Rob Ridgway's "Rat Pack"

[tenthreeleader]

Monday, August 10

Barcelona, Spain

We weren’t leaving anything to chance for this trip. We couldn’t risk being seen on a commercial flight so Sir John sent his personal jet to take us to the Catalan coast.

I really could get used to the Spanish climate. Having had such a wonderful time on the Mediterranean coast at Almería, I soon found there was little to distinguish it from the beauty of sunny Barcelona once we hit the ground.

Unfortunately, in August, you don’t get the real benefit of being in the warmth since it’s still fine summer weather in England, but the sun was just a little hotter on my face as the plane rolled into the charter terminal at the El Prat Airport.

With the need for discretion absolute, we moved immediately into a hired car and sped off to our hotel.

“Don’t like this cloak and dagger stuff,” I texted to Patty as our driver got us to our destination through an odd series of maneuvers. “I’m not James Bond, after all.”

I sat back, with Magallón beside me with his eyes as big as saucers. He clearly wasn’t used to this kind of chicanery and finally he turned to me.

“Boss, maybe I shouldn’t say anything at all,” he said.

“Jonny, just follow my lead and we’ll be fine,” I replied. “Point is, any team can negotiate with dos Santos so we really aren’t doing anything wrong. We do need to be first, though, which is why we’re taking such elaborate steps. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

It was late evening by the time we arrived at the hotel and we were settled into our rooms. Jonny is a pretty quiet guy, even more so since recovering from that gruesome broken leg he suffered last year, and as a result I hardly heard a sound from the other side of the wall in the adjacent room. After all, he’s a Reading football player and to see him out and around on the streets of Barcelona would have given the game away.

Patty and I traded texts for awhile and finally shared a web camera conversation via Skype before bed.

She looked radiant, starting to glow a little bit with her pregnancy beginning to take hold. We were approaching the time when she had miscarried on our first effort, but her face and demeanor weren’t showing anything like the stress she had carried the first time she was pregnant.

“About three months, now,” she said. “I’m seeing the doctor tomorrow but at this rate it looks like my due date will be around the first of March.”

Just hearing the words sent a surge of warm feeling through me. It’s worth circling the date on the calendar, to know when she’s ready to expand our family.

Just then, a different thought raced through me.

“You said at three months you’d tell your parents,” I said. “Have you done that yet?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I will tomorrow after I get back from the doctor’s office. And this time, I will be much better prepared. I won’t take any answer other than ‘wonderful’ from them. We’re doing this our way, Rob. Please don’t be worried.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The sixth floor of our hotel contained a meeting area and at nine o’clock sharp, we met the player and his representation.

Magallón was the first to rise, to greet his national teammate, and dos Santos, standing in the doorway, seemed surprised that Jonny would be there.

My Blackberry was on the table in front of me, ready to send any proposed terms to Madejski, and the telephone was already dialed in to the Reading financial department as part of a conference call. This meeting, though, was held face to face to show our real intent to sign the player.

The first man to enter the room was the agent. Oro Jiménez has represented some of Central America’s top players, and obviously had managed to keep his lucrative arrangement with dos Santos intact.

“Mr. Ridgway, thank you for traveling here,” he said, as I rose to meet him for the first time. He didn’t represent Magallón, so my midfielder didn’t make a move toward him. Such an action might well have led to repercussions with his own agent, so Jonny simply played it safe.

I spoke in Spanish, which made the agent’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting that.

“I’ve asked Jonny here to say a few words before we talk about issues,” I said. “I think it’s important that your client understands the team ethic we have at Reading and I can’t think of any player I’d rather have talk about it than Jonny Magallón.”

As I spoke, dos Santos entered the room and stood next to his agent. We shook hands, and Magallón greeted his countryman.

A stenographer, evidently part of the dos Santos party, also entered the room. I had my recorder with me – yes, that recorder, after Madejski had finally given it back to me – and the meeting began.

I nodded to Magallón. “I’m here to let Giovani know that he is wanted at my club,” he said. “I can tell you what happened to me last year; I was badly injured in the second match of the season, as you know. The manager never lost faith in me, always encouraged me to regain my health and compete for my place, and when I was healthy again he gave me the chance to show I had not lost my skills. It is a good place to play and we’re playing some big matches this year.”

The agent answered. “As big as Barcelona will play?”

“I don’t know,” Magallón answered, and looked at dos Santos. “But I will say this, you are not playing at Barcelona and you would play with us. It is fair to say that for a player, a big match is not as big if you are not playing in it.”

At that, dos Santos raised his eyebrows, realizing his countryman had a point. I looked at Magallón, trying not to grin.

“Okay, Jonny, thanks for your thoughts,” I said. “I’ll call you when we’re done here.”

Smiling, my midfielder got up and returned to his room. Now I looked across the table at Jiménez.

“I can’t add anything to that,” I said. “So how about we get down to business?”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The proposed terms are on the table. Our offer for dos Santos is for £3.6 million per year, which would be the highest scale on the club. However, it’s not egregiously so – we are paying Kalou £3.1 million this season, for example – so signing him wouldn’t destroy our salary structure.

It might make people like Dagoberto want a new deal, though, but that’s all right. My top-scorer is a member of my Class of 2012, which means I’ll be extending feelers to his agent about a new deal within a year or so anyway. He’s proven he can score at the Premiership level and he’s a vital player for us so he’ll be compensated for it.

