Football Blog: Tangerine Flavoured

Sunday, October 19, 2025

Cursed - the Mighty vs Wycombe Wanders




I'm starting to think that there's very little point or purpose to all this other than some kind of sick joke to amuse the unknown powers behind the universe. There's been a lot of speculation by various civilisations over the years as to why stuff happens and what it all means. Moral codes dictated by oldl Fellas in clouds with beards, zenshit and robes, elephant headed dudes with loads of arms, gods on Greek mountains and all that stuff. I'm not sure any of them are a thing. I don't know... Like a stoned student, I feel like saying 'what if we are all living in a simulation maaaaaan.'???? 

That argument is a logical dead end. It's unprovable. We MIGHT indeed be living in a simulation (maaaan) but there's no way of knowing, so it's not really worth talking about. Put down your spliff, switch off your TV set, do something less boring instead etc. 

Except, I think I've stumbled across the evidence. Whilst post 18th century liberal thinking would have us as all special and unique beings, with complexity and beauty, I think we're literally just numbers. I'm not talking of the mystery of DNA (what is it, where does it come from, why do we go to such lengths to pass it on)  -  I actually think we're all merely the attendance figures generated by a game of Football Manager and 'god' such as they are, is a PNE fan who has decided to tinker with the game editor and subject Blackpool FC to as much painful and tortuous misery as he can this season. There's something so wilfully cruel about the way each paper cut is inflicted that our bleeding out seems like it can't be merely self inflicted. The universe hates us. I do not exist. Reality is a sham. This is probably what I have to tell myself because right now, if they bulldozed the ground and stuck up a Wickes or something instead, it feels like it would probably do my mindset some good overall. 

Half time, I'm sharing a rare bit of (very) cautious optimism. We've not been 'brilliant' or even 'pretty good' - we've been 'alright' (ish) and we've been on top (sort of). The stats are fairly even in terms of chances, but Wycombe's big moments have come largely from our mistakes and we've, for the first time this season, put in a half of football where we've looked vaguely coherent. We've pressured a bit, we've pressed quite well (relative to 'not pressing at all'). We've been in their half more than they've been in our half. It makes some sort of sense to see the players on the pitch in the places they are playing. We've had some crosses! Some passes! We've managed some moves where we retain the ball! We haven't simply panicked and banged it long (well, not every time) Stop the press, tell the world... the Pool are going up etc!!! 

The goal feels loosely speaking, deserved. We don't always make the most of good positions (in fact, we look quite blunt in that regard), but to be honest, for most of the season we've not made good positions at all so lets not get sniffy about 'quality in the final third' because, fuck me, we've got into the final third and that's a start. It's a taken really well by Fletcher (there ain't nobody better, cos they're all in bandages and plaster) from a cute touch on by Bloxham. I'm delighted because this out of form, out of sorts, somewhat patched up side have looked better today and I wanted them to get the reward, to get some confidence and to carry on playing like this. CJ looks good in a wide attacking role. I don't care if we're supposed to damn players by previous performances (I hear someone in the toilets saying 'the keeper is the problem' as if they've not noticed anything else since the first few games) but his movement in a position where he doesn't have to think about defending much is so much better. We bought him to play 433 and we've almost never played it since. The midfield actually has some presence in it as we've got enough players there. We're not overrun. We show a bit of patience. You'll not believe this, but sometimes our players move around a bit and make some space for each other sometimes  - I know! Incredible! It's like watching Brazil. (Ok, it's like watching Brazil who've got their boots on the wrong feet and blindfolds on, but it's at least something starting to resemble a 21st century football team playing to a plan and trying to make it work) 

It looks like the first few bricks of some foundations to me. It's not a row of bricks, it's just one or two - It's not something to build your hopes of champions league glory upon yet, but it's something that a few more bricks could be laid next to rather than just what the rest of the season has been - a big shitty, muddy field full of stagnant water. We've not even dug a trench to put the bricks in to date, let alone laid anything down. Dobs and Blinks have done a bit of spadework. Well done. More and better please, but carry on... 

