Inheritance

“Inheritance”

Chapter 1

My name is Roy Jones. My grandfather was a football fan through and through. Loved it. Always went on about it when I was a boy and wanted me to be a big star. I loved him and did my best to make his dream come true. My only impediment to his dream was me. I wasn't very good.

However, my poor playing skills didn't stop me from supporting football anyway. We'd gather round the television every chance we could and rant at what we saw. I liked Arsenal, but he was a Newcastle man to the core. Never could figure out why, especially when Mike Ashly took over the club.

Grandpa Jones always told me it was about the supporters, not the management. He said that he loved Newcastle cause the fans did. I laughed at him. Whenever the Gunners faced his squad, I rubbed it in even more, especially as my team usually defeated his. I was young and ignorant. He didn't seem to mind anyway. Kept telling me over and over again, “Roy, Loyalty above all.”

Loyalty? Bah! Trophies were the key to a fan's heart. Silverware and stars are the things that matter most in the modern game. I couldn't convince him different. He loved his Newcastle both in his refrigerator and also on the pitch.

Wasn't until I was at his funeral and saw the people lined up in his processional that I started to understand what he he'd been driving at all along. My Grandfather Jones owned his own retail business. Sporting goods, believe it or not. But he managed to build it into a lucrative business enterprise. He claimed it was loyalty that kept people coming back to him, regardless of the competitive market and discount stores springing up to nip at his heels.

I'd worked in his store as a kid growing up and through university, but I left it to pursue a career in business. The high powered kind where the movers and shakers rolled and lived the high class life. Only problem was me. I didn't come from old money, nor did I have the brains to go to the Ivy League business schools. I had no pedigree.

Didn't matter to Grandpa Jones though. He told me that as long as I treated people decently, I'd be a rich man. I didn't believe him then, but I did today as I watched through teary eyes at the long trail of automobiles with orange flags on the hood with their headlights beaming follow behind the hearse carrying him to his final resting place.

Beside the grave, Grandpa's employees both male and female wiped the tears from their faces and the minister spoke sentimental volumes about his long life. In the end, it was cancer that took him. Ate away at him slow and steady, but it could never claim his love of football.

I recalled being there with Grandpa towards the end. He'd still keep his end of the bargain with Newcastle each time they were on the television. He'd called me out of the city one weekend. Asked me to come for one more match. I was busy, but said yes anyway. I owed it to him.

I showed up to see his wasted form, but his eyes clear and intense. The hospice worker tried convincing him it was time for his painkillers, but he shrugged her away, “I can wait another two hours. The match is on. Need to keep the fog away.” I made the mistake of trying to convince him otherwise. He picked up the cane beside his bed and whacked me in the leg with it.

“Shut your mouth! It's my life. If I wanna skip my pills, then I'll do it. I think I've earned the right. Don't you?”

“But Grandpa.” I pleaded.

“Look here, Roy. If you wanna do something for me, then pour me my Newcastle. My Newcastle is on and I'm gonna drink up and yell my foolish head off, if necessary. I'm loyal. It's got me where I am today and it will get me through tomorrow too. You'd be wise to be loyal too. You hear me? Loyalty through and through!”

Grandpa's Newcastle sure put up a fight on April 18, 2008. They were home against Middlesbrough for the derby match. Michael Owen scored first for Newcastle in the 4th minute in the downpour. Tuncay scored from the penalty spot in the 13th minute and Afonso Alves scored off a free kick in the 41st minute to give the away team the lead going into half-time.

I kept looking at my watch, waiting for the match to end so I could leave and go back to my place to hang out with friends. Time kept ticking by and Grandpa kept yelling at the television a bit louder with each chance Newcastle squandered. I told him thoughtlessly, “Owen's done nothing since the first five minutes. Kinnear needs to pull him off the pitch. Put some pace into the match and get Lovenkrands in there. Maybe he can get dragged down from behind on the counterattack?”

Grandpa's cane whacked me again. This time much harder than before. “Roy, Owen is the man for the job. He's got too much experience. Loyalty!”

I rolled my eyes out of his sight while I rubbed my calf. Loyalty? Right.

In the 89th minute, Owen popped the ball in the back of the net to tie the match. The 53,000 Newcastle fans screaming in the stands watching Owen slide on his knees across the muddy pitch towards the corner flag arms outstretched to bask in the support of his late heroics were no match for my Grandpa. He yelled for all he was worth. Smacked his cane a few more times into the back of my chair. “What's that about Lovenkrands, Roy? I tell you, Grandson, if you don't remember anything else I've told you. Remember this. Loyalty!” His fists pumped the air until a fit of coughing stopped him.

The fire in his eyes in that moment burned itself into my mind. That derby was the last match we shared together. He passed away four days later on the following Wednesday.

In between then and now, Grandpa's family took care of his affairs. It surprised me that they were so amicable with each other as they divided up his estate. But, I guess that was the reward for a lifetime of treating people decently and giving them their fair share.

Grandpa Jones also had divided up a portion of his estate among his grandchildren. My portion was 400K USD. I had no idea that he was that wealthy, but I was humbled by his generosity. He'd provided me with a note saying that he'd hope I'd invest his money in something worthwhile. Wrote that I should spend it all in one place too. He suggested I use my business degree in a worthwhile career and be my own boss.

I took my Grandpa's advice. Had too. I was going nowhere with my career in middle management. No wife. No kids. No real future in the USA. So I hired an investment agent and sought to spend my inheritance on something I thought Grandpa Jones would be proud of when he looked down on me from heaven.

My agent came across a football club in England whose owner was willing to take offers on, assuming the price was right. I tendered an offer to Wayne Bradley of 325K USD for his lower league football club, Alfreton. He accepted my cash up front offer and I became the newbie owner of an obscure football club in the Blue Square North.

Now, all I had to figure out was how the hell I was gonna my make Grandpa proud of me.

“Inheritance”

Chapter 1

My name is Roy Jones. My grandfather was a football fan through and through. Loved it. Always went on about it when I was a boy and wanted me to be a big star. I loved him and did my best to make his dream come true. My only impediment to his dream was me. I wasn't very good.

However, my poor playing skills didn't stop me from supporting football anyway. We'd gather round the television every chance we could and rant at what we saw. I liked Arsenal, but he was a Newcastle man to the core. Never could figure out why, especially when Mike Ashly took over the club.

Grandpa Jones always told me it was about the supporters, not the management. He said that he loved Newcastle cause the fans did. I laughed at him. Whenever the Gunners faced his squad, I rubbed it in even more, especially as my team usually defeated his. I was young and ignorant. He didn't seem to mind anyway. Kept telling me over and over again, “Roy, Loyalty above all.”

Loyalty? Bah! Trophies were the key to a fan's heart. Silverware and stars are the things that matter most in the modern game. I couldn't convince him different. He loved his Newcastle both in his refrigerator and also on the pitch.

Wasn't until I was at his funeral and saw the people lined up in his processional that I started to understand what he he'd been driving at all along. My Grandfather Jones owned his own retail business. Sporting goods, believe it or not. But he managed to build it into a lucrative business enterprise. He claimed it was loyalty that kept people coming back to him, regardless of the competitive market and discount stores springing up to nip at his heels.

I'd worked in his store as a kid growing up and through university, but I left it to pursue a career in business. The high powered kind where the movers and shakers rolled and lived the high class life. Only problem was me. I didn't come from old money, nor did I have the brains to go to the Ivy League business schools. I had no pedigree.

Didn't matter to Grandpa Jones though. He told me that as long as I treated people decently, I'd be a rich man. I didn't believe him then, but I did today as I watched through teary eyes at the long trail of automobiles with orange flags on the hood with their headlights beaming follow behind the hearse carrying him to his final resting place.

Beside the grave, Grandpa's employees both male and female wiped the tears from their faces and the minister spoke sentimental volumes about his long life. In the end, it was cancer that took him. Ate away at him slow and steady, but it could never claim his love of football.

I recalled being there with Grandpa towards the end. He'd still keep his end of the bargain with Newcastle each time they were on the television. He'd called me out of the city one weekend. Asked me to come for one more match. I was busy, but said yes anyway. I owed it to him.

I showed up to see his wasted form, but his eyes clear and intense. The hospice worker tried convincing him it was time for his painkillers, but he shrugged her away, “I can wait another two hours. The match is on. Need to keep the fog away.” I made the mistake of trying to convince him otherwise. He picked up the cane beside his bed and whacked me in the leg with it.

“Shut your mouth! It's my life. If I wanna skip my pills, then I'll do it. I think I've earned the right. Don't you?”

“But Grandpa.” I pleaded.

“Look here, Roy. If you wanna do something for me, then pour me my Newcastle. My Newcastle is on and I'm gonna drink up and yell my foolish head off, if necessary. I'm loyal. It's got me where I am today and it will get me through tomorrow too. You'd be wise to be loyal too. You hear me? Loyalty through and through!”

Grandpa's Newcastle sure put up a fight on April 18, 2008. They were home against Middlesbrough for the derby match. Michael Owen scored first for Newcastle in the 4th minute in the downpour. Tuncay scored from the penalty spot in the 13th minute and Afonso Alves scored off a free kick in the 41st minute to give the away team the lead going into half-time.

I kept looking at my watch, waiting for the match to end so I could leave and go back to my place to hang out with friends. Time kept ticking by and Grandpa kept yelling at the television a bit louder with each chance Newcastle squandered. I told him thoughtlessly, “Owen's done nothing since the first five minutes. Kinnear needs to pull him off the pitch. Put some pace into the match and get Lovenkrands in there. Maybe he can get dragged down from behind on the counterattack?”

Grandpa's cane whacked me again. This time much harder than before. “Roy, Owen is the man for the job. He's got too much experience. Loyalty!”

I rolled my eyes out of his sight while I rubbed my calf. Loyalty? Right.

In the 89th minute, Owen popped the ball in the back of the net to tie the match. The 53,000 Newcastle fans screaming in the stands watching Owen slide on his knees across the muddy pitch towards the corner flag arms outstretched to bask in the support of his late heroics were no match for my Grandpa. He yelled for all he was worth. Smacked his cane a few more times into the back of my chair. “What's that about Lovenkrands, Roy? I tell you, Grandson, if you don't remember anything else I've told you. Remember this. Loyalty!” His fists pumped the air until a fit of coughing stopped him.

The fire in his eyes in that moment burned itself into my mind. That derby was the last match we shared together. He passed away four days later on the following Wednesday.

In between then and now, Grandpa's family took care of his affairs. It surprised me that they were so amicable with each other as they divided up his estate. But, I guess that was the reward for a lifetime of treating people decently and giving them their fair share.

Grandpa Jones also had divided up a portion of his estate among his grandchildren. My portion was 400K USD. I had no idea that he was that wealthy, but I was humbled by his generosity. He'd provided me with a note saying that he'd hope I'd invest his money in something worthwhile. Wrote that I should spend it all in one place too. He suggested I use my business degree in a worthwhile career and be my own boss.

I took my Grandpa's advice. Had too. I was going nowhere with my career in middle management. No wife. No kids. No real future in the USA. So I hired an investment agent and sought to spend my inheritance on something I thought Grandpa Jones would be proud of when he looked down on me from heaven.

My agent came across a football club in England whose owner was willing to take offers on, assuming the price was right. I tendered an offer to Wayne Bradley of 325K USD for his lower league football club, Alfreton. He accepted my cash up front offer and I became the newbie owner of an obscure football club in the Blue Square North.

Now, all I had to figure out was how the hell I was gonna my make Grandpa proud of me.

Chapter 2 (Week of 07 July 2008)

The local paper covered my arrival with all the dignity it deserved. Alfreton Town had been established in 1959 and since then, it hadn't been an overly successful club. During the last four seasons, it was noted that The Reds finished no higher than 14th in the Blue Square North League table. I suspected this was mostly due to the negative goal differential during those seasons.

The Town Ground Stadium was decent enough for a club this size, but the team lacked a youth setup. The media predicted 19th place in the league, but the supporters were thrilled at the prospect of new investment, especially since the club was purchased outright with cash.

It took me only one question to dash their hopes at an improved future. “Mr. Jones, will you be looking to make additional investment in the club this season?”

“Honestly, I spent most of the money I had to buy the club. It's up to the club to generate the revenue for further investment.” The momentary silence spoke volumes and the wide eyes were further testament to my foolishness as Club Chairman.

“Will you be looking to make changes to the players or staff?”

“Can't say as I will. I just got off the plane from the States. Haven't even looked over the squad list or spoken with the staff long enough to make any kind of recommendations at this time. However, I'm sure you will be after me sooner rather than later.” I chuckled, but it fell flat. So much for first impressions.

The interview ended shortly and all of us felt kind of letdown by the whole event. They were disappointed with me because I was already tapped out financially despite the quick, all-cash sale. I was disappointed in me because I couldn't offer them any hope of a new future since I'd spent all my inheritance just buying this club.

I thought of Grandpa as I shuffled off the meet the staff. I hoped they would take to me a bit more amicably than the media, especially since I was the one paying their salaries. I remembered what Grandpa told me about loyalty. I was bound and determined to do my best to live by the creed which had served him so well.

Nicky Law met with me and we discussed his CV. He'd started as a youth player with Arsenal in the Premiership, moved on in search of playing time with Barnsley in the Championship. When the starts came scarce, he moved on to Blackpool, Notts County, and Rotherham in League One. Nicky slid further down the tables to the League Two and found his place with Chesterfield, getting them promoted and keeping them there. His age caught up with him and he slid further down the table to Hereford, Stourbridge, and Stafford.

Finally in 2000, Nicky retired from playing and went back to Chesterfield to become their manager. He spent a season and a half with them before chasing greener pastures at Bradford for a second season and a half. He fell out of favor with management and was sacked. Then, Nicky was hired by Grimsby and sacked within four months. Eventually he landed on his feet again at Buxton and spent two seasons rebuilding that squad before Alfreton came along and bought him out of his contract to improve the Reds' fortunes.

Nicky preferred a 4-3-3 tactical formation and liked to play cautiously, preferring to allow his defense to mark zonally. When I questioned him about the offense's lack of scoring production considering he had three forwards high on the pitch trying to score, he bristled and replied, “How about each of us just stick to what we know best? What do you say? Keep things simple?” He tried chuckling, but it was his turn for the joke to fall flat.

“Nicky, I assume you mean that you'll manage the team and I'll manage everything else?” I smiled thinly at him.

“Sounds great.”

“Not to me.”

“Really?” Nicky seemed surprised by my direct nature.

“Yes. I wish to be a bit more involved than that.”

“How so, Mr. Jones?” Law's attitude, now a bit more tentative.

“Think you can run a 4-4-2, Nicky?”

“I'd prefer not. We've got the team established and built it around a 4-3-3. Switching it now would throw the entire dressing room into shambles.”

“What if I said that I'd prefer it?” Law stared at me blankly and I continued, “You've tried that for the past two seasons with little to show for it.”

Law squirmed in his seat and looked out of sorts. I gathered he was used to calling the shots before with Wayne Bradley in charge and didn't like me calling them now. Eventually, he composed himself and asked, “Fine, but I insist on some additional transfer money to find more midfield players for the new tactical formation.”

“I'm sorry, Nicky, but my funds won't allow it. You'll have to make it work with the existing finances.”

Law's tone became more strident. “You tell me to switch tactical formations, but won't provide the necessary finances to support the change?”

I thought of Grandpa Jones again. What would he do in this situation? Grandpa's code was crystal clear. Honesty was the best policy. “I'm very sorry, Nicky, but that is the way it must be. I'm tapped out.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Jones. But you were foolish to purchase this club without reserve finances.”

“Tell me something I haven't already learned today.”

“Well, at least your honest. So I'll be honest too. I don't want to work for you.”

“Do you want out of the remainder of your contract?”

“Yes. Can you manage that?”

“By all means. Just be out by day's end.”

“Fine, but I can be out much sooner than that.”

“Fine to you too, Nick. I'm sorry it didn't work out.”

“I'm not.”

And with that, I lost my veteran manager.

Chapter 3 (Week of 07 July 2008)

I sat in my new office. Hadn't changed a thing about it, except to add a couple of family photos on top of my desk. Then, I had a laugh at my own expense. Not so much a “ha ha” laugh, but more of an ironic laugh. Never before in my life had I dashed so many hopes so quickly.

Grandpa Jones stared at me from his perch on my desktop. I asked myself, How'd you do it Grandpa? How'd you build your sporting goods retail business from scratch? Made me wish I'd paid more attention to him while working in his store as a teenager than trying to flirt with all the hotties who came to buy stuff.

Oh well. No time to dwell. The dressing room was sure to be up in arms. I just hoped it wasn't going to be like that show about Harchester United I'd been watching back in the States. I didn't need that kind of drama. No one did.

I picked up the phone and called the secretary, Mary. “Can you contact the other staff and schedule a meeting with them for later this afternoon? Nicky Law has resigned and we'll need to find his replacement.”

Mary agreed pleasantly and then asked if I wanted to inform the media. I thought it a good idea. “Are you sure?” she asked, uncertainty creeping into her voice. Looking at Grandpa again, I assured her it was okay.

I grabbed some folding chairs from the dressing room and hauled them into my office by myself since it was apparent my predecessor didn't hold meetings in here. The rest of the club staff assembled itself awkwardly on the chairs when it was time to begin the meeting.

One last glance at Grandpa and I started the meeting. “Staff, I like honesty. Want that to be the policy around here during my leadership, you hear?”

All heads nodded assent.

“Excellent. Nicky Law, as many of you already discovered, has left the team. We are now a ship without a rudder. We need one. Soon.”

More heads nodded silently.

“Nicky thought me foolish and didn't want to make the changes I asked him because he wouldn't get any transfer money to support his efforts. Don't blame him, really. But, we're still stuck without a manager.”

No one wanted to look at me.

“Russ? I know you and Nicky managed together at Buxton. You came here when he did. I will understand if you want out too. But I believe that this squad could benefit if you stayed on.”

Russ O'Neill looked at me directly. Astonishment splashed across his face. “I don't know.”

“Fine. However, hear me out. The rest of you can listen in too. I'm not interested in making wholesale changes around here regarding the players and personnel. I just want to switch tactics a bit. Get more defense behind the ball. Stop the others teams from scoring so much.”

The collective relief on their faces encouraged me to say more.