That’s one reason my culling of the reserve squad this season was merciless. I let good servants to this club go – a lot of them – to free up payroll for what is to come. Yes, we had a nice season last year and yes, the merit money was great but we can’t count on it every year until I can offer the kind of wage scale that will help make such finishes more likely.

It’s a rotten numbers game, that once caught me up in its snare when I played for this club. It’s no fun to have to do it on the delivering end to some of these players, but looking across the table at dos Santos and his agent, I saw why it’s necessary.

The meeting ended, and I headed back to the room to pick up my bags for the trip to the airport. Sir John’s plane was waiting to whisk us off far to the east, with a refueling stop along the way. We’d fly comfortably and rather quickly, but it was still more time in the air. We would meet up with the team at the hotel, with Dillon handling the day’s training.

The trip back to the airport was quick and soon our bags were being loaded on the Gulfstream. I gave my e-mail one more quick check, hoping for a note from Patty. Instead, I got a different message.

“Don’t you dare cross me with dos Santos. Beckham is coming.”

Not surprisingly, it was signed Sidney Richmond.

Sighing to myself, I put the Blackberry back in my pocket. He’s subtle, I’ll say that for him in a spirit of sarcasm, but he’s also not very bright. And I mean that.

I won’t put up with Richmond’s crap any longer, and in making this determination, I could also pay off a debt at the same time.

I pushed a second button and forwarded Richmond’s note to Weatherby. I then got on the plane.

# # #

[macca72]

Been reading this from the beginning and would like to say that this is absolutely the best story, probably ever, on the boards. A genuine story teller with great depth. Fantastic.

Despite Rob's love for the climate in Spain, maybe he would consider managing my beloved Leeds United at some point ???

Really, keep up the great work.

[tenthreeleader]

Macca, thank you very much. I've been writing this story, and its predecessor, for the better part of two years now and reading kind posts like yours energizes me. Welcome to the Rat Pack and I hope you continue to enjoy the work.

___

Tuesday, August 11

Moscow

The raw vastness of Russia simply amazes me. I saw enough of it go by under the wings of Sir John’s Gulfstream to make me wonder why anyone would try to conquer a country of such unbelievable size.

But then, I’m not a general and I don’t play one on TV. I have other things to worry about and I got started as soon as I got off the plane in Russia’s capital city.

I’m a bit concerned about jet lag thanks to the distance of this trip, since some of these players will be counted upon when we go to Everton on Saturday in the league. I have to field a strong side in the away leg and hope those players can give me a reason to field a different side when we play our hosts again in two weeks’ time.

These two matches upcoming against CSKA are, by default, the two most important matches in the history of this club. Making the group stages of the Champions League has obvious benefits but it also has a great potential benefit for the careers of certain players.

I’m thinking of people like Lobont, Kitson, Dagoberto and Sonko – players who are of international caliber but who haven’t had the chance to shine on the big stage. The Champions League would give them that opportunity.

Lobont, of course, is already Romania’s number one, but prolonged exposure on the big stage of the UCL can make a reputation and a career.

Frankly, winning those matches wouldn’t hurt the career prospects of one Robert Douglas Ridgway either. I’m trying not to think so much about that, and not surprisingly failing in the attempt. With everything that has gone on around here over the last few months, getting into the group stages would be the ultimate personal vindication.

This morning I got the news of another big signing for Bolton, which has nabbed Mark Gonzalez for £12 million from Betis. Sammy Lee is building a nice little club up there, which is trying to win its way back into Europe. They decided they liked the rarified air of the UEFA Cup but unfortunately didn’t have the domestic muscle to win their way back into this season’s second-tier competition.

So, they are trying to upgrade, if you will. So am I, which is why I was wondering if the club would hear from Jiménez today.

I thought our meeting went well, and I had a smile on my face during my pre-match news conference today.

“We need to talk,” Weatherby said, passing by me headed in the opposite direction.

“Jill, this is so sudden,” I teased, but her look told me my humor wasn’t appreciated.

“Rob,” she scolded, and I let the reporter get away with her tone. “I don’t want to be used in your fight with Richmond but you gave me a news story and I need to discuss it with you.”

“I’ll say this quickly before we start,” I said. “I’m fully aware that you don’t let yourself be used by anyone, but I did give you a news tip. You can write what you wish about it. I’ll be happy to discuss it with you after my briefing.”

She nodded, and we took our respective places. I spent my time praising our hosts even as I continued to scheme about how to beat one of the world’s great keepers, Igor Akinfeev, on his home ground.

The questions from the press, though, centered on pre-match jitters. They were of the opinion my players would suffer from them, and were just condescending enough to conclude that it might be perfectly understandable, after all.

That drew my ire. “CSKA are a good side,” I said. “Still, so are we, and I reject the notion that we’re here as makeweights or we’re going to run with our tails between our legs because we face an adversarial crowd. That isn’t the way my club plays football and any player who reacts that way will have trouble with me he doesn’t want.”

“I thought you Yanks didn’t worry about ‘stiff upper lip’,” Hopkins chided, and only the fact that I knew him kept me from making a famous utterance.

“We worry about winning,” I said. “We’re going to do our level best to come out of here with a victory and an away goal. Whether we do that or not remains to be seen because we have a terrific opponent to face, but this club will never adopt the approach that we’re happy to be where we are. Never.”

