These blogs have fallen into a certain format over the years. The advent of chaosball has made me wonder if I should make like the big doe eyed grizzly fella in the dugout and rip it up and start again. Usually, I bang on for a bit about what I was thinking before the game, then I describe stuff in linear order then I sum it up at the end with how I felt afterwards.
That all seems a bit '5-3-2'.
It's what I did 2 weeks ago and that doesn't have to be what I do now.
I could start at the end if I wanted because what you were isn't who you have to be. (If that's not a song lyric then it should be) - Were I to do that I'd say...
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... I fucking love Richard Keogh and that it was 90 minutes of exquisite torture today, where I felt throughout that we could score almost any time we got the ball and concede almost any time we lost it. That is precisely what I want from football. It couldn't be any closer to the way I see it if it were a pair of glasses perched on the end of my nose.
Football is, first and foremost a game. A game is not reality. Reality is shitty stuff like databases and the pricing structure of train fares, small print, getting up in the morning in the dark only to find the milk has gone off and you can't even make a brew to help you face the anxiety of the day that weighs on you like the lead shield of a Chernobyl liquidator. I could go on with how shit life can be but that's not why you are here, that's not what you're reading this for - You're reading it because football and because football isn't that real world and that's why I'm writing it and not writing something else because football and because football is not that world for 90 glorious and agonising minutes.
I could then completely sack off the linear structure and just chuck in some random events in any order I wanted because, like the players in our team, I'm free. To do what I want. Any old time.
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Half time. Fuck me, how are we not 3 or 4 goals up?
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Some point in the first half - I bellow 'fuck off to your sunbed you fake tan twat' at the ref. My child is not impressed. The me that is looking at the me from outside himself is not impressed with me either but the fact is, the ref has a fake tan and is a twat so really, I (the me in the football ground) am absolutely within my rights to bellow such a thing because this football and football is not the rest of the world where I'd never actually shout that at anyone, fake tan or not.
Numerous points in the first half - Go on Robbie... the little man's best moment is probably the raking pass he picks out of a tight space that puts us through early on. It's a divine bit of football that shows us that he's got more than just the running at people, though he does plenty of that.
I'm falling into a trap here. I'm sticking to the first half. Let me show you how free of convention I am.
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Before the game I'm driving and I'm probably going too fast because I want to be there. I want to get there. I want to see what we can do. I want more of what we've had and I want us to tear into them and score 6 or 7 because we could do it. I actually believe that. I also, simultaneously belief we could lose 2-0 and not have a shot because lads, lads, lads, this is Blackpool and you never fucking know. Maybe that was Critchley's big mistake. He tried to make us reliable, professional and worthy. Maybe this Keogh shit is just a mirage. Perhaps we'll offer nothing and fall to bits under the weight of a little bit of expectation?
Then I see the team. Even the defence is attacking. We're not going to die wondering. I love it. I practically sprint up Bloomfield Road.
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Second half - Fuck me, they've scored again. Gary Goalie has thrown himself full length and he was saving it. I saw him saving it but he didn't save it, the ball brushed off the side of his glove and into the net and the tinny cheer from the away fans grates like chalk dragged down the blackboard of my soul - shitty stupid rugby kit wearing fucking where the fuck even is Wycombe and have they ever even had a good player and no, Steve fucking Guppy doesn't count as good cos he's hardly fucking Stanley Matthews, he's not even fucking Trevor Sinclair for fucks sake and nor does that fucking novelty fat bloke striker they had fucking fuck off there's a fucking non-league crowd dancing about with 30 seats each in the east stand to jump on and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair. I'm a kid again with no control over my feelings and I'm gutted because why is always fucking like this and why can we not win things and why is football shit? I hate it.
First half - Corner. Kyle JOSEPH!!!! YES! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Easy as you like. How we deserve that. We've been all over them. It's a miracle they've kept us at bay and even Jesus got fucked over in the end so even miracles can't keep us out forever. We've been pouring forward, we've missed chances, we've been aggressive and the crowd has stayed with us but we needed to make that pay and we did. I let out a huge sigh of relief.
Second half. HOW. DID. HE. MISS. AGAIN. Around me everyone looks like I feel. Blinking, open mouthed, heads shaking in mute acknowledgement that what we've just seen defies logic. Ash Fletcher was free, all he had to do is guide a header into most of the goal with almost any contact at all but instead he's guided it, like a defender cushioning it with great care back to the keeper. First half he passed one back like it was 1987 and he was Alan Hanson nipping in to calmly between defenders to knock it back to Bruce Grobbelaar. I like what he does in the build up very much but fuck me Ash, put your foot though it or something because wow...
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Right now as I'm writing this - I've confused myself now with this attempt at chaosblogging. I don't know what is going on and what I've got to do next because without the familiar structure to guide me, it's difficult to remember what I've said and haven't said. I feel a bit like Zac Ashworth who, thrown into the chaos looks a bit tentative and at one point runs in 3 complete circles as if locked in a complete meltdown in terms of decision making. Maybe it's the freedom. So many choices maaaaan. It's like seeing all the realities at once in a hazy psychedelic fog of tangerine.
