Football Blog: Tangerine Flavoured

Sunday, March 17, 2024

High pitched frustration - Wigan Athletic vs the Mighty


There is a certain tension in the air. Cynicism is easier than belief. We're on edge a bit. Critch hasn't done anything mental. It's the same team that have scrapped their way a worthy win and a precious point. It's a side that looks, at long last, balanced and increasingly in tune with each other. The big danger in all of this is that after a few decent results we've once again got something to lose. 

Wigan is all hard edged darkened brick juxtaposed with a garish splash of retail hell. You can import global capital's dream of leisure as spending but you can't quite erase the Orwellian past. A grey day. A skyline of half demolition and fitful unfinished regeneration. A nowhere ground. I think the DW feels a bit like it must feel to be trapped inside Google maps. Everything is a bit too neat, the stadium and the shopping centre around it feel like computer designed 3D models dropped onto a landscape that doesn't really suit them.

We need this. C'mon Pool.




----

I'll be absolutely honest from the start. 

My heart isn't in this write up. 

From the point at which Rhodes goes down, gets up and then goes down again, I've got a sinking feeling. It's one of those games.  I'm struggling to think of much that happened, let alone much that happened that was any good.

I was stood in front of some high pitched 12 year olds who never stopped making random and incredibly angry observations and after a while that seemed to short circuit my brain and the game is now filed in my head as an endless loop of us passing along the back line, looking a bit confused when we got to either wing back and then either belting it long (to little avail) or going back the other way, in which instance Wigan put pressure on forcing either Marv or Grimmy to whallop it long (to no avail) whilst a shrill kid's voice shrieks the eloquent phrase: 'Why are you playing like spazzes you cunts?!' in my ear. 

I can remember the following things: 

1: Kaddy was crap. He isn't crap, he's brilliant, but today was his worst display in tangerine and we, therefore, had little to nothing to fall back on. He got the ball, he lost the ball. His set pieces were little islands of hope that were washed away by the sea of reality. That's a long winded and needlessly indulgent way of saying, he hit his corners too long and his free kicks were wild and off target. He can't be perfect every week. I forgive him unreservedly because to blame him would be the most wild act of petulance imaginable and the boy has given us pleasure beyond measure to date. 

Do not mention Rob Apter. Do not mention Rob Apter. Do not mention Rob Apter. Do not mention Rob Apter. 

Rob Apter. 

Sorry. Not Sorry. 

2: Wigan were wise to us and did the things we don't like. They didn't let us rest on the ball and they were rough and rugged. The ref wasn't especially on it and Wigan soon asserted themselves and stamped their authority with a bit of skulduggery and brawn.

Wigan weren't all that but I think the key differences were that their players seemed to win more individual physical battles and that their midfield were prepared to charge at us when the ball turned over. I like the no 12 for them who seemed to twig early on that we would run backwards if he ran at us and that, therefore was what he did throughout the game.  

3: We were sluggish and predictable and we rarely, if ever summoned up an unpredictable or imaginative pattern of play. We lost the midfield battle and we didn't find much joy wide. We seemed to be sitting deep and when we had possession we didn't move the ball quickly or seem to be in any great hurry to find space. Wigan weren't dissimilar but they broke faster and looked more comfortable on the ball at the back. Their midfield was more dynamic than ours. The one player I thought really mixed it a bit was Matty Virtue and he was only on the pitch for about 8 minutes. 

4. We did make chances. Not many, but some. We missed them. This wasn't a surprise as the whole experience seemed to fizzle inevitably into a tetchy disappointment. The eternal optimist in me had my head in my hands a few times, daring for a moment to belief we were about to transcend the general air of torpid struggle and cursing the fact that reality intervened. The eternal pessimist in me chided the optimist within. 

'We're not scoring today' 
'You never know' 
'You do though don't you' 
(kids shriek 'DON'T GIVE IT TO MARVIN YOU FUCKING MONG' 
'I've lost my train of thought now' 
'Me too' 
(Coulson runs into a Wigan player and falls over) (Kids 'FUCKING SHIT PRICK DICKHEAD FUCK OFF')  
'Told you mate, we're not scoring' 
'Aye... but maybe...'
'Just give up'  

It would be unfair and needlessly hyperbolic to say we created nothing - Byers had a very mixed bag of a game but at least tried to wriggle through and got a few shots in. Lavery had fleeting moments of waspish threat and a couple of efforts, the best of which flashed wide of the near post. The best chance came late, a corner, a header back across and Kyle Joseph with what felt like a golden chance, nodding it tamely over the bar. 

5. This was another in a long series of games where it felt as if we did the same thing over and over and over despite it not working particularly well. We did change shape with a few minutes left and we made a couple of chances and conceded a couple of chances. 

I'm trying my best here, not to turn this blog into a grim polemic, but as I've observed previously, it is games like this that are the most frustrating thing about our current incarnation - we're losing, so we seem to react by 'keeping it tight and hoping to nick a winner' - which to me seems a fundamental misreading of what 'being a goal down' means. - when we shifted shape, yes, we looked more likely to concede a second, but we might also looked a little bit more likely to score a goal. That's the risk/reward calculation you make with an attacking move and we seem very averse to making such calls. 

Again, I've observed this previously (and it's really easy to cite 'desire' and 'heart' and 'bottle' and those radio phone in cliches and I'm very keen not to do so) but I can't avoid saying that we really didn't seem too desperate to settle things up. I kept waiting for the onslaught. I kept waiting for us to click into gear and for the situation to get to the point where we started to throw players forward and for the sheer weight of numbers to overwhelm Wigan and for us to toe poke home a scrappy goal borne of sheer willpower. 

It never came. Instead, we seemed to continue in basically the same patterns we'd started the game with as the kids behind me offered sage advice like 'this is shite' then asked rhetorically 'why are we shite?' and the crowd at large cheered ironically as we once again knocked it to Grimmy. 

