I'm dragging my feet. I'm just not feeling this. I've not seen a goal in anger since forever and the football has been like a lead weight. It's an obligation. It shouldn't feel like that.
The radio tells me that there's a couple of changes but that CJ and Callum Connolly continue in their respective roles. I tell no one (I'm on my own in the car) to fuck off. My mind wanders. I imagine Critchley over complicating normal life like he seems to over complicate picking wing backs.
N: "This breakfast will be a masterclass Janine. An elite breakfast... I've been thinking of new ways to cook traditional favourites"
J: "Have you put the egg in the toaster and the bread in the kettle again Neil? That didn't work last time and it's not going to work this time. Cut it out. Just stop doing innovations for the sake of it and cook breakfast like a normal person."
N: (under his breath) "Mike never talks to me like this... "
J: "What was that?"
N: "Nothing"
I'm a bit late, so when I get there I buy and neck a pint I don't really have time for. I need to stiffen my resolve to survive another 90 minutes of death by coaching manual. I've decided on balance, after careful deliberation, we're not very good. I know, because I'm a self appointed expert with a blog. I have declared my dissatisfaction. Critchley might have worked his entire life in football, but I've got 311 posts on a shit blog. Therefore it is I, not him, who is the real football genius out of us two.
---
It's the strangest of things. As soon as I'm up the stairs and into my row, everything changes. There's a sea of Wigan fans and an ocean of tangerine. There's a pitch of lush green and players streaming out of the tunnel. There's the noise, lifting me out of the doldrums and pitching me forward onto a wave of sound. The bluest of skies a backdrop to the steep rake of the North Stand. The air is warm and pulses with an expectation I didn't feel until moments before.
This is more like it.
What's not more like it is the moment it looks very much like we concede an early penalty. The referee isn't having it though. It's at the other end, so I've no idea if it's just my nerves reading the worst into a moment or it actually was a lucky escape. Whatever, it was or wasn't, we'll take it because we've not been exactly overrun with luck of late.
On the topic of running, Jensen Weir is striding forward. He slides it out wide to CJ. CJ pushes it out of his feet and then he's into overdrive, his body strangely still and his legs going at impossible speeds, he's cutting inside, go on CJ, he's glancing up, c'mon CJ he's going to skew it or put it behind everyone, I know he is, but he hasn't that's a good ball and FUCKING YESSSS! YES!!! THAT'S A FUCKING GOAL!!!! YES!!! CJ!!!! YES!!!
Rhodes applies the most gloriously deft of finishes, darting into space and glancing it perfectly home, changing the angle of the ball in a lethal manner, falling away to clip it just perfectly. The ball fairly kisses the net, spins and drops to rest. As it nestles in the goal it looks beautiful. That was an absolutely gorgeous moment. Maybe Rhodes isn't old and slow and pointless after all. Maybe, just maybe, I'm wrong sometimes. Maybe CJ can do this role. Maybe this is one of those times when Critchley gives something long enough to work, where other people would have binned it off because people moaned about it.
We've been prone in the last year to good starts that fade. This was a really good start, but early goals always first settle the nerves, but then make you nervous if you don't add to them. Don't sit back Pool. For fucks sake, don't sit back...
We don't. Weir who is really bright in the first half has a shot that rises and draws a nice save. Weir sets up Rhodes from wide, but he cant quite control his header. Jimmy Husband nearly scores an immense and truly random goal as he fizzes an exquisite cross that dips, spins and curls so much that it almost goes in. Callum Connolly stuns in a clever little swerving free kick that both nearly gets a touch from Morgan and goes in of it's own right.
We're dogged, we're fighting for everything. Beesley is winning stuff. Norburn is looking twice, maybe thrice the player he did last week - he's getting higher and cutting off their moves. We're pressing and we're out from the back quickly. Pennington is fantastic. I missed his debut and Wolves was a bit of a general mess so it was impossible to tell if he's shit or not but today, the answer is absolutely not. His use of the ball is tremendous and it's the way him, Casey and Husband can all play and play quickly that starts us off in a totally different tempo than we've played before.
Wigan aren't very good this half. When they get the ball, they quite often kick it out of play. They look flustered by us. They keep chucking themselves on the ground. They pull our shirts. The ref isn't especially observant. In fact, he's really bad but we're we've scored a goal and we're winning so it's all pretty enjoyable, even the berating of the ropy officials.
---
That was good. I've no complaints at all. More please.
---
We have been known to reappear after half time and not be the same side. If anything though, today, we come out even better, at least at first. CJ who is having the best game he's had in what seems like forever is marauding is being serenaded by the whole ground. Be honest, did you have 'CJ's name ringing round the whole ground in celebration of the fact he's in unplayable form' on your Blackpool vs Wigan bingo card? I didn't.
There's shot from Morgan that's well saved. There's a run and a cut inside by CJ that ends with a shot that is also well saved. Everyone wanted that to go in so much. He'd have deserved it. There's Rhodes, throwing himself at stuff that comes across the box, or lashing a shot from all angles like he's a young kid trying to make his name and not some knackered old pro whose already proved everything twice over.
I'm really enjoying this. It's so, so, so much better. All I want is a team that has a go and we're having a go. Gone is the hesitant, cautious, over complex football and here is confident, aggressive football that looks, well, fun, to play and therefore is great to watch. Ok, we're not Puskas' Real Madrid, but it's all relative and anyway, white is a shit kit compared to tangerine so Real can fuck off. Boring Club.
The minutes tick on though and we've not added a second. Things go a bit quiet. Wigan start to knock it about and stop making silly mistakes. Perhaps our intensity drops a little bit and they've got the time to play.
