Rob Ridgway's "Rat Pack"

[tenthreeleader]

A solid effort, no doubt. We will see if the form lasts.

___

“Can’t do much better than that,” I said, when accosted by the press after the match. “I think we’reas ready as we can be for the Champions League.”

“What about the chanting? What did you make of the chanting?”

Now Hopkins had a real question, and he used it to best advantage.

I smiled at him.

“Well, I get paid to manage,” I said. “I didn’t hear the chanting.”

Hopkins looked at me, thunderstruck.

“You mean to tell us you didn’t hear chanting that was going on throughout the match?”

I tried, and failed, to suppress an impish little grin.

“Maybe you could refresh my memory,” I said, trying not to grin.

“I think you heard more than you’re letting on,” he finally said. “Your thoughts on Bogdan Lobont’s comments printed this morning.”

“I don’t think there are people at the club who want us to fail,” I said immediately. “I do think, though, that there are those, both inside and outside the club, who have varying ideas of what constitutes success.”

I waited for a moment and since Hopkins wouldn’t have dreamed of interrupting, I continued.

“There is a difference,” I said. “I do feel that people need to ease up on these players a bit. They are doing a fine job and when they are left to their own devices, as they were today, the results can be quite breathtaking.”

“To the events of the week in your front office,” he said. “The listening devices. Your thoughts?”

“No comment,” I said tersely. “There’s an investigation and I won’t damage it by an offhand comment.”

I was also thinking about what Fulton might say. Beautiful as she is, I’m more concerned about getting on her bad side. I fear that once you find it, there’s no way back. Beauty takes a back seat to inner steel, and Fulton certainly has that.

“And Baptista?”

“Wonderful little run he’s started with,” I admitted. “We brought him here to help us find the back of the net and he certainly seems to know where it is. When all our offensive talent is on the same sheet of music, we are a very difficult team to stop.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

A ‘well done’ text message from Sir John did little to deflate my spirits as I took the elevator from the locker room level up to the second floor mezzanine.

The stadium was emptying fast, and those few supporters still hanging around in the concourse had a chance to greet the gaffer as he left the elevator.

It was a nice moment, to get to talk with happy fans and accept some praise for a job my players had done very well.

Striding down the concourse after the impromptu gathering, I reached the door to the 1871 Suite, producing an electronic pass key to gain admittance.

As one, the congregation in the room turned to see who the new arrival was, and the mood immediately lightened upon my entrance. That was a good thing.

In the far corner, by a window overlooking the pitch, Madejski sat with three board members. In the opposite corner, Winthrop sat with Richmond, who was contentedly smoking another one of those Cuban cigars he seems to like.

The marketer looked a bit green around the gills from breathing in all that smoke, but he evidently had some work with him that he was showing to the would-be king. Not surprisingly, I opted for the corner where the chairman sat.

As I approached, Patty greeted me. I had missed her in the room upon my entry, as she was surrounded at a third corner of the room by a group of staff who just wanted to spend some time around her. I couldn’t blame her for that, as I wanted just the same thing.

It being the Madejski Stadium, Reading 107 FM was playing on the suite’s speakers, with the post-match show just concluding.

Despite our arrangement for match broadcasts through the BBC, Reading 107 is our official station and it’s quite a cozy little arrangement. They also carry the matches and it’s an element of our media coverage that is actually friendly to the club.

That’s because in December 2005, the station was purchased by Madejski Communications Limited. Add that to the list of Richmond’s Things To Change, I guess.

Dan Chisholm was finishing up another version of ‘The Royal Box’ and the general reaction to the day’s events was that on our day, Reading FC is one hell of a nice little football club. I will certainly do nothing to help dissuade the good people of Berkshire from that sentiment.

However, Winthrop doesn’t much care for Reading 107 in general since the station doesn’t stream on the internet outside of the UK.

That in itself isn’t surprising – neither does the BBC, for that matter – but it’s just another thing standing in the way of what Winthrop sees as our ‘global brand’.

Ah, loyalty. A forgotten word today.

The station switched over to music as I approached the chairman, which more or less shifted the mood in the room from match-day to party.

Someone in the studio must have been in a retro sort of mood as the Kool and the Gang anthem “Celebration” was the first song played.

Smiling, I accepted a cold Hullaballoo, a product of the small Loddon Brewery in Dunsden, and gave the waitress a tip that was far more than the beverage’s cost. Smiling, she pocketed the bill and headed off in search of other people to help.

Looking down at the pitch, I smiled at the recollection of a match very well played.

Patty moved to my side and wordlessly, she seemed to share my thoughts.

In the corner from which she had come, Hardcastle sat impassively, looking over the room. He seemed to be trying hard not to make eye contact with Richmond. I didn’t have that problem – I can look my boss in the eye – but I thought ol’ Thor was trying a little too hard to look inconspicuous.

Sir John invited us to his table for a fully laid-out brunch. The players were presumably off to start enjoying their evenings, and there was surely nothing wrong with the manager and his lady doing the same.

Knowing Hardcastle was in the room, I decided to try a little experiment.

Knowing also that Sir John hadn’t spent a lot of time around Patty, I played up. Ostentatiously, I prepared her chair, to Sir John’s left and in full view of the former Army officer.

“My dear,” I said, offering her the chair and performing the gentleman’s duty for a lady. Then I softly rubbed her shoulders for a moment in a very rare public display of affection.

Patty looked up at me – thankfully over her right shoulder so Hardcastle couldn’t see the expression on her face – with an expression of surprise.

“Thank you, Rob,” she beamed, and I was only too happy to oblige.

She sat, and a waiter approached with a club menu for her to view. Her smile was dazzling – that little bit of fluffing up seemed to have changed her demeanor.

I walked around the table to take my seat at Sir John’s right, and I locked eyes with Hardcastle as I did.

The bodyguard quickly looked away. He was red-faced, and not with embarrassment.

# # #

[stoehrst]

Kill him. I would.

[coloradogkb]

Or at least fire him. I'm surprised Rob hasn't found someone else to safeguard Patty.

[nette000]

... is there a more violent story arch building here? If people can bug offices, they can play with cars as well...

[tenthreeleader]

Rob isn't happy. Obviously. But how you proceed with venting anger in this particular instance isn't immediately obvious. colorado, I'd simply say that Rob's calculus at this point is in whether he should in fact decide to keep his friends close and his enemies closer.

Time also for a look at the table.

___

Sunday, September 13

The air is starting to get a little thinner, and that is a good thing.

We’re up to third with yesterday’s win, and we’re only two points back of table-topping Manchester United. Unfortunately for us, they look like world beaters.

Sunderland was the latest team to fall under the wheels of the Big Red Machine, in a 5-0 evisceration at Old Trafford that has the whole league taking notice.

Rio Ferdinand opened the scoring in the last minute of the first half, and Wayne Rooney powered home a hat trick in the second, with Patrice Evra adding United’s fifth. The Red Devils were simply dominant.

Arsenal kept pace, however, moving to second with a brace from Emanuel Adebayor doing the job in a 2-1 win at Bolton. Scott Sinclair’s 52nd minute goal got the Trotters on terms but Adebayor finished from the spot 14 minutes from time to give Arsene Wenger enough to stay one point ahead of us and one point behind United.

Dirk Kuyt opened the scoring for Liverpool at White Hart Lane yesterday, but goals one minute either side of the break from Robbie Keane and Yakubu sent the home team to a 2-1 win. The win lofted Spurs into joint fourth place with Rafa Benitez’s team, one point behind us.

Champions Chelsea sank to sixth place after being held 1-1 at Everton. Theo Walcott opened for the Toffees 21 minutes in, but Giuseppe Rossi scored with the last kick of the match to get a point for Avram Grant’s men.

It sounds bad to say that Chelsea are sixth, but the top five are separated by only three points in these early days, so one round of results can change quite a bit at the top.

Elsewhere, Aston Villa is off to a very slow start. They fell 2-0 at Villa Park to Middlesbrough -- and Darren Bent’s brace in the second half -- to fall to 16th in the table with five defeats in their first seven matches. That’s a place Martin O’Neill isn’t terribly interested in staying, but the Villans need to start playing better in a hurry.

In what could be some bad news for us, Dean Ashton of West Ham is starting to find last season’s form. He scored twice in the first half to cap a three-goal Hammers blitz against Portsmouth, with Craig Bellamy starting the scoring just after the half hour. Pompey didn’t get on the board until Landon Donovan’s slop-time goal in second half injury time.

Ouch.

# # #

From my own point of view, I had a couple of priorities today.

First was to do some work on PSG, which included watching their live match on television today. I didn’t expect to see a whole lot new and I didn’t, as they slogged their way to a 1-1 draw against Bordeaux.

They will fly here tomorrow and will have the Madejski Stadium pitch for their training on Tuesday morning. Visitors from France will be interesting for us to be sure, and the appropriate soirees are already well into the execution stages.

Execution might be a good idea in my case. I have never been terribly fond of the formalities that sometimes accompany such matches, but as a new player on the European stage, Sir John doesn’t wish to be found wanting.

Of course, his ceremonial title as Deputy Lieutenant of Berkshire has special connotations as well, though they may not always be related to the football side of his businesses. He does have a ceremonial role to play and while he does, he’d prefer it come through the football club to as great an extent as possible.

All this means I have to put on my best suit for dinner with the Frenchmen on Tuesday night at the stadium. Patty will be with me, of course, and that will make it a lot easier. She does tend to dominate a room, which makes my job one of simply nodding my head and smiling at the right times.

The traditional headlines about ‘Four-Star Reading’ and ‘Dicã at the double’ greeted me today, and I would have expected no less after such an excellent performance.

It’s matches like yesterdays that give me reason to believe we can actually contend this season. We just need more of them, and less matches like the draws that plagued us last season. We were hard to beat, and that’s wonderful, but to win any league you need to win matches instead of draw them.

Captain Obvious, please pick up the white courtesy phone.

The second priority I had was trying to schedule a procedure on my knee, which is really starting to annoy me. I can feel swelling in the knee now, and it’s getting increasingly uncomfortable to get around. It’s time to get it fixed, and I’m kicking myself for needing to be away from the team at such an important time.

The procedure can’t be avoided, and I suppose if I had been injured in a car wreck or something I would have had the same issue, but the circumstance in this case was entirely within my control. No one was making me train with the team when this happened, so I have no one to blame but myself.

In short, it was an exercise of poor judgment at a time when the team needs me to show excellent judgment. Therefore, in calling around to my contacts at the club to arrange an appointment with a specialist, I was filled with a self-loathing that was both deserved and unbecoming at the same time.

As a result, I’ve got a procedure scheduled Tuesday, and that will mean I’ll be braced up for the PSG match and whatever follows until everything heals up.

So far, no one has said anything, and nobody in the press has picked up on the situation surrounding me. That’s good, because while it wouldn’t be a huge story, it would certainly be an embarrassing one. I really don’t need that right now.

# # #

[center][left]  | Pos   | Team          | Pld   | Won   | Drn   | Lst   | For   | Ag    | G.D.  | Pts   | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 1st   | Man Utd       | 7     | 6     | 1     | 0     | 19    | 2     | +17   | 19    | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 2nd   | Arsenal       | 7     | 6     | 0     | 1     | 19    | 9     | +10   | 18    | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 |[b] 3rd   | Reading       | 7     | 5     | 2     | 0     | 15    | 5     | +10   | 17    [/b]| 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 4th   | Tottenham     | 7     | 5     | 1     | 1     | 15    | 8     | +7    | 16    | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 5th   | Liverpool     | 7     | 5     | 1     | 1     | 12    | 6     | +6    | 16    | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 6th   | Chelsea       | 7     | 4     | 3     | 0     | 11    | 6     | +5    | 15    | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 7th   | Middlesbrough | 7     | 3     | 2     | 2     | 11    | 9     | +2    | 11    | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 8th   | Man City      | 5     | 3     | 1     | 1     | 5     | 4     | +1    | 10    | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 9th   | West Ham      | 7     | 3     | 0     | 4     | 9     | 10    | -1    | 9     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 10th  | Wigan         | 7     | 1     | 5     | 1     | 8     | 8     | 0     | 8     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 11th  | Newcastle     | 5     | 2     | 2     | 1     | 10    | 11    | -1    | 8     |
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 12th  | Bolton        | 7     | 2     | 0     | 5     | 10    | 14    | -4    | 6     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 13th  | Everton       | 7     | 1     | 3     | 3     | 6     | 10    | -4    | 6     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 14th  | Fulham        | 6     | 1     | 2     | 3     | 9     | 13    | -4    | 5     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 15th  | West Brom     | 6     | 1     | 1     | 4     | 4     | 9     | -5    | 4     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 16th  | Aston Villa   | 7     | 1     | 1     | 5     | 5     | 13    | -8    | 4     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 17th  | Portsmouth    | 6     | 0     | 3     | 3     | 7     | 13    | -6    | 3     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 18th  | Blackburn     | 7     | 1     | 0     | 6     | 6     | 13    | -7    | 3     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 19th  | Sunderland    | 7     | 0     | 3     | 4     | 2     | 11    | -9    | 3     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 
 | 20th  | Derby         | 6     | 0     | 1     | 5     | 2     | 11    | -9    | 1     | 
 | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| 

 [/left]

[/center]

[tenthreeleader]

“Why do you suppose Hardcastle would have been so angry?”

