Nothing - the Mighty vs consultation and agreement with local agencies

There's nothing like a postponed game to make you realise how empty your life is. It thrusts you right back into the world of "normal people" who spend their time on a Saturday in a world of retail, family visits and getting the garden done/car washed/attending to their well rounded range of interests. You feel strange there. A fish out of water. An alien on an unfamiliar planet. What do these 'normal' people do? How are you supposed to fill your time? How are you supposed to pretend to be one them with so little notice? It's ok in summer because by then, you've had enough of football and you've got enough warning to think up phrases like 'shall we go to the garden centre?' and 'I could do with going to the tip' and 'maybe we should pop round and see your mum soon?' in order to disguise yourself as one of the natives of this strange football free world. 

As a football supporter, by definition, we don't have well rounded and varied interests (at least not Saturday/Tuesday based ones anyway). Most 'normal' people (whilst lots of humans go to the football on any given week, numbers tell you that about 98% of the population don't so, whilst we're a large group, we're the aberrant ones in the equation) have interests that they grow out of. They change as they get bored. They find new things to do. We don't. It's like there's something a bit stunted emotionally or intellectually about us. Why do we live in some kind of mundane groundhog day world, living the same experience over and over? 

I woke up early this morning (because being well rested and having good 'sleep hygiene' is so not a thing to any one with an actual real life) and instead of doing a wellbeing boosting meditation routine and making myself a chia seed based organic smoothie and baking some fresh fibre filled cranberry and outmeal breakfast biscuits and then reading some improving European literature, I had a brew, a piece of white toast and scrolled mindlessly on my phone for an hour. I ended up on a weird Twitter rabbit hole, drawn into the strange world of obsessive middle aged fans of a particular 90s boy band. 'How odd!' I thought. 'Those people haven't moved on in their interests since their pre-teenage days.' Then I remembered I run a blog named after a footballer from 1991 who I first saw when I was 11 and whilst I'm not sure if I'm the pot or the kettle in the famous saying, that particular image seemed apt. 

The bizarre thing is, up to the point that the game was called off, I wasn't arsed about it. I've got a lot to do, the boy isn't very well, generally I really could do with getting in with the bits of life that are 'grown up stuff' and actually important and not the kind of pseudo important important status that football applies to itself. Rationally, I should see this postponement as a chance for a break in the routine. A chance to get the real life things out of the way but football isn't a rational thing. 

Now it's actually been confirmed... I feel bereft. 

It's not as if I was expecting us to win. We're not particularly any good this season and Rotherham are one of those teams. Exactly the kind of sharp elbowed, broken nose, rugged bunch of hard workers that come and push you over and score three goals that are as ugly as they are painful and their fans are all a bit leery afterwards and you leave with a general sense of resentment at how you've wasted another afternoon on the fucking lost cause joke of a shit football team your dad lumbered you with because he thought you'd 'enjoy it' - Look at this Dad. I'm literally fed up as fuck with them. Call that 'enjoyment?' - Fuick's sake Pool. Sick of it! 

The football is something else though. It's not the win or the loss. It's the routine, the connection. The sharing of the experience. It's the nods and the quick chats, it's the mulling it over at half time and the different perspectives at the end. 

I'm sat, right now in a pub. I've nipped to town to get some stuff in an attempt to complete some of the real life stuff and got bored. I'm watching the people round me. None of them seem to be displaying any particular emotion. There's no extremes on display. It's just calm all round. That's great I suppose, because I'm not sure I want either a rage fuelled glassing incident or an MDMA inspired ecstatic spontaneous naked love in to break out around me but then, I feel that's kind of what the football is (only generally clothed). What I mean is - It's a chance to feel something outside of the bounds of the usual. 

It might be stupid, it might be immature, it might be an addiction or an OCD-like compulsion to stick to routine but somehow, the prospect of watching mediocre footballers playing a game of football that the wind would likely render as aesthetically pleasing as a genuine clown car crash (i.e. not a well choreographed routine where the clowns deliberately crash and spring from the wreckage with a choreographed slapstick grace, but one where the clowns actually crash and end up stumbling about slightly concussed and limping and dropping bucket of confetti with leaking comedy squirty flowers) was the one thing I was actually looking forward to. 

Sometimes I leave raging. Sometimes I leave frustrated. Sometimes I leave walking on air, feeling as if life is the most beautiful gift and the very air around me is the scent of heaven itself because for a few rare moments, the dream of boys in tangerine  overcoming the cynical weight of limited expectation and rekindling the glory days of cup wins and Ballon D'ors seems to come true. For better or worse I almost never feel 'nothing' 

I go through a lot of my life feeling very little. How can you really? The world is shit and if you let yourself think about it all too much, it would break your pathetic little heart in two. I'm a stoic, inured against reality, insulated from emotion. Nothing really gets through*. Football is when I both escape but also when I let myself feel something. 

Today feels empty. I should get over it I suppose. Grow up a bit. Do something useful. Contribute something other than self indulgent shite blogs that add nothing to the world other than more shite on a server using up energy for no reason other than to feed the pathetic ego of the twat that writes them. It's a joke really. A middle aged man who hasn't moved on from being 11. Embrace real life for fucks sake. It'll be rearranged. There's always next week. Always next season. We will win the cup again and we will have another Ballon D'or winner.

It's inevitable.

We're tangerine after all. 

I'll always be 11. I'll always believe that glory is just around the corner and that this is the day, the season it arrives. I don't give a shit. It's better than accepting real life by a factor of about 1953%

Onward.  

*Nothing get through except brass bands in town squares playing the old fashioned Christmas Carols from the Victorian era, the sparse and crisp poetry of the first world war poets, TV dramas about the murder of kids that I can't watch because it's just too horrifying to think of and call 'entertainment', the memory of holding my last (beautiful, wise and kind) cat's head as she was put down and the moment she relaxed and was gone and I felt an emptiness and sobbed in the car park of the vets, that Limmy video where he tries to buy a ferry ticket back to his own youth, the power of music in general to express things that go beyond words, whether it's the intangible but very real sense of England evoked by Vaughn Williams, a very different but equally real England evoked by Mark E Smith or the weird way that a repetitive beat such as some great Detroit Techno can be transcendent and take you a plain of being that is painless and light and heavy and real all at once, the beautiful juxtaposition of industry and wilderness of weeds coming into flower on a semi wasteland of a half demolished factory that has plain dormant, the clockwork geometry and unknowable wisdom of the flight paths of migrating birds, the melancholic holler of James Dean Bradfield in full voice, giving sound to his tragic and beautiful words of his tragic and beautiful childhood friend,  the plaintiff and beyond possible consolation sound of the tears of a kid after dropping an ice cream and the undeniable sadness of knowing, as an adult that dropping an ice cream is literally nothing on the scale of 'possible sadness you can feel' and you know that that kid is almost certainly going to feel those sadnesses someday and yet will never be as free to express what' thy're feeling as they are right now and how that kind of catches something deep inside and you want to cry along with them and let everything out, but you can't because you can't  and then the kids dad sweeps them up in their arms and soothes the tears and you think that you'll never be so small and feel as safe as that kid does right now ever again and there's people you will never be hugged by again who once hugged you like that in some long ago era who now only exist in faded packets of photos printed at places that also no longer exist and that's exactly the pain and sadness you are thinking about that the kid doesn't know yet and you have to draw a breath and go on because fuck it, it's the same for everyone this shit and who the fuck do you think you are anyway, thinking your hurt is any different to the shit everyone else carries with them and if you let go, you're turning into exactly the kind of self indulgent melt that thinks they are some special and unique flower when really, we're just nothing in the grand scheme of time and actually, that vastness is quite a comforting thing really, the moment when someone you love forgives you for something you've done or said to hurt them and it all drops away and you look at them and they look more beautiful than they ever have done and anyone else ever has done for a few fleeting seconds and a feeling of childlike giddy excitement at the moment when your last day at work before a holiday is coming to an end very soon and freedom lies before you with all the mystique and wonder of a great cross continental American road trip in a pick up truck even if all you're doing is not going to work for a bit)  

