The Outcast

[WLKRAS]

Thanks for the comments guys. Moving slowly along atm due to other commitments, but hoping to get up to speed again in the new year.

Bromsgrove v Aylesbury, Victoria ground, 2.9.2009 19:45

The next morning was match day. As it was Wednesday, it would be an evening kick off so the players didn’t assemble until late afternoon. I spent my morning preparing for the match, going over the report from scout Jack Kamara. He had travelled to Walton-on-Thames to see Aylesbury play against Walton Casuals in the FA Cup. His report was far more comprehensive than any of his previous ones. Apparently Aylesbury liked to play a high-tempo, attacking game with particular attention to the wide areas of the pitch. They had a solid defence, but up front they were no threat in the air. That would probably disappoint Richards and Manchester who are both quite strong in the air anyway and fancy themselves against any forward who tries to beat them.

Aylesbury had not impressed Kamara in the game, losing 2-0 without even managing to get a shot on target. Looking back through their other games didn’t make Aylesbury look any better. They’d beat Beaconsfield 2-0, but we’d already found out that Beaconsfield were a very poor side. There had also been a draw against Woodford, in a dull 1-1 game.

I was expecting to have to make a few changes as yesterday’s training had shown some tired legs. The changes would be mainly in the attacking third, Taylor and Ravenhill starting up front with Knowles on the bench. A grand total of 223 people had turned up to watch us. Clearly people were starting to get on the undefeated Bromsgrove bandwagon. It was fine by me.

We created the first chance of the game, Kevin Banner breaking down the left and sending a teasing cross in for Taylor, but the striker could not manage to get his header on target and saw it sail over the bar.

The visitors, in bright orange away shirts, played a short passing style and in combination with their kit, it gave them a hint of the Dutch national team. Thankfully for us, there was no Van Persies or Hunterlaars in their team, but they did threaten Jarvis’ goal twice in the opening fifteen minutes with a shot just over and another saved by our goalkeeper.

Chris Cornes was busy for us in midfield as always, both setting up chances and having a go himself. He set up Dexter Ravenhill, but the striker blasted over from distance. Cornes himself didn’t get any close, his efforts going either over or wide.

The best chance in the first half, was probably to Kevin Banner. Our left winger dribbled up and down the penalty area trying to create space for a shot, refusing to pass the ball to players in a better position. Finally he tried a shot, which came off an opposing defender straight back into his feet. He tried again, but this time the Aylesbury goalkeeper was on hand to block the shot and the ball was cleared away.

Banner’s unwillingness to pass the ball to his teammates earned him a bit of hairdryer treatment at halftime

“Kevin! What the hell was that? Do you think you’re Maradona or something? Here’s a newsflash for you, kid. You’re not! This is a team game. If you can’t handle passing the ball to a better placed teammate, you can go take up sodding tennis. Or skiing!”

I slowly let my glare go around the room where the players were looking suitably chastised, Banner in particular.

“None of you are good enough to be trying to take on the entire opposition team by yourself. If you were, you wouldn’t be here. Hell, I’d have driven you to Old bloody Trafford myself!”

“Now. Get yourselves together, start passing the ball and get that goal to win this. You’re better than them, they haven’t really done anything notable yet, so make them pay”

It turned out it was the wrong approach. The team withdrew in itself and struggled to put together a number of good passes. At the same time, Aylesbury were still not showing us anything spectacular so the first fifteen minutes was mainly played in the middle third. We finally created one chance when a great passing move found Taylor on the left, but his cross in was blocked and it went out for a corner. Manchester narrowly headed over from it.

Having already brought on Jones for Byrne at halftime, I decided to make my final two subs, the tiring Cornes coming off to be replaced by England while the misfiring Taylor was replaced by loanee Knowles. England’s first contribution to the game was a crunching tackle on Montgomery, leaving his opponent in a heap in the centre circle. It earned the youngster a yellow card for his exuberance.

Silvestri took the free kick quickly, sending it wide to Tomkins on the left. The Aylesbury winger switched it back to the middle where substitute teenage Danny Saunders was waiting. He took one touch and fired an unstoppable shot past Jarvis. One-nil to the guests and my fury was quickly felt!

“Will you lot pay attention! Wake the hell up!” I shouted from the touchline before Watson came up and laid a hand on my arm.

“Settle down Chris, it’s not going to help like that. You already tore them a new one at half time” he said, trying to calm me down. I shook my head in frustration and sat back down.

“It shouldn’t be this hard” I sighed.

On the pitch meanwhile, Ravenhill had created a pocket of space for himself to get a shot off, but Sillitoe in the Aylesbury goal managed to tip his effort over the crossbar. Three minutes later, Manchester had a go from a free kick with Cornes off the pitch, but the captain’s effort flew over the bar.

There was just three minutes left to go when Jarvis booted a long ball up the pitch. He found the head of Ravenhill who nodded it on, the ball going out towards the left. There was Kevin Banner, racing onto it with a defender in two. Banner got there first and cut inside, looking for the pass to either Ravenhill or Knowles. He now had a defender in front and behind, but completely disregarding my half time rant, fired a right footed shot at goal. It flew high, past the goalkeeper and settled into the roof of the net.

Relief all round that our unbeaten record had been saved and Banner gave a smug look towards the bench in his celebrations. I suppose he had proven a point.

Despite four minutes of added time, no more goals were scored and while we won the shot statistics 14-4, the one that counted at the end read Bromsgrove 1 Aylesbury 1.

Bromsgrove Rovers 1 (Banner, 87th)

Aylesbury 1 (Saunders, 75th)

[WLKRAS]

The dressing room was eerily silent as I walked in. The faces around the room were etched in a mixture of worry and fear. Quietly and slowly, I walked across the dressing room and leant back against the wall on the far side. I looked around the room, but none of the players met my eyes. They knew I wasn’t happy. I let them stew it over for about a minute, the room still completely silent before I finally spoke.

“That, gentlemen, was simply not good enough. Get showered and rest. You’re going to need it”

I stood up and walked towards the door, stopping just short and turning back to the room

“Training tomorrow evening at seven. Do not be late” I said before heading out the door. I stood against the wall next to the door, underneath a small window and listened for their response. The room stayed quiet. Players started to get undressed and headed for the showers, but the conversation remained muted and subdued. After about ten minutes, Alex Watson came out the door. We walked over to the clubhouse.

“You’re being too hard on them” he said as we walked across the pitch.

“Maybe I am. But we should’ve won that match. By a long way” I replied.

“You’re not at Bolton anymore, Chris. None of these lads will ever play Premier League football. You and I both know that. But teach them to be a little bit better, don’t berate them for the fact that they’re not as good as you’d like them to be.”

I started to say something, but Watson raised his hand and shushed me.

“Things aren’t easy at the bottom of the food chain. If you really want to make a career out of this managing lark, then you’ll do well to remember that. Don’t shout at them for doing it wrong. Teach them how to do it right” he said as he opened the door to the club house. It was busy. Quite a few of the fans that had turned up had come in for a pint afterwards and not all of them looked friendly. With Watson shepherding me, we managed to get to the bar. While he ordered a pint of bitter, I decided to stick to soft drinks and asked for a coke. This drew a frown from my coach, but I told him I’d still have to drive myself home and don’t like to drink and drive. He seemed happy enough with the explanation.

Truth be told, I was dying for a pint, but I had a different location in mind to go and get it. One by one, the players from both sides made their way in for a drink and a snack before heading home. Aylesbury goalscorer Saunders got a massive applause from the handful of away fans when he entered. The kid looked barely sixteen and it turned out that he’d become the youngest ever league scorer with his goal. It was a nice touch from the travelling support to acknowledge his accomplishment. A large, fiftyish man looking exactly like Saunders gave him a big bear hug. His dad, I presumed. For a moment I revelled in the atmosphere of the club house. You’d never get anything like this after a Premier League game. Players mingling with fans, away fans mixing with home fans in the same area without animosity. Maybe life was better at the bottom after all. I decided not to head to the Hop Pole and stay in the clubhouse instead. Evelyn would keep.

[WLKRAS]

It turned out to be a fairly late night and I have a few more drinks than I would’ve liked. The atmosphere was just too friendly and good and I got carried away in the moment. Not a good sign, I was supposed to be trying to stay sober. As a result, I wasn’t fully up and running when my office phone rang. It turned out to be Daniels.

“’Ow ar ye” he asked first up. “Ye seemed tp be ‘aving a good time last night” he laughed.

“I’m alright, Director” I said, knowing he’d dislike my use of his official title. Two can play that game.

“You sure? The way you were knocking back drinks last night, I’d expect you to have a sore head if nothing else” he queried.

“I’m fine. And I didn’t have as many as you’re implying.” Truth be told, I had no recollection of how many I’d had, which usually meant too many. At least I hadn’t woken up next to a naked seventeen year old this morning.

“Of course not, I’m sure you were perfectly sober” the sarcasm nearly flooded through the phone.

“Was there a point to your call, or are just trying to annoy me?” I asked him angrily.

“Got a phone call from Lowestoft this morning, thye’re interested in Andy Wells. They want to know what we want for him” he said, cutting to the chase.

“A grand, same as before. We don’t do letting players leave for nothing” I replied.

“Alright then, that was all. And Mr Browne?”

“What?!”

“Try to behave yourself in public, you are a representative of the club after all and I don’t need to tell you that a man with your public image can scarcely afford any -additional negative press” he said, with a voice like a 60’s headmaster.

“Yes sir” I replied, suitably chastised.

[Wegason]

Glad to see this back WLKRAS, I'm enjoying it immensely

[WLKRAS]

Thanks Weg, glad you're still reading along. I should get back up to speed now that the holiday period is behind us

The following day, I was reading through Kamara’s scout report on Woodford United when my phone rang again. Daniels kept it brief this time. Lowestoft would not be following up on their interest in Wells. I thanked him and went back to my report, hoping for no more interruptions.

Our upcoming opponents were currently 12th in the league, with a win, a draw and a loss so far this season. They had a narrow pitch, which would cause a lot of play to go through the middle and would negate the threat from our wingers. I quickly found the reason for this in the report as well. Apparently their defence was vulnerable to pace and crosses. That, at least, was promising news. That made my choice up front easier and I decide to pair the pace of Curtis, with our best finisher, Knowles. Offensively, they didn’t play a particular passing style and had nearly no aerial threat. Sounded like a quiet day for Manchester and Richards then. Kamara had really gone the distance with his report and had also found out that they would be missing three players with injury. Left back Layfield was apparently a key player for them.

Daventry, where Woodford play their home games, was about an hour’s drive away from Bromsgrove, so we assembled around lunch time in the Victoria Ground car park. That would give us plenty of time to get down to Daventry for our 3pm kick off. I like to be at matches well in time, so that I can inspect the pitch and get a feel for the place. It must be a leftover from my own playing days when we often travelled the day before the match. Oh well, those days are over and it’s not really workable to travel any earlier at a club like Bromsgrove. Some of these lads even work Saturday mornings before they come down to the ground. It’s a bit of an eye-opener to a guy like me.

[WLKRAS]

Bromsgrove v Woodford United, Byfield Road, 5.9.2009, 15:00

The pitch was in remarkably good condition. I was joking with Watson that Woodford would be in for a shock when they’d come to Bromsgrove for the return match. About 80 people had turned up for the game and a fair few of them were sporting the green and white of Bromsgrove. It made my pre-match talk easier.

“Listen guys, there’s a quite a few Bromsgrove fans in the house today, let’s give them something to cheer ey? It’s a good pitch today, so keep it on the floor and look for the runs through their defence. They won’t be able to cope with pace, so look for the through ball.”

