Been a bit of a week hasn't it? It's time for the Rochdale Rams vs the Tower Power Tangerines on the irradiated wastelands of Mars. Wait. That's not happened yet. That's football 2035 and the next big plan, to beam the games to outer space to see if any as yet as to be discovered life forms might want to buy a pay per view subscription but for now, from one legacy fan to another, let's just enjoy our plain old common or garden league 1 football live from the traditional surroundings of
What of tonight? It's (as the diagram below shows) logically a comfortable win for us. Rochdale like to play a bit, but aren't very good, need the points and therefore probably at some point need to attack. We're very good at picking teams off who do that. We're bang in form, results would suggest we have better players and we've got squad players starting to return to fitness that give us options to freshen up the side.
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| Insight into tonights game via the medium of grey circles |
If only football worked like that. Relegation may be an outmoded and unprofitable concept, but the threat of it can spur teams on to heroic and unlikely deeds. It's one of the strange quirks of football that we'd possibly rather be facing a side higher up the league, than a side scrapping for their life. One with everything to gain and nothing to lose... Also, we never beat Rochdale at Rochdale, which is also ridiculous logically as players and manager come and go and the only thing that remains is us and the badge. But never the less, it's Rochdale away, so we believe we're doomed... We're surely better than that now, aren't we?
Critch brings back Jordan 'Honestly Jordan, I never had a problem with you' Thorniley for the Viking and Embleton comes in for Demi. Other that it as you were and pretty much as expected. The Cure plays on the tannoy and inexplicably I want to burst into tears. Then iFollow interrupts that moment by bollocking me about piracy and I have a word with myself and the feeling is gone.
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Is it me or do our shirts look redder than normal? Chissy summons a weird image of Michael Jackson sat on his shoulder 'for covid reasons.' We knock it about a bit till Garbutt puts a great cross in. Yates gets penalised, so I'm free to imagine Chissy as the captain of a marauding sailing ship, plundering treasure and making Colin Greenhall walk the plank. His gains, he would of course bury 'on the island' and mark with an X.
We pass it about nicely some more. I wonder if Chissy has a hook for a hand? Our passing comes to nothing and they do some passing instead. I don't really imagine Michael Jackson as a parrot. Brett, yeah, I could run with that. They get a corner. We clear it easily enough. I imagine Chissy training Brett to say 'pieces of 8'
Then I imagine me getting a real parrot and training it to say stuff Chissy would say. 'Once of this parish' 'We wish him well' 'Terrible from Kaikai' and so on. How would I explain this to people (i.e. most normal people) who didn't know who Chissy was? They'd think I was mentally ill. Maybe this year and this blog is taking its toll on me and I am.
We faff about on the right and look quite good but the final ball isn't quite right. They have a few attacks, then they nearly score, A curling ball from the left beats Ballard and is met by at the far post with a low stabbed effort that Maxwell has to make a very sharp stop to keep out.
Dale have another attack. It's weird. The ball is bouncing about. We keep watching it till they shoot, we block. It bounces again out to the near post and Maxwell has the make a Schmeichal-esque stop, making himself as big as he can and leaping out to narrow the angle
Our attackers might as well not be playing so far. Sullay plays an awful pass after charging forward, picking up the ball from good work by Grant Ward. Embleton looks like he's put his boots on the wrong feet.
Dale get in again on the right, we just seem to stand off and watch as they come forward and it takes an excellent challenge at the last moment from Thorniley to turn a goal bound shot into a corner. At the other end, Yates muscles his way on to the ball, spins and spreads it to Embleton. We look to have men over, but instead of a cross or shot, we end up working it all the way back to Dan Ballard. It's odd. I can't really work out why we're not playing. It's not like Dale have pressed us or kicked us out the game. Their appears to be space for us at times, but we've used the ball really badly.
