One step forward, two steps back - the Mighty vs Stockport County

I'm tired. This game has come too quickly. I want to bask in the (relative) glory of Saturday a little longer, feel a tiny bit of optimism in my veins. I'm not ready for another game, let alone another game against a side who, of late seem to have our number.

I blame Gary Megson.

Cunt. 

At least it's not pissing down. That's a very English observation but I am English and this is England so it's valid. I fancy us if we can turn it into a football match but less so if it's a fight in a storm so the easing of the weather across the day is a sign that the forces of the universe are tangerine at heart***. 

Possibly. When I think about our injuries and the hopeless luck of Andy Lyons, it seems less like whatever deity is in charge is smiling on us. Maybe it's a polytheistic world. The Greek gods were always falling out with each other over stuff so perhaps Achilles** is a PNE fan and whoever* is god of the weather a seasider. 

*I've Googled it and it seems there's multiple gods who do different weather stuff including Zeus... 

**Classical scholars (I'm sure there's many, many of them reading) may wish to note I know that Achilles isn't the god of unfortunate footballing injuries but it's too tempting a pun. Ha ha. #jokes #banter #ffsthisisshit - Apparently, there is no specific injury tsar but Oizys deals with misery and distress and the Algea, (me neither, never heard of either of them) misery and pain. The man we seem need is Asclepus, god of healing and medicine. (who knew?) Tbh, I'd settle for Phil Horner.

***This opening I wrote before the game. God, the gods, physics or whatever it is that controls stuff is clearly out to make our collective lives a misery. 

---

Anyway, football. I'm not sure I'd have picked this team. I quite liked having two actual strikers and whilst I still love Josh, (I'll always love Josh) he's been more the ghost of Josh than the electric one of late and I really like Randall so there we go. 

We start almost straight away with a sharp move from County and a low drive wide. They look purposeful. Tightly coiled, energetic. For a little while we live with them and there's a game. CJ chases one down, pulls it back and Bloxham screws wide. Bowler, a sharp turn, a moment that speaks of what I wish he'd do every time he gets it, but County are back in his face the second he's got a bit of space and the through ball is wild as a result. 

Someone is down. It's fucking Honeyman. We don't need this. Jaunty openings about injuries and divine will aside, it's just one thing and then another thing. Lee Evans has come on. Now, you can find plenty of opinion on Lee Evans elsewhere - all I'll say is, he doesn't bring the same kind of energy to a game that Honeyman does and leave it at that...

Still, there's hope isn't there? A ball over top.. Bowler has wriggled away,... He's on the charge, for a split second we're in the Championship again and Josh is bearing down on goal, the ground is full and every nerve is jangling... We're not though. The ground is half empty, we're silent and sullen and Bowler hasn't got the burst of pace or the belief and he hesitates, indecision cursing through his nerve ending and he plays it Bloxham, who isn't really free and the shot is part blocked and loops up and away, harmless. 

The excitement pretty much ends there. 

County hit the bar. A swerving shot after a flat clearance. Their fans are the sound of a team and a club on a steady upward climb, together, noisy, confident. The 'ooooh' they make as the ball smacks the woodwork is louder than any sound we make all night. 

A period of sloppy passes. Evans looks cool, a touch and turn, like a lower league Zidane, but the effect is somewhat undermined by the fact the ball barely leaves his foot and leaves Zac Ashworth treading water trying to reach it. We can't put anything together. CJ as usual is getting moaned at but we're all shit. 

Stockport wander up the pitch. No one does anything till Bowler runs at the man with the ball. A simple pass cuts him out the game. A ball in. A runner, a header, no chance the keeper gets anywhere near it. Not even an attempted challenge after Bowler's doomed effort on halfway. Too easy. It looked like the first team playing the youth team. 

...then, shortly afterwards, nothing much happening, pass, pass, diagonal run, low shot. Goal. Far, far, far too fucking easy. There's nothing else to say. They literally just made a few passes, they didn't even appear to be especially cute passes and then scored.

AAAAAAARGH. 

We're 2-0 down and both goals seemed to owe a lot to a great big space in the middle of the pitch. Usually teams have some people there who try and stop the other team scoring, but we seem to have not bothered with that.

Well done everyone. 

What do we muster... ? What's the sum total of our spirited response? How do we get the fans back on side? I can think of a cross that looked vaguely like something round about the right sort of thing, CJ runs into someone and everyone groans, but fucking hell, if you think the problem with this club is literally 'CJ' then you aren't paying attention to the 4 years of solid decline are you? At least he didn't pass it back to the keeper which seemed to do every other time we got the ball. Bloxham runs after a long ball... we win a throw in. Start the party.

I can't cite anything resembling a shot or a decent move. The yawning void in midfield remains. County make chances, we look miles off. 

--- 

I don't know how to fix this. I'm going to have to say 'bring back Gary Madine' because actually, would it really be any less effective if we just battered it at big Gaz as he stood still and threw defenders about? Probably not. 

---

Evatt has shifted things about - we seem to be playing 433 - Randall is on for CJ on the left of the attack. We chase a few back to the keeper. I think 'well, ok, he's done something' and hope that it works. 

There's a sickening crunch between BPF and their attacker as they both go to meet a ball forward. All we need now is another injury. Mercifully the keeper is ok. The Stockport man isn't. I think about how vicious crowds as I notice that my first thought is not 'I hope he's not hurt' but 'fuck, the sub keeper has been awful'

We don't need to wait long for another injury though. Randall's hamstring has gone. He's played less than 90 minutes for us overall and he's broken. For fucks sake. I'm actually lost for words. Ennis comes on and on we go. Do we have to? We could just call it 2-0 and walk off surely? 