“Alfreton Town Reds have managed to survive since 1959. That's older than me. Older than all of us. It will probably be around a lot longer than me too. All I'm saying is that we now have a missing manager. That means an opportunity for the rest of you to step up and do something you couldn't do three hours ago. I'm asking Russ to claim his chance by being the club's new manager. I'm asking the rest of you to join him in this opportunity and keep doing what you're doing. Are you up for it, Russ? Ready to the rudder for the Reds?” I smiled.

Someone let a groan slip.

“What? Was it that bad?”

Russ answered for them. “I'll manage on one condition.”

“What's that?”

“Don't ever use that phrase again. It's downright awful.”

I laughed and they joined me. “It was pretty bad wasn't it?” I paused a moment looking Russ over. “I'll try my best to not mess up too much, but I'll expect the same from you as our new manager of the Alreton Town Reds.”

A small round of applause filled the room as the other two, Paul and Dougie, congratulated their friend on his new promotion.

I got up from the desk and asked, “I'm famished and parched. Anyone want to show me the way to the local watering hole? I'm buying.”

The applause was even louder than before. This time everyone had joined in. “We know just the place.” they said. “Can we go right now?”

This time, I nodded assent and felt good about making my best decision since agreeing to blow my entire inheritance in one place, Alfreton Town.

On my way out the door, I said to Mary, “We're off. Tell the papers that Russ O'Neill is Alfreton's new manager.” The look of her surprise was a joy to me and I imagined Grandpa was smiling at how fast I'd made new friends.

Chapter 4 (Week of 07 July 2008)

The afternoon in the pub with my coaching staff slipped into the evening hours and on towards last call without a hitch. When it finally came time to say goodbye, we departed with all the optimism our drinks could stir. I'd paid the hefty tab certain that it was money well spent.

Russ shared that our best player was Paul Clayton, a 23 year old striker with all the skills to play in leagues higher than ours. Told me to hold onto him along with the rest of our attacking strike force. Said Brian Cusworth had been with Alfreton since 2007, but it was rumored Bromley wanted him on a transfer this coming season.

Russ went on to share that our defense needed shoring up to relieve some of the pressure their weakness put on our strikers. Said our first priority should be finding a suitable replacement for Tommy Evans, our 31 year old keeper, as well as a new left defender because we didn't have anyone worth the cost of a pint back there to replace MacFadzean.

Our scout, Neil Milton let slip that he might need some help when I told him that information was going to be the key to our survival. Scouting reports would be the life and death of us, both on upcoming matches as well as players potentially interested in coming to Alfreton, especially since attrition is so high among part-time players in the Blue Square North and South Leagues. I made a mental note to get another set of eyes in the skies for scouting.

The staff managed to persuade me to open up my wallet a little bit more regarding wages. Told me that the 6.7K per week might not be enough. They thought 7.25K per week would be what we could afford based on our attendance figures in the past. Hell, I didn't know, but I didn't want to keep saying “No” to everything, especially since we were having such a good time making nice. So I agreed. Hope it doesn't bite me in my backside in the future.

Russ said our first couple of friendlies were scheduled against tough competition and then it would get easier as we got closer to the league season. Bury, who played two leagues above us in League Two, were our first match on home soil at the Town Ground. Welshpool Town, who played in the Welsh Premier League, would come to our pitch for the second match. Then we'd play Blue Square South competition Fisher. After that, Sutton United, Goytre, and Slough were on the docket.

I popped a few aspirin in the morning and chased them down with a beer the next morning before heading to the club to do what I could to contribute to my investment.

It took me about fifteen minutes to realize that it wasn't much. So I called the news reporter back and gave my interview regarding the sudden staffing changes. Answering his badgering questions as honestly as I dared, I shared that although Nicky Law had been a good manager for this squad, our differing philosophies resulted in a mutual decision for him to move on. Russ O'Neill was chosen to succeed him as replacement because the team was familiar with him. Told the reporter we'd be looking at a new scout before making any player changes and adopting a restrained approach to our tactical play. Reminded him about our upcoming friendly versus Bury and said I was confident Alfreton would avoid relegation come season's end.

The reporter thanked me and I hung up. I spent another half hour and read some of the club's financial reports, scoured the headlines for news from the States, and wondered what I was going to do with the rest of my day. I still had seven hours to go before dinner and I was bored already.

What to do? That was the question of the moment and when it was rolled around towards lunch time, both my headache and my boredom remained firmly entrenched in my life. The only thing that had gone down smoothly was the Scotch left behind by Wayne Bradley after he'd sold the club to me.

I needed a hobby.

Chapter 5 (Week of 14 July 2008)

I'd rummaged through the Alfreton clubhouse searching for some decent archives to give me some kind of a background on the history of my new acquisition. Not much of note. In fact, it was downright discouraging. A couple of past icons with the requisite photos were around, but I thought there'd be more. Afterall, the club with whom we shared a nickname, the “Reds” of Liverpool practically had a museum full of its great players in the past. Anyone with some free time on their hands could show up, take a tour of the grounds, and get transported into the possibilities Liverpool offered. No wonder so many supporters follow them around the world.

Hell, I'd be hard pressed to want to come to Alfreton if I were a player. We might be a no name club, but we didn't have to act like it. For crying out loud. I vowed that if we made a go of it this season, I'd make sure some lore made it into some kind of display. I wanted this club to start imagining its own possibilities.

Russ O'Neill and I spent time together every day. Not because he wanted it, but because I demanded it. Not because he was doing anything wrong, but because I needed to do something to occupy my time. To his credit, he tolerated my presence off the pitch much better than he tolerated it on the pitch, particularly when he was putting the squad through its paces during training.

I was pleased with how hard Russ worked them, especially considering they'd show up after a long day doing whatever it was they did to make a living. This club offered them no living, at least not enough to live on. Alfreton could only afford to pay four players over $400 USD per week. Three of them were defenders. Didn't seem right to pay them so little, but when a player's in his thirties, he ought to get something for his efforts on our behalf. However, one thing struck me as odd. None of my highest wage earners were strikers. All over the news I'd noticed in the professional teams in leagues much higher up than ours was that the assassins up front were the top wage earners on every club.

I brought this idiosyncrasy before Russ during one of our meetings and he shrugged it off. Said something about doesn't matter the wage, only matters if they show up sober on match days. I let it slide, but made another mental note to research it further. Money was tight, but if we couldn't attract top strikers, then we'd be the bottom feeders in the league for some time to come. People pay to watch the ball get put in the back of the net. Those kinds of matches are televised. And television is where the money would be found. The money that would help this club get some stature and give me a chance to put something of note in the archives I wished to display in the future and pay the players a decent wage so they could concentrate on football properly.

The highlight of my week was going to the Conference League Cup Draw. Talk about an ironic joke. A bunch of club representatives shaking hands, exchanging gossip, and drinking way too much alcohol with someone else's money. Didn't matter, I was the center of attention being the new guy on the block and much of the old regime of “Crusty Dusties” spent most of their time at the draw showering me with their insolence.

I made many mental notes between fake smiles and half-hearted chuckles to mind my manners like my grandpa would have done. Idiots. Alfreton drew Blyth at home in the first round of the Conference League Cup. Couldn't have cared less except we were at home and our club would get some extra money from concession sales. Assuming of course, anyone would bother to show up after the results of our first two friendlies against Bury and Welshpool Town in the near future.

My belly burned from the liquor I drank, as well as the delightfully evil candor shared with me by my chairperson compatriots by the time the night was finished. I shuffled out the door and headed home for my place in Alfreton as soon as it was allowable. I took a shower to wash the filth of their nightly charms off my skin and flopped onto my sofa because my empty bed was a torture I didn't want to have to face tonight.

Sleep came quickly, but not before the dreams came to do their haunting.

Chapter 6 (Week of 14 July 2008)

All the waiting for the day to arrive for our first friendly was bittersweet. Though I liked the opportunity to face League Two opposition in Bury at the Town Ground in Alfreton in the evening (start 19:45), the strong wind and drizzle put a damper on the excitement of our season.

199 supporters showed up in the pleasantly warm weather to watch our squad get punished for our futility against players who were stronger, faster, and smarter than ours.

I had spoken with Russ about our team's chances ahead of the match and he'd told me to enjoy it for what it was worth. “Don't count on a win,” he'd told me, but the idea of winning was still strong despite sitting next to Bury's chairman in the press box out of the elements.

However, it only took Bury seven short minutes to prove Russ' assumptions correct. Bury had sent a long cross over everyone towards the left sideline. LM Michael Jones chased it down in the rain to save it. We didn't. He had plenty of time to pick out his pass and he chose his strike partner, Andy Morrell, inside the six yard box and on the near post. Kris Bowler, our LM in the DR's spot tried to mark him, but it was of no use. Morrell beat Bowler to the header and directed it with ease past our keeper, Tommy Evans, who had no chance at it.

I clapped politely, but inside, my excitement was a little more than deflated because we'd allowed them to score so easily. I wished we'd have shown more fight and could have outlasted them more than a mere 7 minutes, but it wasn't to be.

Alfreton tried to rally a bit as Bury backed off on their intensity, but we couldn't put the ball into the back of the net despite three more good chances in the first half.

The first chance came at the 25th minute. Kyle McFadzean, our DC, tried a lofted ball towards the eighteen. Liam Hearn elevated enough to flick a header on toward our second striker, Paul Clayton. It never connected because Bury's defender, Ryan Cresswell shouldered Clayton and shielded him away from the ball before finishing his skilled defensive move with a smart clearance off the back of the pitch.

Clayton got his chance a five minutes later. Paul Ellender laid off a short pass to Paul off the free kick. Clayton was able to get two touches to the ball before Bury reacted to the pass and drive a hard, low shot, past Wayne Brown's right goal post. I had risen from my seat without realizing it, only to be forced to sit back down, ashamed at the result of the near miss.

Five minutes after Ellender's free kick, Ellender took matters into his own hands and drove a blistering shot at Bury's keeper from distance. Wayne Brown vaulted upwards and followed the ball with his outstretched hand just over the top of the crossbar from 20 yards out. Our home supporters gasped and my lunch was caught in my throat, but to no avail.

Three minutes later and just two minutes before the half, Ryan Cresswell made a simple back pass to CB Efe Sodje, one of Bury's player/coaches. Sodje's awareness caught us totally unaware and he lofted the ball over our DC, Martin McIntosh when Bury's striker, Andy Bishop, signaled his intention. They didn't even need to time it well. Bishop was off to the races and blew the doors off McIntosh. He'd closed the distance to the lofted pass just before the penalty area. Tommy Evans even came out of his penalty area to try and save the play, but Bishop simply tapped the ball past him on the right and passed the ball easily into the now open net.

Bury's chairman vaulted from his seat to celebrate. I swallowed my pride and stood too, clapping respectfully and thinking about my Grandpa telling me, “Roy, you never know when you'll see history made, but you better be ready to appreciate it, despite your immediate allegiance.”

Don't think the goal was historic other than it was the first goal of the season to put the match out of reach and the second half was even more dismal than the first. The Reds failed to manage a single shot in the second half.

However, in the press box, I made up for the lack of shots my newly acquired team could muster. The four shots of scotch warmed me enough to paste a smile on my face and brave the elements outside down on the pitch. I shook Russ' hand and told him I appreciated him benching McIntosh at the half for getting beat so badly on Bury's second goal.

Russ' shook my hand professionally and added, “McIntosh didn't like it.”

“Well Russ, send him my way if you want. If a veteran player like him makes a rookie mistake like that while he's the highest paid member of our team, then maybe he better sit down with me so we can renegotiate that contract of his.”

Loyalty was important, but I also expected the players to earn their keep.

Chapter 7 (Week of 21 July 2008)

Following the loss to Bury in our first home friendly, Russ and I met in my office to discuss the roster. I'd made it real clear that Russ had my full support. He told me he appreciated it and then reminded me about our previous discussion regarding our starting keeper.

“Russ, after watching Tommy make a mess of it in goal, I agree with you that we need a better keeper. Same goes for our most expensive player, McIntosh.”

Russ nodded his approval. “Thanks, Roy. It's good to know you support me.”

“I do. It's those two players who've got my ire up at the moment. I can tolerate mistakes, but rookie mistakes from veteran players, especially expensive ones, make it real tough for me to take. Are you sure you don't want me to talk to them?”

Russ assured me that he'd handle it and that it was better for everyone if I allowed him to manage and me to pay the bills. I didn't mind giving him the chance to do it his way. I was still new. Needed to get my own house in order before I started cleaning his.

I was already over a barrel because I'd lost my veteran manager, Nicky Law, on the very first day at my post. Russ had worked with Nicky a lot longer than me. I didn't want to burn this bridge too, especially since I didn't know who I would get to replace Russ if he left.

“Russ, you're right about me sticking to the money side of things. I know Brian Cusworth was rumored to be interested in switching clubs to Bromley. I'll be speaking with him about it later today. I know you say Alfreton needs a keeper, but what about veteran strikers?”

“Cussy? He's lost a step now, but he hasn't shrunk much. Still plenty tall and can decently head a ball. It might be worth it, just in case.”

“Consider it done.”

We talked a bit more about the club and I assured him that if we could afford it, I'd make sure we start looking for a decent keeper to put the pressure on Tommy.

After lunch, Brian Cusworth arrived on time for his contract discussions. I welcomed the 28 year old into my office and he rubbed his nearly bald head as soon as he began shaking my hand. His clammy handshake had given away his nerves, so I tried assuring him before we began.

I walked over to the small bar to the right side of my desk and offered him a drink. He nodded no. I poured myself a Scotch and carried it back to my desk.

“Brian, I hear you've got a chance to go to Bromley?”

“That's right, Sir. But I'd be happy to stay here, if you don't mind.”

“Really? Why?”

“It's no surprise that switching clubs is tough on a player, especially as they get a bit older. I'm not as young as I once was, but I want to keep playing.”

“I hear you. What would it take for us to keep you around here a bit longer?”

“Well, you could match Bromley's offer.”

“What's that?”

“They've offered me 225 a week and a contract through the end of this season.”

I thought about it. Delayed any immediate decisions by finishing off my Scotch and walked back to my bar while the warm burn in my throat work its magic. The wage bump was going to put us closer to the wage limit the staff had suggested I keep. It would also make it that much tougher to attract the kind of keeper we might need as well as burn up some of the reserve capital we might have to call upon during rainy days in the future.

At the bar, I'd turned to study Brian and lifted the glass to my mouth. He looked back at me and fidgeted a bit waiting for whatever I'd say next. Grandpa's voice filtered itself into thoughts. Roy, loyalty is key. Without it, you've got no future only the here and now.

“Brian, I'm new to this business. Won't do me any good deny that. However, I'm not new to people. My Grandpa was a successful business man in retail sporting goods. I learned what I could from him, but he's gone now. His death made it possible for me to take my portion of his inheritance and make the most of my chance here at Alfreton.”

Brian sat silently and nodded acknowledgement.

I wandered slowly back to Brian's side of the desk and sat on its edge, just inside my player's personal space. He pushed himself as far back into the seat as it would allow.

I clinked the ice against the side of the glass and finished swishing the liquid around in my mouth. “Brian, will you sign right now if I offer you 250 a week that lasts through the end of next season? I'll even toss in a $25 bonus for every appearance as well as for every goal you stick in the back of the net.”

The relief on his face was immediate. I shook his hand heartily and walked back to the bar. This time when I offered him a drink, he took it.

As we clinked our glasses together, I made a toast. “To loyalty. May both parties benefit from this decision.”

The warmth in my throat continued to work its way all the way down to my heart. Silently, I thought of Grandpa Jones and what he might have said during his toast. It was all good.

Four days later, our opponent, Welshpool Town, made its way to the Town Ground for our second home friendly of the season. Again, it was raining, but the wind was far less noticeable. So was our crowd. Only 125 showed up to see us challenge the Welsh Premier League outfit for another evening match.

Similar to the first friendly, our supporters got a chance to see Alfreton history get made. Only this time, it wasn't because Russ and I were making our debuts. It was because in the 10th minute, Welshpool Town's striker, made a fantastic gaff while under pressure from our midfielder, Tom Curtis. Near midfield, Welshpool's striker had turned to lay off the ball to his trailing midfielder. He passed it too hard as well as off target. It buzzed along the grass on the pitch beyond his teammate's reach towards his right defender.

Paul Clayton, our own striker busted his butt and beat his man to the ball. Clayton gathered up the loose ball and headed straight up the left side of our pitch motoring as fast as he could before sending the cross to his teammate, Liam Hearn, at the penalty spot.

Liam took a single touch to control the ball and set up his left footed shot to ruffle the back of the net! Just like that, we'd taken the lead on our visiting opposition.

It remained that way for the rest of the first half. Upon taking the field in the second half, both teams remained locked in a tactical standstill until the substitutions started taking place. Russ had sent newly signed Cusworth onto the pitch. I praised him silently and wondered how he'd perform. I didn't have to wait long for him to get involved in the action down on the pitch.

Cusworth fought hard and won a loose ball near midfield. Then, he sent a through pass up the left flank to his teammate, Kris Bowler. Bowler received the pass and tried to beat his defender but was denied. Gathering up the newly loose ball, Bowler slotted a return pass into space for Cusworth to run onto. Cussy's tall lumbering frame caught up to it at the top of the 18 and he had all the time in the world to size-up the keeper before smoothly slotting it into the Welshpool goal for a 2-0 nil lead!

I was so ecstatic in my press box suite that I'd spilled the Scotch all down the front of my trench coat. I couldn't have cared less. Matching Cusworth kissing the badge on his chest, I brought my Chairman's uniform to my mouth too. The Scotch tasted even better knowing who'd scored the goal that broke Welshpool's backs and my spirit soared upwards with our entire home support.

I took only a moment to close my eyes and offer thanks to Grandpa.

Chapter 8 (Week of 21 July 2008)

Two friendlies were under our belt. One result was expected, but the other one was a surprise. Defeating a Welsh Premier League team wasn't a huge accomplishment, but they are team of full-time professionals. We weren't.

As a part-time club, defeating Welshpool Town at home was a feather in our caps and people around town knew it. I got more than the usual number of claps on the back at the bar, but I wasn't complaining, especially since some of them coincided with free rounds too.

Of course, once I got the talking water in me, the buyers got the dirt and the gossip they wanted too. I'd done my fair share of talking the team up, hoping it might result in some increased gate sales, but much work was still required for that to begin happening anytime soon.

On Monday of the week, Michael Kemp, our newest scout, had an initial meeting with Russ and I regarding the prospects we could pursue since his arrival. He came back with about twelve prospects, but the one which got Russ' interest most involved Lee Boyle, a 20 year old Irish Keeper who'd just been released from Aston Villa's youth program.

