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tenthreeleader

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Biography

  • Biography
    | 31-time FMS Award winner
    | FMS Writer of the Year 2008-09-12-15-16
    | Rob Ridgway's doppleganger

About Me

  • About Me
    FMS Hall of Fame Class of 2012

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    Writing again.

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    Rangers, MUFC, Reading

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    Reading FC (FM23)

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  1. 10 September 2022 Watford v Reading, Championship Match Day #9 Ryan stepped off the coach at Vicarage Road at the head of his team and then stepped aside to watch his players pass, one by one, into Watford’s home ground. He was watching for any signs that the ride from Berkshire had had any negative effect on anyone – limps, tight muscles, sore joints, anything that might affect his decisions on how the team should play on the day. Seeing nothing amiss, he proceeded to the visiting manager’s office and finished filling out his team sheet. There wouldn’t be a lot of change from Stoke, but some players needed to get back into the lineup after coming back from international duty. One of those players was Casadei, who had looked very good for Italy’s u-19s and appeared to be riding a good streak of form. So as Ryan briefed the team on the day’s tactics, he had the young midfielder in mind. “We’re going with 4-3-3 today,” he said, in a tone of voice that would have made his father proud. “We’re flipping both attacking forwards to the middle, and we’re going to play a little tiki-taka today.” That brought some smiles from the players, who had something new to talk about. This was a new look for Reading and for Ryan as well, having not used the tactic in a Championship match to date, so unveiling it playing away to the sixth-placed team was a real risk. But the players loved it. Casadei liked it even more when Ryan used an Italian word to describe his role for the day. “Play a mezzala style,” Ryan said, in a tone that would have raised his father’s eyebrows. Rob had managed in Italy before coming to Reading, and he would have no more started a mezzala player in midfield than he would have stood on the touchline without his pants. “We want possession today and that means Cesare has a role to fill,” Ryan said. A player in the half-spaces could link midfield to forwards in a narrow attack, and that was just what Ryan had in mind. “They are weak up the middle,” Ryan said. “Focus play through the middle, let’s move the ball among these gentlemen and when we wear them out, we’ll pip a goal and head back home. What do you say, lads?” Loud agreement greeted the manager which was gratifying for more than one reason. Buy-in is always good to see from players, but enthusiasm was something quite different. The team went through its warmups in high spirits and punctually at 3:00, the match kicked off. Ryan expected a strong start from the home team, which had crashed 4-0 against Huddersfield in its prior match. Stung to the quick and challenged by their manager, Watford started out on the front foot, while Ryan’s tiki-taka was able to deny Watford what it most wanted, which was possession. Reading picked up some unfortunate good fortune twelve minutes into the match, when Watford’s Udinese loanee, Hassane Kamara, hobbled off injured rubbing his right calf, taking a pretty good wing player right out of the equation for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, once again the Royals had a hard time producing quality attacks with the possession they had, which was the lion’s share over the first half hour. Watford had the only two good chances of that time period and it took a full 35 minutes before Ince came close with a rasping drive from eighteen yards that barely missed the crossbar, which wouldn’t have helped but which would have made a much better sound. Still and all, they got to halftime scoreless and that was a victory of sorts for a team being asked to tinker with its engine while the motor was running. Casadei hadn’t played badly but there was a general staleness to the Royals that came with a lot of matches in a short period of time, and that would simply take time to overcome. The need became more urgent when Ismalia Sarr opened the scoring for Watford four minutes after the restart. The Senegalese beat Lumley with some ease with some help from the Brazilian João Pedro, who at age twenty was evidently not old enough to have only one name. Ryan decided to stick with Casadei in his role and was rewarded when he found Yiadom with a seeing-eye ball down the flank for the overlapping fullback. His cutback found Junior Hoilett right where he was supposed to be, and the ball was right where it was supposed to be soon after, which is to say in the back of the net. It was another battling performance away from home. Three points were probably not on the cards, but the one Reading got would have to be enough. Watford 1-1 Reading Sarr 49; Hoilett 72 A – 19,348 (1,110 away) # # #
  2. As a corporate recruiter, I felt tempted to ask more than a few times if the people I was trying to find for local companies could also play a little football on the side. Settling into the close season in Ireland is different from most other places due to the vagaries of the scheduling here. Nobody else except MLS is out of season over the winter, so there was plenty of football to watch on television while my players recovered from the exertions of their season. The highlight to that point had been a media event to introduce Kenny and Winter to the club right after the Bohemians match. I felt it a good idea to show people who had showed up to the ground wearing uniforms formerly worn by other players. It’s a good thing for everyone’s morale, I guess. I could have used a few things to help my morale as well. In the close season, I would sit there and think about football and about the one match we had managed to win under my charge. I wanted to know what Bohemians was up to so I could have some idea of who might show up on loan for the coming season. I wanted to know what everyone else was up to so I knew how big the ladder would be that we’d have to climb toward respectability for the new season. And above all, I just wanted the season to start. I made a trip to Coffy’s once a week or so and once word got round that the manager who worked in Dublin was going to stick around for a bit, I actually started to talk to a few people. Not Flood, though. That was still a bit raw. I knew I had no shot at his girlfriend, but I was really wondering why she hadn’t mentioned anything about dating one of my players when she knew