THIS IS A LOW: WOLVES 1-4 STOKE, 14 OCTOBER 1995

The Taylor era unravelling at pace

The mood entering the 1995/96 season was one broadly of positivity. While the previous campaign had ended with playoff heartache at the hands of Bolton (Remember them, we don't like them), we surely had a squad capable of going one better the year after, with the likes of Tony Daley, Steve Froggatt, John de Wolf and Geoff Thomas due to return from serious injury. It didn’t work out that way.

David Kelly left shortly after the start of the season to fund the signing of Mark Atkins, which for reasons previously covered was a terrible idea all round. The injury-hit players either suffered setbacks in their recovery (indeed Thomas sadly played his final game of the season in early September; he really did have no luck at all at Wolves) or struggled to hit the form they were capable of. By the time Stoke made their mutant way down the M6, we were moored in a precarious position, just three points above the relegation zone - far from what was expected.

Derby ended up going up automatically, we’d already hammered them 3-0 at home in a rare bright spot. Football is weird.

We were at least coming off a welcome away win at Ipswich and Stoke themselves were even worse off than us, so this sort-of-derby (I’ve never considered it to be one personally) was perhaps the chance for us to catapult ourselves up the table. Then we send out an incomprehensible team.

It’s an inescapable fact that managers sometimes completely lose the plot. There’s no-one there to shake them vigorously by the shoulders and tell them in a 1950s style to “get a grip, for God’s sake man”.

Yeah, like that.

So we end up with this.

Now with the players on the pitch, you could set up any number of ways. But I am fairly sure that as he was wearing number 2 in the pre-squad number days and I saw him play there in a reserve game vs Leeds at Molineux on the Monday preceding this (man, did I know how to party as a 14 year old), Neil Emblen was at right back. Jermaine Wright on the left wing. Mark Venus in central midfield. Mark Atkins nominally wide right. Mark Williams up front with Steve Bull on the bench. Darren Ferguson playing.

Yeah, like that.

Predictably enough, it was a bloody mess. You’ve got Mike Stowell being beaten easily from range in a fashion that will be familiar to anyone who spends their valuable time re-watching 90s season review videos (man, do I know how to party as a 43 year old). Us giving the ball away just outside our own box two minutes later for future Chelsea quiz question Graham Potter to bundle in for 2-0 before half time. Then farce becomes er, more farce.

I absolutely hate “cult heroes”. You know the kind. The ones where someone is objectively absolutely, undeniable, objectively fucking RUBBISH and some fans decide to “like” them in the weakest display of irony outside of Jagged Little Pill.

Outside of an extremely inefficiently-managed cutlery factory, when on earth would you ever see 10,000 spoons, eh, eh?

Eric Young was one of those. He’d been a solid defender for Brighton, Wimbledon and Crystal Palace for over a decade before he arrived here…but we got him when he was 35, and had been without a club for months, and because we were desperate as John de Wolf’s recovery was taking longer than we expected. Accordingly, he was terrible. Here he managed to outdo himself by shattering Mike Stowell’s cheekbone, going for a header that he had no business going for. Thanks for that Eric.

Here he is with some more er, “interesting” heading technique. Eye on the ball, Eric lad.

1995/96 saw a change to the Football League rules in that in your three permitted substitutes, you were no longer obliged to name a goalkeeper. So goodbye to arse splinter duty for Paul Jones and we’ll have another outfield player, decides Graham Taylor. He’s bound to have more impact on a game. Ah.

So it was that Dean Richards was bundled into goal, bless him. Now, when any other team has to stick an outfield player in goal, it’s “dog in playground” levels of hilarity, a genuine must see. Not so much when it’s your lot.

Having belatedly hauled off the risible Ferguson and y’know, brought on our record goalscorer of all time, we did still manage to give ourselves a glimmer. The otherwise rubbish Williams, now playing wide right, won a penalty which Andy Thompson converted and we’re back to 2-1. But we were always likely to pay for having Deano in nets and as he fumbled a Ray Wallace shot in then did a passable José Sa impression by passing the ball straight to Karren Brady’s other, smaller half shortly afterwards, the game finished with us on the wrong end of a 4-1 hammering. We looked simply shell-shocked by the end.

Graham Taylor would only last another month or so, four points from the next four games being insufficient for him to keep his job and he was dismissed with us in 17th place after 16 games, on 18 points. A good man, here at the wrong time - this game was sadly an indictment of how otherwise decent managers can let things run away from them.

Wolves: Stowell (Smith 60); Emblen, Young, Richards, Thompson; Atkins, Ferguson (Cowans 45), Venus (Bull 45), Wright; Williams, Goodman.

Stoke: Prudhoe; Clarkson, Sigurdsson, Overson, Sandford; Gleghorn, Keen, Wallace, Potter; Peschisolido, Carruthers (Sturridge 90).

Unused subs: Dreyer, Gayle.

Attendance: 26,483