I hate Gillingham. In an admiring sort of way. They’re a pain in the arse, obviously. We haven’t beaten them since the invention of the combustion engine and, on last night’s evidence, we’ll have seen a few more inventions come and go before we beat them again. They know how to make themselves unpopular, that’s for sure. Perhaps they’ve burst our bubble at an appropriate moment, though.
On the subject of our forwards, Gifton on an off-night plays depressingly more like a Harlem Globetrotter than Michael Jordan; and with a wall of blue meanies facing them, even Tommy Smith back in a central role couldn’t jinx a way through.