A County player limps off. It doesn't seem to impact them. They are a machine and their bench is made of spare parts, oil and grease. We're a fucking bundle of rags and sticks and our bench is a tatty split carrier bag and some pocket lint. The metaphor doesn't make any sense but it's how I feel. Call it abstract poetry or something. 

Finally something resembles an attack. Ennis chasing onto a ball looks to be pulled back. We get a corner. Put the bunting out and all gather round and sing songs of joy and hope. Needless to say nothing happens from the corner because nothing ever happens from our corners. 

A minutes applause. I don't mean at all to be glib, but it's probably the highlight of the game. It's just a moment of togetherness in a tepid and tetchy crowd on a cold night. It's just a moment where you have to reflect on mortality and how when you're gone, the football goes on and how many people are all here, connected by the one thing. Football is such, it's something we share in life. Life is fleeting. RIP. 

During this, BPF makes a very good low save to his left, again the chance coming from allowing County space to get into the centre of the pitch, control things and shoot under no great pressure. No one seems to be bothered. I don't know why they aren't fucking raging at each other to get a fucking grip. 

The same thing happens again shortly after. BPF is just about the only candidate for 'wasn't shite' as he makes another save. 

You'll never guess what happened next. A player Blackpool FC recently signed did something. For 10 points, can you guess?

Was it a bit of skill? Did he earn the adulation of the supporters with a goal, a last ditch tackle, a brilliant dribble or a defence splitting pass? 

Which one was it? 

It's a trick fucking question!!! 

He got injured. Because that's what we do! 

Grant limps off, Brown goes to full back. Obafemi comes on. It doesn't seem to make any visible difference to anything. 

Husband miskicks, They're all over it, pull it back, shot from point blank range - BPF pulls off a wonder save. No one can really be arsed clapping him. It's really one of those nights. It been one of those seasons, it's been season up on season of going backwards... 

Then a moment of brief hope - Ennis has a one two with Fletch and puts the latter through. He looks certain to score and with 10 minutes to go, we might just shake them and anything could happen. Fletcher, calm as you like... rolls the ball wide. 

County fans are singing 'we're taking the piss' as they knock it about and generally look like scoring a third. I'm wondering why I'm still here. The ground is emptier by the minute. 

Finally, we have a shot on goal. In fact, we score. It's quite a good goal too, but it doesn't feel like a goal, more like something that happened before I went home that I sort of vaguely register. BPF launches it, Husband jumps and nods it across the box, Bowler is there, the ball bobbles up and he smashes it home. It would be a great moment if it mattered - but it doesn't. 

The whistle goes. I pretty much run out the ground. 

--- 

It was absolutely shit. We looked half arsed and without Honeyman had no bite at all in midfield, to the point where it felt we'd got two players in Evens and Brown who both wanted to sit deep and dictate which left, of all people, Josh Bowler running about trying to get the ball. That's the worst idea ever. 

County, I've made clear were good. 1-2 flattered us to be honest. There was no point after the first 10 minutes where I felt we had anything like a control of the game. There was no point where I felt like we threatened. Had Fletcher scored then who knows but it would have been a royal smash and grab job to get anything out of that and to be so outplayed at home feels deeply depressing as does the fact we've got more injuries and therefore we'll be playing either a new shape we've barely, if ever played or more players out of position. 

Evatt didn't get it right tonight - but we've been getting it wrong overall little by little for a long time and here we are, mired near the bottom of the league, in a position way below par for the budget we have. Questions don't start with Evatt - they start elsewhere and he needs time and patience. He wasn't my pick - but he's a serious man, a football man and he's got to have the time to do a job because others at the club have had a lot, lot longer and we've been served up an endless parade of changing ideas as we flit from one thing to another with no guiding idea and a load of half fit players. 

I'm beyond saying 'if we picked/dropped this player' or 'if we played/didn't play this formation' - we need to get a fucking grip as a club and decide what we are and be that and recruit players and managers accordingly and pull our fingers out of our arses and stop drifting along being shitter every season that passes because Evatt's inherited a directionless mess and it shows. Standards come from culture and context and it feels like we're nothing in that respect. It feels like we've no soul, no real energy. The crowd is dead, there's no real sense of 'Blackpool' meaning anything beyond 'some footballers who signed a deal and happen to play together and a manager who happened to be available' - the sum of the part is not adding up to be greater than the whole. 

FFS SAKE POOL.. 

We go again. 

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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Much Needed - the Mighty vs Northampton Town

The hangover of last night is becoming a little buzz fuelled by the hair of the dog. I'm early. I'm a bit spaced out. Joel Randall's legs look like the spindles from a particularly ornate Victorian staircase. Obafemi looks languid in the warm up game but then pulls a little bit of next level skill out of his locker and I get a jolt of excitement. I love players who look good in warm ups. Mind you, I was convinced that Emil Hansson was cheat code genius because he once hit a nice swerving shot  in a tracksuit top and that Joe Nuttall was certain to be a 25 goal a season striker as his physique on first sight seemed to scream 'goals! lots of them!' so it's not a fool proof talent spotting methodology.