There was silence in the room, so I spoke again.

“Did I say ‘never’?” I asked. “Okay. Never. Everyone got that?”

On the other side of the dais, Weatherby was writing a column headline.

“Ridgway leading Royals into ‘Never-land’.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Meanwhile, the Premiership was in action in a very rare set of Tuesday night matches.

Liverpool was home to West Ham this evening and even though Steven Gerrard scored for the wrong team, Fernando Torres and Ezequiel Garay bailed him out in a 2-1 triumph.

Our weekend opponents, Everton, were also in action. Traveling to the south coast to play at Portsmouth, they found themselves behind within the first ninety seconds thanks to a brilliant goal from Pedro Mendes. Biding their time, though, the Toffees earned an equalizer from Victor Anichiebe seven minutes from time to take a point out of Fortress Fratton.

Much of the rest of the Premiership is in action tomorrow night as well, with Chelsea traveling to Blackburn in the match with the most potential impact on us. They’re the team we play right after Everton in our third away match of this sequence, so we’ll be watching that result closely as well.

It’ s a hard stretch – away in Moscow, away in the northwest and away to the Champions within a stretch of eight days. We’ll see how it goes.

# # #

Wednesday, August 12

CSKA Moscow v Reading – Champions League Third Round Qualifier, First Leg

There’s nothing like going to the ground knowing your opponent is at least partly owned by the military.

Officially, the club name loosely translates to Central Sports Club of Army, but nowadays the official line is that no, the Army doesn’t run things. It’s not like the old Central Red Army professional hockey club when the Communists formally ran the show here -- which just happened to double every four years as the Russian Olympic Team.

Still, though, one of the club’s nicknames is “армейцы”, or “Army men”, so the heritage of the old team is never far away.

The club was also once known as the “Experimental And Demonstrational Playground of Military Education Association”, in the tradition of amazingly long Russian names.

The army is still a shareholder, we’re told. That’s fine, as long as they don’t shoot anything at us during the match. We’re still underdogs as we headed into this tie and I certainly did nothing to stop us from thinking that way.

“All the pressure is on them,” I told the players at our breakfast meeting. “You’re trying to do something no Reading team has ever done and as a result, people are asking if you’re mentally up to the challenge. I’ve told the world that you are, and I believe what I said. This is a good club you’re playing tonight but I have no reason whatsoever to think that you can’t play credibly and get yourself a good result. You can handle this team. I’m sure of it.”

The words were quiet but confident. I think we can take them.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Rolling up to the Dinamo Stadium, CSKA’s home for tonight’s match, the nerves finally started to hit.

The main Moscow clubs – CSKA, Dinamo, Spartak and Lokomotiv – have had a bit of a go-round in terms of their home stadia in recent years. Some play at the cavernous Luzhniki, home of the 1980 Olympics and which now holds over 84,000 spectators, when the occasion calls for it.

Tonight, though, we played at the home of CSKA’s archrival Dinamo. I suppose it’s not quite as bad as asking Everton to play at Anfield again, but then you never know.

The Dinamo holds less than half the capacity of the larger ground, but it wasn’t even full for this qualifier. That perhaps explains someone’s desire for a smaller stadium.

My nerves got compounded in short order, when the physios helped Maloney into the changing room during warm-ups.

“Tweaked my leg,” the Scotsman moaned as he limped by me. That was a problem.

My eighteen only had one player in it who is naturally a left-sided player – the whiz kid, Saivet. The physios were already working on Maloney, and I was being told it was only a cramp, but he wasn’t fit to start the match. As the players left the pitch, I took the boy aside and told him what I had in mind.

He was going to have to play, and that was that. He was naturally excited to learn the news, but at the same time it’s not easy to hand a player his debut in a match like this. I was counting on the lad’s talent to get him through.

My pre-match talk was short and sweet. Despite Maloney’s injury, nothing had changed in regard to my opinion on the eventual outcome, so I hoped my confidence would show through to the players in short order.

It seemed to all go past in a blur. Before entering the hallway, I promised myself that I would savor the moment, as the first manager from my nation to take a club this far in the world’s greatest club competition.

Of course, I did nothing of the sort. I looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

When the nerves really hit me, though, was when I heard the Champions League hymn for the first time in person.

Last season, I thought the song overwrought and a bit on the self-important side. However, now that my team is trying to be a part of the main competition, it meant something different.

Lobont and CSKA captain Elvir Rahimic exchanged pennants in the customary pre-match ritual and I shared a brief greeting with manager Valery Gazzaev. Amazingly, he greeted me in Italian, and the reaction I gave him brought a smile to his face. For an American and a Russian to be on a football pitch speaking together in Italian must show this to be the world’s game somehow.

We wished each other well, and, smiling, I returned to the visitors’ dugout. Gazzaev had loosened me up nicely and probably didn’t even know it.

To our right, the flowing grace of Akinfeev was apparent as the keeper finished his warm-ups. He’d be as tough as ever but my main concern was how the 4-1-3-2 would hold up in European competition. Our known defensive deficiencies were due in part to lack of men across the middle and my decision to stick with our usual formation now began to bother me a bit.

“Just let them play,” I thought to myself, as the referees took their places.

Dr. Helmut Fleischer had the ball under his arm – I thought there probably hadn’t been a German in charge of anything this close to the Kremlin since 1941 – and he dropped it on the center spot for Dagoberto and Kitson to get play under way.

