A Spartan Existence

Chapter 1

Sunday, 31 August 2008, My Apartment, Blyth

Robin's kisses and frolicsome hands were the perfect welcome to start my day. I could have awakened with a headache, but I'd stopped drinking the night before while I was still sober because I wanted to savor the moment.

This past month had wiped me out. As the pressure built to a climax yesterday afternoon, seeing us top Hyde by a score of 1-0 scoreline sealed my immediate future. With its weighty burden finally removed in the near future, I wanted to start this month off the right way. Feeling Robin's mouth on mine, I couldn't think of a better way to begin it.

After we finished what she'd started, we ate breakfast and prepared for a drive to the shore. Walking on the beach was something she'd wanted to try since we'd arrived, but I'd always found a way to deny her this simple pleasure with my lame excuses and, in retrospect, equally unimportant issues.

Having my back against the wall, I'd realized just how much managing meant to me. I'd tried imagining what it would have been like to fail, to go back to working a normal job, but I couldn't foresee any kind of positive outcome. Football was in my blood like a virus and I didn't want to be healed.

Robin called to me and I finished my new routine of some morning exercise. Tomorrow, I'd begin training with the team during their fitness sessions. I must find a way to manage my stress levels and felt training with the team could only help me.

I opened the front door and spotted the paper on the steps, the headline, “Horse Rides Again” pasted on the page with me ferociously scowling for everyone to see.

“Robin, do I really look like this?” I asked, showing her the paper while she handed me a coffee.

“I've seen that look before. Haven't you?”

I hadn't, that's why the photo surprised me so much. I hadn't realized that I looked that intense, especially considering we were winning. I tried recalling when it was taken, but couldn't remember.

Instead, I read the article which summarized the match and suggested our two match winning streak was noteworthy. Inside, I knew it would take more than a short-term bubble of success to achieve what I wanted for our club this season.

The success I sought was two-fold. One would satisfy others and the second would satisfy me.

Avoiding the drop and getting us out of debt would be an undeniable achievement for others to see, but it wouldn't satisfy my inner hunger of earning the respect of my colleagues. If I could walk out of the awards dinner at the end of the season without being the laughingstock of the event, then I'd prove to myself that I truly belonged.

First! Welcome back, my friend

Not first! There goes more of my free time!

Poor me

Great to see this one return, this time I'll following from the beginning!

I was so hoping that we hadn't heard the last of the Spartans and my wishes have been ansewered - go copper!

First! Welcome back, my friend

Second! Welcome back! I was going to ask santa if he could bring this story back and it turns out I don't need to anymore

I'm glad to see this back, Copper.

Copper, Copper, Copper! Yay. My day has been made!

Jubilant readers, thanks for the warm welcome! It's nice to know so many enjoyed that story and character. I did publish the first post, despite not being finished with the story. So, I am taking a chance by posting and you're taking a chance by reading it. However, I think I may have found a way to satisfy me as an author. I can only hope that it also is enjoyable to read too.

Time will tell.

Chapter 2

Monday, 01 September 2008, Bobby's Office, Croft Park

Bobby welcomed me into his office with a handshake and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Copper, I'm thrilled for you!”

“Thanks, Bobby. Although waiting until the last possible minute was stupid.”

“Aye, however, you've bought yourself some more time and I'm sure you can use that to your advantage. You've got the lads showing some spirit. If I was a betting man, I'd say you've got some potential with this squad, assuming injuries don't deplete our ranks.”

Injuries, I hadn't considered them. So far, we'd been fortunate to lose only reserve or youth players who weren't on the senior squad. I worried about my 'Boro Boys. I knew inside that they were the reason behind my short-term stability. If they had stayed at Middlesbrough, instead of moving here, then it would me gathering my things and moving back to the States, my dream dashed and my spirit shaken.

I considered the irony of our situations. We needed each other to make our respective dreams come true. They needed first team experience so they could have a chance of playing in the Premiership and I needed them to win matches so I could have a chance or remaining at Blyth. The next nine months would resolve this uncertainty and my desire to control my destiny was overwhelming.

Football, however, doesn't give a sh*t about me or my desires.

Thrilled to see part two, copper.

Ah, back from a refreshing two week break and back on FM(have to say I dabbled in the witchcraft of FIFA while away).

A good writer can never sit still and retire. And that is why it's good to have you back Copper.

Only thing is, now I can't get my own story started, and worse, it'll pale in comparison -_-

Glad to know your thoughts about this story's publication thus far. Hope it continues to entertain as much as Blyth in real-life during this season's FA Cup run. First Shrewsbury at home, now a draw v Bournemouth. Digging it. Let's hope mine matches theirs....

Chapter 3

Tuesday, 02 September 2008, My Office, Croft Park

I answered my mobile while sitting at my desk and composing an email.

Keith Smith, our physio, called with bad news. “Copper, Luke Webster's down with a twisted ankle. I figure he's out for the next two weeks minimum.”

Sh*t! It didn't take long for football to leave me twisting in the wind. Luke Webster was an important part of our senior squad. His age and experience were integral components to keeping our youthful squad on an even keel as the season dragged on because Hines, Grounds, Goulon, Ryan, Beastall, Boateng, and Boyle were all younger defensive players. Webster was scheduled to start at right back and could also double as a defensive midfielder. His injury made things messy.

“If we try to rush him, we could lose him longer.” Smith said, reading my thoughts and taking control over the situation he knew I wanted to press.

“Fine, we'll just make do without him.” I wasn't happy, but we needed him healthy. Grudgingly, I thanked him and snapped the lid shut to resume the task I'd put off for far too long.