Why is Banks coming on? I'm scanning the players. Maybe Bloxham - assist aside, he's not really impacted the game... CJ? surely not, he's played pretty well... I can't work it out, but then Tony Parr explains that Albie Morgan is back in the changing room and my heart sinks. This can only be an injury. My whatsapp group speculates and someone points out that Morgan pulled up and stopped running shortly before the end of the half (possibly round the time his awful pass presented them with their best chance) 

We're fucking cursed. We're back to 442 because throwing in Upton is probably too much too soon at this point.

Maybe it will be ok? 

It's not ok. The shallow trench of the first half fills up with water almost straight away. The bricks are submerged by a tide of Wycombe. The mortar and cement dissolves.

I don't want to write about it.

I've written about it before. Read any blog this season. We're overrun, they seem able to, at will, run at us and cut us open. 2 men in midfield isn't enough. The wingers we have are attacking players but they're just spinning hopelessly and air kicking pathetically, lunging fearfully as they're turned into shit defenders. The full backs are exposed. Neither of them have a lot of football this season either. 

Dobbie tries to pump out the water. He takes off Tom 'big dose of night nurse before a match' Bloxham and puts Hansson on wide so Banks can come inside and add an extra body to midfield. This might work - Banks is good, he's got two feet, he can take a pass and we need desperately to get back to parity of numbers. Hansson might be able to break. 

I'd love to pretend it worked - but it doesn't - Banks doesn't look fit at all. He's out of rhythm, the acceleration isn't there. His touch is heavy. Wycombe continue to stream forward, the ref continues to indulge their physical play and to penalise anything we do and our players start to tire. Ashworth has been really good today, his performance making a mockery of Bruce's refusal to consider him an option - but he's a victim of not having played 90 mins (aside from one tinpot cup game a month ago) all year and of having Emil 'blood and thunder' Hansson looking like some fella from a city who has no idea what he's doing in the countryside trying to nervously and ineffectually herd geese ahead of him.  The geese stream past him honking and nipping at him. Hansson looks worried and flaps an arm or a leg hopefully. 

Wycombe force BPF into some very good saves (I wonder if the man in bogs is muttering 'routine' as he he springs from nowhere, arches his back and claws the ball away from the top corner, or chucks an arm out point blank with almost eerie levels of anticipation and deflects it away) Lee Evans (another who I think is good (in terms of effort at least) today, tempting as it is to damn him on past performances) makes an incredible block on the line. 

It's not just that it's all Wycombe - we just don't exist. We're so unfit it's like having about 7 players against 11. 

Dobbie turns to Fraser Horsfall. This is the correct call. There is nothing on the bench that would give us more control. There's two kids and Josh 'just out of bed' Bowler so we might as well try and park the bus at this point. To be fair, I'm not sure whether we have a bus to park, but I'd settle for a largish people carrier and Horsfall is a unit. Ashworth bursts forward and literally runs out of pace... He's shot. Horsfall comes on, CJ goes to left back (the right move as their right winger is fast) and we continue. 

For a few minutes, we look better for it. It's not that we gain a huge amount higher up the pitch, but we're asking Wycombe to work harder to get through us and there's less space for them to exploit as we're able to pick up players more effectively in this set up. Maybe we'll get away with this? 

We don't. There's a horrifying injury to Michael Ihiekwe because, well, of course there is. It's trite and insensitive to try and make light of it for the sake of a shit motif in a shitfanblog, but the fucking PNE fan in charge of our luck is a cunt and is cackling to himself as types in the command. Ihiekwe started the season as our worst player but for the last 5 or 6 games has been our least worst and he's played really well today. He strides across and makes another commanding intervention, but their number 7 does that sneaky, downright dangerous, proper shithouse (as in nasty bastard) leaning forward instead of jumping move and he cartwheels over the top of him and lands awfully, grimly, heavily, worryingly on his head and neck and there's 6 or 7 minutes of medics and physios and neck braces and serious looking stretcher action. It's not nice. 

Theo Upton is on. We change shape for what I think is the 4th time. It's a 4231 I think this time. 

