Bradford City 3-3 Crewe Alexandra

He's Magic, You Know! City Wizard Casts Almighty Charm That Spells A Draw For Resilient Bantams

 

   It was a clinical effort.

   He powered forward from the centre, the ball at his feet, the mud sloshing at his ankles, McLean waiting for the reception. He played it through. McLean flicked it into his path. The ball fell to his feet. He arched his back, swung his foot, and pulled the trigger.

   Textbook stuff.

   The ball flashed forwards, as powerful and unstoppable as its sender had been for the previous 59 minutes. It was ambitious from that distance. Ben Garratt dived low. Valley Parade paused and prayed. The keeper’s arms stretched out, but it was too late. The ball slipped under and the net bulged.

   That was all the confirmation we needed.

   I can’t tell you how happy I was to see him get that goal. I hadn’t celebrated that wildly in a long, long time. There was screaming, squealing, manic jumping, hoarse shouts, first pumping, a Gary Neville goalgasm, a temporary flit to Mariah Carey vocal range, shaking, hugging – the whole works. My vision may have blurred. I don’t know. In any case, I had to sit down for a minute afterwards and collect myself together, rediscover the composure that had disintegrated in an eyeblink following 15 minutes of pure rampancy from my heroes. A 0-2 deficit crushed after 15 minutes of unrelenting pressure, effort and hard work.
   You can say whatever you like about this team, but you can never, ever, ever criticise their spirit. Gary Jones - in all his impassioned, valiant, knee-sliding glory - is the one-man embodiment of everything Phil Parkinson ever set out to do and has done for this club. If I wanted to, I could run an entire series based solely upon the City supremo’s managerial credentials and the improvement to individual players since he’s been here (Episode one, the rise and rise of James Hanson, is coming soon), but you need look no further than the Bantams’ Captain Fantastic to find what this club is really all about.
   As Parkinson said after the game, the second half was a proper Bradford City performance. 
   Which compensated for a mixed first half. Some of Bradford’s passing play was accurate and impressive, and the game was fairly evenly paced, but the hosts struggled against the conditions and lacked the prowess to really take the game to Crewe. Debutant Matty Dolan failed to convert a James Hanson knockdown and Gary Jones came close with a ferocious strike from the edge of the box, but Crewe inched in twice in a difficult opening quarter.
   It was the visitors who opened the scoring on twelve minutes. Carl McHugh and Jon McLaughlin became entangled as Uche Ikpeazu raced forwards, and the striker cleanly lobbed over as Davies scrambled backwards to cover. It was sick, deflating and saddening – City, once again, had left themselves with it all to do.
   The back four struggled against Crewe’s imposing and hugely organised forward three, who, as well as bearing physical resemblance to three Akinfenwas, were all neat flick ons, clean runs-in behind and slick, insightful movements. The deluge of rain did little to lift our already dampened spirits, and, though there were some positives to take from the first half – most notably, no reversion to directness when the circumstances could easily have forced a leap into hoof-ball – it was largely 45 minutes to forget for the Bantams.
   But City really came out of the blocks in the second half. From the off, it was urgent, convincing and persuasive, the Bantams creating a flush of chances in the final third. Adam Reach’s cross was met by a Hanson header, but Garratt somehow flicked the danger away with an impressive fingertip save. The winger’s blistering retort moments later was blocked amidst the goalmouth melee and Dolan slid the rebound just wide, while Darby powered down the right flank to deliver a teasing cross that blinked just an inch in front of McLean. Hanson again saw a header denied and McLean’s smooth stab was blocked from close range. It was City, City, City, the Bantams on top and refusing to allow Alexandra to breathe. Something had to happen now.
   Crewe goal.
   The visitors broke quickly in a desperate relief from Bradford pressure, and Ikpeazu added a second to his tally after firing home McLaughlin’s parry. 0-2 – surely City couldn’t salvage anything from this game now.
   But less than four minutes later, City were back on the front foot. McLean squared the ball perfectly to Hanson and the forward fired low to put the Bantams back in the contest.
   It was a fightback that had been led by the Bantams’ captain, so how apt that Gary Jones found himself coming to a dramatic knee slide in front of the Kop, and toasting drawing the Bantams level. How had this happened? How had this really happened? It would seem that, importantly, and in the face of any number of insurmountable and disheartening challenges, the effort of this team never, ever falters – no matter how horrendous the football becomes, one can always take comfort in the passion coursing through the veins of every player donning the claret and amber right now.
   Yet, there were more twists and turns to come for a narrative that looked to have already climaxed. In what seemed like a final, crushing blow for the home side, Crewe found the net with just ten minutes remaining. It all looked over as Mathias Pogba fired past McLaughlin.
   But no one had told that to Gary Jones.
   The 36 year old gladly received McLean’s lay-off and slotted home in an exact carbon copy of his earlier goal. Come on, City.
   Naturally, questions were raised today. The passivity of the first half and the readiness of the defence to ship three goals in such a way, both present problems that need to be addressed sooner, rather than later. The ‘one win in however many games it is this week’ quota still remains, hovering over this team and staunchly refusing to be banished. It’s worrying, but it shouldn’t consume us.
   Because the second half suggests that win is not too far away. In fact, it looks to be in touching distance. What today showed, above all else – what it dispelled and exhibited, rather than unearthed – is that City have enough to claw their way convincingly out of this nadir. Gary Jones - the lifeblood, the heart and soul, the public face, the figurehead, the Dumbledore in a team of Hogwarts alumni – is back to his best. You can’t even begin to argue otherwise. Aaron McLean and Hanson look to be working well – McLean, particularly, was hugely impressive today. You can choose to get bogged down in that now infamous statistic, or you can choose to keep the figure in context and marvel at the pros of what was a marvellous second half showing. Don’t bury your head in the sand, but, for tonight, celebrate that point and pay homage to Gary Jones with the biggest fist-pump you can muster.
   He’s sure earned it.