Robin had been on me for weeks now about drafting an email to Rob Ridgway, the new American manager at Reading Football Club. Since my arrival at Blyth, I'd struggled to earn the respect of Blyth's supporters while he'd already won his club's support. She argued that his success in Italy meant he could succeed in England too. I'd just need to swallow my pride and ask him for his help. Lashes with a cat-of-nine-tails was far preferable to swallowing my pride, but breaking my promise to Robin was a far worse crime.

HOORAY! Copper you're one of the best on the forum, glad to see you back and good luck with the rest of the season!

blowcrapup: thanks for feeling guilty...just keep writing and you're forgiven.

stoehrst: even though I'm not from "Row-die-land", my father and all my immediate ancestors are (Warwick, Cranston, and Foster) and I don't go back often enough...in fact, my uncle once ran for governor of Rhode Island in the early/mid 70's. He got 5% of the vote. Not bad for a campaign fund of $500...

Chapter 4

Tuesday, 02 September 2008, My Office, Croft Park

There, I'd done it. I wiped the sweat from my brow and told myself, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Nothing risked, nothing rewarded.” I had to do things my way, even if it meant I failed. For then, I could only blame myself. But, if I succeeded, I wouldn't have to share the glory either.

Really? My father's from Cranston, and my late grandfather as well. I think the male line in the family has been in that area for over a hundred years. Next time you talk to one of them you should ask if they went to high school in Cranston, or know anyone who did.

haven't we already had this part of the story already where rob came up to visit?

Just skimmed back through "Rat Pack", and no, this is the same point that this letter was sent by Copper to Rob Ridgeway.

Cheers for continuity!

This cross-over is certainly one of the more inspired (and brilliantly executed) ideas I've seen on here. Tenthreeleader painted a pretty interesting picture of Fenton. I'm interested to see what Copper Horse has to say on the subject.

We've had it in the Rat Pack but not in here, so we don't know the result of the actual match yet...

Just skimmed back through "Rat Pack", and no, this is the same point that this letter was sent by Copper to Rob Ridgeway.

Cheers for continuity!

This cross-over is certainly one of the more inspired (and brilliantly executed) ideas I've seen on here. Tenthreeleader painted a pretty interesting picture of Fenton. I'm interested to see what Copper Horse has to say on the subject.

Copper certainly isn't shy about speaking his mind

Readers, yes, this is the same story arc contained in tenthreeleader's "Rat Pack". Our goal was to publish this event on the same day as tenthree desired. However, I couldn't match his work rate as I was writing "An American Pilgrimage." Then again, who can?

Therefore, he rewrote his version of the crossover event in his "Rat Pack" story to not give away my result, as some of you above have already noted. (It was really difficult for him because he loves writing match reports)

Additionally, we still wanted the crossover to occur, but it's now occurring much later in real-life, but it's the exact same time frame in-game.

You will get my version of this same event, but I also agree that tenthree wrote fantastic posts regarding his visit to Blyth! Probably had something to do with his multiple awards and my multiple bridesmaid results.

By the way, we are still friends in real-life.

Chapter 5

Tuesday, 02 September 2008, My Office, Croft Park

As proof of my promise, I sent Robin a blind copy of my email to Ridgway. She was busy at home, negotiating the sale of our house with our real estate agent back in the United States.

Included in her email, I notified her that I needed to meet with our captains to resolve an issue I felt might creep up resulting from our influx of 'Boro's Boys.

Almost immediately, she wrote back, “It's about damn time you started keeping your promises here at Blyth. I love you, my stubborn mule.”

Her reply was fully Robin and I responded with a silent smile. Truly, she was my best friend. Leaning back in my chair, I fondly recalled our most recent weekend at the beach and mentally made plans for similar future ones.

Hungry, I left my office to make a sandwich. I stopped outside my door and pulled my violated nameplate off the wall and walked to Bobby's office with the express purpose of fixing another loose end.

Bobby welcomed me warmly and I got right to the point.

“Sorry to trouble you, Bobby. However, you offered to get this fixed for me and I declined. Well, I'd like to recant my earlier declaration and take you up on your offer. As long as I'm going to be here a bit longer, I'd like to put that part of my past behind me and start fresh. It might be good for all of us.”

He replied. “I couldn't agree with you more, Copper. I'll get right on it.”

With that gesture completed, another burden felt lifted from my shoulders.

Chapter 6

Wednesday, 03 September 2008, Training Grounds, Croft Park

Sweat stung my eyes and my lungs burned from pounding the heavy bag for ten minutes. I wish I could have gone longer, but my poor physical condition prevented me from lasting longer. I thought about pushing it, but felt I should be smart considering I still needed to see a physician regarding my heart. However, after a hot shower, I entered my office buzzing with positive energy. Seeing a reply from Ridgway sent me into the stratosphere.

Ignoring the rest, I clicked Rob's right away hoping for more good news.

It read:

Chapter 9

Saturday, 06 September 2008, Blyth v Workington, Croft Park

I'd insisted Rob come to our place to sample one of Robin's miracle meals first thing in the morning. We'd had a great time for about an hour talking about our lives and our current situations.

The thing which struck me the most about Rob was that his football philosophy was similar to mine. We both valued teamwork and discipline and we both wanted our players to know the roles they were expected to play and to do it to the best of their abilities.

The other thing of which I took note was his confidence. It was unflappable. Maybe it comes from playing in the Premiership, but I've put this profession put on a pedestal. For me, managing is the greatest job in the world and I cannot tolerate failing. I won't allow myself to do it. However, it seems like the more I try to will it to happen, the further my destination gets from me. His calm and driven demeanor are a classic combination destined for success.

