Luton Town : Staring into the Abyss

[ScottleeSV]

07/11/09, FA Cup Round 1

MK Dons v Luton Town

GK – Dean Brill (71 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Charlie Daniels (20 apps, 2 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (67 apps, 2 goals)

DC – George Pilkington (66 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (20 apps, 1 goal)

MC – Richard Owusu (32 apps, 2 goals)

MC – Keith Keane (57 apps, 6 goals)

ML – Clint Easton (2 apps, 0 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (11 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Michael Bridges (14 apps, 7 goals)

FC – James Lawrie (2 apps, 2 goals)

The match began with a passage of play that almost seemed to go by in slow motion. Bridges and Lawrie it was who kicked off, and for the entirety of the first minute we kept the ball. Then Keane took things by the scruff of the neck, sending one out wide to Taylor.

‘Go on Taylor my son! Run like the wind! Run like you’ve never run before!’

Taylor did run. He ran fast and hard and to my immense surprise the MK defence backed off to see what he would do. Adjacent to the edge of the area, Taylor swung it in low. The cross was poor but Chicksen and O’Hanlon got in each other’s way. Lawrie nipped in on the blind side and suddenly he was eight yards out with only Everet to beat. Almost in a panic at what was transpiring, Lawrie smacked it. The shot was low and thundered against the goalkeeper’s legs. Then it went up in the air and over the bar. Despite the miss, Hatters fans were going manic down the other end, singing and shouting.

The element of surprise now gone, the League One side began to assert some measure of authority. Once Keane’s corner had been easily claimed they began passing the ball around just like we had. It’s a luscious surface at the Stadium MK. It suits a passing game. Llera, to Sturm, to Wilbraham, back to Sturm, out to Lewington. Suddenly we were chasing shadows. Lewington eventually crossed one in towards Gerba. The header looked on but Pilkington got there ahead of him and now it was the home side who had a corner.

Brill thankfully got up and caught it with great confidence. As the first fifteen minutes progressed though, we slowly began to retreat further and further back towards the edge of our own penalty box. The MK Dons were spending a lot of time on the ball, patiently running us from side to side rather than go for the quick kill. I remember what they mean now when commentators bang on about lower league teams running out of energy in second periods. Chasing a football is energy sapping. James Lawrie looked tired already.

That said, a nil-nil draw for us would have been like a victory, so for as long as it remained scoreless I couldn’t complain. The Dons however were about to turn the screw. After 22 minutes Wright played a scorching Gerrard-esque ball through to Nardiello twenty five yards out and central. Nardiello flicked it to Sturm and then turned sharply to get himself into the penalty area for the return. Sturm however, spotting that his team-mate had taken two defenders with him, dribbled a couple of yards forwards and selfishly went for the shot.

It was low and accurate. It would have even gone in but for Brill diving full length to tip it around the post. Great save! The Luton fans behind the goal responded by cheering as if we’d scored. When the resulting corner came in and Diallo fired a header just over with the defence all at sea, they cheered loudly a second time. It was if every minute that passed here without MK scoring was a little mini victory to be savoured to the maximum.

More pressure was just around the corner. Four minutes later the industrious Sturm fell over Keane’s leg twenty five yards out. I thought for one horrible moment Keane might throttle him when he got back up, but he didn’t. In the Blue Square Premier I’m used to opposing players producing all kinds of rubbish from set plays. Two things usually happen; either the ball hits the wall at knee height and or it clears the stand and disrupts local traffic in the process. I suspected here we might see a third outcome.

So did Lewington. With great assurance he took a four step run-up and curled one deliciously over the leaping heads of James and Owusu. I thought for all the world it was going in the top corner. Enter Brill, saving the day again by leaping like a cat to his left hand side. How he tipped that ball onto the bar I will never know. When it came back out, Gnakpa tried to clear but mistimed it. The ball swirled upwards and over for another corner. The Luton fans cheered like crazy. Anybody listening to this outside the ground might have thought we were 3-0 up.

From the corner somebody else in white sent a header towards goal. I can’t recall who it was this time but it didn’t miss by much. After a decent enough start we were getting swamped here. We needed an outlay, a corner of our own, anything to stem the tide. Taylor was the man, I hoped. In the 29th minute Keane found some rare space in which to dribble and fed the winger with a ball he only just managed to save from going out for a throw. Then Taylor carried it down the touchline.

Bridges and Lawrie were steaming into the area but Taylor’s final ball was too close to Everett. The goalkeeper plucked it out of the air comfortably. In the circumstances, that had almost felt like a chance missed! Back came the Dons. They were visibly going for the jugular now. They might have shown us some respect in the first fifteen but since then it had been no quarter given nor asked. A hooked volley by Gerba went comfortably wide in the 35th minute before two minutes later Lewington, Wilbraham, and Llera worked some triangles down the right.

I checked my watch at this point and it was the kiss of death. Lewington’s cross was a pearl. It cut Pilkington and James in half and landed plum on the head of Nardiello. Such chances just don’t get missed at League One level. Nardiello powered a header firmly at goal and a split second later we were finally behind. They must have their nets tightly strung at Stadium MK because once in the net the ball seemed to bounce around manically, eventually rolling out as far as the six yard line.

The roar around the ground from the home supporters was deafening. Nardiello meanwhile ran away like an aeroplane to the corner flag, eventually being joined by four or five colleagues. As much as the Dons fans rubbed the goal in our noses though, the Luton fans gave it back to them just as good. When the game kicked off again all you could hear were bouncing Hatters (“Luton till I die”). Personally I crossed my arms and curled my lip. Not much I could do today really, or was there?

Minutes 40 to 45 were airy scary. Milton Keynes went hell for leather to try and get the second and they almost got it too. Wilbraham took a ball from the impressive Lewington and flicked it over Tony James like Gazza did for that goal against Scotland at Euro 96. Unlike Gazza, Wilbraham let the ball bounce before volleying it. Brill pulled off a stunning point blank save at this juncture. Whether it was intentional or not I’m sure. It kept us in the game, mind.

When the players jogged off for half time, the supporters of both sides barely seemed to notice. They were too busy heckling and goading each other and I almost felt like staying outside to see how it panned out. At least a couple of hundred at the back of the away stand were standing arms raised singing the ‘Who are ya?’ chant. I don’t know what the Dons were singing in return. It was confusing. They seemed to have two songs going on at the same time.

“Hey, are you coming or what?” Brian asked. “We’ve got work to do”.

“Yeah” I said, snapping out of it. “Damn right we do. Damn right”.

[ScottleeSV]

“To finish off, I’d just like to say one thing. A wise man once said – ‘seek and he shall receive’. Now get out there and receive. I mean seek. Go go go!”

Out they went, hopefully inspired by my team talk. I told them far more than just the above of course. I’ve only quoted the end part of what I said there. Anyway, it was the MK Dons who began the half doing all the seeking. Straight after kicking off they bulldozed their way down the pitch and once again forced Brill into an unorthodox point blank save. I barely reached the dugout in time to see it happen! All I saw was Gerba hammer it against Brill’s shoulder and away.

Thankfully we got the ball down and played some football after that. It wasn’t exactly penetrating play leading to a spate of glorious opportunities, but it did at least stem the tide. Too often in the first half we’d just lumped it forward to nobody in particular. The one time we had tried to pass it around sensibly, in the first minute of the game, we’d created the chance that Lawrie had missed. I hoped if we could conjure a second one we’d take it.

In the 53rd minute something happened. Gnakpa crossed one in which was headed away comfortably by O’Hanlon. The ball fell to Keane and he went for the pile-driver. It wasn’t a bad try but flew a good couple of yards over. To the Luton fans however it was effort worthy of at least ten more minutes of non-stop singing. Shame we didn’t create anything further in those ten minutes, but hey, baby steps etc.

I guess the Dons felt relatively comfortable by this stage. I say that because they were just coasting along now, content to pass it around rather than go for the clincher. That suited me fine. If they actually tried to score at any point, I fancied they would. After an hour I began to warm the subs up. The last thing I wanted to hear on Match of the Day later was Motty banging on about how the little non-leaguers were starting to tire.

Lawrie was the first to make way. He looked exhausted, and his fragile confidence had taken a big knock with that missed chance early on. Will Buckley came on in his place to partner Bridges. As we adjusted to the change, the home side mounted a foray down the right. Llera fed Wilbraham on the touchline. Then when Wilbraham’s ball looked like it might fall short of Lewington, the guy headed it at almost knee height to ensure it went back to Wilbraham again in a more advanced position.

Things were just starting to look dicey when good old Keano decided these fancy dans needed one up the arse. In he went, studs showing. Poor Wilbraham almost flew over the advertising hoardings. Cue scuffles and a sharp increase in volume around the ground. I was convinced the red was coming out but Keane escaped with a yellow. Much to the chagrin of the home bench, Wright was also booked for giving Keane some of his worldly advice.

Sadly for us, the incident only served to release the bees from the hive. The MK Dons now poured forward with scorn written all over their faces. Berba linked with Lewington in a move which left Owusu on the deck kicking a leg out in thin air. Then Berba tried to slide one into Nardiello on the edge of the area. The striker would have received the ball (and probably had a chance to score) but for Pilkington shoulder charging him to the ground. Well okay, he pushed him to the ground. Out came the yellow again. Any more of this and we’d seriously have to think about warming that bath tub up.

Slightly in a panic I sent Hogarth on for Pilko. I didn’t much fancy having my best centre back try to see the rest of this one out on a yellow. The next piece of action though took place down the other end. Gnakpa went on a dribble inside the opposing half, keeping the ball on his right foot the whole time. Then he swirled a diagonal pass in the direction of Bridges, just inside the area and doing his best to look available. Bridges took the ball on his chest and half-volleyed towards the opposite corner. Keeper beaten but inches wide.

Before I knew it we were into the final fifteen minutes. It’s amazing how quick a match can drift by when you’re behind. I’ll tell you something though; we were NOT tiring. Continually we tracked back and made tackles. Continually we passed it around confidently when we had the ball. Continually we tried to look for openings, even when they didn’t pay off. The MK fans looked nervous. The Luton fans, like the players, were giving it everything they had.

78 minutes, and damn that Llera! You couldn’t but admire the way he left Easton for dead on the halfway line, but boy was it frustrating. The resulting pass went out to Lewington and this time Keane was too far away to do his Cantona impression. Lewington was then blocked by a game Charlie Daniels so laid it back to Chicksen, game enough to cross one in. James was caught in no-man’s land here, presenting Nardiello with the chance to wrap things up.

The ball was practically on the deck so he tried to side-foot it home. Only Brill somehow saved it. Out the ball went to Sturm. 2-0? No. Brill saved that one too, tipping it over the bar for a corner. Remarkable. As the frenetic final ten minutes arrived on our doorstep, I waved everyone forwards and told them to just go for it. You’d think that would have resulted in end to end action at the very least, wouldn’t you? As it was, many minutes suddenly flew by without a lot happening.

Our one last golden moment, if it was to be golden, came with three minutes left. Our first corner of the second half was headed away by O’Hanlon only as far as Owusu. The youngster sprayed it out to Daniels who immediately crossed it in. Keane of all people got his forehead on the ball but under pressure from the defence could only head it a yard wide. In agony I did a kind of Martin O’Neill on the touchline, shaping to celebrate only to then retract in embarrassment.

In injury time we almost set up a similar opening, only this time Franchise FC broke away up the pitch. It was four on two here but from the resulting lay-off, Berba’s shot was pawed away by Brill and out for a throw-in. It was starting to look bleak now, but boy had Dean Brill had a storming game! Sixty seconds later, and to deafening whistles around the ground, the referee blew his mouthpiece to call time on our FA Cup participation for another season.

Despite the loss, the orange shirted Lutonites all went over to receive the adulation of the visiting fans. So did Brian and I actually. It just felt like one of those moments.

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FINAL SCORE (Att - 13075)

MK Dons 1 (Nardiello 37)

Luton Town 0

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[michael62]

unlucky you certain seem to of caught the feeling between the fans who really don't like each other we have started already building for next season keano and pilko were out of contract this summer but they have both signed 2 year contract which is fantastic news seeing as they were are top 2 players last year and both could probley play in the championship we also brought in a rightback and striker from cambridge a goalkeeper from nots county as to challenge are number 1 tyler we signed adam dury from stevenege who rejected their new contract in favoir of dropping down to play for us !!!

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks Michael. Pilkington and Keane are certainly two important players for me, even if I don't always play Keane

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07/11/09 - The 2nd annual Martin/Fox/Simmons FA Cup chillout party

This year’s occasion promised to be much better than the last. Last year Match of the Day only showed a ten second clip of our 0-0 draw against Northampton in the goals roundup. This year we had a full highlights package of roughly fifteen minutes. Last year we didn’t have our very own Football Focus feature to watch as a companion piece. This year we did. Last year we had Dave Wheelie with us. This year we didn’t. All in all, everything was better.

Brian and Darren arrived one after the other between 9 and 9.30pm. Darren had with him a DVD copy of the Football Focus preview. I’d been dying to watch it all evening (it was available online) but promised to wait for the others. As soon as we were all plonked down in front of the settee with a beer apiece and Bambi walked for the night, I stuck it on.

In hindsight I’m still not sure whether I was disappointed by what I saw or highly amused. The feature focused on the MK Dons to begin with. When it was our turn, the first few bars of Bus Stop’s Kung Fu Fighting began to play in the background. At first the reason for this was unclear. Then Garth Crooks explained about all the controversy surrounding my joint press conference with Artur Zhirkov in the previous round. I should have guessed really.

No video footage was taken that fateful day in the Kenilworth Road pressroom but there were loads of photographs in existence. In Garth’s piece, some of these stills were put up on screen at the same time Bus Stop were doing their thing. Nearly all of them showed either me in the process of executing a shove, or Artur doing likewise. Between stills there were fragmented clips of various Luton fans being harassed by Garth in the streets of Milton Keynes.

“Admittedly he can be a bit temperamental at times” said one. “At least we’ve got a manager with passion though”.

‘Everybody was kung fu fighting! Those cats were fast as lightning!’

“To be honest I don’t really care what he gets up to with the press” spoke another. “As long as we keep getting results on the pitch, let him do what he wants”.

‘In fact it was a little bit frightening! But they fought with expert timing!’

“Fair play to him. That Wingate guy came across like a bit of a clown to be honest”.

‘One two, do the kung fu! Three four, on the dancefloor’

Brian and Darren of course were in absolute stitches throughout all this. By the time the feature was over I was left in doubt that come Monday morning, at least one person (and my money was on Nicky here) would think it funny to sing that wretched Kung Fu song in my ear hole.

“Right then, time for Match of the Day” I said, pulling Darren’s disc from the player.

If there were one constant from last year, it was the zero next to the name Luton Town. As the famous theme tune played out and Gary Lineker introduced Workington and Exeter as the first game on, I stifled a shudder and reminded myself we’d played well and that nobody was going to think we’d disgraced ourselves. I just wished the game had swung our way.

---------------

“James Martin was only seven years old the last time Luton played in a Wembley cup final,” claimed John Motson, as the formations graphics for our match finally went up on screen. “Of course he’ll be hoping to change that next May when the showpiece occasion for this season comes around”.

“Yeah because we were really going to make the final, weren’t we Motty?” I protested out loud. “Prat”.

Absorbing mild chuckles from the other two, I sunk my teeth into a slice of Meat Feast pizza. The other two were also busy in various states of devouring. Bambi meanwhile, despite having already been fed for the evening, stood facing us on the edge of the Indian rug with an innocent save-some-for-me kind of a look.

“And straight away there’s space here for Taylor......Oh! And a mix-up there, and..... James Lawrie! Where did he come from?! Almost the perfect start for Luton Town!”

It’s a double edged sword getting Motto as your commentator. As much as everybody including me loves the way he gets so excitable, he does tend to over romanticise the underdog. Listening to the way be babbled on throughout the first half, you’d think Luton Town were a Wingate and Finchley who’d never seen the inside of a football league ground before. The second period wasn’t much better either.

“Lewington.... to Wilbraham. Oh!.... My word, that’s a shocking challenge. Keith Keane going in almost caveman style there. That was ugly, and the referee’s got a job on his hands here. The Dons players are not happy. I think we could see a red card here!...... As you can see on that replay, Keane lunging in....... It was practically kung fu fighting wasn’t it? haha. If you didn’t see Football Focus today, just ignore me...... And the card comes out and it’s yellow. Lucky boy”.

If Motto’s attempt at cracking a funny wasn’t bad enough, his inadvertent advertising of our first choice goalkeeper didn’t impress me either.

“There’s space to cross here...... and, oh!.... Brill saves from Nardiello!...Out to Sturm....Fantastic save again! Absolutely world class double save! Dean Brill certainly kept his side in the game there! Football league scouts take note!”

And of course, I just knew this would be in there, even though it totally wasn’t warranted...

“Berba brings it away for the Mk Dons! The non-leaguers definitely starting to tire now!”

Oh puh-lease! We're a full time club!

---------------

After it was over and the pizza had been eaten, the beer consumed, and Bambi set loose on the scraps, I stood up and made a suggestion.

"Let's go clubbing. Just us guys. It feels like that kind of night".

"Really?" Darren grinned.

"Yeah. Let's do it, even if it's just for an hour. You too Brian".

"Now hang on. I haven't been to a nightclub in a long long....."

Before he could finish Darren and I grabbed an arm each and hauled him to his feet. Then I turned the TV off and gestured for Bambi to get in her dog basket.

"It's only once, Brian. Call it our new way of ending our annual FA Cup hour of mourning. I mean let's be honest, you both know we're going to be having this occasion every single season for as long as I'm manager. It's set in stone now. It's just something that has to be done".

"The occasion needs a better name that then" Brian commented, checking out his waistline in my front room mirror.

"The Annual Martin Fox Simmons FA Cup Chillout Party" Darren suggested.

"Yeah that'll do" I replied. "Who knows? Maybe one of these days we'll ruin it by winning the damn thing".

In my heart of hearts though, I doubted it.

[The_shocker7]

top class scottlee, ive read the whole story over a week of stolen minutes at work - really enjoyed it.

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks Shocker. I often read FMS stories at work too. Naughty but addictive.

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09/11/09 - Monday mulling

Today I was informed of our next Live Bunny opponents. We’ve been paired with Stevenage. The game will take place at Kenilworth Road on Tuesday December 1st. As this is already the last 16 round I suppose we might as well try and win the competition now. I’m just about old enough to remember 1990 and the season Alex Ferguson saved himself from the sack by winning the FA Cup. If come May I haven’t got Luton promoted, I might wish I’d done well in things like The Live Bunny Cup and The FA Trophy. The latter by the way starts for us in December. It's a busy time for cups.

I didn’t share these thoughts with Brenda as we sat having lunch together. Like the other ladies around the office she only has a minimal interest in football. I do though like to make a point of spending time with her, even when it’s not work related. Brenda is my personal secretary. Without going into overload on the details, that makes her from a professional standpoint one of the closest people to me at the club. She’s right up there with Brian on that score.

“Guess what I did yesterday?” she asked, wrestling me away from my thoughts.

“Go on”.

“I booked a holiday for me, Rory, and that friend of his. We’re going to Egypt for ten nights in January”.

“Nice! I’ve never been to Egypt”.

‘More lavishness from Brenda. Caroline’s going to have steam coming out of her ears when she finds out about this’.

“Maybe you could find some way to tell Caroline for me that won’t make her jealous?” Brenda suggested.

This took me completely by surprise. In fact I almost slurped coffee onto the canteen table!

“I’m not blind to how frustrated she is about her pay” my secretary continued. “I overhear things, and I’m a good reader of body language. It comes with age”.

“It’s not you she’s annoyed at” I said, steadying myself. “It’s the bean counters upstairs she’s annoyed with. You just happen to be the one person out of all of us who seems to be splashing out on stuff at the moment. Naturally she’s a bit envious. Can’t blame her really. I’d probably be the same in her shoes. It’s not you though. Just remember that”.

Brenda looked at me carefully and smiled. Then she took a sip of her latte, all the while keeping her eyes on mine. She wears a lot of necklaces does Brenda and often they swing ever so subtly from side to side, even when she’s still. There must be about ten or twelve of them in total and they all look different in colour and texture, as if Brenda maybe bought them from different countries back in a past life she did lots of travelling in. That’s not to say she’s the wandering type or anything, or even one of those English citizens with foreign roots. Brenda is 100% Lancastrian and proud of it.

“As it happens here’s a very simple reason why I’ve suddenly got more money to spend”.

“You don’t have to justify your.....”

“I took a loan out” she interruped. “It was during the summer. I’m not a well-off woman but I stand to inherit a fair bit of money from my mother sometime over the next year or two. She’s not dead by the way; she’s in a care home and she’s doing okay. In her wisdom however she’s starting the ball rolling to pass certain things on to me and my sister. My sister lives up in Chorley”.

“So why take a loan out if you’ve got inheritance money coming?”

“Well, because it might not come to me and my sister for a while just yet. The legal cogs they tick slowly, especially when the givers are care home residents with questionable sanities. At my age though, and with Rory getting towards that awkward secondary school phase, I wanted us to live a bit more freely than we had been doing. The loan I’ve taken out is big, and it has a big interest rate too, but with my mother’s money on the horizon I feel safe that I can afford to spend big in the present. Hence the new house, and now this amazing holiday”.

