"The Clarets are going up!" - Part three - Premier League lesson one

Things were about to get much more surreal as Wednesday reared its ugly head with apparently shocking news.

What had happened? Had the Daily Telegraph unveiled the Burnley board’s Wembley expenses? Was North Korea pointing a very large missile in the direction of Turf Moor? Had Owen Coyle contracted Swine Flu?

No, but apparently he was off to manage Celtic.

The speculation was mounting from North of the Border that our Master of the Universe was being tapped up to be the Hoops new boss following the departure of Chesney from Corrie look alike Gordon Strachan.

Apparently we were on the verge of becoming “Managerless Premier League Burnley”.

The news was that the job at Parkhead was Coyle’s if he wanted it and according to the jock hacks he most certainly did.

The Scottish press really did whip up a storm, for all their whimsical scribbling they may as well have said that Coyle snuck out to meet Celtic’s Chief Executive round the back of the Wembley bike sheds while Steve Caldwell was lifting the play off final trophy.

They had started a perfect bit of end of season sensationalism, a quiet newsroom’s wet dream.

The news of their claims filtered down on the wire to be picked up by the BBC and Sky.

That’s when people really began to panic.

“Its on the BBC, he’s off.” said someone with a rare statement of unwavering trust in our broadcasting corporation.

Then there was a newsflash on Sky Sport’s News;

“Sky Sports understands Owen Coyle is interested in becoming the next Celtic manager” the info bar read.

Isn’t it funny how that when that little bar turns yellow it can strike such fear in our hearts?

It brings such drama to the narrative. In truth, understanding that a Scottish born manager from a Celtic background might be interested in managing the club he supported as a boy isn’t that interesting. However if you slap a bright yellow background with the text it makes you feel like the Coyle-mobile is already zooming its way up the motorway to join them.

The club and Coyle were quick to quash rumours of his departure, with Chairman Barry Kilby stating a new contract was close to being inked.

The news definitely made my heart skip a beat. Although I was confident Coyle would stay, I must admit it’s hard not to listen when the national media tell you they’re modern day soothers claiming to know the future.

It was seeing the manager deliver his speech at the staff dinner the evening before that made me unable to believe he’d become our Brutus and stab us in the back. Coyle, as he always does, spoke with great enthusiasm and his statesman like demeanour gave no impression he was towing the party line before jumping ship.

The best bit of the whole saga was Celtics former manager Billy McNeill saying Coyle should choose Parkhead as Burnley is a “fucking hamlet” or “wee village” depending on which newspaper you read. And he would know, he watches Celtic play against one virtually every week.

The fact is the Coyle will be managing in the most competitive league in the world next season. He is a Premier League manager and deserves to go up against the likes of Sir Alex Ferguson, Rafa Benitex and Arsene Wenger. At any other point in his career Celtic would provide the perfect position for a man with the abilities of Owen Coyle, but right now, in my opinion anyway, the job he has at Burnley is bigger than the one at Celtic.

On the other side of the coin, he may go away on holiday and think that he might only get one chance to manage his boyhood heroes and want to cash in while his managerial stock is at its highest.

But that’s not the Owen Coyle we’ve all come to adore and if there are to be no more twists in the tale then it looks like he will guide us into the Premier League next season.

There is no doubt if he continues to be successful even bigger clubs than Celtic will come knocking on our door for his services.

Maybe the “Coylegate” incident will provide us all with a bit of media training ahead of next season. After all, this type of mass scale coverage is something we’ll be receiving on a weekly basis when August rolls around.

The first lesson is simple;

Premier League clubs get Premier League speculation.

"The Clarets are going up!" - Part Two - Premier League sticker books, fantasy teams and pie and peas

Tuesday was a day for confirming reality.

The morning was spent reading as much media as possible, re-watching the action and comparing experiences with friends, all to make sure that what I thought had happened had actually occurred.

Even then it was still hard to come to terms with, I was sure someone was about to slap me round the chops and tell me it was all a dream.

Many questions were posed;

Who will we play opening day? When will we get the games against the big four? When can we beat the bastards? Who will I pick in my fantasy team? Can I complete Burnley in the Premier League sticker book? Am I still actually alive?

Then thoughts turned to the coverage we'll now be receiving next season.

Gone will be the days of ten second clips of goals on Match of the Day on FA Cup third round day. Now we can look forward to Gary Linkers badly attempted “Claret” puns, Mark Lawrenson’s camp post match analysis and Alan Hanson dissecting any “diabolical” defending through those lovely, whisky glazed Scottish eyes of his.

