Imagine you'd woken up this morning and decided to write a blog where you tried to tell Steve Bruce how to manage a football team. Perhaps you'd suggested his tactics were a bit simplistic and his team lacked energy. Maybe you'd said he didn't really understand how a midfield works and how we needed to set that up differently because (and here's the real insight) the midfield is quite important... Maybe Steve hadn't noticed that before in the 1600ish games of football he's played and managed?
How would you feel to have the utter shit you'd written, crammed down your throat till you gagged on the stream of self confident pseudo analytical drivel you'd spouted?
You'd feel fucking fantastic - because the game of football is exquisite torture. It is fire, it is water, it is elemental chaos - the beautiful unpredictable and untamable nature of this beast is what has us in thrall to it.
Here's to Steve Bruce and his 90s Football Funhouse and here's a middle finger to dickhead fans, especially those with a tedious blog who fancy themselves as a bit like that weird ginger lad who manages Southampton and who, actually, in the cold light of day, know the square route of fuck all.
I could do every coaching badge in the world, but Steve Bruce will still know 1000000 times more than me.
See what I did there? (FFS MCLF, get on with it)
Lets do this.
---
I don't like the team. It's a cheap supermarket brown bread 442. I know Cuddly Uncle Steve thinks it's good for us, but why can't we have some kind of fancy herb bread 4231 or maybe a sundried tomato 433. Why do we have to do the same thing every week. It's routine, It's humdrum. It's why are all those skillful players on the bench and why does Lee Evans get picked no matter what?. He's the fucking stork spread on the boring bread. I want something different.
---
Around me, no one likes the team either and for a little while, it seems we are right and Cuddly Uncle Steve is a man trapped in his own past in a world that has moved on. Seemingly out of nowhere, Huddersfield score. I don't mean 'we're playing well and they score' - I mean 'fuck me, they seemed to just walk up to our goal and pass it into the net and we didn't do anything to stop them'. The keeper is nowhere, staggering but not diving as if concussed or dosed up on strong cough syrup, the defence just sort of stand in a variety of teapotty confused ways as if trying to work out what happened and whether it's their job to stop such things. To be honest, I've no idea from the other end if it was a good goal, a bad goal, a lucky goal or what - but it certainly wasn't one they worked hard at to score.
There's a point where one of their players turns and runs at us and it's like there's a giant gap in the middle of the pitch for them to play in. This is shit. We are shit. We're going to get battered.
Then, the turning point. We've barely got out of our half. A loopy deflection in midfield. Ennis chases it and when their defender misjudges it, Niall 'who need Jerry Yates?' Ennis is like a rat up a drainpipe, like a greyhound after a rabbit, like a real proper striker after a ball that is running nicely into an area that opens up the goal to him. He's taken it in his stride, he's cut inside at the keeper and he's found a delightful angle and the ball is curving in to the net in a most pleasing way, a cute finish and a great piece of forward play.
It's a relief. We're not totally shit after all. We have Ennis.
Ennis though, is not the only one who comes to the party. He's just the one who switches the music on. Suddenly we look good. Honeyman is everywhere. Brown is playing nicely and getting forward. Bloxham is looking more like he did when we first signed him than he has done since, well, we first signed him, dribbling, linking and busy.
The second goal. I've been wondering where the actual Lee Evans has been for a good while. I don't know where he's been hiding - but it seems we've found him at long last because the give and go with Fletcher that ends with an absolute arrowing finish is outstanding. It's hit with such devastating power that if Trump said 'look, Vladimir, we're both great guys but if you don't stop being unkind to Ookraine, this is the kind of missile I'll send over ' and showed him a replay of Evans hitting that shot, then the Russian troops would be back behind their borders before you could say 'Shakhtar Donetsk' or 'Dynamo Kiev'
Honeyman is just sublime. He's running this game. He's in all the little spaces to receive the ball but he's also in the faces of the opposition, he's at their ankles. He's like a horsefly, a proper little irritant. He's like a dragonfly too though, a thing of real grace and beauty. I notice Huddersfield's number 16 is a bit tubby and balding. He looks a bit like a 1960s footballer. That's a good thing. I think Jordan Brown looks like a 1980s footballer come to think of it. That's also a good thing. I could imagine both of them having proper jobs. I like that in a player. I think Jordan Brown would drive a Sierra and run a snooker table baize replacement business. The Huddersfield lad would be a fishmonger.