“Fair enough” I told her. “And don’t worry about Caroline. I’ll be careful to keep an eye on....”

For the second time in five minutes I was cut off, this time by Caroline herself. She and Nicky burst into the canteen with very excited looks on their faces.

“Hey James” said Caroline, as the pair of them came to join us. They didn’t sit down though they remained standing. “You’ll never guess what?”

“You’re going to Egypt in January for ten days?”

Open-mouthed (and unimpressed), Brenda twisted her head to face the window.

“Errrr no” Caroline replied. “I am going somewhere though. I’m going to the Luton Goth Festival! It’s a brand new festival that’s only just starting. The first one is next August. Apparently it’s going to be as big as the Leeds and Reading festivals only this Luton one is for gothic themed bands ONLY. How cool is that?”

“That’s very cool” I lied. “Any bands I’ve heard of?”

“Well” she began, counting on her hand. “Blood’n’Vile are doing a set. Errr, The Midnight Butchers. Errr, Pig Venom are going to be there. Oh! And Zombie Orgy are headlining. How cool is that? I’ve always wanted to see Zombie Orgy live. They’ve already confirmed on their website they're going to be including The Luton Goth Festival as part of their world tour next year!”

“A band like that has got a world tour? Where else are they going?”

“All over the place. Majorca, Ibiza, Inverness....”

“Okay I get the picture”.

Her excitement barely containable, Caroline circled around the back of me and shook both my shoulders.

“James it’s going to be great! Oh, and Nicky’s coming too”.

Now it was Brenda’s turn to almost slurp her drink over the table. Thankfully, at the time, my own drink had been nowhere near my mouth.

“You’re kidding me?” I responded. Nicky’s huge grin though already had the answer firmly plastered all over it. “Nicky you do realise what these festivals involve, right? It’s not like a Boyzone concert. This isn’t going to be rows of teenyboppers all swaying lighters from side to side. These festival things are utter madness. You’re going to get drenched in mud from head to toe, for a start. You complain if you so much as break a nail!”

“I’m fully prepared for what’s involved thank you very much. Caroline’s been filling me in. Besides, I like doing different things and I also like a challenge. And I’m also not some kind of wuss like you think I am”.

Now it was her turn to circle around and violently shake my shoulders. When she was done though, it didn’t stop me playing preacher.

“Nicky, there are thieves at these festivals! And it rains all the time. You have to actually sleep in rain and mud by all accounts. Oh, and they never have toilets. How are you going to cope with that?”

“La-la-la-la” she began, putting her fingers in her eyes. Then she skipped out of the room like a dancing leprachaun. “La-la-la-la-la-la”.

“I give up. Caroline, watch out for her when you’re there for crying out loud. This thing is next August you say?”

“Yeah, and a good job it is too. It’s £280 a ticket. It’s going to take me that long just to save up”.

With that she followed Nicky out of the room, leaving me and Brenda to exchange knowing looks with each other.

"Don’t worry, Brenda. If she doesn’t manage to save it up I’ll get her a ticket myself. I'm not getting one for Nicky though. That would be assisted suicide, and I'm just not going down for it".

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IMPORTANT NOTE - updates will sadly be sporadic over the next month. I've got my stag weekend this Fri and Sat, my wedding next Friday, and then I'm jetting off to Auz on Monday 21st June. I return on July 10th. They'll be maybe two or three more updates next week and then a complete three week lay-off after that

[ScottleeSV]

10/11/09 - Visit from an upper

I didn’t quite make it into work the following day. The moment I stepped out of my car I came face to face with a man I recognised as Paul Leonard, one of the club directors. I’d only ever seen him twice before. The first was when I’d been called into a board meeting to discuss The Royal Hotel scandal. The second was when I’d seen him with Erica outside Morrisons.

“Paul Leonard isn’t it?” I enquired, closing my driver’s side door.

“That’s right” he replied. He was stood leaning against his own car, a huge grey Vauxhall.

Before I could say anything else I was distracted by the sight of Caroline emerging from the main building. She had cigarettes in hand and was obviously coming out for a smoke break.

“What can I do for you today?” I asked, turning my head back to Paul.

“I thought we’d spend a bit of time getting to know each other better, that and I’ve got something to show you”.

“What?”

“I’ll keep that a secret for now, James. I need visual aids and they’re not here. Leave your car where it is though. We’ll use my petrol supply”.

“Okay fine”.

The grey suited director beeped open his car locks and made to get inside. I meanwhile detoured around to the opposite side to get in through the passenger door. As I was doing this, I heard scurrying footsteps approach me from behind. Caroline evidently had something to say.

“James, are you not coming in?”

“No. This guy is one of the directors. He wants to spend a bit of time with me. I might not be in at all today if this takes a while. It’s already past 2pm isn’t it?”

“Aw but I’ve been waiting for you to turn up all morning! Darren keeps making jokes about that goth festival. He’d tone it down if you were there”.

“Just take it on the chin. You know what he’s like”.

Blowing unwanted second hand smoke just past my ear, Caroline let her shoulders slump. She looked a bit red around the eyes today. I wondered if maybe she’d had a late night, and that the after effects were contributing to her increased irritation at Darren’s jokes. Darren might be a terror when it comes to leg-pulling and ribbing but he’s not so bad you ever feel genuinely peeved about it.

“Look” I said, conscious I was keeping Paul waiting. “If it cheers you up, just remember how much I’m relying on you today”.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, unofficially, and strictly between me and you, who is it you think I consider to be in charge when I’m away?”

“Brenda?” she asked incredulously.

“No, you! Brenda’s a good secretary but she’s no leader. Darren’s too immature and Nicky’s too Nicky. No, you’re the one I trust to hold the fort whenever I’m away”.

“I don’t believe you”.

“No, it’s true! Look, who’s the only one of you guys who has a university qualification? You! That counts for a lot. To tell you the truth, I saw your leadership qualities shine through that time you coordinated the Deathmatch scam over those headphone thingamabobs”.

“I suppose. Well, I never really thought.....”

“No, because you’re modest, another good leadership trait. Listen, I’ve got to go. Hold the fort whilst I’m away though. You don’t have to actually do anything. In fact it’s definitely better if you don’t. Just.... keep an eye on things for me okay?”

“Yeah okay, I definitely will!”

A renewed optimism now very evident in Caroline’s voice, I let her be and ducked down into the car. Then we left her in our wake. One hot minute later and Kenilworth Road was in our wake too. Paul is quite the speedy driver.

“You’re not taking me to the Jobcentre are you, Paul?”

“No no” he laughed. “Not after just one defeat in however many league games it is. You’re not doing badly now that tricky hiding-to-nothing first season is over, not bad at all. There are still one or two doubters in the boardroom but the majority are happy with what you’re doing. That game against the MK Dons was very impressive, very impressive indeed. We looked a good side on the TV”.

“Well, it wasn’t a bad effort” I said modestly. “Can I ask you an unrelated question?”

“Fire away”.

“Are you friends with Erica? It’s just I saw you both in the Morrisons car park the other week”.

That seemed a good way to phrase it. I was hardly going to ask them if they were lovers, was I? Anyway, Paul flashed me a brief sideways glance and then answered the question perfectly coolly.

“Yes, we’re friends. We live together too. We’ve got a lot in common when it comes to our professional interests. Where we live often feels more like a base for our operations than an actual home”.

Another sideways glance, and this times our eyes met for the briefest of moments.

“We’re not a couple, if that’s what you’re thinking. We were briefly involved a short while back but it never led anywhere serious. We’re too career-focused at the moment. Besides, there’s not much long term sense in a twenty five year old woman dating a fifty something. It’s not what she wants and neither do I. And that’s all I’ve got to say on the subject really”.

There were two small pictures on the dashboard, one of an adult girl and the other of a teenage boy. I could only surmise from this Paul had once been married and the two persons in the photographs were the end result. I presumed the marriage was over anyway.

As for the idea that Erica and Paul once had a fling, it wasn’t so much the age gap factor in this situation that got me thinking. No, it was more the notion Erica Hunt had actually definitely once been intimate with another human being. Personally I’ve only ever seen her in ice cold bitch mode, so her being loving and affectionate is hard for me to imagine. Or maybe she’s just one of those brutishly dominant characters who makes love without any trace of a smile? I don’t know. Why I’m even thinking about it is also a mystery.

Conversation became scarce once I realised Paul was taking us out of Luton. At this point I stopped thinking about Erica and returned my attention to where we were going. What could he possibly want to show me that was outside of the city limits, as it were?

“We’re not getting a new stadium are we?”

“No”.

“Training facilities then? You’re taking me to see some prospective new training facilities?”

“No. It’s nothing to do with Luton Football Club”.

Now something about that sounded rather ominous to me, and for the first time since getting in the car I felt a little nervous.

‘Not a warehouse. Please not a warehouse. Anywhere but a warehouse’.

[salkster2102]

Great story as always mate. Good luck with the wedding

[mametz1536]

Fantastic Story - good luck with the wedding - i'll be waiting for your return:thup:.

[shaggy61]

good luck with both things stag do and wedding mate, it';ll be great!! On a slight technicality our last Wembley cup final pre 2009. Was 1989 Littlewoods cup (against Forest lost 3-1). If you were 29 in when game started in 2008, 19 years later, you'd have been 10 or 9 at worse:).

Keep going with this mate, when the awards come you can count on a vote here:)

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks a lot guys. It's a landmark week in my life for sure.

Shaggy, you've exposed another poor piece of research on my part. However, I will leave it unedited. I think I'll simply put the blame on Motty getting old and a bit lost with his facts. The James Martin character often gets treated lazily by the various media after all. It's probably typical they'd get his age wrong

-------------------------------------------------------------------

10/11/09 - Visit from an upper (part 2)

Ten minutes later Paul pulled into a lay-by. We were on a motorway in the middle of nowhere by this point (which one I have no idea), so what he wanted to show me God only knew. Without saying a word he turned the engine off and got out of the vehicle. Feeling more than a little apprehensive I did the same. Then Paul walked away from the heavy traffic into the nearest field.

“Wait. Where are we going?” I asked, pausing at the field’s edge. “I hope there isn’t a hole out there you’ve dug for me or something. Sorry to ask but I really don’t know you very well”.

“You’ve seen too many movies” Paul called back, refusing to break stride. “Relax. What we’ve come to see is just over that ridge there”.

There wasn’t actually a ridge, just to be technical about it. The field simply sloped upwards towards a blue horizon. I guessed there was probably a dip just beyond the field and then maybe more rural land. Swallowing my worst fears I jogged to catch up with Paul and re-took my place by his side. Eventually we reached the field’s highest point. From here we walked on just a few more yards and then halted. Below us was a slope going down maybe fifty yards and at the bottom the beginnings of more fields. They weren’t empty like the one we’d crossed to get here though.

“What’s this?” I enquired, now in a position to see for about half a mile in three different directions.

“Looming trouble” was the answer.

I could be here all day describing the scene. Whatever it was it was some kind of land redevelopment project. There were bulldozers, men in hard hats, port-a-cabins, ringed areas filled with soil, cranes, foundation works, skeletal buildings half finished, not to mention the beginnings of what was clearly an access road being put together leading to the motorway.

“Seriously, what is it?”

“If you read the local papers you’d already know” Paul replied, sitting himself down on the grass. “You’re looking at the work in progress of one of the most ambitious land development projects Bedfordshire has ever seen. More crucially, when it’s finally finished, it will also be the home of Luton Lightning Football Club”.

Remaining silent for now, despite the obvious temptation to ask him if he was kidding, I sat down and chose the cross-legged position. I also pulled a couple of grass blades out and began to fiddle with them in my hands.

“Don’t worry they’re not a replacement for our Luton” my tour guide continued. “Luton Lightning is to be a brand new club, based here on the town outskirts. They’re building a new stadium from scratch. It won’t be old hat like Kenilworth Road either. It’s going to be a 6000 all-seater, slightly smaller than ours then but a lot more modern in its conception”.

“I don’t get it” I said. “Why would anyone start a second club in Luton? There’s hardly room for one. Where on earth are they going to get the support from? I can’t see any of our own fans defecting, even now we’re Conference. As for any people who don’t already follow our Luton, why would they go and watch the new one? It doesn’t make any sense”.

“Hold your horses. There’s more to this site than you know. It’s not just going to house the new football club. It’s going to have a shopping complex, a cinema, a leisure centre, nightclubs, bars, even a casino; all packed into one tightly compact futuristic little area. Our Luton might have the history and the ready-made fan base but this one will have bright lights and all the trimmings. The new football club might not pull in the same crowds that we get, but they will most likely pull in enough to give them a start”.

“Even so, a new club has to start at the bottom of the pyramid, right? Even if they’re successful, and even if they do lure a few fans through the gates, it’ll take years and years for them to get as high as where we’re at. Even if they achieved multiple back-to-back promotions, by the time they got to the Conference the likes of me and you might not even be at Luton Town. The club might not even be non-league by then”.

“More than likely you’re right, on both counts. However they’re not starting at the bottom they’re starting – next season - in the Ryman North. That’s just three divisions below us. It’s not a million miles away”.

Ripping some grass apart, I looked down at the many different building sites and fixated my eyes on a builder with a large girth. There was a tap sticking out of the ground and the bloke, using only his foot, was idly trying to spin it around in the direction of a paper cup. So far he was failing. Two of his mates were sat nearby having a smoke and watching with interest. It must have been break time.

“Who is it who’s behind this new Lightning club?” I queried.

“Oh, just a group of unrelated businessmen, same as what we have in our own boardroom. Me and Erica have been secretly working together to try and find out more about them. It’s become something of a pet project for us both”.

“And there was me thinking Erica was just an accountant. Now she’s turning business super spy too!"

“Erica might not be the club accountant much longer, and I tell you this because I know you two have never really hit it off. Erica’s ambitious. She wants a place on the board”.

“Will she get it?”

“More than likely she will, yes. Her favour with the board grows by the month. I’m her only what you would call personal friend, but the others are still impressed by her never the less. She’s very good at what she does. The fact she’s blonde and beautiful doesn’t harm her standing either. Even if she doesn’t get voted onto the board in the near future, she’ll just as easily buy her way on. She's been squirreling away the majority of her salary each month for just such an eventuality”.

‘I bet she gets paid a small fortune too’ I thought to myself. ‘More than even I get probably’.

I hadn’t yet decided what was more potentially dangerous; the prospect of a new club in the town fighting over our fan resources, or the likelihood Erica the accountant could soon become Erica the director. Down at the building site meanwhile, the builder with the large girth had finally managed to twist the tap around so it was hovering over the cup. Hey presto he now had water.

“Bite to eat?” I suggested, spotting a burger van close to where the access road was being built.

“Sure. Can do”.

Together we got up and scrambled down the slope. Paul didn’t seem to mind the risk of his nice grey suit getting mucky. Then again he is a director. He’s probably got fifty of the damn things; all lined up a posh oak wardrobe like that Ray Liotta character in Goodfellas.

“Just out of curiosity, what does Dragomir Dilic think of Erica?” I posed as we walked. “He’s the only other director I really know”.

“The final answer to that question will probably depend on whether Erica ends up joining Dilic on the board, or replacing him. He’s not flavour of the month right now”.

And there was me thinking the day couldn’t possibly get any more interesting!

[Elrithral]

This continues to impress, Scott. Good luck and best wishes for your wedding.

[ScottleeSV]

Cheers Elithral, on both counts.

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10/11/09 - Visit from an upper (part 3)

“Why’s he not flavour of the month?”

“Because he’s not putting enough money into the club. Don’t get me wrong, he puts in as much as everybody else, but that isn’t a lot. None of us are particularly rich investors. You probably realised that already in light of how your budgets are constantly being reigned in. When Dilic came in eighteen months or so ago he was meant to be our trump card in the reinvestment stakes, the team’s star signing if you will. It hasn’t worked out that way though.

I bobbed my head in acknowledgment, listening avidly. Paul cocked his head to check that was the case and then continued.

“Dilic was the last of us to join the new board. In truth we only let him join at all because of his reported wealth. If he'd been just another bog standard investor like the rest of us we probably wouldn’t have let him in. After all, why get into bed with an unknown foreigner if he’s not bringing anything special to the table? You might as well go with Joe Bloggs down the street, or dare I say it an Erica Hunt, someone with savvy at least if not a lot of the greens”.

“Yeah, makes sense”.

“One of the chief reasons we allowed Dilic to do that whole big boss man charade last season was because at the time we still believed he was the financial top dog, the boardroom’s alpha male. When he said running the club through fear would whip everybody back into shape following the minus thirty, we were only too happy to go along with it. Yes the rest of us enjoyed our anonymity - sure there were other factors. On the whole though, we let him do things his way because we believed his contributions to the club pot would increase over time. They haven’t”.

“What excuse has he given for not putting the extra money in?”

“Oh. Well, he tells us his main money is tied up in Serbia, and that he's under investigation in his home country, and that his old club still owes him money, and so on and so on. It would take me all day to reel off the entire list of excuses”.

“Is he telling the truth?”

“Whether he is or he isn’t the end result is still the same. Luton’s budget is on the trim and ultimately we’re trying to get back into the football league on the cheap”.

We’d reached the burger van now. I got my wallet out whilst I checking the menu but Paul put his hand on mine and gestured I put it (the wallet) away again. On first impressions he’s a generous man is Paul. I was starting to really warm to him by this point, even if the tidings he bore were mostly rather cold.

“Of all the current directors, I’m probably the most nervous when it comes to the subject of Dilic’s involvement in the club” Paul began after ordering a hotdog for himself and a burger for me. “I was the one who sought him out. I was the one who suggested him to the others. That’s my speciality, finding people. Most of the directors bring their own little skill set to the table. My skill is contacts. You probably already know what Dilic’s is”.

“Muscle?”

“Precisely, as unsavoury as that sounds. Whether a football club on these shores actually needs a group of balding six foot henchmen floating around is another matter entirely. I’m sure it was different at that Serbian club of his but over here we tend to be a lot more secure travelling from stadium to stadium. Knowing Dilic though he probably thinks every local pub is a potential Twin Humps”.

“He told me that story once” I interrupted. “Actually, I heard two false versions of it before Dilic finally told me the truth”.

“And which version did Dilic tell you, I wonder?”

Sitting on the slope again with our food, I began to tell Paul about the fire and how Cassie had watched her father die etc (in other words, Dilic’s version). My companion however was soon shaking his head and cutting me off before I could get to the end.

“Codswallop. He only told you that because he’s embarrassed about the truth”.

“Well what is the truth then? His was the third different version of events I’ve heard. Not everybody can be lying”.

“Well let me tell you how it happened as I know it, and bear in mind I went to Serbia and did a lot of homework on Dilic before making my formal approach to him. The story begins with Dilic’s wife. When she died of cancer Dilic went off the rails a bit. One day, a British soldier, who was looking over the welfare of Cassie after her father was killed in action, also went off the rails. How he and Dilic came into contact I don’t know, but basically this rogue soldier offered to sell Cassie to Dilic as a kind of sex slave”.

“I don’t believe that for a second” I said firmly, throwing my burger wrapper onto the ground.

“Let me finish. Initially Dilic went along with the idea, agreeing to meet Cassie and the soldier at Twin Humps one afternoon to make the exchange. When Dilic got there and met Cassie though, he immediately regretted the whole thing. Something about this girl tugged on his heart strings, or his general morals, or whatever. So he told the soldier the deal was off. The soldier didn’t like this of course, having dragged Cassie a long way for the meet. And that’s when the s__t hit the fan”.

“What happened?”

“Well, the soldier went for his gun but Dilic’s bodyguard blew a hole in him before he could get there”.

“Brute?”

“Most likely”.

The tale seemed to have re-entered the realm of believability now Dilic had turned Cassie down as a potential prostitute. I just hadn’t bought into that notion initially. As for the resulting violence and bloodshed, and the cameo from Brute brandishing magnums and God knows what else, every version I’ve heard has that stuff in it so I suppose it’s automatically believable. At least it is in my brain.

“What Dilic didn’t know was that the soldier had bought his own bodyguards as insurance” Paul continued. “He’d scattered them around the pub prior to the meet. Once the first kill had been made, an almighty battle began. Brute took one in the arm but otherwise fought like a maniac, killing most of the attackers and inducing others to flee in panic. Admittedly some innocent bystanders died too but then that’s why they call it The Massacre at Twin Humps. Anyway, by the time the dust had cleared, Dilic felt so guilty about agreeing to the sex deal, he took Cassie on as a stepchild and refused to touch her...in any other way I mean”.

“Not to call you a liar or anything but forgive me if I don’t take that account completely as gospel. I’ve heard too many different versions, and there was something about Dilic’s one that actually made me want to believe him”.

“His version involved Twin Humps burning to the ground though, didn't it? Take it from me; Twin Humps still stands even to this very day. It’s a tainted place but it still stands erect".

‘It could have been re-built though, couldn’t it? So how do you know it didn’t burn? It’s not like you were there yourself’.

The subject is enough to make you tear your hair out really, isn't it?

[ScottleeSV]

13/11/09 - Nicholls for a nickel?

