Legend In My Mind

Okay, fellows, here it is ... my first attempt at a sign-up story. Details to follow:

The game is being played with CM 01-02 version 3.9.68 using the "Legends" database. I have randomly determined one team from the Premiership in that database which will be 'our' team. The rules and guidelines for participation are simple:

1) You will all be legends. The Legends Database is made up of players who made at least 100 first-team appearances for the club in question.

2) If you choose to sign up, DO NOT sign up on this thread. PM me instead, with the name you wish to use (first and last) and your preferred position, plus any SERIOUS character traits you wish to assume to 'own' the character. That is ALL you need do. I ask that you respect the mood of this story, so please, no user names.

3) I will then assign you a character from the real-life legends list on the team selected. This will provide your backstory, and I will write it for you. Therefore you will fit into the eleven. You may wind up having played for a team you hate in real life -- but, as they say, 'that's football'.

4) It is quite possible you may deduce who your character is based upon. That's part of the fun.

And one more note ... the database seems to make everyone 20 or 21 years old for the season being played. Therefore, the mood of this work should be obvious, especially for a writer in middle age.

This story will be unhurried. It is going to have backstory, and 'forestory', as the opening post will show. Enjoy, my friends.

tenthreeleader

12 Oct 2009

___

March 6, 2049

Reading, Berkshire, England

The breeze blew softly through the open window, fluttering its covering blind so it gently rattled back against the white wood frame.

“Spring is in the air,” Patty said. “Almost time to think about the garden.”

Her words seemed to float right past her husband – rare enough these days. He was intent on the television screen in front of him – wasn’t he always intent on a football match? Seeing the expression on his face, the silver-haired lady to his left simply smiled.

“So, how are they doing, Rob?” she asked.

“Hm?”

Rob Ridgway looked across the sitting room at his wife of forty years. She was patient, as always.

Her illness had taken its toll on her body, but it had taken just as great a toll on the man she loved. He seemed much more tentative these days. It hurt her to see him this way, but she understood why.

“How’s who doing?”

“Reading, you silly man. You’re still watching them, aren’t you?”

He shook his head. “They finished an hour ago,” he replied.

Patty pointed to the screen. “No, Rob, they’re still on,” she said. “It says so. They’re down four-nil.”

“Like I said, they finished an hour ago,” he grinned, a twinkle now appearing in his wizened, soft blue eyes.

“They wouldn’t be down if you were still there,” she answered, crossing behind her husband to rub his shoulders. “Do you still miss the game?”

“Well, there’s a time and place to stop doing everything,” he said softly, reaching up to touch Patty’s hand. “After you were so patient for such a long time, I thought I’d get out while we had time to travel and enjoy the kids and grandchildren.”

“Between you and me, I’m glad you did, when you did,” she said. “I haven’t regretted a thing. But sometimes I can tell you still want to be out there.”

“Not since you got sick,” he insisted. “As for the game, I’m an old man. There’s no place for me in the modern game. Back when I was in it, they still were wondering whether replay officials were a good idea. Now, look. They’ve got sensors all over the ground, they’ve got replay challenges, and now the replay official is the guy everyone hates because he looks at video and he still gets the decision wrong.”

“You’re just a curmudgeon,” Patty smiled. “And I love you for it.”

Rob turned to look over his shoulder. “The game passed me by years ago, that’s why I quit,” he said. “Turned out it was really the best decision for everyone concerned. The time I’ve spent with you has been…it’s been…”

Tears welled in the old man’s eyes, and Patty simply hugged her husband. He didn’t need to say any more. He was unable to speak.

As they spoke, the doorbell rang at the front of their Berkshire home.

“That’ll be the kids,” Patty smiled, leaving her husband’s side to open the door. The respite gave Rob time to compose himself and simply enjoy his family again.

A veritable avalanche of young people trundled, bundled and otherwise forced their way into the house and into the waiting arms of their grandparents. Their parents followed – the Ridgway children and their spouses, with the last of their progeny on crutches.

Rob rose from his chair and went to assist. A late snow flurry had made parts of the sidewalk slick with hoar frost and ice, and the elderly former manager didn’t want to see anything else happen to his only son.

“Ryan, how’s the leg?” he asked, and the younger man shook his head.

“Not so good, Dad,” he said. “I think I’m finished as a player. I don’t mind so much, though – I’ve had a good run. The docs say I’ll walk again, but as far as playing goes, I think I can forget it. But Rangers want me as a coach.”

At that, Rob’s eyes displayed a new joy. He had played for the Glasgow giants, and to hear his son might have a chance to work at Ibrox was music to his ears.

“That’s right,” Ryan said. “They want me to work with the youth setup and also help coach the defenders on the senior squad.”

Like his father, Ryan Ridgway was a tall, rangy central defender. Unlike his father, though, the younger Ridgway had made it in the English Premiership. A successful career starting at Manchester City had resulted in long stints both there and at Chelsea.

After his fall from top-flight competition, Ryan had wound up at Blackpool, fighting to regain its once-lofty status in the Premier League. But, a hideous broken leg suffered against arch-rival Preston had put paid to any hopes he had of returning to the Premiership.

“Coaching is good,” Rob said. “I’m proud of you, Ryan.”

“Coaching is good despite what it did to my father,” he replied, crutching his way into the living room. There, his mother was waiting, first with a hug and then with a soft, pillowed footrest.

“I had a good run,” Rob said defensively. “Not everything went the way I hoped it would but that’s football.”

Ryan sat, painfully raising his leg onto the cushion. “Don’t I know it,” he said. “How’d your Royals do today?”