I wasn’t upset at Patty. I simply wanted her honest opinion. Even though I think I know the answer to my own question.

I couldn’t get the image of such a large angry man out of my mind. I’d also like to hear that answer from him, but since Patty was closer to me at that moment, I thought I’d ask her first.

“You’ve had contact with him about all this?” she asked. She was evading the question.

“Yes. Any good husband would have.”

“There’s your answer,” she said, returning back to it. “Knowing him a little, I think you’ve probably insulted his integrity and he’s upset about that. Wouldn’t you be?”

“If I were suspected of harboring affection for someone else’s wife? I think I’d rather be as far away from that situation as I could get.”

“You employ him,” she said. “He doesn’t have a choice but to work around me.”

“For the time being. He could resign,” I pointed out. “No one is holding a gun to his head to stay.”

“Rob, Steven has professional pride just like you do,” she said. “Nobody likes to be kicked in their pride. He doesn’t love me, he doesn’t want me and he feels accused by you. Can you not understand why he’d be a little upset about that?”

“The honorable thing to do would be to meet and clear the air,” I said.

“The honorable thing to do would be to apologize and move on,” she said, in a corrective tone.

“Patty, I’m not the one who did the wronging here,” I replied. “I don’t need the lecture.”

“We’ve been through this,” she sighed. “But it would certainly make things easier for me if you’d do that. So think about it, okay?”

“Fair enough,” I agreed. “I’ll think about it.”

Yet as I thought, the thought that dominated my mind was his expression after the match. I did what I did for two reasons – first, because I love my wife and second, to goad him.

I’m not proud of that. But I have to know, before I do what I have to do.

I’ve decided I’m going to take his job. I won’t tolerate what he did. Today was the last straw.

Patty’s feelings aside, the only thing stopping me from pulling the trigger is the reaction it will almost certainly provoke from Richmond. Before I take care of that piece of personal business, however, I want the ground just a little more firm underneath my feet.

It will also upset Patty. I realize that. So it will be painful.

Yet the health of our marriage is more important. If Richmond and McGuire want to find a way into my little family, they’re going to have to come up with something different.

# # #

[-Xenon-]

Shockingly I think I'm the only person who hasn't read this. (Although I did read and was a fan of American Calcio) However, I have taken up the daunting task of rectifying this.

I'm only on page 2 of 15, but already I feel compelled to comment. It is stupendous 10-3, it really is. But, you know this of course. From the depth and detail to the quality of the writing itself, just very, very good work. And I have 13 pages yet to come.

When I'm done, I think I will come to think of this like FMS' answer to War and Peace, in terms of being an epic read, only better, because I gave up on reading that, I don't think that will be the case here. That loose comparison means I'll also envisage you like Tolstoy, the implausibly bearded genius, steadily churning out the goods.

I would end on a compliment but I think you have got the idea!

[tenthreeleader]

Xenon, thank you for your kindness! I do remember that you were a reader of Calcio (and if you check the first post of that story after the switchover you'll see your name in it). It's certainly fun to be considered among the FMS epics. For me, those stories include 'Leaving The Past Behind and 'Reviving the Legend', among others.

As I've said many times before, Rat Pack has turned into a real labor of love after all this time, and the arcs for at least the remainder of this season are already prepared along with a rather nasty surprise the FM08 engine is giving me that could get quite interesting indeed as the season rolls on. Again, though, thank you

___

Monday, September 14

This morning we got a couple of pieces of welcome contract news, along with one that is quite unwelcome.

Since I’m such a natural optimist, I’ll start with the good news first. Kitson and Rosenior have signed extensions to their contracts.

Kitson’s status was a bit worrysome, especially given the Baptista acquisition. I wasn’t at all sure how my targetman would view that particular purchase, but given that it took about 24 hours to sign him to a two-year, £4 million extension, it seems that any fears I may have had were misplaced.

Rosenior’s signing is one that will help us in the longer run. The fullback, who can play either side and play both of them pretty darned well, is inked for four years and £5 million. He’s affordable and he’s still maturing as a player.

The status of players like Ferreira and Halls is now called into question, with the likelihood of me heading into the January or August windows looking for fullbacks now a bit more pronounced.

Pogatetz has done a nice job for us and is signed through next season. Rosenior and Scott Golbourne are going to press them for playing time, though, and they need the opportunity to show they can get the job done.

Golbourne is going to play – most likely quite a bit – in our domestic cup competitions this season. So we shall see how he handles the added responsibility.

Now for the bad news. Bikey, who has done a very nice job filling in for us at several positions, and is of course a solid option for us in the center of defense, had agreed to a new contract but found his work permit application denied by the Home Office.

I found that rather mystifying. Bikey is a fixture in central defence for Cameroon. Yet, evidently he doesn’t meet the threshold despite being selected for national duty at virtually every calling.

In this case, the African Cup of Nations may turn out to be a good thing. I’m not happy about the thought of losing Kalou, Sonko and Bikey for a month in the middle of the season, but if André gets enough matches in the tournament, it may push him over the threshold and help us re-sign him.

The bad news, of course, is that the tournament is in January. Since he will be in the final six months of his contract, anyone else can negotiate with him too – so we may lose the player because we can’t legally re-sign him until after he’s eligible to talk with other teams.

That is one of the keenly annoying things about the work permit rules. André has done a nice job, he’s done everything he has been asked to do, and I can’t reward him with a new contract. That’s annoying, but if it costs us the player in the long run, I am going to be absolutely incandescent.

Since I hate glowing, I hope this all turns out for the best.

# # #

We did video work for PSG today. The thought of our first match in the Champions League proper is the talk of the town and rightly so.

I’m proud of these players for not looking past Newcastle in preparation for this game. The team is in excellent form and I do think we can put up a good result against the Frenchmen.

There will be a couple of changes to the eleven, though. Baptista is going to get his first start in our shirt. I’ve been dying to see him in European play and frankly one reason he joined us is to play in the Champions League. So he’s getting the chance.

He will be paired with Lita, who hasn’t yet started a match this season and needs the work. I really think Leroy’s pace is going to be a benefit to us and he has looked very good with Baptista in training.

The bench will include both Kitson and Dagoberto in case we get into trouble, but I do think this pairing will take advantage of a central defense that’s a bit on both the slow and short side.

Baptista is absolutely committed, and the sight of him in training was really heartening to me. He just looked like a gazelle. It frightened me a bit to think that Bernd Schuster is of the opinion he’s got four strikers better than Julio, but if he didn’t think that he wouldn’t be wearing my colors at the moment.

Ferreira will go back into the eleven as well, and Magallón will take the holder’s position. I want Paolo’s experience back there for us and even though I like Bikey’s work in general, Magallón has spent more time in the holding position in my tactic and I want him supporting the back four for the big match.

Other than that, it will be normal service. Saivet will make the bench, as he has been doing more and more often lately, because he gives us an element of quicksilver off the bench when we need it. The fact that all three of my up-front midfielders can play any position across the middle makes bringing Henri on an easy decision to make.

Discussing my team with the media was a fun thing, as a result.

We had about half again our usual contingent of media due to the European tie upcoming, including my first exposure to L’Equipe. That was an experience.

It was just like the start of last season. It seems that the closer you get to Paris, the less some people like Americans.

That little fact of life evidently also applies to journalists, who evidently hadn’t heard that a fellow from the country rescued from the British by Lafayette could produce a manager capable of guiding an English team to the big time.

We backed up all the way to the start of my career in their questioning today. It was sort of like I could hear those reverse lights they have on trucks as I went back to Padua and recounted far too much about things that really didn’t matter any more.

It was like I had to prove myself all over again. Patiently, I answered their questions and tried my best to promote the image of the unflappable manager.

What I knew deep down was that no other manager in the Champions League would stand for that line of questioning and I was being tested.

I rolled with the punches. Fighting wasn’t worth it.

However, I did get in a slap at the press when the question was raised about how an American could successfully earned his UEFA Pro License when so many obviously more qualified European managers couldn’t even get into the program.

“You’ll have to ask them,” I said. “I realize you have a greater grasp of such things than the governing body does, but they make the decisions, not me. We call ourselves the ‘Rat Pack’ around here because nobody seemed to believe in us last season. Thanks for reminding me why.”

# # #

[copperhorse21]

Like the jabs that Rob's throwing in response to the press. A delightful little nuance that brings this story to life. I'd really struggle to recreate these types of experiences. Therefore, I'm delighted you've had them in yours to bring them to life on the page.

[JimT]

10-3. I have been meaning to say this for a long time.

I just have to congratulate you on providing a believable mix of fiction, fact and real life.

There are not all that many on this forum that can achieve the standards you have set.

I just wish that I had even half of your story telling ability.

How you manage to maintain a logical thread and encourage people like me at the same time is indeed a very rare talent.

It is a talent that I for one really appreciate.

JimT

[tenthreeleader]

Fellows, thank you very much. Copper, I know that you enjoy the media interaction I give Rob, which is frankly fun to write given my past experience in that field. The trick is trying to keep it fresh, which can be surprisingly hard at times. Jim, what can I say besides thank you? I have told you privately that you've influenced my style in the past and for me there's no greater compliment one writer can give another. It's always great to hear from you, my friend

___

There were two league matches played yesterday as well.

At Pride Park, West Brom figured on three points after Omar Bravo’s 83rd minute strike looked good value for the Baggies. Yet Robbie Earnshaw pulled Derby’s chestnuts out of the fire by scoring in the second minute of added time to get a 1-1 draw.

Unfortunately for the Rams, the point gained was just their second in seven starts. They are bottom and they aren’t looking too good at the start.

However, the more interesting of the two matches on the docket saw a final score of Rolando Bianchi 3, Collins John 2, Manchester City nil, Fulham nil.

At Craven Cottage, John had staked the Cottagers to a 2-0 lead in the first half only to see Bianchi’s hat trick erase it all – in the last fifteen minutes of the match. His second goal came on 87 minutes and the third in injury time.

Late goals appear to be epidemic nowadays.

# # #

And, of course, there was the matter of my own health.

An MRI this morning quickly confirmed Wright’s diagnosis. I’ve torn the ligament in my knee and as a result I’ll go under the knife for repairs tomorrow.

That is what I feared. It’s also what I can least afford. Thankfully, we’re prepared for the match and Dillon will take training with the team, but I’d really much rather be with them.

It’s the biggest match we’ve ever played, and on the penultimate day, I won’t be there.

I am putting added pressure on myself because of the way I see the group shaking down. Barcelona is obviously a handful for any team, and the way our fixture list plays out I don’t know how good we’ll be for their visit to the Mad Stad because the league match we play 72 hours before it is against Liverpool.

I’ll need all hands on deck for that match before the first in our home-and-home with the Catalans. Liverpool is the only one of the Big Four we didn’t face during August and from a European perspective we get them at the worst possible time.

It might also be said that they are playing us at the wrong time for them, but Rafa has a deeper squad than I do. That will be a test.

So, victory against PSG is important, and a point out of Hamburg would be just wonderful. We shall see.

Meanwhile, the Frenchmen arrived this afternoon, so it was time for a bit of formality in the evening.

In addition to Ääritalo, former Portsmouth striker John Utaka has been on a bit of a tear for the team from the capitol. So it was he and veteran strike partner Pierre-Alain Frau who were on my mind as I finally shut down the video machine and headed home to prepare for dinner.

Frau netted 26 times last season, 17 the season before that and already has five in eight matches this season, so thinking about how to shut down their forward players is a bit more difficult considering their recent form.

Playing with ten men for nearly an hour, they still beat Valenciennes 2-0 last weekend, so we have to be mindful of the ability they possess. Defender Mamadou Sakho earned his marching orders thanks to a straight red card but it didn’t seem to hinder his teammates much.

They still had seventy percent of the possession with ten men. That’s just not natural. They seem to enjoy a deliberate style, and are pretty good passers of the ball in general. You’d have to be, to see that much of the ball while down a man.

Part of that, though, is due to the tactical acumen of their manager, Paul LeGuen. Though Rangers fans would surely disagree, he’s one of the best in the business.

So, to meet the man himself was quite pleasant. Capped 17 times for France and the joint second-place appearance leader for Les Rouge-et-Bleu with 343, his place in club lore is secure no matter what he does there as manager. However, having them in the Champions League certainly doesn’t hurt his standing with the faithful.

A defender like myself, but much more talented as a player, he exuded the confident air of a man who knows what he’s doing. That was also unnerving, as a guy who won’t manage his first match in the league proper until Wednesday night.

Naturally, my wife proved to be the great equalizer as we held a dinner in the 1871 Suite for our visitors. Regardless of whether Parisiennes like Americans, everyone seems to like a beautiful woman.

The entire Reading management family was present. Sir John, when he wants to, can throw quite a party.

Hardcastle didn’t show up tonight, probably because what we were attending wasn’t a public event. It was also after hours.

