Cheers Hubby!

Time doesn't stand still does it? One minute you've signed a lad on loan from Norwich, Simon Grayson is your manager, you're trying to work out what this 'Simon Sadler' character is all about and the next, everything and nothing has changed, except your waving off James Husband from Blackpool North station, flapping your handkerchief, bravely trying to keep your emotions in check, but as the train pulls away and you catch site of one last cheeky grin from the formally top-knotted football god (the Blackpool Baresi), you have to wipe away a bit of grit from your eye. 

Let me be clear from the outset - fuck the doubters, I properly adored James Husband. From pretty much the moment he turned up as a short cropped youthful physical wingback type to the moment he left as a senior player who you could almost literally hear creaking as he played, I appreciated what he brought to us. 

He came to fill a gap on the left and in Simon Grayson's wonky one lopsided set up, seemed to run the entire flank, because he had the legs to do that and no one else we tried did. Under Critchley, he was in and out, a bit part at times, a solid left back, initially a liability as a centre back but eventually a play off hero in that role. Maybe his best position was where he ended up playing in the last few months, stepping out of the left side of defence, prompting things, maybe it was left back where, in our decent Championship season, he put up some actually sensational numbers for a player who many considered a bit above his level. 

It's hard to write a 'best bits' montage of a player who will probably be remembered as 'a good servant' as opposed to yer magic men who went on to greater things - but no Jerry Yates, no Wes Hoolahan, no Charlie Adam, no Josh Bowler could ever have made the tackle that I've never seen bettered in the flesh, robbing Dominic Solanki of a hat trick goal that would have put us 3-0 down away at Bournemouth in a game we eventually not only salvaged a draw but could have won. He just didn't give up, from what seemed like miles away, he threw himself full length, somehow nipping the ball off the lad's toes in what seemed an impossible feat of athleticism and split second timing and that moment inspired a change in the entire game. 

Under Critchley 2.0 (safety enhanced edition), away at Oxford in a drab, drab, drab performance, Pool frustrate. Sideways and backwards, everywhere we go and Super Jimbo is the only one driving us forward, running out of defence, only to find the rest of the team recycling the ball and eventually it coming back to him to do it again. He sticks at it. He doesn't give up. He never gives up. The minutes tick away and there, surging forward, his lurching gait, running, as always in the latter part of his Pool career, as if he's carrying three different injuries, but leaping like a salmon at the back post, nodding it across and there is the fucking goal! He doesn't score it because Jimmy almost never takes centre stage, he just does his job and someone else gets the plaudits, the adoration, the moment of running away arms aloft. 

We're playing PNE - I can't remember if it's the Appleton 4-2 or the Critchley 3-1 but anyway, we've scored and the world is going mental and everyone is upside down in the stands and the world is vibrating to the particular light wave of tangerine - no one is calm. Except for Jimmy, who just saunters calmly past the Preston fans and gives them a little 'shush' with the most impish grin you could imagine. 

Away at Huddersfield this year - Jimmy is back in the side and he just runs the game, we've got a makeshift defence but he's taking the ball, he's pointing he's tidying up, he's calming things down, he's speeding things up when they need it. He's falling over at just the right time shielding the ball - he knows exactly what to do - the little nudge, the little lean in, the nipping at the forward and then the confrontation and the butter wouldn't melt in my mouth look as he walks away, as if aghast that anyone would get so wound up by a football match. 

Jimmy Husband, bastard, sneaky purveyor of shithousery. The kind of player you hate when they're not yours. 

It's a beautiful thing when they are though. 

A man who lost a bet to Gary Madine and played a game with cornrows. A man with an evident dry wit and well spoken football intelligence. A player who, by all accounts was generous with his time for others and looked after younger players and helped with and encouraged their development. A man with a singular dress sense. A man who played a starring role in the single greatest piece of football media ever created by anyone ever and whose 'looking in a box' face was a thing of untrammeled joy and wonder. Husband gave the sense that he'd be good to have a chat with over a pint - a vibe that isn't always common amongst modern footballers. 

His tired looking heavy legged overlaps could often show a more fleet footed winger how to put cross in when you get the chance. His vision at the back was deeply underrated. Jimmy can put his foot through it for sure, but he can also pass a football. He was never the biggest or strongest defender, but the amount of times he won a ball in the air, stretching every sinew, head tilted back, falling away and just getting the top of his head to it to send it out of the path of an incoming forward, I couldn't say - it was many. Watching him shadow and then snap into a player coming at him was a joy, he was very, very good at not getting run past by a man with the ball. 

I'd love to spend a few hours trawling data, trying to prove that left wingers played better when Jimmy played left back. I haven't got a few hours to spend, but it felt that way to me. A natural talker on the pitch, someone like CJ always seemed a better player with Husband prompting him.  Even early in his Pool days, when he moved inside, the left wing back seemed to play well. A future in coaching surely awaits. The man can read a football match. 

Yeah, he fucked up sometimes, but I'm not some dickhead on Twitter supporting a team in another country and having a meltdown for likes if a player's passing stats drop below 99%. I'm an actual football fan who supports an actual football team and goes to actual games and what I know from being an actual real life person is that I fuck up sometimes and therefore, actual footballers in actual games will do that too because like me, they're people and people are flawed. 

Remember the time he got sent off under Critch and then when he came back from suspension got sent off for exactly the same thing about 5 minutes into his first game back? I've never literally done that, but I've definitely metaphorically done that because fuck me, life, is basically making the same mistakes over and over and trying to crack on with it and get through the shame and self doubt and frustration at your own limitations, stupidity and foolishness. I once ran down my car battery by leaving my lights on twice in the same week. It's basically the same thing isn't it? 

I mean, no, I've never literally chucked a full length aerial foot first spear tackle at someone for absolutely no explicable reason in a south east seaside town but metaphorically I have....

Ok, I'm not sure actually on that one...

I probably shouldn't focus on his red cards but it's impossible to think of a Jimmy Husband montage that doesn't include him trudging off the pitch, his head hung low, as tired and fed up looking as a put upon donkey making their way home from the beach. I mean, people (and that includes Ian 'emotional intelligence is my calling card' Evatt) piled into him for getting sent off this year, but really, he got sent off for a good tackle (in an absolute disgraceful decision at Port Vale that should see the referee struck off and the PGMOL disbanded, then sent to live in exile on an unpleasantly humid island with lots of biting flies and limited clean water) and whilst his second one wasn't ideal, he'd just ridden a potentially leg breaking tackle and had a bloke sat on him. I imagine if someone tried to break my leg, then sat on me I could lash out, you could lash out. Ian 'I describe myself as a weaver of DNA' Evatt certainly could lash out.

Maybe Ian 'leadership and development conference' Evatt was right to dress him down and lay down a marker and clearly, Evo knows defending and defenders and maybe, just maybe, Hubby has run his race in tangerine - but I'm glad Hubby got back in after that, I'm glad he played well for us again. I'm glad he played his part in keeping us up. I wouldn't have wanted him to go out on that note because he'd given too much and been too much for us for that to be his last act. He celebrated our survival with relish, like it meant something and that's all you can really ask of a player - to actually show a bit of soul and fight and he certainly did. 