The elder Ridgway looked at the younger and frowned. “Ugly,” he snorted. “They’ll go down for sure if they don’t figure out what’s wrong with their back line. I’ve seen more organized defending from waitresses at Hooters.”

“They have to,” Ryan laughed. “For them, it’s self-defense.”

The smile soon faded. “Dad, how are you?” he asked.

Rob Ridgway stared absently at the television screen. “I’m old,” he sighed. “I’m old and I’m tired. Now that your mother is back on her feet I can start to live again, but I’m very, very tired.”

Ryan looked at his father, who was now leaning back in his chair. Despite the noise from the grandchildren and the happy sounds of children at play, he was fast asleep.

Such a splendid start, tenthree. Excellent how you have written towards the future. I'm looking forward to this, it should be really good fun, as sign ups always are!

Thanks, Gav ... I appreciate the kind words. A note to all: I'm getting some signups but if you'd like to take part, do please get your information in as soon as possible. See the top of the thread for more details.

___

The wind blew across his face. It seemed that nothing had changed.

Rob awoke gently, to the sounds … well, to the sounds of silence.

He looked around. The kids were gone. Ryan was gone. Patty was gone. In their places, he saw mahogany paneled office walls, a set of French doors, and an attached terrace overlooking a football pitch.

“What in the hell…” Rob exclaimed, rising from his chair. He rose quickly, as his doctor had warned him never to do because of that damned trick knee – and fell face first onto the carpet. His physical strength had powered him out of the chair like a catapult. The knee was just fine.

He felt strong. He felt young.

Now, he also felt bruised. Rob regained his feet and looked around. He had no idea where he was, or why he was wherever he was. It didn’t make sense.

“Dammit, I am 77 years old,” he said, looking around to see if anyone had observed his clumsiness. Seeing no one, he decided to look around the office, and stopped near a vanity mirror placed in one corner of the room.

In fact, he stopped dead in his tracks. Rob Ridgway was definitely not 77 years old. At least, not now. He looked to be at least fifty years younger. He was the picture of health as he had been when he played for Rangers and Reading – hair styled just so, muscles firm and stomach most agreeably flat.

“This can’t be right,” he said, striding toward the French doors that led to the balcony. They obligingly swung open at his touch, seemingly sweeping him toward the pitch. He stepped out onto the veranda and suddenly, it hit him.

“I know where I am,” he said. “But why am I here?”

Rob looked around to confirm his suspicions and soon got the answer he sought.

He was in West Bridgford, in the East Midlands. He looked down at the pitch, and the rest of the City Ground seemed to look back at him approvingly. He was at the home of Nottingham Forest Football Club, and looking down at the pitch from the manager’s office.

Rob headed down a staircase to the upper concourse, gaining speed as he went. He wanted answers.

Making the final turn before reaching the players’ tunnel, he nearly ran headlong into another man heading in the opposite direction.

“Excuse me,” Rob said, reaching out to steady both himself and the other man, who was carrying a kit bag. “Clumsy of me.”

Both men did double-takes.

“Good Lord,” Rob said, his head seeming to spin as he read the name on the player’s kit bag and associated it with quite a famous face. “You’re Joe Lolley. Best striker Forest ever had.”

“That I am, gaffer,” the Englishman said, extending his hand. “Never thought I’d play for a Yank, but they say you’re the one to bring us back to where we ought to be.”

Rob shook his head. “You’re Joe Lolley,” he repeated. “But you’re dead. Years ago!”

“Obviously, I’m not,” Lolley answered. “I’m 21 years old. But I’m wondering if you can answer a question for me, Mr. Ridgway. Why am I here?”

I just started reading the story, and then stopped when I read a few paragraphs. Are there any spoilers coming up?

The only spoilers I have divulged are the existence of Ridgway children, particularly Ryan, his career, and a bit of a distant future for Rob and Patty. I reserve for myself the right to bring young Master Ridgway into the world at the appropriate time

___

Rob felt like a refugee from the movie “Field of Dreams”. One by one, players seemed to be making their way out of the cornfields – or in this part of England, out of what’s left of the legendary Sherwood Forest – to report to the ground.

They were all young. Some, Rob had played against during his career. Others, like Lolley, were dead. Or at least, they were supposed to be. The thought of managing a side of zombies didn’t seem to frighten him, as strange as it sounded. All Rob knew was that he no longer felt old.

Forest was founded in 1865, one of the oldest clubs in the birthplace of football. Thousands of players had passed through these gates, and others in stadia that had once hosted the team. Yet, the very best of them now seemed to be coming home, one at a time.

“I’m a Reading man, not a Forest man,” Rob insisted to himself, as he watched a litany of great Forest players arriving one by one. “Why am I here? Where’s Brian Clough? Was he busy this weekend? Is he managing God’s Eleven against the Minions of Satan?”

More than once, he pinched himself to see if it was all a dream. No dice. He was starting to get worried.

Where was Patty? Where was Ryan, and the kids? Why was he alone?

He stood on the concourse, looking lost and feeling more frightened by the minute.

As he looked around, a tall man approached. “Welcome to Forest,” he said, hand extended.

“Thank you,” Rob replied as the two shook hands. “I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be here, though, so if you know who it was who waved a magic wand to get me here, perhaps you could just get them to wave it again so I can go home?”

“Ah, home,” the man replied. “I’m sorry, but that’s quite impossible.”

“I don’t follow you. And I don’t recall catching your name. Are you the chairman?”

