My default pre-match mind set is as follows. Regardless of the fact that 33 seasons of following the mighty tangerine wizards should have taught me that we're rarely any good, today is the day it clicks and our one touch football is so dizzying in its movement and vision that the opposition are reduced to vomiting on their knees and begging for unshown mercy as we slay all before us like Genghis Khan (but with less tents and more front of shirt sponsorship)
Today though, I feel an unusual degree of pessimism, as the rain hammers relentlessly on the roof of the car and I sigh at the prospect of leaving the shelter of pressed metal and residual warmth of the heater and slowly cooling engine, I reluctantly conclude that this week might not be that forever dreamed of 'always next week'. We're too injured, we're too out of form, we're too tepid, direction less and lacking in magic. I just hope we don't succumb to an embarrassment and end up with all 11 starters hospitalised.
The problem is, this is Blackpool FC. If I was bounding into the *what a funny name ha ha that'll get us on Talksport for sure* Stadium thinking, 'let's get at Horwich RMI and show who we are, we just need to turn up and we'll piss this" then we'd be almost guaranteed to lose 0-3 and not have a shot till everyone's fucked off early. My head says we've got too many out and we can't simply hope for a Robbie Apter miracle and Terry Bondo mania. My heart though, is tangerine and whilst it's a dismal day and the portents are screaming 'doom' - it might spell more storm clouds for the Trotters and their fractious relationship with Evo.
Who knows. We'll find out soon enough. (Might sit in the car and listen to Lancs though. This is fucking grim outside)
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I decide to give Chissy's commentary homespun cliche bingo a miss. My feet are really wet. I don't think I saw any actual colour between the car and the ground until the vivid nightmare of the retail park. Happily Bolton don't look very good. They're moving it side to side and doing that cross field pass they do, but doing it really poorly. We're looking alright. The set up is quite pleasing in its innovation, we seem to switch from a back 5 to a back three out of and in possession respectively in a way that looks quite well drilled and both Embleton and Apter have more central roles.
Dion Charles is one that got away but he's not really endearing himself to us by smashing into Ollie Casey, wrestling him, pulling his shirt and then throwing himself on the floor like toddler whose had a biscuit taken of him when he doesn't win his duels. Jimmy goes and has a word. I wonder what he says. I imagine it's dry and aimed at riling the lad up but spoken gently. Casey deals well with Charles all afternoon - a sign, I think that he's really maturing as a player as I think even last season there were times he was bullied a bit - but he seems to be relishing the high contact game today.
It's really pissing down and at first, the ref seems keen to take account of that and several clashes that might usually have seen a card don't even merit a free kick. After about twenty minutes he decides to start dishing out the cards, which thereafter, he never stops doing. There's not an awful lot happening and absolutely nothing in it, which is good, because the longer we can keep them playing this boring football, the more likely it is the natives will get restless.
Things warm up a little midway through the half. First Bolton whip a decent free kick that catches O'Donnell flat footed as he's set up for a completely different attempt. It's half a yard from being superb. Then, we motor forward and Embleton has a raking effort. Bolton reply with decent attack down the right and Charles for once evades his markers but Husband maybe does just enough to distract him and his header is poor.
Norburn picks up in midfield. 'Drive Ollie!, Drive!' I command in the authoritative of someone who knows what he's talking about. Norburn checks back. Fucks sake Norburn. He plays it short and square to Embleton who has a bit of a channel to run into and does, before clipping a ball in, a perfect ball that Joseph and the keeper both go for and Joseph win, the ball taking an age to make it's mind up if it's going to cross the line, so much so that I look at my neighbour, he looks at me, we look to the pitch and it seems to be in and there's no flag, no whistle, nothing to stop this being a goal and indeed it's fucking ONE NIL!!! YESSS!!!!
We look in command now. Confidence oozes from every pore (ok, maybe that's hyperbole, but we actually knock it around pretty well for a bit) Gabriel get a first time flick in on goal after clever work with Apter and forces a respectable save. We have a corner. It's not exactly a relentless period of one way traffic, but we're in front and on top and it feels good. It feels even better when, just before half time they get a free kick which I've convinced is going straight in but they waste it.