I'll miss him a lot. He's been a constant and he's a character - but I also think, a quality footballer, a player who, like all of my favourite players made the best of his attributes and played a game that was distinctly his. Is he the best left back I've ever seen play football? Perhaps not quite. Is he probably my favourite left back? I think so. 

Super Jimbo, it's been an absolute pleasure. 

Go well. 

 You can follow MCLF on facebook, Twitter, Bluesky, Threads 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.

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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 - but 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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Taylor-made - the Mighty vs Peterborough Utd

Here we go again. I'm blinking back a hangover. The pain is gathered around my eyes and a plan to soften the edges with gentle walk and several recuperative pit stops on the way from North Station is foiled by the trains being busses that take twice as long and me thinking 'fuck that, I'll drive'

So I do. It's a gusty day that already has changed its mind several times. From blue, to grey, to black angry sideways rain -  to be honest, I don't care what the weather does as long as we win. It could rain frogs for weeks and I'd take that with pleasure if it meant 3 points.

Monday was a body blow. The relief of the Exeter victory wiped away, the anxiety of relegation back with a vengeance and the shortcomings of this season all too familiar. I'm not going to list them, I've said the same thing so, so many times. Today is a new day. Let's hope the attacking force that showed up in the first half against Exeter is present today. Maybe I'll pray for Bowler's hamstring.

We need this...

---

Bloxham scraps and battles and a corner is his reward. C'mon Pool. I'm watching Horsfall and Jimmy because who else is going to do anything at a corner? A glance back to Brown, then back to the danger men who split and run in different directions but what's the point because Brown has scuffed the corner, absolute pile of shite, disgraceful, you get fucking paid for this and you can't even beat the first man... but there is Dale Taylor, darting, on to it, facing goal and a lovely calm, simple as you like finish and I realise I've read that moment all wrong and I know nothing about football at all and that doesn't matter because we're 1-0 up, already! 

That's done us all the world of good. Before the game, the ground felt nervy - but now it's exploded and we're set piece kings of the world. 

I hope that we don't sit back now - and we don't sit back. Peterborough are distinctly unnerved by us and we look, well, I have to say it... good. I've felt that so few times this season - we've battled quite well of late and we've had a few spells in games - but we've rarely controlled a game like this - the press from the front is very good - Taylor is positively Jerry-esque as he leads the charge, Bloxham is liberated by having a partner who wants to do this and this lets him hunt wide and find space in general, Karoy is on fire, charging at anyone Peterborough player who dares to touch the ball and Brown very effective in tidying up behind him. Anything that gets through that and the defence snap into it and we're off again... 

We absolutely roast them alive for a while. Bloxham continues to win corners and get shots in. We're playing very high and Walters ends up basically on the right wing. A ball across the box, another ball across the box and a deflection and a great save by the Posh keeper, a scream for a penalty, a proper one, everyone in unison on and off the pitch. I swear I hear it slap the hand of the defender but the ref and the impassive linesman are deaf to the imploring voices and the outstretched arms. 

It goes on, we are going to score again, we must score again, it's a sheer weight of numbers thing, it's like watching a training exercise, it's as if Peterborough are drilled not to go over the halfway line and just let us come again and again, the Horse gets his head to some corners, one and two are headed back but nothing comes of them but three is down, powerful and just past the far post. CJ nutmegs his man and races away... Ole! Honeyman goes for it from the edge of the box and his low shot seems to be tipped wide, but the ref gives a goal kick. 

We need another goal. We deserve another goal. 

What happens next is so painfully obvious to any of us... I'm watching us knock it about at the back. We're so in control of this game it's like we're just having a little breather and my attention wanders. A shocked gasp runs through the crowd, I refocus on the pitch. Peterborough now have the ball and they're charging at the heart of our box and they're letting fly with an absolute thunderbolt, it's really quite a finish, one of those that seems to sense the hand of the keeper and swerve away from it... I have to ask what happened - how we went from being comfortable in possession to picking the ball out of the net in the moment I looked away - CJ is the answer. Not so ole! 

We need to get back on this and after a lull, we do. The Horse meets another in the box, Husband hits a far post effort on the turn, a goal for the ages if it comes off, but he doesn't catch it cleanly and the keeper falls gratefully on it. 

Then another twist in the tale as Honeyman gets caught on the ball and goes down, Posh go up the middle and CJ redeems himself with a good bit of defensive work but Honeyman is done for. Off he limps and on comes Clarkson. It's obviously a blow to lose your captain and grim for him personally, but I do wonder if, given we've got so much control of the midfield, Clarkson's guile and technical quality might actually be exactly what we need in the moment. 

We win the ball back again, it's poked forward to Clarkson, the chip is on, their keeper is miles off his line, Clarkson steadies himself and then doesn't shoot, it's agonising as it seems so the obvious option, maybe it won't sit, maybe he's not quite got to the pace of the game and instead, he slides in Bloxham who just doesn't quite have the space to make anything of it, the keeper sliding out rushing him into a low shot that is smothered. 

---

The fear is we've blown a chance to be comfortable. I can't remember enjoying us play this much this season, but we're drawing and there are no points for style. The midfield has been excellent, Bloxham has marauded - but we're not winning... 

--- 

We come out in the same fashion. The fear that we'd fail to turn the screw is swiftly alleviated as first Karoy and then Clarkson test the keeper... then, CJ bursts forward, he's foiled, but the ball bounces out to Husband who takes one look and strikes a lovely pass into space, Bloxham is there, it's perfect for him, he can cut in, off a right hand channel and he holds it, holds it and at exactly the right moment slides it between the keepers legs and into the net. The roof comes off and Bloxham basks in the moment... 

We keep playing, Clarkson and CJ have efforts, the place is absolutely rocking and then, suddenly the noise, so loud seconds before is gone, it's like someone has detuned an AM radio, where moments before there was loud music, there is only the hissing static of concern. It has become quickly evident that someone has been taken ill, it's an awful thing and all that can be said is to say that everyone in the ground seems to grasp the weight of the moment and to describe any more would be ghoulish

We restart. It's a strange feeling. I wonder to myself if it's selfish to even think about football now. Football is relentless though, it just keeps going. The game takes a few minutes to shake off the delay, but quickly, Pool assert themselves again, Taylor first having an effort saved and then, CJ's redemption arc is complete as he robs a Posh player, drives forward, exchanges passes with Taylor, is into the box, and tucks back a simple, but perfect return pass to the striker, who again, finishes with a calm accuracy that speaks volumes of the quality he's shown during the game, he finds space, he has time, he's precise in what he does. 

That, must, surely, be that. 

This is Blackpool though and of course it isn't. 