“No. We don’t have a chairman. The club is run by committee. And I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me. My name is Robert Douglas Ridgway Junior.”

Rob’s blood ran cold.

“God help me,” he moaned, beginning to cry out of sheer fright. “This can’t be happening!”

“It is happening,” said the tall young man who seemed to look more and more like his mother with each passing moment. “You just never knew me. I’m your first son – Robbie -- the one you never had. It’s nice to finally meet you, Dad.”

The blood now rushing from his head, Rob leaned against a wall for support while his son – he supposed – moved to help him. The answer now was obvious.

“Now I know why I’m here,” Rob replied. “I’m dead, aren’t I? I died in my living room chair!”

The younger Rob smiled. “No, Dad, you’re not. Believe me on that. You’re just in a special place – a place where you need to be. You need to take a deep breath. Look at yourself – you’re young, you’re vibrant and you are a leader of men.”

He would have none of it. “If I’m not dead, then where’s your mother?” Rob snapped. “Who is responsible for all this?”

“You’ve already seen people today who you know are alive,” Robbie replied patiently, evading his father’s question. “As for Mom, you’ll meet her soon enough.”

“Not good enough,” Rob answered. “Tell me what is going on here!”

Meh, I'm fine with those spoilers.

And that is a masterstroke. You are brilliant. You really are.

I've been a mentioned, brilliant start per usual 10-3.

Gentlemen, thank you for the kind words. For reasons I will explain at the appropriate time, this story is hitting me personally, and is written from the heart. I expect this to be my most enjoyable effort yet to write.

___

“Be patient, Dad,” Robbie soothed. “Just take a moment, get your feet under you, and stop to think this through.”

“You know, assuming you are who you say you are, it’s not the best way to start a relationship with your father to get him this angry,” Rob replied. Realizing he couldn’t change his situation, he then decided to explore it.

He took a long look around. The weather was warm, and the seemingly omnipresent breeze was washing against his face. It was actually a very nice day, and Rob appreciated the break from the early spring chill of Berkshire.

“All right, I’ll bite,” he finally said. “Who are all those people out there?”

Rob pointed to the pitch and quickly added to his statement. “I mean, I know who they are, but they’re all here looking a lot younger than they ought. Just look at me.”

“They’re the past of Nottingham Forest,” Robbie answered patiently. “They’re the greats of the club, and they’re here because they were meant to be here. Everything happens for a reason, Dad. You know that perfectly well.”

“Where’s Brian Clough?” Rob asked. “I mean, I’ve asked this before. If these people are legends, where’s their great manager?”

“Brian isn’t here because he wasn’t meant to be here,” Robbie said softly. “You, on the other hand, were meant to be here. So, here you are.”

“It can’t possibly be that simple!” Rob exclaimed. Then, he looked around again and took a deep breath.

“Or, maybe it can be that simple,” he mused.

From the mezzanine, he looked at a squad of players who seemed just as bewildered as he was. He turned to Robbie.

“And just what am I supposed to do with these players now?” he asked.

A twinkle appeared in the young man’s eye. “Judging from the looks of things, Dad, I’d say they’re waiting for training. You wouldn’t want the manager to be late, now, would you?”

“I’ve got so many questions,” Rob sighed. “Where’s your mother being right at the top of the list!”

“All in good time, Dad,” Robbie said. “Right now, though, your players are waiting for you. So, just for a little while, go enjoy being young again. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for Mom.”

Rob’s face twisted into a sad expression.

“She’s fine,” Robbie repeated. “Please, Dad. Go.”

10-3, this is, quite simply, superb. As always, a gripping start and one with which the mood of the story is set. Awesome!!!

Another great start Tenthree, waiting for more

Pfft, it's pish.

(Got to balance out all the praise you're getting, don't want your ego to get too big for the door )

There is a feeling to this story the grips the gut! Captivating and yet, mysterious to the start of what leads ahead. Shall be sure to follow with each new entry. This story makes one think of aging in a new light. What the future holds for Rob, does not go without concerning interest. Amazing writing. Thank you 10-3.

Thanks to everyone except Terk ... seriously, though, I appreciate all the comments so far. A note now, that I am into characterization of the FMS regulars who have signed up. You are all based on actual Forest legends, but those legends may or may not have actually behaved in the manner you see here because of the character traits you have given me. I don't want mail telling me that Nigel Clough would never have acted in a certain manner, for example -- you, the FMS signups, have determined how YOUR characters will behave. I would like to draw your attention to the legends upon which you are based, so that the younger among us may fully appreciate their accomplishments.

Another housekeeping note regarding the DB, by the way ... I have made edits to it. The beta version of the Legends database has the names of, but not appropriate ratings for, the Forest legends. The numbers for the players are those for a League One club and since Forest is in the Legends Premiership, it wouldn't do for a bunch of players who conquered Europe to be unable to beat Championship opposition. Therefore, I have altered numbers across the Premiership to make the teams compatible with each other. Full disclosure and fair warning.

___

It seemed eerily natural, somehow.

After a quick change into training gear in the manager’s office, Rob strode onto the pitch at the City Ground and got down to work.

“First off, I’ll answer the question I’m sure many of you are asking. I don’t know why you’re here,” he said. “My name is –“

“ – your name is Rob Ridgway,” a voice from the back interjected, interrupting his opening speech. “We know who you are, gaffer.”

Rob frowned. “Iain, I know who you are, too,” he said, locking eyes for the first time with fifteen-year Forest veteran Iain Bartholomew. “But, I’m talking now. That means you aren’t.”

