Great update mate, keep it up.
I love Baptiste!
I love Baptiste!
1
My first game in charge as a manager, leading Blackpool up against Falkirk in a friendly. Not the most grandiose of entrances into the world of football management, traveling to a Scottish second tier team's home pitch with barely over 1,000 people in attendance, but I should be thankful I could ease myself in. Now, let's kick things off with a win.
I picked a 100% full strength team to take on Falkirk, as I wanted to see how the team performed under my new philosophies and tactics. Gilks started in goal, with Eardley, Evatt, Cathcart, and Crainey in front of them. It was tough to leave out Alex-Baptiste, but he will get his chance. I started Sylvstre holding with captain Ferguson and Tiago Gomes in front of him. Ince and Matt Phillips started on either side of my main striker, Taylor-Fletcher.
I spoke with the players before the game. "This is a friendly. Don't forget that, I don't want to see a torn ACL. However, remember that this is your chance to show me your worth and prove you deserve a starting place. Let's start off the season right, boys. Here we go." They seemed at least somewhat inspired, or at least I hoped so.
I walked out onto the pitch after the players, and shook hands with Gary Holt. He was kind enough, and we wished each other good luck. I could feel my nerves ebb away as I stepped into the technical area. It was a fantastic feeling to back on the pitch.
Falkirk's stadium.
I sat down next to my assistant, Steve. We shook hands, and he said, "Let's f*ckin' go!" I never will understand these Brits and their incessant cursing. My thoughts, though, were cut off by the whistle, and we were off.
We dominated from the opening whistle, playing much of the game in the opponents half. I'd been pacing in my technical area the entire time so far, emotions high on such a menial night already.
Around 10 minutes in, Gomes dashed forward 10 yards and laid it off to Barry Ferguson. "Wide, look wide!" I shouted, and our captain immediately responded, putting Crainey through on the left.
"Service!" I could feel it already, this was a chance. Crainey whipped in the ball to nobody in particular. Their defender leaped at it, got his head to it, and buried it by accident into his own net. One-nil. I pumped my fists and shouted in joy, like it was me who had scored, not a fluke own goal. Still, the play was good and we thoroughly deserved the goal. Steven and Barry ran over and celebrated with me for a bit before heading back to our half.
Steven Crainey celebrating.
The half continued in this vein of form and we pushed them back in their own half for the majority. Close to 23 minutes in, we broke forward again. Ludovic Sylvestre launched an inch perfect long ball forward onto the head of Taylor-Fletcher. One touch on his chest, laid back to Ince outside of the box. "On frame!" I screamed, as if he could hear me from there. I guess he did, as he took a one time shot and buried it in the bottom corner. Two-nil.
I jumped in joy and Steve gave me a massive hug. This was going perfectly.
Ince celebrating his goal.
It all turned sour just a few minutes later. One of the Falkirk strikers collided with Cathcart, sending him flying to the floor. He landed quite awkwardly and couldn't get up. The physios stretchered him off, and I threw on Baptiste to replace him. I later found out he broke his leg and would be unavailable for at least two months.
Things brightened up once again at almost the stroke of half time. Ince set off an a mazy run down the left flank, reminding me a bit of myself way back when, beating three men before closing down on goal. Their keeper sprinted out, but Tom unselfishly laid it off to Ferguson who finished with ease. Three-nil. Had it not been for the Cathcart injury, this would be absolutely perfect.
The referee whistled for half time, and the players jogged off. I told the players I was extremely pleased with the team, and we needed to keep it going. I put on a number of subs, and throughout an uneventful second half I had subbed off every starting player. The second team looked unmotivated and complacent, but still managed to control possession well.
At the end of the match, Mr. Weiner blew his whistle for the last time, ending the match as a three-nil victory for Blackpool. The players shook hands, and I shook hands with Mr. Holt one last time.
After the game, I told the players, "Wonderful first half. We looked a bit tired and complacent in the second half, but we can work on that. Keep up what we did in the first half, and we'll have a great season." The players were pleased, and our captain Ferguson won Man of the Match.
On the way home, Michael gave me call. He congratulated me on my first friendly win. I was thankful I had such a great brother. Who knows, maybe in a season or two we could even manage against each other?
You are reading "From the Seaside to the Top - A Blackpool Story".
