It's not quite snow lying deep and crisp and even, but it's cold and clear and I'm feeling remarkably festive as I set off. Optimism is back. I'd forgotten about it for a while, but for the first time in ages, I've got a sense that, all things being equal, we might just walk away with three points. That's a dangerous thought of course and in the normal course of things, I'd worry about such clearly risky thinking - football has (and the mighty tangerine wizards in particular have) a habit of surprising - for better or worse - but I'm happy today just to roll with it. I can't be bothered with all the second guessing and paranoia.
The season of cheer and goodwill is only enhanced by passing a charming lady who responds to her child falling off their scooter with a volley of vicious abuse involving delightful phrasing such as "fucking little shit" and then, someone slumped in a yard intently holding a lighter to some kind of substance (I don't linger long enough to work out the specifics of his festive indulgence) - It's a bit like walking through 'Love Actually' - all charmingly eccentric characters and quintessential English gentility. The car wash on Ansdell Road is open. A bloke is glumly slumped in a plastic patio chair, chamois leather in hand, staring across an empty forecourt, though the puddles of suds suggests that at least one person woke up and thought 'ah, Boxing Day sales! - I better go and get the car washed'
Inside the ground there's a buzz. It's busy, a contrast to the quiet elsewhere. There's something about a football match that transcends football itself - it feels like one big catch-up session under the stands and in an online, atomised headphone world, there's few other places I can imagine people gathering together in. Football as the last church in a soulless secular world of AI piloted drone deliveries. CJ Hamilton a latter day idol visited by pilgrims who want nothing other than to bask in his holy aura. Maybe I've stretched the cod sociology a bit far...
I've been really excited to see Dale Taylor from the start. He looked fucking mustard (I don't know why I've used that phrase - it's something that, on reflection I imagine a Southend fan might say (fackin' mastard mate') against Wigan. Playing from the start at home, he should be able to really influence the game and there's few things more exciting than a striker of proper quality.
Doncaster make just about their only chance of the half very early on, a header from a simple cross that they probably should have done more with, then, a really odd thing happens. The game is a bit bitty. In keeping with the general mood, Ash Fletcher miscontrols the ball and throws himself into challenge in an attempt to win it back. He doesn't really go through with it - but I get a vision of an alternative future that involves Fletcher walking off, red card waved at his back and the bubble of my optimism lying around my feel like the soapy puddle from the car wash. I remark on this, but as I do, I notice someone is down. It's Dale Taylor. It's clear almost straight away that this appears to be a proper injury and, when he tries to stand and ends up back on the turf, there's nothing else to do but to get Tom Bloxham on.
There's a collective frustration. It feels like we've got something nice for Christmas and then it's broken by Boxing Day. Why. Can't. We. Have. Nice. Things?
Jordan Brown is playing better today. He suits the deeper role and is cleaning up behind Morgan and Honeyman. We manage to exert something approaching control of the game, the three of them offering a balance of skill and grit. We do, though, seem to slightly lack the lock pick and whilst there's quite a lot of possession, in an attacking sense, we look most likely to profit by hitting the wing backs who are really high up the pitch.
Imray looks really on it today and sets Morgan up for the first decent effort and then, soon after, he makes a fabulous run, curving into the path of a lovely Ollie Casey ball up the line, surging past his defender, taking it almost to the line and then cutting it into the path of Tom Bloxham who can't miss. It's a really simple goal, but beautifully executed, three quick passes and bang.
The first half continues in a similar pattern. We cope with Doncaster with no real issues. From time to time we attack, the best effort being a glorious Albie Morgan drive, smacking the ball on the volley, connecting crisply, an arrowing low effort that the keeper does well to get to. There's a moment of absolute festive glory where CJ runs into a defender, it's almost as if he attacks him, but can't think of any kind of trick, so just bumps into him, then, fabulously, spins around like someone slightly bewildered by a revolving door and then, wonderfully and totally accidentally, the ball appears in front of him, and he toe pokes it to Husband, who dinks a lovely sand wedge cross, met by Fletcher, which drops into the keepers hands, but not before striking the hand of a defender. It's definitely handball, but also maybe ball to hand and I don't really know what a penalty is any more. The ref isn't interested.
Some corners, a bit more pressure and that's that.
---
We've been comfortably the better side - but without really tearing them to bits. It's hard to put my finger on what we've not done - but I feel like there's another gear available that we didn't really get into.
There's a surprisingly (and pleasingly) direct celebratory statement on behalf of Simon Sadler of our previous owner being finally banished from all things Blackpool FC.
---
If I was gutted to see Taylor go off then the phrase, 'coming on for Doncaster Rovers, no 14, Billy Sharp' strikes fear into my heart. The second half starts well though and for a few minutes I think we've found that step up. Imray is still marauding and his cut back for Albie is deflected (onto the post?)
Barring a few moments though, the second half is not really a story of attack. It is the defence that stands out. Donny start to excerpt influence on the game, taking control of possession, putting pressure on. They seem able to get out easily enough and to get through midfield but then, they meet Fraser Horsfall.