Rob was stunned at how easily he was fitting into his role. They knew him, and he knew them. He also knew Bartholomew was one to watch for. It would be a different kind of managing with this crew, for however long he’d be wherever he was.

“I’ll just stick my nose in long enough to say I’ll be starting in your midfield,” Bartholomew cracked. At that, he took a shot to the ribs from the mercurial and talented Mark Wilson.

“Gaffer’s talking,” he said shortly. “Mind yourself. And you’ll have to come through me to play in this midfield.”

“That I will,” Bartholomew said. “That’s a promise.”

“Enough,” Rob snapped. “Both of you. We’ll have order here.” He looked at Wilson and while he appreciated the show of respect, he knew right away he’d have a decision on his hands.

Wilson had started his career at Forest but hadn’t finished it there – he had moved on to Manchester United and made one of the greatest names for himself in all of European football. That too seemed to rankle with the self-confident Bartholomew, who also hadn’t played his entire career at the City Ground.

Wilson couldn’t resist one more shot. “At least I didn’t go to bloody Derby,” he said. Bartholomew shot daggers at his rival, and Rob stepped physically between them.

“I said, enough,” he thundered, wondering if he could break up a fight between the two. “We will have order here, and I will never give that direction twice again.” He glared first at Wilson and then at Bartholomew.

“I want five laps. Both of you. Opposite directions, and if I hear so much as a peep out of either of you, I’ll see you to the door personally. Clear?”

Neither spoke, waiting for the other to speak first.

“I’m waiting, gentlemen. And I'm in a bad mood.”

“Clear, boss.” It was Wilson. Bartholomew then spoke.

“Clear,” he said.

“Good. Both of you, move.” He wasn’t used to managing like this, but then this was no ordinary group of players. They all looked to be headstrong, proud professionals. That in itself wasn't bad, but Rob thought managing relations in this group of players would be a huge headache.

The players did as instructed, and Rob then turned to the rest.

“Okay, fellows, you aren’t getting off easily either. Just because those two are running doesn’t mean you get to stand and watch them. All of you, interval sprints from the goal line. Give me the six, the eighteen, the halfway line and back. If you show you can behave yourselves, you’ll get to use footballs for the rest of training. Go.”

They did.

Can we try and guess who is who?

pfft.. Mark Wilson couldn't make a name for himself out of alphabet spaghetti

How very rude

10-3, you've captured my (and everyone else's, it would seem) attention right from the start with this excellent beginning. Best of luck, sign-ups are great fun to write.

Can we try and guess who is who?

Mine should be obvious.

I think.

You're all welcome to try to guess who your 'players' are if you wish. Mark's guess should be simple. The rest of you might have slightly more difficult tasks, but you never know in a group as savvy as this one. And again, thanks to all for the positive feedback!

__

He watched, with the practiced eye of a seasoned manager. This, despite his ‘new’ body that looked like it was 25 years old.

Rob had seen thousands of players running these kinds of interval sprints. Youth players, regulars, and full internationals, they had all done his bidding over a long and successful career in management. However, this group of players represented a different dynamic.

In all the places he’d been, he had never had to step physically between two players as he had done with Wilson and Bartholomew. As he watched the players now scrambling to obey his direction, the whole idea rankled with him.

“This doesn’t make any damn sense,” he muttered to himself. “Me chewing out these guys makes no damn sense.”

He watched the remaining players – giants all, legends of the Forest – and tried to make some judgments on character and temperament based on what he knew of their histories. Footballing ability would have to wait to be judged, and those would be the hardest decisions of all to make.

As he watched the players run, he came to a sudden realization, not the first of this momentous day.

He watched the players interact. One player seemed to have the respect of everyone in the group, and Rob noted the fact with keen interest.

The players finished their sprints, and reported to him. Not a man among them was breathing heavily, and Rob wondered why.

Wilson and Bartholomew also finished their solo running and were back in the fold. Unfortunately, neither man looked the least bit sheepish or penitent, allowing Rob to make two important judgments. They weren’t necessarily damning – but they were judgments nonetheless.

The manager looked at the group of players and wordlessly walked to a bag of footballs. He dumped them onto the ground and swept them with his foot into the group.

“All right, you lot, circles of five, let’s pass the ball around and get warm. I want to see what you’re made of.”

All, that is, except for one. “Ben, come over here for a moment, please,” he said, and a lanky central defender ran to do his bidding.

Ben Mann trotted over with a blank expression on his face. The veteran of two stints at the club had turned out 321 times for the club in ten seasons, and had been hailed as one of the best defenders in the world during the 1990 World Cup. Like everyone else, he seemed a bit befuddled by his surroundings but as long as there was a football to kick and he was in this sort of condition, he thought he might as well enjoy it.

“Boss, what can I do for you?” he asked. The two shook hands, having not met to that point.

“Ben, I’d like to ask you to help me with keeping some order in this group,” Rob said. “Your reputation is impeccable and as long as we’re all here and we’re all trying to figure out why we’re all here, we might as well try to get along. What do you say to that?”

“Makes sense to me,” he replied. “I’m not even going to ask why I’m here, because I don’t think any of us knows.”

He paused, and Rob could sense he had something else he needed to say.

“Out with it,” he said, and Mann smiled.

“Well, we’re all here wearing Forest shirts and training gear,” he said. “That means we behave like professionals. I’ll see to that with the lads if you like. When I am on this pitch there is nothing that is more important to me than this shirt and seeing it is worn with honor. Just so you know.”