Almost immediately, Husband gets caught out by a ball forward, an awkward attempt at clearing it or controlling it isn't either and is instead a perfect through ball. Horsfall is wrong side and is never going to make it back, so he takes the legs of the Posh defender. Instinctively, I think 'that's a red' and it is. Maybe there's cover, but you've be surprised if the Posh player didn't get a shot off without Horsfall's intervention is my take. It's a potential disaster - we've had such control that I'm not sure we actually needed to worry unduly about conceding the goal because we've looked like we could score 5 or 6 ourselves - but with 10 men, that control will be gone... 

My worries don't materialise - we withdraw Taylor to deserved rapturous applause and we regroup. The free kick comes to nothing and neither does anything else. There's a couple of routine saves from BPF, a couple of horrible efforts from Posh where they might have done better - at some point (may have been before the red, I'm not sure) BPF makes a good low stop from a close range effort but overall we keep them at bay, more than anything, we frustrate them and long before the whistle actually goes, it's clear that they don't believe they're going to score. We even manage a few breaks, the tireless Anderson charging up the pitch, CJ setting Bloxham away with a very clever pass into space before he himself ends up up front. We even have a spell of just knocking it around, almost like a good football team... 

When the final whistle goes, the relief is sheer but for once this year, the appreciation of the performance as well as the outcome is there. It's a deserved victory, not simply because we've played well, but because we've shrugged off setbacks and played well in different ways. 

--- 

It's been a great game. I'm not getting carried away, because Peterborough have defended like we've defended for large parts of the season and there's more teams that play like Stevenage than play like Peterborough - but at the same time, it's been brilliant to see us play in practice something like the rhetoric has spoken of - we were on the front foot, we were brave, we attacked in a pack and we had relationships across the pitch - something we've struggled with so much. Anderson and Brown held and went impeccably, they were like pistons in a machine, Clarkson in with those two grafting for him looked real quality, one moment where he shimmied, checked his run, stepped sideways and then held a pass, before releasing the absolutely perfectly weighted ball was something from a beautiful dream, he's got magic in his boots. Walters was strong and solid, Bloxham as good as he's been in a 'Pool shirt and Taylor the quality up front that we hoped he'd be in summer. There wasn't a poor performance from anyone. 

We're nearly there - but we're not there yet... The last month has been much better, we've fought, the quality of our play has gradually improved too. There's still so many questions - but today did show something that can give us hope in the performances of some of our players and our ability to use them to their strengths. 

Knowing how the incident in the North West corner appears to have turned out casts a shadow over it all though. A football crowd is many things and many different people, with many different backgrounds and beliefs but football is one of the few things that binds people in collective experience. It's a tragic afternoon and the tragedy of others always speaks of our shared mortality. 

Football is escape, it's where we forget and where we dream. It's the joy of seeing players live what we can't, it's the bond of being in a crowd, it's the ludicrous meaning in a life that often feels empty or routine. It's what we look forward to in the midst of toil and it's the collective madness we all indulge in, to walk into the stadium and immerse ourselves in whatever happens, cocooned, cut off from outside, knowing that we'll walk out again, blinking back into the real world, full of joy, frustration or whatever. It's made what it is by all of us, by everyone.

Every Blackpool fan, every football fan can only offer condolences, thoughts and sadness. 

RIP Seasider. 


 You can follow MCLF on facebook, Twitter, Bluesky, Threads 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.

Home-Start Blackpool Food Bank

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 - but 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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Breathing Space? - the Mighty vs Exeter

Don't get me wrong, I'd rather we weren't in a relegation battle - but I've quite enjoyed the ending of this season. I mean, yes, on balance, I'd prefer it if we were heading into the latter stages of the Champions League and holding a 12 point lead at the top of the Premier League - but that will have to wait a few years yet and scrapping for your life brings a certain existential energy to it all. 

The squalls of rain and gusts of wind blow around early season holiday makers and late season football fans alike. It's blue sky, it's grim sideways wetness. It's Blackpool in April... A steady trickle of tangerine from the station, gathering numbers down Central drive and finally, as the tributaries convene on the estuary of Bloomfield Road, it's a torrent, a forceful, expectant body surging up to and against and finally through the turnstiles. It's a good sign for the future of the club - if the town will turn out in force for a relegation fight then it's really something that should be viewed as an unequivocal positive. It's amazing what a kick up the arse the last few weeks have been. 

The optimism leaves me nervous. Everyone seems to think we'll win. I can hear bold predictions all around. I'm not sure. I feel some of that hope - Exeter are not very good, they're an aging side in freefall and going on reputation alone, you'd probably pick more or less all of our team over more or less all of theirs - but that's exactly why I'm nervous.

This is us. If we can Blackpool it up, we will. 

--- 

I'm immediately heart-broken that there's no Josh Bowler, an absence which only sends me deeper into concern. On the pitch though, we might not have electricity, but we do have pace and attacking intent. It feels like forever since I've actually had some chances and positive football to write about but today, we actually play *quite well* for a decent spell and it's lovely to behold. 

I say 'lovely' - I mean 'deeply frustrating for quite a long time' because, whilst the front three of Bloxham and CJ outside of Super Ashley Fletcher looks potent and the change to a more aggressively attacking set up is very welcome, we keep squandering chances...

We're absolutely carving them up in the channels. CJ is rolling back the years to when he wasn't a utility full back but a direct and attacking winger, Bloxham is looking far more comfortable for having a bit of width and freedom in his game rather than just going up the middle. We win early corners and that gets the ground up and behind the team and from there, the scene is set for an out Blackpool bombardment... 

First, CJ is in, Walters spinning a ball up the line, CJ peeling away, taking a touch and hitting it low and hard but the onrushing keeper smothers it. It's all about CJ again, good work from Honeyman and there's Hamilton away, this time going wide, hitting the byline and a low pull back, there's a scramble as Fletcher has a chance and Exeter at full stretch block it, but it pops up for Joel Randall, who seems to only need the most simple of touches to guide it home and, as he connects, I'm tensing everything in preparation for the moment of release, the leaping, punching delight of a goal, but instead, I'm falling, literally onto my knees, head in my hands as the loanee guides the ball wide and somehow, we're not in front... 

Hamilton wins a free kick after a good high press robs Exeter in a dangerous area. Jordan Brown aims for Horsfall, who nods it back, it's an inviting touch and James Husband looks set to answer it positively, coming from deeper onto the dropping ball and again, I'm ready for this, all goals are great goals, but a goal from Jimbo and I'm probably on the pitch to be honest... but instead of delight, Husband is cursing himself and sinking to his knees as if imitating me from a few minutes earlier and the ball is in the South Stand and I'm turned around looking at the guy behind me as we share a moment of silent 'why do we do this?' frustration... 

A shake of the head and it's forgotten. The noise is great. Seaside. Barmy Army. We Follow Blackpool FC. We Come From The Seaside... more pressure down the flanks - Honeyman bursting forward, he's industrious today, him and Brown own the midfield, it's the first time in forever that we've actually taken control of the centre of the pitch and we look so much better for it. A corner... 