 Bantams Blogger’s Top Three:

1^st: Gary Jones: A typically lionhearted performance from the cult hero. When the backs were against the wall, the captain made sure the team salvaged something. An inspired display in every aspect.

2^nd: Aaron McLean: Hand in all three goals in an engaging shift. Looks a more intelligent and assist-making player than his predecessor, and there should be more to come from him as he gels with Hanson.

3^rd: Stephen Darby: Another quality showing from the defender – give him a 60 billion year contract right now, please.

Bradford City 0-0 Preston North End

REACH FOR THE STARS: CITY NEW BOYS SHINE IN SPARKLING FIRST HALF

  

   “New boys can get Bantams smiling again,” the T&A headline had screamed prior to kick-off.

   It wasn’t wrong.

   It marked the fusion of the old and the new: City scaling the intoxicating heights of September with a dazzling passing performance from the familiar faces we know and love, but blended perfectly with the fresh impetus offered by new acquisitions. The mid-season resurgence that had begun with the courageous second-half fight back at Brammall Lane continued in equally impassioned vein, but with greater finesse and flow instigated by the hugely impressive Gary Jones, Adam Reach and Kyle Bennett.

   It was hard to believe it was the first time they’d played together.

   Though Huddersfield loanee Chris Atkinson wasn’t fielded for a game in which the Bantams recorded their first home clean sheet since September, his fellow Championship stars Reach and Bennett enthralled with captivating wing play, City working the flanks well and looking fresh, fluid and fast thanks to their young acquisitions.

   It was a wholesale shake-up from the side who had played Sheffield United. Long-term absentee Andrew Davies, making his first start since October, returned to centre-half as Bates was pushed over to left back, meaning Carl McHugh had to settle for a place on the bench. Thompson was sacrificed in favour of Doncaster striker Kyle Bennett, while Adam Reach lined up on the left wing and Nathan Doyle slotted back into centre midfield. The strike force remained the only untouched outfield area, McLean and Hanson both retaining their places.

   It was a very promising opening for Parkinson’s men. From the outset, they were captivating, to a man: Jones provided energetic, fluid dictation in the middle; Reach was a lively and calming presence on the left; Darby provided excellent attacking support for the lively Bennett, who oozed class in each and every manoeuvre: every pass was perfectly picked out and played, every cut inside menacing, every movement exciting, every attack even more promising than the last as City grew in stature and confidence. After the winger had effortlessly skipped down the wing, his inviting cross was teed marginally over by McLean, but the former Peterborough man fired wide before later struggling to muster the finish to Hanson’s superb flick-on. The Bantams looked organised and efficient, every inch an exciting League One outfit.