Rob nodded. “Good,” he said, before dismissing the defender back to training. “We need players who think that way and I need someone to help instill that feeling for as long as we’re here. I don’t think these guys will have any problem with that, but the competition for places in whatever we’re doing is going to be absolutely fierce. You’ll need to help with the communication.”

“Done,” he said. “Anything else?”

“No,” Rob answered. “Just help where you can and get your head down in training. That’s it.”

Mann jogged back to his fellows and Rob looked on, keenly impressed.

Ooh, I think I know who I am.

Excellent stuff. Great read. KUTGW.

This is going to be some fun 10-3, the writing is easily top notch.

Thanks all ... here's my first attempt at posting a table from CM using Vista software ... yikes! But thought you'd all want to see names, positions and valuations. Swagat, don't worry about your nationality. I will explain all in the characterizations

___

************************************************************************************************
Nottingham Forest - Saturday 14th July 2001
************************************************************************************************


================================================================================================
Squad
================================================================================================

No  Name                       Position(s)  Nat  Born      Age  Caps Gls  Wages     Expires   Value
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
48  Bartholomew, Iain          AM C         SCO  16.12.80  20   5    -    £675K     12.6.07   £3.2M
12  Black, John                M RLC        ENG  25.10.80  20   26   -    £925K     13.6.02   £3.9M     
7   Cash, Johnny               M RLC        ENG  30.7.80   20   26   4    £1M       23.6.06   £4.3M     
5   Hasek, Ondrej              D RC         ENG  19.5.80   21   -    -    £600K     8.6.02    £2.1M     
16  James, Matt                F C          ENG  19.3.80   21   14   -    £925K     21.6.02   £4.7M     
19  Lolley, Joe                S C          ENG  19.9.80   20   -    -    £925K     15.6.05   £3.7M     
6   Mann, Ben                  D C          ENG  26.11.80  20   59   -    £1M       6.6.02    £6.25M    
2   Melville, Marvin           D R          ENG  28.2.80   21   -    -    £775K     23.6.03   £2.4M     
18  Pernicious, Hellabee       D/DM RL      ENG  21.2.80   21   -    -    £775K     15.6.04   £2.8M     
3   Powell, Dick               D L          ENG  24.4.80   21   78   5    £1.2M     13.6.02   £8.25M    
4   Redmond, Stuart            M C          SCO  2.1.80    21   27   1    £1M       21.6.06   £4.6M     
10  Salkeld, Martin            F C          ENG  25.8.80   20   -    -    £1.4M     26.6.04   £3.9M     
34  Scott-Lee, John            M C          ENG  6.6.80    21   -    -    £775K     22.6.04   £2.5M     
9   Simmonds, Dan              S C          ENG  15.9.80   20   -    -    £1.3M     25.6.02   £3.4M     
20  Simpson, Nick              D RC         ENG  29.8.80   20   30   2    £700K     24.6.03   £3.8M     
14  Sinha, Swagat              D C          IRL  12.10.80  20   1    -    £150K     3.6.07    £2.2M     
1   Stansfield, Adam           GK           ENG  18.9.80   20   125  -    £1.4M     22.6.02   £9.25M    
13  Taylor, Robbie             GK           WAL  16.6.80   21   8    -    £325K     25.6.04   £1.8M     
8   Wilson, Mark               AM/F C       ENG  16.6.80   21   -    -    £1.4M     3.6.06    £4.9M     
17  deBruijn, Chris            AM L         ENG  14.12.80  20   -    -    £925K     25.6.04   £2.5M     

125 caps at age 20, now that's impressive

Great story so far 10-3

125 caps at age 20, now that's impressive

Great story so far 10-3

Sure is.

I already know who my character is based upon.

I demand a pay hike!!

Oh, I know who I am now. It's not my initial guess though. :o

Thanks for the comments, everyone ... WLKRAS, it's funny you should mention that. I know you're joking, but I'm trying to work within as many of the constraints of the Legends database as I can, and one of those is the age issue. Surely the inventor didn't want to pick one single season for each legend (he's done the whole of the Football League and a lot of Europe as well) so I think to save effort he made everyone the same age. It could also be said that Rob Ridgway himself has a long managerial career to remember at the 'age' of about 25 in this db.

As for players, viper has already correctly guessed his identity by PM. Anyone else who wants a shot can PM me and take their best guess. Thanks to all for their comments! (and Swagat, see young Mr. Ridgway to discuss pay issues. I'll be happy to intervene on your behalf

___

“All right. I did what you asked. Now what do I do?”

The two Rob Ridgways, separated by years in age and by untold dimensions in physical reality, stood face to face again in the manager’s office.

“You take a look at this sheet. Here’s the list of other clubs we’re playing this season.” Robbie extended a piece of paper to his father.

Now a look of palpable disgust spread across the senior Ridgway’s face. “This season?” he spat. “You mean I’m here for a whole season?”

“You are,” Robbie said simply. “And since you don’t seem to like this perfect weather as an incentive to stay, you might as well have something else to do while you’re here.”

He again pushed a piece of paper into his father’s hands, containing the following list:

“That’s a lot,” Rob said.

“With as much time as you spent as a manager, you say a Premiership season is a lot?”

“It’s a lot when you’re 77 years old.”

“Dad, you aren’t 77 years old anymore, and you know it.”

Rob’s frustration was palpable. “I am 77 years old, Robbie,” he said. “Whatever window dressing or magic trick you’ve conjured up doesn’t change that fact. I’m an old man.”

“Then explain Joe Lolley, or Swagat Sinha,” Robbie challenged. “They’ve both been dead for years. Yet here they are, right as rain, as alive as you are.”

