Football Blog: Tangerine Flavoured

Saturday, September 28, 2024

Up the football league we go! - the Mighty vs Burton Albion


The last time we convened for a league game, I had one key question in my head. 'Is Steve Bruce going to be any good?' 

Today, that question seems horribly outdated. It's like owning a Nokia brick phone after the smartphone had been invented. It's like gas lamps post Edison, it's like worshipping Gary Madine* It's all so last year**.  

*He's a goal machine  
**about 2 weeks ago


Today my thoughts are different. They go a bit like this: 

Proposition a) Burton are palpably not very good. They've been rubbish so far, even Critch beat them 4-0, and they seem to have been getting relegated for about 2 years and they couldn't even keep hold of Bez Lubala. 

Proposition b) We're palpably decent, we've just played 2 of the better sides in the division away, deservedly beaten both and, for good measure put one of the more 'Burton-y' level sides in the division to the sword before that. We look like a proper team, have multiple threats going forward and several players playing the football of their careers. 

Conventional logic would say: home win. 

Tangerine logic says: A+B = agonising, frustrating, calamitous and self inflicted home defeat that leaves you wondering what the point of anything is and why you even bother with this stupid club anyway. 


I'm actually a bit worried that I'm not as worried as I normally would be to be honest. Steve Bruce has got me believing despite my battle hardened seaside paranoia. I think we can overcome the inevitable and puncture the (Pirelli) tyres of the men in yellow and black.

Belief, hope, even a tiny little bit of expectation.

It's a dangerous thing... 


---


The start of the game is flat. The ground seems quiet. I'm kind of thinking 'this might be one of those games that we just never get going' when out of nowhere we get going. It only takes one attack, one crossfield pass, one run from the Rapter, one snarling tackle from Coulson and we're up and off and the drum is going, the noise is swirling and we're back in the heart of where we all want to be. 

Burton don't look as shit as I expected them to be though. They're a bit ragged with the ball at times, but they often move it nicely and move for it quite well. Things are more even than I hoped they would be. We press a bit but without Dom Ballard we've not got the same dynamism up front and we're not stealing the ball as we've done in the last few games. 

Burton even carve out a few chances, though Albie Morgan rasps a really nice effort wide for us. It's all quite level. Aren't we supposed to be hammering them? 

Lee Evans swings it in. Offiah darts towards the near post and... It's a goal! It's so simple. Since Critchley left we've been absolutely brilliant from set pieces. I don't know what it is, but we just seem to have more players in the box, more movement and more commitment to get to the ball first - it helps that Evans has the ability to put the ball where it needs to go time after time, but it's also about what happens when it gets there. 

I'm settled down by that. We all are. 

There are two absolutely sublime bits of play from the Rapter, one, where he's in the corner, hemmed in, absolutely no way out and he shows the ball, takes it back, looks to be looking for a pass and then squeezing, like an alley cat through a tiny crack between two wooden panels of a fence, he's through a gap that barely looked to be there, all along the touchline and pulling it across to be stabbed just wide. The second is actually better if that's possible because it involves the most exquisite use of the bounce and spin of a ball I think I've ever seen, just brushing it with his legs, using his feet to shape the direction of the bounce to what he needed it to be - it's like watching a master potter at work, sculpting beauty from the mundane, shaping a lump of clay into graceful lines with the merest of contact. I could watch him do stuff like that for the rest of my life and never get bored. I'm so, so, so glad he's as good, perhaps even better than I thought he might be, because it's been so long since we've seen someone come through like this. 

There are moments when the freshness of Apter seems to contrast with the age of Rhodes. One of them isn't always in the right place, but has the energy to get to where they need. The other is always in the right place but just can't seem to find the next gear to make it count. 

Jordan Gabriel has a wonderfully mental charge forward where he closes almost every Burton defender down chasing for the ball like a dog let off the leash on the beach. How did we not let this man play football for half the games he was fit for last season? The crowd rise as one. Evans keeps spinning it out wide, Offiah is imperiously sweeping up. CJ is even doing little give and goes and running round to receive clever passes. 

That doesn't tell the whole story though. We're not having it all our own way. Burton aren't giving in and they are a threat. Tyrer has to clear a few from the edge of the box, they slam one into the side netting and then, After Tyrer makes what I can't tell from my end if it's a really good stop or a bit of a fumble, they head a rebounded chance over when it looks like for all the world they're going to score. 