You can follow MCLF on facebook, Twitter, Bluesky, Threads and Instagram or use Follow.it to get posts sent to your email If you appreciate the blog and judge it worth 1p or more, then a donation to one of the causes below which help kids and families in Blackpool would be grand.

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Wet, cold, miserable - Bolton Wanderers vs the Mighty

My default pre-match mind set is as follows. Regardless of the fact that 33 seasons of following the mighty tangerine wizards should have taught me that we're rarely any good, today is the day it clicks and our one touch football is so dizzying in its movement and vision that the opposition are reduced to vomiting on their knees and begging for unshown mercy as we slay all before us like Genghis Khan (but with less tents and more front of shirt sponsorship) 

Today though, I feel an unusual degree of pessimism, as the rain hammers relentlessly on the roof of the car and I sigh at the prospect of leaving the shelter of pressed metal and residual warmth of the heater and slowly cooling engine, I reluctantly conclude that this week might not be that forever dreamed of 'always next week'. We're too injured, we're too out of form, we're too tepid, direction less and lacking in magic. I just hope we don't succumb to an embarrassment and end up with all 11 starters hospitalised.

The problem is, this is Blackpool FC. If I was bounding into the *what a funny name ha ha that'll get us on Talksport for sure* Stadium thinking, 'let's get at Horwich RMI and show who we are, we just need to turn up and we'll piss this" then we'd be almost guaranteed to lose 0-3 and not have a shot till everyone's fucked off early. My head says we've got too many out and we can't simply hope for a Robbie Apter miracle and Terry Bondo mania. My heart though, is tangerine and whilst it's a dismal day and the portents are screaming 'doom' - it might spell more storm clouds for the Trotters and their fractious relationship with Evo.

Who knows. We'll find out soon enough. (Might sit in the car and listen to Lancs though. This is fucking grim outside)

---

I decide to give Chissy's commentary homespun cliche bingo a miss. My feet are really wet. I don't think I saw any actual colour between the car and the ground until the vivid nightmare of the retail park. Happily Bolton don't look very good. They're moving it side to side and doing that cross field pass they do, but doing it really poorly. We're looking alright. The set up is quite pleasing in its innovation, we seem to switch from a back 5 to a back three out of and in possession respectively in a way that looks quite well drilled and both Embleton and Apter have more central roles. 

Dion Charles is one that got away but he's not really endearing himself to us by smashing into Ollie Casey, wrestling him, pulling his shirt and then throwing himself on the floor like toddler whose had a biscuit taken of him when he doesn't win his duels. Jimmy goes and has a word. I wonder what he says. I imagine it's dry and aimed at riling the lad up but spoken gently. Casey deals well with Charles all afternoon - a sign, I think that he's really maturing as a player as I think even last season there were times he was bullied a bit - but he seems to be relishing the high contact game today. 

It's really pissing down and at first, the ref seems keen to take account of that and several clashes that might usually have seen a card don't even merit a free kick. After about twenty minutes he decides to start dishing out the cards, which thereafter, he never stops doing. There's not an awful lot happening and absolutely nothing in it, which is good, because the longer we can keep them playing this boring football, the more likely it is the natives will get restless. 

Things warm up a little midway through the half. First Bolton whip a decent free kick that catches O'Donnell flat footed as he's set up for a completely different attempt. It's half a yard from being superb. Then, we motor forward and Embleton has a raking effort. Bolton reply with decent attack down the right and Charles for once evades his markers but Husband maybe does just enough to distract him and his header is poor. 

Norburn picks up in midfield. 'Drive Ollie!, Drive!' I command in the authoritative of someone who knows what he's talking about. Norburn checks back. Fucks sake Norburn. He plays it short and square to Embleton who has a bit of a channel to run into and does, before clipping a ball in, a perfect ball that Joseph and the keeper both go for and Joseph win, the ball taking an age to make it's mind up if it's going to cross the line, so much so that I look at my neighbour, he looks at me, we look to the pitch and it seems to be in and there's no flag, no whistle, nothing to stop this being a goal and indeed it's fucking ONE NIL!!! YESSS!!!! 

We look in command now. Confidence oozes from every pore (ok, maybe that's hyperbole, but we actually knock it around pretty well for a bit) Gabriel get a first time flick in on goal after clever work with Apter and forces a respectable save. We have a corner. It's not exactly a relentless period of one way traffic, but we're in front and on top and it feels good. It feels even better when, just before half time they get a free kick which I've convinced is going straight in but they waste it. 

--- 

That was much better than I feared. This is the problem though. I'm now invested in the win. I was all set up beforehand for disappointment, I'd steeled myself against defeat but now, a half decent performance and a goal have left me vulnerable to the curse of optimism. It seems like forever since I savoured a really good away day, a big win, that feeling of invulnerability and lightness you get as you leave, the sensation of being part of a rapturous crowd at the end. I want it. C'mon Pool... 

---

Hmm. 

Bolton aren't as bad this half. In fact, they actually look quite good. They almost instantly slice us open and but for a shot more or less straight at Gary Goalie, they would have been instantly level. We don't heed the warning and can't get the ball under control, looking buffeted and discomforted by their change in tempo. 

Their goal when it comes is one of those where they don't seem to do anything particularly cunning in the build up, an infield pass from the left finding Thomason quite easily and he's allowed to take a touch, and then another to set himself on his preferred foot before launching an absolute rocket that seems to leave his boot and be in the back of the net in a single frame. Another one that got away who's got an annoying habit of ramming that home.  

Stuff doesn't get much better. We're more or less anonymous, reduced to hacking it away and losing it when we do. Bolton smash the bar from very close in and it feels like a massive let off. I've turned away in disgust and am shocked when play goes on and we survive. This is exactly what I feared and we look like it's only a matter of time before they take advantage of their almost total dominance. 

The board goes up for subs. I'm not sure what I'd do to be honest, it's slim pickings on the bench - even as the world's biggest Terry Bondo fan, I'm not sure it's fair to expect him to change it and whilst both Joseph and Norburn are looking a bit leggy (and Evans too), I can't see how replacing any of them improves us. It's Dom Ballard for Embleton who played quite well first half but has been a total passenger this. It's an interesting move, suggesting attacking intent - but we've got to get the ball first in order for this to have any impact at all. 