My conversation with Dundee United manager Peter Houston this evening was a short one. It took place on the phone, me in Chantelle’s kitchen and him presumably somewhere in Dundee. Chantelle was in the living room watching Hollyoaks. Luke was upstairs.

“We’ll give you 75k for Kevin Nicholls”.

“No deal”.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely I’m sure. He’s our key midfield man. I couldn’t let him go unless the price was at least 500k, maybe even 750”.

“Well I can’t go that high, James. I can go as high as 100 and that’s that”.

“Sorry to hear it”.

“What about Kevin’s wishes? How old is he? 30? The Scottish Premier Division might be one hell of a temptation for him at this stage of his career. Don’t forget there’s a player to consider here as well, not just the state of the Luton coffers”.

“Mr Houston, without being disrespectful, Kevin would probably more likely be swayed by the Blue Square South than the Scottish Oligopoly Division. You’re out of luck here. Sorry”.

“Aye” sighed the voice at the other end. “Aye okay lad. Okay. Not to worry”.

“I’m sorry”.

Flipping my phone shut I went into the living room to join Chantelle. I’d left my tactics notepad on the settee but I could see she’d moved it onto the floor in order to lie down. Leaving it where it was I lifted her legs up and manoeuvred myself into a position whereby I had my original seat back but with her lower body resting across my lap. Don’t get a raunchy image in your head here – she was wearing tracksuit bottoms.

“I see my notepad’s gone for a walk” I said.

“You know I like to lie down when I’m watching the soaps. Besides, you’ve done enough tactics for one night. Let’s just watch TV and open some wine”.

“Later on I would love to. It’s a big game against Tamworth tomorrow though. I’d like to have all the bases covered before I chill out for the night”.

My brief break over, I made to lift her legs out of the way again. Chantelle though petulantly kept them where they were, pressing them down onto my lap with all her strength so I couldn’t move. I could have still moved them if I’d wanted to. Of course I could have done. For now though I turned to face her, a look of playful exasperation on my face.

“Actually, whilst we’re sort of on the subject of football, I noticed the other week you’ve gone and got Luke a Chelsea shirt”.

“Yeah he wanted one”.

“So he said. Don’t you think maybe we should get him a Luton one though? What I mean is, with it looking like I’m going to be a big part in his life and everything, I thought maybe it would be a cool thing if he supported the same team his potential stepdad was the manager of”.

“He doesn’t want to support Luton though” Chantelle replied brashly, albeit loosening her leg lock at the same time. “His mate at school supports Chelsea, so he wants to too. Loads of the kids at his school support Chelsea and that other one; Arsenal I think it is. None of them like Luton. They’re too low down the leagues. At the end of the day I’m happy for him to support who he likes. It’s his choice. I’m not going to force him to support someone he doesn’t want to support. I’m already bossy enough with him in the house”.

“Okay, I see your point”.

Secretly though I stared across at the unlit fireplace and brooded. I even thought of Rory and Kevin, down Kenilworth Road every week cheering on the Hatters as if their lives depended on it. Now there were two fine young examples of kids seemingly immune to the glory hunters’ disease which seems to spread through schools about just everywhere you go. For the briefest of moments I wished Chantelle was the mother of Rory or Kevin and not Luke. Then I felt guilty for thinking it, and swiped the thought away.

“Are you going to let me get back to my tactics then or not?” I eventually asked.

“No” came the reply. “Finish it tomorrow”.

Change of tact needed, I think.

“You know, maybe I should work towards getting the Chelsea job? Then me and Luke would be working from the same page”.

“Maybe”.

“Chelsea are in the top top league – The Barclays Premiership. Never mind seventy grand a year; I’d probably get seventy grand a week if I was manager of them”.

“Really?” Chantelle enquired softly, her attention finally wrestled away from the television again.

“Absolutely. Having said that, I doubt I’d ever actually make it to a club like Chelsea”.

“Why?”

“Oh, all sorts of reasons. For starters I’m just not disciplined enough. You have to put in the long hours to make it to a big fish like Chelsea. Me, I’m too lazy. I’m always slacking off, you know, watching Hollyoaks, stuff like that”.

I looked at her and smiled, and seconds later she smiled back. Then she got up off the sofa and retrieved my notepad from the floor.

“Here, you’d better get on with it then” she said, handing it to me carefully. “Oh, and you’re a cheeky bastard just for the record”.

“Guilty as charged, ma’am”.

Funnily enough I’m not actually on seventy grand a year as previously stated on more than one occasion in this diary. Seventy grand is what Dave Wheelie originally said I’d be getting, but when you do the maths (£1300 x 52) you realise it’s actually £67,600. Now I’m not saying that’s a bad figure to earn. I’m no Cashley Cole in my attitude. However, it does provide yet more proof that Dave is a conniving little git.

Since joining Luton I’ve probably earned close to 100k in total. Of all that money, I’ve still got over 25k in the bank. It’s amazing how quickly it can build up when you’re doing well for yourself. Heaven only knows what these people on seventy grand a WEEK do with their cash though if I can’t even get rid of the same amount per year!

Tomorrow’s match should be a home banker. We’re top and Tamworth are near the bottom. We’re at home and Tamworth are away. We’ve not lost at home where as Tamworth have lost some away games. Gnakpa is out for this one so Pilkington deputizes at right back with McCracken coming in at centre half to partner James. Cadamateri is fit to return and replaces Lawrie up front. Apart from that it’s as you were. Oh, Richie Byrne is also back for now but remains on the bench. I was impressed with the Easton/Daniels partnership on the left against the MK Dons and want to give that one another look.

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Next - Luton v Tamworth (BSP)

[mark wilson27]

You should easily beat Tamworth....

Great story anyway Scott and will be continuing to follow avidly

[mametz1536]

Now i'm getting Caroline withdrawal symptoms - KUTGW Scott

[ScottleeSV]

It's been a long time to say it, but thanks Mark and Mametz.

I'm still getting used to the new skin but hopefully I'll get my head around things.

-----------------

14/11/09, League Match 19

Luton Town v Tamworth

GK – Dean Brill (72 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Richie Byrne (10 apps, 0 goals)

DR – George Pilkington (67 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (21 apps, 1 goal)

DC – David McCracken (10 apps, 0 goals)

DMC – Derek Niven (13 apps, 1 goal)

MC – Keith Keane (58 apps, 6 goals)

ML – Charlie Daniels (21 apps, 3 goals)

MR – Will Buckley (13 apps, 1 goal)

FC – Michael Bridges (15 apps, 7 goals)

FC – Danny Cadamateri (14 apps, 4 goals)

‘Tonight, Tonight, Oh Uh Huh Make it magnificent. Tonight!’

“What happened to D-Ream?” Brian exclaimed, as we headed for the dressing room.

“I was sick of hearing it in the background of every damn team talk. As of yesterday, the DJ is now under instruction to just play any old random ****”.

“Glynn isn’t going to like that. D-Ream was his idea”.

“That’s the beauty of it. Glynn wouldn’t dare try and put me in check at the moment. If he’s got any sense he’ll be keeping his head down after that Multicoloured Mickey affair”.

“Haha, probably”.

Our conversation was now being listened in on by the entire first team squad. Shuffling past Brian’s waistline and clearing my throat, I prepared to address the troops.

“Listen up everyone. It probably feels like ages since our last league game. In fact to be fair, it probably has been ages; cups seem to have a way of distorting time and space. Let’s not dwell on it though. Instead let’s dwell on Tamworth. Now this might appear an easy game on paper but to assume that would be like assuming your toast is going to pop up exactly the way you want it when you’re staying over at your girlfriend’s house. In reality though, it always comes out either undercooked or too burnt. You see, chances are she’ll have probably had it set to a different setting. Do you see?”

Blank faces. I think they were getting it though.

“Look, small teams always play rubbish in the league after a big cup game. It’s a well known fact. With that in mind, I don’t want you guys going down the same path. After running the MK Dons so close last weekend, it would be easy to just go out there today and coast. It would be easy to that. But don’t! Tamworth deserve our respect so I want heads screwed on from the first whistle!”

----------------------

In the 1st minute Tamworth took the lead. It all began with their guy Dugdale aimlessly booting the ball out from the kick-off. Charlie Daniels took the throw-in. His head though was clearly still in Milton Keynes; said throw-in went straight to Hildreth. Tony James might have intercepted the Lambs midfielder as he then dribbled towards the area but his head was also in Milton Keynes. Hildreth bypassed him as if he wasn’t there and slid the ball through for Dikuiza. The striker with the surname more fitting for a Triad foot soldier was now one on one with Brill.

Brill’s head wasn’t quite still in Milton Keynes but it certainly wasn’t in Luton. I’d say it was about halfway back down the motorway, eyes facing backwards. He was quick and alert to come off his line but the hand he got on Dikuiza’s shot was weak. The ball spun upwards out of his glove and bounced twice before nestling in the far corner of the net. McCracken (head, body, soul, all in Milton Keynes) might have got back to clear but didn’t bother trying. One-zero to the visitors.

The reaction around the ground was of curious surprise more than anything else. The home fans were stunned, sure they were, but there was still eighty nine minutes to play. Intelligent supporting thankfully triumphed over premature condemnation, at least for the most part. Only one guy voiced his disapproval. I didn’t get a look at him but in his opinion I’d clearly f__ked this up royally and there no point playing the rest of the game. Typical Luton! Martin out!

It took a few minutes of dreary-eyed soul searching but we did turn things around. The change in the wind began after 8 minutes when James played a random ball over the top and Bridges beat the offside trap. If the striker’s head hadn’t still been in Milton Keynes, he might even have equalised. His dallying and prancing however only allowed goalkeeper Wilkinson to nick the ball away from his feet. Thankfully though, Bridges afternoon was only just beginning.

How-zat! For instance, the 11th minute Daniels dribbled inwards and played a much more deliberate through ball into the main man, and this time he went for the early shot. The ball bobbled awkwardly as he hit it but still went into the top corner. Kenilworth Road erupted in relief and we were back on level terms. Tamworth evidently seemed to have some kind of ‘high backline’ thing going on and it was failing miserably. Any good striker worth his pepper isn’t going to miss two one on ones in a row.

Now then, which way would we go from here?

Pow-zing! 24 minutes and Bridges was at it again. This time Keane was the provider, slotting the ball into the main man’s feet on the edge of the six yard box. It was very crowded in there but Bridges shimmied to the left with deft feet. He’d created a ridiculously tight angle for himself here but the shot was like a fine arrow. It bisected Wilkinson’s legs and rocketed into the far corner. 2-1. Martin in! Good old Luton!

By this point I was ready to have Michael Bridges’ children. Surely his fine eye would give itself a well earned rest between now and half time...

Cowabunga! Was it a bird? Was it a plane? Nope, it was Bridges! Again! On this occasion, the ball came to the main man in and around the penalty spot. Again he shimmied to his left and again he wellied it for all he was worth. The shot wasn’t so accurate this time but when you’re on a roll, you’re on a roll. Wilkinson found himself directly in the way of the shot so he palmed the ball instinctively upwards. He probably meant to tip it over but the ball came down under the crossbar! It bounced once and then just about touched the roof of the net on the way back up. Hat trick!

At half time the shell-shocked Tamworth boss shook his head on his way down the tunnel and briefly offered me his penny’s worth.

“We’d have won this but for that pesky Bridges”.

“You could still win 4-3” I feebly offered.

“Yeah good one” he said sarcastically, and disappeared inside the dressing room.

Over the stadium speakers, Stand by your man by Dolly Parton was playing. Great stuff. I hope my critic from the 2nd minute was having a good long listen.

[ScottleeSV]

The second half almost began as the first did i.e. with a Tamworth goal. A corner was won after some probing from Shaw and Dikuiza, and the resulting cross caused no end of havoc. Eventually somebody in red deflected the ball onto the post. It was then cleared by James and the danger was over. The crowd though were justifiably miffed we were starting so slowly again. So was I. Complacency is a killer.

I reckoned one more goal would sow the points up but I soon deduced it wouldn’t come from Bridges. The target-man was strutting around like a peacock since half time, a grin on his face and a Hollywood flick on offer for every time he received the ball. I was tempted to haul him off actually. The reason I didn’t was because I figured I’d be lambasted for it, especially if we didn’t win the game. I could just imagine Branston’s headline – “Martin brings off hat trick hero in the 48th minute”. Nope, not going to happen.

52 minutes and a chance for Cadamateri. The build-up play came from Keane from Niven in midfield. I would love to say one of them threaded the eye of the needle for Cadameteri to chase onto, but as so often happens in non-league football the assist came from a deflection. Still, Danny was onto it with a sharpness defying his time spent on the sidelines. The shot wasn’t bad; it was low, reasonably paced, and beat the goalkeeper to boot. Sadly however it went wide by about an inch. Brian was even of the opinion it was heading onto the post but for a late bobble.

Just before the hour mark we won a corner thanks to a Daniels cross being turned behind by Burgess. The in-swinger was met by approximately four heads at the same time, two from either side. McCracken it was who got the most notable touch but he couldn’t quite get enough on it. The ball flicked off his forehead and went narrowly past the far post. Keith Keane was booked during this incident, for what I have no idea. I forgot to ask after the game.

Bedraggled and losing, the Lambs boss made the bold move of throwing all three substitutes on with twenty five minutes remaining. On then came the unsung names of McAughtrie, Millar, and Williams. Not that it changed the flow of the game. There just wasn’t enough quality in the Tamworth ranks to seriously trouble us. They’d had their chance in this match at 1-0 up and blown it by attempting a crazy offside system. If they’d simply put ten men behind the ball....well, let’s not think about that too much.

I finally took the hat trick hero off in the 68th minute. The crowd stood on their feet to applaud him and I suppose he deserved it. Bridges of course milked every moment, walking off slower than a mass murderer would walk the green mile. His final act of the day was to wink at Brian and I and raise his thumb as if to say – “Aren’t you f__king lucky to have me, eh?”

There was then a second boom of adulation for the guy going the other way. Bridges’ replacement was striker Dean Bowditch, tentatively making his first team debut (if you don’t count friendlies) after months of injury hell. I wasn’t expecting him back until the New Year but the guy’s recovery has recently accelerated beyond anybody’s expectations. I’m still being cautious, mind. Only substitute appearances will be available to him for a while. Unless we get desperate of course.

The visitors’ final effort on goal came as early as the 71st minute. Then they packed up their bags and accepted the inevitable. It wasn’t even what you would call a chance. Dikuiza, the guy with the great name, ran with the ball a while before yanking one awkwardly wide from about twenty five yards. Two minutes later I brought Owusu on for Niven. Not a bad game from the Scot in the water carrying position; still not enough to permanently oust Nicholls though.

After 81 minutes I made substitution number three. This one was forced upon me because Keane was getting himself wound up. God knows why because we were 3-1 ahead. Still, off he came and on went Clint Easton to negotiate ten difficult minutes playing in an unfamiliar central midfield position. We rifled in shot after shot late on, freed from the shackles of worrying about a Tamworth resurgence.

Will Buckley almost created an uncharacteristic moment of magic, in doing so fusing together both elements of Diego Maradona’s match winning performance against England in 86. That is to say he went on an expert dribble which just happened to include a cheeky a moment of using his hand to stay on course for glory. The final shot was a chip. It landed on the roof of the net and then rolled off the back and hit a ball boy on the head. If the little deviant hadn’t been listening to his I-pod he would have seen that one coming.

Second best player on the pitch today – Charlie Daniels – deserved a goal for all wing play. He should have got it in injury time, passing the ball wide after a pass from Owusu. The referee blew for time before the goal kick could be taken. Despite the final score I didn’t actually think we bossed this game to our full potential, yet according to one fan in the Hatters Arms after the game we won the shot count 16-3.

“Well done all of you” I spoke in the dressing room. “The team line-up was slightly changed but we coped well. Don’t forget though about the beginning of matches. Against better teams than Tamworth it’ll cost us. They should have got back to 3-2 straight after half time and that just would have been ridiculous given how toothless they were. Now go get drunk”.

-------------------

FINAL SCORE (att - 4764)

Luton Town 3 (Bridges 11, 24, 35)

Tamworth 1 (Dikuiza 1)

-------------------

(other results)

Burton 2-2 Salisbury

Crawley 1-0 Droylsden

Ebbsfleet 0-3 Forest Green

Histon 4-3 Weymouth

Kidderminster 2-0 St Albans

Macclesfield 1-1 Grays

Northwich 1-2 York

Oxford 2-1 Woking

Rushden 4-0 Kettering

Stevenage 5-2 AFC Wimbledon

----------------

[font=Courier New][size=2]| Pos   | Inf   | Team          |       | Pld   | Won   | Drn   | Lst   | For   | Ag    | G.D.  | Pts   | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 1st   |       | Luton         |       | 19    | 14    | 4     | 1     | 46    | 20    | +26   | 46    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 2nd   |       | Rushden       |       | 19    | 14    | 2     | 3     | 44    | 16    | +28   | 44    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 3rd   |       | York City     |       | 19    | 11    | 4     | 4     | 34    | 22    | +12   | 37    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 4th   |       | Grays         |       | 19    | 10    | 6     | 3     | 40    | 18    | +22   | 36    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 5th   |       | Oxford        |       | 19    | 10    | 3     | 6     | 37    | 22    | +15   | 33    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 6th   |       | Crawley       |       | 19    | 10    | 2     | 7     | 35    | 30    | +5    | 32    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 7th   |       | Stevenage     |       | 19    | 8     | 8     | 3     | 36    | 32    | +4    | 32    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 8th   |       | Burton        |       | 19    | 9     | 5     | 5     | 28    | 24    | +4    | 32    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 9th   |       | Salisbury     |       | 19    | 7     | 10    | 2     | 31    | 23    | +8    | 31    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 10th  |       | Histon        |       | 19    | 8     | 6     | 5     | 33    | 25    | +8    | 30    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 11th  |       | Forest Green  |       | 19    | 8     | 6     | 5     | 26    | 20    | +6    | 30    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 12th  |       | Weymouth      |       | 19    | 7     | 8     | 4     | 30    | 24    | +6    | 29    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 13th  |       | Cambridge     |       | 19    | 7     | 7     | 5     | 26    | 20    | +6    | 28    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 14th  |       | AFC Wimbledon |       | 19    | 8     | 2     | 9     | 32    | 34    | -2    | 26    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 15th  |       | Mansfield     |       | 19    | 6     | 7     | 6     | 31    | 36    | -5    | 25    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 16th  |       | Woking        |       | 19    | 7     | 3     | 9     | 19    | 21    | -2    | 24    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 17th  |       | Ebbsfleet     |       | 19    | 5     | 4     | 10    | 26    | 36    | -10   | 18    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 18th  |       | Kettering     |       | 19    | 4     | 5     | 10    | 25    | 34    | -9    | 17    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 19th  |       | Kidderminster |       | 19    | 4     | 5     | 10    | 21    | 31    | -10   | 17    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 20th  |       | Macclesfield  |       | 19    | 3     | 5     | 11    | 16    | 37    | -19   | 14    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 21st  |       | Droylsden     |       | 19    | 3     | 3     | 13    | 26    | 44    | -18   | 12    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 22nd  |       | Northwich     |       | 19    | 3     | 3     | 13    | 15    | 40    | -25   | 12    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 23rd  |       | St Albans     |       | 19    | 2     | 5     | 13    | 17    | 42    | -25   | 11    | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| 24th  |       | Tamworth      |       | 19    | 2     | 3     | 14    | 14    | 35    | -21   | 9     | [/size][/font]
[font=Courier New][size=2]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/size][/font]

[ScottleeSV]

16/11/09 - Spiritseekers

When Cyril messaged me this morning apparently in need of a word, I half expected to turn up and see a new port-a-cabin in the space Albie’s used to be. After all, what could Cyril possibly want to speak to me for if not to complain of a potential new rival impeding on his turf? As it transpired however there was no new cabin and no other advance clue offered up either.

“Now then boys” I said, stepping through the grand portal. “How are we today?”

“Irritated” Cyril responded meekly. Lee didn’t respond at all.

They were sat at the Death-match practice table by the window, both poring over several typewritten documents that at first made me think they might be doing their shop accounts, or tax returns. Or something of that ilk.

“What are you up to?”

“We’re preparing some complaint letters to send to the council”.

“Complaints against whom?”

“A video store in the centre of town”.

“What for?”

Cyril stopped what he was doing and got up. Then he rummaged inside a nearby box and pulled out a couple of DVDs to pass to me. The topmost was called Emma Pire Strikes Back; it showed a picture of a leather clad woman holding a whip in one hand and a hammer in the other (she was grinning). In the background, two men were bent over in the other direction naked from the waist down.

The other film was called Bra Wars. The front cover this time consisted of two naked women kneeling on a bed and whacking each other with their bras. Both had hairstyles like Princess Leia.

“Very nice” I commented, smiling.

“No it certainly is not nice!” Cyril shouted, grabbing the films back and throwing them in the box. “Productions like these shamelessly ride the coattails of major franchises like Star Wars when they’ve got no right to! Now don’t get me wrong, me and Lee enjoy a good porno as much as the next pair of guys, but this.... this..... sales tactic is just plain wrong”.

“Let me guess, you called me down here because you want me to use my position as Luton boss to influence either the council or the video store owner in getting those DVDs off the shelves?”