Then I thought about Sky; The Super Sunday’s, Monday Night Football, extended highlights on Football First, the superlatives that may come from Jamie Redknapp’s handsome gob and Andy Gray demanding a Claret and Blue goal scorer to “ take a bow”.

God I wish the season could start tomorrow. The again, even if it did it’d still be too long to wait.

After allowing my imagination to occupy most of the day, the time came to reward the players.

The home coming parade was something to behold. It saw crowds normally reserved for the Pope at the Vatican surround the route from Turf Moor to the Town Hall.

For miles all you could see was Claret and Blue, the town's population had come out to get a glimpse of their heroes. Some had pitched their spot hours before in order to get the best view of the Town Hall balcony. After a long wait, there was an eruption of noise as the team came into view, it was mayhem.

It was great to see the buzz football can create, the town really had come back to life. This club, this manager and this group of players had all managed to unite age, gender and ethnicity to forge a new community spirit under a Claret and Blue banner.

We had come a long way. The journey back to the promised land was a long, hard, thirty three year treck up and down the Football Leagues.

In 1987 things had got so bad we were a game against Orient away from losing our Football League status.

Not many who stood on the terraces that day could have ever imagined that twenty two years and four promotions later we would be leaving the Football League’s jurisdiction out of the front door and entering what was still then an unformed Premier League.

Somehow we'd managed it, we were back at English Football's top table and ready to munch on a giant slice of Premier League pie and peas.

“The Clarets are going up!” - Part One - A day at Wembley.

After a few days of reflection, our Wembley triumph is finally sinking in. The shock is now beginning to subside and the realisation is now that we will be playing a full season amongst the top flight of English football.

Since Monday, the temptation to attach the words “Premier League” to anything Burnley related has been too hard to resist.

It started as I returned home in the early hours of Tuesday morning and drove past Premier League football ground Turf Moor. Since then it’s become such an addiction that it doesn’t even matter whether the object has any connection to the club, as I now, for example, have a Premier League toaster and do my business in a Premier League toilet. And I don’t mean Ewood Park.

As well as the obvious excitement of playing against Manchester United, Liverpool, Chelsea and Arsenal, we all know that the fixtures against Blackburn Rovers will be the first we all look for when the fixtures are released in June. I can't wait.

Until that day in just under a month’s time, each and every second will be spent reliving moments from our triumph at Wembley.

The day itself began early, as the alarm buzzed at half past four on Monday morning there was no attempt to hit the snooze button. Up within seconds and dressed in Claret and Blue within minutes, I was ready to make the trip of a lifetime.

As the Claret convoy of coaches pulled away from Championship Turf Moor for the last time its incumbents fell silent as we all sat still and once again dared to dream.

It seemed every car that flew by that morning had Claret and Blue flags and scarves hanging from their roofs and windows, while a quick stop at the services on the M6 toll was more like visiting a Burnley Football Club refugee camp.

As the Wembley arches came into view nerves began to jangle. I felt sick as the coach slowly drew into the car park, the giant curves now towered over us as I suddenly began to realise how gut wrenching it’d be to head back north without promotion.

The approach to kick off was spent soaking up the atmosphere on the steps outside Wembley as we drank, sang and enjoyed the sunshine.

Then the time came. The immense pride of seeing us line up on the Wembley turf was followed by ninety minutes of pure joy and ecstasy. Once again the way we defended was perfect as we sailed through the entire playoffs without conceding a single goal.

Wade Elliot’s goal was one good enough to grace any game. His instant shot into the top-left corner from 25 yards was passed straight into the net at pace leaving Paddy Kenny with no chance.

Like Steven Thompson and Martin Paterson’s goals in the previous game against Reading, the moment Wade's wonder strike hit the back of the net will never be etched from the memory.

Neither will the scenes at the final whistle as the Clarets returned to the top flight for the first time in thirty three years.

Tears rolled down my face as I hugged my family around me. With the brief moment I then had to myself I tried to come to terms with what had just happened. I couldn’t. This was too good to be true.

Through my now red eyes the trophy was lifted by Steven Caldwell to the chorus of thirty six thousand Claret’s in full voice.

It was a moment never to be surpassed.

We had done it, Owen Coyle had done the unthinkable and guided us to the promised land.