We're immediately better. Ballard is straight on it, harrying, discomforting their full backs. We've switch to a sort of front three and at times (some what strangely) it seems like Apter is leading the line with the two strikers outside of him, whereas at others, he's dropping into the pocket behind them. Whatever it is, it works and we're much more effective in the pressing and harrying and as a result much more on the front foot. 

Joseph nabs the ball and runs at their defence. Apter is screaming for it, he's gesturing, a square pass will be swept home, he's in acres of space... someone is coming to the far post, a little chipped cross and we can't miss... the entire team it seems are lining up to finish this. It's like the options are too much for Joseph who ends up wasting the moment in a way that kind of sums up our day. 

We play actually pretty well for the remainder of the game but we don't quite make it pay. There's a ball from the right that Apter is a whisker away from being able to hoot home. There's a really lovely interchange where Coulson sends Apter away and he stands one up to the near post which is begging to be buried but the striker (can't remember who) flicks without making contact. There's ball in the box that Gabriel tries to control when it retrospect had he smashed it, would have had a good chance of going in off something. There's Dom Ballard trying to thread it when he should have smashed it, There's time for Terry Bondo to nod one down and us to hit a defender when the chance looked to be their to hit the net. 

There's not a lot of Bolton but when they score an offside goal, the glorious moment of realising before half of them do and seeing their faces turn from confusion at why we're celebrating their goal so vigorously to the realisation that they haven't scored, would, on another day, have been a season highlight.

Granted, we do create some comic moments of defending when O Donnell (not exactly a master with his feet or gifted with Grimmy's ability at taking a high starting position and making it look easy) runs out of his box and doesn't make the ball, or when he visibly flinches in surprise as Casey passes back to him in a tight spot) 

Time is running out. Finnegan (on for Norburn) makes a very good challenge and bursts forward, Gabriel (of all people) is running ahead of him. There seems to be about three passes on. He, like Joseph earlier, seems overwhelmed by the choices. God help us if our lads ever go to the supermarket, they'll be dithering forever between Kenco, Maxwell House and Nescafe and in the end, just get some homebrand teabags because it's all too much. In the end, Finnegan opts for Evans who has to check back to receive the ball and whose cross is cut out. 

Chance gone. 

It's not just gone though.

It's turned into a Bolton counter, they're racing into the space where Gabriel was but isn't, Evans is running back to try and fill it but moving with the pace of a vintage landrover with a cement mixer on the back driving through mud and they've sliced us wide open and the ball is cut back and there's a pinpoint, intricate needlework shot into the corner that evades all the legs in the box and is so well aimed that Gary Goalie knows before the ball hits the net that diving is pointless. 

Oh my fucking life. Why is it always like this? 

--- 

I actually thought we played quite well today. I was pleased firstly that we set up differently and then pleased again that Bruce countered their dominance with a tactical change that worked. We conceded, I know, but to be honest, without it, we had no chance and we were probably the better side in the closing stages. There was no lack of effort and I felt as much for the team as I did for myself. I felt for Bruce too who, I think actually showed some creative thinking and influenced the game well. We just couldn't turn what we had into what we needed. If I'm objective, it was a good spectacle, a hard fought seesaw local derby with some bite and sliding tackles and all of that. Fuck objectivity though. It fucking hurt. 

It's a grim run and the story keeps repeating. So many injured players and so few of real all round quality. Norburn made a positive impact today. His grit in midfield and his ability to hold the ball and have a look showed us what few of his deputies possess - both sides of the game. Offiah was at times fantastic and his ability to tidy up at the back with his astonishing ability to sprint like a cheetah from a standing start is surely something that will see him play higher than this and make a success of it. Casey is an able partner. Coulson had a pretty good game, but no sooner had I observed 'Coulson is having a pretty good game' than he limped off. Again. 

I don't know. We did some quite good things but we made some quite poor mistakes and probably, in the sensible world of sensible football fans who like to recycle the god awful 'game management' phrase (because it's something analysts say) we should have held out for a draw and not chased the game but fuck me, I'd rather lose trying to win than lose trying not to lose. Players made mistakes, they will do that, it's League 1 in a storm, not the Champion's league final on a balmy night in June. Gabriel was out of place, but score and he's a hero. It's football. Score a goal, win a game. That's the point. We could always see if Critchley's free again soon if we want that 'don't attack, fear the other team' shit back? 

I was gutted today, not angry with them but overall it's not pretty... yes injuries, yes mistakes, yes shit luck, however I'm stuck with the inescapable feeling that whatever effort we see on the pitch, we've got a poorly put together squad and I'm really not convinced that we've turned every stone in the football world looking for the next bit of business, or that we've spent long hours trying to build a football strategy that guides everything. For context, it's just over 3 years ago we went 6th in Championship and we're now nearly 40 places below that. It all seems just... aimless. 

It's easy to be churlish and petulant after a defeat - but I saw enough nous from the manager today to suggest he's no mug and enough raw effort from the players to suggest he can get footballers playing. What I'm absolutely not sure of is the overall picture. We just seem to be stumbling towards January but there's no real belief that January will see what we need and we really do need. Gary Goalie is a lovely bloke, but he's a League 2 keeper we signed for back up because he's good at community work and probably great with the youth keepers and he's first choice. We've got fuck all up front without Joseph and one genuine battling midfielder plus 2 wingers, one of which is a kid and the other is CJ. This is so far from a promotion challenging side it hurts. People slag the player's mentality and their 'bottle' - but it's the mentality of a club that doesn't seem to have clue what it is or wants (or, judging by the fiasco over ticket prices, where it actually is) that I question most of all because above 'mentality' and 'bottle' it's a squad of mismatched pieces that suggests there's no picture on the jigsaw box at all. 

Would I have written the above if we'd held on? No, probably not. Does that make me a 'fickle and emotive football fan' - yes, of course it fucking does, it's a football fan blog for fucks sake, not a Deloitte report. Does that make it less true? No, I honestly don't think it does. We've made weird decisions over a period of time at a level far above the manager and players and this season is no exception. Last year, we stubbornly insisted we were doing really well and spent summer saying how we were all wrong and 'the product is fantastic' and then sacked the manager after two games but let him sign all the players (or signed all the players for him, whichever it is) - We've no divine right to be at the top, far from it - but we really shouldn't be staring at a relegation battle and our 'football industry expertise' isn't, to the eyes of many, seeming especially good value.

Cheaper tickets or more 'football industry experts?'

I'll take cheaper tickets please. 

My feet are still wet. I should finally change my socks. Might cheer me up. 

Onward

You can follow MCLF on facebook, Twitter, Bluesky, Threads and Instagram or use Follow.it to get posts sent to your email If you appreciate the blog and judge it worth 1p or more, then a donation to one of the causes below which help kids and families in Blackpool would be grand.

Home-Start Blackpool Food Bank

If you want to get literally nothing more than you'd get for free anyway but are wanting to pointlessly give some money to the cause of a football blog that is usually far, far too long then your best option is Patreon. I wouldn't though because frankly, it's an act of self indulgence to write this shit and it shouldn't be encouraged. 