I focussed on Chris Cornes while delivering the last line. He was the best guy for that job. He had both the vision and the technical ability to back it up.

“Other than that, don’t give anything away needlessly and don’t lose your head. Do that and we’ll take home the points”

The players were pumped and it showed straight away. The game was barely 120 seconds old when Curtis played the ball through the home side’s defence, straight into the run of Knowles. The on-loan youngster was one-on-one with the Woodford goalie, but the ball hit the only divot on the pitch and Knowles scooped his shot just wide. I suppose he should’ve scored, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

At the other end, Woodford’s number 11 ran past Manchester like he wasn’t there, but spooned his shot well over the bar. It wasn’t going to be all Bromsgrove today.

But on nine minutes, our tactical plan worked to a tee. Walters nicked the ball off a Woodford man in midfield and played it across the centre circle to Cornes. The midfielder took it forward and despite having two men marking him, still found the space to play it in to Dean Curtis on the edge of the D. The striker saw the ball coming, steadied himself and fired a first time shot straight into the top corner. Unstoppable and a 1-0 lead for the visitors.

It spurred Woodford’s supporters into action and their team responded with two chances in quick succession. The first was their number eleven again, trying to replicate Curtis’ effort from distance, but seeing it sail well wide. The second came from a free kick conceded by Craven. It was crossed in, but headed just wide, across the goal by one of the Woodford centre backs.

It slowed down from there. Cornes fired in a pair of free kicks from distance, the second clipping the outside of the post, but that was a close as we got. Woodford meanwhile continued to be off target. Their best chance came just before half time. They broken down their right, the winger skipping easily past Craven’s challenge and playing in a low cross, but the striker had overran and thus made his angle to narrow to get it on target. It hit the side netting instead.

There wasn’t much that needed to be said at halftime. Knowles wasn’t playing well, but I kept him on. He’s the sort of striker that does nothing for 89 minutes and scores in the other. Fifty three minutes in, we were on the attack and Cornes sent in a low cross which was scrambled away. Immediately, Woodford were looking to break. Walters had to make the foul to allow us to get back and was promptly awarded a yellow card by the referee. Not much to argue with there.

It did however prove costly nineteen minutes later. Walters picked up a loose ball in midfield, but lost it again to his counterpart in the Woodford team. Frustrated, he tripped the opposing player and was promptly shown a second yellow. It meant he was off and would probably miss our FA Cup tie next weekend. I went straight to the bench to bring on some fresh legs, but didn’t alter our formation. We were still in control.

The match was sealed six minutes later. Gill had a throw-in and found substitute Ibhadon. The striker swung a cross into the box, aiming for the far post, where Kevin Banner was just arriving. Just as he was about to leap, a Woodford defender grabbed a fistful of shirt to stop him. Banner was unbalanced and fell over and the referee awarded us a penalty. Cool as a cucumber, Chris Cornes walked up, put the ball down on the spot and fired it in low to the right. The goalkeeper never even moved. Two-nil and the match was now surely sealed.

The home fans agreed with me four minutes later when Woodford striker Adams found himself completely unmarked in the box to head in a cross, but all he could do was sent it well over the bar. The home fans started leaving and our travelling support was keen to let them know what they thought about that.

Woodford United 0

Bromsgrove Rovers 2 (Curtis, 9th, Cornes 78th (pen), Walters s/o 72nd)

[Jibby123]

Not sure how I've missed this one previously (doing too many of own Tony Keats days lost on stella? ), but definitely tagged and following from now on in WLKRAS.

[WLKRAS]

Thanks Jibby, great to have you along

After the match I took Walters aside and let him know that the second foul and yellow was dumb and unnecessary and as such, his red card was his own fault. I decided not to dock any wages, but did let him know that he’d get a one-time reprieve. The next time, he wouldn’t be so lucky. He was quick to accept that he’d been at fault and would try to keep his head next time. The news from the FA was quick to arrive though, he would indeed miss our FA Cup match against Tooting and Mitcham.

With that done, I could skip to the good news. We were now back on 0 points! If it wasn’t for our points deduction we would actually have been top of the pile by two points, though a few clubs had games in hand.

The second bit of happy news was that Kevin Banner’s involvement in the match meant he had broken the club record for league appearances, formerly held by Mark Benbow. It was Banner’s 194th match for the Rovers and the chairman presented him with a bottle of bubbly after the match. A proper ceremony would be held at our next home league game, against Soham.

We were drawn at home against Cradley, a level nine team, in the Birmingham County FA Senior Challenge Cup, second round. It should, in theory, be an easy win for us and I might play some of our younger players in that match to see how they’re coming along.

[WLKRAS]

The following Wednesday, England played Croatia in a World Cup 2010 qualifier. I decided it would be the ideal opportunity to see Evelyn again. I turned up to the Hop Pole Inn ten minutes before kick off and the place was pretty much packed. A large projector screen was up on one side of the pub while a couple of smaller tv’s also showed the game. The pub was full of familiar faces, a few players and staff among them. A few hands waved me over to a large table near the big screen where they were sat, but I decided to sit in a quiet corner at the back. I couldn’t see the big screen, but there was a telly nearby and it had a direct view on the bar. I dumped my coat in the chair and headed for the bar, figuring it would be too busy today for waiting service. The bar was busy and the three people behind it had their hands full filling orders before the game kicked off. Unfortunately for me, Evelyn was working on the far side, so I was served by a kid in his early twenties with spiky hair wearing metal studded leather armbands. I pegged him for one of those alternative types, but it wasn’t exactly my area of expertise. Having paid for my pint of Becks, I headed back to my place and settled in to watch the game, my eyes occasionally flicking across to the bar to see what Evelyn was up to.

Just over 88 thousand fans had packed into Wembley when Dutch referee Braamhaar blew the whistle to get the game underway in the pouring rain. The guests seemed unfazed by the rain and it was Mladen Petric who fired the first warning shot five minutes in, the ball fizzing past Ben Foster’s left post. In comparison, the England players looked like they’d rather be tucked up in bed, Joe Cole and Wes Brown in particular looked sluggish. No surprise perhaps then, that it was the Croatians who drew first blood. Arsenal man Eduardo ran onto a through ball from Pranjic and slotted it easily past Foster, much to the dismay of the patrons of the Hop Pole Inn.

The opening goal led to a rush to the bar. The spiky haired kid was no where to be seen, so it was up to Evelyn and a bloke in his late fifties, early sixties to keep everyone supplied. Both of them were looking a little bit frazzled to say the least. The spiky haired kid reappeared after about fifteen minutes, just in time to see England goalkeeper Ben Foster hobble off with a knee injury. Evelyn was decidedly unimpressed with his disappearance and made her feeling known to him. The spiky haired kid seemed to wilt away under here stare.

Despite being without their best player (Modric), Croatia continued to dominate the game and England were on the ropes. Robert Green, in for the injured Foster, was forced to make a smart double save from Petric on forty minutes and saw a Darijo Srna free kick fizz just over the bar.

Half-time saw another flock to the bar and I decided to stay where I was. The bar staff seemed plenty busy and I kind of enjoyed watching Evelyn work. However dodgy that may sound.

The second half was not much better for England and just four minutes in, captain John Terry joined Foster in the sick bay after a rather unfortunate collision with Niko Kranjcar. Terry looked in quite a bit of pain when he was stretchered off and he may well have broken his shinbone. Not even a minute later, Eduardo got the better of substitute Ledley King and wrapped up Croatia’s second goal. Immediately after, the hosts took their foot of the gas, soaking up the England pressure. Capello brought on Aaron Lennon for the ineffective Joe Cole and the Spurs winger managed to set up Frank Lampard for the 2-1 in the 67th minute to a muted cheer from the patrons. Croatia were unimpressed and stepped up again forcing England back. The hosts were now limited to efforts from distance and Rooney in particular fired off shots at every opportunity. He couldn't trouble the Croatian goalkeeper though and while the Croatians finished the match with ten men (after Juric was injured after they’d used all their subs), England were unable to get another goal to level the match.

The bar remained busy after the final whistle and I decided it wasn’t worth my time to stay behind. I caught Evelyn’s eye as I walked past the bar on my way out and she gave me a smile and a cheerful “Good night, coach” as I went. I smiled back as I wished her goodnight and headed out the door

[WLKRAS]

The Friday before the match, the little slime that called himself a journalist turned up again, fishing for copy. He caught me coming out of my office, just heading to take training.

“A few words, Mr Browne?” he asked. I grumbled audibly but nodded at the same time.

“What do you want to know?” I asked him

“It must be a tricky game against an opponent from a higher league, are you planning to take a more defensive approach?”

“I don’t know why you keep asking, because I’ve already told you that I won’t reveal our tactics to the press beforehand” I growled angrily. “Also, I’ve already said before that we do not change our approach based on who we’re playing. We start from our own strengths and they lie going forward. Finally, the FA Cup always attracts more fans than most games, so we want to give the fans something to cheer about. And give them a reason to come back”

“What about McLeod, he’s a good player for Tooting. Are you making any specific plans for him?”

“No. I’m not going to focus on one player. We’ll give them something to worry about first”

I started walking towards the changing rooms indicating the interview was over, but Abrahams persisted.

“What do you think you’re chances of progressing are?”

“If we play like we can? Then I have every confidence that we can beat them” I said, upping my pace and hopping the advertising boarding to get onto the pitch, which was off limits to him and I couldn’t see him attempting to hop the fence anyway. He just stood there with a sour face on, scribbling away at his pad as I crossed towards the changing rooms.

[WLKRAS]

The morning of the match I was in my office early. I was feeling a FA Cup buzz. Seems strange considering it’s only the third qualifying round and I’ve played a lot further down the tree, but I guess that’s the magic of the cup. And a ‘cupset’ is always a possibility. When I was playing, FA Cup matches were something special. I took extra care of myself in preparation for those matches, even if they were against lower league opposition. Now, my extra care went into the preparation. I’d already read Kamara’s scout report earlier in the week, but I was re-reading it now to pick out anything I might have missed. Tooting liked to draw their opponents in and then hit them on the counter. To that end, they had a pacey striker in Fabian Batchelor. For all his pace though, he hadn’t scored yet this season, so he didn’t worry me too much. What also would help us, was the fact that three of Tooting’s players would be missing through injury and while they weren’t starters, it would limit their options off the bench.

Looking back through their results, they had only managed one win in the last three and were languishing in mid-table. Frankly, I didn’t see too much of a threat in them, even though they were above us in the league pyramid. We had momentum and a group of players hungry for goals. And a manager hungry for redemption.

Walters was suspended after his red card last week, which meant youngster Daryll England came into midfield to replace him. Other than that it was our strongest line-up with Jarvis in goal, Gill, Manchester, Richards and Craven completing the back five. Jones, Cornes and Banner joining England in midfield and our dangerous pairing of Knowles and Curtis up front.

The team talk was easy for a game like today. It was all about focus and no pressure.

“Right then lads, listen up. Today is the day we take another step towards the First Round proper. Focus on that. I know Tooting are above us, but if we play to our strengths, we can beat them. But don’t try too hard. Just go out there and enjoy yourselves. Play the game like we all know you can.”

I looked up and saw determined faces all around me.

“Last week we played well, so let’s pick up from there. Keep it on the floor, look for the through ball or just get it to Knowlesy anywhere near the box.”

I turned to the youngster on loan from Burton.

“You want to play league football?” I asked him. He simply nodded in return, slightly embarrassed.