---
 
I've enjoyed us, but I think we've played better. It's not the Tuesday night dominance or the side that blew Charlton away for an hour so. It's ok. It's quite good - but I feel like we're only slightly on top as opposed to dominating. 

---

A recurring frustration for me over the last few seasons is that we've not rarely seemed to get better after half time. Today is absolutely not one of those days. We come out fizzing, running hard, playing it first time. We've got that lovely confident sense of patience to play when we want combined with an urgency to make things happen. 

There's no one more urgent than Apter - the ball is slid forward, he takes it. There's an expectant hum, he's got maybe 45 yards to go, he's going, like a champion wind surfer, riding the waves, skipping and jumping, dipping and turning but going through everything the sea throws up... he's outside, he's inside, the ball is not so much glued to him, but as if it's on elastic - he shows it, but then seems to draw it back to his feet, and he's on his way still, the man behind me can't help the words 'this is going to be a great goal' tumbling from his mouth and as Apter pulls back the hammer, the powder fires and it's not actually so much the expected musket shot because he's far to clever to give them what they expect, but more of an Amazonian blow dart finish, precise, poison tip arrow, right into the bottom corner that the keeper gets nowhere near... 

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! 

So many times last season, it seemed so obvious that the energy and impetuosity of youth was lacking. The wee lad is leaping and punching the air. He's clenching his fists as he's mobbed in front of the Kop. I feel nothing but pure light and elation. All goals are great goals, but when the goals is a goal scored by a kid you've been watching progress for years and daring to hope that one day he'd do this and you'd have this very moment you are living now, than that is even better than a Gary Goal and truly, the greatest goal of all. 

Breathe out. We've got this. 

Hang on, Gabes, shit! An awful pass across his own box is snaffled by a Burton forward, he whistles a dipping effort and somehow Harry Tyrer arches his back, leaping, springing incredibly athletically from a position where he seemed to be caught on his heels and palms the ball over the top. It's a truly magnificent stop. 

Rhodes' light might be dimming a little from his brilliant best, but there's nothing at all shabby about the ball he turns round the corner for CJ. GO ON CEEJ! He's doing what he does best, just punting it ahead and charging forward, into the box, through on goal and the keeper is making a good low stop. 

They fling a ball, in, for once neither Offiah or Casey get to it and one of the blue shirted/green shorted (what a weird colour combination) men stoops and again, Tyrer pulls off a brilliant save, this time kind of collapsing and then flinging himself out as he falls to make a low save that big keeper should struggle with, but he really doesn't. It's arguably better than the first one as he has so little time to react. 

Rhodes and Morgan have gone off, Albie getting serenaded to the touchline after another good game. The ball breaks for us, Carey spots a space and races forward into it, he looks to go inside, but plays a nice disguised ball to Fletcher outside of him instead, Fletcher takes it well, looks up, sees Evans, slides it across. Evans looks to have lost the shooting chance as he seems to take forever to take the ball from one foot to another, but just as I'm thinking he's fumbled his lines, he delivers, with pitch perfect elocution as he fairly leathers it into the top corner to send us into raptures. 

That's the game. 

Burton, to be fair to them, don't give up. They're a much better side and have given a much better display than either the scoreline or their league position would suggest. They certainly seem a better team than the one who beat us over Christmas last year. Such is football though. Win when you look crap, lose when you look good. Their subs definitely improve them - the 17 year old Ronelle Donovan in particular. He has a bit of the vibe of Nya Kirby in hair, physique and playing style - a player who really impressed us at a similar age - but who has now fallen out of the league altogether (he's currently in the Isthmian League South East division) - a fact that makes Rob Apter's emphatic arrival on the stage all the more pleasing, because the promise of youth is never a guarantee of later success. 

I can't remember much of the rest of the game except for the strange and genuinely soul affirming feeling of applauding CJ for running back and getting stuck in in a way he's almost never seemed to do. Whatever Bruce has said to him, it's worked. He's still CJ in essence, but he's making the most of what he has and it's as if he's twice the player he was a few weeks ago. 


--- 

Today was a bit odd - we played really well at points but we didn't convince as much as we have done - and yet, this was our most convincing win of the season. There was something really quite satisfying about the fact we were clinical and also that Tyrer was really very convincing as a good keeper is a prerequisite of a really good team. 