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Another classic - the Mighty vs Northampton Town

I think it's probably disrespectful and insensitive to say 'I love a minutes's silence' - I should probably rephrase that to get my meaning across in a way that isn't offensive. 

Lets start again.

What I mean to say is:  A minute's silence is quite rare now, in the age of applause - there's something really quite reflective  and important about standing amongst thousands of others and just stopping for a moment and hearing the world go on around you. It makes you feel small and feeling small is good for you. It places you in amongst a totality and silences give you pause for thought about history and all that led to now. We are mere grains of sand. We are just atoms held loosely together and waiting to be torn apart by time. 

The Last Post is always a fragile tune. Military might and the machine of war churning, but the quivering note of the bugle sings of the human caught in the brutal workings. It's beauty defies the horror, a haunting and painful melody.

I'd forgotten today would be our remembrance game and it catches me a little unprepared. There's more than a twinge of emotion as I think that the two sets of lads, lined up opposite each other around the centre circle would be cannon fodder in another era, the lush carpet of Bloomfield Road swapped for a hellish swamp of mud, shattered trees and rotting limbs, the decaying mortal remains of so many souls dying for reasons no one can properly explain. People have a lot to answer for. The Somme, Passchendaele and all the rest. The fundamental insanity of fascism and everything else that you can think of that lines the dark corridors of our collective story as a species.

Today we scan lists of statistics looking at XG and assists like it matters. In yesteryear, the lists of the dead read like an endless vidiprinter of death, loss and grief left running all day and night, thousands added to the tally each 24 hours. The numbers still speak of unspeakable things even after so long. Silence is the only way to comprehend such futility, such waste, such animal slaughter, each death a lost love, each body full of all the glorious capability of every human. Trench warfare that lasted years and no one could even tell who was winning even as the bodies piled higher than can be readily conceived of.

History remembers the names of the great who achieved so much, it remembers the names of the leaders who caused wars. It should never forget the many, even the known dead rendered practically nameless by the scale of the records. They never started war themselves, nor ever had the chance to achieve greatness. They sacrificed. They were sacrificed to the madness.

Long may silence sometimes reign.

Now for a sudden key change because after all, this is a football blog and there is football today too. 

Terry fucking Bondo is on the bench. I love Terry Bondo. Everyone does. He's the latest trend on the hit parade. It's only partly down to the fact he's called Terry Bondo and at least a bit because he's a young kid who looks like he can do something we need him to do - namely, run about and get near the ball in the region of the goal and a lot about the fact he looks like he actually wants to score a goal. I might sometimes have my nagging doubts about the tactical relevance of Steve Bruce's 90s football travelling showcase (given the prevailing zeitgeist isn't very '442') -  but I do very much like his instinct for picking the player of the moment and his willingness to give a kid a shout.  

--- 

The first half is interrupted by injury twice and never really seems to get going as a result. A Northampton lad manages to hurt himself quite badly and is taken off on the orange stretcher that always reminds me of a mini model of a lifeboat. There's the usual shouts of 'get him off the pitch' and 'get up you tart' but as it becomes clear he's actually badly hurt, there is a grudgingly respectful round of applause. Football crowds are the best of human nature eh? To be fair, there's a lingering doubt in my mind that he pretended the whole thing to avoid the shame of being skilled (that sounds like something young people say to describe a move on FIFA so I'll use it, whether it is a phrase or not) by CJ whose 'trick' in beating him is put in perspective by the fact it was very possibly beating a man with a fractured leg or some such horror injury. 

Jimmy is the other interruption. When he sinks onto his backside and throws his head back, I'm thinking the worst, but then it's evident that's just to stem the flow of blood from his nose. Jimmy is made of strong stuff and football is a lot less dangerous than war, so he's patched up, has a change of shirt and we're off. 

Other than injuries there's a lot of effort but not a huge amount of quality. Robbie Apter has a couple of runs and slams the ball over the top or down the goalie's throat (not literally obviously, it's just one of those things people say in football reports because everyone else says it) and Rhodes heads wide from a corner when really, he might get it on target if he'd been properly in the groove. 

Northamption look indifferent to the prospect of attacking most of the time. They're happy enough for us to chug away looking quite often like we might be about to put a good attack together but mostly not quite doing so. Numerous times Joseph or Apter don't quite break the lines or we don't quite find a pass. Finnegan does ok in the middle but when his big moment comes from what is probably our best move, some slick passing and changes of direction that sees the ball pulled from the right to give him a shooting chance from about 18 yards, he gets caught in two minds about shifting it on to the next man or cracking it with the laces and what happens looks a bit like the outcome of a bunker shot in golf where the head of the club is loose as the ball flies off at an oblique, almost impossible to conceive angle and ends up nowhere near either any of our players or the goal. 

The Cobblers have the best chance of the half. How it came about I don't recall, but Gary Goalie makes a brilliant save, a sharp pass from the right begats a sharply taken effort from about penalty spot range and the big man gets down fantastically well and gets a strong paw to it (he's the kind of keeper with paws, Grimmy had hands) to turn it away. For all the questions about goalkeepers* O'Donnell is good today, making a couple of excellent saves and generally being quite commanding and decisive. 

(*and they are very real - who sells the decent first team keeper and ends up with the lad in goal who was last a no1 with a team relegated from the entire football league shortly after telling the fans prices are going up to pay for 'better players'? Answers on a postcard**)

**Don't bother with the postcard. It's a rhetorical device and stamps are murderously expensive these days plus PO BOX GM14 is a made up address I've used previously as another device so it wouldn't get to me anyway***

***Unless the actual GM14 uses it for some reason, in which cases it will land in Hartlepool and I doubt he'll give a fuck to be fair****

**** Are PO Boxes even a thing anymore anyway? Answers on a postcard etc. See what I did there? Lets stop this shit, cos it's shit and crack on with the feast of delicious league one football we're all savouring... I bet you can't wait for more of it... 

Where were we? 

Joseph is limping. FFS. 

---

I dunno. It's like something happened and time passed but it's not really registered with me. We've not been awful but I've not really been excited either. The usual things happened. Joseph ran about a lot (until he started limping, when he slowed down a bit). Rhodes did quite well on a scale of Rhodes this season and I thought worked hard to come deep and win headers. Apter looked the one player who could really cut through but didn't really trouble the keeper either with crosses or shots and when he did deliver a nice ball (and also when Jimmy did) we didn't quite read the intent and it flashed past the post with no one near it. 

--- 

Joseph has come out for the second half. Hurray! 

Joseph is on his haunches doing the universal squat of the footballer who can do no more football. Fucks sake. This is a piss take this year. 

