We're in a kind of win/win situation. Lose and we can finally be rid of this most utilitarian of seasons. Win and we can dream a week longer of all the greyscale frustration breaking at last into glorious technicolour joy.
The sky is dreamy blue. The tangerine is out in force. Kids sat on the wall of the Bloomfield Club offer high fives. There is a buzz. A hum. A palpable sense of anticipation. Summer is around the corner and Blackpool are in form. It's what we do.
I still don't really believe, but I'm loving this. I've trudged up this road too many times of late, feeling a sense of duty and not much more. It's the crowd that make the whole think make sense - the sense of being part of something larger than yourself - and when that's not there, it's difficult to feel much excitement. It's not really about the football - of course, that's what binds us all together - but if it was purely about the game, then anyone in their right mind would stay at home and watch the Global Marketing Best League In The World on the telly. We don't, because we love how it can sometimes feel to be here with other people.
Today, it just feels... right.
---
'We're going to have to break them down, they're fine with a point' I say wisely, stating the obvious, but with a knowing tone, like I'm some sort of sage. Fuck me, though, we're at them immediately. Beesley is through and going wide of the keeper. He's caught, but the gangly lad is an honest gangly sort and he stays on his feet and stabs the ball across. All kind of madness happens and I think Beesley ends up again in the thick of it and we scream again for a penalty.
A roar goes up. It's full throated. It's full of palpable love and togetherness and release. You could lie back into it and it would hold you up. You could surf down it and land safe on the beach. A wave of sound like nothing else. It's a tonic for all known ills. COME ON POOL!!!
We are on fire. Shayne might not be able to score goals but he's pressing in an incendiary manner. Beesley is fucking brilliant at doing what Beesley is there to do - winning long balls, making things uncomfortable, stretching them by running one channel, then the other. Behind them lurk Kaddy and Sonny and my heart is almost breaking at the thought this could be a last dance for the little wizard. We are racking up corner after corner after corner. If corners were goals we'd be out of sight already.
 |
| Behold |
CJ has it. He's motoring forward. He's thinking about taking on his full back, but Kaddy is inside him and god bless CJ and all that being him entails, but the boy knows that playing it square rather than going himself is the best bet and that's exactly what he does. Kaddy now. He's like a little boat in the water, just floating there, then suddenly the engine is opened up and he's going full tilt and the defenders are washed away in his wake, looking like mere flotsam. He's a an arctic tern, skipping across the surface of the sea, he's a pond skater sliding on the surface tension whilst all else sinks... a challenge comes in, desperate, lunging, clumsy, Kaddy goes sprawling, thrown high, crashing down. The ball though, isn't there. He's deftly tapped it back, to where the boy Carey lurks, in that pocket of space he is so good at finding, a perfect run up, a perfect connection and it comes out of his foot just beautifully, it's one of those perfect moments where I'm right in line and it seems to happen in slow motion, the flight of the ball at first outside of the post, but I can tell from the way it's spinning it's going to curve back and it does, swerving low and late, like a perfect Jimmy Anderson delivery to cut inside the post and nestle joyfully and firmly in the bottom corner.
SONNY FUCKING CAREY. SONNY FUCKING CAREY!!! SONNY FUCKING CAREY!
I wonder if Critch might be thinking of bringing Matty Virtue on now. Please don't go into your shell Blackpool. Please.
We don't. We score again. A whipped ball from Coulson, a lunge from Beesley and a lovely goal. YESSSNOOOO. The flag is up. My heart is pounding.
Barnsley can't get the ball up the pitch. Whenever they do, Marvin is there to tidy it up. We're moving it beautifully. It's like we've practised attacking all week and had a really good time doing it. We're turning in tight space and going forward. Kaddy plays several outside of the foot passes down the right channel that are world class. Sonny picks out CJ with a cross field ball that is laser guided, one touchline to another. Coulson is all energy and intent, racing back to win things against players bigger than him, then tying them in knots going the other way. CJ is on song, he's cutting in, he's going outside. He's timing his runs and he's racing onto things. In the middle, Georgie Byers orchestrates the musicians and keeps everything in time.
Kaddy whips it. It glances a Barnsley man and it kisses the bar....