Finally, we win a corner. Sullay takes a good in-swinger and Turton meets it with a spring and a glance that sends the ball not so far wide. A bit better. A collection of things happens, the Dale keeper looks injured but he's ok. We have a few more attacks that turn into retreats. Yates chases a through ball. Maxwell catches then drops then falls on a corner. We pass it all up the right hand side of the pitch, go across the box, move it down the far side and then across the halfway line. It's a perfect rectangle of football, then finally, we finish the move by booting it long and out of play. It's sort of like an artistic statement about the futility of life in football form.
This is definitely not Super League stuff. When we finally have a shot, Sullay fires it cleanly enough, but Simms wanders into the frame and the ball hits him and bounces back from where it came from.
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After romancing about the blood and thunder qualities of 'real' football, this has been cagey, limited and frustrating. Which, lets be honest, we all know football can be like that... We look leggy. The runs aren't happening. We've got that tired vibe, where you see players reacting after the ball is passed, not before. Simms (who I confidently tipped to score 2 tonight) has had about 3 touches and we look desperate for a bit of energy and an extra man in midfield.
I think this is ripe for a half time change. Not just tactically, but because they look flat. Ideally we'd be 2 or 3 up and you'd bring of Jerry, but he's looked as sprightly as anyone, so I think it's got to be Simms for Demi and Embleton or Sullay going into the centre.
We looked shaky initially and we've taken more control of the game as time has gone on, but we've really not looked like doing any damage with that. Maxwell is by far the player of the half and that's without Dale even playing especially well.
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Blow me down, it's the same team. Who would have thought it? I shouldn't complain as in the last few months, every time I've made a sub in my head, Critch has out done me. I get over excited about it. Subs are an event when things are dull. Give it 10 more minutes of this and I'll be wanting Marvin on up front. As a anexpert shite blogger, I'm convinced that managing a football club is all about making the right subs at the right time and that I am so sensitive to the rhythm of a game, I can perform magic with the right change at the right time. It's probably harder than that.
Yates chases a long clearance from Maxwell, he reaches it, but he can't quite burst beyond. He holds it up, it seems to take about 10 seconds before anyone gets up with him, but when they do, Yates finds Garbutt who goes to the byline, then returns it to the shirtless one, in space he's found cleverly in the box, Jerry goes for a clipped effort, connects well, but his sight is off on the sniper rifle and he places it into a gangway of the stand, not the corner of the goal.
Dougall drives it forward, it's deflected, and Simms picks up the loose ball 25 yards out, turns, advances and unleashes a fierce drive from the edge of the box that the keeper saves well. The big man is generally more involved in the first 10 minutes than he was in the first 45. Pool are better in general. Garbutt is getting forward and looking influential. Sullay is having one of those games where he looks like a someone in a foreign bus station who can't quite decide which bus to get on as he can't read the language on the signs and Embleton hasn't yet swapped his boots to the right feet.
Demi gets ready to come on, but then he doesn't. Dale make some subs and have a little spell. The earlier promise of the half has fizzled out. Then it gets worse. Dale score. A throw is held up, then laid back. Ollie Rathbone picks it up, cuts inside and curls a very good finish right into the corner. Fucking hell.
Our blitzkrieg starts with Garbutt putting a free kick into the wall, Embleton crossing into a defender and then Ballard letting the ball through his legs and Thorniley having to make a very good saving challenge.
Finally we get subs. Sullay has gone, Simms has gone with him. Gabriel and Mitchell come on wide and Embleton goes up with Yates. I think we're going to see Brad Holmes. Shots are blocked, crosses are cut out. Embleton looks much better in the middle. Demi is energy. Gabriel is the same. A ball just misses a Pool head. Thorniley plays a Hollywood ball and Gabriel is just a fraction away from control it and racing free.
Dale take a bit of control back. One of their players who looks a bit like a fella who does Bee Gees impersonation act in a tatty Spanish resort engages in some top class shithouse time wasting, holding the ball when we want to take a free kick and shouting sweatily through his beard for a while about nothing.