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That was much better than I feared. This is the problem though. I'm now invested in the win. I was all set up beforehand for disappointment, I'd steeled myself against defeat but now, a half decent performance and a goal have left me vulnerable to the curse of optimism. It seems like forever since I savoured a really good away day, a big win, that feeling of invulnerability and lightness you get as you leave, the sensation of being part of a rapturous crowd at the end. I want it. C'mon Pool...
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Hmm.
Bolton aren't as bad this half. In fact, they actually look quite good. They almost instantly slice us open and but for a shot more or less straight at Gary Goalie, they would have been instantly level. We don't heed the warning and can't get the ball under control, looking buffeted and discomforted by their change in tempo.
Their goal when it comes is one of those where they don't seem to do anything particularly cunning in the build up, an infield pass from the left finding Thomason quite easily and he's allowed to take a touch, and then another to set himself on his preferred foot before launching an absolute rocket that seems to leave his boot and be in the back of the net in a single frame. Another one that got away who's got an annoying habit of ramming that home.
Stuff doesn't get much better. We're more or less anonymous, reduced to hacking it away and losing it when we do. Bolton smash the bar from very close in and it feels like a massive let off. I've turned away in disgust and am shocked when play goes on and we survive. This is exactly what I feared and we look like it's only a matter of time before they take advantage of their almost total dominance.
The board goes up for subs. I'm not sure what I'd do to be honest, it's slim pickings on the bench - even as the world's biggest Terry Bondo fan, I'm not sure it's fair to expect him to change it and whilst both Joseph and Norburn are looking a bit leggy (and Evans too), I can't see how replacing any of them improves us. It's Dom Ballard for Embleton who played quite well first half but has been a total passenger this. It's an interesting move, suggesting attacking intent - but we've got to get the ball first in order for this to have any impact at all.
We're immediately better. Ballard is straight on it, harrying, discomforting their full backs. We've switch to a sort of front three and at times (some what strangely) it seems like Apter is leading the line with the two strikers outside of him, whereas at others, he's dropping into the pocket behind them. Whatever it is, it works and we're much more effective in the pressing and harrying and as a result much more on the front foot.
Joseph nabs the ball and runs at their defence. Apter is screaming for it, he's gesturing, a square pass will be swept home, he's in acres of space... someone is coming to the far post, a little chipped cross and we can't miss... the entire team it seems are lining up to finish this. It's like the options are too much for Joseph who ends up wasting the moment in a way that kind of sums up our day.
We play actually pretty well for the remainder of the game but we don't quite make it pay. There's a ball from the right that Apter is a whisker away from being able to hoot home. There's a really lovely interchange where Coulson sends Apter away and he stands one up to the near post which is begging to be buried but the striker (can't remember who) flicks without making contact. There's ball in the box that Gabriel tries to control when it retrospect had he smashed it, would have had a good chance of going in off something. There's Dom Ballard trying to thread it when he should have smashed it, There's time for Terry Bondo to nod one down and us to hit a defender when the chance looked to be their to hit the net.
There's not a lot of Bolton but when they score an offside goal, the glorious moment of realising before half of them do and seeing their faces turn from confusion at why we're celebrating their goal so vigorously to the realisation that they haven't scored, would, on another day, have been a season highlight.
Granted, we do create some comic moments of defending when O Donnell (not exactly a master with his feet or gifted with Grimmy's ability at taking a high starting position and making it look easy) runs out of his box and doesn't make the ball, or when he visibly flinches in surprise as Casey passes back to him in a tight spot)
Time is running out. Finnegan (on for Norburn) makes a very good challenge and bursts forward, Gabriel (of all people) is running ahead of him. There seems to be about three passes on. He, like Joseph earlier, seems overwhelmed by the choices. God help us if our lads ever go to the supermarket, they'll be dithering forever between Kenco, Maxwell House and Nescafe and in the end, just get some homebrand teabags because it's all too much. In the end, Finnegan opts for Evans who has to check back to receive the ball and whose cross is cut out.
Chance gone.
It's not just gone though.
It's turned into a Bolton counter, they're racing into the space where Gabriel was but isn't, Evans is running back to try and fill it but moving with the pace of a vintage landrover with a cement mixer on the back driving through mud and they've sliced us wide open and the ball is cut back and there's a pinpoint, intricate needlework shot into the corner that evades all the legs in the box and is so well aimed that Gary Goalie knows before the ball hits the net that diving is pointless.
Oh my fucking life. Why is it always like this?
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I actually thought we played quite well today. I was pleased firstly that we set up differently and then pleased again that Bruce countered their dominance with a tactical change that worked. We conceded, I know, but to be honest, without it, we had no chance and we were probably the better side in the closing stages. There was no lack of effort and I felt as much for the team as I did for myself. I felt for Bruce too who, I think actually showed some creative thinking and influenced the game well. We just couldn't turn what we had into what we needed. If I'm objective, it was a good spectacle, a hard fought seesaw local derby with some bite and sliding tackles and all of that. Fuck objectivity though. It fucking hurt.
It's a grim run and the story keeps repeating. So many injured players and so few of real all round quality. Norburn made a positive impact today. His grit in midfield and his ability to hold the ball and have a look showed us what few of his deputies possess - both sides of the game. Offiah was at times fantastic and his ability to tidy up at the back with his astonishing ability to sprint like a cheetah from a standing start is surely something that will see him play higher than this and make a success of it. Casey is an able partner. Coulson had a pretty good game, but no sooner had I observed 'Coulson is having a pretty good game' than he limped off. Again.
I don't know. We did some quite good things but we made some quite poor mistakes and probably, in the sensible world of sensible football fans who like to recycle the god awful 'game management' phrase (because it's something analysts say) we should have held out for a draw and not chased the game but fuck me, I'd rather lose trying to win than lose trying not to lose. Players made mistakes, they will do that, it's League 1 in a storm, not the Champion's league final on a balmy night in June. Gabriel was out of place, but score and he's a hero. It's football. Score a goal, win a game. That's the point. We could always see if Critchley's free again soon if we want that 'don't attack, fear the other team' shit back?
I was gutted today, not angry with them but overall it's not pretty... yes injuries, yes mistakes, yes shit luck, however I'm stuck with the inescapable feeling that whatever effort we see on the pitch, we've got a poorly put together squad and I'm really not convinced that we've turned every stone in the football world looking for the next bit of business, or that we've spent long hours trying to build a football strategy that guides everything. For context, it's just over 3 years ago we went 6th in Championship and we're now nearly 40 places below that. It all seems just... aimless.
It's easy to be churlish and petulant after a defeat - but I saw enough nous from the manager today to suggest he's no mug and enough raw effort from the players to suggest he can get footballers playing. What I'm absolutely not sure of is the overall picture. We just seem to be stumbling towards January but there's no real belief that January will see what we need and we really do need. Gary Goalie is a lovely bloke, but he's a League 2 keeper we signed for back up because he's good at community work and probably great with the youth keepers and he's first choice. We've got fuck all up front without Joseph and one genuine battling midfielder plus 2 wingers, one of which is a kid and the other is CJ. This is so far from a promotion challenging side it hurts. People slag the player's mentality and their 'bottle' - but it's the mentality of a club that doesn't seem to have clue what it is or wants (or, judging by the fiasco over ticket prices, where it actually is) that I question most of all because above 'mentality' and 'bottle' it's a squad of mismatched pieces that suggests there's no picture on the jigsaw box at all.
Would I have written the above if we'd held on? No, probably not. Does that make me a 'fickle and emotive football fan' - yes, of course it fucking does, it's a football fan blog for fucks sake, not a Deloitte report. Does that make it less true? No, I honestly don't think it does. We've made weird decisions over a period of time at a level far above the manager and players and this season is no exception. Last year, we stubbornly insisted we were doing really well and spent summer saying how we were all wrong and 'the product is fantastic' and then sacked the manager after two games but let him sign all the players (or signed all the players for him, whichever it is) - We've no divine right to be at the top, far from it - but we really shouldn't be staring at a relegation battle and our 'football industry expertise' isn't, to the eyes of many, seeming especially good value.
Cheaper tickets or more 'football industry experts?'
I'll take cheaper tickets please.
My feet are still wet. I should finally change my socks. Might cheer me up.
Onward
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