full well what I was doing in the pub and who I was. Not that her personal life is any of my damn business. It just galled me. I still have that right, anyway. The release of the yearly honors naturally contained no mention of any of my players, which was completely unsurprising. What I was hoping for was not to concede the Goal of the Year, and that little goal was thankfully realized. The league’s Manager of the Year award went to Liam Buckley of Sporting Fingal, who got himself promoted to the Premier Division through the playoffs, while my friend Dermot Keely took second for winning the league with Shelbourne. Tony Cousins of fourth-placed Longford Town took third. That day we lost out on another signing, when 34-year old defender Gary Magennis spurned us and Northern Irish side Chimney Corner to sign for Annagh United of Northern Ireland’s second division from Lurgan Celtic. That was a shame – he’d have given us a decent presence in the back line for sure. But then, he was getting a wage. We couldn’t offer that. We were losing out on half-decent players, all things considered, due o the status of our club, or lack of the same. It was starting to get frustrating. ##
  3. I suppose it does, at that .... who knew? ___ “Why is Dad always so aggressive?” Ryan sat next to his mother at the kitchen table on the night before the Watford match. The team was going to take an early matchday coach the next morning – ownership had decided against lodging the players in a hotel the night before the match. It wasn’t necessarily a deal-breaker for the team’s chances, but Ryan still would have preferred a relaxed buildup to the match rather than scrambling to get everyone on a coach at 8 a.m. But for now, Ryan sat with Patty and they talked about the person to whom they were related by marriage. “Remember what your father went through to keep the job you have,” she said. “All the fights he had to endure. It put an edge on him and he kept it in things that had to do with football.” “Well, yes, but there’s a lot of conflict in him.” “Yes, but he also had the sense to understand where his position was strongest,” she answered. “He inherited a team that was on the up, and he knew it. He knew that getting over with the fans was going to be the biggest factor in his success, so he became their defender. You don’t have that luxury, but you do have the relationships he built with them. That’s how we won his battles, and you have his legacy with them to win yours.” “At least that’s what he thinks,” Ryan answered, taking a sip from a cup of tea. “Well, he’s always said it’s your team,” she replied patiently. She had spent many years defending her husband’s behavior which could at times be quite fiery, but she also knew that much of that fire was directed at protecting her and their family. “It’s just funny,” Ryan said. “Just once it would be interesting if he said something like ‘you should get a gift for Dai and get on his good side.’” “I think he’d rather scratch his eyeballs with a fork,” Patty smiled. “He’s fought for everything he gained in the game,” she added. “It’s not in his nature to sit down and shut up when there’s a principle to fight for.” “Or a person to fight,” Ryan smiled. It wasn’t exactly a fair characterization, but for the time being, it would do. Rob was not a fighter by nature but if you got into his business, he could make you regret it. And everything he did was for his family, even though sometimes the added bonus of an ego stroke could make the fight sweeter to win. He did have an ego. Most great managers do. They don’t get their jobs unless they think they can do them better than anyone else, and once Rob showed he actually could do it better than anyone else, he wasn’t shy in telling people about it. But Ryan was different. Though he had his mother’s red hair, he didn’t have the redhead’s famed fiery temper. He was a different person, and didn’t always like to mix it up with the press, board members, media types or any of the other hangers-on that dog a professional football club. Winning on the pitch was the most important thing for him, and he figured that once he showed he could do that, the other battles would take care of themselves. While Rob slept in the next room, Ryan realized that he faced a decision he was eventually going to have to make; whether to fall into his father’s orbit or break away into deep, uncharted space. Just then Annie, who had overheard the conversation, entered the kitchen and crossed behind her husband to rub his shoulders. “You can do anything you want,” she reminded him. “You can do anything you set your mind to. Whether or not your father is a brilliant manager – which he was and probably still is – you can carve your own pathway.” Patty smiled at her daughter-in-law and spoke with tongue planted firmly in cheek. “Maybe one Rob Ridgway is enough,” she said playfully. # # #
  4. The idea was to put the best eleven players out there and see what happened. An arranged friendly against our parent club, Bohemians, resulted in a 2-0 defeat that wasn’t nearly as close as the score, but got Nakov an extra gate against the champions of Ireland. It also allowed me to get a look at a few of the new players on my last day of holiday time from my job. The next day, we signed onetime Liverpool trainee Marc Kenny to a contract for his second tour of duty with the club. He had been with us in our second season, in 2003, on loan from Shamrock Rovers. He had even scored for us, which is more than I could say for most of my current players. He had spent parts of eleven seasons with Rovers with time at Dublin City, Monaghan United, and Ashtown Villa in there as well before spending three years with Phoenix FC of the Leinster Premier Division. We can’t be all kids out there, and the 36-year old Kenny is the kind of player I feel we need to give us a mature, playmaking presence in the center of the park. He doesn’t have much time left in the game but I would like him tutoring some of our younger players as well to take advantage of him playing ‘for the love of the game’. All that said, the best part about going back to work after the friendly was that I was prepared to leave it. My request for a sabbatical to manage the Thoroughbreds for another season was denied so I left the Inland Revenue the week after the Bohemians friendly. I applied for, and actually got, a position as a corporate recruiter in Dublin. It still meant a 20-mile or so commute to Newbridge for trainings and matches, but they were willing to accommodate my spare time requests to manage the club – which was necessary due to my complete lack of salary at the club. Despite all the travail and trouble the fully amateur club had gone through over a winless regular season and a harried post-season, there were still no plans afoot to pay anyone anything for the season to come. It was like youth football only with big people. My first day on the job in Dublin was also a day I decided to go move a few things into my little office at the ground. Since I’d be staying for a little while, it seemed like a good idea. I put in a few old family pictures, and put a newly framed newspaper story on the wall commemorating our win over Tralee. It was nice to have a piece of paper on the wall that wasn’t yellowed with age. I’d like to build on that. So, before I headed down the pub, I removed all the old frames from the walls. I looked at the outlines of the old picture frames, rectangular shapes of clean wall trapped in an ocean of darker color. I then resolved to bring a few gallons of paint in the next time I visited the ground. ##
