IT’S THE SUCKER PUNCH FINAL
Derby and McClaren f loored by outrageous blow after dominating
WHEN Harry Redknapp was asked how he felt when his team’s only shot on goal hit the Derby net, he reacted with commendable candour. ‘Surprised,’ he said. He thereby succeeded in summing up the entire, outrageous occasion in a single word. Queens Park Rangers are back in the Premier League, and even their manager cannot explain how it came to pass.
Redknapp warmed to his theme. ‘It was an amazing finish. We were hanging on,’ he said. ‘We were looking to get to extra time. It was our only hope, really. Maybe get to penalties, even. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.’
The old boy has been around for some time, long enough to know when honesty is the best policy. Any attempt to justify this travesty of a result would have risked mockery. So he accepted his triumph with subdued satisfaction, and he left his celebrations to a less public stage.
By contrast, Steve McClaren made no effort to disguise his feelings. His team had out-played, outthought and generally out-performed Rangers. Effectively, they had won every round by a decent distance, before getting caught by a farcical sucker punch seconds before the final bell.
‘Football’s a cruel game,’ said the Derby manager. ‘One lapse and you lose it. Credit to QPR, they’ve got the experience. But we kept on playing, probing. We thought with 30 minutes of extra time to go we’d get rewarded. Maybe the concentration went a bit at the end. Maybe we’re not quite ready yet. Maybe we’ve still got a bit of growing up to do. But I’m so proud of them. So proud’.
His pride was justified, as was his sense of being cheated by fate. There was nothing more he could have done to deliver promotion, with its attendant £130million and all the benefits for club and town. ‘Maybe we just weren’t ready,’ he kept repeating. But he didn’t really believe it. Derby were ready, but they were hopelessly unprepared for the sickening feeling of failure.
McClaren knew, just as everybody at Wembley knew, that his young team should have been preparing for something wonderful; the chance to turn out every week at the Emirates, Anfield, Goodison Park and the other cathedrals of the English game. Instead, they will continue their journey around the provincial repertory companies. All through that late, totally unwarranted goal.
McClaren sat and thought out loud; miserable beyond words. ‘It’s going to take a few days, maybe weeks to get over this,’ he said. ‘We watched them celebrate, watched them pick up the Cup, saw them go into the Premier League. I told our lads to remember how much it hurt. We’ll get stronger. We’re growing, and when you grow, you can take a hit. We’ve taken a big one today.’
In fact, his own credentials were substantially enhanced by his side’s performance yesterday. It is McClaren’s fate to be reminded of his brief England experience every time he becomes involved in a major match. There is much talk of failure to qualify for a tournament and all that nonsense with the brolly. He takes it very well, knowing that he has a great deal more to offer.
In fairness, a small shudder seemed to cross his face as he prepared to lead out his team. The skies burst, the rain fell in a stream; it was so very like that fateful night when Croatia came and conquered.
But he squared his shoulders, delivered his side, and watched his lads pass with bright diligence and run with enterprising zest. By then, the early rain had soaked his big match suit. Redknapp’s impeccable threads suffered a similar fate, but he placed himself in the dugout through the worst of the tempest; glowering, twitching, possibly worrying that this game could be his last in the big league, so enormous
were the stakes, so chastening the penalty for failure.
In the past, he has produced some ebullient, resourceful teams. This was not one of them. Their first-half performance gave mediocrity a bad name, with the old lags of his back four defending wilfully deep. The tactics were aimed at stealing a goal and grinding out a result. We had no idea of how well it would succeed.
McClaren reappeared on the stroke of half-time, wearing a wet top and carrying a clipboard. His confidence was papable and apparently justified. That confidence grew immeasurably when Gary O’Neil was sent off for a trip on 59 minutes. Again, Redknapp would prove splendidly candid: “It was a cynical challenge, really,’ he said. ‘A deliberate foul. I couldn’t really argue.’
His team started to toil. Joey Barton suddenly seemed older than his years as his influence, never great, evaporated entirely. Bobby Zamora seemed unequal to the task he had been set. Another misconception.
But poor Richard Keogh went on to make his calamitous error, and Zamora’s finish did the rest.
Redknapp’s mood changed just once in his after-match press conference. He was asked about finances for next season. He spotted your correspondent. ‘Patrick Collins up there will tell you we’ve got a bigger wage bill than Atletico Madrid,’ he sneered. ‘Maybe you should ask him.’
In fact, last season Atletico Madrid finished third in La Liga. They also won the Spanish Cup. Yet their players were paid an average of £1,734,067, while their counterparts at QPR — who finished bottom of the Premier League — received an average of £2,142,611.
Still, why should Harry worry about facts? He is back in the Premier League. And one day, he may work out just how it happened.