   But everything nearly crumbled just before the half hour mark. Bennett fouled Preston midfielder Neil Kilkenny and a minor tussle followed, with the Bradford winger dismissed after pushing his opponent. It was a controversial red card, arguably a harsh and heavy handed one, and the Lancashire side also found themselves reduced to ten men following Kilkenny’s comedic flop to the floor.

   City could have folded, but it’s credit to the perennial stoicism and unwavering resilience of Parkinson’s side that they carry on regardless of the problems they face. It was another example of the deep-rooted spirit the team possess, and Stephen Darby stepped up admirably to the plate to link-up well with McLean. Doyle lashed two ambitiously venomous efforts towards goal but both took late deflections, and McLean saw his textbook strike acrobatically denied by Declan Rudd.

   Preston grew into the game more as the second half opened. John Brownhill came close as the visitors capitalised on a Matthew Bates error and James Hanson flicked over the crossbar shortly after, as the game descended into an enthralling end-to-end clash. City threw everything forward, Bates, Davies and Reach all pummelling down the wing to deliver teasing cross after teasing cross, but the game remained at deadlock as the Bantams failed to capitalise. Preston hit the woodwork in a frantic 20 minute period in which either side could have scored: the Lancashire side were more clinical in the final third, but Bradford were tidy throughout and were always on the front foot.

   It was an excellent showing for City – possibly the best display since those heady early home highs against Sheffield United and Brentford – and high-flying Preston never looked a cut above the hosts. Most settling of all, the back line – bolstered by the return of lynchpin Andrew Davies - looked more stable and correlated, and, though there were admittedly occasions on which Preston looked like scoring, even Bates looked more assured, and McArdle came close to replicating the form shown in the reverse fixture last year. As McLean and Hanson get used to each other (McLean looks different to Nahki – perhaps a more creative entity who links with the wingers better) and Reach, Bennett and Atkinson are further integrated into proceedings, there is the potential for some excellent performances during the final half of the campaign.

   This display needs to be kept in context, of course, but a lot of questions have been answered and things suddenly seem so much brighter - yesterday was nothing but promising. The next challenge now lurks ominously and imposingly down the M6, ready to open the next draw of the Bantams’ League One account.

Bantams Blogger’s Top Three:

1st: Adam Reach: Dfyghsieinvosnchspaoegaujfksvpsv. Mind blown.

2nd: Andrew Davies / Stephen Darby: Superb return to action for the hugely influential centre half – a massive influence. Darby showed tenacity and determination getting forward, which is going to be critical while Meredith’s absent.

3rd: Gary Jones: Characteristically energetic in the centre of the park. Some great passes picked out and really brought the wide players into the game as City worked to make use of the flanks.

 

 

 

 

It's Not You; It's Me

The Nahki Wells story in break-up clichés

Nahki Wells has now left the club

   The saga is finally over. After weeks of speculation, weeks of new names being added to a string of possible suitors and weeks of trying to construe the signs to plot his next move, Nahki Wells married Huddersfield Town. It’s galling, him leaving for them, isn’t it? The £1.5 million plus clauses transfer fee is an arm’s length away from the multi-million pounds price tag we had already mentally spent. And it hurts. A bit, anyway.

   My overriding memory of the January Transfer Window comes from my brother, a Liverpool fan. A few years ago, when Torres’ Anfield future was in doubt, my brother camped out on the couch on deadline day, a Liverpool scarf draped around his shoulder as Sky Sports flashed between links from reporters and stills of the Spanish forward. With no real affinity to Liverpool, I was bundled upstairs at bedtime, but my brother was allowed to stay up late that night to watch the climax of the whole thing as the ominous deadline crept into view.

   I woke up in the morning to find the word ‘legend’ scrawled across his Torres poster. Two weeks later, it had been torn to the floor and the word “traitor” scribbled over it.

   Thanks to a few weeks of mental preparation, I’ve managed to avoid such dramatic… pain. I was ready for Wells’ departure. And, yes, it’s sad to know he’s leapt that side of the border, but it doesn’t erase two years of incredible memories.