  5. It wasn’t terribly surprising that most of the news around the club for the next few days was about the sacking. There was a sense on the staff that was close to revolt, and the indignation was palpable all over the organization. Naturally, Ryan was asked about it. “I feel terrible about it,” he admitted. “Even though I didn’t do the deed, a life has been affected by innocent fun, and that’s really too bad. The fans will have more to say about this later on, I’m sure.” Ryan knew that Sell Before We Dai had already put out a statement which, in essence, said, “it’s just one more reason for this guy to sell up.” The controversy ran white-hot for a few days while Ryan tried to prepare his team for the next match, only with some time between matches, for a change. Yet the conversation quickly veered back to the incident at the ground, and finally ownership relented to some very strong public pressure and reinstated the sound technician, who in return quite kindly thanked the management for giving him a second chance. He was also bulletproof in a sense now, and he was well aware of it. The storm clouds still hung over the team, though, and Ryan most certainly did not appreciate that. He had simply replied to a question and inadvertently started a kerfuffle that had now become the talk of the town. It wasn’t supposed to work that way. Rob, for his part, counseled his son to lean into the controversy. “You can’t shy away from it, Ryan,” he said. “You’ve appealed to the fans to support your judgments and now one of them got his P45, even though he did get his job back. You can’t back away from that position.” “Why do you always seem to want me to slap the owner in the face?” Ryan asked. “He slapped you first. Twice,” Rob reminded him. “You can deal with it in one of two ways; you can turn your back on it and test your relationship with the fans, or you can meet it head on. No one is saying you have to throw Dai under the bus, even though you might get the liberty of the town if you did. But you reached out to the fans and they want you to reach back to them in return.” Ryan thought it through, and then sent an email to the fan relations department. “Play this song before the next home match,” he said. “Tell everyone that it came from me.” # # #
  6. It really didn’t matter much anyway. She had talked to me a few times. Yet she seemed to be one of the few people who had done so during my time in Newbridge. And I found it odd that she had never come to a match. I also found it odd that none of Flood’s teammates had ever mentioned her at a training session or even casually, at least not where I could hear. You’d think with a gorgeous companion like that, someone would say something to him. Unfortunately, I couldn’t either. I had some real decisions to make. As the season was now over, I returned to Blackpool to try to figure out how I was going to re-structure my life. Nakov had told me that I was welcome to return for the new season, but nothing else had changed. There still wasn’t a Euro to spend either on a player or on a salary. We would still be a fully amateur club in a fully professional division. So, the challenge would definitely still be there for the coming season. That meant I needed to find a better class of amateur player. It would mean tryouts, it would mean combing the lists of released players and trying to build a network so we could evaluate players. Of course, if a player failed, it wouldn’t cost anything to buy out an amateur contract, so there was that to consider. But in looking at the Kildare County squad list, it was obvious that a large number of players would have to go. They were simply filling shirts rather than providing options and that meant I needed to make some decisions. Our link with Bohemians will help – but we can only loan five players from them. The rest, we’re going to have to do ourselves. I’ve got players in my nominal reserves who are better than a lot of my first-teamers. So we made more than a few moves after the second Tralee match. Thomas Coleman, Graham Gough, Tim Jackson, Lee Morris, Alan Martin, Roy Murray, David Duffy and Pat Clarke were all released a week after the Tralee match. None of them had figured in my plans in any event, and few of them had featured at all during my time in charge. Central midfielder Declan Young was the first to be promoted from the reserves, along with several of his teammates. Under-20 striker David Tracey, who I had wanted to promote upon taking over, now got his call-up as well. Sweeper John Fagan, who can already man-mark better than most of my defenders, is also up. He joins defender/midfielder Albert Nolan and central midfielder Steven Ryan as another callup. Yet there are three ‘real’ signings as well. Defender Ian Roche, who played fifteen games for non-league Mount Merrion last season and scored twice, will step into our back line straight away. He’s 29 years old, has a little bit of pace about him, and is by default the best man-marker I’ve got, which is a bit sad. I don’t mind the other two new boys either. Midfielder Jake Wannell, a 19-year old attacker released by Exeter City, is also here and he promises to give us a bit of spark in the middle. Also, we’ve made a strong signing from Portadown, nabbing 19-year old Ryan Winter on a free transfer. He can find the net with either his head or his feet, and that’s something we really need. It does mean that I’ve got five strikers on the squad list at the present time – Winter and Treacy joining holders Chris Horgan, Place, and Flood. I still have problems there as we head into the off-season. Winter is going to be the first name on the team sheet, but finding a partner for him is going to be a problem. The only thing Winter lacks is pace, so finding a quicker partner for him is something I really should look at doing. I like Treacey’s ability to strike a ball but he’s even slower than Winter. Horgan’s quick, but he couldn’t hit water if he fell out of a boat, which is one reason I didn’t play him more last season. Place has the same problem Treacy does, and even though he can finish we’d have an awfully slow front line if he played. That leaves Flood, our leading goal-scorer last season with four, through chances created by volume. He does not possess either the finishing skills or the positioning skills to effectively partner Winter, yet he may be the one by default. Oh, yeah, and there’s the other thing. ##
