Two can play that game you’re playin’

By: Martyn | November 2nd, 2009

bobby_brown_787 Due to work commitments, I missed the opening zwanzig minuten of debt-free (?) Cardiff City’s Beeb-televised clash with Nottingham Branches and Leaves. Fans and the TV bigwigs were salivating at the prospect of this encounter between the Newcastle-chasing duo: it was whole vs skimmed milk lids; Walker’s Ready Salted vs the same brand’s Cheese & Onion crisps; Pepsi vs Tizer; roquefort vs Red Leicester; and ultimately, a battle to see who’d be the most incomprehensible in the post-match interview – destitute Liverpudlian vs knock-yer-wee-block-off-sunnie Govan Docks product. An aspect of the game – a bitty, feisty goal and point apiece affair – that genuinely intrigued me was the chance to see the past and present of academy-spawned right-backs donning the same pitch in a meaningful encounter. Chris Gunter was a first-team regular with the Bluebirds before being whisked away for a clandestine love affair with Spurs. Alas, for all the allure of Premier League romance, Gunter’s upward-transfer turned out to be a condom-split-culminating quickie in the back of a Renault 5.

He returned to the Championship with yesterday’s opponents after getting the chance to enjoy just the one advent calendar in The Great Smog. The incumbent local lad at the back, Adam Matthews, hasn’t yet got the same buzz about him in the papers/stands, yet by no means should I/we automatically assume that this makes him any less of a player or prospect.

Pre-match, my opinions of the pair saw Gunter come out somewhat more favourably from an aesthetic POV. Although this Spurs fan semi-justifiably criticises the starlet’s attacking attributes, I do believe Gunter was more expressive and exhilarating in all-round play during his City spell. Matthews on the other hand can be Mr Safe, often to the detriment of the team’s surprise-element. So to the 90 70 minutes of action then, played amongst a backdrop of antique or misplaced relics such as the referee’s constant whipping out of a handkerchief, monsoon-like weather that was about as British as Jon is a dentist, and 80s-inspired chanting on the supposed chickenheartedness of Nottingham’s men-folk during the 1984 Miners Strikes.

ADAM MATTHEWS (17 years old/ 13 season appearances, 1 yellow card/ 13 senior career appearances)

City adopted their usual 4-4-1-1-ish formation, with Matthews assisted on the right side by the effervescent Chris Burke. A measured caution permeates his body language and playing style, but don’t mistake this invention-paucity-on-par-with-the-Hyundai-logo for languidness. His calm and composed efforts at the back got City out of a number of self-dug holes, and in a niggly game amplified by constant clearing errors from supposed figureheads such as Hudson and Kennedy, Matthews’ gumption (at one moment, despite heavy advancing forward-line pressure, Matthews took care ensuring his backpass to Marshall landed smoothly to his favoured right boot) was a needed asset. Marking that ambidextrous Liverpool-loaned talent Paul Anderson, Matthews certainly had his hands full. Such players, possessing the ability to be comfy either going around or cutting, are the stuff of defender-nightmares. Equally troubling was Forest’s tactical style. Although generally very narrow and compact, they sought to dupe us by parting like Moses was in town upon coming upfield.

Nevertheless, Matthews stuck to marking his zone with supreme conduct, one or two hairy moments aside (he was indebted to that worldly veteran Gavin Rae bailing him out zone-covering wise during one too-prolonged foray forward, and indulged in spots of ball-watching). Due to Chris Burke’s ubiquitous covering and left-back Chris Cohen’s feeble sorties onward, Matthews evening became progressively more cosy. Although Anderson was by no means ever ejected from the game, he wasn’t as crucifying as Fred Eastwood had been during the opening twenty minutes of our last home game with Coventry. Two moments where Matthews epitomised his never-more-than-a-yard-away manner by strongly getting under and inside Anderson to masterfully dispossess linger in the grey matter. Their goal, although scored during a spell of hopeless City clearances upfield that included one by Matthews, was by no means the fault of the Swansea-born lad. The strikers had given up pressing and had joined the midfielders for a picnic in Marshall’s six-yard box. We invited Forest on and the equaliser was so inevitable that I had the uncanny feeling it’d already happened.