“Then there’s only one thing you need to do. Score goals. Keep doing that and someone will notice. If not at Burton, then elsewhere. You’ve got the skills, kiddo. Use them wisely” I said encouragingly.

[tenthreeleader]

Just gone through from the start of this. Very nice stuff. And I love the cup atmosphere you create!

[WLKRAS]

Hey guys, just a mini update. I've had to put this story on hold for a while. We'd planned to go to Holland for a few months to stay with my family here, but we had to leave earlier than expected when my grandfather suddenly passed away. As such, I'm now in a different country than my save game (i'd planned to bring it with me) and unable to further the story.

Hopefully I'll be able to carry on again once I'm back in England.

-WLKRAS

[Wegason]

I look forward to its return

[WLKRAS]

Well, I'm back in England now, so hopefully I'll be able to get things going again on this. Here's something to start you off with

Bromsgrove v Tooting & Mitcham, Victoria Park, 12.9.2009, 15:00

The weather for the match was far from perfect. Rain lashed down in droves and while the varying thermometers still read 20 degrees, it felt plenty cold as Curtis and Knowles got us underway. Despite the weather, we still had a massive 510 fans turn up and they were in good voice from the get go. Even an early warning shot from Tooting dangerman Batchelor couldn’t dampen their spirits.

The team fed off that and it wasn’t long before we were on the attack. Richards beat Batchelor in the air in the centre circle, heading the ball forward and left where Dean Curtis picked it up. The pacey striker was surrounded by three opponents, but as he moved out into the left channel, two of them backed off. That turned out to be a mistake. Curtis skipped past the his marker Nelson and swung in a high cross. In the middle, Knowles timed his run to perfection, peeling away from his defender around his back leaving himself with a header from six yards out. He didn’t miss and just like that, Bromsgrove were one to the good. As he ran off towards the corner flag to celebrate, he looked in the direction of the dugout. I simply gave him a thumbs up. Mission accomplished.

The crowd got even more vocal after that, taunting our higher leagued opponents about the ease with which we had scored, while the players continued to boss the game for us. Full back Hartburn had to make a key interception to stop Jones from being clean through before Dean Curtis had a bullet header saved by goalkeeper King.

Our midfield pairing of Cornes and England were completely running the game and they teamed up in the 35th minute along with full back Gill. Cornes dropped deep to collect the ball from Gill, drawing a defender with him. This created a massive gap in the centre of the park. Knowing this, he returned the ball to the full back, who in turn found youngster England in the centre. The midfielder took one touch to steady himself and then fired an inch perfect pass forward into the run of Cameron Jones. The winger broke into the penalty area, where he was bodychecked off the ball by centre back Vines. Referee Madley had no hesitation in blowing his whistle and pointing to the spot, despite the remonstrations from the guests.

As always, it was Chris Cornes who stepped up to put the ball on the spot and this time he fired it high into the roof of the net. I smiled and turned to Watson

“A brick wall would’ve had trouble saving that”

“If he’s shooting at a brick wall, something’s wrong with our game plan” the coach quipped.

It nearly got even better before halftime as a lovely passing move tore open the visitors, the ball zipping around the wet surface to find loanee Knowles unmarked just outside the area. Unfortunately, this time his shot was just high and that was the end of the half.

At the interval, I stressed to the players that it wasn’t over yet.

“Great work so far leads, but don’t let up. We’ve got them on the ropes, now put them down for the count. Don’t forget that they’re a league above us, so they’re not just going to give up” I cautioned.

“Don’t worry gaffer, we got this” said a confident Kevin Banner.

“Just finish them off”

Confidence is good, but over-confidence can kill a team and it nearly showed in the second half. The visitors were determined to go down fighting and came out the blocks like cornered tigers. They had several chances straight from the restart, first with Parker being denied by a superb Jarvis parry from close range, followed by a very close near miss from a corner, headed just over.

I was about to sling an expletive-laden rant across to my defenders when Watson stopped me. He nodded almost imperceptibly at the gaggle of reporters behind the dugout. I laughed at him.

“I didn’t realise that mindreading was part of your talent pool”

“It’s not hard to tell with you, boss” he laughed, before shouting across to the players to focus.

But for all their explosiveness after the break, they shot off their powder too quickly. We survived the fifteen minute onslaught, but then started to take control of the match again. England nearly made it three straight away, but despite being one-on-one with the goalkeeper, he couldn’t convert the chance. I used the opportunity to bring on some fresh legs and one of them, Ravenhill, nearly had the ball in the net with his first touch on 68 minutes. At that point, Tooting started to lose hope. You could see it in their body language. It became even more apparent when they decided to fire a 35-yard free kick straight at goal, not getting anywhere near the target. It was the best they had and it wasn’t enough.

Bromsgrove Rovers 2 (Knowles 8th, Cornes 36th (pen))

Tooting & Mitcham 0

[WLKRAS]

“Well done lads, great result for us. We’ve reached the board’s minimum target, but let’s kick on and reach the FA cup proper!”

That got a cheer from the players. They knew they’d done well and they’d get a quiet week next week. Curtis had picked up the man of the match award and he was leading the cheering. The cheer got even bigger when the chairman came in with a large tray filled with pints of beer. He told us that as a result of our progress, the club would get 3000 pounds in prize money. This was his little contribution to reaching the target.

I used the noise as a distraction to slip out quietly. No need to be tempted. As soon as I left the dressing room, I was cornered by Robbie Abrahams and another journalist, who I didn’t know. He was the one that started the questioning.

“The Tooting players seemed pretty upset about that penalty being given, did you think the referee was correct?” he asked in a neutral voice.

“To be fair to the referee, if I’d been in charge I’d probably have given it. To add to that, I don’t like it when players go on an all out protest. It’s happened a few times now in matches and at the end of the day, you have to respect the referee’s decision.” I replied.

“What did you think of Curtis’ performance?” he asked next. I could see Abrahams twitch to get a word in.

“He had a good game and I expect to see more of the same from him” I replied, in a cheerful voice.

“Do you think you have what it takes to go far in this competition?” This was Abrahams, repeating his pre-match question.

“Well, I can’t see us appearing at Wembley, but if we play well, we might get to the FA Cup proper. Maybe land ourselves a big money spinning tie”

He started to try and ask other questions, but I held up my hands.

“That’ll be all gentlemen, I still have work to do and I want to get a moment to celebrate with my players”

Abrahams glared, but the other guy seemed amiable enough, smiled and said goodbye.

[WLKRAS]

The six matches unbeaten was a new record for us. With a bit of luck, we’d keep that run going for a little while longer yet. The FA Cup draw had us against Swindon Supermarine, another level 6 team, this time from the Southern Premier. That game would be played on the 26th of September. The only downside was that it was an away game, but such is life. We’ll just have to progress and get ourselves a home tie in the First Round proper. FA Cup progress meant that our match against Hitchin was moved to the 21st of October. It meant an extra midweek game, but that is the price we pay.

As it was, we had a game coming up this Wednesday. Soham would be our opponents at Victoria Road and after the good turnout at the weekend, the board were expecting a record low for this game. I’m not sure how their logic works. Surely a good turnout at the weekend means that more people might turn up to watch our next game. Especially since we played well. But who am I to argue, I’m only the lackey who is in charge of matters on the pitch. The rest shouldn’t concern me too much. At least, I could imagine that was Daniels’ opinion. The guy doesn’t seem to like me very much, along with Grocutt. The chairman seems to have a fairly neutral opinion, though he seems pleased with our results so far. The players seemed to have turned around from their earlier dislike of me. They are enthusiastic in practice and are playing well. I guess that test will come when we’re not doing so well.

As I was aimlessly pondering over my enemies and allies inside the club, I suddenly clocked the date on my desk calendar. September the 14th. All of a sudden, an icy ball formed in the pit of my stomach. Somehow, I’d forgotten. It was my old man’s birthday. Maybe because he wasn’t here anymore I’d forgotten it, but even in my darkest hours and my most drunken state, I’d always remembered to visit his grave on his birthday. I owed that much to him. After all, if I hadn’t lost my head, he’d still be here…

[Panpardus]

Great to see this back, one of my favourites.

[WLKRAS]

Thanks Pan, great to have you along still

It was less than two weeks after Chris Browne’s already infamous sending off. Threatening letters were the order of the day, both to his own house and his parents. Vandalism was occurring frequently to both properties as well. Surprisingly the parents’ house was the worst off. One night, a youth had spray-painted ‘You must be real proud of your son’ on the garden wall before being chased off by Mr Browne. Peter Browne was in his early seventies, but his health was already failing. His lungs, blackened from years of smoking, had to work harder and harder to breathe and even simple things like walking to get the newspaper would get him severely out of breath. Then, one night a group of three young men were outside Browne’s parents’ house, chanting abuse and throwing rotten tomatoes at the house. They were drunk as lords and their slurs had infuriated Browne senior. His son may have done a terrible thing, but it was not his fault. Why did they need to abuse him? Then a tomato struck a window and went through, scattering glass all over the kitchen. That was enough for Browne. Seventies or not, failing health or not, he was not here to have his home vandalised by some drunken yobs. So despite the protests from his wife, who he told to call the police, he went outside, picking up an old cricket bat as he went. The yobs were still there, laughing drunkenly at the broken window.

“What the hell are you lot laughing at?!” Peter Browne shouted furiously, waving his bat menacingly. “You scum better scatter quickly. And leave my house and my son alone!”

“What ever, old man” one of them replied, followed by more fits of laughter. “You must be real proud of your son. He’s a ****ing criminal, he is”.

Browne senior waved the bat again, more vigorously this time. “You kids had better be on your way. The police have been called and they’ll be here soon” he said, knowing that reason wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but trying anyway.

“You’re as pathetic as your son. Your empty threats don’t scare us. The police wouldn’t come here anyway!” came the response.

Browne sighed and shook his head. He got himself closer, venom in his eyes and his voice as he spoke. “If you little maggots don’t **** off right now, I’m going to batter the seven ***** out of you”. His breathing was laboured and heavy, but his eyes had a burning fire that actually scared two of the drunks. The third was more foolish and went for the old man. Despite his age and failing health, Browne senior was still quick as a flash and executed a hook shot that would’ve made Sir Viv Richards proud. The drunk was quick enough to put an arm up, so instead of a broken face, he only ended up with a broken arm, but the damage was done. The three quickly scampered. Peter Browne stood with a heaving chest, his breathing coming in gasps as the drunks ran away. Then, all of a sudden, it felt like someone had took an anvil and thrown it against his chest. The added adrenaline, combined with the laboured breathing had stressed his heart to such an extent that it had crashed. He knew straight away that it would be the end. He clutched desperately at his chest as he fell forward, the world turning to blackness around him.

[Wegason]

Great cliffhanger the post before

[WLKRAS]

Dad’s gravesite was at a cemetery just outside Bolton. It was getting dark by the time I ended the hour and forty-five minute drive and pulled up at the gates. Thankfully they were still open, despite the falling darkness. The sign on the gates said they were open until nightfall and the setting sun was just visible enough for it not to be completely dark. I left my car in the empty car park and hurried through the gates. Dad’s grave was at the far end of the cemetery, so I rushed along the stone path to get there. As you’d expect at this time of day, the cemetery was neigh on empty. I could see the caretaker finishing up his work for the day, but that was it, no one else was around. Two minutes later, I was standing before the simple grey headstone. Nothing fancy, simply dad’s name, his date of birth and date of death. No evidence of any family. He always said he never wanted to make himself seem any more important than he was.

“Hi dad. Sorry I’m so late” I said to the headstone. A slight breeze started up in response.

