One team in Glasgow Partick Thistle

Partick Thistle came from behind to clinch this season’s Forth & Clyde Canal Cup (next step the Atlantic League?) with a comprehensive 4-1 demolition of a strangely toothless Clyde. Eleven goals and ten points is a surprisingly happy return from rivals who have usually been more fired up for the fray.

I am convinced that the webmistress does not like me (even though I do not think we have ever met). Twice in one season I have received the equivalent of a Soviet soldier being posted to Siberia, ordered to report for duty in a harsh and frozen wasteland somewhere in the vicinity of the Arctic Circle. I tried to soften the image of Broadwood by thinking of cheerful anagrams, but all that came to me spoke of hatred and aggression. Odd Boo War, Bad Word OO and even Bad Row Doo (was one of John Lambie’s pigeons involved?) did not make the prospect any more pleasant.

After deciding to leave the Mig Fighter at home and bring the Lada instead, it seemed that every obstacle was being thrown up to prevent the Thistle support from turning up at the soulless stadium in the midst of the marshes. The first temptation was to be (or to buy?) another member of the Walker family by giving up the football for the afternoon to view one of the new Collingwood (a vain attempt to evoke thoughts of cricket on the village green?) houses currently struggling into existence on the shores of the Caspian Sea.

Having successfully resisted, other more sinister deterrents were encountered. The industrial estate, the usual safe haven for parking free from having to pay a much grudged £2 to the local tax collectors, was blocked off by traffic cones. Fierce dogs (and even fiercer owners) patrolled the street. Vultures circled overhead. Lumps of mud like carcasses from some former conflict lay everywhere. A mechanical digger tore great lumps of earth from the landscape and threatened to turn its attention to the red and yellow clad invaders. Metal barriers screamed forth “Dangerous site. Children must not play in this area”.

Once the forbidding fortress had been breached, we discovered that the only Eastern European in the squad who might have been at home in these surroundings was Mooching around elsewhere. Scott Chaplain and Damon Gray warmed up together (Chaplain and Damon in pre-match exorcise-think about it!). There was a general lack of atmosphere, perhaps attributable partly to the sparseness of the crowd and partly to the extreme cold.

The fan in front of me carefully layed what seemed to be a red mat on her seat before sitting down. Was she trying to avoid any physical contact with this foreign environment? The familiar faces of Jimmy and Billy Gibson jogged into view and the Odd Boo War began in earnest. Two posters at the back and one hoarding at the front of the southern stand stated OPTICAL EXPRESS, an encouragement to the team shooting this way to get their eye in and to indulge in some clinical finishing. A second hoarding said “RESS”, which seemed rather obscure to me, but perhaps the rest of it had been blown away. We were assured by the stadium sound system (which may or may not have been a Tannoy), that the sweetest of songs was the song of the Clyde, but the only song we ever heard was “Bully Wee, Bully Wee, Bully Wee”, which can hardly be sweet in any language.

The Thistle team was on familiar lines in terms of personnel, but with emergency loan signing from Hibs Damon Gray partnering Mark Roberts up front. Skippy the Bush Kangaroo was bouncing around at sweeper flanked by Archie and Kinniburgh in central defence, which meant that we had a 3-5-2 formation, with John Robertson (returning from injury) and Mark Twaddle as wingbacks. Clyde had Jimmy Gibson as their midfield fulcrum, and Billy Gibson at left wingback, though his ceaseless endeavour to avoid being involved in the game eventually brought him into central midfield as well.

For the first time in living memory the tried and trusted kick off routine actually worked for Thistle as we won the first header and were awarded a free kick at the junction of the Clyde penalty box. Simon Storey (who must have been pleased to find that his fellow Australian Scott MacDonald had been given time off by Celtic to be referee for the day) crossed well enough, but symptomatic of many of the setpieces to follow, the flight of the ball in the swirling wind completely deceived attacker and defender alike.