This pitch, this place. A blaze of colour, grass looking rich and the tangerine resplendent. I could gaze on it forever. I've got a good feeling about today. I'm not stupid, I know it could all evaporate in the first 20 minutes but right now I'm in the place of foolish optimism and tangerine dreams. There's pace and skill on the pitch and players on the bench. There's CJ flippin' Hamilton... Ole! It seems impossible from this moment that we won't beat this weird purple opposition by 10 or 15 goals...  I really like that Evo has chucked all the new lads in. No pissing about, no 'getting them up to speed' - we need them, they need us, go and play football. 

---

The whistle goes, we're off. Almost instantly Ihiekwe is making a foul that speaks of shaky performances past and points to an afternoon the opposite of the one I've been foolishly dreaming of. A simple ball, the centre back all out of position and wrong side, lacking the pace to get back to where he needs to be makes a clumsy and obvious intervention. They load the box... here we fucking go. Same old shit, same old failings, same old disappointment and frustrations.

What was I thinking? 

It comes to absolutely nothing though. I'm watching Randall intently. He's exactly my type. I rarely covet opposition players, I rarely even notice their names, they have to be remarkably good or remarkably bad to register - but Randall stuck in my mind for a couple of highly intelligent, unusually classy performances for Peterborough. I love that Evatt covets him too, gushing in interviews about what he offers. Being a pathetic individual lack any real meaning or purpose in my life, I'd gone back and listened to the pre makeover Evatt talk about him when still trapped in the purgatory of being Bolton boss and his love for the flimsy but elegant midfielder was evident - I want skinny players with a glorious touch, I want players who haven't bulked up because they trust that a touch, a jink, a moment of vision is enough to put lumbering beasts on their arses, we're fucking Blackpool FC, not some run of the mill identikit nothing club in some run of the mill identikit nothing town - we sell dreams, escape, joy, not fucking cotton or coal or, I don't know... shoes... 

I'm caught in this reverie as the ball is launched, swerving at the last to drop for CJ. He's not going to trap this. It's going to bounce off him because that's what happens when it's CJ, he's all athlete and no technique.. but that isn't what happens because CJ (international Footballer) Hamilton not only takes the ball out the sky perfectly, he also drifts inside making a great angle for the kind of pass I've been dreaming of Joel Randall making, a perfectly weighted, beautifully disguised threaded through the eye of a needle (not just any needle either, one of those little ones where it seems impossible and the cotton always splits) ball to Randall himself. Am I still daydreaming and my mind has mixed up the image I have of Randall and superimposed it on CJ? Ole! 

Randall backheels first time, Fletcher tries to make space but his shot cannons away, Honeyman on the rebound, a shot, another block, Honeyman again, drags it wide then, picture perfect pose, like the action shot cover of some programme from days of yore, crashes a shout from 14 yards, on the angle, the keeper tumbles and is firmly behind it, but it won't stick and it bounces out again, Ashworth is waiting, a player who of late has shown a great deal of utility and who deserves a bit of glory, it drops just right, he doesn't think twice, laces through it and its struck a knee of a dizzied covering defender and ricoched into the roof of the net...YESSSSS! That's exactly the start we needed. C'mon Pool! We want 10! 

For a few minutes it does look like we might put them to the sword. Randall is finding space to run into and we're knocking it about with confidence. Obafemi is a little bit peripheral but there's busts of ridiculous pace and hustling charges, his squat, muscular body, a mix of sprinter and boxer resembling what might happen if you combined the assets of CJ and Kylian. The man of the moment though, a player who today, there literally ain't nobody better than on the pitch (and possibly the league) is Super Ashley Fletcher. 

A run down the line, some lovely control taking it in, a spin to keep the ball away, a lull as he teases, and then ball one side, Fletcher the other, swaying and vaulting an attempted tackle, surging and meeting the ball, it's beautiful. He's dropping deep, he's playing as a 10, he's playing where an 8 would sit at points and he's good enough to do this. He gets, he spreads it wide, he charges forward to be a striker once again, pulling their defence out of shape as he goes. In all the time I've watched this club, I struggle to think of a player who has had a turnaround like this lad has had. Players have had poor debuts or taken a few games to find the pace and gone on to good or great things(Adam, Keogh spring to mind) but Fletcher struggled for months, looked like a hopeless case, was literally laughed of the pitch at one point) and now, he looks better every week, an intelligent and increasingly complete footballer and one who makes it look easy, who strolls about, a jazz player finding pockets of space, playing clever rhythms and using the silence in a league of up and down 4/4 pub rockers

The enthusiasm for football and general joie de vivre doesn't last though. We do have some pressure, CJ again does well, getting on the end of a long ball and turning it first time, towards goal, a chipped effot, looping in, but for a defender on the line. In turn, we (Ashworth) clear one from under the bar as BPF, sometimes so athletic, strong and lithe, has one of those moments where he looks like a schoolkid shoved in goals, wandering aimlessly out under a cross, waving hopelessly at it as it goes over him and then, thanking his lucky stars that their header on a keeper-less goal frame finds a defender and not the net. 

As the half progresses, we fade and it frustrates me. Northampton are like a comedy sketch of a side in the sense that they're exactly what you'd imagine a side managed by a pound shop fat Sam would be like. Nolan has even gone all craggy and jowly like the man himself They're obsessed with long throws and long diagonals to the heart of the box. At one point, one of their players has a chance to cross whilst two of our defenders are on the ground and he lets the ball run, slowly, out of play, to take the throw instead. 

The quality of the game declines, the warm flames of the first 10 minutes dwindling, till all there is is some faintly glowing embers, the biting wind now swirling and it all very grey, league 1 stuff. We can't get the ball down, we're struggling to put passes together, we're watching them get closer to our goal. If we have artistry in our ranks, they're a heavy industrial thing, a set of trundling tanks moving inexorably towards our borders... 

The atmosphere is getting tetchier. We're actually defending pretty well, even if we're now getting worryingly penned in. Grant, I like. He's kind of the opposite of Randall. The latter glides with the elegance of an 18th century gentleman wielding a beautifully carved wooden handled duelling pistol with skill - Whereas Grant lurches around the pitch and carries an altogether more agricultural shotgun. He knows how to defend though, he seems comfortable in where he is on the pitch and we're stronger for it. Big Mike and his gammy toe are doing alright, he's frequently on the end of their crosses, neutralising their direct play. 

Half time approaches, they have a version of what led to our goal, a ball in, it's bounced around, it comes out, their lad lashes it and it hits something (I though BPF saved it, but it's probably a post) and then goes for a goal kick. That was too close. 

It's half time. 

--- 

A strange half in that I saw things I liked and then it just got steadily worse. I can't really put my finger on what they stopped us doing after about 15 minutes, but it feels like something has stopped working at some point and I hope Evatt can work out what I can't. 

--- 

After the game, Evo says we started the second half 'fast' but to me, it seemed we initially had more of the same. The ref is a twat. He's one of those identikit referees who looks like he parades himself in front of the mirror practising his bookings and his general demeanour. I can imagine him saying "you are in charge" to himself and closing his eyes, visualising well executed whistle and particularly authoritatively sprayed line of shaving foam. His shorts are too high in the way only referees can wear their shorts. He seems to give them everything and he gives them yet another foul now- they make a chance, I barely need to say, it's a diagonal lofted ball into the box, because it always is - it bounces around and we scramble and finally Peacock-Farrell falls on an effort that is mercifully weak. 

They're building again, I actually quite like their 11, he's their one player who seems to have a little bit of a brain and decent feet - he tricks his way past one, knocks it inside, they've got a chance to lift it into the box from here - their man dawdles, Randall shadows, and then, Fletcher pounces, dropping deep as he does, he's in the right place to nick it, a toe into space and he's away, charging and then hitting a divine pass, it's a really hard one too, like turning a car into a skid, all the momentum seems to be going the other way as he kind of hits down on the ball, spitting it out, to the right, a skidding, spinning ball into the run of Obafemi

The lad in full flight is exciting, he reminds me of what Lavery brought before his hamstrings hamstrung his impact, bustling, intimidating pace and no little power - there's real ability there too as he hits a pass to match Fletcher's in return, a  searching ball, arcing, coming back like a golfers putt breaking, perfectly guided towards its man, who has exploded forward seeking this exact ball and, who takes it in his stride, passes his man and then, in the most stonewall example of a penalty you'll ever see, has his legs clipped and can do nothing else but fall to his knees. 

Lets stop for a moment. 

This ref is crap, they almost all are. I see absolutely no attempt to play the ball and one of the countries most deadly strikers on current form through on goal, with the ball under control and only the keeper to beat having his legs clipped by a defender who had no other option. It appears to be denial of a clear and obvious goal scoring chance. It is, of course, a yellow card, because it's us. Whilst the decision in and of itself is questionable, it's true that all every decision like this does is highlight, the ridiculous charade of the James Husband red card (went for the ball, won the ball, not actually a foul, not in any sense denial of a goal scoring opportunity) and the even more ridiculous self protecting, self serving and frankly corrupt charade of an appeals process which not only upheld the original decision, but slapped another ban on top of it, because Husband used 'industrial language' in a 'threatening way' despite his body language speaking of justified incredulity and disbelief. 

I have time to think about this because the class milk monitor is going round telling players who are  mostly stood outside of the box to stand outside of the box. He preemptively tells off 8 players who aren't in the box, before he gets to one who isn't. Nice one mate, you just drink in the moment, it's definitely you we've all come to see. Why not blow that whistle a few times, we all think you are super powerful, that shrill piecing sound is the very definition of 'man with control' and I for one bow to you and your authority. 

For fucks sake...

Finally.

We're ready.

The tension has built. No matter how good Fletch is now, there's an underlying image of him falling over and ballooning the ball high above the Kop that keeps coming to mind... A blast from the whistle, Fletch jogs in, so calm, as if he's been somewhere else entirely, humming a jaunty tune in his mental zen den for the minute of unnecessary building anxiety, and he sends the keeper the wrong way and we're breathing a big sigh and then yelling our relief... YESSSSSS! 

2-0 is so much more comfortable. That was a goal we needed. There was a danger of the game becoming really fractious, a crowd getting more and more restless, but now, we can relax a little. 

It takes a while. I'm certain that we'll be able to pick them off. They need more now than just the ball to drop once, they need to make some chances and that will surely open spaces for us to exploit. It doesn't happen straight away. They fizz one over the top (of course, a looped ball into the heart of the box) and don't crumble as I'd hoped. 

It takes the introduction of a few subs (most notably, a hungry looking Tom Bloxham) to give us that edge. We finally put together a run of chances, breaking convincingly, CJ pushing and running, playing a lovely ball across the box, Grant picking up the pieces after everyone dances round it and hitting the inside of the post, seemingly bending the laws of physics to make the ball bounce out as it does. CJ sets up Bloxham, Bloxham sets up CJ. Tom has his effort squeezed wide, CJ, who I think has done pretty well today, of course, falls over as it looks nailed on that he's going to score a glorious cake icing 90th minute delight. Ole! 

They chuck on Tom Eaves who I still fear because of how good he was about 6 years ago for Gillingham but whilst he gets on the end of a few things and Finnigan has a moment of clumsiness in midfield that presents them a chance, nothing makes BPF do anything beyond routine. 

---

When the whistle goes, the feeling is still curiously one of relief, rather than outright celebration. It was, in a many ways, a fustrating game in that, the opposition seemed so limited and so far out of anything resembling form, that any self respecting believer in the tangerine cause, the way of beauty, skill and wizardry, might be forgiven for being irritated that we didn't cut them up more conclusively. 

The reality is though, it was a hard fought and well earned win. They came to stop us playing and we played enough for a comfortable win, if nowhere near enough to be 'entertaining.' There were flashes of football and we had, even though it didn't always prevail, a lot more variety and technique on display (or being allowed to be utilised) than they did - and eventually, overall, that told. They played a very restricted way and we much less so. 

I thought our back three did pretty well. I've already mentioned two of them, but Casey deserves a shout, immaculate on the left hand side, not his natural role and one he looked  uncharacteristically uncomfortable in last time he played it. Having Ashworth as a wing back worked, not only did he get forward and score, but he's able to play an actual left back role very well, which meant at times we played as a 4 and CJ was clearly instructed to get high and at times stay high, even sometimes dropping in next to Obafemi. CJ isn't perfect (we all know this), he never will be (he knows this, I know this, you know this), but I think that's a much better way to use him and his strengths than asking him just to be a conventional wing back and shadow his man up and down - he's a player who takes abuse sometimes for managers asking him to plug gaps he's not built to. Asking him to get high puts the emphasis on a) him attacking space and b) their man to defend him and I'd always rather CJ running at their goal than nervously running back towards ours. 

Brown was more effective today, less wasteful with the ball and a bit more of the busy and energetic disrupter that is his best self. Randall was promising and was a couple of final balls away from really impacting and Honeyman looked to enjoy playing with him and I felt had more impact as reward for his effort than in some games. All the new players seemed to fit their roles and give us a bit more of a convincing look.

It wasn't a promotion winning performance, it wasn't a 'wow, this lot will win the Champions League if we can keep them together' performance. It wasn't even a particularly good game at all - but for fucks sake, It's League One, it's January and we're in a scrap at the bottom of the table because we so spectacularly fucked up so much stuff earlier in the year. It was a routine, but very important win when we're in crap form against another side in horrible form and seemingly reaching their own nadir under a manager who doesn't seem to inspire any kind of imagination at all in their play.

What do we expect such a game to be like?

To have lost that game would have been a proper disaster - but we didn't and whilst hurried loan signings for key positions aren't really where we expected or wanted to be, there's an optimism over and above today's performance as you can see enough in what we've brought in to suggest that a) Evatt knows what he wants and is clear about getting it and b) there's more to come as the attacking players in particular bed in and find the collective rhythm of the team.

There was effort and commitment and when you've got that, the skill will show in time. 

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.

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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Freezing, fragile, frustration - the Mighty vs Bradford City

There is snow on the motorway. It's Sunday. This is weird. 

I don't mind the line up - I can see an idea - Bradford a big and rugged side so we'd try to out football them, going for silk over steel. I could visualise Bowler nimbly dancing between lumbering limbs, spreading it to Banks to spin away from his man (he'd forced his marker deep by nature of his attacking threat), he'd sweep a cross field ball to Imray, who first time dinks a cross, Flettcher, ever aware, chests it down and Albie Morgan, thundering from deep rasps the ball home... 3-0 Pool!!! 

---

That, as we know wasn't how things turned out. Very, very little happened for ages. We tried to move the ball around, Bradford got in our faces, we turned around and went the other way. When we launched it long, they seemed pleased, their defence coping with ease with most things knocked up to them. Fleth and Blox have worked their arses off in the last few months - but they just really struggled to get the ball under control and we struggled to give them much ball at all. The few moments of potential excitement came from Bowler who mixed up a few really nice touches and passes with some frankly horrible turns into traffic and concession of the ball. 

A Bradford corner. They work it short, they are running a routine. I admire the quickness with which they shift it 4 or 5 times. This is a good routine I think. They lift it in and there it is. A goal. From a routine. It feels as if we just opened up. It feels like when we try such things someone falls over or dithers on the ball, or we hit the first man with the cross. Then Bradford nearly score again, a header over the bar from no distance. Then again, it looks as if they've scored but it's smuggled wide at the far post. They're absolutely battering us.

I'm quite cold. 

Finally, we creak into some sort of life. I say 'we' - I mostly mean Danny Imray. Scott Banks is no attacking threat at all and we're dependent on the Palace man for our penetration. Even he doesn't look to be firing on all cylinders, but he's involved in what is easily the best bit of football in the game, a multi pass move where we switch it about quickly, move beautifully and everything is briefly total football sexy until the final ball which is just behind Fletch who puts it well over the bar. Imray then hits the bar, seemingly by accident. At some point someone has a shot that, whilst the keeper has it covered, Curtis Tilt leaps full length and saves with his head, like a salmon leaping from a river and nodding a football. Shortly after that, he hits a crossfield pass deep into the stand. He's not changed... 

---

I'm a little surprised we're still in it. Recency bias is a terrible thing, we've looked off it for most of the 45 but as we've played our best stuff just before half time, I'm hopeful, however foolish that is. 