Matthews is very, very quiet however. He still needs to be forced about on occasion and you can’t help but feel that another reticent ‘un at the back doesn’t compensate for the loss of Roger Johnson’s vociferousness. Alas, it can be difficult to forget that he was only 4 years old when Baddiel & Skinner initially released that bloody song. To emphasise this tenderness even further, Matthews’ counterpart on the left, Mark Kennedy, could legitimately have been playing in Jack Charlton’s RoI World Cup 1994 squad: a competition Matthews was just 2 years old for. Mid-match, I was helpfully reminded of the adolescence when Matthews lined up to haul a ball in the box. As he used his shirt to wipe away residue, the way that big man’s ball eclipsed his meek torso made one think that he’d look less outta place in a Hovis ad. Regardless, credit is due for the fact that whenever he confidently surges upfield to reinforce the cavalry he has no second thoughts and thus his move forces the hand of the opposition winger who now has to depart our territory in order to cover. Correspondingly impressive is the long throw that’ll have pundits drawing dull comparisons with Rory Delap should we clamber to the MOTD League.

Gamboni_In-Your-Face CHRIS GUNTER (20 years old/ 20 season appearances, 3 yellow cards, 1 goal/ 85 senior career appearances, 7 yellow cards, 1 goal)

Gunter is so in-yer-face it’s untrue. He tussled with Gerrard, he tussled with Chopra (who got an astonishingly silly yellow for trying to physically enact a Sinatra song on pantomime villain Lee Camp). He’ll verbally and chest-flex his colleagues’ corner, yet also give ‘em an ear-lashing if warranted. For example, whoever of Garner or McGoldrick was occupying the right-sided berth of Forest’s 4-2-3-1 was deafened into retreating. Cardiff’s goal was pre-empted by the Valleys boy: his screams at Wes Morgan to stop trudging and get his fat rear-end back to halt the overlapping Ledley weren’t heeded. Then, as injury time loomed, Hudson stood as free as a Bluebird on the box’s capital-d for a City corner. Gunter bellowed at McKenna to get into position and keep an eye on the roving defender. However, McKenna, sidetracked by needless angry-dialogue with blue-shirts, was too far away to get there in time and thankfully for the Nottinghamshire side our haphazard centre-back ballooned it.

Gunter’s constant usage of his vocal chords, abetted by his excellent reading of the game and taking up of clearing positions (he often operated as a 3rd centre-back), is in direct contrast to the timidness of Matthews. If wee Adam was to admonish anyone, you imagine he’d first borrow the ref’s hanky to wipe away any unsightly excess-snot emanating from the face’s dual carriageway, before prefacing such ungentlemanly rage with something like “I say dear chap“.

For all the defensive virtuosity and adeptness, Gunter’s trips into City territory (only frequent in number when the Reds went one-behind and adopted an inverted egg-timer 4-2-2-2 shape) were generally blighted by his inability to operate a left foot, Voldemort-awful control and rushed decision-making. He can be neat and tidy in his distribution, and this was mitigated by the compact formation the Forest adopted: it allowed for better give-and-go moves and an array of passing options. I know it sounds somewhat trivial, but I began to wonder if Gunter’s hair was playing a part in his cow-on-ice touch. His quasi-emo style, tousled and drowned by the opened heavens, was constantly being rearranged during any break in play. During a gallant saunter upfield, one imagines all this work was undone, thus allowing the locks to tarnish his train of thought, concentration levels and eyesight. Get it sorted man(e), asap!

Gunter’s urgent aura, body language and bolshy cockiness in adding to the attack can be dead handy and won his outfit a number of free-kicks. As City sat back in an xmas-tree formation late on (Bothroyd and Burke flanking Chopra, Whittingham dropping back into centre-mid to (a). compensate for a dearth of creativity caused by the injury-induced withdrawal of McPhail, and (b). invite the likes of Gunter on in order to gain numerical counter-attacking advantages), Gunter was quick to pick up the going-nowhere City hoofs and feed them back into that mythical *mixer*.

SO WHO IS BETTER?

What a ridiculously stupid rhetorical question. The need to quantify who or what is the *best* or *worst* is a plague on modern day football. Therefore, all I’ll conclude with is that it’d be great to have both players in the Bluebirds squad as each has a set of attributes that’d bolster any side at this level. I won’t try some speculative amalgamation to conjure them into one super-RB either because the different qualities they possess means such a potential-merger would fail to adequately reflect what each excels at. Tactical discipline aside, the one talent both share – unlike those dastardly Bells of St. Helens or Team Rocket – is greediness. On the day, both displayed more of their good characteristics than bad (7/10 showings apiece), and although it was/is apparent they’re set for bright soccer futures (national team position rivals?), they aren’t yet baroque commodities.