Tony’s Rovers story began in 1970, when he was plucked from non-league Buxton Town for a trial.
A striker turned midfielder, he became a constant presence – part of the 1974–75 promotion side under Gordon Lee, and again influential in the team that rose back to the second tier under Howard Kendall in 1980. A broken leg in 1981 ended his playing days but opened the door to a remarkable coaching career.
He took charge of Rovers six times. Three times he came close to being appointed permanently.
In 1986, after Bobby Saxton’s departure, he was a strong contender before Don Mackay got the job. In 1991, after Jack Walker took control, Tony steadied the ship with five wins, two draws, and just one defeat – a run that helped pave the way to Wembley and the 1992 play-off final, a moment he cherished for the rest of his life.
Again in 1999, after relegation and Brian Kidd’s departure, Tony stepped in, calmed the waters, and prepared the ground for Graeme Souness.
Through all the big-name arrivals and departures, Tony remained. Jack Walker trusted him implicitly. When things got tough, the answer was simple: send for Tony.
As a caretaker, he believed in change. “Why carry on what the previous manager was doing if he’d just been sacked?” he’d say.
He backed youth, gave players freedom, and treated everyone the same – whether they cost five million or five thousand. Mark Atkins moved from right-back to central midfield under Tony. Jason Wilcox got his chance. The late Len Johnrose was given an opportunity. Tony saw potential where others saw risk.
Away from football, Tony’s world revolved around family. He preferred a quiet night at home with his late wife Eileen and his daughter Natalie to any spotlight or ceremony. Even persuading him to attend the North West Football Awards – where he was surprised with a lifetime achievement award – took some convincing.
After a spell at Blackpool and his retirement, Tony’s health began to decline. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, a cruel contrast to the fitness he’d maintained all his life.
I’ll never forget sitting with Tony and Natalie as they prepared to share his diagnosis publicly. I’ll always be grateful they trusted me with something so deeply personal.
Though conversation became difficult for him, his love for football never faded. He still came to Ewood Park, still felt at home there, still found moments of that dry humour and those one-liners that made him who he was.
Reading the tributes over the last 24 hours, it’s clear Tony Parkes meant so much to so many. My sincerest condolences go to his family – the people he loved above all else.
Thanks for the memories, Tony. And thank you for the friendship.