[dan_simmonds]

Dr. Helmut Fleischer had the ball under his arm – I thought there probably hadn’t been a German in charge of anything this close to the Kremlin since 1941

Classic

[tenthreeleader]

We were cautious at first, by design. I wanted the players’ feet under them from the start of the match and I was hoping CSKA could be goaded into making the first mistake. That wasn’t to be, unfortunately, as Nikita Burmistrov found himself played through the left channel by Rahimic.

Frantically, Huth raced to cover, and forced the forward just wide enough to make him change his plans. He tried to return the ball to Rahimic and the alert Huth managed to tip the ball wide of the mark. CSKA came back in short order, though, and this time Huth had to foul to keep Burmistrov out of the penalty area.

Fleischer whistled for the foul and had a word, presumably auf Deutsch, with my defender. Then he reached into his pocket for the yellow card, which I thought harsh since it was Huth’s first foul of the match.

That led to Huth’s manager speaking German, loudly, in the direction of Dr. Fleischer. The referee gave me a surprised expression in return as he supervised Oleg Malyukov lining up the free kick.

It took a wicked deflection off our wall – and straight into the grateful arms of Lobont, who slowed things up nicely before resuming play.

He rolled the ball gently to his left for Pogatetz and the Austrian fullback advanced the ball to Saivet, getting his first touch in a competitive match in a Reading shirt. He took the ball deep, forced his marker nearly to the byline, and dropped it back smartly for Pogatetz.

Emanuel one-timed a cross to the middle, and found Dagoberto just inside the area. The Brazilian turned, shot, and beat Akinfeev to give us a precious away goal after only thirteen minutes.

That was obviously the way to respond and our bench exploded with joy and relief. Our European account was opened within the first quarter hour. We really couldn’t ask for better.

The player we needed to score for us had already done so and now we could concentrate on sound, fundamental defensive football.

CSKA charged back right after we scored, with Rahimic this time sending Burmistrov away on the right, with his pass to his strike partner Andrei Salugin on target just outside the area. The Russian then blazed well over the bar, though, to his consternation and our relief.

Midfielder Amir Kashiev wound up in Fleischer’s book soon afterwards for upsetting Dica’s applecart on his first foray forward, and the half soon became a bit of a chess match.

Lobont robbed Salugin right on the half hour as this time the Russian did put his shot on target, forcing Romania’s number one into an acrobatic tip around his left post.

Salugin then brought the ball straight back in only to be denied by Sonko, who slid to deflect his powerful drive into touch. We were resilient but CSKA was generating quality chances in good shooting positions.

I looked over at Dillon, and realized that the 4-1-3-2 probably wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Change up the midfield, Rob,” he advised. “Jonny’s a one-man fire brigade handling a forest fire.”

I nodded, and immediately whistled to change to 4-4-2. The added man higher up the park in midfield helped us contain CSKA a bit better, and the home team’s ardor soon cooled a bit.

Salugin collided heavily with Huth on 38 minutes and the striker had to leave the pitch for treatment as his teammates put the ball into touch. He left clutching his left thigh and limping heavily, a state unwarranted by the challenge.

I wondered if he was trying to get a second card against my central defender. Dr. Fleischer, to his credit, was unimpressed, allowing Salugin back onto the pitch moments later.

All I can say is that during the minute he was off, Salugin must have made a trip to Lourdes and back, because he was immediately behind the defense thanks to Burmistrov. He rounded Lobont and equalized for CSKA five minutes from the break.

Now the crowd came to life, with the home team getting the equalizer their play deserved. Once again, though, we had conceded right before the end of a half and I’m about ready to tear out my hair over that. It seems sometimes that I can put eleven men behind the ball and it won’t help.

Now CSKA came in again, with us playing a defensive 4-4-2, and Sonko’s intervention prevented yet another opportunity from Burmistrov. They were definitely in the ascendancy.

Yet, this time we countered them, and it opened my eyes. Again it was Pogatetz, our only backliner with whom I had no issues in the first half, starting the play. Again, it was Dagoberto he found, and my striker’s rising rocket was parried acrobatically over the bar by Akinfeev.

The corner amounted to nothing, though, and as we went to half I had to remind myself that our away goal was already secured.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“The glass is half full,” I told the players in a rare foray into optimism at halftime. “We’ve got what we came here for and now it’s up to you to preserve the advantage. Be smart defensively, and look for the opportunity to counter. I don’t want to give up the initiative but they are going to come after you hard now that you’ve scored. Don’t put yourselves in the position of going back home with an away goal but behind 2-1 or 3-1.”

I drew 4-4-2 on the board for the second half. “Let’s give these guys a taste of what we gave Arsenal,” I said. “Absorb them and then counter. Use our pace and let’s open up the pitch. You can do it.”

I then went for a short walk in the corridor outside our changing room, out of sight of the home team. I never like for an opponent to see me fulfilling my need to pace. It makes me look like I’m nervous. In this case, they would have been right.

Gordon Strachan once said he liked to wear white shirts to a big match because he didn’t want anyone to see him sweating. Well, I hadn’t listened to his advice, and my sky blue silk shirt was already saturated under my navy blue touchline suit. A word to the wise, I supposed.

I arrived back at the changing room door at the same time Dillon had dismissed the players to their second half stretching. He nodded at me and actually gave me a ‘thumbs-up’, a rare thing for my usually reserved deputy.