Kemp indicated that Boyle was as good as our current veteran keeper, Tommy Evans. My manager was still in the mood for a new keeper to push Tommy for the starting spot, but I was still sore from the bruises I'd received last week from our finance director, Timmy Smythe, after negotiating Cussy's two season contract without his consent.

Timmy was furious with me. Told me in no uncertain terms that it wasn't my place to negotiate player contracts, especially since I'd never been in the football business before. He'd threatened that my ignorance would bankrupt the club and he'd forbidden me from entering talks again without some support.

I'd argued back that Alfreton was my club and if I saw fit to run it into the ground, then that was my own business. I paid him to take care of the finances and support the decisions Russ and I had made regarding the future of the players at this club.

He'd snorted and stormed out of my office waving his hands in the air and shouting, “I don't give a Red Bull about your motives. I care only for the financial situation of this club. I wash my hands of the matter. Do whatever you want, but if you go into talks again without me, I'm walking.”

A case of Red Bull delivered personally to his flat and a second conversation, this time a much more pleasant tone was sustained throughout the entire informal gathering. I'd surmised that Timmy's arrival at work earlier on Monday morning was in large part to the copious amount of ways we'd mixed the Red Bull with other liquors to quickly become good friends. Well, friends for at least as long as the effects lasted.

I'd assured Timmy that I'd include him in all future contract negotiations.

Now, in this meeting with Michael Kemp, Russ had indicated that he wanted to pursue Lee Boyle with purpose. I'd agreed to go ahead and tender an offer to him. Timmy made the initial contact, which suited me just fine, because it gave me a chance to come to grips with my anger management issues regarding the bookies' season predictions splashed across the headlines.

The bookies had listed AFC Telford as 5-4 co-favorites with Southport. I could understand their shared status. In their respective friendlies, Telford had drawn level with Tottenham Hotspur's reserve team in a friendly at 2-2. They'd also beaten Championship side, Wolverhampton Wolverines, outright 1-0 at home. Additionally, Southport had drawn 1-1 with League One side, Oldham, and also drawn with Blue Square Premier side, Burton, 1-1. Last season, Telford had finished in second place in the Blue Square North with 80 points. Southport had finished in 4th place with 77 pts. Both teams were eliminated in the playoffs and were prepared to battle for supremacy in the league race again this season.

However, I didn't think Alfreton should be listed at 100-1 and favorites for the relegation zone. I'd already picked up the phone and made close to a dozen calls on behalf of my club to argue the predictions. As nicely as they could in the face of my confrontational spirit, they'd either passed me off to some other dead end or told me politely that I had a whole season to prove them otherwise.

My new blokes at the pub enjoyed my tales of these discussion this past week and my confrontational bravado had grown with each telling, which seemed to coincide with each successive round shoved my way. I didn't care. At least, it numbed the pain of going home to an empty apartment every night.

Unfortunately, our away friendly at Fisher took some of the steam out of my stories after Alfreton returned. Fisher was in the Blue Square South, a sister league of sorts to ours in the Blue Square North. The coach ride didn't help and our stiff legs showed, getting soundly defeated 0-1. Both our starting strikers, Liam Hearn (22) and Danny Davidson (28) couldn't seem to use their tall frames to good advantage at all during their short time on the pitch.

Upon my return to the Town Ground, I'd done some research and discovered that Davidson was coming to us as his third team in consecutive seasons with different squads, none of whom the previous ones were any great shakes. The first club was Solihull Moors and the second club was Moor Green. Hearn's career was even less storied. Last season alone, he'd been with Hucknall, Eastwood, Chase Town, and Quorn. It was no wonder that Russ dumped both of them out of the friendly after their first 45.

I'd been on Russ' case in my office following that match, questioning why those two were given the start in place of Cussy and anybody else. Russ handled me quite well all things considered. He'd taken the liberty to head to my bar and make me a drink before he'd replied. Then, he'd mixed me a second by the time he'd finished explaining himself. In the end, I'd finally understood the philosophy of friendlies. It was all about finding the right combinations of players that worked together, regardless of their playing histories with previous clubs.

My manager tested my resolve once more in the first half when we faced Sutton United at home on the weekend. Danny Mayman, was so dreadful, he'd been pulled from the friendly after just 28 minutes on the pitch. I'd almost booed him myself.

In the second half, it was clear that Russ O'Neill had worked magic in the dressing room. From the kickoff, Alfreton marched the ball down the field and, after a beautiful cross from the Ben Muirhead in the MR position, Tom Curtis, team captain and MC, trapped the ball easily behind their defensive line and knocked it past their keeper who had already started arguing about the offsides. The officials wouldn't be swayed from their decision, despite their private onfield conference involving almost every player on the pitch.

After the goal stood, I'd apologized for “accidentally” spilling the contents of my drink on Sutton United's Chairman following his muttering “home field advantage” comments. I didn't care. I'd told him to call Welshpool's Chairman if he questioned the sincerity of my apology as well as my ability to keep my liquor in my glass.

Sutton's Chairman resumed his gracious air and settled down, once his club continued it's on pitch dominance. However, lightning struck twice for two of Russ' substitutes. Nick Hewer scored from a tightly threaded through ball from Massiah McDonald inside the penalty box and scored a tightly angled near post goal in the 83rd minute to put the match out of reach for the opposition.

No comments were muttered and no drinks were spilled. I shook my opponent's hand and all 123 of our supporters on the very cool Saturday afternoon went home feeling much warmer about our season's prospects.

Chapter 9 (Week of 28 July 2008)

My meeting with Russ on Monday was much less heated then last week's meeting, however, it was still just as wet. Russ' special skills at my bar reminded me of being in Grandpa Jones' house as a young boy. It seemed like Grandpa's food was always better than when my own family did it. Russ' drinks were the same, just a bit better than I could pour them myself. I didn't question it, I just kept asking him for more, of which he obliged.

He'd told me he'd taken the liberty of calling all his contacts to see if any young keepers might be available for loan on the cheap. I couldn't argue with his reasoning. The early numbers for the month from Timmy forecast a loss, which meant it might be tougher to accommodate Russ' wishes and buy a player to challenge Evans between the sticks. In my book, free was always good, but it was good to hear from Russ nonetheless.

Paddy Gamble was a 19 year old GK at Nottingham Forest. Rumored for transfer at 6K. Will Puddy was two years older, at Cheltenham, and worth 4K. Ross Atkins was an 18 year old GK at Derby and worth more than what I paid for my club. Josh Bell was the same age, but at Oldham, and was worth considerably less, but still valued at 50K. Sam Slocombe was a 20 year old at Scunthorpe and only worth 3K.

My ears perked up at Ross Atkin's value. 575K was nothing to shake a fist at considering what I'd paid for Alfreton. I wanted him. I told Russ that too. He told me he'd send Kemp to look them all over, but warned that someone worth as much as Ross might not be interested in coming to a wee club like ours. Didn't matter. I was determined I could convince him of our club's merit, if given the chance to meet with him. But, I didn't expect to be able to do that either. It just wasn't traditional in the English Leagues for the Chairman to be actively involved in recruiting talent. I didn't see why it was frowned upon. Heck, it was my money paying the club's expenses. I ought to be able to have some say in how it gets spent.

Russ also told me that 25 players were scheduled to have contracts end at season's conclusion. The most notable players included Tom Curtis, Ben Muirhead, and Tommy Evans. Two midfielders, of whom one was captain, and our starting keeper. Two of them were also in the Big Four of my team's salary expenses too.

Tom Curtis was 35 and slowing down. Though he was the captain of our squad, he'd also seen his share of clubs. He'd started out with Chesterfield, but reached a high point with a few seasons at Portsmouth when they were in the Championship. Most recently, he'd spent three seasons with Nuneaton Borough, who were relegated last season from the Blue Square North. That's where Nicky Law had scooped him up and lured him here to Alfreton with the promise of the captaincy. At $450 per week, he was a very expensive player, especially considering that Russ only figured we'd be able to get 1K for him in the transfer market.

Ben Muirhead was ten years younger, at 25, but he'd also seen his share of clubs too. He'd started out in Manchester United's youth program. As soon as he came of age and realized he'd never play directly for Sir Alex Ferguson, especially since Ronaldo and Muirhead shared the same position. It was obvious he'd never see any playing time at Old Trafford. Bradford bought him and played him a little bit, before transferring Ben to Rochdale in League 2. Eventually, he fell out of favor with that club too, and Nicky Law had purchased him on a free with the promise of plenty of starts and a hefty wage of $475 per week.

Tommy Evans was our 31 year old starting keeper. He'd played in almost every match he'd been available with us. He'd started at Scunthorpe, but played most of his career at York in the Blue Square Premier before calling it quits and coming to Alfreton to play for Nicky Law. He was being paid $375 per week, but was worth 5K if we wanted to sell him on the transfer market.

All in all, it was a lot to consider. I wanted to turn a profit or, at least, not lose too much money. However, Timmy had already come to me with warnings about the end of the month. I needed to consider reworking some contracts, but if the players wouldn't help me out, then I'd need to be ready to sell them to make ends meet. Damn! I'd wished I hadn't spent all my money just buying this club. I wished I left some in reserve. Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk. Which reminded me of White Russians. When I asked Russ if he could make one of them too, I was not disappointed with the end result. YUM!

Neither was I disappointed at my discussions with the player's rep regarding season bonuses for the entire squad based on where we'd finish up at the season's end. With Timmy's permission, of course, I'd agreed to give the players a higher than normal bonus for their final league standing. I wanted to give them some reward for beating the odds as predicted by the media bookies.

The players must have been in a jubilant mood upon hearing the news too. We traveled to Goytre in midweek for a friendly. First time I'd ever been to Wales. Can't say as I felt an affinity for Port Talbot, but I did enjoy the result against our opposition. Taking away a 2-0 victory made the trip home much shorter than our trip home from Fisher after our away loss last week. Muirhead proved he was worth his expensive wage by capitalizing on a Shaun Galsworthy error to score the first goal of the match in the 20th minute. Paul Clayton added a second 8 minutes later with the well-timed close range effort. Goytre tried to make a fightback in front of the 62 fans who'd shown up to watch the friendly, but they were denied a goal in the 82nd minute when their striker's goal was disallowed for offsides. I'd never thought 62 fans could make such a ruckus, but they did, and I was grateful to get out of there without any injuries to our players or to our staff.

The same couldn't be said for our league schedule. Our opening match in the league was due to be against Droylsden, a team relegated from the Blue Square Premier last season. However, as title contenders predicted to bounce right back up, it was indeed stiff competition we'd face in early August. I wondered how we'd face them, but my manager assured me that he was getting a read on the combinations required to make our team work well at the start of the season. I sure hoped he was telling me the truth.

I'd stopped drinking Scotch and moved to White Russians after sampling Russ' specialty earlier in the week. I'd vowed to restrict my drinking at our next friendly to only one celebratory drink after each goal. Surely that would help curtail my drinking, but at our away match against Slough, I made a fool of myself and was buzzing quite nicely after we netted 6 goals for our efforts.

Liam Hearn started my binge in the 6th minute with a well-timed header at close range. Four minutes later, I had to drink up my second as Tom Curtis scored a real poacher's effort. I ignored the look from Slough's chairman as I ordered my second, but I couldn't ignore my disappointment as Muirhead had to be stretchered off in the 35th minute from a hard, but legal challenge.

Paul Clayton was causing all sorts of havoc around and inside the penalty area, so I finally got to celebrate his reward three minutes after they resumed play from Muirhead's injury. My third drink helped to soothe my disappointment at losing one of our team's most valuable personnel to injury.

In the second half, I'd been forced to embarrass myself with my drink orders. Kris Bowler, Muirhead's replacement, netted his first goal from the penalty spot in the 62nd minute. Nick Hewer, our 17 year old youth striker, netted his second goal in two matches four minutes later. Then, the same young man scored his second of the match a mere three minutes after that.

The three White Russians in 9 minutes had finally sent me over the top and I found myself humming our club's anthem something quite terribly because I couldn't remember all the words as of yet and the ones I did know were slurred. I shook hands with Slough's chairman following the match, and then made my way to the dressing to hug anyone willing to hug me back.

I really like White Russians. I also really like being Chairman of Alfreton.

Chapter 10 (Week of 04 August 2008)

My first month at Alfreton had been bittersweet. The club had recovered quite nicely from losing it's original manager, but I felt that promoting Russ O'Neill was the best thing for the club under the circumstances. He'd adapted nicely to the tactical formation switch I'd imposed. Now playing a 4-4-2, our first six friendlies netted us 12 points out of a possible 18. During our 4 victories, we were at a +12 goal differential and in our 2 losses we'd only been at -3 in goal difference.

This goal differential statistic was a good thing because it meant that Tommy Evans had taken it to heart regarding the transfer market speculation for a new keeper. I'd hoped it would carry over into this weekend's opening season match away at Droylsden and then as long as possible into the season proper.

All of Alfreton wasn't on a positive trajectory. We'd received some bad news too. Somehow, we'd lost nearly 25K during the month of July. Timmy Smythe and I had discussed the factors in as much depth as my mind could comprehend, but there was no mistaking our current wage structure was killing us. Our income was 11K, of which 5.2K was generated through season ticket sales. But we'd also spent 35K, of which 23.4K was spent on player salaries. Even though we were $600 below the salary cap the staff had suggested for a club of our stature, I thought it too high and wanted it changed.

“Timmy, how are we gonna trim expenses?”

“Roy, we aren't able to do that right now.”

“Why not? Why can't we negotiate new contracts with the players?”

“Are you joking? We pay less than most teams as it is. They aren't going to take a reduced wage on top of it. You must be mad.”

“Well, how are we gonna raise income?”

“Roy, you've got to trust me. The early part of the season is always a struggle to earn positive income. These are friendlies for crying out loud. We've got time to make up July's losses during the season.”

“How do you figure, Timmy?”

“Well, for starters, we've got tournament prize money we can claim with each victory as well as some of the gate receipts from those matches.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, we could win our league matches and be near the top of the table too. Everyone likes a winner.”

“And what if we don't win, Timmy? What then?”

“Then you better hope your credit is good.”

I adjourned the meeting and sulked. My pockets weren't deep at all. I'd probably have to borrow money against the value of the club if, in the future, we kept losing matches as well as money. I sure hoped for a change in the financial situation next month.

Mary buzzed me on the intercom. “Sir, Line One is for you. It's Michael Kemp. He said it was urgent.”

I picked up the phone and spoke with Michael. He'd delivered more bad news. Said that Will Puddy, one of our prospective goalkeepers we wished to loan, had agreed to go on loan to Bishop Cleeve. I had no clue who they were and I didn't care, either. “Is Ross Atkins still available?”

“Last time I checked with Derby, he was still available. He's an absolute gem of a player! If we can loan him, Tommy's got no chance between the sticks.” “Keep looking at the others we talked about, if you get the chance. Money is tight. We won't be purchasing anyone unless it's absolutely too good to turn down.”

We hung up and I took a quick coffee break. Irish coffee is delicious, especially after a morning meeting like that one. I even enjoyed them without the whipped cream. A couple of cups later and it was time for my manager's meeting with Russ. Considering our financial hardship, I'd personally approved of a third coffee to go back to the meeting with me.

Russ sat patiently across from me in my office.

“Roy, thanks for the opportunity to be the manager of the club after Nicky left. I wasn't certain about taking over under those circumstances, but I'm grateful for the chance to prove myself.”

“Well, I'm grateful too. After that rocky start, we've gotten off to a good start this season. I thank you for that. It makes me feel good knowing that my investment appears to be in good hands so far.”

“I'm trying my best.”

“As am I. Now, do you want the good news first or the bad?”

“How about the bad news.”

“We've already lost 25K in July. We won't be buying any players unless they are dirt cheap. We've got to rely on loaned ones instead.”

“Okay, what's the good news?”

“The good news is that Derby's youth keeper is still on the market.”

“Well let's get him. Do you want me to make the contact?”

“Sure, but let me talk it up in the media first. I want to create a buzz about it, to see if it will encourage him to come here and add to the excitement at Alfreton for the start of the season.”

“It might backfire.”

“How so?”

“Well, Tommy won't like it for starters. And it might alert some other teams to go after Atkins too. Teams with better facilities and better players than ours.”

“Good points. I guess we'll just have to take that chance.”

Russ bit his lip, but spoke anyway. “Well, good luck with that. I've got the shortlist of players I'd like to have be captains this season.”

“Excellent. Who'd you choose?”

“Well, I want to keep Tom Curtis as captain. He's done a good job so far. As for vice-captain, I thought Anton Brown would be a fine choice.”

“Anton Brown?” I inquired. I'd watched him play DL in the friendlies and wasn't overly impressed. “Why him? Didn't you say earlier this season that our DL's were the weakest skilled positions on the pitch?”

Russ admitted it was so, but he argued, “Anton's a hard working player. He's younger too. He'd work well with the younger players on the squad.”

I sighed and leaned back in my chair to close my eyes. Anton Brown? Gosh, there have got to be better choices than that. I didn't like the decision one bit, but didn't know if I should confront Russ about it or not. It wasn't tradition for the Chairman to make these kinds of decisions, but it was my club. I was paying the bills and losing my money because of it. I bought myself some time to decide what to do by leaning forward and finishing off the last of my coffee. The warmth of the liquor helped loosen the tongue in my mouth.

“Russ, I like Tom, but don't like Anton.”

Russ was stunned. “What? Are you telling me who should be captain?”

“No, I'm trying to say that I think there are better choices than Anton and you should pick one of them because the team deserves it.”

“But Anton's younger. We've got that half of the team to consider too. The older players like McIntosh, Curtis, Butler and Ellender are old enough to be the father's of the youngest ones on the team.”

“Exactly. All the better to hold the young ones accountable and to lead the team this season.”

“Not exactly, Roy! When you were a teenager, did you want to listen to your father?”

I confessed I didn't.

“Russ, I want Alfreton to be a place where loyalty and performance can be the foundation for our future success. Too many players get tossed around from club to club too quickly. In my opinion, that encourages them to be selfish. Selfishness is what is destroying this game. This world even. I want selflessness. There is a difference.”

“That sounds noble, but selfishness is an acceptable feature of the modern game and it's also an acceptable mode of operation in the modern world too.”

“Well, acceptable or not, I want things to run differently at Alfreton for as long as I'm owner of this club. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Loud and clear, Chairman. Who's my new vice captain?”

