BCFC v BCFC
Tuesday 18.2.25 - EFL (Vertu) Trophy Semi-Final. Birmingham City (1) 2 (Jay Stansfield 45+3, Lyndon Dykes 88) v Bradford City (0) 1. Attendance 27,066 inc. 2,332 away fans
Birmingham City Football Club club are getting a lot of things right this season, both on and off the pitch. But their ticketing system still leaves one hell of a funking lot to be desired. There are possibly far more stressful things in life, than going through the frustrating (and very time consuming) rigmarole of dealing with ticket-office phone-line queues, or ‘buy now’ online options. But I very much doubt it. Just saying.
The last time that Graham Alexander’s Bradford City played anywhere near Birmingham, was last month, when they knocked Aston Villa U21 out of this same competition, in the third round, courtesy of a 1-3 win at Villa Park, in front of a crowd of 1,079. The Bantams subsequently saw off Rotherham United in the quarter finals, on the same night that Blues set up tonight’s ‘Wembley or bust’ showdown at a sold-out St. Andrew's, with a win at Stevenage.
Bradford, who were beaten semi-finalists in last seasons EFL Trophy (v Wycombe Wanderers), are currently well placed, pushing for automatic promotion from League 2. So Blues would have known not to underestimate the size of the task in hand, especially with the added incentive of a Wembley at stake. In the event the West Yorkshire side gave a bloody good account of themselves, but Blues dug in and found a way to win.
The logistics of tonight's encounter, meant that I needed set a new personal best time to reach New Street station from St. Andrew's. The game was scheduled for a later than usual 8pm start, which was then pushed back to ten past, which had me checking for alternative train times and routes in the knowledge that it was going to be a tight squeeze to catch the last available service.
A late winning goal scrubbed out the need for penalties at which point I was glad I hadn't opted for gerrin’ off early and relieved that I still had a plan B available to me for getting home. But then, the match referee, Mr Scott Oldham, ruled that thirteen minutes of additional nail-biting stoppage time would be required before we could get offski
There was a light show before kick-off, excuse my apparent lack of enthusiasm, but I was here to watch a game of football. And turning the lights off in the stadium ten minutes before kick-off, when people were trying to find their seats created a fair amount of chaos, but hey ho! Each to their own, innit. Not a complaint you understand, merely an observation.
I figured out that the (free) shuttle buses into town would probably get delayed in the usual post-match traffic snarl-up, so there was only one thing for it. Shank’s Pony has seen better days, carries ‘several’ extra pounds these days, carries a multitude of old war wounds that have a tendency to play up at the most inconvenient of times, especially when it's bitterly cold out (and bloody hell! It was Baltic!🥶) and is severely short of stamina.
I can't actually recall the last time I’ve jogged for any sort of distance, but I strongly suspect it wasn't during the last three decades. And I’d forgotten just how painful and debilitating a condition‘stitch' is. Ouch! You see, the kind of Marathon’s I smash these days, were actually rebranded as Snickers many years ago. I’m quite happy to walk my requisite twelve-thousand steps (minimum) per day, but I don't do running.
Having just about paced my trek to good effect, I was on platform 11A for at least three minutes before my train home arrived. Of course, it was always going to be running on time tonight, thus not allowing me the saving grace of even an extra few minutes leeway, but one mustn't take these kind of things to heart, they're circumstantial, not personal. I collapsed unceremoniously into a vacant seat, emitting a cry akin to the sound made by those pigs who were being converted into sausages and rashers of bacon at the slaughterhouse, across the way from the rec, where we used to play football during the school holidays. And I must have looked like a proper bedraggled mess. Yes! Even worse than usual.
As the train pulled out, I noticed that quite a few of the regular travellers who use this route after Blues games hadn't made it on time. Apparently they were still in town celebrating, while the drivers at the taxi ranks at New Street were eagerly rubbing their hands together at the prospect of some hefty fares in the wee small hours of Wednesday morning.Tonight’s Blues win came at a price… and at this juncture, J’accuse Romoney Critchlow of Bradford City and yet another team of not fit for purpose match officials. Where the actual f*ck are they getting so many of these inept characters from? Did Billy Smart’s Circus get the franchise for fast-tracking referees? Is it only a matter of time before they take to the field of play carrying a stock of custard pies with them, to complete the comedy effect?