   Which means it’s now time to delve into my hastily compiled list of boyband break-up clichés (it somehow feels… apt?). Here we go…

Break-up cliché number one: it was fun while it lasted

And it was, wasn’t it? Remember that surge of excitement when Nahki was first introduced? When he confirmed his arrival with that spectacular blast from the halfway line against Rochdale? What about that goal against Aston Villa? Burton away? Wembley? The best tribute to Nahki is himself and what he’s achieved: only by looking back on what he did, when he did it and how, can we truly get an idea of what a player and what an asset he was for us. He sniffed out chances others had deemed futile, and fired home from the most obtuse and acute angles going. He was one of our own, plucked from obscurity by our scouts, someone’s progress for us to chart and revel in and applaud and chant about. What sets this transfer window apart from any other is that Bradford had something, someone, a commodity, that seemingly everybody wanted – it was refreshing to be in that position. Everyone at school knew the name of a Bradford City player. Before Wells, that had never happened to me.

Break-up cliché number two: you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone

Nahki Wells was the first ever protégée I saw at City. He was the first player that made my school friends sit up and take notice of the Bantams. Before last season, he was the first player I ever earmarked as capable of playing in a higher division. We’re all going to miss him. He was significant to the entire team, but we’ll never really know of his true significance until we see the team functioning properly without him.

   Will someone weave in and out of defences to latch onto Hanson’s knockdowns? Will we ditch the long-ball stuff? Or - perish the thought - will we look lost without Wells? Reassuringly, I strongly believe that, given the months of substantial forewarnings that have flashed about, Parkinson and co. will have had targets in mind, but there will undoubtedly be a period of carryover as the team adapt to incorporate this new player and a new strike partnership is forged. Whether it’s Connell, Gray, Clarkson, McBurnie or a loanee, we can’t expect them to hit such dizzying heights straight away. It’s going to take time.

Break-up cliché number three: did it have to end this way?

Why them? Leeds would have been bad enough, but you could have understood because they actually look like they’re going places every year. But Huddersfield? I think we’re a bigger club, actually. Our ground is far more imposing – the most enticing thing about the Galpharm is that it sports a lovely backdrop of green-veined foliage and tall fir trees that resemble something out of The Chronicles of Narnia. And the price was hardly the eye-watering figure we’d set our sights on. It’ll draw jeers from some corners because Huddersfield really have got themselves a bargain, but we have to move on now. What’s done is done.

   Our club calendar now holds a degree of notoriety among the Terriers faithful, a fact that hovers somewhere between humorous and humiliating. Still, it’s not as embarrassing as the time Bradford plastered a Hull player on the front.

Break-up cliché number four: there are plenty more fish in the sea

Sure, Nahki was a rare talent. I’d never seen anyone like him, and the sheer dichotomy between his gift and the direness of some other players was too far-fetched to contemplate. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other Nahkis, or youngsters in the Nahki mould. We’re great at unearthing talent and we’ll do it again. What’s worrying is that we seem to have an inability to function without Hanson and Wells, and our whole system appeared geared up towards the target man creating things for the Bermudan. Nonetheless, we should view this as an opportunity to rectify the long-ball element of our game. There are other young talents to integrate into our system. They’re rare, but it doesn’t mean they’re not out there.

   Nahki Wells is proof such gems do exist.

 

 

Welcome To The Hotel California

Football fandom and other stuff

   No one gives you a handbook on how to be a football fan.

   There’s no advice on who to pick, who to cheer on, who will grace you with unbridled joy, and who will drag you through the entire spectrum of negative emotions and leave you blasting the futility of it all. In fact, as football fans, we’re a relatively helpless species: we can’t do what the players can, and mark number seven or tackle number ten, and our team is often picked for us by family. And we’re lumbered with the club – you can’t break the unwritten rule and switch allegiance.

   But even those who have the ‘luxury’ of selecting their own club don’t seriously consider it, do they? Do we? You don’t sit down with a list of the football clubs in the UK and calculate which one you’ll get the most joy out of supporting. Want a team that’s on the up? Choose Swansea City, who are making waves in the Premier League thanks to the iconic passing ethos engrained in the culture of a club – a passing ethos that, commendably, transcends any manager and crop of players. What about a team with billionaire owners that could buy any player at the drop of a hat? Look no further than Manchester City. Looking for a test of faith and resolve? A certain all-conquering Premier League team could be the club for you, though I’m sure the thrill of telling irate armchair supporters to find a bit of perspective will wear off after a while.

   Nobody sets out a criterion for selecting a team.

