Dave’s Ramblings – Burnley

February 22, 2026 Admin

It’s felt really odd this week. For the first time since December, we didn’t have a midweek game… and honestly, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

I stared at the wall on Tuesday. Briefly considered learning a new hobby on Wednesday. Even made small talk with my family on Thursday. It was unsettling.

Of course, I shouldn’t get used to this strange free time concept. From next Sunday, we’re diving headfirst into seven games in 20 days. Seven. In. Twenty. Days. I’ll need a rotation policy just to manage my snacks.

And just to keep things interesting, we’re squeezing in at least one trip to a foreign country (and that’s Welsh Wales).

So yes, the calm was nice. Confusing. Mildly traumatic. But normal service, and by normal I mean beautifully unhinged, resumes next week.

So today, we played Burnley. Possibly for the last time in the league for quite a while. And in a very strange way… I might actually miss the trip there.

It’s a proper old northern town. The kind of place that proudly refuses to change with the times. Modern trends? Not in Burnley. If it wasn’t invented before 1973, they’re not interested.

There’s something comforting about that. The same streets, the same pubs, the same bloke outside the chippy who’s been having the same argument since 1998. It’s heritage. It’s culture. It’s basically a living museum, just with more gravy.

I’m told they’ve made some big infrastructural strides recently as well. Word is they now have running water.

At least when it rains.

Anyway, I diverse, this game started like one of those motivational YouTube montages. The sun was trying hard to shine, the birds were singing, and four minutes in João Pedro turned Neto’s cross into the net like he was politely returning a library book. 1–0. Easy. Calm. Serene. I was already pricing up victory tweets.

And then… well we collectively decided to play like a team of lost individuals. While Burnley, to their credit, worked like they were being paid per bead of sweat. Relentless. Organised. We played like we’d just met each other in the tunnel and someone said, “Right lads, just express yourselves,” and everyone took that very, very literally.

Aside from a Cole Palmer effort, which felt like the footballing equivalent of someone checking if the WiFi was still working, I genuinely can’t remember us troubling their keeper again. Burnley had twice as many shots on target. Twice. As in, if shots were sandwiches, they had a meal deal and we had a single crisp. And a stale one at that!

Now yes, some people will say Fofana’s tackle, roughly 800 miles from goal and somewhere near the postcode of Narnia, is what cost us. It was a tackle with all the subtlety of a piano falling down the stairs. Red card. Chaos. Drama. Cue slow-motion replays and pundits rubbing their hands together.

But here’s the thing, it didn’t cost us the win. It didn’t help, obviously. Setting your own house on fire rarely improves the decor. But the real damage was the 65+ minutes before that, where we treated attacking intent like it was a limited edition item we didn’t want to damage.

It all culminated in us finishing the game with so many defenders on the pitch, I’m fairly sure we accidentally formed a neighbourhood watch scheme.

We didn’t just sit back, we applied for planning permission to live back there. Full retreat. White flags. Probably a picnic blanket too.

Naturally, having surrendered all control of the game to Burnley wasn’t quite generous enough. No, we decided to go full hospitality mode and gift them a free header. Not just free, complimentary, gift-wrapped, with a bow on top.

I won’t say their goalscorer is short… that would be disrespectful. Let’s just say if there’s a local panto production of Snow White, he’s got strong Dopey with end product energy.

Surrounded by approximately 47 of our defenders… and still completely unmarked. It was less defensive structure and more live action mannequin challenge.

Honestly, if we defend any deeper next week against ArseNIL, we’ll be marking people in the car park.

Up until today, I’ve been pretty impressed with Liam’s game management. Calm tweaks, smart changes, reassuring vibes. Today? It was less grandmaster of chess and more accidentally sat on the board.

Bright start. Promising signs. And then a slow, painful descent into “what exactly are we doing here?”

I’m fairly certain I’m not alone in thinking that, instead of bravely attempting to defend a single goal lead against the league’s second worst team, yes, second worst, not even the overachievers of the bottom three, we might have tried the radical strategy of… scoring again.

I know, I know. Madness. Why pursue a comfortable, stress free victory, when we can instead recreate the emotional experience of diffusing a bomb with oven mitts on?

At some point, you have to ask why go for control and comfort when you can instead choose chaos, palpitations, and a group therapy session at full-time?

Bold strategy. Very bold.

It wasn’t like we hadn’t been warned. There were at least two or three other dead ball situations where they could have scored. They had clearly done their homework and identified a weakness. With us playing the dead ball experts of the division next Sunday, we need to sort the issue and do it quick!

My takeaways…

I remain a proud, card carrying, lifelong non-member of the Wesley Fofana Fan Club. The membership drive has been aggressive, I keep being told he’s a quality player, but I keep leaving my rose tinted spectacles at home, because I just don’t see it.

Now, I fully accept he can’t control his injury record. But what he can control is his GPS location on the football pitch. And yet, he treats his defensive position like a loose suggestion. The man goes walkabout more than Crocodile Dundee on a gap year. At one point today I was half expecting him to pop up in the front row selling meat pies.

And then there was that foul. I have no earthly idea what possessed him. It wasn’t tactical. It wasn’t necessary. It looked like he suddenly remembered he’d left a window open at home and needed an early shower. Second yellow. Off he goes. Efficiency, if nothing else. It certainly doesn’t help that he appeared to be grinning as he walked off.

So now he misses the ArseNIL game on Sunday. Tragic? Devastating? We will see.

Under a new rule this season, if a goalkeeper holds the ball for more than 8 seconds, the other team gets a corner.

It happened today which is the first time I’ve ever actually seen it given. I’ve watched keepers cradle the ball so long I’ve had time to check my phone, reply to three emails and reheat leftovers. But today? Whistle. Corner. Justice served.

It wasn’t like Sánchez was hosting a tea party back there. I’ve seen keepers hold the ball long enough to qualify for a mortgage. But no, today the stopwatch suddenly worked, and of course it’s against Chelsea.

Honestly, what is it with rules and Chelsea? New rule drops and we’re the testers. If they introduce a left-back blinks twice equals penalty law next season, well just pencil us in now.

As I understand it, the team have been away for warm weather training this week. Warm weather training… Lovely stuff. Sun, vibes, probably a smoothie bar somewhere.

So naturally, I can only assume Sánchez came back with sunstroke.

Either that, or he ate his bodyweight in candy floss and is still on a sugar crash. Because whatever that was today, it wasn’t distribution of the ball, it was community outreach. I’ve seen better passing accuracy from someone throwing bread at pigeons.

Maybe he lost the sandcastle competition and hasn’t emotionally recovered. The worst part? Just as I started thinking he was improving, boom! he reminds me why I have trust issues.

Warm weather training clearly worked.

For the opposition.

Pictures from the game can be found by clicking here

Onwards and upwards UTC 💙

Dave M