Chapter 122: The Long-Lost Winning Streak

"GOAL! Villa have finally broken the deadlock!" When he saw the ball hit the net, Saint on the touchline let out a long breath of relief.

"The seventy-fourth minute, and Tomlin, with a powerful header, has put Villa in front against Burnley!" Tomlin’s goal meant Saint could keep the card in his pocket. To be honest, he had been a little reluctant to use it against Burnley anyway.

The assist belonged to Jurek. Though he was already thirty-one, he had not lost much pace, which was almost unbelievable for a player who had been injured so often when he was young.

It was a fine piece of play. Jurek used his speed to burst past his marker, then used his technique to pull the Burnley back line out of shape, and finally dropped the ball onto Tomlin’s head with the tip of his boot.

"One nil, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve just had word from another ground that Villa have finally gone ahead in the seventy-fourth minute," Alan Judd announced in the studio. The national broadcaster had not shown Villa’s game that weekend.

You couldn’t really blame them. Arsenal against Manchester City was the big match of the round, and Villa against Burnley, by comparison, was two sides pecking at each other.

Of course, in the eyes of most viewers it was a minor fixture. In the hearts of Villa and Burnley fans, though, it was huge, because for a team that had just come up, three points were precious and a single point even more so.

Saint believed in himself and in the players he had personally brought in, but that did not mean the supporters shared his confidence, especially with talk of relegation hanging over the club.

But Saint, as the manager of a newly promoted side, could hardly be the one to say relegation was no concern. Fans felt that way, the press felt that way, and some of them quietly wished it on Villa.

Only that way could they prove Saint was not as good as he said, and take their revenge.

Villa did not push on after the goal. Their attacking play was still lively, but Saint immediately called Reyes over.

"No need to rush for a second. Settle the rhythm and let them come at us." What he meant was, if Burnley did not come out, Villa would not attack either, and the lead would stay at one nil.

English football loves a one nil. Saint believed one nil was the most dangerous scoreline in the game, but given the situation, protecting the lead was the right call.

His warning was very necessary, because the moment play restarted Burnley tried the same trick as before. Unfortunately for them, Villa were fully prepared, and this attack never threatened Vacek’s goal.

With that move also fizzling out, Burnley went back to their defensive shape. Even though they were a goal behind, they stayed patient.

As a result the rest of the game became rather dull. It was normal for a Premier League match to settle like that, but the Villa fans in the stands were growing uneasy.

Habit is a terrible thing. Saint was no traditional English manager. Since arriving at Villa he had been committed to making the attack more adventurous, and that was why Osei and Rocher had been so impressive in the second half.

As the clock approached stoppage time, Burnley still showed no sign of attacking, which only made Saint more wary.

"A substitution! The Villa manager makes his last change, Rami and Carver on for Jurek and Osei, and that really does shut the door on Burnley."

When Gordon Marsh saw Saint’s changes he could no longer sit still, but it was clear from his reaction that he had not given up on the game.

With those two substitutions, Marsh knew he really had no chance. Rami strengthened the defence and Carver added bite in midfield.

But even then Marsh decided to fight on. With three minutes of the match left, after Saint had made his last two changes, the fourth official held up the board showing three minutes of added time.

In those last three minutes Burnley finally attacked in force, while Villa dropped deep. For a moment the roles of the two sides seemed to reverse.

"McGinn! A header! The substitute striker has Burnley’s first shot on target of the game!" McGinn had come off the bench before Villa scored, but it was his first effort since coming on.

"Vacek, the Villa goalkeeper calmly gathers it." His composure left Burnley feeling that the game was beyond them.

In the second minute of added time Burnley got one more chance, a free kick right on the edge of the box after Conlan clipped a Burnley player.

A free kick at the very end of the game? That was a script football had written a hundred times.

Not this time. Somebody rejected the script God had written. Burnley’s player struck it beautifully from twenty-five yards, only for a hand to get in the way before the ball reached the net.

Only the goalkeeper can use his hands on a football pitch, and with the ball flying towards Villa’s goal there could be only one explanation.

"Tomas Vacek! The Czech keeper has saved his team again!" After tipping it round the post, Conlan rushed back to hug him.

If Burnley had scored from that free kick, Conlan would have been the man who gave it away, and Vacek’s save had undoubtedly rescued him.

But Burnley were not finished. A corner, one more chance for the visitors, only for Villa to deny them again.

Barzley won the first header, glanced it out to Rocher, and Villa broke away. But as Rocher drove forward with the ball, the referee’s whistle sounded.

"It’s over! Villa have beaten Burnley one nil, their first home win of the season and their second win in a row!"

"Two wins in a row? We have a winning streak now?" The Villa fans could hardly believe it.

You could not blame the whole city for being so excited, because the last time Villa had strung two top-flight wins together seemed a lifetime ago. In the season they went down they won just three league games in total.

That drought had lasted until Saint appeared.

In the stands the supporters sang long after the final whistle, and the players walked a slow lap of the pitch to applaud them. Tomlin held up a clenched fist, Vacek was mobbed by the ball boys, and Teale, the oldest man on the pitch, simply stood in the centre circle with his hands on his hips, taking it all in.

Saint shook hands with Marsh, who managed a tired nod and nothing else. Then he turned towards the tunnel and found Cadman waiting for him, grinning like a schoolboy.

"Two wins," Cadman said. "Two wins in a row. Can you believe it?"

"Don’t get used to it," Saint said, though he was smiling too. "Chelsea are next."

The grin on Cadman’s face wavered for just a second, and Saint laughed all the way down the tunnel.

In the dressing room the noise was already deafening, and Saint let it run for a minute before holding up a hand. He thanked them for the patience, for not panicking when the shots kept being blocked, and reminded them that a team learns more from a hard-fought one nil than an easy four.

The young lads nodded solemnly. The veterans, who had heard this speech in a dozen dressing rooms, simply smiled.