I digress. I love how Honeyman takes ages to take a corner because he'll do it in his own time thankyou very much. I love even more, how after the corner isn't cleared brilliantly, he barrels in and by force of will directs the ball to Ennis who deceives the keeper totally by scuffing the ball under him and into the corner of the net. If the last finsh was cute, then this one is an overload of kittens in bows and fucking bunny rabbits wearing hats. It's absolutely lovely. I'm frankly in shock. We're 3-1 up, we look totally clinical and we've gone from being battered to absolutely blitzing them.
There's more twists in this game.
Plenty more.
Out of nowhere, they score. This time I do mean 'we're playing well and they score' and the goal has plenty of luck about it. Their winger seems to clatter Jordan Brown but the ref waves it on because refs. Their striker entirely miskicks a shot but it rolls square, perfectly and somewhat ludicrously into the path of the spare man at the far post. Peacock-Farrell has done well not to react to the non-shot mishit and to get across to the unmarked man and close the angle, but he can't stop a crashing high finish into the roof of the net.
Huddersfield once lost a game 7-6 and it feels like this could be similar.
Then another twist - but this one feels like the turning of a knife in the back. It's been a great game but the ref changes its complexion in a split second. A loose ball. Ennis dives in. It'll be a ticking off or a yellow. I don't have time to finish that thought fully before the ref has the red card in the air. Ennis looks absolutely astonished and I feel like running on the pitch to confront:
a) the ref, who has taken no time at all to consider the decision and the challenge, whilst a bit wild didn't feel malicious or hugely dangerous
b) the Huddersfield player who goes down like he's shattered his leg in 3 places and then gets up again once the card is given and perhaps most of all
c) the absolute smug twat of a Town player who immediately shoves Ennis off the pitch like he's in charge and who the ref does absolutely nothing about, even though you aren't supposed to shove players and decide you're some kind of out of order self appointed doorman.
I am distinctly unhappy. I don't enter the field of play, because I'm a middle aged man and this is only football but I'm as angry about this as I've been angry about anything for a while - so maybe that says something about me and my emotionally dead state or maybe it says something about how good this game has been.
I calm down a bit and wonder if maybe Ennis was too wild. I don't know. It feels like a challenge we'd never get a red given to the opposition for, but equally, one I can kind of grudgingly get why it's given in the end.
Albie comes on for Fletcher. I am slightly cheered by that because Albie is great but I still feel more than a bit sick at the thought of an hour or so with ten men.
We get to half time in one piece.
---
I'm exhausted already. This has felt epic. We've been bad, brilliant, unlucky and lucky. It's been sensational but the second half will be a different ball game to the one that mostly played out before the break. That 7-6 game though, Huddersfield lost to 10 men then, so y'never know. It might still be on.
---
I just can't write this half up in a calm linear manner.
It feels a bit like going to the bottom of the ocean in a tiny submarine to visit some deep wreck full of glorious treasure. Every minute that passes, the pressure ramps up. Every foot deeper, you become more aware of the danger and disaster and how terminal a mistake would be. The intensity of it all builds and builds and the closer you get to the prize, the more tension there is.
