RALPH’S LAST GAME (IS IT?)
Southampton 1 West Ham 1
Of course – it might not be. We can only hope. Then there is always trepidation in away journeys to this rarely-full ground, and today, amongst the 20 thousand or so spectators, something sulphurous and decidedly unpleasant seems be floating in the air. Not to mention the thousand or so Covid fans who cough and splutter airborne germs throughout each extended leg of the journey to the ground.
The transport to this game today is actually the worst I’ve had to endure for many years. South Western Trains must have planned their Engineering Works for this weekend in 2016.
When I finally reach Eastleigh (as far as the train goes today in the direction of Southampton), I quickly manage to secure a decent seat on one of the rail replacement buses provided, only for it to join, within ten minutes of setting out on its journey to Southampton Central, a three and a half mile traffic jam downhill into the city.
A mile further on, and google calculates that if I get off the bus and walk the 2.4 remaining miles to the ground, I will get there by 13.56. And if I don’t… it’s a long walk… but if I don’t get off this bus now then I’m pretty sure I might still be on it by the time the game finishes.
The time calculated to walk the distance to the ground at this point can be further reduced by a burst of fast walking. So how many minutes do you think I can cut off the walking estimate by the time I reach St. Mary’s? Clue: I get into my standing seat comfortably for the kick off. Answer TBC shortly.
The game starts with a frenetic spleen burst of action at both ends, with Fabianski making a couple of superb saves, and Scamacca twice coming close to scoring. It might be my imagination, but West Ham look so much better this afternoon than their gathered ragtag and bobtail stripe-shirted and half-witted opposition. So when Southampton actually take the lead after twenty minutes it comes as something of a surprise. Not least because in the lead up to the goal Kyle Walker-Peter’s takes what looks like a foul throw, which the linesman (who is three feet away) and the referee seem to miss. The ball is deflected, too from the boot of Romain Perraud, who celebrates his goal as if his shot has single-handedly engineered the deflection from Johnson that takes it past Fabianski. The Hammers’ players then crowd around the ref who also managed to block Bowen’s path to tackling Perraud before he shoots, but it seems as though someone has forgot to turn the VAR on, maybe to save electricity.
Now I begin to notice something slightly irritating about Hammers’ away day supporters, most of whom are behind me, carping their disgruntlement. So many of them are moaning and groaning even as West Ham get into their match groove. The expectation since the arrival of David Moyes has clearly been inflated to an obscene sense of entitlement that only a goal, or a scholarship at Eton, can assuage.
The first half has plenty in it for West Ham to crow about, but few could argue that one area it remains bereft in is the goal department. Scamacca hits a blinding twenty-five yard strike that curls just wide at the last minute, Paquetá then hits several half-volleys just over, or wide when he manages to keep them down. But ultimately – no goal. Yet.
As the second half kicks off, things start to look a little bleak, not least because the stadium announcer has revealed in the break that due to a lack of replacement bus drivers, there will now be no coaches to Eastleigh after the game, and fans will ‘have to make their own travel arrangements’ to get home. Come on love, you are kidding. I mean, WTF?
This guy behind me is beginning to really piss me off with his nagging bad form rap. Especially ten minutes into the half when we’ve been all over this tinpot bunch of Championship wannabes. So I turn round and tell him. Are you watching this match, mate? We are all over this lot. Paquetá heads against the foot of the post with the goal gaping, Fabs hasn’t even touched the ball yet this half and, anyway, WE ARE GOING TO SCORE ANY MINUTE.
This guy seems surprised that I have challenged his complaining so directly, and he actually nods sympathetically. I think he believes me. Which is just as well because when Declan Rice finally hits the equaliser, three minutes later, bursting into the Southampton area like an unstoppable tornado, plays a one two with Benrahma before planting his curled shot right in the corner of the net, it does seem momentarily like I know what I’m talking about.
Goaaaaaaaaallasso!
With 25 minutes still remaining, this surely has to now culminate in us taking all three points home. But, despite some huffing and much puffing, the Hammers’ 70% possession does not translate into the further (winning) goal that I was sure it would, so we have to be satisfied with a point and the fact that our unbeaten run in all competitions has been extended by a single further fixture.
And for those who still remember that TBC promise, my phone said I’d be at the ground at 13.56 when I got off the bus. As it happens, I saw the first hi-vis police jacket in the away end at 13.45. Eleven minutes! Even if Google Maps only deals in gimmer time, that’s still quite impressive, you have to admit.
1 Lucasz Fabianski, 2 Ben Johnson, 3 Aaron Cresswell, 5 Vladimir Coufal, 11 Lucas Paquetá, 24 Thilo Kehrer, 33 Emerson, 28 Tomas Souček, 41 Declan Rice (captain), 20 Jarrod Bowen, 7 Gianluca Scamacca
Substitutes: 22 Saïd Benrahma, 9 Michail Antonio, 10 Manuel Lanzini
Goalscorer: Declan Rice
