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 whenJerry 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.
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
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.
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!
If you want to waste your money supporting a football blog that spouts unstructured shit and then who asks if you'd like to pay cash in return for quite literally absolutely nothing you wouldn't get for free anyway, you can do so here.
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!
If you want to waste your money supporting a football blog that spouts unstructured shit and then who asks if you'd like to pay cash in return for quite literally absolutely nothing you wouldn't get for free anyway, you can do so here.
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