Manager Nigel Worthington’s fantastic effort to keep City in the League last season led to a wave of optimism. But that’s rapidly ebbing away says fan Robert Beaumont
For the second home game in succession, I have left Bootham Crescent with a sense of anger and despair. Nigel Worthington’s brave new world is unfolding into a deeply unpleasant nightmare.
I have watched City for more than 40 years now and this present team, in terms of ability, commitment and passion, is one of the very worst I can remember seeing.
There were the dark days of Wilf McGuinness, when we were in freefall from the heady heights of Division Two – the Championship as it is now; there was the clueless rabble that the hapless Bobby Saxton assembled; and Chris Brass’s Conference team (who can forget Paul Groves, Chris Clarke, Sean Smith etc?). This team is right down there with these horrors.
The match against Wimbledon was shocking in so many ways, from the tactics, the mistakes, the substitutions, the energy and the belief. City were an embarrassment to themselves and, equally importantly, to their long-suffering fans.
Worthington’s lacklustre post-match interview on Radio York did nothing to dispel the fear that we are heading back to Non-League football.
My goodness, there was some abysmal displays. Ingham’s kicking and distribution were poor throughout and he was in no-man’s land for the first goal.
Chris Smith was back to his woeful worst, with a hand in both goals. Taft did not live up to the hype. Clay was utterly anonymous, as he has been all season, and poor Tom Platt, so promising at the end of last season, turned in a performance that was breathtaking in its ineptitude.
Chambers, as always, blew hot and cold, but it was a nonsense to take him off. Jarvis had no support whatsoever, but I’m still not convinced, and subs Coulson, who didn’t appear interested, and Chamberlain, out of his depth, made a dire situation even worse.
Let’s face it, Wimbledon could have won 4-0 and it would not have flattered them – and they were not a particularly good side.
The positives were a composed performance from Lewis Montrose in the holding midfield role, a couple of decent runs from Oyebanjo , Davies and Puri and, er, that’s it. It was diabolical.
After the match, in need of cheering up, I went to see the master of melancholia, Leonard Cohen, in Leeds. He was sensational. At the age of 78, he showed more commitment and energy, and defter footwork, than those imposters who wore our beloved shirt yesterday afternoon.
Crucially, Cohen felt he was there to entertain and did so in consummate style. I fear entertainment will be in very short supply this season at Bootham Crescent unless Nigel Worthington understands that a) he needs a coherent game plan and b) he realises that the majority of the team he has assembled are simply not good enough for League Two.