I love this lad. He's got a raw, unshowy quality to him. He's not refined, he clumps about looking a little bit like a non-league player or perhaps an off duty squaddie but he absolutely fucking loves defending. He's so good stepping up and challenging the forward as they receive the ball, being an attacker taking on Horsfall is like trying to hug a cement mixer, they seem, so often to just get turned, rolled, flipped and he comes away the winner. I love it when he runs forward - his chest and chip to the far post from a corner is almost Madine-esque in its mixture of slow, seemingly glacial, planetary forces scale physical effort and quick thinking perceptive awareness. I adore how, at corners, as around him people jostle, he springs on his toes repeatedly, as if winding himself up for the big leap and how many times he does, indeed, manage to force, lean, charge himself into the right place to spring for the ball.
He's aided and abetted by James Husband. I shouldn't need to write a lot, I've written so much about this fella. he's the only player still with us from when I started writing this shite, but today, he's in fine form. He's not the quickest, no, but first, he's a yard behind, but he's going full tilt and then he's launching himself and the tackle is clean, perfect, full blooded. The attacker is in a heap, the ball has gone. Husband just walks away. Then, a 50/50, the attacker controls the ball, but as he does, Husband smashes in, every bit of his effort behind his instep, the contact with the ball is percussive, it fairly echoes around the stand and Jimmy is in possession now and their forward has been thrown, like a cyclist, clipped by a speeding car, rag dolling to the ground. Perfect again. Late in the game, the ball in the box, they might just get it under control and Husband, throws himself, full force, perfect timing again, and the ball is away, the danger is over.
Doncaster make just about their only chance of the half very early on, a header from a simple cross that they probably should have done more with, then, a really odd thing happens. The game is a bit bitty. In keeping with the general mood, Ash Fletcher miscontrols the ball and throws himself into challenge in an attempt to win it back. He doesn't really go through with it - but I get a vision of an alternative future that involves Fletcher walking off, red card waved at his back and the bubble of my optimism lying around my feel like the soapy puddle from the car wash. I remark on this, but as I do, I notice someone is down. It's Dale Taylor. It's clear almost straight away that this appears to be a proper injury and, when he tries to stand and ends up back on the turf, there's nothing else to do but to get Tom Bloxham on.
There's a collective frustration. It feels like we've got something nice for Christmas and then it's broken by Boxing Day. Why. Can't. We. Have. Nice. Things?
Jordan Brown is playing better today. He suits the deeper role and is cleaning up behind Morgan and Honeyman. We manage to exert something approaching control of the game, the three of them offering a balance of skill and grit. We do, though, seem to slightly lack the lock pick and whilst there's quite a lot of possession, in an attacking sense, we look most likely to profit by hitting the wing backs who are really high up the pitch.
Imray looks really on it today and sets Morgan up for the first decent effort and then, soon after, he makes a fabulous run, curving into the path of a lovely Ollie Casey ball up the line, surging past his defender, taking it almost to the line and then cutting it into the path of Tom Bloxham who can't miss. It's a really simple goal, but beautifully executed, three quick passes and bang.
The first half continues in a similar pattern. We cope with Doncaster with no real issues. From time to time we attack, the best effort being a glorious Albie Morgan drive, smacking the ball on the volley, connecting crisply, an arrowing low effort that the keeper does well to get to. There's a moment of absolute festive glory where CJ runs into a defender, it's almost as if he attacks him, but can't think of any kind of trick, so just bumps into him, then, fabulously, spins around like someone slightly bewildered by a revolving door and then, wonderfully and totally accidentally, the ball appears in front of him, and he toe pokes it to Husband, who dinks a lovely sand wedge cross, met by Fletcher, which drops into the keepers hands, but not before striking the hand of a defender. It's definitely handball, but also maybe ball to hand and I don't really know what a penalty is any more. The ref isn't interested.
Some corners, a bit more pressure and that's that.
---
We've been comfortably the better side - but without really tearing them to bits. It's hard to put my finger on what we've not done - but I feel like there's another gear available that we didn't really get into.
There's a surprisingly (and pleasingly) direct celebratory statement on behalf of Simon Sadler of our previous owner being finally banished from all things Blackpool FC.
---
If I was gutted to see Taylor go off then the phrase, 'coming on for Doncaster Rovers, no 14, Billy Sharp' strikes fear into my heart. The second half starts well though and for a few minutes I think we've found that step up. Imray is still marauding and his cut back for Albie is deflected (onto the post?)
Barring a few moments though, the second half is not really a story of attack. It is the defence that stands out. Donny start to excerpt influence on the game, taking control of possession, putting pressure on. They seem able to get out easily enough and to get through midfield but then, they meet Fraser Horsfall.