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Before the game I'm driving and I'm probably going too fast because I want to be there. I want to get there. I want to see what we can do. I want more of what we've had and I want us to tear into them and score 6 or 7 because we could do it. I actually believe that. I also, simultaneously belief we could lose 2-0 and not have a shot because lads, lads, lads, this is Blackpool and you never fucking know. Maybe that was Critchley's big mistake. He tried to make us reliable, professional and worthy. Maybe this Keogh shit is just a mirage. Perhaps we'll offer nothing and fall to bits under the weight of a little bit of expectation?
Then I see the team. Even the defence is attacking. We're not going to die wondering. I love it. I practically sprint up Bloomfield Road.
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Second half - Fuck me, they've scored again. Gary Goalie has thrown himself full length and he was saving it. I saw him saving it but he didn't save it, the ball brushed off the side of his glove and into the net and the tinny cheer from the away fans grates like chalk dragged down the blackboard of my soul - shitty stupid rugby kit wearing fucking where the fuck even is Wycombe and have they ever even had a good player and no, Steve fucking Guppy doesn't count as good cos he's hardly fucking Stanley Matthews, he's not even fucking Trevor Sinclair for fucks sake and nor does that fucking novelty fat bloke striker they had fucking fuck off there's a fucking non-league crowd dancing about with 30 seats each in the east stand to jump on and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair. I'm a kid again with no control over my feelings and I'm gutted because why is always fucking like this and why can we not win things and why is football shit? I hate it.
First half - Corner. Kyle JOSEPH!!!! YES! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Easy as you like. How we deserve that. We've been all over them. It's a miracle they've kept us at bay and even Jesus got fucked over in the end so even miracles can't keep us out forever. We've been pouring forward, we've missed chances, we've been aggressive and the crowd has stayed with us but we needed to make that pay and we did. I let out a huge sigh of relief.
Second half. HOW. DID. HE. MISS. AGAIN. Around me everyone looks like I feel. Blinking, open mouthed, heads shaking in mute acknowledgement that what we've just seen defies logic. Ash Fletcher was free, all he had to do is guide a header into most of the goal with almost any contact at all but instead he's guided it, like a defender cushioning it with great care back to the keeper. First half he passed one back like it was 1987 and he was Alan Hanson nipping in to calmly between defenders to knock it back to Bruce Grobbelaar. I like what he does in the build up very much but fuck me Ash, put your foot though it or something because wow...
---
Right now as I'm writing this - I've confused myself now with this attempt at chaosblogging. I don't know what is going on and what I've got to do next because without the familiar structure to guide me, it's difficult to remember what I've said and haven't said. I feel a bit like Zac Ashworth who, thrown into the chaos looks a bit tentative and at one point runs in 3 complete circles as if locked in a complete meltdown in terms of decision making. Maybe it's the freedom. So many choices maaaaan. It's like seeing all the realities at once in a hazy psychedelic fog of tangerine.
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First half - I beat the seat in front of me. There is no one in it so it makes a good vessel for my frustration. FUCK. All that good play and we let a shit goal in. A nothing goal. A defender pushed off the ball and a tap in goal. Fucks sake. Kyle Joseph turns to the North Stand, he raises his arms in exhortation. C'mon. C'mon. 'C'MON POOL!
Second half - I don't like the subs. Rhodes has looked rustier than a bike dragged from the canal after a few years in the silt and Embleton has given off vibes of a man who has eaten mostly crisps in his recovery from injury. They both need games but I don't get it right now. There's Bees on the bench. There's Sonny fucking Carey. This game is made for them. It's loose, it's chaotic, it's energy and our energy is flagging. I don't want it calming down with experience, I want us to grab it and make it more manic. Recreate the storm of before.
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Before the game again- I have to think to myself 'If it was 3 o'clock, when would I leave, so if it's kick off at half twelve and I deduct that same amount of time, I would leave at....' and I don't like having to do lower tier GCSE paper questions to work out when to get to a match for no reason other that SKY are desperate to monopolise the entire sporting world and make sure everyone has to pay for watching anything that moves or has a ball in it or involves anyone throwing something or getting a bit sweaty and I think that, whilst smoking isn't big and clever (ok, it is) and banning it might save the NHS some money, perhaps the Government could, instead of being mealy mouthed fun sponges (nothing says 'fun' like a slow suicide, but hey, you look like a cowboy and that is fucking cool) they could perhaps think about addressing the general health situation whereby in the world's richest footballing nation, there aren't enough football pitches and you can't watch any football on the normal telly because that's also a fucking health risk if you think about it and just cos some telly cunts get rich off it and it helps make about 3 clubs slightly better in Europe doesn't make that ok. Fuming to be honest. I should go to the pub and start smoking just to calm down.
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Second half - Norburn is dicing with death here. He's been booked and he's still charging round like the grumpy foreman of a roadworks site raging at some tardy young lads and smashing up stuff they've done badly to make them do it again but this time properly. I hope he doesn't get sent off cos I like this Norburn much more than the Norburn of two weeks ago. They're doing my head in with their time wasting and they're falling over at nothing. Joseph breathes on one of them and he goes down. CJ makes a great tackle (he's looked committed today, he's won two (yes! two!) headers as well and the lad goes down as if CJ is Gary Brabin in a bad mood. Even CJ is riled up by it and gives the ref a mouthful shouting at his creosote face. I don't think I've ever seen that before.