I ignored my manager's jab at my role and thought for a moment as to who of the old veterans seemed to excite me the most in the friendlies. I wanted someone who could be the catalyst for change on the pitch. A role model to complement Curtis' efforts in case he couldn't make the pitch that match. Who? McIntosh was our most expensive player, but he hadn't made much of a positive impact when I'd seen him. Butler was 35 and also a DC like McIntosh. Ellender was 34 and an DM/MC. He'd been exciting to watch and worked feverishly during matches, despite his age. Yes. I had my choice.

“Russ, Ellender will be the vice-captain.”

“Fine, I'll make it so.”

He turned to leave.

“Russ, before you go, could you tell me what's up with Muirhead? Did he fare well after his ankle injury?”

“Physio told me Ben is touch and go. We can give him an injection for the match against Droylsden, but he'll be out for 3-4 months after the match because he'll injure it further during it.”

“What if we skip the injection?”

“Then it will 6-8 weeks before he'll make match fitness again. Since you seem to be telling me what to do today, what do you want me to tell the physio?”

Russ comment rankled me, but I couldn't blame him. I had overstepped my boundaries as Chairman. It was time to restore tradition. “I trust you, Russ.”

“Thank you.” Russ walked out my door and left it wide open behind him after it slammed into the wall.

Time for another coffee.

Chapter 11 (Week of 04 August 2008)

After Monday's tense meetings with just about everyone, I'd decided to take a mini-vacation from the office. My financial situation allowed me to hole up inside my apartment where I played Internet Poker in hopes that my staff would cool off a bit after my insistence on doing things my way. Didn't do too badly for a two day haul, winning just over 200K in the process. However, I wished the chips earned were worth real money because Alfreton could have really used that kind of cash injection at this juncture.

Therefore, I decided to pursue the improbable and try to entice Ross Atkins that his immediate future lay with us, instead of the youth squad at Derby in the Premiership.

During the media interview, I'd made it quite clear that I thought Ross would make a wonderful addition to our squad. Even went so far as to suggest that he'd get plenty of match experience and we'd make sure he felt wanted here at Alfreton. I had high hopes of creating a place where players enjoyed playing. I would have preferred speaking with him directly, but determined this was the best course of action at the present time. Now it was time to wait and see.

The day following the interview, Russ got a call from Derby indicating that they were open to our season long loan bid for their youth prospect. It was the only good bit of news on a rainy day. As expected, Tommy Evans had requested a meeting with Russ regarding his status. I asked my manager if he wanted me present. “God no.” was my instant reply.

I went home and played more poker following my very short manager's meeting.

I followed along behind the team's coach for the away match on the weekend. We'd arrived at Droylsden in good shape. Muirhead didn't make the trip, but I'd been informed that Russ elected to let Ben rest since it was so early in the season. Silently, I approved of the decision. Players weren't cattle nor did I want them to be treated as such anymore at Alfreton.

The pitch had dried after the previous day's rain and I hoped for a good showing from our squad, especially after the drubbing we'd dished out in our last friendly.

I shook hands with Droylsden's Chairman, and held off on ordering any drinks in hopes of avoiding further improper behavior this weekend.

Alfreton came out of the blocks with all the pace and persistence I'd expect on opening day. So did Droylsden. Back and forth the respective teams fought for possession. Neither team could establish control.

In the 23rd minute, Droylsden broke through our defense on the left side of the pitch when their AMR Fitzpatrick scored on a placed shot from close range. I'd seen him standing wide open on the far side of the field from his teammate who'd crossed the ball, but vice-captain candidate Anton Brown (DL) was nowhere near him. Kris Bowler (AML) had noticed him open too, but couldn't get back in time to stop it. Almost all 300 Droylsden supporters were on their feet and cheering the debut goal of the season.

The 4th official signaled 2 minutes of stoppage time left in the first half. Droylsen worked their way down the field and managed to get it to Fitzpatrick again. He'd squared up to face Anton Brown outside the penalty area before beginning his 1 v 1 dribbling attack. Fitzpatrick managed to get around Anton Brown to the outside and worked his way inside the box but couldn't quite turn the corner. Bowler dropped all the way inside the box to double up with Anton defensively. The Droylsden player turned his back to both of Alfreton's players and waited for his trailing player to arrive on his supporting run. He'd begun working his way back toward the top of the penalty area to see the run occur for the pass, but Anton hacked him down from behind nearly immediately leaving the official with an easy call.

I could hear Russ' derision towards Anton all the way from where I was sitting. The words were quite harsh, but Anton's boneheaded play fully deserved the criticism.

Sean Newton buried the penalty kick and we headed into halftime shortly thereafter and down 2-nil on the road. I couldn't take it anymore and I ordered a White Russian in salute of my manager's man management skills with Brown and waited for the second half to resume while making small talk.

The second half started much as it had at the match's start. Neither team could gain the advantage, but both teams working hard to gain it. Eventually, Alfreton won a corner so Kris Bowler went over to take it.

Bowler sent his cross back into the penalty box. Droylsden tried to clear it, but it fell to Curtis' feet. Tom's long range shot was blocked, but Paul Ellender pounced on the loose ball placing it in the back of the net. We'd battled back to within one goal! As the team celebrated, I ordered my second White Russian and hoped I'd get another chance to order another very soon.

Curtis and Ellender both worked their tails off at midfield. Together, they succeed at claiming possession and I admired their leadership from my suite. With less than three minutes remaining before the match ended, Ellender threaded a pass to Curtis just outside the 18. Curtis touched it first time to his teammate, Law. Just as he reached the ball, Law was shouldered hard off the ball and knocked to the ground inside the penalty area! Everyone on the pitch in an away uniform as well as the small cadre of visiting supporters screamed for the spot kick. Law's attempt at persuasiveness earned him a yellow card.

However, once we regained possession, we battled hard. On the very next trip up the pitch, Cusworth broke free of the defense and ran at goal. The Droylsden keeper charged him and Cusworth's shot ended up sailing just over the crossbar. My heart pounded from all the excitement.

The 4th official signaled an additional two minutes. Alfreton chased the ball with tired legs but still-angry Law hacked down Prince near the sideline outside the box. A whistle sounded, but no card was shown.

Droylsden's Gray took the free kick and drove it hard toward his wide open teammate who had worked his way inside the penalty box and was standing on the six yard line hoping for the best. Our DC, Butler, was caught unawares by the move because he'd been shouting for our defensive line to hold at the penalty spot. His unmarked man redirected the ball into the back of the net and sent the stadium into rapture.

Thankfully, the official whistled the match concluded nearly right after the restart.

I shook hands and then wandered off to order two more drinks.

It was going to be a very long ride home.

Chapter 12 (Week of 11 August 2008)

Sunday afternoon and on into the evening, I'd been entertaining my small entourage at the drinking establishment. The more drinks I'd knocked down, the more I resented Alfreton's loss to Droylsden.

It wasn't that we'd lost so much as it was the manner in which we lost. Would the loss have been a hard earned draw instead had the official awarded Law the deserved penalty kick late in the match? Law's temper still had not cooled off during the match's final three minutes and he ended up hacking down Prince, who'd needed to be stretchered off as a result. Law's frustration foul quickly became Droylsden's final goal of the match. So, I could see it being a 2-2 draw instead of a 1-3 loss.

I'd convinced most of my newest friends of this rationale too, but finally, one of them told me, “Welcome to life in the Blue Square North. At least we're not behind Hucknall.” A round of cheers sounded and more drinks slammed down on the table, calling for a quick discussion about Hucknall's result.

I'd learned from the table that Hucknall was Alfreton's fiercest rival we'd be facing this season, unless we drew Matlock Town in one of the tournament competitions. Hucknall had faced AFC Telford on the road, and the pre-season favorites had defeated our rivals 1-3 as well. With both of us sitting at a -2 goal differential, we were virtually tied in 18th and 19th places in the league table.

Monday morning rolled around too soon. My swollen eyes seemed stuck shut and the taste of yeast had spoiled in my mouth overnight. Bleary eyed, I showered and drove to meet with Russ for our morning meeting.

Sitting in my office, I'd already polished off my third cup of coffee, though this time, I skipped the “Irish Blend”. I'd already taken a call from Milton, the scout with whom Nicky Law worked. He'd told me about 6 players he thought would make good additions to the squad. 4 of them were midfielders and none of them were goal keepers. What the hell was this guy doing? Didn't he get the memo that we were looking for keepers, especially ones we could use on loan?

After hanging up, I decided to splash a little Kahlua in my coffee, just to take the edge off the bitter taste of his ineptitude out of my mouth. Russ showed up on time and joined me in a coffee, though he skipped the Kahlua.

We rehashed the match and he'd informed me that he'd given an official warning to McFadzean for the young man's poor performance. McFadzean's performance hadn't seemed that bad to me, but it must have been worse than I thought. After all, I was just the Chairmen who supplied Russ with the money to live out his dream of managing.

Russ informed me he was still waiting to hear back about Atkins' loan from Derby, but had relayed that our newest scout had turned up 10 potential players. Of the 10 on the shortlist, 1 was a keeper and four more were defenders. At least Kemp had found players matching the memo we'd agreed upon.

I asked Russ how McIntosh was feeling. Physio got confirmation that McIntosh, our DC, was out with a broken nose for the next three weeks, assuming our 37 year old center back could heal quickly.

We also debated how poorly Clayton had played as well as Anton Brown, his candidate for vice captain. Russ countered my argument with how poorly Butler played too, considering he was one of my candidates for vice-captain. I followed up by telling Russ had I been in charge of it, Ellender, would have been named Man-of-the-Match for his contributions and he WAS my named candidate for vice-captain. My manager couldn't argue against that, but he didn't necessarily agree with it either. We ended the meeting at a standoff, but at least we'd something to sink our teeth into for this week and that was waiting to hear back from Atkins or Lee Boyle regarding any potential arrivals at the keeper position.

Our meeting ended and I begun to wait. I was horrible at it 30 minutes later. Thank God for Facebook.

Three hours into a poker marathon, Mary buzzed me. Apparently, McFadzean was on Line One. I couldn't see why he was bothering me, but I took the call anyway. Since starting, I'd lost 50K in chips and needed a break.

“Mr. Jones, I'm sorry to trouble you with this, but I got an official warning from the club for my match performance.”

“Yes. I'd heard that just this morning.”

“Well, pardon me, Sir, but I think it's unfair. Especially since Butler and Brown didn't get warned too.”

Quickly, I recalled both Brown's and Butler's mistakes resulted in goals for Droylsden. None of Droylsden's goals coincided with a McFadzean mistake.

“So, why are you calling me? Shouldn't you be handling this with the manager?”

“I apologize again, Sir. Don't mean to trouble you, but you'd told us early on that we could come to you with issues. You'd said you wanted to be a different kind of Chairman. I think the Gaffer has it in for me, you know?”

“Well, I don't know about that, but I do thank you for telling me this. I'll take it under advisement. But, for now, I'd advise you to get on with it. It's in the past. It's just a warning. I'm sure you'll do better in the future, won't you?”

“I'll try my best, Sir. Thank you.”

I took my lunch out that day. Needed some fresh air. Maybe I'd do some bowling. Found myself at the pub and dug myself in quite nice. Two hours later, my phone rang. I looked and saw it was Russ' number.

“Roy? Russ here. You got some time?”

Time? I thought to myself. I've got more than enough time. I'd ordered a “tenpin” of beers and had lined them up like a formation of bowling pins. Was well on into my effort of knocking them all down for a strike. Just four left to go.

“I'll make some.” I replied, still a bit sore from our earlier meeting as well as my unusual phone call with McFadzean.

Russ sensed the shift in my tone and asked, “Something up?”

“No, not as many as are down.” Staring at my empty mugs with pride.

“Fine. Just the facts. Arbroath, a Scottish club, bid on loaning Boyle and he took it.”

Annoyed, I asked, “You interrupted me to tell me that?”

“No, not just that. I called to tell you not to worry about Boyle though because Atkins agreed to come here on loan for the entire season!”

“YES! Thanks for calling. Gotta run.” This was great news indeed. I hung up with joyful satisfaction and completed my strike with dignity.

Chapter 13 (Week of 11 August 2008)

Tomorrow, Alfreton would compete in its second match of the season. Our scheduled opponents was Harrogate. Though their club was smaller than ours, they'd been picked in the predictions to finish higher in the table than us. For some reason, this bothered me and I didn't really have a good reason why. Competition is a fact of life and results, according to the media, are the only thing that matters.

When Russ and I met for our second meeting of the week, we both taken turns apologizing for our telephone conversation while I was at the pub “bowling”. In the meeting I'd confessed to him that I was struggling to adapt to the traditional life of a Chairman. I wanted to be more involved in supporting it than just dumping money into the coffers. He'd understood my position, but I'm not so sure he felt confident in my abilities to make positive contributions. I assured him that I supported his efforts improving Alfreton's reputation within the framework of the English Leagues.

Fresh from our recent success in luring a high quality keeper on loan to our lowly club, Russ and I discussed seeking another player who might be available to bolster the weakest linked position on our squad, DL. Russ would get on the phone and start making some contacts to see who he could find who'd be willing to talk about loaning some youth talent to us.

Four hours later, Russ had his preliminary list of players. Mike Bailey and Adam Copeland topped his list. Mike was at Wolverhampton Wolves and valued at 12K. Adam was at Port Vale and listed at 70K. We had a short meeting before he took training in preparation for the match tomorrow. I logged onto the Internet and continued to lose chips at the poker tables on Facebook after scanning all the headlines regarding English football.

Match day arrived and with it, the long march towards evening when our respective teams could finally take the pitch on Harrogate's pitch. It was raining and the coach ride was a cruel torture as the wiper blades danced hypnotically back and forth across the windshield.

The match kicked off finally and it seemed like Alfreton's legs were left back on the coach. Harrogate took it to us in front of their home support with a vengeance. They won an early corner and prepared for the cross. Russ had given Atkins the debut, despite only one day of training with our squad. He'd tried to organize us quickly, but struggled with their names. As a result, there was confusion as to who was supposed to mark Harrogate's striker, Lee Whittington. Lee was left unmarked and he positioned himself to strike the ball. He shanked it badly. Bowler reacted to his effort, but only managed to deflect the ball into our own net in 5th minute.

Bowler looked gutted. It was as if he wanted the ground to open up a hole so he could jump in it and disappear. Atkins could do nothing to stop it. Curtis and Ellender were the only two on the team to offer Bowler some encouragement for his misfortune and it was a bit disappointing to see. Last time I checked, it was a team effort and Bowler was simply unlucky. No reason to look upon him with derision. None whatsoever.

The match resumed and Atkins stopped everything else that came his way. Harrogate managed to make 15 shots, but only three of them were on target. Atkins saved every one of those three. A fine debut for Atkins, despite not recording the shutout and, already, I felt that Tommy was being served notice that his spot in the lineup was suddenly in jeopardy of being lost. I wondered how Tommy might react.

At the other end of the pitch, Clayton got injured going up for a head ball and getting cleaned out from underneath. While on his way down, he fell awkwardly on his elbow and needed to be removed from the match.

I'd cursed up a storm in the stands, not realizing whose company I kept. I'd apologized, but the damage had already been done. The derisive look from Harrogate's Chairman told me everything was too late to recant and too uncouth for his sophisticated tastes.

Adam Flint, our young DC, also made his debut in place of McIntosh's broken nose. He seemed lost out there, but at least he hadn't made a costly mistake resulting in a goal for Harrogate.

Again, our best three players of the night were Curtis, Hall, and Ellender. My leaders kept feeding the balls forward, but none of our strikers could seem to get the ball on target and they'd only managed to put one of our six shots on goal.

Losing our best striker to an elbow injury added insult to injury as far as I was concerned. A 0-1 defeat on the road, in and of itself, was not a bad thing, but it landed us squarely in the relegation zone. This was intolerable, even if it was just the second match of the season.

I'd checked the news upon our return and learned that Hucknall had also lost their match on the day. They'd been beaten on the road at Droylsden like us. However, unlike us, they'd managed to lose 1-4. Officially, their goal differential put them squarely under us in the relegation zone and in last place of the 22 teams. We were in 20th. A bit of light in the darkness, perhaps?

The next day, the darkness returned as our club's news kept getting worse. Paul Clayton joined McIntosh on the injury list for the next three weeks. Matt Bailey agreed to go on loan to Burscough the same day we'd put in a bid on him. He'd adjusted quite nicely to his new surroundings and played a key role in Burscough's victory by setting up a goal for his teammate during his debut match. The laugh I had amidst the irony lay in the media predictions regarding Match 3 of our season. The papers had listed us as favorites to win outright in our first home match against King's Lynn, despite King's Lynn's 100% record.

Idiots!

Chapter 14 (Week of 11 August 2008)

King's Lynn were scheduled to arrive at the The Town Ground this coming Saturday. Around town, the excitement ramped up as the weekend drew closer and it wasn't uncommon for me to be stopped in public to discuss my thoughts on the upcoming match. I tried to be realistic about it, but the supporters wouldn't let it happen.

Alfreton had put in a bid for another left defender, much to my pleasure. Anton Brown hadn't done anything wrong necessarily, but he continued to rub me the wrong way. His mistakes on the pitch were costly and, frequently, he'd been one of the worst performers. I wanted a replacement for him and had turned my hopes towards Port Vale, newly relegated to League Two. Port Vale had spent a spell in the Championship in the early 80's, but fell down the leagues to League Two before they ascended to the Championship once more in the late 90's. Now, it seemed, like their cyclical history continued on a downward trend.

With Matt Bailey at Burscough, I'd hoped to pull another surprise and get Port Vale's Adam Copeland to play his footie for the Reds. We'd placed a bid requesting a season-long loan with the option for Cup play as well giving Port Vale the option to recall him at any time.

We'd heard the bad news right away. They rejected our offer because we didn't offer them any cash compensation for Adam. I was hot under the collar and called Russ about it.

“Russ, what's the deal with this? Why won't they loan him out? It's not like they are going to play him in the first team.”

“Roy, sometimes, the mid-size clubs can't absorb the cost of loaning out their players like the larger clubs.”

“For crying out loud, that's rubbish!”

“I'm sorry too. But that's just life in the leagues. We'll make do.”

Make do? I didn't want to make do. I wanted to improve this squad and make it better. Yes, loyalty was still important to me, but so was a positive return on my investment. I didn't have a good feeling about Anton Brown. I'd already thwarted Russ' bid to make him vice-captain and his poor play in the next match reinforced my position against his leadership on the squad.

I was sick of just accepting things because that's the way that it's always been in the football leagues. I was getting real sick of tradition.