...It's swung in, I've got a theory that the Horse would be terrific as a target man. If we could sign him again and play him at both ends of the pitch that would be ideal - just as his touch in taking down Brown's corner is, it's brutally delicate, basically as near to a moment of Madine as you can get without the great man himself putting down his can of Stella to flick one perfectly round the corner for Jerry... here are, the Horse about to score a truly beautiful goal, he's going to burst the net and this is going to be glorious

The Horse leans back, kicks the ball like, well, a horse to be honest,,, and ball ends up in row Q.

He trots back to his defensive duties.

This is looking worryingly like it might not be our day. It has 'sucker punch' written all over it. It would be absolute peak 'Blackpool' to dominate a game to this extent and then for Exeter to score a breakaway goal after having done absolutely nothing. 

That, thank all the known ideas of god/gods isn't the case. Walters looks up, he dinks a curling ball, CJ leaps, it evades both him and the defender, Bloxham has found a channel, his run takes him on to it, there's a moment of 'what happens now?' but before the situation can evolve, Bloxham is lifting the ball, the keeper completely cut out by the chip and I've got time to think 'that's going in!' and then to assess again, before it drops over the line and relief and delight washes over the stadium. 

It's more than deserved - if we hadn't got at least one goal as a reward for the dominance we've shown, it would have been ridiculous but a sublime finish has saved us all from that fate. 

Still the game is open, a long ball from the keeper, a flick from Fletcher and CJ is spinning and firing just over. 

Finally, Exeter make something. They've looked as weak as anyone who has turned up at Bloomfield Road this season but when they put a few passes together, they actually don't look bad and they play an incisive move, out from the back, around a bit in midfield, down the right and then Wareham on the end of it forces a good, athletic leap from BPF to tip it over.  

--- 

It's been almost all us, barring a little spell of pressure at the end. I'm certainly not turning my nose up at the first half performance - it was everything you'd hope for in this sort of game barring the end product. We could and should be further ahead and it's very rare that we've felt thus this season. We've looked comfortable more or less all over the pitch - the back four have coped well despite it being a bit cobbled together - in fact, there's only really Fletcher (who looks leggy, a bit fatigued perhaps) and Randall who is, (one glorious control, spin and pass aside) frustratingly neither here nor there, not really grabbing the game, not really disrupting the game, just kind of 'in between' play

The Youth Cup winners get a pleasing reception and I'm reminded of my age as it seems 5 minutes since I was watching Blinks (who looks really happy with the noise made as his lads parade the cup) play

--- 

We start well and Fletcher comes close with a header - but if we were feeling happy with life, then BPF does his level best to banish any complacency a few minutes later. Exeter put one into the box and what looks a routine gather turns into a jump scare moment as the ball is spilled, his response is quick though and he tries to smother it, but the ball escapes again and thankfully Jimmy puts his boot through it and we breath again. 

Brown intercepts, drives forward, we work the ball wide to CJ, once again he goes inside and this time he smashes it, the keeper does well, but we win it back, work it to Coulson who flicks his lovely hair, readjusts his headband and lines up an arrowing drive that moves, dips, swerves, but doesn't quite do enough to nestle in the top corner... C'mon Pool! 

For the first time, we fall into a lull. Exeter work the ball around, we start to chase shadows. Where we'd dominated, we now look second best. The Grecians aren't exactly storming into the box at every opportunity, but it feels like the balance of the game has changed. We take off Bloxham and put Ennis on. I'm not sure this really works - Bloxham has done a good job today but Ennis finds it hard to make the ball stick to him. The ineffective Randall is replaced by the little dynamo Clarkson. Fletcher makes way for Taylor who doesn't have a lot of opportunity but has a few touches that scream class. Honeyman picks up a booking and is replaced by Anderson. I like Karoy but Honeyman had a little bit of calm on the ball and Anderson only ups the chaos - sometimes that's exactly what you need, but today - in the last 20 mins we're begging for someone to just take a moment and slow it down and that's not what we get. 

Still, there's chances - after being under pressure for what feels like far too long, Clarkson shows that little moment of vision we need - a velvet touch and a sublime piece of vision on the edge of his own box to play a short pass to Anderson who has the whole pitch to run into, he charges right up the middle, just as it looks like he's going to take it on, he offloads to the onrushing CJ who smashes it into the side netting before being cleaned out... 

If we'd been largely comfortable at the back, that changes when Exeter roll out their giant veteran forward Josh Magennis and suddenly set plays and corners feel more risky. Husband is outjumped, even Horsfall struggles to win his duels. This blog is nothing if not a fan of the big physical gnarly old target man role and once again, I wonder why we don't have anyone comparable within our options and why I'm left with only the Horse for such worship... (when the Horse takes on and beats three players in a wonderful random run when we're under pressure in the second half, I do wonder if he's the greatest player ever to play professional football) 

It's getting scrappy. Ennis is forced to fight in the corner defensively. Clearances are skewed. It's clear that if we'd got calmer minds, we could probably spring a break at any moment but no one is calm, there's just too much on this. We chuck on Ollie Casey and CJ is serenaded off the pitch. Say what you like, but this lad has now played left wing, right wing, left back, right back AND centre forward in less than 3 full games and he's done alright in all of them. His versatility has been key in helping us set up - CJ plays all over the shop and that lets others play in the right place. Yes, CJ lacks in what CJ lacks, but if we stay up, he's been as big a part of this run in working out as anyone. 

There's lads at the back of the Kop, spinning their tops round their heads. There's every clearance and anything even half decent by 'Pool being cheered to the rafters. Imagine this place if we actually won something. 

Exeter are throwing their goalie forward. If I'm a fan of big target men, I'm an even bigger fan of the keeper going up for corners, though today, I don't want any Jimmy Glass shit thank you very much. A weak punch by our keeper, the ball drops horribly for an Exeter shirt.... and thank fuck... is lashed wide. A huge sigh of relief because for moment there I could see the net billowing and feel the deflation in the air all around. C'mon Pool!!

(There's a moment where Peacock Farrell dallies taking the resulting goal kick where it's pointed out that if he just put his foot through it quickly instead of time wasting, he might actually score and I'm left mourning the opportunity to see and celebrate such a goal.)

Finally we do get that break but it's Ollie Casey on the charge who runs it into the corner. He does brillinatly, winning a throw and eating up a minute or so on the resulting scuffling. Exeter have time for one more lump into the box, it's headed away and the ref... (who feels more like he should be fronting some kind of Channel 5 lifestyle programme than running around a football pitch and unusually for a League 1 ref seemed up with the play, to want the game to flow and to talk constantly to the players) ... blows the whistle. 

--- 

Absolute delight at full time. 

To have not won that game would have been sheer heartbreak. Again, it's madness to take too much away from only just beating a side that literally haven't won a match for a third of a season - but there was a bit in that game to show we can go at teams and take control. There's also no doubt that, when the pressure has really come to boiling point, they've managed to find the togetherness and fight that was lacking and that as supporters, we've rallied to that. 