Things happen. A lot of those things are George Honeyman. If he was good first half, he's absolutely incredible second half. He gives one of the best post-boycott displays I've seen. I may have, in the past, said one or two mildly positive words about both Gary Madine and Sonny Carey. I loved both of them, but for very different reasons. The best thing I could possibly say is that Honeyman today was like some kind of impossible but brilliant melding of parts of both of them - Gaz's attitude and fight (and indeed his football brain) and Sonny's technique and tireless legs. I didn't even think such a thing could exist but I didn't know George Honeyman... He's literally brilliant. There's skittering runs and clever passes, but there's also superb skullduggery. He's a captain. He's a playmaker. He's a disrupter. He's sneaking up over the shaving foam spray and not being 10 yards back cos it pisses the taker off. He's stealing the ball and dribbling around till you foul him and then taking ages to get up. He's always showing for it. He's making the break because there's no one up top. He's tracking his man all the way back from their area to ours because he's spotted their break before it started. He plays as well as I've seen a Blackpool player play in a long time and he's the best player on the pitch and maybe on any pitch in the division today. He's that fucking good.
Bloxham tires. CJ goes up front. CJ causes chaos for 10 minutes. I've always thought he might be quite good in such situations doing this, because in essence, CJ is a lovable dog who just wants to chase a ball and this is exactly what he does. He does it very well until they change it up to cope.
Coulson is having one of those games where he looks like a man being flung around in a tumble dryer until he falls out of it but keeps getting up and throwing himself back in when he does. That's a compliment, whether it sounds it or not. Zac Ashworth comes on and adds some further fight by sitting behind Coulson.
The ballboy gets a prolonged applause when he doesn't bring the ball back very quickly. A hero. We actually manage some shots. They get cheered. Albie throws himself full length and blocks a shot. That gets cheered even more. Albie goes up front for a bit and plays as a target man which is something I never thought I'd ever write but not only does he do that, but he wins some headers doing it. Albie is wonderful.
We run, we harry, we block, we get in line. We block, we block, we block again. We block some more.
Offside is like a goal. A tackle is like a goal. I look at the clock and it seems to be going backwards. Huddersfield are neat, they're inventive, they're getting wide, they're swapping passes, they're getting to the byline but they're not getting through.
Peacock Farrell claims it. Rapture.
Peacock Farrell claims another. More rapture.
Peacock Farrell comes again and completely misses it. Everyone's heart nearly falls out of their mouths.
Peacock Farrell goes to punch one and connects and we all breath again.
Coulson with a desperate header away at the far post. Ihiekwe at the near post. Pause for a corner. Coulson fiddles with his headband. Casey breathes deeply in focus. In it comes.... Brown kicks it away then a minute later again and then again, just clattering it away like a rugby player aiming for the empty corner. I like Jordan Brown. He's no fuss. He does what is needed. No frills. Nothing unnecessary.
Steve Bruce. A man in matalan slacks and matalan shirt. Also no frills. A man who is kicking every ball of this game. We only have 10 players, but on the touchline Bruce is the 11th. He's pointing, he's changing things, he's shouting players over. Now he's on the pitch, he's bawling instructions, he's holding up four fingers, then two to someone else and waving to show where he wants people. He's clapping. This is no washed up has been phoning things in. This is a man completely absorbed in a game that runs through his veins. This a man whose life is football and who is sharing all he's learned with players who need that knowledge right now.
We don't have a spare centre back. We don't have a spare defensive midfielder. All of the usual things you'd do here aren't really open to him. He gives an absolute masterclass in how to play a hand of footballing cards and come out on top even if the hand isn't ideal. It's as good a display of in game tactics as I can remember for a long time. For all that Bruce might have a way of playing and a set preference, he's absolutely superb at reading a situation like this. The players respond magnificently, shuffling their positions, doubling up, swapping places. We're fluid and totally committed. Ashworth ends up front for 30 seconds having made the run for a break and CJ is straight into left back. It's that sort of performance. Each player has the back of the next. How have we done this, when last week it seemed like they didn't know each other's names?
Finally, it seems as if we're getting there. It's been noisy all game, but now the ground is full of the kind of physical noise that lifts your soul. It's almost like you can feel it if you hold your arms out, like a kind of sonic mist, pulsing with the energy of thousands of souls all urging the team on. There's real belief, there's pride. There is nothing better than this. It's why we do it. It's why we come back. It's why all the shit games and non-events don't really matter because sometimes there's this and this is fucking magic.