The one worry for me is the lack of Ballard. Evans and Morgan were good. Evans and Carey was fine. As long as we've got Evans and... we'll have a chance. Rhodes and Joseph just wasn't quite there. I'm not sure if Joseph was feeling the burn of running two games in one match twice in a week already or if the way he shares pressing with Ballard and they swap over running the ball down just isn't going to happen with Rhodes. 

That's a minor question in the grand scheme of things and we all know that if he gets a chance, Jordan Rhodes will bury it, so it's far from a nightmare situation. 

In fact, stop twatting on about worries - we're fucking 4th! How did that happen? When and how did we suddenly become actually, really, genuinely, not even joking about it, pretty fucking decent? 

I don't understand what is going on. It feels like something is happening. I absolutely didn't expect it. I  love it though. 

3rd vs 4th on Tuesday under the lights. 

What more could you actually want in life? 

Onward! 




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One morning of Kevin De Bruyne - Bamber Bridge vs the future



Bamber Bridge is one of those places that weirdly seems to have its own identity despite, to all intents and purposes being part of a bigger place. It has the misfortune of being stuck to Preston and yet somehow it seems a little bit more distinct from Preston than other places that are also stuck to it. Penwortham. Not sure what that is. Broughton. That's a roundabout I think. Walton-le-Dale - is there anything other than car showrooms and closed pubs there? Bamber Bridge - that's a football club tucked in by the railway. That's a place. 

The football club is half decent in the grand scheme of things. It's at that level whereby it might reasonably hope to get somewhere in the FA Cup (somewhere being a 3 minute highlight on national telly of them playing someone like Exeter or or Stevenage.) It has a history - some players have played for them that you've heard of (not least, super Robbie Apter ) It has a half decent ground, a proper stand, a bit of terracing, you can buy a pie, have a pint. If you go to Irongate on a match day, there are enough people for it to feel like 'a thing' and the prospect of seeing players good enough to justify the fact you are paying to watch them. You'll see a few ex pros, you'll see a few never been pros and a few young pros and the football will be hard fought and physical. At the level they're at, there's not enough at stake (i.e. it's not a matter of global capital's childish pride in their latest toy) for it to be tainted by painful and joyless over-seriousness that blights the top levels but more than enough at stake to make it real. 

It's one of those many clubs where you'll go, spend an afternoon - the football might be great, shit or somewhere in between but you'll not feel ripped off because that's not what football is about at that level. 

The strength of English football comes from the fact it has literally hundreds, if not thousands of clubs like Bamber Bridge - operations serious enough to resemble (if you squint a bit) the 'bigger' teams above them but open enough to be a place for the local community to gather, watch and even play football. It's this vast network of teams that provide the foundations for all the hoopla and spectacle above. Without the foundations, a house crumbles.

English football is good, not just because there is money, but because as a player you are constantly walking a tightrope, knowing at any time there are an infinite number of sharks circling below, the multi thousands of players from the next rung down, hungrily waiting for that sniff of a chance. Clubs like Bamber Bridge are what makes that, they are what contributes to the incredibly competitive meritocracy that is football in England. Whether it's a super league, the MSL, the Saudi League or whatever - these pretenders will never match the culture, the depth, the sheer weight of numbers that makes English football what it is. The original professional league with an astonishing and never ending number of teams, a straight line from Manchester City right down to village level football with (at least a theoretical) path from one place to another. 

The Premier League might be a triumph of spin and marketing, but essentially, it's just a re-brand of Division One. It is, metaphorically speaking, the penthouse suite or observation deck atop one of the world's tallest buildings and whilst the lower floors might not have the global appeal, they still matter. Just because no one pays to ride the elevator to floor 6 of the Empire State Building doesn't mean floor 6 isn't an integral part of the structure. If you take floor 6 away, the building is that bit smaller, that bit less grand, that bit less appealing. The point is, the observation deck is what everyone goes to, but it is only where it is because of everything it sits on top of. 

Bamber Bridge need cash to survive. They don't need a lot of cash. (£30,000) 

Here are some facts about the cash they need in comparison to other things in football

1: Paying Kevin De Bruyne for a morning and about 20 minutes after lunch. (based on his reported earnings of 400k per week) 

2: 10 of Fulham's most expensive season tickets

3: 0.0002% of the cost of Enzo Fernandez's transfer fee 

4: 0.000004% of the cost of a 27.7% stake in Manchester United

5. 6 hospitality tickets for one game (Chelsea vs Manchester United) 

6. 0.01% of the 'merit payment' received by the worst team in the Premier League last season. 

