Big Ben Burgess. You gotta love this guy. A quarter of an hour into this vigorously competitive game smart work down our right involving Price, Burgess himself and Marshall deposited the ball at the feet of the willing Walters. He promptly squandered possession but sprinted off on a retrieval mission and, regaining the ball, slipped a neat pass into the advancing Burgess’s path. It was on his right foot. On the edge of the box. He seemed to have an instant in which to loose a fierce shot. No such brutality. He caressed a chip, delicately, thrillingly … it hovered high above keeper Evans, it mocked the tantalised Scunny netman, it descended with a happy sigh into the net.

1-0 to us, and an absolute gem of a score: I just didn’t expect him even to try something like that, and yet he carried out off with nonchalance. Burgess can look slothful on occasion. He gets distracted. He’s not perfect. But he is an effective presence on the pitch far more often that not, he’s clocking up a pretty decent scoring record, he is powerful in the air, and he is on occasion sublimely skilful on the ground too. This first goal yesterday was one to treasure: I might be stretching it to recall Marco van Basten’s back-post volley in the Final of the 1988 European Championships, but for breathtakingly audacious execution Burgess deserves mentioning in the same breath.

And it was a goal we needed because Scunthorpe had caused us problems in a lively opening to a game played in front of 19,000 on a mild and blustery early Spring day. With Delaney fit and Alsop, restored to the bench, presumably mostly fit we 4-4-2’d it:

Myhill
Marshall Joseph Delaney Thelwell
Price Ashbee Junior Elliott
Walters Burgess

Scunthorpe took the game into our half for most of the first five minutes, with serial diver Maclean, conscientiously barracked by the Circle chorus, looking a skilful and thoughtful ballplayer. His partner Torpey gave his own customary impression of a lanky unathletic eejit, and ran about fouling our players until he picked up a booking after not very long at all. There are many things in this Division I will turn my back on with not a moment’s regret once we get promoted – teams with no fans, the town of Lincoln on matchdays – but the top of the list may well be occupied by talentless clots masquerading as centre forwards whose incompetence would make Andy Lochhead turn in his grave (if he’s dead).

We enjoyed the first decent sight of goal. Burgess outmuscled the hapless Butler down the right and crossed temptingly to Elliott near the back post. His downward header bounced into the turf and up and over via the hands of Evans in the Scun goal. But the first serious action occurred up the other end and was definitely bizarre and almost catastrophic. Delaney handled it, inside our box. Simple as that. I don’t know why he did it: he was under a bit of pressure but nothing he hasn’t been withstanding with calmly dominant authority week in, week out, through the course of his personally outstanding season. Well, anyone can make a mistake and fortunately the referee did too, because he spotted the offence but comically chose to award a foul just outside the box. Thank you, sir. Scun injustice was almost remedied as a fine dipping free-kick flew unhindered over the wall towards our goal, but it smashed into the crossbar and bounced high up into the air. A nonplussed Myhill let it bounce once before collecting it, and we had survived a most unsettling period of play.

Whereupon Burgess made it 1-0. See above. A cracker, a peach.

Burgess continued his torment of Butler shortly afterwards, pilfering the ball from the bewildered visiting centre-back before crossing firmly into the box where the ball seemed to deviate via a Scun hand. It was a decent shout for a penalty, but the referee was unmoved. And a minute later play was back down the other end, as Myhill saved a powerful shot from Cleveland Taylor, the lively Scunny right-wing.

What has marked out the key moments of this season has been our ability to surge forward at pace and create chances through imaginative movement and fast passing: no one else does it except Torquay, a bit, and no one could do it last year except Wrexham and Hartlepool a bit. And – WHOOMFF!! – we only went and did it again. Slick move, ball played out to the left, Elliott seizes possession, cuts inside, floats in a tidy cross, Burgess goes near-post, stoops, carefully directs his header past the exposed Evans.

Back of the net. Just a bit too good for defences in this Division to cope with. Thoroughbred stuff. 2-0.

We were well on top now, and though only one real opportunity presented itself during the remainder of the half – a Price burst behind the defence which was illegally halted but went unpunished by the erratic referee – our sharp and direct attacking play had left us deservedly two goals to the good at the break.

Into the second. And a training ground move. Ah yes, we do indeed have an arch tactician as a manager. We don’t just do a huddle before the kick-off, we now do it at corners too. And as the ball swings over the players break from the huddle on the edge of the box and scurry into the penalty area, some running straight towards goal, others diagonally or zigzagging. So totally confused was the Scunthorpe defence that they simply booted the ball into touch. With disdain.