I actually feel sick. I realise I've been clenching my teeth and shoulder and calves since half time. Upton coming on just heightens it all because I want it to work. I want us to bring on a kid, a Blackpool fan at that and see this game out and us to cheer them off at full time and him to feel the moment and there be something to smile about. I wanted us to win before, obviously, but now, I want it all the more... 

There's a magnificent moment where the lad makes a double tackle. There's real aggression in what he does. Lee Evans celebrates the moment with him and Upton doesn't really respond much, he's focussed, he's chasing, he's sprinting - imagine being this lad. Just imagine it...

Imagine your dream coming true... 

Imagine making that tackle, the roar of the crowd around you, being in the centre of the noise you'd been making all your life, the sound that gives you something to belong to, the sound that is your town, your home, your family, imagine knowing you'd prompted it... the seconds ticking down, not able to glance at the clock as you would do as a fan, but focussing on the ball... sheer magic... 

Imagine then, turning as play goes back towards our goal, imagine running helplessly in the direction of the ball, watching as Wycombe waltz past teammates, despairing as the ball is poked into the box, wincing in horror as the player receiving it seems to have all the time in the world, hoping briefly for a BPF miracle but then stopping as the ball hits the back of the net. Imagine the sinking feeling, the impulsive fan reaction to lash out or scream to the heavens. Imagine being on that pitch though, exposed and defenceless as the cold, dissatisfied crowd turn their backs and begin to file out, the angry cries, the grumbling, the disappointment.... Imagine the muted boos at the whistle as you blow out your cheeks and think 'People say football is cruel but nothing prepares you for this...' 

I can't speak. Fuck knows how Theo Upton feels. 

--- 

I can't sum this up as some kind of scoring metric. 'He was good' and 'he was not' and all of that. 

The game has broken me. We're threadbare, we're unfit and we're actually under a hex. Every time we seemed to find a bit of stability, something undermines it. This isn't about 'who should be manager' - but I want Dobbie to do well, regardless of who we appoint, him, Evatt, Bloomfield, Uncle fucking Tom Cobley, Gary Madine ringing up and picking the team from a North East social club after 10 pints of Stella before the strippers come on or the ghosts of Jock Stein and Bill Shankly controlling us through a fucking ouija board  - I like the man, he shows some football intelligence and coaching ability - and he's dealt with 4 injuries that have forced him to change shape in 180 minutes of league football. He's dealing with fatigue in positions we have no back up for. I don't blame him for much, if anything yesterday - every unforced change he made to our shape (starting 433, going to 5 at the back) was undermined by injury - blaming him for enforced changes not working is like blaming a poker player for being dealt a shit hand. Take out Honeyman, Morgan, Imray, Ennis, Coulson, Ihiekwe, Taylor and whoever else I've forgotten and add the fact that what's left has multiple players who are nowhere near 100% 90 minutes fit and the guy is fighting a lost cause. At least I felt as if he fought it, tried things, responded and kept responding - but he's like a man at a knife fight with a broken set of plastic  kids party cutlery. 

In the first half, we weren't outstanding, but we did look a fair degree more coached, we did play a bit of football, we did look at least like a mediocre league 1 side managing to successfully get the better of another one in a typical low quality league 1 game, which, in comparison to the abject mess that went before was an improvement. Right now 'average' isn't to be sniffed at and having achieved something vaguely acceptable (polite applause at half time!) it's soul destroying to watch us unable to replicate it because we physically don't have the players to carry on playing the same way. They didn't not try. Anything but - instead, they broke down or ended up running in treacle. 

I'd honestly give my hind teeth for Ryan Finnigan right now... Not in any world did I imagine saying this 2 months ago. 

I get in the car. I've actually got cramp in my leg from the tension of the second half. I've got to go and be social now with normal people who haven't lived through this. I just want to drink myself into oblivion. I can't. I'm driving. I have to stop in the car park for 5 minutes and give myself a talking to. It's only football MCLF. You enjoy it. It's a distraction.. It's proper lunatic stuff to let yourself actually ruin your evening because of football. I go in... My mate says 'what's up? you look haunted!' - That sums it up. I AM fucking haunted by this fucking club and this affliction of caring about it. It's a ghost, a malevolent poltergeist and I can't shake it off. 