“I know, I know, sorry doesn’t cut it. I should’ve been punctual” I went on. “I’m sure you know this already, but I’m trying to turn my life ‘round. I’m back into football and everything. As a manager this time, would you believe it?”

I laughed at myself. The breeze faded again, as if telling me to go on. I felt a presence somehow.

“Yeah, and we’re doing quite well actually. I know it’s only the lower leagues, but we’ve been making some waves. Who knows, maybe I’ve reinvented myself and maybe I can leave the past behind me once and for all”

The feeling of a presence firmed up. As if I was being watched. I looked around, but saw no one. I shrugged it off, telling myself that this was not a bad movie and the dead weren’t suddenly going to rise up and feast on my brains.

“I’m sorry you’re not here anymore to see it” I went on, my voice trembling. The wind suddenly howled and a shiver ran down my spine. I looked around again, but in the gloom it was hard to make out if there was anyone there, or if it was just shadows. My nerves were starting to fray. I figured I’d better go before I turned myself into a basket case.

“Sorry I couldn’t stay any longer, but I have a long drive back. Maybe I’ll come up more often” I said told the headstone. It just stood there, in dignified silence.

“I miss you, dad”

I turned and walked off. Somewhere, not far away, I heard a car starting up. I figured it would be the caretaker going home. I hoped he hadn’t locked the gate.

[WLKRAS]

I made it back in time to prepare for our midweek match against Soham. As before we still had a clean bill of health, unlike our upcoming opponents. Kamara’s scout report told me that were missing three players through injury in a report that looked remarkably like it had been copy and pasted from the Tooting match. Soham liked to play a 4-4-2 attacking formation without a particular passing style. They were weak in defence, so Kamara suggest both crosses into the box and a pacey striker up front. They would also provide little or no aerial threat, so we should make sure that their passing game was disrupted. Kyle Holly was apparently their key man.

The board had already told me were expecting record lows for this match, strangely enough, despite us being 1-2 favourites in the bookies eyes. That was no surprise since Soham had only 1 point from their last three matches. I left the team unchanged from the weekend, with the exception that Walters was back on the bench after his cup suspension. It was a bit of a milestone for Kevin Banner, playing his 200th career game and with the exception of five matches for Rugby, he had played them all here at Bromsgrove. Jarvis meanwhile was hoping to add to his 195 minutes without conceding a goal. All this made my team talk fairly easy.

“Gentlemen. Gather ‘round and listen up. I want a performance here tonight. The board say we’ll not be drawing many supporters tonight, so it’s our job to make the ones that do turn up feel like they’re witnessing something special. Soham haven’t won in their last three and we can certainly beat them here tonight. They’re not that good”

Smiles and acknowledgement all around, but I was quick to temper the enthusiasm.

“Don’t get carried away though. Do what we do best. Keep the ball on the floor, work hard for each other and find the gaps. Look for the runs of Knowlesey and scythe open their defence. I know you’ve got it in you. Now show me you can do it”

The players were looking fired up. We might be about to witness something special indeed. At least, as far as Bromsgrove Rovers goes.

[WLKRAS]

Bromsgrove v Soham, Victoria Park, 16.9.2009, 19:45

A steady drizzle was falling down on the 218 brave souls that had made the journey to the Vic. It was 19:45 exactly when referee Nathan Read blew his whistle for the first time and our guests got the game underway. They started the game better, because we seemed so ramped up that we were over thinking things. Twelve minutes in, Richards headed the ball clear, only for it to come straight back into our box. Callum Reed skipped past his man, but sent the ball high and wide. But it was a warning shot, for sure.

Five minutes later, Gill made a foul just outside the area, but again our hosts could not find the target from the free kick. This time, the shot went just wide, but they were getting closer. We were suitably shaken that we cleared our heads and started playing football. Knowles was worked to the ground by his opponent, who promptly received a yellow card for his troubles. The resulting free kick saw Manchester fizz a shot not far over the crossbar.

Then, twenty four minutes in, we finally struck gold. Young Daryll England made a crucial interception in our half of the pitch and slid a pass forward to striker Curtis. The big man held the ball up momentarily around the half way line, before playing it out wide to Dean Craven. The left back found our playmaker Chris Cornes unmarked in the middle. He did what he did best, sending an inch perfect thirty yard pass forward for on loan striker Knowles. Rather than his usual one-on-one with the goalkeeper, Knowles this time turned away from his defender and blasted a twenty-five yard shot straight into the top corner. That certainly got the crowd going at Victoria Road. Most of the coaching staff, myself included, were up on our feet at the touchline in celebration. Grocutt, of course, had a miserable face on next the dug out.

It was almost an immediately reply as Simsek smashed a shot off the crossbar from distance two minutes later. It was Simsek again just after the half-hour mark, this time through on goal after we failed to clear the ball, but the youngster couldn’t get his effort on target. After that scare, we finished the half the strongest, with Manchester heading over from close range from a Cornes corner and England being denied by the goalkeeper with a long range effort.

“Keep it up lads, don’t let them get back into this now. One-nil up at half time means we need to see this out. Get a couple more and keep running at them. You’ll stomp them into the ground then” was the gist of my half time talk. I made a solitary change in bringing on Cottrill for Jones.

The team talk seemed to have done the job and we were immediately on top at the start of the second half. Cornes, Cottrill and Curtis all fired just wide from various positions, but the pressure was there. Knowles also had a go after a magnificent passing move involving five of our players, but his effort was just too high.

We continued in this manner until the 64th minute. We built up the move from the right, Gill seizing the loose ball and playing it into England. The youngster played it further infield to Cornes. As always, it was he who created something. A dinked pass forward, straight into the run off Cottrill was what he thought up. Cottrill immediately swept down on the ball, but was bundled over by Gregg Lindsey in the Soham penalty area. The referee immediately pointed to the spot and Chris Cornes scooped up the ball. He fired it in, low and hard, to the left of the goalkeeper to double our lead.

That really knocked the stuffing out of Soham and we took our foot of the gas. Substitute Ravenhill added a third in injury time after another great passing move from the left and while Soham had the change to save themselves some dignity from the spot after a Manchester foul, their striker fired it well over to end up with a 3-0 final scoreline.

The delight was clear in the stands and I made the players go and thank the supporters who had sat through the drizzle to support them. The players didn’t mind. They were all on a high and didn’t care about the rain. In the dressing room, the spirits were equally high, with the exception of Grocutt, who looked like he was sucking on a lemon. I can’t work the guy out. Sure, he might be bitter about being passed over for the job, but surely a three-nil win at home should at least cheer him up somewhat. Or was it something else?

Bromsgrove Rovers 3 (Knowles 24th, Cornes 66th (pen), Ravenhill 90th)

Soham 0 (Holly, m/pen 94th)

[WLKRAS]

The rain fell steadily as a man, wearing a dark raincoat and a hat walked briskly toward a pub. He was a private detective and despite his impression that he was pretty incognito, he looked exactly like a 40’s private investigator. He arrived at his meeting place and pushed open the door with his left hand. Inside, the pub was warm, but dark. It was a distinctly shady place and it’s patrons looked like the sort who had regular run ins with the law. He bought himself a pint and proceeded to the corner booth as he had been told and sat facing the wall, again as instructed. Then he waited, sipping his pint and just starting at the wall. His occupation was one of waiting. About ten minutes after he’d sat down, he heard a voice, coming from the booth behind him. That was as expected.

“Take out your phone. And pretend to talk on it while you give me your report” said the voice, sounding dark and husky. The PI did as he was told.

“You were right, he showed up. Took nearly all day, but he was there as the sun was setting”

“You are sure it was him?” asked the voice.

“Yes. I followed him and he went to the exact grave you told me he would”

“And?” asked the voice, insistent.

“He talked at the graveside a few minutes, but something spooked him. He was looking around all the time” continued the PI

“Did he see you?!” the voice was angry now.

“No chance. It was dark and I was well hidden. He only stayed a short while and then he headed back to his car. I followed him down the road for a few miles, but I lost him at a traffic light”

“You ididot, you were supposed to follow him all the way. Why did you not jump the light!” the voice rose in pitch and volume.

“Because there was a police car behind me” the PI replied stoically. “And getting stopped wouldn’t have helped me any more. By the time the light was green again, I couldn’t find him anymore. He was headed South, but that’s the best I got”

“Have you got the photo’s at least?” the voice asked, clearly annoyed.

“Yes. Look under your seat” the PI replied.

“How did you…” the voice trailed off as it reached under the seat.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to play this game, son” the PI smiled to himself before sipping his pint.

“Your assignment hasn’t changed. Find him and get me his location” the voice growled. There was the sound of a person rising and moving out of the booth. The PI smiled to himself. Two can play that game, sonny Jim, he thought.

[WLKRAS]

Practice on the Friday was open to all, which meant Robbie Abrahams was a keen observer in the stands. A couple youngsters and some pensioners from the town had turned up, but that was it. I suppose most of our fans have more pressing engagements, like getting the kids to bed and what not. It didn’t bother me much. It was only a leisurely session at any rate, with just two days since our last match. After the warm-up session, we focussed our efforts on attack/defensive play. We used half a pitch with the attacking side of seven players (four midfielders and three strikers) attacking the defensive team comprised of eight (goalkeeper, four defenders and three midfielders). The attackers could obviously score by putting the ball into the net, while the defenders could do so by passing the ball to one of their own in the centre circle. Watson and myself took the most likely first teamers while, Grocutt supervised the others on the other half of the pitch with Martin Hier. The latter was playing centre back along side Andy Wells for the second team, and he noted something of interest.

As there was a lull in the proceedings, he came up to me and suggested that Wells should be told to mark his opponent tightly. With his build and physical strength, Hier reckoned that Wells would be a better player if he was instructed to always do so. I nodded my agreement and told Hier to suggest it to him. I figured it would come better from the man who still was a centre back by trade. Wells seemed keen enough on the idea and whenever I glanced across to the reserves, I could see him giving Jason Taylor not even an inch to work with.

After practice, my old friend Robbie Abrahams was quick to find me, before I was even off the pitch.

“Do you think your players will be ready for Saturday. With only three days rest since the last match?” he asked, his tone even and lacking any of the hostility it normally had.

“Yeah, I think we’re prepared and ready. It’s difficult sometimes with these midweek games, but I think we’re fit enough to see it through” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral and dull.

“The team played pretty well in the last match, are you looking to build on that?” he asked next.

“Yeah, we’re looking to put a run together of good form and hopefully climb the table. We’re still unbeaten, so that’s a good start and if it wasn’t for the points deduction, we’d be right near the top” I replied with a hint of surprise in my voice.

“Training was interesting to observe today, it looked like you were preparing for a defensive set up in the next match?” he asked.

“No, not at all” I replied with an edge to my voice. “I’ve already told you before that I want us to play attacking, possession football. If you’d observed practice properly, you’d have noticed that the focus was on the offensive build up play, not on the defence.” I growled. But Abrahams just smirked in reply.

“Thank you” he said as he walked away. Something was not right there.

[WLKRAS]

I was still puzzling on Abrahams change of behaviour when I was going over Kamara’s scouting report on Burnham. What had prompted it? I didn’t believe for a second that he had suddenly come round to the idea of me as the Bromsgrove manager. So what was his agenda? My brain clutched at straws, but no real idea’s seemed to materialise. Kamara’s report meanwhile said that our next opponents would play a high tempo game in a 4-4-2 formation. They liked to play with width, though their pitch didn’t’ really suit that. They had a solid defence, organised by captain Paul Brett, while up front Simeon Howell was the danger man. Despite that, their offence lacked aerial ability, so we shouldn’t be too troubled in that department.

