Living in a country where the seasons didn't change would be weird. The same road I've driven down in hail, sleet and torrential rain is now bathed in a gentle sunlight. There are vintage sports cars cruising with the roof down, the owners slowly turning a satisfying light shade brown to match the wooden dashboards of their vehicles. My zen is only disrupted when an absolute freakshow of an ill-knocking human being cuts me up in a Porsche forcing me to slam on. I'm sorely tempted to follow him into the McDonalds car park that he turns off into and reduce his car to scrap metal whilst he buys a Big Mac meal but I don't.
Sunshine and a capacity crowd. What more could we actually ask for? This season has been good. The noise of Wembley echoed on through the championship. We held our own. We could still finish top half. We can definitely finish above our Lilywhite acquaintances from down the road.
When it's warm like this, with a big crowd in, I always think of the old ground. The sardine can effect of the east stand, with fans lower than the pitch, tightly packed under the corrugated low-slung roof. The Kop, yawning and vast, half empty and half full, like a giant open mouth with only half its teeth remaining.
Let's have a game to remember. A game to stay with us through summer.
---
By kick off, the sunshine is more of a hazy kind of light grey warmth, but it's better than biting wind and ice. The team is the same sort of mixed up line up we've seen for the last few weeks.
The game does not immediately shape up as a classic. Pool are the better side in the opening stages. Callum Connolly has a near post header, Charlie Kirk draws a decent save with a shot he catches really well, coming from deep to pick up on a chance inside the box after Pool football it about and across goal. It's only a matter of time before the party starts.
Kirk and Husband have a nice little thing going on on the left and Charlie slips Jimmy through. It's fizzed over... Closer. Then, after we go down the right and Dougall's drive is blocked and Husband races onto the loose ball and is brought crashing down. It's a spot kick. There's general delight as super Gary Gaz Maz Madine the Goal Machine holds up the ball and offers it to crazy Uncle Richard. If Keogh scores, we're on the pitch. Keogh is a man who loves a bit of fun, but to everyone's dismay, he turns down the chance to take the spot kick. Never fear. A Gary Goals goal will do just nicely.
Madine basically sidefoots it to the keeper. Fucking hell Gaz. Madine looks irritated with himself. His face is roughly the same as mine when I realise I can't find my car keys and I'm already late for work.
Don't worry though. We've got this. CJ Hamilton is haring through. Lavery is making a beautiful curved run. CJ - knock it! CJ! Give it to Shayne! CJ!!! - He passes it to Kirk instead. Kirk looks as surprised as anyone by CJ's choice and whacks it into the family stand.
The world's most underappreciated footballer (Jimmy Husband) does his hamstring or calf or some such muscle in his leg timing a challenge perfectly. No one sings his name cos for reasons I don't understand, we sing about almost everyone but Jimmy. Garbutt comes on in his place and looks well up for it. Everyone sings for fragile Luke.
Derby are working hard. They don't look anywhere as near as shit as some teams in this league. They have a couple of shots from distance. One whistles wide, the other is well claimed by Maxwell low to his left.
It all feels a bit goalless. I thought we'd have a cavalcade of circus football today, all defensive errors and wild efforts but we indulge in a mad spell of pointless passing for passing's sake that culminates after about 40 touches with the ball being spun out to Connolly inside his own half, who can't keep it in play. Ole!
Rayne Wooney is prowling. Despite everything, I like Rayne Wooney. The lad looks like he's a forklift truck driver who runs his own five-a-side team on a Wednesday night. He hands the ball back to our players for a throw in very politely. When the rolls to him, he just flicks it back with no ceremony. It must be tempting if you're Rayne Wooney to show off, but the stocky little lad with a frankly massive arse doesn't indulge in any showboating.
A ball is lifted into the box, Lavery darts and heads it wide. It's not going to go in today.
---
There is nothing to say. It's half time.
---
The second half is dismal. There's a lot of jumping around for various reasons and decrying the EFL. That's the fun bit. Initially we have a bit of spark - Garbutt lashing a cross come shot that Madine comes close to turning home and Lavery with another dart and effort wide are the chances I can remember.
