Billy Ayre's Tangerine Army (forever)

To the outsider, the reign of Billy Ayre at Blackpool might seem unremarkable. Initial success, a couple of play off finals, one lost, one won and two seasons struggling at the foot of the third tier. In this era of heat maps and XG where the lazy stats pundit is the lord of analysis, it would be easy for the cynic to say 'you just squeaked promotion and he'd taken you as far as he could'

How wrong they'd be.

You couldn't possibly explain him like that. A man who, despite the relative brevity of his reign and a lack of silverware is still universally known as King Billy.

What was it about him? There's so much to say:

Who couldn't love a manager who wore the kit to manage the team? That should have been crap, but it wasn't. Cos Billy did it and he meant it. Who couldn't have loved a man who ran out, fists clenched, whipping the fans up like it was some insanely fierce South American derby and again, meant it. Really meant it. Who couldn't love a bloke who looked like he'd run through a brick wall for the club but could be calm, measured, thoughtful, funny and kind at the same time. I never met him, but the stories fans tell of meeting him and the affection his former players and those who knew him within the game universally seem to hold him in speaks volumes.

He seemed fierce and kind at the same time. His deep North East voice dripped with passion and wisdom and humour. He was one of those North East fellas who seemed hewn from the rocks but possessed of a silken soft touch at the same time. My grandad was of the same stuff.

The best way to describe him, I think, is he seemed way older than his years. He'd only just turned 42 when he left Blackpool. He seemed to have many more years of wisdom. He seemed to understand that football is merely a game but at the same time means so much. That the role of those who play it is to care and that to have the chance to care is a privilege.

The list of players who went on to bigger things from Billy's time at the club is impressive and if the club could have invested on the back of the success of the likes of Groves, Wright and Tricky Trev then his reign might have been even more impressive statistically.

What I'll remember him for, is being a man unafraid. Playing kids against men and making them believe. He seemed to inspire the gnarly old pros and be able to put an arm round the young lads. The list of young lads who came into the side under Billy is incredible. Especially when you consider we're in the same division now and we've had a season in which a couple of Football league trophy appearances for the likes of Shaw and Bange and a sub appearance by Sims is the sum total of our youth development.

Billy kept us afloat at the same level, losing proven quality like David Eyres to rivals, players like Bamber to long periods of injury and players like Garner to age. He wasn't given any resources to rebuild, despite decent fees coming in for for a clutch of players Billy didn't moan or throw his toys out the pram - He promoted Mark Bonner, Chris Beech, Andy Gouck, Neil Mitchell, Jamie Murphy, Grant Leitch, Chris Speak and more to the side. At the other end of the scale, his coach, Neil Bailey had to several times come out of hibernation in 1992/3 and play despite having not played a game of pro football since a loan spell at a relegation bound Newport County 5 years years earlier. 

Looking at our squad from 1993/4 it is palpably worse than the one who took us up two years prior - but his sides still entertained and still fought. We still got behind him and them, because it was Billy and because he cared. He obviously cared, so much, despite doing a job that was almost impossible. A side in which Bryan Griffiths was the most creative player, where Beech and Bonner shouldered the midfield burden and David Robinson spent chunks of the season simply not being Dave Bamber because who could possibly fill those boots?

We loved Billy so much we bought him players because Owen wouldn't. We created a ticker tape welcome for the side when they were good and we carried on doing it even when it started to seem ironic because Billy believed and we went with him.

What other manager, of any club anywhere, would have been carried on the supporters shoulders at a Cardiff final, his name ringing out again and again, despite what is (on paper,) a fairly average seeming record and having left the club 7 years before? It wasn't like we'd had years of success. It wasn't as if we hadn't seen the side battered at home, seen them struggling, looking lost. We'd seen some terrible stuff, but he always pulled it round. He always had the strength and the will to go again.

It sounds ludicrously hyperbolic to say that he had the same quality as Shankly and maybe it is, but it's Shankly that is remembered by Liverpool fans, despite having a far inferior record to some of those who followed him. He's remembered as much for who he was and how he conducted himself as what he achieved and in his own dignified, passionate and human way, Billy is forever remembered by those of who were there. It was his passion that lit up what was at the time, an often more than half empty rusting shed of a ground and turned it into a place that captured your soul.

It's over 25 years since he took his last walk from the Bloomfield dugouts to the corner of the south and west stands, over 25 years since he took charge of the final day thriller away at Leyton Orient (a game I listened to on the South West Coast of Scotland, on the edge of a cliff, my radio phasing in and out of signal, listening desperately for news and getting one last miracle amidst the static.) 

Really, no matter who comes and goes, we're still his Tangerine Army. Larry, Ollie, Macca, Critch and all the rest were just borrowing us. 

Temporary generals. 

Billy Ayre's Tangerine Army