Fucks sake Pool. Fucks sake me. I spent the summer writing jaunty blogs telling Sadler to spend money on Bruce because what could go wrong? Fuck stupid blogger dickheads masquerading as reasoned voices but just spouting abject shit that proves to be way off the mark, fuck football in general, fuck fucking calf injuries, hamstrings, referees, fuck Steve Agnew, Fuck Stephen Clemence, fuck luck, fuck judgement, fuck not planning, fuck not preparing, fuck pre-season, fuck the season, fuck the lot of it. Burn it all down. I can't keep caring so much about this. 

Get an exorcist or something. Find the plug to the computer that runs this hellish simulation and pull it. 

There's always next week...

Onward

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Saturday, October 4, 2025

Nadir: the Mighty vs Wimbledon


This was fucking awful... It's so bad that before they've even scored, I'm thinking of a list of things I could have done with my time instead of watching the execrable performance by some sort of poorly drilled half hungover bunch of  timid imposters masquerading as a Blackpool FC team. 

My car needs new tires for example. I could have gone and got those and then, ran over my own foot several times*. I need to do some DIY about the house. I could have gone and bought a nail gun and fired it into my own knees. I need to cook food for the week and I could have done that then placed my fucking head in the oven**

*I don't know how I'd run over my own foot in my own car
**It's an electric oven so don't worry. 

I'm not normally given to hyperbolic statements of negativity - but the actions above would probably have been more pleasurable than the afternoons 'entertainment' at Bloomfield Road.  To try and describe the game seems ridiculous because, there's essentially nothing to describe. That said, a match blog without the match is equally ridiculous, so I'm going to have to try and wade through it. I'd rather wade through dog shit studded with broken glass in my bare feet to be honest, but a blogger without a blog ain't a blogger so let's give it a go. 

---


We started as a 433, an idea I might have quite liked had it not involved Ollie Casey playing (and looking painfully uncomfortable) at right back. Barely anything happened for about 20 minutes. I'm really not exaggerating. Nothing happened of any interest or note. 

What did happen was we played some painfully hopeful balls into the channels and some hopeless long balls up to the front 3 who were Taylor (a technical footballer and definitely not a target man) CJ (pretty shit in the air) and Josh Bowler (who has headed the ball about 5 times in his entire career and that's not really exaggerating very much). Not surprisingly, this wasn't very fruitful. 

Hayden Coulson sat down and Zac Ashworth came on. At least that was something that happened - even if it wasn't the sort of thing you pay to watch, it made a change from us giving the ball back to Wimbledon for a few minutes and watching the players have a drink was about as interesting as watching them play football. 

We then switched to 532 for a while, with Ollie Casey now not so uncomfortable but with us now having Josh Bowler up front, somewhere I've literally never imagined he could play. Nothing happened for ages apart from Bowler trying to slip Taylor through after a nice bit of control and a spin away from his man. It didn't work, but it was the nearest thing you could say resembled a moment of quality. 

I've got to be honest, by the point that Wimbledon scored I was that bored out of my mind that I couldn't get that worked up about whether the penalty was inside or outside the box. Whatever it was, we got cut open and Jordan Brown made a wild challenge because their lad got wrong side of our defence and needed stopping, if not in such a clumsy way... The penalty was dispatched past a static goalkeeper and the clouds felt a little heavier. 

We mustered a feeble Morgan shot after what could be generously described as a nice passing move on the break (the only one of the game I can remember) and a scuffed Jordan Brown shot that went well wide. I shouted "fucking come on Pool, you're fucking better than this" at them, but it didn't seem to have the impact I'd hoped. 

--- 

The football was terrible. The atmosphere non-existent. Wimbledon are nothing special but their fans are noisy and their team committed. I can't believe this is a side with Josh Bowler, Albie Morgan, Dale Taylor, Jordan Brown, Fraser Horsfall and so on. We look languid and totally lacking in imagination. It's been so bad that it can only get better. 