I've also liked that we're now using different systems and taking on opponents with different ideas. We've not really done that regularly since Critchley 1.0 and whilst, I do see the argument for 'the steering wheel' approach, it also must put doubt in the oppositions minds if you don't know what you're going to get - and for about the first 30 mins it looked as if Exeter had been totally caught out by us setting up in a way they either didn't expect or couldn't counter. I don't know if Thommo has brought a calmness or objectivity or just a voice of reason - but there's definitely a happier camp for him being in it and it feels as if we're using the players as they are instead of trying to make them what we wished they were. 

We're not done - it's a worry to be missing Bowler because he's the genuine bit of potential quality in any game, I also think Ennis probably needs to stop playing as soon as possible and get into rehab for whatever is restricting his movement - we still need another win, maybe 4 points overall to feel we can breathe and start thinking of next season. This season can't be over quick enough, it's been one of the dampest squibs you can think of and the summer brings a lot of questions both on and off the pitch - but all that said, I've loved us again for the last few games because, regardless of the football or the league position, a packed Bloomfield Road and a Blackpool victory is the best thing in the world.

Onward 

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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 - but 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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One moment is all it takes - the Mighty vs Burton Albion

7 years and 19 days ago, as I walked up Bloomfield Road, I didn't know if I still cared. I didn't know if I'd really feel anything. Estrangement, distance. Other things take priority. What was once the centre point of so many weekends reduced to an occasional glance at the phone, generally ambivalent about the outcomes it showed. I was obviously beyond happy that that lot had gone, but did I really have the actual football still in my heart? I wasn't sure. 

I even wondered whether I should turn up... Maybe football was something I used to do. Perhaps I'd left it behind. We change. We grow. Once upon a time I drunk bottles of cheap cider in a bus stop and called that a night out. Not any more. We shouldn't be defined by what we used to do.

Within a few seconds of walking in, I knew... there was no question about it.

We were home. 

What a day it was. Noise from the end to the beginning. My lad, wide eyed at everything. Me, equally wide eyed except for the moments when I might have had some grit in them. The release. The justification. The joy at the long fight being over. The last minute shambles of a goal that meant very little being greeted like an all time moment in the dying seconds of a world cup final at the Maracana.

I never think I'll experience anything like it again - Once more, I salute those whose sacrifices and indefatigable will and energy got us to the point it did.

Now, that's quite enough sentiment. It's all about today.

We don't have the luxury of the match being a mere backdrop. Sure, the occasion is the thing and it's one of those Sky Sports era, everything *means so much to everyone all of the time* ideas to believe that relegation would be *the end of all things and the heat death of the entire universe" but let's be clear - all the above said, having a nice party whilst the team slips into the basement league isn't what it's about for anyone. 

Even the most even minded and sanguine Blackpool fan couldn't simply shrug their shoulders if we went down this season. We've thrown a lot at it and very little has stuck. The last few games though, there's been just a hint of *something* finally beginning to adhere. Today, we're playing Burton Albion - a non league team whose best player is Jake Beesley - a fella who carries himself on the football pitch with the vibe of a helpful bloke at B+Q who will carry your timber to the car whistling and give you a thumbs up as you drive away. What I'm trying to say here is, I really liked Bees and he tried very hard for us and did fairly OK all things considered - but I'm not sure he's quite at Harry Kane levels in terms of overall danger. 

---

The team is not exactly what I'd expected. The game is not what anyone had dreamed of. Last week, Cardiff gave a good impression of a boring Pepball team, knocking it around, not really cutting us open, keeping possession for the sake of possession. People often look at that kind of football and wistfully remark that 'proper football' isn't like that. Today was probably the antidote to such thoughts. Burton Albion had no pretensions of tikitaka technique but the game made the Cardiff match seem like a fever dream of quality and ambition. 

The first half is awful. Nothing seems to happen. The ball is permanently in the middle of the pitch and bouncing. The game is one big shirt pulling grappling match that neither side seems to ever come out of the other side of. The referee is also awful, whistling at far too much, except when he isn't. He marches about determinedly spoiling the game with his eagles eyed decisions, whilst missing simple things, like the most blatant backpass I've ever seen picked up by the keeper and a surreal interlude where he stops play with us in possession and restarts it by dropping the ball at a Burton man's feet. Those running the line don't seem particularly interesting in whether the ball goes out of play or not. 

Time wasting in the first 5 minutes is never a sign that it's going to be a feast of football. I don't really blame them, they've come for a point and that's perfectly valid. There's a body of evidence built up over the season that says 'if you come and disrupt Blackpool and don't concede, at some point, they'll gift you a goal (or two) and you'll go home happy' so you can't really blame the away side for giving that a go. They chuck in a few long throws, they have a few corners. Casey (who quite soon has to go off injured) makes an excellent tackle to take away one moment where they look like they've got in. Ravizzoli does perfectly well with anything within his auspice and his kicking is simple, but crisp enough. Brown has to make an early foul and take a yellow to stop a break - but they don't really cause any great horrors for us. 

Going forward, we're a bit more ambitious than them but we're still pretty limited. I can't remember an awful lot apart from Fletcher having a shot from the edge of the box that beats the keeper but gets ruled out. No one knows why, but as the players don't kick up much fuss, we presume something happened that we didn't see. We try to play, but the midfield, though competing isn't able to dominate and there's no space as they're so deep.

The wind is as big a presence as any individual - Bowler has a little spark of inspiration, jinking, turning and then knocking what initially seems to be a wonderful ball across the pitch for CJ, but the wind kills the moment and does the job of the Burton defence. A couple of times we run up the edge of their box and fall over, but nothing gives. The Horse plays a truly glorious raking ball forward, putting in CJ who pulls it back nicely but for no one. As the half draws to a close, we finally put on a bit of pressure, a chain of corners, a Husband cross that Fletcher meets and the keeper beats away and then a great bit of play from Bowler, fighting for the loose ball, getting a cross in and a chance at the far post that no one can quite reach. It's a lift to the crowd - but as the whistle goes, neither side has created anything especially convincing. 

---

I've not got a great deal to say. It's been a hard watch. 

---

Despite a reasonably promising start, where the Mighty put a few passes together and move towards the right goal, the second half is possibly even worse than the first. The Burton keeper drops an innocuous ball in the swirling wind - Randall tries to chip him as it come out to the edge of the box, but he simply lifts it into the keepers arms. 

After that, what was a poor game devolves further. Burton have a bit more play and cause a few more problems. The otherwise immaculate Horsfall takes a yellow card for a clear trip as their forward gets wrong side of him and their midfielder looks to put him through. For a moment I wonder if we might see a red but happily we don't. 

