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| 9 goals in 1 game for them. 0 in 13 games for us. |
I'm by the beach and a *very* posh man walks past and I hear his rather luvvie voice drawl "and I held onto his swimming shorts and swam, with one arm" Sadly the rest of the story is drowned out by someone shouting "Cheesy chips! Cheesy Chips!" as an order is ready at the snackbar. It's a bit like Blackpool, but also a bit not like Blackpool.
On the drive down (I've come from Weston Super-Mare because, for reasons to dull to explain, I have) I wondered the following things...
- Why don't people with those felt tip NHS rainbows that have faded away leaving just a white piece of paper think "that's a bit shit, I'll take it down?"
- Why does the West Country make me feel uneasy? It's full of places called stuff like Welton Comley or Fursminster or Croome Underlip and fucking huge hedges. It's not Lancashire. It's made of dangerous roundabouts, identical villages, storage centres, farms and golf driving ranges. I am well aware that making baseless judgements on places is xenophobia itself, but I feel like if I were to stop and go to one of the many olde worlde pubs I pass, it would be about 6 minutes before someone said something really quite racist or a serial killer would be there. I don't really know why I feel like this. It feels sort of apocalyptic even though it's all quite picturesque and I can't put my finger on why. Maybe it's because there's so few football clubs and my mental map of the world is based on football clubs that Yeovil aside, the place is a weird black hole I don't believe really exists. That said, I'd definitely love to play GTA West Country. I think that's the natural way for the franchise to go. Imagine the tractor and combine harvester based frolics you could have?
- Would it better for Keogh to not play or to play and play really well?
- Will the rule that we play better against better teams hold for this division?
- What are the odds that all the experts are wrong and actually Bournemouth are shite and can't string two passes together?
We'll find the answers to some of these questions when I've walked up the hill from the beach to the ground.
*Note to Bournemouth. Boscombe pier is more of a little walkway that juts a few yards into the sea than a pier*
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The ground is weird. It's like a tiny miniature matchbox Premier League ground. It feels a bit like Accrington gone mad. It's all fanzones and very polite stewards (at least from my experience) and slick bar staff but it's dead small. Everything is pristine in the way lower league grounds never seem to be. Marvin is playing. Crazy Uncle Richard isn't. Who will do the pointing at things only they can see now? The sky is blue, the pitch is a carpet. Bournemouth are definitely shite. I've decided that from the warm up. We're way better. We're on for a hatful. This is going to be quality.
The game starts. I may have misjudged Bournemouth. My bravado lasts about 15 seconds. They're knocking it about and we're back peddling. They're going through the middle. They're moving, giving it, going, moving again. Hmmm. They're shooting, they're going close. We're looking a bit desperate to be honest. I glance at the clock. 5 minutes have gone. I was hoping it might be 20 or more. I was contemptuous about the 'step up' but at times it feels like we've gone up two leagues by accident.
They score. They cut through the middle. We back peddle, it seems like we back peddle till we run out of pitch. The shot is low, past Maxwell from the right. Husband throws his arms out as if to say "what the fuck happened?" We rise, we sing. We're louder after they score than they are.
---
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| Marvin! |
The ground is weird. It's like a tiny miniature matchbox Premier League ground. It feels a bit like Accrington gone mad. It's all fanzones and very polite stewards (at least from my experience) and slick bar staff but it's dead small. Everything is pristine in the way lower league grounds never seem to be. Marvin is playing. Crazy Uncle Richard isn't. Who will do the pointing at things only they can see now? The sky is blue, the pitch is a carpet. Bournemouth are definitely shite. I've decided that from the warm up. We're way better. We're on for a hatful. This is going to be quality.
The game starts. I may have misjudged Bournemouth. My bravado lasts about 15 seconds. They're knocking it about and we're back peddling. They're going through the middle. They're moving, giving it, going, moving again. Hmmm. They're shooting, they're going close. We're looking a bit desperate to be honest. I glance at the clock. 5 minutes have gone. I was hoping it might be 20 or more. I was contemptuous about the 'step up' but at times it feels like we've gone up two leagues by accident.
They score. They cut through the middle. We back peddle, it seems like we back peddle till we run out of pitch. The shot is low, past Maxwell from the right. Husband throws his arms out as if to say "what the fuck happened?" We rise, we sing. We're louder after they score than they are.
Garbutt gets booked. Callum Connolly still doesn't look like a right back to me. So far though, no one has run twice as fast as Marvin and left him floundering, so there's that. We can't get a grip at all. Garbutt plays it out. It's a sloppy pass and Bournemouth pounce, the ball goes wide, the ball comes in and there's a glancing touch at the near post. The ball is in the net. Fuck's sake. But again, we're on our feet and we're singing. I'm right up against the home fans. They taunt us by dancing along to our songs. I notice who I'll be calling, waiflike tracksuit man (who is a skinny waif, in a tracksuit) gesturing at us gleefully.