7. 0.000004% of the latest Premier League TV deal 

8. 0.0004% of the somewhat questionable sponsorship deal that Manchester City's owners appear to pay themselves to cook the books. 

9. 125 Tottenham shirts (pro edition) from the Tottenham club shop. 

10. Half a game of the Sky punditry team (based on reported earnings of around 1 million each for the 'a-team' pundits and them doing about 50 games per season) 

I don't know about you - I'd rather my next bit of spare cash went towards keeping a club like Bamber Bridge alive than contributing further to the culture of 'tunnel clubs,' 'CR7' and stadiums with swimming pools for rich tourists to Instagram themselves in. I'm fortunate to have *some* disposable income and to be able to pay my heating bill. I don't have anything like the levels of spare cash that football in general has but there we go - if I'd wanted to be a billionaire, I should have worked hard and inherited an oil state.

If football wants to continue to pump it's filthy money round the top levels, I can do fuck all about it, but I can give a few quid to Bamber Bridge if I want because I think that kind of side, that exists largely because people love football and doesn't have the option (or, I would guess, desire) to 'monetise itself in order to maximise consumer interface with the brand and turn social media interest into consumption' or to 'seek to renew the customer base and phase out legacy profiles in favour of newer and more upwardly mobile cash rich leisure spend' should actually be able to carry on existing. 

Bamber Bridge fundraising page

It's a choice (if you are able to make it.) Up to you.

As you were. 

Onward. 



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Wednesday, September 18, 2024

Forgotten already - the Mighty vs Sheffield Wednesday


Before the game, I have a feeling that Steve 'giant football brain' Bruce would use his giant football brain to work out that the League Cup isn't very important. If Richard Keogh was still the manager, you'd suspect that he'd be bouncing up and down on the spot talking to himself in the third person trying to work out how we can not only beat Sheffield Wednesday (all out chaotic attack) but actually win the bloody thing (all out chaotic attack again) 


Steve 'football, eh, jumpers for goalposts etc, wonderful. how lucky am I?' Bruce is a bit older and wiser than that. I had a feeling he might bung out the sort of side he did (a half baked selection of random players in need of a game) and treat it as an opportunity for the preseason he was denied by the fact he had his feat up reading a catalogue of cruise holidays and wondering where he'd put his reading glasses, before remembering they were on a string round his neck. At the point we were 5-3-2ing our way to Spain and Crewe, he was probably considering whether or not to try the new carvery place down the road next week or not as the biggest decision of the next few weeks. 


Like Nostradamus (though, as far as I'm aware, yer man never had a go at predicting the starting line ups of League 1 sides in the early rounds of lesser cup competitions) I was right. 


Still. It was a nice evening. Lovely light. It's better than sitting inside and thinking about tomorrow. That's what football is. 


--- 

From the off, we huff and we puff (words Steve 'did I tell you Fergie rang?' Bruce himself would use post match) but we don't really get close to blowing anyone's house down. Neil 'unemployed' Critchley wouldn't have been able to cite 'good areas' unless 'mostly twatting it forward hopefully from somewhere around full back' constituted a 'good area' which I don't think it did in Critchley's head.  

I can't actually remember anything we did from the first half other than Rhodes catching the defender in possession and trying a weird effort when it was clearly (obviously, I know more about being a footballer than him) the right option to try and put Beesley in. 

I don't think we had a shot at any point. Hey ho. 

Sheffield Wednesday are reasonably proficient. They're not noticeably 'good' - just a bit bigger and a bit quicker than us. They have a spell where they score two shady goals that are chalked off (offside and a really mad handball when it looked like it might go in anyway) and then score a real goal (that was a bit like the shady goals but just not shady) and then basically keep us at bay for the rest of it without any real effort over and above the generally quite acceptable running about in an organised way that they do. 


--- 

We lack pace upfront. We lack pace wide. We lack pace and presence in midfield and essentially, I don't think we've got a hope in hell unless we address the above. We haven't really got any presence on the bench, but we do have some pace. 

--- 


The second half is the same. Nothing happens. Wednesday look boringly competent again and indulge in some falling over antics that don't seem really in keeping with the lack of tension in the game. We look as toothless as the victim of a sadistic dentist who fucking loves removing teeth. 

The main highlight is some immensely loud whistling, most obviously from a fella in the crowd but also from someone on the bench. I've never mastered that 'putting yer fingers in yer mouth to increase the volume by a factor of 10' thing and have nothing but admiration for anyone who has. 