--- 

The first five minutes of the second half is truly awful. The clouds have gathered, the wind is picking up, it's biting cold. I go to zip up my coat and put up my hood only to discover I've already done both. There are times when watching league 1 football is a trial and this is one of them. Not only can neither side pass, but the linesman can't tell when the ball has gone out of play and the game is of no quality at all. It's like watching a toddler incoherently smash two things together and occasionally drop one of them. 

Finally, a moment - it's Andy Lyons who provides it, we play out, Lyons receives it on the turn, looks up and pings a perfect, curling ball, 40 yards, arcing right into the path of Fletcher who has split the central defenders, takes it in his stride, draws the keeper and then, as he's increasingly wont to do, finishes beautifully, a deft touch into the bottom corner, the keeper all hopelessly splayed legs and thrown arms, head thrown back to gaze despairingly as the ball rolls, coolly past him and sits in the netting. 

It would be nice to say we really kicked on from there - but it didn't happen. It's perhaps (definitely) churllish to criticise the substitutes when the options are what they are and there's so little other choice  but I thought, after the goal, the game became a bit chaotic and that we might actually benefit from that. We put on Brown for Bowler - I assume the intention was to dampen down the chaos a bit, but also I worried that it would blunt us, leaving Imray as the only bit of creativity and he's a fucking full back. CJ coming on for Banks was maybe an attempt to counter the pace of their wide man who'd pinned in Banks - but I hate CJ at full back... 

And lo, they score instantly. Ollie Casey is the most reliable of souls, but today, he gets turned, as so often, a loose ball, Bradford race in at full tilt, Casey toe pokes the ball, it's not hard enough to reach another Pool shirt and only serves as a perfect touch on for the Bradford man to race towards goal, CJ comes across - he gets there quickly enough, but when he arrives, he looks like a fragile twig in a flooded, raging stream, brushed aside by the rushing torrent of the Bradford forward who finishes clinically, the keeper having absolutely no chance at all. 

Fuck me. 

I've not got the will to describe the rest of the game in any depth. It mostly went... Blackpool finally get the ball, three passes later Bradford get it back. A variation on that was occaisionally, we'd find a vaguely hopeful position but then we'd cock it up with a crap cross, misplaced pass  or simply just running into one of their players as if not doing a trick might be the trick and Bradford would charge up the the other end with it...

Their fans sing 'Blackpool's a shithole' and then 'Bradford's a shithole, it's better than this' then 'City of Culture, you'll never sing that' which is a three part routine I can't help but admire grudgingly. They're loud in the way away fans are when they're winning. We're subdued. I can't see a way back. Around me is general silence. Glum faces stare on. 

I'm not sure we had another shot in anger until very late on, Morgan appears to foul his man, the ref plays on, the cross comes in, Ashworth hooks it back accross and (I think) Lyons bundles home... It doesn't count cos Ashworth's foot is deemed to be high and to be honest, it probably is. I realise before I get totally carried away and that probably helps deal with it. 

--- 

There's games I know I'm going to find it hard to write about. This is one of them. If we're really bad, it's easy to slip into hyperbolic descriptions of clown like shambles, big massive red shoe wearing idiots running into each other and falling over. If we're anywhere near any good, then it's a pleasure to go totally overboard, a CJ toepoke becoming a moment worthy of a Ballon D'or nomination, a routine tackle wrapped up in words of praise, becoming a moment of bravery and passion akin to some kind of WW1 trench heroics. If there's a lack of effort then anger takes over and total despair is a kind of empathetic release. 

It's the 'in between' games that are the worst, particularly the ones where, like today, we're mostly second best. Having missed the last two games, where there was plenty to describe for better and for worse, today feels a bit like looking out over a frozen wasteland and trying to describe the view. There's just not a lot to say.  We were beaten, we deserved to be beaten, we mostly tried quite hard, but Bradford were just better than us. 

What, I mean by 'better' is simple enough. They seemed  overall quite a lot bigger, mostly a bit faster and generally more decisive. In terms of actual quality football, there wasn't a whole lot in it. Neither side really strung a great deal together and no player on the pitch stood out as a Premier League player in waiting - in fact, if I tell you that Curtis Tilt was probably the player who most caught my eye, then (no offence to him - he was a player I really liked in tangerine) that says a lot about the level this game was played at. One point, he galloped from centre back to the edge of our box. I wondered two things, a) how easy it is to forget about a player, I'd totally forgotten about his mad runs and b) why if Tilt could run 40 or 50 yards looking like Jude Bellingham, could not of our actual attackers seem to carry the ball 10? 

This is the frustration. Bradford aren't bad - they work very, very hard and they're highly organised and insanely committed - but they look as if a good team should be able to get at them. Today, we didn't look like a good team - we looked like a threadbare, struggling side who simply didn't have the key to unlock the door, nor the answers to the question's that the Bantam's physicality and direct play posed. An objective reader might say 'We ARE a threadbare struggling side' and that would be true - but after a good run and players coming back from injury and just for a few weeks, it feeling as if we might, actually have something going on, today felt like going back to those miserable October days when week after week we just got swatted aside. 

Lets put it in perspective. We're missing some important players. Virtually all of the defence is makeshift and one of them is a winger with no palpable defensive qualities at all who is only playing because the other option is CJ. Only Imray started in the precise position he regularly plays in the Ian Evatt system. We're also missing Ennis and Taylor, which, would likely have been our main strike force (Ash Fletcher becoming England's third most productive front man not withstanding) - Some of the players have run into the ground for lack of rotation and the Christmas period is a gruelling schedule. 

