A miserable day has become the perfect night for football. The M55 was blanketed by a thick layer of darkness, with the light over the coast in the distance. I drive fast and full of anticipation for whilst I'm heading into the failing light of dusk, this is a new dawn for the Mighty.
Neil Critchley (I don't hold with this overfamiliarity of 'Critch' - we barely know the guy, show some respect!) had an ideal game to showcase his style. Whilst Fleetwood aren't exactly Ajax (and certainly aren't derby rivals) they do play the game to feet and we'd already played them off the park this year.
Tonight we face one of the tougher sides. Technically inferior but more likely to get behind the ball and be difficult to beat. Simon Grayson mk2 had a tendancy to match this tactic with the cunning plan of doing something similar to them and our results against technically lesser sides were poor. We looked like a team running at a modern steel plated, kevlar enhanced, nuclear bomb proof security door with a wooden medieval battering ram at times.
Will Neil Critchley have inspired us to pick locks, hack circuits, show guile, stealth and initiative? I don't know for sure but I'm looking forward to finding out. Huge credit should go to David 'Dunny' Dunn for his work because it doesn't feel unfeasible that we could be really good tonight. Going from Larry to Neil in one leap might have been a jolt but the first half at Fleetwood showed the players were open to what Critchley preaches and I think that is testament to the work done under Dunn.
The dark draws out the luminescent and the temperature is relatively mild. The Greggs on the crossroads near Marton Institute is looking like the most fabulous piece of architecture I can imagine - I’ve driven past this countless times and never noticed it looking so white and ornate before. Let's see what the new era brings.
Tranmere are loud, their singing backed by not one, but two drummers. Like a prog rock band with ideas above their station. One of the drummers looks very young. Hoggy's drum is deeper in comparison. A bass note to their tiny toy drum.
We come out in white jackets. For no apparent reason.
Joe Nuttall is playing. I resist the temptation to say 'for no apparent reason' for this is the new era, where Joe Nuttall will be fed by liquid football and score freely.
We start well. We always do. Nuttall has a clever flick to Fonz, which results a near post cross which Nuttall is close to bundling in. As the ball escapes we see Callum Macdonald exemplifying the high press (which is what people who watch football on Sky call ‘getting stuck in’) and winning the ball on the touchline. This is what it's going to be like from now on. Edge of the seat football player in their half. We were promised and it shall be delivered.
Nuttal bundles through and shows strength. He doesn't look like scoring but its commitment and as his shot lollipops as harmlessly as a balloon would float to the keeper he gets a round of applause. New era. Clean slate. Super Joe.
Then, somewhat out of sync with the script, Tranny counter and have a low shot not far past the far post. It's ok, cos our drummer is doing that gunfire bass thing he does when we do that UB40 chant. 'do do do, do-do-do doo' - that one, you all know it, and when Hoggy does the quick rapidfire beat on the drum while the chant goes on over it it's one of my favourite things ever and has been for years.
They have pressure, which leads to a horrible ping pong sequence in the box, it's going every and anywhere but we finally wrestle it away and there's a beautiful ball from (I think) Ronan to Feeney, the length of the pitch, slicing them to ribbons. Starman squares it to KDH who for once doesn't do something outstanding. From one end to the other in seconds. I'd forgotten football could be like that.
There’s already sense of something a bit more breathless in the air. This could be a love affair, not a grudging sense of going through the motions. I notice Neil Critchley is wearing trainers. I like my managers to wear boots or shoes. One of the two. Trainers seems a weird hinterland between ‘footballer’ and ‘boss.’ I’ll forgive him that. It’s a new dawn.
Tranny win a free kick. A hitherto unseen coach runs out and makes gesture a gesture which to me conveys a hotwheels toy car doing loop on a plastic track. Whatever it means, he does it twice, very urgently and from the free kick Maxwell punches, unconvincingly. He does like punching the ball. It drops for them and I think they've scored but they haven’t.
Then Fonz leaps like a salmon and hits the bar. Which for our Nathan is essentially a goal. It's the beginning of a hectic few minutes as he's scythed down after turning and skinning two of them for pace. If that wasn’t enough, shortly after, at the end of a long move he curls one into the arms of the keeper from 20+ yards. He probably needs a little lie down after all that excitement. Which is what our entire side does for the next 15 minutes.
There’s a grotty period where they seem on top. Feeney having a shot that is alway going wide is our sole highlight..
They score, a cross from right. Ferrier muscles past his man and plants it in the corner. They maybe deserve it. Put it this way, we’ve played better football, but they’ve had a spell where they’ve stopped us and looked a bit dangerous.
