The dust has finally settled after a series of goals at Bloomfield Road secured our first away win in our history.
While the lads were busy breaking the net in Blackpool, I was holed up in the theater (yes, I was That Literate), were sternly but politely warned to turn off all digital devices. Of course, I spent the entire afternoon doing a kind of taboo vibrating pocket dance. I don’t know what’s going on, but the pacing suggests goal-related confusion.
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When the curtain fell, I couldn’t resist. The phone came out. I braced myself for the usual tally of Blackpool goals, only to be met with an unexpected, majestic zero. There are also members of the royal family, taking them for a stroll three In the onion bag. Three goals. Three o’clock. A triple helping of weekend fun.
In these geological times when victories seem rare, this feeling has become a rare panacea. It makes Saturday night sweeter, Sunday morning stronger, and Monday a little less awful. It’s a warm reminder that we’ve been good before and maybe, just maybe, we might be good again.
Whatever Lem Richardson had brewing in his coaching pot is now starting to bubble over. I know there are some who insist that our play is not that different from the Noel Hunt era, and on the face of it, the shape looks familiar.
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But on the surface, the instructions humming beneath them are not identical, and that’s important.
Players cannot be alchemized into something they are not. No chrysalis here waiting to explode into a surprisingly colorful winger, unless you’re Daniel Kerewa, maybe! This metamorphosis belongs in nature documentaries, not necessarily in the first league.
What Richardson have During his short reign, all we did was push us forward. There was no magic switch, no lightning, just slowly kneading faith back into a group of people who had forgotten the taste of faith.
Faith is a wonderful creature. Without it, football becomes sludge: sloppy, slimy and unimaginative. Once you get stuck in the quagmire, climbing out is a nightmare. That’s ultimately why Hunter had to go: He couldn’t stop the mental decline.
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When the head coach’s voice becomes still, the entire team begins to drift. Newcomers need authority to clear away the fog. Richardson’s tone certainly seems to do that, and perhaps that’s the spark behind this mini-resurgence.
By all accounts our win at Blackpool was deserved, flaws and all. Honestly? I’m fine with imperfection. I just hope we can stay calm and be a team that doesn’t mess around, and that’s exactly what we did.
More importantly, this victory injected a direct injection of faith into the blood. Instructions are clearer. Doubt loosens its grip. For the first time in a while, actively writing is no longer an illusion. I suspect players feel similarly.
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Let’s also briefly talk about the FA Youth Cup victory over Middlesbrough.
There is a lot to enjoy about this group. George Booth’s midfield performance looked like something out of a coming-of-age movie, Harley Irish charged at everything with admirable ferocity and Scofield Lomeni-Dekam pushed forward with a fearless power.
As in the previous round, Reading once again won the penalty shootout after 2-2 on the tundra in overtime.
They totally deserve it. If there’s another home game next round, I’d happily recommend paying the £4 to go and see them. They might surprise you.
Booth, in particular, deserves to be circled in bright marker. Quietly, we might be seeing another one on the rise.