After a week of listening to Arsene Wenger whining about his precious players being tackled and Roy being done by the FA for what Ferguson does every match of the season, I was well up for a proper game of football.

I didn’t get one.

Yesterday was a lovely day, me having been best man for John and Gillian, and having the pleasure of reading out a card from Niall just to keep the family Mags quiet (you wouldn’t get one off Ashley, would you?). There had been rumours of Murphy fighting on the training ground with Diuof and Chimbo, which (maybe, just maybe) explained his appearance and the other two’s absence.

Fulop

Bardelsy Noz Ferdy Collins

Steed Rico Deano Reid

Cisse Murphy

We’d already had a corner taken well by James, and were starting to show a decent shape, when Cisse was played through the middle, held off the pedestrian Campbell and slotted beneath the keeper on only 3 minutes. Whoopee, we said, and then took the game by the scruff of the neck for the next half hour and quite simply trampled all over Portsmouth. Cissse looked to have hurt his shoulder or ribs in a challenge on Campbell, but eventually recovered after looking like he wanted to be off. Their shockingly small following could have been forgiven had they gone to the pub after half an hour or so, such was our domination. Reid shot over, Rico hit the post with James static, and we piled forward at every opportunity. We kept a good shape, with Rico tackling back well and Whitehead managing to make saving tackles in our box and then turning up in the Pompey area to almost get on the end of a pass. After 34, the ref felt the need to speak to him as captain after a Collins challenge and we began to have our suspicions about the officials. There were a number of dubious offsides down at the South end, which I’d like to see again before moaning too much, but we could and should have scored at least another. To be honest, when we went in at the break only one up, you couldn’t have got odds on us winning by at least four. It had that sort of look about it.

Come the second half, and there was no more Murphy, which was a bit of a surprise to those of us who don’t dislike the man, as he’d put himself about a bit and supported Cisse reasonably well. Diouf was the man on, and he took up a position alongside Cisse, in an attempt to get amongst Campbell’s non-moving feet. Cisse played in Bardsley, and the full-back shot wide with his left, then Reid gave the ball away in the worst of positions but Pompey failed to capitalise. Cisse was called offside several times, one of which in particular looked well on, and the linesman at the East side began to get right on my wires. What’s the point in giving a dodgy offside when the defender’s won the ball anyway? Are you just wanting your name in the papers? If in doubt, you don’t give it, and several of those must have been a doubt.

Their first goal was a great shot, but one of those we should have been hitting home to augment our first. Cisse headed home, but for once was easily offside, then Reid produced a series of crosses that looked good, but were taken by James without a problem. With ten to go, Diouf became the latest victim of the yellow flag, when he had at least two defenders between him and the goal when the ball was played. Off went Steed and Reid, on came Leadbitter and Healy. Grant tried to get into the game, Healy managed a cross that was blocked and made us wonder what all the fuss has been about. Fulop dived well at the feet of Defoe, and we pushed on and looked like we would get a winner. Then, with 90 on the clock, Diouf made the classic mistake of tackling with his wrong foot in the corner of the box, Johnson, with a haircut even Don Goodman would have laughed at and which is probably illegal in several states of America, went over and the ref couldn’t blow quickly enough. Away the penalty went, and we were beaten by probably the most gutless team I’ve seen in years. There’s more fight at the Mothers’ Union than in Portsmouth, but they scored twice and we scored once, which means that they get the three points.

One of those games that makes you really angry. I don’t mind (well I do, but you get my drift) getting beat by a better team, a footballing team, but Pompey were really there for the whuppping today. What was the reason behind us not scoring three or four? Not hitting the target often enough, I guess. I can whine on about the linesman all day and all night (and probably will, so keep out of my way if you want a reasoned argument tonight), but we have to start putting the opposition keeper under a lot more pressure.

Man of the match? Deano, because although he didn’t have the key to Pompey’s defence, he covered more ground that a large tarpaulin. Rico wasn’t far behind, though.

Keep the faith.

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