It still looks a bit grim though. Ennis is probably a month away from being properly match fit and suitably sharp so the front two must soldier on or we play someone who is even less of striker than Bloxham up front. If Fletcher gets a knock, we could have literally no one who's a fulltime centre forward fit. Horsfall is out for some time. The Horse aside, we seem to lack so much character without Husband and we've got two more games where we're going to have to play someone completely unsuited at LWB if Ashworth continues to deputise centrally and even when Husband back, we don't really have the dominant lynchpin a back three requires

In short, we're short (again) and we need some players in quickly because to be being outplayed and have no real options to turn to and no defensive players of equal physicality to match up against their forwards isn't great and given the majority of League 1 sides have at least 3 or 4 players who can put it about a bit, then we need to address this. 

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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Boxing Day battlers - the Mighty vs Doncaster Rovers

It's not quite snow lying deep and crisp and even, but it's cold and clear and I'm feeling remarkably festive as I set off. Optimism is back. I'd forgotten about it for a while, but for the first time in ages, I've got a sense that, all things being equal, we might just walk away with three points. That's a dangerous thought of course and in the normal course of things, I'd worry about such clearly risky thinking - football has (and the mighty tangerine wizards in particular have) a habit of surprising - for better or worse - but I'm happy today just to roll with it. I can't be bothered with all the second guessing and paranoia. 

The season of cheer and goodwill is only enhanced by passing a charming lady who responds to her child falling off their scooter with a volley of vicious abuse involving delightful phrasing such as "fucking little shit" and then, someone slumped in a yard intently holding a lighter to some kind of substance (I don't linger long enough to work out the specifics of his festive indulgence) - It's a bit like walking through 'Love Actually' - all charmingly eccentric characters and quintessential English gentility. The car wash on Ansdell Road is open. A bloke is glumly slumped in a plastic patio chair, chamois leather in hand, staring across an empty forecourt, though the puddles of suds suggests that at least one person woke up and thought 'ah, Boxing Day sales! - I better go and get the car washed' 

Inside the ground there's a buzz. It's busy, a contrast to the quiet elsewhere. There's something about a football match that transcends football itself - it feels like one big catch-up session under the stands and in an online, atomised headphone world, there's few other places I can imagine people gathering together in. Football as the last church in a soulless secular world of AI piloted drone deliveries. CJ Hamilton a latter day idol visited by pilgrims who want nothing other than to bask in his holy aura. Maybe I've stretched the cod sociology a bit far... 

I've been really excited to see Dale Taylor from the start. He looked fucking mustard (I don't know why I've used that phrase - it's something that, on reflection I imagine a Southend fan might say (fackin' mastard mate') against Wigan. Playing from the start at home, he should be able to really influence the game and there's few things more exciting than a striker of proper quality. 

Doncaster make just about their only chance of the half very early on, a header from a simple cross that they probably should have done more with, then, a really odd thing happens. The game is a bit bitty. In keeping with the general mood, Ash Fletcher miscontrols  the ball and throws himself into challenge in an attempt to win it back. He doesn't really go through with it - but I get a vision of an alternative future that involves Fletcher walking off, red card waved at his back and the bubble of my optimism lying around my feel like the soapy puddle from the car wash. I remark on this, but as I do, I notice someone is down. It's Dale Taylor. It's clear almost straight away that this appears to be a proper injury and, when he tries to stand and ends up back on the turf, there's nothing else to do but to get Tom Bloxham on. 

There's a collective frustration. It feels like we've got something nice for Christmas and then it's broken by Boxing Day. Why. Can't. We. Have. Nice. Things? 

Jordan Brown is playing better today. He suits the deeper role and is cleaning up behind Morgan and Honeyman. We manage to exert something approaching control of the game, the three of them offering a balance of skill and grit. We do, though, seem to slightly lack the lock pick and whilst there's quite a lot of possession, in an attacking sense, we look most likely to profit by hitting the wing backs who are really high up the pitch.

Imray looks really on it today and sets Morgan up for the first decent effort and then, soon after, he makes a fabulous run, curving into the path of a lovely Ollie Casey ball up the line, surging past his defender, taking it almost to the line and then cutting it into the path of Tom Bloxham who can't miss. It's a really simple goal, but beautifully executed, three quick passes and bang. 

The first half continues in a similar pattern. We cope with Doncaster with no real issues. From time to time we attack, the best effort being a glorious Albie Morgan drive, smacking the ball on the volley, connecting crisply, an arrowing low effort that the keeper does well to get to. There's a moment of absolute festive glory where CJ runs into a defender, it's almost as if he attacks him, but can't think of any kind of trick, so just bumps into him, then, fabulously, spins around like someone slightly bewildered by a revolving door and then, wonderfully and totally accidentally, the ball appears in front of him, and he toe pokes it to Husband, who dinks a lovely sand wedge cross, met by Fletcher, which drops into the keepers hands, but not before striking the hand of a defender. It's definitely handball, but also maybe ball to hand and I don't really know what a penalty is any more. The ref isn't interested. 

Some corners, a bit more pressure and that's that. 

--- 

We've been comfortably the better side - but without really tearing them to bits. It's hard to put my finger on what we've not done - but I feel like there's another gear available that we didn't really get into.

There's a surprisingly (and pleasingly) direct celebratory statement on behalf of Simon Sadler of our previous owner being finally banished from all things Blackpool FC. 

---

If I was gutted to see Taylor go off then the phrase, 'coming on for Doncaster Rovers, no 14, Billy Sharp' strikes fear into my heart. The second half starts well though and for a few minutes I think we've found that step up. Imray is still marauding and his cut back for Albie is deflected (onto the post?) 

