midfield move, a saved shot from Tony Capaldi (his first foray into an opposition box this season), a save from Argyle’s French keeper, the crowd sighed, then Everton-bound Joe Ledley swoops into the box and fires home! Fulham-bound Joe Ledley was by far Cardiff’s best player, he’s improved markedly from last season and is looking more and more like a Premiership player. I have no doubt he’ll be banging the goals in for Bolton in a few weeks and doing that “A” celebration that is so in vogue for Wigan players at the moment.
The second half was a scrappy affair. Even Sunderland-bound Joe Ledley failed to shine in a half of poor quality. Cardiff’s normally frangible injury time defence held on, Loovens – alert, Johnson – takes no prisoners (unlike Azkaban) and the Welsh capital ended the game as victors over the Pirates of Penzance. Cardiff’s keeper Kasper Schmeichel, devilish, debonair, direct, driven, dexterous, Danish, clapped each corner of the Ninian Park ground as a final goodbye. It was his last game for the Welsh club. We will miss him. Not least because there is something very comical about a goalkeeper called Schmeichel hoofing the ball up for Hasselbaink to flick on to Fowler.
But this is the Champsionship, no laughing matter, another victory for the boisterous Bluebirds.
As I have no picture of yesterday I'll leave you with this one from the 1914 Cup Final:
