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...
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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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