Football Blog: Tangerine Flavoured

Saturday, September 19, 2020

The Golden Egg - RIP Macclesfield and a lot more.

This piece is a work in progress (though it reads as a 'complete' piece, comments or contributions are most welcome. 

How do you respond to the circumstances? How do you react to the death of clubs and the parlous state of many others? Football is a whole world and it feels permanent and rooted deep in the fabric of the world. 

And yet...

Part 1: Woolworths FC

Football is in danger of becoming like the high street. A ghostly place where names that once were famous are no more, replaced by boarded windows and whitewash. Betting shops and vape emporiums are all that break the monotony of the multinational brands, the centre ever contracting, the fringes falling into a decaying, crumbling miserable post everything entropy.


any town.


Football is a mere symbol for other more pressing social concerns. An ever growing inequality and the margins becoming more extreme. Apathy and distraction rule the waves. Does football matter at all? No. 

But Yes. With a capital letter. If a world can't even organise a game, then what chance have we got for the real stuff?

Macclesfield have gone, following Bury into oblivion. Phoenix clubs may rise. but it's a long road back and when you're locked out of your home, the street is cold. Other clubs teeter on the precipice and a long winter of uncertainty and existential dread awaits.


any town


Belts have been tightened. Leagues have legislated to deflate wages but only the lowest earning players take the hit. Like independent traders in the shadow of chain stores, they're brought to ruin by trying to compete in a market that is rigged against them. The answer of 'be less ambitious, offer your customers less' only strengthens the hold on the market of those who are dominant.

Hands are rung and bad ownership and bad governance is cursed. It IS a curse but it's a product of the long term circumstances and the structure of the game. 

What sane person is going to see the prospect of trying to take Rochdale, Accrington, Grimsby, Leyton Orient, Swindon Town, Northampton, Halifax Town (or whoever) to glory as realistic or advisable?. Football is money pit  and there are smaller risks and higher rewards elsewhere.

"We've got Simon Sadler, he knows what we're after - but if he goes, we're fucked" as the Blackpool chant sung to Slade's 'C'mon Feel the Noize' (sort of) goes.

The authorities seek desperately for someone, anyone, to take on clubs. It's like an animal shelter with too many dogs and not enough adopters. Give the mutt to the dodgy guy and let it live or lethal injection? Money launderer or electric chair? The choices just aren't there cos who wants the mangy dog? Who wants to sink their money into a hopeless case? Sure, there's kind souls out there, but there's only so many people who want to blow their hard earned money on vets bills. Like dogs, there's other causes than football, other sorts of profit and other more worthy philanthropic missions. There's more to the problem than a fit and proper test will fix. 


investment opportunity

And what do we do? We blow hot air and sit on our hands whilst nothing happens and nothing changes. A whole world of campaigns and bright ideas, of optimistic noises and earnest newspaper columns, blogs and podcasts and nothing actually happens.

The churn goes on, the gap gets bigger, the wages expand and contract and all the while we shout into the wind and all the well meaning words are blown away, lost in the white noise of analysis and pseudo controversy. Drowned in the sea of rolling news designed for flashbulb attention spans who need something new. Something new. Something new. 

The FA have essentially washed their hands of the domestic game and show no interest at all in it.


The EPL is a corrupt behemoth whose malign influence is global. They're like an ever hungry beast that won't stop eating till it bursts or it finds it's devoured everything and there's nothing left to gorge on but itself.

The EFL are incompetent and have their hand tied behind their back by structures, forever in the shadow of the higher tier and hamstrung by the ambitions of half their members to escape. A governing body that is run by people who don't really want to be part of it. Who thought that is a good plan?


The game is rotten. The money that has been grabbed and jealously guarded for so long stinks the place out. It turns the stomach and eats away at the memory of anything that might once of been true about the game in terms of romance or escapism or locality and place. The sheer beauty of Bale's football is less important than the size of his wages or the saga of his agent.



it's easy to lose sight of what matters

It's become such a tired and tiring media driven sponsorship and branding exercise that people have forgotten that it was ever anything more than that. And no, back in the day, it wasn't perfect and in fact, it was often shit but fuck me, it wasn't this grasping, self important circus that it has become.


That's not the fault of Kevin De Bruyne or James Rodriguez. It's even not the fault of Manchester United fans, tempting as it is, to blame them.

It's the fault of the people whose psychopathy (an alternative term for 'business acumen') dictates that they don't care about the sport as a whole in any way, shape or form. It's down to those who plot, scheme and ultimately legislate to break away. Those who set up structures that ensure the winners get the most money. Those who create competitions that all but guarantee those with that money can perpetuate their success ad infinitum. 


They've done that and feel entirely justified in having done so, because consumers like big names and big names cost big money. But that's ok. Because brands like to sponsor things consumers like and to enable that to work, that means closing the door on competition and doing away with upsets and romance. It means telling the world that less competition is more competition and doing it with a straight face. 

These actions have created a discourse around football that sees us discussing net spend and dissecting tiers of financial payments as if they're sporting achievements. Who made 4th place important and survival at all costs the default mode of half the top flight? Who made escape at any cost the default mode of half the second tier. Who sucked the carefree absurdity out of football and made it serious, po-faced and anxious?



Fifth place club and top four.


'the parachute payments are over!'

What Covid has highlighted is blindingly obvious. The elite don't care. (You can read into that what you want on an allegoric or social level.)


It shouldn't be a surprise given the direction of travel of the last few decades, but in the world of #footballfamily and saccharine sentiment I naively thought we might just possibly have had a modest re-balancing of finance to help secure the long term future of the broader game.

After all, the big clubs owe their global appeal to being part of the famously (historically) competitive English game. A structure, famed and revered around the globe, whose strength comes from a combination of tradition and depth. That's precisely what separates English football from say, the MLS or the Chinese Super league.


It seems daft in hindsight but I stupidly thought for a few weeks, there was a small chance that the EPL might realise that. It might acknowledge that it isn't successful in complete isolation. It's, at least in part, successful because it piggy backs on what went before and what still exists around it. 


The EPL failing to acknowledge its global appeal is at least in part down to the wider football culture, the unique 'authenticity and tradition' of the whole English game is like Noel Gallagher denying the Beatles helped him write his songs.



"Lennon? mate, totally irrelevant, never heard of him."

But no. There is no sense of belonging to a wider community. No debt to the past or acknowledgement of the existence of a wider framework for their success. Because there's no legal requirement to do so, there's not a second of thought to any moral imperative. It's all about the money. The money right now. As much of it as possible, all to them. 

They only care about maximising their revenue to service the wage bills of elite clubs. 

Which in turn creates the brand image of those clubs and the league.

Which in turn satisfies sponsors and advertisers who know their money will be connected to the glamour of superstardom. 

That's it. That's the entire moral or ethical code of elite level football. Take as much as you can and spend it as wildly as you can. Fuck lower league clubs, fuck non league clubs and fuck grassroots. 


"Sorry football. No, we, the elite cannot afford to give you 1%, 3%, 5% or 7% of 'our' money because we've got our own costs to service and pockets to line. We're not like you. We're not your brothers. Tighten your belts and eat your gruel and if some of you die of malnutrition, don't blame us, blame yourself and your own lack of ambition."


It's not quite the text of a press release from the EPL but it's more or less the subtext of every statement they've made on money for a long, long time. 


RIP Macc. RIP Bury. RIP whoever is next. 


"It's just a few bad owners. There's no real problem. Clubs just need to manage themselves. Move along, don't look at the balance sheets, look at a glossy package of highlights and have a sit in an executive box and a smoked salmon canape instead. There. Isn't that nice? Haven't we made football much better, much shinier, much glossier? Who needs Macclesfield and Bury anyway? How many executive boxes do they have? Hmm? I bet you'd have to eat a pie there and that would be disgusting. Probably don't even serve Chablis..."


It's high time we stopped playing ball and accepting things as they are. We, the fans, the people in the game, those in the media who aren't blind to what is happening are cursed by our own addiction. We love football. We love it so much that no matter how poorly it's run, the weekend is not the weekend without football. 


That shouldn't be an excuse. Look at it this way. You're an addict. So sort out the dealer who is giving you a shit fix. It might be better to get clean, but if you're not going to do so, at least get the good stuff. 


Calls to action, especially in words and online always have a certain shrill quality, they get blown on the wind and forgotten. They get lost in the noise. Remember, we love football. Remember all it is and all it can be. A stupidly simple game that satisfies like no other. 


If enough people can care enough the balance of power can shift. If lockdown showed anything, aside from the complete antipathy of the elite towards the fate of the 'everyone else', it showed that the spectacle of football is the occasion and the game is a mere facilitator. 


We have the power. Without us, they are nothing. There's answers that can fix the problem that are in the hands of the football authorities, but there's other options we don't need to grovel for. 


Part 2: Action 


EFL clubs should refuse to play the FA Cup, boot the u23 teams out the EFL trophy and ban the Premier League from the league cup. Let's just stop pretending the opportunity to be patted on the head by a media that is mainly hand in glove with the hype and shite is worth anything anyway.

At best, lip service is paid to the plight of anyone not fortunate enough to be feeding on the teat of multinational capital and it's all just an opportunity to get the shit kicked of you by City's kids and watch as your efforts and dedication are made to look pathetic by the power of money so big, you can barely imagine the numbers involved.