Robin and I both commented after he'd left that the only thing stopping me from achieving my ambitions was me. I'd need to get the hell out of my own way and trust the players to carry out their tasks on the pitch.

Well, this afternoon was going to be as good a time as any to put the plan into action as we faced Workington. Our two wins had moved us quickly up to 12th in the table, but since so many teams were jostling for position, a loss could drop us right back into the relegation zone.

Inside the dressing room, I called out to the team, “All right, fellows, let me have your attention.” They settled down and I quickly added, “I thought it might be fun for you to hear from someone different today. Everyone in this room wants to be better. We want promotion, and we want the better things the game has to offer. We want these things for ourselves and for our club. Lately, we’ve done many of the things we need to do to improve. I keep telling you that no one is going to hand you anything, and you’ve listened.”

They sat huddled together and I continued, “Today, I want you to meet someone who has done those things, and he’s done it without the handouts some people seem to demand nowadays. He’s the only American manager in the Premiership and he’s got his team in third place in the top flight. He knows a little bit about how to get to the top and I’ve asked him to talk with you before the match. Rob Ridgway is here now to speak to you. Rob?”

Rob came in from where he had been waiting in the hallway and everyone's eyes locked onto him. The youth were filled with admiration and my veterans tried to keep their cool. However, I knew they were pleased by Rob's presence.

Rob began, “Good morning, fellows. Thanks to Copper for his introduction and for the invitation to visit you today. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

The young players puffed up a bit, especially my 'Boro Boys. I knew Rob was walking a fine line with what he could say, but I felt the risk was worth it. I continued to watch their reactions hoping Rob could spark their imaginations in such a way, we'd earn our third straight.

Rob's voiced changed from breakfast into coach mode. His voice called out, “I’ve learned a few things in sixteen years as an active player and during my time in management. One of those things is that you can’t ever be afraid to chase a dream. You wouldn’t be in this room today if you didn’t think there was something better out there for yourselves, and you deserve all the credit in the world for chasing after that end goal.”

Then, Rob started to walk slowly back and forth in front of them. “Yet, another thing I’ve learned is that no matter how much you may want something for yourself in this game, it’s hard to find those things unless you’re willing to work as a single eleven-man unit. I have yet to come across a player who has been able to win a match all by himself – Ronaldo included. So, how you handle your drive for success is absolutely vital.”

The team was completely silent. Rob continued, “Copper will tell you, and I’m sure he probably already has, that team success leads to individual success rather than the other way around. I know it for a certainty. My team in Italy won a double last season by believing in that concept and I have one of three unbeaten sides in the Premiership at present because we at Reading believe the same thing.”

Rob paused a moment to let them consider what he just said, then he started quietly but grew louder with each sentence, “You don’t know what colors you’ll be wearing next season. You don’t know what colors you’ll be wearing tomorrow. So as you play today, remember that the way you play today will determine where and how you play tomorrow. Play the game the right way, play the way your coaches have instructed you to play, and work hard for each other. If you do that, your club will succeed and in the end, so will you.”

The excitement in the room was palpable. The team hung on his words, imagining what it might be like to sit in a top flight dressing room in front of 40,000 screaming, chanting fans. But Rob's quiet words focused them, “I never played at Wembley. I never played at the Millenium Stadium. We all want to go there – you and me both. For me to get there, I have to live the same words I am telling you now and I have to put them into practice. I’ve found, though, that life in this game is a lot easier when you do the important things first and the smaller things second. The smaller things may be more fun, but vital tasks are vital tasks for a reason. They drive everything else. In this case, the important things are team-oriented. The smaller things are for yourselves.”

“I tell my players to ‘make it happen’. That’s what I’ll tell you today as well. Make it happen for your club and for yourselves. If you do, the next time we talk will hopefully be in the Premiership. Best of luck today, and don’t be afraid to dream.”

With those final words reverberating in my mind too, Rob left us suddenly.

The team's mood was buzzing. My thoughts swirled and my heart pounded against my chest. This time it wasn't from my nerves, it was from joy. It was from wanting something so badly all my life and knowing that I was getting the chance to live my dream. I batted back the tears welling up in my eyes and spoke, “You heard the man. Show everyone today how bad you want it.”

Go get 'em, Spartans!

I can't imagine anything but a Blyth win after such a rousing build-up.

I would hire Rob as a permanent team talk assistant, however I'd imagine his salary to be more than all of Blyth's players combined.

Chapter 10

Saturday, 06 September 2008, Blyth v Workington, Croft Park

Our home crowd was a bit larger than normal, but winning early in the season has a tendency to bring out the fair weather fans to the stadium. I hoped we'd put on a show and keep them coming in through the turnstiles next match.

Bobby caught my eye and gave me a wave to let me know that all was well. Baker and McMillan had prepped the team on the field and they were ready right from the first whistle.

Rob's words must have worked because Grounds, playing right defender, took a throw-in and landed it Adrian Webster's feet. Adrian spun on the ball and sent a low cross towards Dale standing at the penalty spot with a defender hanging on his back.

Dale took the ball off his chest away from Duncan, his marking man, and slipped a soft pass into the space immediately off his left shoulder for Craddock to run onto and slot past the keeper on his near post two minutes into the match.

Those supporter's still making their way into the match missed it and had to cheer in the aisles before they had even reached their seats.

I felt jubilant!

Workington appealed for an offside call, but the assistant referee had nothing to do with it and argued that their right back had kept Craddock onside with his perfectly timed run.

