News that Gary Johnson has left Bristol City "by mutual consent" has stirred memories of his brief but eventful tenure at Rockingham Road, a time of (fleetingly) exciting football, kamikaze defending, red cards galore, record defeats and a liberal sprinkling of humiliation.
Ah, those were the days.
It all began so promisingly. Johnson was swiftly appointed as Graham Carr's successor and set out as if determined to prove that he was no long ball merchant despite his previous stint as assistant to John Beck. A succession of flair players were signed up and after just about the most entertaining pre-season ever, with the likes of Tarkan Mustafa tormenting not quite match fit League opposition, even hardened pop side pessimists were licking their lips in anticipation of a triumphant campaign.
A month or two later, attacking full backs Hunter and Nyamah were still rampaging upfield with or without the ball, leaving acres of unattended space. Defending deep meant sometimes staying in their own half, and our goals against tally steadily climbed, often with bulk entries. That led to a shift in style, with the fancy dans replaced by worker ants who ran around and kicked people then got booked again for dissent. In no time we racked up about a dozen red cards whilst meanwhile, defensive flop Hunter was offloaded to Woking who played him up front instead and unleashed a mini scoring sensation.
Worse was to come as our solitary goalsoring asset, Carl Alford, was sold to Diamonds on deadline day for 85K. Not only were they intent on buying success, it was to be at our expense - a double blow that holed Johnson below the waterline. The dwindling hard core witnessed a run of eight defeats to round off the season, ending with a pair of 6 goal thrashings, with nothing to celebrate other than the sending off of John Fowler, quite possibly the most limited player to don a Poppies shirt in living memory (and that includes Pedro!).
If Johnson was lucky to keep his job after that, his CV grew in greater need of updating when that losing streak swelled to 10, a new club record. His summer recruits carried on misfiring, with a large chunk of the Alford fee wasted on Reckey Carter and Leroy May, next to whom Dylan the Magic Roundabout rabbit paired up with a 56kg sack of potatoes would make a livelier combination. Early FA Cup defeat to Bedworth was followed by a midweek loss to Hednesford and even as he wrote his programme notes it was evident that Johnson knew his time was up. It wasn't so much as a sacking, more of a mercy killing.
Johnson said his goodbyes and no one expected to hear much about him again, yet that CV must be a work of art because not only did he resurface in international football, managing Latvia through their Euro 2000 campaign, he talked himself into a decent job at Yeovil despite being fired after drawing with San Marino. Suddenly it all clicked and FA Trophy was followed by Conference title by promotion to League One and Johnson moved on to revive a bigger sleeping giant with some success there too.
Ah, those were the days.
It all began so promisingly. Johnson was swiftly appointed as Graham Carr's successor and set out as if determined to prove that he was no long ball merchant despite his previous stint as assistant to John Beck. A succession of flair players were signed up and after just about the most entertaining pre-season ever, with the likes of Tarkan Mustafa tormenting not quite match fit League opposition, even hardened pop side pessimists were licking their lips in anticipation of a triumphant campaign.
A month or two later, attacking full backs Hunter and Nyamah were still rampaging upfield with or without the ball, leaving acres of unattended space. Defending deep meant sometimes staying in their own half, and our goals against tally steadily climbed, often with bulk entries. That led to a shift in style, with the fancy dans replaced by worker ants who ran around and kicked people then got booked again for dissent. In no time we racked up about a dozen red cards whilst meanwhile, defensive flop Hunter was offloaded to Woking who played him up front instead and unleashed a mini scoring sensation.
Worse was to come as our solitary goalsoring asset, Carl Alford, was sold to Diamonds on deadline day for 85K. Not only were they intent on buying success, it was to be at our expense - a double blow that holed Johnson below the waterline. The dwindling hard core witnessed a run of eight defeats to round off the season, ending with a pair of 6 goal thrashings, with nothing to celebrate other than the sending off of John Fowler, quite possibly the most limited player to don a Poppies shirt in living memory (and that includes Pedro!).
If Johnson was lucky to keep his job after that, his CV grew in greater need of updating when that losing streak swelled to 10, a new club record. His summer recruits carried on misfiring, with a large chunk of the Alford fee wasted on Reckey Carter and Leroy May, next to whom Dylan the Magic Roundabout rabbit paired up with a 56kg sack of potatoes would make a livelier combination. Early FA Cup defeat to Bedworth was followed by a midweek loss to Hednesford and even as he wrote his programme notes it was evident that Johnson knew his time was up. It wasn't so much as a sacking, more of a mercy killing.
Johnson said his goodbyes and no one expected to hear much about him again, yet that CV must be a work of art because not only did he resurface in international football, managing Latvia through their Euro 2000 campaign, he talked himself into a decent job at Yeovil despite being fired after drawing with San Marino. Suddenly it all clicked and FA Trophy was followed by Conference title by promotion to League One and Johnson moved on to revive a bigger sleeping giant with some success there too.
Obviously learning from his formative days here, Johnson at no stage dipped further into the talent academy otherwise known as Cambridge United reserves, and managed to restrain the urge to play the goalie in central midfield.
So whatever the future may hold for this one-time squeaky voiced Poppies supremo, he's fared rather better than anyone would have predicted back on that October night in 1996. Maybe there's a moral in there somewhere for us in our present predicament - don't give up, keep believing, and one day maybe we too could be locking horns with a bunch of Italian part timers.
So whatever the future may hold for this one-time squeaky voiced Poppies supremo, he's fared rather better than anyone would have predicted back on that October night in 1996. Maybe there's a moral in there somewhere for us in our present predicament - don't give up, keep believing, and one day maybe we too could be locking horns with a bunch of Italian part timers.
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