“He didn’t actually” Lee piped up with, in doing so showing off the new brace on his teeth. About time he did something about those things. Well done Lee.

“Well then, the plot thickens!” I exclaimed, beginning to pace up and down.

It was at this moment I noticed something extremely disturbing nailed to one of the walls. It was a glass case with lots of fungi and rotting mould inside it.

“What the hell is that?!”

“Errrrm” Cyril stumbled. “Remember those buns you brought us that Nicky made in the office that time?”

‘Oh no. Surely he’s not serious?’

“You framed Nicky’s buns?!” I gasped. “Why? In fact don’t answer that. Cyril, they’ve gone all rotten! You can’t keep them hanging up there framed to the wall like some trophy! Not only is it pathetic but it’s a goddamn health risk!”

“But Nicky touched those buns, made them with her own hands!”

“She’s touched lots of things with her hands, Cyril! If I’d known you were that obsessed I’d have nicked her damn stapler for you, or a pen she’s used. Those buns though are seriously not staying here in that state! I want them gotten rid of the moment I leave!"

The two adolescents masquerading as adults looked solemnly downwards and nodded. I hadn’t been able to smell those decaying buns when I walked in but now I knew they were there I thought I could faintly whiff their griminess through the glass. A mild irritation swept over me now, a feeling of regret I’d actually bothered to come down here.

“Guys, what is it you wanted to see me about? Straight out with it this time – I’m a busy man”.

“Okay. Well, some guy came in here before the Tamworth game, not a Luton fan or a Tamworth fan, just somebody catching a game whilst he was in the area. Anyway, this guy fumbled with a few items and asked Lee if he was Tommy Wiggins, Tommy being the name on the outside of the cabin these days”.

Tommy Wiggins. I hadn’t given him much thought in a while. Tommy of course was the young Hatter who'd died and possibly begun haunting Kenilworth Road in the aftermath. I’d hoped to ward him off a few months ago by naming part of the ground after him (the souvenir shop was the highest profile part of the site I could bag for this purpose).Whether it worked or not I never found out.

“So I starts telling him the same story you told us” Cyril continued, returning to his seat. “You know, about how Tommy died and how you persuaded us to name the shop after him. It turns out this guy presents a new TV show on Channel 5 called Spiritseekers. He was fascinated with the Tommy story and now he wants to use Kenilworth Road for one of his shows sometime after Christmas”.

“What sort of show is it?”

“Similar to Ghosthunters, that kind of thing”.

“Did you get the guy’s name?”

“No, but he says he’ll call you when he’s ready. He’ll probably want to bring a camera crew in and everything, try and film Tommy appearing in the dead of night. Exciting, huh?”

“It’s no guarantee the club will let them in to film. We’ll have to see. Anyway, I’m off. Thanks for the heads up”.

Intrigued by the development more than I’d let on, I made for the door deep in thought.

“Can you really get us one of Nicky’s staplers?” Cyril asked at the very death.

“Only if that s__t’s off the wall by this time tomorrow! If it is, maybe I’ll pop down with some Nicky goodies next time I remember"

“Cool!” said Lee.

“Out of this world” gazed Cyril.

Lord preserve us.

[salkster2102]

A very humourous update. Long may it continue. What do you think our chances our Halifax wise now you have a certain Mr Vardy?

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks , Salk. I haven't seen Vardy play yet. Apparently we've got five strikers now - Dean, Marshall, Vardy, Holland, and Taylor. If fit Dean will definitely play because he's the quite simply the best striker below the BSP. The others are all fighting to partner him, so Vardy may have a fight on his hands. As for our title hopes, we're favourites with the bookies but I'm keeping my lips sealed. I'd like to see how the first few games pan out before I start making predictions. I was saddened to see Stocksbridge Away drawn as a Tuesday game, by the way. I only go to away games on Saturdays for logistical reasons. Shame that. (unless it gets rearranged for some reason of course).

---------------------

17/11/09 - Day at the mall

Men don’t like shopping with women, so the myth says. I’m split down the middle on this one. If you’re talking about food shopping I’m fully in agreement; all that messing around checking every single item for calorie, starch, and sugar content before deciding whether or not to buy it – I can do without an afternoon of that. As far as I’m concerned, you fill half your basket with stuff that looks healthy and the other half with nice stuff that probably isn’t healthy. End of.

Shopping for clothes though is different. I actually like helping a woman pick and choose things to wear. So long as she’s nice looking, who wouldn’t? Today I was out and about with Chantelle helping her decide on a work suit to wear for interviews. She hasn’t actually got any interviews lined up yet but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

“You’re not getting bored are you?” she called over the booth curtain.

“Nope. Quite the opposite. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to like this one more than any so far”.

“Okay, one more sec. Hang on”.

Moments later and out she came. This latest suit, the eighth she’d tried on across three different stores, was all white from head to toe; white trousers, white waistcoat, and white jacket. Straight away I loved it. Sometimes the simplest combination can be so effective.

“Definitely this one” I said

“You think?”

“Absolutely. All you need now are some white high heels to go with it but we can get those. If I were you today I’d take this one and also that red suit from the other place. It’s up to you though. We could always look at some others yet”.

“Oh no, I’ll go with what you said”.

‘Oh no I’ll go with what you said’ – And THAT in a nutshell is why I like to go clothes shopping with women. Because let’s face it, they’ll take YOUR opinion far more seriously then they’d ever admit. Why make excuses not to come when they’d just pick stuff you don’t like looking at?

“Right” Chantelle continued, after twisting and stretching the trouser fabric one last time for her own benefit. “I’ll just go and get changed again and then we can go pay”.

Producing a happy sigh, she briefly kissed me and then returned behind the curtain. At the moment of lip-lock I spotted out the corner of my eye the prying attentions of a young man. He looked foreign to me, perhaps Turkish or Egyptian. God only knew. He was there anyway, leaning against the door frame and grinning. I didn’t like it.

“I was thinking about Christmas the other day” – Chantelle.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was thinking we could have it at my mum’s. I spoke to her on the phone the other day. She’d like to meet you. Why not make it Christmas day? We could drive down to Croydon and have Christmas dinner there. Luke would like that too”.

“Yeah okay, sounds good”.

Privately I’d been hoping we might spend yuletide at my own mum’s up in Leeds. Chantelle had beaten me to the punch though. In any event, my concentration levels weren’t 100% right now. That guy I just mentioned – he was making a beeline for me. He was still grinning too.

“James Martin?”

“Yep, the one and only. What can I do for you?”

“My name is Hassan. I work for Jack Shandy. He’s here in the mall downstairs. He’d like to speak with you”.

Now here was a turn up for the books. I’d heard the name Jack Shandy before plenty, usually in association with underworld activities on the local news. He was also the real owner of Heavenly Hatters, supposedly.

“What does he want?”

“I don’t know. I was just sent to collect you”.

He acted like a simple messenger this Hassan but there was something slick about his appearance which told me he was probably anything but. I’m not a fashion guru but I know an expensive shirt when I see one. I know an expensive watch, too. To my left I could hear the faint rustle of Chantelle changing clothes. It wouldn’t be long before she came back out again. Whether she was paying any attention to what was going on I have no idea.

“Please, Mr Martin” my new friend said, extending his hand towards my elbow. “Mr Shandy is currently waiting for you in the cafe downstairs. His time is very important to him. Perhaps you could catch up with your lady friend in a short while?”

“Fine” I replied, caught slightly off guard.

The next thing I knew I was fishing £100 out of my wallet and slipping my head around the curtain.

“I’m off to the cafe downstairs to see someone, probably football related. This money should be enough for the suit. Can we meet back at yours later? I might be while”.

“Yeah okay”.

Of course it was okay. She’d just had a moderately expensive suit bought for her. If ever there was a good time to abandon her without much of an explanation....

Led by the mysterious foreigner I began my descent downwards to the mall cafe. The foreboding nature of the journey reminded me of when Harry Mason heads for the school basement in Silent Hill. I just needed a very loud siren to go off to symbolise the change in fortune of my afternoon and I would have been right there.

“Please” Hassan indicated at the cafe entrance, pointing out the table with his hand.

It was then for the first time in my life I saw him; Jack Shandy, smartly dressed, middle aged (about forty five I’d say), balding, stocky, and apparently a cappuccino drinker. When I reached the table he produced a flicking motion with his free hand in a gesture of ‘please sit’. As I cleared my throat and moved the chair, I noticed some even stockier guys sat at tables close by. Clearly they were Jack’s bodyguards.

‘Brute would take every one of these motherf__kers with his eyes shut’.

Brute wasn’t here though. I was. The next few minutes would be very interesting indeed. Maybe even scary.

[salkster2102]

From when I was speaking to Vardy last week it sounds like Halifax are planning to play with 3 strikers this year. I don't think even Halifax pay the amount of money they did for him and not play him It's a shame it's on a tuesday cos we would like a big crowd though it isn't too far away. Some cup game may get in the way yet.

[ScottleeSV]

Won our first friendly 5-0 away to Brighouse on Saturday. We look really good apparently, and Vardy impressed.

--------------

17/11/09 - Day at the mall (part 2)

As well as his cappuccino, Jack was also halfway through one of those expensive slices of cafe cake that cost about £3 a wedge.

‘I should start treating myself to dainties like that. I can afford them nowadays’.

“As you no doubt know, I’m Jack Shandy” he said, offering his hand.

“James Martin” I replied, quick to accept it.

“In the interests of politeness, I will afford a quick but brief overview as to who I am. In essence I’m a businessman. I own some businesses, most of them small. I partly own other businesses, and I also own small pieces of yet more businesses. Businesses are my business, you might say. And contrary to what you might have heard or read about me, all my business interests are legal. All of them”.

“I saw on the news once you were connected with a killing” I said bravely. “I can’t remember the exact details”.

“I’ve been connected with many such things. Yet here I am, free as a bird. I won’t bulls__t you; James Martin of Leeds, my working life hasn’t always been what you would call clean. As a businessman you find your own style of protecting interests, and my style has always been... at odds with the powers that be - shall we say”.

I think I knew what he meant, and I didn’t much like the whiff of it. I felt like ordering my own cappuccino so I’d have something to fiddle with as we talked. Something told me though Jack probably wouldn’t appreciate the timeout. There was very odd neutrality about his accent. I suspected he’d once had a deep London twang (similar to Chantelle) but had long since practiced his way out of it in a bid to appear more sophisticated.

“We needn’t speak of such things today though” he continued, perhaps sensing my apprehensiveness. “The purpose of this meeting is for us to have a quick friendly chat about my strip club. I understand you’ve had some problems down there”.

“Yeah, one or two”.

“Why don’t you tell me about them?”

Yeah okay. No harm in that I suppose. So for the next five minutes I explained, in my own words, all about The Royal Hotel Affair in addition to providing a brief summary of my two trips to Heavenly Hatters. Jack listened attentively.

“Apparently your players have stopped appearing at the club” he responded afterwards.

“Yeah, I banned them. Enough was enough”.

“I can see your reasoning. The problem is they’re the biggest rollers. They always have been. They’re not loaded on the scale of Premiership players but they’re still meatheads; they still throw money away on tits and champers like it’s going out of fashion. No Luton players in the club means I lose thousands of pounds of revenue every month”.

Now I understood why we were here.

“Am I to understand it you want me to reverse my decision on this then?”

“That’s what I’d like, yes”.

“And presumably, if I refuse to comply, I’ll get the frighteners put on me by one of these burly looking gentlemen sat at the other tables”.

“No no” Jack said quickly, leaning back and having a chuckle. “I didn’t get to where I am today by threatening people I’ve only just met! I’ve threatened people in my life sure, and some of those threats I’ve followed through on. But people really have to f__k up to get that far down the road with me, and I mean really f__k up. You’ve nothing to worry about on that score”.

Naturally I wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was the sight of the grinning goon with the ponytail on Jack’s right, or the Micky Rourke lookalike on his left. Whatever. I wasn’t convinced.

“So if I refused your request, stood up, and left, you’d just leave me alone and never ask me about this ever again? Is that what you’re honestly saying?”

“Yes it is. But you’re looking at this whole thing the wrong way. I don’t look at it as making a request; I see it as asking you a personal favour. Now I know that letting your players back into the club would be a risk you’d rather not have hanging over your head, even if personally I think the chances of another Royal Hotel affair are probably remote. That’s why – if you indulged me on this – I would look upon it as you having me done me a very nice personal favour”.

“And that would benefit me would it, me having done you a favour?”

“Possibly. Possibly not. You just don’t know though do you? It might seem unlikely right now you’d ever need a return favour from a guy like me, but who knows? This is a rough town. Trouble can come from anywhere and at any time”.

“You mean from Randy if I p__s him off anymore than I already have?”

“Randy? No no. I own Randy Begher. Actually I was thinking more of your Montenegrin friend, or maybe that dojo you’ve been spotted in down the road. Hell, maybe even your own supporters down at the football club. All these people might be your friends and acquaintances now but things change over time. If anything in your life ever was to change for the worse, wouldn’t it be nice to know you could call on Jack for help?”

He knew a lot about me; that much was obvious. I tried not to look impressed though, instead keeping my focus on whether or not to grant him his ‘favour’. I could see pros and cons both ways. p_ssing Jack off wasn’t something I wanted. Then again, neither did I want my players getting mixed up with the likes of Randy Begher and Stacy Potts again. No-win situation.

“I’m going to need to go away and have a think about this before I make my mind up” I replied “Why don’t you give me a number I can call you on?”

“Of course” Jack said cheerily.

Moments later he passed me a business card with his name on, not that the card actually specified any business.

“Okay then” I announced, shaking his hand and rising from my chair. “Nice to meet you and errrr, I’ll speak to you soon”.

“Yes. Soon”.

Nervously I turned around and began to walk away, squeezing past Hassan at the cafe entrance in the process. After twenty more yards I glanced back. Jack was still sat watching me, one thumb rubbing his chin as if trying to work out which option I would end up picking. Some of the goons were on their feet floating around his table now. Not talking, just floating. Like impatient puppies bored of waiting. One of them, the O’Rourke lookalike, was whispering something in his master’s ear.

‘Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just grant him this...one..thing’ I thought, quickening my pace.

The business card was in my pocket. I was squeezing it tightly with my hand as I walked. I had a feeling like I really didn't want to lose it. No sir.

[tenthreeleader]

This is such a great storyline. You are doing a terrific job with this story!

[ScottleeSV]

Cheers, Tenthree.

-------------

19/11/09 - Where ladies dare

“Listen up, people, I’ve got an exciting announcement to make”.

To amplify the point I rose to my feet. The quartet of Darren, Brenda, Caroline, and Nicky all watched on. Chairs were still. Ears were pricked.

“I’ve just received an E-mail from one of those delightful gentlemen who assist in running the Blue Square Premier and its feeder leagues. Darren, translate for the others please”.

“James has been sent an E-mail from one of the guys who run the league that Luton play in”.

“Indeed, and I shall now read from it”.

“James is now going to....”

“Thank you, Darren” I interrupted, clearing my throat to begin reading. “Dear Ladies. If this E-mail has been circulated to you then chances are you are one of the unsung heroes of British football. Whether as a dinner lady, a programme seller, or member of an office staff, you consistently help maintain the backbone of your local club without fuss or commotion. You provide a valuable service to both...’

I paused at this juncture. The E-mail was lengthy; I was better off just providing my own summary.

“What the guy is basically saying is that men always get all the fame and kudos at football clubs where as women just blend into the background and go unnoticed”.

“Yes, and?” Brenda asked.

“Put bluntly, there’s going to be a five a side football tournament next March between loads of non-league clubs. The catch is this; the tournament will be specifically for the female workers of those clubs. What do you all think about that?”

“Oh wow!” Nicky exclaimed. “That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, I suppose that sounds like it might be fun” Caroline spoke.

“For you two I’m sure it will be” Darren said with a far more glum tone in his voice. “This is typical. First I miss out on the camping trip because I’m not a player and now I miss out on this because I’m not a woman”.

“Actually you’re wrong about that” I corrected him. “It says in the rules every team is allowed one male player. I guess that means you’re in by default”.

Darren’s reacted to this news by literally leaping out of his seat. Then came the fist pumps and the war cries - the whole shebang.

“Get in! Oh yeah! I am going to play for Luton! Yeah baby! This is going to be immense!”

“So that’s Darren, Caroline, and Nicky confirmed as definitely playing. What about you, Brenda?”

“I don’t know, James. I’m a bit old to be playing football. I don’t think I’ve even ever played. I might just stay out of this one”.

Quickly I held my hand up to stem the tide of impending protests.

“I know what you’re probably thinking, Brenda, but really you’ve got no need to worry. Most of the women playing in the tournament will be garbage. Don’t worry about age either. They’ll probably be at least some women your age playing. You won’t stand out at all, I promise. The whole thing’s just a bit of fun. It’s not going to be serious like the men’s football”.

“But I can’t even run anymore” she protested. “I’ll be literally useless. I’ll probably end up stood on the spot doing nothing but looking stupid”.

“That’s fine. You do that. At least you’ll be making up the numbers so the others can play. It doesn’t matter if you can’t actually do much. Darren will more than likely do enough for everybody. He’s a whiz with the ball. I’ve seen him play Sunday league”.

“I really don’t know”.

“Aw go on, Brenda!” Caroline interjected. “I’ll be crap too. We’ll be crap together”.

“Oh okay. Fine. Just don’t hit me with the ball”.

So that was that. Everybody was in. The manically overexcited Darren though had spotted something the others hadn’t.

“Hang on; if it’s five a side then we still need one more. There’s only four of us”.

“Don’t worry, I thought about that before I began the announcement. There are other women in this building you know. Now not in a month of Sundays do I think Erica would play so I’m not even going to ask her. I am though hoping Katrina will agree to join us. She always seems friendly and bubbly enough”.

“Yeah, Katrina” Nicky said absently.

“Are we going to have a team name?” Caroline asked. “We could bang our heads together and come up with something cool like The Luton Ladies, or The Luton Legends. Well, not actually crap boring names like that but you know what I mean”.

“How about The Lucky Ladylike Luton Ladies” Nicky beamed, expanding on the concept.

Darren opened his mouth to balk but I beat him to the punch, sitting back down in my seat as I did so. My legs had gotten tired from standing.

“You won’t unfortunately be able to make your own team name. The rules say I have to enter us under our normal club name”.

“Aw but Team Luton sounds so boring” Nicky griped.

“Nicky we’re not called Team Lu-“

“Will we have to train or anything?” – Caroline.

“Team Luton?!” – Darren.

“I can’t train on Tuesdays or Thursdays” – Brenda.

“Will we get our own strip to wear?” – Nicky.

“Is it going to be on TV?” – Caroline.

“Who are Team Luton when they’re at home?” – Darren.

“The same team as when they’re away, obviously!” – Nicky.

“Enough!” I yelled. “You guys are going to give me an aneurism! Now listen, I’m not going to answer all your questions now because we have to get on with some work. I will send you an E-mail soon though; in it will contain everything you need to know. Briefly though, yes we’ll probably have some training sessions - not too many but enough to do the job. No we won’t be on TV. And Nicky, we’re called Luton Town Football Club, have been since before you joined. Now I hate to say it but back to work. Everything else you need to know will be in the E-mail”.

I suddenly had to wonder if this was going to be worth the hassle. Still, there was no going back now.

‘And who knows, just maybe, it could be my first trophy as manager’.

[Dickie12]

Finally I've caught up. I used to read this at work as I didn't have the internet at home but then work got wise and I had to stop but now I've got the net at home and I've caught up on the 2 months worth that i'd missed and im fully up to date again! Still an amazin story and I love that you're still able to think of new storylines that are completely out of the blue. Love it, keep it up mate.

Ps. Hope your wedding went well!

[WelshWolf]

Haven't posted in a while, so I'd thought I'd pass on my compliments once again; this is truly a great piece of work and consistently entertains me. Kudos to you and keep it up

... and yeah, like all the rest. I hope your wedding went well and married life is treating you well

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks Guys - you're always kind. I haven't actually noticed being married that much. I lived with her for a year prior to the wedding, so I guess it was never going to be all that different

----------------

20/11/09 - Wombling overground

I was later arriving at Brian’s than planned. By the time I got there all the lights were off and Brian answered the door in pyjamas and a dressing gown.

“I didn’t think you were coming”.

“Sorry. I forget that families will go to bed earlier than people who don't”.

With a shake of the head he stepped aside to let me enter. It was this point I got a closer look at the dressing gown and realised it was endorsed by Winnie the Pooh.

“Winnie the Pooh?”

“Shush! Keep your voice down. The kids are asleep. Go straight through to the study”.

“Winnie the Pooh?” I repeated, once I was in the study.

“Oh come on, it’s not for me, it’s for the kids. They like to see their Dad wearing the stuff they’re into.

“Really?” I sniggered.

“Yes! And One day you’ll understand!”

Still sniggering I sat down at the computer and swivelled around in the chair. Brian remained by the door with his arms crossed. I must admit, I hadn’t noticed this room the previous time I was here. I think I took one look at it from the outside and presumed it was an airing cupboard. It was nice though. I wanted one. Not only did Brian have a PC but some very nifty extras – shelves, a cupboard, a waste paper bin, a dinner tray, a radio, lots of things. The shelves were lined with books and games and things.

“Well? Did you call him?” my assistant asked.