6. There's something about the DW stadium. The pitch almost always feels a bit too big and bit too puddingy. The ball seems to move slower here, even through the air. Sometimes this Blackpool team look like they can't put it together. The whole game felt a bit like Ollie Norburn winning the ball, turning looking for a pass, hesitating, taking a touch, not seeing a pass and then turning again and going backwards. Today was Coulson, running at Wigan and then checking inside, looking and only then someone beginning to show for the ball. Today was one of the strikers going to the near post and once in while winning the fight, only for the other to be nowhere in the vicinity. Today was Marvin looking for the midfield and almost visibly sighing before launching it again for the whole thing above to play out again. 

Some days we just don't seem to connect with each other. Some days we just don't make the runs. Some days, it's just not fun. 

This was one of those days. A big, expectant crowd that turned sour. The full time whistle, the air full of rancour. Angry faces scowling their way to the exits. Talk of 'another season in this shit league' 

---

Some days watching football can feel like a waste of time. This was one of them. If we are doomed to another season in 'this shit league' then to be honest, I can't say we particularly deserve otherwise. I just hope that if we don't go up (and we still can, despite the fact that today we looked nothing like a promotion winning team) we approach the new season with a bit less rigidity and a bit more daring. 

After the game, I went to the pub with some Wigan fans of my long time acquaintance. We didn't really talk about football much. Why would you? It's just some blokes belting it about and a game like that yields few things to celebrate. 

They thought they were lucky and that we weren't as bad as I thought. I thought we were shite and they were being nice. They didn't think we'd go up though. I agreed. If I'm absolutely honest (and this is hard to admit to myself) I'm beginning to hope we don't because we're palpably quite a long way from being good enough and whilst this season hasn't been anything like the car crash of last year, we're nowhere near the quality of the Grayson team of yore or the first Critchley side. We lack either the solidity of the latter or the weight of attacking quality of the former. 

We're approaching 40 games now and I'm still not sure what to describe us as. We're not an all out footballing team like Peterborough. We're not a shithouse team like Stevenage. We're not a defensive wall that we spring from like we were last time. We're not an utter crock of shit like Mad Mick produced. We're just more than a bit nondescript. We're neither fish nor fowl. We're not fast, we're not silky, we're not particularly tough. I hate to say it (I actually do. Really. I don't want to be another voice moaning away like it's a surprise that sometimes football doesn't go your way, I don't want to demand things and strop and tantrum when I don't get them...) but we've looked very 'mid table' overall and today wasn't a glaring anomaly. Yes, we've been excellent at points this season, but the list of 'nothing' performances is just too long to ignore.

When it's our day, we're pretty good. When it isn't, we just don't seem to have it in us to change that. 

I think I need a week off. 

Onward


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Saturday, March 9, 2024

Cheating Nobber Bastard - the Mighty vs (the ref +) Portsmouth


5 years passes in the blink of an eye. A lifetime is but a grain of sand on the giant beach of infinity.
 

What a day. And what progress since! Yes, we might be in an identical position with an almost identical points tally as we were in 2019 but back then, we didn't have an upgradable ticket option that allowed entry to various alcohol related lounges for that all important 'somewhere in between corporate and the plebs in the concourse' experience.


To think that some of you are cynical. I for one can't wait for the Tia Maria After Dark liquor Lounge, the Absynthe 'forget we're 0-2 down with hallucinatory halftime spirits' lounge and whatever other excellent opportunities the club seize upon to enhance the matchday experience.


But yeah. 5 years...


There's been Armand, Super Gaz, Keshi, Sullay, Crazy Uncle Richard, electric Josh, King Kenny, and Jerry Yates to name but a few. Jerry flippin' Yates. What a human being. Get him back. Swansea don't like him. Idiots.


We've gone up. We've stayed up. We've gone down. We've floundered, fizzed, fought the odds and fucked up and everything in between. We've conquered. We've folded, we've smashed and grabbed. We've dominated. We've been supine, pathetic. We've been sublime and ridiculous There's been Terry, Larry, Critch. A lot of Critch. So much Critch. Michael Appleton's charismatic charm school, Mad Mick and tune getting TC (was that a dream?) Stephen 'bloody marvellous for 5 minutes but far too much fun to give the job to' Dobbie and then Critch again. Cos we're stuck with him. Forever. Millennia will pass, empires will crumble, the earth will be swallowed by the sun, the sand on the beach of infinity will melt then evaporate but Neil Critchley will be wearing a club polo shirt and saying 'inandoutofpossession'


I've loved every minute of it. Sort of. A new dawn. There's been a once a century, maybe once a millennium surreal global experience. There's been a once in a lifetime weird Wembley day. There's been worship, anger, love and loss. Tangerine smoke. Noise that has resonated deep within and cleansed. Grumbling dissatisfaction "Fucking hell CJ" Breathless joy and disbelief. Kaddy. Bowler vaulting legs. Madine and Yates with that 1-2-3 goal! CJ last minute into the empty Preston net. Fucking hell! CJ!!!


It is what it is. May it always be so.
 

It's love. Love is painful. Love is beautiful. Love is all we have. Love is beyond human understanding and lives somewhere beyond death and beyond us all. It's beyond quantification and explanation. It is in short supply. It is everywhere. It's within us.


It is Saturday 3pm


We love you Blackpool. We do.


---



Pompey seem over excited to be here. We seem a bit underwhelmed by the occasion. They're all about playing up and chiming and we're curiously subdued.

It's what commentators describe as 'attritional.' I can practically hear Critch on the training ground drilling 'shape lads. Never mind that silly stuff. Get back in shape'

Neither side gives an inch. They're dirty. Kaddy gets a booting. Gabriel gets clattered. Critch isn't happy. We're still oddly sleepy in the stands. Kaddy makes a rare misplaced pass. There's a shadow of a groan. He is human. Jimmy is definitely human. He chases one and then goes down. This has been waiting to happen for weeks. Hubby looks knackered. On comes Casey. A back three and no left footer. Hmmm.