What are we going to do? It's Terry Bondo time!. Who had Terry Bondo down as a first team pick 3 weeks ago? Not me. Anyway. I'm not sure if everyone else is injured or Steve Bruce has said in his lovely gentle but firm Geordie voice "look, the rest of you can buck your ideas up. I like what I see from Terry. I like a player called Terry. It reminds me of my playing days. So on both performances and forename terms, I want better from you. Go and score a few goals and call yourself 'Keith' or 'Clive' or, I dunno, 'Gary' and you'll be right back in. I don't hold grudges, but I have standards - is that clear? Any questions? Now, Steve, pop the kettle on, Stephen, go and grab those chairs and Keysie, get the hobnobs, lets have a natter"  

For the first bit of the half we're really poor. The Cobblers have their best spell and put a lot of pressure on. We defend well, but we're worryingly reliant on last ditch defence. I prefer 'defending well' to mean the midfield mop up before it gets to the defence but you cannot underestimate the importance of Jimmy Husband's under the bar headed clearance. Jimmy sometimes looks less than free of movement on a football pitch but his athletic and twisting leap to flip the ball away is outstanding and brings to mind his tackle away at Bournemouth which is genuinely the most astonishing bit of defending I've ever seen in the flesh. 

That effort is followed shortly after by a sliding challenge as they look to be part way through pulling the trigger. I *think* it was Gabriel though Casey also goes to ground at the same time so it's difficult to be sure but whoever it was got it absolutely right at a moment they absolutely had to. Whichever way round it was, they tackled both their own player AND the Northampton player such was the force of the slide. 

Bondo doesn't really touch the ball for a bit. Then he's away down the left, a lovely bit of skill and a burst of pace to the byline. Who knew the big man did this? He's like Josh Bowler only with end product as the ball fizzes across for us not to make the most of, but not because of the quality or direction of the ball, but because it's us and we don't score goals at the moment. 

There's a cross from the left where Bondo takes his man away and (I think) Rhodes gets in at the far post, but the ball is in the side netting, not the back of the net. Rhodes then has the best effort of the game from a Bondo knockdown, a drilled effort from distance that the keeper flings an arm up for and tips over in a leaping, tumbling manner that denies Rhodes a goal his all round effort probably merits. 

It transpires though, that in having a good shot, Rhodes has injured himself. This is the most Blackpool thing ever at the moment. We bring on Embleton (not a striker) and Norburn (even less of a striker) and I'm not sure how this is going to work. If you didn't have Terry Bondo down as a first team pick, then you likely didn't have 'Terry Bondo as a solo striker' down as a potential game winning tactic either. 

It works surprisingly well. Or at least, to be less hyperbolic about things, it doesn't go quite as to shit as I fear it might. It kind of carries on as before with us not really quite getting it right overall, but given the patchwork nature of it (what is it? 5-4-1? 3-5-1-1? I don't know) with Apter nearest to Bondo, no real right winger and Embleton wandering about the middle like a Sunday shopper browsing the aisles of a supermarket before being allowed to pay for stuff at 10am, the outcome isn't bad. 

The greatest moment of the season (everything Keogh related aside) so nearly happens. Coulson has a sort of 'is it a cross or a shot' effort, Bondo reacts quickly with a snapshot at the near post. I'm about to leap so high that I hit the roof of the south stand, but their keeper equals (or perhaps even betters) our keeper's earlier stop and the fairy tale is denied. 

There's a moment that might not remain in the collective memory where we nearly score a wonderful goal. I've wondered about Embleton quite a bit this season. Last time he was here I liked him a lot but he's struggled this time to find a place and influence things and looked more than a bit lacklustre at times. I was reminded of why I liked him by a tiny moment today. The midfield is the usual league one meat grinder. Everyone is booting it and jumping and it's all hopefull stuff. Embleton nips in and with a deft back heel sets us off into space. I keep watching Embo cos I'm trying to work out if he offers us anything still. We make three or four passes and then, the ball is pulled across to Embleton who has drifted, unseen, checking his run to be exactly where he is, ready for the ball, but sans marker. The ball is just too short, he winds up for it and pulls out because it's not there. It would have been a sensational goal from a higher division. They say you can't mourn for what never was, but honestly, I'm gutted that didn't actually come off. I'm still none the wiser about where he fits and how we use him but there's at least some quality still there beneath the dusty surface...

Not long to go. We'll never score today.

Bondo and Offiah exhange passes, Terry's touch and go technique is really impressive as is Offiah's physical pace and his mental speed as he spots Apter. It's threaded and the little man is in, legs drumming, bearing down on goal and it looks as if this might be it but the ball is rolled the wrong side of the post in what was maybe an attempt to give the keeper the eyes and then slam it at the near post but was undone by the fact he didn't really slam it or get it on target. 

That is that. 

--- 

After the game I felt quite down about it because we didn't really do an awful lot and no disrespect to Northampton (disrespect to Northampton) it's Northampton. Thinking it through again, I still do feel a bit down because the same predictability and inability to really get any control was there - but there were a few reasons not to book the league 2 tour quite yet. Firstly, we were defensively better. Jimmy played well, Offiah played well. Casey almost always plays well even when we're clown car defending and Jordan Gabriel was much more like himself. That back four should be good. It shouldn't leak goals like a sieve. It's not world class, no, but it's not bad for this level, it's not a bottom 6 defence in any world. 

Midfield was again the weak point and that is fundamentally why 442 is not paying off any more. CJ had an anonymous game and went off injured. The Rapter's right sided role is fine, but I think I liked him shoved up behind a striker more because he's truly of the leash there and harder to contain and the switch it to him, he takes it down, cuts inside routine is becoming a known quantity and without much else elsewhere on the pitch, you can sit on him there because you know exactly where he'll be. Evans was someway off it today though - he didn't look fit, he got his pocket picked a few times and struggled to impose himself as he does when on it. I think he played because he had to play and there's merit in that. A lesser player I think might have put their hand up at some point to come off or not start and it's churlish not to value that. Norburn definitely stiffened things up a bit. I though Finnegan wasn't bad at all really but as my wise neighbour said 'he's just not the enforcer type that you need to give Evans that bit of time' - ultimately, Norburn is much more that. 

Tactically, whilst it's a shame it took an injury mess to force us into changing things up a bit, I would credit Bruce for thinking on his feet well and definitely give him a lot of love for both picking Bondo and then chucking him when he did when he could easily have baulked at how early it was and how key Joseph is to replace. For all that it feels as if we've really not invested well of late, there's a lot to be said for backing a kid over a journeyman and we've not done that a lot in the last few years and for me, I absolutely love seeing youth get a chance and wish we'd done it a bit more. It's also clear that we don't HAVE to play 442 every minute of every game and that gives me a bit of hope because some players might benefit from that and make the squad a bit more deep as a result. 

The main man today was of course, Terry Bondo. A world without Kyle Joseph might follow in the next few weeks and I dread to think of it, but Bondo did well. Talent and experience is all well and good, but without the wildcard of youthful endeavour, it can all be a bit stale and routine. For all the fear of putting kids in, he looked absolutely fine. He was no rabbit in the headlights. He caused problems, he was brave, he linked with others and gave us an energy. I'm not getting carried away. Bondo might play 4 or 5 games and disappear to the Unibond* league. He might be the new Matty Blinkhorn and play quite a bit but not quite crack it. He might be half decent and knock in a few and be an asset on occaision. He might smash it and be the next big thing. I don't know, you don't know, Steve Bruce doesn't know, Terry Bondo himself doesn't know.

