He's an odd player is Gary Madine. Part creative genius, part old school target man. He's a muscle bound gym product who always looks like he's gasping for a tab and a pint really. Flawed. Sometimes very daft. Human. An actual man in a world of coached identikit tactics drones. An oddity in amongst the monotony of homogeneity.
The endless productiom line of uniform academy players are football Soylent Green. They melt down the ones who don't make it and pour them into a mould then another one pops out.
Gary is no-one's product. He's the goal machine. He's himself. For better or worse. He's a wild man. He's a model pro.
He's sometimes slower than a broken oil tanker marooned on a sandbank but his speed of thought, deftness of touch and instinct for what's around him are lightning fast.
Rarely this year has Patino played a pass I hadn't already seen. Don't get me wrong, I like Charlie, but Madine at his best does that every five minutes. Little touches round the corner. Glances to the side. Stepping out of the way, letting it run. Occasional bits of impudent and unexpected skill. First time football when everyone else needs three goes to control, look and pass. Pace isn't just in the legs. It's in the head.
Waving at players. Exhortation. Falling to his knees after not being quite quick enough to reach the ball. For a big man, he has a strange frailty. This season it felt like Gary was raging against the dying of the light. Each match seemed a little more painful that the one before. Each step closer to the end of the season a little more heavy.
He played like he loved it. He played with his heart and his soul. He played in tangerine and heart, soul and tangerine is all I ever want.
I'll miss him very much. I'm far too old to have favourite players but once you stop thinking like a kid, you might as well curl up and die. I never saw John Charles play. I'm far too young. I imagine there was a touch of Madine about him. Haaland? Shite.
Give me Gaz every day of the week.
I love a player who uses their brain to be better than their body let's them be. Brett wasn't the greatest finisher but he just ran more. GTF had the physique of a plasterer with a 3 pint midweek habit but the mind of a physicist. Gary often didn't appear to be able to run but made a career from what he could do.
You might not agree but I don't give a flying fuck what you think frankly.
ALL HAIL THE GOAL MACHINE!
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1: I'm in the North Stand watching us under David Dunn. The big lad we've just signed is getting a lot of stick. He's not very mobile. He wasn't the best last time round and now he looks like the same player but with a spine problem. He keeps laying it off to nobody. At least he was free.
2. It's preseason. COVID. Critchley. We're playing fast give and go football. Madine comes on. This isn't going to suit him at all. Larry's man looks lost. Joe Nuttall seems a more likely candidate to play this way. It's a question of when and not if he leaves I think.
3: Gillingham away. We're rancid. It's rare I say things like 'disgraceful' but today I'm struggling to say anything else. 70 minutes. On trots Madine. A desperate roll of the Critchley dice.
You know what? He's excellent. The lot of them looked terrified all game. Gaz suddenly gives us a focal point. Gaz gives us belief. Gaz leads. They follow. It's too little too late, but y'know what? There's a player there.
4. Peterborough away. He scores the world's most awkwardly finished goal but it doesn't matter. It's a goal. A Gary Goal. He's the yin to Jerry's yang by now. We play through him. He's backing in, holding off, flicking and dummying us up the table.
Now. Ladies and Gentlemen. Gary Madine is doing Cruyff turns and gliding about in the corner of the pitch. Time up.
All hail the Goal Machine.
5. Fleetwood.
Kaikai floats it in. Madine! Easy. As. You. Like.
6. West Brom at home in the cup.
Gary is really good. Everything sticks. He chases things down. He even manages to look more than sluggish at points. The game is a mere apperatif for the penalties though.
Their keeper is a prick. He puts off Yates. No one fucks about with Gaz's mates. Especially not a skinny twat who thinks he's Tyson Fury because he's grown a shit beard.
He takes a look at the keeper. If looks could kill, the guy would be a smouldering pile of ashes. He strolls back. He trots in and hits the ball harder than I've ever seen it kicked before. Their keeper dives out the way. The net has scorch marks.
Gary turns and fires a glance. He's like John fucking Wayne.
7. Wigan away.
Madine is unplayable. I've rarely seen one player have so much impact. He's a magician, scoring one but conjuring goals for others. It's like their defenders are mere cardboard cutouts and Gary is just having a stroll about.
He doesn't play again for months.
8. Blackburn
Is he good enough for the championship though? Especially after the injury?
Of course he is. He terrifies their defence for 45 minutes and then gives us the only outball we've got for the remainder of the game as they launch wave after wave of attacks. We've looked lightweight. Madine is back. We've got our heavyweight. We're stronger for it. By miles.
9. A game I can't remember.
We're leading. We're clinging on. Madine goes down. He rolls over. He grabs the ball. He gets up. He runs away. He puts the ball up his shirt. Their lad runs after him. He tries to grab the ball. Madine throws himself down in a heap.
The whole ground cheers. Their lad loses his rag and (I think) gets booked. Madine smiles. Butter would not melt.
Gary 1-0 Gentlemanly conduct
10: Burnley away.
We're getting mugged by them. We've been woeful. They've just passed it round us and but for a fairly random goal from out an of control Canadian shopping trolley they'd be miles clear.
Madine wants on. He wants on so much he's warming up practically on the edge of their box.
Madine is on. Now we're here. Now we're tangerine. Now we're roaring forward, a tidal wave of inevitability. Madine is the shifting of the tectonic plates and the rest of them are the resulting tsunami. Limbs. Tangled hugs with three different people I don't know and one I do. God love Gary Madine.
11. Coventry away.
See Wigan ahove but at a higher level. Madine makes heading look beautiful. Cushioned efforts. Little flicks that land with the right spin for the oncoming recipient. Everything goes through him and comes out the other side better. We're good. He's terrific
12. Wigan away.
We're up against the world. Nothing ever fucking goes right. Patino and Carey are school kids in midfield. Marvin had had a rush of blood to the head. Madine... Fucking hell! 20 yards. Brilliant!
It's not enough.
He runs himself to a standstill. He gets smashed and plays on as Appleton is statuesque on the touchline. He's practically hopping after the ball, chasing shadows, wincing every time he jumps.
He fights on. A boxer in the twilight of his days who refuses to fall by sheer will.
13. Bristol away.
The end. He chases, he puts in a snarling tackle. It's over. He tries to play on. The smelling salts can't help. He can't beat the count. He falls to the canvas.
We can't end like this.
14. Preston
Gary. Oh, what a ball. An acute angle. Lofted. Backspin almost... He's found his mate. Jerry. MEGS! - where's that going though?... MADINE!!!!!!!!!!!!
No 14, arms wide. In front of the North Stand. He knows what this means. He drinks it in.
He's Gary Madine. He's a Goal Machine.
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I've written all this from memory. It might be wrong. That's not the point. Football is vivid and it lives on after the game. Whatever Gary does next, he's etched himself into tangerine memory.
Get well soon Gaz!
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