Barring a few moments though, the second half is not really a story of attack. It is the defence that stands out. Donny start to excerpt influence on the game, taking control of possession, putting pressure on. They seem able to get out easily enough and to get through midfield but then, they meet Fraser Horsfall.

I love this lad. He's got a raw, unshowy quality to him. He's not refined, he clumps about looking a little bit like a non-league player or perhaps an off duty squaddie but he absolutely fucking loves defending. He's so good stepping up and challenging the forward as they receive the ball, being an attacker taking on Horsfall is like trying to hug a cement mixer, they seem, so often to just get turned, rolled, flipped and he comes away the winner. I love it when he runs forward - his chest and chip to the far post from a corner is almost Madine-esque in its mixture of slow, seemingly glacial, planetary forces scale physical effort and quick thinking perceptive awareness. I adore how, at corners, as around him people jostle, he springs on his toes repeatedly, as if winding himself up for the big leap and how many times he does, indeed, manage to force, lean, charge himself into the right place to spring for the ball. 

He's aided and abetted by James Husband. I shouldn't need to write a lot, I've written so much about this fella. he's the only player still with us from when I started writing this shite, but today, he's in fine form. He's not the quickest, no, but first, he's a yard behind, but he's going full tilt and then he's launching himself and the tackle is clean, perfect, full blooded. The attacker is in a heap, the ball has gone. Husband just walks away. Then, a 50/50, the attacker controls the ball, but as he does, Husband smashes in, every bit of his effort behind his instep, the contact with the ball is percussive, it fairly echoes around the stand and Jimmy is in possession now and their forward has been thrown, like a cyclist, clipped by a speeding car, rag dolling to the ground. Perfect again. Late in the game, the ball in the box, they might just get it under control and Husband, throws himself, full force, perfect timing again, and the ball is away, the danger is over. 

We try to stem the flow by changing it up as they get on top. First CJ is off and Ashworth is on. This at least means Husband doesn't have to constantly check CJ's positioning. Later, Banks and Bowler come on, Evans too, which forces Brown a bit further forward and I'm not sure he's as effective there. We remake our shape as Bloxham upfront with Banks and Bowler tucking behind. It doesn't really work, though I wonder, with a fresh and pacy forward up front, it might have, as Bowler does find pockets and several times threads it, but Bloxham doesn't have the energy and acceleration to really do the lone chasing effectively. The one real remaining chance comes as Bowler sets Banks away and he charges, forcing a decent save from their keeper. 

The absolute stand out moment though, comes from Ollie Casey. His partners might have shouldered the physical burden, but on  the one occasion Donny really broke through, the ball just refusing to be cleared, defenders toppling like skittles, the chance falling to Brandon Hanlon, in space, a perfect angle, setting himself, Peacock Farrell doing all the right things with angles, but Hanlon undeterred lifts the shot past him, the sinking feeling of blowing a lead setting in, but Ollie Casey, on the cover, falling backwards, makes what, if he was a keeper, would have been an amazing save, arms by his side, the ball all but over the line, BPF scrambles to his feet, the ball is not away, it's with Hanlon again and BPF throws himself desperately at his feet, the grenade is smothered, the chance gone and the ground roars as if we've scored. 

This moment seems to really catalyse everyone. We can't concede now. The ref is determined to give every opportunity though. He's giving a free kick to them seemingly every minute. Their no 9 is in a royal battle with Horsfall and giving them a platform to work from, it's like a rhino fighting with a tank. There's outrage in the air as time and time again, the whistle goes for seemingly innocuous challenges and yet, the ref is silent when tangerine shirts go sprawling. There are phantom corners, there's yellow cards being waved at managers and players in a seemingly arbitrary manner. His attempts to assert control just serve to make it more chaotic. In a way, it's what you want from a league 1 game - inept refereeing and a good old scrap. They swing it into the box, we scramble it away, they nod one wide, the time ticks down. BPF claims one, he gets wiped out. The burning question of 'who goes in' is raised and fortunately dismissed. We try to keep it in the corner, we're not very good at it.

One more attack is snuffed out and then, the whistle at last! 

--- 

This wasn't a hugely convincing attacking performance, nor was it a game for total football. I enjoyed it though. Defensively, we've improved a lot. There's more organisation and so much more commitment. This was precisely the kind of game we lose a few months ago but there's more belief, more togetherness. This looks far more like a team and to win an ugly game is, in a strange way, more satisfying than to blow a team aside - in any successful season, you remember the big wins - but they mean nothing without all the scrappy ones, without all the snatched and scrapped for points that fade into the shadows in the glow of glory. 

We're still a long, long way from any real glory of course - Taylor's injury is a huge blow, our lack of 'proper' midfield cover was exposed and there are holes elsewhere (a bench of 4 wingers and 2 wing backs!) - but Imray was magnificent today and Albie is coming back into form and fitness. I've already sung the praises of the back 3. The point is, I suppose, that after playing a very, very one note (and ineffective) style at the outset of the season, we're getting more performances from more players and we're getting results in different ways.   

We're conceding less, scoring more, fighting harder and opening teams up more effectively. Some of the players we thought would be great signings in August are starting to play like we hoped they would.  We're going into the next couple of games without the depth of squad we'd like, especially up front, but we've got a manager who will shuffle the pack with some thought and that's all we can ask right now.  

Christmas unruined and out of the relegation zone. 

Onward. 

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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Festive fun - Wigan Athletic vs the Mighty

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. 

--- 

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. 

--- 

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. 

--- 

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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