Well knock me down with a feather

Forgive my extended absence.  It's all been a bit stressful: one minute dead and buried, then hope.  But false hope?  Who knew?  It was hard to talk about, hard to think about.  To stay up we had to win four of our last five games, having not won that many all season. It wasn't going to happen was it?

So to recap yesterday's situation: Reading had the same points as us but a worse goal difference, and were playing away at hapless Derby; Birmingham were at home to Blackburn and had a point less than ourselves and Reading, but a better goal differerence.  So Birmingham were relying on both Reading and Fulham to lose, and Reading had to get a better result than us to stay up.  Simple.  To be sure of safety, we had to win.

And after 90 minutes of unbearable tension we did.   The magic moment came after 78 minutes.  Joe Kamara, not for the first time this year, won the all-important free-kick.  Jimmy Bullard - he was always going to have a say in this, wasn’t he? - whipped a ball behind the Portsmouth defence, and Danny Murphy rose unchallenged to head home.   Simon Ashdown in the Porstmouth goal didn’t move, the linesman - and my eyes went straight to him - kept his flag down, and we were a goal up.

There’s no point describing how this felt because times like this cannot be harnessed by words.  It’s more like a sound, from the depths of our very being, a primal scream, a collective floatation into something that is not usual.

We needed that goal.  As the match found its feet it became clear that Portsmouth were certainly not here to make up the numbers, and were in playing like the big, strong, and well-drilled team that had beaten us so easily earlier in the season.  Simon Davies had an early half-chance saved, but there were few opportunities after that.  We simply could not find space or rhythm.  It was, perhaps, a case of keeping things close and hoping for the best.

Meanwhile Reading were pulling away from Derby, and we knew it.  Birmingham scored early, got pegged back, then went ahead again.  We really needed to win, we weren’t winning, and feelings were nudging quietly towards desperation.

But nothing was coming.  Portsmouth were shooting more, but not accurately.  Hangeland and Hughes stood their ground at crucial momemnts, and Keller made the most of his opportunities to get involved, commandingly claiming crosses, charging out to put off a clean through Defoe, and beating away a dangerous strike in the second half.  A Portsmouth goal seemed less and less likely, but would we get one?

In the end it was nice for Danny Murphy to get the goal that kept us up.  The midfielder has never quite won over the Fulham faithful.  For every one of us who appreciated his tireless pass and move game, others wanted more steel, more obvious effort.   Not that Murphy wasn’t trying, but he is not and never will be a ball-winner, and his quiet efficiency in the middle of the park often went unnoticed.  Except in the final analysis we realise that Roy Hodgson had built his survival plans on passing, passing, passing.  Murphy and his midfield side-kick Jimmy Bullard were the two central figures in this plan and without either of them we’d have required a different approach.  Simon Davies, surely player of the season, did his good work out wide, but it was Murphy and Bullard, over and over, who kept the ball, moved for each other, and passed, passed, passed.

At the final whistle everyone went nuts.  All the players’ shirts found their way into the crowd, all the player danced, jumped with joy, and celebrated their accomplishment.  Later Bullard and Murphy came out for a second helping, and the famous McAree chant was transformed in Danny Murphy’s honour.  Then the crowd changed focus:  “We want Roy!  We want Roy!” and this most humble of managers finally appeared to meet his subjects.  I almost cried.  He mouthed “have a good summer”, which is wonderful and hilarious and almost inexplicable.

Thanks, Roy.  Thanks, Danny, thanks, Jimmy.  Thanks to all the other players who have won four out of five games to end the season, three away from home.  That’s some accomplishment, one that does not stand up to rational scrutiny.  This game, eh?

Comments

[Jonathan]

Im so glad we won, i got nervous watching match of the day when I already knew Fulham were staying up! What a day!

[Fiona]

I chose not to watch the match - not because i didn't think we could do it but more because i couldn't handle the pressure. Instead i got reports via my mobile telling me that everything was going against us. I asked my brother to call with the goals - either way. When he called i had given up - i thought this was going to be bad news but no we had scored, just need to hold onto it now.. the second call came at 90 minutes and all i could hear was "We are stayin up!" as the pub my brother was in erupted in a party.
Possibly the worst season since i've been going to Craven Cottage but what a finish they gave us. Between Roy and Jimmy we some how got our confidence back cheers boys - haven't been able to get this grin off my face since. Onto Europe, fingers crossed who woulda thought it!

[NJR]

Staggering, breathtaking, unbelievable... and they are only my descriptors for Roy's astonishingly calm and measured managerial demeanour. What does one say? In truth, the season was a shambles and not one to me held aloft as anything but a near unmitigated disaster. But, and its a big but, the recent weeks have been amongst the most impressive examples of resolute single-mindedness and unwavering optimism that this little black duck has ever witnessed. Roy has, with the assistance of a couple of key players, fashioned an impressive football team out of what only months earlier looked like a gaggle of part-timers. And it is so fitting that the ride reached its zenith at Pompey because it was their visit to the Cottage in October that proved beyond all doubt how bloody awful we were at the time. They carved us up that day and here we are, only months later, taking all 3 points from their back yard! Whatever happens in the months ahead, for a brief moment on 11 May 2008, Fulham Football Club (under the stewardship of Mr Roy Hodgson) were kings of the world.

PS: Lee Dixon, I love you like a brother (who played for a team that I didn't like very much).