Midweek, a long way from home, loads of roadworks on the big roads, short notice, a competition that (despite what people say when they’re winning in it) is not as popular as it once was, the price of tickets for away games, and the legacy of the Thatcher years (any opportunity to hoy some more blame her way) meant a bus that was far from full. While lacking the executive facilities such as individual drinks holders, the number travelling meant that, as well as at least two seats each, there were tables. Plenty of space to spread out and relax, and discuss the latest goings on in the world of football, such as the smile on Arca’s face after his equaliser at the underpopulated Riverside on Sunday? I think there was more than a little bit of “take that, you black and white mongs” in the celebration.

So, is the second round of the League Cup a nuisance game or a chance to knock a few in? A bit of both, as, while we can always benefit from the latter, we’re missing a few and a few others could have done with a rest. While not advocating rotation in the light of our injury situation, Roy is probably a bit glad at the chance to give the likes of Kavanagh and Varga a run out. Only a few months since our promotion juggernaut rolled over the home side, they are now a division down and have won both home games, meaning that the “no pushover” signs were definitely illuminated.

The aforementioned roadworks put our cocktail break in serious doubt as we sought a cross-country route from the A1 to the M1, but at least it provided the experience of probably the quietest trip to an away game in many a long year. Our planned cocktail stop, after an abortive try at the Bell, Martson (shut), took place in Woburn. I might have mentioned this before, but Woburn is a bit on the posh side of posh. The Bell there was nice enough, but £2.85 a good enough reason to go on a diet. I bypassed the Magpies, and not just because the Sunderland lads in there pointed at their noses in a “snob” type fashion. If I’m going posh, I’m going really posh, so I headed for the Inn (the Duke of Bedfordshire’s local. It would be. He owns it). Cheaper, nicer, beer, an Eastern European barmaid who understood drinking English (always useful in her chosen occupation) and hee-yowge measures of Jameson’s. Posh but perfectly acceptable, and this time we didn’t have to explain why Lee would only sit on the floor. Chairs were too nice to sit on last time, apparently.

By the time we’d supped off, got aboard, and travelled to the allotted meeting place – well, allotted by the polis, anyway, the escort had gone with the other buses, and we had to wait for our allocated motorcycle outriders. Tree buses and a minibus, and we need a police escort – I don’t think so. What a waste of time (ours) and resources (Bedfordshire Constabulary), which time was spent in Toddington Service Station, just as it had been in May, on the occasion of our last visit. The outriders turned out to be two squad cars, and, with our number, almost an officer apiece.

Which was nice.

So off we went from Toddington, south towards Watford Gap, but after so many sausage, eggs, beans and chips, what I really needed was a damned good ….Convoy. Of one bus –personal service, or what? I’ll get my money’s worth out of my taxes. Past the proposed location of Luton’s new ground, through the choicest parts of Bedfordshire (sarcastic comment, by the way) and through the spice market to Kenilworth Road, which, perhaps unsurprisingly, hasn’t changed much since May, when we arrived on the crest of an end-of-season wave of optimism and euphoria. In other words, it’s still a dump, and you can still see into people’s bathrooms on the way in. Then there was the joy and pointlessness of unallocated seating, pies at £30 a go, seats that hadn’t been dusted since last we sat in them, and we were off.

Roy ’s promise of no rotation sounded a little hollow as Gordon was rested in favour of Ward, but the rest of the defence was as you’d expect – Halford, Noz, Anderson, and Wallace. Leadbitter was wide on the left of midfield, with Stokes on the right, and the centre occupied by Miller and Dicka. Up front was unchanged with Chops and Murphy. Luton countered by having Don Hutch on the bench (presumably charging them £10 a minute) and Furling, pest over the years, in the starting eleven.

We did manage two early corners on the right before Luton broke through and wereg tidied up by Anderson, but he slipped making the clearance and we took a while to clear. Stokes put in a great tackle at right back, but the first chance fell to Furlong, who headed wide. The home side broke again down their right, but Dicka managed to clear with the help of Noz. Their was a hell of a lot more life about Luton than there had been last time we visited, and it was hard to tell which side had been recently relegated and which promoted in a media frenzy. On about 15 Luton almost scored as their man slid the ball just wide at the back post after a break down their left, then we won a throw on the right but Murphy’s header was comfortably collected by their keeper. Another break ended when Halford hauled down their man in the centre 25 yards out, and the free-kick was fired in after a couple of dummies, giving Ward no chance, right in to the corner of the net.

Lots of time to sort ourselves out, we thought, and we hadn’t even had that much to drink. Murphy did well to win the ball in the box, but fired wide from a narrow angle, with his right foot. If that wasn’t weird enough, someone was barbequing the most fragrant and smokey of curries in the street next to the ground, and the pall of smoke that drifted our way had us all sniffing and ahh-ing like starving fools. On the field, it was far less pleasant, and we had to thank Ward for several smart pieces of mopping up, but had to berate the rest of the team for a succession of passes simply not finding their intended targets. A free kick on the right ended with another right foot shot from Murphy, but it was straight at the keeper. Daryl then found Dicka, who laid the ball off and a shot from Stokes was deflected wide.