“Yep. As of 7pm this evening, Luton Town players are now once again allowed into Heavenly Hatters”.

“Very sensible if you ask me. You don’t want to be messing around with those gangster types. As long as they’re not asking for too much, give it to them. That’s what I say anyway”.

“Maybe, but it’ll be my ass if any more s__t hits the fan down at that club”.

“I doubt it. None of the players will want a repeat of The Royal Hotel business. Besides, they’ve seen what you’re capably of now if they mess around down there. Chances are they’ll all be on their best behaviour from this point forwards”.

“And Jack Shandy owes me a favour” I added.

“That too; all in all it’s not a bad position to be in”.

Mustering an expression of ‘I guess so’, I swivelled three hundred and sixty degrees on the chair and returned to find Brian in grimace mode.

“Don’t do that! Here, read the article and then get gone. I’m tired and irritable and we’ve got the Droylsden game tomorrow, lest you’ve forgotten”.

“Yes, father” I replied, taking The Non-League Paper and swivelling around to rest it on the keyboard.

“Wait here I’m going to go check on the girls. Penny’s been having trouble sleeping recently”.

“Okay”.

Off he went and left me to read....

Crazy Gang Ready to Ignite Old Feud

With AFC Wimbledon set to host Luton at Kingsmeadow next Tuesday evening, older supporters of both sides could be forgiven for getting just a little teary-eyed. How recently was this a top flight fixture? Not too long, that’s for sure. But oh how times have changed! From points deductions to bankruptcies, from disappointments to downright scandals, these two clubs have suffered more than most in the modern game.

Nice then this reunion should occur when both, in their own little way, are enjoying something of an Indian summer. The Hatters, managed by young upstart James Martin from Leeds, are top of the table and playing some blinding stuff. The Dons, managed by young upstart Steve Fairclough from Leeds, are only mid-table (In their case however they’re newly promoted; they can afford some time resting at the inn before continuing the journey).

Now did you notice the common connection there? Yes, both these managers come from the same place. They’re also undeniably upstarts; managers without a history. Further digging tells us they even used to know each other, hell, were close friends, close friends who first met when taking their coaching badges together five years ago. So will these two wannabe Don Revies get together and share a glass of the red stuff after Tuesday’s game? Not according to Wimbledon assistant manager Stuart Cash they won’t.

“The truth is they don’t really like each other much” Cash explains. “They used to be really good mates but then they fell out. As far as I can gather, they made an agreement to look for work together but then when Martin got the Luton job he left Steve (Fairclough) out in the cold and brought another assistant in. As you can imagine, Steve was pretty miffed about that”.

So could this encounter represent something of a grudge match between the two ex-friends? Fairclough himself, speaking at the club’s training ground earlier, was naturally keen to play down such speculation.

“No it’s not a grudge match. I’ve got no interest in who Luton’s manager is. We’ll be going out there to try and beat them just as we would any other opponent. Don’t get me wrong, it’ll be hard to beat them with the resources they’ve got but you never know. At the end of the day we’re Wimbledon. We thrive on games like this. If the fans get behind us and we put in that extra 10%, no - 20%, like I know we can, you just never know. They won’t relish playing us that’s for sure”

“Son of a bitch” I said, stretching my legs out beneath the computer desk. The article did contain one further paragraph but only to point out that prior to Tuesday, Wimbledon still have to travel to Ebbsfleet where as we have our game at home to Droylsden.

My toes were brushing against something soft. Leaning down, I reached into the shadows and pulled out a pair of Mickey Mouse slippers. They looked about Brian’s size.

‘Jesus, get a grip man!’

Moments later I heard him tiptoeing his way back down the stairs. Quickly and quietly I slipped the slippers back underneath the desk and pretended to be just that moment polishing off the article.

“Well, what do you think? I told you you’d want to see that before Sunday, didn’t I?”

“Yeah well I’m not rising to his mind games”.

“You think that’s what they are?”

“Oh come on! He says it’s not a grudge match but he’s obviously goaded his assistant into saying what he’s said”.

“You think so?”

“Of course! Look at this way; would you, as my assistant manager, let slip something about my past to the newspapers on the eve of a big game? Of course you wouldn’t, unless you wanted to get yourself unceremoniously shown the door. No, Steve has persuaded him to make that quote just to stir up trouble, maybe to get the home fans all worked up. Sneaky bastard. It’ll probably have worked too! I bet it’s a right hell-hole that stadium next Tuesday night”.

Sighing in frustration I closed the paper and handed it back to Winnie. Then I got up and prepared to leave.

“What are you going to do then?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do – I’m going to beat the bastard. On his own patch too. See how he likes those f__king apples”.

-----------

Next - (BSP).. Luton v Droylsden

[ScottleeSV]

21/11/09, League Match 20

Luton Town v Droylsden

GK – Dean Brill (73 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Charlie Daniels (22 apps, 2 goals)

DR – George Pilkington (68 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (22 apps, 1 goal)

DC – David McCracken (11 apps, 0 goals)

DMC – Derek Niven (14 apps, 1 goal)

MC – Keith Keane (59 apps, 6 goals)

ML – Clint Easton (4 apps, 0 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (12 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Michael Bridges (15 apps, 10 goals)

FC – Danny Cadamateri (15 apps, 4 goals)

Thanks to the return of Michael Taylor in place of Will Buckley, the team sheet was an improvement over the one I handed in seven days ago. The only mainstay personnel I was missing now were Claude Gnakpa and Kevin Nicholls. I could cope with that though, and I could especially cope with that at home to Droylsden. On paper The Bloods are one of the worst team in the league - potentially the worst.

My only tactical change was Easton for Daniels, the latter keeping his place by ousting Byrne at left back. Bizarrely enough I had a phone conversation with Charlie Daniels’ father the other day. He’s of the opinion that even though Daniels is currently dazzling them on the high wire with his wing play, his best bet higher up the leagues might be at left back. I could give you a detailed analysis of why this apparently is the case only I’m not going to. Suffice to say though, if you’re going to look at something, home to Droylsden = good time to do it.

------------------

Not that it was difficult but we started better than against Tamworth. In the 2nd minute Niven got forward far enough to rifle in a pile-driver that goalkeeper Clancy only just tipped over. From the corner, Keane got on the end of a scramble only to hoist an easy put-away into Row Z. He’s still relatively young is Keane but I think his inability to contribute goals will ultimately be the thing which keeps him in the little leagues (that and his temper).

As the crow flies, chance number two wasn’t long in coming. The Bloods were popping their own vessels all over the place. Taylor, Easton, and Cadamateri meanwhile were like dogs in a supermarket, exploiting every avenue with curious relish. Taylor it was, whippet-like, who left the appropriately named Cryan sat on his backside in the 9th minute. Instead of lift in the cross, Taylor rolled a ball into Cadamateri who thrashed it into the side netting with Clancy flailing.

14 minutes and - shiver me timbers - another chance. Enter Daniels, still getting forward even from left back. His dribbling skills were too much for the bleeding Bloods. He even saw fit to dribble past Easton! Eventually he did what any attacking player in the same team as an in-form Bridges would do; he passed it to Bridges.

The already tearful Cryan tried to get his leg in the way of where he thought the shot was going but Bridge merely sold him a dummy and left him for dead. You could say it was like Bridge Over The River Cryan. Next minute and boom! 1-0? No. Bridges’ shot hit the post and went all the way out for a throw-in over on the far side.

Droylsden’s outlet appeared to be a solo striker called Burberry. Three minutes later and he contributed the visitors’ only shot of the half, firing straight at Brill after stepping infield from Pilkington. No wonder they’re near the bottom of the league if that's the best they can do. Brill soon rolled the ball out to James and another Luton attack was quickly into the R and D stages. This one ended with Cadamateri ignoring pleas from both Taylor and Bridges to curl one a yard amiss with his wrong foot.

Frustratingly however our efforts on goal began to become more and more spaced out. The battered Manchester outfit were adapting to their self-imposed darkness, mainly through time-wasting and spoiling the game at every opportunity. Goal kicks started to take an age, free kicks went back to the keeper, and throw-ins were exchanged between as many as three different pairs of hands before actually getting thrown.

Our next big opportunity came as late in the half as minute number 34. This time Bennett and Lowe got in each other’s way on the halfway line, a side effect of too much dawdling. Keane shot through them like a harpoon gun (taking the ball with him) and suddenly options were aplenty. Naturally Keane picked out Bridges. The main man was through now but not quite through, if you get my drift. It was the type of through where you’re only actually ‘through’ if you use quick feet to stay ahead of your marker. That kind of through.

This being the slow-moving Droylsden, Bridges stayed ‘through’. Like a party pooping little git though, Clancy correctly anticipated which way the striker’s shot would go. His parry shoved the ball out to the right where Cadamateri went on the chase. There was potential for a secondary chance here but Cadders took the strange option of trying to chip the backtracking keeper and plop one in at the back post. Sorry Cadders, not on your life. Goal kick.

Just when I thought Spoilsden might get to the half time interval on level terms, Easton contributed a dribble and a turn and won a corner off Dugdale. What happened next can only be attributed to the away side having used up too much luck. Keane’s poor cross deflected to McCracken near to the penalty spot. The central defender aimed a shot at the goal but hit errr the actual penalty spot instead.

What followed should have been a routine catch for Clancy as the white thing spooned up off the turf at a comfortable two miles per hour. The keeper’s feet though got themselves entangled with Bennett’s legs, and both men crumbled to the floor in the six yard box. The ball floated in slow motion towards the goal in the high up space Clancy should have been but wasn’t. Smikle, originally assigned to guard the far post, made a last minute attempt to dart across the line and make a wonder save with his head, but only managed to get a glance on it. The ball therefore dropped downwards into the onion bag.

“Thank god for that” I said, not celebrating particularly much.

“McCracken” Brian replied. “Of all people”.

1-0 at the break then.

[ScottleeSV]

“Needless to say, we’re on top. Now listen - as we speak, their manager will be changing his tactics. That doesn’t mean we have to change our tactics; let’s face it we could probably beat this lot with any tactics. Just be careful you don’t suffer a change in attitude. I don’t want to see eleven prima donnas going out for the second half and forgetting there’s a game still to be won. It’s only 1-0. Now don’t mess this up”.

There was never ever serious danger of that though, was there? In the 48th minute Danny Cadamateri put the game to bed. It began with Niven dribbling sideways and then feeding Taylor over on the right touchline. The winger went on a little foray before spotting Danny’s solar-charged run into the centre. Over went the cross and Cadamateri met it before the sluggish looking Dugdale did. The header was firm and accurate (as it needed to be from fully sixteen yards out). It flew past Clancy and we had the second goal.

You’d have thought the gold he’d just unearthed was at The Emirates Stadium, or Old Trafford, such was his celebration. Cadamateri thundered away towards the corner flag with his head facing his colleagues, his arm repeatedly beckoning them over as if to say - “Come on then! Come celebrate with me! Look at what I just did! And against Droylsden no less!” The referee wasn’t as impressed and booked Cadamateri on his way back to the centre circle.

Any positives the visitors might have taken from their half time team talk were now up in smoke. To their credit though they didn’t entirely give in. They didn’t exactly attack us much in retaliation to going two down, but neither did they give in. Instead they focused on damage limitation. Our lot meanwhile finally eased off the gas. I supposed at 2-0 ahead I couldn’t exactly vilify them for this, especially with Wimbledon coming up.

During the dreary passage that followed, I noticed Happy Harry prancing around by one of the corner flags. No longer was he being played by Darren but one of Caroline’s old university friends; not a Luton fan, just a bored young guy who apparently thought it would be amusing to have five thousand people glare at him all afternoon without actually being able to see his face. Fair enough.

62 minutes – a chance for Pilkington. The set-up was similar to how the first goal came about. A corner floated over everybody’s heads and came to Pilko at the corner edge of the penalty area. Initially he tried to force it back into the crowd of bodies only to then see it rebound back out to him. This time he took two or three touches and tried to bend one away from the keeper into the top left corner. It was a brilliant effort (for a defender) and Clancy had to be at full stretch to turn it around the upright.

One Hatter not having a terribly good game was Michael Bridges. Sadly it was very much a case of After The Lords Mayor’s Parade for young Michael. Since his two misses in the first half he’d hardly seemed interested. Even more worrying, when Cadamateri had burst forward to get on the end of that Taylor cross, Bridges had hung back as if thinking it wasn’t worth the effort. Am I being unduly mean to a guy with 10 goals in 16 matches? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not sure.

Richie Byrne has a secondary position of centre half. I decided to give him a brief run out there today, sending him on in place of Tony James after 63 minutes. He played fine. So did Daniels at left back. The whole team performed well today, to be frank, both individually and as a unit. With ten minutes to go and the game long since lost in a sea of mediocrity, I brought Dean Bowditch into the fray for a second successive substitute appearance.

Bowditch at the moment looks like a hi-spec robot which has been left to gather dust in the corner of the factory too long. The capabilities are there but the joints just haven’t been properly worn in. Still, the guy shows promise. He had a good effort on goal today. It came from a McCracken header forwards that Keane tried to shoulder past a defender only to shoulder it too far away from himself – but into the path of Bowditch. The convalescent’s shooting technique was very good. So was Clancy’s acrobatic ability to tip it over.

The Bloods didn’t have any efforts on goal second half but they did pump a couple of worrisome ones into the middle. The best of these efforts flicked off Pilkington’s head and behind for a corner (which was wasted straight to the near post man). Credit to the fifty or so away fans though; despite the impending lengthy journey back to Manchester, they stayed right until the end and even raised a clap at the final whistle.

How we didn’t end up getting the third goal I can only put down to laziness. We could have absolutely belted this lot if we’d put our mind to it. As it was, two goals were all we got. It will do however. At the end of the day it's three more valuable points in the bag. Next stop Wimbledon on Tuesday night.

“I can’t see them lot staying up” I said to Brian as approached the tunnel.

“No. Them, St Albans, and Tamworth – all shocking”.

Yep. All three for the drop I reckoned.

---------------

FINAL SCORE (Att - 4765)

Luton Town 2 (McCracken 42, Cadamateri 48)

Droylsden 0

----------------

(other results)

Burton 1-1 Grays

Crawley 0-2 Weymouth

Ebbsfleet 2-1 AFC Wimbledon

Histon 1-0 Woking

Kidderminster 2-1 Forest Green

Macclesfield 2-0 Cambridge

Mansfield 1-1 Tamworth

Northwich 0-1 St Albans

Rushden 3-2 Oxford

Salisbury 3-1 York

Stevenage 3-1 Kettering

----------------

(league table after 20 games >> we have 15 wins, 4 draws, and 1 defeat)

1 - Luton (49)

------------------------

2 - Rushden (47)

3 - Grays (37)

4 - York (37)

5 - Stevenage (35)

-----------------------

6 - Salisbury (34)

7 - Oxford (33)

8 - Burton (33)

[ScottleeSV]

16/09/06 - We hear the playback and it seems so long ago

The Catalans were on top but The Old Lady was tough to break down. The score had been 1-1 since the early stages of the game now, Juve striking first, Barca hitting back. With just a few minutes to go though it was the Spaniards who looked like grabbing the winner. From one side to another they mesmerized the Black and white rearguard with slick passing of the highest calibre. For a protracted period it seemed Juventus simply couldn’t get near them.

And yet somehow they were surviving, soaking, absorbing. First Buffon palmed one over the bar from Ronaldinho with lightening reflexes. Then the bar itself rattled in pain from a twenty yard shot. Then a low cross from the right went whiskers in front of Eto. Surely it was any moment now? Surely the faltering Italian side couldn’t make it to the end? Surely a whopping five minutes of injury time would prove their undoing?

No. Furthermore, in the fourth added on minute they broke up field, attack becoming defence in the blink of an eye. Barcelona retreated in panic. But too late. Three swift moves later and it was all over. Del Piero lifted his foot up on the edge of the six yard box and poked home the winner from a deep cross on the left. Somehow Juve had stolen the match. There was barely time to kick off again, let alone retaliate.

“Get in!” I cried, dropping the controller and doing a kind of old school Blockbusters thing with my arms.

“Un-f__king-believable” Steve groaned, his eyes zeroing in on the match clock and not liking what he was seeing.

“I believe that makes it 8-2 to me in matches”.

“You shouldn’t have won these last two though. Talk about taking a pummelling and still winning! You’re the flukiest guy I’ve ever met”.

“Play another one if you want” said Charlotte from across the room. “I’m not finished with this research just yet”.

“Nah, I’ve just about had enough of this game today” - Steve.

We were all lounging in the lounge this bright Saturday morning. My lounge. Steve and I had been going one on one at Pro Evolution Soccer whilst Charlotte sat at the nearby table poring over brochures of Mexico City. Soon we would be going for lunch in the centre of Leeds, Mcdonalds if we had my way, Subway if Steve got his, and any old random cafe if Charlotte got hers (“because the independents need the dough more than Ronald”).

First however there was one more game to play. Not on Pro Evo but in life. No sooner had I crossed the room and kissed Charlotte on the cheek did the postman begin dropping things through the letterbox, five or six letters and a parcel by the looks of it.

“Anything interesting?” my fiancée asked.

“Hmmm, a gas bill reminder – I don’t know what this one is – this one is definitely my new pin number though – and this one looks like it might be my mock exam result”.

“Really?” Steve asked, jumping off his seat. “I didn’t think that would come this weekend. I’ll call Jennifer; find out if mine’s come too”.

As Steve began quick-dialling his girlfriend, I placed my deliveries on the table (being careful of course to avoid Charlotte’s map of Central America. If Charlotte ever ran out of bog roll and it came to a choice between using a gas bill or a map of Central America, the gas bill would be going for a tour-de-pipes).

“84 percent?!” Steve bellowed down the phone. “That’s amazing! I never thought I’d get that much. Excellent. Yeah, I’ll be home about six. See you later then”.

“Good result I take it?”

“Yeah, I got 84 percent! My result came in the post today too apparently. What did you get?”

“Hang on a minute” I said, peeling off a corner of the envelope. “Let me see – oh yeah, found it. 96 percent”.

Steve’s face dropped like a stone, and even Charlotte looked up from what she was doing. It was as if the sound of someone’s face dropping had an actual noise and she’d heard it.

“96 percent?” he questioned.

“Yep. I must have got lucky, I guess”.

“Okay. Time we got going anyway. I’m just going to nip to the corner shop and get some more gum”.

Patting the back of his jeans to check his wallet was there, Steve went into the hallway and disappeared out through the front door. Charlotte meanwhile switched her gaze to me.

“Do you think he's alright?” I posed.

“Oh come on” she replied, choosing this moment to start packing up her papers. “Isn’t it obvious? You beat him at everything it seems to me; pool, table hockey, and now that stupid football game. Then when he finally thinks he’s won something, you turn around and tell him you got 96 percent. What was it even an exam in? I thought this was a football coaching course you were doing”.

“It is. You still do written exams for it though. And since when have me and him been competing?”

“To you it probably doesn’t feel like you are competing, but then you’re not the one who’s losing all the time”.

Shaking her head she gave me another kiss, almost as if to say – don’t worry I still love you.

‘You’re a jackass though’ I continued for her in my head. ‘Don’t you know it’s the law of England to let people win at least half the time? Losing too much is bad for one’s moral hygiene! We’ve already banned School Sports Days from having winners and losers, didn’t you know? And don’t worry because our future kids won’t get any Fail marks for failing, just Good Try grades. It's for their own good’.

My wandering thought bubble popped as Charlotte bustled past me to head for the toilet under the stairs. I was in something of a lurch now. What was I supposed to do the rest of the afternoon, let Steve win at Pool the first chance I got?

“No, table hockey” I mouthed out loud. “He can have the table hockey. I don’t care about being good at that”.

“What did you say?” Charlotte called from the crapper.

“Nothing”.

For the moment, I’d completely forgotten about how good my 96 percent was.

[tenthreeleader]

This is a really, really nice post. I like how you are taking time for character development. This post is what I call 'unhurried' - it takes its time to say what you wanted it to say.

Just one teeny observation, which I'll erase later if you wish - it's 'mesmerized' the rearguard in your first paragraph

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks Tenthree. I've made the edit now - my brain must have been wandering far afield when I wrote the word like that.

--------------

24/11/09 - And - here - we - go

I’ve been in charge of Luton for eighty six matches now (if you include friendlies). Of all those games I don’t think I’ve ever been as nervous before one as I am today. Even against the MK Dons, a match being shown on Match of the Day, I didn’t feel the butterflies as bad as this. The power of pride is an understated thing.

On paper AFC Wimbledon have been in existence since 2002, in reality since 1889. With or without Fairclough however they’re traditionally the sort of club that relishes playing a big gun. They might be mid-table in the league and on a poor run of form, but we absolutely cannot accommodate that factor as part of our pre-match considerations. My abiding memory of The Dons when I was a teenager was the way they’d be proper rubbish for half a dozen games and then suddenly pop up and beat a Liverpool or a Man United.

The fact Steve is now their manager just makes the prospect of playing them away from home even worse. There’s no doubt at all he’ll have them primed and motivated to try and take us out. He won’t be in the worst boat by possessing the weaker of the two sides either. Luton are expected to win this game (albeit narrowly). If the game ends a draw Steve will probably feel he’s scored a point over me.

