Mallorcabantam
30th September 2006, 11:34 AM
This is taken from a long article I found by Jimmy McIlroy, rated by many to be the greatest footballer ever to play for Burnley (they were a top team once) ----
‘59-‘60 season
This time Bradford City, who had given Everton a hiding in the previous round, were to be our opponents.
I am not a soccer snob, but when I saw the playing conditions at Valley Parade, Bradford, jawdrop: I knew that any quality team would be hopelessly handicapped playing there. The ground was too muddy even to allow us to walk out and test it before getting stripped. Shoes, socks and even trousers would have been ruined if we had attempted to set foot on this alleged football pitch. It did not help matters when we had to negotiate a perilous stone staircase leading from antiquated dressing rooms to the mud heap. No Burnley player felt enthusiastic about the forthcoming 90 minutes, yet we started as if we would get a simple victory.
In the first 20 minutes, we waltzed through the Bradford City defence whenever we pleased, in fact is was all to easy: we became casual in our finishing. It seemed we could score whenever we wished - and complacency spread through the side. After half an hour, the pitch had churned up so badly that good football was out of the question. Obviously, the fitter team would win, and with the half-time score 0-0, I had no fears about what seemed to be inevitable success. Midway through the second-half, our superiority complex was badly shaken as City outside-right Webb scored the opening goal. This compelled Burnley to throw everything into attack, a policy which cost us another goal, with the prolific-scoring Bradford City centre-forward Derek Stokes breaking away unexpectedly to put us 0-2 down. I looked at the clock in the stand, and saw it registering 4.30. Only 10 minutes left, and two goals to be pulled back. Burnley were very nearly out of the 1959-60 FA Cup competition.
We swarmed around the home goalmouth. John Connelly ran perfectly through the City defence to side-foot our first goal. Seven minutes left. Now there were 21 players in the Bradford half of the field - most of them, indeed, in the penalty area. I glanced again at the clock. It was one minute after 4.40. The referee took a look at his watch, and I looked at the home goal, which appeared to be completely boarded up. The anguish for spectators, regardless of their alligiance, must have been unbearable. Brian Pilkington was fouled on the edge of the penalty area, and took the free-kick himself. The ball was headed towards the City goal. It hit the crossbar, and as it came out again, I died a thousand deaths. Then in a fantastic flurry of legs, arms, heads, and feet, that ball was somehow forced over the line to settle in the net. We were thankful to leave Valley Parade while still retaining an interest in the competition.
In the replay, also staged in bad conditions with a hard frost making the playing surface treacherous, the ball did at least roll, and I am sure that was to Burnley's advantage. We won 5-0. It was not a memorable match, the turning point being when Pilkington had the courage to carry the ball nearly 40 yards on solid ice before passing to Ray Pointer, who scored with a wonderful shot.
I was there at both these games -- the VP game was infront of a packed crowd -- great game -- at Turf More -- 5-0 enough said -- it was a long way home
‘59-‘60 season
This time Bradford City, who had given Everton a hiding in the previous round, were to be our opponents.
I am not a soccer snob, but when I saw the playing conditions at Valley Parade, Bradford, jawdrop: I knew that any quality team would be hopelessly handicapped playing there. The ground was too muddy even to allow us to walk out and test it before getting stripped. Shoes, socks and even trousers would have been ruined if we had attempted to set foot on this alleged football pitch. It did not help matters when we had to negotiate a perilous stone staircase leading from antiquated dressing rooms to the mud heap. No Burnley player felt enthusiastic about the forthcoming 90 minutes, yet we started as if we would get a simple victory.
In the first 20 minutes, we waltzed through the Bradford City defence whenever we pleased, in fact is was all to easy: we became casual in our finishing. It seemed we could score whenever we wished - and complacency spread through the side. After half an hour, the pitch had churned up so badly that good football was out of the question. Obviously, the fitter team would win, and with the half-time score 0-0, I had no fears about what seemed to be inevitable success. Midway through the second-half, our superiority complex was badly shaken as City outside-right Webb scored the opening goal. This compelled Burnley to throw everything into attack, a policy which cost us another goal, with the prolific-scoring Bradford City centre-forward Derek Stokes breaking away unexpectedly to put us 0-2 down. I looked at the clock in the stand, and saw it registering 4.30. Only 10 minutes left, and two goals to be pulled back. Burnley were very nearly out of the 1959-60 FA Cup competition.
We swarmed around the home goalmouth. John Connelly ran perfectly through the City defence to side-foot our first goal. Seven minutes left. Now there were 21 players in the Bradford half of the field - most of them, indeed, in the penalty area. I glanced again at the clock. It was one minute after 4.40. The referee took a look at his watch, and I looked at the home goal, which appeared to be completely boarded up. The anguish for spectators, regardless of their alligiance, must have been unbearable. Brian Pilkington was fouled on the edge of the penalty area, and took the free-kick himself. The ball was headed towards the City goal. It hit the crossbar, and as it came out again, I died a thousand deaths. Then in a fantastic flurry of legs, arms, heads, and feet, that ball was somehow forced over the line to settle in the net. We were thankful to leave Valley Parade while still retaining an interest in the competition.
In the replay, also staged in bad conditions with a hard frost making the playing surface treacherous, the ball did at least roll, and I am sure that was to Burnley's advantage. We won 5-0. It was not a memorable match, the turning point being when Pilkington had the courage to carry the ball nearly 40 yards on solid ice before passing to Ray Pointer, who scored with a wonderful shot.
I was there at both these games -- the VP game was infront of a packed crowd -- great game -- at Turf More -- 5-0 enough said -- it was a long way home