Slowly we start to take charge. Beesley is running hard and pulling the defence with him. He has a half chance, but a heavy touch lets their man get a foot in. Byers is all touch and go invention. Quick feet and quick thinking getting us started. Kaddy, a little body swerve, go on, a ball slid for Rhodes who seems to have taken it too far but finds one of those arrowing low back lift finishes and we've all got out heads in our hands as it sneaks just wide... Just...

What happens next I cannot explain. I can only describe what I see. The ball up the middle. Bees is being wrestled. His shirt is pulled, the defender then has him in a headlock. The ball still makes it through to Rhodes who competes for the ball, seems to win it then get tangled up with the defender, the contact sending them both sprawling. The ref blows, I presume for the foul or to take play back for the foul on Bees.

He points towards the south. For FUCKS SAKE ref. What is that? I'm disgusted. I look away. There's a groan of shock. He must have shown a yellow. FUCKING HELL. I look back to the pitch. There's a sense of incredulity. There's a sense of stunned outrage in the stands. You don't get that for a yellow. Rhodes is marching towards the touchline. He can't have sent him off? For that? What the fuck? WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK??? WHAT??? Rhodes is more Gary Golf Pro than Gary Madine. You'd kind of get it if it was the ol' lord and master of skullduggery himself but Rhodes is not of that ilk at all. A straight red? I am absolutely baffled. I keep recounting it for the next 10 minutes. It was us that got fouled. Wasn't it? Twice? I don't know how that happened.

Pompey play it around. They've got a plan. Knock it about until we can't keep up with running after it.

It nearly works straight away Grimmy makes a full length low stop, palming the ball onto the post. We hack it away. We breath again.


---


This is going to be a long second half.

---


It is a loooooooong second half. It feels about 3 weeks long.

What happens is everyone, but mostly Grimmy.

Brilliant fucking sleepy Grimmy. Grimmy on his BMX pulling tricks. A man of few words who answers with a shrug. A man who loves his nan. Grimmy with a quick three skinner knocked up to steady him for the inevitable onslaught. Grimmy rubbing his eyes and yawning.

I fucking love Grimmy.

Grimmy at the near post somehow. I don't know how he got there. He wasn't there and then he was. Thank fuck for Grimmy. He moves through time and space, shifting miles in seconds. He's light itself. He doesn't think much of it. He's just doing what Grimmy does. A gentle eyed ninja. A soft old cat that like to curl up and snooze. Sleeping with one eye open though. No one's fool. An alley cat with a raggedy ear.

Beesley chases it. Beesley sent sprawling. A nasty tackle. OFF OFF OFF. Of course not. Yellow. Kaddy sent flying. A stamp? He was stamped on then? Not in the eyes of the ref. The ref doesn't see such things when they happen to us. Beesley again. He practically turns a cartwheel. Play on. Gabriel is barged in the back. That's not a thing. You get the picture. Critchley has his arms outstretched. He's beyond hopping mad. He's seething.

Every now and again we almost slip their defence. Beesley chases one round the corner and heroically reaches it. Side netting. He's applauded like he's just scored. Coulson charges. Kaddy flickers and tries to slip it through. He should have shot. He's only human. Today at least.

Grimmy throws himself to his left. If earlier he was full length, now he's surely put his shoulder and his finger tips out of their sockets to reach that and turn it onto the post. Unbelievable save. Joseph on. Beesley off to a well deserved chorus of BEEEEEEEES. The ground is pulsating. The drum incessant drowning out the horrible bell. The noise desperately urging us to keep playing at this heroic tempo. Back in shape. Chase, harry, nick it. Keep it, break, clear. Repeat. Marvin heads it away. Time and time again. Norburn crashes about and breaks up but Pompey collect eventually and then come back at us. Grimmy sprawls and takes a shot. It's a good save, but it looks routine in the context of world class things he's produced. He stays down. Christ almighty fucking god, not Grimmy too. He's buying us time to have a break. He's up. His kick is huge. He's fine. The ball drops. There's a 200th of a chance for a split second before the keeper snuffs it out and we treat it like a moment of pure gold. COME ON THE POOL. Joseph is stabbed through. He can't shake off his man. We cheer the effort like there's nothing left in the world but this. Jordan Gabriel whips up the west. The whole ground ignites. CJ is stood on the touchline. He's gone to warm up about twenty minutes ago and now he's just stock still, swaying with the play. He's glued to it. We all are. They come again. It's hacked away. It's back in, it's hacked away again. It's back again and there's Kaddy, snapping away and winning the tackle and clearing it anywhere like he's pure hod carrying centre half. The team gather round him. He trots off. He's more than magic. He's fucking amazing that boy. In again. Grimmy punches. Then again. It flashes across. Another punch. C'mon... Ref! What's the point though. He'll probably play till they score... It's put across... It's cleared. That fucking bell rings. It never stops.

There's the whistle...

Thank fuck. The bell finally stops.


---
What more can I say than we were magnificent? This team sometimes hasn't shown this fighting quality. It showed it in bucket loads today. We need to take this application to the teams who aren't anywhere near the top of the league and if we do, we'll wipe the floor with them. We were absolutely cheated by the refereeing today. He's probably chuckling his way back to Preston tonight, but the last laugh is on him, cos Tangerine will always be a fundamentally better colour than fucking 'lilywhite,' and nothing will ever, ever change that.

Onward!



You can follow MCLF on facebook or Twitter 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. 

Sunday, March 3, 2024

Long time coming - Shrewsbury Town Vs the Mighty



Ive just worked out that I've not seen us win away since Sept 2022. In that time, I've endured misery, disappointment, spendings off, lethargy, anger, a hollow sense of hopelessness, festive damp squibs, spring disasters, autumnal collapses, winter freezes and a creeping feeling that it's really not worth the price we pay in time, money and energy. 