The chant as we bounced out of Wembley was “Burnley are back”

Apologies, Premier League Burnley are back.

The road to Wembley starts here

The build up to our play off final destiny is finally reaching its climax.

This week has been long and arduous. What began with pure excitement and expectation following the trip to Reading has slowly become diluted by firstly nerves and then fear.

For the last few mornings I have woke with a sort of nervous paralysis that has made me physically unable to move until all possible eventualities have vigorously run through my mind.

The dull ache that now sits in my stomach is perhaps only comparable to the feeling a swift boot to the testicles brings.

This is pressure and I’m only going to be watching from Block 126, row 39, seat 87.

As I sit here now words that have flowed all season are suddenly hard to come by. I feel reluctant to write anything that may tempt fate.

All I can say is that I hope the Burnley squad have returned from their Portuguese training camp as men of war ready for a classic battle of the roses.

There is no doubt Sheffield United want this as much as us. They’ve sampled the sweet tasting goods the Premier League has to offer and will be spurred on further by the sour taste of Carlos Tevez’s goal scoring boots.

They will not be softened by West Ham’s oversized charity cheque of recompense and now we’ve reached this stage, our Claret and Blue kit also synonymous with the Hammers will become a goading red rag waving right in front of the noses of Blackwell’s raging bulls.

It’s not that I fear the Blades as a footballing side or think we’ll lose. Like I’ve said before I never go into a game thinking we’ll get beat anymore. It’s just the cruel nature of the “what ifs” that creep inside your mind; the bad penalty decision, the dodgy offside, the unjust sending off, all which if given against us may see us fail to recover.

I think all of the Wembley related Claret and Blue merchandise, from official kits to knock off t shirts, flags and scarves to jester hats, the hastily written newspaper pullouts and pristine match day programmes, it makes me sick to imagine them all becoming a commemorative token of an unsuccessful playoff bid.

There is no doubt that in the ten days since we conquered at the Madejeski I have let my nervous excitement manifest into irrational thoughts and fear. I guess you may have done the same. It’s hard not to go through all the emotional ups and downs when you have so long to wait and only one thing to think about.

Despite all the crazy connotations and tricks of the mind I still believe that come Monday tea time we will be in the Premier League.

As the hands of the clock painstakingly tick towards Monday’s 3pm kick off time, all we can do is let the faith carry us to victory.

Tonight is the night the first few of the 36,000 Clarets will begin their pilgrimage to Wembley.

Over the bank holiday weekend fans from all corners of the globe will gather under the arches to unite in a Claret and Blue roar when the teams stroll out onto the pitch at ten to three in little over 72 hours time.

The streets of our small East Lancashire town will be vacant as the world’s eye turns to the richest match in football.

The players huddle before kick off will produce an intensity unlike anything you may ever feel again.

Take a second savour the moment and then believe, because if you do that potentially unsurpassable feeling will easily be beaten on the other side of the referee’s whistle.

The promised land awaits, let’s just hope the Wembley arches can transform into a Claret and Blue rainbow, complete with a Premier League pot of gold at the end of it.

Keep the faith.

Burnley will be back.

And now you're gonna believe us...

Words can barely describe what we as Burnley fans experienced at Reading last night.

The emotion, verve and adoration of all things Claret and Blue was summed up by our two thousand one hundred fans crammed into the Madejski.

From well before the first, to long beyond the final whistle, we sang to inspire the team we love.

Two breathtaking goals were followed by equally breathless celebrations.

The ecstasy, mania and madness that followed Martin Paterson’s thunderous drive and Steven Thompson’s execution of technical excellence eclipsed the scenes and feeling that followed the win at Chelsea many months earlier.

In fact, the emotions conjured up by last night’s game betters anything I have felt as a fan of Burnley Football Club.

The collective unity of the Claret and Blue voice in full force is something to behold, something which makes our small town so great.

It is what makes the game of football and privilege of supporting your local team the most addictive and fulfilling drug.

The come downs and lows are brutally hard, but the highs that come with being part of the cause is something truly special.

The voices of the travelling away support were beamed to millions across the world who must now be sitting up and taking note of what this football club could be on the verge of achieving.

What makes it even more remarkable is the use of only twenty three players throughout the season, the tiniest squad in the Championship.

On closer examination you’ll find that Diego Penny and Remco Van Der Schaff only made one appearance each, while Ade Akinbiyi, Alan Mahon and Alex McDonald appeared on only a handful of occasions.