My brain switched off as I read, but didn’t register the specifics of Kamara’s report. Burnham might be third in the league, but I was still not especially impressed with their abilities. Kamara had included a list of their recent results and they’d scored six and conceded one in their last three games, which they all won. We hadn’t conceded any and scored seven. Extrapolating that theory, we should end up with a one-nil win. If only it were that simple, I chuckled to myself as I dropped the report on my filing cabinet. I’d put it away later.

For a moment, I contemplated going for a drink. A vision of Evelyn shot across my brain and I made up my mind. Just as I was stepping out of my office, my phone rang. I didn’t bother looking at the caller ID. Only one man would have this sort of timing.

“Are you a mind reader, or what?” I asked as I answered.

“What do you mean?” Tony Keats asked from the other end of the line.

“I was just about to go to the pub” I confessed, waiting for the riposte.

“Were you now?” came the scolding tone. “And why in the name of Zeus would you being doing that?” the fury was evident in his voice.

“Well, I wasn’t necessarily going there to have drink…” I tried to protest, but it was in vain.

“The pub, or any pub, should be the last place a man with your history should be found” Toney bellowed. “Regardless of what, or better who, your reasoning is for going there” he added.

“I know, I know” I said, conceding the point, even though I didn’t agree. It wasn’t worth the argument.

“Who is she anyway? He asked and I could hear the smirk on his face. He'd known me long enough to work out the reason I was going to the pub.

“Oh, she just works there” I said, non-committed, trying to be casual about it.

“Indeed” he laughed loudly, not believing a word. “Anyway, that’s not why I called” he went on. “How are you doing? I take it you’re not entirely dry, but how are you doing on the other two” he asked.

“Clean on both counts. I admit I’ve had the odd drink, but only socially. I’m keeping it in hand” I lied.

“Except you won’t be able to” he replied. “It’s a slippery slope, Chris”

“I want to make this work. I’m really enjoying this managing lark. So I’ll do what it takes to keep my job. And make a second career out of this”

“That’s good to hear. And you know I’m only a phone call away if things go tits up, right?”

“I know mate. And I do appreciate it” I replied. “Guess I’ll be off home then” I went.

“You do that” Tony laughed. “And you know you can always ask her out for a coffee, don’t you? You don’t have to see her in the pub”

“I’ll keep that in mind” I said, hanging up and getting into my car and firing up the engine. I hesitated at the exit of the parking lot, but in the end, I decided to go right. In the direction of home.

[WLKRAS]

Having had a good night sleep and no alcohol in my system the next morning, I arrived early at the Vic’s car park for our journey to Burnham, about an hour and a half away. I had already made up my mind to go with the same team, partly to show off to Abrahams that the team was up for it and partly because they had been doing well. The journey to Burnham was uneventful, but we were impressed by the facilities upon our arrival. It seemed that Burnham had recently renovated their ground, no doubt paid for by the council, and it made a welcome change from the places we sometimes visited. The change rooms were neat and spacious and even the pitch looked in decent shape.

I was standing in the corner enjoying the moment as the players were getting ready. My hope was that we would soon be frequenting places like this dressing room more often. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting us to appear at Old Trafford all of a sudden, but a neat, tidy dressing room where you don’t have to worry if you’re going to find yourself with a nail in your arse if you sit down in the wrong place, would be a welcome change. When the players were ready, I sat them down for our pre-match talk.

“It won’t be an easy one today, guys. Burnham have a good team, but if we play how I know we can, then we’ll get the result we want. I’ve been out around the ground and there’s a few green shirts and scarves, so let’s give our travelling fans something to cheer about. They deserve it after the journey down”. I spoke softly. There was no need to get them riled up.

“The pitch here looks beautiful, so lets keep the ball on the surface. Find Chris (Cornes) and let him do his thing”. I turned to Daryll England specifically next.

“That means you have a big job, young man. You have to do the dirty work in midfield, so Cornes can focus on going forward. But you’ve got the young legs to carry you, so I have every faith in you” I smiled at him. At that, I could see the kid grow a couple inches. Only sixteen, but he had the key role of balancing the midfield.

“We may be favourites today, but that doesn’t mean things will just come to us. We still have to work hard and I expect all of you to do just that. And if you’re tired, we’ve got plenty of players on the bench ready to take over. So give me all you’ve got today, gentlemen” I finished up my team talk, sending the players out for their warmups.

[WLKRAS]

Burnham v Bromsgrove, The Gore, 19.09.2009 15:00

It was another drizzly afternoon as our hosts got the game underway, but at least it was a warm 22 degrees. It didn’t take us long to get going in front of the meagre 102 large crowd. Cameron Jones had the first opportunity, feeding of a sideways pass by Dean Curtis, but he could only fire his shot across the goalmouth and wide, despite being clean through. The hosts did well to come back and they showed their high tempo passing, sending striker Papali through, but Jemiah Richards chased back and nicked the ball just as the striker was about to fire off his shot.

It went back and forth from there. Jarvis made a great close range save, although it wasn’t necessary as Papali was given offside, but it was good to see him value his clean sheet enough to still put the effort in. He was unbeaten for over 300 minutes now, which certainly wasn’t bad for a sixteen year old. At the other end, we created chances through Cornes and Curtis, but both players failed to hit the target from outside the area, firing over.

“They’re limiting us to long range efforts, boss. We need a plan B.” Watson said next to me on the bench.

“Well done, Captain Obvious” I growled. “Any more elementary observations you want to share with the class?”

“Just saying, boss. You always tell us to speak our mind” Alex Watson laughed.

I shrugged as I saw Adrian Manchester’s header scrambled away out of the goalmouth for a throw in. The players were looking tired.

Half time came and I didn’t pull any punches in my team talk.

“Right lads, you’re looking tired out there. So I’m going to make all three changes straight away. Knowles, England and Jones, you’re off, hit the showers. Nothing personal, but I have to make choices here. Ravenhill, Walters and Cottrill are on in their stead”. I said. The three substituted players looked disappointed, but relieved at the same time. They were tired.

“That means that the rest of you will have to man up and get on with it. I’ve seen nothing yet to scare us. We can still win here today and I for one would love to take three more points home with us. Make sure we keep possession and let them chase after the ball. It’ll make them feel more tired than us” I looked across at Alex. He stood up and spoke next.

“Keep the ball in the team. Don’t shoot just for the sake of it. Keep it and keep looking for the opening. Eventually they will give one away and we have to make the most of that”

“What Mr. Watson said is spot on. And also, as long as we have the ball, they cannot score”

It didn’t seem to have worked. Two minutes after the break, the hosts had the ball in the net. Papali had all the time in the world to slot it home after a knock on by Howell. Jarvis was lived with himself and his defence until he noticed that the linesman was waving his flag in the air. Offside, no goal and as you were. That was the kick up the backside we needed. Dean Curtis nearly headed one home not long after, but he was clearly impeded by Brett as he did so. The entire team, subs bench and coaching staff included, were up in arms about it. Brett had clearly leant on Curtis with both his forearms to stop the striker from gaining the needed altitude, but it was to no avail. Referee Sam Johnson wasn’t having any of it.

Ten minutes later however, justice was served. Gill had a throw-in on the left side of the pitch, about twenty five yards from the end. He found Craven who was well forward, leaving just Manchester and Richards to deal with Burnham’s two strikers. Craven controlled the ball neatly and sent it infield to Marlon Walters. The substitute midfield took it forward, skipped past his man and then slid a pass forward between the two centre backs. There, completely unmarked, was Chris Cottrill, who side-footed it past the goalkeeper into the far corner. Every defender was looking for an offside flag, but Cottrill had tracked back just in time to be on side and could celebrate his first ever Bromsgrove goal.

That goal came at just the right time, because Burnham imploded on itself. Suddenly, we were creating chances left right and centre, but the combination of solid goalkeeping by Blackmore and disappointing finishing from Bromsgrove saw the score remain at one-nil. Just as I had predicted.

Burnham 0

Bromsgrove Rovers 1 (Cottrill 67th)

[WLKRAS]

The few Bromsgrove supports that had made the journey down were celebrating in the stands. We were showing our pedigree in the tougher matches and we were now eight matches without a loss and Jarvis had managed to keep a clean sheet for 375 minutes. The win lifted us to fifteenth in the table and I was quick to impress upon the players that we needed to keep this run going.

“Well done guys. That was a good win for us. You did well” I beamed. “That was a tough old game, but we kept at it and we got the breakthrough we deserved”.

I turned to Cottrill next. “Well done Chris, that was a great run and you really made an impact coming on off the bench. You deserved your man of the match award today.”

The players gave some encouraging hoots and cheers at that. They were happy with the points and happy to work for each other. There was a real sense of team starting to form at Bromsgrove and it would be my job to cultivate that and keep it going even when things were not going so well.

“Hit the showers and get ready for the ride home. It’s still a long drive and we’ve got a big game coming up next in the FA Cup”

As the players were getting showered and changed, the coaching staff headed off for the club house. It was just as state of the art (at least by amateur standards) as the rest of the facilities and a young man behind the bar served us a pint each.

“Good result today. But I wonder how long we can keep this run going” Alex Watson said.

“It won’t last” Grocutt muttered in a low grumble, clearly not wanting to be here. At least, not with me as the manager.

“Ah, we’ll see. At the moment we’re playing well and having just a little bit of luck when we need it” I countered.

“We can’t rely on luck though” physio Peter Eldridge chipped in. “Sooner or later it’ll run out and we’ll get a bad decision against us”

“Then we’ll have to make sure that by the time that happens we’re in such a position that it won’t affect us” I replied.

“Easier said than done” Grocutt grumbled.

“That’s true” I replied. “But at the same time, a little bit of healthy confidence will do us good. If we walk onto the pitch confident, with our heads held high and determined that we’re going to win the match, we’ll intimidate whoever we come across. And we’ll be one-nil up before the match has even started”

“Sounds like a load of psycho babble to me” my assistant countered.

I sighed as Watson rolled his eyes at me out of Grocutt’s sight. The man really wasn’t happy. Maybe I should look at moving him on before he could damage things on the pitch. But I’d have to get it past Daniels first. The Director of Football was bezzie mates with Grocutt and wasn’t likely to be impressed by my idea. All this gave me food for thought as the conversation turned to more relaxed matters such as the weekend and the respective qualities of the ladies in the club house.

[WLKRAS]

Two other cup draws were made in the lead up to our FA Cup 4th Qualifying round match versus Swindon Supermarine. First up, there was the FA Trophy Qualifying round one, in which we were draw against Mangotsfield. That match would take place on the third of October, meaning our league match against Sutton Coldfield was rearranged for the fourth of November. The Southern League Cup Round One saw us drawn against Slough, a match that would be played midweek on the 27th of October. It mean we’d have two trips to Slough in three days times as our league game against them was penned in for the Saturday before. As a result, the game against Leighton was moved to the 11th of November.

A pleasing bit of news came through on Monday morning when Dean Craven was picked in the team of the week. The left back instantly looked a couple inches taller in training this week and he really seems to be going for it.

It was a decidedly slow week this week. The team was very much focussed on our cup tie against Swindon and while we were marked at the clear underdogs, I was hoping to inspire the players to another cup win. The FA cup proper awaited if we did and that in itself would be a huge boost to the club. Not to mention Mr Martin’s finances.

