by Michael Cox
It was essentially a lower-league strategy based around physicality and dead balls – the most blatant old-school tactics since Sam Allardyce’s Bolton Wanderers – so it was ironic that their opening day defeat came at Bolton, now coached by Gary Megson. They found themselves 3–0 down by half-time, eventually being defeated 3–1; two of Bolton’s three goals were headers, the other an over-hit cross that drifted straight in. It felt like Stoke couldn’t even cope with the type of contest they wanted, and after that opening-day defeat one bookmaker, amazingly, paid out on Stoke to be relegated immediately. It was a blatant publicity stunt, although few disagreed with the sentiment.
But then, amid speculation about when and how Stoke could possibly collect points, they won their first home Premier League fixture 3–2 against Aston Villa. They played some decent football, and striker Ricardo Fuller scored a sensational Bergkamp-esque strike with a flick and turn past Martin Laursen and a fine low finish. Stoke’s injury-time winner, however, came from a more basic source; Rory Delap took a long throw-in from the left, launched the ball into the six-yard box, and Mamady Sidibé nodded in. Stoke were up and running.
This goal defined Stoke’s approach, and Delap became the Premier League’s most unique tactical weapon with his sensational long throw. The Premier League had witnessed long throws many times before – in fact its first-ever goal was scored by Brian Deane for Sheffield United from a long throw and a flick-on – but there had been nothing quite like Delap. A high-school javelin champion blessed with natural upper-body strength, Delap’s throw-in expertise only became significant late in his career. By the time of Stoke’s promotion in 2008, Delap was 32 and had already made over 200 Premier League appearances for Derby, Southampton and Sunderland. He’d made his Republic of Ireland debut a decade previously. Yet there was little sign Delap possessed this extraordinary, game-changing quality; he’d been renowned as a talented, efficient and hard-working midfielder capable of the odd spectacular goal, his traditional footballing qualities quite sufficient to make him Southampton’s club record signing, a status he retained for 11 years. He had occasionally taken throws elsewhere, but with Stoke he would regularly end matches having taken more throws than he played passes; he was a thrower first, a footballer second. Stoke’s approach was simple – stick it in the mixer.
Delap initially joined Stoke on loan in the Championship in October 2006, although after only a week he suffered a broken leg against Sunderland, his parent club. He was ruled out for the rest of the season, but Pulis stuck by him and signed him permanently in the January transfer window, realising he had a unique talent on his hands. Delap’s throw-in ability justified his faith. ‘At Derby, the emphasis was more on trying to throw the ball in behind defenders for Paulo Wanchope to run on to, and at other clubs it would just be in the last few minutes if we were trying to salvage something from a game,’ Delap explained. ‘But when I joined Stoke, the manager made no bones about it and made it clear he knew all about my throw-ins and that he intended to make full use of them … it’s one thing being able to throw the ball into the heart of the area, but you need players who are good enough and brave enough for it to work. They have to time their runs just right, but we hardly do any practice. Maybe one or two goes at it on a Friday, when we are going through set-plays, but that’s about it.’ Pulis had assembled an extremely tall side, packing his team with six-footers and sending two or three defenders up into the penalty box simultaneously when Stoke won a throw in a dangerous position.
The distance on Delap’s throws was incredible – he could launch the ball up to 40 yards, meaning he could often land the ball between the width of the goalposts. Stoke started basing their entire game around his throws, sending long balls into the channels, hoping the opposition would clear the ball into touch. Interestingly, his throws proved much more effective in the Premier League. Whereas Championship defenders were accustomed to constant defending against crosses and dead balls, top-flight centre-backs were increasingly selected for their speed and technical quality. There was also a significant change in Delap’s deliveries at the start of Stoke’s Premier League campaign. Previously he arced deliveries into the box, but Pulis requested flatter throws that defenders simply couldn’t read.
In a functional side full of hard-working but limited players, Delap became Stoke’s star attraction, and his unique talent meant he was forced to perform some curious publicity stunts. Stoke being in the Potteries ensured that these often involved throwing balls at plates and jugs, although Delap objected when asked to chuck a Christmas pudding over a double-decker bus, which sounds like a challenge set by Finchy from The Office. But he was a likeable character who enjoyed a great career, taking him from the fourth tier to the Premier League and back down to the fourth tier again. ‘I’d like to think I’ve done a half-decent job with the ball at my feet down the years,’ he said. ‘But if people want to remember me for my long throw, that’s fine. It’s better than not being remembered at all.’