On 52, a decent cross from the right reaches MacLean, who intelligently touches the ball back into the path of Groves. It’s a major shooting opportunity and he catches the ball cleanly, but the alert Ashbee has spotted the danger and he dives in to block the shot. Scunthorpe haven’t given up on this game, and soon after they introduce Beagrie who is greeted by the hostile reception that immediately reveals to any player that is he is a feared opponent. Happily the soft cartwheeling tart didn’t cause any particular problems on this occasion, and by now the game had got a bit niggly, a bit scrappy, and a bit equal-ish. But we spurned a glorious opportunity to slam the coffin lid shut on the Scunts when Elliott fired a superb long low through ball on to the toe-end of Walters who was able to scoot clear with only the keeper to beat. He tried a delicate chip, but only succeeded in blootering a horrible shot yards over the bar. Finesse? Totally absent. Walters has an appealingly bustling style but he is not looking at all confident in front of goal at the moment.

And “almost 3-0” becomes “actually 2-1”. Holloway plays in Torpey, who shoots low to Myhill’s left. It’s not a particularly firmly hit shot, and in addition it’s pretty close to Myhill. I think he should have held it. But he didn’t, he spilled it, and MacLean poached a goal from only a few yards out. A slice of blame must go to the defence that was an awful lot slower to react than MacLean – Whitmore, as ever, was lethargic in tracking back and must be condemned for his fecklessness, along with Whittle and Malcolm Lord.

Our two-goal cushion is nearly restored within a minute or two, as a deft backheader by Walters sets up Price to loft the ball over the exposed Evans but just as the East Stand rises to celebrate the ball bouncing into the net we realise the angle misleads, and the ball instead slips the wrong side of the post.

Meanwhile, the Scunthorpe fans, who had trekked over the bridge in their tens, were …. umm, well, pretty much silent all afternoon, as far as I could tell. One of the few Young People whose views I have ever seen fit to solicit is the wise-beyond-his-years (though just occasionally seen not to agree with me lately) Andy Dalton who makes the point that despite the evident shameful humiliation we incur by treating games against pitiful Scunthorpe as derbies, for Tigers fans active only over the last decade or so there really isn’t anything else. Grimsby, Leeds, Sheffield United – they are the past. Scunthorpe are our present. It is a gruesome truth. But to observe the feeble bedraggled showing from the visiting fans was surely to confirm another entry inked-in on that “not be missed when we get promoted” list. Scunthorpe United F.C.

It’s a pretty open game now. Both Elliott and Price have enjoyed productive afternoons, and even though both seem to be tiring, the manager is right to retain them on the pitch. Elliott was probably as engaged as he has been all season, and some consistent form from him over the next ten games would be a huge boost. Burgess too had a storming game yesterday, as did Ashbee, whose hard work we miss when he’s absent and which should also be cherished when he’s present. The skipper was as good as anyone in yesterday’s win.

Walters was pulled off on 79 in favour of Alsop, who quickly joined the hurly-burly with no apparent ill-effects from his lay-off. And the reformation of our first choice striking duo was almost anointed with a goal as Burgess fights free of a weak defensive challenge and releases his partner with a glorious pass into the inside right channel. Alsop strides on to the ball and shoots low and hard across the face of the goal, only to see his effort smack against the far post and rebound into the relieved arms of the beaten Evans.

Scunthorpe haven’t got enough fire power to trouble us. There are three extra minutes but the only anxiety is caused by a knock suffered by Myhill which forces a brief pause in the play. We win.

As football fans we tend to focus on results not performances so the natural inclination is to say that yesterday supplied a win to break a run of 4 games without one, preceded by a run of 7 straight wins. The pattern of our football shouldn’t be divided into those compartments though. Over that spell of 12 games – beginning on Boxing Day – we’ve played pretty well throughout, and the 25 points we’ve gathered amounts to a fair return: and it’s certainly promotion form. We were a bit lucky to win all 7 in a row – a draw at Darlo or at Cheltenham, or even at both, wouldn’t have been unjust – and we were certainly unlucky to lose 3 in a row since we outplayed Lincoln and were not remotely inferior to Mansfield. Whatever. The point is that yesterday’s win didn’t get us back on track. We’ve not been off track. We’re fine. We’re good enough.