We sing on. The player respond with a flurry of efforts. Garbutt has a go, Keshi has a go. Marvin has a go. We don't score. We don't look that much like scoring, but it's better. We've not given up, they've not given up. Bowler runs through on an angle and then wellies the ball straight ahead as if he hasn't noticed the goal is about 8 yards to his left. It would have been a cracking finish if the warm up goals had been in place. Bowler runs into traffic. Bowler looks a bit confused in general.
Bournemouth cut through again. They score! No.. they don't. The ball hits the hoarding and bounces back into the back of the net (literally). Tracksuit waif gestures as we taunt their mistaken celebration. IT's the same gestures all game, just with different facial expressions.
John Jules is fed in the box. He goes down. Penalty! Surely. Fucking hell. It's a yellow card for a dive. I have no idea if he dived. He's not done much at all. No one has really.
----
Right. Critch. For once in your life, make a fucking substitution. I know Jordan Thorniley isn't playing, but you are allowed to make changes at half time even if you bought the players you're substituting. Lets just go for it. 3 at the back, CJ on the right, Garbs on the left, Keshi in the middle. Just give them *something to think about* please!
For fuck's sake, don't do the usual 'same again, put it right' rubbish. By the time you actually make a change it will be TOO LATE.
I think that's clear enough.
----
Guess what. Same again. Who would have thought it? Might as well just go home now.
Fucking hell. They're through again. Solanki for a hat trick. Marv flies in, but not even his telescopic legs can stop this. Wait, There's a top knotted super hero. Jimmy Husband. Take a bow. He never give up. He never gives it up. Super Jimmy Husband. I don't get why we never sing his name. He's ace. I love Jimmy.
We're on our feet again. John-Jules is being pulled back, definitely. He's slipped it through to Bowler though, the ref signals advantage. I swear he does, Bowler storms through. Bowler.... passes it to the keeper. To say it's a poor finish is to be polite. I perhaps jumped the gun just a touch by comparing him to Messi earlier in the week. The ref forgets the foul about 5 seconds before. We're getting nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Jerry rats the ball out. We play it about. We're fighting at least. It's knocked though but Jerry stumbles and he can't take it. We're getting nothing from the ref and nothing from the bounces of the ball. Dougall is looking more like it though. Garbutt is getting forward more and looking a better player for it. We're winning second balls and we're fighting. We've got a corner. We over elaborate and end up spraying it wide to Marvin of all people. What's he going to do from the right wing slot for fuck's sake? Skin his man? Don't be stupid.
Hang on, he only goes and skins his man... Maybe Crazy Uncle Richard has been showing how to play centre half like a total footballer? He gets his legs taken. We sing, but we've never stopped singing so really, the volume just rises a bit. C'mon the Pool. In it comes, Marvin leaps, Marvin hits the post, there's a groan but then there's a roar as the ball cannons out, only to be met by the topknot hero who throws himself at it and hooks it into the roof of the net. YESSSSSS! Waiflike Tracksuit man gestures again, a scowl on his face. He vary the gestures for the only time in the game, adding a little flourish where he holds up two fingers on one hand and one on the other.
Bournemouth try to hit back, but we stand strong and we break, John-Jules on the half turn, John Jules threading it, it's a lovely pass, right down the middle, splitting the defence, it's Keshi coming across his man 8 yards out, it's Keshi going down, it's Jerry and Keshi imploring, pleading, telling the ref. It's a penalty. It is. It has to be. The referee isn't moved but then, like those cricket umpires that take an age, he processes what he's seen, he raises his whistle to his lips and he points. It's a fucking penalty. Tracksuit waif looks a bit worried. He's not gesturing.
Jerry. Deep breath. He's going to miss. He SCORES!!!! Down the middle. Bang. Sniper. You are dead. Take that tracksuit waif. Take that angry bald guy. Take that bloke who kept going to the steward to complain about something in the Blackpool crowd. Take that parachute money. Take that sandbanks and your fucking horrible millionaire nouveau riche mansions worth more money than entire fucking housing estates elsewhere. Take that Harry Redknapp and I dunno, Steve Fletcher and the lad who drives the tram on Bournemouth prom who was a bit grumpy looking and shouted at a little kid to sit down and I've run out of Bournemouth related things to say, but you get the picture.
I told you Critch needed to stick to his guns. Give the lads a chance to put it right. I definitely said that. It's one of his strengths. He doesn't panic.