  7. The next day was a “victory Sunday”, so there was no training. Ryan woke up nestled next to Annie and took a deep breath followed by a long, luxurious sigh. The morning sun was shining brightly, deflected by the bedroom’s curtains to the far wall and out of their eyes. “Nothing to do today,” she said softly, laying her arm across her husband’s chest. “Well, not at the ground, anyway,” he replied. “We do have a whole week without a match, though, so it will be nice to get the players some rest. They need it.” Weatherby’s headline of “Stale Biscuitmen” in the Sunday Post had said it all. The teams had combined for only twelve shot attempts in ninety minutes, with only four of them winding up on target. It had been a dire one-nil, but one that still gave Ryan the three points he craved. They had moved up to 15th in the Championship, which wasn’t a bad place at all for them to be. As importantly, they were five points clear of the relegation zone, which gave them a chance to catch their breath. Norwich was playing like a machine, having gone ten unbeaten in all competitions to lead Bristol City by three points, 20 to 17, in the league table. It took a bit of living for Ryan to note that without the six-point penalty at the start of the season, his team would be third in that table. Rotherham and Hull City, two teams behind Reading in the table, both had matches in hand to play and that could have affected their standing but really, after a frantic August Ryan could have few complaints about how his team had played. Two cup wins and only one loss in the league was a very nice return for a threadbare squad who would welcome its u-21 internationals back with open arms. After scoring the winner the day before, Carroll had had to come off after his leap to head the ball home gave him a tight thigh muscle. This, added to Abrefa’s injury, meant that the Royals now had six senior team members out with injury, even if Abrefa and Carroll were both supposed to be ready for the short trip to northwest London to face Watford the following Saturday. Guinness-Walker was supposed to be ready for training sometime during that week, but the list of healthy bodies in the senior squad was getting painfully short. “Matt has a lot of work to do,” Ryan mused, referring to Hirons, who wasn’t getting a victory Sunday at all with that many players coming in for treatment. Leaning back into the pillows, Ryan flipped on the television. There was good news – a Championship club was rumored to be ready for a board takeover. There was also bad news – the club was not Reading. Instead, it was Blackburn. Of course, in the finest tradition of the footballing media, the names of the club’s “potential investors” were not disclosed even as the story, such as it was, refused to go away. The news continued. Lucas João, the highly-paid veteran striker who had been loaned a league downward to Derby, had scored his first goal for his surrogate club. However, the fact that it came in the Papa John’s Trophy Northern Section Group F against Manchester City’s u-21s might have taken a bit of the gloss off of the accomplishment. For his part, João commanded a salary in excess of £750,000 and that wasn’t sustainable, especially on Yongge’s budget. Better news came from Mbengue’s exploits with France’s u-21s. He had played very well and scored his first international goal in France’s 3-0 win over Turkey the day before. He was already on his way back to Berkshire and would be available for selection against Watford. And then, a surprise. The Sky Sports presenter was pictured in front of a Reading logo and he made Ryan sit up with a start with his words. “Reading have reportedly sacked a member of its game-day operations team for a pre-match song deemed critical of ownership,” he said, and Ryan frowned. “The song ‘Pennies from Heaven’ was played prior to Reading’s match with Stoke over the weekend, in reaction to a media controversy between manager Ryan Ridgway and the club’s Chinese ownership group headed by Dai Yongge. Now, club sources reveal that the individual who made up the pre-match music list has been sacked by the club with immediate effect.” “You have got to be kidding me,” Ryan snarled at no one in particular. That was a good thing, because no one in the front office would have listened had they heard him in any event. # # #
  8. We celebrated like wild men, as you might imagine. We were a happy bunch. We hadn’t died. For once, the other guys had. Coffy’s was thus a hopping place, and judging by the people who now wanted to shake our hands, about half the town would claim to have been in attendance. The fact that just under three hundred of them actually had been there really didn’t matter. They all wanted to have been here, to watch the locals finally come up trumps. We were popular. Flood and Place, the strike partners who had each finally found the range, were leading the celebrations. Back in my usual spot in the corner, I watched them buying rounds and enjoying the fruits of their victory. The place was alive and that was really fun to watch. As I watched, Bishop sat down at my table. “So, Matt, are you moving here now?” he asked. “I have to ask the chairman if I still have a job but if I do, I’ll be coming over as soon as I can find employment,” I answered. “This is starting to become a labor of love.” “You must be mad.” “Possibly,” I said, taking a drink of a Guinness that for once I hadn’t had to buy. That was nice. It had been a long time since I had gotten drunk on someone else’s money. Watching my players cavorting into the wee hours, it seemed to me that they had earned the right. Flood was having an especially good time. He was throwing darts against all comers, beating most of them, and drinking quite a bit, which made me wonder how he could be doing such a great job with the darts. “He’s doing well,” I said to Bishop, motioning to the striker with my glass. “He is,” my assistant agreed. “And his girlfriend is a proper stunner. I imagine that tonight he’s on top of the world.” “Aren’t they all,” I mused, shaking my head at the thought. “I guess when I played, the pretty girls skipped a generation.” Bishop laughed. “Just because you couldn’t find one,” he grinned, drawing a malevolent stare in response. “Okay, sorry,” he said. “How about a drink? I’ll buy.” “Why not,” I said, leaning back in my chair. As Flood finished his game of darts, he accepted another Guinness from Nola. He then kissed her, which made me raise my eyebrows. “Told you she was a stunner,” Bishop said. “Everyone in the place wants Nola. Flood got her.” “I see that,” I said, shaking my head almost imperceptibly. Almost. Bishop noticed. “I see nobody told you,” he said. “Well, everyone finds out sooner or later. I’m sorry.” “Me too,” I mused. “Like I’d have had any chance anyway.” Soon, they left together. I supposed that it would be Flood’s night in more ways than one. ##
