“Delaney’s goal”. That’s what this match will be remembered for. That, and three more points towards promotion. We didn’t play at all well, and a doughtily well-organised Rochdale side deserved a point as a bare minimum for their efforts. And with twelve or so minutes remaining, and only ten Tigers on the pitch as a result of early use of our three substitutions and a subsequent injury to Price, a point was the minimum they looked likely to gather. What to do? Well, how about a tasty starter comprising a neat one-two between Damien Delaney and Stuart Green out wide on the left touchline, well inside our own half, followed by a sumptuous main course featuring the talented Irishman carving and rampaging his way through a bewildered Rochdale midfield before breaking clear on goal past a startled defence, topped off by a creamy dessert as Delaney smashed a vicious swerving dipping left-foot shot from twenty yards out that left Edwards in the Dale goal dazed, confused and hopelessly beaten.

I think I’ll take a nice flute of champagne to go with that.

What a goal! A gem, and its importance was clear at the time, as Delaney ripped off his shirt and hurtled into paroxysms of glee, and again at the end of the match as his team-mates took it in turns to hug him in delight in front an adoring East Stand.

On hug duty:

Myhill
Marshall Joseph Delaney Thelwell
Price Ashbee Junior Elliott
Alsop Burgess

It was a tame opening. We were seven minutes in before anything of note occurred, whereupon Alsop took advantage of a defensive error to create a shooting opportunity for himself which the diminutive Edwards tipped onto a post and away for a corner. But if we’d hoped this incident would trigger an attacking avalanche, we were sorely disappointed. Rochdale defended carefully, got men behind the ball when we had possession and defied us to do something to upset their resolve. And we couldn’t. We were reminded that a decent footballer doesn’t need to be able to do much running to influence a game – this week’s recipient of the Warren Aspinall award for elderly slow gents who know how to pass properly went to Neil Redfearn, number 38, age 38 (or even more perhaps?). Rochdale also had a player called Willo Flood, who earns the coveted award for “player with a first name I’ve not come across before”, previously proudly held aloft by Linvoy Primus, Kendo Nagasaki and Hapless Mimms.

What’s more, we could have conceded a goal as the half progressed and several of our players looked alarmingly sloppy. Marshall and Thelwell competed with each other to see who could surrender possession in the most catastrophic fashion: Thelwell won the contest by gifting the ball to one of theirs deep inside our half and our errant left-back was indebted to Myhill for sparing his shame as our keeper got a finger to the resultant shot and pushed it on to a post. Meanwhile Junior was doing a Melton in midfield – scarcely involved, and without evident desire to impose himself on the play. Ooo, we were ordinary.

Rochdale, backed by an unusually large and laudably boisterous support, had been slightly the better side as we entered the two minutes added on at the end of the first half, but we finished with a glimpse of brighter fare to follow as Burgess and Alsop combined to allow Price to run clear of the defence, only to over-run the ball, and then Alsop nipped craftily down the right before crossing into the path of Price whose flick was well saved by the alert Edwards.

H-T. 0-0. Inexplicably fitful.

Not much argument about the value of making a change. A fair of bit of argument – or at least puzzlement – about what Mr Taylor actually chose to do. Thelwell could charitably have been rated less than fully fit. Or he could have been reckoned to have had a stinker. Anyway, he was pulled off and replaced at left-back by Delaney, whose spot in central defence went to Junior, allowing Stuart Green to make his entry into central midfield. And we did promptly look much livelier: Green was busy, Delaney pushed forward down the left and both our frontmen looked a great deal more mobile than they had through the first half. Their combination should have given us the lead on 53.  Alsop slipped clear of the offside trap and rolled an inviting ball square to Burgess, who had made an intelligent supporting run straight up the middle. Big Ben had time to pause and pick his spot but he struck the effort too close to Edwards and at an inviting height too, and the mini-netman was able to beat the shot away.

We’re on top now and at last we’re dipping into the range of attacking options available to this promotion-bound team. A delightful through ball from Ashbee just eludes Elliott, we’re flowing … but all of a sudden we dry up. Marshall gives the ball away horribly, the Dale break and the lively number 7, Bertos, fires a shot just over the bar. Our response is an utterly comical 40 yard shot from Joseph, which bibbles and bobbles its way 40 yards wide, and the manager decides it’s time for a change. Two in fact, to add to the one at half-time: Alsop and, surprisingly, Elliott are taken off in favour of Walters and France. It doesn’t arrest Rochdale’s vigorously effective spell. Bertos sprints straight down the middle and, with Joseph and Junior all at sea, it’s left to Ashbee to race back and put pressure on the Dale forward and Myhill is able to save. A minute later Bertos is again clear, shoots, and this time Myhill tips the ball on to the crossbar. We’re looking more like losers than winners and when Price limps off with what looks like a hamstring pull, leaving us a man short, a three point haul looks remote indeed.

And then Green gives the ball back to Delaney, he marches half the length of the field, and whacks the ball into the back of the net.

A magnificent moment, a special memory. An awe-struck crowd was jubilant, while Rochdale were in shock. They’d been wondering why their afternoon had been so unexpectedly comfortable but now they’d been jolted into submission. They weren’t about to recover. We simply kept our shape, defended as much as possible up in the Rochdale half, where both Burgess and Walters put in prodigious effort in closing down their opponents, and hoofed the ball high and hard where necessary. The board showed an extra 4 minutes, the referee played that and another couple of minutes besides, but Myhill was never seriously threatened. In fact, the only hint of another goal came when a neat turn by Burgess put him momentarily clear of the defence, but as Big Ben advanced with France in support on his right, he was cleanly tackled.

Well done, Mr Taylor. We were much better second half than first (as is normal this season, I suppose) and part of that improvement must be down to our manager’s half-time adjustments. I cannot see that Junior is a better midfielder than Richard Hinds (any more than Lee Marshall is a better right-back than Richard Hinds), but Junior looked worth his place in central defence, and the change of personnel and formation allowed Stuart Green to add imagination to our line-up and Delaney was freed to dominate the left-hand side of the pitch like a ruddy-cheeked Chieftain tank. What a guy. And, to offer further support to the half-time managerial surgery, Thelwell was a liability and better off removed to the bench. Was Taylor wrong to use up all his three subs with a full half-hour remaining, running the risk of a later injury leaving us short-staffed? No he was not wrong, he was appropriately adventurous. Still, it’s a bit rum when you record a home win against a team twenty or so places lower and your best player is your goalkeeper, and the next best your unglamorous holding midfielder. That’s how it was yesterday at the Circle.