Alas, Poor Ollie

By Oliver Sparrow, writing from London

“If we can go to Man Utd and get something and that keeps us up, I think that will be the best story that I’ve ever read or seen unfold - never mind anything that William Shakespeare’s ever written.” – Ian Holloway

Fifty-seven minutes of Blackpool’s do-or-die last game of the season again Manchester United had elapsed. Vaughan whips a delicious cross into the box and Taylor-Fletcher produces the unlikeliest of deft finishes to send his Blackpool side 2-1 up and the Seasiders into delirium. Cue commentator’s cliché: ‘You just couldn’t write this’. Holloway’s best story ever was starting to unfold right before our very eyes. But then Shakespeare turned in his grave…

Perhaps Blackpool would have done better to hold on for a one-all draw, but that second goal riled the Red beast. United weren’t going to have their special day tarnished by a defeat to the Premier League minnows. With ruthless efficiency and worrying ease, United added three goals in the space of nineteen minutes and Blackpool’s relegation was all but confirmed. Michael Owen’s neat finish extinguished all hope and was a dagger to the heart of every Blackpool fan and neutral in the country. Shakespeare laid down his quill and drifted back to sleep.

It was a cruel end to what has been a fascinating and exciting Blackpool season. The defensive frailties which have been all too evident this year were there to see again as United carved through a tired and ill-organised defence. In a way, the 90 minutes on Sunday summed up Blackpool’s season in microcosm.

It was a game full of excitement and drama. Charlie Adam’s equaliser for 1-1 was a thing of sheer beauty. A high-pressure precision free-kick to rival David Beckham’s fantastic goal against Greece in the deciding 2002 World Cup qualifier. Every neutral in the country was praying for that to go in, and even I - a devout Manchester United fan – jumped up and down in delirium when it nipped in off the woodwork. Fantastic fun.

Then just as United seemed to have control of the game, more pandemonium ensued from another free kick and Taylor-Fletcher produced a delightful flicked finish off the post to send Blackpool ahead. It was a brilliant finish, made all the better by being produced by one of the less-heralded tireless workers of the team. We all celebrated, but I think we all knew that it wouldn’t last.

As on so many occasions this season, Blackpool went ahead and then predictably capitulated. The survival dream was over and it was time to wave goodbye to the nation’s favourite football jester.

Ian Holloway has provided us with countless brilliant moments this year, and the Premier League will be a duller place without him. Please come back soon.

Alas poor Ollie, we knew him well.