Ravizzoli has a similar moment, inexplicably punching a cross down into a melee instead of up and away but like Horsfall, he's reprieved as the ball is hacked about and harmlessly away. They lump some long throws into the box, they fall over a lot and frustration grows. CJ dozes as a ball through challenges him and they nip past with too much ease. Happily, Hamilton wakes up quickly and gets back and gets a toe in. 

The frustration is growing. The ground is getting tetchy. It's been a day of support but the football is trying the patience. We hack it away, they hack it back. There's nothing resembling any quality. Ennis comes on and it makes no obvious difference, though CJ does well to find him with a cross and Ennis works the keeper, but of course, the ref blows his whistle for no reason at all. Anything that looks like it might even half happen seems to be whistled to death or blown away in the wind. 

C'mon Pool. The minutes begin to tick away. It's cold. The festival vibes are now ones of increasing desperation. A draw at home to Burton isn't enough. This is a game we have to win. Bowler goes off. I wonder to myself at the time (not aware that Bowler's got a knock) about the wisdom of taking off the best pure footballer we possess and leaving on CJ... 

Dale Taylor makes a difference. His touch looks good, he's powerful and quick too, he's disrupting their centre backs despite being half a foot shorter than them, one little flick header is a glorious piece of football if Ennis reads it, but the two aren't yet in tune so it's just a touch to nowhere and no one. 

Still the clock ticks on. Pool are upping the tempo and Taylor is running about like Jerry Yates - but we're not really making anything definitive happen. The eighties go by. The nineties start. The fourth official lets us know there's eight minutes added on and there's a roar... 

A long kick, Ennis, scrapping, tumbling and touching it on to Clarkson. He's a lightweight but he's got vision and skill and, without really slowing his momentum, he controls, turning sharply as he does and, like a car pulling a handbrake u turn, sending the chasing police skidding into the dirt, suddenly he's got yards of space. He uses it brilliantly, a glance up, he could surge for the box, but he sees that CJ is free and the pass is square, bisecting flailing Burton defenders and right into the path of Hamilton, who is now bearing down on goal.., 

... I expect Hamilton to pull it across, I even glance to see who is there to receive, but as I do, CJ pulls the trigger, a whipcrack of a shot, hit hard, low, precisely into the near post where the keeper isn't quite covering, maybe because the switch of play threw him, maybe because he also expects the pull back but to be honest... who cares why, because, seemingly, the ball is heading in and then, in a moment that seems to unravel very, very quickly, the ball is smacking into the back of the net and that realisation is followed by an explosion of joy and delight and pure fucking glorious ironic wonder that, of all people, it's CJ fucking Hamilton who is the darling of this packed crowd... 

There's a minute of absolute mayhem. Where else can you just scream your heart out and your throat raw? It's been a truly terrible spectacle - but the idea that football is simply 'spectacle' is such a stupid TV idea. Football is attrition and battle as much as it's glory and technique - football is suffering, punctuated by occasional wonder - and this goal... as players pile on each others shoulders and fans rush down to pile in and I'm still punching the air like a maniac and the lady in front of me turns and shouts 'CJ HAMILTON' and I reply with an unhinged scream and we both grin as if we've just had a perfectly normal interaction... is as beautiful and pure a thing as anything else in the game. 

Finally, it calms down. 60 seconds ago, 8 minutes seemed a blessing, but now, it seems a curse. 

We cope though, we cope quite well in fact. Burton didn't come with a plan to come at us at all - and as soon as they do, we actually look more dangerous than we'd seemed for most of the rest of the game. Taylor gets in around the side and his low shot forces a corner. Ennis has one he can't quite control. We deal with what they throw forward and we deal with what might have been a tricky late set piece. The referee seems to add on more time than he needs to, then, finally, a blast of the whistle, players sink to their knees or throw their arms up and the crowd explodes again. 

Job done. 

We love you Blackpool. We do. 

--- 

As, I think, will already be clear from the above, this was a really bad game of football. One side mostly sat in and disrupted, the other couldn't do a whole lot about that. I couldn't care less though, because eventually, the latter found a way and we took three points and that's seven from nine and our safety is now in our own hands. It's a long way from done, possible injuries to two of our best players don't help at all - but we're a lot better off than we were a couple of weeks back... 

Did we all play like football kings? No. Did we scrap, fight and stand our ground? Yes. We defended resolutely against the kind of threats that we've crumbled against too many times. I think Raul Walters deserves a shout for coming on for the established and popular Casey, slotting into a slightly unfamiliar central role and getting the job done, especially after what was a really shaky performance against Cardiff. Brown gave another decent performance and Honeyman's energy was crucial in the latter stages - he can seem slightly ineffectual at time to me, like a fly angrily buzzing into a window over and over - but when he's on it, he's dynamic and today, he really didn't let Burton start anything and tried to press/push us up the pitch and ran himself into the ground. 

The return of Taylor is a massive positive. He looked on it from the second he ran on and we need that. Ennis has gamely hopped around, but Evatt has now made clear that the underlying injury suspected by many is an actual bonafide fact. With that in mind, having Taylor isn't just a bonus for the team, it's something that may have a positive long term impact for Ennis - as playing too much on something that hurts and clearly restricts his movement and acceleration can't really be the best idea. 

The day though, like the homecoming, is about a late goal - but this time, one that meant more than just giving the occasion a fitting end.

To sum up the blog in a line: 90 minutes of utter tedium and then CJ... bang!.... Ole! Wonderful. 

Up the fucking MIGHTY POOL!!!!

Onward

You can follow MCLF on facebook, Twitter, Bluesky, Threads 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.

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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 - but 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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Electric Dream - the Mighty vs Port Vale

You forget what it's like when games matter. We've been drifting for so long that it feels like forever since a game really had anything significant on it. We all hoped at this point, we'd be nervously checking the top 6 rather than the bottom 4, but meaning is meaning however it comes around... Since Sunday evening I've been imagining tonight. In my head, it involves Josh Bowler weaving in and out of defenders, threading a tangerine line, pulling it tight and them all just toppling over as the head banded one does what the fuck he wants because he's actually that good. 

I know this isn't necessarily realistic - for one thing, we've collectively forgotten that the best right winger we've had in quite a long time is a right winger (imagine someone saying 'listen Stanley, dribbling and wizardry is all very well, but I see you as a kind of advanced '8' so I want you in tackling practice and to watch these videos on tracking during the counter press') and secondly whilst I've tried to imagine positive things this season (like maybe 3 or 4 passes being completed) actual manifestations of my desires have been few and far between. The season been less like seeing tangerine dreams come true and more like  watching a YouTube compilation of hilarious DIY disasters, things like cupboards falling on people's heads, doors falling out of their frames when opened, and walls being knocked down by accident - punctuated by the odd Ashley Fletcher consolation goal. 

Big Si has had his say. Should that matter? I don't know - but it feels like it does. It says 'he still gives a fuck' and we need to give a fuck because if we don't give a fuck, we're going down and that's not what anyone wants. The team is out. Josh Bowler plays, thank fuck and I don't mind the line up. I'm not sure about 442 but it is what it is and we're giving things a try so lets get on with it and get behind them come what may... 