All in favour of giving Nathan Shaw a squad place?


What's the fucking point in being in cups and league pyramids anyway? It's sooner or later going to be Jeff Bezos Utd vs Chinese Government FC. That sounds far fetched but given the sums of money involved in the top echelons and the rate at which that money keeps inflating, they'll be the only powers rich enough to influence the English game. We might as well just give up pretending we've got any hope of taking any joy from not really competing in that world. 


The game as whole has plenty of money, even in these viral times. It's just ever more wrapped up in satisfying the gnat like attention spans of armchair fans salivating over the next hype infused pseudo soap opera event (or as we used to call them, football match)


And all the while it gets further away from the reach of Accy, of Rochdale, of Rotherham, of us, of everyone who ain't on the gravy train and that's frankly most of football. The train has got a LOT of gravy, but not much room for passengers.



Why don't people say 'sailing the gravy boat?'

And yet... people keep buying into it. Shelling out money to support the empirically verifiable effect this all has on football. Arguing that 'it's not as bad as all that', when the evidence is incontestable. It's not a matter of opinion. It's a matter of fact. The gap is wider, the winners are less varied geographically and in terms of club size. Clubs are in greater financial trouble in greater numbers than since who knows when, whilst a few clubs are making sums of money (and spending sums of money) that are unprecedented. All of that is there, in black and white. It's not my perception, it's honours lists, league tables and publicly available accounts that scream it loudly and clearly. 

If you think that's hysteria, a Government report in June, stated very clearly that at least 15 league clubs were in a perilous state. That's a lot of clubs to lose. We're not talking 'need to sell their players to balance their books and probably get relegated as a result' trouble. We're talking 'no club, ground bulldozed, Phoenix club starts in the park' type issues. 

Why the fuck anyone who follows a team that isn't in the top 6 gives good money to support the way football is, is beyond me. You might as well just get a wad of crisp tenners every month and stick one of them each in envelopes marked with addresses like 'The Glaziers, Old Trafford' and 'Roman Abramovich, a superyacht somewhere' 


It sometimes feels like football fans maybe don't actually want football to be football. That maybe they don't subscribe to the ethos that a good game of football is a competitive one. I'm beginning to think people like power games, global politics, fashion shoots and celebrity gossip more than a bunch of lads having a kickabout. The latest absurd Premier League kits, like the City Paisley print one and the Utd zebra print kit kind of back that up. Football has become a catwalk.  


It's a delusional pursuit football. It always is, it always was. Most teams won't win in any given season Even winning or losing is essentially pointless. Support is an illusory feeling of participation in something. Our choices of who we support are essentially arbitrary decision based on the luck of our birth, family history or preference of colour, an accidental encounter or whatever. Only proper knobheads actively choose their team. I support Blackpool because my dad took me and it is where my entire family are from as well as where I've worked for nearly 20 years as well as lived. I have a very soft spot for Everton because my Auntie's ex boyfriend took me there a few times. These things chose me. What is there, really to celebrate about the success or failure of either club that reflects on me?

The relentless selling of the game as vital, as every match as important, crucial, serious ties into its positioning as a commodity rather than a sport. Selling something requires you to demonstrate that people 'need' it. If people don't need it, you have to make them think they do. Football has done a remarkable job of transforming itself from a dowdy game, into a global phenomenon onto which people project their identity. People on social media will rage about the 'need' for their club to spend £100 million or face a 'wasted' season. People will actually cry in frustration at their club finishing 5th instead of 4th and insist that the only way to solve this crisis is to pay someone £80,000 a week to get them over the line.

Success matters, for success breeds money and money is the key to more success. Listen to a phone in after any match. It's a joyless, humourless and angry experience and by and large the calls will split into two simple camps. Firstly, people furiously decreeing that player X or Y is a disgrace and needs to be immediately replaced with a big name player for lots of money and unless that happens, it's a disgrace and a betrayal of everything the club stands for. Secondly, smug fans of a club who've done well, talking about how the big name players are worth every penny and maybe speculating on how their value has increased. 

For me, the best moment of the last game I watched was the referee falling over and giving a foul whilst sat down. I can't be alone in finding the constant demands that eye watering sums of money are spent, quite alienating. And yet... What else are supporters supposed to do? When the top league (and hence the pyramid) is set up in such a way that success is rewarded with money and thus becomes self fulfilling, there really is no other way to get success other than spend money. Football fans want to win. They always have, but now the stakes are raised and the business of competing is far more serious. Clubs are like corporations, entire departments dedicated to wringing every penny out of supporters and scouring the globe for every possible market to find more.

It's little wonder that as fans are bled dry and new fans bred who have no obvious connection to the club, locality or the occasion of a live game that the way we support teams and what we expect of them has changed. Observing fandom has become strangely similar to the bizarre experience of going online and watching people arguing over which brand of phone is better or not. Genuine anger can be expressed over which phone has the better processor or the sharper screen and insults traded over 'what sort of person' thinks that Apple, Google or Samsung is the best and what, consequently, that says about them.

Similar arguments can be witnessed between fans, siding with or slating players and ranking various assets in order of value. Fans have always had 'banter' and its ranged from humorous regional stereotyping to full on knife fights and murder. What's new, is the idea that somehow, like a choice of phone, a choice of football club reflects 'you' and thus, when accused of being 'shit' rather than chuckle and respond with another insult or wry comment, or a fist, this kind of fan internalises it and demands angrily that his club fixes their 'shitness' immediately. The fan is either bitter that they've spent an exorbitant and ever increasing amount of money in an increasingly sterile and joyless stadium or they've never been to the stadium, perhaps never even the county, or even the country and to them, the club is a brand they've adopted and they're angry the brand hasn't kept up it's standards. 

In this context, it's hardly surprising some younger fans seem to hitch themselves to players. It's an even more direct form of iconography and the world is full of CR7, Messi and Mbappe loyalists. Such a notion seemed absurd a generation ago, but given the level of branding around individuals and the constant lauding of their skills and wealth, it's hardly surprising. 

Football is just a game. It's a game played against an invasive media backdrop that constantly hypes it up as 'mattering' and demanding an emotional response. Everything is important and the answer to everything is money. 

Where that leaves the clubs without any is a matter of no concern. They've got no money. They are therefore unimportant. 

It's a game that is wallpapered with analysis and facts. A game which has dedicated TV and radio channels aplenty, has spawned podcasts and servers full of online articles and yet by and large, it manages to hide the facts of its issues. You can easily find out the last time Tottenham beat a team with an S in their name on a Tuesday night with an Argentinian on either subs bench. You can look at a heat map telling you the left back played at left back easily enough. These things are treated as insight and given value. Hours are spent on them, whole days go by debating the relative value of player A and player B or the possibility that player C might be intending to move clubs and therefore what will happen to player D. 

There's nothing wrong with that. I can bore for England on my team and how it's playing and what I think of the players or formations. What is problematic, is when we're in a time in which many clubs are facing an existential crisis and many of those that aren't could be but for the whim of their owners, we shouldn't ONLY be talking about that. 

If you ask why are Liverpool starting a season where they were quite brilliant and finished way ahead of everyone else with more money from the Premier League than anyone else and what impact that has on the spending habits of the rest of the teams, then there's generally silence. I've listened to my share of football phone ins, podcasts and read my share of newspapers - I've very rarely heard that question asked. 

Ask why clubs are being wound up for less money than a third or fourth choice GK that never plays earns for chucking himself about in training for a bit, and in the main the football media is simply not geared up or prepared to give time to that question. We have a largely shallow media that hasn't adapted to the serious business football has become. Everything is 'that's the way it is' and on to the next event.

Why? Money, viewers, advertisers, sponsorship and market share. Football is a big earner for the media and don't bite the hand that feeds. Who cares about Bury and Macclesfield anyway? They don't get on telly much do they?  


It's common sense! Give the biggest clubs more and that will make things better FOR EVERYONE! OBVIOUSLY!!! ONLY AN IDIOT WOULD QUESTION THIS!!!!!

I don't understand why we (those of us who actually watch games in the flesh) are financing this delusion. 

More of us watch football outside the Premier League than within it. Even then more of us watch teams within the Premier League that have little or no prospect of success in the short or medium term future than watch the top 5 or 6 clubs. As John Nicholson put it, in his brilliant book 'Can we have our football back' - What's the point in Everton? (and indeed anyone below them.) 

By paying for Sky or BT we're actively paying for the teams above us to receive extra money (for that's how the prize money is allocated and the prize money comes from TV.) This not only makes them better but also increases the costs for our side of keeping up with them. It seems really odd. It's like finding a TV programme you like, and then paying the wages of a bad writer to spoil the episodes every week or entering a running race, paying for your opponent's steroids and clean urine and then weighing yourself down with a lead vest. Why would you do that?

And what do you get for your money? A stack of analysts to tell you what you should be able to work out yourself from watching the game. It's fucking football not the large hadron collider, metaphysics or the writing of James Joyce, I don't need 5 people in a studio to explain it and I'm a rank average human. You don't need it either.


It's football - We'd got it by the time we were 8 and why grown adults need it spoon feeding to them is beyond me. You kick the ball towards the goal and the lad in the green shirt can use his hands. That's more or less it. Offside can be a bit tricky but give it five minutes and you've got it. Don't kick it over the lines on the edge or trip people up. That's the penalty box. Now you understand football. The end. 


