Driving down the hill into Wigan, a panorama of the town reveals itself. A solitary chimney stands inert, a silent and redundant memorial to the industrial past. The sky, though, is smoke grey. Coal may no longer be dug, may no longer fuel the great boilers of cotton mills but the heavens render this most archetypal of 'northern' places with a steely grimness.
For all that parts of this place reek of a past that still colours the identity of anywhere north of Crewe, ff there was a competition for the most soulless stadium then the 'Whatever It's Currently Called Lego Brick Stadium' would be a strong contender. The town maybe surrounded by mazes of terraced streets and big old pubs with beautiful tile mosaics, but their football ground is an out of town planners' utopia. My consumerist senses are overwhelmed. I'm right here in Maggie and Tony's collective dream. Who needs coal, steel and iron - all that grubby old stuff? Lets have shops instead. Shiny clean, glass fronted ones... Not just shops, but BIG, WAREHOUSES RUN BY BIG CORPORATIONS. FUCK YEAH! Do I want a cheeky, cheeky, cheeky Nandos? What about a new PC? Maybe a dog bed because if I loved my dog I'd buy a dog bed for it. Love is money. I don't have a dog. Perhaps I should get a dog? Everything is here... How about I just lie down in the car park, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of life and someone in a corporate uniform comes and takes my bank card out of my pocket and spends on my behalf? A kind of intervention for my own good. This man appears broken. Buy him better!
Under leaden sky, the many back lit signs punching through the dull with bold colours, promise so much fucking satisfaction. I could be reborn, trading cash for technicolor bliss... I dodge a car. I skip between dallying shoppers. I marvel at why you'd queue as long as some people are queuing to get into Costa Coffee. The trees placed by the architect's pencil to soften the impact of so much tarmac and concrete and shade the original plans a misleading and optimistic green, are shivering, skeletal in the December murk, their roots bound in by kerb-stone and tarmac. They look stunted and ill.
This is a bleak place.
I like the team. I can't really find a lot to moan about in the selection. I outright and unequivocally love Evo's decision to again not include a sub keeper. For one, it's a risk, yes but risk is what we've lacked in the last few years. Secondly, it evokes the possibility of an outfield player in goal, one of the single greatest things that can ever happen in a football match, and I will allow no dissent against this. There's some musing on who would go in, and the conclusion is 'Husband' - based on absolutely nothing other than it seems like the sort of thing he would do, trudging towards the goals, clapping the unfamiliar gloves as he goes, rolling his shoulders and whirling his arms as if to get used to the idea that it's the other set of limbs he needs to use now, for the first time ever...
This image leads me to wonder - how prepared are we for this? If ever I were in a post match press conference (which seems unlikely) I'd probably ask about the details of the outfield player in goal situation over anything to do with the game itself - firstly, obviously, the identity of the nominated player - but, given the possibility of injury and substitutions, what is the hierarchy - who is the backup to the nominated player? Who is the backup to the backup? Do they practice? How often? Do you pick any of them because of their goalkeeping potential? Do they have their own kit or will they borrow BPF's? What if the gloves or the shirt are too big or too small? Is there ever a situation where, if you did have keeper on the bench, you'd consider bringing them on as an outfield player and wouldn't that be genuinely fucking brilliant craic Ian?
I don't expect a press pass in the mail any time soon.
The fact I've instantly digressed into niche questions tabled in an imaginary press conference I'm never going to attend is really an indication of having very little to say about the first half. It's a spectacularly unadventurous half of football. Wigan are resolutely Ryan Lowe (is a cunt) - difficult to break down and playing like an unadventurous away side at home. Oh what fun it must be to have him as your manager. He makes Critch 2.0 seem like a craven attacking lunatic. We're kept at arms length aside from a little wriggling run by Bowler culminating in a shot from the edge of the box that is a routine save for Tickle and a rising shot from James Husband from outside the box that would have had me careering down the steps, leaping over the hoardings and running the length of the pitch had it gone in. It didn't.
In truth, we're probably a little bit lucky (only a little bit though) to go in level. Wigan miss a couple of chances, a few poor finishes to their rare moments of adventure - the most glaring, a really bad header that goes two or three feet over when it looked for all the world as if they were going to open the scoring.