Ruari MacLennan of Clyde had the first serious effort on goal and Jonny Tuffey was relieved to see that his firmly struck shot from the edge of the box was aimed just wide of the post. Both teams preferred the aerial route in the opening skirmishes and as an early illustration of an oft-repeated theme, Archie put in a well-timed challenge and then in the tenth minute Kinniburgh misjudged his leap to concede a free kick a few yards inside the Thistle half. Steve Masterton’s delivery was masterful, eluding all Thistle’s defenders to present Craig McKeown with a free header from around the penalty spot. Even the Jags fans had to concede that he took the chance brilliantly, and the ball travelling at an unsaveable angle, which seemed to carry it progressively further away from Tuffey’s outstretched arms, fizzed into the top corner of the net.

Fortunately, there was no time for Clyde to establish dominance, as a prolonged period of being down 1-0 might have depressed a Jags side and support which have been deprived of goals in recent weeks. Four minutes later, as he has done a thousand times before in a Thistle shirt, Mark Roberts cleverly drew a foul, this time on the left wing, around 20 yards from the goal line. Storey’s freekick looked to be slightly overhit, but Kinniburgh did well to reach it with his head and cushion the ball down to Stephen McKeown. Typical of an industrious and energetic performance which shows that he is rapidly becoming a settled part of the team, McKeown whipped the ball across the six yard line. Inspired by the poster on the back of the stand, Gray needed one touch to control and an almost immediate second touch to despatch the ball past the Clyde keeper. A composed finish by a talented natural striker.

This rapid riposte appeared to drain the spirit from the normally robust home team, and even though the scores were still level, Thistle had a strong psychological ascendancy and it seemed almost inevitable that this would soon be translated into goals. Chaplain shot just over, and soon after a good through pass almost gave him another chance. The first participant to be substituted was the ball. Then Chris Higgins was booked after aggravating a tough challenge on Mark Roberts by kicking out at him as well.

Just before the half hour mark, from a freekick 35 yards out, Thistle telegraphed their intentions that Rowson would touch to the side and Twaddle would shoot. It looked too far out for such an obvious tactic to succeed. The Twadfather hit the ball well enough but it was never going to trouble the keeper. Mark Roberts, loitering near the Clyde wall, had other ideas. He thrust out a toe and whether intentionally or not, succeeded in diverting the ball into the opposite corner of the goal, giving Clyde keeper David Hutton absolutely no chance whatsoever.

Although Clyde’s foothold in the game was rapidly eroding, their hardworking defender Neil McGregor did raise a cheer from both sets of fans, by managing to punt the ball right over the home stand, no mean feat, and he may have taken out one of the vultures on the way (could the US Pentagon employ him for bringing down stray satellites from orbit?). Without using any rocket science other than making incisive passes along the ground out of reach of the turbulent atmosphere, Thistle began to put together some promising attacks. Gray created space for McKeown to drive in an excellent cross which was cleared to the edge of the box. David Rowson struck the ball beautifully but his otherwise goalbound shot flew straight into Chris Higgins. Robertson’s sortie down the right wing was snuffed out when the keeper just beat him to the ball.

Eight minutes before halftime, Thistle gave themselves some welcome breathing space with the best worked goal of the game, again emanating from a Simon Storey freekick, this time from nearer the halfway line. Twaddle directed an angled header into the box. Without touching the ball, Gray skilfully turned his marker, and suddenly Scott Chaplain was running into space behind him to slot home an excellent finish. No one enjoys scoring goals more than Chaplain, and he has a happy habit of doing this against Clyde.

As the first half wore to a close, Archie was receiving some negative reaction from the home support. I could not see any specific incident, and this may simply have been an outpouring of frustration that he was winning every challenge, some fairly robustly, and the referee was not penalising him. Thistle were content to sit on their lead, retaining possession well, and holding their discipline so as not to respond petulantly to tough tackles that were producing a liberal sprinkling of bookings for their opponents.