It feels like we need to do something to regain our dominance. I don't know what, but I start to get itchy for something to change things.
Wigan assert more control. They start to load the pitch up with attacking players. I think of the away game last year where things fell apart after a good performance. They just put more and more players on until eventually the weight of numbers forced the ball home. They overload us, there attackers are good when they get the chance. They switch the ball quickly with purpose, they move at pace... they're switching and the ball is eluding us and it's suddenly a clear site of goal and there's Grimmy, flinging himself, his guesswork and reflexes perfect. He's very good at doing nothing, but then coming to life.
The ground are singing Grimmy's name. He gives a little thumbs up. He tips another one over the bar. He wellies his kicks right up into the blue sky. He flexes his gloves and hitches his shorts. He prowls, he watches. Nothing for show. He's too sleepy to ever bother showing off. I love Grimmy. I wonder if he's my favourite ever keeper.
Virtue is on. It's the right sub. He's physical and helps us move the ball away. He makes the right choices and the new protein powder powered Matty Virtue (the body of Madine and the game of Phil Clarkson) doesn't get pushed off the ball as easily as the old, nice lad from next door Matty Virtue.
Dougall comes on. I'm really not sure about Dougall any more. It feels as if he might have been permanently spoiled by the recent past. I can't really see the point in him these days. He's got more steel and thus suits the moment more than the fading Morgan (who did well, but is now looking a little spooked by Wigan's physical and footballing revival)
We're stuggling to get out. We're under pressure. I'm starting to really feel this now. I kind of enjoyed the Wolves game because it was so obvious, so quickly that there was no point in feeling anything towards the game. It's nice sometimes to actually watch the game as opposed to care about the game. This is making me feel sick. Pennington does some ridiculously skillfull defending, levering a Wigan player out from under the bar and then, sensationally getting to the ball. He does some more, a ridiculous deft touch, that not only kills the danger but sets us away. I could get used to having a set of defenders that could actually function as a rudimentary set of midfielders.
Owen Dale, he of mysterious abilities comes on. No one actually knows if he's really any good. I don't think Critch even knows. Possibly Dale himself has no idea. We're really sitting back now. Either that or we're forced back. Wigan's tricky no 11 runs right across our goal. At some point (possibly earlier,) Hubby makes the most sensational diving block that's as good as a top save by a top keeper. If it was literally anyone else, we'd sing his name. Why we don't is even more mysterious than the matter of Owen Dale's actual talent level.
The time ticks. Wigan have it on the right. Dale is drifting across like it's an afterthought. There's a little exchange of passes. Dale observes the play without getting involved. There's a cross, it's deep and it's eluding everyone and there's two Wigan players and one of them is going to get it and Grimmy is nowhere and for fucks sake Blackpool, for fucks sake, why are you such a fucking drain on my life and my energy because the fucking ball is in the fucking net and we're not coming back from this and Wigan are on the pitch and one lad is running right across the pitch and I'm not even in the mood for this in the slightest because I was enjoying this and now look at fucking state of it. Why can't we just win for once?
A long delay. Kick off. What's the point though? Fuck off.
The point is Jordan Rhodes is a complete revelation. Despite being obviously knackered he's still going and this time he's provider. First there's a glorious ball on the turn, that is perfectly spun, it's like a gloriously weighted crown green bowling ball using the camber of the green to curve into position. Dale is away, the ball is in and... no, not quite.
Rhodes again. A flick with his head. It's perfect again. Dale again, taking it, running, seeing the right ball and playing, Virtue is charging on as he likes to do, he's meeting that ball from Dale, he's looking up, he's fired it across and OH. I can't breathe. There's a little moment where I can't believe either. I'd forgotten football feels like this sometimes. It must be a split second but it's a moment where time is frozen and then I'm screaming my self hoarse and the white, white, white noise is like the roar of so many oceans all at once and I'm clenching my fists and roaring incoherent delight in a way that nothing else in life would ever let me do. I could actually cry. There's a moment. A breath and another clenched fist, punching wildly. Grimmy is knee sliding, celebrating in front of the Wigan fans. If Grimmy's awake and roaring, this must be a moment. Fucking hell. Fucking hell. Fucking hell. That was good.
Who scored? I haven't a clue.
Kenny Dougall! I told you he was important to us. Class player. Never said anything to the contrary.
There's time to bait the Wigan fans. There's too much time to beg the ref to stop. There's some headers. There's some wild hopeful balls forward. There's time for us to attack again. There's time for the horror of what seems like it might be a break and there's time for it to break down. There's so much time...
Then there isn't and the whistle is there and the game is done.
Ole Ole, CJ CJ! God love you CJ. You deserve that. For putting up with us fucking knobheads. I love us again. I'm sorry I doubted.
---
Lets not get carried away. It wasn't perfect. But fuck that, lets enjoy it like it was, because, in comparison to so many games in the last however long, it was just about perfect. To win a game you thought you'd thrown away is magic. For a team to turn up and play with everything you thought they didn't have about them is magic. No one played badly, everyone contributed. Rhodes was a joy to watch, kind of like Gary and Jerry combined into one super striker. I was really surprised by how good his all round game is and by the level of running and desire he had. CJ was genuinely tremendous. The ball zipped about much quicker and we got back to front frequently and quickly.
Wigan were decent when they got going. They had some very impressive players. We were the better team. We deserved the win.
What more is there to say? We could bang on about this, that or the other, but one thing I hate is know it all blogger cunts that think they understand shit about football when actually, it's just a load of hot air.
Tremendous.
Onward
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