We're still on cloud 9 when Grant Ward goes down. I don't see what puts him on the floor but a stretcher is needed. That's not good. It really doesn't look good as Jimmy kneels and hugs Ward. I can't see him, but I assume he's upset because he knows it's bad. But still we sing, breaking only to applaud the metronome off the pitch. Critch sends on Reece James and he also sends on Shayne Lavery for John Jules. He's going for it. Bournemouth are wobbling. Critch a year ago would have shored up the midfield. Critch today is sending on another striker.
We sing on. The player respond with a flurry of efforts. Garbutt has a go, Keshi has a go. Marvin has a go. We don't score. We don't look that much like scoring, but it's better. We've not given up, they've not given up. Bowler runs through on an angle and then wellies the ball straight ahead as if he hasn't noticed the goal is about 8 yards to his left. It would have been a cracking finish if the warm up goals had been in place. Bowler runs into traffic. Bowler looks a bit confused in general.
Bournemouth cut through again. They score! No.. they don't. The ball hits the hoarding and bounces back into the back of the net (literally). Tracksuit waif gestures as we taunt their mistaken celebration. IT's the same gestures all game, just with different facial expressions.
John Jules is fed in the box. He goes down. Penalty! Surely. Fucking hell. It's a yellow card for a dive. I have no idea if he dived. He's not done much at all. No one has really.
----
Right. Critch. For once in your life, make a fucking substitution. I know Jordan Thorniley isn't playing, but you are allowed to make changes at half time even if you bought the players you're substituting. Lets just go for it. 3 at the back, CJ on the right, Garbs on the left, Keshi in the middle. Just give them *something to think about* please!
For fuck's sake, don't do the usual 'same again, put it right' rubbish. By the time you actually make a change it will be TOO LATE.
I think that's clear enough.
----
Guess what. Same again. Who would have thought it? Might as well just go home now.
Fucking hell. They're through again. Solanki for a hat trick. Marv flies in, but not even his telescopic legs can stop this. Wait, There's a top knotted super hero. Jimmy Husband. Take a bow. He never give up. He never gives it up. Super Jimmy Husband. I don't get why we never sing his name. He's ace. I love Jimmy.
We're on our feet again. John-Jules is being pulled back, definitely. He's slipped it through to Bowler though, the ref signals advantage. I swear he does, Bowler storms through. Bowler.... passes it to the keeper. To say it's a poor finish is to be polite. I perhaps jumped the gun just a touch by comparing him to Messi earlier in the week. The ref forgets the foul about 5 seconds before. We're getting nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Jerry rats the ball out. We play it about. We're fighting at least. It's knocked though but Jerry stumbles and he can't take it. We're getting nothing from the ref and nothing from the bounces of the ball. Dougall is looking more like it though. Garbutt is getting forward more and looking a better player for it. We're winning second balls and we're fighting. We've got a corner. We over elaborate and end up spraying it wide to Marvin of all people. What's he going to do from the right wing slot for fuck's sake? Skin his man? Don't be stupid.
Hang on, he only goes and skins his man... Maybe Crazy Uncle Richard has been showing how to play centre half like a total footballer? He gets his legs taken. We sing, but we've never stopped singing so really, the volume just rises a bit. C'mon the Pool. In it comes, Marvin leaps, Marvin hits the post, there's a groan but then there's a roar as the ball cannons out, only to be met by the topknot hero who throws himself at it and hooks it into the roof of the net. YESSSSSS! Waiflike Tracksuit man gestures again, a scowl on his face. He vary the gestures for the only time in the game, adding a little flourish where he holds up two fingers on one hand and one on the other.
Bournemouth try to hit back, but we stand strong and we break, John-Jules on the half turn, John Jules threading it, it's a lovely pass, right down the middle, splitting the defence, it's Keshi coming across his man 8 yards out, it's Keshi going down, it's Jerry and Keshi imploring, pleading, telling the ref. It's a penalty. It is. It has to be. The referee isn't moved but then, like those cricket umpires that take an age, he processes what he's seen, he raises his whistle to his lips and he points. It's a fucking penalty. Tracksuit waif looks a bit worried. He's not gesturing.
Jerry. Deep breath. He's going to miss. He SCORES!!!! Down the middle. Bang. Sniper. You are dead. Take that tracksuit waif. Take that angry bald guy. Take that bloke who kept going to the steward to complain about something in the Blackpool crowd. Take that parachute money. Take that sandbanks and your fucking horrible millionaire nouveau riche mansions worth more money than entire fucking housing estates elsewhere. Take that Harry Redknapp and I dunno, Steve Fletcher and the lad who drives the tram on Bournemouth prom who was a bit grumpy looking and shouted at a little kid to sit down and I've run out of Bournemouth related things to say, but you get the picture.