Workington battled valiantly and just before the half, they won a corner. Weaver hit the in-swinger with his left foot and Berkeley rose above Jordan Smith to nod it home before Nick Evans could respond. Just like that, Workington had leveled the score and now I had something to chew on inside the dressing room.

Inside, I called out Dale's fine assist in the first half and joked about Craddock's desire to show off for Ridgway.

But I did let them know, “We've got another 45 to play. Don't even think for a moment, I am satisfied with a draw. Our crowd is damn near three times what it was at the end of last season. Let's give them something positive to talk about this week.”

The players listened, but they needed more. I took the chance and added, “Besides, you can't let my friend think we can't play ball at Blyth, now can we? They've got international matches being played today. Do you want him to leave our seaside community feeling like he wasted his time watching a bunch of part-timers fumble around on the pitch like wannabes and has beens? I know we can do better than this. Prove it to me and prove it to yourselves!”

We took the pitch in the second half and played more urgently. I liked what I saw and hoped we'd reap some rewards for our efforts.

In the 58th minute, Workington took Craddock down inside the box. Dale took the penalty kick and made it to score his first goal of the season. On the sidelines, all I could do was pump my fist in support of his patience so far this season. He was definitely a captain leading his team forward into the future.

In the 71st minute, Workington was reduced to ten men for a second yellow and I piled the players forward in search of the final blow.

Six minutes later, Boyle won a long clearance and headed it to Goulon just over the midfield line near the center circle. Goulon, beat his defender with his dribble and continued up the pitch for fifteen yards while the defense delayed from a short distance away. Goulon smashed it towards goal. One of Workington's defender's threw himself in front of the ball and deflected it toward Craddock on the left side of the penalty area.

Craddock hit it first time, but Duncan blocked it.

The ball fell into the path of Grounds, who was making an overlapping run down the left side. Without hesitation, Grounds smashed it past Howarth on the near post for our third goal of the match.

The crowd went wild. I scanned the crowd for Ridgway and saw him cheering his support with the small entourage who'd realized who he was and had surrounded him.

When the final whistle blew, we'd just won our third straight and the team had played with all the assurance and control of a team ready for promotion.

When the match ended, I found Ridgway in the stands again and nodded. He waved back and it was good to know we'd put on a show for him.

Now, I wondered as I walked back to the dressing room, what would we do for an encore?

Yes, another win. It's a good habit the team is getting into, Copper.

Chapter 11

Sunday, 07 September 2008, Random Pasture, Northeast

Robin, wrapped in my arms, stared into the sky. I ran my fingers through her hair and felt her loving warmth seep into mine. She'd finished counting off my push-ups and I could only do twenty in a row before my arms grew too tired.

“Progress.” was all my wife said.

Progress. It was hard to accept my weakened state. It was hard to believe that Blyth had won its third straight match, moving us up four spots on the table into eighth. It was hard to trust that Rob enjoyed himself visiting our spartan existence.

Robin rolled onto her stomach to face me and kissed my neck. She murmured, “The team played well. Probably the best I've seen them play.”

“Well, Rob's presence gave them plenty of motivation. Craddock scored two minutes in, Grounds came away with Man-of-the-Match honors because of his goal and assist, and my captain also took full advantage of returning to the starting lineup with a goal and assist.”

“You think yesterday's result was Rob's fault?” Her suddenly strident tone warned me of tenuous responses ahead.

“It didn't hurt.” I replied, inwardly delighted by my nimble reply.

“Fence rider. Why won't you accept the facts? Rob's presence merely enhanced the work your staff has done since the season started in July. It's you and your staff who's at fault. Accept that progress. You've earned it.”

I hugged her close, “I'll try, but I'm not promising anything this time.”

At fault

Keep it up copper!

You've earned it, indeed! Take a little credit, fercryinoutloud

Chapter 12

Saturday, 13 September 2008, Bower Fold, Stalybridge

We arrived at Bower Fold sporting a three match win streak which put us in 8th place. Stalybridge currently sat in 10th and the oddsmakers predicted the home team to win with 5-4 odds. However, I didn't care about the odds. I cared about how we'd react to the new pressures associated with finally winning.

It was a warm, dry day and we huddled in the dressing room waiting to take the field. Our tactic for today's match involved playing defensively until we sensed we could move forward. Then, we'd attack with extreme prejudice.

Stalybridge tested our defenses, but Hines won most of the headers in the air. I called McMillan over to my side at the edge of our technical area. “Staly's a long ball team. I think we can exploit their limited creativity, especially at the back. What do you think?”

Without hesitation, McMillan replied, “We should play conservatively away from home.”

“But we can take them.” I insisted, pressing the matter.

“You heard my opinion, take it or leave it.”

I considered his perspective while we continued our siege in the back third. I looked in Baker's direction for a second opinion, but he pretended to be busy talking with Phil Bell on the bench. Sly fox.

At the next dead ball, I called for us to push forward.

Stalybridge counterattacked and made it inside our box. Hines made an inch-perfect tackle to stop Chris Hall cold. While Staly argued the call, Goulon gathered up the loose ball, spread it wide right to Brawley who counterattacked with a long high ball towards Dale in the center of the pitch. Dale elevated as Craddock shouted and bolted toward goal. A simple head flick later and Craddock was in on goal. Bolochoweckyj threw himself in the path of Craddock's shot, but he deflected it past his own keeper to score an own goal sixteen minutes into the match!

Craddock took the credit anyway and raced toward Blyth's traveling support with his arms raised. They responded, but were drowned out by Staly's boos.

