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It was the final minute of the three added on and the game between Portsmouth and Gillingham was coming to its rather stoic conclusion.
Well, that was until Steve Evans piped up, again. “We had two fuc**ng headers to win the game. Two!” the Gillingham boss bemoaned to his coaching staff, simultaneously raising aloft two fingers, emphasising how many headers they exactly had to win the game. It was the final instance of a theme that ran throughout the afternoon.
Evans’ closing bellow was so loud and clear-cut, it forced BBC Solent commentator Andy Moon, who was sat in the back row of the south stand, to issue an apology to his listeners.
At the best of times, Fratton Park often provides the ultimate litmus test for any official. Never mind having Steve Evans stomping up and down the opposing dugout for company.
During these fan-less games, games like this usually feel as if they are clandestine meetings, with Fratton Park the hotbed of the city and entrenched in the middle of the hustle and bustle. Even in these COVID times, there is a Tesco’s basically on top of the stadium, with a variation of burger joints situated nearby. All of which ensures there is always movement circling the perimeter of Fratton.
Faded blue seats with the cardboard cutouts supporters now firmly removed, a couple of St George’s flags patterned with the Pompey badge can be found in one corner of the Milton End. But that’s about it in terms of supporter representation.
You see a lot of talk in the media about how Liverpool’s diminishing stars miss the collective roar of Anfield or the intangible horsepower of the Kop. Portsmouth are the mini League One version of that. For those who have never stepped foot into one of football’s most battle-hardened grounds, Fratton Park is a tight, condensed place, where every inch of space is fought hard to get.
In normal days, supporters look as if they are on top of each other, with the steep incline of the Fratton End only heightening the sense of claustrophobia. Each praying eye is intently focused on every single happening on the pitch. They are passionate and vehement at the same time in their support, welcoming each opposition team to the ground as if it is their own worst enemy.
Early minutes of the game test the mettle of you. There is a constant ambience of humming and hostility, baying for blood and instantly attempting to drown the foe. If an opposition survive the early onslaught on the pitch as well as and the overarching tension off it, then the second half will then offer the hardest, sternest threat.
Depending on the state of the game, supporters either make it so tense and uneasy you cannot find your rhythm to get back in the fixture, or produce a collective roar so magnetic that those in Blue look an inch taller or a yard quicker. Most of the time it’s both.
But obviously with no supporters occupying the terraces, who will furnish their voice for the in-game soundtrack?
Step-forward Steve Evans.
For 90 minutes, the bombastic shouts, screams and cries of Evans was all anyone could hear. Heck, there’s even a good chance that if you were indeed shopping at the local Tesco’s, you probably heard him.
Thomas O’Connor, an Irish youth international on loan from Southampton, unfortunately bore the brunt of Evans’ splurges of vitriol. A centre-back and occasional left-back at Saints, Evans dragged O’Connor through the game in the left-wing position, giving little in the way of instructions and instead opted to bark his name followed by some angrily muttered orders at every waking hour.
Well, O'Connor's south coast return could be going better
His manager Steve Evans (yes, that Steve Evans) must have shouted 'Tommy!' followed by some angrily muttered orders at least 100 times in 45 mins
Every lull in action is awoken by that same shout – poor lad#SaintsFC https://t.co/G8chQPSBMo
— Jacob Tanswell (@J_Tanswell) February 27, 2021
As early as the fifth minute, O’Connor wore the look of a player thinking ‘what now?’ after every head swivel towards Evans, making some sort of attempt to decipher any clarity of message within the storm of galling shouts.
Any lull in action would be awoken by a cry of ‘fu*k sake *insert name here* at every fleeting moment, almost single-handedly ensuring things would liven up, pronto.
Evans, who has managed 615 games at seven different clubs since the turn of the century, would then find the eye-line of a hapless fourth official. This particular fourth official must have suffered the worst luck known to a fourth official last Tuesday, having had the email pop up in his inbox to tell him he would be on the Fratton Park touchline with Steve Evans as one of the central protagonists.
By the midway point of the first half, the official on the touchline had the countenance of a man who would much rather being 20 metres away to his left, shopping at the local Tesco’s or having a burger 100 yards further on than having to cope with the managerial version of a dog without its muzzle.
Attempting to keep a lid of things at Fratton Park is challenging enough without having the former Crawley and Leeds boss turning up. When hearing the sombre news that he had been cherry-picked for this game, an immediate bead of sweat surely ran down a furrowed brow. He might have picked up his phone and saw a flood of messages streaming in, all from fellow colleagues offering a text of sympathy, probably along the lines of ‘unlucky mate.’
Referee Tim Robinson didn’t exactly find comfort in the chaos, either. As Robinson and his two linesman regrouped together to walk down the tunnel at half-time, one of Evans’ backroom allies would ensue to voice (and gesticulate) his protests about a free-kick that led to Portsmouth’s opener. He was indignant at the fact that the set-piece was taken no more than half a yard out from where the foul took place.
It appeared Evans’ delegate seemed to forget that the free-kick wasn’t exactly the most threatening in the initial phases of the ball being launched into the box. It also may have skipped his memory that Pompey winger Marcus Harness had indeed danced past three of his players, plenty of time after the initial dead ball had been kicked.
But it turns out it was actually referee Robinson’s fault that Harness was given the freedom of the entire Milton and South stands to put a cross in and onto the head of goalscorer Sean Raggett.
Unsurprisingly, in the second half, apathy began to pervade through all four officials’ demeanour. After suffering a typical Steve Evans tirade for an innocuous foul, the man dressed in black in the middle of the pitch gave a shrug of the shoulders and a wry smile. “They are both doing it, Steve. Which way do you want me to give it?”
It was a succinct, yet smart retort to the Gillingham manager. It almost reminded nearly everyone in the ground (well apart from the intended person) how utterly bizarre football is, where anything goes in the way of insulting and calling someone a fuck*ng moron. And then somehow, soon as the whistle blows, that same person has the audacity to shake the victim’s hand and say ‘well done, good luck next week.’
By the time the match entered its final chapters, any noise seemed to do whilst the ball was being scrambled about. It didn’t even have to be a word. Just a shout of anything. Every time a player in red got the ball, they would be overwhelmingly micro-managed, told what to do with such acute, abrupt detail that they had no other choice in possession.
The relative tranquility being exuded from the opposing dugout was stark. Kenny Jackett, an affable, genial man, offered few words in comparison – that could be detected in the midst of Evans, anyway.
The loudest, audible shout from Jackett was one aimed towards Harvey White and the largely obligatory shout any player who has ever played any level of football has heard over the years. “Run it Harv”, Jackett said sensitively, mindful one of his few live-wires looked to be moving a little gingerly.
As we entered the final stages of the match, one last bluster would arrive from Evans and his ample allies. Another free header wondered aimlessly over the bar and Evans – for a hefty fellow – showed the suppleness in his toes to perform a full pirouette, complete with hands on his head.
The final whistle blew to signal the end of the match but the beginning of Evans’ restoration back to a healthy heart rate and blood pressure. The conclusion of the fixture also allowed Fratton Park to return to the steadfast silence it has been used to for the past 12 months.
Steve Evans might not be every fan’s cup of tea – or most for that matter – but on Saturday afternoon, in his side’s 1-1 draw with Portsmouth, he took it upon himself to provide an atmosphere to a stadium that has long been waiting for one.
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