In honour of Mr Ferguson, some classic Scottish poetry…
Can I have fifty pounds to mend the shed,
I’m right on my uppers,
I can pay you back,
When this postal order comes from Australia,
Hope the bladder trouble’s getting better.
Darren Ferguson strode purposefully on to the Keepmoat turf, the sounds of the Shotts and Dykehead Caledonian Pipe Band playing in his mind. Was this really his destiny? Was this the moment his father dreamed about? The Black Bank faithful received him with a mighty roar and a new era of Rovers celtic management began.
No sooner had Ferguson’s trousers touched the dugout, Bradford were ahead. Rory McArdle rising like my homemade cakes to head goalwards and Devante Cole prodded home.
Rovers stuck with it and had the better of midfield exchanges until Andy Butler had to be pulled off with a nasty looking gash. Aaron Taylor-Sinclair whipping off his tracksuit to replace him.
Doncaster looked to have scored on 25 minutes after an unseemly scramble but the referee thought otherwise and the moment had gone.
A couple of fairly decent saves from Thorsten Stuckmann and it was half time.
In the second half Cole proved a real cigarette burn in Rovers’ car seat with his guile and pace. A banana free kick from Bradford’s McMahon fizzed past the post.
Rovers were full value for an equaliser but lacked cutting edge to make it happen.
Some moments to conjure with for Ferguson before the next match.
by Stu Leyland