That's really about it. Both sides look like they want to pass it around but neither seems convincing in the execution of the intent. It's like two sides looking to hit their groove but the truth is, the furrow is rather shallow and the needle repeatedly bounces out. Our midfield keep giving the ball away, Honeyman is particularly culpable but Brown and Bowler aren't a whole lot better at retaining it. Our strikers can't get in the game, Bloxham is well marshalled and Fletcher is coming deeper and deeper in search of the ball. Coulson goes off again, Ashworth is a replacement that many might have started anyway.
The game kind of drifts by, the teams mostly trading ineffective moves that break down - the only other highlights being
a) BPF going down in what seems an obvious attempt to break up play and get the players over to Evatt for a few minutes - just for a moment I wonder if we might get to see the answers to the questions above without the need for them being asked.
b) running through a load of old songs for no apparent reason. It's top stuff and it's always particularly good to hear the Ludo Sylvestre song - I'm slightly disappointed that's as far back as we go, hoping as I am for one more chance to celebrate the majestic goal poaching of Andy (oh Andy, Andy, oh Andy) Watson!... Superstar! I'm further disappointed that such a run through of past hits doesn't prompt a collective moment of reflection and out of that, spontaneously emerges a full throated whole stand rendition of "There's only one Jimmy Husband"
One day. Maybe when he's gone in goal and saved a penalty. Maybe then we'll sing his name.
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It's 0-0, the main conclusion I take is we got a bit bullied in midfield and we've lacked the pace up front to really put any pressure on their defence. Wigan look pretty shite too though.
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There's no massive change to us in the second half. Evatt goes to the bench - I suspected he'd bring Taylor on early and he does, Albie Morgan accompanying him on to the pitch in place of Bloxham and Bowler, two players with undoubted talent but who haven't really impacted the game today.
The change is immediate. Taylor obviously takes the headlines for his direct impact - but Morgan adds a certain energy and fight and allows Honeyman to push into the slot Bowler had been in - previous times I've seen the little Mackem play there, I'd not really been convinced by him as a 10 - he's not so much a silky threader of passes and executer of nimble footed dance moves as a buzzing hornet - but that, it turns out, is exactly what the game needs and he's fantastic.
Taylor (and I honestly don't write this to put Tom down, because he's done well in the last month or so and really put a shift in) immediately shows what Bloxham isn't. He's got an instinctive sense of the role, he's dropping into bits of space, he's drifting into the defender, idling, then he's exploding away, making space for himself. He's aware of the angles for a pass and the moment to close down. Combined with the Honeyman whirlwind and Morgan's terrier qualities, Wigan suddenly have quite a lot more to cope with.
The goal when it comes is a shock. It happens very quickly. Wigan dally, Honeyman nips in, a toe to the ball, it squirts to Taylor, immediately he accelerates towards the byline but before he gets there, he cuts it accross, into the path of Fletcher at the near post and then, the ball is forcing the net taut, Fletcher is trotting away, cool as fuck, it's just a goal, hey, I score them all the time, and around me the tangerine faithful are going ballistic. It's a clinical finsih, beautifully set up and executed, simple and deadly. Come on the Pool!
This forces Wigan into life, BPF makes a good save, the kind of strange but increasingly effective thing he does, an upward punch from a close range Wigan effort, one that again, you'd say they should and could have done better with. From this, he launches one of those Schmeichal-esque throws that sets us away and though it comes to nothing in the end, the atmosphere as we roar the chasing Taylor on is glorious, Wigan need to come onto us and we can break on them and we're good at this.
The second goal is a sublime demonstration of this. Husband switches play, Imray flicks on, Honeyman surges, gets past his man and arrows a ball across, Fletcher, with some kind of divine awareness and ridiculous grace, clam and composure spins into a back heel and turns it precisely into the path of Dale Taylor who, with Morgan in tow, is steaming onto it, then he's connecting, the ball rocketing home, unstoppable, as Taylor falls to the ground, to be dragged up and mobbed by team mates. If the first goal was a good feeling, this is an ecstasy, half time cynicism replaced by the leaping, flailing limbs of any away day moment of magic - in front of me, lads fall back over the seat, the side of me jumping on the spot, behind me fists shaken manically. YESSSS!
