Waghorn's Resurrection

 Waghorn's Resurrection

Jamie Barnard on how Martyn Waghorn's return to form is like having a new signing for Leicester City...

Reflection and recollection. The annual Remembrance fixture at Leicester City’s King Power Stadium evokes poignant memories of those that have gone before, sacrifices made. Lest we forget.

But stood in silence, encircling whitewash from which an incomparable and insignificant battle will imminently commence, eleven royal blue shirts flutter in the breeze of a crisp November afternoon only chilled further by frosty receptions afforded to ancient foes.

The age-old enemy, Nottingham Forest, back to re-commence hostilities. What was a gulf war last season only in the glaring monetary inequalities created by Leicester City’s free-spending Thai investors, is now evened by the levelling forces of Forest’s wealthy Kuwaiti benefactors the Al Hasawis.

With a poppy embroidered upon his bust and his heart adorning his sleeve, Martyn Waghorn stands as former glory personified. An armistice with injury demons and poor form Waghorn’s newfangled saving grace from a nightmare two years.

With Christmas fast approaching, a glimmer in Waghorn present of Waghorn past.

Not much stood still at Leicester City in the whirlwind two seasons of flux which succeeded Nigel Pearson’s departure from his position as commander-in-chief, but Waghorn well and truly stagnated. Callously discarded by Sven Goran Eriksson as a flurry of strikers were enlisted in his place, Waghorn was shell-shocked. Bednar, Yakubu, Kamara, Beckford. With varying success they came, with varying inevitability they left.

From darling of the terrace to no man’s land, Waghorn went missing in action. One of those peculiar breed, the confidence player, Waghorn needs to be loved. A North-Eastern grafter with that touch of class, Waghorn will give to the cause but craves love in return. However, if adulation were the currency in which Waghorn was dealing, shares plummeted and he was declared bankrupt.

The essence of Waghorn ebbed away.  Paired up front with debutant Jeff Schlupp in a League Cup game against Rotherham, never plainer was Waghorn’s demise than in the stark contrast as chances came and passed him by, whilst Schlupp’s rising star was illuminated with a superb inaugural hat-trick. An untimely and unwelcome ceasefire.

To the Eriksson cause he became a conscientious objector and to be allied with Pearson once more at Hull City offered salvation.

Now such times are but a distant nightmare. His game still bears the marks of post traumatic stress disorder, there endure the scars of his battles, at chances he has snatched and opportunities have been spurned, but to regeneration we are bared. Encouraging displays at Watford and Bolton preceded Waghorn’s remembrance fixture against Forest. A prominent figure in a 2-2 draw in that match, The Last Post was not to sound for Waghorn’s Leicester City career just yet.

But he needed a goal, ‘that goal’, any goal. And fast forward seven days from that draw Waghorn hit the fifth in a six-goal demolition of Ipswich at The King Power Stadium. Relief emanated stadium-wide and the reaction of Waghorn’s joyous team mates displayed an empathetic comprehension of their comrade’s struggles. A spring in his step. Fire in that famished belly. Waghorn was, Waghorn is, back from the dead.

To reclaim that tag of clinical marksman he must now score more. As poppies bloom and shed their seed, so must Waghorn shed the nuances that have halted a career which once looked so potentially glorious. The price of greatness is responsibility and Waghorn must now, by maintaining his scoring touch, shoulder the burden that has too often betrayed Nigel Pearson’s side: an inability to convert their chances.

Of late, bemoaned has been the lack of a new striker amongst Pearson’s troops but, in the air of optimism surrounding the re-emergence of Waghorn, such grumbles will evaporate. Because to have back the Waghorn that lay broken on the wet turf of The Cardiff City Stadium two and a half years ago, on an evening which brought closure to an outstanding season for both Leicester City and Waghorn individually, is akin to having a new signing. Remembered it should be that, in that play-off season, he earned the club’s Young Player of the Year award with twelve league goals.

