Almanac Soccer: Pilgrims’ Final Progress

 

 

 

 

 

 

Plymouth Argyle – best club side in Europe!

 

Back in the 1950s, I had two football clubs engraved on my heart: Wolverhampton Wanderers and Plymouth Argyle; the Wolves – an easily assigned nickname – because they were the unofficial champions of Europe and the Pilgrims (the Pilgrim Fathers left England for the New World from the Plymouth Barbican in 1620 – about the same time I migrated to Australia!)  because it was the closest League team to rural Tavistock, where I was born and raised.

 

In January 1950, Wolverhampton were drawn to play Plymouth in the 3^rd Round of the FA Cup, a trophy held in high regard back in the day. My midlands heroes stayed over in Tavistock  and I saw them walking up Drake Road – named after Tavi’s most famous son, the famous bowler Sir Francis – for a game of billiards at the Conservative Club.

 

I saw them at Home Park too, I think, though I can’t be sure – it was a long time ago – but Wolves won 2-1.

 

It was neither a surprise nor a disgrace. Wolves were, after all, on the cusp of a golden era when they won not only every British trophy but also took on for the first time in history the best club sides from Europe including the legendary Honved from Hungary and Moscow Spartak. They defeated them too.

 

Some 75 years later, in January 2025, Europe’s putative finest club side came again to Plymouth – not the Wolves whose fortunes have faded but Liverpool, Premier League leaders by some margin and favourites for Champions League honours and the Carabao Cup.

 

When Wolves played Argyle, they brought all their stars – English internationals like the brainy playmaker Denis Wilshaw, the brilliant cat-like goalie Bert Williams, the speedy pair of Jimmy Mullen and Johnny Hancocks on the wings and the great Billy Wright, England’s handsome Brylcreemed skipper at centre half. Billy was the first footballer to marry a pop star, Joy, ‘the middle one’ of three singing Beverley Sisters long before WAGs were even invented.

 

Liverpool, on the other hand, left most of their stars at home. There was no van Dijk, no Gakpo, no Gravenberch, no Konate and no Salah. There were, in fact, ten changes from the side which ran out against Postecoglou’s beleaguered Spurs a week earlier. If Liverpool were disrespecting both Plymouth and the FA Cup they would live to regret it.

 

I guess Arne Slot, the Reds’ manager, expected little opposition. The Greens after all were rooted at the bottom of the Championship while the Reds were flying high in the Premier League. Poles apart.

 

The first half was relatively uneventful. I reached the break resignedly – Liverpool hadn’t shown much but would doubtless throw the switch in the second half, score a couple of goals and run down the clock.

 

But, and it may have been said before, it’s a funny old game. About ten minutes in, Argyle fired a speculative shot cum cross into the penalty area. It hit the upraised arm of a defender. It was unarguably a penalty and Argyle striker, Ryan Hardie, put it away with all the composure in the world.

 

Talk about cats and pigeons, suddenly it was on. There was over half an hour to play – it may have been the longest half hour of any Green supporter’s life.

 

Liverpool tried to raise their tempo but were stuck now in second gear. They became a constant threat without ever being a real threat if you get my meaning,

 

They pushed forward, they took long-range shots, they won corners but the Green defence was resolute, kicking for touch, belting long balls down the ground to no-one but gaining time.

 

60 minutes gone – I looked at my watch 20 minutes later and found there were still 50 to go! How can time pass so slowly? Liverpool continued to play out from defence; the Plymouth goalie preferred the less risky long ball to the flanks – and in this situation, so did I.

 

72 down – Argyle bring on fresh legs and run a couple of minutes off the clock. Slot looks at his bench and, no doubt, regrets he has no Gakpo or Salah magic to bring on nor a Van Dijk to head home one of the frequent corner kicks.

 

Suddenly the Argyle defence opens up. A Liverpool player hits the ball sweetly only to see it bounce off a heroic sliding backman. The defence has become impenetrable; the centre backs, Nikola Katic and Maksym Taloviero, both newly signed in the January transfer window, played as if the blood had always run green in their veins.

 

Ten minutes to go – plus 6 or 7 added minutes the commentator reckoned.

 

The goal scorer Hardie, is subbed off to the acclaim of the Green Army, one of the finest supporter groups in British football.

 

88 minutes gone; 89.  A Liverpool cross slides past the open goal face.

 

90 minutes up – and 9 extra still to go! Nine extra bleedin’ minutes – a tenth of a game still to come.

 

Liverpool press forward desperately. They create chances and fire a couple of potentially match-saving shots. It’s then that goalie Conor Hazard, now wearing his Superman cape, flies across the goalmouth to fist them away. The Man of the Match Award could well be his.

 

Blow the whistle, ref! For all our green sakes, blow your damn whistle!

 

I didn’t hear it but Plymouth players are jumping and hugging. The grandstand is delirious and I might have had just a trace of moisture in the corner of my eye.

 

It’s done – Plymouth Argyle, having beaten the mighty Liverpool, can even claim for a few over-excited moments, to be the best in Europe!

 

Man City in the next round? Just a mere hiccup in the Pilgrim’s progress to a Wembley cup final – and, I tell you what, if they make it, octo-bloody-genarian or not, I’ll be there!

 

 

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