On the half hour, Noz was penalised for holding on the edge of out box, and the free was low and only a yard wide. Another alarm signal. Dicka and Furlong then had a bit of a tussle that ended in a rare free to us in the centre circle, but our lad soon after found himself booked for what seems like the fifth game on a row – I might be wrong, but his potential African sojourn for the Nations Cup could well coincide with a lengthy ban for accumulated yellows. Another foul by Halford ended with the free-kick being won by Stokes at right back, and he burst right though to the left then cut back in to fire in a shot that was tipped over. The start of us asserting out superiority? Nah, the corner was way too deep, but again Stokes carried the ball forward, jinked around his man, and fired wide.

Another home break at the end of the half saw Furlong looking offside, but he lobbed the ball in to him calmly over Ward for their second, it stood, and we could have little complaint. In the added time, Stokes fired in a volley which was knocked up by the keeper and caught on the way down with no challenge, and they came back onto us, winning a corner off Halford’s head, but we managed to end the half by clearing it.

No changes for the second half, and no change in the pattern of play and Luton kept their heads up and we ran around as if we had our heads under our arms. Halford seemed so lacking of confidence in his early back pass that he felt in necessary to use his weight (for once) and was booked for bundling his opponent over when the ball was yards away. But for Dicka’s clearance it would have been three nil, and the pressure wasn’t over as they won a corner on the right, and we were beginning to think of Bury a year ago.

Leadbitter tried to jink through but was crowded out on the edge of the box, then Stokes got in a header which didn’t carry enough power and was cleared after some lively Sunderland play. This “lively Sunderland play” was in fact our best spell, as Leadbitter shot well over on about 60 minutes, and didn’t last long. Another Luton corner was cleared, we looked to have a break on, then Halford was penalised for handball, which amounted to a second booking and therefore first go with the shower gel. O’Donovan and Connolly replaced Murphy and Etuhu, which allowed Leadbitter to move in to the middle and our latest Irishman taking up a place on the right flank. O’Donovan tried to break through the centre and won a free 25 yards out, but Wallace fried it low and a yard wide. Miller then chipped in for O’Donovan running into the box from the right, and on a very lucky day we might have got a penalty, but to be fair our protests weren’t that loud.

Resigned to our fate, perhaps? Furling touched out to their left, and another break was on, but a last-ditch tackle saved a small bit of the day. Another few moments of relative brightness saw us have a couple of shots saved and a couple charged down, but then it went back to the way it had been as they took control again. Miller gave away another free-kick, in it went, and there was Furlong again, and it was three to Luton. Why don’t we just buy every big string centre-forward there is, just to stop the buggers from scoring against us? It might end up cheaper in the long run.

Yorke then replaced the injured Stokes as we basically surrendered the game, Connolly’s name was added to the list of red and whites in the ref’s notebook, and the home fans shouted “ole” and their team took the piss with little apparent effort from their opponents to do anything about it. Four minutes were added, which was neither use nor ornament to us, and we whimpered our way out of the League Cup.

It might be only a few months since we whupped their arses on this ground, and the two teams might now be two divisions apart, but make no mistake, this was every bit as bad as the Bury game last season. It was hard to tell – nah, it was impossible to tell – which side had bee relegated and which had been promoted on a tide of euphoria and had since spent the equivalent of the national debt of a small Central American republic.

Based on Roy’s recent statements about what’s acceptable and what’s not, I would imagine a few players being thrown off the team coach in body bags on the M1 tonight. If the players who’ve let the side down tonight don’t recognise themselves in the disappointed faces of the fans, then they’ve got no concept of what it takes to be a real professional footballer, and they’re not the kind of player we want. Having said that, there’s only one person picking the team, so the buck has to stop there. I don’t want to start calling Keane a bad manager, but the eleven out there at kick-off time were the eleven he put out there, and they (presumably) employed the tactics that he asked them to. He’d admit as much himself, I hope, but it doesn’t make the answer to the question “where and what next?” a very easy one for either Roy or the fans to come up with. Being outclassed by a team like Liverpool while giving them a bit of a game is one thing, but being outclassed and outfought by a team like Luton – no disrespect intended – is a very different matter.

All of which makes a Man of the Match selection pretty hard to make, and while Ward can’t really be blamed for any of the goals, if I had to buy one man a pint for his efforts it would be Stokes.

And now, folks, the same group of players will have a go at Manchester United. At Old Trafford. Oh bugger, something better change.

…and I nearly forgot. Keep the Faith.

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