The game is not, it turns out, going to be goalless. CJ dallies on the ball, waiting to perform a trick he doesn't possess. Derby nab it, knock it, some nippy lad runs like mad into the box with Callum Connolly trying everything to not foul him. The ball in is close to Maxwell but his attempt to catch it turns into a weird scoop across the face of goal where another nippy little lad is first to it to turn it into an empty net. Fuck's sake Pool! A Derby fan runs on in celebration. He's marched away, grinning with delight. Getting arrested celebrating a meaningless goal scored by an already relegated side. Fabulous. Football is fucking great.
To be honest, we never really look like getting back into it. The only other thing I can recall is that we take a corner, Keogh looks for a second or two like he might get in as the spare man at the far post, but he completely misses the ball and walks away ruefully. He's been really good today. Sign him up.
We go a bit end of season crazy, sending on Jerry for Charlie Kirk and playing a sort of mutant 3-4-3. It doesn't really work. Derby score again. This time it's a whipped free kick, into the sort of space that people probably call the corridor of uncertainty, and so uncertain is our defence that no one goes for it at all apart from a Derby lad who finishes the easiest of chances unmolested by any of our players.
By now, people are drifting off. The sun has gone. The sky is grey. Derby are giving it large about how little they care about being relegated. Jerry has a chance. Jerry drags it wide of the far post. The home stands empty further. Derby continue to bounce about. The whistle goes. It's frankly, a blessed relief.
---
On the way home, the usual calls on the car radio phone in are about 'ambition' and 'kicking on' and all of that. Clubs with endless resources bemoaning the horror of only qualifying for the Europa League and the shame of it all. Go and fuck yourselves. Here was a game played out by two clubs without anything in particular to play for and whilst it was a shit spectacle from a Pool perspective, I'm glad I was there. Noise, at times so loud, you couldn't tell who was chanting what. It's not the exact memory I really wanted to carry into summer, but it's the feel of football nonetheless. It's what keeps you coming back. It was Derby today who had the ecstasy, who bathed their players and their manager in the adulation. Some time soon enough, that will be us again. You win, you lose, you draw. Get on with it. Fuck the EFL Fuck the money game. Fuck the cartel of clubs that keep the sport in their dead eyed skeleton handed vice like grip and fuck them all that have raised the price of ambition to an amount that risks the very future of clubs like Derby. Fuck the cunts who wear the suits but don't govern the game and let clubs like ours be stripped bare by convicts who alienate an entire fanbase and clubs like Oldham wither on the vine at the hands of unstable ego maniacs. We could go on. Probably best for our blood pressure that we leave it there.
The team today reverted to the frustrating lack of cutting edge that we've been guilty of. It was sad not to see Josh Bowler for what is likely to be one last time and of course, in his absence, I couldn't help thinking that he might have cut ribbons through their defence in a way that the players on the pitch simply couldn't do. Marvin really was missed more though. Both their goals were basically handed to them and whilst Thorniley did nothing wrong, the defence in the second half looked, for all of Uncle Richard's pointing and prompting somewhat shaky.
There's little to be gained from reading that much into an experimental line up with our best players rested but my main worry is that Keshi looked as if his head was elsewhere. Maybe it was just playing central midfield when perhaps he isn't actually one after all but if he's off with Josh, we've got a hell of a creative hole to fill. I don't even want to imagine that Marvin (who is rightly player of the year) could possibly play for a club other than us.
Who knows though? Not me. Transfer speculation is boring as fuck. We know what we need right now and we must surely add some creativity. What else we need depends in part on who stays and who goes. Let's see what happens and see what new faces wash up on the shore of next season as they surely will. It's been a good season. It's been a long season. Just think how hungry we'll be by the time the new one rolls around. We could be Luton next year. We could be Peterborough. Who knows? It's out of our hands. We just get carried along by it all. The future is unknown. That is the glory of it.
The players troup around the pitch. Kids run around. I'm weirdly moved when Keogh moves off on his own to applaud the Derby fans. Memories and all that. Critch with his kids, like the man is actually a real person and not just a walking football manual. Our second best ever no 26 smiling, socks round his ankles as his lad leaps about and play fights with him. Gary Madine jogs over to the stand and gives a kid a hug. There's one last hurrah in front of the North Stand and then everyone goes home.
