Pair of Jacks

For long periods of every Ipswich game I get this gnawing sensation in my stomach. Not usually because we are struggling, nor always because the opposition are visibly gathering momentum. No, the knot, the butterflies, the tension, tend to start when we are playing well and imposing ourselves, as much as you can impose yourselves on a Premier League team. When the game plan is going well, I get anxious.

It’s the fear that once again we won’t get what we deserve. Against Bournemouth, we did so much right. We got our goal, we held at bay one of the most intense, relentless teams I have ever seen at Portman Road. We weathered their storm, we actually looked the likelier scorers going into the final five minutes. Yet I still couldn’t escape the feeling that our fastidiously constructed Jenga tower of a lead was one moment of quality (or one lapse) away from collapse. Every Premier League team intersperses even their worst performance with sublime moments, little bursts of seemingly effortless, terrifying, acceleration. Only on the rare occasions where we’re comprehensively beaten and there’s nothing to lose can I truly sit comfortably.

Wolves epitomised this tendency. On Saturday, they were for collectively, tactically, mentally inferior to Ipswich for 71 minutes. There was no question at all about which team was most coherent in and out of possession, which team had worked out how to bring its best players to bear most effectively. For most of this game Chaplin, Hutchinson, Burns and Delap kept the pressure up. Ipswich found ways of using the ethereal Jens Cajuste to slice elegantly through Wolves’ midfield lines, worked angles to release Leif Davis and Wes Burns in behind the calamitous Matt Doherty and the irritable Rayan Aït-Nouri. Above all they found ways to get Liam Delap into duels with isolated centre backs. Whilst at full power, he really had the measure of any of Wolves’ back three.

It was Delap from an uncomplicated hoik forward that opened the game up. Former Culé Nelson Semedo bounced off the Suffolk steamroller as he made his way to the byline. Delap found Omari Hutchinson, whose feet wouldn’t sort themselves out to stroke the ball home first time, leaving him only the Marcus Stewart route round Sam Johnstone in the Wolves goal. Doherty’s goal-line clearance rebounded to Conor Chaplin, who steadied himself and rifled the ball towards the bottom right corner. It took a little pinball for the ball to end up in the back of the net but it was no less than Chaplin’s composure merited.

Wolves’ threat was meagre thereafter. The assembled Gold shirts mustered just five attempts on goal in the first half, the most significant resulting from Dara O’Shea’s mis-hit clearance. If anything the danger diminished further after the break. Aït-Nouri’s speculative 68th-minute effort was their first shot in the second period. The Blues had chances of their own in the meantime, Wes Burns’ rasping drive testing Johnstone just after half time, Delap’s faulty connection sending Burns’ cross over with the net gaping ten minutes later. We just don’t seem to have that game-killing goal in us right now.

As the game advanced at 1-0, Ipswich in control, the dull ache returned. Would we find a way to leave three deserved points on the table again? Ragged, petulant, rattled, you still saw plenty of potential menace in Wolves’ moments. Before the game the combination of Aït-Nouri and Matheus Cunha confronting Wes Burns and Harry Clarke down our right had been a concern. Early in the game Cunha had dribbled past Harry Clarke as if he weren’t there, whilst Aït-Nouri’s smart through ball sent the statuesque Jacob Strand Larsen through on goal in the first half. Harry and Wes were coping admirably in general but in Cunha especially you felt Wolves had the biggest individual weapon on either side.

No significant momentum presaged the Wolves leveller. Toti Gomes punted the ball into midfield, after a little head-tennis Mario Lemina landed on the ball and picked out Aït-Nouri. The Algerian slipped in Cunha to the left of the penalty area. His first time near post shot deflected off the retreating Clarke and past Aro Muric’s outstretched right hand.

If the equaliser came from nothing, inevitably a wave of Wolves pressure followed in its wake. The hosts peppered the Ipswich goal. Staggered by the one blow, we rocked back on our heels. We tried to dig in. The colossal Cameron Burgess made two blocks in a minute, first from Stand Larsen then from Cunha. It was all going so well and suddenly it was all collapsing around us.

It was happening again. We all worried after Bournemouth about the weight of our injuries and the depletion of our supporting cast. Ipswich are a fine proposition until Delap and Hutchinson’s races are run, after that the cupboard is a bit too threadbare. Today though, McKenna still had tricks up his sleeve. Shortly before the board went up to note the stoppage time ahead, the spell broke and (remarkably) Ipswich’s substitutes reversed the momentum of the game.

Toti’s loose touch down the left allowed Ben Johnson (on for Burns) to move the ball forward to Hutchinson. Hutchinson carried it forward, he ducked inside Lemina then spread the ball to Davis. Goncalo Guedes recklessly knocked Davis to the floor as he entered the penalty area. Wolves cleared but Ipswich kept coming back at them, O’Shea winning a big header from their clearance. Now Harry Clarke thundered forward, exchanging passes with Ali Al-Hamadi (now on for Delap), before feeding Jack Clarke (in for Chaplin). The left-winger’s attempted shot was blocked but Jack Taylor swept up the rebound. Suddenly there were seven blue shirts thronging the Wolves penalty area. Davis’ cross was cleared and Aït-Nouri briefly hared up the other end, an exchange of failed counter attacks befitting a relegation 6-pointer.

Al-Hamadi, who had looked a little out-of-place in the dying embers of the Manchester United draw was now in full boisterous nuisance mode. Back to goal, in his own half, the Scouse striker held the ball up, rolled Tommy Doyle and set off up field. He exchanged passes with Hutchinson then just seemed to will his way into the penalty area, almost tripping and stumbling past two defenders, before squeezing a shot in.

Now Ipswich, recovering their sense of self, were the only likely winner. Wolves, physical and emotional energy spent, hanging on the ropes, sought long balls to Strand Larsen but each time Burgess would gobble them up and Jack Taylor (subbed in for Cajuste) would then drive Ipswich forward once again. A shot from Hutchinson beaten away, a Jack Clarke through ball just barely cut out, a Leif Davis corner punted inelegantly behind.

One last final corner, the last kick of the game. Two players, both written off by some. Jack Clarke, subject of some rather exaggerated criticism of late, stood over it. Jack Clarke, massive shorts billowing, big price tag and big expectations weighing on his shoulders. Jack Clarke, who had actually been rather good in this cameo, getting on the ball, going past people, gaining us possession and territory. Jack Clarke, who would have remembered any of that positive contribution if we had not won? Jack Clarke, inswinging corner, dropping right into the perfect area.

At the other end of the ball’s arc, Jack Taylor, odd man out in our Championship midfield. Jack Taylor, once of Barnet and Peterborough, soon to be scorer in all five top English divisions. Jack Taylor, one of those surprising McKenna renovations where he discovers a player has this whole other level of quality you never imagined. Jack Taylor, aided by Al-Hamadi’s distractions, arrows his huge, uncontested header past Johnstone and starts sprinting, hollering, screaming, beaming towards the away fans.

The last kick, no time for heart palpitations now. Just hysteria. Pure joy, pure released tension. Nothing to take this away.

Jack Clarke v Wolves

Minutes 15

Assists 1

Shots 1

Accurate passes 7/8 (88%)

Touches 16

Touches in opposition box 2

Successful dribbles 1/1 (100%)

Passes into final third 1

Accurate crosses 1/1 (100%)

Dispossessed 2

Duels won 3/5 (60%)