I'm musing on the way the North is considerably steeper than the south and the spruce appearance of the flags behind when... 

THOMMO HAS A SHOT! AN ACTUAL REAL LIFE SHOT! 

It's straight at the keeper but still... 

Thommo goes off. We put some faster players on to replace some of the slower players as well. 

We are better with the faster player but we still can't really create anything. It's one them Chizz. Everything we do breaks down. CJ actually does a great job of pressuring their full back and nabs it a few times. We get the ball to the Rapter who does some running and some tricky things but the final ball or shot isn't there. We steal the ball in midfield really well and then hit a shit pass. We chase them down and put some pressure on but the cross is over everyone's heads. 

Sonny hits a really nice first time pass. Gabriel does a tremendous tackle and run forward. Kyle Joseph goes hunting and wins the ball and then dribbles round 3. None of it does any good. It's just one of those nights where we don't make more than three passes in a row without something going wrong. Finnegan does a sensational little shimmy. Finnigan also looks like he's never seen a football before. 

Gary Goalie makes a good save towards the end. No one's that arsed when the final whistle goes. Everyone it seems, is a pragmatist now. 

It happened - but as we're filing out, it's almost like it's being forgotten already. Maybe after 5 thrillers in a row, this was something we needed to remind us that not every game is an end to end chaotic classic. 

--- 

I'm not sure we learned anything other than 'if you take away all the quick players and all the strong players and play all the slower players and all the flimsy players at once in a system which fundamentally requires strength and pace to function, it's probably not going to work' 

Morgan did pretty well for a comeback game and lasted a decent time. Casey had a really good night and I think deserved the man of the match. Rhodes worries me because I think Bruce likes him but I just don't see how he's going to be able to create the kind of pressing menace that Ballard and Joseph do and if either of those are injured I'm not sure where the energy comes from. 

Last night looked like a bunch of fringe players playing an unfamiliar system. I don't particularly object to us not prioritising the League Cup. Swindon won it, and when I think about it, Luton won it and Birmingham too and probably some other ridiculous teams. I'm not fussed about winning anything that any of them won unless it's the Anglo Italian cup which counts because we've won it. 

The bigger questions are for the weekend and the biggest question is - how do we function without either Evans or Norburn. I've no issue at all with either Carey or Morgan  (in fact, I think they both have their distinct qualities) but it's not a pair that I'd imagine at the heart of a rugged and aggressive 442 approach. Either one would work with one of the missing players alongside them but those two (or indeed Finnigan) as the foundation of how we played last Saturday doesn't seem a realistic prospect. 

Maybe Steve Bruce and his giant football brain has the answer. Setbacks on the road to glory are inevitable but it does seem particularly 'Blackpool' to both discover that we've got a brilliant midfield and then to lose it on the same day.  The last fella had no plan B.

Maybe this fella has? 

Onward 


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Saturday, September 14, 2024

Things might just work out... - The Mighty vs Exeter City


Before some time last week I hadn't given Steve Bruce any thought in a long time. I hadn't given him all that much thought ever really.

Steve Bruce.

The name didn't really conjure any particular emotion. Sure, I knew a lot about him - I remember him as a player, an effective defender who looked like a lumpy Guy Fawkes dummy made out of two great big slightly squashed cardboard boxes with a sack full of spuds for a head. He was pretty good but weirdly never played for England. I remember him as a manager, mainly because when I watched a highlights show, I'd quite often be surprised to find out 'oh, Bruce is there now is he?' I connected him with a kind of sometimes effective pragmatism - a kind of slightly more forward thinking version of the 'proper-football man' archetype. 

He's the sort of man who pops up in stories from those podcasts where ex footballers laugh a lot in a slightly too loud way (a forced laughter that suggests they're possibly covering up their inner emptiness and existential dread.) You know the ones. "So the boss said, don't go on a scooter (oh aye, classic) whatever you do, and so Giggsy (manic laughter) went down the fire escape (manic laughter) and there's Pally (oh, aye Pally) and Dennis (oh aye, Dennis) and Brucey (oh, aye, Brucey) already there with a fucking VESPA (30 seconds manic laughter)" 

Up until his last few jobs, he's the kind of fella one of the 'proper football men' on TalkSport would say 'you know, I just don't think Steve Bruce gets enough credit for what he's done at (insert name of about 15 clubs)' and a really boring 20 minute conversation would ensue where names like Allardyce and Pulis would be invoked as other examples of under appreciated 'proper' types. It's not that I haven't got some sympathy for that point of view, it's just that I've heard it endlessly on repeat since about 1999 and there's nothing new to say. 