I was right. Holmes is coming on. Embleton lifts a free kick in. The keeper flaps, Jerry jackknifes but he can't reach it. Gabriel drives it hard, it's deflected over. The corner is stroked to the edge of the box, all across the grass, like a snooker ball, before Garbutt leathers it. It just won't go in though. Demi runs through the entire team and just stumbles at the end. It's not happening
Ward is replaced by Robson. Embleton comes on for Holmes. A long throw, it's flicked on and Holmes has a sniff. It's belted clear before he can strike... Chissy decides Ethan Robson is Brad Holmes then he corrects himself and identifies him as Garbutt. It's sort of a metaphor for the evening.
Gabriel surges forward and is clipped. A yellow card is a small penalty for stopping the flow of the move. 5 minutes of time is called as we wait to take the free kick that's small compensation. Ethan Robson tries to remind us who he is and what he does by trying a shot but it's rising and sails 3 or 4 yards over.
Holmes jumps for a long ball, it's a satisfyingly meaty challenge that quells any thought that Brad might not be up for a man's game but it's merely a chance for Dale to lie down for a bit and take a few seconds out. Yates sets Demi free but he can't quite get it out his feet. A long throw is headed out but not even Ollie Turton and all his majestic attacking prowess can complete the spectacular first time volley into the top corner that he attempts and Dale break. We muster one last foray forward, Yates making space from a long ball, Demi not quite able to capitalise and as the ball is nipped away the ref blows.
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Flat for 70 minutes, too late to change it and done by the greater energy of Rochdale would be the critic's summary. The sympathetic view would be that we looked absolutely goosed and it was one of those nights at a ground that functions a bit like a hex upon tangerine. It's exhausting producing conclusion after conclusion when basically we see three kinds of games.
1: Where we play really well and everyone's ace.
2: Where we don't play that well but get the result and the spirit and desire is evident
Critch brings back Jordan 'Honestly Jordan, I never had a problem with you' Thorniley for the Viking and Embleton comes in for Demi. Other that it as you were and pretty much as expected. The Cure plays on the tannoy and inexplicably I want to burst into tears. Then iFollow interrupts that moment by bollocking me about piracy and I have a word with myself and the feeling is gone.
---
Is it me or do our shirts look redder than normal? Chissy summons a weird image of Michael Jackson sat on his shoulder 'for covid reasons.' We knock it about a bit till Garbutt puts a great cross in. Yates gets penalised, so I'm free to imagine Chissy as the captain of a marauding sailing ship, plundering treasure and making Colin Greenhall walk the plank. His gains, he would of course bury 'on the island' and mark with an X.
We pass it about nicely some more. I wonder if Chissy has a hook for a hand? Our passing comes to nothing and they do some passing instead. I don't really imagine Michael Jackson as a parrot. Brett, yeah, I could run with that. They get a corner. We clear it easily enough. I imagine Chissy training Brett to say 'pieces of 8'
Then I imagine me getting a real parrot and training it to say stuff Chissy would say. 'Once of this parish' 'We wish him well' 'Terrible from Kaikai' and so on. How would I explain this to people (i.e. most normal people) who didn't know who Chissy was? They'd think I was mentally ill. Maybe this year and this blog is taking its toll on me and I am.
We faff about on the right and look quite good but the final ball isn't quite right. They have a few attacks, then they nearly score, A curling ball from the left beats Ballard and is met by at the far post with a low stabbed effort that Maxwell has to make a very sharp stop to keep out.
Dale have another attack. It's weird. The ball is bouncing about. We keep watching it till they shoot, we block. It bounces again out to the near post and Maxwell has the make a Schmeichal-esque stop, making himself as big as he can and leaping out to narrow the angle
Our attackers might as well not be playing so far. Sullay plays an awful pass after charging forward, picking up the ball from good work by Grant Ward. Embleton looks like he's put his boots on the wrong feet.
Dale get in again on the right, we just seem to stand off and watch as they come forward and it takes an excellent challenge at the last moment from Thorniley to turn a goal bound shot into a corner. At the other end, Yates muscles his way on to the ball, spins and spreads it to Embleton. We look to have men over, but instead of a cross or shot, we end up working it all the way back to Dan Ballard. It's odd. I can't really work out why we're not playing. It's not like Dale have pressed us or kicked us out the game. Their appears to be space for us at times, but we've used the ball really badly.