   Because, I suppose, you can’t. You don’t realise how relentless the football fandom is until you’re completely entangled in its grip. By that time, it’s too late. You’re unable to escape, breathe, leave, switch off, forget about it, detach yourself. It’s like an addiction, manifesting itself through the constant supply of stats, match reports, analyses and debates. For the rest of your life, you’re tied to that team: for the ups, the downs, the indifferent. Players come and go- some converted to revered cult heroes and fawned over even after an apt replacement surfaces, some chased out the door quicker than you can shout “offside”- but you’re always there; your team is your constant, and vice-versa. You feel every goal, every kick, every pass, every touch, every minute of play ranking somewhere between pure devastation and pure ecstasy. To analogise it, it’s like the Eagles’ Hotel California: “you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave”.

   I can’t imagine supporting anyone other than Bradford City, a sentiment I’m sure any Bantams fan would echo. Maybe that statement would have been written with a bit less conviction, two years ago. Or maybe it wouldn’t have. You’ve got to believe in the club and whatever they’re doing. That’s partly why the tides turn against managers so quickly. Promotion last year was made all the more sweeter because we did it the right way: we didn’t click our fingers and watch ourselves be lifted out; it was the sixth shot, with an intelligent manager and a group of passionate and hardworking players. Given longer, Peter Taylor probably could have cracked it, but would a promotion founded on long balls and uncreative play, have tasted as sweet? I doubt it.

   I read Nick Hornby’s Fever Pitch a while ago, and it struck me why some older Premier League fans seem almost nostalgic for elements that era. Not because of hooliganism, racism and unsafe grounds, obviously, but because of that sense of exclusivity, of belonging. An over-commercialisation of football–the gloriously named Hull City Tigers, to name but one aspect – has created a glass ceiling in the Premier League, and a bubble of different exclusivity. I don’t envy Premier League fans at all, because, although they’re treated to a display of the world’s most prodigal football talent on an almost daily basis, what their world lacks is substance. Clubs like Barnet and Exeter may not exactly exude glamour, but at least they can never be branded superficial. It’s an honour the Premier League runs the risk of losing, if it hasn’t already, as it seeks to increasingly distance itself from the world of the regular fan. I have friends who might turn their noses up at League One and City, but there’s no club I’d rather be supporting. With that in mind, there’s only one rule for my team selection: they can’t be anyone other than Bradford City.

 

 

Ricky Ravenhill Seeks Out Loan Move

Ricky Ravenhill prepares to leave the club

   Sheffield United were visiting Valley Parade, and the Bantams were 2-0 up. We were all incredulous. How had City, who were supposed to be tentatively calibrating their way around their new division and playing the part of the terrified new boys, managed to slot two past a team who had been tipped for promotion, a play off place at the very least? We’d all seen much, much stranger the season before, but we were still pinching ourselves. This was more than we’d expected an hour or so earlier.

   “Ricky Ravenhill’s coming on,” my uncle said, pointing over to the touchline. “He’d best not get booked.”

   “There are two minutes left!” I laughed. “Even for Ravenhill, that’s a stretch.”

   But, oddly enough, it wasn’t. Extra time ticked in, and Ravenhill found his name scribbled in the book for ‘dissent’. Which was sort of ironic, given how the midfielder’s playing style divided opinion during his tenure with the club.

   To some, he was exactly what was needed to match the combative, direct style of the majority of League Two outfits: tough tackling with dogged determination and fierce defensive play. But to others, he’s reckless and a bull in a china shop; though there’s always intelligence embedded in those spurts of manic play.

   But I liked him. And why not? He got stuck in. He won tackles. He lead from the front during the relegation battle of two years ago, and helped to secure survival at a time when things were looking increasingly, increasingly bleak (I blame Brawl-ey Town, among other things).  He was a symbol of Parkinson’s intent as manager, of the kind of players the City supremo wanted to bring in: passionate, hardworking footballers who wouldn’t be bullied off the ball.

   Ravenhill became the captain, but an injury sustained during pre-season banished him to the sidelines. Jones slid in, Doyle hopped aboard and the rest was history.

   Questions were raised about his role in the team. Why did we need him? What was the point of him? What did he bring to the club that others didn’t? Then, the squad rotation policy was implemented. Doyle ran out of steam, Ravenhill stepped up to the plate and that was it – our misconceptions about him were assuaged. The club captain was suddenly the most important man in the midfield, and Doyle was the one under fire. Football fans are, by nature, a very fickle bunch (me included, and I’m also great at sitting on the fence and getting Ravenhill mixed up with Stephen Darby from a distance, which is utterly disgraceful because the latter’s my joint-favourite player), and no sooner had we deemed Ravenhill surplus to requirements, he was the catalyst of our promotion charge and helping the Bantams rack up the points that were so desperately needed in the closely-fought play off chase.