Put it this way. I'd never really felt anything about Steve Bruce until *Steve Bruce day* happened. 


I've thought about very little else since. At first, I was furious. Then I was angry. Then I was furious again. 

Then I started listening to him and I felt a bit different. 

Steve Bruce at Fairhaven lake having an ice cream and blurting out excitedly 'y'know what Aggers, lets hire one of those boats. Aggers, I know I'm 63. Exactly. That's exactly why. You only live once.' 

Steve Bruce on a miniature railway looking absolutely massive and having to duck to avoid signals and tunnels. Steve Bruce at the model village saying "y'know what Aggers, I feel like a bloody giant here, like godzilla, I could pick up that building there and imagine all the little fellas and lasses going 'nooooo!, don't eat us!'. I could use that little windmill as a hand fan couldn't I?'" Steve Bruce having a cuppa at the training ground and leaving the tea bag in. Steve Bruce at a B+B finding the flowery valance around the bed 'quite pleasing' because it reminds him of a caravan holiday he had with the missus 40 years ago where a similar valance was present. Steve Bruce smiling benevolently as a seagull makes off with a sandwich crust he's left on a plate outside of a little cafe in the park. 

Steve Bruce is happy. He's back. He's where he's been for most of his life. Football, footballers, football pitches, football grounds and football crowds. 

Steve Bruce narrowing his eyes as he looks at Sonny Carey and thinks 'I reckon I can make something of this lad if....' Steve Bruce scribbling 'late runs, Sonny' and adding an arrow to his notepad. Steve Bruce looking at Keysie and thinking 'he's got all the energy you need around these boys' Steve Bruce chuckling to himself in pleasure as he watches CJ go from 0-80 in 2 seconds and then run past the ball. He's thinking 'inverted wing back my hat.' Steve Bruce purring like a cat as he watches the videos of us going forward and then, his already crinkly face wincing like a scrunched up old fashioned wax paper bag of crisps as he sees us go the other way. 

Steve Bruce in front of a camera. He's no winsome old fella. This is no deckchair job. He's biting the reporter's words off and making mincemeat of the questions. Why is he here? He loves football. Obviously. Fuck off. Next one. Are we going to att... Obviously, he's not managing fucking Newcastle with a 50 p budget from skinflint Mike here is he? We're going to win the league. Are you looking forward to Sat... "If I wasn't I should be shot in the head and my corpse paraded for people to piss on because SATURDAY'S THE DAY WE PLAY THE GAME*." 

*Slight paraphrasing 

He's good at this stuff. He convinces. It's not flimflam. It's not placeholder answers. It's not rabbit in the headlights umm-ing and ah-ing, 'Exeter are a good team-ing,' listen, like you said-ing. It's the voice of experience. It's the voice of a man who has been around the block and wears a broken nose like a badge of honour to show it. There is an authority to it all. Despite everything I initially felt, I like it. 

To be completely frank - I hated the idea at first. He's won me over with his sheer enthusiasm. Now it's time for the deeds to match the rhetoric. Just please... No one mention Big Mick.

Into them you Tangerine Bastards! 

C'mon you Poooooooooool. 


---- 

What are we going to get though? I'd be lying if I didn't think of 'Steve Bruce football' as a bit lumpen, a bit cold salty porridge, a bit, well, boring. He's picked wingers, we have a solid midfield, a back four. It could be exciting stuff, it could be... stodgy.

I just don't know. 

We're quickly into our stride. Almost immediately, it feels like we've taken the best of Keogh's beguiling but brittle chaosball approach and aligned it with a bit of conventional thinking. Exeter can't get out of their own half. We're like dogs, but not nice dogs, nasty dogs, guard dogs and Ollie Norburn is the savage alsatian, snapping at his lead and snarling fiercely at anything that comes near him. 

What has Steve Bruce done to Jimmy? Has he hypnotised him into realising his own genius again? He's flipping it up the line for Joseph to run on to, he's sliding it inch perfectly for CJ to glide on with, he's putting it on a sixpence for Ballard to chase round and reach. 