I didn’t bother with any sightseeing today, knowing my mind just wouldn’t be on it. I figure sightseeing around Wimbledon in any other month apart from June is likely to be a letdown anyway. Instead I moped around inside my private office scrolling through online player lists. Later, on the team coach, I sat staring out of the window hardly talking to anybody. A light drizzle was falling outside and it was already dark; the omens looked foreboding.

My team tonight will be largely unchanged from Saturday. The only differences are Byrne in for Easton (allowing Daniels to move back to the left wing), and Gnakpa for Pilkington. The previously injured Gnakpa returns just as the man he’s replacing picks up a niggle of his own. Therefore McCracken gets to keep his place at centre back for at least one more game.

Solely on my mind when we rolled up at Kingsmeadow was the thought of when I’d first catch sight of Steve. Luckily I’d been to this ground before as part of a Morecambe side visiting Kingstonian; I could hastily guide my cohorts to the away dressing room without having to wander here, there, and everywhere asking directions. When all of us were inside and I’d slammed the door firmly closed in our wake, I felt a wave of relief pass over me.

That said I was only delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later I was going to see him. Sure enough, half an hour later when we went to get a feel of the pitch, there he was standing with his arms crossed in front of the dugouts. He was chatting with someone in a tracksuit, presumably a coach or an assistant. For the briefest of moments he caught my eye as I walked onto the grass. Then he broke contact and went back to his chat. Only James. No big deal.

By the time we retreated to the dressing rooms with twenty minutes to go, the stadium was three quarters full. At least a thousand boisterous Luton fans had made the short journey down. Potentially up to three times as many boisterous Wombles meanwhile were drowning them out. The last thing I heard as I re-entered the dressing room was an atmosphere half London Calling and half “Luton Town w__k, w__k w__k”.

“This is a very important match for me” I began, trying to ignore substitute James Lawrie latest bout of the shakes. “It would be an important match anyway. All these games are important. We’re neck and neck with Rushden and we need to grind them into submission. We need to keep winning, keep performing, keep applying the pressure. Tonight we can carry on doing that. We’ve had some easy games recently but tonight you’ve got to go and out and prove, once again, you can do the business under trying circumstances. Against tricky opponents. Away from home. On a less than forgiving pitch.

“It’s true the Wimbledon boss is an old friend of mine I no longer get on with. I would look upon it as the most amazing personal favour you guys could ever do for me, if you could go out there and win this game. In fact, if you win tonight, I will personally put two grand behind the bar at The Hatters Arms and we’ll all have a private party there on Saturday evening once we’re back from Kettering”.

“Nice one” said Richie Byrne.

“Excellent” spoke Derek Niven.

“Come on then, lion hearts” Keith Keane strangely remarked, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go do this”.

“Yeah!” – Cadamateri.

I hadn’t actually finished my speech but the players seemed to think I had. Led by Keano they were assembling to leave the room now. I didn’t call them back; probably best not to curtail them when the adrenaline was flowing and the God of momentum was on their shoulders. Personally I hung back from entering the tunnel. I didn’t want to stand side by side with S.F as the players took the field. I would wait for ‘the roar’ and then follow on at the rear.

When I eventually emerged under the floodlights, I quickly came to the conclusion AFC Wimbledon possesses one of the more special home ground atmospheres for this division. The sense of anticipation around the place was awe-inspiring. It was like a bubbling cauldron of uncertainty, a mini Istanbul.

‘Please don’t mess this up’ I prayed, glancing at Steve twenty yards to my right (he wasn’t paying me any attention whatsoever. Neither was I to him). ‘Not this one. Not this one. Mess up any game apart from this one’.

[ScottleeSV]

24/11/09, League Match 21

AFC Wimbledon v Luton Town

GK – Dean Brill (74 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Richie Byrne (13 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (68 apps, 2 goals)

DC – David McCracken (12 apps, 1 goal)

DC – Tony James (23 apps, 1 goal)

DMC – Derek Niven (15 apps, 1 goal)

MC – Keith Keane (60 apps, 6 goals)

ML – Charlie Daniels (23 apps, 3 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (13 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Michael Bridges (16 apps, 10 goals)

FC – Danny Cadamateri (16 apps, 5 goals)

If this had been Rocky 4, the commentators would have been screaming “It’s no holds barred in Moscow!” as early as the fifth minute. That’s as long as it took for Finn of Wimbledon and Niven of our lot, to go in the book. Niven got his yellow for a lunge at Toulson after carelessly losing the ball with his first touch. Finn went one better, grabbing Keane’s shirt and hauling him to the floor for no apparent reason. Predictably enough, Keane didn’t appreciate that.

“Keane just shut up and get on with it!” I screamed, worried he’d talk his way into trouble.

“That’s it, Finny!” Steve shouted meanwhile. “Let him know you’re around!”

The Dons’ game-plan quickly became only too clear; kick us from pillar to post. It worked too. For the first fifteen nervy minutes almost nothing happened in either final third. Then Brown made a mistake of Stuart-Pearce-against-San-Marino proportions, tapping back to his keeper far too softly. Michael Taylor latched onto it but got the ball stuck under his feet. Quickly he humped it sideways to Bridges, sandwiched as he was between Garrard and Brown.

Bridges only had time for a half-volley snapshot on his wrong foot. It wasn’t badly struck but sailed a yard over the crossbar. Still, it was a start. He almost got through again two minutes later but Toulson bundled him off the ball thirty yards out. It might have been a red card but the covering Haswell. Instead out came the yellow for the third time already.

Wimbledon didn’t launch their first attack of note until just after the twenty minute mark, and even then it failed to produce a shot on target. Davis found some space on the wing and lofted a nine-iron into the area. Striker John Main was up there with Pilkington but Pilko won the duel and headed it back out to whence it came. Davis crossed in again and by this point Kedwell had joined the attack. The striker got his forehead on the ball but not enough of it; the header went a comfortable two yards wide.

Then another break in play. And another yellow. Rarely a half goes by in our matches these days without Daniels causing trouble down the left. Today’s jinking run cost Garrard his clean slate. Infuriatingly, Bridges and Cadamateri had clearly known what was coming from Daniels once he got the ball a lot quicker than the Dons defence. If the cross had gone in, it would have been two on one for us right in front of the goalkeeper. Not to be.

If that wasn’t frustrating enough, we also had to contend with instances where Wimbledon players should have been booked but weren’t. James, Main, and Brown all should have been carded long before the first half hour was up in my opinion. There was tugging going on, spitting on boots, subtle pushes before throw-ins, and even pointless slanging matches initiated purely to unsettle.

“Don’t let it bother you” Brian said, perhaps remembering my outburst away to Grays. “We’ll get the goal eventually. It might only be one today, but we’ll get it. Plenty of time left”.

“I know, Brian. I know”.

His positivity almost paid off straight away. Daniels went on another run in the 31st minute and this time Garrard didn’t dare show his studs. In went the cross and Bridges was on the end of it in a flash. The only trouble was, it went slightly behind him and he couldn’t twist his neck effectively enough. The header ended up going as wide as Kedwell’s earlier on.

And then, three minutes later, a real bolt from the blue. Daniels and Cadamateri went chasing Brown when the ball was rolled out to him by Pullen. Brown though hoofed away it before he was tagged. The hoof was diagonal and long; it caught Byrne napping and Kedwell stole in behind the defence. He didn’t control the ball however until he was practically on the dead ball line. Gnakpa and Pilkington were rushing in to meet him by this point, and only John Main was making a run for the area (safely shadowed by James).

Kedwell feigned to cross it and Gnakpa took the bait, sliding down low to block (Kedwell practically sold him a Cruyff). Still, Pilko was there as a back-up so no danger, at least until he slipped on his backside that was. Suddenly the Dons forward had a sight of goal. The angle was tight but he went for it anyway. It was a hard and accurate shot and Brill was caught by surprise, so sure was he Pilko and Gnakpa had Kedwell covered. The ball skimmed off his flapping right hand and crashed its way into the net. One nil Wimbledon.

As the place erupted and went completely wild, Kedwell took his shirt off and ran for the corner flag. Another booking followed for this, not that I cared. Steve meanwhile flew out from his technical area and pretended to thump his leg about three times. Then he hugged his assistant – no doubt that leak guy in the paper – then he returned to the dugout. Credit to him for not looking in my direction and taunting me although I supposed that might have been because he wasn’t yet counting his chickens.

Not wanting to miss out on the promised p!ss-up at The Hatters Arms, Keane scrambled his way forwards from the kick-off, growling and snarling. In fact if there was one consolation, there seemed to be extra impetus amongst all of us now. In the short space of time between the goal and half time, we kept the yellow card brigade trapped in their own half. Taylor took first bite of the cherry with a twenty yard shot just past the post. Off target though – again!

When we finally did hit the target, it was almost drowned out by the half time whistle. Cadamateri was pulled put wide by a Niven chip and immediately tried to cross it in for Bridges first time. The striker got there before Toulson and forced Pullen into a smart save down to his right, except for the fact he let it run free. Keane went for the follow up but Brown beat him to it, bizarrely poking the ball at his own keeper and forcing him to save from his own player.

Out it rebounded to a surprised but grateful Keane, only he smacked it against Brown instead of score (the keeper was on the deck!). The ball ricocheted out for a corner to huge cheers around the ground. From the corner however The Wombles were still wombling all over the shop. Pilkington, eager to make up for his slip, rose like a leopard. His header flew goal-bound but only succeeded in clipping the bar on its way over. And that was that for the half. Too little too late, I'm afraid.

[ScottleeSV]

“You’ve played right into their goddamn hands out there! I warned you about what to expect! I warned you what type of match it would be! I warned you not to try and play twinkle toes football! Jesus, what a cock-up this is! I want a big improvement second half. Losing I can take. Losing when we’ve only applied ourselves to about 60% of the level we’re capable, I don’t take so well”.

“Four of their players are on yellows” Michael Taylor interrupted. “We can use that to our advantage in the second half”.

“Well make sure you do then! I want less p!ssing about and more directness in the second half. Look how chaotic they looked just before half time when we got at the heart of them! Same again straight away please – I really don’t want to lose this game”.

“Are Rushden winning?” Brian asked quietly.

“Yes, 2-0” I replied, heading for the door. “We’ve got to win to stay ahead of them”.

“Not just to satisfy your manager vendetta then?” – K. Keane.

“What did you just say to me?” I asked, turning back around quickly.

“Look, we’re not going to sort out anything in here” Derek Niven said. “Time to show them we can be wee bully boys too”.

“Absolutely” – David McCracken.

Suddenly I was surrounded by footballers rising to their feet. My head was spinning, trying as I was to process several different comments at once. Eventually Brian punched my shoulder gently and beckoned me out the room. The team seemed at least a little bit fired up now; that was something. I hated this match though. I hated it. I just wanted to get the points and go home. Hell maybe even one point.

The trick up Steve’s sleeve at the start of the second half was to try and get a goal right away. It didn’t work though. As Finn, Davis, and Taylor all charged towards the left wing in tandem, Main’s long ball forwards cleared all three heads and went behind for a goal kick. If we hadn’t been losing I might have laughed at the sheer amateurishness of that. Not since my school days have I seen the old stampede-down-one-wing trick. In my opinion you might as well try and lob the keeper from fifty yards (or whatever it is).

It was a long time waiting but on 52 minutes we finally put it all together. Six, seven, eight passes, all clinically one and two touch. At the end of it all, Bridges laid one back for Niven to shoot on the edge of the area. The Scot dummied to do just that but slyly laid it sideways for Daniels to run onto. Daniels hammered it first time, and Pullen saved the ball with a dramatic double-handed punch. The ball went up in the air and out for a corner. The corner though came to nothing.

55 minutes and Daniels was at the hub again. This time he teased Toulson and Brown before delivering a spectacular curling ball with his left in-step. It was so deadly accurate that Haswell in the area didn’t dare touch it for fear of turning it into his own net. Cadamateri missed it completely too. So did Bridges. And James. The only man to get anything on it was the man coming in at the back; Michael Taylor. Alas his hooked ‘finish’ went only into the side rigging.

A quiet spell penetrated the gloomy night air after this. Even giving it all as we were, good chances were hard to come by. Wimbledon were doggedly protecting their lead, and fouling at every opportunity. By the time the hour mark came and went, Pullen and Brown had joined Garrard, Finn, Toulson, and Kedwell in the referee’s notebook. As yet however we were still waiting on the first red.

I made my first two substitutions in the 64th minute. On came Easton for the tiring Daniels, and Lawrie for Taylor. The latter was quite simply a random gamble. I wanted Bridges and Lawrie up front with Cadamateri switching to right wing, the idea being he would push up and support them whenever. Between 65 and 75 minutes though, as our new charges played themselves in, we created naff all. Only the Dons had a shot throughout this period, a thirty yarder from Kedwell saved low to his right by Brill.

After that we had our second wind. More chances presented themselves – good ones. First Lawrie’s fresh legs somehow reached an over-hit through ball from Cadamateri. The youngster took the ball around Pullen only to leave himself a ridiculously tight angle. Lawrie went for gold anyway but took his eye off the ball, in the end barely scuffing it. The ball rolled slowly close to the goal-line and actually seemed to stop before Toulson hacked it desperately away for a throw.

Then it was Taylor in on the act. In a crowded penalty area the winger seemed to juggle the ball on his foot before somehow spinning and shooting under duress. It wasn’t a great shot but the keeper was caught unsighted. He only just managed to paw at the ball and deflect it away to his right. At this point I stopped ‘believing’. We were well into the final ten minutes and counting now.

When Howarth came on for the limping McCracken, the Wimbledon fans frustratingly began to whistle already (about six minutes plus stoppage time too early). It was shortly after this Steve began switching players every two minutes just to disrupt our rhythm even further. We’d resorted to just humping balls down the middle now, and Toulson and the like were just gobbling them up.

As the clock ticked towards 90, I pulled Niven across for some late instruction. As I did so, the linesman to my right signalled for just ONE minute of stoppage time. F_ck's sake.

“Forget it” I shouted to the Scot as he approached. “I’ve changed my mind. Just forget it”.

Shortly after Pullen thrashed his next dead ball down the field (a free kick conceded by Bridge for being offside), the referee called time on proceedings. All around the ground, except for in the away end, thousands of people roared their approval. To my right, Steve sank to one knee and buried his head in his hands. He looked like he might be saying a prayer of thanks to all the Gods in all the universes. At one point I thought he was going to float slowly up to the heavens.

----------

FINAL SCORE (att - 3364)

AFC Wimbledon 1 (Kedwell 36)

Luton Town 0

----------

(other results)

Cambridge 2-0 Salisbury

Droylsden 2-3 Kidderminster

Forest Green 1-0 Mansfield

Kettering 1-1 Crawley

Oxford 2-2 Histon

Rushden 2-0 Burton

St Albans 0-2 Macclesfield

Tamworth 1-0 Northwich

Weymouth 2-1 Ebbsfleet

Woking 0-0 Stevenage

York 2-0 Grays

---------

[font=Courier New]| Pos   | Inf   | Team          |       | Pld   | Won   | Drn   | Lst   | For   | Ag    | G.D.  | Pts   | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 1st   |       | Rushden       |       | 21    | 16    | 2     | 3     | 49    | 18    | +31   | 50    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 2nd   |       | Luton         |       | 21    | 15    | 4     | 2     | 48    | 21    | +27   | 49    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 3rd   |       | York City     |       | 21    | 12    | 4     | 5     | 37    | 25    | +12   | 40    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 4th   |       | Grays         |       | 21    | 10    | 7     | 4     | 41    | 21    | +22   | 37    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 5th   |       | Stevenage     |       | 21    | 9     | 9     | 3     | 39    | 33    | +6    | 36    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 6th   |       | Weymouth      |       | 21    | 9     | 8     | 4     | 34    | 25    | +9    | 35    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 7th   |       | Oxford        |       | 21    | 10    | 4     | 7     | 41    | 27    | +14   | 34    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 8th   |       | Histon        |       | 21    | 9     | 7     | 5     | 36    | 27    | +9    | 34    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 9th   |       | Salisbury     |       | 21    | 8     | 10    | 3     | 34    | 26    | +8    | 34    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 10th  |       | Forest Green  |       | 21    | 9     | 6     | 6     | 28    | 22    | +6    | 33    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 11th  |       | Crawley       |       | 21    | 10    | 3     | 8     | 36    | 33    | +3    | 33    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 12th  |       | Burton        |       | 21    | 9     | 6     | 6     | 29    | 27    | +2    | 33    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 13th  |       | Cambridge     |       | 21    | 8     | 7     | 6     | 28    | 22    | +6    | 31    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 14th  |       | AFC Wimbledon |       | 21    | 9     | 2     | 10    | 34    | 36    | -2    | 29    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 15th  |       | Mansfield     |       | 21    | 6     | 8     | 7     | 32    | 38    | -6    | 26    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 16th  |       | Woking        |       | 21    | 7     | 4     | 10    | 19    | 22    | +3    | 25    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 17th  |       | Kidderminster |       | 21    | 6     | 5     | 10    | 26    | 34    | -8    | 23    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 18th  |       | Ebbsfleet     |       | 21    | 6     | 4     | 11    | 21    | 33    | -12   | 22    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 19th  |       | Macclesfield  |       | 21    | 5     | 5     | 11    | 21    | 38    | -17   | 20    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 20th  |       | Kettering     |       | 21    | 4     | 6     | 11    | 27    | 38    | -11   | 18    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 21st  |       | St Albans     |       | 21    | 3     | 5     | 13    | 18    | 44    | -26   | 14    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 22nd  |       | Tamworth      |       | 21    | 3     | 4     | 14    | 16    | 36    | -20   | 13    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 23rd  |       | Droylsden     |       | 21    | 3     | 3     | 15    | 28    | 49    | -21   | 12    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| [/font]
[font=Courier New]| 24th  |       | Northwich     |       | 21    | 3     | 3     | 15    | 15    | 42    | -27   | 12    | [/font]
[font=Courier New]| ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------|[/font]

[Twizted_seed]

Great story. Lovin it so far. Though I would watch out for that Keane bloke. Seems to be just a little bit unprofessional for my liking.

[WelshWolf]

Out of interest, did you choose to have the manager of AFC Wimbledon hate you, or is it one of the in game 'dislikes' that you just thought up a storyline for?

Your story making skills are beyond me, they are captivating and interesting in areas they shouldn't be - for example, if someone asked me do I want to know about some managers personal life I would say no before they even finished asking, but the way you have done it is beyond brilliant.

Thanks for entertaining us with it, and I hope you keep it up.

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks for the compliments, Welsh and Twizted. Yeah Keane is a bit of a git and he's only getting worse.

As for Steve and Wimbledon. Now then, I don't actually pay attention to the in-game likes and dislikes. I needed a team for Steve so I simply dropped him in one. I figured the reborn Wimbledon would be just the type of club (if ever there would be one) to pride itself on giving unknowns a chance. The fact they were sort of on a collision course to meet Luton in the BSP just made it perfect.

-----------------

24/11/09 - Burying the hatchet

As tempting as it was to storm straight down the tunnel (or the Kingsmeadow equivalent of), I stayed put and kept my eyes on Steve. I’ve never been the sore loser type. Despite my inner dismay right now, I would at least stay and shake the guy’s hand. To do anything else just wouldn’t be proper.

It took a while for him to reach me because every Dons player, substitute, and staff member seemed to want a piece of him. When he did reach me, I held my arm out and Steve shook it without hesitation. Then his mouth opened. I thought for a second he was going to say something patronising like – I bet you wish they’d finished me off now, eh? Or - Hey backstabber, your boys took one hellll of a beating!

On this most unpredictable of unpredictable evenings though, the unpredictable occurred.

“Do you want to grab a drink in the bar before you go?”

“Yeah, okay”.

“Cool. Do you need some time to talk to your players first?”

“What, those useless w__kers? Hell no. Bar it is”.

And just like that, I had a drink lined up with Steve Fairclough. Life sure is full of surprises. I felt instantly good about the development too. Sixty seconds ago I’d felt like the ground might as well open up and swallow me whole. I’d felt like a cartoon piano might as well fall out of the sky and land right where I was standing. I’d felt like one of those giant worms from Tremors might as well randomly spring up through the grass and drag me down for supper.

Now I felt uplifted, full of joy. I had the feeling the rest of the day was going to be alright. Despite my insistence the players didn’t need to be spoken to though, I still had to go back into the dressing room to get my wallet. Steve was probably going to offer to pay for the drinks (him being the host an all) but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I saw straight away the dressing room was like a morgue. All the players were sat sheepishly around the outside of the room, clearly expecting the hairdryer treatment. Not one of them looked me in the eye as I entered. They’d known how much this match meant to me. Oh they’d known! And now it was time to reap the whirlwind. The big boss man was coming to take his pound of flesh. Hide those teacups.

“We were poor and they beat us” Richie Byrne said softly and without looking up.

“Don’t worry Byrney” I replied with a grin. “We'll get em' next time, eh?"

Stunned silence from everyone. I pulled my wallet out from where it was hidden and returned to the door. There was just time to see three or four bemused faces look up at me and then I was gone.

------------------

“I’ve got to hand it you, Steve. You look like you’ve got a useful side there”.