--- 

How the fuck is it even possible to take this lot half seriously.

I've barely finished trying to work out who is playing where. I've hardly exchanged pleasantries with those around me and somehow Port Vale have scored already. This isn't going to be a blog where the facts are strictly followed because my view of the goal was basically - I wasn't paying any real attention, but then evidently someone on the pitch (Walters?) wasn't paying any attention either as the ball went from nowhere in particular to being in the middle of our box and BPF was making a save, then another save and then the ball went in anyway. 

It's like we've deliberately gone out and done the most 'Blackpool this season' thing we could think of to start the game. People say 'this team lacks identity' and I say 'there it is, right there, in that goal' 

Fucking hell. 

C'mon. Get a grip. 

There's a little bit more exhortation to each other on the pitch. The Kop keeps going, the drum keeps beating. We've folded too often, we need to pick ourselves up. There's no point moping. 

The first half is a test of the faith and patience of us all. It's split into roughly two types of moment. The first moment is how the 10 players who aren't Josh Bowler play - the ball is mostly smashed long and hopefully towards the front line. There's a fair bit of wresting and chasing of shadow. It's not all dreadful, Jordan Brown has put his boots on the right feet and is looking less on his heels and more dynamic but it's not exactly quality all round. The 11 players who also aren't Josh Bowler who play for Port Vale don't look a crack outfit either - they've scored, but they're also quite prone to just smashing the ball away like a school football team who've had to pick some lads who don't play football that much because half the year is on a residential trip. 

Then there's Josh. 

It's not that he's never played better than this, it's that we've so rarely seen this type of thing this year. A player, who knows what he's good at, simply doing that. There's a bit of control, it's like he's got sponge on the inside of his boot as he cushions it and brings it down, it even fucking spins back into his path, there's the shimmy, the dart infield, the little show of the ball and then the burst away and past - tempting, teasing, fooling. It ends with a give and a go and then it comes back to him - the shot is high and wide, but it's something, it's some belief, it's someone backing himself. 

Leadership isn't just screaming at people and telling them what to do - it's also about what you are willing to risk and showing that you'll take responsibility - Bowler might be a frivolous show pony who wants to dribble and shoot - but in a side that look terrified, his fearlessness is a glorious counterpoint, an inspiration, a flickering candle of hope - not just to those of us in the stands, but to the players around him as well - someone to pass to, someone to get on the ball, someone who has the beating of their opposite number - in a team with no target man to hold it up, a team without anyone with that searing turn of pace, a team with no one with the physical strength to just lever someone off the ball every time then maybe it's the bandy legged winger who might just be the key to the collective psychology of a group who've too often seemed too easily beaten and too accepting of it. Luxury player? Fuck that idea 50 times over. 

It's not fair though, to just say this is a show pony turning up and prancing. We fuck up in midfield and Bowler ends up chasing back in a situation that looks dangerously 2 on 1. A slide tackle, he's saved the day. He gets up, he checks the head band and he goes again. There's another shot from distance, there's more weaving, dipping of the shoulder. He's always available, he's neat and tidy with the ball and he mixes it up looking as if he's going to drive at goal every time with the odd through ball or touch off to someone else and keeps their confused defence on their toes. 

Maybe I'm going over the top - but it's quality in a season where we've been starved of it. It's like water in a drought. It's actually incredible to think that he's not started a game for us on the right wing when he's capable of looking this good. 

Other things happen. I almost don't need to say 'the ref and linesman are shite' - Their almost all either officious or essentially a random decision generator - and tonight's fell more into the latter category. Jordan Brown hits the post with a drive that I think the keeper gets a hand to and the frustration grows. The atmosphere is strange - it's like being at an Olympic event where a lot of people are watching, but aren't confident enough to really celebrate or bemoan what the competitors are doing because they're not sure about the rules - obviously, we understand the rules - but there's an unspoken sense that the team needs backing - but things aren't really working, so there's a kind of muted, controlled hum - no one wants to really let loose the frustrations, but there's not a lot to get behind and so the sound of oblivious kids is at some points loudest. 

--- 

Half time. Whilst I've got some of what I imagined in terms of Bowler's performance, Vale are yet to collapse in a heap as a result. I'm nervous. 

--- 

The game kicks of just as I come out from under the stand. On the way back to my seat, I stop to give my learned opinion to someone - 'I don't understand why Ennis is still on the pitch - I'd have hooked him and gone 433' - Super Niall has looked on his heels to me. The Ennis that is fully fit is a constant menace, he's on his toes, he's chasing down defenders, he's a constant nuisance. This Ennis (especially after 90 minutes on Saturday) has looked a passive yard off it to me.

Hence my insightful tactical wisdom. 

I look up, we've got the ball, with Bowler, close to goal, it's put across and YESSSSSSS! WE'VE FUCKING SCORED AND I'VE NO REAL IDEA WHAT HAPPENED BUT I DON'T FUCKING CARE BECAUSE THIS ISN'T AN ACTUAL FUCKING NEWSPAPER OR ANYTHING IT'S JUST ME WRITING SHIT ABOUT WHAT IT FEELS LIKE AND THAT FEELS FUCKING GLORIOUS TO SEE THE BALL IN  THE NET THAT BELONGS TO THOSE SHIT FUCKING NOT EVEN FROM A REAL PLACE ANYWAY NO SUCH THING AS 'PORT VALE' IS THERE, IT'S LIKE AN ENGLISH RAITH ROVERS AND WHO THE FUCK ARE RAITH ROVERS ANYWAY AND WHO CARES ABOUT THEIR STUPID CUP RUN THE FUCKING JORDAN GABRIEL THIEVING BASTARDS !!! 

YESSSS! 

A lady who has listened into my conversation of literally 10 seconds earlier smiles at me. "Ennis scored it" 

What the fuck do I know?

Nothing. 

C'mon Pool...

There's a fire been lit now. The noise has solidity, certainty, body to it. We knock it around better. We look something approaching confident. We play something half resembling football and have something that you might call 'a spell' 

Then what I can only describe as the most 'this season' thing you can think of (aside from conceding a first minute random shit goal for no reason) where Vale get down their left, it's as if we've got no right sided defence at all, pop in a cross and someone turns the ball into the roof of the net and the world collapses in on itself. The ground crumples up into a tiny ball and I'm left, staring down at it thinking, I should just pick this up and toss it into the bin because, frankly, that's all this is good for. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. 

FUCKS SAKE POOL! 

Deep breath. C'mon. This is Blackpool. This is us. Everyone thinks their team makes it harder than it needs to be, but they don't support Blackpool so they don't have a clue. We're not losing this. We're not not winning this. C'mon. 

The world is still here. The ground is uncrumpled, creases smoothed out. The game resumes. Trying to explain what happened thereafter, is going to be hard. I just stood there, rubbed my chin nervously, just wanting us to score, wanting it so much. Details are vague... 

