One of the intriguing stats from last night was always going to be the size of the crowd. The early rounds of the EFL Cup can offer nuggets of relief; the weather’s OK, it doesn’t have the baggage of the league, occasionally it’ll throw up an interesting opponent. Sometimes it’s good (West Ham, 2019), sometimes it’s not (Crystal Palace, 2023) and it doesn’t really matter either way.
Not being part of the season ticket package, the crowd is a bit looser, the regimented routines of the league are absent, you sit with people you don’t know, the demographic is different; more young people, more women, more tourists. It’s more relaxed and sometimes more entertaining.
But, we’re a serious and professional football club now. The narrative is that the EFL Cup is a distraction. If you’re not making ten changes, are you even part of the pantheon? And, if the club doesn’t care, why should fans?
But then, it’s Brighton; big but not huge whose Premier League status carries at least as much weight as their name. Difficult, but beatable. Who wouldn’t want to have the opportunity to see Stan Mills recreating Shandon Baptiste’s weaving fourth against West Ham?
And then there’s context; three league games, three defeats, struggles in the transfer market and darkening clouds surrounding style and ambition. Would people pay extra to watch ninety minutes of Rowettball if defeat is so inevitable?
After a slow start and some eccentric seat taking (arriving late, sitting in the wrong row, using an entrance half a stand away from their spot and walking along the row forcing everyone to stand up), there seemed to be something resembling a reasonable crowd. 2,000 short of a league game, but on par with the number who saw us against Crystal Palace. As a barometer for enthusiasm; the novelty is waning, but not gone completely.
Brighton arrive in the usual grandiose Premier League fashion; every player has three psychologists and a different physio for each limb. They made eleven changes from Saturday, we make eight; football is the only business where making yourself weaker is a legitimate professional option. The changes mean the introduction of so many variables, it’s hard to know how to measure the outcome.
Within seconds Shemmy Placheta latches onto a loose ball and cannons it off Brighton keeper Jason Steele. As a statement of intent which looks promising. From the corner they break clear and Gomez forces Ingram into a parrying save. It’s all a bit loose and louche.
Moments later Phillips’ tame clearance rolls to James Milner who threads the ball to Branjan Gruda, allowing the German to glide past Ingram. Two yards in front of an open goal Gruda pauses like he’s been struck by the feeling he might’ve left the iron on at home. It’s enough of a distraction to allow Jack Currie to clear.
It’s wild but kind of fun, maybe we’ve talked ourselves into our recent rigour mortis; two of our three league games have been away from home. Defending is what you do on the road and it’s no shock to lose more often than not. Perhaps at home we can relax a bit and entertain after all.
From the corner, Gruda comes out best in a challenge with Brannagan and feeds the ball to Bosgali, whose shot deflects off Jack Currie. It’s like accidentally throwing your wallet into a council tip, everything goes into slow motion as Ingram flays hopelessly and the ball arcs over him into the net.
It’s an unfortunate deflection, they’re a Premier League side, we were always going to be under pressure, it could have been a foul or offside, refs always have an unconscious bias towards the bigger club. Everyone agrees it shouldn’t be a goal, nobody can agree why. Above all, it is one.
The debate passes the time until it’s 2-0. The inhabitants of the North Sentinel Isles, 1500km from mainland India, have had no-one outside their tribe within three nautical miles for more than a generation and that’s still not as much time and space as Gruda found to lash the ball past Ingram. This is classic; buckle under pressure for the first then concede a second because we’re stretched. The problem is that there’s still over an hour to go.
Things calm down a bit, maybe we contain them or maybe they ease off. We might even get back into it. None of these things are obvious, some of these things are not likely, it’s impossible to tell how good, bad or indifferent we are, except for the scoreboard numerating our unfolding despair.
Three. From a corner, Gruda delivers a accurate but vanilla cross, instead of claiming the ball, Ingram jigs in his six yard box like he’s joined a line dancing club and is struggling to keep up with the routine. The ball drops and it’s in the back of the net.
Four. A casual under-hit pass from Moore allows Tzimas to slice through the defence. Moore chases back, he’s all legs and arms, like someone has thrown a box of snooker cues down the stairs, it’s most undignified. The defending is cataclysmic, nobody is taking responsibility or setting the standard. Where’s Ciaron Brown? Scratch that; where’s Peter Kioso?
Five. We aim to resolve our defensive ineptitude by playing from the back. It works out exactly how you expect, De Keersmaecker mis-controls and Howell intercepts. Tzimas collects and passes the ball to beyond Ingram who may be having an out of body experience.
Six. Ingram joins the vibe by passing the ball to Tzimas who gives it to Watson to bend his shot into the top corner. The person next to me yelps ‘ah that’s sick bro!’ and turns to me like I might fashion a response. I don’t. The finish masks an absolutely woeful performance from Ingram who has now conceded three or more goals in 60% of his five starts. This is, let’s remember, the man we’ll employ on the regular if Jamie Cumming is injured.
Oddly, amongst this cavalcade of unhinged stagnating slurry we offer a not insubstantial number of excellent chances. Placheta, Vaulks, Brannagan, Luke and Mark Harris, De Keersmaecker and Prelec are all thwarted by Steele. For once xG tells a story; bizarrely, it could have been much closer. There were even heartening moments; Stan Mills was consistently threatening and Prelec looks like he can change us.
In so many other ways it was inept, but did it really tell us anything? It’s not the side that’ll face Coventry and it’s hard to imagine Gary Rowett’s philosophy is now to find increasingly comical ways of conceding possession in the final third. This one is down to the players and it revealed an alarming lack of depth, particularly in defence. Perhaps even more alarming is that some of our most reliable performers are suddenly floundering – are they injured? Demotivated? Tired? Is a celebrated generation beginning to pass?
Through the fog of defeat, the new improved us maybe somewhere in the rubble but, holy hell, how deep do we have to dig?