League one play-off preview: Blades-Boro

Those who know me in real life- the guy behind the curtain, not this Bokolis- know that I am a supporter of AC Milan and Liverpool FC.

I acquired Liverpool first, in 1983. While football was watched in my household, all the budding anarchist in me understood was that Liverpool had some crazy fucking fans that wreaked havoc wherever they went. Liverpool's great successes had nothing to with anything.

My introduction to AC Milan came later, out of a desire to see someone take down the Swamp Rat.

Aside - That prick punching a ball into the net spawned generations of cheating South Americans; so much so that you can't play a game with them unless you are willing to cheat as much as they do. I had to watch all those games because I had to "tape" them (the kids these days DVR; back then, we taped shit) for my old man to watch when he came home. I'm still shocked that, when he goes on his subsequent run through the England squad, nobody saw fit to rip out his fucking kneecap and play keepie-uppie with it.

The footballing world was all over his dick, and it sickened me. When I watched Milan destroy Napoli at the San Siro, and as I watched Ruud Gullit- still my favorite footballer of all time- play during the 1987-88 season, ultimately winning the Scudetto, they became my team.

My dual support was relatively harmonious. In fact, it was the Milan crowd who sang "You'll Never Walk Alone" during (an Italian version of) a moment of silence just after Hillsborough. So, until 2005, I never had to choose.

Even though I'd've preferred Milan to win that Champions League Final- I didn't openly root for either- I knew that Liverpool needed it more. When people asked me how did I cope, I smiled and said that it was quite a show, wasn't it? Of course, in 2007, it was an easy decision to root for Milan.

All that said, my heart is with Stevenage FC. I told a buddy of mine, who knows my allegiances and whose wife happens to be from Stevenage, fuck Liverpool, fuck Milan; if I came into a boatload of money, I would build Stevenage a stadium.

I picked this team up as an adult- their first go-around with Newcastle in the FA Cup as a non-league side, back when they were Stevenage Borough, in 1998- and have been in love ever since. I'd tell you about those matches- not only didn't Shearer's header cross the line, but they hosed us with the offside in the first leg- but this fucker's already going to run long.

I know it seems strange to love a team you've gone over a decade without seeing play. Stevenage toiled in the Conference for years. The finally won promotion to the League in 2010- which at least got me some highlight clips here and there- and managed a play-off spot in their first year.

In between, they exacted revenge on Newcastle, beating them 3-1 in the FA Cup. The toughest hit they took in that one, other than Joey Barton's screamer, was the shot that Scott Laird took by one of the Boro supporters. Somebody was banging somebody's bird, I guess.

Thankfully, I was in Spain around the time of the League Two Playoffs, so I was able to watch the second leg against Accrington Stanley...amongst a bunch of middle-aged Stanley supporters, of course.

If I remember it correctly, Boro were 2-0 up after the first leg at Broadhall Way, and the plan was to take the air out the ball. That is pretty much what they did. I mean, ahd-damn was this game ugly. The pitch was a mess and the football was somewhat less than flowing. Stevenage mustered absolutely no offense and Stanley was rather impotent to take whatever chances they had. Stanley eventually had someone sent off. Stevenage then came out of its shell and put away the tie with a late goal.

Boro went on to defeat Torquay by the lone goal at the theatre of pisspots- while its residents were off getting pasted by Barcelona- in the final.

Stevenage have looked much sharper than I saw last season. They showed their honey badger mentality in League One, conceding the second fewest goals in the league and giving as good as they got from Spurs in the 5th round of the FA Cup.

That deep Cup run and a frigid, snowy european winter compacted the fixture list, compelling Stevenage to play 14 matches (12 league) in 47 days. The club only won two of those matches- they drew 8- and drifted down to mid-table, but rallied to win 4 and draw one in their last 5 matches to claim the final playoff spot on goal difference, largely on dealing out four pastings of 4 goals or more.

They now go against Sheffield United, two weeks after having last played them. The Blades have been in a downward spiral, which denied them automatic promotion (to the benefit of the rival Wednesday, who were on the receiving end of one of Stevenage's pastings, with the Boro supporters serenading the early-departing Owls supporters with "Is there a fire drill?").

The previous match was typical Stevenage honey badger style; going into a larger park with larger crowds than seen at Broadhall Way. United even fucked with the ticket allocation and distribution so that many Stevenage supporters did not acquire tickets, leaving a sparse visitors' section at Bramhall Lane. Bush, Blades, bush; are you going to pull the same stunt for the first leg?

Stevenage, as is typical, soaked up the early pressure and built up their own as the match progressed. They were rewarded when a counter led to a fortuitous deflection that squeezed through a defender's legs and past the Blades keeper. They kept up the pressure after the goal. A run down the left by Laird and some soft defending led to another fortuitous deflection, with Laird's shot deflecting off a poorly positioned defender and leaving the keeper stranded.