Shrewsbury is lovely. It's all half timbered buildings that overhang smart shopping streets and winding alleys. Gone though, is Gay Meadow and long gone too, presumably is the coracle that used to fish the ball out of the river should an agricultural centre half put it over the stand. 


The New Meadow is less of a meadow and more of a Lego build on a retail park. The walk to the ground is a paen to big brand shopping. The strange thing is, despite the whole place having an air of only recently springing from the drawing board of an architect that specialises in 'high footfall opportunities combined with social drivers' they seem to have overlooked the fact that people might need to actually get to the football ground. It's a case of taking your life in your hands and dodging cars before wending your way down mysterious and muddy paths. 


--- 

We start ok. We have a couple of chances. None of them are particularly convincing but we briefly look like a good football team accelerating from a standstill. We'll go through the gears and there will be goals! Lovely goals. Loads of goals. Goals from the left, the right and the centre. Goals to warm the soul. 

That isn't how it pans out. In fact, we're really frustrating. We're being penned in by Shrewsbury. We cannot get a foot on the ball. We cannot get up the pitch. Grimmy looks for a pass. Everyone stands still. Norburn picks it up. He looks to the right. CJ stands still. Jimmy tidies things up. He looks for a pass. He misses the pitch. 

Fucking hell Pool. This is crap. I should be more patient than this but I'm not. I haven't got it left in me after all the dismal away games. I've used up all the 'things will come together' and 'you can't win them all' and 'they'll learn from this.' We get away with one woeful bit of defending where we lose it complete because Shrewsbury play a dreadful final ball. We get away with another because of a rank bad finish. 

There's a long injury delay after Lavs clashes heads with a Shrewsbury player. The white Pele is clearly hurt but he carries on. C'mon Pool. I'm sick of watching football that feel like 2 day old cold porridge whenever I go away. 

A long ball. Beesley (who has been decent) leaps. He doesn't win it but the ball comes off their defender as if he'd achieved the perfect flick on. Coulson who has been as good as anyone on the pitch pounces, drills into the box, pulls it back and there is the little genius, the diminutive magician, the fucking insane talent that is Kaddy to take a touch, set himself and angle a low shot precisely where it can't be stopped, right into the corner. It's a bit of sheer class in what has been a crappy, scrappy game and it feels wonderful. 

---

To be honest, I don't think we deserve to be in front. Who cares about that though? Actually, I do. Not because I'm trying to make an agenda driven point. I'm not. I'm perfectly happy for Critchley to win every game from now to the World Club Championship final and be declared the tactical master of all history. I'm just concerned that we're not quite at that point yet and we're shaky as hell away from home and we need to play better because as poor as Shrewsbury were, they matched is and I want to win this game not piss it away by being bullied by a limited side. 

--- 

We're better. We start with a series of attacks. We look more direct. We drive into the space instead of tentatively prodding at it and turning round. We force a series of corners. 

Critch makes a good change, bringing on Joseph for Lavery and keeping the physical levels up front high. Joseph looks a threat immediately. We create a bit more. Coulson has a shot blocked at the far post after a good move. Joseph has one squeezed away. Jimmy ends up with a really good chance from a cross from the right and only a last ditch stop saves it for the Shrews. The reactions of the three players vary. Coulson looks as if he's furious, Joseph looks in pain, Jimmy looks rueful and smiles to himself as if he knows he's just not destined for those moments of glory. 

Gabriel replaces CJ. Christopher Hamilton has not had a good game. He's been indecisive, static and his touch looked as if he put the boxes his boots came in on his feet, rather than the boots themselves. Oh CJ. 

Critch also chucks Jordan Rhodes (Rhodes!) on. He doesn't look so much indestructible as a bit leggy and off the pace (as you would be after a while out) but he's a threat. Husband almost has him in with a very good long ball that finds his, frankly ridiculously intelligent run. 

The Shrews have a moment. We've been a lot better and we now deserve the win. They put together 5 minutes though and it culminates in one horrible little sequence where we don't seem to be able to clear and then Grimmy makes what looks like from a pitches length an absolutely incredible double save. We chant his name even though the flag goes up. 

Kaddy has been terrific. One first half run was not only the highlight of the half, but I suspect, the best thing the New Meadow pitch has witnessed all season. He's tracked back and snuffed out threat. He's won a header. He's roamed and darted, he's spun and prompted. He's now picking up the ball on the right. He's tricking himself into space to cross, he's made the cross and the trick into the same move. The cross is sublime, an arcing ball into the most dangerous space. 

Coulson has had an excellent game. He's been tigerish and even in the turgid fist half, driving forwards directly and linking play with quick, intelligent and incisive play. As Kaddy's ball stands up between the far post and centre of the goal, Coulson is reading the invitation and charging onto it, hurling himself at it with a controlled intent. The crossed ball meets the head of the runner in a very satisfying way and then emphatically hits the back of the net. 

There's general delight, relief and joy. We've deserved that. It would be ironic had our first half performance been the decisive factor because the second half was a distinct improvement. 

Pleasingly, we stay on the front foot and see the game out looking for a third. 



---

As I've intimated above, it wasn't a vintage display but by the time the the final whistle game we definitely deserved the points. Critchley seems oddly subdued at full tame. Curt applause and turning his back at the short but clear start of a demand for his trademark celebration. Perhaps this was about showing intent or letting the players take the limelight. Maybe it's just because really, we've just seen what has to be and probably should have been and largely hasn't been to date, a minimum in games of this nature

Byers, I haven't mentioned in the main but, really grew into the game. He made us tick in the second half. Marvin was really good. I could be wrong here, but it feels as if Grimmy has played a lot higher and made to give Marvin a further escape route in moments of pressure. Beesley I though led the line really well and ran his arse off. 

It was, in the end, the sort of win you'd expect a good team to produce against a side out of form and near the bottom of the table. It was the sort of win we've almost never achieved. In some ways, this sort of win (ugly, sticking at it, earning the right eventually to play a bit) is a more important thing than hammering Pompey or Bolton. It's the kind of win that should have been much more frequent. It's a very welcome win. 