Huddersfield get frustrated. One of their players lashes out at Ashworth. I'm really warming to Zac and I warm even more to him as he squares up to his man and then just walks away leaving their lad fuming and muttering. When he came here, I thought he looked like a rabbit in the headlights but 6 months in Scotland seems to have toughened him up no end.
Then, finally, Huddersfield have a shot. It take almost the whole half for them to manage one. It's a good one, it's low and hit well and Peacock Farrell is at full stretch, but it's one of those that seems to keep swerving as he flies to his right and for a second of stomach churning, heart stopping, horrible moment of fucking no, not after all this time and all this fight, please don't fucking go in, genuine horror, it looks like it's in the corner, but it's flashing past the post and into the hoardings and never has the smack of a football against some LED boards sounded so fucking good.
There's still a few minutes and there's a foul by them. It's basically a goal. There's a clearance and a break and Albie fucking around in the corner is pretty much a celebration of life and everything. Him winning a throw is like the moment the beat drops and the hands go up... then... finally... the whistle and everything falls away.
---
The players took their plaudits and acknowledged the fans, but they got off fairly quickly considering the reception they got and there was no great milking of the moment. That to me, feels like a side who mean business. Today was a relief for them. It was a great performance - but it was just three points. It was just the beginning for us.
I can't say much more. It was perfect as a fan. It wasn't perfect in the way Manchester City might be 'perfect' in their efficient disposal of an inferior economic power - it was perfect in the sense of a team giving absolutely everything, regardless of any imperfections or challenges and as a fan, every split second was engaging and the rest of the world receded far into the distance. That is what matters, far more than anything else.
The first three games, there was very little sign of a 'unit' - today we were absolutely together and any sense that this lot weren't up for fighting or hadn't got faith in what the manager was doing can be put in the bin.
To get through that challenge (and it really was a challenge today and on the back of the poor start) and come out on top will be worth so many weeks of team bonding exercises and training ground routines. It will foster a belief in each other that can only be borne of matchday experience.
Basically. That was brilliant and EXACTLY what we needed.
We love you Blackpool. We do. What choice do we have, but my god, when you're like today, there's no one like you in the whole wide world.
Onwards
I could do every coaching badge in the world, but Steve Bruce will still know 1000000 times more than me.
See what I did there? (FFS MCLF, get on with it)
Lets do this.
---
I don't like the team. It's a cheap supermarket brown bread 442. I know Cuddly Uncle Steve thinks it's good for us, but why can't we have some kind of fancy herb bread 4231 or maybe a sundried tomato 433. Why do we have to do the same thing every week. It's routine, It's humdrum. It's why are all those skillful players on the bench and why does Lee Evans get picked no matter what?. He's the fucking stork spread on the boring bread. I want something different.
---
Around me, no one likes the team either and for a little while, it seems we are right and Cuddly Uncle Steve is a man trapped in his own past in a world that has moved on. Seemingly out of nowhere, Huddersfield score. I don't mean 'we're playing well and they score' - I mean 'fuck me, they seemed to just walk up to our goal and pass it into the net and we didn't do anything to stop them'. The keeper is nowhere, staggering but not diving as if concussed or dosed up on strong cough syrup, the defence just sort of stand in a variety of teapotty confused ways as if trying to work out what happened and whether it's their job to stop such things. To be honest, I've no idea from the other end if it was a good goal, a bad goal, a lucky goal or what - but it certainly wasn't one they worked hard at to score.
There's a point where one of their players turns and runs at us and it's like there's a giant gap in the middle of the pitch for them to play in. This is shit. We are shit. We're going to get battered.