It's as if we've come to believe that without the TV companies and their money, football simply couldn't function. This is a kind of collective insanity. A kind of Stockholm syndrome where the TV companies assert their power and we, supporters (especially those of us who don't support the top few clubs) accept we're trapped, even though the door is right there and there's nothing to stop us walking through it. 


There's nothing wrong with TV, there's nothing wrong with paying to watch TV, but there is something wrong when the appeal to foreign TV markets is the driving principle behind the governing bodies decisions and TV companies can dictate everything from fixture lists and kick off times to (seemingly) the division of the game into 4 quarters to increase the potential for in game advertising. 


That's not the only fundamental change to actual game. The actual game should be off limits to broadcasters but the tying of refereeing to TV technology is an example of where it steps over the line and ceases to report and inserts itself at the heart of the spectacle. 


It seems like a naked power grab, a crude attempt to dilute the live experience, and attempt to undermine the idea that the paying spectator is the most privileged viewer, being at the game the ultimate experience and replace that with a situation in which the TV viewer actually understands more about what is happening than the person there. 


The shame of a game where the experience of a casual viewer in Newcastle (South Australia) takes precedence over the experience of the actual supporter in Newcastle (England) should be palpable, but it's not evident at all. The outrage at VAR was spread throughout the division, took in all clubs, matchday fans protested, even some of the usually inert media and pundits spoke against it but the EPL was stubbornly resistant to criticism. Because it's their game and they can do with it what they want. 


It's about 'getting it right' - Guess why? 

'because a lot of money rides on these decisions' 


"Money. Again. As much of it as possible. Right now. And if the game has to change because of that, then that's the price we'll have to pay. In fact, it's not a price we'll pay, because we don't even like football. All we like is success, branding, global reach and opportunities for synergy. So fuck football and fuck what fans want because we own it and there's nothing you can do about that. If the physicality, pace and chaos of football occasionally throws up a mistake and if that mistake might perhaps lead to one of our leading brands losing market share, then we'll drive the physicality, pace and chaos from the game..."


That's again, not quite a statement from the EPL and various clubs but it could well be. In a world where people can read rhetoric for what it is, that's how people would read their words. 


There's no reason to accept this. 


We don't need video dementors stopping the game and splicing together slow motion replays at pixel blurring levels of magnification to see whether the rules were followed by the width of a blade of grass. It's not that important. A game is a game is a game. It makes no sense at all to spoil a game in the name of improving the game. To actively make the game worse to make it better is a surreal masterstroke of deception and the game is clearly worse for VAR. 



Exclusive images from inside Stockley Park as VAR rules on offside call


We need to demand more from the media. Many of us are as glued to that as we are to games and those with a platform and a voice need to start thinking deeper and speaking louder. We need to stop acquiescing with the tightly controlled and heavily spun shallow coverage of football that mistakes 'lots of shallow stuff' for depth. 


All the shite, the liquidy verbal excrement sprayed around, coating the pages of newspapers, sticking in the speakers of radios, sliding down our TV screens and yet no one seems to ever say anything about why the game is, beneath the glittering surface, in a pretty troubling state. 


Very few people seem to ever say anything like: 'Good question Alan: The reason why clubs like Charlton, Oldham, Southend, Wigan and so many others are desperately scrabbling from day to day, the reason why loads of Championship clubs, even big ones, even reasonably successful ones like Derby, Sheffield Wednesday and even, in the non too distant past Leeds United are saddled with creaking finances and teetering on the brink of calamity, playing chicken with creditors catching up with them or selling their assets because their spending is vastly outstripping income and become a millstone of obligation and debt isn't simply 'bad ownership' alone."


'The reason is something like this Alan - we've collectively waived any sense of governance or oversight in favour of a model where everything is ok as long as there's enough money to generate a buzz around a select few teams. And we in the media (that's me and you Alan) feed that model by generating that buzz, cooing and fawning over it because it pays our wages. We've never really gone to task over the slow but steady diversion of the funds towards the top and every time a club goes to pieces, we treat it like a two day story, feign some tears and then get on with churning out crap about Paul Pogba's fucking agent or shitty graphics about what bit of the pitch Gareth Bale runs about on, as if showing people what they can already see in infrared was insight akin to the latest picture from the Hubble telescope"


"All of this apathy and tutting helplessness feeds into the false belief that football is beyond management, that somehow it has just 'become' this way. As if nature itself has formed the circumstances in the manner of a river carving rock to make a channel. This in turn creates supporter apathy and a general belief that things are just the way they are because that's the way they are, even though it's actually relatively easy to see that's not actually true and demonstrate that far from natural forces, the water of progress has flowed in man made channels"


"It's actually very easy to trace the development of the Premier League back to individuals and to see the various human decisions that were taken, first to form it, then to give ever less of the ever growing TV cake out to the wider football party, whilst choosing to collude with Uefa to make European competition favour the sort of self created 'elite leagues' and to cram the fixture list full of the kind fixtures that suit TV companies and sponsors alike."


"That's what happened and it's still happening now. In fact Alan, those driving the game at the top are only going further in that direction and there's no reason why, if we actually care about football as a competition and a social spectacle (and what other reasons are there to care about it if it's not those Alan?) we should be putting rocks through their windows and making their lives hell because they don't give a shit about football, they don't give a shit about supporters and the game is a mere platform for their ambitions, egos and a canvas upon which to paint the names of whoever gives them the most money" 


"To be quite honest Alan, Football has become an allegory for the general hands off liberal governance of the world which actively propagates multinational monopolies which in turn strangles localism and disempowers individuals by removing their choices from them as local markets wither, reducing their consumer and employment choices alike forcing them to engage with global forces for their needs, whether they wish to or not. In case you didn't follow that Alan, the big clubs are the monopolies and the little clubs are the local shops and businesses that fold as a result of trying to compete with them"

"Whilst we may not be empowered as individuals to dismantle the systems that govern us as a nation or species, it should be entirely possible to disentangle football from this situation, for it is ultimately ONLY A GAME and one that regardless of the scale of financial rewards many millions wish to play and watch. A game is an escape from the rules of daily life, not something that should serve to magnify and re enforce them. Maybe global finance is an inevitability and maybe it's not. But football does not inevitably have to be global finance and the only reason it feels inevitable is because people tell you it is. It's merely a sport and requires only a pitch and a ball and two goal frames. To envisage and thus create a better game, should not be so hard."

3) The nuclear option. Change nothing. Accept it can't be changed. Start a new game. 


If you want what there is, there's a veritable feast of overpaid talent sponsored, pampered, primped and preening. Hyped up and juiced. Ready to go. Have them breathlessly forced down your neck by sycophants whose careers depend on the circus they've hitched their wagon too. It's all yours for a flat monthly fee. Go for it. Fill your boots. I'm not judging. 


But you could have the football itself. You could have the game, the sport, the competition. Simple and magnificent. Run according to simple rules that create stability, With money spread in such a way that creates competition and marketed for the masses via free to air TV. A simple structure where it isn't the end of the world to be relegated. Where the difference between 20th and 21st or 43rd and 44th didn't mean an entire restructure of the club and finances. I reckon we could put it together in a few days and it would work, at least on paper. 


We could literally just walk away and create a new football. If the FA don't care, the EFL are just incapable of a decision or consistency and the EPL just a global brand with the morals of the kind of cunt who justifies offshore tax havens and putting the competitors out of business by fair means or foul then...

Why don't we just make a new football league?


A better one. If costs are controlled then investment by sane people is thus more attractive. Where the football is unpredictable and we put it there for anyone to see, where it is part of a national routine, maybe a game on Saturday night or Sunday afternoon but not dominating TV channels and eating up lives like a fucking freakish inward looking cult of obsession. 


A league where windfalls (let's imagine we get a sponsor or two) are reinvested in savings for supporters, grass roots, and community and players wages are fair, reflecting their skill but not costing clubs their very existence. 


A league where, yes, perhaps the absolute superstars will go abroad and the very elite players choose other options but is that so bad? If you want that, (and who wouldn't wish to see great players play football sometimes?) then it's there. You'll be able to see them. They're just moving leagues, not being sent to Pluto or the Gulag and being erased from history.

If you want to watch Mbappe or KDB or whoever is en vogue that year, then you can subscribe to it should you wish to. If you want to see superstars, does it really matter if the team of global mercenaries are badged with 'Man City' 'New York' or Guangzhou Evergrande? If the answer is 'but Man City feel more 'real'' then it's just evidence that the emotional appeal of the Premier League is down to the history of the English league. The team who plays for Manchester City or whoever it maybe has, with a few notable exceptions, very little to do with any tradition within the club. There's precious little lineage or local identity at play now. Yes, Foden, Yes Trent, Yes, maybe even Ole and a couple of kids, but mostly, it's a shopping basket full of star players, star coaches, star kids poached from other youth systems and paid for by finance that has little or no relation to the place. So, really, does it matter that much where that match takes place? 


A football stadium. Does it matter where?

Was it that awful in the 90s when we watched Italian football and noted that they had a few more superstars than we did? Why do we have to gather them all here? What's so worthy about that? When did 'beating other leagues in international TV rights' become the sole goal and why? Who thought that up and how did they make us all complicit? 