Sheffield United were fucked now, and were compelled to dust off their old weapons to salvage the match. They first brought on Richard Cresswell and Ryan Flynn on 55 minutes. Cresswell, as footballers go, is a big man. Let me tell you, he had this look on his face, like he was absolutely certain he was going to score. It wasn't a cocksure look; I've played in enough matches to sense when a guy is psyched out and when he knows he has the goods. He just fucking knew. It took him all of 10 minutes to direct a cross just inside the post.

Soon after, the Blades brought on James Beattie, ex-England international. They ratcheted up the pressure and leveled when Beattie nodded on for defender Lowton to fire home.

Boro, in true honey badger form, are too crazy to know when they are being threatened. All the while, they were pressing for a third. Robin Shroot (Shoot! Shroot) had a gilt-edged chance that he spurned. United also came close, but the match ended in a draw, consigning both sides to a play-off reprisal.

Just a bit of history for the rent boys

The FA Cup Final surely meant more to Liverpool than to Chelsea FC. Deep down, Chelski must know they have the strongest roster in the EPL. Because they refused to buy in to what their young coach was selling, their league form was a great disappointment. Nonetheless, Chelsea have put together some amazing Champions League nights, so this match- no matter what the Brits would have you believe- is a step down in intensity.

For Liverpool, it has been a shyte season. The club is still reeling/recovering from the previous ownership having run its finances into the ground. There was no Europe this year, no foreign talent on the team. It's as if they solely concentrated on domestic talent (if you can call Stewart Downing, Jordan Henderson and Charlie Adam "talent") to claim domestic success. Of course, they must've known that this was a mid-table team, so they put it all into winning the cups. They claimed the league cup and here we are in the FA Cup Final.

Chelski eased out to a two goal lead. The rent boys, in fine form since Di Matteo took over the reins, nonetheless came out decidedly pedestrian, as if they had other things to do.

The first 10 minutes consisted of little more than both sides hitting the ball around. Out of nothing, Chelsea capitalized when Spearing pissed away possession and Jose Enrique let Ramires walk right by him, despite having the angle. Ramires then beat Reina near-post. Courtesy of a series of blunders, this match had output without production.

Having recently played a big mach or two, Chelsea were content to adopt neutral tactics and avoid expending energy. Liverpool were in no position to attack, as their midfield was so utterly incapable of creating against the stronger Chelsea group that they had to use the defenders to advance the ball, with predictable results.

What's worse, Liverpool insisted on attacking down the left with Stewart Downing and Jose Enrique where they might've been better served doing that with Bellamy and Glen Johnson. Both Downing and Enrique had a decided speed disadvantage against their opponents. Downing, as shown all season, isn't any good anyway, offering a decent cross every tenth ball or so. That is, when he can create the space, which he usually can't.

In starting Bellamy, Kenny Dalglish wasted the spirit he would've provided by inserting him on the hour. As it was, the attack ignored him and he didn't have anything left to contribute when it was most critical. Thanks for everything Kenny, but don't you think it's time?

Another Spearing error, this time diving in on Lampard, who easily walked around him, contributed to Chelsea's second. Lampard found Drogba- who had the sense to move inside after being stuffed in Glen Johnson's pocket in the first half- in the box and DrogDrog's shot 'megged Skrtel rolled home at the far post.

The Reds, buoyed by, of all people Andy "Fatso" Carroll, made a game of it. He looked like he'd dropped a few pounds and was more assertive on the pitch than at any other point during his time at Liverpool. Some pressure and a fortuitous deflection left Carroll in the box with John Terry. Carroll shook JT and fired home over Cech.

It was game on, kind of. I mean, Chelski retreated and Liverpool were all over them. But, they still had the same issues that had previously kept them off the scoreboard. It was only the force of Carroll that made them seem likely to level. Carroll came within inches, too. He rose, unmarked at the far post, to head a cross that Cech saved off the back of the line and onto the post. While Carroll was off celebrating his equalizer, the ball caromed off the post and bounced in play, after which it was finally fucked out. Kuyt was the only one who tried to follow up, but was too late.

Both Kuyt and Carroll subsequently took down balls with space in the box, but neither had the touch needed to collect and shoot. You can say that they ran out of time, but there was plenty of time to buy a midfield and plenty of time in the first half to get their shit together. The needed Lucas; ask me 15 months ago if I would've ever thought that.

Anyway, playing out the string Liverpool play Chelski again in a few. If they win, it will be like the guy who went out with my prom date after I went away to college. Careful not to fall in, mate.

I decided

I decided that I will use this space to write about footie matches I've watched. We'll see how it goes.