It's worth it isn't it? 

We're still in this... 


Onward!

Saturday, February 24, 2024

Ian Evatt's TANGERINE! : the Mighty vs Bolton Wanderers



For the first time since 2019 I went to a game of football this week and I didn't write about it. Why not? I didn't start this blog to slag people off and writing stuff like 'this lot are a bunch of uninspiring middle aged journeymen managed by a bloke who seems like he's the tutor of an adult college accountancy course abetted by a dim but well meaning youth club worker and a tubby coke smuggler in a puffer jacket' felt unappealing to me. 

I'm done with Critchball. Tell anyone. The guy is a fraud with a capital F. All the other letters can be capitals too. That makes it shouty and shouty is certain and telling it as it is heart on the sleeve stuff like they do on talksport and that. I will shout it out loud. Take me to the top of the tower and let me loose from there with a very big megaphone and some neon lights. I'm done with it. It's boring and it's predictable and it's not good enough. Call me Mr Certain and let my opinion be known. Fuck your process polo shirt boy.

Weirdly though and (I almost wish I didn't...) I fancy us today.


I don't know why. Actually, I do know why. It's because I've said the above. It's because, above everything else, the thing that most annoys me about Critchley is that we're stuck with him.

Forever.

It might feel like we're reaching the end of the line, but it's almost certain that we're not. It's never going to be this easy to get rid of the man. Every time I decide he's a broken robot, he goes into 4d chess tactical genius masterclass mode and makes me look a proper knobhead.

Oh, fucking hell. Critch. Why have you dropped Albie? Get in the bin and cover yourself with your body warmer then I don't have to look at you. Do you want to lose this game? Fuck's sake man. What are you thinking?


Evo is pointing at things like a very authoritative chap. Evo is lapping up the chanting. Evo is getting rapturous applause. I'm a bit jealous. I'm very jealous. Why can't we have Evo? Look at him. He's a big manly man doing manly man things and his football team are actually any good.

*Sigh*

---

We actually start quite well. I'm musing to myself that I might have jumped the gun on deciding Critchley is worse than Neil Macdonald and Lee Clark spliced with Nigel Worthington and Colin Hendry but then Bolton score. It's one of those shitty scrappy not cleared properly, stupid surely someone could have got a foot in or put their foot through it goals that we specialise in conceding and I actually do a little jump of fury as it hits the net. I am literally hopping mad.

I look at the dugout. There's Evo, all brawn and presence. He's like the model for some kind of super masculine product. A chainshaw or a beard trimmer. That sort of thing. Critchley looks haggard. Arms folded in his tight tracksuit. What's going through his head? Evo is thinking of steak and fighting bears. Critch is probably hoping Janine hasn't put too much pepper in the spaghetti bolognese as it made him sneeze last time she did that.

Jimmy Husband is creaking. The man looks so tired he could lie down on the pitch and just die right there. I reckon he had to have his shoelaces tied by Ian Brunskill (perhaps we've found out what he does?!) before being pushed out to play.

'Please can I have a game off one day?'
'No Jimmy. We need you'
'But everyone else gets a rest. I've got three broken toes and no hamstrings left'
'Be quiet Jimmy'


I wisely observe 'you can see how the fight has just drained from us can't you?' The ground was a throbbing mass of drumming, back and forth chanting and passion for the first 8 minutes but now it's just Bolton noise and possession. I can feel the second coming of Critchley ending here, the fizz in the kaliber has gone. The bottle is warm. It's undrinkable piss. They're going to batter us now.

Kaddy. A little wriggle and turn. The crowd lifts. He's good at least. He slides it to Beesley. I mean, I like Beesley in a 'nice to see an honest lad trying hard' kind of way but c'mon, he's not going to do it from that range...

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

He fucking has! He's dropped his shoulder and bought space and then sculpted the ball into the net, swerving it past the keeper, inside the post and down into the back of the goal after kissing the inside of the netting in a beautiful cushioned collision. That was fucking magic. Yes!

Football eh? What the fuck do any of us actually know about it?


We're back on. The fire beneath the cauldron is stoked again. Critchley is prowling. Byers is like a compilation of Kenny Dougall's best bits, all slide tackles and sticking to his man like a stretchy glue you can't break free from. He's all neat touches and intelligent work. Gabriel is up and down. He's winning those ball we loft to the flank. Coulson is looking surprisingly good. He's just done a high speed Cruyff turn. Who knew?

This is a battle. We're in it. Grimmy makes a fucking terrific stop at the near post. Marvin tidies things up. Pennington is all yeoman endeavour and shirehorse-like galloping forward with it. He's got a really good eye for what to do. If his feet were as good as his brain, he'd be incredible. Early on I bemoan Norburn getting caught on the ball, but he's threading it well and snarling into things.

Jimmy finds a burst of energy to overlap. A slide rule pass finds him. He digs out a perfect cross, Byers is on to it, he's headed it down, it must go in, but the keeper plunges and claws it out but there is Marvin and it's all a scramble and YESSSSSSSS!

The ball is over the line and it's manic. The players are running away, the Bolton defence have their hands on their hips. Their keeper, who looks oddly grizzled for a modern day player, like a new dad who loses his hair overnight with the shock of responsibility, is looking skyward. We're on fire in the stands. They've had their five minutes of glory. We're Blackpool FC and this is how it should feel to be us. Glorious.

We keep playing. Lavery makes some great diagonal runs and puts Santos under real pressure. He might be big, but Shane is the horsefly to his horse. The ball is up and down the pitch. The players are playing at their physical limits. It's tremendous to see.


Half time creeps up. Bolton lash a shot over. There's derision but it's not so far away. Bolton work it down the left. They fizz it over and it's met by a forward. Shit.. Somehow Grimmy comes out with the ball having kind of done the splits to try and throw any part of himself at it. He gets up, he's too far away to see for sure, but I imagine he's got that sleepy unfazed look on his face. I love Grimmy me.

