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