Then, the turning point. We've barely got out of our half. A loopy deflection in midfield. Ennis chases it and when their defender misjudges it, Niall 'who need Jerry Yates?' Ennis is like a rat up a drainpipe, like a greyhound after a rabbit, like a real proper striker after a ball that is running nicely into an area that opens up the goal to him. He's taken it in his stride, he's cut inside at the keeper and he's found a delightful angle and the ball is curving in to the net in a most pleasing way, a cute finish and a great piece of forward play.
It's a relief. We're not totally shit after all. We have Ennis.
Ennis though, is not the only one who comes to the party. He's just the one who switches the music on. Suddenly we look good. Honeyman is everywhere. Brown is playing nicely and getting forward. Bloxham is looking more like he did when we first signed him than he has done since, well, we first signed him, dribbling, linking and busy.
The second goal. I've been wondering where the actual Lee Evans has been for a good while. I don't know where he's been hiding - but it seems we've found him at long last because the give and go with Fletcher that ends with an absolute arrowing finish is outstanding. It's hit with such devastating power that if Trump said 'look, Vladimir, we're both great guys but if you don't stop being unkind to Ookraine, this is the kind of missile I'll send over ' and showed him a replay of Evans hitting that shot, then the Russian troops would be back behind their borders before you could say 'Shakhtar Donetsk' or 'Dynamo Kiev'
Honeyman is just sublime. He's running this game. He's in all the little spaces to receive the ball but he's also in the faces of the opposition, he's at their ankles. He's like a horsefly, a proper little irritant. He's like a dragonfly too though, a thing of real grace and beauty. I notice Huddersfield's number 16 is a bit tubby and balding. He looks a bit like a 1960s footballer. That's a good thing. I think Jordan Brown looks like a 1980s footballer come to think of it. That's also a good thing. I could imagine both of them having proper jobs. I like that in a player. I think Jordan Brown would drive a Sierra and run a snooker table baize replacement business. The Huddersfield lad would be a fishmonger.
I digress. I love how Honeyman takes ages to take a corner because he'll do it in his own time thankyou very much. I love even more, how after the corner isn't cleared brilliantly, he barrels in and by force of will directs the ball to Ennis who deceives the keeper totally by scuffing the ball under him and into the corner of the net. If the last finsh was cute, then this one is an overload of kittens in bows and fucking bunny rabbits wearing hats. It's absolutely lovely. I'm frankly in shock. We're 3-1 up, we look totally clinical and we've gone from being battered to absolutely blitzing them.
There's more twists in this game.
Plenty more.
Out of nowhere, they score. This time I do mean 'we're playing well and they score' and the goal has plenty of luck about it. Their winger seems to clatter Jordan Brown but the ref waves it on because refs. Their striker entirely miskicks a shot but it rolls square, perfectly and somewhat ludicrously into the path of the spare man at the far post. Peacock-Farrell has done well not to react to the non-shot mishit and to get across to the unmarked man and close the angle, but he can't stop a crashing high finish into the roof of the net.
Huddersfield once lost a game 7-6 and it feels like this could be similar.
Then another twist - but this one feels like the turning of a knife in the back. It's been a great game but the ref changes its complexion in a split second. A loose ball. Ennis dives in. It'll be a ticking off or a yellow. I don't have time to finish that thought fully before the ref has the red card in the air. Ennis looks absolutely astonished and I feel like running on the pitch to confront:
a) the ref, who has taken no time at all to consider the decision and the challenge, whilst a bit wild didn't feel malicious or hugely dangerous
b) the Huddersfield player who goes down like he's shattered his leg in 3 places and then gets up again once the card is given and perhaps most of all
c) the absolute smug twat of a Town player who immediately shoves Ennis off the pitch like he's in charge and who the ref does absolutely nothing about, even though you aren't supposed to shove players and decide you're some kind of out of order self appointed doorman.
I am distinctly unhappy. I don't enter the field of play, because I'm a middle aged man and this is only football but I'm as angry about this as I've been angry about anything for a while - so maybe that says something about me and my emotionally dead state or maybe it says something about how good this game has been.