The close knit nucleolus of the squad has fused hard work, quality and belief into the perfectly potent tonic for promotion.

Commiserations to Reading, their supporters who stood to applaud both our team and fans are true appreciators of the game. Their sportsmanship added an extra layer of emotion to what was already a highly charged evening. Steve Coppell will be a great loss to their club and football.

We must now look beyond Reading and ahead to our day of destiny.

As we sang to Kevin Blackwell last night, he and his Sheffield United are next. Our Yorkshire rivals are the only thing that stands between us and a return to the promised land.

Three days after celebrating his nineteenth month in the job Owen Coyle will look to end our thirty three year wilderness from the top flight.

The Master of the Universe was right not to bring the team back out to celebrate with the fans last night.

The players cannot take their eye off the ball until the job is done. They will briefly enjoy the moment before refocusing to make sure we can all stay behind and party together come Bank Holiday Monday.

Most of the town will set sail for the wealthiest game in football under the Wembley arches in twelve days time.

Although after the pride and hope Burnley Football Club instilled in us all last night, I can’t help feeling we are already some of the richest fans in football.

It's time to live the daring dream

It’s hard to judge whether Burnley are halfway to Wembley or not.

After ninety minutes at the Turf we take our one nil first leg win down to the Madejski Stadium today, but as we’ve already seen this season being seconds away from a trip to the arches doesn’t mean you’ll get there.

The minibus of dreams will head to Berkshire this lunchtime determined to return north having confirmed a weekend in London come the second bank holiday of the month.

Saturday’s game at the Turf was a nerve jangling affair, similar to the tension experienced by an MP who’s just realised they’ve accidentally submitted their rent boy receipts as expenses.

While it wasn’t a vintage Clarets performance we did enough and once again, despite pressure, kept a clean sheet and stole an unlikely victory.

Brian Jensen may have produced a wonder save and Martin Paterson may have cleared one off the line but we fought and battled for our win.

Particularly impressive was Clark Carlisle and Steven Caldwell’s central defensive partnership which has proved stronger than Californian wildfires in recent weeks.

A loss of form saw Carlisle looking shakier than Katie and Peter’s marriage earlier in the campaign but Britain’s brainiest footballer has shown great mental strength and turned his season back around.

He’s once again become a linchpin along the back line, regularly putting his body on the line for the Claret and Blue cause.

Another all action defensive performance will be needed at the Madejski tonight to ensure a showdown with Sheffield United in the final.

In fact, cool heads will be needed all round.

Graham Alexander is one who encompasses all that’s needed at this stage of the season with his clinical finishing from the penalty spot and masterful performances in front of the back four.

There’s no doubt we missed Wade Elliot in the first leg, the game was crying out for his jinking runs from the middle of the park and ability to get people like Chris Eagles in the game by linking up wide.

We can only hope we have both “Billy” and Eagles fit for this evenings encounter to cause havoc on the counter attack.

Reading will also be missing players, Kevin Doyle limped off during the first leg while poor mans Drogba Andre Bikey is still thought to be throwing his shirt around. Apparently he hasn’t even had time to remove the bits of Robbie Blake’s leg from his boots.

As ever Owen Coyle says he will go out to win the game on the night and as it opens up with Reading needing to score we will hopefully be able to capitalise on the gaps left in the Royal's defence.

We must also look to exploit their poor home form and what could be a tetchy crowd if things aren’t going they’re way.

But whatever might happen, everyone involved with the club knows that it all comes down to this.

We must hold our nerve and keep the faith.

We’ve been told to dare to dream all season.

Now it’s time to live that dream.

Coyle's graduation enough to make Coppell weep

“It best bloody be worth it” my Dad said to me after finally getting hold of our tickets for the game against Reading following a mammoth eight hour queue outside the Turf on Monday.

“Don’t worry, I’ll queue for Wembley” I replied apologetically after work commitments meant I couldn’t take my place in the line.

The playoff double header against Reading is undoubtedly the biggest game in our recent history, something that has been muttered a few times this season.

As the games continue to get bigger and more important for Owen Coyle’s troops I can’t fail to be even more convinced by him.

Maybe he missed a trick being a football manager.

I’m sure Owen Coyle the salesman could convince me a stair lift would be a perfectly necessary feature to add to my dwelling or that a timeshare in the up and coming resort of Kabul would really make a fabulous investment.