I love this lad. He's got a raw, unshowy quality to him. He's not refined, he clumps about looking a little bit like a non-league player or perhaps an off duty squaddie but he absolutely fucking loves defending. He's so good stepping up and challenging the forward as they receive the ball, being an attacker taking on Horsfall is like trying to hug a cement mixer, they seem, so often to just get turned, rolled, flipped and he comes away the winner. I love it when he runs forward - his chest and chip to the far post from a corner is almost Madine-esque in its mixture of slow, seemingly glacial, planetary forces scale physical effort and quick thinking perceptive awareness. I adore how, at corners, as around him people jostle, he springs on his toes repeatedly, as if winding himself up for the big leap and how many times he does, indeed, manage to force, lean, charge himself into the right place to spring for the ball.
He's aided and abetted by James Husband. I shouldn't need to write a lot, I've written so much about this fella. he's the only player still with us from when I started writing this shite, but today, he's in fine form. He's not the quickest, no, but first, he's a yard behind, but he's going full tilt and then he's launching himself and the tackle is clean, perfect, full blooded. The attacker is in a heap, the ball has gone. Husband just walks away. Then, a 50/50, the attacker controls the ball, but as he does, Husband smashes in, every bit of his effort behind his instep, the contact with the ball is percussive, it fairly echoes around the stand and Jimmy is in possession now and their forward has been thrown, like a cyclist, clipped by a speeding car, rag dolling to the ground. Perfect again. Late in the game, the ball in the box, they might just get it under control and Husband, throws himself, full force, perfect timing again, and the ball is away, the danger is over.
We try to stem the flow by changing it up as they get on top. First CJ is off and Ashworth is on. This at least means Husband doesn't have to constantly check CJ's positioning. Later, Banks and Bowler come on, Evans too, which forces Brown a bit further forward and I'm not sure he's as effective there. We remake our shape as Bloxham upfront with Banks and Bowler tucking behind. It doesn't really work, though I wonder, with a fresh and pacy forward up front, it might have, as Bowler does find pockets and several times threads it, but Bloxham doesn't have the energy and acceleration to really do the lone chasing effectively. The one real remaining chance comes as Bowler sets Banks away and he charges, forcing a decent save from their keeper.
The absolute stand out moment though, comes from Ollie Casey. His partners might have shouldered the physical burden, but on the one occasion Donny really broke through, the ball just refusing to be cleared, defenders toppling like skittles, the chance falling to Brandon Hanlon, in space, a perfect angle, setting himself, Peacock Farrell doing all the right things with angles, but Hanlon undeterred lifts the shot past him, the sinking feeling of blowing a lead setting in, but Ollie Casey, on the cover, falling backwards, makes what, if he was a keeper, would have been an amazing save, arms by his side, the ball all but over the line, BPF scrambles to his feet, the ball is not away, it's with Hanlon again and BPF throws himself desperately at his feet, the grenade is smothered, the chance gone and the ground roars as if we've scored.
This moment seems to really catalyse everyone. We can't concede now. The ref is determined to give every opportunity though. He's giving a free kick to them seemingly every minute. Their no 9 is in a royal battle with Horsfall and giving them a platform to work from, it's like a rhino fighting with a tank. There's outrage in the air as time and time again, the whistle goes for seemingly innocuous challenges and yet, the ref is silent when tangerine shirts go sprawling. There are phantom corners, there's yellow cards being waved at managers and players in a seemingly arbitrary manner. His attempts to assert control just serve to make it more chaotic. In a way, it's what you want from a league 1 game - inept refereeing and a good old scrap. They swing it into the box, we scramble it away, they nod one wide, the time ticks down. BPF claims one, he gets wiped out. The burning question of 'who goes in' is raised and fortunately dismissed. We try to keep it in the corner, we're not very good at it.
One more attack is snuffed out and then, the whistle at last!
---
This wasn't a hugely convincing attacking performance, nor was it a game for total football. I enjoyed it though. Defensively, we've improved a lot. There's more organisation and so much more commitment. This was precisely the kind of game we lose a few months ago but there's more belief, more togetherness. This looks far more like a team and to win an ugly game is, in a strange way, more satisfying than to blow a team aside - in any successful season, you remember the big wins - but they mean nothing without all the scrappy ones, without all the snatched and scrapped for points that fade into the shadows in the glow of glory.
We're still a long, long way from any real glory of course - Taylor's injury is a huge blow, our lack of 'proper' midfield cover was exposed and there are holes elsewhere (a bench of 4 wingers and 2 wing backs!) - but Imray was magnificent today and Albie is coming back into form and fitness. I've already sung the praises of the back 3. The point is, I suppose, that after playing a very, very one note (and ineffective) style at the outset of the season, we're getting more performances from more players and we're getting results in different ways.
We're conceding less, scoring more, fighting harder and opening teams up more effectively. Some of the players we thought would be great signings in August are starting to play like we hoped they would. We're going into the next couple of games without the depth of squad we'd like, especially up front, but we've got a manager who will shuffle the pack with some thought and that's all we can ask right now.
Christmas unruined and out of the relegation zone.
Onward.
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