Lincoln write names into Cup history
First non-League side in last eight for 103 years Ten-man Millwall defy odds to beat Leicester
Lincoln City became the first non-League club to reach the FA Cup quarter-finals for 103 years, and after their 1-0 win over Burnley, manager Danny Cowley declared that they had “brought some of the magic back” to the competition.
An 89th-minute header by Sean Raggett, crossing the line by mere inches, put the Conference leaders in the last eight for the first time in their history. It was also only the second time in 28 years that a non-League team had eliminated a top-flight side, and Lincoln will take their place in tonight’s sixthround draw, where a tie against one of the giants of English football awaits.
“Whoever says the FA Cup is dead, they ain’t lived in Lincoln in the last six to eight weeks,” Cowley said. “It’s galvanised our football club. This club’s had some really tough times, some really hard moments, and this Cup run has brought Lincoln back to the forefront of people’s minds in the city. Back to the people’s hearts as well.”
Lincoln’s feat in becoming the first non-League quarter-finalists since Queens Park Rangers in 1914 will have repercussions long beyond this season. Their Cup run has already been worth more than £1 million, and with the promise of more television revenue to come, the club’s financial future is now secure for years to come.
“This period has been life-changing for us,” Cowley said. “It’s a gamechanger for the club in terms of the finance, in terms of the profile it’s given our players. And our players deserve that.
“When you’re a non-League footballer – and a lot of ours have been parttime – you have to really fight. Football at the lower levels is not that romantic. And for them to have this moment in the limelight is so thoroughly deserved. I couldn’t be prouder of them all.”
Burnley manager Sean Dyche of- fered no excuses for his side’s performance, but, after putting out a near fullstrength side, strongly denied that complacency had been an issue.
“Our stats were good, physically,” he said. “I don’t think we were near our levels, but it was still enough to get the job done if we took our chances. We didn’t; they had one, and took it.
“Unfortunately, we’ve played a part in their fairy tale, which we obviously didn’t want to do.”
As for the next round, Cowley said that he would prefer “either a home draw, or to go to a big ground, where all of our fans can come”. But, for now, the focus returns to their campaign to secure promotion to the Football League. “The supporters can enjoy a beer on us,” he said. “But my head’s already on North Ferriby on Tuesday now.”
Meanwhile, Millwall claimed another Premier League scalp when Shaun Cummings’s late goal beat Leicester 1-0 at the Den. Millwall’s triumph was all the more remarkable for being achieved with 10 men after Jake Cooper was sent off early in the second half, but was marred by a pitch invasion at the end.
But there was no fairy tale for League One Oxford, who retrieved a two-goal deficit at Middlesbrough before conceding a late winner.
There was a breathless hush as Sean Raggett’s header floated towards goal.
An excruciating few seconds as the technology calculated whether it had crossed the line. Then – finally – a whistle and a raised arm. And then pandemonium. Improbably, impossibly, little Lincoln – small in status but enormous where it counted – had won the day. The last eight of the FA Cup will have its first non-League representatives since 1914.
You would call it magic, but magic is rarely as brutal as this. Quite aside from the result, it was an utterly enthralling cup tie – rugged and passionate, con- cussive and ill-tempered, off-kilter and off-colour, intensely physical and una- shamedly English. Lincoln successfully drew their Premier League opposition – a side that manager Danny Cowley described as “a really, really good version of us” – into a scrap.
This was no wild fluke, then, but the result of a meticulous plan ruthlessly executed. Lincoln hassled and hounded, they put their necks on their line, a foot in the tackle, a sneaky elbow in the ribs if needed. They defended outstandingly, and when their chance came late on, they took it.
In essence, Burnley were Burnleyed. Lincoln did to them what they have done to so many Premier League sides this season: sat deep, dug their heels in and turned it into a scrap. Startled by Lincoln’s lack of decorum, bewildered by the novelty of enjoying 60 per cent possession, Burnley simply rolled their sleeves up, turned down the quality dial, and fought dire with dire.
Not much romance of the Cup here, then, at any rate. Romance is always a funny way of describing these occasions, anyway. This was not so much a candlelit dinner as a sloppy breakfast, not so much a tender smooch as a large hairy man shouting: “Have it”. At least there was plenty of serenading, most notably from the 3,000 Lincoln fans who never let the noise level drop, from the moment they arrived in Burnley in coach convoy, thumping ferally on the windows, to the phenomenal din at the moment of victory.
Sean Dyche, to his credit, was not in the mood for whining afterwards. He knows all about Cup shocks, after all. He played in the famous Chesterfield side that reached the semi-final in 1997, and over his years as a manager the underdog mentality is one he has carefully cultivated, to the point where it almost defines him. Perhaps that was the problem. “This is the first time in a long time that we’ve been big favourites,” Dyche explained. “We’ve found before, particularly in the Championship, that when teams play a back four and don’t move, that first goal changes everything. We didn’t do that.”
So, how did Lincoln pull it off ? How did they do what only Swansea, Arsenal and Manchester City have done this season, and conquer Turf Moor? “We broke the game into six 15-minute periods,” Cowley said. “They’re such an organised team without the ball, so we knew it would be different for them. And we felt they were a little bit lopsided. They had a right-footer at leftback, and as a result they wouldn’t attack the whole pitch. So we only needed to defend two-thirds of the pitch.
“But listen,” he interrupted himself. “Anyone can formulate a game plan. We can all sit here and put something together. It’s up to the players to apply it under the utmost pressure.”
And here the famous Lincoln spirit kicked in. Impeccably organised at the back, thoroughly briefed using the latest video analysis and possibly the fittest side outside the Football League, Lincoln adhered magnificently to their plan. They succeeded in ruffling Burnley’s players, none more so than Joey Barton.
A confrontation between Barton and Lincoln striker Matt Rhead had been brewing for much of the game. Rhead is one of those players that only nonleague football could produce: a lovable, terrifying, nuclear chimney of a man with a giant bald patch and an indomitable physical presence.
Barton had clearly decided to take him down a peg or two. On the hour, Barton pathetically tried to win a freekick by ducking into Rhead’s arm and collapsing to the ground, holding his face. A few minutes later, the blood pumping, Barton stepped on Rhead as the pair tussled on the floor. In the ensuing melee, Barton shoved midfielder Terry Hawkridge in the face and was lucky to stay on the pitch.
“Wasn’t trying to get the big man sent off,” Barton argued later from his favourite social networking pulpit. “Tried to duck under his arm and he moved it back and hit me on the head.”
Burnley were still struggling to create the clear opportunity that might have settled the game. Lincoln were beginning to flag, and when they won a brace of corners late in the game, it seemed like little more than a welcome breather before the next wave.
Instead, Lincoln decided to crown the game in their own glory. Sam Habergham swung the ball in from the right, Luke Waterfall headed it back into the danger area, and Raggett – a £50,000 signing from Dover – got the final touch, nodding it over the line.
How did they feel on the Lincoln bench? “Thank god for goal-line technology,” Cowley’s brother and assistant manager Nick said. “We don’t have it in our league. The second thought is: get your shape. Stop wasting your energy on pointless celebrations.”
But Lincoln held out, and now they are in virgin territory. One game from Wembley. Two from Europe. While the bruises and knocks will fade within hours, the memories they forged here will last forever. Not that they are willing to dwell on them just yet. As he left his press conference, Danny Cowley requested the latest Conference scores, his phone battery having long since capitulated under the weight of messages. “Forest Green are losing?” he said. “Get in!”