I calm down a bit and wonder if maybe Ennis was too wild. I don't know. It feels like a challenge we'd never get a red given to the opposition for, but equally, one I can kind of grudgingly get why it's given in the end.
Albie comes on for Fletcher. I am slightly cheered by that because Albie is great but I still feel more than a bit sick at the thought of an hour or so with ten men.
We get to half time in one piece.
---
I'm exhausted already. This has felt epic. We've been bad, brilliant, unlucky and lucky. It's been sensational but the second half will be a different ball game to the one that mostly played out before the break. That 7-6 game though, Huddersfield lost to 10 men then, so y'never know. It might still be on.
---
I just can't write this half up in a calm linear manner.
It feels a bit like going to the bottom of the ocean in a tiny submarine to visit some deep wreck full of glorious treasure. Every minute that passes, the pressure ramps up. Every foot deeper, you become more aware of the danger and disaster and how terminal a mistake would be. The intensity of it all builds and builds and the closer you get to the prize, the more tension there is.
Things happen. A lot of those things are George Honeyman. If he was good first half, he's absolutely incredible second half. He gives one of the best post-boycott displays I've seen. I may have, in the past, said one or two mildly positive words about both Gary Madine and Sonny Carey. I loved both of them, but for very different reasons. The best thing I could possibly say is that Honeyman today was like some kind of impossible but brilliant melding of parts of both of them - Gaz's attitude and fight (and indeed his football brain) and Sonny's technique and tireless legs. I didn't even think such a thing could exist but I didn't know George Honeyman... He's literally brilliant. There's skittering runs and clever passes, but there's also superb skullduggery. He's a captain. He's a playmaker. He's a disrupter. He's sneaking up over the shaving foam spray and not being 10 yards back cos it pisses the taker off. He's stealing the ball and dribbling around till you foul him and then taking ages to get up. He's always showing for it. He's making the break because there's no one up top. He's tracking his man all the way back from their area to ours because he's spotted their break before it started. He plays as well as I've seen a Blackpool player play in a long time and he's the best player on the pitch and maybe on any pitch in the division today. He's that fucking good.
Bloxham tires. CJ goes up front. CJ causes chaos for 10 minutes. I've always thought he might be quite good in such situations doing this, because in essence, CJ is a lovable dog who just wants to chase a ball and this is exactly what he does. He does it very well until they change it up to cope.
Coulson is having one of those games where he looks like a man being flung around in a tumble dryer until he falls out of it but keeps getting up and throwing himself back in when he does. That's a compliment, whether it sounds it or not. Zac Ashworth comes on and adds some further fight by sitting behind Coulson.
The ballboy gets a prolonged applause when he doesn't bring the ball back very quickly. A hero. We actually manage some shots. They get cheered. Albie throws himself full length and blocks a shot. That gets cheered even more. Albie goes up front for a bit and plays as a target man which is something I never thought I'd ever write but not only does he do that, but he wins some headers doing it. Albie is wonderful.
We run, we harry, we block, we get in line. We block, we block, we block again. We block some more.
Offside is like a goal. A tackle is like a goal. I look at the clock and it seems to be going backwards. Huddersfield are neat, they're inventive, they're getting wide, they're swapping passes, they're getting to the byline but they're not getting through.
Peacock Farrell claims it. Rapture.
Peacock Farrell claims another. More rapture.
Peacock Farrell comes again and completely misses it. Everyone's heart nearly falls out of their mouths.
Peacock Farrell goes to punch one and connects and we all breath again.
Coulson with a desperate header away at the far post. Ihiekwe at the near post. Pause for a corner. Coulson fiddles with his headband. Casey breathes deeply in focus. In it comes.... Brown kicks it away then a minute later again and then again, just clattering it away like a rugby player aiming for the empty corner. I like Jordan Brown. He's no fuss. He does what is needed. No frills. Nothing unnecessary.