The game is not, it turns out, going to be goalless. CJ dallies on the ball, waiting to perform a trick he doesn't possess. Derby nab it, knock it, some nippy lad runs like mad into the box with Callum Connolly trying everything to not foul him. The ball in is close to Maxwell but his attempt to catch it turns into a weird scoop across the face of goal where another nippy little lad is first to it to turn it into an empty net. Fuck's sake Pool! A Derby fan runs on in celebration. He's marched away, grinning with delight. Getting arrested celebrating a meaningless goal scored by an already relegated side. Fabulous. Football is fucking great.
To be honest, we never really look like getting back into it. The only other thing I can recall is that we take a corner, Keogh looks for a second or two like he might get in as the spare man at the far post, but he completely misses the ball and walks away ruefully. He's been really good today. Sign him up.
We go a bit end of season crazy, sending on Jerry for Charlie Kirk and playing a sort of mutant 3-4-3. It doesn't really work. Derby score again. This time it's a whipped free kick, into the sort of space that people probably call the corridor of uncertainty, and so uncertain is our defence that no one goes for it at all apart from a Derby lad who finishes the easiest of chances unmolested by any of our players.
By now, people are drifting off. The sun has gone. The sky is grey. Derby are giving it large about how little they care about being relegated. Jerry has a chance. Jerry drags it wide of the far post. The home stands empty further. Derby continue to bounce about. The whistle goes. It's frankly, a blessed relief.
---
On the way home, the usual calls on the car radio phone in are about 'ambition' and 'kicking on' and all of that. Clubs with endless resources bemoaning the horror of only qualifying for the Europa League and the shame of it all. Go and fuck yourselves. Here was a game played out by two clubs without anything in particular to play for and whilst it was a shit spectacle from a Pool perspective, I'm glad I was there. Noise, at times so loud, you couldn't tell who was chanting what. It's not the exact memory I really wanted to carry into summer, but it's the feel of football nonetheless. It's what keeps you coming back. It was Derby today who had the ecstasy, who bathed their players and their manager in the adulation. Some time soon enough, that will be us again. You win, you lose, you draw. Get on with it. Fuck the EFL Fuck the money game. Fuck the cartel of clubs that keep the sport in their dead eyed skeleton handed vice like grip and fuck them all that have raised the price of ambition to an amount that risks the very future of clubs like Derby. Fuck the cunts who wear the suits but don't govern the game and let clubs like ours be stripped bare by convicts who alienate an entire fanbase and clubs like Oldham wither on the vine at the hands of unstable ego maniacs. We could go on. Probably best for our blood pressure that we leave it there.
The team today reverted to the frustrating lack of cutting edge that we've been guilty of. It was sad not to see Josh Bowler for what is likely to be one last time and of course, in his absence, I couldn't help thinking that he might have cut ribbons through their defence in a way that the players on the pitch simply couldn't do. Marvin really was missed more though. Both their goals were basically handed to them and whilst Thorniley did nothing wrong, the defence in the second half looked, for all of Uncle Richard's pointing and prompting somewhat shaky.
There's little to be gained from reading that much into an experimental line up with our best players rested but my main worry is that Keshi looked as if his head was elsewhere. Maybe it was just playing central midfield when perhaps he isn't actually one after all but if he's off with Josh, we've got a hell of a creative hole to fill. I don't even want to imagine that Marvin (who is rightly player of the year) could possibly play for a club other than us.
Who knows though? Not me. Transfer speculation is boring as fuck. We know what we need right now and we must surely add some creativity. What else we need depends in part on who stays and who goes. Let's see what happens and see what new faces wash up on the shore of next season as they surely will. It's been a good season. It's been a long season. Just think how hungry we'll be by the time the new one rolls around. We could be Luton next year. We could be Peterborough. Who knows? It's out of our hands. We just get carried along by it all. The future is unknown. That is the glory of it.
The players troup around the pitch. Kids run around. I'm weirdly moved when Keogh moves off on his own to applaud the Derby fans. Memories and all that. Critch with his kids, like the man is actually a real person and not just a walking football manual. Our second best ever no 26 smiling, socks round his ankles as his lad leaps about and play fights with him. Gary Madine jogs over to the stand and gives a kid a hug. There's one last hurrah in front of the North Stand and then everyone goes home.
Absolute fucking tangerine wizards the lot of them.
Onward!
Onward!
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