At halftime, noticing that Ryan McStay was not in the Thistle squad to entertain the crowd with his ball-juggling skills, Clyde sent out a replacement. He turned out to be no shabby substitute in the shape of Graham Lightbody, unofficial world champion at keepie-uppie. His demonstration, during which the ball did not touch hand or ground for ten minutes, was sensational, though somewhat spoiled by being performed in a Clyde top.

Clyde began the second half with Bradley and Smith on for Masterton and McKay in an unsuccessful effort to reverse the flow of the game. Mark Roberts seemed to find it amusing that Jimmy Gibson (who apart from one good pass had done absolutely nothing in the first half) was still on the pitch, and Marko and the Tank engaged in some apparently lighthearted fingerpointing and banter as the teams came out.

After five minutes, poor David Rowson, who was back somewhere near his best form today, found yet another spectacular way not to score a goal. His viciously struck 30 yard piledriver crashed into the underside of the bar and shook the whole frame of the goal to its foundations. Sadly the ball fell the wrong side of the line and (unlike for England’s World Cup winners), there was no Siberian linesman conveniently brought in from the cold to signal a goal.

Perhaps the incident at the beginning of the half was not as innocuous as it appeared. Marko skinned Billy Gibson and was flattened by Jimmy Gibson. It was an undeniable booking, and Jimmy was almost immediately hooked, being replaced by Roddy MacLennan, presumably to ensure that Clyde retained eleven men on the pitch, at least for the time being.

In the by now rare Thistle attacks, Gray was giving an object lesson to Paul Keegan in how to win the occasional header cleanly and what to do when you find yourself in an offside position. Rather than charging recklessly after the ball to concede a freekick, Gray would go immediately inactive, before springing to life once more as soon as he had been played back onside again. Robertson went off, limping slightly and Harkins trundled on in straight replacement at right wingback.

Thistle conceded the initiative rather too much and had to undergo a barrage of freekicks and corners. Despite the occasional aberration, Tuffey dealt with these reasonably competently, and his kickouts were immaculate throughout. The measure of his recent improvement is that even when he makes a slight misjudgment, he now retains his own confidence, as well as the confidence of his teammates and supporters. He is also capable of making some incredibly brilliant saves. His heroic moment came in the 70th minute when a header looped over him. Somehow he scrambled back and with one despairing movement clawed the ball back in midair. Pat Clarke and another Clyde forward were almost on top of him. If they had waited it would probably have been a simple finish as the ball dropped. However, in his excitement, Clarke controlled the ball with his hand, and even before he bundled the ball into the net, the referee’s whistle had brought relief to the away support.

Roberts departed to warm applause and was replaced by Donnelly. Almost immediately, a well-placed throughball sent Gray off in a race with the last Clyde defender. Gray displayed that he has all the equipment necessary for success at top level, speed of thought and movement as he got to the ball first, strength as he held off the defender, focus as he homed in on goal and refused to be forced wide, and coolness under pressure as he confidently steered the ball past the keeper. It does almost make you want to support Rangers in their Scottish Cup tie against Hibs, so that we have Gray’s services available for the quarter-final.

“John Brown, John Brown, what’s the score?” rang out from the Thistle supporters. If we had known our American history a little better, we could have tried “John Brown’s body lies a mouldering in the grave… and the Jags go marching on” to the tune of “Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!” Pat Clarke was withdrawn injured, leaving Clyde to play out time with only ten men. Only if they could have brought on the now departed Dougie Imrie, might there have been any possibility of a late fightback. Thistle sportingly evened up the numbers by replacing Gray with Keegan.

And so it was back out into the bitter rain, but with a warm Readybrek inner glow, to recover the Lada and to escape from behind the Iron Curtain as quickly as possible. Not the best of games, but the quality of the finishing means that Thistle are back in midtable, while Clyde are firmly entrenched in the play off position. Somebody should be telling Allan Moore not to give up hope. It may not take too many more Stirling Albion victories for even deeper gloom to envelop Broadwood and its inhabitants.

Man of the match: Damon Gray