“Well, half a good side at least. It’s still in progress at the moment. As much as I’d like to make the playoffs this season, the goal is definitely to consolidate this year and then maybe challenge for the title next year”.

“I hope we’re not still around next year then”.

“Oh I’m sure you won’t be. You’re bound to go up. Fifteen wins and two defeats doesn’t lie. We just got the rub of the green tonight. You didn’t play well tonight but nil-nil would have been the fairer result. It’s not like we created much”.

Nodding my head, I supped my pint. This was all well and good but I reckoned there were more important things to talk about, and when would there next be the chance?

“I wasn’t responsible for what happened to you, you know. It had nothing to do with me. Some big-shot inside the club found out you’d harried me in the car park and took matters into his own hands. I didn’t approve of it though – none of it. I didn’t know it was going to happen before it happened, either”.

Steve considered this for a moment before answering.

“If I hadn’t seen those two guys come up to you just after I left you in the car park, I probably wouldn’t believe you. As it is, I do believe you. Not just that - I’ve read a lot over the past year or so about some apparently suspicious characters being involved with the running of Luton. That Serbian guy, for instance”.

“How did it happen?” I asked. “The attack I mean”.

“I don’t remember much of it. I went for a drink at this pub in the Luton town centre. I was by myself at the time. I didn't enjoy myself much, mind. The place was rowdy and annoying; and some fat f__ker kept yelling that the fruit machine had ripped him off. Anyway, when I came out, a big tall bald guy followed me half a mile or so back to where I was staying. Funny thing is; I had a feeling he was going to attack me long before he did. What he lacked in stealth though he definitely made up for in brawn. I tried to hit the guy but it was like hitting granite. I felt my hand hurt and then I don’t remember anything after that. Next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital”.

"Fair enough".

The conversation then moved onto how Steve got his Wimbledon job. I started to tell the tale of how I got mine but it felt awkward. I guess another important question first needed to be asked and answered.

“Steve, are we cool now?”

“Yeah, if you want to be”.

“I know I shouldn’t have taken the Luton job without...”

“Nah you did right. I know that now. If you hadn’t taken the job you might have been scratching around in the North East Counties league for a decade or more. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I was just p!ssed off at missing out. In fact no mate, I’ll be honest with you, I was devastated. Feckin’ devastated”.

“It’s worked out alright for you in the end though”.

“Yeah, I’m Wimbledon manager. That’s probably better than being Luton Assistant Manager. Maybe things were meant to happen the way they did”.

“Maybe”.

Some of the home players were starting to enter the bar now. I reckoned it was time to get going. As quickly (but politely) as I could, I downed the rest of my beer and made my excuses.

“Give me call soon though yeah?”

“Yeah I will” Steve replied.

And with that I left.

‘What a topsy-turvy night'

[ScottleeSV]

26/11/09 - 31

“Happy birthday for the other day” Chantelle said, returning to the couch and passing me a card and present. “I bet you thought I’d forgotten”.

“Aw thanks. Actually, I almost forgot myself what with the Wimbledon trip and everything. I don’t like to remember my birthdays these days anyway. I’m thirty one now. Too old”.

“Oh you so ain’t old!”

I thought I’d noticed an unnatural bulge in her handbag earlier. Obviously it had been my present. We were at my place tonight, chilling out and watching soaps. There was a bottle of red on the coffee table in front of us and all was right with the world. I was anticipating a very nice rest of the evening.

“The Shield Seasons One and Two” I read out loud, studying the two very similar looking DVD’s. Bambi purred as if in approval, even though she’s a dog.

“Yeah I remembered you saying you’d liked it on TV so I thought it might be a good thing to get you”.

“You did well. I’ll enjoy these for sure”.

“Hey!” Chantelle exclaimed, tugging my arm and gesturing towards the TV. “This is that film trailer I was telling you about”.

-----------

Allowing my eyes to be redirected, the first thing I saw was a long range camera shot of what looked like a tornado ripping through a town. It was full of little CGI add-ons such as humans being swept away into the sky and landmarks being battered beyond repair. Accompanying the carnage was narration from that typical low-pitched growly voice which seems to infest all movie trailers.

(“A nation... in terror”)

Now a shot of three men clinging onto a lamppost for dear life, one whom loses his grip and floats away screaming, arms flailing and legs swishing.

(“A government... in chaos”)

Cue a man in glasses sat in control room. His weather screening equipment is going haywire. As a result, he wastes no time in picking up a nearby handset – ‘It’s Hal. Somebody wake up the president!’

(“A force of nature... unleashed”)

Now a few random shots of cars being blown down a high street. More screams. More carnage.

(“And now... only one woman can save the country from annihilation!)

Enter Megan Fox, wearing a white scientist coat and pestering the sentries outside The White House – ‘You’re not listening to me! I’ve got a five year degree in wind studies. You must let me in there!’

(“But to save the day, she’ll have to work with the one man she hoped she’d never see again)

A shot of Colin Farrell banging on Megan’s window – ‘I know things didn’t end well between us, but I’m the only other person with a degree in wind studies. You need me on this one!”

(“This winter, get ready..... for the ride... of your life”)

Cue a fast-moving montage of increasingly brief shots, all being played out to overdramatic background music; explosions, guns going off, kissing, wind noises, cars ramming the sides of bridges, windows breaking, and more guns.

Then silence and a black screen, following by the appearance of the title – (“Windstoppers”). This is followed by a brief credits screen with the message – ‘At cinemas now’.

Finally, just when you think it’s over, a man tentatively emerges from a house. ‘I think it’s stopped’ he says, but then seconds later an inhuman gust of wind whisks him three hundred yards into the air. And then the trailer really is over.

-------------

“That looks pants” I said, putting my Shield DVD’s on the coffee table.

“Oh come on, it looks alright. Do you not want to go see it then?”

“Not especially”.

“Well I’d like to see it. Can you not just watch it for Megan Fox?”

“I don’t need Megan Fox, I’ve got Chantelle Jackson”.

“That’s very sweet. But I’d still like to see it”.

Just as I thought she might, Chantelle moved in to give me the kiss of persuasion. Before she could get there however she scrunched her face up and pulled back.

“What’s up? Are you alright?”

“Yeah” she replied, but clutching her forehead. “Just felt a twinge in my head. I’ve had a migraine all day. I don’t think I should have started on that wine”.

“Let’s finish it another night then. Wait here and I’ll go get you a coffee if you want. I wouldn’t mind one myself actually”.

“Yeah okay”.

Relieved the talk had moved on from Windstoppers, I gathered up the wine bottle and glasses and headed for the kitchen. Bambi followed me. She always does when I go into that room. Once there I popped the kettle on and retrieved some mugs from the cupboard. The only trouble with the migraine development was that birthday humpty-dumpty was now probably a major doubt.

“It’s getting worse” my patient called through. “Have you got any aspirins?”

“Yeah; try the drawers next to the armchair”.

As she looked in there, I also looked in here, checking first the cutlery drawer and then the space behind the microwave. I was sure the aspirins were in the living room but I wasn’t totally and completely 110% on it.

“I didn’t know you did origami” she suddenly shouted.

“I don’t. Just leave that where you found it. The pills should be in there somewhere”.

At my end meanwhile I gave up. Oh well. If we didn't find them at least there would be a nice warm steaming cup of coffee for her to drink. It could have been worse.

“Any luck?” I called out.

No reply.

Not thinking it meant anything, I turned my attention back to the kettle and poured the water. Then I picked up both cups and headed for the living room. When I got there, Chantelle was stood facing me behind the couch. On her face was a scowl. In her hand was a photocopied picture of her own arse. I almost dropped the cuppas in shock.

“What the f__k is this?”

“A picture of err someone’s buttocks” I answered, instinctively pretending I didn’t know who they belonged to.

‘Has that really been in my drawer all this time?’

It must have been. Why oh why though had I ever brought it back here from the office? Sure I hadn’t known Chantelle back then but still, why oh why? The memories were quick to come back of that nervous night last season – Darren, Chantelle, the photocopier, Dave’s safe, the manager list, the gun, me sneaking around in the darkness. Why oh why had I bothered keeping the picture though?

‘Because the gal has got a great ass!’ I heard Al Pacino say in my head. That was very random of Al to do that.

“This is MY arse!” Chantelle near enough shouted.

“Really?” I said, squinting my eyes to look at the pic. “You really think so?”

“Yes it f__king well is!” she yelled, throwing it at me and reaching for her coat. “That’s from.... That’s from..... I can’t f__king believe he showed you that. What did you do – pass it around in the pub before you asked me out?”

“No it wasn’t like that!”

“Yeah right it wasn’t!”

It was all downhill from here. Moments later she had her coat on and her handbag scooped up onto one shoulder. Then she was out the door before you could say photocopier. The manner in which she eventually slammed said door behind her made Bambi leap onto the couch in fright.

“Don’t worry” I said to her, meeting her disturbed little doggie eyes head on. “She at least left The Shield. Seasons One AND Two”.

[ScottleeSV]

27/11/09 - Crazy heart

I had rather a delayed reaction to Chantelle’s sharp exit. At first I tried not to think too much of it. After all, it wasn’t like I’d cheated on her or done anything too bad. Surely this was just a minor falling out, something to apologise for (when the chance came) but ultimately forget about six months down the line?

The following afternoon however, when she still wasn’t picking up the phone or answering any texts, the danger sign in my head switched from amber to a light red. Later the same evening I finally began to feel genuinely concerned. I didn’t want to storm around to her house though because that would be rude.

My head totally a mess by this point and getting worse I decided to go for a couple of pints. The Hatters Arms was out because I didn’t want to explain my grumpy posture to Gav, or anyone from the club. Centre of town was out too; you have to be in a certain mood to receive adoring Luton fans into your company. This wasn’t it.

The Haunted Cow on the other hand would be just the tool for the job. It was quiet, secluded, and only barely inside Luton. When I got there and my feet began crunching their way over the car park gravel, I finally got a text back from my wronged woman. It read, rather simply - ‘Just f__k off!’

Now my light had gone from red to very dark red. I no longer sensed trouble; I sensed the end. I’m sure when you’ve been married to someone for ten years you can brush these little misdemeanours off as being nothing. At the two month stage everything’s considerably more fragile. The connection is still in its infancy. It’s still being built. The lightest of breezes can topple what you’ve started.

There were only about ten people in the pub. Good. Gingerly I took a stool near the bar and caught the attention of the barman.

“Yes young man?” he asked, and I appreciated the young bit.

“Whisky” I replied without thinking.

Without requiring further elaboration he fetched what I asked for. It’s a good job the bottle was attached to the wall or I probably would have told him to leave it next to my glass.

“Let me guess, pilgrim” came a different voice further down the bar (on the customer side this time). “It’s a woman”.

For now I ignored the question and took a sip of the fury. I could tell though from the rustle on my left whoever it was had decided to come join me.

“Yep, you don’t need to say anything. I’ve seen that sorry smacked-by-a-wet-kipper look on a man’s face a thousand times”.

This time I did glance at him. Furthermore, I knew who it was. Sort of. He was the aging cowboy singer I’d seen playing here the previous times I’d visited. Even now, with no gig imminent, he was still dressed like a relic from the Wild West. Gun belt, Stetson, handkerchief hanging down from the neck – it was all there.

“Prairie... something” I said dozily.

“Hey, that’s right!” he shouted, slapping me on the back and taking the stool next to me. A few drops of whisky leapt up out of my glass. “Prairie Dog Peterson! You know my name! If you don't mind me asking, where is it you know me from?”

“Errr, from seeing you in here”.

“Oh”.

The barman, now wiping glasses, produced a little smile. Prairie meanwhile looked straight ahead and wiped his nose.

“I’ve got a residency here at The Cow, sure. My music though has taken me far and wide over the years. There’s hundreds of CD's and places you could have recognised me from. I’ve done singles, albums, tours abroad, gigs, fairs, concerts, collaborations, award ceremonies, pretty much everything really. Say, I think I’ll have one of those whiskies” he added in a lower tone.

“Is this coming off Saturday’s pay too?” the barman asked with a sigh.

“Errr, yeah” replied the cowboy.

“I’ll pay for it” I interjected, surprising both. “It’s not every day you get to have a drink with Prairie Dog Peterson”.

“Yeah right” the barman said under his breath, but turned to pour the shot anyway. Prairie responded too but only after getting over the shock of receiving a compliment.

“Son, you really are a pilgrim!” he smiled. “Now come on, tell me about this lady problem”.

I was tempted to say – ‘I doubt you’d understand. They didn’t have photocopiers in the old west’, but held it in. I supposed it wouldn't do any harm to tell the story.

Composing myself by first paying the barman for Prairie’s drink and then taking another sip of my own, I began with the discovery of the pictures next to the copier. Prairie listened to the tale attentively, occasionally chuckling or guffawing. The barman also listened albeit from a polite distance. I left out the subplot of Dave and his safe.

“And there you have it. Here I am in the doghouse. Maybe permanently”.

“Oh son it ain’t all lost just yet. I remember dating Maggie Carmichael, old Chuck Carmichael’s young girl, back in the summer of seventy eight, over in Ten-er-see. I was just small fry back then, you know, running errands at the local recording studios, helping out on band nights. That was a great era for up and comers. You ever heard of K.P Prentice?”

“Nope”.

“Dewie Anderson? He went on to do bass for the Jumpin’ Pixies”.

I shook my head.

“What about Clint Preece and the Honky-Tonk Sunsets?”

No again.

“Oh. Well. Anyway, I started seeing Maggie Carmichael just after the Roseberry Fair. Nice gal. Good tiddies. She was inexperienced with men though. Gets to a few months later and she still hadn’t let me ride the rodeo, if you know what I mean. So one night I sneaks across the cornfield to the ranch house where she lived - I was planning to rap on the bedroom window and see how she reacts. I guess I was hoping she might see me stood there in the moonlight and think it all romantic”.

“You were hoping she’d see you that way and figure destiny had earmarked it to be the big night?”

“Exactly, partner”.

At this point the barman asked me with his facial expression if I wanted to buy myself and Prairie a refill. I nodded in the affirmative. Prairie didn’t seem to notice, trundling on with his tale instead.

“Anyway, as I gets closer to the window, I notices the curtains are slightly parted. Maybe a foot wide. I looks in and sees that Maggie’s in the nude with the lights on, checking herself out in the mirror. For a moment I don’t knock on the pane because I’m so captivated. Next minute, she twists around and sees me there. Then she’s opening the window and accusing me of coming around to perv on her!”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I left with my tail between my balls! I ended in the same predicament you’re in now i.e. not being spoken to. The thing about women is they really value their physical dignity. Or something. And when they think a man has devalued that physical dignity, they get mad. Do you understand?”

“Yeah”.

“It sounds like a similar thing has happened with your Chan...Chanellabelle. Want to know how you can fix it though? Want to know how you can fix it with Chanellebelle just like I fixed it with Maggie?”

“No. How?”

Prairie held his finger up as if to say – wait here. Then he disappeared around the back of the bar. The barman had also disappeared by this point, by the sounds of it into one of the back rooms to move some barrels. When my companion returned he was grinning and carrying an acoustic guitar. I only realised (or re-realised, I suppose) just how small he was. He’s probably not even five foot seven.

“Music is the answer, partner. Let me tell you; when I rolled back up to Maggie’s window the following night and sang Homebound Nebraska, she didn’t just take me back, she finally let me onto the rodeo saddle right there and then”.

“I can’t play the guitar though. I can sing okay. I can’t play the guitar”.

“Anybody can learn a few chords in one afternoon, son. The question is, how long have you got?”

‘The question is how many more whiskies am I willing to dip into my pocket for, more like?’

Still, she was worth it. If she hadn’t been I wouldn’t be drinking like this. I wouldn’t say I loved Chantelle (yet), but the building blocks were heading in that direction. To see them toppled so early would be a shame. Maybe a crazy gesture like a song was just what the doctor ordered? It would certainly catch her off guard.

Yeah, go on then, why not?

“Okay, Mr Dog Peterson. You’re on”.

“Son” he replied, touching his glass against mine. “You won’t regret it”.

[tenthreeleader]

I love this post.

[mametz1536]

Brillant, wonderful post. Singing cowboy's from old Ten-er-see. Doesn't get any better!

[ScottleeSV]

Thanks guys, as always. Memetz it was a toss-up between Ten-er-see or Lou-eee-see-anna

-------------

28/11/09 - Luton Boulevard

Up to the moment Randy pointed a gun at my head, I hadn’t been having a bad day. I spent most of it at Darren’s house. I wanted to try out my song on him, the one I was going to play for Chantelle. It was a ballad called Fields of Grass, and Prairie quite simply swore by it. He’d try to palm Homebound Nebraska onto me at first, but like I’d explained to him at the time, I doubted Chantelle would understand the romantic subtext of a deserter drifting back to Omaha on a horse and cart during the American Civil War.

Fields of Grass on the other hand was a straightforward love song you could lump into any era. Apparently it's about walking through the grass of life (sheer fields of it, presumably) and seeing only the same identical grass blades everywhere you look. Then one day you spot a blade that looks different from the rest and that’s when you know you’ve met ‘the one’. I thought it was mildly interesting. Darren thought it was s__t.

Prairie agreed to lend me one of his acoustic guitars for the Chantelle mission just so long as when I brought it back I would stay a while and tell him how it went over a few whiskies (draw your own conclusions). The chords for Fields of Grass weren’t too difficult though, even for a novice like me. By the time I left Darren’s I was really getting into the swing of it. Even Darren was impressed. We had a good time over the course of the afternoon, I’ll tell you.

And then enter Randy.

I was halfway walking back from Darren’s when it happened. Merry from a couple of bottled beers, the guitar swinging back and forth by my side, I was feeling optimistic for the first time in nearly forty eight hours. Then a car screeched to a halt eighty yards up the road and that all changed. Only when it twisted around in an arc to come greet me did I spot how ridiculous it looked. I didn’t actually see who was in it until it stopped.

It was a low level open top four seater job, a pink one. Actually it looked like somebody had spray-painted it pink and done a shoddy job. On the side of the car between the wheels was some white graffiti spelling out two words – The Beghermobile. Only Randy himself of course would be at the captain’s wheel of this monstrosity, and so he was, surrounded as usual by buxom beauties wearing not a lot. He had one in the front and one in the back. Stacy Potts it was riding shotgun. I didn’t recognise the other. She wasn’t the same spare me, Towzer, and Garry had seen in the club that time anyway.

“Just the bitch I’ve been looking for” Randy said by way of greeting.

“Sunglasses in November?” I smiled. “That’s a tad optimistic isn’t it?”

Randy pointed his finger and made to say something aggressive, only to then realise the rap music coming from his car stereo was too loud for a conversation. Thus he hastily turned it off before continuing.

“Who the f__k do you think you are squealing to my homeboy about s__t going down at my club?”

“What?”

“Don’t play with me, bitch! Jack. Jack Shandy. You think you can go behind my back, hang with the big dog, play him against me? Huh?”

“I didn’t seek out Jack Shandy” I began. “Jack Shandy came to.....”

That was as far as I got because the dark haired girl in the back suddenly leaned forward and asked Randy something. Or at least she tried to. Halfway through the question Randy slapped her around the face and she flew back onto the leather.

“I told you to be quiet for the rest of the trip, bitch. Otherwise you won’t get no trip when the trip hits the strip”.

I didn’t have the first clue what he meant by this, but Stacy did. Smiling to herself she rotated in her seat and teased the other girl with a small bag of white powder.

“Put that s__t away” Randy said, but in a far softer tone. Shotgun silkily obeyed.

“Who’s that then?” I asked, gesturing towards the back. “Bitch number three?”

The jest was a big mistake. Randy reached down to right and pulled out a handgun. Fractions of a second later it was pointed straight at my nose.

“Funny motherf__ker aren’t you? I wonder how funny you’ll be once I’ve popped a cap in your ass?”

Mon speechless. I didn’t even put my hands in the air. I just stood there facing the barrel. Two other cars in quick succession drove past now but Randy put his spare hand over the top of the gun so the drivers of said vehicles wouldn’t be able to see it. Once they were way past, he retracted his shield arm but kept the gun on me with the other.

“Yeah what’s I thought” he followed up with, sneering now rather than grimacing. “Not so funny now are you, football manager? Just a chickenshit little bitch is what I think. What’s the guitar for? You joining the f__king Beatles? Maybe I pop a cap in that too”.

Briefly he switched his aim to the guitar, and for a moment I really did think he would shoot. Then he retracted his arm and put the gun away.

“Next time you go behind my back with Shandy, you’re a dead bitch. Hear me, dawg?”

“Loud and clear”.

That seemed to satisfy him. Moments later his hands were back on the wheel and the pink Beghermobile was on its merry way again. It was only when it did leave I noticed the additional message painted just above the rear bumper – Begh, bitch!

I stood transfixed watching it all the way to the nearest intersection a hundred yards down the road. At this point Randy nearly crashed into a vehicle going across him. Both cars screeched to a halt and I could just about hear the inevitable profanities coming from inside The Beghermobile. Then gently it slid around the corner and was gone. Thank God for that.

‘Maybe it really is the wild west around here?' I thought, and then when nobody replied to me - 'Okie then, homebound to Bambi'.

My heart once again operating at normal speed, I resumed my walk.