  9. 3 September 2022 Reading v Stoke City – Championship Match Day #8 Theme: Pennies From Heaven – Rod Stewart and Jools Holland “Ryan, do you hear that?” Rae looked skyward with incredulity, as the coaches followed the teams out of the tunnel for the start of the match, craning his neck for a reason Ryan could only guess at. “Hear what?” “The tannoy,” Rae said, a smile slowly spreading across his face. Ryan listened, and then smiled too. The PA system was playing “Pennies From Heaven,” the old standard from the 1936 movie of the same name. As a way to make light of the club’s internal tension, it was an inspired choice. Before long, the crowd of just under 15,000 was singing: Every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven Don't you know each cloud contains pennies from heaven? You'll find your fortune falling all over town Be sure that your umbrella is upside down! Trade them for a package of sunshine and flowers If you want the things you love, you must have showers So, when you hear it thunder, don't run under a tree There'll be pennies from heaven for you and me! “Somebody either just got promoted or sacked,” Ryan joked as the coaches took their place in the dugout and the match began. Ryan’s threadbare team had been changed at the last minute due to yet another injury. Kelvin Abrefa, who was going to start this game at right fullback in a clear vote of confidence for the youngster who had just signed a three-year contract with the club, twisted his knee in the last training session prior to the match. It wasn’t anything serious, but Ryan’s comments about “shuffling a pack of 48 cards” to Rae was met with only a sideways smile as they both awaited Hirons’ report. Still, it changed things, and as long as Ryan was at it, he put Meité at the top for the first time all season. Long had played very well leading the line but was showing signs that he needed a bit of a slowdown. Ryan preferred Meité’s pace to Carroll’s power, though the latter still lurked at the end of the bench if he was needed to make an impact. Ryan gave what he thought was a rousing team talk about getting back on track and defending the home ground. The team then went through a somnambulant first thirty minutes, full of vigor and energy but with almost no creativity or practical application. The only saving grace was that the Potters were equally as bad. Nobody seemed to want to grab the game by the scruff of the neck and the first half of the match was truly dire. It went to halftime scoreless to the surprise of absolutely no one who had spent 45 minutes of their lives they could never get back while watching the contest. At half, Ryan simply told the players the truth. “If we get the ball in shooting positions, we just have to be better than we were in this half,” he said. “Some of us couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a bass fiddle out there so let’s see some better application in front of goal.” Of course, to finish you first have to get the ball into the correct position, which both teams had found to be as difficult as walking on a bed of hot coals. In some cases that was due to sound defensive play. In others, it was due to players having two left feet. The second half began and the difference in Reading’s energy was palpable. However, their play wasn’t a whole lot better, as Loum found himself in the referee’s book only two minutes after the restart. If anything, shots on target were harder to come by in the second half than they were in the first, so as the half wore on Ryan liked his team’s energy but was wondering where all their creativity had gone. Just before the 70-minute mark, Ryan made his move. Now he preferred Carroll’s power to Meité’s pace, and made the switch, also taking off Hollett for Femi Azeez. After 74 minutes, with the match still scoreless, Stoke’s Tom Edwards came off with what looked to be a thigh injury and was replaced by Jordan Robinson. With the change, Ryan also changed Reading’s tactic to get men forward. He didn’t want a goalless draw, and readily accepted the thought that he might lose due to the aggressive tactic instead of getting a point the team needed but which no one wanted. The fourth official held up his board, adding five minutes to the match. As he did, Tom McIntyre took a throw in near the corner flag in the attacking third, finding Azeez. He dropped the ball back to Jeff Hendrick and started a run that Hendrick saw coming. Immediately, the ball was back to the winger and then crossed for the leaping Carroll, who headed home with just over 89 minutes on the clock. Matija Šarkić leaned back into the Stoke goal, pounding his fists on the turf in frustration. The keeper hadn’t had much to do in the match and when the moment finally came, he got lobbed by Carroll. The way the Potters were misfiring in attack, there was no way back. Pennies from heaven, indeed. Stoke 0-1 Reading Carroll 89 # # #
  10. The euphoria gathered from leading at the half was now giving way to a sense of determination. This was the second time we had led this team over the two legs and now it was a matter of somehow making that lead stick. We had had enough of being pushed around, and Hastings’ use of language in the changing room belied his tender years. He above all was tired of it – now boasting a second contusion on his leg right below the one he had picked up in the first leg. So to speak. Yet he wouldn’t come off. Against my better judgment, I let him go back out, his face a picture of determination. Barry Foley took the pitch for Tralee as a halftime substitute, in place of the young striker Cunningham, and we resumed play. We were waiting for them to come at us, and they did. Only it didn’t matter. They huffed and puffed, but we started the half holding them down. A long ball from the unfortunate McCormack was too far and Traynor gobbled it up, starting Kinsella back down the left. He laid a ball ahead to Place, and with one superb touch, he flicked it on to Flood. The striker’s run was perfectly timed down the left-hand channel, and he strode confidently into the box – before burying it past Cotter to his right. Two goals! Would wonders