Is having 'the Premier global sporting brand and most marketable league on Earth' worth sacrificing the rest of English football for? That might be hyperbole, but when you list the number of clubs who are in worrying amounts of debt, then it seems less so. The reason for that is simply that the above ambition has been the driving force of the dominant institution in English football for 28 years. 

Football couldn't have stayed in a late 80's timewarp. The Premier League and investment has brought a faster pace, it's brought players who have thrilled and it's made stadiums safer. All of that is fine and good. That doesn't mean we should forever accept that the only way for football to be managed as a sport is thus.  

To repeat again. The success of the Premier League is largely down to what it was borne of. Not the machinations of chairmen or TV executives, but that it took a product that already had immense cachet and gave it a sheen of glamour and monetised it in a way that no one had previously considered. 

The global appeal is based in the fact that English football is the ultimate in 'authentic football.' It's reputation comes from it being the mould from which all other competitive football was formed and it's depth and history gives it a presence on the global stage that no league can compete with. 

The marketing and monetisation has led us to a point where precisely what give the English game it's unique position is in danger. That should lead us to stop and think about whether we're at a point where once again, we need to carefully think about the structure of the game and the rules that underpin it financially. It's had nearly 30 years 'as is' and if they continue in the same direction, the outcomes are starkly obvious. 

What would some competition do to a marketplace where the main product is used to being literally the only game in town? What if there was a more authentic experience? What if it turned heads? What if supporters actually looked at it and said 'why aren't we in that league, this one is shit?' 

I wrote an article recently about player wages. It was illuminating to research it and one stat in particular seems a good place to end. I want you to think in business terms here. I want you to think about efficiency and 'bang for your buck' and all the sorts of phrases that are used by the people who tell you football has to be this way because that's the way it is. If you are my age or older, think back to the old days. If you are younger, go and look up some late 80's football. Choose a decent game to watch or remember, cos there were some. Maybe watch the highlights of Arsenal vs Liverpool in 1989 or Everton 4-4 Liverpool in the FA Cup or whatever floats your boat. Perhaps Liam Brady, Glen Hoddle, David Rocastle, Kevin Sheedy in midfield. Maybe watch the way Alan Hansen linked the midfield and defence or a highlight's clip of Neville Southall being possibly the best keeper who has ever, ever lived. Watch a young Gazza or Chris Waddle. You get the idea. Don't choose Wimbledon and go 'Oh look, football was shit lol' 



How much better is modern football than Chris Waddle? (5 marks, show your working out)

Ok, you've done that. Now, having pictured that think about how much better the game is. It's clearly got more technically skilled players but it certainly had plenty then. English clubs ruled Europe in the early to mid 80s. It wasn't as if the English game was complete shite but we'll accept there has been an improvement because if nothing else, progress to the future usually improves the sport.  

Is it a bit better, a lot better, marginally better or infinitely better?


What number would you put on it? 


Is it 50% better? 17% better? 123% better? Twice as good? Three times? Maybe even some of you will prefer it as it was? I don't know. 

What I'm willing to bet is that you won't say it's 3714% better. 

Why that number? That is the inflation rate that has applied to top flight wages since the dawn of the Premier League. Just ask yourself. Is that a good use of money? Apply the logic of business and question that model. 

If production costs increased by 3714% and the product wasn't unrecognisably better then you'd ask questions. 


The IPL in cricket is an example of what is coming to football. To service the levels of inflation, sooner or later the game will have to find a further new market. It will have to ramp up the drinks breaks, the sponsorship, the constructed narratives and the control over the media. People will watch the global franchise tournament that is the end game of where we're heading. We probably can't stop that and maybe, why should we even try. It's not what I want and I think it's not what millions want either. Unless we stop believing in the authorities that let us down, time and time again, then there's a real danger that's all there is going to be left. The cricket authorities have done little for test cricket or long format domestic cricket. They've just bowed to the money and the broader game is looking exceptionally anaemic. Sometimes it looks as if the cricket bodies treat long form cricket as an irritant in the way of more franchise matches and global short form tournaments. 

Would football really be that different and are we that far away from the sort of invitational super league or FIFA 'ultimate team' style franchise tournament that I can't but feel that the sort of global money that influences football would see as a new golden egg. 


The game doesn't belong to them. It's not their goose. It belongs to us. 


We could make it literally so. Hand wringing won't get us there as it's only got us here so far. Why do we need the FA anyway? We all know the rules by now. 


RIP Macc once again. You had a bad owner but so have so many of us. It's weird how they keep cropping up. Almost as if football attracts them above decent people because it's a hollow, moral free, empty vacuum of greed. 

utmp




Saturday, September 12, 2020

Firing blanks: Plymouth Argyle vs the Mighty

Too pissed off to think of a witty caption

It's a thin line between sanity and otherwise and it's not a good sign that my mind has been preoccupied by the idea of a shop called 'Kenny's Jackets' since hearing the Pompey manager mentioned on a preview show the other day. I can't decide whether it's a baked potato stall or the kind of 'leather shop' you don't see very much anymore. The sort with lurid fluorescent highlighter coloured price cards in a star shape and the smell of animal hide mixed with tobacco that, if bottled, would make you cry with nostalgia for a past you didn't realise you'd forgotten. A sort of sense memory, that like the clink of milk bottles in the faint light of dawn, can put you in touch with thoughts and images buried deep down and presumed lost. 

I should be regaling you with analysis and predictions but instead I'm trying to think of other football managers whose name lends themselves to the kind of thing. My brain isn't working very well, so all I've come up with is 'Steve's Gritt' (which, in case you haven't quite got how this works, is former Charlton joint boss Steve Gritt, but running a business, supplying grit) and 'Shaun's Dykes' (an agricultural digging service as opposed to anything else you might have imagined) 

I don't think that intro is going to put me in prime position for any of the recently vacated Soccer Saturday slots, but just in case Sky are reading and want to put some filthy lucre my way, then my prediction for the game is thus 'Could go either way this one Jeff, looks like the Mighty have picked an attacking line up which is what you'd expect from a Neil Critchley side' - what I'd like to say is 'fuck knows Jeff, can we all just stop trying to predict everything' because I've got prediction fatigue in the last few days and I'm wondering if it's a sign of the way that betting has become so ingrained in the fabric of football and the way it's discussed in the media. 

I'm pleased to see Mitchell in the line up but at the same time disappointed not to see Shaw at least on the bench. I'm convinced Shaw has a bright future if we can give him a chance, his passing and delivery is outstanding. The squad makes sense though and I'm happy there's no signs of 'pragmatism' for an away game. If we can pin Liverpool, Everton and Stoke back in their half for long periods, then logically we should be able to do the same to Plymouth. 

Whatever the outcome, there's a hollowness beneath a genuine sense of anticipation. I almost certainly wouldn't have gone to Plymouth, whilst I might write reams, others are more dedicated to long distance away trips, but the absence of a drum or a chant, the missing ebb and flow of noise can't but undermine any sense of 'being there'

--- 

Our pre season hero is the first villain of the league season as Hamilton dallies making a clearance in the corner and gifts Argyle a cross. Jephcott stoops in front of Ekpiteta and glance the ball home. It's a hollow start after so much belief in the build up. 

Pool try and establish themselves but nothing quite comes off. Yates is making himself available and his presence felt. Kaikai tries both a run and a flicked ball round the corner but neither comes off. 

Plymouth nearly get through on goal as a ball over the top sees Nottingham (looking uncomfortable on the left side of the central two) completely misjudge it and forced to use his pace to prevent Jephcott having a second clear chance. He does quite well, but is fortunate the Pilgrim's forward has a poor touch. 

Notts is in the book minutes later when the same forward gets inside him and the Sherrif has to use his hand to hold up play. Oddly then he jogs to get treatment so absents himself from the resulting free kick which bounces threateningly in front of Maxwell but fortunately does no harm. 

Plymouth spread the play well, they look a side who really know each other. We've heard much about unity and systems but this is such a new side, whereas Plymouth are much further down the road of familiarity and it shows early on. From the left a deep cross is headed down with power and Maxwell makes a stunning stop. The rebound is tucked away but happily, the offside flag saves the day. 

Pool are struggling to put the triangles together, nothing is clicking but a neat right hand side move see Turton overlapping Hamilton and the first dangerous ball of the day, a pull back that evades Kaikai. The same man is soon on the end of knock back from Yates but his low placed drive is off target and we're at least in the game now. 

Pool put together 15+ passes in a lovely move that is snuffed out in the end by a heavy Jerry Yates touch as we start to look a bit more the side we hope we are. 

A loose Plymouth ball and Hamilton is running and running and the defence just backing away, he's going through them with the ease of ripping tissue paper. They stand aside, letting him fire hard at the keeper, who is rushed into an uncontrolled block that bounces wide where it could easily have bounced into the path of a forward or even back into the goal. 

Pool are taking control now and linking well. That man CJ plays a ball to die for from just outside the right hand corner of the box and Yates leap, sets himself and flicks the header just wide.  

Kaikai tests the keeper from a free kick, dead centre, maybe 28 yards out, doing well to make him work. 

Pool are clearly playing higher up the pitch now and the next chance comes as good deep work from Kaikai lets Anderson run from deep before handing off inside the area for Hamilton who is denied by the keeper throwing himself at his feet. From the corner Nottingham rises and glances just wide. It's been total tangerine domination but it hasn't gone in. 