“I’d love to explain them!” Rob snarled, “but I can’t even explain you, because you won’t explain yourself!”

Listening through his father’s verbal blistering, the son Rob never knew remained calm and patient. “I see this type of reaction from people a lot,” he said. “I just didn’t expect to see it from you.”

“I give up,” Rob sighed. “Okay, what do I have to do? And how long before I finally learn what has happened to my wife?”

At that, Robbie Ridgway walked to the door of the office and opened it. A shockingly beautiful woman with long, flowing, curly red hair was waiting on the other side.

“Come on in, Mom,” Robbie said. She entered the room and smiled at Rob.

“Rob Ridgway, meet Patty Myers,” Robbie said. “Or rather, meet her again.”

Rob frowned at the use of his wife’s maiden name, and looked at his left hand in response. To his shock, his wedding band had disappeared.

looked at his left hand in response. To his shock, his wedding band had disappeared.

a la Sixth Sense

One of the top earners at the club, and rightly so, a man of my talents

One of the top earners at the club, and rightly so, a man of my talents

Did your agent tell you that? If so, I have a feeling he may be deluded.

I don't deal with agents, why should they get my well earned money

“But…but…we’re married!” Rob said.

“Of course,” Robbie replied. “I wouldn’t be standing here if you two had been complete strangers.”

Now Patty spoke. “Let’s back up a bit,” she said. “No one seems to have any idea why we’re here. I’d like to know that answer, and it’s not nice to hide things from your mother.”

“Now that you’re both here, I’ll explain,” Robbie said. “Please, sit down.”

He motioned to chairs around a small conference table in the manager’s office. Rob and Patty moved to the chairs and sat. Robbie stepped into the hallway and returned with a pot of tea taken from a boiler in the anteroom.

He took three cups from a service along a wall and served his parents before being seated. “All right,” he began. “This is going to be confusing.”

“It’s already confusing,” Patty said. “What happened, and why do I have all this hair? I haven’t worn it this long in years.”

“You wore it that long in the fall of 2001,” Robbie answered. “That’s where you are now.”

She said nothing, instead choosing to let the news sink in slowly.

“If only Peter McGuire could see you now,” Rob cracked, looking at her with a sly grin.

“Who?”

“You’re kidding,” Rob answered. “You don’t remember Peter McGuire?”

She looked puzzled. “Should I?”

Robbie now looked at his father. “Dad, being in this place has more advantages than you might think,” he said. “When you come here, bad things, unpleasant memories – they disappear. I know who you’re talking about, and I know what he did, since they didn’t happen to me. I also know about the letter he sent you when Mom got sick.”

“That’s disgusting,” Rob snapped. “That little bast—“

“To the last,” his son agreed. “There was a very sick man. In more ways than one.” His father’s look of unrestrained fury said all that needed to be said in reply. Old hatreds die very hard.

“So she doesn’t know him.” Rob spoke, and Patty shook her head.

“Not here,” Robbie replied. “Now how do you feel about staying for the season?”

“Not so fast,” Rob answered. “Why is it that Patty doesn’t remember that ape and I do, when it was just as unpleasant a memory for me?”

Now Robbie’s face assumed a serious expression. “Dad, you’re going to tell me you didn’t approve of how that all ended?”

Rob looked ruefully at his son. “No, I guess I’m not,” he said.

Then he looked at Patty, and thought of the illness that had ravaged her for six long and horrible months. There was no trace of it now.

Her pretty face was pink with vitality and joy. Patty’s emerald green eyes shone with happiness, and she reached for her husband’s hand.

“Rob, I know we’re not wearing wedding rings, but I want you to know I don’t want to go back. As far as I’m concerned, we can start all over again. Doesn’t that appeal to you at least a little bit?”

She squeezed his hand, and tightly interlaced their fingers.

“It appeals to me more than you could know,” he answered.

It turned out they had a place near the ground. That news was just something else that came as a surprise in a day full of them.

They walked side by side on an evening walk around their neighborhood, in silence.

“So, how old are you now?” Patty asked, by way of opening conversation.

“Here? Or where we’re supposed to be?”

“I meant here, silly,” she said, putting her arm around Rob’s waist as they walked.

“Well, it appears I’m thirty. So I didn’t lose fifty years, but I came close.”

“And I’m eternally twenty-nine,” she giggled. “Perfect for a woman.”

“I was finishing with Kate during that year, during 2001,” Rob said, ruining the mood. The resulting silence his comment generated made him desperate to change the subject.

“You know, this thing about Robbie…” he began, and Patty looked at Rob in surprise.

“What about it?” she responded, cutting off her husband, or her husband-to-be, whatever he was, in mid-thought.

“I’m not sure I buy his line about not remembering anything unpleasant when you come to this place. I remember us crying quite a bit when the miscarriage happened.”

“It’s not the miscarriage we’re remembering, Rob,” Patty answered. “It’s Rob Junior himself. I think that’s pretty pleasant, to get to see our son.” Checkmated by feminine logic, Rob moved on to another tack.

“But what about Ryan, the grandkids, and the whole family?” he said. “Where are they? Do we get to see them? How do you feel about not seeing them?”

She walked on, keeping her thoughts to herself for a time.

“The point is, it doesn’t look like we can leave here for awhile,” she said. “Which means, until we do, that we make the best of it. I have never felt better in my life, and for now I’m going to enjoy it. Don’t you want to not worry about my health for awhile? Don’t you want to enjoy me as I was?”