With a goal advantage, McMillan's logic made more sense and we played more tentatively. Stalybridge tried throwing bodies forward, but couldn't manage to get past Grounds, Hines, or Goulon, especially down the right side of the pitch.

At halftime, our players received the praise they earned, but also, they heard a warning. “Spartans, we are only a mistake away from a draw. I don't want to go there. We've got to keep our focus and we're going to push forward again. However, you've got to wait for it. Understand?”

They nodded their heads and we played siege ball until after the Stalybridge made their first substitution. Staly brought on a third forward for a midfielder and I trusted my gut.

“Now! Push it!”

We got our chance when Goulon sent another ball up the pitch toward Dale. Rob took it off his chest and shielded off the defender, who challenged his right shoulder. Dale felt the push and spun toward the middle of the pitch away from the pressure. With a clear path to goal, he rocketed a knuckling shot at the keeper. The keeper, tried to catch it, but mishandled the ball. Craddock pounced opportunistically on the loose ball and buried it in the back of the net! This time, Craddock's celebrations were truly his and our supporters chanted his name.

Meanwhile, Staly's defenders argued with each other as the ball was returned to the center spot.

Dale raced after the back pass as soon as the whistle sounded for the kickoff, forcing Staly into second back pass. The center defender, who was still arguing with his teammate, was caught unaware and misread the path of the ball. Dale, still charging hard for the ball, picked up the loose ball from the missed trap and was alone with the keeper before the defender could recover. A shoulder fake to his left, dropped the keeper, and he beat him to the right side with a hard, driven shot to put us up 3-nil!

Two goals in two minutes! Craddock tackled Dale from behind and a small dog pile followed. My staff and I cheered loudly while the traveling supporters raised the battle cry, “Spar-tans! Spar-tans!”

Stalybridge's home supporters had enough and began to leave in droves. We battened down the hatches to preserve a shutout.

Four straight victories! In the dressing room, I congratulated the team on a job well done. Outside, Robin met me with a kiss and we walked arm-in-arm the whole way back to the team bus.

I still had a lot to learn at Blyth, but already, I'd learned with certainty that managing was a whole lot more fun when we won.

This should be made into a movie!

Chapter 13

Monday, 15 September 2008, My Office, Croft Park

Robin was at work today. Our negotiations on our house fell through again. She was disappointed because it meant we had to make two payments for another month. Our money was becoming even tighter. However, she soldiered on without a negative word. But, I knew it bothered her.

The paper's headlines read, “Blyth Smash Staly As Run Goes On”. With our latest win, we'd moved all the way up to 5th and the media was tentatively supportive at best. Teams streaked all the time. We'd just finished a twenty match winless streak. I was praying as hard as I could that things would balance out and we could go on a twenty match undefeated run. However, that was still a long ways off and I'd need to take care of business one day at a time.

Robin finished typing up the match report and handed it to me for my perusal. Craddock and Dale both had earned a goal and an assist while Dale added Man-of-the-Match honors for their combined efforts against Stalybridge on the weekend.

If Dale continued to play like that, soon I'd be dealing with Bell becoming dissatisfied on the sidelines. I shrugged it off. I could have worse problems than that, like Craddock picking up an injury and I'd be left with the twin towers. Recalling how that worked out last year, I touched wood to dispel my evil thought.

The phone rang and I jumped, startled by its interruption. Robin laughed and answered it. She listened a moment and then said, “I'll tell him.”

Robin hung up. “We drew Hastings United for the FA Cup.”

Chapter 14

Tuesday, 16 September 2008, Blyth v Witton, Croft Park

Inside our balmy dressing room, the stink of wet, sweaty bodies was enough to keep the team talk short. It was 84 degrees, but raining. Witton was 19th in the table while we sat 5th. The oddsmakers chose us as the favorites at 5-4 for the first time during the regular season.

“Spartans, we've only had two hours practice since our last match. In fact, some of you showed up tonight after putting in a work day. It's a part of playing non-league that I don't like, but it's the way it is until we can become full professionals.”

Most of them acknowledged reality and I continued, “Witton's eating the same **** sandwich we're forced to eat. So, I can only think of one way to make it a bit easier to swallow. That's to come off the pitch tonight knowing that we played like professionals.”

Some laughed, but I interrupted them. “Spartans, winning isn't guaranteed, it's got to be claimed.”

I stopped talking and slapped the lineup on the front wall as I exited.

Out on the pitch, the players warmed up while I caught McMillan's arm. “I'm not settling to sit back tonight. If we get the advantage, I'm pushing men forward. We've got to play ball in front of our crowd tonight. We need them coming back through the gates, if you catch my meaning.”

“Just play tentative to start, okay?”

“I'll think about it, but can't guarantee anything.”

We won the kick and elected to defer so we could defend our end 2nd half.

Andy Williams whistled the kick off and we played tentatively and like crap, loafing after the ball like the game of football owed us something.

In the first 18 minutes, we allowed them 3 shots, but none required a save.

“Get your heads in the match!” I screamed out onto the pitch loud enough for everyone to hear.

We won a throw-in near me and Dale retrieved it. I threatened, “Captain, you better start something if you want to stay playing!”

Dale looked at me, surprised by my open animosity, and threw the ball towards Donachie, who was making a forward run up the pitch ahead of his defender.

Witton's defender knew he was beat and grabbed a fistful of jersey to slow our lumbering Scotsman, giving us a free kick.

Donachie sent it high, but his shot, along with Dale's hard tackling up front, changed the tempo of the game. Craddock took two shots and Adrian Webster added a third over the next ten minutes. Finally, the momentum had shifted.