After a few glasses of Scotch for lunch, I'd decided to make a call to Port Vale, myself. I dialed the phone, worked through a secretary and was told he was busy at the moment.

I waited for two more empty glasses before Mary awakened me from my nap after buzzing me on my intercom telling me that Mr. Thomas Hughes was on Line One.

I shook myself awake and cleared my throat before picking up the phone.

“This is Roy. Thanks for calling me back, Mr. Hughes.”

“Please, call me Thomas.”

“Fine. Thomas, sorry to hear of your recent relegation, but I hope that Port Vale will bounce right back up.”

“We do to. Good luck with your first year at Alfreton. I think it's a good thing for football to get some more American investment, particularly in the lower leagues.”

“Well, I appreciate hearing that. I don't know if everyone shares your sentiment, but I'm glad you feel that way.”

“Yes. Being a Chairman is not easy. How can I help you?”

“You received our bid for your youth player, Adam Copeland?”

“Yes. You received our reply, yes?”

“Yes, that's why I'm calling you.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem. Just wondered why you said our offer was below an acceptable amount? We gave you the chance to recall him at any time.”

“Recalling him and paying his wage are two different things. Like Alfreton, money is tight at Port Vale. If you really think Adam is a worthwhile contribution to your squad, then back it up with some wage support.”

“But that's the problem, we don't have a lot of room within our budget to make that kind of contribution.”

“Then I guess we'll just have to seek loan propositions from other clubs. Is there anything else?”

Thomas' sudden shift in tone surprised me. In fact, it raised my ire. The four scotches emboldened me enough to match his tone.

“Frankly, Thomas, there is something you could do. How about a little charity? I'm trying to make a go of it down here two leagues below you. You've got some players probably making more money in annual wages than most of our lineup combined. What the hell's the problem with sharing him for three months, if a year is too long?”

Thomas paused on the other end of the line. “Ahh, the American in you comes out, finally.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Take it how you wish. But I'll share this bit of charity with you, instead, since your outburst was uncalled for and inappropriate. Our club is leveraged to the hilt. If you'd been around last season, you'd have realized it. Port Vale, like you, is trying to squeeze all the finances we can out of our operation. We, like you, are trying to keep this club around for our supporters. We've taken on a large debt load to keep this club afloat. Around 3.5M remains. Therefore, you can understand our position if we want some finances to help pay our bills, yes?”

“Yes. I can understand. So sorry to be a bother. I'm trying to make a way somehow in this new career path of mine. I appreciate your honesty and won't bother you anymore. Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you for understanding and best wishes this season, Roy.”

We hung up and I kicked over the garbage can. Then, I threw on my sports jacket and walked out of my office. “Mary. I'll be out of the office the rest of the afternoon. I'm going bowling.”

Somehow, Saturday rolled around without me really knowing about it. I showed up on site and displayed the dog and pony show required of me, but my heart wasn't in it like I thought it would. Maybe it was the gusty weather, but I didn't really care how many folks passed through the gates. I wanted something to achieve on my own.

When I was back in the US working middle management, at least I had some say in my day. Here in England, I was top dog, but I didn't have any bark. All I did was sign the checks. I wanted more say so in the daily operations. I didn't figure it would happen anytime soon because I still had so much to learn about the footballing traditions.

Back in the States, the NFL's Dallas Cowboy's owner, Jerry Jones, was very involved in the operations of America's Team. Under his active roles, his stadium was one of the most famous of all the NFL stadiums in the US.

The Dallas Mavericks of the NBA had an owner, Mark Cuban, could always be found court side and highly involved with player interactions, as well as the media.

Both of these owners were vested in their clubs with more than their bank accounts. I wanted that kind of relationship. I'd hoped for it, actually. But so far, nothing about my ownership of Alfreton felt that way. At least not yet.

The match sounded and I sat grumpily next to King's Lynn's Chairman. We talked small talk and he was very excited about his team's 100% record so far in the Blue Square North. Like us, they'd been preseason favorites for relegation and it was good to see where our respective clubs stood against one another.

When the final match whistle sounded, I'd downed three more drinks and was grateful to Hearn and Curtis in the first half for scoring one each. I also had to put up with the Chairman yelling at me for something the official had done down on the pitch.

King's Lynn's striker, Jack Defty broke free behind our line during extra time in the first half. Ellender chased him down from the back and made a desperate tackle at the ball. He'd connected with it, but barely, outside the box. Defty went down hard and his entire team called for the spot kick and, at minimum, a card. Neither one came about and the visiting support was as livid as the Chairman in my company.

The second half added fuel to the fire as Cussy scored four minutes into the 2nd half to put us up 3-0. Finally, in the 80th minute, Defty managed to sneak one past our keeper to help King's Lynn avoid the shutout.

Us Chairmen shook hands, but we may as well have skipped this tradition too. Neither one of us felt like being a gentlemen.

Keith Webb, argued the call with the media following the match, but our manager, Russ wouldn't be drawn into the discussion.

My new cronies at the pub discussed the call too. Essentially, they put it to me that this was the kind of officiating they've come to accept as tradition in the lower leagues. “Win some. Lose some.” was all they said except for, “Accept the good fortune when it falls in your lap.”

Tradition. I still had trouble swallowing it with satisfaction, unlike the fine double of Scotch, which went down my gullet smooth as silk.

Chapter 15 (Week of 18 August 2008)

Russ and I met in my office to discuss the weekend's matches. The first match involved our U-18's who played away at Redditch. Though our squad didn't win, Alex Mitchell earned Man-of-the-Match honors as a result of his overall impressive performance, including a goal. Phil Dunn matched Alex's goal scoring feat. Damien Parker and Anthony Dyke provided them with the assists for their goal-scoring efforts during the draw.

Russ and I also discussed the week's injury report. Martin McIntosh was due back to training this week from his broken nose, if all went well. That was some good news because Alfreton's two most valuable offensive players, Ben Muirhead and Paul Clayton, were still out of action. Sitting in the relegation zone, our squad needed some stronger defensive players to help us keep the ball out of the net, especially if I assumed we'd have a decent home crowd this coming weekend against Stalybridge Celtic.

I'd congratulated Russ for his show of restraint in the media regarding Keith Webb's outburst about the poor officiating costing King's Lynn the match. I admitted I'd had a difficult time in the press box too, but felt proud that I hadn't punched out King's Lynn's Chairman like I'd wanted.

Russ and I also discussed Alfreton's first reserve match of the season this coming week. It was away at Fleetwood on Wednesday. Russ assured me that our coach, Paul Taylor would be covering those matches as well as those of the U-18's this season whenever he could.

Russ also informed me that our goalkeeping prospect, Lee Boyle, had declined Dag and Redbridge's offer in favor of signing a contract with Arbroath. That goalkeeping issue was resolved because it was out of our hands, but I still fumed inside over Adam Copeland's situation. I told Russ that if the team's losses kept mounting and if Anton Brown's performances at left back didn't improve soon, we were going after another DL for an outright purchase, club finances be damned.

Russ defended Anton and assured me that Brown would settle in relatively soon. It was a long season and I needed to allow players to settle in before making those kinds of rash decisions. “Too many managers have ruined clubs financially by chasing prospective players, instead of nurturing the ones they have already on contract.” Russ had better be right.

Wednesday arrived and I decided to skip the pub in favor of traveling with the reserves to watch them at Fleetwood. I tried keeping a low profile having told no one of my plans, but with only a hundred or so supporters in the stands, it didn't take too long for the team to recognize me.

Maybe my presence inspired them? They ended up defeating Fleetwood 1-0 at The Highbury Stadium. Alfreton's DR, Ryan Duffy-McGirr, earned Man-of-the-Match Honors for his match winning goal in the first half. I also felt that Massiah MacDonald, Anthony Dyke, and Luke Courtney had fine performances. I tucked that information away in my memory banks just in case I'd needed some ammunition come senior team selection in the future.

Friday rolled around and our scouts had been bringing back reports on prospective players. A few names popped up, but it was hard for me to really put much stock in those reports in the moment as we weren't in the position to buy any of them. I trusted that Russ and his staff would use that more than me.

Saturday morning, I traveled with the U-18 team. This time, I didn't keep it a secret. I followed the coach to AFC Wimbledon in my own car as I wanted to leave when appropriate to make it back to The Town Ground to watch our senior team face off with Stalybridge in league action.

The gusty winds never ceased, but it didn't rain either. Though the U-18 Squad lost, they battled closely with a more reputable team and managed to keep the score 0-1 in favor of the home team. James Ainsley was the best player on the pitch for the Reds, but not good enough to warrant overall match honors.

The winds turned to rain the closer I got to Alfreton. Upon entering the stadium, the pitch was soaking wet and sure to get worse. The officials deemed the pitch worthy enough to compete and nearly 450 supporters braved the harsh elements to see us take on Stalybridge Celtic.

The fans were rewarded with a 3-1 victory. Winger Jordan Hall (MRC) got the scoring started in the 18th minute. Ross Atkins slipped in the mud and ended up embarrassed as he put the ball into his own net for an own goal to tie the match. The score remained that way until half time. Following the team talk, Tom Curtis took over the match. His dominance on both sides of the ball warmed my heart as our team's captain led his teammates by example. Tallying an assist, he fed Cusworthy a goal in the 52nd minute and then he added a goal of his own in the 61st minute to put the match out of reach for the visitors.

Our fans appreciated our captain's play and, at the match's conclusion, offered him a standing ovation of support. His Man-of-the-Match Honors were the icing on the cake for a fine senior team performance.

Alfreton's victorious two match win streak at the Town Ground pushed Alfreton all the way up to 10th in the league. Rivals Hucknall, who lost 2-0 to Stalybridge last weekend at home, drew this weekend with Fleetwood and currently sat 21st in the table.

Chapter 16 (Week of 25 August 2008)

On Monday, I'd made my now standard issue Irish Coffee before meeting with my manager, Russ O'Neill. I'd been making it a habit of staying out late on Sundays celebrating whatever my cronies and I could dream up. The Irish Coffees chased away the headache that greeted me at the start of every new week.

Russ brought some pastries and they were the perfect antidote for my sketchy stomach. I'd offered him some of my special Irish Coffee too, but he'd declined as was his custom.

After a bit of congratulatory small talk, we'd discussed the injury reports of Muirhead and Clayton. Russ indicated that the physio had given clearance for Paul Clayton to play in Wednesday's reserve match vs Tamworth pending a medical on his elbow just before the match. Muirhead was still unavailable.

I opened discussions again regarding Anton Brown. Said I was glad to finally see him play respectably, but warned Russ that I'd be keeping my eye on him in the coming matches. The third coffee that morning gave me the courage to declare that this past match wouldn't make a difference in my mind regarding his place on this team until I saw a pattern of achievement worthy of wearing the shirt. Russ' shocked look was changed suddenly into agreement. I let it slide. Russ got the point and was wise to keep his mouth shut.

The meeting ended soon after and I spent the rest of the day wasting time on Facebook honing my poker skills. I'd switched from coffee to scotch around lunch time. By the end of the day, I was itching for a fight.

Bleary eyed, I made way towards the practice ground to watch Russ and his staff put the team through its paces. During a water break, I'd caught Anton Brown's eye and, in pure Hollywood fashion, copied DeNiro's “Meet the Parents” gesture. I took two fingers, pointed them at my own eyes, and then turned them on Anton to let him know I was watching him. He looked around to see if I was addressing him. I repeated it and knew he understood me because his face flushed.

Wednesday rolled around soon enough and I took my place in my usual seat during home matches. Over 130 people showed up to watch our reserves lose 1-2 against Tamworth's reserve squad. In the first half, Tamworth's (AMR, ST) Dean Lea gathered up McCormack's (GK) mishandled ball to score the first goal of the match. Three minutes later, Lea's teammate threaded a beautifully weighted pass to him inside the penalty box. Lea shouldered off Jackson's body charge and caught McCormack in no man's land, slipping the ball past him easily to score his brace.

After that show of skill, I understood Russ' emphasis to find a replacement in case Tommy Evans got hurt. McCormack gave a disgraceful first half performance. I could only hope his second half improved.

It did, but not by much. Instead, Massiah McDonald took Alex Mitchell's (ML) touchline cross and buried it in the net to give us a consolation goal. Alex Mitchell's solid performance for the third match in a row was the kind of pattern I'd alluded to earlier in the week regarding Anton's team performances. I made a mental note to speak with Russ about the teenager at my next manager's meeting. I was intrigued and wondered if Russ thought he might be capable to make some starts at the senior team level as a substitute, at least until Ben Muirhead could fully heal.

Before the match, Paul Clayton had passed his medical. He came on late in the second half to get a run in. He'd done well, all things considered. So had DC McIntosh, who'd also been subbed into the match late during the second half. Martin's efforts held Tamworth scoreless so his recovery seemed to be on a positive uptick too. I'd hoped both starters would be ready to travel with us to AFC Telford and take on the 3rd placed team in the Blue Square North. Our team lacked depth and we needed all the health we could handle to stay competitive with the other teams in the league.

Time somehow slipped by again until Saturday. Again, I'd followed our squad to Telford's stadium. First thing I noticed upon my arrival was how large the crowd was, especially for the teams in this league.

During the match, I learned why. It was announced that over 1600 supporters were in the stands. Telford's home support worked hard for their star scorer, Terry Fearns. Their efforts helped him to bag a brace at Ellender's expense.

I traced Telford's first goal back to a poor pass in our defensive end of the field by Anton Brown. He'd attempted a pass to our midfielder, Danny Mayman, but left it short and it was picked off easily. Telford's midfielder passed it long to Fearns's feet some distance outside the penalty area. With a fluid motion, Fearns turned toward goal before he could be closed down by our defense and let a shot rip off his boot and sail past Atkins, who was caught ball watching, in the 14th minute.

I swore at Brown under my breath while my blood pressure spiked. I tried praying for patience, but didn't feel reassured. I drained my drink instead and ordered another in hopes of seeing his play improve. That didn't happen either.

In the 33rd minute, Atkins took a turn making a goalkeeping mistake to help Fearns tally his brace. Though it wasn't as horrid as McCormack's mistake during the reserve match, it wasn't the kind of error I expected a senior team keeper to make. A long ball over the top found Fearns and Ellender in a foot race towards the touchline. Fearns was too quick and made it to the ball first inside the penalty area. I'd expected to see Atkins run out to make the easy play, but for some reason, he'd remained frozen on his line. Ellender was forced to throw himself in the way of the shot, but Fearns cut the ball back behind Ellender's sliding form toward his stronger, right foot. Fearns teed it up perfectly to blast a shot past Atkins from close range on his near post. I didn't even bother praying this time and drained my drink immediately.

In the second half, things looked better. Russ had chewed them out good in the dressing room. As the second half subs were warming up, Mayman sent a searching ball into the right side of the box for Cusworthy to take at his feet. Cussy had his back to goal and two defenders teamed up against him. Without hesitating, Cussy backed up into the first defender, made a shoulder fake to his right, and then spun the other way left, dragging the ball with him. The second defender tried to assist his skinned teammate and came in for the tackle, but Cussy deftly slid the ball past the second player's outstretched foot with the outside of his own before jumping over the attempted slide tackle. Half a step later, Cussy smashed it high and near post past Telford's keeper for a consolation goal.

At the end of the match, we'd lost, despite having the bulk of possession, nearly 65%. However, both teams were even on shots taken at goal. The only category Alfreton seemed to win was the number of drinks downed by each respective Chairman.

Terry Fearns earned Man-of-the-Match honors, deservedly so, but Jordan Hall and Brian Cusworthy were close behind him for their contributions on Alfreton's behalf. Again, I thought that Tom Curtis, and Josh Law had done a nice job for Alfreton. I also felt good about McIntosh's return to senior team football as a sub in the second half. Though Hearn's performance at striker kept Clayton on the bench, it felt good to know that Clayton would be returning to the starting lineup soon. I reckoned we could steal a few matches against stronger opposition if he and Cusworthy could tandem cohesively.

Until then, I'd have to be contented with Alfreton's perfect record of losing away matches and that we'd continue to win on home soil. I'd also have to check with Timmy Smythe regarding our team's finances. I needed solid information to decide if I could afford to give Russ some dollars to find a replacement for Anton Brown. I sure as hell hoped I could, otherwise, I might entertain the idea of suiting up for some training myself, just to take Anton out. As I figured it, any of my successful maiming efforts would give Anton a reason to play like crap.

Chapter 17 (Week of 01 September 2008)

With no senior team match this weekend on the schedule, I expected things would slow down a bit around the club. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Monday's meetings were a horror show. During my first meeting, I got into an argument with Timmy Smythe, our financial advisor over losing another 31K in August. “How in the world do we keep losing so much money?” All I got in reply was to check the wages.

We did and I discovered three players who hadn't been signed to new contracts, but who'd been operating on their previous wage schedule automatically. The three players involved were: Chris Dodds, a 19 year old ST without a single minute of senior match experience, was earning $90/week. Kyle Sutcliffe, a 21 year old backup keeper without a single minute of playing time, was earning $190/week. The most ironic of all was Anton Brown, our worst senior team player who'd played in all five matches. He was earning a whopping $230/week!

I questioned Smythe as to what the team could do about the player contracts. He informed me that we should try and renegotiate a lower contract if we wanted to keep them. If they wouldn't sign, it would be wise to release them from the team. Granted, releasing them wouldn't save us much money, only around 2K/month. But it was something, especially since the only thing we seemed to be getting in return for our investment in these three was Anton's crucial mistakes leading to goals for our opponents.

My ire was still up when Russ arrived and sensed it right away. I'd immediately confronted him about the three contracts and, in response, he'd told me in no uncertain terms that wages weren't part of his managerial responsibilities. Contracts were my issue, not his. His job was manage the team on the pitch, not in the boardroom.

Then, it was Russ' turn to lay into me. Apparently, the day after the Telford loss, I'd been approached in the pub by a reporter to discuss my reaction to various issues involving the team. I hadn't recalled talking to anyone specifically that Sunday, but apparently I had and Russ was angry with what I'd offered the media.

Russ threw down the morning paper in front of me already opened to the page he wanted me to see. The headline read, “Jones Argues Against Player-of-the-Month Honors”. Scanning the article, Willie Loughran, a WBR from Tamworth had earned the honors for the month of August. I'd argued to the reporter that even though Jordan Hall was nominated for the award, it really should have gone to Tom Curtis, our captain. The reporter indicated he'd informed me that Loughran had played in 5 matches and scored 1 goal and 1 assist, recording a 7.10 rating during that period. I'd countered with Hall's stats over the same time period. Jordan, our MRLC, had played in 5 matches too and he'd tallied a goal as part of his 7.42 rating. I'd argued that Jordan Hall's rating was higher, so he should have been rated higher than Loughran. However, I'd continued on with my argument by spouting off Tom Curtis' stats. Tom should have been a “no brainer” because he'd scored 2 goals, 1 assist, and already claimed 2 Man-of-the-Match Honors to earn his 7.14 rating.