---

A tremendous half. We've really more than matched them. We're playing extremely well. Committed, resourceful and dangerous. I couldn't pick out anyone to say they've struggled, I could pick out any number to praise. Coulson has particularly impressed me, decisive, direct and more skilful than I'd seen from him to date.

---

What? Two subs standing there. Waiflike Lyons and the King of The Seaside (Joseph) - has Critchley gone mad? I assume we've got injuries as Lavery and Coulson come off. Lyons hasn't had a great season and Beesley and Joseph looked like a confused pairing on Tuesday. I hope this isn't presaging a 2nd half collapse. Myself and my neighbour confide in each other. We admit to 'a bad feeling' about this upcoming half.


The bad feeling is almost immediately dispelled. We're on it again and far from tripping over Beesley, Joseph is haring about playing off him really well. Lyons is deceptively strong for a wee lad and he's soon up and down the left like a Jordan Gabriel tribute act. A ball in, Bolton scramble it away, Lyons nods it back in, a weighted touch that falls perfectly for Joseph who swivels and clips it, lifting it up and over the keeper who does brilliantly to get hands up and turn it on over the bar.

Everything that was happening in the first half is still happening. Bolton are moving the ball about, but they're not threatening as you'd imagine they might. They try the Holloway style switch and overload but we're equal to it. They do fizz one across the face of goal and it looks like it might catch us out, but Penno shephards the far post runner away. They slap a few more across the box but Marvin is sticking his leg out and blocking and it's not flying into the top corner.

We break. It's a lovely swift move, forward passes at 45 degree angles, the ball looking like a high speed move in a game of draughts until Kaddy (oh Kaddy, how I love thee) plays a simply gorgeous straight ball, weighted to perfection for Lyon to dissect the Bolton fullback and in turn, play a near post ball to Joseph for a tap in. The tap in doesn't happen. Joseph is sent flying up in the air and crashes down to the turf. The ref, who is an amenable looking slightly portly fellow trots calmly towards the spot and points at it. Delight! He then trundles across to the defender who made the challenge and shows a red. Double delight!

The place is absolutely shaking now. There's real belief. Score this and we're almost certainly home and dry. Jake Beesley stands. It seems to be an age before the Bolton lad drags himself off. The noise quitens in a way that symbolises the tension of the moment to come ramping up. Bees sets off. Smash! Straight down the middle. The keeper goes past it and dives at air. Beesley leaps and punches the air. The ground erupts


'I want another against these bastards' says someone around me. Why not I think? They keep trying but they're not making Grimmy work. We keep looking threatening. Jimmy spies a loose ball. So does a Bolton player. The formerly top-knotted somewhat jaded looking god does the knock needs pigeon toed painful looking hobble that passes for him running at the moment and crunches into the most solid tackle in the history of the world. The Bolton lad bounces off it like a piece of plastic in a spring loaded toddler toy. The ground roars its appreciation. It's not a song, but it'll do.

Talking of songs, the ironic chanting of Evatt's name is a curious thing of wonder. We love Evo. We're delighted to smash Evo. Bolton fans slink out. We implore Evo to give us a wave. He simmers. Critchley is thinking of the drive back, a cruising speed of 58.9 to maximise fuel efficiency and maybe he'll pop in to M+S at Knutsford services and get a garlic bread to go with the bolognese. Evo is thinking of grimly chewing an unpleasantly tough, leathery steak and being mauled by the bear. Perhaps getting bitten by a snake for good measure. He's simmering. Critch is giving off an air of confidence that wasn't there earlier as he points, shouts, implores players to push up, get tight, stay awake.   


Morgan is on to freshen things up. CJ on to add further pace on the break. Bolton have no choice but to go at us even if it's a fairly lost cause now. It's a matter of time before we spring on them. Albie Morgan is marauding, Kaddy is haring ahead of him. Morgan threads it perfectly. Kaddy is in rare form today, he's aware of Gabriel flying forward from the back in acres of space, so, instead of going on himself as you might imagine a player of his ilk would, he slams on the brakes and slices a pass that looks simple enough, but is actually ridiculous in terms of the angle he manages to play from the position he's in and has Gabriel clean through. I always think Gabriel's one flaw is in front of goal, but maybe that's another thing I'm wrong about because he draws the keeper and slots it into the bottom corner with a beautifully satisfying precision, tucking it away neatly and giving us time to appreciate that the ball is going in before it does.

YESSSS!


There's just time for Jimmy to finally collapse to the turf. The man has no more to give today. He needs a week in bed and another week by the pool. God love him. Casey comes on. That's 4 minutes rest for Jimmy. A rare luxury. 

There's the whistle. 

Fucking magic! 

---



The applause cascades down from the stands. They were all magnificent. Sometimes you just have to say it as it is, heart on the sleeve, honesty don't you? They were fucking brilliant. I look a knobhead. I don't give a fuck. We might not have quite played total football but we played brilliant league 1 football and mixed up fast and incisive passing with muscle and aerial fight. Beesley isn't an aesthetes choice but it makes such a difference having an outlet like him and his work rate is incredible. I doubted him at the beginning of the season but we generally look a stronger team for the option he gives.

Byers was also terrific, giving us a kind of skilful street fighting quality, making us tick in a way we sometimes don't. Gabriel looked at peak levels and that's some player for this league. I could go on. I could list the lot of them.

Critchley comes to the south. There's applause. He wanders up the pitch to the north. He lets the players take their moment. He approaches the fans massed behind the goal. They're singing and he claps them. He stands for a moment but there's no response. He turns and begins to walk away. As he does, it's like the stand can't do this to him. It's like we can't stay angry at him forever. We're stuck with him and maybe he's stuck with us. The noise rises, Critchley turns back, the pace at which he does betraying the fact that underneath the self proclaimed unshakeable belief in the process and behind the iPad screen and within all the data, he might just have been a bit worried before this match that *things had unravelled* and there's the 3 short explosive cheers and the drum banging away and we all walk out into the last dregs of late winter light and face the oncoming spring with just a bit more lightness of being and the Dembele chant going round in our heads.