I smiled, and stopped perspiring quite so much. That in itself was welcome. We lined up to take the pitch for the second half and Dillon then spoke quietly as he stood next to me.

“Don’t worry, Rob,” he predicted. “I like their attitude and it’s going to come good in the second half. Trust them.”

The Russian team had an air of confidence that scoring the last goal will earn, and we kicked off to loud cheers from the home crowd. I felt a long, long way from home but the players settled in much better than their manager.

My desire to avoid going a goal down early seemed to be taken to heart by the players, as Lobont saved smartly from a long drive from Salugin and started an immediate counterattack where we held the ball for nearly two minutes. It was slow, deliberate and very well done, as we gave the best response to an aggressive home side – by not letting them have the ball.

The impatience of the home fans was now starting to grow, and I heard the first whistles from the stands as we very deliberately probed for an opening. The whistles were music to my ears.

Finally, CSKA got the ball off us and immediately swung into attack, but feeling pressured, there was no rhythm to it. Sonko easily broke up the attack and sent a straight ball forward to Dica. He in turn lofted a long ball down the left – for the run of Saivet. The teenager sprinted forward and seemed to find an extra gear.

He’s not tall, but his stride was very long, and like a gazelle he easily outpaced Dmitty Tikhonov for the ball and he took it straight to the byline, lofting a backward-bending cross into the box.

It sailed over Dagoberto and his marker, but then found the head of the late-arriving Kitson just inside the six-yard box. The target striker soared over Oleg Malyukov and gave Akinfeev absolutely no chance.

He headed the ball down into the ground and home for a second away goal just before the stroke of the hour and our bench went borderline insane. It was the perfect response and the perfect way to start the second half. The big man had done it again and I saw no reason to restrain the players from their celebrations as I ordinarily do.

It was an emotional moment and with the Dinamo stunned into silence, I let my players and our small traveling support of about 300 fans make all the noise.

[tenthreeleader]

The looks of utter consternation I saw on the faces of the CSKA players told me we had hurt them in more ways than just on the scoreboard.

Gazzaev stood, a look of disbelief on his face, and that told me all I needed to know.

I returned to the bench. “These guys are beaten,” I said to Dillon. “Look at them. They’ve lost.”

He looked at me. “I think I’m going to have someone take your temperature,” he smiled. “Rob Ridgway? Optimistic about his team? Or just pessimistic about theirs?”

“Look at them and tell me they have a way back,” I said, as we watched Rahimic trying to comfort his teammates. The armband looked like it weighed a thousand pounds on the young man, as he tried to rally the troops.

We got a free kick from the center stripe a few minutes later, and Ferreira hooked the ball into a mob of players at the top of CSKA’s penalty area. Rahimic led by example, clearing with his head, but Kalou won the race to the ball with his back to goal. He slipped a pass to the right – and caught a significant weakness in the Moscow defense.

They had switched to 3-4-1-2 after going a goal down and the left defender, Anton Grigorjev, was ball-watching. Alexey Vasiljev, the left midfielder, was nowhere to be found so the defense was turned as soon as Salomon saw the weakness, and it didn’t take him long.

Thus exposed, Akinfeev had no choice but to come out and close the angle. Dagoberto gleefully ran onto the ball, and with no one in his way, smashed a shot over the keeper’s left arm and home just five minutes after Kitson’s goal to make it 3-1.

Three away goals was amazing, and the Muscovites gave up the ghost. We were in dreamland, two goals to the good a long way from home, and it was at that point I stopped sweating for good.

Our bench celebrated another great play and some wonderful awareness by Kalou, and I looked at Dillon.

“Didn’t I tell you, Kevin?” I asked.

“You’re full of it,” he laughed, as we shook hands. This margin was good as gold.

# # #

I made a couple of substitutions on the 77 minute mark, bringing Bikey on in a central midfield role for Dica and substituting the carded Huth with Rosenior, shifting Pogatetz to the center of defense. We were holding them off with ease thanks to a truly dominant second half of play.

Our passing was crisp and sharp, and shifting to a short passing possession game seemed to suit us better than it usually does. There was no need to counter them since we were dominating the possession and the Moscow players seemed to be simply playing out the string.

Bikey then took the ball forward in a foray down the right side of midfield, and turned the left side of the highly suspect CSKA defense yet again. Like Saivet before him, he took the ball to the byline and hooked the ball to the middle.

Like Saivet, he attacked the shoulders of that 3-4-1-2 defense and like Saivet, he found Kitson in acres of space. The right defender, Vadim Gagolev, was over too far and his winger on that side, Tikhonov, was late in providing help.

Kitson actually had time to chest-trap the ball to the ground, take one stride, and ram a shot past the despairing Akinfeev and into the lower left corner for a fourth goal four minutes from time. It was easily the best away performance I had seen from these players in my tenure, and if all goes well, it will be the one that helps catapult us into the Champions League.

As the closing moments of the match wore down and Fleischer blew his whistle to complete the slaughter, I remarked that Kitson is indeed all the way back from his injury, and as a result CSKA may well be all the way out.