And judging by his expression last time I saw him, he was probably none too pleased about my presence. I have Patty’s word that she doesn’t care about him, but the frown I got at the stadium after the Newcastle match showed me that her apathy may not be reciprocated.

Tonight, though, he was nowhere to be found. Patty was her usual charming self and I got to play the doting husband even as I got to play the genial host.

We don’t have rivalries with any club on the Continent, for obvious reasons, so we could roll out the welcome mat for our visitors. I’m sure we’ll probably do the same thing for Barcelona and Hamburg. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the quintessentially English thing to do.

Hopefully, beating them will also be the thing to do. That’s up to me and to my players.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Tuesday, September 15

Man, does this hurt.

The procedure on my knee was performed today and since I don’t want to be zonked out on painkillers before the match, I’m sucking it up and bracing the knee with the minimum I can take to get me from Point A to Point B.

Cursing myself for my stupidity, I gimped my way through the lobby late this afternoon on my way to the office. Dillon took training this morning and that wasn’t too far beyond the norm for us, but I wish I had been with the players on the last day before the match.

It was a disruption to routine and if there is anything I can’t stand, it’s a disruption to routine.

My own disruption was bad enough. However, there are worse ones.

Such as disruptions that come from a player. John Halls sent out a Twitter message last night that frankly annoyed me.

John hasn’t played nearly as much as he’d like recently, and with the struggles Ferreira and Bikey have been having from time to time, his frustration is starting to show through.

He chose the electronic method to vent, though, which means the whole world now knows I have a man management problem, or at least that portion of it who follows him on Twitter.

The words weren’t so bad, but the unity of my squad may take a hit as a result.

“Gaffer doesn’t believe in me any more,” he wrote, staying well under the 140-character limit.

He texted again a few moments later. “I need to get out of here, any ideas?” he wrote.

As a result, he’s first on my list of people to see after the PSG match. The distraction was bad enough, and it wasn’t helped when The Independent picked up the story and ran it this afternoon.

It’s part and parcel of the modern game. Unfortunately, we don’t have any restrictions on the use of social media. Yet. Pretty soon, we will.

That made me a bit cranky as well. Sitting down behind my desk and propping my leg up on a footrest swaddled in pillows, I took a last look at PSG on video.

Cursing again, I shifted positions. It was going to be a long night.

# # #

“Willie, I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“It’s pretty simple, Peter,” the marketer said. He was speaking quietly into his office telephone.

“Willie, it’s nine o’clock at night. No one is going to hear you when you work late.”

“The walls have ears in this place,” he said. “You know that and I know that.”

“Of course we know that,” McGuire said. He reached over to the side table at the right of his living room easy chair and took a sip of the scotch and water that rested on its polished wood surface.

“So I don’t want to talk too loud,” Winthrop said.

“Like a listening device wouldn’t pick up your voice,” he laughed. “Sometimes I wonder if marketers aren’t the thickest people on God’s earth.”

“Very funny,” Winthrop said. “But I’m serious. The time has come for you to watch your back. Sidney isn’t happy and when I say that, I mean he’s really not happy.”

“You let me worry about Sidney,” McGuire said. “You’ve done a great job at the club and you’ve given us a presence in our branding that we have simply never had before. Just keep your nose clean and let me fight the battle with Sidney. All will come right.”

“I hope you’re right,” Winthrop said. “The information I’ve got is good, but when the time comes to get down and dirty, you have to carry the ball. I can’t.”

“I told you, let me worry about that,” McGuire said. “Just keep me posted.”

[Twizted_seed]

Wait......what? There are rebels within the rebels? Intruigue upon intruigue and spelling mistake upon spelling mistake. You should write for Days of Our Lives or something. Unless you already do.... *dunn dunn duhhhhhh*

[tenthreeleader]

Twizted_seed, I would remind you of Sir Walter Scott's famous quote: "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!"

McGuire is about to learn this lesson at first hand.

___

He hung up the phone, and looked to his left. There was a second side table, a smaller one, and two framed pictures rested on its equally polished surface.

He picked up the picture to the left. It was a picture of Kate Southerland McGuire and their three children, but it wasn’t taken by him.

It had come from a mutual friend, who had persuaded McGuire’s ex-wife to pose for a snap at a company holiday party.

McGuire stared at the photo, and his attention was drawn to a very small boy wearing a child’s replica Reading shirt.

“Jimmy,” he said, looking at his now seventeen-month old son. Drink was taking a firm hold in his brain. “Ah, Jimmy, I hardly knew ye.”

He laughed bitterly at his own sentimentality and foray into song, but then stopped in his tracks.

A rare burst of sentimentality now appeared in his eyes. Kate still looked great – she always did look great – but his son had the look of his father about him and it suddenly struck McGuire that he had missed a lot of time. The time missed was due to his own choice, and he had a sudden pang of conscience.

However, he fought it down. Or did he?

“Work to be done, lad,” he finally said, downing his drink in one gulp. “Someday your mother will understand. Right now she doesn’t.”

He felt sorry for himself, and he hated the feeling. Shaking his head, he turned on the television. The drink had been his third, and the alcohol was starting to burn away the sadness he suddenly felt.

Sullenly, he flipped through the channels looking for something to challenge his intellect. Finding nothing, he settled for Match of the Day. Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about the little boy in his ex-wife’s arms.

“I f**ked it up,” he said, looking at the picture once again. “I bloody well f**ked it up.”

As McGuire looked into the unseeing eyes of his son, his front doorbell rang. Frowning, he carefully replaced the picture on the side table, and got up to answer it.

Crossing into his front parlor, he reached the door and swung it open.

He never saw the black jack.

The man fairly flew through the doorway and caught McGuire flush on the right temple with a lefthanded swing. The leather-covered weight did its work, and McGuire staggered backward, falling hard into the railing of the staircase leading to the master bedroom upstairs. Stunned, he shook his head, and tried to regain his feet.

It was a failed attempt, to be sure.

Eyes wide with fear, he looked up at his assailant, but couldn’t focus on his face.

Reeling, McGuire did the only thing he could do. As the man raised the black jack for a second swipe, McGuire tried again to flee.

This time he was able to regain his feet, but not his balance.

Staggering toward the door, he was an easy target. The black-suited man stopped him with ease.

From behind, he swung a sharp right-handed punch with a loaded, glove-covered fist that dropped McGuire to the floor.

He hit the wood floor face first, and a pool of blood began to spread underneath his shattered face. Peter McGuire did not move.

Silently, the man then did the other thing he came to do.

Striding into the sitting room, he took a quick look around. He saw the easy chair in one corner of the room and advanced to the table on the left.

He picked up the second picture, and quickly returned to the parlor.

McGuire lay unmoving and unconscious, his breath now coming in shallow bursts. The man looked down upon his fallen adversary and pushed his head quickly and sharply to the right.

He took the second picture and wiped its glass front against McGuire’s blood-smeared face. Putting the picture in a plastic bag, he left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

He left his victim to bleed.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Wednesday, September 16

Paris St. Germain (4-2-2, 7th Ligue One) v. Reading – Champions League Group F – Match Day #1

“There is a bit of post-operative swelling in the joint.”

Wright was examining my knee after I came in early to the ground this afternoon. I wanted my chief physio’s opinion on how long I was going to be limping around, having never had this type of injury as an active player.

In fact, I was fairly durable when I wore the shirts of the clubs who employed me. Over fifteen seasons, I was unavailable for selection through injury only eleven times.

This was new to me. And, just like an injured player, I was showing the signs of real frustration only 2 hours after having gone under the knife.

“You’re going to be hobbling around for a bit,” the England physio said. “You can’t really change that. What you can do, though, is start rehab when everything settles down. The injury needs time to heal a bit but since we’re dealing with a tear rather than a rupture, your recovery time shouldn’t be quite as long.”

“How long?”

“You’re really looking at a couple of months, Rob. It’s going to be annoying as hell, I admit, but you don’t have any long-term issues to deal with from what I can see and you’ll be right as rain if you just do the right things. And I know you will.”

Sighing, I got off the training table and slipped on the brace provided for me by my surgeon. Recovery is going to be a long slog, but it gives me an entirely new appreciation for the emotions an injured player must feel.

The first arrivals in the changing room now began to give the place an added life, so I retreated to my office to begin my own pre-match ritual. It felt different, somehow.

# # #

The ambulance’s siren roared to life, and McGuire was still unconscious inside it.

Kate was first to figure something was wrong. Her calls to her ex-husband to arrange for child visitation had gone unanswered all evening, and finally she had asked police to do a health-and-welfare check.

Obviously, they found him in a rather unhealthy state. He had had a lengthy head start on bleeding before he was found, and his parlor area was in an awful mess. There was no getting around that. Literally.

To her credit, after hearing the news Kate had hurried over, leaving the kids with their nanny, and had nearly beaten the ambulance to McGuire’s luxury flat.

Distraught, she watched as he was first braced about his neck and then loaded onto a back board. The EMS providers had to guard against unseen injury as well, but the victim surely was not a pretty sight to look at. If, indeed, he had ever been.

“Who could have done this to him?” she asked the first police officer she saw.

“We’re working on that,” Fulton told her in reply. “We have an ongoing investigation and I can assure you we’ll do the very best we can.”

Fulton then turned to another man standing by her side.

“What do you make of this, Commander?”

“It isn’t adding up,” Keith Fowler replied. “It doesn’t fit the pattern the profilers have been working on. Still, we’ve got new information and if this is all linked together, I’m sure we’ll get zeroed in pretty soon.”

His optimism belied his expression. He had certainly seen worse crime scenes in his day, but assuming McGuire lived to give him information, this case would be a bit of a poser.

Now the two looked at Kate, and she realized it might be a good idea for her to leave the conversation. So, she did, closing the door behind her. She followed the ambulance to the hospital.

After Kate left, Fowler turned to Fulton.

“Richmond wouldn’t be that stupid.” As he spoke, he scratched an itch at the base of his neck, smoothing down his gray hair as he did so. Fifty years old, Fowler’s reputation as one of the Yard’s true investigative aces had preceded him. Fulton seemed to hang on his every word.

Yes, Fulton’s respect for the man was immense, but she felt she needed to opine.

“You’d be surprised, once you spend some time around him,” she said. “I think he has the feeling he’s untouchable.”

“Which doesn’t make him guilty, Inspector,” Fowler replied. “We have a lot to think about here. We know of discord between Mr. Richmond and Mr. McGuire, the activities of Mr. Hardcastle have been under scrutiny, and then there’s those Italians.”

“Those Italians,” Fulton repeated. “Surely they can’t fit into this?”

“You know what Marsley told us,” Fowler said. The two stepped outside into the cool night, leaving the investigators to search for evidence.

“Some people will do anything for help gaining parole,” Fulton said, as Fowler lit an L&B.

“They will, at that,” Fowler admitted, after taking a deep drag. The smoke he blew seemed to emphasize his words one at a time.

“But then, there is the possibility he might just be telling the truth. If there really was a true connection between Marsley and McGuire in Italy, it would explain a lot of things.”

“So would the failure of ‘The Supporters’ to kill Rob Ridgway two years ago,” Fulton said. “If what you’re suggesting is plausible, I don’t like the direction we might be headed.”

“I quite agree,” Fowler replied, taking a second deep drag from his freshly lit cigarette.

There was a lot to consider, and a lot Fowler really wanted to rule out.

He leaned his head back, blowing the smoke straight up into the still night air so as not to blow it near Fulton. He was thinking hard, and the more he did that, the more he liked to smoke.

“I strongly suggest you have a chat with Mr. Ridgway at your earliest opportunity,” he said.

# # #

[WelshWolf]

Wow...

You really do have a knack for writing. I just wish I had it; whenever I sit down to write I always give up because it never lives up to my expectations... you on the other hand, your writng surpasses brilliance. Kepp it up!

[weeeman27bob]

Rob's basically turned into House now.

[coloradogkb]

I really enjoy this story. It's to the point now where the matches are getting in the way of the stuff I want to read about.

[BJuarez]

Rob's basically turned into House now.

More like Law & Order combined with The Damned United combined with Escape to Victory.

[JimT]

A lot of authors in this forum seem to have developed a taste for physical violence forming a substantial part of their story.

Personally I see nothing wrong with the introduction of behind the scenes intrigue and power struggles. Lets be honest those things do happen in real life at different football clubs at all levels.

I believe that boosting such disagreements up to a senario comprising wholly of knives, knuckle dusters, guns and clubs is stretching the envelope a bit far. The sight of Martin O'Neil for example standing toe to toe with Randy Werner within the semi circle at Villa Park is about as likely as Chester City making a recovery and winning the European Cup next season.

Swapping near misses with hand bags both on the pitch and within the Managerial area close to the dugout is realistic. Shooting somebody with a sawed off shot gun at six feet is pushing the bounds of believabilty a bit too far for me.

I have no particular point I wish too make. Each author to his own I say. This is not intended to be a criticism of some very good friends I have as good writers.

Look at it as merely an observation.

[tenthreeleader]

Some interesting comments from this last post. WelshWolf and colorado, thanks for your praise -- sometimes I wonder which is more fun to write myself sometimes!

BJuarez, welcome to the Rat Pack! Thank you for your post. You and weeeman bring up an interesting point, which is elucidated nicely by my friend JimT.