More corners. More pressure. More of that awkward sense that we might not have taken full advantage of the pressure we've had. I am getting nervous. We're not going to have it all our own way surely? We'll need more than 1 goal. This lot haven't turned up yet, but they're not Fleetwood or Carlisle and when they rouse themselves, they'll be capable of rifling home a couple instead of fluffing their chances obligingly.
Kaddy over the ball. He's flighted it. I can't see it making Marvin. I can't see it making Beesley. I can however, see Jimmy Husband suddenly appearing where there's a gap, leaping like an old fashioned high jumper and nodding it down like a 1980s goal poacher, right into that same corner that Sonny found and quite honestly, I'm about to pass out I think because of all the human beings on earth for something good to happen to, Jimmy Husband football god is quite high on my list and it's just before half time and for once this season we've gone out and not only attacked but got what we deserved for doing so. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
Jimmy enjoyed that. He's punching the air, he's all clenched fists to the north. A captain's goal. FUCKING YES!
---
We were quite simply, tremendous. On the evidence of that half it's a mystery why Barnsley are 5th and a mystery how we've lost so pitifully to sides with half the ability of the opposition today.
We've got a Critchley team talk and the inevitable bafflement when Barnsley change something to come though. We'll see...
---
Pennington makes a great interception, and then plays a lovely little pass. It's only a few yards, but it's clever, he could have put his foot through it, but instead, he's played it perfectly for a break. We're racing away. CJ, to Kaddy and now Kaddy with that perfectly weighted channel ball and CJ going full on Olympic sprinter and he's quick, he is that quick, making it, cutting in back across, Pool players race to the near post and like tumbling dominoes seem to fall over each other, no one gets a touch but it doesn't matter because Coulson is alone at the far post, the entire Barnsley back line having gone with our runners and he's got it under control and he's unleashing a rising shot that had the net not intervened, might still be in near earth orbit right now. FUCKING HELL POOL! YESSSS! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
There are looks of disbelief around me. We shake our heads. We grin like the idiots we all are. God love this fucking magical game. God love Blackpool FC. Imagine supporting a side that didn't play in tangerine and weren't imbued with the innate magic that we are? It doesn't bear thinking about does it?
Barnsley fans start to stream out. We carry on much as we were. Kaddy draws a terrific save. We have some shots blocked. The sun shines, the pitch is beautiful and we're the greatest team in the world.
It would be all too easy though, if it ended there. It doesn't. Of course it doesn't. It's us.
We're just starting to look a little bit leggy. Barnsley are getting up the pitch a bit better. We're not quite as energetic in the tackle. We'd made 50/50s into 60/40s for an hour, but now we're losing our share of aerials and collisions. Cosgrove is creating a bit of trouble. Fuck it though, we're 3-0 up.
I'm halfway through an anecdote when out of seemingly nowhere Barnsley score. The ball was miles away, but then it's not and and there's a pinpoint finish that gives Grimmy no chance, silencing my story in mid flow. I never resume it.
Hmmm.
Now the nerves are here. In a way, it's a delight to feel them after what feels like ages. I've got that sense of fear that because football is fundamentally not fair and we've played really well and had about a million efforts, but they might just scruff a couple of goals and it will all be worth fuck all. Come on Pool. COME ON POOL!
Jimmy Husband tumbling down, buying a foul because he's Jimmy fucking Husband and he knows how to do that. Jimmy Husband getting up and tapping the lad he's just done over on the arse and tipping him a cheeky wink. I love Jimmy. Sonny Carey, looking a bit worried because he's got to launch himself into a sliding tackle to clear the ball, but going for it anyway and doing it, and their lad making a meal of it and there being a moment of slight worry but the ref giving nothing. Sonny getting up, all red faced and mouthing 'diving twat' and then saying it again for good measure and jogging away. CJ slides in. A huge cheer. The ball thrown in. CJ slides in again. Another huge cheer. OLE! He's worked his arse off today.
The ball whipped in. Jimmy under the bar. Away. Breathe out. A break. LAVERY!!! Over the bar. Oh Shayne.
Barnsley corners. Bodies crashing together. Neck muscles stretched. Grimmy dancing on his line. We repel. We make changes but the changes don't change things. It's still 3-1 though. That's more than 1-0 isn't it?