They reached the door of their home, and Rob unlocked the door.

“I never stopped enjoying you as you are, honey,” he said, swinging the door open to admit them. “Age doesn’t change that. Illness doesn’t change that. Time changes all of us, but there are things that never change.”

“I’ll change into my nightie and change your mind about that,” she teased, heading off to the master bedroom.

None of it made sense. He was evidently here to do a job with players who either loved or hated each other depending on their backgrounds and depending on where they played on the park. He hadn’t had time to talk with every member of his senior squad. It was a hodge-podge and the professional in him hated the very thought of a half-assed approach to management.

And he had a wife who didn’t want to leave this place. Except, he wasn’t married, at least not in the sense regular people would understand.

“My head hurts,” Rob sighed, entering the new sitting room and finding an easy chair.

Patty emerged from the master bedroom, wearing a sheer nightgown. “Oh, no, mister,” she purred. “’I have a headache’ won’t work. Not tonight.”

Waking up in this place wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Patty was curled up peacefully next to him, in the same position she had slept in through forty years of marriage. Yet today, it seemed different.

Rob watched her sleep while trying to figure out what he would do with this day. He had the option of not showing up for training, of simply denying everything that had happened yesterday, but then he wondered what would happen to him.

“They might send me away from here,” he thought to himself. “But would they send Patty? Could I bear not having her with me?”

The thoughts came back. All the bad ones. He remembered his anguish at the doctor’s prognosis for his dear wife -- a long and painful recovery if it came at all, months in bed, and a long period of regaining strength. He remembered not eating for days at a time, suffering right alongside Patty as she fought for breath and for life.

“You jerk,” he said aloud. “How can you leave her to that again? Don’t you love this woman?”

Disgusted, Rob fell back into the pillows. He understood nothing of what was happening to him, didn’t like the idea of playing out a charade with his own existence – and then he looked to his left.

She looked so peaceful. She looked happy. Last night, she had shown she was still very much in love. There was no reason to stand back any longer. His wife was young, vibrant and full of the joie de vivre that had so attracted him to her those many years ago.

Rob looked at his watch. “Two hours until training,” he mused to himself. He got out of bed, and left his bride to her sweet dreams.

Excellent. We now have Rob on board and ready to work some miracles!

Thanks, Gav ... and now, back to football ...

___

“Let’s get to it,” Rob said as he took the pitch for the second day of training. Even talking with Robbie that morning hadn’t been so bad – until his son handed him a second sheet of paper.

It contained the friendly list for Forest. It had some surprises.

“Reading?” he sighed, leaving the paper on what was evidently now his desk.

“Yes, they are on the fixture list,” Robbie replied.

“I still don’t understand –“ Rob began, but stopped in mid-sentence. “I spent so much emotional energy at that club, and you know that. If you can control why I’m here, why can’t you understand how difficult that is for me, even in a friendly?”

“It all works out for your good,” Robbie said. “And even though I know you don’t believe that now, you will see it in time. Trust me.”

“It seems I have no choice,” Rob replied, picking up his gear to run training.

This time, the work was a little more advanced. The first friendly was just two days away, with powerful Feyenoord coming to the City Ground for a test that would surely show whether these legends were really up to snuff.

Without a lot of time before the first match, or even until the start of the real games, Rob knew keeping things simple would be the best option.

As a result, he had the lads in a simple 4-4-2 alignment, with only one twist. At training, he called his two problem children to him – Wilson and Bartholomew.

“Mark, Iain, I want your attention and I want your cooperation,” Rob said. “The only wrinkle I want in this formation for Feyenoord will come from the two of you. When we have the ball, I want Mark to move to the middle and Iain to play behind the strikers. So when we’re attacking, we’re basically a 4-3-1-2. Now, I need you two to show me that not only can you handle this, you can play together as a midfield unit. If you show me that, life is going to be a lot easier around here for all of us.”

“I’ll bang a few in for you, gaffer,” Bartholomew replied. It was part of his nature. Wilson was more sedate.

“I’ll cover for his mistakes,” Wilson said, jerking a thumb at his midfield partner.

“All right, then,” Rob answered. “Let’s try it in drills today and see how it works.”

You can trust your two midfield dynamoes gaffer, and yes I'll be there to mop up any errors by Bartholomew

You can trust your two midfield dynamoes gaffer, and yes I'll be there to mop up any errors by Bartholomew

And I'll be there to mop up all of the errors by you lot. (I've not been introduced yet )

I'll be the one celebrating my goals.

I'll be stealing 'em off HD as they're about to cross the line

Sorry to ruin your fun gents but i'll be blasting them in the top corner before you even get near the ball

Hah! It's only because of people like Ben and me that you attackers are in the game.

And so, the professional Nottingham Forest squad assembles online to debate their relative merits

Also, a tip of the cap and a huge thank you to gavrenwick for today's post.

___

Rob was now working with the defenders, something he had been longing to do since the start of training. The first man he took aside for conversation was Dick Powell.

“I love how you played the game,” Rob said, before correcting himself. The man was standing in front of him, after all, and was clearly still playing the game.

“Good,” Powell answered. A man of few words, he preferred to let his play do the talking. An excellent penalty taker, his steady hand on the till was important in that regard. A superior full back, defender and later manager as well, his spot in the eleven was virtually assured. Yet, he wasn’t running this club and he knew it.

“Boss, if you’re looking for some help running the team, I have someone who could fit the bill.”

“I’d welcome that,” Rob admitted. “Who do you have in mind?”