[mark wilson27]

Top draw as always Scott, will be waiting for the next installment

[ScottleeSV]

Cheers, Mark!

----------------

29/11/09 - Fields of grass

Even before the interventions of Randy, it felt strange wandering around on a Saturday yesterday without a match to go to. The reason we had the day off is because it was the 2nd round of the FA Cup and we weren’t in it. Some Blue Square Premier games did go ahead but none of them involved Rushden or ourselves. As such I didn’t even bother checking the results until this morning.

Standout performance of the day came from Grays, 5-1 home winners over Cambridge. They move to just a point behind York in third place; The Minstermen were held 3-3 away to Burton. Also in action were Steve Fairclough’s Luton-conquering Wimbledon, although sadly they fell 2-3 away to Kidderminster. Big shots Stevenage and Oxford cancelled each other out in a 1-1 draw at Broadhall Way.

Speaking of Stevenage, that’s who we’re playing next this coming Tuesday night. It’s the Last 16 of the Live Bunny Cup (whoopee doo!). Then on the Saturday we’re away to Kettering in the league before entertaining Weymouth at home the following Wednesday. The match after that is our FA Trophy debut. I’m not sure off the top of my head which round it is, but we’ve been drawn away to Weston Super Mare of the Blue Square South. If nothing else it will be a nice trip to the seaside.

Tonight though, it was about saving my relationship. I’d learnt my chords, practiced my vocals, and I was all ready to go. At just past 9pm I finished my tea, walked Bambi, shoved the guitar onto the passenger seat of my car, and drove across town to Chantelle’s. I reckoned Sunday night would be a good night for this. For one, she’d almost definitely be at home. Two; less lager louts wandering the streets on a Sunday. The last thing I needed halfway through the first verse was some Luton p!sshead coming along and asking me for a fag.

When I got there I didn’t waste any time getting on with it. I didn’t want to sit parked in my car for a while and lose my nerve. I got straight out, rang the doorbell at the top of the stone steps (her apartment is on top of another apartment. It’s a stack of three in total), and quickly bounded back down them. The plan was to launch into the song as soon as she answered the door.

‘There’s the hallway light going on!’ I thought, loosening my fingers over the guitar strings. ‘Get ready, James. Get ready’.

Sorry to say though I completely froze. The moment the door did open and her blonde hair bounced into view around the side of the door frame, my fingers stiffened up and refused to play even one chord.

“James, what are you doing?” she asked cynically, peering down in the semi darkness.

“I thought I’d play you a song to make it up to you”.

“Whatever. Don’t be an idiot”.

With that she disappeared back inside again and closed the door to. I’d just have to sing loud enough then so she’d hear it through the window. And it really had to be now this second. Otherwise I’d never do it. It was now or never, as The King would have put it.

‘Just do it. Do it do it do it!’

Feeling like an idiot I began to play. And moments later I was putting words to the music.

“When I was just a young boy blade, and I could seeeee those blades in spades, my papa came and said to meeee, your one true love will not be greeeen”.

(strum, strum, strum).

“I wandered far through miles of field - a stray cow heel and I would have been keeled – looking for my one true love, the one who fits me like a gloovvvve”.

(strum, strum, strum).

‘She’s at the window! I can see her silhouette! Better make this the best chorus ever!’

“YOU complete my fields of grass!”

“WITHOUT you I’m a horse’s ass!”

“YOU put the shine in my moustache!”

“Without you there’s no fields of grass!”

That was the end of the chorus. As I then moved into a small segment of solo play, the window on the first floor opened and Chantelle’s head popped out.

“James, stop it! Talk about embarrassing! Just come inside! I wasn’t closing the door on you! I left it ajar! It’s open!”

“No, I have to finish the song” I insisted stubbornly, beginning to feel what Prairie calls The mid-song rush. It’s when the adrenalin well and truly kicks in and you just don’t want to stop.

Chantelle though grumbled something in reply which might have been a moan of frustration. Then she withdrew herself back into the apartment. No sooner had she done so, I continued with the second verse.

“Everyone’s green but you’re so browwwn, you take away my darkest frowwwn! Swaying left, swaying right, the standout blade in the warm moonliiiight!”

(strum, strum, strum)

“YOU complete my fields of grass!”

“WITHOUT you I’m a horse’s ass!”

“YOU put the shine....”

Generally there's only one thing that can get in the way of the mid-song rush, and that’s the sight of a deranged guy in a vest tearing across the street clutching a beer can and a baseball bat.

“Hey! You just woke my f__king kids up!”

‘s__t. Gig over. Gig over’.

Hastily I sprinted up the steps and entered the house. Then I locked the door behind me first with keys and then with the child safety lock. If baseball bat wanted in, he’d have a struggle on his hands.

Thankfully he didn’t even try. One gentle tap of the window pane later (just to let me know the gig really was over, presumably) he was off. Breathing a sigh of relief I went into the living room.

For a wronged woman, a woman whose physical dignity had been used and abused, Chantelle sure didn’t look upset about it. Not anymore anyway. At the moment I entered the living room she was sat casually on the settee looking no different than she did any other Sunday evening. MTV was on the telly and she seemed as happy as Larry.

Standing the guitar up next to the doorway (Luke was most likely upstairs, if his absence from this scene was any clue), I merrily strode over and sat down as close as I could. Then I made a quick stab at making peace.

“Look, I’m sorry about the picture. I found it and took it home ages ago, long before I started seeing you. I’d completely forgotten about ”.

“Yeah I worked that out for myself. Don’t worry, it’s fine. I was gonna come around and see you tomorrow afternoon anyway. I wasn’t gonna dump you over this or anything. I was just a bit, I dunno, surprised when I saw that picture the other night. And maybe slightly p!ssed too. I’m alright now though”.

“So we’re cool then? No harm done?”

“Yeah I suppose”.

Turning her head towards me she smiled and kissed the top of my lip. I was only too hungry to kiss her back, which I did. Like a starving boy.

“Do you know something?” I asked once our lips had parted, intent on telling her I loved her right there and then.

“What is it?”

‘Then again - maybe not just yet’.

“If women were grass blades, you’d stand out in a field”.

“That’s.... lovely”.

[Dickie12]

Bottled it!!! Lol!

[ScottleeSV]

Dickie, it's never good to rush a girl

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November 2009 round-up of the other divisions

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Premiership

Top - Chelsea (33), Liverpool (30), Man Utd (29), Man City (29), Arsenal (26), Aston Villa (24)

Bottom - West Ham (14), Sunderland (14), Charlton (14), Bolton (14), Ipswich (13), Stoke City (9)

The Blues have stretched their lead to three points, and for the moment anyway Liverpool look like being runners up for the second straight season. Last year's champions Arsenal meanwhile are struggling to even make the Champion's League spots. Also, is this the year Man City break the top four? At the top of the goalscoring charts, Didier Drogba remains on 8 after a poor month and is joined at the chart summit by surprise package Wilson Palacios.

Stoke have dropped four points adrift at the bottom after failing to pick up a single point in the month of October. Above them it's a ding-dong battle. Personally my money is on Ipswich and Charlton to join Stoke at this time.

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Championsip

Top - Wolves (40), Birmingham (37), Sheff Wed (33), Hull City (32), Bristol City (32), Portsmouth (31), Southampton (30)

Bottom - Nottingham Forest (20), Plymouth (19), Millwall (19), Preston (18), Sheff Utd (18), Leicester (17), Doncaster (17)

The top two here remain the same, and in the same order too. Leeds though drop out of the top six after a torrid October; replacing them are Hull City. South coast duo Pompey and Soton lie tantalisingly in fifth and sixth respectively. Wolves' Ebanks-Blake is the division's top scorer with 11 league goals.

Very tight of the bottom with nobody yet falling significantly off the pace. Doncaster managed two wins in October but stay bottom. Sheff Utd are the shock new team in the bottom three. By my reckoning it's been over twenty years since the Blades were in the third tier of English football.

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League One

Top - Norwich (36), MK Dons (36), Brighton (34), Southend (32), Blackpool (31), Bristol Rovers (29), Carlisle (28)

Bottom - Stockport(19), Hartlepool (19), Shrewsbury (19), Huddersfield (17), Darlington (17), Rochdale (16), Oldham (15)

Pops might still be top but his lead has been cut drastically. He was four points clear last month. Now though only goal difference seperates Norwich from the MK Dons in second. Two men share the lead in the golden boot race meanwhile - Daniel Nardiello of the Dons, and Glenn Murray of Brighton. Both players have 13 league goals. Nardiello of course scored the goal which knocked us out of the FA Cup.

It's mostly as you were down in the basement. Huddersfield and Oldham won't be too thrilled to be still down there though. Darlington and Rochdale, in my opinion, are punching above their weight by simply being in League One.

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League Two

Top - Port Vale (39), Morecambe (36), Notts County (34), Bury (34), Gillingham (30), Rotherham (29), Aldershot (29), Cheltenham (29)

Bottom - Bournemouth (20), Walsall (20), Chester (20), Chesterfield (20), Wycombe (18), Brentford (18), Dag and Red (15), Wrexham (12)

The top three here remain in the same order, although The Valients have extended their lead to three points. In fact the top eight in League Two are still the same as they were last month just in a different order. Top goalscorer is Morecambe's talented forward Diamuid O'Carroll. I've no idea how to pronounce his first name though.

It's also as you were down at the bottom, with Dag and Red plus Wrexham sitting in the relegation places. A whole host of clubs sit just above them however. One bad run and any one of those clubs - my money's on Chester - could yet fall foul of the trapdoor.

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Blue Square North

Top - Southport (32), Blyth Spartans (32), Gainsborough (28), Altrincham (28), Worcester (28), Hinckley (28)

Bottom - Kings Lynn (16), Redditch (15), Workington (14), Solihull Moors (12), Boston United (12), Leigh Genesis (7)

The Port are barely still top now after a dismal month which saw them take just one point. Wouldn't be a story if Blyth Spartans made the Conference National? Leading marksman in this division curiously plays for a team outside the playoffs; Harrogate's Danny Holland has 10 strikes and counting.

Leigh Genesis failed to register in October and look increasingly likely to go straight back down. Boston are also struggling to re-establish themselves at this level after last season's promotion up from the Unibond. Fleetwood have pulled clear of danger since we last had a round-up.

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Blue Square South

Top - Eastbourne Borough (34), Braintree (31), Chelmsford (30), Welling (30), Basingstoke (29), Newport County (28), Hampton and Richmond (28)

Bottom - Bishops Stortford (16), Merthyr Tydfil (16), Fisher (15), Farnborough (10), Sutton United (6), Ashford of Middlesex (6)

The bubble would appear to be bursting for Essex side Braintree. Surprise leaders at the end of October, they didn't score a point last month and now fall into second place. Relegated Eastbourne Borough would appear therefore to be hot favourites now for the title. Don't back against Chelmsford though; up from seventh to third after two October wins.

Two players lead the Blue Square South goalscorer charts, and indeed both play for Chelmsford. One is Lawson on 11 goals and the other is Sam Higgins on 9. At the bottom reside the two worst performing clubs in all the covered divisions. Promoted clubs Sutton Utd and Ashford of Middlesex simply continue to be dreadful. Farnborough should be doing better too.

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Next - Luton v Stevenage (Live Bunny Last 16)

[NicKC13573]

looks like you may have to eat your words on the 100 point challenge

[ScottleeSV]

Hi NickC. We're on course for 100 but one bad run and it could all slip away. The way Rushden are going, we could actually get 100 and still not get automatic promotion.

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01/12/09, Live Bunny Cup (Last 16)

Luton Town v Stevenage Borough

GK – Dean Brill (75 apps, 0 goals)

DL – Richie Byrne (14 apps, 0 goals)

DR – Claude Gnakpa (69 apps, 2 goals)

DC – Tony James (24 apps, 1 goal)

DC – David McCracken (13 apps, 1 goal)

DMC – Derek Niven (16 apps, 1 goal)

MC – Keith Keane (61 apps, 6 goals)

ML – Charlie Daniels (24 apps, 3 goals)

MR – Michael Taylor (14 apps, 0 goals)

FC – Michael Bridges (17 apps, 10 goals)

FC – Danny Cadamateri (17 apps, 5 goals)

As much as it left me at the mercy of the message boards, I put my strongest side out tonight. Tiredness might be an ever-growing problem in modern day football but rustiness can also blight, and if not this evening we’d head to Kettering on Saturday having not played for ten days. That’s too long in my book, and it’s especially too long on the back of a hurtful defeat. Kettering away is a difficult fixture. I don’t want to go there rusty.

The starting eleven then was unchanged; the likes of Bowditch and Pilkington would have the chance to continue their journeys back to health with appearances from the bench. As for Kevin Nicholls, there is still no firm date set for his return at the time of writing. I didn’t pay too much attention to Stevenage or their line-up (aside from overhearing they were also starting strong). It was only the Live Bunny cup after all. If we lost, we lost.

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That said, the less pressure there is on a game, the easier it generally is to play. It only took four minutes tonight to do what we couldn’t do in ninety down at Kingsmeadow. Michael Bridges has had a poor couple of outings but it was his perfectly weighted through ball on his weaker right foot which sent Danny Cadamateri clear for our opening chance. Danny seemed to take an age to fire past Day (who stubbornly refused to be dummied into an early dive), but when he did it was an accurate whipped effort just inside the near post.

The crowd of just over 2000 celebrated like they were applauding a four at the cricket; a nice ripple of slow clapping and then back to talking with thy neighbour again – ‘So work wasn’t terribly enjoyable today then, Frederick?’' Danny Cadamateri was perhaps the one genuinely ecstatic man in the ground. 5 in 18 isn’t a great return for a guy trying to be a striker, but now he had 6 in 18. Things were looking up.

In the 6th minute Michael Taylor decided to stretch his legs with a little burst of pace down the right. Cadamateri, a clear spring in his step now, was already hurling himself towards the middle anticipating a cross. Taylor did get the centre in but it was low and nowhere near his buddies. No matter though because as Nadine Gouvell likes to tell us before the round-up show – 'This is The Live Bunny Cup. Stay tuned because ANYTHING can happen!'

And so it was the case here. Defender Albrighton swished at one with his left foot and didn’t get a full contact; the ball changed direction slightly and went straight into the far top corner of the net. Two nil and we’d only played six minutes! This time the crowd did get more excited – it was like we’d just hit a six instead of a four. Danny Cadamateri meanwhile clearly thought about claiming the goal and then remembered the Live Bunny crew had probably filmed it.

Lacklustre Stevenage did come back into the game after that but without much joy in front of goal. Boylan and Bostwick had half chances within a minute of each other but neither troubled Brill. The travelling Stevenage fans looked thoroughly dejected. They’d already seen their boys lose 0-2 at Kenilworth Road once this season and now they were possibly staring at an even bigger defeat.

With twelve minutes to go until half time, we demonstrated our attacking diversity by creating a chance from the left wing. On this occasion Charlie Daniels, supported kind of by Niven (but without touching the ball himself), the ex-Spurs boy rampaged his way into the area and went over the leg of D’Laryea. Clear penalty. And given too.

Puffing his chest out importantly, Keith Keane strode forward to take it. Day tried to put him off by pulling a Grobberlaar, jumping around from side to side on the line like a drunken aerobics instructer. Keane in response just whacked it straight down the middle, maybe trying to hit him instead of score. He the hit net instead though and the third goal was ours. As the home fans applauded, Keith lifted up his shirt to show what he had on underneath. It was a vest with a message - 'Fancy a drink, Nadine?'

Perhaps out of sympathy we then gave our hosts a way back in. The best move of the match, eight passes at least, resulted in Boylan making up for his earlier miss by firing past Brill from the edge of the area. Brill was unsighted and probably also a little disinterested. The Stevenage manager leapt off the bench and urged his men back to the centre circle to try and get another one. Keane meanwhile decided it was now probably best to put his shirt back down.

Just when I thought there surely couldn’t be any more drama in this crazy first half, Daniels won a corner off Oliver. There was a Twist too. In went the ball and Tony James rose the highest to head us back into a three goal lead. That was his 2nd goal for the club, although similarly with Cadamateri earlier, it clearly meant more to him than it did anyone else.

Crazily we almost got a fifth, Taylor showing off his favourite trick of dragging a shot wide instead of either slicing it or, heaven forbid, hitting it cleanly. Before Happy Harry could retrieve the ball, the referee blew for half time. We didn’t just have one foot in the quarter final; more like two feet, and an arm, and a torso. And all our families legs too. And all their arms, and all their torso's. And all their dog's paws.

[ScottleeSV]

I didn’t say anything in front of the lads during the interval. All of them were happily chatting away to each other and I was happy to let them. I didn’t want to admit it out loud but I really couldn’t see Stevenage coming back to win this one 5-4. And even if they did, that would be fine too. I would then likely be applauded for getting us out of our Live Bunny commitment whilst still providing the die hards some value for money in the process. Maybe this competition isn’t such a pain in the butt after all?

Nadine Gouvell though certainly can be. Naturally she wanted to get in the home dressing room at half time to talk to the manager of the moment. Thanks to Brian’s poor guarding of the door, she managed it.

“James, that was quite a rampant first half” she remarked, squeezing her thin frame between the doorknob and the wall. All the lads meanwhile broke off from their conversations and cheered the new arrival. Keith looked like he thought it might be fate.

“Unfortunately though that’s as good as it’s going to get” I replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re going to take our foot off the gas second half. We’ve got an important league game on Saturday so everybody’s under instruction to play out a boring training exercise of a half where almost nothing happens. We’re going to put ten men squarely behind the ball. In fact, there’s probably no point your viewers even staying to watch it. They are going to be so bored. They really might as well turn over to a different channel right now”.

“Ha ha” Nadine laughed, but without conviction. “Luton manager James Martin, always the jester” she continued to the camera, backing out of the room.

“Aw boss” said Michael Taylor. “You could have encouraged her to stay a bit longer at least”.

“No I couldn’t. Now get out there and win 10-1”.

We didn’t however come even close to winning 10-1. Or even 8-1. Or 6-1. It’s not that we weren’t trying in the second half. We just didn’t have all the things going for us we had in half number one. Luck for instance only lasts so long. A generous backline only stays generous for so long. And as I learned against Tamworth, the more you go in front, the less hungry you get.

The visitors created the first chance of the second half in the 48th minute. Boylan, having a good game, won a header on the far side of the penalty area after an up and under from Albrighton. The weight on the header was perfect for the incoming Morrison to connect with his own header, this one firm and at the goal. Now Brill got involved finally, palming the ball away with a smart save.

For a brief few minutes afterwards, I really did think that if Stevenage could get their second goal quickly, they might just make a game of it. But then Bostwick got booked for silly foul on Niven and the thought left me. Something about the way Bostwick through his hands in the air told me his (and probably his team-mates’) efforts were less about levelling the game than simply ensuring they didn’t get dropped for the next one.

I chose the hour mark as my time for making substitutions. What the hell; I threw them all on. Enter Bowditch, Pilkington, and Easton. They replaced Daniels, Taylor, and James. The Stevenage boss also chopped and changed, but he did hold one back for later on. For now, Willcock and Aldridge entered the fray in exchange for Vincenti and Ashton.

“Don’t be fooled” said an eagle eyed Brian. “He’s throwing all his cards in right here, his useful ones anyway. He’s switched to 3.4.4”.

“Really, Brian? Twelve players on the pitch – that’s a lot of cards”.

“I meant 3.4.3”.

With 64 on the clock, Bridges and Bowditch showed a worrying lack of chemistry by clashing on the ball. Fortunately though it deflected out to Easton at a diagonal and we had our first clear cut chance since half time. The substitute was clearly desperate to score here, whacking it for all he was worth as the defence charged at him. The goalkeeper saved the ball but didn’t catch it. Instead he spilled it up in the air and Bridges went in for the kill.

Both players, Bridges and Day, collided badly together as the ball came down. Immediately the referee triple-blew his whistle and physiotherapists charged onto the field of play from both sides. For a horrible second I thought we’d done the unthinkable i.e. lost a man to recklessness when comfortably 4-1 up. Then Bridges rose to his feet and stumbled away with a sneer. For goalkeeper Day though, the day had turned to night. I heard later he’d broken his ankle.

As the stretcher escorted Day from the field, I just knew this would all but kill the contest as a spectacle. I might be a young manager but you can pick up a lot in eighty-odd games. I was right too. Chances were at a ridiculous premium during the final twenty five minutes. Morrison hit one straight at Brill when he should have done better, however that was about it.

The final whistle was greeted with relief. It might have been a 4-1 win but history would probably remember it as a poor 4-1 win, simply because there were no second half goals. Technically speaking though, I have now guided a side into the quarter finals of a cup competition. No, a televised cup competition. If I get sacked at any point, I’ll be sure to put this achievement on my C.V when I apply for other roles...

“In 2009 I spearheaded Luton’s drive into the quarter finals of The Live Bunny. Playing Brazilian style football, where we scored eight goals in our first two rounds, we played with glitz and panache to go where no championship-chasing side ought to. I would definitely cite this as my biggest achievement”.

Needs a bit more.

I’ll work on it.

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FINAL SCORE (att - 2026)

Luton Town 4 (Cadamateri 4, Albrighton o.g 6, Keane 33pen, James 45+2)

Stevenage Borough 1 (Boylan 37)

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