And if this season is the one for Waghorn to expunge the tyranny of his personal demons, then he will hope to eradicate another of his former torments. Martyn Waghorn has won his personal battle, now he must help Leicester City win the promotion war.

 Credit top and bottom images Alex Hannam via Flickr

Credit middle image hst43077 via Flickr 

Talk Is Cheap

Talk Is Cheap

Jamie Barnard  on how Nigel Pearson's dignified silence has set the tone for his Leicester City side's promotion push... 

 

A rebuff, a refusal, a rejection. Interviewing Nigel Pearson must be no easy task.  Pearson is a man of few words and no plainer has this been than in recent weeks. Through the times in which it seemed any old Tom, Dick and Harry was talking about his job, Pearson closed rank and those stiff lips remained firmly fastened.

Pearson does his talking on the pitch and his team is his mouthpiece.

Delivering the boldest of statements, his Leicester City charges delivered a fifth consecutive league win against Bristol City to, albeit briefly, climb to the summit of The Championship table. Whilst people were talking Pearson’s side up, convincing wins were the substance amid such chatter, lifting Leicester City up the table.

Rewind little under a week and within hours of that fourth, emphatic, straight win at Huddersfield - in which The Foxes converted two of their eighteen shots and limited their hosts to just three – a national newspaper rolled out a match report proclaiming that, in spite of such feats, Harry Redknapp would still be filling those boots not yet parched from touchline rain in West Yorkshire.

A penny for Pearson’s thoughts.

Talk is cheap, but Pearson’s words are limited edition. He is a man who refuses to speculate and not even Leicester’s millionaire Thai owners would have riches deep enough to prize from Pearson more than a branding of such speak as a “minor irritant”. His is a soliloquy of high value.

Such a quality is a commodity in the modern football world. In the very same week as Pearson’s dignified silence, those of higher standing were left speechless as care-free mutterings came back to haunt them. Tongues were wagging.

Roy Hodgson, England manager, was left with the no-doubt awkward, and likely futile, task of convincing Rio Ferdinand that his international swansong was a croon belonging to the rat race rather than the rat pack after a commuter revealed Hodgson’s underground admission that Ferdinand was not in his plans. Regrets, both now have a few.

And Ashley Cole, never found left wanting for words, took to Twitter to criticise the FA’s latest ramblings in the long, drawn-out John Terry racism case. Miserly Cole’s one hundred and forty characters may have been, but the financial consequences of ‘the Twittersphere’ have never been so grand. Albeit a drop in the ocean of Cole’s wealth, the misconduct charge he now faces will likely being with it a hefty fine.

Hash tag: costly.

But Nigel Pearson is not a man of the new age. From the old school he graduated and to him Twitter is, as the rumour that besmirches it, simply cheep. The fruits of his labour more scouting network than social network one might deduce.

They say a picture paints a thousand words and the one painted at The King Power Stadium last Saturday should carry greater sway with the club’s owners than any careless whisper with which they may have solicited Redknapp in rumoured meetings. ‘Don’t Go Martin’ stuff this was not, but a vocal demonstration of support for Pearson rolled from the terraces surrounding the pitch with the smooth flow of the table-topping football being played on it.

A message to anxious owners delivered. Received, loud and clear.

Leicester City now walk the walk, and the mark of the man is found in the essence of a Pearson side that has quietly strung together a run of consecutive wins which threatens to rival the all-time club record of seven. Impenetrable, unnerved, restrained. For that old Leicester City confidante the nearly man, the cold shoulder has never felt cooler.

As they head into the winter months sterner tests will no doubt lie ahead. Trips to Birmingham City, Watford and Bolton lay on the horizon. The eulogy may yet be premature. But that early season indicator of ten games has arrived. If the declaration it makes is anything to go by then, come May, Leicester City and Nigel Pearson will be more than just the talk of the town.

Credit Kimmiji2012 via Flickr for Redknapp photo

Credit nicksarebi via Flickr for Hodgson photo

Credit hst43077 via Flickr for Pearson photo 

It's A Knockaert

IT'S A KNOCKAERT

Jamie Barnard on how Anthony Knockaert is the man to help Leicester City to their first away points of the season...