never cease? Flood seemed to explode with joy, sprinting to the corner flag – near which there were no fans at all – to celebrate. His fans were his teammates, though – the first game all season where we had scored two goals was certainly something to write home about. Fergus Foley then caught up with O’Brien, and laid him low with a thundering challenge that somehow didn’t get him booked or worse. Turnabout was now fair play and with a two-goal lead I started to wonder if, now that we had defined prosperity, we could actually stand it. It turned out we could. Foley fired over just past the stroke of the hour, and with Tralee now increasingly desperate to make something happen, it was time to think about protecting the lead. Except for Brennan, who went in heavily on Tralee’s Cleary to even the score in the crocked players department. Yet even as I was urging the players to think about defense, they would do nothing of the sort. Flood walked right in and stripped the ball off Gorman as the match ticked past seventy minutes, but missed wide to the left with his effort. It then dawned on me. They were having fun. The players were enjoying themselves. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to work as professionals, or so I had thought. Flood, who had been set up so superbly by Place earlier, now returned the favor. Off a long header by Brennan, he brought the ball to ground and found his strike partner up the middle, played onside by the now incredibly unfortunate McCormack, whose adjectives were getting worse by the minute after his own goal and various lapses in play. Place had no one near him and he too fired home eleven minutes from time to send us into dreamland. It was all coming out now. All the frustration, all the humiliation of 35 matches without a victory – it was all about to end. Except, it wasn’t. Just a few minutes later, McGee took a ball from Treacy and whipped a fourth past Cotter to the rapturous delight of his teammates and the surprised applause of the home faithful. Four. Four. Four. Four. For us. The final justice came when Stephen Nugent, who had gone into the book moments before our third goal, picked up a second yellow for hauling down Place by his shirt as the match ticked into injury time. Insult had been added to injury, but this time we were doing the insulting instead of absorbing it. Just this once. And we were staying up. The fans’ singing let us know. Kildare County 4 (Gary McCormack o/g 39; Fran Flood 56; Paul Place 79; Shane McGee 83) Tralee Dynamos 0 (Stephen Nugent s/o 90+2) A – 290, Station Road, Kildare Man of the Match – Bernard Brennan, Kildare County (8.3) ##
  11. “Have a seat.” Ryan’s motion to the seat across from the manager’s desk was filled by the lissome shape of Jill Weatherby. She had asked for a bit of the manager’s time after the brouhaha with management, and Ryan was anxious both to keep the Evening Post onside as well as make himself abundantly clear to a person virtually everyone agreed was the club’s most influential reporter. “Thank you for making this time,” Weatherby started, and Ryan nodded. “We owe you at least that much for your work through the years.” Ryan’s tone was diplomatic and quiet – but not the kind tone those who had watched him grow up around the Mad Stad remembered hearing from him as a young adult. Something had changed, and it wasn’t hard to figure out what. “I apologize for offending you, because I know I did,” Weatherby began, but Ryan simply shook his head. “Jill, it wasn’t you,” he said, to the reporter’s surprise. “You didn’t write anything that I didn’t say. The problem I had was with the ownership and it would have surfaced anyway sooner or later. There’s no need to worry about protecting your source here, because if I know you, that’s what you’re concerned about as much as my feelings, and I don’t mean that in a negative way.” “Then how do you mean it?” she asked. “You’re a good, hard-working reporter who likes to get it right and also get it first,” Ryan said. “I watched my dad work for years around you and I’ll tell you, there’s a reason why he always called you first.” “No doubt because I wasn’t Stefano,” she said, referring to Rob’s longtime frenemy, Stefano Emiliani. “That’s got nothing to do with it,” Ryan said. “He knew the kind of person you are and he wanted you to be rewarded for playing fairly. And that’s why I took this time with you today, to tell you the same thing.” Weatherby looked puzzled. “I know how your father treated reporters who crossed him,” she said. “So, I guess I’m a little surprised.” “My father never aired out a reporter who didn’t show he deserved it by his actions,” Ryan replied. “Of course, if you gave him a reason to, the end result was usually not pretty, I’ll admit. But you didn’t cross me. You gave me an opportunity.” “To do what?” “I can’t say now because technically we aren’t off the record,” Ryan said. “But let’s just say that you writing what I said told me a lot of about what I need to know about life at this football club.” “Well, then I guess I’m happy to hear that,” Weatherby said. “I certainly didn’t expect this kind of a reception from you.” “I’m not my father,” Ryan answered. “I’m my father’s son, but we are two very different people.” # # #
  12. Immediately, Curran went down with an injury, just four minutes into the match. Robert O’Donnell, their 28-year old midfielder, stood over him clucking like a mother hen. That was annoying. They then took the game to us. Kinsella headed a cross behind for an early corner, but we managed to scramble it clear without incident. That was better than we had done in Tralee. Curran, who had labored mightily to come back from his crocking, then headed the ball forward to Hastings, who in turn found Place in space beyond the center line. The 300-plus fans rose (those that weren’t already standing), perhaps out of surprise as much as anything else. Having not seen the team score on home turf under my direction, perhaps they were simply stunned. Place, though, managed to put the ball wide from twenty yards so the fans sat down with the natural order of things once again firmly established. Yet, we weren’t done. I was pleased to note it. The next player to miss was Treacy, who aimed for the top left corner of the Tralee goal but wound up hitting it in the general direction of Galway instead. Considering that’s on the opposite side of the country, the effort was disappointing even for him. But I’m being too harsh on the boys. They were pressing, and they were determined. Then O’Brien misfired, shortly after McGee went down in a heap after a hard challenge from young striker Anthony Cunningham. The visitors’ MO was pretty clear: play physically against a tired, beaten-up, injured opponent and beat them into