The best player we've had since...?
It barely registered at first.
Yates. Going.
Obviously. I've been preparing myself for this for months. It's not going to hurt... I won't let it.
He's been out the door since we went down. How could he not be? He's too good for this division.
We know this, because last time we were in it in that mask, virus, locked in, TV screen world, he slammed the ball home, flicked the ball home, slalomed between defenders and toe poked the ball home, took two deep breaths and rifled the ball home every other week.
He scored goals. He ran channels. He ran and he ran and he ran. He ran so hard he looked smaller at the end of games than he did at kick off.
Tap ins. Absolutely world class goals. A Stakhanovite level of work. Pictures of himself on the piss. What more could you want in your number 9?
Nothing. If you were to critique his game, it's maybe that at times he worked too hard. That you'd find him in central midfield or at full back. It's like scolding a dog for being too good a boy though. You just can't.
He was better than League 1. He was brilliant last year in the Championship too. The one shining hope in a season of woeful disappointment. Ok, he 'only' scored 14 goals but he was playing in a team that was functioning so poorly some weeks that you'd have to wonder if they were capable of coordinating getting off the bus and into their kit, let alone working together to create chances for the striker. Those 14 were easily worth 20 in a different side.
An assassin. The high cheek boned sniper. Crouched on a rooftop, rifle in hand, sights trained. You could sometimes forget he was there. Working round the periphery. Then... Bang. Blood and bone and death. Deadly one shot Jerry.
It barely registered at first... I've steeled myself... but then, it was like a shot to the chest. Jerry. The lifeblood of this team. The heartbeat of the last 3 years. His feet drumming. Endlessly running. He's going? He's going. He's gone...
Collapsing to the floor. Holding the wound. It's registering now. It hurts now What the fuck do we do without Jerry? He's always there. He's the one you can always count on. The one who never lets you down.
When we got back in after Covid, in the Oxford game, the Yates goal was a moment of magic. He deserved the response of a crowd more than anyone.
That ridiculous piece of skill in the box away at Peterborough. Those two unreal runs that he finished in League 1. The ball to Madine in that give and go against PNE. The far post volleys last year, one with one foot and one with the other. You could go on and on. I've barely scratched the surface.
One of my favourite goals was the one against Blackburn when Critchley had left him out, suddenly going cold on him in his second season, preferring the more conventional bustle of Lavery. Injury brought Jerry on the pitch. Jerry had scored within what felt like seconds. It felt like what the entire ground felt about Jerry and Jerry being sidelined was underlined by the response. For everything Critchley achieved, it felt like a middle finger from something raw and unconstrained to the deputy headteacherly sensible approach.
He's no maverick wildcard though. He's a superb footballer. It's the control, the impudence, the bustling belief. Hundreds of players have the laddish swagger but very few have the humility to sweat every last drop in the cause. If (as was the rumour and rumours are, of course only rumours) Critchley did ever have any doubts about his professionalism because of a reputation for enjoying himself, I'd defy him to find a moment where anything ever showed on the pitch.
If he looked a little lightweight in his first season in the championship, he came back bulked up. If sometimes he struggled to lead a line, then show me another player who could drift into corners and pockets, who could take a ball and come out with it still in our possession, usually finding some ridiculously oblique angle and bit of deft skill to find a teammate. He was the one player who thrived under Appleton's tutelage, the faith shown in him giving him a visible confidence that he'd briefly lost at the end of Critchley's previous tenure.
It barely registered at first.
Yates. Going.
Obviously. I've been preparing myself for this for months. It's not going to hurt... I won't let it.
He's been out the door since we went down. How could he not be? He's too good for this division.
We know this, because last time we were in it in that mask, virus, locked in, TV screen world, he slammed the ball home, flicked the ball home, slalomed between defenders and toe poked the ball home, took two deep breaths and rifled the ball home every other week.
He scored goals. He ran channels. He ran and he ran and he ran. He ran so hard he looked smaller at the end of games than he did at kick off.
Tap ins. Absolutely world class goals. A Stakhanovite level of work. Pictures of himself on the piss. What more could you want in your number 9?
Nothing. If you were to critique his game, it's maybe that at times he worked too hard. That you'd find him in central midfield or at full back. It's like scolding a dog for being too good a boy though. You just can't.
He was better than League 1. He was brilliant last year in the Championship too. The one shining hope in a season of woeful disappointment. Ok, he 'only' scored 14 goals but he was playing in a team that was functioning so poorly some weeks that you'd have to wonder if they were capable of coordinating getting off the bus and into their kit, let alone working together to create chances for the striker. Those 14 were easily worth 20 in a different side.
An assassin. The high cheek boned sniper. Crouched on a rooftop, rifle in hand, sights trained. You could sometimes forget he was there. Working round the periphery. Then... Bang. Blood and bone and death. Deadly one shot Jerry.
It barely registered at first... I've steeled myself... but then, it was like a shot to the chest. Jerry. The lifeblood of this team. The heartbeat of the last 3 years. His feet drumming. Endlessly running. He's going? He's going. He's gone...
