For most last weekend’s international break was an unwanted interruption. Like pausing a film at a cinema – and yes – that has actually happened to me. The real entertainment is in the Championship, which as it approaches its ‘squeaky bum’ finish, is becoming evermore interesting. Seven games left, 21 points still up for grabs, and eight teams battling it out for six promotion places; two of which are instantly worth millions more than the others. It’s all set for a big finale, and I’m not brave enough to say whether it’ll be automatics, playoffs or nothing at all for Norwich. I can only hope it’s not the latter.
It all began at Wolves. Dressed in maroon and black, the boys were eager to get going after such a disappointing relegation. It was Wolves who struck gold, after Olsson had seen red, and suddenly the Yellow army’s outlook turned a little blue – this wasn’t going to be as easy as some had perhaps hoped, or even expected.
Thirty-eight games, 118 goals, and one managerial change later, Norwich are sat in 4th position, sporting an impressive 70 points. There’s been many ups and downs, many fan implosions, and many euphoric ‘we’ve got our Norwich back’ moments. It’s a fickle game. That’s what makes it fun, I guess. But the season’s coming to a close and if we want to taste Premier League football again, we’re going to need to sustain our recent form, if not better it.
The last 10 games have only been tarnished by a couple of draws and an inevitable loss to Wigan, following that momentous victory over our friends down the road. Had we managed just one point against the Latics, and had we beaten Huddersfield (as we should have given our chances), we would be top of the league. Still, the beauty of hindsight is that it’s utterly pointless other than to wonder what could have been, and ultimately isn’t.
Norwich have only flirted with the top spot all season. Their longest spell came under the other Neil – the since dismissed former youth coach, whose most memorable moment will be leading Norwich to ‘top of the League at Portman Road’. Oh how long ago it seems since he was at the helm.
This season, I’ve been lucky enough to go to a large majority of the away games, including that opening day at Molineux. Unfortunately, due to college commitments, I’ve missed a few – certain games I wish I hadn’t; Brentford, Charlton, Huddersfield. Each one being a hearth-thumping adventure from start to finish (and beyond in Jamar Loza’s case).
Generally, the midweeks in London are 1) not feasible and 2) frowned upon when I turn up half asleep to History the following morning. I’ve often had to rely on the dulcet tones of Chris Goreham, which has its perks – “IT’S GONNA GO IN’ – but isn’t quite the same as watching. Certainly not being there, amongst it. The fans, the grounds, the fantastically flat songs sang by boozed-up men; the chants, the unwarranted abuse thrown at Whittaker, the overly celebrated scrappy goals. It’s just not quite the same, is it?
Still, I’m more than privileged to have been to as many as I have this season. Unfortunately this week’s game vs Brighton is another to add to that list. With an Easter holiday to Scotland approaching, the prospect of driving or getting the train or a combination of the two, down to Brighton a day before heading up North was judged unacceptable – silly, even. On this occasion I tend to agree. A six/seven hour return journey is never fun when you lose…
But I still wish I could be there. It’s a big game, as they all are from now until the end of the season. However, throw into the recipe the extra spice that comes with playing against the manager who in my eyes, although not technically, took us down.
As an away fan, last season was nothing short of abysmal. We had thrown away any hope of winning before I’d even left for Manchester Piccadilly Station at 8am on the Saturday morning. His reliance on the home matches because of this deplorable away form was like a ticking bomb. Sooner or later it was going to go off – sooner or later our luck was going to run out. And then it did. Hughton received a cascade of paper aeroplanes and scrunched up balls of fury, forged out of those dreadful clap-clapping ‘clappers’ which were a desperate plea to create some sort of atmosphere.
As I say though, Brighton is just one of seven. Seven hugely important fixtures.
Things have certainly picked up since this mysterious Alex Neil character graced the entrance of Carrow Road. Actually, that’s something of an understatement. He came with a vision, a philosophy and the determination to achieve. There’s no doubt he caught us all by surprise. No one had even heard of him before the rumours of his move started to surface. It’s been almost a perfect swoop, save that of the tactical mishap at Brentford (as well as the injury problems and Whittaker’s consequent inclusion at CM) and the derby hangover performance vs Wigan.
On the road it’s been much more fun. 17 points from a possible 21. Away days which can only be described as ‘mad’. ‘Utter scenes’ in the terraces at Bournemouth, Watford, Blackburn, and more importantly some slick, stylish football on show.
It’s all well and good looking back at some of the magic moments from this season, but they’ll mean absolutely nothing if we fail to accomplish what one Neil started and the other has continued. Promotion – at the very least play-offs. From there it’s a lottery. You’ve got to be in it to win it though…
What this international break has given me is the opportunity to reflect. With only seven games left, the question is inevitably therefore: can we do it? Of course we can. Are we tough enough? Hell yes we’re tough enough. But only when we want to be. Only when each and every player plays for each other – their teammates, their friends, their companions on what is a very long and treacherous journey. Only then will we achieve promotion.