CSKA Moscow 1 (Alexandr Salugin 1st 40)

Reading 4 (Dagoberto 1st 13; 2nd 64; Kitson 1st 59; 2nd 85)

A – 32,523, Dinamo Stadium, Moscow

Man of the Match – Dave Kitson, Reading

# # #

[Panpardus]

Nice win 10-3, might be interesting to see what the Rob's board "friends" do now, especially when Jill writes her piece.

And the story is going as good as ever.

[spined_wurm]

amazing win, though im surprised you managed to take apart the 3-4-1-2. at least in my current game, gazzaev took over at arsenal in 2015 and his 3-4-1-2 was unbeatable, though i guess cska doesnt have players of that level

still, amazing win, im sure theres no way you dont get into the cl now

[tenthreeleader]

Gents, it was a quality win, that frankly has me excited about the prospects for the team in Europe. Though Kitson was man of the match, it seemed to me that my team had excellent wing play and that was reflected by some of CSKA's match ratings even if it wasn't reflected in ours.

__

“Maybe not five stars, Rob, but surely a fine European debut.”

Weatherby was changing her tone a bit, perhaps an outcropping of our run-in at briefing yesterday. That concerns me, but she had a point to her question. While we had played well for long stretches, we hadn’t dominated from pillar to post, as we might say in the States.

“I’d settle for four and a half,” I smiled. “I thought we were really good in the second half, but the score alone should indicate that. I think for us to come here, 1500 miles from home, to play and win our first ever match in Europe should be the tone of what is said here, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

She ignored my opinion and continued her line of questioning. “They will surely go for broke in the second leg,” she said, whizzing past my words as though they had never been said. “How do you prevent the same thing from happening to you in two weeks’ time as you did to them tonight?”

“Keep the ball out our goal,” I said, my tone shortening.

Obviously, Jill had been stung to the quick by Emiliani and didn’t care for his inferences. I was paying the price for that now, and I hoped the Post’s coverage of my team wouldn’t be affected right along with it. In his way, Emiliani might have gotten one of the things he seemingly wants, without having to write a word.

“We won tonight,” I added. “We scored four away goals. Anybody want to ask me about that?”

The questioning of the modest sized media gaggle, many of whom were Russian, seemed to indicate that CSKA had played horribly. They really hadn’t, but a special second half on our parts had done more to influence the outcome.

I had heard this line of questioning many times before at home, so to hear it on the road wasn’t the least bit surprising to me. It showed the same lack of respect we got all last season. My annoyance eventually showed.

“Look, CSKA got to the Third Qualifying Round just like we did,” I said. “Crap teams don’t get this far, and that’s the end of the story. Now, if anybody wants to ask me about my team, I’d welcome it.”

All the while, Weatherby wrote, her face a mask. The news conference ended, and I asked to speak with the Post’s reporter.

“Jill, are we still good?” I asked. “Has something happened?”

“I’m fine,” she said, and then proved me right.

“I haven’t taken Stefano’s insinuations very well, I’m afraid, and neither have my editors. So, I think it would be best for the time being if we kept our contact to the ground. I’ll not be calling you unless it’s absolutely necessary. I have the story information I need on dos Santos, thank you very much. Now, I have to file my story so I’ll see you on the plane.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you telling me that I can’t send you information as I need to?”

“No,” she answered. “I am telling you that when I need to talk with you, it will need to be where others can witness it for the time being.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I replied. “Who should I talk to at your paper to put that right?”

“You already did, during the conversation with the attorneys,” she said. “Really, Rob, it’s the best way. I promise you I’ll continue to write as I always have, but the way we gather information from this club needs to change and Emiliani is responsible for that.”

We parted, she to the press area to find an internet connection and me to the changing room to wonder if I’ve lost my best ally in the press. I was fuming.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

On the way to the airport, I was handed a sheet with the evening’s Premiership results.

Villa and Sunderland played what was evidently a snore draw, with neither side ever a serious threat to score. Chelsea won at Blackburn thanks to Giuseppi Rossi’s 17th minute goal and Wigan and West Brom played to a 1-1 draw.

Harry Kewell is off to a wonderful start at Wigan, netting again five minutes from time to offset Roberto Colautti’s opener for the Baggies.

The match of the day, though, was at Craven Cottage where newly promoted Fulham played an entertaining 2-2 draw with Middlesbrough. Gary O’Neil opened the scoring for the visitors only to see Simon Davies equalize for the Cottagers in first half injury time. Boro regained the lead through Darren Bent’s goal early in the second half, but Fulham’s leading scorer from a year ago, Collins John, split the spoils five minutes from time.

And Steve Coppell has made another purchase, after spending hardly a pence in the transfer market a year ago. He’s purchased Jon-Obi Mikel from Valencia for £11.5 million. Evidently the ugly spat between United and the player of a few years back has been forgotten, and Coppell now has an excellent, if temperamental, midfielder in the fold.

Meanwhile, I pulled out my portable DVD player as we were seated for our flight home to watch a video of Everton. That match is becoming more and more personal for me after the bad blood that passed between David Moyes and me late last season.

We played them twice in a week late last year, once in the FA Cup and again in the league, and wound up with one draw for our troubles plus our annual exit from the world’s oldest cup competition. David’s words about my team weren’t kind, and I didn’t appreciate them.

So this time, I’m determined to go to Goodison Park and get it right. We have something to prove to them and my goal is to see that the job is done.

