Chapter 150: Old Master

Villa’s wings were so strong now that, on their attacking threat out wide alone, they were worth pulling away from any of the big clubs in the division, never mind Norwich.

A long ball. In these circumstances, there was only one thing Norwich could do, and that was to hoof it up to Carver and hope.

But Barzley was no vegetarian. He was not as tall as Carver, but when it came to winning the second ball, and to plain physical presence, he was every bit the equal of the big man.

"Cleared! Barzley is showing everyone exactly why Saint put so much faith in him!" Villa’s back line had been rebuilt this season, and the press had been merciless about it from the start. Teale had a famous name, but he and Reyes were both supposed to be finished. Barzley had never played at this level. As for the rest, apart from the old guard, who had even heard of Colley or Faraday?

"And Villa break again, it’s the captain, Conlan, with the ball!"

Conlan drove a pass straight through the middle to Pryce, who had dropped deep to meet it, but the moment the old man’s boot touched the ball, Tolliver came rushing at him.

"Out to the left, Rocher!" Pryce pushed it diagonally, and the ball ran across to the Frenchman’s feet.

"Foul! Moorcroft! He has had to pull the Frenchman down, he had no other way of stopping him!" The referee reached into his pocket for the third yellow card of the afternoon, and Norwich’s second.

Earlier in the half, Conlan’s foul on Alder had earned Villa the first booking of the day, and then Pryce had managed to get Tolliver into the book as well.

The ball was placed on the left. Villa had plenty of good dead-ball men. Rocher was one, Reyes another, Pryce was excellent, and even Conlan, who liked a crunching tackle, had a decent kick on him.

This time it was a free kick that Rocher had won himself. The Frenchman had a lovely left foot, but the kick was a little disappointing, and the ball flew straight over the bar.

In the sixty-first minute, Norwich had their best chance of the second half. Pettigrew sent in a free kick, Carver rose to it with his back to goal, and then he did something that made the whole ground gasp.

"Back heel! Oh my word! What have I just seen? Carver has flicked it back to Alder with his heel!" It was no wonder Pemberton sounded so shocked.

"Alder! Alder’s got space! This is Norwich’s chance!" Teale had been dragged out of position by the threat of Carver, and for a moment the old master was almost unmarked.

"He’s shooting! And no! Vacek! It’s Tomas Vacek! He’s kept out Alder’s shot!"

Calm, utterly calm. As Alder came in, Vacek held his ground and stared at the best English player of his generation for one long second.

In the half second before Alder’s boot struck the ball, Vacek made his prediction. He stretched out his whole body, threw himself to his left, and got his hand to the shot.

"Beautiful! That is just beautiful! Tomas Vacek, the new jewel of Czech football, and now Villa’s new jewel as well!" Pemberton gave the young goalkeeper the best praise he had.

On the bench, Cadman let out a long breath. "That was worth a goal to us," he murmured.

"It was," Saint said. "And it was worth more than that. Alder has to wonder if he still has it."

After a great disaster averted comes a blessing, and the sixty-sixth minute was a good one for Villa.

Reyes held the ball across the halfway line to draw Tolliver towards him, then slid it to Conlan, who dragged Moorcroft’s attention with him before laying it off.

On the right, Faraday was a full-back with the lungs of a long-distance runner, and he was often seen plugging into the attack. Colley, on the left, seemed a lot quieter by comparison. He did run forward from time to time, but he was more of a foil for Rocher.

Of course, support is relative. On the pitch, Colley supported Rocher; off it, Rocher was the one propped up by Colley.

On the pitch, Rocher’s skill on the ball made people forget he had the face of a man who had headed too many footballs. Off it, Colley could throw Rocher so far into the shade that the Frenchman would never find his way back.

Colley was young, and he was handsome in the way of a golden retriever puppy. To put it only slightly generously, he was the face of the club, and quite possibly of the whole league.

Only two weeks ago, the Midlands Sports Gazette had run a reader poll, asking a thousand women which man they would most like to spend the most romantic night of the year with, and Colley had come second, behind only a television chef.

"Colley! The left-back is going forward!" But this time he was not the foil. This time Rocher had pulled the defenders wide, and it was Colley who was dragged into the move.

"Down to the byline! Colley has taken the ball all the way to the byline!"

"He cuts back! Colley turns inside and comes into the box! No, he’s not going alone, the cut inside is just to make space for someone else!"

"The cross! A low ball across the face of goal! Who is it?"

"It’s Tomlin! Jake Tomlin, the old Norwich boy!" At that moment Tomlin was running in at the far post, and even with Rowe wrapped around him, nothing was going to stop his determination to score.

"GOAL! THREE-ONE! THREE-ONE! Villa have stretched their lead after going ahead!"

"It’s in! Tomlin! The man who spent years in Norwich’s colours, and he has delivered the old club a killer blow!"

"Beautiful! Too beautiful! He takes it, turns, and shows lovely footwork!" Rowe was still close enough to bother Tomlin, which gave Brandwood a chance.

What a pity for Norwich. Even with Brandwood rushing off his line, he could not stop Tomlin, and he even gave the big man room to show off.

Originally, all Tomlin needed was a nudge to send the ball into the net, but in the end he nearly put on a dance routine first.

In the comparison, Carver came off worse. Both men were tall, strong centre-forwards, but Tomlin’s technique was something Carver simply did not own.

"That’s it, I think," Granger said. "There’s more than twenty minutes to play, but this is Villa Park, and this is a complete Villa side." Everyone knew that without Saint, Villa were not a complete Villa, and with him back on the touchline the team looked whole again.

On the touchline, Saint allowed himself one short clap and nothing more. He had been in this game long enough to know that a two-goal lead against a team with an old master in it was never the same thing as a won match.

"Don’t relax," he told Cadman, loud enough for the nearest substitutes to hear. "Alder only needs one more half-chance and he’ll make us pay for it. Tell the lads on the bench to keep warming up, I want fresh legs ready for the last twenty."

Cadman nodded and turned to relay it. Behind them, the Holte End had risen to its feet, singing Tomlin’s name for the first time in weeks.

Norwich did not give up, though, or at least some of them did not. Out on the pitch, spurred on by captain Alder, the visitors slowly seemed to lift their heads.

At the same time, on the touchline, Fenner made his own adjustments. He made two substitutions, and both of the men he sent on were attackers.