The Slow Match Report: Hibernian 1 Heart of Midlothian 2
It was Project Hail Mary for the nine-man hosts, but the Jambos eventually found a way to inflict unholy agony
The Irishman had a stall outside the stadium yet offered no scarves or pin badges. “Get your Hibs rosaries,” he announced via microphone, “keep the big man onside.” Unmoved by the beads’ £2 price — surely a bargain for divine intervention — most supporters continued to stride along Albion Place without stopping. Their faces made this a cavalcade of the fretful. Many wore the expressions of pallbearers. What weighed on their shoulders were not coffins but something worse: the very real possibility of Hearts winning the league.
Back in the autumn, it had seemed impossible to most Leithers. Through the black winter the probability remained remote — surely Gorgie would fall and Glasgow overcome as usual. Now spring bloomed and still no-one had awoken from this longest and sweatiest of nightmares. Closer to the turnstiles, anxiety commonly escaped from mouths through guttural cries of “Intae these bastards” and “Come on the Hibees!” Gone are the newsreel days when an Edinburgh football disciple might watch maroon football one week and green the next. The modern city sticks to its churches.
Inside, in the minutes before kick-off, two Easter Road stands were illustrated by giant and glistening tifo displays. Over in the Dunbar End, Jambos expressed ridicule through song. Flame machines breathed their fires, Tannoy music faded and almost 20,000 locals hollered mightily. Here was occasion, here was significance. Here mattered.
Down on the touchline, both David Gray and Derek McInnes dressed fully in black. It leant them the appearance of a 1980s synth duo, temporarily suspending differences to undertake a lucrative tour. Fourth official Colin Steven stood between and behind them both, a session drummer glad of the work.
McInnes’ side swarmed forwards first, while Gray’s gave the ball away frequently and courteously. Composing themselves, Hibs swished into attack. Wide of the penalty area, Hearts’ Jordi Altena hacked grumpily at Nicky Cadden. From the free-kick that followed, with his right foot Jamie McGrath wafted over a cross. At the far post, Martin Boyle volleyed in. The net quivered like a flag in a hurricane. Three sides of the ground erupted as if a detonation lever had been pulled. The noise was heavy, visceral and sustained. For 30 seconds being there was like sitting beneath an aeroplane. Seagulls, hitherto resting on the main stand roof, evacuated to Fife. Men who otherwise rarely made eye contact with one another hugged as if back from Ypres. Leith was electric.
One particle of sport’s genius is that its plot twists come without subtle foreshadowing or build-up. Only minutes after the volcano, Hearts left-back Stephen Kingsley biffed forwards an unpromising pass. Poised at the edge of his penalty area, home keeper Raphael Sallinger controlled the ball with his midriff and then — under pressure from Pierre Landry Kaboré —quite preposterously caught it on the wrong side of the line. Play continued but the VAR had seen. Red card. There followed a pause while Hibs calculated their next move. Some of us dreamed of an outfield player in goal. Instead, Jordan Smith arrived, towel clung in his left hand like a child’s comfort blanket.
Everything had changed and yet the scoreline remained sealed, not least through Smith’s agility and poise. Hearts, as ever ignited by the eloquent feet of Claudio Braga, located their fluency but not the net. One-nil, then, at the interval, and referee Don Robertson serenaded from the pitch by a round of a cappella booing. Down in the pie queues, Hibernian faces now wore half a dozen expressions at once.
Those of them who queued longest may well have missed the next calamity to beset their team. Two minutes into the second half, Hibs were down to nine men. Pursuing an absconding ball, Felix Passlack executed a Buckaroo kick that caught Beni Baningime on the knee. Passlack had been booked in the first half and now had time to discuss dinner plans with Sallinger in the home dressing room.
Naturally the match reshaped from a contest to a blockade, a modern Siege of Leith. Hibs played a 4-3-1 formation, the one being Boyle who chased around enthusiastically like a postman with the end of his round in sight, until withdrawn breathless. Hearts tried a variety of angles and approaches, energetic artists at the easel. Marc Leonard bashed the bar from 20 yards. Each block by Rocky Bushiri and pummelled clearance by Jordan Obita provoked a rasping roar of acclaim. When Smith climbed to pluck a cross from the sky and swaddled the ball like a newborn, it was heralded as a heroic act. Somewhere deep down, however, those fans knew. They did not know how it would happen, just that it would.
With 25 minutes left, Sabah Kerjota tickled and teased his way down the right. Deep into the box having flummoxed Obita, he passed goalwards. At the near post, poacher supreme Lawrence Shankland forced a swift bout of ping-pong with Hibs’ Warren O’Hora and soon the Irishman had unwanted brackets after his name. Own goal, 1-1, Gorgie joy.
On went the encirclement from left, right and centre, met frequently and admirably by home resolve. Over in a sunshine corner, time and again Hearts’ Alexandros Kyziridis wrought havoc with his piston legs. He seemed to glide as if barefoot on sand, where defenders bumbled as if running over cattle grids. Green clock hands ticked drowsily where time collapsed quickly for those behind the goal. With four minutes left, Kerjota once more hypnotised Obita. At the edge of the box, Blair Spittal begged for a pass with the desperation of a sailor whose boat was leaving harbour. Kerjota obliged. Spittal bludgeoned the ball into the bottom corner and sprinted off in berserk delight. Four thousand Hearts supporters pogoed and crowd surfed and clinched and kissed and banged shins and went dizzy and didn’t know what day it was any more. They made the noise of 40,000.
Hibs fans would not be awaking from their nightmare any time soon. If only more had stopped for those rosaries and kept the big man onside.
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A good read, but I don't think your description of Kyziridis' contribution is accurate; he's not been at his best for several weeks now, and the main threat in the last 15 minutes was principally on the other side through Kerjota.
Thanks for reading it, Lambert, and getting in touch. You are very probably right - I suppose I can only really go on the few games I see in watching a lot of teams!