Just as time wore down before the half, Adrian Webster beat his defender with a slick move reminiscent of Cruyff, the legendary Dutch player, leaving his defender with no choice but to obstruct him inside the box.

Andy Williams immediately whistled and pointed to the spot while reaching for his pocket.

Once the yellow card was shown to Vincent, Witton's players surrounded Williams at the penalty area. A few choice profanities drew the yellow for Hankin. Then, more arguments followed about the second yellow, forcing Williams to brandish a third and fourth for Boulding and Moore respectively.

Witton finally figured it out and stopped bickering over a call they couldn't change and play could resume.

Dale had claimed the penalty kick and did what he could do to control the match by burying the ball in the net to put us up 1-nil just before the half.

Greenwood wouldn't let it drop after the restart and earned a yellow.

Witton's support hollered as we passed by toward the dressing room, “Buying the official, are you? Bloody Yank!” I thought it Fenton, but was wrong.

Inside the dressing room, I addressed behaviors rather than tactics. “Spartans, Witton showed me they aren't ready to stay and play in our league. It's not because of how they play on the pitch, it's how they act when the officials get involved that shows me they are still part-time wannabes. Act like a professional! Play with class and don't fall for their shenanigans. Keep playing with intensity so you can stay on the pitch.”

Andy Williams got involved in the match again during the 51st minute. Moore was dribbling free at the top of the penalty box. He managed easily to get around Smith, but Hines charged like a bull to clean the ball away. Moore collapsed and the whistle sounded.

There's no way that's a penalty!

Williams reached for his pocket immediately. Hines held both his hands up innocently. The center official beckoned Moore over and flashed him both the yellow and red cards. Diving was the signal. Our kick.

Moore tried to protest, but Greenwood, Witton's captain and nursing his own yellow already, ushered his teammate forcefully off the pitch.

I took control of the delay, signaling for Boateng to get on the pitch. This was the advantage I hoped we could claim.

Boyle was dropped off the pitch at left defender and I put Boateng into the center midfield to pair up with Goulon. This left us with only three defenders.

I clapped Boyle on the back and told him, “Good job. Don't sweat it, it's my tactics.” He nodded and took his place on the bench with the other youngsters.

With nearly 40 minutes left, I wanted Witton pushed all the way to the edge and then shoved off the pitch. As far as I was concerned, we couldn't score enough goals tonight.

Dale had an open chance in front of goal, but missed so badly, it would have certainly made a blooper reel.

Boateng made his impact nine minutes after entering the match. He drove a hard shot from 25 yards out, forcing a diving save from Blackwood.

Witton's captain generated their first shot of the 2nd half in the 66th minute, but Evans watched it sail wide harmlessly.

Boateng got off another shot that required Blackwood to save again. I liked his fiery spirit and loved his opportunistic attitude as soon as he'd been given the chance tonight.

Four minutes later, Hines started a counterattack with a pass to Boateng who spun expertly on the ball and dished it to Goulon near midfield. Goulon's defender bounced off his back as Herold slotted a perfectly weighted pass through the split defenders for Craddock to race after and blister his shot past Blackwood!

Witton's Thompson, appealed for an offside, but thought better of arguing too much considering the first half fiasco with his teammates.

Up 2-0, Blyth finally sensed blood in the water. We flooded the attacking third and shots flew fast and furious, but not accurately.

Adrian Webster pulled his second Cruyff move on a defender and slid away again, eliciting the same response as the first time he did it. William's whistled and issued another yellow, this time for Stone before pointing to the spot.

Dale claimed it again. I couldn't blame him, considering how horribly he missed his open goal earlier, he needed the confidence. However, football wasn't ready to forgive him and he missed it wide to the right.

I let Dale play into extra time to show my faith, but when Witton's Bryan picked up the 7th yellow of the match for his side, our striker's safety concerned me more than his confidence and I subbed him out.

William's whistled the match finished a minute later and our team hustled off the pitch as soon as we could.

On my way past the same visiting supporters, the same offender as earlier wanted to push my buttons some more. “How much did it cost you to buy the three points, Wan*er?”

Before I could stop myself, I tossed out, “Only your dignity.”

“Come again?”

Baker shoved me from behind before I could say another word.

Before I could stop myself, I tossed out, “Only your dignity.”

Classic! Great roll you're on, Copper!

I really like your match reports, Copper. Keep it up!

"Only your dignity"? That's it? Those anger management lessons are doing well aren't they.

Great form, Copper.

Readers, thanks for the various comments and feedback. It's nice to know that you read things carefully and take the time to read all of what I write, despite the lack of boldface fonts or easy skimming format to make it easier to read quickly.

I'm still trying to figure out how I want to write this story, particularly when it comes to how much emphasis match reports should be given in the storyline.

Any feedback is welcome.

Chapter 15

Wednesday, 17 September 2008, My Office, Croft Park

Our entire staff had come in a bit early to meet before training began. Our Boro' Boys had done very well yesterday accounting for a goal and an assist, plus our defense held them to a shutout, despite only having three defenders for the last part of the match.

McMillan was pleased with everyone's effort, save one. His fellow countrymen, Jordan Smith, hadn't allowed a goal, but it wasn't for lack of trying. “That kind of performance from a veteran player is unacceptable.”

Baker chimed in, “Hell, everyone has a bad match now and again. Besides, his performance didn't allow Witton to score. Where's the problem?”

I could see both sides of the argument, but McMillan wasn't through.