The front two are dynamic and link well. The tactics are interesting. CJ stays wide generally, but the Rapter tucks in and makes a three up front at points. The overwhelming impression I have is that we know what we're doing. 

We're all over them. We just need to make this count. The Rapter is outside and inside, he's forcing errors. Joseph is a mini tornado forcing more - but we can't quite turn the quality and pressure in a definitive chance. 

I swear the following is true. I say 'I bet Steve Bruce likes a long throw' to my neighbour. 90 seconds later, Jordan Gabriel winds up into the longest throw we've seen in a long time and the ball bounces through to CJ who shins it/hits a lovely controlled volley into the ground and it's in the back of the net via a kind deflection. 

We're off. Steve Bruce has a Tangerine Army now. He might be an experienced general, but this is the best, most fucking beautiful battalion he's ever led. Ole! CJ! 

Talking of CJ, let me explain about Offiah. He looks very composed. He clatters into a tackle early on but he barely misses a beat otherwise. His pace and strength are just what we need. He makes us a lot less vulnerable on the break. Now, let me explain why I'm talking about Offiah to explain CJ. Exeter have a little moment and someone races across and smashes into their lad, and comes away with the ball. I assume it's Offiah for a moment - but it isn't. It's CJ. Ole! 

We should score more. We have the pressure (lots) and the chances (some) - the best of them comes from a move that is pure 1990s football, Joseph leaps, his flick is perfect, Ballard collect, steadies himself and draws a really good stop from the Exeter keeper. I almost have a little tear in my eye as I remember how simple and fun football can be and a time before heat maps, data bras, cunts with blogs, football banter shows and all that shite. When it was just a thing. Imagine the ground as it was, a fug of sweet fag smoke hanging over the paddock and the bitter stable smell of piss from the open toilets with big Dave leaping onto a long ball and Andy Watson snaffling it and smashing a shot in. Oh, the past.  

Ballard brings another great stop, Joseph slashes one wide. The Rapter cuts in and hammers a twenty yarder that their keeper has to gallop and sprawl to get to. 

I might be getting carried away, but we look... pretty fucking good to be honest. 

---

That was everything I didn't dare hope for. Everyone is pulling their weight, looking confident and we've not had a more dominant performance in ages. Exeter managed very little, one chance they messed up horribly and not a lot else. We've been comfortably the better side. We look about a division better than them and a lot tighter at the back than we have been. 

--- 

The second half isn't plain sailing. As you'd expect after a very weak second half, Exeter come out and try and assert themselves a bit more. We ride that little flurry and seem to be playing ourselves back in the game when Jerry Yates Dom Ballard is flattened running into the box and the ref (more on him later) turns down what looks a decent shout and then Ballard has to hobble off. 

Rhodes is a consummate finisher, but he doesn't stretch a defence like Ballard and we really don't look as threatening from that point onwards. We still play some nice football though. Evans is pulling strings, Norburn is having what I think is the best game I've ever seen him have. He's remarkable. Joseph continues to hare around. 

My favourite move is a bit of slick passing started by (I think) a clever Norburn pass from a tight spot and then quickly worked forward. Jimmy is in full blown Roberto Carlos mode as he charges forward and yes, really, this happens, vaults a sliding challenge with a neat push on and then a graceful leap, then lays it to CJ who runs over the ball and it almost falls apart... Except it doesn't because the all new CJ fights for the ball and we win it back and go again. 

We're doing ok. I'm not worried per se, but I'm missing the attacking. Exeter have definitely brought their own ref which isn't helping things. He seems blind to their shirt pulling and general shithousery. They have a defender who looks like he would be more at home in a truckstop canteen than in a professional football match and he plays like he's a Sunday League bully. The other centre half is constantly niggling, grabbing and pushing, but the ref only seems to want to book us for not a lot at all. The nadir of his performance comes when we have a great chance to break, are taking it and one of their lads outright throws his hand up and diverts what looks like it could be a perfect out ball to (I think CJ) who would have been away, potentially one on one. He doesn't get so much as a talking too whereas Joseph gets booked for being near the ball and looking at it with intent a moment or two later. 

Exeter are pressing further. I am now getting a little bit worried. Jimmy makes a simply brilliant sliding tackle, the spray from sprinkler damp turf creating a moment of sheer aesthetic pleasure for those of us who appreciate such things. Gabriel makes an equally good one on the other side, a kind of spear tackle that misses the man and takes the ball. Tyrer makes a very good low stop from a well hit low effort. It was notable, not so much for the athleticism but for his anticipation, his reading of what they were going to do. He's done ok so far, though I think he needs one side of his boots sanding down a bit as he keeps putting it out of play when he goes to his left with long kicks. 