submission. All that remained now was to see if we would surrender. From the point of view of possession, the answer was no. From the point of view of application, the jury was still out. Joe O’Brien flicked on Eric Kavanagh’s cross but Kinsella arrived before his keeper to nudge it behind for a corner in twenty minutes, meaning we now had a fairly entertaining match to watch. Finally, though, Tralee started to go after the already injured Hastings, which he didn’t appreciate. They also knew we were playing six under-20s in our starting eleven so the goal was to make us lose our composure as well. The young man took a hard whack across the shins from O’Brien’s sliding challenge and the boy rolled on the ground in genuine pain. Having gotten a look at his shins while he was dressing for the match, I could only guess how much it had hurt him. Yet he didn’t answer back, didn’t chest up to his tormentor, and didn’t raise a fuss. Instead, referee Graham Kelly went to his cards, which was the best outcome for us. Tralee then concentrated on football for awhile, winning three consecutive corners in the ensuing moments after O’Brien’s booking. Place was lucky not to wind up in the book after scything down Kavanagh, but he had certainly sent a message to them regarding rough play. Defender Gary McCormack was booked for a foul with less intent a few moments later, bringing down Fran Flood with a challenge that was more clumsy than malicious. Ten minutes from half, the teams had played each other to a standstill. O’Brien tried to play his way back into his manager’s good books with a speculative effort eight minutes from the break, but shot high. Traynor kicked the ball back upfield, and found Flood after McGee misplayed the ball, with central defender Chris Gorman cleaning up. His first touch was poor and the ball dribbled to the left, where McCormack found it under pressure from Flood. He back-passed to keeper Timmy Cotter, and his placement was perfect. He found the right corner of Cotter’s goal for a beautifully struck own goal that got us into the lead eight minutes from the break. As the halftime whistle went, we hadn’t broken through. But our opponents had, on our behalf. ##
  13. ROYALS OWNERSHIP ADMONISHES RIDGWAY By Jill Weatherby Exclusive to the Evening Post Reading manager Ryan Ridgway’s comments about the size of his Royals squad have drawn a rebuke from team ownership based in China. While not expressing outright dissatisfaction with the ownership of Dai Yongge’s group, Ridgway noted that with three u-21 internationals away from the team before Saturday’s matchup with Stoke City, every uninjured senior squad player except third-choice goalkeeper Dean Bouzanis was in the eighteen for the Potters’ visit. “Look, that’s part of the problem we have,” Ridgway said. “When you have financial difficulties, difficult choices have to be made and managers have to abide by those changes. The expectations, not surprisingly, remain the same.” Upon receipt of Ridgway’s comments, Yongge’s management group, Renhe Commercial Holdings, took the very unusual step of sending a reply to this reporter from its base in Beijing. It read as follows: “He might take a flying leap at my arse,” Ryan snapped, in the vilest mood anyone around him could remember. “I did not question their ambition,” he said in the next day’s staff meeting. He was preaching to the choir, but the mood in the room was tense. “We know you didn’t,” Rae said. “We know you didn’t.” Another long silence followed. “So,” Rae asked in a quiet voice, “what are you going to say to them?” Ryan knew that his own future, and those of everyone in the room, might depend on his answer. Except for one, and he sat in the corner, saying nothing. “Dad?” Ryan asked, and Rob shifted slightly on the sofa in the corner of Ryan’s office. “I know how I’d answer this,” he finally said. “But it’s your club.” “And I’m your son,” Ryan said, knowing intuitively what was on his father's mind and finally cracking a smile for the first time all day. “Well, I think you know,” Rae said to Rob, “but would you care to enlighten the rest of us?” Rob smiled. “This is your club,” he said to Ryan, “but honestly, not everyone here knows that. I think it’s time you told them.” Rae knew immediately what Rob meant, and what the goal of any response was likely to be. He also wondered if he would be seeing a P45 in his morning mail if it didn’t work. Rob hadn't backed down from anyone, though. Not The Supporters when they tried to kill his wife. Not Richmond. Not Arsene Wenger at the height of his mind games. Not Rafa Benitez. Not Avram Grant at Chelsea, Coppell at United, or any of them. Show weakness, Rob knew, and you are through. So it was that Ryan faced a larger-than-usual press gathering that afternoon. “I just want to start by addressing the statement from the ownership group today, and then I’ll take questions,” Ryan said, raising eyebrows all over the room. This didn't sound like a football manager talking, it sounded like a politician, and Weatherby looked at him with surprise. “I want the supporters of this club to know that regardless of how any comments I make to the press are construed or misconstrued, placing the most competitive team I possibly can on the pitch each and every week is my ultimate objective,” he said. “I did not in any way insinuate that the ownership group lacked ambition and I acknowledge that they have been very good to me as I have strengthened the management side of our football operation. I thank them for it. But I also want to make abundantly clear that I didn’t start this and as such I reject any need for ‘admonishment’, as Jill put it in her headline.” At that, Weatherby’s face turned red. “As long as I am here, there will never be a time when I do not advocate for what I feel is the best course of action for this football club,” he went on. “I am an extension of our supporters in that regard, and though I will occasionally make decisions they do not like, I will never lose sight of the fact that I represent them and their ambitions as much as I represent myself and my own ambitions.” He had done it. Ryan had gone over Dai’s head and straight to the supporters. It was very much a Rob Ridgway-like move and the older manager hadn’t had to say a word. # # #