--- 


Now we're playing 442. We've taken off Fraser Horsfall who, for reasons I can't really even begin to understand, seems to be Steve Bruce's version of Neil Critchley's Jordan Thorniley. For want of a right back, we've put Jordan Brown (the best of our midfield in the last few games) at right back, even though, as I've already said, we've literally got an actual right back on the bench. Ash Fletcher is on. It's 442 again. What a surprise. 

Nothing happens for a while. The Kop tries some half hearted 'come on you Pool' and it just sounds sad. This place can be magical and it wasn't so long ago that we sung them home against Huddersfield, but it's just flat, really, really, really lifeless. It's not turned properly either - yes, we're not exactly singing this team to greater heights, but I've seen far more visceral reactions to managers' bad runs and teams playing badly than this. 

At some point Josh Bowler has a shot that is reasonably well, but nonetheless quite comfortably saved by the keeper. We take some awful free kicks. We keep hoping that Taylor will morph into someone who is really grreat at chasing hopeful long balls. We try a few long throws. Nothing remotely approaching passing and movement breaks out. 

Tom Bloxham is warming up and they buy a free kick. I think 'that's exactly what they want' and then, as they launch the ball into the box and end up poking it home as we fail to deal with it, I think 'that's it then' and about 2000 people seem to think the same and file out of the ground as those who remain chant "sacked in the morning" - but even that singing seems to lack the anger it can have. Tom Bloxham comes on and nothing changes.

We continue to be fucking awful and the only thing I can think of that was of any sort of entertainment value was the black comedy of us going from a free kick 25 yards out at their end, to nearly conceding a goal at ours in about 4 seconds, thanks to some piss poor sideways football that gifted them possession with the entire pitch to run into. Well done everyone. 


--- 

I don't think I've effectively put into words how bad we were. In all the time I've been doing this blog, that was as poor a performance as I can remember. Nothing Appleton served up was this bad apart from maybe Rotherham away. Blackburn away under McCarthy stuck in my mind as a game I particularly disliked and Crtichley's last home game was horrific - but I think this was worse than all of them. The first two were away in the Championship and the quality of the opposition was thus much better and the latter, we had the misfortune to face an on song Louie Barry in a really good team. Today, we just played a side (at home) who stuck to a fairly basic plan, who didn't have any players who really shone or looked impossible to contain and didn't do a whole lot themselves and yet, simply by doing some basic things, won comfortably and really didn't ever look like conceding. 

What made it particularly unpalatable was the lack of enjoyment on the pitch. I've rarely seen a side look so out of sorts. The body language was negative. The players looked so fed up with it all. There was no anger, no passion, no energy to any of it. It looked like we just wanted it to be over so the ground could collectively swallow us up. This is not what anyone wants to watch. Football is a game, it's a game we love or loved to play because it's fun and this was no fun at all, for anyone. 

It's pointless running through the individual performances, because collectively, we were dreadful. We were tentative and hesitant with the ball, we lacked movement all game and we were second to everything. I don't think it's possible for any one player to be blamed much more than the next and very difficult for any one player to thrive in the midst of such a performance. In fact, it was way beyond the simple 'he was shit' level - the whole thing was a write off - had it been down to a few mistakes or a particular player's performance, then that would be frustrating, but at least explicable - but today, it all just seemed totally and utterly wrong and sadly, I can't say it's felt 'right' very often this season at all. 

And then... just as I sat down to write this, he was gone. 

I can't say anything other than it is the right decision. Today was fucking horrific - but it's in line with the rest of the season. Pretty much every metric shows we're shit and can't play 442 direct football and for all the words about 'playing attacking football and being unlucky' we haven't been unlucky and we haven't played attacking football and every time we divert from 442 direct football, we just revert to it after 45 minutes anyway, so it doesn't seem as if we're ever going to stop doing what we clearly can't do and I'm not sure how we get out of this tailspin without trying something else properly. 