# # #

Thursday, August 13

The long flight west didn’t help our disposition. The first team flew straight to Liverpool’s John Lennon Airport and we’ll stay in Liverpool through match day. It’s a real road trip, to be sure, but I made the decision to fly straight there to avoid another travel day. Those who played in Moscow got the day to rest their legs and recover from jet lag.

The day’s rest will help the players, but we met as a team this morning to go over our plan for Everton.

“We know how they like to play and their early matches don’t show a lot of deviation from that plan,” I said to open our skull session.

“What I want to get across to you is one thing more than any other; you’re as good as they are,” I added. “This is a club that’s had our number the last couple of times we’ve played on this ground. But you have just gone to Russia and showed a very good team how to play the game on their own patch. I have every confidence in your ability to do the same thing with Everton here on Saturday.”

Ordinarily, my initial talks on a new opponent are concerned with addressing areas where we need to improve a particular matchup. This time, though, it was different. We know how they’ll come after us and we know what we need to do to succeed. We just haven’t executed, so this time the talk involved reminding the players that we finished third last season for a good reason.

Also, today’s Post contained Weatherby’s first article of the season designed to show how much she knows about the club. Obviously, that is quite a bit, but she chose to use what I had told her about dos Santos to play me off against Richmond again. I didn’t appreciate that, but it’s ground I can still defend.

Reading manager Rob Ridgway risks an early season confrontation with board nemesis Sidney Richmond over transfer policy. In short, here we go again.

Richmond has quietly, or not so quietly, told media representatives that he would like to see David Beckham in a Reading shirt in time for the Champions League group stages. After last night’s performance in Moscow, making such a statement surely seems to be a safer proposition. Only complete catastrophe will now keep Reading out of Europe’s premier club competition.

However, Ridgway wants no part of Becks and has his own transfer targets. One of them is out-of-contract Barcelona starlet Giovani dos Santos. The precocious 20-year old Mexican has bags of talent of the type most useful in Ridgway’s tactic.

As a result, I can reveal that exclusive contract negotiations have been held between club representatives and agents for the player, with a view to a two-year contract between the parties.

Ridgway confirmed the negotiations by e-mail before the match in Moscow. “We have had negotiations with the player’s representatives and he has indicated a willingness to talk with us,” he wrote. “Bringing a world-class player like dos Santos here would solidify our midfield, give us another excellent striking option and give us one of the game’s brightest young talents in the bargain. We are excited about the possibilities.”

Ridgway has bolstered his midfield already in this transfer window with the arrival of Nicolae Dica, but a free transfer of such a prodigious talent would be perhaps the most impressive feather in the manager’s cap in terms of player acquisition.

The new midfield has struggled to find early form, but Ridgway’s obvious hope is that it will come soon.

Hardly a ringing endorsement, but then I really didn’t expect one. Emiliani really got under Jill’s skin, which is too bad. If I have to go through the season with no reporter I can trust and a television situation under the control of Winthrop, it’s going to be a long year.

Not an insurmountable one, though – for example, Sir Alex Ferguson never had what you’d call a close relationship with the press during his long career at United – but it would be unfortunate.

He didn’t need the press after winning a few trophies. I haven’t won anything here, so I do.

I do appear to have an important set of allies, though, and they made their feelings known during the Manchester City match last April. The fans appear, for the time being, to be solidly in my corner. The team has had unprecedented success so I’m enjoying a bit of a honeymoon with them. However, should results go sour, and the knives come out for me at board level, it’ll be a whole different ballgame.

For the time being, I’m in the ascendancy. Yet the fatalist in me wonders how long that will last. My sworn enemy, one Peter Francis McGuire, managed to keep his mouth shut for the entire summer after being shown the door by Sir John at the end of last season. Yet his threat to me was personal and his expressed wish to me involved performance of a physical impossibility on my part, so I’ll be on the lookout.

I guess I’m trying to say things are in flux. I have bigger fish to fry at the moment, and things got a lot better when Patty and I had a long talk this evening.

It was just good to catch up. She had some news for me that I found interesting as well.

“I can keep working while I’m pregnant,” she said. “Adrian passed along an offer today for modeling maternity clothing.”

I snickered, but she would have none of it.

“Well, I fully intend to get back into beachwear shape as soon as possible after the wee one is born,” she said. “Unless you’d rather I not.”

“That’s up to you, honey,” I replied. “You can do as you please. I won’t love you any less.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you had to widen the doorways for me,” she teased.

“Not funny,” I answered. “Don’t even go there. You are fine just the way you are and if you want to be the world’s most visible pregnant woman, you go right ahead and do it. Just tell me you don’t have to go to L.A. to do this, okay?”

“I can do it from London,” she said. “And when word gets out that we’re expecting again, I would hope people are more willing to respect our situation.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Friday, August 14

Still no word from Barcelona on dos Santos. I wonder if we’re getting played.

I hope not, of course, since I invested my personal time into that meeting, but if it doesn’t happen, that’s football. You have to have a thick skin.

Meanwhile, I have asked the scouting staff for their thoughts on anything else we might need before the window closes. I wouldn’t mind being deeper in certain spots on the pitch, but I do think we’re okay for the short term.

Dos Santos would give us a whole different gear, which is why I’d like to see him in our colors. However, there are other ways to fill the needs we’ve identified.

As badly as Richmond wants Beckham to come here, and as much as I have said I don’t need a player even of his longtime ability, Sidney does have a point. We are light in the midfield and we need more players who can play at a Champions League level there.