I think this trilogy of seasons is approaching something on the order of 900 posts between Calcio and RRRP, and of those I would estimate that perhaps half a dozen deal with violence. I have written Final Frontier as a story about a manager who is trying to escape from a violent past and can't. Others have done similar stories.

Violence for violence's sake isn't good in my mind. However, in the world I have chosen to place Rob Ridgway and Jeff Jarvis, sometimes it shows up. The incident surrounding McGuire, in this case, illustrates the undercurrents swirling around the consortium. They are not nice people.

However, I think we do ourselves a disservice if we deny the existence of that spectre in today's world. For example, just yesterday thirty of the fifty American state governors received threatening letters from a fringe group. It is a dangerous world, and when people do not like you, they often REALLY do not like you.

And in today's ultra culture in football, I think we're kidding ourselves if we don't take a serious look at the issue. But thanks for comments -- as this story progresses, I do need to evaluate what 'Rob is becoming'. Thanks for making me sharpen that process!

___

The atmosphere was quite different as we prepared for the match. It was a special night.

Reading Football Club’s first formal European night was about to commence, and the supporters arriving for a night game certainly didn’t hurt the atmosphere. The singing before the match was a little sharper, a little louder, and certainly reflected the unusual nature of the evening.

The usually boisterous attitude of the players before the match also wasn’t present. That was a cause for concern for me, since it showed nerves in my mind. Considering that the schedule makers had put the match I feel we must win if we want to progress first on the docket, that meant I had work to do.

A full twenty minutes before lineup, every player in the match squad was fully dressed and sitting in front of his locker. I returned from the pre-match meeting with the officials to see an intense and very quiet squad waiting for me.

The news from the PSG camp was interesting – Frau, despite his hot streak, was not in the starting eleven for them – and I thought I could use that to our advantage. Of course, Dagoberto wasn’t in the eleven for me either, but that was a calculated risk on my part with a big league match at the weekend.

Regarding the players, I had a decision to make. I wanted intensity – in fact, I felt we couldn’t win without it – but there was a feeling of pressure in the room and that was troubling.

Finding the right balance is part of the art of man-management. And this was a graduate-level examination in that skill.

So, I stepped forward.

“Okay, fellows, let me have your attention,” I began. “You do know that the phrase is ‘play football’, not ‘work football’, right? You have the talent to dismiss this team you are about to play. You’ve put yourself in the position to succeed through a lot of hard work and effort and now it’s time for you to take advantage of that. It’s time for you to get the recognition you deserve for the work you have put in.”

They were buying in. So far, so good.

“I want you intense, but I also want you playing loose because when you do that you play the kind of football that you are capable of playing,” I emphasized. “Now, you’ve seen PSG on video. You know they’ve got a bit of height up front and you know they’re going to try to work the ball to a targetman, whether that’s Utaka or Aaritalo. You also know they are susceptible to pace, which you’ve got a lot of.”

The reasoned approach seemed to be working.

“Some of you are getting real opportunities,” I added. “The Champions League makes players. Use that to your advantage, play against the best and show your quality. I know you can do this, but it’s up to you. Don’t feel so nervous about making that impression that you let it affect your play. Let it flow and everything’s going to be fine. Now get it done.”

As a unit, the players rose and gathered around Lobont at the center of the room. The captain then proceeded to rally the troops with a rousing cheer and we headed out to take the big stage for the first time.

Meanwhile, I headed into my office to pick up my suit jacket. I wore a royal blue silk suit, dressed to the nines for our entry onto the European stage.

For my first match in charge, against Chelsea last season, Patty had pinned a rose to my lapel. This afternoon, as we drove to the ground together, she had changed flowers.

From our garden, she had picked a fresh Leucojum, or ‘summer snowflake’. The county flower of Berkshire rested on my lapel and I smiled to myself as I put on the coat.

It’s amazing how much more relaxed I am with her when Hardcastle isn’t around.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Pep talks don’t always work.

Baptista, for his part, didn’t need encouragement. Back on the stage he felt was his by right, he was a handful for PSG right from the get-go.

Unfortunately, his teammates were a bit slower out of the starting blocks.

Our new arrival had our first half-chance of the game just four minutes into the contest, but Didier Degard was on the spot, blocking it behind for a corner.

That at least got the crowd into the match, but Maloney’s ensuing effort came to naught and the match settled down again.

It appeared from the outset that PSG was at least as afraid of us as we were of them. LeGuen played a cautious 4-4-2, obviously wary of the threat we offered both on the counter and through the pace we could employ down the flanks.

Now Dicã led the attack, but his long drive four minutes after Baptista’s didn’t find the mark either, glancing off Yoann Gouffran and behind for a second corner.

We were generating chances but not good ones. It was better than the alternative.

Three minutes after that, Lita started to justify his selection, taking a cute little ball from Dicã and racing in for an attempt at Mickaël Landreau’s goal that flashed just wide from twenty yards. So far the visitors had hardly had a sniff, and that was the sort of start I wanted.

Baptista sent Lita away again a few minutes later, but this time my supersub should have done better. He forced Landreau into a save from about fifteen yards, but really it would have been easier for Leroy to score – and he knew it.

We need him sharp, and right now he’s not. That was my calculated risk – playing Lita instead of the in-form Dagoberto with the big league match coming up.

Now PSG climbed into the match for the first time and the reason for LeGuen’s maneuvering with his own selection became apparent.

It was John Utaka who started the play, and the former Portsmouth man reminded us all why he’s an £11 million rated player. Working against Huth, he found his path to goal solidly blocked – so he laid off for Aaritalo and the Finn squirmed past Sonko.

He forced Lobont into one of his trademark acrobatic saves, and the ball came to Ferreira.

The Portuguese then committed an absolute, cardinal sin – he passed the ball laterally across the face of his own goal.

He was looking to switch play to Pogatetz, but he was about twenty yards behind a line on the pitch where trying it could have been wise.

Utaka easily picked off the pass as the crowd gasped in horror. This time, Utaka laid off for Gouffran – and mercifully he fired over.

Ferreira’s face assumed a stricken expression. He’s human, of course, but that was an absolutely basic error.

As play moved up the park, I whistled for my veteran full back’s attention. I gave him a double palms-down expression of ‘calm down’ and then tapped my forehead three times with an index finger. Neither of us said a word.

Moments later, Rene Mihelic managed to swing the momentum back to us, decking Magallón with a cross-body block that would have made a mixed martial artist proud, and earning himself a spot in Manuel Enrique Mejuto González’s book in the process.

That also teed up Maloney for a set piece thirty yards from goal. His effort took a deflection off the PSG wall but right into the grateful arms of Landreau. While they were shots on target, I couldn’t help but feel we were dragging a bit.

PSG then slowed the game down even further. The pace of the game slowed to a crawl as the Frenchmen made the game a midfield slog, where they enjoyed a numerical advantage across the middle.

We have difficulty with good four-man midfields from time to time, and PSG’s efforts to control possession were based on that knowledge.

Dimitri Payet, Digard, Mihelic and Gouffran weren’t the biggest names we’ve seen all season, but they were playing well as a unit and as a result we were starting to drag.

Then, they made a mistake. Baptista shook free right up the middle and no one picked him up. Too late, Zoumana Camara wheeled to chase, but ‘The Beast’ had two strides on his pursuer.

Unfortunately, Landreau robbed him, not only stopping his well-placed shot but somehow managing to hold onto it as well. Baptista threw his head back in frustration as the keeper restarted play with a long punt.

He wanted that breakthrough for himself, but it just wasn’t to be. Aaritalo headed the ball forward from Landreau’s effort, only to see Sonko break it up with a confident display. He moved the ball to the right for Ferreira, who immediately moved it up the park, having learned his lesson.

Unfortunately, his application wasn’t any better – his pass went directly to Armand, whose first touch luckily deserted him. The loose ball rolled back toward Ferreira, who was now in a footrace with Aaritalo.

The Finn got their first, and attempted to cross. His effort was artfully blocked behind by Ferreira, now determined to redeem himself.

Payet moved to take the corner, and his effort into the center of the box seemed to disappear into a group of players.

The guy who found the ball was Mamadou Sakho, and Lobont never saw his header flash home.

They led. And they led in the last five minutes of the half, which made it even more vexing.

Aaritalo then proceeded to shoot over just sixty seconds before the break, which now couldn’t come quickly enough.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“Well, you did exactly the opposite of what was required,” I told the troops as they sat for the halftime interval. Energy drinks and fruit were the order of the day but what I wanted to see was the same sense of urgency on the pitch as the players had shown in diving for the refreshment tray.

“You did a great job of holding them away from goal until the time when it mattered the most,” I snapped. “The chances we got were decent but the application was lacking. I am convinced that there’s an equalizer and a winner out there but one of you is going to have to step up to find it. Right now I don’t see that and I’m leaving it to you to figure out which one of you it’s going to be.”

Scowling, I returned to my office and closed the door. Dillon stood, the team talk now his, and proceeded to light into the players in the same way I had.

# # #

Maloney hadn’t done much in the first half. Now he seemed determined to provide.

Three minutes after the kickoff, he took off down the left like the Maloney of last season, pulling the ball back for the late arrival, Dicã. His first touch was wonderful and his second was just as good, catching the keeper on his heels.

Unfortuately, Landreau had just enough in him to dive to his right and palm Dicã’s effort around the post for a corner. We were evidently moving from lethargic to snakebit, which wasn’t really much of an improvement.

Maloney now went over to take the corner and put a useful effort into the box. Huth, charging like there was no tomorrow, became Lord of the Skies and connected with a ferocious header from just outside the six.

It went wide. There seemed to be no end to it.

You could see shoulders sagging. That was a bad sign. PSG was making virtually no attempt to move forward with the ball, and with half an hour to go that seemed dangerous against a side with the skill we possess. Or rather, that we often possess. Today it didn’t seem to be happening.

I looked at Dagoberto on the bench. I was getting nervous, but tried not to show it. I simply nodded, and the Brazilian’s appearance for a warmup got the crowd going again.

While Maloney had been useful at times, he wasn’t showing the pace I really thought we should be seeing, so Saivet was up and jogging alongside Dagoberto. We needed a spark and we needed players who could run to make it happen.

Just after the hour, both players came on. Lita came off, looking perturbed, but then he hadn’t done the job, had he?

Our ‘Samba Kings’ were now on the park together and the buzz created by Dagoberto’s appearance seemed to re-energize the players.

Some good work by Saivet then set us up in PSG’s half. His useful cross from the left reached the far post just in time to find the onrushing Kalou, who hit a low bullet off Digard and behind for a corner.

Again, snakebit.

Now Ferreira went to take the corner, in the absence of Maloney. Again Huth charged. Again, he connected with a bullet header.

This time, he hit Landreau’s left goalpost.

The crowd was screaming with frustration, but the ball came off Sakho and never left the area. A mad scramble of players now piled after the ball, with Baptista denied by the sprawling Camara. The ball spun wildly to the right side of the six, with Landreau blocked from collecting by the presence of Dagoberto in front of him.

The ball rolled to Kalou – and he bundled it over the line from two yards before Camara could regain his feet.

At last, we were level, and the relief was palpable.

[stoehrst]

Sometimes that's all you need, just the fortunate bounce or roll! OPEN THE FLOODGATES!!!

[weeeman27bob]

Sometimes that's all you need, just the fortunate bounce or roll! OPEN THE FLOODGATES!!!

[tenthreeleader]

Floodgates? I can only hope! And weeeman, you posted the commentary of the immortal Max Bretos, the only American football commentator I can stand to listen to on a regular basis. So thanks for that

___

That forced LeGuen’s hand, and Frau made his appearance in relief of Payet as the visitors assumed a more attacking bent.

It didn’t matter. Now fully awake and into the match, we zoomed into the ascendancy. Dicã slammed a twenty-yarder squarely off Landreau’s right-hand post, off a creative layoff from Dagoberto, only to see Mendy clear the rebound directly to Saivet, putting us right back on the attack.

There we stayed for the next ten minutes, with Saivet, Dagoberto and Dicã all carving out chances. None of them amounted to anything, though, which was unfortunate.

By this time, we had hammered them back into a 4-5-1 and were moving the ball nearly at will up the park. Our fluency had really improved and when Aaritalo went into the book for hacking down Kalou just outside the PSG area things really were starting to look good in terms of finding a winning goal.

Dicã was our fulcrum again, skimming a shot off the ground that Landreau did well to parry. There was no doubt that the Frenchmen were relying heavily on their goalkeeper and looked punch-drunk at the same time.

Baptista had given all he could, and seven minutes from time he came off in favor of Kitson. My first choice strike pairing was now out there with relatively fresh legs and we had the momentum.

The calculated risk, as near as I could tell, had come off but now it was time to see if taking it in the first place would pay in full.

By this time, we were dominant. I even flirted with the idea of my own 4-2-4 in search of a late winner – or better yet, our 4-3-3 ‘flood’ package that puts six in the opponent’s penalty area.

That is the formation from which Lita found so much success last season and it was on the front of my mind rather than the back as the match played itself out.

Yet, I didn’t pull the trigger.