That's the beauty of giving a young player a shot - it's about today. He had no weight of expectation but he exceeded what could reasonably be demanded of him in his all round impact and therefore, tonight, he'll feel as if a door has been opened. No one knows how long the door will stay open, but for many in the youth system, it remains steadfastly shut forever and therefore, I will tonight raise a glass to his efforts in tangerine in the hope one or two more might sneak through the door that Bondo has got his toe through and we see more of that kind of fearless and high effort football.  It should give some of the 'established' players a kick up the arse to be honest. 

*whatever it's called now. 

Onward

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What are we? the Mighty vs rudderless drifting

What IS Blackpool Football Club? 

I don't mean, who are the fans? Where is the building that houses it? I don't mean who are the players and staff? I don't even mean, who are the ownership and board of directors?

All of that is easy enough to answer. 

What I mean is, 'what are we?' - 'how (apart from the historical deeds such as the Ballon d'or winner, winning the most famous and influential game in the entire history of football, the play off record, the World Cup winners and being the Only Team in Football in Tangerine and White) are we to be distinguished  from anyone else? 

This season is kind of like a microcosm of all the possible Blackpool's there are. We're a meta Blackpool. We started out as a cautious possession based team. We morphed into a crazed all out attack machine characterised by a total disregard for defensive conventions. We evolved into a lean mean, 90s football tribute act, all hard running and wingers and then the wheel seem to turn once more, with us looking a bit like something you'd see on a video of a struggling Chester City side in about 1995, failing to string passes together and slamming it long towards players not particularly suited to receive the ball thus. Muddy kits, players doing double teapots and looking to the heavens. 

Here's the thing. To win things historically, you have basically needed one (or preferably two) of the things below

a) loads of money so you can have the best players 

and/or

b) to be better drilled and possessed of a stronger team spirit than anyone else

and/or 

c) have a manager with an unusual amount of tactical nous and a great sense of timing/eye for a player 

In the last 20 years, as football has become a more complex (and arguably vastly over-complicated) business, you also probably need 

d) a sense of direction throughout the club that directs the decision making from top to bottom. 

I suppose this isn't really 'new' - after all, Liverpool's boot room philosophy was broadly evolutionary right through their dominance of English football. Continuity bred success, each manager's work, the foundation for the next, each manager coming in and adding their own twist to the same basic recipe. Pass and move. The Liverpool groove, but Paisley brought young defenders who could play to ice Shankly's cake and Dalglish added width to pop a cherry on top. 

Here's a random fact - Gordon Milne was Shankly's choice of successor - not Bob Paisley

Of late though, it's hard to escape the fact that few clubs can simply buy their way to success. The option of just flinging a load of cash at it and hoping for the best is more and more impractical as the sums of money have risen from 'the kind of money it might need to build yourself a nice third home and put a Ferrari in the garage' to 'the kind of money it would take to wage a small scale war against a superpower' 

Liverpool's genius was a plan. Peter Robinson in tune with the manager of the time. The manager of the time in tune with some seemingly inalienable sense of 'what the club is' - everything stemmed from that. Liverpool didn't actually spend outrageous sums very often (at least not until the late 80s as football began to show the impact of early TV deals and sponsorship) but the money they spent, they spent very, very well. Read any list of Liverpool's successful sides and you notice how humble the roots of some of their greats are and how intelligently their managers put together the jigsaw. 

Now, everyone has a plan. Brighton are, in some ways, the Liverpool of their day (though, there's a coherent argument that Liverpool are proving to be the Liverpool of their day too) - what was initially credited to Graham Potter appears to run deeper within the club. It doesn't seem to matter when the manager leaves or when they sell players because they are always one step ahead. Just as Shankly and Paisley aged, just as Joe Fagan quit after Heysel and Liverpool just got better, Brighton seem to be moving forward, powered by some kind of voodoo. 

Haven't got as many piers as us though have they? 

Here's another thing. It isn't voodoo. It's just hardwork and consistency. There's no doubt Brighton are helped by having money. Tony Bloom has invested in the club for sure, but it feels very much as if his money has gone much further than many other owner's money has because he's spent it very well. 

The Brighton* model is more or less summed up below. 

1: Have a vision (i.e. we will play fast passing football with young players)

2: Recruit to that.

3: f it goes wrong or well, the manager will leave.

4: Recruit another manager who broadly fits that ethos.

5: Continue moving between 3 and 4.

6: Do not alter 1. Ever.

*Could also be the 'Swansea of 10/15 years ago' model, the 'Dortmund' model, even the 'Wimbledon 78 to about 1993' model and so on - it's basically any club that is good without having the most money that doesn't go to shit the instant the manager leaves. 

Now, you may be wondering... 'what has this got to do with us? - it's all very nice talking about Danny Wellbeck, Steve Heighway, Ronnie Moran and the fact Brighton will probably unveil a 14 year old Peruvian kid who was really good on Football Manager to replace that lad who will obviously go to City to replace Pep unless City get fired into space for cheating... but this blog is the third best Blackpool related blog in the business and I'm reading it for the third most interesting take on Blackpool related things' 

That's a fair point, so lets get to it. 

I want you to have a look again at the list above and consider us: 

a) We don't have the most money. 
b) We don't currently look particularly well drilled. In fact, in some games of late, we look a bit like some crumbly plaster that's been drilled and then collapsed into dust. (I've clearly mixed up the meaning of 'drill' there, but the blog is a bit metaphor light at the moment and crap imagery is my brand identity) 
c) Not since the golden days of Critch 1.0's group think inspired tactical masterclasses has it felt as if any of our managers have regularly out thought the other manager.
d) Hmmm. Where to begin. 

Let's leave the current situation for a moment. Granted, it's tempting to unleash a few thousand words on the fact we seem to be playing in lead boots, players look to have lost the ability to pass 5 yards to each other and our tactics amount to 'Kyle, run about lad, there's a good boy' but there's a deeper question I think we need to ask because once again, we find ourselves in a position where 'what the manager wants to do' isn't really matched to 'what the manager has in the squad' 

Who can forget the tactical triumph of using this lad as a target man? Double thunbs up all round.

Brighton's wunderkind plays that 'Brightony' football where they're all really good technically and run like mad that they always play. Had he arrived at Brighton and found a squad full of Gary Madines, Gary Brabins and Gary Briggs then he'd probably have had a stark choice - hipster football wouldn't cut it. He'd have to have a go at Garyball and the idea of some pure data science post Pep megamind manager playing Garyball because his squad dictated that would be a bit weird. 

The point is simple enough. Brighton have made simple decisions seem like masterstrokes because they've had conviction in one basic idea. They have a way of playing. They recruit players and managers alike to fit that way of playing. Therefore, they haven't yet had their 'Ten Haag' moment, when a manager arrives expecting to do a thing only to find the players are absolutely shite at that thing and therefore everything is a bit flawed from the outset. 

Having thought a bit more about Garyball, I think it's got legs. Maybe it's the identity we need? 

When you break down our recruitment of managers, it suggests very clearly that we don't have any kind of template. One manager inherits a squad from the next manager but that squad isn't particularly attuned to their needs. It has *some footballers* but not really of the type they need. 