From the restart we summon a lovely move where we remember to not over complicate it and just make the obvious pass. It feels a bit like they are trying slightly too hard to play great football at times, but this move is slick and instinctive and ends with James Husband nutmegging his way into into box and winning a corner which comes to nothing.
I think they are already time wasting and it’s still the first half.
Then Virtue, slips, is pulled or just drops a pass short (for the second time in the half) and they have a second goal which hits the post and bulges the net. James Vaughan scores it who is about 45 by now surely but as much as him and Ferrier are a handful, they certainly don't deserve to be 2 up.
Half time: I think what this reminds me of more than anything is what it was like under Macmahon. We’d try to play the right way, and just crumple sometimes. We could be electric but we could also just let goals in. Whether I’m just seeing ‘Liverpool connections’ that aren’t there or not, Critchley has had a nasty introduction to playing nasty league one teams. How will he respond?
---
The second half starts early with a huddle. There are changes. The changes mean business. Jay ‘he played in the champions league y’know’ Spearing is on to replace Matty ‘He was Liverpool u23 captain y’know’ Virtue. Critchley has shown a tough side taking off a player many think is his natural favourite. Joe Nuttall who hasn’t done a lot since the opening few minutes is replaced by the greatest player in the world, Armand Gnanduillet.
They keep us waiting. Our players, bounce and jog and look hungry.
We press and probe and try angles until a ball forward to Gnando who shows awareness to lay it off well and there’s a simply perfect hit from KDH (as the young people call him) which swerves and sends us into raptures.
Almost straight away Connor Ronan from further out and at a more acute angle tries one that is either tipped wide or hits the post or both.
KDH and then Armand gee up the crowd who respond. We are finally outsinging Tranmere who have been brilliant. They’re a lesson in how to support a team. Constant noise, everyone singing. The whole ground is up, all sides.
This feels electric.
We have wave after wave after wave of attacks, we play lovely stuff at times but don’t quite make the nailed on chance we need. Callum Macdonald stretching at the far post, Feeney half volleying one that is switched to him into a desperate defender. We win corners, we play a one touch move that I could relive for ever that just falters at the last.
We are so much better than them, that they have to resort to blatant fouls. Feeney in particular is blocked and pushed shamelessly and we win dangerous free kicks and more corners.
The ref is making no sense. He books Macdonald for kicking the ball back to their player so they can get a move on, then ignores a blatent dive from Vaughan that he signalled himself. Gnandulliet is literally being sat on at one point but is penalised, presumably for getting in between the Tranmere player and the grass, which is a new rule the ref made up tonight just for the kicks.
We keep coming. Husband cracks a low drive which is well saved, we try to find Heneghan or Armand at the far post to no avail. They offer nothing until about the 86th minute, other than slowing the game down and pretending to be more injured than they are. I don’t blame them, but I do wish the ref would get a grip.
I don’t really understand why Grant Ward comes on for Fonz but we’re running out of legs and strikers so why not.
We keep coming. 5 minutes of injury time doesn’t seem enough. It feels like Tranmere have wasted at least 10. We win more corners. We shout ‘shooooot’ then ‘fuck’s sake’ as players shoot over the top. We never quite force that chance and the game ends as cross to Super Gnands football genius isn’t quite in his zone. He looks leggy. Well, to be fair, he always looks ‘leggy’ - that’s his whole style, but he looks like he’s not fit by the end.
It hurts. I feel absolutely gutted. We turned up, we really, really had a go and it wasn’t enough. Football is like that. You can be the best team and lose. You can have more quality than them, but lack the quality to win the game. It’s a funny old game. Someone should make a catchphrase out of that.
Tranmere celebrate like mad. I hope they stay up. They were by a mile the best away fans this year.
I bemoan the outcome with Lee and then, on the way out something on twitter about puddings makes me realise it’s actually my fault we lost. As I left home tonight I was in a rush. I don’t know where my actual Blackpool hat is so I plucked a red hat out of the bag in the hall, not having time to find my reserve Blackpool hat (A Membranes hat which had seen a good run of results) It’ll do, I thought. It didn't. (Do)
Secondly, I’ve stood up for the entirety of the previous two home wins. Tonight, I sat down for the first half. I stood up for the second.
Neil Critchley - can I call you Critch? I can!? Delighted to make your acquaintance - I’m sorry. Your lads gave it a right good go. We were fearless and brave and there was a bit of magic in the air for a few minutes but I wore the wrong hat and I sat down. Blame me, not Matty V. I should know better. He's only a kid.
More of this sort of thing please. With proper strikers.
Blackpool, I fucking love you. It’s unconditional and undying and you are beautiful, even when you lose.
Somewhere Larry will be muttering 'I'd have drawn that you ingrates'
UTMP!
No comments:
Post a Comment