Something in me was screaming for caution at the same time the fans were imploring us to go for the knockout blow.

It was the match I felt we had to win. And I, from a managerial standpoint, was rooted to the spot.

Now, though, we were surging forward again. Armand tripped Kalou just past midfield and wound up in the book just as added time began.

Ferreira had the ball on the right, and looked up. He saw Kitson, unmarked, standing ten yards in front of the penalty area – and played onside by Mendy, who clearly hadn't see him.

The players made eye contact and Ferreira didn’t hesitate, lofting a ball straight to the edge of the box. Landreau, who had been screaming for someone to pick up my targetman, was now hung out to dry.

Ferreira led Kitson perfectly, but the ball was a bit to the striker’s right. He raced for it and the fans stood as one. He was clear, but the long pass was a bit too high to control directly.

Kitson decided to head the ball, meeting it with a diving lunge about eight yards from goal. Now Landreau had come out to cut the angle, trying to ‘make himself big’ in the goalkeeper’s parlance. Spread-eagled, he looked like a butterfly pinned to a child’s school collection as Kitson made contact with the ball.

He headed it wide. It was a classic ending to a frustrating evening.

It just wasn’t good enough.

Reading 1 – Kalou 1st (66th)

Paris St. Germain 1 – Mamadou Sakho 1st (40)

A – 30,631, Madejski Stadium, Reading

Man of the Match – Salomon Kalou, Reading

# # #

[spartans5]

Tough ending to the match. Thought you were going to pull it out there. Hopefully you haven't run out of luck, which would be the opposite of your previous season.

On the topic of Max Bretos, I think he is without doubt the best American football commentator. He has a true knowledge of the game, which is something here in the States, and he is very enthusiastic when calling a game. Sure he might not have "cookie-cutter" analogies or comments, but that's what makes him so interesting. You never really know what he is going to say in a given situation. The fact that he doesn't work for ESPN is just a bonus.

[stoehrst]

Floodgates? I can only hope! And weeeman, you posted the commentary of the immortal Max Bretos, the only American football commentator I can stand to listen to on a regular basis. So thanks for that

On the topic of Max Bretos, I think he is without doubt the best American football commentator. He has a true knowledge of the game, which is something here in the States, and he is very enthusiastic when calling a game. Sure he might not have "cookie-cutter" analogies or comments, but that's what makes him so interesting. You never really know what he is going to say in a given situation. The fact that he doesn't work for ESPN is just a bonus.

God no! The man makes me want to take a bath with a toaster! Brush my teeth with steel wool! I would rather spend a night in jail than listen to a match commentated by Max Bretos!

Spartans, his enthusiasm is commendable (and a nice foil to JP Dellacamera's chronic inability to sound excited about anything at all), but he is NOT truly knowledgeable by any stretch of the imagination. He misses the most obvious events on the pitch and by God every time I hear "YYEEEESSSSSS!!!!" I'm actually UPSET that a goal was scored, even if my side scored it! Horrible, horrible mess of a commentator. Best American commentator IMO: Phil Schoen. Not a color man, but enough balance of knowledge and excitement to keep things interesting. Not that he has to be a color man, with Ray Hudson in the booth alongside him...

[tenthreeleader]

Different strokes for different folks, I guess. As a play by play broadcaster with 26 years' professional experience myself, I can say this: I believe Bretos calls a good game. I don't mind Phil Schoen but haven't heard him in a long time since my satellite provider no longer carries GolTV (is it still on the air, and is he still there?) As for Ray Hudson, I think simply saying 'no thank you' would be the most polite statement I could make.

___

The other result from our group wasn’t unexpected in the least.

Barcelona scored twice in the opening 16 minutes through Samuel Eto’o and Xavi, and would have made it three if Ronaldinho hadn’t missed from the spot twelve minutes into the match.

Eto’o completed his brace in the second half, Leo Messi added a fourth in injury time and all German champion HSV could manage was Matías Vuoso’s 20th minute tally in response.

Perhaps we’ll get some joy from the Germans, because we sure didn’t get it from the French.

Two of the other English teams were in action tonight as well. United may not lose all season, after going to Bucharest and dismantling Dynamo 3-0 through Wayne Rooney, Cristiano Ronaldo and Louis Saha.

Chelsea, though, snatched a draw from the jaws of victory at Standard Liege. Giuseppi Rossi had fired Avram Grant’s men into the lead in the opening minute of the second half only to see Brazilian Igor de Camargo equalize with the last kick of the match.

There was even a Premiership match this evening on top of it all, as Jefferson Farfan and Alan Smith connected in a three-minute second half span to send Newcastle to a 2-0 win at St. James’ Park against Portsmouth.

Not that this mattered a whole lot to me in the news conference after the match. The inevitable ‘one point gained or two points lost’ question was asked early on and since for me the answer was unquestionably the latter, it didn’t put me in a very good mood.

“Your selection was perhaps not your strongest team,” one of the French press corps asked. “Do you regret this in light of your team’s failure to score a second goal?”

“The players we put out there had plenty of chances to score a second goal and they didn’t take those chances,” I said. “I thought we generated enough chances to win the match but we weren’t good enough, so a draw was probably the best result. I’m disappointed that we didn’t win the game because it makes our task that much tougher as we move on in the group.”

“Do you regret the decision to start Lita ahead of Dagoberto?”

“No. I pick my team. Next question.”

I thought that was pretty succinct. The next question, though, knocked me for a loop.

“What happened to your leg? You’ve been limping.”

I thought carefully. The truth, though it would certainly sting in the papers, was obviously the best and only option I had.

“I injured my knee last week,” I said. “During the international break we were short players and I took a turn in the rotation with our central defenders so we could prepare for the Newcastle game. Unfortunately, I injured a ligament, and underwent a surgical procedure earlier this week.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“No,” I said. “And that’s just being honest. My personal health is my personal health, and I don’t care to discuss that in great detail, but there’s obviously a reason I have been in pain over the last few days.”

“Did you lose time with the squad?” The £64,000 question.

“Yes,” I replied. “Kevin Dillon took training yesterday with the team. This is not unusual for us, as the assistant manager generally does take training, but I was in the hospital for the procedure on Tuesday. It was an outpatient procedure so that’s the only time I was away.”

“And, do you feel that your team’s preparation was compromised in any way by you being unavailable?”

“Again, no,” I answered. “It’s not like we spend only three days preparing for a Champions League match. We had been reviewing video of PSG since the group stage draw and the players were well prepared for the match.”

“They just didn’t execute.”

“Not to the extent we would have hoped, no,” I admitted. “But then, that’s football. We had much the better of play tonight but we scored the same number of goals so it goes in the books as a draw.”

The scribes were scribbling down words furiously, and some were checking their audio recorders. Somehow, I didn’t think they were interested in my words regarding the match.

Crap.

# # #

[WLKRAS]

Can't wait for the headlines tomorrow

[stoehrst]

Hudson seems to be quite the polarizing figure. I personally don't see how anyone can hate him; he's colorful, enthusiastic, descriptive, and knows the game inside and out. Like Tommy Heinsohn (Boston Celtics broadcaster) but less senile. But I do know that there are a fair few on the other side of the fence who think he's a crock. And Phil still calls games with Ray for GolTV, as solid a pairing as I've heard in the US.

Drawing on your extensive background in broadcasting kinda paints what I meant about Bretos in the wrong light. Similar to me talking to a former pro footballer and criticizing Walcott's crossing ability, and having him say "yes but as a former pro, it's very hard. He actually doesn't do that bad." Just because an average Joe couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a cross doesn't mean it's acceptable for Walcott to indiscriminately spray the ball anywhere he wants as long as it's within a mile of the box. I respect the difficulty in being a good play-by-play guy, and I'm not saying I could do it better (I'd certainly love to try though), but you get paid to do it well, not just to do it. I'd take JP Dellacamera over Bretos, and he bores everyone to death.

Back on topic...damn Frenchies, taking issue with the most ridiculous things

[S1lverfox]

I think the English tabloids are going to be stung that they missed such a delightful little tidbit that was sitting right under their noses ^_^

[tenthreeleader]

Rob blew it, that much is pretty obvious ...

___

Thursday, September 17

Well, I should have seen it coming.

I’m getting savaged in the papers for being injured in training, with the heavy implication being that I could have willed my team to a second goal last night had I not been in surgery on Tuesday.

Of course, that is preposterous, but still today’s headlines don’t look very good.

“Under the Knife’s Edge” , blared the headline in The Independent today. That headline was written over speculation regarding Richmond, the future of the club ad by translation, my own future.

I thought that was a bit melodramatic. Unfortunately, I don’t have prior restraint on newspaper headlines so instead I just had to take the abuse from the press.

Part of their savagery was due to the fact that they had been scooped. Naturally, in most corners of the press it was more important to be first than it was to be right, so my opinion on the matter was hardly considered.

Yet, that first headline was kind by comparison, as the tabloids relished a chance to pile on the injured Yank.

“What A Cut Up,” “A Slice Of Hell,” and “Royal Mess”were just a few of the other headlines I saw before taking off for the office this morning.

Reading all that stuff wasn’t pleasant, but frankly I deserved all the witticism and could have no complaints.

More importantly, the implication in some of the press that I didn’t have qualified staff to work with the team rankled with Dillon. He was grumbling, rather loudly, as he reported this morning to take training.

“Ridiculous,” he snorted as I broached the subject with him. “We gave the lads a good plan. But you and I can’t hit the bloody net, now, can we?”

In short, it was the kind of coverage that really annoys me and that can really divide a team. You don’t want the players pointing fingers, or believing that their coaches are giving anything less than their best to prepare them for a match.

Both types of recriminations are changing room poison, and I know it. Unfortunately, so does Richmond, and I’m sure he’s waiting to pounce.

Today, though, we began preparations for West Ham away, which is becoming an increasingly emotional fixture for this club.

Of course, it goes back to Alan Pardew now long departed, but once two clubs decide they don’t like each other it really doesn’t matter who manages or who plays there. When you leave the club, your reputation is made among friends as well as among enemies.

For me, though, it will mean a reunion with Emerse Faé, who held down the right wing position for me last season before being supplanted by Kalou.

I don’t know if Emerse has a grudge against me or not – with all the chances I gave him last season, I should certainly hope not – but when West Ham offered us £5 million for his services I didn’t think twice. It was good business for the club.

So, he’s now playing for them, and he seems happy. And I’m happier with our look on the right. Everybody wins.

Yet, that wasn’t what anyone wanted to talk about today. Including Sir John.

It was an uncomfortable conversation, mainly due to the fact that I had to keep shifting position due to the discomfort in my knee.

“I need your word that you didn’t let the preparation lapse while you were having your procedure,” he said. “I have to be able to address this. It’s a trust issue with me and I think you know that.”

“Of course,” I replied. “But you know that preparation for a match is never begun only 48 hours in advance, not by any kind of a professional team. We were preparing for PSG for quite some time, since we knew they would be in our group.”

“That is as I would have expected,” he said. “But you know how this looks.”

“I’m painfully aware of how it looks,” I said. “Literally.”

“It’s also a slight to my staff,” I added. “Would you be asking this question if I had come down with the 24-hour flu on Monday night? Surely you wouldn’t want me around the team in such a circumstance, and I’d have been just as gone as I was while having the procedure.”

“That makes sense, but you don’t choose to have flu,” Sir John said. “You did choose to train with the team, which was a decision you did not have to make. Therefore I have to defend the choice you made to the board.”

“Or, you could let me do it myself,” I said. “There’s no need for you to run interference for me, especially if you aren’t comfortable doing it.”

“I’m your employer,” he reminded me. “I am accountable, as far as that goes, to the board. However, as the owner any sanction that might be taken against you is entirely up to me. And I am going to give you that sanction right now.”

I swallowed hard.

“Rob, you will never train with the team again. Is that clear?”

I nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Now, as far as I am concerned, this matter is closed. The fact that the team did play well enough to win certainly mitigates things, but you simply can’t go around making errors in judgment like that on a regular basis.”

“I quite agree,” I said. My face was flushed and the back of my neck was warm with self-loathing.

“We need you,” he said. “We needyou healthy, well, and with the team. Now, I know there have been extraordinary circumstances around this club and some of those are of my making due to Sidney and his desire to purchase Reading FC. You have performed very well in trying times.”

I looked at him, applying the axiom “it’s never a bad time to shut up.”

“Anyone is entitled to make a mistake, Rob, provided it doesn’t damage the club. You have made yours. Please don’t let this happen again.”

I rose to my feet, chastised and humbled.

“Very well, Sir John,” I said. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“We have work to do and that work includes you,” he said, ending our interview. “So please do that work like we both know you can.”

# # #

[copperhorse21]

CRAP! Rob's edict dropped like a bomb! Emotional fallout to come? Should I be on mid-life crisis alert? Considering his hottie wife is showing...hmmmm another story arc along the lines of Tiger/Elina? Just kidding, great writing as usual. The tension continues to mount near the end of the season, and like the other 5 readers who are viewing this at the same time as me...it's a fantastic read. Thank you.

[tenthreeleader]

Quit foreshadowing, Copper ... just kidding! we've got a long way to go before the season builds up, and lots of (hopefully) fun writing and reading ahead!