   Doyle combined sleek passing ability with composure and calmness, while Jones offered unrelenting energy and the rallying cry when the team was under the cosh. Ravenhill was an amalgamation of the two, with a bit more thrown in besides: his merciless tackles saw him placed just in front of the back four, allowing Gary Jones to surge upwards and be more creative. He added something different to the fold, but Doyle’s coolness won out after Ravenhill picked up a knock during a midweek clash.

   Again, Ricky was stuck on the bench, a starting berth proving frustratingly elusive. He waited behind the first-choice midfield pairing of Jones and Doyle, and then Kennedy’s arrival saw him slip further down the pecking order.  He was second, third, fourth fiddle by the time the campaign opened at Ashton Gate, biding his time for a chance in one of the most competitive areas of City’s tightly-knit squad.

   Parkinson strived for a consistency within his starting eleven, with Mark Yeates and Kyel Reid the only ones to really challenge his ethos other than where injuries and international call-ups had forced him to make changes. Ravenhill bobbed along compliantly, never begrudging those who had started ahead of him – which is credit to his professionalism and maturity.

   And so, too, is his request for a loan move. At 32, the curtain will fall on his playing days in just a matter of years. Time is of the essence as far as his sporting career’s concerned. Unlike Darby, Wells and Hanson, he’s not got the luxury of an impending peak, of another ten years of first team football. Every game counts.

   Perhaps it’s no surprise he’s asked to move on, and there’s no doubt in my mind that there’ll be teams clamouring for his signature; he’ll be a surefire starter at many League Two, perhaps even League One, teams, because look at what he’s offering them: experience, energy and an attitude that most Premier League superstars could take note of when they’re flaring up on a Saturday afternoon. And maybe there’s still a place for him in this City team. Just maybe. If – perish the thought - Doyle or Jones pick up injuries and are out for months, or if Kennedy fails to impress, Ravenhill would have to be recalled, thrust into the centre of the park to slip on the captain’s armband for one last time. He might return and win a slot in the line-up, handing the ‘reserve midfielder’ hat to the players to whom he’d lost his place a year ago. Or he might leave for pastures new in January and sign permanently for another side where, it can be assured, his services would make a massive impact.

   But whatever happens, Ravenhill can rest easy in the knowledge that he was one in the band of brothers who propelled the mighty Bantams out of the dingy, gloomy, hopeless bottom tier, stopping the rot and reversing a slide that had been in full motion for over 10 unremarkable years. Walking out at Wembley. Holding that trophy aloft. And above all, sticking with the club when it would have been so easy to turn around and wash your hands of claret and amber.

   And having that on your C.V. will make any club sit up and take notice.

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Bantams Blogger Meets... Peter Jackson

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: Bantams Blogger meets former Bradford City player and manager PETER JACKSON to find out about his career highlights, the rise of Nahki Wells and his ill-fated spell in the Valley Parade hot seat.

   It’s a Saturday morning in Waterstones, and a trickle of City fans line up at a table in the doorway. Sat next to a stack of books alongside his wife, Alison, is former Bantams boss Peter Jackson, scribbling his signature as he poses for pictures and talks enthusiastically to supporters.

   In his autobiography, Living With Jacko, Peter and Alison talk emotionally and candidly about Peter’s battle with throat cancer, his football career and that fateful day in 1985. It’s a beautiful read, but not one that’s failed to attract controversy: Mark Lawn told the Telegraph And Argus last week that the board “don’t agree with what he has said in certain parts of it”.

   “[It’s about] mostly what’s happened in my life and my wife’s life as well, really,” Peter Jackson says. “It’s not a typical football book but it’s the truth about my career, my problems with throat cancer and basically my life in general.”

   Jackson played over 300 games for the club and returned to manage the side at the end of the 2010/11 season, eventually keeping the Bantams up with just one game to go. Though his stint in charge was ultimately doomed and he resigned after just four league games the following year, Peter describes his time at the helm – which saw the arrival of Bantams hotshot Nahki Wells - as his ‘dream job’.

