CHAPTER 33
DISASTER IN DUMBARTON
brOXBURGH'S PROMOTION HOPES SHATTERED
The highs of Saturday's result against Stirling Albion seemed a long time ago and now the club faced an impossible task of overturning a two goal deficit in the return tie with Dumbarton at Lady Macbeth Park.
I received letters from lawyers representing Kyle and Drew – more than coincidentally lawyers who represented the takeover consortium – threatening to sue for severance packages. I tore them up.
I even looked at my phone to see a text from the manager of Twin Knox Town.
JOE – Sorry to see it doesn't look like your team will be progressing, better luck next year x
While the forward line was further decimated in training on the Friday when Stephen MacKenzie hobbled off injured. He was set to miss the second leg, making him our third injured striker and leaving only DeShaun and Gordon McAllister fit.
I was still of the opinion that DeShaun, in particular, was very fit. Very fit indeed.
I took one look at the team sheet on Saturday for the return leg against Dumbarton, and knew I had to speak to DeShaun.
I marched down to the dressing room, knocked on the door and waited outside with my arms folded and my legs parted, in a tiny, black skirt with pink panties underneath and stood on six-inch, black stilettos.
Sean Kirk, on coaching duties, opened the door. “Ma'am?”
“Sean, I need to speak to DeShaun.”
He hesitated, as Lee Browne could be heard speaking to the players inside.
“It's urgent,” I insisted.
He nodded, then disappeared behind the door.
I watched it shut, then waited. Until it finally opened again and I felt my little clitty throb at the sight of him, his face already full of passion.
“What is it?” he snarled.
I felt myself come alive with his anger. “DeShaun, what're you doing? You're starting McAllister-”
“Yeah, so?”
“You've put yourself on the bench again!?!”
His nostrils flared.
“We're two-nil down on aggregate, I'm just questioning the tactic-”
“Sasha, with all due respect, fuck off.” He turned to walk back into the dressing room.
I dared grab him by his arm. “DeShaun-”
“No, Sasha, you're really pissing me off right now. I don't need this shit.”
“Well, it needs to be said, DeShaun.” I tightened my grip on his muscles. “You're the best player, so why aren't you playing?”
He shook his head. “I knew this shit'd start sooner or later.”
“What shit?” I demanded.
“You, making me manager, then trying to interfere.”
“I'm not, DeShaun. It's just, I know you. What's going on? Why aren't you playing?”
He exhaled his wonderful, warm breath down on my little face.
“Tell me, baby.”
“It's my injury,” he said. “From earlier in the season. It's playing up big time.”
I eased my grip on his arm.
“I'm in constant pain, Sash... I don't have ninety minutes in me.”
Dumbarton started the second leg how they'd finished the first, vastly dominating possession as they pressed for a goal to kill the tie off altogether.
“Not being our mascot today, Ms Liu?” asked a fan.
I was stood amongst the faithful in the stands, and shook my head. “My stilettos are the only outfit I need today.”
She looked down, spotted the club's crest on the specially made pair and smiled. “I wholeheartedly approve.”
I was bluffing. I still felt there were more people around me who despised me than welcomed me, and only a two-goal turnaround would dissuade them from further hatred.
Dumbarton won a corner in the 15th minute. The ball was played wide to a player speeding towards the box. He cracked a shot at goal, striking the crossbar and rebounding into the box. Graeme Crawford – back from suspension – headed it clear.
DeShaun relayed tactics to Leo Martin, who again tried to lead a three-pronged attack with Shaw and Black in the middle. The ball was fed through to McAllister, but he lost possession in a heavy tackle which seemed to knock the wind out of him.
The ref ruled no foul.
McAllister got to his feet, but he seemed wobbly off the ball.
Dumbarton made sure he saw as little of it as possible, and let McQuillan have his first touch in the 21st minute when he had to make a diving save from a shot from outside the box. He looked confident as he rolled the ball in front of himself, then started to play out from the back.
“Here he fucking goes again,” decried a supporter behind me. “Fucking hoof it, lad!”
McQuillan lured a couple of Dumbarton players to break formation and have a go at him, nutmegging one of them and feeding the ball out to Fergus Graham.
Graham crossed the ball diagonally more than 60 yards to Lennox Milne, who cut in from the wing.
The midfield was thundering forward in support as Milne was suffocated by Dumbarton defenders.
McAllister whizzed over the ball, taking it from his team-mate's possession and fired a sensational shot into the roof of the goal.
“Go 'Burghs!”
We were back in it, trailing 1-2 on aggregate.