Finally, we win a corner. Sullay takes a good in-swinger and Turton meets it with a spring and a glance that sends the ball not so far wide. A bit better. A collection of things happens, the Dale keeper looks injured but he's ok. We have a few more attacks that turn into retreats. Yates chases a through ball. Maxwell catches then drops then falls on a corner. We pass it all up the right hand side of the pitch, go across the box, move it down the far side and then across the halfway line. It's a perfect rectangle of football, then finally, we finish the move by booting it long and out of play. It's sort of like an artistic statement about the futility of life in football form.
This is definitely not Super League stuff. When we finally have a shot, Sullay fires it cleanly enough, but Simms wanders into the frame and the ball hits him and bounces back from where it came from.
---
After romancing about the blood and thunder qualities of 'real' football, this has been cagey, limited and frustrating. Which, lets be honest, we all know football can be like that... We look leggy. The runs aren't happening. We've got that tired vibe, where you see players reacting after the ball is passed, not before. Simms (who I confidently tipped to score 2 tonight) has had about 3 touches and we look desperate for a bit of energy and an extra man in midfield.
I think this is ripe for a half time change. Not just tactically, but because they look flat. Ideally we'd be 2 or 3 up and you'd bring of Jerry, but he's looked as sprightly as anyone, so I think it's got to be Simms for Demi and Embleton or Sullay going into the centre.
We looked shaky initially and we've taken more control of the game as time has gone on, but we've really not looked like doing any damage with that. Maxwell is by far the player of the half and that's without Dale even playing especially well.
---
Blow me down, it's the same team. Who would have thought it? I shouldn't complain as in the last few months, every time I've made a sub in my head, Critch has out done me. I get over excited about it. Subs are an event when things are dull. Give it 10 more minutes of this and I'll be wanting Marvin on up front. As a an
Yates chases a long clearance from Maxwell, he reaches it, but he can't quite burst beyond. He holds it up, it seems to take about 10 seconds before anyone gets up with him, but when they do, Yates finds Garbutt who goes to the byline, then returns it to the shirtless one, in space he's found cleverly in the box, Jerry goes for a clipped effort, connects well, but his sight is off on the sniper rifle and he places it into a gangway of the stand, not the corner of the goal.
Dougall drives it forward, it's deflected, and Simms picks up the loose ball 25 yards out, turns, advances and unleashes a fierce drive from the edge of the box that the keeper saves well. The big man is generally more involved in the first 10 minutes than he was in the first 45. Pool are better in general. Garbutt is getting forward and looking influential. Sullay is having one of those games where he looks like a someone in a foreign bus station who can't quite decide which bus to get on as he can't read the language on the signs and Embleton hasn't yet swapped his boots to the right feet.
Demi gets ready to come on, but then he doesn't. Dale make some subs and have a little spell. The earlier promise of the half has fizzled out. Then it gets worse. Dale score. A throw is held up, then laid back. Ollie Rathbone picks it up, cuts inside and curls a very good finish right into the corner. Fucking hell.
Our blitzkrieg starts with Garbutt putting a free kick into the wall, Embleton crossing into a defender and then Ballard letting the ball through his legs and Thorniley having to make a very good saving challenge.
Finally we get subs. Sullay has gone, Simms has gone with him. Gabriel and Mitchell come on wide and Embleton goes up with Yates. I think we're going to see Brad Holmes. Shots are blocked, crosses are cut out. Embleton looks much better in the middle. Demi is energy. Gabriel is the same. A ball just misses a Pool head. Thorniley plays a Hollywood ball and Gabriel is just a fraction away from control it and racing free.
Dale take a bit of control back. One of their players who looks a bit like a fella who does Bee Gees impersonation act in a tatty Spanish resort engages in some top class shithouse time wasting, holding the ball when we want to take a free kick and shouting sweatily through his beard for a while about nothing.