He pointed into the stand, where a woman sat watching the drills. “My daughter, Tina,” he answered. “She assisted me when I was a manager, but I’d rather play than be in the coaching setup. And I don’t think Tina would be too happy watching, know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” Rob answered. “If it were up to me, I’d be playing too but I was never good enough to hang with players of this caliber.”

Dick Powell only smiled. “In a place like this, you never know,” he said, before excusing himself to get back to training. Rob moved down the line to another person he wanted to meet.

Swagat Sinha, born in India but raised by an Irish couple, was waiting for him. Like Lolley, he had the unfortunate handicap of being deceased, but you’d never know it from looking at him. Like all the other players, he was twenty years old and full of energy. Unlike all the others, he had a choice to make as to which country he’d represent, holding dual citizenship. He chose Ireland.

“Glad to be here,” he said, as he finally got the chance to talk with his manager.

“Glad to have you,” Rob answered, looking like he was finally starting to settle in a bit. “But be advised that I was rougher on defenders when I played because I was one, and rougher on central defenders because that’s what I was.”

“I figured,” Sinha smiled. “Everyone always thinks they’re tougher on one position than another. If you don’t mind plain speaking, Mr. Ridgway, I’ve noticed that you’re tough on everybody. That’s good, because that’s what we need. None of us ever figured on being here, least of all me, but I’m here now and that’s all that matters. You’re here to make us footballers again and don’t think for a moment we don’t realize it. We may be a bunch of egotistical, cocksure, immature little runts but we’re good players. We just need molding.”

Rob laughed. Sinha was exaggerating but had made his point.

Now the young lady was making her way to the railing in the front row of the stands, at the behest of her father.

She extended her hand and Rob greeted her.

“Tina Powell,” she said. Rob gave her a knowing expression.

“I know who you are, it’s nice to meet you,” he answered. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you up there. I’ve had some worries of my own lately but I didn’t pick out the only person seated on that side of the park. Please forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive, Rob,” she answered. “But it does look like you could use some help.”

“It does indeed,” he smiled. “Come on down and help me get these forwards situated. Good Lord, it looks like some of these guys never played together before.”

Tina looked at Rob and gave him a playful smile. She figured they would get along just fine.

Oh aye? Bit of fluff on the side already, boss?

Oh aye? Bit of fluff on the side already, boss?

No way! Love the writing, tenthree. Splendid stuff.

WLKRAS, the point of this story isn't to get Rob strangled ... besides, Cassie would be jealous!

___

“Well, what would you do?”

Rob sat with Tina in the manager’s office, trying to put together a team sheet for the first friendly against longtime Dutch power Feyenoord. Thankfully it was only a friendly, because neither one of them was in any way prepared to make value judgments on these players.

“Throw the names in a hat and draw them at random?” she suggested, drawing a smile from Rob.

“Cheeky,” he said, and the young lady laughed in response.

“Do you have a better way?”

Rob thought it through. “No, I don’t,” he finally admitted. “We’ve had three training sessions and I know a few things about this team. Not enough to decide on a starting eleven yet, though.”

“Okay, what have you seen?”

“I like the defense and I love the goalkeeping. Adam Stansfield is a beast and as good as he is, I can’t keep Robbie Taylor off the pitch either. Those two are both flat out good.”

She motioned for Rob to continue, and the gaffer did just that.

“Your dad looks like a lot of player too,” he added, to Tina’s satisfaction. “I see him starting at the left back, but Hellabee Pernicious wants to play and he can play more than one position. With a name like that, isn’t he Welsh somehow?”

“Rob.”

In the middle, Ben Mann is the heart of the defense and my decision is whether he winds up paired with Nick Simpson or someone else.”

“Ondrej Hasek looks good on the right,” Tina observed.

“That he does,” Rob agreed. “Marvin Melville is another one who might get to play there too. But George Burgess – did you hear him on the training ground today?”

“What, about how he can play all eleven positions?”

“I thought he meant at the same time,” Rob laughed. “He’s certainly confident enough to do that.”

“Midfield? What are you going to do about Bartholomew and Wilson?”

“I might well play them together,” Rob admitted. “They’ll keep each other honest. I like John Cash too, though, and it’ll be hard to keep Stuart Redmond out of the eleven. If I do, Scotsmen are going to be angry with me – how can I keep the scorer of Scotland’s most famous World Cup goal out of this team?”

“Easy,” Tina said. “If he’s not the best player, you can’t play him. And you know it.”

“Quit being so practical,” Rob replied. So far, the arrangement with his young assistant was going better than he could have hoped. “I’ve got Chris de Bruijn, John Scott-Lee and John Black all sitting there wanting time as well.”

“And the strikers?”

“Can’t put a melon between them,” Rob admitted. “They’re all good, but I don’t have a clear-cut sniper. Lolley impresses me, but he’s even more old-school than I am so I’ll have to decide on him carefully. Dan Simmonds and Matt James look good but I like the cut of Martin Salkeld’s cloth.”

“Most expensive player in England at one point,” Tina said. “Wasn’t he the first million-pound transfer?”

“That he was,” Rob said. “So he’s big-money. We’ll see how he comes through it all.”

“What else have you noticed?” Tina asked.

Rob sighed. “There’s no one in this group who’s a real dead ball specialist,” he said. “I hope that doesn’t come back to haunt us.”

Tina looked at Rob. “Well, you never know,” she said. “Maybe someone will come walking through the door.”

“In this place, you never know,” he answered. “Honestly.”

ooo my cloth is worth a million pounds is it

Keeps getting interesting

Hello, I'm Johnny Cash.