As the half winds down, Hamilton goes to the by line, the ball kissing the chalk before being whipped back, low and fast but Yates can only spin in the box without getting a shot off. We've done everything, but we haven't scored. 

---

What we've seen is exactly what every Pool fan fears about this side, a dominant performance in which we've been by far the better team, utterly dominant from about 15 minutes but been undone by a simple goal and an inability to finish the chances we've created. It's great football to watch, but Plymouth are in front. 

During the half, updates from Accrington remind me of their boss who could, of course be John the Coal Man. I need to get out more. I imagine him and Jimmy Bell, dirty hands and faces, heading to the pub together after doing their round, dropping off bags of anthracite across East Lancashire. Mind you, would Jimmy Bell be better suited to running an alarm company? 

I need more sleep. 

---

Pool start in the same manner they played much of the first half in as former Pool man Will Aimson (one of those boycott era players who is little more than a name to me) stabs a Hamilton cross out of play. From the corner, Pool have at least three efforts on goal but no one can evade the Plymouth bodies and the effect is like the most frustrating pinball machine in the world. 

Danny Meyer has an insane run where he seems to evade half the Blackpool side before Chris Maxwell has had enough and takes it off him, like a parent taking a noisy, annoying toy from a child. He releases quite brilliantly and Hamilton is flying, then crossing, Kaikai meets it at the near post with a Plymouth man and from the 50/50 the ball breaks to Yates who lays it off when it feels like he might take it on the turn and the move again breaks down as the players arriving can't quite make the most of the moment. 

A ball across the box (again CJ) evades everyone, curving along the six yard line inviting a finish but no one responding. 

The game is more even with Plymouth getting joy on the right of Pools defence, Meyer nearly breaking through several times and drawing fouls in dangerous areas. 

We're an hour in and it feels like Pool need a change. Plymouth have altered their set up and are on the front foot. 

As I think that, Pool get a grip, three neat moves and two corners, uncountable passes, a vague shout for a penalty but never quite fashioning a clear cut opening. It's frustrating. We work the ball from one side to the other, we seem to be able to do everything other than the clinical stuff. 

Kaikai has a similar free kick as he had in the first half and whistles it not far over the top. 

We get the Pool sub and it's Jordan Williams for Mitchell and I have to be honest, it wasn't the one I'd have made but Critch is a coach who has not only a certificate from night school to prove it, but also a gilet* with his initials on it and I'm just some fella so what do I know. I don't own any clothes with my initials on. Let alone get them for free. In NC we trust. 

*or 'body warmer' as everyone and their dog called them before there was some kind of memo from the 'armless clothing marketing board' in the mid 2000s about a 'rebrand designed to pivot from targeting farmers union countryside alliance types to unlocking a more aspirational middle class urban/suburban kind who would identify with a European name as suggesting a certain cultural/fashionable quality  

It's the lad whose just come on with a probing ball starting move that again goes through several players  and ends with the ball touched back to the edge of the box where Anderson produces a curling strike that has to be well saved. Truth be told, we've not made the Plymouth keeper work much in the second half.

Shortly afterwards, Maxwell is alert to beat away a cross and Robson does well with rebound under pressure and us going forward is leaving gaps at the back.  

Another sub and this is the one I'd probably have made, with Dan Kemp coming on for Kaikai, the West Ham man having shown both skill and industry in his showings to date. Hamilton switches to the left and Kemp takes the right hand side. 

Yet another chance as Hamilton (now in the left) gets away again, beautiful footwork, stuttering then sprinting but Grant Ward can only lift the ball wide from the knock down. 

Robson and Hamilton carve further crossing opportunity but despite stretching and and lots of shepherding the ball across the edge of the area, Plymouth hold firm. The keeper is untested. 

I'm getting a word. 

'Madine' 

But the goal machine's backside remains resolutely on his seat despite my sense that it would be better off in the six yard box where he could help out a tiring Yates or the ball might just bounces off it and go in. We've been pretty, we've dominated possession and the wide play especially has been dangerous but we've just not got enough presence in the box... An ugly goal is the only way I can see us scoring but I'm not sure Critch thinks like that.  

Again, it's Hamilton onto a simply gorgeous ball from Robson, great cross but no one can get on it. Yates at the far post but no one at the near. 

The sub is Lubala, (for Anderson) and I'm thinking, exciting as Bez is, it's a bit like we've taken Kaikai off to bring him back on. 'For fucks sake Neil, stop being a purist and get the big lump on up front to finish a cross' is probably the sort of sentiment I'd be muttering were I at the game. 

5 minutes of injury time goes by with Yates looking knackered and Pool looking frustrated and conceding corners and the game ends with Pool doing what they've done a lot off, running at Plymouth, laying it off, going back and coming again but not making the breakthrough. 

--- 

It's a crap outcome and I feel like kicking the back of the chair in front of me, but there isn't a chair in front of me because I'm not at the ground. At least for a moment I forgot I was on the couch. Hamilton was superb today, but it was never the less his mistake that led to the goal. That doesn't bother me though, mistakes happen. What concerns me far more is not scoring.

Again.  

It's getting boring writing 'Robson used the ball well, Yates linked up well but didn't look clinical, Kaikai has his moments and Keshi works hard' but that's the essence of it. We know the script and we can see that parts of the system work really well. At times it looked like it was only a matter of time before we at very least equalised and possibly went on to overwhelm them but what also concerned me alongside the lack of lethality (a word I've just made up), was a lack of an obvious plan B when the energy of the plan A ran out a bit. 

Hamilton is accused of 'lacking end product' but I thought he put the balls in and we didn't finish them. Our set pieces weren't bad either, and several times we won knockdowns only to do tippy-tappy work, trying to fashion the angle or the opening but no one seemed to quite want to put their foot through it or their head on it when the chance was there. 

Ward did ok today, he looked athletic and comfortable with the ball but I can't help feeling he's one 'footballer' too many and that had he been fully fit (which I assume he wasn't,) Virtue's willingness to a) put his foot in b) his decent shot and c) his late runs into the box might have made a difference. Maybe Sarkic is the missing link in this plan.

I dunno. 

I'm in too much of a strop to finish with another witticism about managers whose names sound like crap companies in the Yellow Pages. Anyway, I can only think of Mel's Machines, where ex Barnsley and Man City boss Mel Machin rents diggers, cement mixers and such items, striding round a filthy yard wearing a fleece jacket, holding a clipboard whilst pointing and shouting over the noise of engines and the barking of a couple of big dogs on chains with a greasy roll up on the go. 

Fucking football.

It's a load of shite. 

Once we get going, we'll be reet.

utmp

Friday, September 11, 2020

Not a season preview

Who can know what the season brings? Optimism can dissolve into nothing or resolve into glory.

There are many teams, but few can take the prize.

Most will fail. Most will fall short. 

Many words are expended in self persuasion, but they mean nothing on the pitch. Talking yourself up can lead to a fall. Those in front of the camera use many words to say as close to nothing as they can. The weeks rolls on, but only 90 minutes matters. 

Players, alone amidst yawning empty amphitheatres. Playing for no one but far off screens. A cold dissection follows failure, muted, mild satisfaction the product of victory. Distance makes drabness, it dulls the senses and dampens the appreciation of the sinews stretched, of lungs busted, of tackles crunching. Glory is lonely when it's shared from afar. 

Like war games. Armies clash but under no flag or banner. Soldiers but no nation. 

The season begin as autumn unfurls, as leaves curl and winters tendrils creep into evenings. A time of doubt, uncertainty and strange shadows. In fear, we want to draw together and yet, we are banished to solitude.

No drum to beat time, no ebbs and flows in the noise, no frenzy or lull, no anguished curses of frustration. No route march, no routines. No chatter in the concrete depths, no spring loaded snap back of coloured plastic, no fiddling with cold gloved hands to present the ticket to the machine. No swirl of the glass and tipping the last cold dregs. No needle, no empty rage and no blessed relief. No warming yourself with the car heater and thinking 'at least I went' 

Only speculation and worry. This won't go on. It can't go on. It might go on. 

The clock ticks, metronome steady. There are fixtures to be fulfilled and it is fitting that we are so far away from home to begin a season like no other. 

Hamilton, like lightning, Yates scrapping, linking, moving, working. Kaikai, newly underrated and newly outshone but deadly, like panther in the dark, others now provide the shade for him to hunt. Anderson, barrelling into foes, a dodgem car footballer with a touch of silk, a buzzing hornet, a cyclone. Robson, like liquid gold, slipping into space.

Coached and drilled. Neat triangles and bursting runs, swapping and changing, swarming and shoaling, reforming, probing and passing. Yet confidence can be brittle, blame is always lurking. Heads can go. Fear can infect the fearless. 

Unlikely heroes are made, ugly moments change fortunes. The unloved bask in adulation. A single whistle blown or a flag raised can alter everything. A foot stuck in the turf, a muscle that gives way, a ball holds up in the mud. A lapse in concentration, a chance conceded or a moment pounced up. 

What comes is chaos. For all it is dressed up in numbers and for all the words expended, all the wisdom offered, it is the beauty of the thing that it can never be tamed. Mastery is never assured. Defeat is always there, a prospect that only make victory more keenly desired. Glory is just the absence of loss, gravity can only be cheated for so long. The next game starts even. This is what we love. 

Nerves, tension, sinking into despair, sudden elation, unfairness and frustration, dominance, pressure, forcing the issue and riding our luck. It's all to come. 