Collapsing to the floor. Holding the wound. It's registering now. It hurts now What the fuck do we do without Jerry? He's always there. He's the one you can always count on. The one who never lets you down.
When we got back in after Covid, in the Oxford game, the Yates goal was a moment of magic. He deserved the response of a crowd more than anyone.
That ridiculous piece of skill in the box away at Peterborough. Those two unreal runs that he finished in League 1. The ball to Madine in that give and go against PNE. The far post volleys last year, one with one foot and one with the other. You could go on and on. I've barely scratched the surface.
One of my favourite goals was the one against Blackburn when Critchley had left him out, suddenly going cold on him in his second season, preferring the more conventional bustle of Lavery. Injury brought Jerry on the pitch. Jerry had scored within what felt like seconds. It felt like what the entire ground felt about Jerry and Jerry being sidelined was underlined by the response. For everything Critchley achieved, it felt like a middle finger from something raw and unconstrained to the deputy headteacherly sensible approach.
He's no maverick wildcard though. He's a superb footballer. It's the control, the impudence, the bustling belief. Hundreds of players have the laddish swagger but very few have the humility to sweat every last drop in the cause. If (as was the rumour and rumours are, of course only rumours) Critchley did ever have any doubts about his professionalism because of a reputation for enjoying himself, I'd defy him to find a moment where anything ever showed on the pitch.
If he looked a little lightweight in his first season in the championship, he came back bulked up. If sometimes he struggled to lead a line, then show me another player who could drift into corners and pockets, who could take a ball and come out with it still in our possession, usually finding some ridiculously oblique angle and bit of deft skill to find a teammate. He was the one player who thrived under Appleton's tutelage, the faith shown in him giving him a visible confidence that he'd briefly lost at the end of Critchley's previous tenure.
There was briefly, once, a rumbling sound as he placed a loose pass and someone pounced and scored. That someone can play 130+ games for a club and I can only think of one time the crowd even slightly got on his back at all says it all. We loved him. We loved him because he played like we would. If we weren't shit and unfit and we could have half a chance or our time again, we'd all be Jerry Yates, shifting the ball from one foot to another and trying outrageous things and soaking in the adulation when they came off.
He tried as hard in his last games for us as he tried in his first games for us and in every single game since. His was a kind of elemental force. His presence seemed almost permanent. In the final games of last year, it was almost impossible to process that Jerry could miss games, that Jerry could even get injured...
Swansea might suit him if they carry on being a footballing side under Duff. I'm sort of sad it's not a bigger stage though. When you look back at football from the 80s and 90s you have to imagine Jerry would have been a top flight player. He lacks nothing but the sheer pace of the very best in the world game. He lacks nothing but the brute physique of the very best in the world game. Sadly for players like Jerry, the very best in the world game fill up our top division. He's as good as we've had for years. He's as good as most I've ever seen in tangerine. He's got time yet.
He's never going to hobble over to the Kop again, his legs bandy from the effort, looking somehow scrawny and muscular at the same time. He'll never be bouncing and clapping kick off like everything in his week is focused on this moment now in the way everything in our week is focused on that moment now too... Our Jerry. He's a fucking monster energy drink of a player. He's Duracell. He's a golden talent in the body of some lad from the set of Kes. He'd be an absolute nightmare to be trapped in a lift with. He was our first and biggest favourite in a long time. After everything, we needed a hero. We needed someone to adore for nothing other than football. We got Jerry.
He tried as hard in his last games for us as he tried in his first games for us and in every single game since. His was a kind of elemental force. His presence seemed almost permanent. In the final games of last year, it was almost impossible to process that Jerry could miss games, that Jerry could even get injured...
Swansea might suit him if they carry on being a footballing side under Duff. I'm sort of sad it's not a bigger stage though. When you look back at football from the 80s and 90s you have to imagine Jerry would have been a top flight player. He lacks nothing but the sheer pace of the very best in the world game. He lacks nothing but the brute physique of the very best in the world game. Sadly for players like Jerry, the very best in the world game fill up our top division. He's as good as we've had for years. He's as good as most I've ever seen in tangerine. He's got time yet.
He's never going to hobble over to the Kop again, his legs bandy from the effort, looking somehow scrawny and muscular at the same time. He'll never be bouncing and clapping kick off like everything in his week is focused on this moment now in the way everything in our week is focused on that moment now too... Our Jerry. He's a fucking monster energy drink of a player. He's Duracell. He's a golden talent in the body of some lad from the set of Kes. He'd be an absolute nightmare to be trapped in a lift with. He was our first and biggest favourite in a long time. After everything, we needed a hero. We needed someone to adore for nothing other than football. We got Jerry.
He was fucking wonderful.
He's gone though. It's finally registered fully...
It's the end of an era.
Only love can break your heart.
Raise a glass.
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Jerry Yates: Blackpool's no 9
He's gone though. It's finally registered fully...
It's the end of an era.
Only love can break your heart.
Raise a glass.
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Jerry Yates: Blackpool's no 9
Swansea. Treat him well. Or else.
Onward!
Onward!
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