___

Unfortunately, there was even more fuel added to the ownership fire due to a study released today.

The accounting firm of Deloitte and Touche released its annual football ‘rich list’ today and it made all the papers. And, for the first time ever, Reading Football Club has made it.

A significant shifting has occurred due to the economic downturn. The two richest clubs in the world are now in Spain.

Barcelona, according to the money men, is now the richest club in the world with a worth of £634 million. That’s more than twice the value of their mortal enemies Real Madrid, valued at £302 million.

The bigger news; who is third, followed by who is not in the top five.

Perpetual Scudetto winner Inter Milan is third, at £243 million.

Manchester United has sunk all the way to ninth on the list with a value of £129 million. I wouldn’t mind seeing a balance sheet of theirs to see what has happened – they have made only two major player acquisitions in the form of Diego Cavalieri and John Obi Mikel over the last three years for a total of £37.5 million, so where has the turnover been?

But then, I suppose there are a lot of people who wouldn’t mind seeing Manchester United’s balance sheet, when I stop to think about it.

And then, there’s Reading, 25th on the list with a value of £67 million. No wonder Richmond wants to buy it.

The Football ‘Rich List’

1. Barcelona - £634 million

2. Real Madrid - £302 million

3. Inter - £243 million

4. Arsenal - £225 million

5. Liverpool - £188 million

6. Roma - £180 million

7. Juventus - £138 million

8. Chelsea - £135 million

9. Manchester United - £129 million

10. Benfica - £114 million

11. Milan - £107 million

12. Paris Saint-Germain - £106 million

13. São Paolo - £101 million

14. Shaktar Donetsk - £96 million

15. Sporting Lisbon - £96 million

16. Valencia - £91 million

17. Manchester City - £81 million

18. Rangers - £81 million

19. Palmeiras - £77 million

20. Celtic - £77 million

21. New York Red Bull - £72 million

22. CSKA Moscow - £71 million

23. Atletico Madrid - £70 million

24. Fluminense - £70 million

25. Reading - £67 million

And there you have it.

For me, though, the idea was to stay as far away as possible from any discussion about that list that might have been seen as political – which is to say, all of it.

And now that the cat is out of the bag as far a Richmond’s desire to own the club goes, it was a topic of conversation even at my morning briefing.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the proper position for me to take was neutrality in the ownership dispute and to show loyalty to my employer. And they say Yanks don’t know anything about this game. Ha!

I would rather have talked about West Ham, or anything – even my knee or the whole issue of preparation for the PSG match – because it would have been far preferable to any discussion of Sidney Richmond.

No such luck, though.

# # #

[stoehrst]

New York is top-25??? The things this game can spit out at you...

[mametz1536]

love it - no swiss clubs - typical - great post

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks for the thoughts, fellows. I am rather intrigued at how the game figures the value of a club, and also at how United's value could have fallen so far, so quickly. Meanwhile, little Reading continues to plug along. Only it's not so little now, in game terms ...

___

McGuire was seething.

Finally conscious again, he was laid up in the hospital with a surgically repaired nose. And a fractured skull. And cheek.

No, not that cheek, though the thought of having his arse kicked in such a fashion certainly rankled.

He had never really got a good look at his attacker, and the alcohol he had consumed right up to the moment of his beating had blurred his vision and memory in any event.

The blind side blow to his head had accomplished the same secondary goal, but the doctors said that would clear up soon enough.

The police didn’t have much in the way of evidence. Pictures of the crime scene had helped McGuire tell investigators that the only thing that appeared to be missing from his flat was one picture off his side table.

It was the loss of that picture that made him angry. Not what had been done to his face. To the investigators, that seemed odd.

“I can’t abide the loss of that picture,” he snapped.

“Look, you had your face beat in,” a rookie cop had told him. “Doesn’t that worry you more? What can you tell us about your attacker?”

“The picture was irreplaceable,” he said, doggedly returning to his original subject. “It was taken with an actual camera using film instead of a digital and it’s quite precious to me. The negative doesn’t exist any more, do you hear me? Surgery can repair my face but I can’t get that picture back until you get some leads! As I have told you, the picture will be quite distinctive when it is found.”

“We’re working on it,” the cop had told him. “We are working with Scotland Yard on another case with the same inspectors.”

“Would that be the Ridgway bugging case?” McGuire asked.

Fowler then appeared in the doorway, making an entrance Hercule Poirot would have envied.

“Why would that matter, Mr. McGuire?” he asked. Immediately, and too obviously, the little man was on his guard.

Fowler had met McGuire the night before and had developed the same opinion of the man as about 95 percent of the people who knew him had done. It just didn’t take as long for Fowler, which was truly rare for him.

An excellent judge of character by nature, Fowler’s teeth were set on edge by McGuire’s sneering know-it-all attitude. He had had to consciously remind himself that at the moment, McGuire was a victim too.

Now, though, the two men locked eyes again and McGuire resumed the offensive. Some people just don’t know when to leave well enough alone.

A bead of sweat formed in the middle of McGuire’s forehead and tracked path straight down between his eyebrows. Carefully, he raised a finger to wipe it away before it reached his nose.

Noticing, Fowler’s expression changed almost imperceptibly. One eyebrow raised the slightest fraction of an inch.

The investigator didn’t mind if his interview subject noticed. A little pressure on this man to tell the truth certainly wouldn’t have hurt him any.

“Don’t be daft, sir,” McGuire finally said, recovering his nerve. “With the relationships involved here, surely the police wouldn’t assign different investigators. You know that.”

Fowler didn’t appreciate McGuire’s foray into his domain. His expression now spoke volumes.

McGuire got the non-verbal hint, delivered with only slightly less subtlety than the black jack that had rearranged his visage. His confidence broke like a wave against the rocks when it hit Fowler’s cool, calm demeanor.

Inside, though, Fowler was fuming. He didn’t appreciate McGuire’s attitude, which placed him in the company of far too many people who had run afoul of the little man over the years.

“I didn’t bug that office,” McGuire added, perhaps a little too quickly.

“No one is suggesting you did,” Fowler said evenly. “Though, if you have something you want to tell me, you could save us all a lot of time.”

McGuire leaned back in his hospital bed. He thought things through, which seemed rare enough for him at times. He had talked too quickly with Fowler. He had quickly learned that such a mistake was a significant tactical error.

He looked into the face of the Scotland Yard man and for all he could tell he might have been looking at one of those Easter Island statues, except without the six-foot nose. This time, there was no change in Fowler’s expression.

At all.

That unnerved McGuire.

He tried to breathe through his nose. That was a bad idea, since it hurt. Instead, he sucked a breath in through his teeth, and the whistling noise the effort made unnerved him still further. He was off his stroke and this was quite a dangerous man to be talking to under such circumstances.

He said nothing for a long moment, but Fowler wouldn’t be denied.

Some people are gifted in the art of the stare-down. Fowler was definitely one of those people.

“Do you have something to tell me, Mr. McGuire?” he asked. “I’ve got all day.”

McGuire closed his eyes, now wishing he could have feigned sleep at the beginning of the conversation. No such luck.

He opened his mouth to speak, and heard a familiar voice in his head.

“No more mistakes, Peter.”

Slowly, McGuire opened his eyes. He had made up his mind. Regaining his composure, he was now Peter McGuire, business executive. He was in charge again.

“No, Commander Fowler, there’s nothing for me to tell you,” he said.

Fowler was nonplussed. “We’ll see about that, Mr. McGuire,” he replied, turning to leave the hospital room just as suddenly as he had entered.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Friday, September 18

Thankfully, tomorrow’s game is in London so we won’t have to worry about lenghty travel in addition to everything else on the agenda.

Wednesday’s controversy is still fresh in my mind. It’s also on the front burner of the press, who are looking for us to rebound smartly from our midweek disappointment despite playing away from home.

In my defense, it wasn’t enough for me to say that on the rich list released yesterday, PSG are actually bigger than we are. Better was expected against them and we did not provide it.

So, today’s training session, which I watched from between my crutches, was a bit more activist in nature, shall we say.

To put it another way, the players did some running.

I was just not happy with the work I saw today. I am actually hoping it’s not the start of a dip in form, but we couldn’t put two passes together during most of our session and before long it was starting to annoy me.

I was viewing basic lapses in concentration. Players weren’t tracking back, they weren’t working in our standard tactical drills like they can. It was the sort of stuff you iron out in pre-season training. We were wavering, and I didn’t like it.

“Stop them, Kevin,” I called down from the platform over the practice pitch. “I gotta talk to them.”

Dillon had the players congregate on the touchline while I gimped up to them.

“You know what, I could get out there and move the ball as well as some of you,” I snapped. “What in the hell happened to the team that won 4-0 a week ago? Yes, we should have won the other night but it’s over and we didn’t. We’ve got a hangover here, and I don’t like what I’m seeing. You guys are so much better than you’re showing me. I’ve seen it, but I sure am not seeing it now.”

Looking for reactions by which I could gauge my next words, I found instead a group of players who were in a blue funk. And we still haven’t lost a match.

“All right, so that’s the way it’s going to be?” I asked rhetorically. “I know you want to win all the time and that’s great, but how you’re handling this latest isn’t what I want to see. We’re going to end the training now and do a little running. I don’t want you brooding about your play when you’re training like this. Let’s get loose, stay loose and move on.”

It wasn’t intended to be punitive. I can’t make it a punishment after we’ve started the season without a loss in any competition. Still, though, we’re lethargic and falling back into last season’s pattern of draws before wins.

I still don’t like what I’m seeing and we have to do better. So, a shift in focus seemed to be the right thing to try.

But as the players ran laps and did some light conditioning drills, I suddenly wasn’t so sure. I wanted to clear their minds, but few players really like conditioning work. The message had been sent, intentional or otherwise.

The players were still left to their own thoughts. That could not be changed, and I have to hope the message is received in the right way.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“You’re going to be here for a few more days, Mr. McGuire.”

That wasn’t the news he really wanted to hear, but the little man was stuck.

The surgery to repair his face had been delicate and down the road he would need further plastic surgery. All that to re-form the scowl that friend and enemy alike had learned to avoid.

Leaning back into his pillows with frustration, he stared at the ceiling. Things weren’t going according to plan, not by any stretch of the imagination. It was a significant sidetrack, of course, and now someone had made it very personal.

All he knew was that he wanted answers. He thought he knew where to find them. Connecting the dots would be the hard part, especially with that Holmes-wannabe Fowler poking his head around.

“All he needs is a deerstalker hat,” McGuire thought to himself. Smiling to himself at the absurdity of the thought, he returned his energy to thinking about the present.

His intention to rat out Richmond had been profound. It had taken every ounce of his double-dealing acumen to avoid saying so to Fowler, and giving it to his boss right in the neck.

His rage at his employer had been profound for the shoddy way he had been treated. Forgetting for the moment that Richmond treated everyone that way, he thought about how hard he had had to fight down the desire for revenge.

‘No,’ he thought to himself. ‘I couldn’t do that. But it would serve him right if I did.’

Now, with Fulton looking at him from inside the doorway instead, he found his task a lot more difficult.

“Mr. McGuire,” she said, “I wonder if I might speak with you regarding your recollection of the other night’s events?”

“Certainly, Inspector,” McGuire said, wishing he could hide his broken face from her as a most unprofessional thought flashed through his mind.

“Real stunner, this one,” he thought. “Needs someone to look after her, I bet.”

If Fulton could have read McGuire’s mind, she’d have slapped him.

“Who do you believe would want to do this to you?” she asked. “Let’s be honest, you have made enemies in recent months.”

“I know who would want to do this to me,” McGuire said immediately.

“Let’s start with one of them. Your associates have said your relationship with your employer has deteriorated in recent weeks,” Fulton said. Her eyes were locked on the target and McGuire was determined not to repeat the same mistake he had made with Fowler.

“Two strong-minded people have had a frank exchange of views,” he said. “I would hardly call that a deterioration.”

“We have spoken with Mr. Richmond regarding your injuries,” Fulton said coolly, and the first thought McGuire had had about the detective disappeared from his mind as quickly as it had arrived.

“I’m glad,” he said thinly. “He has always cooperated with investigators. That’s also true with the bugging of Ridgway’s office.”

Another mistake. McGuire kicked himself inwardly, realizing he had changed the subject once again. Fulton’s expression betrayed no emotion, and no reaction, so McGuire couldn’t tell if he had gotten away with a second gaffe. He was trying hard not to sweat.

“He was most cooperative,” Fulton said, “on both accounts. We aren’t finished speaking with him yet, on either account, so suppose you level with me.”

McGuire now found her presence, and her gaze, unnerving. Whether she knew it or not, Fulton’s beauty provided a powerful incentive – and he strongly suspected the latter was far more likely.

“I already have, Inspector,” he said. “What else can I tell you?”

“You can answer my question,” she replied. “Who wants a piece of your hide?”

This time, McGuire had no problem ratting out a suspect. “Rob Ridgway, for one,” McGuire said, trying to suppress a grin.

“There’s history.”

“Oh, yes, there is,” McGuire answered. “And he certainly has motive to hire someone to take me out of the picture.”