  14. Kildare County v Tralee Dynamos – First Division Relegation Playoff, Second Leg The night before had been sleepless. For me, it all came down to one game. The players have done all they can do. Their abilities, to be honest, are sharply limited. I don’t think, in my heart of hearts, that there’s a one of them who could command a starting place on any other First Division team. Yet as I lay awake thinking about it before sunrise, there wasn’t a one of them that I’d now trade. They struggled through ninety minutes in Tralee and were now preparing to do the same at home. Sore muscles, banged-up knees and protesting bodies were being asked for ninety more minutes during which something would have to give. 35 matches is a hell of a long time to go without winning. Yet that was where we stood – all 33 league matches, our Cup match and the first leg at Tralee had ended in defeat or draw. Everyone knew that and of course we all knew what was at stake. So, it was hardly worth dwelling upon. Yet, in the semi-darkness of my hotel room, that was just what I was doing. It’s what managers do, and I suppose it’s why they probably die young. Too, Nola’s words were rattling around inside my head and occasionally would bounce against one of my brain cells, giving me a surprisingly coherent thought from time to time. I wanted to sleep. That was not going to happen. Then there was the matter of getting through a day before the big evening kickoff. I started the morning with a brisk run. Didn’t finish it with a brisk run, because I’m a bit more out of condition than I had previously thought, but you can’t have everything. I wound up at the stadium, and eventually decided to do some stairs. Up and down I went. Once, twice … okay, twice was plenty. Chest heaving, I headed into the shower to kill another ten minutes. By the time I was done, I was on my second set of clothes for the day, was ravenously hungry, was debilitatingly tired, and it was only 9:00. That was annoying. Talking to Nakov took another half hour that seemed like two. I’ve finally figured out who he reminds me of when he talks – he sounds like Heavy Weapons Guy from the video game ‘Team Fortress’. He talked about ticket sales and finance, and all I could think of as he spoke was a huge, ham-fisted Russian with a machine gun roaring ‘I am c-r-r-r-r-edit to team!’ It made me smile, but I tried to make sure the smile was not at an odd time. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion. He still scares me. Then, since there was no training, I closed my office door to make it look like I was working. There, while nursing a brand-new groin strain earned on the steps, I took a nap. That was the most constructive thing I did all day. ## We had one thing going for us as we headed out for warm-ups. There were fans who actually had to stand. Station Road, despite being less than ten years old, was still built with only 250 seats in a listed capacity of 2,500. And all the seats were full. The overflow, if you will, had to go to terraces, and even though the place was still less than twenty percent full, it was nice to see all the seats taken by paying customers. However, since our average ticket price is just over €10, the extra income to Nakov would only be about €2,000 more. Considering that Nakov had rescued the club from administration or worse in September, it would all add up. The club was over €300,000 in the hole when he bought it, and gave it a loan of €425,000 as his first order of business, repayable over 25 years. That means the princely sum of €3,002 per month comes right off the top to make the loan payment. So maybe €2,000 more in profit would be a big deal after all. Still, though, chairmen count beans. It’s what they do. I was just happy to see warm bodies in the stands. Figuratively speaking, that is. It was a coldish night. A cold rain began to fall as the teams left the pitch for final instructions. While I was certain the other dressing room was filled with talk about realizing dreams and leaving it all on the pitch, my moment of brilliance was still ahead. The players gathered in a circle as I struggled to find something to say. After a day that had been filled with time to think of something, when it was time for actual words it wasn’t so easy. Finally, I took a deep breath and looked at Hastings, who was closest to me. “Play hard for each other no matter what happens,” I said. “You can do this, I know you can do this, but remember one thing. Tonight, if we die, we die together.” ##
  15. “You do know, don’t you, that you’ve gone over two matches without scoring?” “Yes, Colin, I am aware of that. And in anticipation of your next question, I also know that you cannot win a game unless you score.” “Touché,” the reporter said, just a hint of a smile crossing his face. That seemed like odd behavior from him so Ryan figured there was something he probably wanted. The team’s media availability prior to their home match against Stoke wasn’t supposed to be a tempestuous affair, but Ryan wasn’t taking anything for granted. “Are you concerned that your options are limited with international play this weekend?” That was a much better question, and it was one Ryan had to tread carefully to answer. Tetek, Casadei and Mbengue were all off with their respective u-21 teams and with four players also out injured, options were getting pretty thin for substitutes. Rahman would still miss about a month after suffering an intensely painful hernia in training the day before the Sheffield United match, and Nesta Guinness-Walker was still a week or two away from his twisted ankle from the Carabao Cup match against Cardiff. With defenders Scott Dann (torn hamstring, out 5-6 months) and Liam Moore (cruciate, out 6-12 weeks) both on the shelf with long-term ailments, that meant Ryan was down seven first-team players for the match. It also meant that in the current senior squad, every healthy body except Dean Bouzanis was either in the team or listed as a substitute. So, Ryan had to be careful how he answered the question. If he complained, he would put pressure on upper management and regardless of how he felt about Dai, that wouldn’t be wise. Yet if he said he wasn’t concerned, Anderson would question his sanity. “The fixture list is the fixture list,” he finally explained. “I’m certainly pleased that we have three u-21 internationals here, two of them under our own contracts, and they deserve to play for their countries because they’ve all done well here. When they get back we’ll have better numbers.” “But you’re thin already.” That wasn’t Anderson. It was Weatherby, which wasn’t good. “For this match, yes, we are,” he said. “Look, that’s part of the problem we have. When you have financial difficulties, difficult choices have to be made and managers have to abide by those changes. The expectations, not surprisingly, remain the same.” Now Ryan noticed that everyone in the room was writing, which also wasn’t good but which was also unavoidable. “Do you wish you had more players to work with?” Weatherby was zeroing in. “Every manager wishes he had more players,” Ryan said. “But managers also have to be realistic.” He wondered what the next day’s headlines would bring. # #
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