 

There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. Last Sunday afternoon’s 3-1 victory over an in-form Hull City side saw Leicester City maintain an unbeaten start to home fixtures in this season’s Championship.

At the King Power Stadium, Leicester have found that promotion rhythm - yet from the click of a distressed damsel’s red heels it is not. Instead the tap of summer signing Antony Knockaert’s red boots dictates the beat to which Leicester now play.

They have found their wizard.

Eased into the English game, Nigel Pearson has now given his Frenchman a free role. Too good to tie down to one position, Knockaert plays where he wants. With a license to roam, he assumes a license to thrill. Flair, determination, class. Knockaert is everything you’d want in a player.

And his introduction to the starting line-up couldn’t have come at a better time for Pearson. Having seen his side dominate possession and chances on the road this season, Knockaert was too frequently the saving grace of improved second half performances. The antidote to first half defensive carelessness, even Knockaert’s Euro vision couldn’t alleviate undeserved defeats. Nil points for Leicester City away from home this season.

To counteract such futility, back-to-back home fixtures against Burnley and Hull became of paramount importance. Frustratingly familiar fickle murmurings of discontent began to surface, knees felt peculiar to not be jerking. But the fat lady, that Wicked Witch of the West Stand, was not to sing for Pearson yet.

French under-21 international Knockaert has turned Pearson’s men from Leicester City to Emerald City, and in the former Guingamp man they have found their gemstone. In possession, when Knockaert shows, with the ball he is presented. Without the ball he is the beacon of endeavour, tireless in his work for the team. He has inspired in Leicester a clinical streak for which previously they were found wanting.

Their ooh la la, their Cheri Amour, their raison raison d'être, it is hoped that once again he will be the difference when Leicester are back out pounding that promotion trail away from home. In making Leicester feel at home in unfamiliar surrounds, home is now where Knockaert is.

With Knockaert in the team, The Foxes appear complete. Wes Morgan, a beast in defence, has shown admirable courage captaining the side with a string of commendable performances. Jamie Vardy has shown exemplary heart. And David Nugent has found that instinctive finisher’s brain which saw him follow a 100 career goals landmark with his first career hat-trick in the same week.

In achieving back-to-back wins Pearson’s men have accomplished something which for too long was both the bugbear and the epitome of their inconsistency last season. Now the aim will be to secure that first away point. If a further two could come at the same time in the form of victory, then Leicester will be gearing up to promotion pace.

But a fear for Leicester City will be that Knockaert’s journey to the Premiership may be a faster one than theirs. Scouted by Newcastle, eyebrows were raised in Knockaert’s homeland when his arrival in England was not at a Premier League destination. Talent such as Knockaert’s seldom escapes the attention of envying eyes and Leicester will hope that Knockaert takes them to the highest level of English football with him.

An artiste in the truest of senses, Knockaert’s colourful displays have illuminated the spectrum of The Championship. At the end of that footballing rainbow there lies a pot of Premiership gold. Somewhere over that rainbow skies are blue, and the dreams that Leicester City dared to dream really could come true.

 

Credit Knockaert photo bbbbbbb678 via Flickr

Credit KP Stadium photo Mr Churchill via Flickr

A Piece Of Cake

A Piece Of Cake

Jamie Barnard on how Jermaine Beckford's collapsed deadline day loan move from Leicester City to Huddersfield Town could still happen...

 

With just forty minutes to go until midnight, the transfer window misted as Sven Goran Eriksson breathed a sigh of relief. Walking through the doors of the King Power Stadium to put pen to paper on a four year deal was Jermaine Beckford. Eriksson had his striker.

 

To convince Beckford that he was the long-coveted cherry on the cake would be no easy task; the reality was that he was the Fifth Amendment to Eriksson’s recipe for success. Shane Long, Jason Roberts, Nikita Jelavic, Yakubu and Nicky Maynard, subject of a mad nine-million pound bid at one point, had all been pursued. Advances spurned, Sven Goran Eriksson’s list of failed overtures had never been so long.