My face flushed at what I'd said and I stopped reading the article. “Did I really say that, Russ?”

“You must have. It's in the papers.”

“I don't even recall giving the interview.”

“Were you drinking?”

“Yes, but I didn't think that I'd been drinking that much.”

“Well, you must be drinking more than you should. Owners aren't supposed to say stuff like this, Roy.”

“I'm sorry.” and I set my Irish Coffee down on the edge of the desk away from my easy reach.

“Well, not as sorry as I am! Can you imagine the dressing room? My word, Roy. Our two best players might be at odds with one another because of you! I don't need these kinds of problems.”

“Well, I said I was sorry.”

“Did you even finish the article?”

“No. Should I?”

“I'll save you the trouble. You also gave your overall opinions about the players. Told the reporter that you were delighted with Curtis and Hall. Pleased with Ellender and Law. Found Bowler and Hearn to be giving acceptable effort. And you criticized Anton Brown!”

“Is that bad?”

“My God, are you really that ignorant? I've already gotten a phone call from Anton complaining about how you've got it out for him and that your comments were unnecessary.”

“What's wrong with letting my players know where they stand?”

“The problem is, that's my job. I should be the one commenting on the players. Not you. You should just stick with the finances and I'll stick with the player management. You hear me? That's how it's done!”

Tradition. We'll see about tradition and what I should do. Last time I checked, this was my damn club. I was paying the bills. I would say what I want when I wanted. The only thing I needed to be was more careful to be in the right state of mind when I'd say what I wanted to say. Last time I checked, it wasn't Russ' money running the operations. Nor would it be anytime soon.

As soon as Russ stood up to dismiss himself from my office, Anton Brown officially went on my list. Accusing me of having it in for him? I'd show Anton what it really felt like to have me on his case!

“Before you leave Russ, I promise I'll make sure to handle the player contracts! But I'm not making any guarantees about my mouth other than I'll try and do better next time.”

Russ left without saying a word. Nor did I hold it against him. Not after what I'd done. I knew better than that. I buzzed Mary, my secretary, and asked if she'd do four things for me as soon as possible. First thing was I wanted copies of all the scouting reports Neil Milton and Michael Kemp had accumulated so far. Second thing was I wanted her to call Anton Brown, Kyle Sutcliffe, and Chris Dodds immediately to set up meeting times this week to discuss their contracts. Third thing was to get Timmy Smythe scheduled for another meeting later this afternoon to discuss player wages. Fourth thing was for her to come into my office right away and bring the food cart with her.

Mary acknowledged my requests and within five minutes she'd compiled the scouting reports and entered my office with the food cart.

“Sir, you asked for these?”

I looked up from my computer as she entered. Her brown hair was pulled up and pinned professionally behind her head. I thanked her for her promptness. She smiled warmly and I returned to the weekly poker tournament on Facebook that I'd already entered and was down 300 of my 1100 chips after the third hand.

“Mary?”

“Yes, Mr. Jones?”

“Can you please call me Roy from now on?”

“Yes, Mr....sorry, Roy. I can try.”

“Thank you. Also, can you please remove my bar?”

“Excuse me?”

I turned away from the computer screen and looked at the mass of bottles, glasses, tumblers, and assorted implements I'd stuffed onto the bar in my office. “I'd like all of it gone. Immediately. You can take it all home if that is what you'd wish.”

“Very well, Sir. But I don't drink, Sir.”

“Mary....?”

“Pardon me. I did it again. Very well, Roy.”

The way she rolled my name of her tongue sounded very nice, especially with her accent. I smiled again and went back to my poker game.

Pocket aces.

Things were looking better already.

Chapter 18 (Week of 01 September 2008)

A half hour after I'd started playing, I was up 5K in chips and decided to call it quits, seeing as though I was in the top 10% of that week's Texas Hold'Em Tournament. I logged off after listing my Facebook status as “bored out of my gourd”.

Glancing over at what used to be my bar, I felt a sense of loss. I craved another drink already and felt I'd deserved it considering my winnings at the tables. However, I'd thought about what I'd done to Russ following my weekend binge and I was determined to do what he'd suggested. Pay the bills.

I buzzed Mary once more.

“Yes, Roy? May I help you?”

“Will you please come to my office?”

Mary opened the door and closed it behind her upon my request. She stood straight and tall in front of me, her skirt covering her knees. “Yes, Roy?”

“Can you be discrete?”

Mary looked at me, an anxious look flashing over her. Her hands pressed at her skirt in an attempt to smooth wrinkles in the fabric that weren't really there. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I have stuff I wish to confess to you, but don't want others to know about it.”

Mary shifted awkwardly from side to side. I asked her to sit down on the other side of my desk. She complied. Now that we were level with one another, I said, “Mary. I want to do this job right. But, I'm not so good at doing things the right way. I'm asking you to help me. Will you help me to do this job better?”

Mary's brown eyes looked at me as if she were trying to judge my sincerity. A single strand of brown, curly hair hung down from her forehead and rested on her left cheek. She looked every bit the professional with a hint of cute. I was in a rumpled suit and my white shirt was dirty because I'd not been to the cleaners yet. The collar still looked good. That's why I was wearing it, but I knew it wasn't fully clean. Nor had I really cared, until now.

“I'll try Roy. I'll see what I can do.”

My mood brightened considerably. I smiled at Mary. She returned it.

“Fine. I'll get right to it. Mary, I want a drink. Bad.”

“Do you want me to make you a drink?”

“Yes. But please, make sure you leave the liquor out of it.”

This time, it was her turn to be surprised. “No liquor?”

“I gave it up, Mary. Less than an hour ago. Cold turkey.”

Mary was silent, but left to make my drink. I attacked the scouting report folder searching for a potential replacement for Anton Brown. Mary returned a short time later with some tea. I thanked her and tried to drink it. It tasted horribly bitter and I couldn't see how anyone could like it. Hot water with a nasty aftertaste. Yuck. She left and I left the tea cup on its dish untouched.

Forty-five minutes later, I'd found a prospect amid the scouting reports. Lee Welburn, a young player who'd been playing with Lincoln City in League 2. Played left back and had some offensive capabilities. Fair amount of pace, but not overly so. Mostly what impressed me was his experience at Lincoln City. He must have some talent kind of talent to be part of their youth setup. It might not be Aston Villa's, but it was better than ours. I wanted the fresh blood injected into this squad and maybe he would help us out.

Annoyed and irritable from wanting a drink so badly, I walked to Timmy Smythe's office, carrying the single scouting report with me. I knocked on his office door and entered when given permission.

“Timmy, I'll get right to the point. We've got to find a replacement for Anton Brown. He's not cutting it and he's not even on a current contract. I'd like to tender an offer for this Lee Welburn as soon as possible. Any idea how much we should be offering him?”

My finance director looked over the scouting report and then back at me. “How bad does Russ want him?”

“Russ? He doesn't even know about him. I want Welburn.”

Timmy's look of disbelief just reinforced my determination.

“Roy, Russ doesn't even know about this?”

“No. My manager hasn't a clue. But he told me this morning that I needed to stick to the finances and to let him train the players. I've decided that $230/week for Anton Brown is too much for the quality of play we're getting from him. If Russ, doesn't like it, tough. He asked for it. I can't afford to spend that kind of money on a backup player. I'm doing my job and paying wages I can afford.”

“Russ won't like this one bit, especially as Anton's been a starter.”

“I don't care. I'm the one paying the bills, right? So, I ought to decide who I want to pay.”

“You're a damn fool. Russ is gonna go through the roof!”

“You're gonna be fired if you keep shooting your mouth off like that. I want to know how much we can offer Lee Welburn to sign with Alfreton, assuming he's still available. So, spill the beans or pack your box. I don't really give a damn.”

Timmy looked at me. I stared him down, my head pounding from the desire to do two things. Have a drink and get my way. Since I'd recently given up drinking, I'd decided I better, at least, get my way.

My financial advisor finally blinked and said, “You ought to offer him a contract somewhere between $100-$200 weekly.”

“Thank you. Now, was that so hard to do?”

Timmy didn't answer me, instead he said, “You better watch out. Russ is going to be livid.”

“Look, Timmy, before you threaten me some more, remember that I wouldn't be the first owner to decide who was coming to the team without the manager's approval. If Abramovich can do it at Chelsea, then I can do it here.”

I turned around and walked out.

Arriving at Mary's desk, I handed her the scouting report and requested she set up a meeting with Lee right away, even if it's over the phone.

I was going to get my way on this one, even if it meant I pi**ed everyone else off. Those who weren't going to be loyal to me could find a new employer to pay their damn wages. I was hungover, irritable, and the owner.

I wasn't bored anymore.

Chapter 19 (Week of 01 September 2008)

For the next two days, I'd picked the wrong time to stop drinking. Timmy was right, Russ was as angry as I'd ever seen him. We'd spent over three hours arguing over my proposal to Lee Welburn. The offer on the table was a rotation contract at $140/week with some appearance money and a two year contract. Russ argued, “Why the hell are you going to spend more money when you're already complaining about losing the money you have now?” He'd argued many other points, some of which he'd had a right to complain.

I replied to him, “The bottom line for me is that I'm paying the bills. I'm paying you to manage the team.”

“Then let me manage the team! Don't bring in players without my approval!”

I wouldn't budge on Lee Welburn. The offer was already tendered and I wasn't going to retract it. No matter what, I hung out my shingle for Welburn, despite Russ' threat to refuse to play him.

“If you refuse to play him, and he's deserving of the chance, then I'm gonna refuse to pay you.”

Russ and I argued some more about the ultimatums we'd given each other. I didn't care, except for Mary came in afterwards and suggested that we might want to keep our voices down a wee bit more. That is “unless you wish the entire town to know of your business.”

Colin Bowen, our physio, delivered the bad news on Tuesday that Danny Davidson, our third rated ST on the squad, got a broken ankle at training and he'd need to see a specialist. Danny would be out a minimum of 3 months.

AFC Telford's reserves came on Wednesday and annihilated our reserve team in front of 172 supporters. They'd outshot us 16:1 despite having ball possession equal to ours. Ryan Duffy-McGirr and Massiah McDonald were the best players on the pitch. The worst ones were our 16 year old MC, Tom Baines, and Ben Muirhead trying to get a run-in during his rehabilitation. We'd had 4 clear cut chances at goal, but failed to put any balls on net for their keeper to even record a save.

Neil Milton gave us six new squad reports, 3 midfielders, 2 strikers, and 1 defender. I'd been bemused by Milton's apparent lack of team understanding. We weren't in the market for attacking players. We needed defending players. So, it was with great relief that Lee Welburn accepted our offer to come to Alfreton on Friday. But despite the fan's excitement upon his arrival after the impromptu media junket, Russ and I battled it out once more behind closed doors.

The U18's kept club momentum up at home with a 2-0 victory over Eastleigh. We had many players give a quality performance. Jamie Donaldson (AMRL) even earned Man-of-the-Match honors for contributing 1 goal and 1 assist. Danny Morgan, our GK, even earned himself an assist with a long volley over the top for Hewer to chase down and stick the ball past the keeper and into the net.

When the Easleigh match ended, Nick Hewer (ST) went down with strained knee ligaments. Following the match, the senior team took training. Kris Bowler (AMLC) fractured a cheekbone and would be out a minimum of 5-6 weeks. The only thing we could do was hope that Muirhead, who'd put in a dismal performance at midweek, would heal fast enough to not only make the starting lineup in place of his own replacement, but also to make a quality contribution too.

Just like that, we'd had a total of 3 attacking players go down from injury to be replaced by two others whom were still recuperating from their own injuries in previous weeks.

I'd wanted a drink on more than one occasion, especially when news of each injury hit my desk. It was much easier to wash away the helplessness I felt as Chairman, but I did have a ray of hope Lee Welburn would be trying to settle into the squad on defense. I hoped he was good enough I would forget the injuries to our striking core.

Only time would tell and I sucked at waiting.

Chapter 20 (Week of 08 September 2008)

This week, Alfreton's teams were involved in 4 matches. Three of them home and one away to club rivals, Hucknall. The mood around the club was upbeat except that Russ and I hadn't finished our arguments from last week regarding my clandestine hire of Lee Welburn.

Though Russ was angry with me for overstepping my ownership role, he couldn't deny that Lee was blending nicely after one training session. The team's injury problems made it probable that Lee would be making his debut against Blyth on Tuesday in front of the home supporters during the first round of the Conference League Cup.

We also got good news regarding Ben Muirhead (MRLC). Ben was given permission by our physio to resume full training. Russ anticipated using him as a substitute on Tuesday as well.

The rain lasted most of Tuesday and it made the night match a bit soggier than we would have liked, but Russ argued that it would slow down Blyth's strike force a bit. He'd told the papers that he was looking forward to the match and he assured them that both squads would be going for the victory. I hoped for a win, but more importantly, I hoped Lee would make a fine debut.

As the match day approached, I'd became quite nervous. Welburn was the first player I'd ever hired and I'd never seen him play a match. I hadn't the same footballing pedigree as my staff and the pressure of getting it right weighed heavy on me, especially after our contract meetings with three of our players were disastrous.

Timmy, Russ, and I had met with Chris Dodds, Kyle Sutcliffe, and Anton Brown to resolve the contract issues. All three of them had roundly rejected the new contracts offered to them the previous week. They'd argued that we must not be that desperate for money if we'd just gone out and hired a new player. They wanted wages equal to their current contracts and refused to sign.

After some incredibly heated discussions regarding the timing of Lee's arrival once more, Russ finally agreed to let Chris go despite the short-term shortage we had at striker. That freed up $75/week. He also agreed to let Sutcliffe go too because Atkin's season-long loan would prevent us from needing all the keepers we were carrying. This freed up another $190/week. However, Russ absolutely refused to let Anton Brown go. He'd argued vehemently that Brown, despite his hefty weekly wage ($230) for a struggling player, was too valuable to lose at left defender. Simply put, our injuries left us without sufficient backup even though Ryan Duffy-McGirr was making progress on the reserves. Reluctantly, I'd agreed with Russ to keep him and Anton was given a short-term reprieve.

It really bothered me to release Chris and Kyle. They'd been with the club when Nicky Law was managing the squad last season and they'd been professional throughout all of their training. However, we needed to save money where we could even if we brought a player into the squad like Lee. Grandpa's words, “Loyalty above all, Roy.” kept coming back to me. Was I doing the right thing? I wanted a drink to take the edge off so badly, but was trying to resist.

The match against Blyth finally arrived and it was the first time in my own press box that I refused to sit down. I paced back and forth making a general nuisance of myself for the wait staff who attended to my needs as well as those of Blyth's Chairman and the other VIP's who made the scene.

Alfreton had been predicted to win, but only because of home field advantage. 14 minutes in, the nearly 300 supporters who turned out were rewarded when Danny Mayman (MC) connected with Cussy's long pass and stuck it in the back of the net on the first touch.

Blyth's captain, Robert Dale, was the tallest player out on the pitch. His sheer height gave me fits every time a ball was sent his way inside the box. Josh Law and Martin McIntosh were doing their level best to deny Dale the ball, but sometimes they failed. Atkins then saved the headers that Dale did manage to get on target. However, Dale eventually above everyone else and connected squarely with a header from close range to tie the match at one goal apiece.

In the second half, with the match still tied, the substitutes started making their way onto the pitch. I watched Lee like a parent at the playground. Every run forward he made, every loose ball he charged down, and every tackle he challenged made me nervous. I needn't have been concerned.

Lee held his own out on the pitch and even collected an assist on his debut when he sent a square pass to our central defender, Josh Law, near the top of the penalty area. Josh's blistering shot rocketed into the messy mass of players scrambling for footing in the muddy pitch before it deflected off an unknown Blyth player into the net for the match-winner with just over ten minutes remaining.

I couldn't contain my joy. I knew I was being rude as soon as I screamed, but my emotions were too strong. I had to let it out. Welburn's performance and the team's resilience overall despite losing two players yesterday surpassed my expectations. It was phenomenal to experience and my feelings poured out without restraint.

I apologized to Blyth's Chairman, but he was gracious and simply said, “It feels good when a new signing makes an instant impact. We've all felt it. Let it out.” I nodded thanks and continued my solitary dance giving thumbs up to all whom I saw.

Mayman's efforts earned him Man-of-the-Match honors, but just as easily, they could have gone to Josh Law or Robert Atkins for their defensive work against Dale. Anton Brown even put in his best performance of the season too. I wondered if it had anything to do with the writing on the wall, but I didn't care. He played his best match of the season and Alfreton had made it through to the next round. We'd learned later that day that Alfreton would face Vauxhall in the Second Round.

The following day, our reserve team faced Vauxhall's at The Town Ground. It was a good way for me to preview the upcoming second round match, but I left feeling a bit nervous of our upcoming Second Round match at its conclusion. Vauxhall's reserves dominated ours especially in the category of shots at goal. If our reserve keeper, Tommy Evans, hadn't performed so well, we may have lost the match instead of earning a draw.

Offensively, we managed 2 shots and neither was on target. Defensively, the team gave a great deal, but wouldn't break. Vauxhall managed 12 shots during the match even though we were nearly equal with offensive possession. Unfortunately, the match was costly in other ways. Alfreton lost Simon Marples, a wing defender who had been training on the left as a possible replacement for Brown. His injured elbow, according to Colin Bowen, would keep him out of training for a minimum of three weeks. We also lost Tom Baines, a central midfielder, but he was expected to be back later in the week.

Lewis Jackson, Kyle McFadzean, and Ryan Duffy-McGirr all put in fantastic performances, but Lewis Jackson (DC) earned M.O.M honors. Their efforts helped us to keep from sliding down the Group 8 Reserves Table. Currently, we had four points and sat in 14th place out of 19 teams.

Thursday, I resumed making waves with my coaching staff and it took Timmy Smythe to convince them that Alfreton's current financial situation might become dire in the next few months. We needed revenue from somewhere and frankly, as long as it was legal, I was willing to consider it.

