So it is then that I’ve given myself a couple of days to recover from the farcical debacle of Tuesday night at Glanford Park, but the passing hours have barely dimmed how utterly appalled I am at Argyle’s performance in the 1-0 defeat against Scunthorpe United.
Admittedly, there were mitigating factors. The howling wind gusting off the Humber rendered anything but on-the-floor tactics impractical in the first half, and, under Paul Sturrock, this is not Argyle’s forte. But our brainless incompetence in adapting to this was still a site to behold, or rather, one I wish I hadn't. Once Scunthorpe – who were even worse than Argyle and comfortably the poorest side I’ve ever seen in the second tier of English professional football – managed to squeeze a rather fortunate effort past Luke McCormick early in the second half, referee Stuart Attwell appeared to decide that it would be easier, in such an awful game, for the team who scored first to win, and from there on in Argyle were the victims of a run of decisions almost as disgraceful as their performance.
The men in yellow were as awful as our luminous away kit. Lee Hodges, mystifyingly restored to left-back in place of the improving Gary Sawyer, insisted on hoofing the ball skywards every time he received it, despite the force of the wind curling every effort backwards. Hodges, who never had the technical gifts even for third level football but has often displayed enough grit and determination to disguise these failings, was on this occasion so bad that when McCormick was sent off on 71 minutes for handling the ball outside his area, Hodges replaced him and was actually better between the sticks than he had been outfield.
Steve McLean’s ridiculous ineptitude was almost funny, displaying an inability to complete one-yard passes or keep control of even the gentlest of loose balls. Argyle’s most expensive ever signing looked at best lost and at worst uninterested, and got absolutely nowhere near even having a shot at goal, let alone scoring. Lilian Nalis and Jimmy Abdou, in central midfield, were ineffectual to the extent that the only time they were noticed was when needlessly giving away the ball. Paul Connolly's primary achievement was managing to sky the white sphere high, over and out of the shack masquerading as a Championship football ground (which provoked such classics and "My garden shed is bigger than this...", and the more modern twist of "Is your ground from MFI?" from the Green Army) on three separate occasions.
The roll-call of villains in day-glo had a few notable exceptions. Jamie Mackie was given his first start at long last and was Argyle’s sole attacking threat, with the pace, energy, and desire lacking elsewhere. Picking up the ball and realising the rest of his team were going to be of little use, Mackie took on the Scunny defence single-handedly, beating defenders and causing havoc. Sturrock seemed to be mocking either Mackie, the fans, or perhaps even himself when choosing to withdraw the 22-year-old from Horsham for lost cause Rory Fallon. Luggy also refused to bring on Jermaine Easter, who had not even really deserved to be dropped, instead persevering with the hopeless McLean.
Gary Teale added more urgency when on as a sub for Chris Clark, who until this moment I had completely forgotten the existence of, such was his anonymity.
And Russell Anderson was generally able to neutralise what passed for a Scunthorpe attack, despite the goal.
Despite all of this, Argyle still should have won. Scunthorpe were a collective of clueless pub players with a dodgy keeper and a colander defence. On any other day the Greens should have won 7 or 8-0. It is laughable that Scunthorpe manager Nigel Adkins described his players as 'absolutely magnificent'. If that's true, I'd hate to see them on a bad day. No wonder there were less than 4000 home fans present.
It must be said that the 400 or so travelling supporters were, as usual, immense, providing faultless vocal encouragement for the majority of the game, until even the infinite stoicism which the average Argyle exile wears like a badge of honour began to disintegrate. The likes of Mackie and McCormick - the players that care - clearly appreciated this, and were not shy about showing it. A pumped fist from Mackie and a quick clap from Luke while play continued said it all. And the keeper gave the Green throng the best moment of the entire evening, clearing up a slack Connolly backpass with a nonchalant drag back and turn which left the advancing Scunny striker flailing.
The Argyle fans were certainly louder than their hosts. Even after scoring and at the final whistle, the Lincolnshire natives were largely silent, save for a dozen or so screeching kids immediately to our right. I have literally never encountered such an unenthusiastic home crowd, although as previously explained, their team provide little to shout about.
I’m struggling to decide whether the similarly poor results for Argyle’s playoff challengers – Hull, Ipswich, Charlton, and Wolves – in the last couple of days is a good or bad thing. On the one hand, we are still very much in the race - seventh, only a point away from the magical zone which will allow the extension of our season beyond 46 games. Had we beaten the Iron, as we really should have done, Argyle would be fifth on 58 points, two ahead of Charlton and Hull.
This is despite three defeats in four games, which really should have seen us left in the dirt. But the Championship is wildly unpredictable this season. I’d have said it was a poor league, but the FA Cup semi-final line-up, with three teams from the second tier present, somewhat contradicts this. And two of those, Barnsley (who have beaten two members of the ‘big four’, Liverpool and Chelsea, on their way to Wembley) and Cardiff, are nowhere near the playoffs.
So, in conclusion, if Argyle beat Bristol City at Ashton Gate on Saturday, which I doubt we will, then anything is possible. If we don’t, the playoff charge is definitely over. I’m sure of it. Maybe. Unless we then win a few games…
RICH PARTINGTON
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