Still second half - A cross, it looks initially hopeful, a whip into the box that is designed to save the move from breaking down but then, Beesley rises and the net is billowing and he's running back and it's relief and delight again because not only do we deserve not to lose, it's really a travesty we aren't winning it. Evans' ball being met is a just reward for his superb midfield work and any time Bees scores, the world feels that bit better because Bees is Bees and that's all you need to say. I knew he should have come on before. Maybe I should manage us. I'd be awful. Couldn't hack it. Keeeeee-ogh.
Second half - I don't like the subs. Rhodes has looked rustier than a bike dragged from the canal after a few years in the silt and Embleton has given off vibes of a man who has eaten mostly crisps in his recovery from injury. They both need games but I don't get it right now. There's Bees on the bench. There's Sonny fucking Carey. This game is made for them. It's loose, it's chaotic, it's energy and our energy is flagging. I don't want it calming down with experience, I want us to grab it and make it more manic. Recreate the storm of before.
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Before the game again- I have to think to myself 'If it was 3 o'clock, when would I leave, so if it's kick off at half twelve and I deduct that same amount of time, I would leave at....' and I don't like having to do lower tier GCSE paper questions to work out when to get to a match for no reason other that SKY are desperate to monopolise the entire sporting world and make sure everyone has to pay for watching anything that moves or has a ball in it or involves anyone throwing something or getting a bit sweaty and I think that, whilst smoking isn't big and clever (ok, it is) and banning it might save the NHS some money, perhaps the Government could, instead of being mealy mouthed fun sponges (nothing says 'fun' like a slow suicide, but hey, you look like a cowboy and that is fucking cool) they could perhaps think about addressing the general health situation whereby in the world's richest footballing nation, there aren't enough football pitches and you can't watch any football on the normal telly because that's also a fucking health risk if you think about it and just cos some telly cunts get rich off it and it helps make about 3 clubs slightly better in Europe doesn't make that ok. Fuming to be honest. I should go to the pub and start smoking just to calm down.
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Second half - Norburn is dicing with death here. He's been booked and he's still charging round like the grumpy foreman of a roadworks site raging at some tardy young lads and smashing up stuff they've done badly to make them do it again but this time properly. I hope he doesn't get sent off cos I like this Norburn much more than the Norburn of two weeks ago. They're doing my head in with their time wasting and they're falling over at nothing. Joseph breathes on one of them and he goes down. CJ makes a great tackle (he's looked committed today, he's won two (yes! two!) headers as well and the lad goes down as if CJ is Gary Brabin in a bad mood. Even CJ is riled up by it and gives the ref a mouthful shouting at his creosote face. I don't think I've ever seen that before.
Still second half - A cross, it looks initially hopeful, a whip into the box that is designed to save the move from breaking down but then, Beesley rises and the net is billowing and he's running back and it's relief and delight again because not only do we deserve not to lose, it's really a travesty we aren't winning it. Evans' ball being met is a just reward for his superb midfield work and any time Bees scores, the world feels that bit better because Bees is Bees and that's all you need to say. I knew he should have come on before. Maybe I should manage us. I'd be awful. Couldn't hack it. Keeeeee-ogh.
First half - Dom (not Dan) squeezes a shot onto the inside of the post. It's physically painful that it bounces out and into the keepers arms and not into the back of the net. I sink to the ground and look at the roof of the stand.
Late in the second half. They've got a free kick. This is their chance. They miss. We go to the other end. We're fast, we move, centre, left, cut inside, cross, here's our chance... Joseph again.... save, it's spilled, Rhodes (I think) onto it from two yards out and somehow, somehow, somehow their keeper keeps it out.
The seat gets it again.
I am on my knees. Literally. I look up at those around me. They look down. We share the moment like passengers on a ship or a plane passing through a storm. We don't need to speak to say everything.
Fucking hell 'Pool.
That was torture.
More please.
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I'm not sure this approach was a good idea. I should probably sum it up again as I haven't a clue what I've actually written.
We were excellent for quite a lot of the game. We tired though and had a spell where we weren't and again, we let mistakes and poor defending take what should have been a comfortable win from us. There's so much to build from though. Evans, looks terrific, Gabriel was excellent, we made a hat full of chances and the front three looks a proper force. We've got another keeper who, by most accounts is a very good one and we've got a fast defender in the wings and that can surely only help us because the defence is not going to get the same kind of cover it got previously and we will get done on the break so the ability to stay with attackers when you get turned around is a prerequisite that some of the players at the back don't possess and thus look exposed.
Do I want to write this same blog every single week trying to make sense of how the fuck we didn't win? No. Things (blogs included) do work better with a bit of structure.
Could I get used to things being a bit looser and free-er? Fuck yes. Do I want this business of us having shots and stuff and more than 3 things happening in a game to carry on?
Very much so. It feels so much more like us.
Onward!
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