“Neil, if we sit on his performance without a consequence, we're setting a dangerous precedent.”

“Hell, we're sitting third, for crissake!”

“You're damn right Neil. I, for one, want to stay here too. Don't you?”

“I want to be here as much as the next guy. However, we just came off two hours of training after the short weekend. We're part-time players, for crying out loud. I think we could cut the guy some slack and we'd be just fine. Copper, what do you think?”

All eyes turned toward me. Underneath the table, my palms clammed up. I didn't want to be in the middle, but I was the boss. The decision was mine, but it would establish the team's performance standards on the pitch and also with our staff. If our staff wasn't united, how could we expect our team to work together on the pitch. Consistency was the key.

I cleared my throat. “The team will give him an official warning for his performance.”

Baker rolled his eyes and shook his head in disagreement. “Neil, I know you disagree, but treating them like a part-time player now might help to keep us a part-time team in the future. I don't want that. My goal is to get us promoted, despite others' predictions.”

McMillan offered, “I'll tell him, if you want, being that we're both Scots.”

Even though it would have been nice to delegate this, I refused because I wanted Jordan to know this discipline comes from me.

“Thanks anyway, John, but I'll handle this one this afternoon. No sense waiting.”

That issue was resolved. The next issue was setting up for Droylsden. We only had six hours available to train. I liked sitting third in a promotional place and I had no intention of dropping down the table.

Chapter 16

Saturday, 20 September 2008, Butcher's Arms Ground, Droylsden

Droylsden's Stadium has a great name. Stepping off our coach into the warm late fall weather, I wanted the win. No, I wanted to butcher Droylsden. This afternoon was just as hot as our last match, but instead of rain, we had sun; and plenty of it.

Jordan Smith had taken my warning well for his poor performance in our last match and promised to play better in the future. However, he was relegated to a substitute role today, giving Beastall the start in his place.

Both McMillan and Baker had put their previous disagreement behind them and were fully professional and focused about their business with our players.

Craddock, Hines, and Goulon were key players. The rabbit was out of the hat and our opponents knew they'd need to shut them down if they wanted a chance to win.

Notable changes included Crockett getting the starting nod as keeper and our 16 year old, Boateng, starting at midfield. It was Bell's turn to start on the bench because Dale paired with Craddock up front.

I made it very clear during our team talk that I was dead set against home field advantage. Currently, we sat in 3rd place in the league table. Losing any points to the 12th ranked Droylsden was unacceptable. McMillan emphasized going for the draw, but I wanted the three points. He even went so far as to call me “greedy”, but it didn't bother me. I spat back, “I might be greedy, but in competitive football, greed is good.”

Baker supported my views for victory, but he only did because he knew Fenton was already in the stands in a full lather, beers in both hands, with his full entourage in tow to boot. Knowing this made me want the win even more. Maybe another victory would shut his mouth for good.

The players knew where I stood, but when the whistle sounded, they came out flat. Three minutes in, Hines had to head the ball over the back of the net to clear away the first shot at goal.

Droylsden's warning shot woke us up. A minute later, we countered through Brawley and his defensive marker held him back, forcing the official to bring out the yellow. Hines skied the free kick, but he served notice that at least he was prepared to make a statement in today's match.

We played back and forth against Droylsden, until Goulon made the kind of linking pass I'd dreamed about him making when we'd first had the chance to make an offer to loan him. Craddock ran onto it and shot the ball near post on their keeper from an acute angle to put us up 1-0!

In the 41st minute, Hines blasted a second pile driver at goal. This time, it was from the run of play. Although closer than his last one, it was still high. His constant threat from long-range blended nicely with Craddock rooting around up front and Dale's towering presence above their defenders. It was just a matter of time.

Unfortunately, Droylsden nicked one during first half injury time. Bailey launched a high flier at the goal. It deflected off Hines' ass end and into our goal to bring their stands to life.

Inside the dressing room, I told our team, “Spartans, we're close. Bad things happen to good people. Don't sweat it. Keep up the pressure and we're going to press for the win.”

Backing that up with a substitution, Boyle came off at defense while Adrian Webster came on at midfield. Donachie slid back to right defender and Grounds slid from right defender to the left defender. Boateng moved in from left midfield to center midfield and Brawley moved from right midfield over the left midfield position. Webster filled in at for the vacant space at right midfield.

I hoped our musical chairs wouldn't cost us, but we needed a little more offensive punch.

Webster made an immediate impact, sending a long cross in toward Dale. Dale slipped it across the open face of goal to his strike partner, but Craddock pushed it left and wide of the post just two minutes into the second half.

Craddock had a second chance right after I pulled Beastall off and put Jordan Smith in the match. Webster sent a diagonal pass through Droylsden's defenders which Craddock smashed just past the top left corner of the goal. All of our visiting support gasped at how close he came, but it was still wide and we were still vulnerable to the counter attack.

Jordan Smith, determined to make a positive impression, made his own immediate impact. Four minutes after coming on, Droylsden's Stanton sent a searching cross in from the left side. Smith headed it back from where it came. Stanton gathered the loose ball at the touch line before it slid out of bounds and made a second cross. This time, it was closer to the six yard box and Crockett and Smith both reached it at the same time. Crockett collided with Smith and could only manage a glancing punch. Droylsden capitalized on the miscommunication and Stanton buried it in the net before Grounds could recover enough to stop it.

McMillan glared at me. I turned away and found Baker, who shrugged his shoulders in ambivalent nonchalance. I felt sick with my decision to make that substitution. Smith better up his game or he'd be in bigger trouble than he was after our last match.