The songbook gets more ambitious, the Pool are going up! To the objective soul, it may seem a bit fanciful from 22nd at kick off to declare ourselves as a potential Championship team in waiting but, fuck it. This is why we do this. This is exactly the point. It might only be a goal, it might be a bit daft, but it's a really good goal and Taylor has finally had the kind of impact we want and need him to have. Maybe, just maybe, he's a jigsaw piece and maybe, instead of rattling around in the box with the rest under Bruce, who, like yer grandad watching the racing all day couldn't really be arsed putting in the corner pieces and building the picture carefully, he's been slotted into place by the somewhat more dilligent solver of puzzles and builder of images, Ian Evatt.
I'm getting carried away. Again though, why the fuck not?
Does much else happen? I don't think so. Wigan have a couple of moments, the most convincing of which is a goal ruled out for offside and a near post effort we don't convincingly manage and they again, probably should have done better with. There's a bit of classic Husband, first squaring up to one of them and getting away with it, then giving the ball away on the edge of his own box but racing back to make the challenge and somehow managing to come out with a free kick. for his troubles. Butter would not melt in Saint Jimmy's mouth. Casey goes down and Lyons comes on. Overall, that's a bit worrying but in the immediate, it probably quite suits us as Lyons is more comfortable on the break than Casey. The Horse has a couple of enjoyable wrestling matches with Wigan's sub striker. I do like his old school style. He reminds me of a 1990s defender. Ashworth rattles into tackles and we sing our way towards the end.
At some point around 85 minutes, Wigan's fans depart en-masse. It's like one gets up and then they all follow. I've rarely been at an away game where I can't recall a single chant from the home team - even your genteel outposts like Shrewsbury or teams in freefall like, say, Carlisle, you are at least aware the home fans are there - but today, all I can hear are tangerine voices from the beginning to the end.
We play out the game in a surprisingly professional and competent manner. The whistle goes, Evatt is over for a brisk and heartfelt fisting. We respond vigorously.
A good day out.
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Did we totally convince? No, not totally. Do I care? No, not really. There was enough again to see some real improvement. We were quite solid, notwithstanding they did miss a few decent chances - regardless, it's a second clean sheet away from home and there was a quality to some of our play in the second half that looked dangerous. Taylor scored twice, yes, but in this team, based as it is around more possession and attacking as a group, his flicks and touches made a lot more sense than they did as an isolated target in a long ball side. There were a couple of moments which were not notable for any great impact, but just sublime skill, one, a loose ball bouncing and such a clever flick round for Fletcher to chase and the other, a moment where he ran round, got to a ball held it up, shimmied and laid it back to retain possession, that felt like something Jerry Yates would have done. To be honest, though, most of all, it's the way he steamed in onto the ball in the box that I took most from. We just haven't had that player for ages and maybe we do now. There's still Ennis and his intensity to factor in as well...
The second point of promise revolves again around Taylor - but this time, it's the point is about Evatt really. Instantly, Taylor and Fletcher combined. They looked aware of each other, they fed each other, they worked as a unit. Yes, it was a well timed sub, but more importantly, given that they've barely played together and when they did previously, there was no real evidence of chemistry, this can only been down to the work on the training pitch. Teams are formed of players who work together and undoubtedly, there has been a massive improvement in this respect. Players know their jobs and increasingly and crucially, they seem to be starting to know each others roles too - this must be built on work behind the scenes, and this is what becomes 'instinct' on the pitch.
Whilst, I still don't think we're there and we've still got some potential gaps, questions about certain positions and the depth of our effective resources as well as our aptitude against certain types of football, I cannot for a moment think anything but that Ian Evatt and his staff have worked their arses off and improved us from a very low base and that is all we can ask. To quote our own motto, there is undoubtedly progress.
For once, a Christmas not (yet) ruined. We love you Blackpool, we do!
Onward.
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