I recommended that we find a larger club with whom to affiliate ourselves. Timmy had argued for the change because we could use the revenues that we'd receive from the larger club. Russ finally agreed to it too because it might result in some talented young players coming for a stay with us and they wouldn't cost the club a fee. With no additional funds arriving, he was looking for creative ways to get some players to fill the gaps our current injury crisis forced.

On Saturday, the U18's traveled to Hucknall for a rivalry match. Looking at the league's previous results, I'd felt confident enough in Hucknall's record compared to ours and stayed home to prepare for Fleetwood's arrival later that day. Hucknall's team was in last place of the 14 teams in Group 10 and they hadn't scored a single goal. Just before the Fleetwood match began, I got the call from Milton and learned that paper statistics mean nothing when it comes to a rivalry match, even if it is the U-18's.

Hucknall's squad hammered ours 3-0. Alex Jans scored from the penalty spot twice on either side of the half-time and missed a third penalty kick late in the match. Matt Quinton scored a goal in the first half as well and our team was making the short trip home hanging their heads low. I made a silent vow to never underestimate another rivalry match as long as I was at Alfreton. They were too important to miss.

Fleetwood's senior team had traveled to The Town Ground. Fleetwood was newly promoted to the Blue Square North this season and they were doing everything they could to stay there. They battled us at every offensive attack we made by packing it in and tackling especially hard. Had Josh Law's cross not got caught in the strong winds and rain to score a flukey goal in the 6th minute, Fleetwood would have earned a solid draw.

Unfortunately, their crushing tackles took a toll on us and we lost two more players to injuries. Anton Brown was out with a stubbed toe and would be unfit for at least a week. Brian Cusworthy, our veteran striker who'd been in-form, strained a thigh and would be out for at least a month. Our strike force was utterly decimated as we only had Paul Clayton still trying to get back to match fitness from his lengthy injury and a 16 year old on the U18 squad barely making an impact.

When all the Blue Square North matches ended, Alfreton found itself sitting in a respectable 11th place of the 22 teams in the league. The only joy I felt aftre the difficult week was that Hucknall was solidly at the bottom of the league in last place with a single point.

The stress of the week and the team's injuries proved to be too much for my resistance. On my way home, I stopped at the store and bought a bottle of scotch. I'd just have a nip and be done with it. Halfway through the gorgeous caramel liquor, I thought it a grand idea to catch up with some of my old friends. I headed to the pub and, as soon as I entered, I found their company to be so enjoyable and their conversation so comforting that I stayed on until we closed the place down.

Chapter 21 (Week of 15 September 2008)

I never should have gone on that bender Saturday night. Never, ever, in a million years. But I did and now I must be a man and accept the responsibility that comes along with it.

Sunday, I woke up in my car on a deserted road. It had taken me nearly an hour to get my bearings through my pounding headache, but once I did, I made my way to the nearest store and bought more Scotch and a bottle of aspirin.

The rest of the afternoon, I'd holed up in my apartment and took an aspirin at regular intervals that I'd chased down with more Scotch until the pain subsided. Then, I'd watched James Bond movies until I'd fallen asleep on the sofa.

I'd showered and shaved after the first strange phone call awakened me. At the office, I was about to share my phone conversation with Mary, but she was especially terse with me. I took the hint and walked into my office immediately and shut the door behind me. I'd have to look up the information online instead.

Before I could find it, the club phone on my desk rung. Mary hadn't buzzed me at all, but just patched it through unannounced. That was odd. I answered it anyway and a second media reporter wanted to know any and all details regarding the consortium takeover involving businessman Brian Nicholson. He got the same “no comment” replies as the first one had heard earlier this morning.

Trust me, I would have provided both of them with some kind of comment, but I really couldn't comment on it. Truly, I had no clue as to what they were referring. Consortium? I could not recall it for the life of me.

Disappointed with my lack of cooperation, both reporters had followed up with the same line of questioning. Was there any truth to the rumors that Russ O'Neill and I were at each other's throats? Was Russ on his way out to be replaced by Simon Brough? Was the club having money problems?

I could only reply that Russ and I were still getting used to our new professional roles and that I fully supported his efforts with the team thus far. I anticipated no managerial changes in the near future, especially as Simon Brough was a complete stranger to me. I also admitted that the club had lost money since I'd been in charge since July, but we'd been making some changes to our comprehensive strategic plan for the club to address and rectify these issues.

This particular comment recycled each of their initial inquiries all over again regarding the consortium. Again, I was forced to recycle the “no comment” replies. The current reporter thanked me and I hung up.

I had buzzed Mary in an attempt to hold all calls, but she wasn't acknowledging me. I stood up to see what had happened, but before I'd made it to the door, Russ threw it open and started yelling at me immediately. “What the hell is going on Roy! You preach about loyalty up one side and down the other, make declarations of your full support for me as manager, and now reporters are calling me to tell me I'm on my way out of the club?”

“I'm finding out just like you, Russ! And close the door!”

Russ slammed the door shut so hard, a lithograph fell off the wall and crashed to the floor breaking the frame. “You piece of crap! You better tell me the truth, or so help me God, I'll break your jaw right now!”

I had made it as far as the empty bar beside the desk and slammed both fists down onto it. “Russ, I told you, I don't know a goddam thing! But, if you want to fight, then bring it on!” I stepped toward him fully ready to fight, if necessary.

My door flew open again. Mary rushed into the room and threw herself between the two of us. Her small frame was dwarfed between the two of us posturing with one another. She dug her nails into my chest and then she twisted her hands to make it hurt even more. At the same time, both Russ and I hollered “Ouch!”

“STOP! Both of you! You're worse than school boys on the playground. Act like adults!”

My chest burned from where Mary had dug in and ripped, but while I rubbed the pain out, she continued, “See? I broke two nails keeping you animals apart. It hurts!” Mary studied the damage to her delicate hands.

Mary's pain stopped my bravado in a heartbeat. First, I apologized to her and then I apologized to Russ. He followed my lead and offered his support to each of us.

Mary studied us until she felt reassured we settled down before asking, “Are you two able to be trusted? I've got to try and mend these, if I can.”

Russ and I stared at each other. It seemed as if the hostility we'd felt previously had nearly dissipated at Mary's expense. I nodded affirmatively and so did my manager.

“Very well, I'll trust you. By the way, Roy, I've something to share with you privately before I go. May I speak with you a moment, alone?”

I looked at Russ and Mary. I didn't know what to do. Russ was my manager and Mary, my secretary. Mary helped me decide when she turned her back toward Russ and said to me with both eyes opening wider insistently, “I think it might be germane to the discussion at hand and to the reporters calling here this morning.”

“Very well. Russ, will you please give us a moment?”

“Fine, but I'm going to get Timmy and bring him back with me. We need to talk urgently.”

Russ left and I looked at Mary again. Gently, she closed the door behind Russ. Her face had flushed mildly from her exertions and she'd tried to straighten her clothing back and smooth it into place. I hadn't realized before just how narrow her waist was, but I noticed now.

Mary wouldn't return my smile but asked, “May I?” and pointed at the chair.

“Oh. Forgive my lack of manners. Please, sit down.”

Mary settled her small frame carefully into the chair and tried regain the professional composure she radiated normally. She failed. Then she cleared her throat and asked, “Roy, do you remember calling me on Saturday?”

“What? I called you?” I was shocked.

“Yes, late Saturday night. Well, it was early Sunday morning, actually.”

I couldn't recall any of it. “I'm sorry, Mary, but I can't recall. Honest.”

Mary sat a moment without saying a word. I could see she braced herself before saying the next bit of news. “That would explain your slurred speech at nearly 3 AM.” She still looked very awkward, but pushed forward resolutely and said, “You told me that you'd found another investor for the club. One who'd share some of the financial burden with you.”

I felt my mouth drop open and my face flush from embarrassment. “I said that?”

“Yes, you said that you'd been out with your friends and had found a man named Brian who'd make things right.”

“I did?” That would explain the papers calling me first thing this morning.

“Yes, but there's more.” Mary looked downright nauseous now as she studied her nails again. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked right at me. Her eyes filled with tears and her voice caught as she choked out in a whisper, “You asked me if you could come over.”

Chapter 22 (Week of 15 September 2008)

Mary's words clobbered me. I didn't recall them at all. Though I'd found Mary attractive, I'd stepped over the line by propositioning her over the telephone. I felt absolutely wretched about it and, considering she was my secretary, my behavior was utterly unprofessional.

I begged for Mary's forgiveness and confessed I'd been drinking far too heavily. She reminded me that I'd quit. I paused and then admitted my shortcomings and revealed that Saturday night was one hell of a bender after the match.

“It's the loneliness, I tell you. And nothing to do. At least nothing to do of value for this club and the players who come here.” It hurt to admit my weakness and to be so vulnerable with Mary.

Mary admitted that things had changed a great deal at the club since I'd arrived and everyone was struggling to adapt. However, she forgave me my indiscretion and scolded me for letting my drinking get out of hand. “There is no reason for you to drink that much. For heaven's sake, Mr. Jones, you are blacking out.”

I didn't even bother to correct Mary's name for me. I'd lost her respect and I'd be Mr. Jones again until I'd earned the right to be called Roy.

“Mr. Jones? I have one more thing to confess.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“I called Russ the next morning and told him you'd called me about the new business partner who wants to invest in Alfreton.”

“Very well. Thank you. Again, Ms. Wallace, I'm incredibly sorry.”

The two of us finished our discussion and she stepped out of the room just in time for Timmy and Russ to want into it.

“Got it settled?” Russ asked looking at her.

“Yes.” my secretary replied.

Russ turned back to me and jumped right in. “Mary called me yesterday and told me you wanted new investment in the club.”

“Yes.”

“Well, you messed things up.”

Russ and Timmy filled me in that once I'd met with Brian Nicholson, the new investment partner, then I'd be over a barrel regarding how I wanted to run this club. “Boards are never a positive thing if you want to run the club how you want.”

“Too many cooks spoil the kitchen?”

“Sure. Why not?” Russ added, "As long as you can do things by the seat of your pants, I took the liberty of talking with Timmy and we're going to bid on two new players after we get done here. We don't really care about your approval either, especially after what's happened the last couple of days.”

I knew better than to argue. “Okay, who are we bringing in?”

“They are Lorcan Fitzgerald, a DL recently released on a free from West Ham's youth program. He will be offered $55/week plus a two year contract. The other is Johnathan Pringle, a striker recently released on a free from Liverpool's youth program. He will be offered $50/week plus a two year contract. Timmy and I know we can afford that wage amount considering the players we released. If you don't like it, then stop drinking so damn much and making such bad business decisions!”

I'd still been reeling from my conversation with Mary and had nothing to add in my defense. The last thing I wanted was to spend a bunch of money on new players, but our player ranks were decimated by injury and Russ and Timmy were right. The cost for these speculative players was reasonable. “Well then contact them and offer them the deal. What are you waiting for? Go!”

Both Russ and Timmy stared at me a moment. I think they were surprised by my actions, but I'd been surprised by theirs too. “You're the Boss.” Russ said, and then both of them spun and marched out of the room. I went to close the door behind them, but Mary interrupted.

“Mr. Jones? Mr. Nicholson has been waiting on hold for you.”

“Great. Put him through.” Whoever the hell was on the other end, I had no clue. I just know that my drinking binge had compromised my relationship with my secretary, my manager and the finance manager, as well as my promise to my Grandpa's vision for business.

I picked up the phone and said, “Hello? This is Roy.”

“Hello Roy. This is your new partner, Mr. Nicholson. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be in with my attorney in one hour and we'll sign the paperwork. Oh, and one other thing. No more investment until my staff and I can get a handle on the club's finances. Thanks.” He hung up without saying “Good bye.”

Two thoughts crossed my mind. “I need a drink and I don't give a rip.”

Chapter 23 (Week of 15 September 2008)

My meeting with Brian Nicholson, Alfreton's new investor, went much like the telephone conversation. It was all business. Mr. Nicholson came in and informed me of what was going to happen now that he was involved. Every point I'd try to discuss, he'd reply with, “Bottom line, football is a business.”

Football was more than a business. At least, that's what I wanted it to be at Alfreton. I'd left that day despondent over my drunken behavior on the weekend. I couldn't take back what I'd done, but I did want to fix it. I really did.

In bed that night in my empty apartment, I'd made a resolution. I got up and found every bottle of liquor I had stashed away hidden in various parts of the apartment and I'd gone to the bin at the restaurant nearby and busted all of them. The broken glass made quite the ruckus, but I didn't care. I'd make more of a ruckus, if necessary, because I felt like I'd let down Grandpa's memory.

Grandpa Jones never drank. Said it was the tool of the devil. Said it clouded one's mind and made them do things they never thought they'd do if they were sober. He even went so far as to say that it made mice out of men.

The smell of the liquor splashed against the sides of the bin made my mouth water. Didn't matter that all the discarded food waste was still in it from earlier that night. I wanted one last drink.

Instead, I'd called Russ and woke him up. Asked if I could meet him right away as I'd had urgent business to discuss. What was he going to say? I was the man who'd hired him after Nicky Law abandoned Alfreton at my perceived incompetence.

We'd had a great discussion. I'd laid out everything with Russ. Told him that he still had my full support and I'd be doing everything I could to support his leadership of the club. Neither of us liked Nicholson. He was just plain cold.

Russ agreed to allow me more access to training. It amounted to me fetching balls and filling water cups, but it was something I could do to help the club instead of hole up in my office to drink and play poker on Facebook.

The following day, I'd attended the FA Cup Second Round Qualifier Draw. We drew Ilkeston, an even more obscure club than ours. I was glad. We'd have a shot at making it to the next round, and with it, more money for the club.

Wednesday arrived. Nicholson hadn't come back to the Town Ground offices, preferring instead, to phone his directives to Mary from his golf club. I rode with the reserve squad to Chelmsford. Instead of sitting in the press box, I sat down on the bench with my track suit uniform on and made sure all the water bottles were filled and the area was kept clean and tidy. The last thing we needed was a player tripping over a bag an hurting themselves from freak accident. Our injury list was filled to overflowing for a club our size.

Phil Dunn, our teenage striker, scored a brace for the Reserves in the away match. Ryan Duffy-McGirr assisted him on one. We rode home and I'd had a nice chat with the lads after they'd overcome their shock at my presence.

Thursday was a good day for me. Johnathan Pringle and Lorcan Fitzgerald both signed contracts. I made sure that I was in every photo with a giant smile on my face. Nicholson was there too. Once the cameras stopped clicking, all the handshakes were received, the reporters were satisfied, and we were out of earshot of the players, he'd resumed scolding me for bringing in the new players.

Without looking at me, Nicholson quietly said, “Roy, bottom line, you're an idiot for signing them. They're boys who were castoffs at their clubs. Now, you want to sign them and bring their losing attitudes here? Not going to happen anymore on my watch.”

When I'd tried arguing my point, Nicholson had interrupted with, “Don't you have the bottom of some bottle to find like when you first met me?” Then he walked off while I struggled in the aftermath of his candor.

Saturday arrived and I'd not spoken with Nicholson since he'd insulted me two days prior. It was a welcome relief to be out of the suite and down on the Town Ground pitch. Let Nicholson be the dignitary upstairs. I'd accept my new role Russ allowed me and make the most of it.

Tamworth took the pitch. Russ' pre-match speech was direct and to the point. “Tamworth might be in second place in the league, but they've only scored one more goal in their matches than us. We can win this today. This is our pitch. These are our supporters. Play like you know how and let's earn our keep.”

Periodically throughout our match, I'd call Michael Kemp to get updates on our U18 squad who was away against Sunderland in the U18 Cup. After one such call, I cheered so loudly, that my voice rang out inappropriately during the present match. With all eyes on me in the bench area, I'd informed them that Phil Dunn had just scored to tie the score late in the match. A cheer erupted.

We were up 2-0 on Tamworth. Jordan Hall in the 16th minute and Josh Law in the 59th. The news from our U18 squad stirred us and we cheered loudly for our players on the pitch as they struggled to hold back Tamworth's assault.

The final match sounded and almost all of the announced crowd of 499 gave our team a standing ovation for a job well done. It felt good to be on the pitch with them. To see up their efforts close and hear all the discussion that followed. The laughter. The camaraderie.

Inside the dressing room, the stink of the sweat was quite evident, but one thing was clearly missing to me. Nicholson never bothered himself to show up. It seemed strange not having him put in an appearance. I'd always done that.

I brushed it aside. The staff and even some of the players huddled around me as I put Kemp on speaker phone for the penalty shootout. Our U-18's had done the unthinkable. They'd held Sunderland to a single goal and held them off for the duration of extra time.

Alfreton lost the toss and Sunderland elected to take their kicks second. Phil Dunn started things off with a score. Sunderland answered. Lee Russell's penalty missed. Sunderland scored to take the lead. The pressure ramped up with every kick we scored. Sunderland responded accordingly. Our final kicker, substitute DC David Freeman, was due up. He scored and our dressing room exploded with cheers. Matthew Fletcher was up for Sunderland. The 16 year old had played in 5 matches and had 4 goals and 2 assists to his credit. We waited. Kemp's groan said it all.

Though we were dejected with the shootout loss, they knew they'd done great for Alfreton because Kemp put me on the phone with every one of them.

Chapter 24 (Week of 22 September 2008)

Nicholson called me at 7 AM. Woke me up out of a restful sleep. No greeting. Just gave me a finance report and told me that he'd start laying people off if the finances didn't start to change by the end of the week.

I tried to argue, but all Nicholson said was, “Football's a business. If you want to be loyal, then you better hope Alfreton wins Saturday.” I'd tried to argue again, but he hung up on me without another word.

Just like that, I was wide awake, adrenalin flowing. Nicholson had some nerve. Wake me up, tell me what's happening, then hang up in the middle of my rebuttal. I didn't like it one bit. In fact, it made me downright ornery that I'd ever binged last week.

Later in the day, I'd met with Russ to discuss the match upcoming on Tuesday evening. We'd be facing another promotion contender in Southport on the road. They were in fine form and were definitely strong at home having won all their matches on home soil. We'd yet to win on an away trip and it would be nice to come away with at least a point.

The fortunate thing about the weekend is that no one managed to get hurt. Welburn had settled in nicely, putting in two fine performances so far. Pringle and Fitzgerald were still struggling to get match fit, but Russ figured that our injury crisis would force him to start those two anyway.

Mary and I kept clear of each other too. She was still greeting me professionally and I'd taken to doing the same. It hurt though. I wanted to be friendly with her, but since I'd overstepped our working relationship inadvertently, I thought it best to be extra careful. I didn't want to cause any legal trouble, especially since she'd have every chance of winning. I was so stupid for drinking.