1: Grayson - old school. Get it forward, pick up the pieces. Feendog to big Armand. 
2: Critch - new school. Retain possession. 
3: Appleton 433 all the way
4: Mad Mick - Makes Larry look like a woke warrior he's so old school. Get Curtis Nelson up front. 
5: Critch 2.0 - new new school. So wedded to possession that shots are banned unless you are one yard out. 
6: Steve Bruce - Forever trying to recreate Man Utd 1993-94 but without Ince, Keane, Robson, Cantona, Sharpe, Giggs etc etc. 

I would argue the only appointment that really made sense from an 'evolutionary' perspective was the much criticised transition from Critchley to Appleton as they shared a certain amount of coaching DNA and I think there's an argument to say, as much as that era was a 'little bit tetchy' at times we were a strong defensive midfielder away from being a perfectly acceptable side capable of Championship survival. In fact, when we didn't have midfield made of tissue paper, we actually played some genuinely outstanding football from time to time. Who knows, had Bridcutt or Stewart or Fiorini managed 10 more games between them before January, we might not have been where we are now. I'm not trying to rewrite Micky Sad Eyes as the unheralded king of football management because a lot of his decisions and some of his relationships left a lot to be desired - I just don't think his appointment was the one single factor that 'led to where we are' (worse off than when we began the journey at this point in time) - I think it's a pattern of things. 

Every other appointment seems to make zero sense in relation to the last. Mad Mick's long ball midgets. Critch 2.0 coming back to take over the squad he'd mostly signed and then doing something really totally different to what he'd done before. Steve Bruce may or may not turn out to be a masterstroke, mediocre or Mad Mick 2 but he seems wedded to 442 and we've got no wingers and only really one nailed on 'battling midfielder so we seem well short of the basic requisites to roll back the years and play Barclay's football. 

If we come back to today, we're on a really poor run. There are circumstances, there are emotive and very real mitigating factors. There are strong, human reasons why we shouldn't be lining up to give Steve Bruce a load of shit (even aside from all of that, he's only been here for about 2 months anyway) 

If we accept 442 is the default formation and if we accept the performance of our players has been subpar and we need to make a change to better service the set up/send a message/freshen it up/take players out the firing line/give someone else a chance then we have a bit of a problem.

Going forward, the only realistic option I can see is to pick Rhodes (looks as blunt as a butter knife) or Fletcher (looks as blunt as butter) instead of Ballard (not very big so not very good at getting on the end of long balls belted forward) We can't change the wingers as we don't have any others. We can't change the midfield very much. (Finnegan?)

Defensively, changing the fullbacks isn't really an option either. We can swap the goalie from the lad who got relegated from league football to the lad who conceded loads of goals in a row. We can bring Baggott in and that's about it. 

In short, there's not very many options. Yes, we have injuries but so does everyone else in football but we have several players for who it's more or less impossible to imagine regularly playing in a physical and direct 442 and thriving and hence that reduces our options still further. It is not a squad tuned to the needs of the manager and none of our managers have really benefited from that for quite some time. 

Sorry to come back to the Garyball thing again, but actually, there's a fine line up building now I've thought even further. 

To sum up - I very much hope Bruce shows himself capable of some tactical flexibility and does more than just putting the same thing out week in and week out regardless of the resources available - but more than that, I dream of a day when I can understand the club's wider decision making in the context of a coherent football strategy. 

To quote the great and the good, if football is a 'product' that would suggest some element of design. From what I can see, we resemble a factory that keeps changing what the assembly line is set up to produce with the obvious confusions to the process. Change, is of course, part of football as it is any other business, but the change seems wild and haphazard. We don't seem to really stick to anything. 

Blackpool is Blackpool. Not since the maximum wage was lifted in 1961 have we remotely been able to imagine attracting 'the very best' on a regular basis. That means we need to have some some combination of nous, hard work and a plan. I'm really not sure we have the latter and whilst the manager and players get shit thrown at them and abuse pouring from the stands if their effort drops and the tactics are poor, I'd really, really like to know what the vision from above is for the club because I genuinely can't see one at the moment. I can see us appointing staff, I can see staff on the club employee list, but I can't see any particular plan that unites them in a purpose beyond 'get to next week' 

Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm not looking hard enough but I genuinely don't have a clue what Blackpool Football Club actually is at the moment and given as I spend an unhealthy amount of time watching, thinking about and writing shite about it, then it feels as if I don't, then I can't imagine too many other people do either. 

After writing all this, we'll no doubt beat Northampton 27-0 

Onward. 

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Get it launched! - the Mighty vs Wigan Athletic

I decide to walk down the prom from the station. I haven't done this route to a game for years. It's easy to forget when you don't go to the front very often that Blackpool is mad as fuck on a world class level and this has to be one of the planet's greatest walks to a stadium. Walking to the Dave Whelen Broken Leg Superstore Stadium is a grim trek through muddy carparks, derelict mills and a particularly dystopian Asda. We deserve the points just for that really. 

I have no idea how this will go. This season is up and down. Down and up, side to side, back and forth. I'm doing everything to avoid saying 'rollercoaster' here.  We're rubbish. We're great. We're rubbish again. We're on our 4th manager this season and perhaps it's showing a bit. It is what it is. 

I resent the very existence of Wigan Athletic on a fundamental (deeply childish, personal and bitter) level.. It's a rugby town. They're a non league team. Dave Whalen once nearly killed me (true). All their fans actually  support Liverpool or someone like that. Their 'fairytale success' was bankrolled. That's the gist of it. I've outlined my antipathy in greater depth in previous blogs. They've turned up tonight in a ninja kit with a yellow bib on the front like they fancy themselves a bit. 

Before the game, I'm thinking - the problem now is the same problem as the problem previously. We have 'a way' of playing that suits some players and not others. When the right players aren't fit then trying to make that way work come what may doesn't seem to be the definition of tactical genius. That said, in this weird Bruceless limbo,, it's all a bit churlish to be raging at the fate of a football team but then again, that's what we do and that's what the entire football industry is built upon. If it weren't for the one eyed emotionally immature football supporter like me, there wouldn't be a professional game because we'd all find something better to do of an afternoon/evening and therefore I'm hoping genial Uncle Steve has got a master class for us tonight.

--- 

It appears he hasn't. It's 442 and no matter the shape of the pegs we're going to hammer them into those classic 90s football holes. To be fair to Stand-in Steve, we're a bit short however you throw the cards in the air but I swear we could fashion something slightly more creative and perhaps convincing than what we put out. 

The first 20 or so minutes are attritional stuff. When I say attritional, I mean, really quite shit. I can't really remember anything good that we did and mostly I entertained myself by correctly guessing that Ash Fletcher would mistime his jump when it came close to him.  If you want to play along in future, you get one point for a poorly timed jump and a 3 point jackpot for when he jumps in the wrong place as well. (minus 1 point for 'not jumping at all') 

Wigan weren't especially good either but they had a canny tactic of lobbing it up the the touchline for a fast player to run after. They did switch the play once too which in this game was advanced level stuff I passed a bit more time wondering about people who pay shitloads for Sky Sports and whether any of them are still watching what looks a bit like two works B teams battle it out. 