Blues had a lot of the ball around the periphery of the visitors penalty area in the first-half, but didn't break down the Bantams resistance until deep into stoppage time, when Jay Stansfield netted with a peach of a shot on the turn.Eight minutes into the second half and Stansfield was clear through on goal, primed to double Blues lead, when Critchlow, making no attempt whatsoever to play the ball, clattered into him and then fell on top of his victim, injuring Stansfield’s knee so badly he would take no further part in the game as he left the pitch on a stretcher.
To compound matters, not only was no penalty awarded, in fact play wasn't stopped at all. And Bradford countered and scored! With Stansfield still writhing in pain on the floor at the other end of the pitch, Antoni Sarcevic delivered a low cross from the right and Bobby Pointon steered the ball past Ryan Allsop from close range. As the injured Blues striker was being carried from the pitch, a sizeable vocal presence watching on from the visitors section serenaded him with taunts of: “What a waste of money!”. I was about to say that one can't accuse all of Bradford’s fans of being classless morons, because all clubs have the kind of people capable of this kind of thing among their ranks and who are similarly just as crass.
But then, I saw the gloating tweet: ‘Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be, Jay Stansfield’s in A&E’, followed by two laughing faces, well! Bradford played well tonight, their fans were louder and prouder than any other away following that have visited Blues this season, but in that moment, any high regard I held them in evaporated somewhat.Blues manager Chris Davies spoke diplomatically about the chain of events leading up to Bradford’s equaliser, once the game had finished: "It was a penalty, I didn't have to see it again, and for them to break away and score just added insult to injury. Jay Stansfield has gone to hospital. It's his knee. He's landed on him and he was in a lot of pain. We must just wait and see - and hope for the best.”
Both teams had spells where they took the game to the opposition as the tempo of the game reached a crescendo. And on the balance of play, credit where it's due, it could have gone either way. Sam Walker, the visitors keeper made two vital saves to deny Willum Willumsson and Alfie May and it began to look as though we were destined for a penalty shoot-out. However, with eighty-eight minutes on the clock, Tomoki Iwata delivered a long cross from out wide on the right, that Lyndon Dykes powered past Walker with a thumping back-post header. Fifteen minutes later, while I was calling out to the referee that I had a packet of spare watch batteries in my pocket (Hey! You never know when they might come in handy) Blues had held onto their lead second time around and were going to Wembley.
I'm magnanimous enough to say, that despite having a number of shit-house supporters present at the game, Bradford had impressively gone toe to toe against their League 1 hosts and maybe, all told, even deserved a draw over the whole 103 minutes of the game. Trying to be philosophical about things, even though the referee had made a monumental clusterf*ck of an error, in the build up to Pointon’s equaliser, when all is said and done, the Bantams were losing at that point and merely took advantage of their good fortune and played to the whistle. Just like all supporters, of any team would except their own team's players to do.
You just have to take these kind of mistakes squarely on the chin. Some visiting supporters who had left early were on the same train back home as me (they changed at Derby and it was blissfully quiet for the rest of my journey), they reckoned Critchlow’s clumsiness had warranted a penalty and said that they hoped Stansfield's injury wasn't as bad as it had looked. I was too knackered from my physical excesses to respond in any great detail, but told them that I hoped Bradford City get promoted at the end of the season, one way or another.
I’m of the opinion that Graham Alexander, Bradford’s manager, is one of the good guys in the lower leagues. His opinion and perspective are always worth listening to. It's a shame that a(nother) controversial moment had soured the night for me somewhat, mainly because of the injury sustained by Jay Stansfield, because on the whole it had been an absorbing, if not particularly easy on the eye cup tie.
The final, on Sunday April 13th, will he played on the weekend of my 62nd birthday celebrations. I’ll ‘probably’ be there 😉 The other semi-final: Wrexham v Peterborough United, will be played on February 26th. It’ll be a tall order for them, but c’mon Posh! Do it for Barry Fry! Incidentally, tickets for the that game at the Racecourse Ground are in plentiful supply and are currently on general sale.