Steve Bruce. A man in matalan slacks and matalan shirt. Also no frills. A man who is kicking every ball of this game. We only have 10 players, but on the touchline Bruce is the 11th. He's pointing, he's changing things, he's shouting players over. Now he's on the pitch, he's bawling instructions, he's holding up four fingers, then two to someone else and waving to show where he wants people. He's clapping. This is no washed up has been phoning things in. This is a man completely absorbed in a game that runs through his veins. This a man whose life is football and who is sharing all he's learned with players who need that knowledge right now.
We don't have a spare centre back. We don't have a spare defensive midfielder. All of the usual things you'd do here aren't really open to him. He gives an absolute masterclass in how to play a hand of footballing cards and come out on top even if the hand isn't ideal. It's as good a display of in game tactics as I can remember for a long time. For all that Bruce might have a way of playing and a set preference, he's absolutely superb at reading a situation like this. The players respond magnificently, shuffling their positions, doubling up, swapping places. We're fluid and totally committed. Ashworth ends up front for 30 seconds having made the run for a break and CJ is straight into left back. It's that sort of performance. Each player has the back of the next. How have we done this, when last week it seemed like they didn't know each other's names?
Finally, it seems as if we're getting there. It's been noisy all game, but now the ground is full of the kind of physical noise that lifts your soul. It's almost like you can feel it if you hold your arms out, like a kind of sonic mist, pulsing with the energy of thousands of souls all urging the team on. There's real belief, there's pride. There is nothing better than this. It's why we do it. It's why we come back. It's why all the shit games and non-events don't really matter because sometimes there's this and this is fucking magic.
Huddersfield get frustrated. One of their players lashes out at Ashworth. I'm really warming to Zac and I warm even more to him as he squares up to his man and then just walks away leaving their lad fuming and muttering. When he came here, I thought he looked like a rabbit in the headlights but 6 months in Scotland seems to have toughened him up no end.
Then, finally, Huddersfield have a shot. It take almost the whole half for them to manage one. It's a good one, it's low and hit well and Peacock Farrell is at full stretch, but it's one of those that seems to keep swerving as he flies to his right and for a second of stomach churning, heart stopping, horrible moment of fucking no, not after all this time and all this fight, please don't fucking go in, genuine horror, it looks like it's in the corner, but it's flashing past the post and into the hoardings and never has the smack of a football against some LED boards sounded so fucking good.
There's still a few minutes and there's a foul by them. It's basically a goal. There's a clearance and a break and Albie fucking around in the corner is pretty much a celebration of life and everything. Him winning a throw is like the moment the beat drops and the hands go up... then... finally... the whistle and everything falls away.
---
The players took their plaudits and acknowledged the fans, but they got off fairly quickly considering the reception they got and there was no great milking of the moment. That to me, feels like a side who mean business. Today was a relief for them. It was a great performance - but it was just three points. It was just the beginning for us.
I can't say much more. It was perfect as a fan. It wasn't perfect in the way Manchester City might be 'perfect' in their efficient disposal of an inferior economic power - it was perfect in the sense of a team giving absolutely everything, regardless of any imperfections or challenges and as a fan, every split second was engaging and the rest of the world receded far into the distance. That is what matters, far more than anything else.
The first three games, there was very little sign of a 'unit' - today we were absolutely together and any sense that this lot weren't up for fighting or hadn't got faith in what the manager was doing can be put in the bin.
To get through that challenge (and it really was a challenge today and on the back of the poor start) and come out on top will be worth so many weeks of team bonding exercises and training ground routines. It will foster a belief in each other that can only be borne of matchday experience.
Basically. That was brilliant and EXACTLY what we needed.
We love you Blackpool. We do. What choice do we have, but my god, when you're like today, there's no one like you in the whole wide world.
Onwards
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Writing about football is possibly a bit pointless in an era when there's the telly and youtube and videos all over the shop. It's not my living this and it's just something I do because I do so there's no problem with reading it and then getting on with your life - If you do want to chuck some money at the cause of some random fella writing shit no one ever asked him too, then Patreon. is a thing.
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