Evatt makes subs. Honeyman goes off - he struggles tonight, it was as if he tried to play about three positions and ended up between them all. Randall too, he was in a kind of left wing role that didn't give him a lot of joy and Coulson who did ok I think. On comes Karoy (who has a good cameo, bringing a certainty and energy), CJ and Clarkson 

I'm listing the subs because the game just isn't there in my brain. My memory is nerves, hope and wondering 'is this actually in any way enjoyable?' and then also thinking 'there's nothing in my life that remotely comes close to captivating me like this does' 

At one point, the really big lump Port Vale have up front manages to wrestle both Casey and Walters out of the way at the same time and turn and shoot. It's not a great shot, but it's something we lack horribly. That physical threat, that back to goal player. We've got a midfield crying out for that sort of thing sometimes. 

More subs. These aren't popular ones. Off goes Ennis who obviously, I'd have subbed before he scored and on comes Bloxham. The fresh legs do make some sense but it goes down like a lead balloon. Off goes Big Mike, gammy toe and all and then on comes the superstar game changer that is *checks notes* ... James Husband? 

Has Evo gone mad? 

The answer is no. 

A ball slid into Bloxham. The man from a 15th century Shropshire farm does brilliantly, leans in, shields it, spins, slips his man and then squares it and who should be there, just hanging around, but the jazz man himself, Ashley 'don't actually give a fuck any more me and I'm a lot happier for it' Fletcher who turns it home and I could lean back and fall forever into a moment like this because it's made of sheer relief and like exhaling when you've been holding your breath for longer than you really should ever hold your breath. 

We have some corners and stuff. Things that usually happen happen, like CJ running into someone or BPF booting the ball to where there isn't anyone, but we've got the general momentum. I keep looking at the clock. At some point, one of the corners is met by Husband who absolutely meets it with force but it's blocked or parried or something. Whatever, it doesn't go in...  I notice how engaged Bowler is in this game. He's talking, pointing, clapping. He's having little words with people, he's touching gloves with BPF after a scary moment where BPF comes at the last possible moment. 

All of this is very interesting, but I just want a goal. I want a goal so much. 

A corner. Jimmy has been running wide and deep at every corner. Bowler stands there. There's a pause, calm before the storm whips the box into a swirling whirlpool of bodies darting, checking and turning, tangling, pulling and surging. The corner is deep, it's good, Husband goes round the outside again, he's got free, he hits it and FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!

YES!!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! 

I haven't celebrated a goal like this for a while. Of all the people. Of all the players to make this moment. 

Here's the thing. I recently had to scrap my car. I really liked my car. It wasn't an amazing or hugely special car, it wasn't expensive or hugely desirable. I just liked it - and sadly the underbody and subframe had corroded to a point that it was dangerous and it was definitely beyond repair. There was a very real prospect it would fall to bits at any point if I carried on driving it. I was really sad when I dropped it at the scrapyard, because I'd spent a lot of time with that car, I'd done a lot of miles in it and it had been a good car. Cars can't run on memories though and nothing lasts forever... 

Hopefully, you can see that isn't simply some information about me that means literally fuck all to anyone, but is actually a cunning metaphor for how I've recently felt watching Jimmy's travails... and to see that moment and to see some sort of redemption for him, I couldn't be fucking happier. Jimmy has done something decent - even if my car is by now a cube. 

(The fact some jobsworth pedant later gave the goal to Raul Walters is neither here nor there - this blog does not run on facts but raw emotion and misplaced optimism and loyalty - don't be a fucking dick about it either, because if you didn't run on those things too, then you'd have given up on this lot some time ago.) 

Now the rest of the game.

There's 7 minutes left. This is a team not built to defend who've taken off most of the defensive players. I start to irrationally panic that we've scored too early as if we've got the fucking luxury of scoring when we choose. 

BPF does some ridiculous thing chesting the ball down and letting it bounce instead of just catching it and I shout 'DON'T FUCKING PISS ABOUT KEEPER' so that's him told. Husband shadows the ball back but he doesn't come and get it so Jimmy kicks it out of play instead. I feel sick. I feel faint.  

Half the team have forgotten how to kick a ball. Clearances are flat or spooned or sliced. Tommy Bloxham is galloping around like a schoolkid on a race to find all the treasure in a school activity he's over excited about. He's absolutely wound up in a way he's not really been very much. There's an endearing moment where Evo appears and exhorts them 'forward' and Bloxham picks up on the message and runs about waving his arms, beckoning them all wildly, as if trying to shepherd some animals across a road. Karoy belts a few away with a reassuring thump. I almost throw up in my mouth as one of the Vale subs looks like he's got in, but he does a little step over that wasn't really needed and that lets someone get back and force him wide. 

CJ makes a sliding tackle. CJ gets up and chases and gets a block in. I'm worried because CJ has done two good things, so potentially the next thing is a disaster - but no, CJ heads the ball away, not once but twice.

People are leaving. I can't comprehend it.  

There's a break where Bloxham gets cut down and then we do a weird thing from the free kick, kicking it straight out into the corner, like kicking for touch in rugby. I don't get that at all - but then, Vale try and get out, the ball comes out, it's down the other side now, I'm checking the clock again and again and then there's a wrestle and a free kick to us and it's celebrated like the final whistle but it's not and the ground is up, the noise swirls, the game goes on and even now I'm thinking, don't take this for granted it's not over and then... 

mercifully
blissfully
joyously 

It is over. 

Thank fuck for that. 

--- 

No one could pretend that this was a 'turning point' where the team clicked and everything was perfect. There is no 'turning point' in this season - all that matters is the results. I don't care how, we just need to get over the line. Style? Fuck style. It was 3 beautiful points. It was some fight, some unity, some character in getting back up twice and turning the game round.  

There was some long hair and white boots eccentric quality in the midst of it all and that quality impacted. Aside from the bits where he stood out, at one point in the second half, Bowler had 3 players on him when he got the ball. That opens up space for others. We built Championship wins against very good teams around the fact they couldn't ignore him or even risk leaving him man to man and to have finally tried him where he fits best gives us a definitive strength we didn't have before tonight and should give others opportunity too because of his ability to pull teams out of shape. That's something positive to work on. 

Whether we've got anyone to play on the left, I don't know. Randall or Clarkson - they should have enough about them to make that work to some degree - maybe they need a little time to get into the groove, neither of them have had any consistent run. 

Tonight though, isn't about tactical triumphs or analysis - (though, Evo shoved the booing of his subs back at us) - it's just about having done enough to get the points. Cardiff will be a totally different test, Burton another thing again. Port Vale are cut adrift at the bottom and we can't be complacent or sloppy or celebrate it too much, we have to keep going, build on this and most of all, fight where we need to and get the ball to Bowler and then take it from there. 

Onward
 

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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 - but 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.

 Tweet You can follow MCLF on facebook or Twitter 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. Home-Start Blackpool Food Bank

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