Grandpa's words came back to me. “Drinking makes mice out of men.” I really felt timid at the moment. The confident swagger I'd had when I was the only one running the show had disappeared. In its place, I had become a non-entity in the eyes of my new financial partner, Brian Nicholson. Additionally, I had to dance on tippy toes with my secretary. All because I couldn't stop drinking.

What made it worse was that my self-induced pity party made me want to drink all the more. So much of my life felt beyond my control at the moment and, I'd argued, if I was drunk, then I wouldn't care so damn much.

Tuesday afternoon rolled around and I rode with the team again. I rode silently most of the trip. Spent my time trying to figure out a way to get rid of Nicholson and to get back on friendly terms with Mary.

The match was a decent match. Southport's crowd was quite large and they'd been packing in a nice sized home support for some time now. Our team took to the field and got muscled around in the first half. Russ chewed them out with an inspiring half-time talk that got me fired up and Alfreton battled better in the second half.

It wasn't good enough. Southport scored a goal in the 56th minute when their striker, Sean Taylforth, sent the long cross into the 6 yard box to his winger on the opposite side, Mark Duffy. Duffy found himself some space behind our teen, Ryan Duffy-McGirr to knock it into the net past Atkins. New signing, Lorcan Fitzgerald, raced over to the official and argued for an offsides call, but lost.

Ten minutes later, Lee Welburn chased down a loose ball before it ran out of bounds. He spun with the ball, looked up the pitch and sent a long pass towards Josh Law just outside the penalty area. Law took two touches and threaded a needle pass inside the box to Paul Clayton who'd flashed across his defender, Kevin Lee, and struck the ball low and hard on the first touch. GOAL! Clayton raced to the corner flag, his teammates in tow, thumping the badge on his chest.

We'd tied it and Russ made the substitutions required to pack it in for the rest of the match. A single point was a moral victory and the coach ride home was indeed a merry one as some of the players opened up the bottles and began to celebrate.

I was offered some, but declined, still sore from my new relationships with Mary and Nicholson.

The following day, our reserves were scheduled to face St. Albans at home. Anton Brown was playing the match along with pre-season defensive starters, Kyle Macfadzean and Tommy Evans. They'd have preferred to be starting on the senior team, but McIntosh's form had been good enough to keep earning the start for the veteran. Atkins' arrival and performances had relegated veteran keeper, Evans, to backup. For someone used to starting his entire career, I'd heard some rumors among the players that he was getting a bit miffed.

The reserve team put on a clinic beating St. Albans 2-1. Anton Brown played MC today and it suited him. Scoring a goal and dishing out an assist, Brown earned himself Man-of-the-Match honors as well as stated his case for a return to the starting lineup. I'd admitted to myself that Russ had seen a different side of him than I'd seen in past matches and could understand why Russ wanted him to be doing better. Brown's efforts helped the reserves move all the way up to 10th place out of the 19 teams in Group 8 of the reserve leagues.

The weekend was rolling towards us and I'd made some strides with Mary. Mostly it involved being supportive of her gripes regarding Nicholson. “Mr. Nicholson is quite abrupt, isn't he, Mr. Jones?”

I couldn't argue with that. “Yes, Ms. Wallace, he is quite abrupt. But please, don't take it personal. He treats me the same way too.”

“My. I wonder what him makes him so?”

“I have no idea, but if I find out, I'll be sure to let you know.”

Mary's smile warmed my heart and I breathed a bit easier sensing that maybe the momentum had shifted and I'd begin to be trusted a bit more now.

On Saturday, the Town Ground was hosting a double-header. At 11 AM, Bath's U-18 team was coming to face ours in a Group 10 battle. At 3 PM, our first team was in the FA Cup 2nd Qualifying Round vs Ilkeston. I was thrilled with the prospects of two more victories. But those feelings were tempered with the realization that Nicholson would be paying close attention to the senior match. Not necessarily because he cared about the result as much as the money that would come through the gates during it, especially if we won.

Nicholson had called me on Friday to inform me he was only attending the senior team match because he'd had some important “meeting” for which he needed to attend. He'd catch up with me later in the day following the match.

We had just over 100 supporters attend the U-18 match. I'd been hoping for another fine performance from the squad after their near shock upset of Sunderland the week before and was treated to a wonderful match. The way Alfreton moved the ball, it was clear that Bath was on its heels for most of the time. Unfortunately, they scored on a set play and we couldn't match them, losing 1-0 as a result. Despite the loss, Massiah McDonald put in a tremendous match doing everything in the match save for score. His efforts earned him M.O.M. honors.

The field crew hurried to reassemble the pitch for the second match of the day. I joined them in putting the divots back in place because I wanted an excuse to be away from Nicholson as much as possible whenever he showed up.

Jordie, our field manager, thanked me for my help. Told me that it'd been a long time “since he'd seen an owner doing real man's work.” His kind words uplifted my spirits despite the disappointing loss.

As we continued our work on the pitch, the home support kept filing into the stadium. They'd gotten there early and were present en masse. By the time our first team took to the pitch, I'd estimated it was easily our largest crowd of the season.

I thought about Nicholson's threats again. I'd just spent an hour helping out some of the folks my partner wanted to fire first. It didn't seem right. These people depended on our income, small as it was, to make ends meet. Some of them had been with Alfreton for years. I didn't want that to end because my new owner was a cold-hearted jerk who only cared about the bottom line.

By the time Jordie offered me a cold one, my mood was dark and I agreed.

Chapter 25 (Week of 22 September 2008)

The clear liquid washed itself smoothly down my throat and into my belly. It wasn't much, but it was refreshing. The warmth that followed reminded me of the good times I'd had so far at Alfreton. The times in the pub with my new friends jawing at one another like we'd known each other forever. The stories they told. Oh, the stories.

The stories about wash-outs, has-beens, also-rans, and wannabes were spun with all the criticism they deserved and the expertise a free round will warrant. I'd learned that Alfreton had a long line of players and managers who fit this category and far fewer who had earned their praise. Nicky Law had started to earn their praise during his short time here, but he'd moved on before he'd cemented his place in club history. They didn't seem bitter about it, but that could all change with a dry spell in the points category.

My thoughts were cut short when Jordie asked me my opinion on today's FA Cup 2nd Qualifying Round Match vs. Ilkeston. I paused a moment and basked in the damn near perfect weather for a late September match. The pitch had been put together after the U-18's had done their damage and the senior team was beginning their warm-ups, knocking the balls around to each other with a relaxed confidence that transferred itself to me.

“I think we're gonna do well today, Jordie. Look at this crowd.”

“It's a big one alright, Roy. The lads must be doing something right.”

I hoped they would once the match started. I thanked Jordie for the wet whistle and departed, hoping to get away with my sobriety intact.

As I made my way back to the team, I scanned the box for my co-owner, Nicholson. He was there, shaking hands and rubbing elbows with Ilkeston's Chairman, like the caring man he portrayed in public. But I knew better. I was on to him and it felt good to be different.

I looked to the team again and saw a couple of them joking around with each other before the match. I wanted camaraderie at this club. The kind that came with loyalty and success. I don't know if I could make it happen, but I was sure going to try.

When it came time for the match to begin, I was in my new role as water boy. I gathered up the loose equipment and tidied up the area to keep us safe.

Alfreton came out of the blocks strong dominating possession with a tight passing game. Ilkeston tried to chase the ball but, after giving up the first shot within the first three minutes of the match, they changed tactics and resolved to pack it in. Alfreton couldn't find an answer in the first half and we entered the dressing room locked at 0-0.

Inside the dressing room, Russ talked with the team and let them know that they would find a way through the defense. It was simply a matter of making the offense happen. They'd foul us and then we could pack the box just as much as they would to make even numbers for the set plays.

Alfreton took the field in the second half and resumed where they'd left off. Challenging down the right side of the pitch, Mayman got hacked down outside the penalty area just four minutes into the second half. It was practically a corner, but with a much better angle.

Mayman stood over the ball and measured his steps while our defense moved up from the back into Ilkeston's box. Then, he sent the cross into the mass of bodies searching for the far side. Both McIntosh and Clayton elevated to meet the ball and nearly collided with one another. However, Clayton met it first and drove his header into the back of the net past Ilkeston's diving keeper.

McIntosh chased Clayton all the way to the corner flag in celebration of his achievement. The announced crowd at half-time was 906, but they sure sounded louder than that after we went up 1-0.

Ilkeston packed back into the box again in the second half, but we pressed forward searching for the match killer. Russ put in some subs and we passed the ball some more. Ilkeston finally cleared it out of bounds. Welburn made the throw-in toward Hearn up top. Hearn passed it back to Brown at midfield. Brown dropped it back and wide to Welburn on defense. After ten consecutive passes, Muirhead sent a ground pass into Hearn inside the box. Ilkeston's defense collapsed to prevent him from turning. Hearn took a few touches, but couldn't find an open shot. Just before he was surrounded with his back toward goal, Hearn passed it wide to his right to Mayman, who'd crashed into the open space left by Ilkeston's double-teaming defense. It was perfectly weighted and Mayman had no trouble driving a screaming shot past the keeper before the post could be covered.

Our crowd went wild! This second goal with six minutes remaining put the match nearly out of reach and Ilkeston was forced to press forward in search of an equalizer. It became Alfreton's turn to pack it in and counterattack.

During extra time, Alfreton countered and Ilkeston tackled Clayton with his back toward goal. Down he went. On came our physios and we were down our best striker as he was stretchered off.

Two minutes later, we'd made it through to the next round, but we had three of our best four strikers out with injuries. It was a good thing that Russ and Timmy had put that impromptu offer out to Pringle because Hearn was the only one playing injury free at the moment. I sure hoped Hearn and Pringle could gel quickly because if this injury crisis became any worse, then I might have to dig deep into the closet for my own boots, seeing as though Nicholson had locked down the finances.

Mayman deservedly earned Man-of-the-Match honors, accumulating one goal and one assist on the day. Hearn picked up an assist. Clayton a goal. Jordan Hall and Josh Law rounded out the best players of the match. I even nodded my approval to Anton Brown when our eyes met on the sideline following the match. For the second match in a row this week, he'd done a nice job in the midfield.

I thanked the team for a job well done inside the dressing room. A couple of them clapped me on the back politely. But the credit belonged to Russ and his staff. They had taken the makeshift lineup and found a tactical plan that worked on the day, sending our large crowd of fans home with the good feelings that only can come from winning in such a dominant fashion.

Alfreton was starting to gain a swagger and I hoped that we could maintain it during the matches to come. Walking out of the smelly dressing room, I was on the lookout for Nicholson. The last place I wanted to be was on his arm. I spied him, talking with a reporter, spun on my heels and walked away.

Nicholson was a tool.

Chapter 26 (Week of 29 September 2008)

Russ and I sat across from each other at my desk. I'd asked him to give me a report about the team and he gave me the news I hoped to hear. Kris Bowler was due to resume full training later in the week. The rest of the strikers were making progress and might be doing some partial training early next week. We'd reviewed the match versus Ilkeston and the financial numbers looked good.

Nicholson had been invited to the meeting, but he'd declined, telling me that he had better things to do. I didn't bother asking what because I was grateful his foul presence wasn't nearby.

Two matches were on the docket for the week. Tomorrow, Alfreton made the trip to Redditch for a Tuesday night match. Currently, after 8 matches, Alfreton sat 7th in the league with 13 points. With 4 wins and 1 draw, we were 6 points out of first place. Tiny club, Solihull Moors held that spot with 6 wins and 1 draw and one loss. They were chased closely by another tiny club, Harrogate who sat two points behind them. It was a strange season to be sure and Russ hadn't seen one like this in some time.

We were without our three best strikers and, with two matches on the docket while they recovered from injury, the chances of dropping points in the league were probable. Pringle was so new he was still learning names. Meanwhile, our midfielders were leading all categories in the stats department. Jordan Hall and Josh Law, who were previously bit players under Nicky Law were in terrific form with Russ in charge. Tom Curtis, team captain, was right up there too. Danny Mayman was simply on fire. Russ had played him across the board in different spots and he seemed to be thriving wherever he played. So much so that Ben Muirhead, who'd been injured after tearing it up in the pre-season, was having a hard time breaking back into the starting lineup.

I asked Russ who he felt he might start tomorrow evening. He couldn't answer me. Told me that he didn't want to drop points, but didn't want to drop anymore players either. “Roy, we're down to our last two strikers. But our midfielders and defenders are starting to show some tired legs. It's a long season and it's just a matter of time before they get hurt too. How many injured players do we want?”

I couldn't answer Russ. I just knew that I enjoyed the bragging rights of being within touching distance of the playoff spots. “Russ, I trust you to do what's best for the team.”

In the afternoon, I went to the FA Cup Third Qualifying Round draw. Still new to England, it was hard to get excited about drawing Eastwood Town for the 11 October match as I'd never heard of them. However, drawing them at home was good. The money would be helpful, regardless of a win.

On Tuesday evening, Russ had made his decision. Redditch was in the relegation places and so he'd rested the tired midfield, except for Danny Mayman. Most of the starting defenders were rested too. Tommy Evans got his chance to start between the sticks. Russ also named Anton Brown captain for the match, so I assumed Russ had won a small victory against me after all in that respect. Anton also assumed Tom Curtis' place in midfield. Pringle made his debut up top with Liam Hearn, who was still looking for his first goal in the regular season.

Both teams seemed a bit lethargic in the early stages of the match. Maybe it was our new lineup, maybe it was the coach ride before the match. Either way, it was a deadlock.

Then, in the 43rd minute, Mayman laid the ball off to Muirhead. Ben sent a probing ball into the right corner for Pringle to chase down. Pringle got to the ball first and held it up, waiting for Muirhead's trailing run. It came and Johnathan laid the ball into space for Ben to run onto it and smash it home. A brilliant bit of teamwork and I was on my feet with the rest of the team cheering.

Russ' decision to rest the starters looked like a good one going into the half on the road. Things appeared to be moving our way for the first outright win on the road. In the second half, we battled Redditch up and down the pitch with neither team making much headway just as we'd done in the first half.

Midway through the second half, Redditch backed us into our own defensive third. MacFadzean, who'd started the match at DR, cleared a loose ball wildly from near the edge of the 6 yard box. It sailed out of there like a cannon towards Brown who'd been trailing back on defense to help mark up. Brown tried to react, but it deflected off his head and back towards our own goal. Redditch's striker, Beck, picked up the loose ball and drove it first time into the goal before Evans could cover the far post to tie the match in the 56th minute.

Anton was beside himself. A couple of the players encouraged him to shake it off, but it was clear he wasn't fully ready to play when the official sounded the whistle for the restart. Alfreton worked the ball down the pitch, but Redditch cleared the back lines and it sailed up to their MC, Robinson, who'd Brown been assigned to mark.

Robinson easily turned since Brown was too off from him and took the time to slot a perfectly weighted pass behind our defensive line. Ryan Duffy-McGirr turned to chase it down, but couldn't catch his man who made a curling run behind him. Two goals in 3 minutes for Redditch sent their supporters into rapture.

Russ subbed in three of our starting midfielders, but it was too late. Redditch had packed the box and we couldn't find a way through them to score the equalizer and save a point.

On the way home, I'd felt perplexed. We'd played a good match. We just had one player lose his head after a fluke clearance and we'd lost the result we'd hoped. It was cruel, really. But it was the game of football. I felt bad for the team. They'd played better than the result showed.

The following day, I'd gotten a message from Mary that Nicholson would be arriving in fifteen minutes for a stand-up meeting. I'd wanted to take lunch out, but knew better than to miss this meeting.

Punctually, Nicholson arrived. He nodded at Mary but said nothing as Mary greeted him. I offered him a handshake. He accepted it perfunctorily and motioned me inside my office.

“I'll be brief. We lost 3K last month.”

“But that's good, we barely lost any money.”

“It's not good enough. I've looked at the financial reports. McIntosh and Butler are getting too old to play football. I don't think they're quite the kind of players we need at Alfreton, especially for what they cost the club.”

McIntosh was 37 and Butler was 36, but both seemed to hold there own on the pitch. McIntosh had recovered nicely from his preseason injury and was doing a fine job starting most every match since then. Unfortunately, he cost the club over $700/week. On the other hand, Butler was showing more signs of aging than McIntosh. Therefore, even though he had a smaller wage, it was a waste unless he was in the starting lineup earning his keep.

Nicholson interrupted my thoughts. “Roy, the other thing I don't want is Anton Brown. From what I saw yesterday, both mistakes which resulted in goals were his fault either directly or indirectly. He's gone! I terminated his contract since you couldn't seem to do it when you'd had the chance. Timmy Smythe has been informed and Russ is expected to call Anton this afternoon before training begins. Don't want his kind around here either, especially for what he was earning. Rubbish!”

I was shocked. It was no secret with Russ that I'd not been a fan of Brown, especially as he'd been making lots of crucial mistakes this season, but I'd sided with Russ in the end and thought he'd deserved more time than Nicholson had given him, especially with the injuries our team had been facing lately.

It didn't matter though. Nicholson's decision was final and, since his money was supporting the club, my hand were tied at the moment. I hoped that would change.

That night, the team noticed his absence right away in the dressing room and the whispers begun as to the reasons why. Many players thought it unfair.

Chapter 27 (Week of 29 September 2008)

With Anton Brown off the team and the rest of the squad a bit skittish about their place on it, Russ was beside himself trying to get the harmony re-established.

There was no match scheduled for the reserve team this week and Russ used the extra time in training to do fun team activities that were a bit different than the usual training. Eventually, the players joined in whole heartedly and the laughter seemed to return throughout the remainder of the week.

I'd tried three times to schedule a meeting with Nicholson so we could discuss what had happened, but he wouldn't hear of it. Told me, “Roy, releasing bad employees is the dark side of running a successful business. It doesn't matter if it's football or a catering service. The bottom line is football is a business and successful businesses don't carry dead weight. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you will become a good businessman.”

My Grandfather was a very successful businessman. However, he seemed to operate his business a bit differently than Nicholson. Again, I'd felt remorseful knowing that I should have paid more attention to learning the business than the turn-ons and turn-offs of his female employees.

These thoughts eventually led me back to our club's secretary, Mary Wallace. I'd tried keeping a professional air between the two of us, but it was tough. Propositioning her like I had while drunk was the elephant in the room. I tried overcoming it, but the issue was very obvious to the both of us. I'd tried getting her to come with me to a lunch to discuss it, but she was like Nicholson and wouldn't meet with me.