Exeter are causing a little bit more trouble still. It's not anything too awful though. We clear. Rhodes has it. Rhodes doesn't have it. Fuck me Jordan, that was simply fucking awful. He's chasing back now, looking like a milkman who's sleepily left the handbrake off his milk float on a steep hill, a strangely waddling, panicky run, nipping at the heels of the player who robbed him helplessly. The cross, they don't make anything of it. The ref draws it back for Rhodes' rather weak attempted fouls. A free kick, a tight angle. Here we go... 

Ping. It's smashed home. It seems to defy physics. It was more of an archery shot than a free kick. I don't know how that went right through us. Tyrer looks stunned. I am stunned. I was enjoying this. Typical fucking Blackpool. Every time. Piss it away with something shit and pathetic. Fuck's sake Pool! Fuck's sake. This is going to be another fucking bollocks chapter in the Blackpool book of fucking clown car calamity isn't it? Play well for a bit and then fuck it up. I can see it now, we're going to play increasingly grey gruel-like football and be boring as fuck as more colour drains from us every week. I hate everything. Especially football. 

The crowd though. The beauty of being a fan at the game (and not a cunt on a sofa doing a watchalong video with their own weird fake Sky Sports studio backdrop, shouting their performative child having a tantrum pseudo feelings directly in the faces of anyone stupid enough to watch them) is that there's other people there. You don't actually have to say all that stuff because feeling it is enough and sometimes, the other people around you will pick you up, the roar of defiance will shake you out of your self pity and restore your belief in the possible. 

We're snapped back into life immediately. We've played too well to not win this. We've played too well over this last few games to not have a win to our name. We're absolutely at them and the crowd is right behind us. How Joseph is still sprinting around defies belief. I'm not definitely expecting us to get a goal, but as the minutes go by, I'm starting to hope.

A cross, a bundled effort, it's in! It's not. How? Was it hand ball? I can't tell. 'THAT WAS IN!' shouts my neighbour. I don't know. A corner... oooooh, Rhodes got to it. Another corner ooooh! - Exeter have headed it out from under the bar and over the top.

Time is ticking, we're waiting. One more chance. A ball in. A packed box, a melee and YESSSSSS!!! The net is bulging... someone got the touch and the ball bulleted home - Jimmy is haring away like he's that Marco Tardelli lad so I guess it's him... YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! YES YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! 

"The scorer of Blackpool's second goal, coming on 94 minutes, is the Seasider's no 3 Jimmy Husband!" 

All goals are great goals but last minute Jimmy goals are the greatest goals of all. 

---

All I can say is. It felt right. We played quite well. Steve Bruce's Tangerine Army defied the rules of syllables and rolled off the tongue and sounded great even though it logically shouldn't. I've already said the first half was just about spot on - the second half had a lot of room for improvement, but we left nothing out there. We were sharp, committed and given we'd only had 5 days with a new manager, we looked pretty organised. We moved it quickly. We showed some nous and creativity as well. Exeter were nothing special, but they're not the worst side in this league and we really should have made it a bit more comfortable for ourselves. 

The back 4 worked well. Jimmy is an excellent left back for this level. Gabriel is an outstanding full back to have in league 1. Casey looked calm, Offiah was really dynamic. The central midfield pair of Norburn and Evans is a very, very strong pairing if they can stay fit. They looked really classy. Apter gave of his all and made things happen. CJ also gave his all and looked to enjoy himself. He still looks lost, a winger without a trick at times, but he also looked to the manor born racing away as we broke swiftly. Ballard is a key player. Without him we're a lesser team. Joseph is rapidly becoming a massive asset. He's selfless and selfish at the same time. He creates, he holds, he runs, he flicks. He never stops. He was sensational today. 

I don't know if beating Exeter with a last minute goal is enough to get carried away with - but I do know that we looked both motivated and organised. Keogh has to take a deal of credit for kickstarting something. Bruce looks to have begun to shape what Keogh unearthed into something forward looking with a bit more of a foundation than the all out mania of what went immediately before. 

I didn't think I'd like it. I did. The best thing about Blackpool is you almost never get what you expect.

Sometimes that's a brilliant thing. Today, it was. 

Onward!

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