Here's a good summary which makes you feel so proud but gutted we missed out on all three points at tha same time:
“THIS COULD BE THE BIGGEST ROBBERY SINCE DICK TURPIN!” My old neighbour in the Covered End was on his feet in added time, 1-1, screaming at Botaka running down the wing.
We got out of jail today, gentlemen. Sheffield United were an education: they are in the same lowly division, yet planets above us. It was a pleasure to watch players with instant control of the ball, passing accurately, and darting forward. In the first half, Crofts was turned three times by his opponent in midfield, left for dead, man bearing down on our defence.
Their goal was beautiful and simple. And clever. A free-kick just outside our box, two men over the ball. Stadium silent, all players in an expectant scrum. Ref peeps – and instead of anything known, the Blade tapped to his runner ten yards on the blind side, who hammered a cross for the kill. 1-0.
When we next get a free-kick just outside the box, we might just do that; something to practise at Sparrows Lane. Yet, I know nothing will be learned: we will pump a vague, high cross...
Bauer and Pearce boot the ball from defence, clumped agriculturally – to a midfield that simply does not exist. In the second half, when one-nil down, we should be going for the jugular – a sustained assault, battering the bastard opposition to their knees. Yet, in the the entire 45 minutes, all we could muster was an oblique shot from Magennis, more in hope than belief.
We had free-kicks on the half-way line. These were passed sideways – and then back to our keeper. That is stupid and suicidal. When we did finally advance, rushing forward with ball at feet, the Covered End all febrile and sucking them in, the ball was passed slightly behind his partner, so he had to check, to collect.
In that split-second – our lack of basic technical skills is exposed. A pass over to our man puffing up from midfield: he has to break stride for the challenge he will never make. We have no precision, no muscle. Back to the keeper. Long ball to Lookman – and during the trajectory he is ambushed by four defenders.
Sheffield United have ordinary, unknown players, just like Piggot, Poyet, Harriott – yet they are rehearsed and coached to a superb, coherent team. Our players are buskers, improvising, shuffling around, dim in head and weak in foot.
Nigel Adkins was beyond us: an intelligent man with consecutive promotions from Third to Prem. Instead, we have hired Karl Robinson, aged 36, a man who relegated MacDons below us last year and has a wife who acted in Brookside.
We were outplayed yesterday, front to back, side to side - comprehensively beaten.