Then Wigan score. It's a smash it up the wing into that channel ball and then from what I can see from miles away, one of our defenders isolated and they get a ball in quite easily, that gets touched on with no real challenge and subsequently swept home by a late runner unseen by our defence. I'm not raging yet, but I can't help observing that t's quite easy to score against us

We wake up a bit. Fletcher has a run and a semi respectable shot that is deflected wide. The Rapter puts a few lovely balls in (one is a sensational cross considering he's got no space to work in at all) but we conspire to either head them wide (Joseph) or not head them at all (Embo ) Joseph's perennial harrying pays off as he's through on Sam Tickle, he sees the chance for a lovely chipped finish and executes the idea but the Wigan keeper reads it perfectly and Joseph looks a bit sheepish because what really should have been filed as 'audacious and cheeky' ends up under the heading 'looked a bit shit I'm afraid.' Kyle can do what he likes though. He's beyond reproach for me. The Rapter pings one from distance that has fizz and swerve but is just over. 

Then Wigan score again. This time I'm raging properly. Evans moves deep to collect a pass. He's eyeing up a raking ball, wandering about visualising his next clever pass  for far too long and Wigan just nip it from him, runs through the middle, whilst our defenders run away and score. I'm not furious at Evans per se, because he's also earned a mistake or two this season but just the universe and everything in it can fuck off. Fucks sake Pool. 

We attack a bit more and from a move that threatens to have broken down, Evans whips a ball into the box, Joseph is quite near it, but it's a Wigan man who deflects it in. A good time to score, but it would have been better on balance not to be 2-0 down before scoring... 

--- 

I don't know. We've made some chances but we don't look joined up at all. Wigan haven't been great but they have looked a bit more cohesive. It's all a bit scruffy. Our tempo is off. Some players seem to want to be patient, others hurried. It's like the musicians aren't in time with each other. 

--- 

The second half actually hurts to watch at times. Agnew has quite clearly told them to cut out any fancy business and get it launched quickly and as often as possible. It's both 'sort of more effective' and also 'whisper it quietly but this is a tiny bit TC and Mick' 

I'm not a football purist. I actually really like watching a well drilled direct team doing their thing but we're not that side. It doesn't help that Gary Goalie isn't the best kicker, nor does it help that none of Evans, Apter, Carey and Embleton are what you'd imagine a long ball midfield to be and Ashley Fletcher, despite being every inch an athletic looking mobile and physical presence on the outside iis about as effective as a target man as one of those wavy arm hot air things you get outside of car garages for no other reason than that seems to be a thing you put outside of car showrooms.  

Wigan carve us open several times. There's some really last ditch blocks, one particularly of note from Penno and a wild shirt pull from Casey that is all he can do to stop a break. Gary Goalie makes a very good low stop to keep us alive. They head one over the top when they should really score. 

We can't keep the ball. We're literally just twatting it hopefully forward at any chance we get. 

Then Fletcher has a semi respectable overhead kick effort and I wonder if the answer is to make him shoot every time facing away from goal or to play him in a blindfold. He then is slipped by a neat bit of play from Sonny and Embleton and seemingly clipped in the box. It's not happening with this ref all night and you have to fear it might never happen for Fletcher. If ever a player needed a random and unexpectedly spectacular goal, it's him.  

Wigan do a weird thing - they take off the nippy wing backs that tortured us. I don't really understand that move. 

Amenable Uncle Steve sends very polite nephew Jordan 'always sends a very neatly written Christmas card' Rhodes on. Carey whips a good ball in. Rhodes is on it and it's inches wide. Kyle Joseph gets outside and cuts it back and Rhodes hurls himself at it in what from a mile a way looked like a classic Keith Houchem style and it's deflected what feels like millimetres wide. Rhodes looks livelier than he has done for a while. 

We go 433 with Onomah and Ballard entering the fray. We carry on twatting it, which really doesn't seem to be the best use of the small and pacy substitute and the quite technically able but not hugely hard working midfielder but what do I know? It's not quite Mad Mick using Ian Poveda as a target man but it's annoying me because it seems to be just reverting to a set ideology and we've had enough of that with the Cheshire Oaks oatmeal soft furnishing fabreeze scented one. 

Wigan are annoying me too singing that stupid Bob Marley song. Should sing some George Formby instead or fuck off and eat some mintballs and chase some eggs down a mine. Everything is annoying me to be honest. 

The ref has been gash. We've been pretty poor. I don't understand our tactics or substitutes and and this is a really poor defeat that I honestly can't imagine Critchley's boredomball succumbing too and that's a really depressing thought. Where's the inventiveness that Uncle Richard's  carefree chaos unlocked? There's none of it. It's like watching a VHS uploaded on youtube of a match from the days of muddy pitches and half empty terraces and I'm half expecting Andy Gouck to be the next sub. 

We're hacking away in injury time. The ball is bouncing around but we can't get it down to shoot. It's guiding out to Robbie Apter. He's got to make this count. A little drop of the shoulder, and a dart, the little bit of space he needs. He's drilled it to the near post.... It's in!!! 

Yesssssss! I have no idea who scored (it turns out it's one of those boycott era players for us who is just a  name to me) but suddenly my fury at the world has gone. As poorly as I think we've played for periods we've deserved that and it's fucking brilliant to let Wigan know that every little thing isn't going to be alright after all. There's that bitterness again. Pour me a pint of it. I want to down it in one. Beautiful.  

Then we're going again. It's one of those moves, one touch, a scream for a penalty that I've no idea on but that we're never going to get because Wigan could behead one of our players in the box with a machete, film it, send the video to the ref with a full confession and he'd wave play on, another touch, a lay off and Josh Onomah steaming in. In fact, I can see the run from almost before he makes, it, a vision of his arrival onto the ball, the goal gaping, his powerful frame perfectly balanced over the ball to strike it cleanly and crisply into the net. 

In reality (where sadly football is played instead of my mind,) he leans back and hits row P of the Kop. 

--- 

I don't know how to feel about this game. 

For all that it wasn't pretty (it really wasn't) we did create chances and you'd have to say, we probably gave Wigan one and a  half of their two goals by not defending very well and whilst they even more literally gave us two out of two of ours, I think we deserved that luck marginally more than them. There wasn't a lack of effort but there was a lack of quality and a sense of it being all a bit patched up and stuck together with bits of tatty masking tape, which, I suppose it was. 

It all felt very 'lower midtable' if I'm honest and leaves us still pining for those absent or injured. For me, we need to start showing a bit more tactical flexibility when we're lacking key players because 442 or bust isn't yielding the results and ultimately, we didn't play with the kind of verve and belief we'd shown earlier in the year, nor the solidity that Bruce's arrival had added to that attacking imagination. That said, we came back from two down and we didn't give in and ultimately, we could have won it so maybe I'm just being aesthetically snobbish. I don't know. I just hope that '14th' isn't what '8th' was last season because it's felt a bit like that of late. 

A late goal is always good though and Gary Goalie gets full marks for the celebration. 

Onward! 

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