Or think of Owen Coyle the Jehovah’s Witness, if he was knocking on my door I’d be straight down the Kingdom Halls with my Watchtower ready to empty my pockets.

Let’s just thank our lucky stars he didn’t end up working in recruitment for Al-Qaeda.

Eighteen thousand and five Burnley and Bristol fans united in appreciation to stand and applaud the Master of the Universe after we made the playoffs on Sunday and there is no doubt the Coyle deserves every credit for what has happened thus far.

If we don’t make Wembley and don’t make the Premier League we will all say what a marvellous achievement this season has been and how we’ve made great strides forward.

I’m sure Coyle would too, but a man obviously so fiercely ambitious wouldn’t want to settle for a token run out in the playoffs.

Standing in our way is Reading, an outstanding candidate for Promotion at the beginning of the season who started strongly but have wained in the final half.

The Royals are without a home win in eight games which can only boost our confidence for the second leg at the Madjeski.

Before then they must come to the Turf where we’ve won our last five scoring four or more on three of those occasions. In the other two one nil victories were secured, which shows we are just as capable of closing out a tight victory as we are free scoring, although lets hope for the latter come Saturday tea time.

The fixture has caused major excitement. The pubs after Sunday’s victory were brimming with Claret and Blue hysteria while the ticket office has struggled to cope with demand since opening Monday morning.

The Clarets will play their 59th games of the season on Saturday with only Manchester United crossing the white line on more occasions.

A 61st could see us reach the Premier League.

Through Owen Coyle and his team I believe and I think you should too.

Reading manager Steve Coppell this week inadvertently described reaching the playoffs as a “blow” as he got "a bit weepy" about missing his son’s graduation in America.

Coppell has been a great boss and his accolade of knocking up over a thousand matches as a league manager is a remarkable achievement. But you can’t help wonder if unrelenting rumours of his retirement in the next two weeks has contributed to his sides perceived apathy towards the back of the campaign.

I’m not trying to underestimate Reading, on their day they are undoubtedly the best side in the division but I think this is not only our day but our time.

Coppell needn’t worry about missing out. Come Tuesday he could be the teary eyed guest of honour at Owen Coyle’s graduation.

Genetically modified butterflies spread Claret and Blue fever

Forget swine flu, the only pandemic spreading around Burnley this week has been playoff fever.

It would have taken more than a few face masks to stop the infectious swell of positivity that has been circulating the town over the last seven days.

People have been queuing down the stretch of Harry Potts Way outside the ticket office to ensure a sell out of the home seats inside Turf Moor; with each and every soul hoping victory means that Owen Coyle can begin to emulate some of the success of the Claret’s most famous manager.

For me, I remain as supremely confident as ever that we can do it.

You could compare it to one of those goons off the Apprentice who believes that they are the spawn of Donald Trump when they have as much business acumen as a tramp trying selling his own faeces. Everyone’s got to make a living I suppose.

As the time before kick off gets shorter my nerves expand. As I type, the butterflies inside my stomach are fluttering their gigantic genetically modified wings faster than the way Rick Hatton hit the canvas last night.

The Hitman’s career resembles much of what the Clarets have achieved this season; like Ricky we’ve been the likeable northern underdog who has won many plaudits for our fearless displays, style and ability to box well above our weight.

Let’s just hope that’s where the comparisons end after Hatton’s latest display against Manny Pacquiao in Las Vegas.

Although I doubt mid-table Bristol City will pack as much venom as the Philippino, with their threat perhaps more comparable to an Audley Harrison comeback fight.

Instead it’s our Lancashire rivals Preston who will be packing a punch and will be confident after two impressive victories over Cardiff and Birmingham. Again they are facing nothing to play for mid-table opposition and I doubt yuppies QPR will be on their guard.

But what they do won’t matter if Burnley win; we must do what we’re good at, get the ball down on the floor, be patient and take our chances.

The likes of Graham Alexander, Robbie Blake, Steven Caldwell, Clarke Carlisle and Brian Jenson are all seasoned campaigners who will help calm the nerves.

For many of those mentioned this will be their last shot at the Premier League and having already missed out on a Wembley final already this season they won’t be willing to let that happen again.

The crowd must also play their part, the sell out sea of Claret and Blue must sing their hearts out and not get too jittery if things get tense.

If we all stay positive we’ll reach the playoffs and then maybe, who knows, the promised land.