Who knows what happens next.

Not me. 

Let the whistle blow. 

utmp 

Steve's half time quiz questions - News - Darlington Football Club

Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Oh, the tension... : The Mighty vs Barrow

Like a mini Vegas

The road to Wembley pt 2? Our first path to glory was blocked by Stoke, so we take another one. It's only the EFL trophy but at least it's not friendly. I couldn't take another friendly. That bit where all the ridiculous numbers of subs come trooping on, making you realise you've shelled out £6 to watch a practise match when you could have been given it to orphans or dolphins makes me feel a bit hollow inside.

Of course, an FL Trophy group game is entirely different... 

Our first 11 are  seeming pretty decent at football but tonight's line up isn't the first string with only Robson, Nottingham and Maxwell out there from our nailed on starters and an entirely new forward line of Madine, Lubala and Kemp. 

Our team looks well balanced and I'm thrilled to discover Barrow have no sub keeper. Does it make me a bad person that I'm going to spend the entire game wishing for an injury or sending off so I get to see one of the greatest pleasures in football, the outfield player in goals? Who knows?  

Talking of 'good things in football', a proper big lad up front is a great pleasure and Madine early on is looking the player he can be, as he puts in more challenges in first 60 seconds than entire pre season combined. The best bit is a beautiful bit of control and a turn, where he shapes to drill it but instead threads a gorgeous weighted pass for Kemp who is just offside. 

Minutes later the goal machine touches off in a one two to set Lubala free. Bez ties his full back in knots before drilling a blocked effort that loops over bar. 

Barrows first chance is very easily gained, as Nottingham is beaten in the air and Thorniley loses his man but the shot is screwed wide under pressure from the beaten Blackpool man chasing back. 

Minutes of nothing pass until a clever ball nearly sets Scott Quigley through, but Teddy Howe (who I'll say now, has one of the best games he's had, if not the best game he's had) slides in and denies him after Nottingham has failed to do so. 

Outrageous footwork from Ethan Robson who is in more of an advanced playmaker role, freed up by Williams sitting deeper starts a driving run that leads to a ridiculous period of play where everyone has a touch, we put it across the box twice, maybe three times but we never make the keeper work. It's so Steve Mcmahon circa 2002-3 it's outrageous. 

Teddy Howe fashions the next chance with a lovely cross to Robson who spins on the edge of the 6 yard box and forces a great save from the keeper. 

Pool are all over them. Robson's cross from the left can't find Luballa and Wards lifted ball from the right is just beyond Madine. Ward then lifts a ball from deep that Kemp runs on to but can't quite get a clean shot away. It's all 'nearly' and 'not quite' but surely just a matter of time. 

All the dominance is almost for nothing as Barrow take a quick free kick that finds everyone but Shaw on their heels. From the corner, Chris Maxwell makes a frankly blinding save, one big glove in the air to save a deflected shot that seemed to have beaten him. It's almost injustice that it was offside it was so good.  

Another triptych of chances as Robson's deflected free kick, forces a scrambling save, from the corner Lubala gets right under a free header he should do better with. Minutes later Nathan Shaw twists, turns and gets a lovely ball in to no one, but the headed clearance drops to Ward who catches it beautifully but the fizzing, spinning ball crashes in to the advertising hoarding instead of the net. 

Barrow are chucking themselves in front of efforts and defending with admirable resolve but the tide turns slightly in the last few minutes of the half. First they have the ball in goal, but it's easily offside and then, two set pieces in a row, one from the right and one from the left cause concern. It's the latter that is most dangerous, a horrible inswinging, bouncing ball that evades attacker and defender alike until Maxwell, scrambles, chasing the ball, leaping at the last and tips it round the post. 

---- 

Pool have been really attractive to watch, Ethan Robson in advanced mode has a side to his game I didn't know was there. We've been better than them but not made it count and it's a bit worrying how easily they've got at us when they've been able to break. 

----

The second half is upon us and in the corner between the North and East the petrol station is aglow with an almost Vegas-esque allure. 

The first effort of note is a Lubala run and unconvincing shot, which doesn't even make it to the goal, but breaks instead for Madine but his effort is equally unconvincing. I think Madine is playing quite well but he's not looking confident in front of goal. 

Barrow are on the advance till good work from Nathan Shaw snuffs out a clear sight of goal, Shaw chasing back as last man and harrying the runner till he puts it out of play, when it looked as if he had a great angle for a shot. 

There follows a few minutes of ballooning crosses and bad free kicks with both sides working hard but quality end product lacking. 

The first really good moments comes when Williams, who is tidy enough and offers a bit of presence in midfield, if little in the way of thrills, drives a quick, crisp ball forward to lubala who helps it onto Madine. The goal machine is baring down on his target but he pulls it back to find Lubala. The new man hits it well but the Barrow keeper is equal to it, tumbling to his right and showing good strength to beat it away. 

Barrow spring the offside trap but Thorniley makes a terrific saving tackle. Chissy froths about flat lines for about 3 minutes and it angers me that he offers no credit at all for the quality and timing of the slide. Also, tonight he annoys by consistently saying 'on the island' instead of 'on the pitch' which isn't a phrase I've noticed him using before. There's also a weird Partridge-esque tangent about how Plymouth might have a scout there, but he hopes not because of Covid. It's as if he can't face correcting himself, for the fact he's simply forgotten for a second. Then he infers that Plymouth would have some dark arts way of seeing the match, even though he knows full well it's being broadcast on iFollow for anyone, including Plymouth to see. It's some comfort that Brett is alongside him at his languid and laid back best which takes the edge off.  

Nottingham has to block an effort from just inside the box and the resulting corner leads to Maxwell's only misjudgement of the night, coming far too far out to chase it and being relieved when the ball is forced out for a second corner instead of back across goal. Maxwell plays well again though and though Jak Alnwick has been fantastic for St Mirren at the start of the year, I think Maxwell's experience and footwork suits this team down to the ground. 

More good work from Teddy Howe sees him along the right touchline, then bizarrely all along the goal line to within touching distance of the post, it's like someone has overwound a clockwork toy and he just can't stop running. Once he reaches his destination he hammers it, it must bounce for someone, any touch will be a goal, surely! Somehow the ball bounces back to where it came from and hits him and goes out for a goal kick. Just Teddy's luck...

More defensive jitters as Thorniley concedes a free kick on the D that happily comes to naught. 

I've enjoyed this match but it's getting that feeling. The one where you just can't visualise us scoring. 

Howe yet again on on the right using his lighting pace to hare on to a clever Grant Ward ball forcing a corner. Substitute Anderson picks up beautiful first time ball from Kemp and sets off on terrific run down to right followed by a lovely cross that Madine leaves for lubala who hits it... Wide. Another good bit of work from Howe as beats two Barrow men, gets to the byline and finds Madine who turns and lays it back... to the gap between Pool's onrushing forwards. 

It's one of those games. 

Barrow look to pinch it, to make it really one of those games. Williams gets turned and their forward races through and plays a potentially lethal ball that Maxwell again is at full stretch to defy. 

The last meaningful act is another lovely ball from Howe who has been as good as anyone on the pitch, which Kemp leaps, glances towards goal but we're denied last minute glory by both the keeper and the offside flag. 

For reasons I can't quite work out, it's penalties. That said, I also don't understand why about 87.2% of all things are the way they are in the world, so I'll just accept it. Brett reassures everyone, it's just a laugh and a chance to practice penalties cos no one going out and no one is watching. Can Brett always follow me round and say 'nah, don't worry about it, it'll be reet?' 

Here we go...

1) 
Yates sneak it under the keepers body... 

Quigley belts into the roof of the net... 

2) 
Lubala skips, stutters and side foots into the corner. 

Conner Brown jogs in like he's not arsed and somehow, the shot is even more languid than the run and it strikes Maxwell's body and bounces away. 

3)
Anderson, no nonsense into the corner. 

Callum Gribbin strikes a lovely effort that Maxwell is like elastic trying to keep out, but can't quite reach.  

4)
Ward slips but the slip deceives the keeper and the ball hits the net. 

Taylor drives it low and close to Maxwell but he can't get gloves behind to it, the ball almost going through his hands. 

5) 
Kemp skips to the side, angles his run and then drives it into the bottom corner past a marooned keeper. 

Triumph and untold delight. 

---

Overall, I quite enjoyed it but we clearly need to rack up a few goals sometime soon. We're gonna score one more than you requires us to score. Howe obviously did his reputation a world of good with few obvious mistakes at the back and some really quality work going forward. Anderson was good when he came on but no one particularly shone or disgraced themselves. Madine faded a bit but he looked as if with a partner, he'd be potentially dangerous. He linked much better with others than in pre season but nothing quite came off for him inside the box. He needs a goal or at least, to be involved in a goal. We need a goal full stop!
 
Lubala looks one sided, he cut inside all the time, he looks as if he gets it and tries to burrow his way toward goal as a default. He worked hard and did some nice things but I felt sorry for Shaw who kept over lapping and getting ignored and thus everything came down the right and for my money (a Chissy-ism) Shaw is one of the best crossers we have. Bez is clearly talented, but I think he needs more coaching in what the forwards need to do within the system, which I'm sure he'll get plenty of. 

Kemp did some nice work and really does (again, as Chissy would say) 'put a shift in.' 