“I’ll worry about motive,” Fulton snapped. “You worry about answering questions.”

“Very well, Inspector.” Once again, he was starting to like women in uniform. However, this woman in uniform didn’t seem to like him much.

Yet, that hardly mattered. His batting average had been pretty good in the past and he knew that if he put his mind to it…

…or, perhaps not.

“Now, back to Sidney Richmond.” She was all business.

He wasn’t. “I tell you, there isn’t a problem,” he protested.

“Or so you claim,” Fulton replied. “But if there is, we will find out about it. You had better be telling me the truth now, Mr. McGuire. And if you haven’t been telling me the truth, you had better start now. And yes, that is a warning.”

She turned to leave, and then turned back, looking over her shoulder like television detective Peter Falk from Columbo.

“Oh, and another thing,” she said, unintentionally aping the famous television detective. “We’ve asked the SFO to make some enquiries. If you’re clean, you have nothing to worry about.”

It took every ounce of his self-control not to snap back. While not unforeseen, it was a significant complication.

The presence of the Serious Fraud Office might complicate things significantly, since they dealt with large financial crimes. Had Fulton said the same thing to Richmond, the director would have a serious issue on his hands.

McGuire felt sure that Fulton was trying to read his expression. The SFO could have been a bluff and he knew it. He decided to try to treat her comment as one, and simply shrugged.

Meanwhile, his mind raced and he wished his head didn’t hurt so much. He wondered – nearly aloud – if there was any evidence of serious fraud. He couldn’t think of any on his own part, but he couldn’t be sure about anyone else.

“But I will tell you now, Mr. McGuire; if the SFO contacts you, there is no right of silence,” Fulton added. “So again, I urge you to tell me the truth regarding Sidney Richmond. We’ll find out sooner or later, so make it easy on yourself, yeah?”

With that, she left.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I think a lot when I’m driving. That might not be the best idea in the world from the point of view of automotive safety, but one does what one can. The trip home was therefore a mixed bag of thoughts about football and about life.

First, football. We do have an opportunity tomorrow, if we can bounce back from midweek.

Manchester United plays at Stamford Bridge this weekend, and the champions are looking to climb back into the thick of the race at Steve Coppell’s expense. Their game will naturally be the spotlight game from the point of view of the press, so we have the chance to do some business without so many prying eyes upon us.

So, obviously someone will drop points there and if it happens to be United, we can climb to within one point of them from our starting position in third place. At the moment, we, Chelsea and United are the only unbeaten teams in the Premiership so it’s a good opportunity for us to stay that way if we can focus for 90 minutes against West Ham.

The Hammers will start play eleventh in the league with three wins and four losses in their seven starts. On paper, we look good.

Yet, if we aren’t better than we were today, we’re going to get bit tomorrow.

The players got on the coach tonight to head for London and our hotel under Dillon’s charge. I will join them in the morning, after taking some therapy on my injury.

I noticed a sullenness about the squad as they boarded and left. Yes, it’s only a short trip, but our focus at the moment is not good.

The players are taking PSG as a failure, and while it may have been from the point of view of wins and losses, we have to raise our chins off the floor.

There’s a fine line. I want players who can’t imagine defeat. The problem comes, naturally, when they don’t win and they feel they should have.

Then, life intervened as I arrived at home.

I pulled the car into the garage and headed inside. Patty was sleeping on the couch when I arrived, under a comforter.

The television was on, the lights in our living room were still on, and obviously the wear of the day had sapped her energy.

She’s starting to show a bit more noticeably now, and she is finding the need to conserve her energy. One would hope that the most serious risk of another miscarriage is over, but she has been as fastidious as she can be about taking care of herself in the meantime.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know she was asleep when I entered the room, so my arrival woke her up.

I crossed to her and kissed her forehead while she regained her faculties.

“Been quite an evening, Rob,” she said, turning off the television. “Have you heard the news?”

“Afraid not, baby,” I said, hanging up my jacket in the front closet. “What’s happening?”

“Peter is in the hospital,” she said. “He was beaten by an intruder the other night.”

I wheeled. “Seriously?” I asked.

“Seriously. Inspector Fulton called here this evening.”

“To do what?”

“Rob, she came to talk to me,” Patty replied. “She wanted to know about my relationship with him and whether either one of us would want him hurt after all he’s done to us.”

“What did you say? Surely we’ve nothing to hide!”

“Of course not,” she answered. “I found the questions pretty demeaning, to be honest.”

“What did she ask?” I headed to the wet bar to pour myself a drink that was now needed as much as wanted.

“She asked for my recollections about any threats you had ever made against Peter,” Patty answered. “She asked about the night at the Oracle where I hit him.”

“Did you tell her we were upset he was taunting us after the miscarriage?” My face and cheeks were starting to get red, as my anger began to rise.

“Yes,” she answered. “I was truthful, but that only added to the questions. She wanted to know if we felt we needed revenge for that night.”

“We didn’t need revenge on McGuire,” I said. “We needed him to leave us the hell alone!”

“Honey, you’re preaching to the choir,” she replied. “She seemed satisfied.”

“I’ll tell her she can speak to our counsel in the future,” I said. “That’s just embarrassing. We’re victims here!”

She rose from the couch. “Whoever it was really messed up Peter,” she said. “He’s badly hurt, in the hospital for surgery, don’t know when he’ll get out.”

“I really could care less,” I snapped. “Maybe it’ll knock some sense into him. He can’t just hurt people whenever he wants to.”

“Well, someone certainly hurt him,” Patty said.

I locked eyes with my wife. “Patty, let me say this as plainly as I can,” I said, as she advanced to my arms. “I don’t care about him and I don’t care what happens to him. All I care about is you and getting us past what he did to you.”

We kissed, but she gave me a look of concern.

“Don’t let Inspector Fulton hear you say that, Rob,” she whispered. “Please.”

# # #

[nette000]

Hmm. What if more then just offices have been bugged....

[tenthreeleader]

That's the beauty of this arc, nette...you just never know, do you?

___

Saturday, September 19

West Ham (3-0-4, 11th place) v Reading (5-2-0, 3rd place) – EPL Match Day #8

Yes, it’s a rivalry. We don’t have any white-hot rivalries in our league at the moment, but if we’re in a pinch, this one will do.

I caught up with the squad at mid-morning after taking some treatment on my injured knee. Wright drove me to London, since I’m still not comfortable enough to drive that distance myself.

With the League Cup tie coming up on Tuesday night against Boro, I could play my first eleven without fear knowing that the Baby Bombers will take to the pitch against our Premiership opponents in 72 hours’ time.

Our next league match isn’t until next Saturday against West Brom, so Tuesday is a chance for the squad players to come up and make an impact.

I’ve decided Tuesday will also mark Fleck’s Reading debut, and to say the youngster was charged up upon learning the news was a bit of an understatement.

I love giving news like that, and I gave it while he was doing some interval training this morning. He seems to have a decent work ethic and today that meant doing some work while others of his teammates were still in bed.

It’s one reason why he’s starting against Boro. He’s earned that and he has shown he wants to play.

But for the time being, my thoughts were obviously more on the Hammers. As Wright wheeled me off to London, my mind was in match mode.

I didn’t get a good reception the last time I visited here with my club, so getting out of Wright’s car and heading into the stadium didn’t generate a positive reception this time either.

It seems to me that if you’re a supporter and you have nothing better to do than stand outside the stadium visitors’ entrance and heckle, you need a better life than you’ve got.

Yet, there they were, the East Londoners trying to make me feel bad about myself.

Really. If I want to feel bad about myself, I could choose from a plethora of reasons -- all better than the ones they gave me.

I wasn’t going to let them ruin my day, though. Getting inside took a few moments longer than usual due to my somewhat reduced mobility, but once inside I was soon on the way to the visiting manager’s office.

Dillon, naturally, was already there and set up to work.

“Ready for you, Rob,” he said by way of greeting.

“Thanks, Kevin,” I replied, easing my way into a chair. “How did the morning meeting go?”

“Not badly,” he answered. “You’d think I could do this for a living.”

Dillon’s lighthearted swipe at the fact that he’s still an assistant manager contained no malice. In fact, if Richmond does buy the club and sacks us all, I have little doubt he’ll be employed again in short order.

He does have the chops to manage. I am convinced of that. The coach I saw when I was an active player and the assistant manager I see now are two different people and that is to Kevin’s credit.

He had things well under control so when I finally hobbled into the changing room to start the formal pre-match team talk, all I had to do was open the door.

There are managers who take the team talk as a matter of course. There are also some high-level managers who have virtually no contact with their players.

I’ve never been like that and I never want to be like that. I like being with the lads, as they say here, and that means taking the rough with the smooth. It also means taking a good-natured ribbing for a pronounced limp. The lads can be cruel.

Today, that ribbing was a bit on the rough side as I endured some good natured kidding from Lita. His point, which I couldn’t refute, was that I had faced him in training and needed surgery to fix my wounds when he had finished.

I let his teasing go since it was lightening up the squad. The mood needed to lift after the disappointment of PSG and so I let Leroy tweak the gaffer.

Finally, though, the time for laughter was over and it was time to get to business.

“Seriously, I need you to finish better than we finished at midweek,” I said. “We know there are players on that team who can take their chances and we know if we don’t take ours we’re going to have trouble. Sound fundamental play will win this game today, gentlemen. You have more quality than they do and I will expect you to show it.”

That seemed to go over pretty well. This club doesn’t seem to mind expectations that I place on them, so we headed out for the player lineup in a surprisingly good mood.

Our arrival onto the pitch was celebrated with a large mixture of cheers and jeers. You would have expected that, as a matter of our growing rivalry with the Hammers.

Ahead of me in the opposite line, Emerse Faé looked straight ahead, not wanting to acknowledge his former teammates. Obviously, he had something to prove.

Too, he was being started in his preferred position as a holding midfielder. The reasons I didn’t play him there last season have been well documented, but the thing he has told the papers he likes is that he has a ‘manager who understands me’.

Well, that’s as may be. I understand my team and its needs, which is my primary responsibility.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The match kicked off, and immediately the primary matchup of the day, Dean Ashton vs. Robert Huth, took center stage.

Ashton is picking up right where he left off last year in terms of filling enemy nets, and he was active right from the kickoff today.

Unfortunately, early on he was a bit too active for Huth, who brought him down with a hard challenge outside our area seven minutes into the match. Referee Steve Tanner kept his cards in his pocket, but awarded the free kick about twenty yards from goal and Ashton elected to take the effort himself.

The ball took a deflection off BIkey, standing in the center of the wall, and rolled harmlessly to Lobont. So far, so good.

My captain had to be much quicker to handle a second deflection a few moments later, as Ashton’s drive this time struck Huth on the right kneecap. Lobont was forced into a dive to his right, and he was able to slap the ball back into the middle of his box. From there, Sonko thundered it into touch.

The close call didn’t seem to really wake us up in any appreciable way, as Malkhaz Asatiani turned a goal kick around to feed Carlton Cole right up Route One. Lobont came out to challenge, since Sonko was nowhere to be found, and as Cole tried to round him, the player’s touch deserted him.

Cole pushed the ball too far ahead, and as he finally caught up to it he was near the touchline. His desperate slide to control the ball and keep it in play was just a hair too late and we had dodged another bullet.

They kept up the pressure. Faé, who dearly wanted to connect against us, picked off an errant Huth pass and dragged a reply shot wide to Lobont’s left.

It took a full twenty minutes to generate a half-decent chance. When we finally did, Kitson was through on Robert Green – and offside.

Our frustration was starting to show, as we banged our collective heads against West Ham’s simple 4-4-2.

Billy Davies, who spent last season at Derby, seemed to have our measure with the players he had selected. Faé wsa showing a lot more energy than he had showed at times with us last season, which was certainly understandable, and Ashton was a constant threat.

Faé did it again a few moments later, this time catching Bikey in possession and stealing the ball just shy of midfield. He strode forward with confidence, looked for Asatiani, and gave him the ball – but the Georgian international misplayed it into touch.

So far, so good, but it wasn’t because we were good. We were not.

In fact, our funk from the PSG match was in full flow and unabated. Twenty-five minutes into the match, we hadn’t had an attempt at goal that had counted.

Dagoberto then embarked on a moment of brilliance, as Kalou took a throw from Ferreira and made something out of nothing.

Like a flash, the Ivorian was off to the races down the right wing, cutting the ball back sharply and over the despairing reach of Green.

Dagoberto was there to pounce, scoring with ease in 26 minutes and racing off to the corner flag.

Only the assistant had his flag up. Like Kitson’s attempt minutes before, this too was flagged for offside.

Dagoberto wasn’t happy. I wasn’t either, from my vantage point, and the protests began.

The angriest of all was, unfortunately, Bikey. His rant to Tanner resulted in a yellow card for dissent before I realized he was in jeopardy. That was becaust Mike Dean was hearing it from me.

Maloney had a solid hold of Bikey and nearly couldn’t contain him, needing help from Huth to stop from having a second go at the official that could have gotten him sent off.

However, the disallowed goal gave us what I had been looking for, which was a badly needed spark. Driven by a sense of injustice, my players roared their way back into the match.