Arriving on a four-year deal from Everton, with eight Premier League goals to his name, Leicester City fans were hoping that Beckford was the man to fire them back into the big time after seven long years away.

Fast forward a year and things have changed. Leicester’s leave of absence is eight years. And Beckford looks to be on the move again.

Nigel Pearson is now the man holding the keys to the King Power Stadium and, for Pearson, Beckford’s face doesn’t fit. With just minutes to elapse before the summer transfer window crashed shut, Pearson pulled the plug on a loan move to Huddersfield.  Beckford wasn’t being thrown out with the bath water. Not yet at least.

But the fact remains that Pearson had shown his willingness for a parting of the ways. Had Pearson found a lone replacement, with it would have likely come with his rubber stamp. Should he find a loan replacement, with that will come his seal of approval for Beckford’s re-unification with Simon Grayson in West Yorkshire.

For Beckford, at Leicester it simply hasn’t worked out. A meagre nine league goals in a year are scant consolation for the hefty price Eriksson paid for the cherry on that cake. And that the cake went stale leaves a bitter taste for many Foxes fans. The squad that Eriksson left behind synonymous with the offerings of its football; unfulfilling, bloated and imbalanced.

Jermaine Beckford typified everything that was wrong with Eriksson’s dynasty; overpaid yet underperforming.

After waiting over a month for his first goal, Leicester fans were shot an icy-cold stare for lauding the managerial decision to end an abject individual performance devoid of any effort, commitment or class, ten minutes after half time at Upton Park last October. In a league match away at Reading he was so ineffective that he didn’t even last that long, removed at the break. And as any hopes of a promotion push ebbed away at London Road against Peterborough, Beckford refused to advance further than the halfway line for an attacking free kick in the dying stages of a game in which Leicester were losing. 

The attitude reeked.

In the time that has passed since then, Pearson has been a Leicester fat-fighter. And they are steadfast losing the pounds - Bamba, Peltier and Mills, with their lucrative contracts, have been trimmed from the squad. Weighing in with a wage that dwarfs his return, Beckford has to be next.

Richie De Laet, Anthony Knockaert, Matt James and Marco Futacs. These are the children of the revolution. In place of an idle Beckford, Nugent and Vardy prosper. More industrious, more willing and more potent. The scent now is a breath of fresh air. And in just five games Jamie Vardy, a striker cast to the periphery of professional football only to rise again, has shown himself superior to Beckford in a multitude of ways.

Where Beckford lacks a first touch, Vardy looks neat. Where Beckford is dominated in aerial battles, Vardy shows a spring in his step so often found in the free walk of the absolved. Where Beckford cannot pass, Vardy is selfless. And finally, where Beckford shoots, Vardy scores.

Beckford’s star is fading fast. Having had his time in the spotlight, shining brightest now are the glaring limitations that once saw him fall to non-league too. At Goodison Park, Everton manager David Moyes is a shrewd operator. He took a punt on Beckford on a free transfer, cashed in his chips after eight Premiership goals. Moyes’ decision testament enough that Beckford lacked the substance to remain at such a level.

And it is a level that Leicester long to get back to. With one eye on getting there Pearson has built a youthful, exuberant, dynamic side. Perhaps lacking the know-how at this moment in time, but certainly not the flair and fluidity – a style which has seen them dominate games this season, even if coming away pointless at times.

Leading by example, in casting aside a profligate Jermaine Beckford, Pearson is showing a ruthlessness which, given time, his young squad will develop. At Huddersfield, in a less pressured environment, and back under the tutelage of Simon Grayson, Beckford may well prosper as he did at a lower level with Leeds. But Leicester City don’t have the time to wait for him to come good, particularly when thus far he has been at best half-baked.

So with a slice of fortune, a loan deal which collapsed at the eleventh hour could well be resurrected this week by the twelfth.  When it comes to Jermaine Beckford and Leicester City; as they say, you cannot have your cake and eat it too.