With preparations key, I’d closed all our training to the public and more importantly the media. Robbie Abrahams was not amused, and it ruffled a few feathers in the club as well. Daniels especially was rather unimpressed, but I managed to convince the chairman that it would be in the best interests of the team. And he was the only one that needed convincing. Daniels may not have liked me, but he didn’t have the power to sack me. Of course that said, the pressure was really on me now to deliver a win.

[WLKRAS]

Evelyn Scott gave a short tug on the rope that hung behind the bar. The bell dinged softly as she called out to the nearly empty pub.

“Nearly closing time people, last orders”. She looked around the room, but none of the five faces seemed interested in any more drink. She turned away to start tidying up when a voice called from just inside the door.

“I’ll have a glass of your finest single malt, if there’s still time” I called as I walked over to the bar. She gave me a smile and ducked to fetch a glass from underneath the bar. Then she found a bottle of Glenlivet and poured a generous measure.

“I’m sorry, but we’re down to just this one. We’ve been having some trouble with our suppliers and stocks are getting a bit slow” she said apologetically.

“That’s ok, at least it’s actually a single malt and not blended” I smiled in return.

“Anyway, how come you’re out so late?” she asked “Do you not have a big FA Cup tie to get ready for?”

“Yeah, I do” I sighed solemnly, taking a sip of my drink and staring into the glass. Inside, I could feel nerves starting to jangle. Evelyn tilted her head to one side and looked at me curiously.

“What’s up?” she asked.

I looked up from my glass at her. She looked wonderful, even at this time of night, after a long day of work. The nerves were fluttering in the pit of my stomach. Why would she even be interested in me? She didn’t know me for what I was. A washed out alcoholic who used to play football and now played at managing. I looked away again, unable to speak to her.

“Or don’t talk about it. Because that’s really going to help” she said fiercely, turning away and returning to her tidying in preparation for locking up. I guessed that was the redhead talking. Still, I couldn’t blame her. I had the perfect opportunity and I blew it. I pulled a tenner out of my wallet and left it between the glass and the coaster. Then I got off my stool, turned and walked out.

Evelyn didn’t notice that I was gone until I was already out of the pub. She shook her head angrily and then went over to collect the glass and the money. She sighed as she walked back to her till.

“Mr Browne, you are one troubled character” she whispered softly to herself.

[WLKRAS]

I arrived at the ground early on Saturday morning, angry and tired after a night without sleep. After a few hours of failing to get to sleep, I’d given up and headed to the ground. Despite the tiredness, I was determined to get the team into the FA Cup proper. To me, it remained the greatest cup competition on the planet and I’d been doing my best to impress that upon the players in the past week.

Our opponents were the favourites. They played a league higher than us, in the South League Premier Division and they were 8th in that league with a decent record. The word out on the street (and the papers) beforehand was that we would lose. Heavily. As I was reading Kamara’s scout report, I saw no evidence that support those sentiments. We might not win the match, but I saw no reason for us to get blown away by a team playing a defensive 4-4-2 countering system. Swindon like the ball on the floor and the liked to break fast via their wingers. Their strikers were slow, so we should be able to catch them offside if needs be, but for once they had a striker with some strong aerial ability. Mark Barnes was apparently their focal point. The opportunities for us lay in the pace department as well as their defenders had no Usian Bolt’s among them.

The weather was rather miserable on the coach ride down to Swindon. It was gray all the way and the rain steadily got heaving as we got further south. At least the weather was still fairly warm, but it wouldn’t help much once we were all soaked to the bone.

Once in the dressing room, I drew out our usual 4-4-2 formation before slowly filling in the names underneath the circles representing the players. Jarvis was in goal. In front of him, the defence was composed of Gill at right back, Manchester, the captain, and Richards in the middle and Craven on the left. The midfield consisted of Cameron Jones, Walters, in for England, Chris Cornes and Banner. Up front it was the usual two of Curtis and Knowles.

“Well then gentlemen. This is it. This is where the men get separated from the boys. Do you want to play in the FA Cup? That’s the question today. Our opponents may be of a higher league, but that doesn’t guarantee them being better players” I told the nineteen faces around me.

“Treat them with respect, but do not be afraid of them. Let them know you want it more and the result will come. Show me, and the world, what you’re capable off. Good luck”

[WLKRAS]

Swindon Supermarine vs Bromsgrove, FA Cup 4th Qualifying Round, Hunts Copse, 26.09.2009 15:00

The rain had diminished to a drizzle by the time Knowles and Curtis got us underway, but the pitch looked decidedly sodden. The first chance fell to our hosts. A throw in from our right was taken quickly by Robinson to Taylor. The midfielder returned the ball neatly and Robinson swung in a first time cross that caught our defence by surprise. Not so Mark Barnes, who managed to get his head to it, but saw his header loop over Jarvis’ crossbar. It was a warning sign for sure.

We managed to give Supermarine something to think about on fourteen minutes. Cornes sent in a free kick from the right, towards the penalty spot. In the melee there, Manchester had managed to lose his man and had a free header at goal. Unfortunately for us, it was expertly saved by Bulman in the Swindon goal. It went out for a corner from which the ball ended up with Gill just outside the area. He was just lining up for a shot when he got taken down by Hooper. The Swindon man was lucky to escape a booking. Cornes lined up the free kick, but slipped on the soggy ground as he tried to take it and his shot bobbled harmlessly wide.

Swindon forced a couple more chances after that, but failed to threaten Jarvis with their efforts. Their chances took a further blow when Craven collided with Danny Allen. The defender let out of an agonised scream as he went down holding his knee. Craven looked shocked at the severity of the injury, which was a pure accident. As Allen was stretchered off the pitch, the 271 supporters that had travelled to the ground gave him a cheerful applause, but it couldn’t brighten the poor lad’s mood any.

Just after that, we should have taken the lead. Cornes received the ball in the centre off the park, ten yards or so into the opponents half. He controlled it neatly with the inside of his left foot, before sending a pinpoint pass forward with his right, straight into the path of Cameron Jones. The winger had slipped behind his marked and was now drawing double cover, with the centre back coming over to help the left back. That left Dean Curtis in acres of space and he was screaming for the ball. Jones took note and slid an easy side foot pass back for the striker. With no defenders near, he could position the ball and pick his corner at will, but instead he fired his effort straight at Bulman. The ball bounced off the keeper’s chest and was hacked away by a defender as a great chance went begging.

Next to me, Watson threw his arms up in disgust. “That should’ve been a goal”

It was the last meaningful action of the first half and I sloshed my way across the sodden sidelines towards the dressing room, I had plenty to think about.

[WLKRAS]

I shall leave you with my half time team talk before I go away for a few days. Back soon - WLKRAS

The dressing room was quiet at half time. Players sat in their wet outfits on the benches. Some players had taken off their shirts and hung them from the pegs in the hope of getting them somewhat dry for the second half. Other sat with rain dripping from their faces as Watson went round with a kettle of tea and some Styrofoam cups. Milk and sugar were passed round after him.

“Put some sugar in your tea lads” Peter Eldridge said. “You’ll need the energy in this weather and on this heavy pitch.”

The players obeyed his instructions. Some were taking in even more energy. Kevin Banner was munching on a chocolate bar while teenager Jarvis was eating a sandwich from a packed lunch. I smiled to myself at the simplicity of it all. There was no unlimited energy drinks and quick release energy gels here. Tea provided by the home team and whatever snacks and food you brought yourself was all there was for half time refreshments. Watson handed me a cup of tea and I patiently waited for everyone to have one before speaking.

“We should’ve been ahead” I said softly. “We’ve had the better chances and we’ve been more dangerous. But that doesn’t count for anything if we don’t put the ball in the net”

I paused, looking around the room. Curtis was slumped down and many other eyes were just looking at the floor.

“Sit up, Deano” I said gruffly. “The rest of you, eyes up here” I pointed to mine. “Just because we’re not ahead now, doesn’t mean we won’t be by the end of the match. You have to believe in that. A match like this, in weather conditions like these, one goal is all it takes”

I looked around the room again, meeting each player’s eyes. Steely determination was now starting to show.

“It’s very simple. We need to score one more than them. The easiest way to do that is to come out after half time believing that we can score that goal and take the game to them.”

There was a knock on the door. Grocutt, who was leaning against it, opened it slightly. The sound of someone speaking came through the gap, although it was hard to make out what he was saying.

“We’ll be right out” Grocutt said gruffly, closing the door. I glanced at my watch and then stared at my assistant.

“Was that the ref already?” I asked. We’d only been in the change rooms ten minutes.

“Guess he’s in a hurry to get back out there” replied Grocutt.

I turned back to the room.

“You know what to do, guys. Believe that you can win and you may very well do so”

[WLKRAS]

The rain was still falling in the second half, but an army of volunteers had helped to drain the pitch, so it was easier to play on. Cornes and Walters had noticed this and they played some intricate passes in midfield before Walters slid a pass through for Dean Curtis. Unfortunately the striker couldn’t control it, but we had a slice of luck as Lapham made a wild clearance and saw the ball disappear out for a corner. Cornes swung it in and it fell to Cameron Jones at the far end. The winger controlled it, but his effort was blocked and rolled away up the pitch harmlessly.

Just past the hour mark, Knowles picked up a loose ball in the centre of the park. He jinked past one defender before being brutally hacked down, with two feet, by McKay. The entire Bromsgrove bench was up in arms, screaming for a dismissal, but referee Mr. Sainsbury only showed a yellow. Manchester protested our cause further, but withdrew when Sainsbury threatened him with a yellow as well.

Swindon slowly started to create more chances, helped by some fresh legs that they’d brought on, but so far their efforts had not yet caused any trouble for Jarvis. With twenty minutes to go, I rolled my dice and made a triple substitution. Cornes, Knowles and Banner, all three tired, came off for Ravenhill, England and Towey. It was a massive gamble to take off three of my better players, but they were struggling.

Immediately after the subs, Craven played an immaculate ball into Walters and the central midfield fired off a thunderbolt of a shot, which narrowly buzzed over the crossbar. It drew a large ‘oooooh’ from the crowd, but that didn’t count for anything. The goal kick went long upfield, towards Gill, but our right back dallied on the ball and let in Chris Taylor. Luckily for us, Jarvis was sharper than his right back and saved the strikers effort to keep the score level.

Swindon pushed forward looking for a winner and they created chance after chance in the closing minutes of the match. Barnes missed from close range, while McKay had a threesome of chance that he all put over the bar. Just as it looked like we were headed for a replay, Lapham sent in a cross from the right towards the penalty spot. England and Gill were both marking Nick Stanley, but the midfielder still managed to rise above them and head the ball into the back of the net with one minute left on the clock.

I hurled a string of profanities across the pitch, dismayed by the shoddy marking, but it was too late for that. The damage was already done. Sending everyone forward didn’t help either. To add insult to injury, Dean Curtis had to come off in injury time after a heavy collision with an opposing defender.

Swindon Supermarine 1 (Stanley 89th)

Bromsgrove Rovers 0

[WLKRAS]

The disappointment was evident on everyone’s faces in the dressing room after the match. My own face was somewhere in between anger and disappointment as I spoke to the players

“That was disappointing. We had the chances to put that game to bed, but we failed to take them. And then we ran into a sucker punch. But that’s how football goes. I hope that we’ve all learnt something from this” I said looking around the room. Heads had dropped and eyes were staring at the floor again.

“At the same time, we were beaten by a team that’s in a higher league. And then only in the dying seconds of the match, so we shouldn’t be downbeat. It’s only our first competitive loss and we just have to bounce back and turn our focus to the league. It’s disappointing but not the end of the world” I told them.