It's a FL Trophy game on the telly. Nowt much more to say.

I want to go to a real game. 

utmp


 



Saturday, September 5, 2020

2-1: Liverpool vs the Mighty

Not wanting to spoil things, but this wasn't the final score...

I'm ultimately not sure why we're playing this game. It seems like a return favour for when Klopp let Critchley have a go on the first team or something. We're clearly fit and ready to go, so why go to Anfield and play against a team like them? Probably something about learning or character or whatever, but I'm really not looking forward to this as much as maybe I should be. I'm also worried that the rest of the squad might not believe Ollie Turton when he says 'I used to play here' and that Matty Virtue might get upset if Klopp doesn't remember him. They're not just football robots y'know, they're people.

---

It takes a full minute for us to touch the ball and Liverpool look slick and skillful on a bowling green but it's surprisingly Blackpool who nearly break through first with CJ Hamilton racing down the right but supplying Jerry Yates with heavy cross that is just not quite where where he wants it. Yates gesticulates, but it looked to me as if he got caught slightly between throwing himself at it and going with his feet. 

We're off again and a lovely three man move looks like its unlocked the door but Matip stretches to deny Kaikai. So much for their good start, we look their match so far. 

Liverpool slice us open twice on the left within a minute but Nottingham looks every bit £75 million as he controls a dangerous cut back with one touch, takes a look and clears to a Blackpool shirt. 

Minutes later, Notts' value has dropped somewhat as he passes back to Maxwell without noticing Firmino is all over him. Liverpool don't punish the mistake and try and football it round for a bit but we won't settle for that as Hamilton punishes an even more lazy pass with a tough challenge, emerging with the ball, racing towards the Kop and drilling it low and hard into the bottom right corner. I'm enjoying this much more than I feared I might. 

Maxwell twice denies Mane in the same move, excellent saves but Liverpool are offside anyway so it doesn't matter. Again Maxwell is looking assured. 

There's a bit of a breather where there lots of good football but nothing much happens. 

Pool's next moment comes from James Husband who is surprisingly nimble in a tight corner, swinging a cross that Allison takes under pressure from Hamilton. 

Liverpool almost break through but more impressive work from Notts denies a Firmino flick header, the big lad taking a whack in the face from the ball but standing tall against his man.  

Yates is involved with a beautiful give and go, winning the ball well, off loading, racing away down right and receiving the return pass in his stride, the move comes to nothing, but it's an example of the fluidity of the forward line. 

Maxwell makes a couple of solid stops, getting behind Liverpool efforts well. 

Pool shout for a penalty as Allison cleans out Hamilton. It looks like the referee has given a corner but it turns out he has pointed to the spot after all. Yates steps up as the keepers kicking his studs against the post echos round the ground. Yates hammers the pen into the bottom left corner and me and my lad leap off the sofa as one. 

Yates nearly bursts through again but over runs it and we're absolutely on fire. 

Liverpool serve a warning that they might douse the flames as Keita hits post from the edge of the box but almost straight away Ward misses a chance to fire at goal with Allison out of his goal having cleared but not convincingly. 

Liverpool have the next chance as Milner has the ball on the left, he stops and the game stops with him as everyone stands of him and waits to see what he'll do. He choose a simple lay back, from which the ball is stabbed through to through to Salah, but Nottingham dives in front and prevents an almost certain goal.  

When it comes, Liverpool's first is easy, a corner, a header, a goal, but we're not bowed by the setback as from the next Liverpool attack, Nottingham wins possession then gallops forward, going past a man on the way before feeding Yates who finds Kaikai but Allison spreads himself to deny us at the near post. 

The last action of the half sees the again impressive Keshi Anderson smothering a clear Firmino chance - the Brazilian gets away, but Keshi gets back to him like a piece of elastic and makes a superb challenge. 

--- 

Pool have been magnificent. Husband has had a great game, Nottingham almost imperious, Hamilton has looked superior to his Liverpool marker and we've been so busy and alert. There's a feeling that in the last five minutes Liverpool stepped up the gears but it's been impressive to see how well the unfancied partnership of Notts and Big Marvin have done against a forward line that will go down in the annals of time as 'better than Rochdale's' 

Put simply, we've done exactly what we did to Everton, to Liverpool. We've played with intensity, commitment and skill and looked every inch their equals, if not more. Yates has had a good game, troubling the Liverpool centre halves, Robson is just a Rolls Royce in midfield, you don't notice him because he just shows, gets, gives and is so calm. Anderson is the most committed player I can remember for years and has skill to match his effort. Sullay hasn't been vintage, but he's done ok and it's not quite fallen for him, no one has been poor and overall, we've looked like a real team. 

---

We make some subs, with MJ Williams, Jack Sims, Dan Kemp and Bez Lubala replacing Robson, Maxwell, Hamilton and Kaikai. 

Liverpool make some changes too and release some of their freakish genetic experiments onto the pitch and immediately look better for it. 

Firmino hints at what is to come with a volleyed effort that brings a decent save from Sims. The equaliser is not long in coming as Ekpiteta clearance smacks against Mane who controls and shoots. Sims saves well from the initial shot, but the rebound ricochets against Mane again, hits the bar, then bounces perfectly for the striker to tuck it away. It's a scruffy goal and a bit lucky, but from then on, Liverpool are cruising. 

They're soon in front as Grant Ward concede possession, Sims saves again from Salah's shot, but from the loose ball Liverpool pull it back and Firmino hammers it home. Lots of hands on hips and aghast looks amongst the defence, but it feels as if we're running in treacle. 

Kemp, who is the highlight of the second half for the Mighty, does great work, stealing the ball from Milner and finding Yates who has to fight to turn, looking for all the world like he's being held but his shot is blocked and balloning over the bar and the resulting corner comes to naught. 

Yates with an excellent run is the only other moment in the first 15 minutes where we threaten. It's way more disjointed and Liverpool have stepped up a gear and we look less comfortable. With new players who've barely trained with us its not surprising and it's notable how much more nervous we look without Maxwell at the back. He's really good with his feet, something you only notice when he's not there. 

We make more changes and Madine, Shaw, Howe, Feeney, Antwi and Thorniley join the action, leaving only Big Marv on the pitch from the starting 11. 

Not surprisingly, there ensues a spell where Pool simply can't get the ball away, Feeney culpable early on of a poor clearance, granting Liverpool about 45 seconds of making us back pedal and chase shadows before they work an opening and Harvey Elliot slots past Sims who gets a hand on, but one that only helps the ball into the bottom corner. 

The fifth is not long in coming, Firmino with a stunning run that from the moment it starts looks unstoppable. Big Marvin almost manages with a sliding interception. He's close but no cigar and Firmino retains possession and pull back for Minamino to tap in an easy finish.  

We're still trying though and Feeney reminds everyone that he still exists by skinning his man and racing down the right flank and playing a curling ball looking for Madine that they hack out for a corner. 

We have a nice move with Williams spreading play, Kemp collecting on the touchline and releasing Feeney down the line with a slide rule pass who crosses and again, they clear for a corner and again, the corner causes Liverpool no issues.  

Kemp then does a nice bit of footwork, coming inside off the right and with a cross come shot forces a hurried bit of work from the Liverpool keeper. 

Madine almost makes a contribution to the game by holding the ball well, seeing Lubala running inside him and almost pulling off a back heeled through ball. Almost, but not. Lubala takes a while to get up to speed with the rotating strikers thing, spending most of the half stood on the left touchline, but towards the end he seems to become more mobile. Madine does very little other than jog about. He can't still be carrying that knock, surely? 

Kemp, Feeney and Lubala link to force another corner and it looks like we might be able to save a bit of face here. 5-3 would be fine. Needless to say, the corner is off no threat at all. 

Liverpool's sixth sees a totally unmarked Origi tap in at the far post after a cross from a totally unpressurised wide man. Whether Liverpool have played much better or our own performance has been much worse, they are scoring without really having to work for it. 

The seventh sees a looping cross hung in after a short corner, Liverpool are first to what seems like about 5 flick ons and and some precociously hot housed wonder kid who I can't be arsed looking up his name taps home. I've given up by now and it looks like our defence has too. 

There's a moment at the end that could bring a little cheer as Feeney runs through middle, feeds Madine who has come wide (so that's a thing he did to be fair), he lays off to Kemp and the low ball across goal looks for Antwi, who slides, Gazza-Euro 96-esque, but can't connect. It would be the least we deserved but it's not to be. 

---

Liverpool murdered us in the second half and what we learned was our kids and reserves aren't as good as their kids and reserves. Who knew?! We also made more changes than them as they finished with at least Milner, Keita and Firmano playing the 90 minutes and players like Curtis Jones on the pitch. We had less obvious class by the final whistle is all I'll say. Our kids were playing at Myerscough and Bamber Bridge last year, there's weren't. 

Madine still looks completely off the pace. I don't disregard his ability, I spent time last year sticking up for him but he just didn't put himself about at all. That's all I can say. Clearly, the task was a bridge to far for some of the young lads and we looked leaderless and overwhelmed. Like the Blackburn game, it's unlikely that the second half team that finished will start together in any meaningful match. 

Liverpool's first choice side were subdued and cautious, they couldn't cope with our starting 11 at times. Their kids were electric, knowing that they had nothing to lose and might as well give their all. Our second 11 wasn't even in the same world as them. 