In their debut Premier League campaign Stoke were seemingly only dangerous at the Britannia Stadium. Only six sides in the division collected more points at home, but only two – the bottom two – collected fewer points on their travels. There was something particularly intimidating about the Britannia, and Pulis used a few old tricks to give his side an extra advantage. He set Stoke’s pitch to the minimum possible dimensions under the regulations, suiting Delap’s throws and hampering the passing game of technical visitors. The grass was noticeably longer than at most grounds, disrupting the possession play of passing sides but barely affecting Stoke’s route one football. Pulis sometimes went even further against top teams, holding training at the Britannia the day before matches and playing a short-sided game in the midfield zone between the penalty boxes. This scuffed up the midfield but didn’t affect the wings or penalty boxes, the areas Stoke’s direct play concentrated upon.
The atmosphere played a part, too. The Britannia was a new ground, built in 1997, but retained an old-school feel, complete with advertising hoardings displaying the logos of local building and plumbing firms rather than investment banks or insurance companies. During Stoke’s first couple of Premier League seasons the corners of the ground were open, meaning some supporters could stand outside on a nearby hill and watch the action for free. Perhaps that openness contributed to the sheer windiness inside the stadium. At home to Spurs, Danny Higginbotham stepped up to take a penalty, eventually smashing it home, but was forced to place the ball on the spot three separate times because it kept blowing away. Then there was the crowd – at a time when Premier League grounds were becoming noticeably quieter, Stoke fans were loud. They contributed to the aura surrounding Delap’s throws by gesticulating wildly with a throw-in gesture whenever appropriate, then providing menacing sound effects as he commenced his run-up. They were baffled why West Bromwich Albion, who had beaten them to the Championship title the previous season, received plaudits for their slick, possession-based football, considering they were on course for immediate relegation and eventually finished bottom. Stoke did the double over them that season, Potters fans celebrating with a rendition of ‘Long ball! You should have played long ball …’
After Aston Villa, the next visitors to the Britannia were Everton, who conceded two second-half goals from Delap’s throws, with a particularly strong wind adding a couple of extra yards to his deliveries. The first arrived when his throw from the left-wing was punched away by Tim Howard, the ball falling to Seyi Olofinjana loitering on the edge of the box and the midfielder smashing it home. Next, Delap’s right-wing throw skimmed off the head of Everton defender Phil Jagielka and flew straight past Howard. Everton won 3–2, but they’d been given a serious test at the back. ‘He’s like a human sling,’ said Everton boss David Moyes of Delap. ‘It was strange today; we had new players, a couple don’t speak English, and explaining what game they’ll have against Stoke wasn’t easy.’
Next up at home was Chelsea, whose manager Luiz Felipe Scolari
sounded genuinely excited by the prospect of facing Delap. ‘I think he puts the ball in better with his hands than his foot – it’s fantastic,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s not beautiful football but it’s effective … they put the touchline inside because they are intelligent. I like this coach, I like this because it’s different.’ This was a World Cup-winning manager marvelling at Stoke’s basic approach. As it happened, Delap missed that game through injury – he had, unsurprisingly, picked up a shoulder problem.
He returned for the trip to Portsmouth, where his throw brought another headed goal for Fuller via a Dave Kitson flick-on. Then there was a 1–0 home win over Sunderland; Delap throw, Fuller header. The next home game brought a 2–1 win over Arsenal, with Delap’s throws creating goals for both Fuller and Olofinjana. By mid-November more than half of Stoke’s goals had been scored from throws, and they continued to score in their classic manner throughout the season. ‘A wet and windy night at Stoke’ became shorthand for questioning whether a foreign player possessed the requisite toughness for the Premier League, and was already a frequently mocked cliché by the time Sky Sports commentator Andy Gray pondered whether two-time Ballon d’Or winner Lionel Messi would be capable of performing in these conditions.