We could still do this. Perhaps there's still a hint of the imp left in the man on the touchline after all. 

Fuck me. It's the hope that kills you isn't?


I'm walking down Bloomfield Road away from the ground. A couple of older fellas, maybe late 60s or early 70s are walking near to me. One of them tells the other... 

'I tell you what, it feels good when we win doesn't it?' 

...The way he says it to his mate, the sudden unaffected happiness in his voice, makes it seem as if the feeling has come upon him fresh. As if all the years and hundreds or thousands of games, all the ups and downs and highs and lows still haven't washed away the same sensations he had as a kid. I want to hug the man. His carefree observation makes me realise that I feel exactly the same as I did when I was 12, with my dad, walking back to the car after a big win. Lighter. As if the world is less sharp edged and a little more easy to cope with. It might be stupid or irrational or whatever it is, but it's undeniably how I feel. My team played well and we won. 

That, right there, is why we do it. Cos sometimes it's shit. Quite often it's neither here nor there. Sometimes though, it's fucking brilliant.

Whatever happens next and whatever went before, Critch 2.0 gave us today and today was tremendous. 

More please. 

Onward! 


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Wednesday, February 14, 2024

Not an interview with Critch (part 2)



Some years ago in the middle of a pandemic, I didn't interview Neil Critchley.

We didn't sit down for a (decaff) coffee at his favourite garden centre cafe somewhere on the outskirts of Warrington. He didn't greet me with a cheery 'how was the drive?' nor did he refer to roads by number alone, removing the usual prefix assuming a certain level of driving knowledge would allow you to differentiate your M's from your A's and B's - 'did you take the 56 or come down the 6?' 

None of this happened, though I'm convinced that the interview I didn't do was a turning point for the club.... (I did after all invent Gary Madine coming out of the sea which ultimately led to Roma's kit launch) ... what with Colin 'not Ian Brunskill' Calderwood appearing out of nowhere as if in response about 2 days later.

It's almost certainly a case of coincidence being mistaken for causality but if you're going to write nearly 400 episodes of a shit blog, then you've got to tell yourself that it's more than just shouting into the darkness cos if you don't make some meaning for what you do, no fucker else is going to. 

I still find Neil 'Critch' Critchley an enigma. He's a mystery wrapped up in a very mundane packaging. He's like a John Lewis delivery with no address label* I'd love to get into his head. I'd love to ask him what makes him tick. I'd love to ask him some more thought provoking questions than the usual ones he gets which generally amounts to: 

'A good/bad day at the office Neil. Your thoughts?' 
'What did you see in (insert name of ex Crewe player) that makes him a good fit for this squad?' 
'(Insert name of opposition) on Tuesday/Saturday Neil, how is the squad looking?' 
 

It must be boring as fuck being Critch in interviews. Being a lower league manager means you get to play at the press conference thing but with none of the scale and spectacle (and tricky questions) that comes with the big leagues. 

*I've never actually ordered anything from John Lewis - I imagine whatever it is they sell comes in a very sensible box though. 

To this end, I decided once again to not interview Critch. I didn't write to the clubs press officer, who didn't grant me permission and I didn't get in the car and drive back towards Cheshire and meet Critchley at a different location - a sports bar opposite a driving range that does paninis at lunchtime. 

I didn't shake Critch's hand as he strode over and said 'Nice to not see you again' and I didn't reply 'likewise Neil.' He wasn't wearing his body warmer over a light pink polo shirt and he didn't order a Kaliber. We didn't exchange small talk that amounted to me asking if he played golf here, to which he didn't reply 'No, I do find watching the repetitive practice kind of soothing though.' There didn't follow a short silence which I didn't break by not offering up the observation 'did you know Panino is actually the singular of the plural Panini' to which Critch never replied 'is that right' and I never responded with 'I think so, actually, I'm not 100% sure' 

Then, with the pleasantries not out of the way, we didn't start the interview. 

These are the questions I would have asked: 

---

Did you enjoy playing Neil? Do you think it's important for players to enjoy themselves? 

What did you learn from your first spell? What made you plump for a very different set up? Last time around wide players were crucial - Anderson, Kaikai and Bowler were all essential - why have you moved to a set up without out and out attacking wide men? 

What do you make of what seems to be a lack of real on pitch leadership? You've bemoaned the players' decision making at times and their inability to follow instructions - who are the real dressing room leaders and how do you go about transferring that on to the pitch? There's no Madine or Keogh types in the squad it seems. Players who will bang heads together on the pitch. Is that problematic? 

The most successful player this season was signed almost by accident. Did you think the squad you were taking over was better than it turned out to be? 

Again, returning to the first time around, a mark of the way you managed both the League One promotion and the relatively successful Championship season was tactical flexibility. This time round, it's been almost the opposite, with you sticking rigidly to a formation (with swapping a second 8 for a 10 being more or less the major change across the season.) - Was that an attempt to address the concern some had that we were successful but that it was difficult to recruit for a chameleonic side?  

Do the players get frustrated with setting up more or less the same way every week? After Wembley Jerry Yates hailed you as a 'tactical genius' on the pitch - but this year, it seems there's been a lot less innovation? It would be fascinating to know if there's any push back from the squad in playing the same way week in week out, especially when it's been going badly away from home?

On a similar note, there's been a real lack of impact from the bench this season. I think we've only won once from a position of not taking the lead in a game. I can only think of the second half vs Fleetwood and the early days of Dembele when he was a sub where there was a genuine impact from the bench. Is that down to 'like for like' changes or simply not having enough variety in the type of players we have? 

How do you deal with dissent? Do you listen to it? Do you adopt the Clough maxim of 'we have a conversation and then decide I'm right?' Do you just ignore it? 