Surrendering our goal lead with two unanswered goals and time ebbing away, I called out to move to a 4-2-4 immediately and made my final substitution, bringing Dogun on for Brawley. Boateng moved out wide again, but this time he moved to right midfield because Dogun was the new replacement in the center of the pitch.

Passing the 85th minute, my nerves got the best of me. Pacing a trail back and forth inside my technical area, I willed our team forward, mentally directing play to where I thought it should go. They failed to pick up on my vibes, but Hines gathered up a Droylsden clearance at center field and sent a first touch pass into the gap between their defenders for Craddock, who ran across his defender and onto Hines' through ball. Just before Droylsden caught Craddock from behind, he slammed it near side past the keeper to tie the match with just three minutes remaining on the clock for his 10th goal of the season.

Blyth raced to surround him in front of our visiting supporters and we were back in it.

McMillan caught my arm and suggested I drop back to a 4-4-2, now that we had the point. I considered his suggestion and looked again at Baker for a second opinion.

Baker smiled, said nothing, but buried his thumb into the palm of his other hand and rubbed it a twisting motion.

“No offense, McMillan, but we're going for two more.” McMillan spun away shaking his head.

During injury time, Craddock gathered another loose ball, this time just inside the penalty box, Mead hounding him from behind. Holding my breath, I watched him shoot just before Mead hacked him down from behind. Their keeper managed to make the save, hugging the ball tight to his chest as Dale raced in for a follow-up shot.

I screamed for a penalty of some kind as Craddock rolled around on the pitch unable to rise. The official refused to show a card or even award a penalty, but he blew signaled Kevin Smith, our physio, to come onto the pitch.

I held my breath while I waited for Kevin's positive signal.

When he shook his head and gestured for the stretcher, I spat horrible curses under my breath.

Less than a minute after resuming play, the match ended a 2-2 draw.

Leaving the pitch, Fenton's shrill voice called out, “We'll see how good you do without your Golden Child.”

Too pi**ed off to deal with Fenton immediately, I headed straight for the center official before the fourth official could react.

Give him some steel, Copper!

Good result away from home all things considered - and a fine read as always!

Next time you are playing away, get one of your players to kick the ball at him purposely

Great stuff as always.

I thought we were trying to do away with "greed is good". That's certainly what they're saying down here.

Still enjoying

Thanks gentlemen, your kind support is always appreciated.

Chapter 17

Sunday, 21 September 2008, My Office, Croft Park

Since Robin was busy baking “thank you” cookies for Neil Baker, I came to kill an hour at the office before our weekend date started.

Before I entered my office, I brushed my hand across the copper finish of my nameplate, and wished for good news regarding Craddock's injury. I also hoped for good news in my meeting with Bobby. Obviously, he wasn't happy about my latest emotional outburst, but I felt it was justified to let my team know I stuck up for them on the pitch.

Remembering the late tackle just brought back the stress from yesterday all over again. Neil Baker had reacted much faster than the fourth official and stopped me before I completed my beeline straight for him. It was a mixed blessing. Obviously, Neil had been right to stop me, just like when he stopped me from beating that supporter who accused me of buying the officials. However, I didn't want a babysitter and Bobby was well aware of my actions too.

Screw them all. I wanted to keep winning. And I wanted to do with it with all my player's healthy. Being near the top of the table, just like Rob Ridgway at Reading, was important to me. Ever since he'd come to Blyth, I competed with him, though I'd never tell that to his face. I'm a competitive person. I know he wouldn't view it as a competition, but that's because he's been a professional athlete. He's used to the attention surrounding him. I wasn't an athlete of his caliber and I'm not used to the pressures associated with this job. However, it was pressure I hoped to deal with on a regular basis in the future. That is, assuming I could survive this upcoming meeting with my job intact.

I considered that Neil's second intervention on my behalf in the past week was a sign that even though I'd been exercising in the morning as well as doing the fitness work with my team in the evening, I needed to do even more to ease the pressures I felt. I'm not cut from the same cloth as Rob. I'm even more passionate, like Roy Keane at Sunderland.

Thinking of Keane reminded me that hacking down players is not only dangerous, it's also professionally unethical. And, there's also a double standard in how Craddock's situation could be handled.

As a player, I could have paid the guy back in spades, get ejected, pay my fine, serve my suspension, and return to my place in the lineup. As a manager, my future relied upon the mercy of the officials and players. If any of them had a bad performance, they don't lose their job. I could and I didn't like it.

I clicked open Kevin Smith's email and read that Craddock had a bruised shin. I'd have to wait until Monday to find out if he healed fast and would be ready for our next match against Leigh. Wait and see. I hated that too.

Impatient and grumpy, I clicked on the Blue Square website and read our league's latest news. Our latest win moved up to fourth in the table, Craddock's two goals earned him Man-of-the-Match honors. His teammates, Hines and Goulon each picked up an assist. All told, the 'Boro Boys won the match for us. The article went on to say that even though we were in a title race early on, it was just a matter of time before we'd slip down the table.

Slip down the table? Over my dead body.

Superb stuff ... and I must say, your characterization of Copper v Rob is very good. You know my character quite well. Congratulations

Love the attitude, Copper. KUTGW

By the way, I was wondering if I could interest you in a bit of an original collaborative story effort. I'm trying to see if I can bring tenthreeleader on as well. Something similar to what you and 10-3 have done with Copper and Ridgway, but a little bit more involved. Drop me a private message with your email in it, and I'll send you mine so I can give you some more details. Even if you aren't up for it, I'd at least like to know what you think of the idea. Thanks!