The deliveries themselves were problematic enough, but Stoke also benefited from the knock-on effects. For example, at throw-ins the offside law doesn’t apply. Whereas teams can defend wide free-kicks with an aggressive defensive line and push opponents away from goal, that approach wasn’t possible with Delap’s throws. Even if the throw was 30 yards from the corner flag, Stoke could crowd the goalkeeper and create mayhem inside the box. Furthermore, if Stoke had a throw midway inside their own half, Delap could turn the opposition by launching the ball in behind, which was perfect for a manager like Pulis, concerned with territory rather than possession. The threat also meant opposition defenders desperately attempted to play out of trouble in tight situations rather than conceding throws, which inevitably resulted in errors and Stoke winning the ball close to the opposition goal.
It was fascinating to observe opponents’ tactics when defending these throws. Some were desperate not to crowd their own goalkeeper, so broke the number one rule of defensive play and let Stoke’s players move goalside. A couple of sides dropped onto the goal line, almost like a hockey side defending a short corner, while others pushed three men forward, trying to force Stoke to leave players back. Part of the problem, of course, was that it was simply impossible to practise defending against Delap’s throws in training; Middlesbrough manager Gareth Southgate worked on defending throws ahead of his side’s trip to Stoke but was forced to bring his thrower in from the touchline to the edge of the penalty area to replicate the distance Delap could achieve. Even then it served as poor preparation. Middlesbrough supporters spent much of the game chanting that Stoke’s fans were ‘only here for the throw-ins’, and sure enough, Ryan Shawcross powered home the winner from Delap’s delivery. Against Wigan, Delap managed to throw the ball with such force that it sailed straight into the top corner – the goal, of course, didn’t stand.
While there was a comedy element to Stoke’s approach, it forced opposition managers and players to think about the game, reconsidering sacrosanct concepts. Stoke’s meeting against Hull, a fellow newly promoted side who had previously faced Delap’s throws, was remarkable for two unique incidents. First, Hull goalkeeper Boaz Myhill found himself sweeping out of his goal in the left-back zone, but rather than knocking the ball out for a throw, promptly turned around and booted it out for a Stoke corner instead. No one had ever previously considered the idea a throw-in could be more dangerous than a corner, but Delap changed the situation entirely.
Second, and even more bizarrely, Hull manager Phil Brown was so worried by Delap’s deliveries that when Stoke won a throw-in midway inside Hull’s half, he instructed substitute Dean Windass to trot along the touchline and warm-up directly in front of Delap as he prepared his run-up. It’s remarkable that Brown thought that this was a legitimate tactic, and the veteran striker was inevitably booked for his blocking. But this was surely another first – the positioning of a substitute relevant to the action, the tactical battle including a 12th player. In the return meeting Hull tried another underhand tactic, bringing in the pitchside advertising hoardings to disrupt Delap’s run-up, forcing him to bend his run like a high-jumper. That wasn’t a problem at the Britannia Stadium, of course, thanks to the small pitch.
It was surprising that the Premier League didn’t have regulations about these situations, and Delap prompted further questions about the subtleties of the laws. Should the considerable periods Delap spent jogging across to the touchlines count towards stoppage time? Should Delap be allowed to use pitch-side towels provided by Stoke’s ball boys – who mysteriously vanished when the opposition had throws of their own – to dry the ball? These towels weren’t available away from home, which forced Delap to wear a peculiar ball-drying bib under his shirt, prompting speculation about its material. It was actually nothing more than a simple vest with the back cut out for reasons of comfort, as Delap wore it even when the weather was unsuited to an extra layer.
It felt inevitable that Arsène Wenger’s Arsenal would become the most consistent victims of the fabled ‘wet and windy night at Stoke’ – much as they became the fall guys against Allardyce’s Bolton – and Stoke versus Arsenal became a major Premier League rivalry. In fact the stylistic contrast goes back much further. In 1980/81 Stoke manager Alan Durban, a no-nonsense Welshman like Pulis, played an almost unheard-of 4–5–1 formation in a 2–0 defeat away at Arsenal, and when criticised for the lack of entertainment value, famously replied, ‘If you want entertainment, go and watch a bunch of clowns.’ Pulis had a similar philosophy. In six league and cup visits to Pulis’s Stoke, Arsenal lost three times, drew twice and won only once – and even that was overshadowed by the broken leg suffered by Aaron Ramsey. In stark contrast, Arsenal won all five contests at the Emirates. It really was the trip to Stoke’s ground, rather than Stoke themselves, that intimidated Arsenal.