But lets not be too glum. It looks as if Critchley has built a very good side, in very little time on the evidence of the first half. We've got a dangerous mobile attacking unit, a composed midfield and a surprisingly decent defence, despite all the anxiety about the latter unit, it did well enough. The second half was a different story, but it's probably asking a bit much for him to produce two sides capable of beating the Champions in the course of a single transfer window. 

Ultimately, our first team is better than theirs. Fact. 

UTMP

They're lucky to have us: Liverpool vs the Mighty


NOT the Charity Sheild

Stream of consciousness football blogging is the where it's at. You might believe from watching the media that people want banter and heat maps but actually they want free form writing that makes no sense on any level unless you are inside the writers head.

Personally, I think the drivel that ex pros spout would be vastly improved if they were allowed a small amount of acid before any given show. I'd love to see Jermaine Jenas describe Arsenal beating Liverpool in the Charity shield as 'like the pitch turning into a dragon, but the Liverpool players were unable to hold on and fell off into boiling lava, then the dragon flew off into the sunset which folded in on itself and left me here, contemplating the silence which is more beautiful than any sound I've heard before'

A bloke on a podcast analysed all the trophies on an aesthetic level and decreed the Charity Shield the worst. They're completely wrong. It's clearly the Premier League trophy that has none of the charm of the 1908 trophy. Yes, it's a bit ugly, but it looks like a big, fancy version of something you'd find in a scout hut for winning the under 15s county league and for that, I quite like it. Every year it surprises me that it's not called the 'Charity' Shield any more. It's the 'Community' shield and nothing says 'community' like keeping the game behind a paywall. Apparently the FA hadn't been properly clear about who, what, where and when in terms of the money, so they had to change the name. Well done everyone. At least we have them to thank for stepping in and saving Wigan and Charlton. Oh.. wait.

We're seeing in Wigan an absolute lesson in the madness of football. Fans raising well over half a million quid in less than a couple of weeks and that money being worth a few percent of the shares or maybe keeping the club going for a couple of months or so. The relentless drive for higher wages has an impact on everyone, the cost of keeping up spirals and without outside investment, clubs either flounder or fall. It's not new news that supporters are powerless, but the strength of Wigan's fan's collective effort oddly highlights how weak we all are. All that energy and money raised in a town that is far from rich and yet, it's really a long way short of what is needed. That's no critique of Wigan, it's a comment on the way football is so far removed from being a community sport that it literally hurts.

Talking of community, Joe Fagan's house is mad. The ex Liverpool boss alway fascinated me a bit for being a ridiculously successful but ultimately obscure footnote in football history. Everyone's heard of Shankly and Paisley but Fagan is far less revered, despite winning a treble and reaching the European cup final in 100% of his seasons in charge. How football has changed to the degree that a club like Wigan Athletic are needing raise millions just to stay afloat is illustrated by Joe Fagan's house.


This is where he lived, for the duration of his Liverpool coaching and managing days. In a house within a mile of Anfield that sold after his death for less than £80,000. Now, wages have escalated to such an extent that players and managers are property tycoons and yer average top flight players second car probably costs more than Fagan's house. Lest we forget, this is a man whose success came long after the maximum wage was abolished and who won the biggest trophies he could, who sat right at the top of the tree. Living in the heart of the community. Yes, doubtless Fagan could have moved to Southport or Formby had he wished but the home of a football manager, even into the 1990s was likely fairly indistinguishable from the home of a bank manager or doctor. Football had not been disconnected from the rest of the world.

It's not that the days of the salary cap were glorious. Far from it. 'When Footballers Were Skint' is a glorious collection of tales from the days of low wages. My favourite stories from it involve players with second jobs, ranging from sheet metal worker, university lecturer to movie star double in the case of Millwall's Len Tyler, a doppleganger for the 39 Steps star Robert Donat. The question that dominates the book is 'what happened to all the money?' Those who play the game at the highest level do so in front of huge crowds, in stadia that receive very little ongoing attention, with very limited support and medical facilities and yet receive a pittance.

Bolton's players describe being let on the tram from the training ground to the cafe where they ate after training for free, because the conductors often took pity on their low wages. Poignant and tragic tales of former footballers sinking into a mire of unemployment and low skilled jobs after their careers ended abound and the energy and righteousness of the crusade to end the maximum wage leaps of the page. It's also hard to overlook the words of the very pros who sat and voted for an end to their own penury who now look on the game's excesses as perverse and immoral.

Of course, the top stars are still looked after but even for someone like Stanley Matthews, the ability to run a hotel alongside his career (something he could never have bought on his wages) ends sets him apart from the crowd. He's different from the crowd, but not so different that he might as well be another species.

Which is what I sometimes feel that Premier League supporters are. (see what I did there?)

Today's opponents are Liverpool, who've taken up the mantle of being the latest set of supporters for whom their chief whine is the obnoxious - 'we don't get enough credit in the media.' This is a phenomena I will never understand. If you've won the league, why do you give a shit what the papers write or what some ex pro say, whose media and football expertise consists of doing whatever trolling his ghost writer or producer tells him to? You've won the league ffs. Be happy.

I'm not sure if these fans who get all vein bulging on phone ins and twitter about 'credit' and 'bias' are still stuck in some kind of pre teen scrapbook collection phase and see positive headlines about their club as some kind of reflection on themselves. I'd understand it more if the clubs at the top of the tree were treasured community assets and the success had been a result of some kind of group effort, but when most of the Premier League and all of the recent winners of anything are owned by complex foreign business structures and largely staffed with a global jamboree of football talent it seems a bit weird to take umbrage over a bit of praise or comment that is milder than you'd like it to be.

As for the game today, I'm a bit underwhelmed.

We got started against Stoke and now we're stopping again for another pretend game. All that pissing about with loads of subs and playing at 3/4 pace is fine at the beginning of the season but it's underway now and playing yet another practice game feels a bit like Critch is doing a favour for his ol' mate Jurgen.

Apparently we're supposed to be really grateful for the opportunity to play at Anfield and to pit ourselves against a great team. Fuck that. We're the Mighty and we don't need this. We need to come up against a load of lads who'll kick us up in the air and fire it up to the big man. That's what we couldn't cope with last year. Not silky show ponies who'll probably make us look like a bad photocopy of them. Our best game was against Peterborough, who are probably the nearest thing to the all out attack and pace of Liverpool in League 1 and we beat them. We also beat Oxford (albeit luckily) but it was limited cloggers we couldn't manage.

Yes, this isn't last year's team, but whilst our skill levels have gone through the roof, the question isn't 'can we play football' but 'what happens when we're not allowed to play football?' Liverpool will let us play football and it'll be a nice treat for the kids to see where Dad used to work and meet all the famous people he knows and maybe get some autographs along the way but I can't help thinking the best practice would be to play someone like Stoke again and see if we've learned from the way they managed to keep us at arms length by being very organised.

If I'm cutting a cynical figure, I'm sorry. I am very excited by what's happening at the club and I just want to get on with it. We're the Mighty and I'm not going to get excited about the opposition. They're lucky to have us and not the other way round.

It'll come as no surprise to anyone who has read this blog before (there's at least 10 of you out there), that I completely reject any stat that starts or ends with the phrase 'Premier League history/era.' I treat any journalist or supporter citing such abject shit with the disdain of Alan Partridge castigating Lynn for failing to spot the Rover Metro is simply a rebadged Mini Metro.


So instead of claiming some meaning to the fact we did the double over them in our only recent top flight season, I'll instead point out that whilst they're a club that we're supposed to be in awe of, we've not actually lost to them since 1966, are unbeaten against them in our last five meetings and our head to head record is almost level with theirs, as is our amount of Ballon d'or winners and English World Cup winners. The 1953 Cup Final is the most famous game in the history of the game ever. What's more loads of teams play in red, but only we play in tangerine. So in all honesty, they should be wetting themselves over playing us. Show some dignity fellow 'Pool fans. They're just a knock off Everton who only exist cos they got their ground built for them by the other lot. Still, they were very sporting last time we won there, so I'll give it a rest and get on with the real stuff. Us.

Against Stoke, we seemed to suffer from the front three rotating but forgetting to leave one of them in the middle to score goals. All the lovely football is grand, but you've got to finish the moves you build. We've got three new kids, one from Crawley who apparently runs down the wing and shoots like mad all the time and one from West Ham who joins an ever growing club of players who 'like to play on the wing or through the middle' who I know nothing about, plus a full back who seems like he's really a winger. All in all, it's to be hoped that we can pin Liverpool in their own half for 90 minutes as I'm not hugely confident in anyone but Husband if they get a chance to go at us.

I like to think Critchley will keep Notts on the bench first half and at some point drop back to the dugout and put his arm round the rangy fella with the weird square head, point to Virgil Van Dyke and go 'see him there, that's how I see you Michael, all you've got to do is believe.' I feel like narrative demands that Critch then disappears in a puff of smoke but that bit seems a bit far fetched. Probably more likely Notts nods his head because he feels he has no other choice, before wincing as Mane' goes past Big Marvin again whilst Critch ponders if another winger is the answer.

Anyhow. Bring on Barrow and Plymouth. Yeah, we're playing Man Utd or someone today, but I'm actually envious of the rest of the clubs at our level who seem to have proper games to play.

UTMP





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Yet another bad owner. Where do they breed them?

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