Dumbarton were angered, and our defence began to feel the brunt of it as they piled on the pressure for an equaliser.
McKay thumped a clearance upfield, Shaw headed it on and the break was suddenly on with McAllister a couple of yards ahead of the nearest defender and only the 'keeper to beat. The youngster checked to his left, then to his right, as if seeking support.
“Shoot, son!”
His hesitation slowed his pace, allowing the defender to execute another crunching tackle which left McAllister lying on the ground, holding his left ankle.
The ref signalled no foul.
“Is he bloody blind?”
McAllister was still on the turf several seconds later, forcing the ref to stop play and allow our physio Hilary Duncan to run on. They tended to McAllister, while DeShaun looked on with concern.
I don't have ninety minutes in me.
The home crowd cheered when McAllister was back on his feet 90 seconds later, and started to run off whatever was bothering him.
Dumbarton shifted into a 3-4-3 formation, giving them even more of the ball and reducing the threat of our 5 man midfield. They won another corner in the 40th minute. The ball was sent in-swinging this time and threatened to curl into the net, only for McQuillan to tip it over the bar.
They took the resulting corner, a short one this time, between two players, who started to advance into the box.
One drew a marker, the other cut inside Murray Robertson and fired the ball across the edge of the six-yard area, past McKay and Crawford.
McQuillan side-stepped towards the far post. Dumbarton's forward struck the ball cleanly, turning it into the corner of the net and levelling the scores on the day.
“No!”
I watched DeShaun reach down to his leg on the touchline. He was struggling before he'd even kicked a ball. And we needed goals, trailing 1-3 on aggregate.
“We might be lucky to get this half over without conceding another,” said an older supporter, as our opponents held onto the ball again moments after we'd restarted.
As Dumbarton thundered forward, McKay surged out from the back and gave their forward a hell of a tackle to tell them Broxburgh had young McAllister's back.
Shaw picked up a loose ball as the referee's assistant indicated 3 minutes of injury time.
He saw Black covered, then back-heeled it to Martin.
Martin punted it wide to Milne. Milne looked up, saw McAllister shrugging off his marker and crossed it in.
The goalkeeper came out to punch it. McAllister's head met the ball first, then the 'keeper's fist. He fell hard, bending his left ankle in the most unnatural manner, as the ball thudded into the back of Dumbarton's net to give him his brace. 2-1 on the day and 2-3 on aggregate.
DeShaun was irate, yelling at the opposing manager.
Hilary was back on, tending to McAllister.
The fourth official ushered DeShaun back to his own area.
Hilary shook their head, as if to indicate McAllister was done.
DeShaun wasn't even warming up. He beckoned them to bring McAllister off without making a substitution, hoping we could get to half-time without him, fix him up at the break and send him back out for the second half.
Dumbarton restarted play with a couple of minutes to go.
“What does Hilary say?” I asked. “Can he continue?”
Sean held the dressing room door with one hand. “It's twisted, ma'am. He's out.”
“Fuck.”
“I gotta go, the gaffer's calling me.”
The door shut on my face.
DeShaun appeared in his kit several minutes before the rest of the team to rapturous chants of “Our King!” from the crowd.
I allowed myself the smallest of smiles, finding it ironic how I wasn't the only one who struggled to let him out of my heart.
Milne kicked-off the second half, passing the ball back to the defence. Blair laid it off to McQuillan who was far out of his box, playing sweeper-keeper again.
I felt I aged a month every time he did that.
Broxburgh had more than 20 successful passes in a row and were pushing deep into the opposition half when DeShaun failed to reach an ambitious ball from Black. He held his hand up to apologise.
Dumbarton threw everything they had at us, bombarding the defence and winning corner after corner for the next few minutes.
I knew we couldn't withstand that pressure forever.
McQuillan caught their 6th corner in succession and volleyed the ball upfield.
Lee Browne was trying to call the shots from the touchline, but DeShaun was bossing the entire team from the front, re-arranging the trio of Black, Martin and Shaw and trying to deploy Martin as a false number 10 to give himself more space as the old school number 9.
I hadn't missed the fact he'd been on for over 10 minutes and had yet to touch the ball.
Crawford headed a Dumbarton free-kick off the line.
McKay charged down a shot on an open goal.
McQuillan touched another strike onto the bar.
And we still needed another goal or our season was over.
I didn't notice the arrival of a text.
Shaw picked up a loose ball off the wing, centred it to Black and Black started to run at the defence with it, as Martin peeled defenders off DeShaun. Black played him in-