Wenger once criticised the way that Stoke crowded goalkeepers at set-pieces, complaining, ‘You cannot say any more it is football; it is rugby on the goalkeepers.’ Stoke supporters reacted, to their immense credit, by bellowing out ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ throughout Arsenal’s next visit. This story effectively came full circle many years later, when, in a bizarre twist, England rugby coach Eddie Jones distanced his coaching philosophy from Pulisball. ‘If you want to play like the old Stoke City, then that is the safest way to play,’ he explained. ‘Just stick the ball in the air, chase hard and get everyone to clap … Rugby is exactly the same; every time you run with the ball, you take a greater risk than if you kick. We don’t want to be reckless, but we don’t want to be like Stoke City of old either.’ Stoke captain Ryan Shawcross hit back by suggesting Jones ‘should stick to talking about the sport he’s paid to work in, rather than dipping his toe in football’. He had a point – look at Sir Clive Woodward.
Throughout Pulis’s five top-flight seasons with Stoke his approach wasn’t always about throw-ins – Delap’s delivieries became less of a novelty, and opponents started to cope better – but it was largely about route one, with only subtle upgrades in terms of technical quality. Pulis’s choice of centre-forward was always based more around height than goalscoring return, and he struggled to accommodate flair players. He signed the talented Turkish forward Tuncay Şanlı after he’d played excellently against Stoke for Middlesbrough, but he used him sparingly. There was an extraordinary incident away at Hull, when Tuncay was introduced as an 81st-minute substitute in place of the misfiring Kitson. Five minutes later Stoke midfielder Amdy Faye was sent off, which prompted Pulis to desperately search for height on his bench to compensate. Defender Andy Wilkinson was quickly summoned in place of Tuncay, who stormed straight down the tunnel after his five-minute cameo. That underlined how much Pulis prioritised height, although it didn’t prevent Hull scor
ing a stoppage-time winner. This somewhat contradicted Pulis’s repeated assertions, amid criticism of his approach, that Stoke would play better football if he had better players – and Eidur Gudjohnsen endured a similarly frustrating experience.
Pulis presented Stoke as underdogs – once literally, when he marvellously referred to his squad as being ‘from Battersea Dogs Home rather than Cruft’s’ – and emphasised the wealth of bigger clubs. After a narrow 1–0 defeat away at old foes Arsenal in 2013, Pulis directly mentioned the difference in spending power. ‘You have a look at Arsenal’s resources, what they’ve got, what they’ve spent, the players they’ve got … They spent, was it £12m? On a left-back [Nacho Monreal]? We’re not in their league in a lot of respects.’ At face value – looking at Stoke’s side – you wouldn’t have questioned that assertion. But, astonishingly, over the previous five years Stoke had the third-highest ‘net spend’ figure in the Premier League behind the expected duo, Manchester City and Chelsea. Pulis had simply purchased run-of-the-mill players who played basic football, the odd technical talent who was underused and a stream of target men who furthered Pulis’s obsession with route one. There were clear limitations to his approach, and he was sacked later that year. His finishes of 12th, 11th, 13th, 14th and 13th – plus reaching the FA Cup Final in 2011, where they lost 1–0 to Manchester City – should be commended, considering how Stoke were initially written off.
Pulis’s approach at Stoke was back to basics rather than progressive, but few other managers have forced their opposite numbers to reconsider fundamental principles so extensively. Scolari’s simple assessment of Stoke’s play – ‘I like it because it’s different’ – is particularly appropriate. When it comes to strategy, heterogeneity is crucial, and Pulis, more than anyone else, ensured that there was unrivalled tactical variety in the Premier League. The ‘wet and windy night’ line was probably overplayed, although Pulis once said he’d omitted Honduras international Wilson Palacios from his starting XI because ‘it was too windy’. No one was entirely sure if he was joking.