They're coming down the right. An early ball in. Cosgrove leaps, connects well. It's heading in... Grimmy, takes a step, leaps off one foot as he does and chucks a hand. HE'S DONE IT AGAIN! FUCKING HELL GRIMMY!... but the ball isn't away, his moment of genius is going to be for nothing, a lunge at the far post, the ball turned back, it's looping in, Grimmy is prone, but he's shot through with a bolt of electricity and he's twisted himself upwards in a way that seems impossible and managed to paw the ball away for a second time. It's like he's snatched his life back from the jaws of death. It's incredible.
There are looks of disbelief around me. We shake our heads. We grin like the idiots we all are. God love this fucking magical game. God love Blackpool FC. Imagine supporting a side that didn't play in tangerine and weren't imbued with the innate magic that we are? It doesn't bear thinking about does it?
Barnsley fans start to stream out. We carry on much as we were. Kaddy draws a terrific save. We have some shots blocked. The sun shines, the pitch is beautiful and we're the greatest team in the world.
It would be all too easy though, if it ended there. It doesn't. Of course it doesn't. It's us.
We're just starting to look a little bit leggy. Barnsley are getting up the pitch a bit better. We're not quite as energetic in the tackle. We'd made 50/50s into 60/40s for an hour, but now we're losing our share of aerials and collisions. Cosgrove is creating a bit of trouble. Fuck it though, we're 3-0 up.
I'm halfway through an anecdote when out of seemingly nowhere Barnsley score. The ball was miles away, but then it's not and and there's a pinpoint finish that gives Grimmy no chance, silencing my story in mid flow. I never resume it.
Hmmm.
Now the nerves are here. In a way, it's a delight to feel them after what feels like ages. I've got that sense of fear that because football is fundamentally not fair and we've played really well and had about a million efforts, but they might just scruff a couple of goals and it will all be worth fuck all. Come on Pool. COME ON POOL!
Jimmy Husband tumbling down, buying a foul because he's Jimmy fucking Husband and he knows how to do that. Jimmy Husband getting up and tapping the lad he's just done over on the arse and tipping him a cheeky wink. I love Jimmy. Sonny Carey, looking a bit worried because he's got to launch himself into a sliding tackle to clear the ball, but going for it anyway and doing it, and their lad making a meal of it and there being a moment of slight worry but the ref giving nothing. Sonny getting up, all red faced and mouthing 'diving twat' and then saying it again for good measure and jogging away. CJ slides in. A huge cheer. The ball thrown in. CJ slides in again. Another huge cheer. OLE! He's worked his arse off today.
The ball whipped in. Jimmy under the bar. Away. Breathe out. A break. LAVERY!!! Over the bar. Oh Shayne.
Barnsley corners. Bodies crashing together. Neck muscles stretched. Grimmy dancing on his line. We repel. We make changes but the changes don't change things. It's still 3-1 though. That's more than 1-0 isn't it?
They're coming down the right. An early ball in. Cosgrove leaps, connects well. It's heading in... Grimmy, takes a step, leaps off one foot as he does and chucks a hand. HE'S DONE IT AGAIN! FUCKING HELL GRIMMY!... but the ball isn't away, his moment of genius is going to be for nothing, a lunge at the far post, the ball turned back, it's looping in, Grimmy is prone, but he's shot through with a bolt of electricity and he's twisted himself upwards in a way that seems impossible and managed to paw the ball away for a second time. It's like he's snatched his life back from the jaws of death. It's incredible.
Banks vs Pele < Grimmy vs them two Barnsley lads. FUCKING HELL GRIMMY!
We make more subs. Eventually, we take Kaddy off. The ground rises. If this is the last time here. It's been a total privilege. I could write several more pages on the boy. I'm not sure if we deserve to make Wembley overall. He does though. We can still dream and so much is down to him. It's worth it just for the hope of seeing some more of this most majestic of talents.
Surely that's it. A cross. A spare man at the far post. FUCK... Why? Come on Pool. Please don't fuck this up. Please!
Sonny breaks with the ball, a crisp pass to Kouassi. Sonny is screaming for him to go to the corner. Kylian is having none of it. Inside he goes, lays it to Virtue and Matty Virtue must surely finish this and put us out of our misery but all he can muster is a tame effort that gets a withering comment of 'that's a fucking backpass that' from behind me.