I told you Critch needed to stick to his guns. Give the lads a chance to put it right. I definitely said that. It's one of his strengths. He doesn't panic.
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| Can you even imagine supporting a team that played in a shit normal run of the mill everyday colour? Like white for example? |
We're still on cloud 9 when Grant Ward goes down. I don't see what puts him on the floor but a stretcher is needed. That's not good. It really doesn't look good as Jimmy kneels and hugs Ward. I can't see him, but I assume he's upset because he knows it's bad. But still we sing, breaking only to applaud the metronome off the pitch. Critch sends on Reece James and he also sends on Shayne Lavery for John Jules. He's going for it. Bournemouth are wobbling. Critch a year ago would have shored up the midfield. Critch today is sending on another striker.
Jerry comes short and dummies brilliantly. Keshi picks up and goes to drive down the wing but the back heels it. Jerry is an inch from taking it through. Keshi slides it through, Jerry is in. He hit's the keeper, the flag goes up. It's fucking good football though. It's more like us at the back end of last year.
We press high. Lavery, Yates, Anderson get in their faces. Kenneth tidies up. I'm sat down low, much closer than I normally would and Dougall's control is terrific. He's playing much more like himself. He's finding that extra yard of space. He's knocking clever passes. Nothing too fancy, just well weighted balls that put us on the front foot.
What's also like us from then is the defence. Twice Bournemouth go through and twice, Marvin makes wonderful challenges at the last moment. He's so good at that. The first one is good, the second is just textbook Marvin. He gets turned, but he doesn't give up, he chases, at first, he looks done, but he's gaining ground as he hits his stride, and as the Bournemouth player coils to shoot, Marvin strikes. Bang. It's like a brick wall that collapses in the path of the attacker, it's like one of those stinger things the police use to stop cars. It's so good to have Marvin back. It looks like the proper Marvin as well. Not the slightly hesitant, slightly rusty post injury Marvin but the mid season last year one. He wasn't perfect (cos frankly, who is?), but he was brilliant at times.
Time is running down. Ben Pearson (booooooooo) comes on. He passes the ball out of play (cheer!) and then gets into scuffle with Keshi. The boy Anderson squares up, puts his face right up against his. This is superb. There's some chaos in the box. Everyone tries to tackles but no one makes one until Marvin cleans out the Bournemouth player. It could be a red? It isn't. Thank fuck for that. I'm right up against the wall with the tunnel to the concourse below and I'm really tempted to tap on the copper's helmet who has stood below me. I don't.
We're going to do this. 6 minutes... Tracksuit waif is looking pensive. Bournemouth win a corner. Behind me, someone shouts helpfully 'defend it Pool' and follows up with 'Get it away.' Bournemouth do a weird build up chant with drums. It's quite good to be fair. In it comes. Shit, it's met at the near post but thank fuck, we've got Chrissy Maxwell who used to play for Preston but is alright now and he tips it over, flinging himself upwards in a microsecond and saving our skin. Jesus...
Another corner. It's ok. It's away. The whistle is blown. The players shake hands. Tracksuit waif gestures furiously then gives up and goes home. We sing. The players troop over. Critch toddles over and bows. We sing. I swear someone is singing 'Nigel Critchley's Tangerine Army.' I don't care. He can be Nigel if he wants him to be. What the fuck do I know about football? Superb.
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I've already said how much Marvin impressed me, but Keshi also did today. I've doubted whether he can play the wide role and also whether he has the consistency in his final ball or finishing that a.n.other Pool no 10 of recent times had, but he was terrific. I'd still rather see him in the middle, but in the second half, it was a privilege to see him up close on the near touchline. Bowler isn't Messi and he had a woeful first half, but he's got to get credit for the way he played after that and even in the first half, though his end product was frankly, a
Bournemouth were really good when they were good. I felt like they could play more bravely. That seems a weird thing to say when they've had a dominant first half, but they had periods where they didn't seem committed to attacking and to me, it looked like when they put their mind to it, they really worried us. That said, for us to knock them off their stride and end up playing higher up the pitch after being pinned back is a really good sign. The only real downside to the second half was Grant Ward.
To come back into that game against a side who oozed quality (David Brookes alone looked terrifying to me, never mind the rest of them) took character from the whole team and I wonder if, had Ward not gone off, we might not have gone on and won it as we had them really shaking and the change maybe just disturbed us a little. James did fine, it's just we had the momentum and Ward and Dougall know each other well. The Pool fans were superb. Everything Coventry were at Bloomfield on Tuesday but us. More of this at Bloomfield, all around the ground. Unequivocal support. The faith was kept. The faith was rewarded.
A grand day out.
utmp
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