Jarvis was having it the worst, maybe because he’d been doing so well and had finally been beaten after over 450 minutes of football. Watson was doing his best to give the kid a pep talk, but it didn’t seem to be helping much. I headed outside. It was time to face Abrahams. A local journalist was there as well. He was the one to start the questioning.

“Scott Underwood, Swindon Informer. Lapham had a great game for Swindon, what did you make of his performance?” he asked.

“He had a solid game, as you’d expect from him really. Which was all a bit unfortunate for us. His cross in for the goal was excellent, but poor marking really let us down.” I replied, trying to keep my voice level.

“That’s your first defeat as Bromsgrove manager, it must be quite a blow” Abrahams asked, his voice laced with venom.

“Well, it’s disappointing, obviously, but I wouldn’t call it a blow. We can’t expect to win every game we play in” I replied.

“Will you be making changes now? Perhaps let some other players get some of the play time they deserve” Abrahams followed up. So that’s why he’d been nice before the game. So he could slaughter me afterwards? But how did he know what the outcome would be?

“I don’t see the need to make wholesale changes after just one loss” I replied with a sharpness to my voice. The other reporter took back up the questioning.

“Are you disappointed to be knocked out of the cup?”

“To be honest yes. I felt we could’ve got a draw and earned ourselves a replay, or maybe even nicked it if our finishing had been a bit better. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t and that’s that” I said. Abrahams tried to start another question, but I held up my hand.

“That’ll be all gentlemen, good afternoon” I said as I walked off in the direction of the Bromsgrove bus.

[mametz1536]

This is really good, lots of feeling and emotion. Well Done.

[WLKRAS]

Thanks mametz, glad to have you along

Monday training something different. Rather than dwelling on our result in the FA Cup, I focused the players minds on what was on the horizon. First up, would be Chesham in midweek. In order to do so, we worked on team spirit. Training started relaxed, but I soon put a cat amongst the pigeons. After the usual warmup and the standard 4 v 2 pig in the middle for ten minutes, I gathered the players around me.

“Right lads, listen up” I said “Tonight is going to be a fun night. What’s done is done and we’re not looking back on the weekend. We have to look to tomorrow. So tonight will be tourney night”

There were hoots and celebrations as soon I said that. The lads loved tourney nights as it basically involved a round robin competition. Four teams, each play each other twice in ten minute matches. Winners at the end of the tourney get bragging rights and a mini trophy that I have conjured up. However, tonight had more than just that.

“Not only will there be bragging rights at stake, but free drinks as well. Winning team gets their drinks off me after tomorrow’s game. And also tonight, play ground rules. That means four captains whom I shall pick, will pick their own teams in turn. Those captains are: For Team one aka Man united, Skip himself (Manchester), for Team two aka Bayern Munich, little skip (Craven), for team three aka Barcelona, Cornesy and finally for team four, aka Juventus, we will have yours truly”

That drew a gasp from the players. I’d didn’t often participate in training and especially in anything that involved actual matches. They were all still aware of why I wasn’t playing anymore.

“Don’t worry lads, I’m so rusty, I’d probably never even get near you all”

“That’s what we’re afraid of boss” quipped Walters with a grin. “I remember what happened to the last guy who couldn’t get near you”

“For that Walters, if my teams finishes above yours, you’ll be buying the drinks tomorrow instead of me” I countered. “Anyone else want to make smart ass remarks or are we going to have a tourney?”

[WLKRAS]

Truth was, I had to put myself forward to make a full complement of 24 due to Curtis being out with injury. With four teams, that meant six players per side. We ended up with a number of fringe players, as I’d picked Ben Stewart, Danny Scheppel, Leon Smith, Emmanuel Ibhadon and Reece Lovell, the reserve goalie. With it only being six-a-side, we settled for small goals and no goalkeepers, so that meant that Lovell and Jarvis would have to play as outfield players. We faced off against Cornes and his Barcelona team in our first match. Our star midfield had mainly picked defenders for his team, leaving himself and Ravenhill as the only offensive players. But it worked well for them as they thrashed us 4-1.

We took a point off Craven’s Bayern (2-2), thanks to a late goal by Lovell and then narrowly beat Manchester’s United, 3-2, thanks to a rare goal from myself. At the halfway point, Barca had nine points, we had four, United had three and Bayern were stuck on a solitary point The reverse fixtures saw us claim two more wins, Ibhadon finding form by scoring three goals against both Craven’s team and Manchester’s team. That left us facing Barca again for our final game. We were two points behind them in second place and a win could see us lift our trophy. Before the game start, I called a quick council of my team.

“Right lads, here’s how we can win this. We’re going to take Cornsey out of the game. I’ll mark him out of it” I told them. “Ibby is going to drop deep to escape the attention of Gill and Wells and Reece is going to run like mad from one to the other to keep them occupied. Then all the rest of us have to do, is get the ball to Ibby where he has space and he’ll stick it in the net”.

“Easier said than done, boss” the striker said cautiously as we got ready for the final game.

I focussed myself on the task in hand. It wouldn’t be easy. Cornes was a player in form and he had great vision, especially for this level, whereas I hadn’t played football in years. But somewhere deep down, some of the lingering talent that had turned me into a Premier League full-back was starting to re-awaken.

Up front the plan seemed to be working. With Ibhadon dropping deep and Lovell running to and fro, Wells and Gill were starting to get confused as to who to mark. Every time they had the ball, they tried to seek out Cornes straight away, but I was all over him like a bad suit. As a result, the ball pinged out of play a lot, or got stuck in midfield without anyone really being able to do anything with it. Five minutes to go, it was Danny Scheppel who picked up the ball on the right. Ibhadon had dropped deep again but this time, Wells had gone with him. That left Lovell one-on-one with Gill and while normally that would’ve been a one-sided contest, the defender slipped as he tried to turn as the ball was played forward. Lovell was clean through and dribbled the ball into the goal, to the delirium of our team. Cornes was cursing his luck.

He started to run around all over the pitch, in a hope to tire me out, but actually playing football had given me a newfound confidence in myself. Adrenaline kept me running after the younger man, dispossessing him and intercepting his passes time after time. Cornes was cut out of the game and Lovell’s only goal was still the difference as Watson blew his whistle for the final time. As I turned round to see the result of the other match, I could see that they’d stopped. Players were sat on the floor watching our game. They seemed to regard me with a new found respect.

“Damn boss, if you ever fancy coming out of retirement, we’d walk this league” Cornes told me as he shook my hand.

“Those days are long gone, kiddo. I need a pint now.” I simply shrugged. “Where’s Walters gone?” I added in a very loud voice.

[WLKRAS]

I saved having the pint for after the match. I felt on top of the world that evening, something that was helped by it being a beautiful one. The weather had been great all day, but even after training it was still a balmy twenty degrees as the sun was slowly setting. I figured I’d make the most of it and headed out into the country side. I headed out West, taking the A448 in the direction of Kidderminster and from there continued on the A442 towards Shrewsbury. That was ok, but it was not the windy country side rode I was hoping for. I randomly decided to start following B-roads and that’s where the three point two litre engine in my BMW really started to roar to life. The car seemed to be glued to the road as I threw it around corners with reckless abandon. Finally, I let the car coast onto a small hilltop parking area. It was deserted, but the view of the valley below was magnificent. I parked the car, climbed out and lent against the hood. A light breeze had started up, but the temperature was still amiable enough. The settling dusk cast a haze of the landscape, but it did little to veil the countryside.

I turned around as another car slowly motored by. It was an old, battered Ford Focus, silver in colour. A young girl, looking scarcely old enough to have a driving license was behind the wheel. She had the windows down, but no sound came from the radio. She stared at me as she went past. She looked somehow familiar. Seeing my mind working, she suddenly slammed her foot down and raced away. She hadn’t wished to be recognized. I hurried back to the car and climbed behind the wheel. The engine roared to life as I turned the ignition and loose gravel skittered around as I drove out the parking area. I put my foot down and it wasn’t long before the speedometer was reading sixty miles an hour. I had expected to have seen the old Ford by now, but there was no sign of it. She must’ve kept her foot down all the way down this road, because there were no turn offs and I hadn’t seen it parked along the roadside. The road was straight as an arrow and I pushed the BMW up to seventy and then eighty, but there was still no sign. She must’ve been a more experienced driver than I thought. Where could she have disappeared off to? And who was she?

There continued to be no sign of the Focus as I drove into the next town, so I decided to give up and head back home. As I slowly drove out of town, I failed to spot an old silver Ford Focus pulling out of a side street and following me from a distance.

[Bumblebee78]

Really enjoyed reading through this. A lot of work has gone in so far and it's a great read. Keep up the great work.

[WLKRAS]

Thanks Bumblebee and welcome to FMS

I was late arriving at my office on Wednesday morning. The face behind the wheel had kept me up all night. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see her. The big brown eyes and the jet black hair cut short at back, but longer at the front. I could even remember the sparkle of her silver earrings and the burgundy red of her lipstick. I tried to push her out of my head, but the mystery just kept flooding back. My brain was wracking itself trying to find out who she was.

Purposefully I took up Jack Kamara’s scout report, in the hope to take my mind back to the matter in hand. Chesham were 5-4 favourites if the media where to be believed, even though they only had seven points from their six games and sat fourteenth in the league. According to Kamara, they liked a mixed style of play, but always worked hard and played in a high tempo. They preferred to play a wide game, although their pitch was fairly narrow. Their defence was poor according to our scout, but that didn’t mean much. He seemed to say that about everyone. What was more interesting was that they had four players out with injury, among them several key ones. That should make our jobs a little bit easier, if nothing else. Kamara had pinpointed Steve Wales as their key striker and had included some additional notes on him. It still wasn’t much, but I supposed he looked slightly better than the average striker for a pub team.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Robbie Abrahams was fishing for quotes for his afternoon paper, before our evening kickoff. For once, I welcomed the distraction he brought as it kept my brain away from the mysterious Focus girl.

“Your team didn’t have the best of games last time out, what effect will that have on them?” Abrahams asked after the niceties were done.

“Well, I don’t think we were that poor” I replied cautiously “but I believe the squad is chomping at the bit to do better against Chesham”

“Rapinder Gill seems to be playing well lately, he’s been getting some praise from the fans. Do you think that’s accurate?”

“Yeah, Gill has been playing well and I think the fans’ praise will give him a bit of a boost as well. I’m just hoping he can keep up this sort of form”

“Steve Wales has been touted as a key striker for Chesham, do you think he’s their main threat?” the journalist asked, leaving me with a perfect opportunity to put the boot into our opponents

“Takes more than one man to make a team. If Wales is their only threat, I’m sure we can grab a victory tonight.” I replied.

“You seem confident of that”

“If we play like we can, I have every reason to believe we can come away with three points”

For once, Abrahams thanked me for the interview and told me that it would be going out in both the printed copy of the evening paper as well as the online version. Not that it would matter much, only two old farmers and their dogs would read it, I guessed.

[WLKRAS]

Chesham vs Bromsgrove, The Meadow, 30.09.2009 19:45

We had a number of tired legs, having had only a short rest since our last game, so I decided on some changes to our starting XI. It meant that Wells, Cottrill, England and Taylor came in and Richards, Jones, Walters and Curtis missed out, the latter through injury. Dean Craven featured in the 150th match of his career.

It was a dry night, but remarkably cold compared to the evening before. The weather had suddenly turned and it was only five degrees under dark grey skies. It was enough to force the floodlights on.

I’d told the players before the match to go out there and do the travelling fans proud. They did not disappoint. We were all over Chesham right from the get go. Gill in particular was all over the pitch. I’d seen Watson shove a copy of the Standard under his nose and apparently the right back had taken very well to the praise I’d given him.