The formation you've chosen relies on quality wing backs. We all know CJ brings searing pace but lacks the touch that would make him a real top level player if he had it. Why have you been so determined to make him first choice at RWB when we've got both Gabriel and Lyons - two players who most supporters rate highly who seem well suited to the role? Does his continual inclusion speak of a lack of pace in the squad? 

How much do we miss a quality target man? Jake Beesley has been injured more than not. Kouassi is sporadically unplayable but also then anonymous. You've been critical of us going long, but in the Championship, Grimshaw to Madine was the most hit pass by any keeper in the league - is there a reason you haven't sought a quality hold up player to supplement the squad? 

On paper, central midfield should be a strength. We've got numerous players who can play there, including some who held their own in the Championship. Why is it that baring a spell when Kenny Dougall was playing really well, we struggle to control the centre of the pitch? Is it the players or the shape? 

Similarly, last time round we had a ridiculous defence - it was a back 4 and you almost never played a 5 unless forced to. In fact, you were far more likely to play a midfield 5 than a defensive 5. Why do we never start with a 4 and perhaps even more tellingly, switch to a 4 mid game to release an extra player up to the pitch when we've got 3 players who were important elements (Gabriel, Husband and Ekpiteta) in last promotions campaigns' back 4 so it's not as if you'd be going with a totally unknown element is it? 

Kaddy is obviously a wonderful talent. Are you concerned that he's a marked man now? Do you look at the squad and see options for creativity if the other team are getting tight on him? How does leaving Apter at Tranmere and letting Dale go square with having cover for our main creative force? Do we have the players to interchange and play fluidly? Why don't we rotate attacking players more and ask more questions? 

You've brought in Ian Brunskill and Mike Garrity three times now (here, QPR and here again) - yet your management record is significantly better with an outsider on the staff. What do you see that they bring? 

Here's one that might be naive. I understand the short goal kicks business and the knocking about at the back is to invite and then break the press. That makes sense. Everyone more or less does that. What, for the life of me I can't understand is why we never take a quick throw. We always have the ball ready, then stop and wait for the right or left wing back to come and take a throw once the other team have reset. Why? 

Similarly, I don't grasp why we never leave a player out for corners. CJ, for example, is not good in the air, but he'd beat 99% of opposition players in a footrace. Why do we always do all 10 players back at every corner we defend? 

You're obviously steeped in youth coaching. You've spent the majority of your time in football preparing young players. No one has stepped up under your management to become even a semi regular player. We saw how Port Vale's youngsters (very raw players) did a job for them against us - why do you favour an experienced square peg sometimes to an inexperienced round one? 

How do you deal with players who don't give their all? Do you see it as a confidence issue, a sense of burnout, an attitude issue? Football is relentless and you can't take for granted that every player will put themselves and their career on the line for every tackle in every single game. How do you get that sort of commitment? 

Have you changed as a person following your experiences at Villa and QPR? Having such a rough year can't have been easy. You've worked mostly behind the scenes, then your time at Blackpool was spent firstly behind closed doors, then with a largely positive fan base backing you. To experience it turn twice on you in a short space of time can't have been enjoyable... Has it had an impact on the way you think about football? Do you spend the same amount of time on the details as once you did for example? Has it made you more pragmatic or more idealistic? 

What's the greatest football team you've ever seen? The one you dream of when you send your team onto the pitch? 

If you could only choose to tell a team one thing which was either 'Attack! score one more goal than them and we'll win' or 'keep it tight and we'll win more than we lose' which would you choose? 

How hard was it to make a transition from youth coach (focused on technique and compliance with a game plan above all) to being a manager (results are everything) - what's the biggest thing you've learned in the last 4 years? 

When you're coaching players, do you shape the players to the system or the system to the players? It feels a bit like you've taken two opposite approaches in your two spells. If I was taking over a football club tomorrow, which approach would you advise I take of those two? 

What's on the car stereo? 

With the questions out of the way, we don't shake hands again. I don't thank Critch for his time. He doesn't order a skimmed milk latte (double decaf) to takeaway and doesn't ask me if I want anything whilst he's getting his. He's a nice fella, so I resist saying 'some fucking substitutes that change things and a sense of urgency Neil for fucks sake' and just say 'no, thanks, I appreciate the offer though' and feel slightly guilty at giving him a hard time. 

With that, the interview that didn't happen isn't over.

After all it never got started did it? 

---

Then, in the real world, I read this and I felt sad. In the words of the music hall song, 'Things, ain't what they used to be' 

I didn't want Critch to go as he did and I didn't want him to come back when he did and I'm not enjoying the second coming as I made myself hope that I would. I've done my level best to put aside my doubts and try to believe but... 

Tuesday was as bad as we've been for a long time. There was no 'but they spend way more than us' get out clause. There was also no sense that 'it's just a blip' or 'it's early days' - it was the nadir of a series of rank bad performances against sides of a similar nature and Critchley doesn't seem to have the answer to stop them. If anything, we've got worse over time. Yes, we can beat a good side, but half this division aren't good sides and thus, it's going to be a struggle unless you have another way to play sometimes. 

The team look flat and languid. They look, with few exceptions, like they don't believe. This is a side where, Lyons aside, Critch has either signed or or given a significant contract extension to every single one of them. This isn't 'first season' stuff. He's been Blackpool manager for just about 3 years overall and whilst he can't be blamed directly for the shit show last year, he was picking up with a whole group of players who knew him and what he wanted and that's not a usual situation for a manager. 

It is, in my humble blogging wanker opinion, time for Critchley to start plotting the tactical masterclass to end all tactical masterclasses and to concoct a plan B,C,D and for good measure a plan E. Things really need a shake up and if he doesn't shake it up, then he'll need to be shaken up himself.

Such is football. 

Onward


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Yet another bad owner. Where do they breed them?

This is Brooks Mileson. He owned Gretna FC. If you don't know who he is or what the score is with Gretna, it might be worth giving it ...