Kalou repeated his maneuver of a few minutes before, and again Dagoberto was the recipient. This time the flag stayed down but Robert Green collected well, which figured.

There was a little bit of ebb and flow to the match now, which was certainly better than the one-way traffic we had seen for most of the first twenty minutes. We were starting to counter better now, and were looking reasonably dangerous coming forward. In short, we were starting to look like Reading again.

Now Asatiani was trying to slide the ball forward for Ashton, but Bikey stood tall in the center circle and picked off the pass. He strode forward and found Kitson’s run in the left channel.

When we aren’t countering, Kitson will sometimes play with his back to goal, but now he was moving forward and threatening with Anton Ferdinand moving to close him. So he laid the ball to his right - onto the run of Dicã, who had slipped past Faé.

The new Royal had run right past the old, and just like that he was through on Green. He did not miss, continuing his run of fine play with his seventh goal of the young season eight minutes before the break.

Now we had one that counted, and the away fans finally had something to sing about. A drab half had been broken open by two heads-up passes to give us the lead.

I signaled immediately for 4-4-2 to keep us stable after scoring the goal, but West Ham was right back after us from the kickoff. Asatiani was again in the center of the attack, this time taking the ball forward himself while looking for options.

Ashton was buried under Huth’s tight marking, so Asatiani opted for his strike partner, Cole. He slid a great ball into the right channel and again, Sonko was nowhere to be found.

Just like that, Lobont was beaten barely ninety seconds after we had taken the lead, the Hammers were level, and once again we had conceded late.

Red-faced, I stared malevolently at Sonko, who was more than culpable for the goal. He hadn’t stayed with his man, Cole had made a nice play to control the pass, and none of it should have happened.

Upton Park, or rather the majority of it stuffed with home supporters, was pleased. The visiting manager was not.

Faé from long range and Ashton from much shorter range generated chances immediately after their goal, which did not improve my mood at all. Faé shot over and Ashton was stopped on a truly fine save by Lobont, who kept a strong enough hand to guide his hard drive wide of the left post as the first half ticked over into injury time.

We defended the corner, which seemed a minor miracle at the time, and started a counter. This time Dagoberto had the ball in the open, and he raced right in to Green’s left with Calum Davenport huffing and puffing in his wake.

This time, though, he clean missed the mark. Tanner blew for halftime and I knew it was time to have words with my team.

# # #

[salkster2102]

You just can't keep a lead till halftime can you The game has to try and hold you back somehow though

[tenthreeleader]

Frankly, it drives me nuts. I have a very fluent offensive tactic but I've tried everything I can think of including four at the back with a sweeper on 'ultra defensive' to try to hold leads. All I know is that it rarely works

___

I only had one sentence for them.

“It’s easier to play this game with your heads pulled out of your arses,” I told them.

The numbers hadn’t lied: West Ham had had eleven attempts in the first half with six on target to our three and two. We were awful, and it turned out that only Dicã’s intelligent run had saved us from going to the break behind.

There was really no other way to say it. The PSG malaise had definitely continued, and since the players had refused to handle it like men, I had to treat them like boys.

Dillon now had the chance to play good cop to my bad, while I stalked off into the hallway for a quiet pacing session. Back and forth. Back and forth.

His tactical instructions were simple: Ibrahima, show up or we’ll have to put your face on a milk carton. Shaun, remember that the left flank is where you’re supposed to be and it’s really better for our shape if you stay there. Dagoberto, try to stay onside. And, André, let the coaches handle the officials.

Those that weren’t panned outright, such as Dicã, were gently reminded that we needed total effort from them in the second half. Those who weren’t interested in providing it could simply sit down.

The tough love certainly affected Huth, who started the second half by bundling Cole off the ball and getting a yellow card. He had had to do this because Cole’s marker, Sonko, wasn’t in the immediate vicinity.

“What in the …” I snarled. Dillon shook his head.

“Not his best day, Rob,” he said in perhaps the understatement of the day.

With Bikey as the holding midfielder and both Magallón and Harper on the bench, I had options if I wanted to make a move. And at that point, I did.

However, Davenport decided he wanted to go into the book too, and did so with one of the world’s truly great obstruction fouls, against Dagoberto. He couldn’t have been offside if he had wanted to, because wherever he went, Davenport was climbing inside his shoes.

Meanwhile, Dicã continued to give Faé a torrid time in the attacking third. Emerse was really struggling in his attempt to man-mark the Romanian, which vindicated some of the decision-making I had had to make last year in putting him on the right flank.

Faé wound up in Tanner’s book moments later for a hard foul on Dicã, giving us a free kick just outside the D of the West Ham box.

Maloney could hardly wait to get to the ball, since the spot for the kick was right in his wheelhouse. Desperate to break his duck for the season after such a successful scoring year last season, you could tell from the look on his face that he was pressing.

He took his time with the kick, and when he was ready and Tanner had blown his whistle, Maloney responded with a beautifully bent free kick over the wall and home to Green’s right on 62 minutes.

There was an almost palpable look of relief on Maloney’s face as he celebrated his first goal of the season. He’s a very good set piece man, obviously, and since he’s not the raider any more, that’s how he feels he can contribute.

Of course, there are other ways, but goals are the most tangible, so as he celebrated I’m sure he felt he was helping. Of course, since we now led 2-1, he had.

We had another opportunity to protect a lead. Since that’s something we haven’t always been very good at, this time the shift to 4-4-2 was accompanied by an urging to ‘make it work this time!’

Upon the restart of play, we started to look like good value. Huth stopped a foray into our half with some ease three minutes after the goal and swung the play straight back into the attacking half.

But this time, his lead ball to the right went out of play and George McCartney re-started play with a quick throw. He and Faé worked a wall pass and McCartney took off down the Hammers’ left, with Kalou in hot pursuit.

Salomon had him stride for stride, but McCartney managed to squeeze in a cross from about five yards away from the byline.

It floated over the leaping Ashton and Huth, but not Cole.

He scored again, this time with his head, and this time with Sonko doing his job.

[Offspring8]

I've always said Cole is underrated :p RR should listen to me more often ha!

Keep it coming 10-3 - I'm still trying to learn the art of the Story Arc from you so I'm looking forward to more

[tenthreeleader]

Offy, if you think I can be of service then I'm happy to help. Flattering thing to say, and I thank you for it!

___

The other guys had made a great play. I couldn’t fault anyone, but once again we had conceded right after scoring but there was no point in getting all up tight about it. It had happened despite our best efforts.

It was actually turning into a fairly entertaining match, since we were seeing more of the ball than we had in the first half. It was also obvious to me that 4-4-2 wasn’t working in terms of holding them off.

Once bitten, twice shy. Twice bitten, the manager’s an idiot.

So, it was back to the 4-1-3-2.

We responded almost immediately through the noggin of Kitson, but the targetman pushed his effort wide less than sixty seconds after Cole’s equalizer.

Sensing a go-ahead goal, the Hammers now piled forward, with the momentum squarely on their side of the ball.

One of the pilers, if you will, was Ashton, looking to join Cole on the scoresheet. Taking a ball from McCartney, he moved in and was picked up by Huth. Both players fell just outside the area, and the ball rolled free.

Tanner advanced at a run, signaling a foul. Huth got up and moved to his place in the wall – but the referee then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cards.

Huth looked at him in amazement – but Tanner showed Huth his second yellow and sent him off.

The crowd seemed to explode with noise as Huth stared at Tanner before starting his long walk to the touchline.

Fourteen minutes from time, we were down a man away from home, and I was right alongside Mike Dean.

Keeping my own calm more or less intact, I inquired, as politely as I could, what Huth had done to warrant a second yellow card.

“Shirt pull, Rob, you surely saw that,” Dean replied.

“I saw a shirt pull and I saw two players fall,” I said. “I saw a player foul another player while trying to keep his balance. I don’t see that as a card.”

Huth had by now arrived at the touchline to howls of derision from the Hammers support on our side of the park.

I broke off my conversation with Dean to offer a word of consolation for my central defender as he headed past on his way to the changing room.

“Don’t worry, Robert,” I told him. “It was never a card. We’ll bail you out.”

My answer was to take off both my strikers.

Dropping Bikey to his preferred spot in central defense alongside Sonko, I brought on Lita for Kitson and Baptista for Dagoberto, placing him in the center of midfield with instructions to slot behind Lita if the situation presented itself.

4-4-2 hadn’t worked to stop the Hammers but I was hoping 4-4-1 would do a better job. Somehow, as play restarted with a botched free kick from substitute Kieron Dyer, I didn’t think the math would add up so well.

It didn’t start well. Three minutes after the sending off, Cole got above Sonko off a corner kick and headed over. Moments later, their second substitute, uncapped Brazilian midfielder Mota, took a pass from McCartney and took off.

He opened us up with almost embarrassing ease. Reaching the top of the arc, he slid a pass to his left, where Ashton found it. He was now matched up against Bikey, and a quick swivel of his hips put on a fake the defender unfortunately bought.

Now around Bikey, the keeper was next. With no choice, Lobont raced out to cut down the angle, and Ashton rounded him. From ten yards out, he had the goal at his mercy.

And he missed.

The ball rolled wide of Lobont’s left post to a howl of disappointment from the crowd and an agonized expression from one of the league’s top goal scorers.

He stood, his head in his hands, while Lobont got up to retrieve the ball for our goal kick. It had been a very close thing.

Yet it wasn’t over. Sonko gave the ball away with an unwise clearance and it soon was back in Ashton’s possession. This time, Lobont stopped his stinging shot with a two-handed slap to his left, where Bikey finally put the ball into touch.

We were under the cosh in a big way. I turned to Dillon at my left and his expression was doleful.

“I wish we could defend,” he sighed.

“I wish we could too,” I replied. “No matter what we do, we can’t seem to get that right.”

Now Dyer was shooting, and Sonko got just enough of his leg in front of the ball to deflect it behind for still another West Ham corner.

From there, Cole made another bid for his hat trick, but Lobont stopped him. Any clearance would do by this point, but the Hammers controlled that too and soon John Pantsil was beating Pogatetz in the air to power another header into Lobont’s arms.

Sonko then charged down another effort by Dyer and the rebound spun crazily to Maloney. He realized that the best thing to do would be to try to hold possession for a little while.

As he did, he brought the ball over the halfway line himself and my countryman Jonathan Spector finally hauled him down.

My expression to Dean said all that needed to be said, and mercifully Tanner also carded Spector. At least he was consistent.

Yet, they weren’t done.

Asatiani had a glorious chance as the match rolled into injury time, but Lobont was able to knock the ball over the top. Welsh international James Collins, who came on to give them an added physical presence up front, then headed over the top from their corner.

The end couldn’t have come soon enough. Badly outplayed, the ten men still had found a way to get a point out of the day. Some days, that’s the best you can hope for.

West Ham 2 (Carlton Cole 1st 39, 2nd 69)

Reading 2 (Dicã 7th 37; Maloney 1st 62, Huth s/off 76)

A – 34,457, Upton Park, London

Man of the Match – Carlton Cole, West Ham (MR 8)

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“I’m not happy about it, but I can’t really complain,” I told Hopkins in my post-match interview in front of the sponsor hoardings in the interview area. “We didn’t deserve to win, mainly because we got pegged back twice and gave them easy routes to goal. We cannot expect to win anything away from home if we continue to do that.”

I was asked about the disallowed goal and about the sending off.

“Wasn’t pleased about either,” I snapped. Hopkins had to try to avoid smiling at finally getting a decent sound bite out of me. “I don’t think Dagoberto was offside, and I’m frankly surprised that Huth was sent off under the circumstances he was. But the referee made the decisions and we live with them. Doesn’t mean we like them, but it does mean we live with them.”

“Shaun Maloney broke his duck tonight. That had to make you happy.”

“We want as many players on song as we can get, obviously. Shaun is an important player for us who is being asked to perform a different role this season. He is taking a bit of time to adjust to that role but he has been better in recent games and tonight will hopefully be a good start for him.”

“You go into the Carling Cup this weekend before a matchup against West Brom and then back into the Champions League. How do you prioritize those matches?”

“The league is the priority,” I said immediately. “We’d like a nice run in Europe but if it doesn’t happen, we have to have the priority of getting back there next season. That’s what drives it all from my point of view. We have to lay the groundwork for the long term growth of the club, and to do that, the league has to come first.”

“So does that mean we will see a weakened squad next Tuesday in the Carling Cup?”

“We look at that competition as a chance to blood some of our young players. We have a good crop of youngsters coming up and they have been reinforced by some youth purchases we have made on top of it all. They deserve the chance to show their development on a stage other than the reserves. I think we’ll put out a good squad against Middlesbrough, and we will expect anyone who pulls on a Reading shirt to wear it with pride and live up to their colors.”

As I spoke, I saw two individuals approaching from my right. One I knew, and one I hadn’t met as yet.

Hopkins ended the interview and thanked me. I turned as Hopkins tried to hang around the area, and greeted Fulton.

“Mr. Ridgway, this is Commander Keith Fowler of Scotland Yard,” Fulton said, nodding to the man at her right. “We want to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Peter McGuire.”

# # #