We had the most of early possession and it was Gill who stared off our first move. Picking the all up on the right side of the pitch, he beat the Chesham left winger before sliding a pass inside to Daryll England. The youngster neatly controlled the ball, turned away from his marked and sent a splitting pass forward, where Knowles was already on the move. He nipped in behind the defender and bore down on goal from the right side of the penalty area. The Chesham goalkeeper came forward in an attempt to close down the angle, but Knowles fired a low shot past him and into the far corner. One-Nil and the match was only six minutes old.

Six minutes later, our tally was doubled. England was involved again, playing a sideways pass, but seeing it bounce off a Chesham player. Chris Cornes picked up on it immediately and sent a first time pass forward. It bounced awkwardly off the surface, wrong footing a Chesham defender, but not Jason Taylor. He ran straight onto it and in a mirror image of our first goal, finished low into the far corner, coming from the left side of the penalty area.

I motioned to Manchester to start keeping possession and not letting Chesham on the ball. Instead, Dean Craven did completely the opposite. He made a hurried clearance under no pressure, miscued it and sliced the ball into the middle off the pitch. Straight into the run of Archer, one of the Chesham strikers. His eyes lit up at the golden opportunity and he made no mistake in slotting the ball low to the right of Jarvis to get the hosts back in the game.

After that, we tried hard to take control back off the match. We had a flurry of chances just before the half hour mark, but Manchester and England were denied by the goalkeeper while Taylor screwed his shot wide of the mark.

We kept coming. Cottrill easily beat his man down the right, swinging in a low cross. Knowles got it first and flicked it on with a deft touch, wrong footing two defenders and the goalkeeper in the process. Kevin Banner had the goal at his mercy from six yards out, dead centre.

He promptly put it over the bar. Beside me, Watson let out a groan.

“I hope that’s not a sign of things to come” he added. Unfortunately it was. Cornes played in Knowles four minutes later and the striker had only the keeper to beat. With one goal already in the bank, his confidence should’ve been high, but instead, he lamely poked it at the goalkeeper. The laws of football dictate, that if you don’t put away your chances, you’re going to get burned. It happened less than a minute after Knowles’ miss. Chesham charged up the pitch through the middle, with Archer cutting inside onto his right foot to fire a high shot past Jarvis. There were suspicions of offside, but the referee waved them away. We didn’t deserve to be in front in any case.

At half time, I told the players that they could still win this. But the heads were down. And no matter how myself, Grocutt and Watson went about it, they weren’t coming back up. So I rolled the dice and sent on player/coach Hier to shore things up at the back.

It seemed to work. Chesham retreated back into their own half, seemingly happy with a point and we surged forward once more. Just before the hour, Knowles looked like breaking through from a Cornes pass, but he had his shirt tugged by a Chesham defender. It was probably to innocent an offence to warrant a red card, but despite that, our entire bench was up shouting at the referee for it. He, of course, ignored us and his glance back suggested we were lucky to even get the free kick on the edge of the D. Chris Cornes lined it up, but he managed to fire it straight at the goalkeeper.

We made further substitutes with Ravenhill and Byrne coming on for Knowles and Cottrill. Ravenhill made an immediate impact by troubling the goalkeeper with a header from a corner, but it was scrambled clear off the line. Another Cornes free kick went over the bar and even youngster Daryll England had a go, but couldn’t find the target. All in all, the game slowly petered out to a two-all draw. Considering our poor finishing, we were lucky to get away with a point at all

Chesham 2 (Archer 17th, 36th)

Bromsgrove Rovers 2 (Knowles 6th, Taylor 12th)

[rkdoom]

Loved the read, glad i found it! you're a great writer!

tho i miss the little miss Ellie haha!

Keep up the great story sir, Love it

[WLKRAS]

Thanks rkdoom. Welcome to FMS. I'm sure we haven't seen the last of Ellie

I had a face like thunder after the match. The players sat quietly in the dressing room. Everyone very much looked like they’d lost two points rather than gained one. My heart was dying to give these players the hairdryer, but my head was saying that wouldn’t solve anything. For a few minutes, my head and heart argued in silence, the players sat waiting, watching me intently. In the end, my head won and I spoke softly.

“Well, I guess we know what we’ll be working on in training in the next few days. We had more than enough chances to put that game to bed and we didn’t.”

I let the statement hang in the air for a few seconds, looking around at the players one by one.

“But nothing we can do about that now. I can shout and scream about what’s gone wrong, but that’s not going to solve anything. So, let’s get showered and dressed and we’ll head back home. And I’ll see you all tomorrow at training. And I’ll expect you all to be sharp. And eager. ‘cause we’re back on the pitch on Saturday and I want to see a better result then”

With that I walked out to face the press. Well, the two reports that had turned up, anyway. Abrahams was one of them, the other I presumed was a local. He introduced himself as James Howard.

“Well, that didn’t go to plan, did it?” Abrahams asked first up, his face a great smirk.

“Were you too confident in the build up?” he went on.

“Glad to see that your paper can afford for you to travel all the way here, Mister Abrahams”. I spat out the last two words. “As for your question, no, I don’t think we were over confident”

The other guy tested the waters with a more neutral question. “You’re still unbeaten in the league, do you think you can keep that run going?” he asked.

“That’s possible yes. We have a good team and if we sort out finishing out then I can’t see why not” I replied, cautiously, but with nowhere near the same venom as I’d used for Abrahams.

“You’re not worried that being unbeaten leads to overconfidence?” he asked, hooking into the Bromsgrove reporter’s question, but more delicately.

“No. Regardless of what Robbie here thinks. We’ve got a solid group of lads here. Yes they’re confident, but with reason. And as the backroom staff, we’re ensuring that they stay thoroughly grounded”

“What about more signing more players? You were linked with Ben Pugh recently. Is there any interest?” Abrahams took back the questioning.

“We are not looking to enter the market” I replied. Abrahams tried another question, but I simply replied with a curt “Good night, gentlemen”.

[TwinsFan86]

Very excellent read so far. Looking forward to more!

[WLKRAS]

Thanks Twinsfan86, glad to have you along

It was late when the team bus arrived back in Bromsgrove, but there were still lights burning in the clubhouse. Out of sheer curiosity, I popped my head around the door and saw the chairman working away at one of the table. He waved me in.

“Chris! Come on in” he called.

“Evening, sir. I take it you heard the result?” I asked.

“Yes, Darren rang through the details of the match. I must say I’m disappointed on how we gave away a two-goal lead” he looked up from his paperwork with a stern face.

“So am I, sir” I replied, my voice even and my anger controlled. “How come you couldn’t make it there tonight?” I tried to change the subject.

“Damn paperwork. Club doesn’t run itself, you know” he said irritably.

“Ah, right” I replied, not sure what else to say.

“To be honest, it’s not all club paperwork. I have my business interests to consider as well, but some are related to the club. Sponsorships, advertisements and such things. Truth be told, Chris, we’re starting to get a bit short on cash and I have to find a way to make sure the budget still balances”

“I’ll review the player’s wage budget and see if there’s any costs to be cut, if you like?” I asked.

“That could be helpful, wages are still our main expense” he replied. “Could you do that for the end of the month meeting tomorrow evening? Hop Pole inn at 7?” he asked.

“Ok sir, I can let Grocutt and Watson handle training tomorrow. And I’ll get that review sorted for you. I’ll see you there” I said, before heading out. As I walked to my car, I could see Grocutt going into the club house. No doubt to elaborate on his report and whisper in the chairman’s ear that it wouldn’t have happened if he was in charge. I snorted in derision and got in the car. Pulling out of the lot, I looked left, towards the Inn. The lights inside were off, but in the glow of the streetlights, I could see Evelyn locking up. I nosed the car out and turned left.

[WLKRAS]

I drove slowly, pulling up at the curb just as Evelyn finished with her keys. The rain was getting heavier and she’d put up an umbrella. I buzzed down the passenger window and leant over.

“Can I give you a lift?” I said. She shook her head.

“I’m not in the habit of taking lifts of strangers” she said.

“But you know who I am?” I objected.

“But I don’t know you, do I? Just because I serve you the odd drink doesn’t mean I know you” she said, with fire in her voice. The rain started to fall harder now, coming down in sheets.

“Look, I’m sorry. Just trying to do the gentlemanly thing and not let a lady walk home in this weather” I paused a moment before continuing .

“Hi, I’m Chris. If I promise that I won’t kill you and dump you in a ditch somewhere, can I give you a lift? You’re going to get very wet in this sort of weather, brolly or no brolly” I delivered it with a smile.

She laughed and the walls of defence that she’d pulled up were starting to crumble. I leant over further and pushed open the door. She dropped her head in mock defeat and shuffled towards the car. She closed her umbrella, shaking all the rain out of it. As she did so, the heavy rain poured down, drenching her hair. She shook her head and climbed in, pulling the door shut behind her. She looked wonderful, even though she her appearance resembled that of a drowned cat. Her eyes sparkled, despite the dim light from the streetlight.

“I’m sorry” she said. “Can’t be too careful these days”

“It’s ok. But I can promise you my intentions are purely honourable”. I said as I put the car back into gear and eased away from the pavement.

She laughed again.

“No they’re not. I’ve seen the way you look at me.” I could feel her looking at me and I had to try my hardest to keep my attentions on the road. I didn’t know what to say to that.

“This left and then the second right” she said, changing the subject. I manoeuvred the car around the turns she said and we cruised into a upscale neighbourhood.

“Nice area” I told her.

“Thanks. It’s just up here” she said, pointing to a house to our left. I pulled up to the curb where she said and shut down the engine. The rain was still coming down in droves. She turned in her seat and smiled at me.

“Want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

[Jibby123]

Ducked out of this one for a while, but just spent last hour or so (ignoring the kids home from school!) catching up. Glad I did. Excellent reading.

[WLKRAS]

I laughed at her suggestion

“So you won’t take a lift from a stranger, but you’ll invite them in for a coffee?”

She shook her head.

“It’s the least I can do to make it up to you. You’re seem like an alright guy”

I sighed and shook my head.

“I can tell you don’t know me well” I replied

“Oh, it can’t be that bad, surely?” she smiled. “Come on” she said, getting out of the car, leaving her umbrella behind.

I cursed under my breath. I didn’t want to rush after her, but my moral code obliged me to return the umbrella to her. And I’m sure that’s what she was counting on. I reached over for the umbrella and clambered out of the car. Evelyn had unlocked her door and was standing in the doorway, waiting. I walked through the pouring rain and held up the brolly.

“You forgot something” I told her.

“I know” she replied.

I ignored it and handed her back the brolly, before making to turn back to the car.

“I’m impressed” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my face a mask of confusion.

“Most guys offering a lift just want to get in your pants. They expect you to be all grateful for saving you from the walk” she spoke softly, almost embarrassed. I simply shrugged.

“I was just trying to be nice” I said. “I feel it’s important to be”

“And nice you were. Thank you” she smiled. “And I agree, being nice is important”

“Glad we agree on that. Anyway, I better be off. It wouldn’t do to tell my players to be in bed early, if I stay out late” I laughed.

“Does that imply a definite ‘no’ on the coffee, or is that ‘maybe another time’?” she asked. “You know, another time more public. With daylight and all that?”

“That would be nice” I replied. She reached behind the door and pulled out a pen and some junk mail. Carefully, she wrote her number across the top of the envelope and handed it to me. I pocketed it and thanked her. And with I turned around and headed back into the rain.

“Don’t forget to ring” she called after me, before softly shutting the door