More tension. There are only seconds left, but they tick by so slowly. Carey throws himself in front of one desperately. The ball goes the other way than he anticipated so he just seems to launch himself at nothing. Norburn puts his foot through one. Sonny again charging in, the ball ballooning up. Gabriel with a crunching challenge. Time marches on...
YESSSSSSS!
Another chorus pays homage to Kaddy. Critchley gets very up close and personal with his fist pumping action. Grimmy stands alone for a moment. He's probably thinking about having a nap.
That was a game.
---
I really enjoyed that. It was like cup football. I've already raised the question that such a quality display of attacking football raises but I can't help saying, who knows how we've looked so toothless on too many other occasions? Maybe we've had our hand forced today and had to play like this. Maybe it's just clicked. It doesn't matter. Today is not the time to go over what was. We've got a game left against a team with nothing to play for and we're close enough for the dreaming not to be entirely fanciful. It still requires the stars to align but there'll be a tangerine army in full voice on a day of hope and maybe, just possibly, perhaps, who knows? Maybe the celestial bodies will fall into place.
The last 23 minutes were nervy. The first 67 were simply excellent. The starting 11 were fucking fantastic. The level of desire and the pace of play were exactly what we wanted to see. We were better than I thought we could be, particularly because we really tore into a side who'd come to sit in and repeatedly turned pressure on their box into dangerous balls in and shots. There was an incisiveness to our attacking play that hasn't been there, even in the three preceding games. The ref was even pretty good.
Perhaps this season is going to be like a great test match. Rumbling along for ages with nothing really going on, but slowly coming to a boil and culminating in a grandstand finish.
You really never know. We'll just have to trust that process a little bit longer won't we?
Onward!
We make more subs. Eventually, we take Kaddy off. The ground rises. If this is the last time here. It's been a total privilege. I could write several more pages on the boy. I'm not sure if we deserve to make Wembley overall. He does though. We can still dream and so much is down to him. It's worth it just for the hope of seeing some more of this most majestic of talents.
Surely that's it. A cross. A spare man at the far post. FUCK... Why? Come on Pool. Please don't fuck this up. Please!
Sonny breaks with the ball, a crisp pass to Kouassi. Sonny is screaming for him to go to the corner. Kylian is having none of it. Inside he goes, lays it to Virtue and Matty Virtue must surely finish this and put us out of our misery but all he can muster is a tame effort that gets a withering comment of 'that's a fucking backpass that' from behind me.
More tension. There are only seconds left, but they tick by so slowly. Carey throws himself in front of one desperately. The ball goes the other way than he anticipated so he just seems to launch himself at nothing. Norburn puts his foot through one. Sonny again charging in, the ball ballooning up. Gabriel with a crunching challenge. Time marches on...
YESSSSSSS!
Another chorus pays homage to Kaddy. Critchley gets very up close and personal with his fist pumping action. Grimmy stands alone for a moment. He's probably thinking about having a nap.
That was a game.
---
I really enjoyed that. It was like cup football. I've already raised the question that such a quality display of attacking football raises but I can't help saying, who knows how we've looked so toothless on too many other occasions? Maybe we've had our hand forced today and had to play like this. Maybe it's just clicked. It doesn't matter. Today is not the time to go over what was. We've got a game left against a team with nothing to play for and we're close enough for the dreaming not to be entirely fanciful. It still requires the stars to align but there'll be a tangerine army in full voice on a day of hope and maybe, just possibly, perhaps, who knows? Maybe the celestial bodies will fall into place.
The last 23 minutes were nervy. The first 67 were simply excellent. The starting 11 were fucking fantastic. The level of desire and the pace of play were exactly what we wanted to see. We were better than I thought we could be, particularly because we really tore into a side who'd come to sit in and repeatedly turned pressure on their box into dangerous balls in and shots. There was an incisiveness to our attacking play that hasn't been there, even in the three preceding games. The ref was even pretty good.
Perhaps this season is going to be like a great test match. Rumbling along for ages with nothing really going on, but slowly coming to a boil and culminating in a grandstand finish.
You really never know. We'll just have to trust that process a little bit longer won't we?
Onward!
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