Steve Bruce is a good man I think. I don't know him, but in his interviews in general and in his manner and from the little I know about his relationships with players, he comes across as a decent human being - but he's the wrong man for this squad and the job of work to be done at this time, because he, and/or the coaching staff he's put his faith in, palpably failed in instilling the basics into this squad. We don't compete, we don't create, we don't look fit. In his last interview, he looks haggard. He clearly has no answers to give. 

Changing managers every ten minutes isn't a recipe for success - but absolutely nothing at all was pointing to triumph or even mere improvement and the performance today was just a slightly more extreme version of what's been happening all year - very little created at all, no sense of cohesion and reliant on breaks (which as Wimbledon had the sense to sit in, weren't on) or a bit of magic from an individual (which never came because it won't happen every week anyway)  - don't create, you invite pressure, invite pressure and you concede goals. 

I have no idea who the right man for the job is. I'm pretty sure it's not most of the people who get named because they're either past their best (most managers do their best work early in their careers), not realistically coming to us or more of the same.

I want to see us take our time and step back from the immediate demands of 'a name' to appease the crowd and to think about what we want and who we want to be. As a football club, I have no idea what our footballing 'identity' is  - whilst 'identity' is a shit word, ultimately, some sort of continuity would be helpful - we seem to go from a to be to c and back again with each appointment. This is costing us, quite literally, as one set of players is unsuitable for the next manager and we rinse and repeat, rebuilding and re-imagining ourselves each time. As it stands, we've got a blank slate because we've just played nearly 25% of a season with no discernable identity and a set of players who absolutely do not fit with what we've been doing and it is thus, the perfect time to step away and decide what we want that style to be because it can't be '90s football based on last ditch central defence and breakways' (and that's for sure) 

I want to see a manager who works hard, who values technical ability, who is willing to take risks, and shows some tactical flexibility and an attacking mindset. I want to see us scour every corner of the globe and listen to every applicant with anything like a semi-serious case to be listened to.

Instead of someone giving it 'one last shot' or 'another roll of the dice' - we need someone who is deeply committed to what should be the chance of a lifetime, someone who desperately needs this break to prove themselves to the world and to themselves. That person needs to have a really clear idea (in fact, several clear ideas) about how they want us to play in different situations and the passion and energy to get them across to the players effectively. 

There's literally thousands and thousands of coaches, assistant managers and managers out there across the globe, and the chance of managing an English football league club is an incredible one. To simply use the contacts book to come up with a name of a mate or a former manager would be appalling when, whether in this country, or in Ireland, Scotland, in Scandinavia, in South America, in the Far East, in Eastern Europe and so on and so on there are so many potential candidates.

Somewhere in amongst them must be someone with the verve, the desire, the footballing intelligence and the force of personality to grab this fucking incredible club by the scruff of its tangerine neck and shake us out of our torpor. If we can't trust ourselves do that and just take a punt on a name, then we've got to look very carefully at the makeup of the leadership within the club because we've got this wrong too many times by grasping at names - we need to go back to the beginning, decide what we want to be and find the best fit, whoever that is - and we have to have the footballing intelligence to do that. It feels like we need to do more than just 'get someone in to win some games' - we need to work out who the fuck we actually are first, because right now, we're nothing, we're noone, we're nowhere and that has to, in part, come from the last 3 or 4 years of jumping from one thing to another with no continuity of style or ethos. 

This has to be the low point for the season. We have to start on Monday with some serious effort at building relationships within the squad, building relationships on the pitch, building some patterns of play, some fitness, some aggression and some confidence in ourselves. In Stephen Dobbie, we have a man I thought was right for the job 2 and bit years ago - I have no idea if he's right for this moment because the world has spun many times since then - but, in terms of coaching and a response to that coaching on the pitch - it can't be much worse than it has been so far this year and if he takes the approach he took last time around and can get them playing with some energy, attacking mindset and some joy in their feet,  then that would be a very big start to the job ahead. 

In Dobs we trust because we must! 

Onward 

You can follow MCLF on facebookTwitterBlueskyThreads and Instagram or use Follow.it to get posts sent to your email If you appreciate the blog and judge it worth 1p or more, then a donation to one of the causes below which help kids and families in Blackpool would be grand.


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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