   “[It was] brilliant. I loved it. I absolutely loved managing the club,” he begins. “To go down to Apperly Bridge, where it all started when I was a kid, as manager was really special for me and I’m just sad it didn’t work out.”

   ‘Work out’ being an underestimation. The start of Jackson’s tenure was blighted by uncertainty, with fans worried the team would slide out of the Football League and be forced to leave Valley Parade in the process. But for Peter, originally drafted in as interim manager, his priority was simple.

   “Just to keep the club up,” he says. “Just to keep the club up, simple as that. It was in freefall. There was no spirit within the club, there was no passion or pride - at least I gave that to the club, if nothing else. I brought some smiles back to people’s faces but my main aim solely was just to keep the club in the Football League.”

   Jackson secured survival at Hereford on the penultimate day of the campaign. The achievement saw him appointed permanently and he began recruiting for the new season, with his sights set on that elusive promotion to the third tier that had so far escaped all his predecessors. And Peter thinks the team he assembled could have cracked it.

   “Yeah, I believe so,” Jackson explains. “You only have to look at that couple of games before I left. For the Leeds game, where we should have beat Leeds United that night and they were a Championship side, we gave a really good account of ourselves, and with the emergence of Nahki Wells, a player I signed, I firmly believe that we’d have been up there.

  “Nahki came through Mark Ellis and Dave Baldwin. Different people had recommended this player and he’d been released by Greg Abbot at Carlisle. We brought him down, had a look at him and I signed him. He wasn’t on massive money so he was worth the risk because he had a lot of pace and he can destroy teams with his pace alone. But he’s matured now and he’s a really good finisher who’ll go for millions of pounds.”

   Just before his departure, Jackson’s side had taken just one point from a possible twelve and lost to Dagenham the week prior. Did he feel a pressure?

   “No, not really,” he says. “It was early stages in the season but there were things going on around me that shouldn’t have been happening at a football club. That was my reason for leaving and everything in the book is true.”

   Where did it go wrong?

   “Different people trying to do different things really – probably the emergence of Archie Christie,” Jackson sighs.

   It’s these comments, about then-head of development and chief scout, Archie Christie, that have led to City cancelling the book signing originally planned in the club shop. In the book, Peter writes, “Day by day, week by week, I felt my authority was being undermined… and not only by Christie… Mark [Lawn] also used to come down to the training ground while Colin [Cooper] and I were taking training sessions, something none of my previous chairmen had done.”

   In spite of this, Jackson doesn’t regret coming back.

   “No, not at all,” he says.  I loved it. I really, really did enjoy it. Being able to keep the club up, which I did, build for a new season… But, as I say, the arrival of Archie Christie killed it all.”

   Of a career encompassing the honour of being made the Bantams’ youngest ever captain, 60 games at Newcastle and 155 appearances for Huddersfield Town, as well as three promotions, what stand out as the highlights?

   “Winning, obviously, the Championship with City,” he begins, “winning Newcastle United’s Player of the Year and my promotion with Huddersfield Town at Cardiff many years ago.”

   And at Bradford City?

   “As a player, lifting the trophy and meeting so many incredible people - the spirit we had at Bradford City after the fire. I started there as a kid and to think I’m stood now, in the centre of Bradford, Mario’s, where I used to have my hair cut, 100 yards away… It’s quite emotional to think there’s a book on Peter Jackson in Bradford, sold in Bradford bookshops, so that’s quite pleasing. And the biggest low was obviously the Bradford City fire and another one is my sad departure of what I call my dream job.

   “The fire was a really awful time, as you can see in the book. The emotion was really high and, as I say, it was a very sad day for everybody connected.”

   Jackson’s current pursuit takes him far away from the pitch - but it’s one that, he says in his book, comes with even more pressure than managing a football club.

   “We’ve got a home care company,” he explains. “We provide carers to go to people’s homes and we employ over 90 people, so it’s quite a big business we’ve got.”

   And Jackson, who went to the cup final and was ‘even waving a flag’, says it’s great that City are finally moving upwards after six years of rotting away in the doldrums.

   “[It’s] good, excellent, really good,” he enthuses. “They’ve brought in good players, they’re doing well and they need to get on a roll. I’ve always said at one time, with the turnover of managers, someone will eventually get it right, and Parkinson’s getting it right.”

Living With Jacko is out now and available to buy here.

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