I was right. Holmes is coming on. Embleton lifts a free kick in. The keeper flaps, Jerry jackknifes but he can't reach it. Gabriel drives it hard, it's deflected over. The corner is stroked to the edge of the box, all across the grass, like a snooker ball, before Garbutt leathers it. It just won't go in though. Demi runs through the entire team and just stumbles at the end. It's not happening
Ward is replaced by Robson. Embleton comes on for Holmes. A long throw, it's flicked on and Holmes has a sniff. It's belted clear before he can strike... Chissy decides Ethan Robson is Brad Holmes then he corrects himself and identifies him as Garbutt. It's sort of a metaphor for the evening.
Gabriel surges forward and is clipped. A yellow card is a small penalty for stopping the flow of the move. 5 minutes of time is called as we wait to take the free kick that's small compensation. Ethan Robson tries to remind us who he is and what he does by trying a shot but it's rising and sails 3 or 4 yards over.
Holmes jumps for a long ball, it's a satisfyingly meaty challenge that quells any thought that Brad might not be up for a man's game but it's merely a chance for Dale to lie down for a bit and take a few seconds out. Yates sets Demi free but he can't quite get it out his feet. A long throw is headed out but not even Ollie Turton and all his majestic attacking prowess can complete the spectacular first time volley into the top corner that he attempts and Dale break. We muster one last foray forward, Yates making space from a long ball, Demi not quite able to capitalise and as the ball is nipped away the ref blows.
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Flat for 70 minutes, too late to change it and done by the greater energy of Rochdale would be the critic's summary. The sympathetic view would be that we looked absolutely goosed and it was one of those nights at a ground that functions a bit like a hex upon tangerine. It's exhausting producing conclusion after conclusion when basically we see three kinds of games.
1: Where we play really well and everyone's ace.
2: Where we don't play that well but get the result and the spirit and desire is evident
3: Where we're a bit shite and the fundamental issues with the squad (all squads have issues that repeat) can be trotted out. Tonight, the issue was a lack of a play in midfield to dictate and unlock. Ward and Dougall always run up and down, but we spent a lot of time with those two players, back to goal in our own half and combined with very out of sorts wide play (Demi and Gabriel lifted things, without really causing major panic) we didn't really look like scoring. Like September/October all over again.
It is what it is. We were way off what we can be. Maxwell and Thorniley played well, Yates tried but had once clipped effort wide and that's it, Garbutt got forward a bit but didn't deliver consistently at all and looked clumsy and Turton got forward and delivered the sort of balls that make people go 'for fuck's sake Turton' which is bit harsh as he also has to play in defence as well and when the rest of the side don't really provide any threat, I think it's a bit missing the point to blame the full backs.
The frustrating thing was, Dale didn't look that brilliant and I thought other sides have given us a more torrid time. It looked like we needed to just find a gear we never really got into to get at them. Against Accy, I wrote that I was in awe of the job they did on us in terms of their effort and pressing and how they knocked us off our stride. Tonight, we just never got on the stride to get knocked of it.
There we go.
No point raging about it unless you want to set up a league of our own where we only play teams who let us win and call it 'the best league' or something.
It is what it is. We were way off what we can be. Maxwell and Thorniley played well, Yates tried but had once clipped effort wide and that's it, Garbutt got forward a bit but didn't deliver consistently at all and looked clumsy and Turton got forward and delivered the sort of balls that make people go 'for fuck's sake Turton' which is bit harsh as he also has to play in defence as well and when the rest of the side don't really provide any threat, I think it's a bit missing the point to blame the full backs.
The frustrating thing was, Dale didn't look that brilliant and I thought other sides have given us a more torrid time. It looked like we needed to just find a gear we never really got into to get at them. Against Accy, I wrote that I was in awe of the job they did on us in terms of their effort and pressing and how they knocked us off our stride. Tonight, we just never got on the stride to get knocked of it.
There we go.
No point raging about it unless you want to set up a league of our own where we only play teams who let us win and call it 'the best league' or something.
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