Saturday 12th November – Walsall 2-0 Gills
That this was a depressing afternoon shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who has seen as many abject Gills displays at the Bescot as I have, but Christ this was awful. Utterly devoid of redeeming features, the traveling few hundred tried desperately to raise the roof in support of beleaguered Neale Cooper as his reign drew to a sad end, but as soon as we went behind it was hopeless. We all just slumped in our seats and froze, wondering what happened to the joy of a couple of seasons ago.
The side was chopped about again, largely through necessity, but no matter where we tinkered the players simply weren’t good enough. From bungling Bullock cavorting ill-advisedly round his area, through the anarchic Williams slashing wildly at anything – animal, vegetable or mineral – that came near him, by-passing the lightweight and anonymous midfield and finishing with the non-existent strike force, you can see why people were underwhelmed. We used two subs : one was Harris, whose pace was comfortably thwarted by a fat Steve Staunton, and the other one was Craig Stone. I’d never heard of him, and that is not meant to be disrespectful to the youngster but more a reflection both of our ever-stretched squad and my own lack of interest in all things Gillingham at the moment – the last player Gills used who I didn’t know was Nigel Donn when I was about nine.
The second goal arrived before the hour mark, shortly after Matt Jarvis had been brilliantly denied when one-on-one, our only chance of the game. And that was it. Rubbish. The conversation at the station waiting to go home was all about whether we were headed back to the basement from where we came when Scally arrived, and sadly no-one was wildly optimistic that this wasn’t the case.
Champagne Moment: Yeah, right.