He thinks it should be Beckham, a 34-year old midfielder who would sell shirts but be of dubious value in the scheme I’ve established here. I think it should be dos Santos, twenty years old and a defense-stretcher like Dagoberto who would give teams fits domestically and be a real threat in Europe as well.

Yet, you don’t always get what you want, as Baptista and Gúti made abundantly clear last season. So you move on.

Today, though, I tried to step backwards, at least with the media.

I tried to defuse some of the tensions that started up last season between David Moyes and me. Our success against most of the teams in our league except for his had to be galling, since our overall success dropped the Toffees out of the European places.

He chose to take it out on my team, after the double matches we played late last season. They also took us out of the FA Cup on their own run to the semifinals, so I’m sure he felt a bit aggrieved at our finishing higher despite their relative success.

I did my best to pay homage. “Yes, I respect him a lot,” I said. “We didn’t fare well against his club last season, they put us out of the Cup, and a fair part of that is down to the manager. David knows what he’s doing and he’s got something to prove this season, for sure.”

Weatherby then asked me if I was feeling well, breaking up the assembled journalists into snickers.

“Why is it that everyone seems to think managers hate each other?” I asked. “Really, I don’t hate David and I hope he doesn’t hate me. Point is, we’re supposed to get a leg up on each other and right now my team has a hard time beating his team. His job is to get his team ready and if that means he has thoughts on my team, fine. I don’t have to like them and I don’t have to like him going public, but whether I take that personally is up to me.”

“You didn’t have that attitude toward Roland Nilsson last year,” she followed.

“Roland was public with his comments and was also adversarial in public with me,” I said. “There’s a difference there. I don’t know what happened to put me on his bad side, but there you have it.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“The offer was accepted? Seriously?”

Winthrop sat at his desk, hardly able to contain his excitement. If he could have pushed any harder on the handset to his phone, he might have shoved it through his ear hole and out the other side.

“Yes,” Richmond said. “Galaxy are willing to let us have Beckham for £3 million. A pittance in the transfer budget, who will make us a fortune in shirt sales and will make us a better football club as well. Even Ridgway can’t cock that up.”

“I can’t wait,” Winthrop said. “So what now?”

“What now, is that we can’t make an official bid since we are not technically in control of the club. So, we must turn Sir John’s mind to our way of thinking, ask him to remove his Ridgway-colored blinders and see the positive side of bringing him here.”

“You’ve only got 17 days,” Winthrop said. “I can give you as much media publicity as you can stand.”

“No, Willie, you can’t,” Richmond replied, chewing on the end of a pipe as he talked. “You can’t do that until I have had the appropriate conversations with Sir John. If you did, you’d be sacked on the spot and even I couldn’t protect you. Without a formal, official bid, there would be an inquiry.”

“Unless,” Winthrop said quietly.

“Unless what?”

“Unless it was explained, quietly, to the media that our manager really is of two minds regarding Mr. Beckham.”

“You mean …”

“Yes,” Winthrop said. “It’s easy. The right columnist learns that Rob Ridgway has secretly coveted Beckham all along. Then, when the inevitable tapping up charge is made, it’s him that takes the fall, not us.”

Richmond stood for a moment, before trying and failing to light his pipe.

“Willie, that is bloody brilliant,” he finally said. “Give yourself a raise.”

“I can’t do that, Mr. Richmond,” he answered, a slight blush actually crossing his face.

“Yes, you can,” he said. “Go to the media department and ask them to send the paperwork to me. I’ll sign it. This club is flush with cash and if you can come up with an idea that rids me of Ridgway a few months early, that’s perfectly fine with me.”

# # #

[Kryston]

PA from the Madjeski Stadium:

"Posh Spice has enter the building!"

[tenthreeleader]

Okay, that was funny. Merry Christmas to all!

___

Saturday, August 15

Everton (0-1-1, 15th place) v Reading (0-1-0, 14th place) – EPL Match Day #2

This morning the papers were all about transfers.

Newcastle sold central defender Tomas Hubschman to Napoli for a cool £22 million, and Yuri Zhirkov’s stay in Manchester is over after one season. A purchase by City just last year for £10.25 million, he’s on his way to Recreativo now for £2.25 million less than they paid for him.

It made for interesting table talk as we gathered in the hotel lobby to begin our first league away day of the season. The excitement of a new season is still in the air, and the thought of getting another shot at Everton only added to the atmosphere in the room.

The players were quiet and very professional once the morning meal began, though. We’ve had enough difficulty with Everton to make the thought of bearing down before the match a fait accompli.

“Wonder if Vaughan is going to be his usual self,” Dillon said as he joined me at the coaches’ table. He carried a plate of fruit and sat across the way at the circular table.

“We’ll figure him out if he is,” I remarked, taking a sip of my second cup of coffee. I hadn’t slept much over night, choosing instead to think about Richmond and his planned joyride with the club planned at the start of the calendar year.

“What’s on your mind?” Dillon asked. “Aside from your usual optimism, that is.”

“Same old, same old,” I sighed. “Same s**t, different day.”

“Well, look at it this way,” he replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on our table. “If something does happen, you’ve got six million reasons to smile. If he brought in someone else to manage, I’m quite sure whoever it is would want his own man in my job and I don’t have your security.”

Leave it to him to remind me that there was someone who had more to be concerned with than I had.

“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” I replied, downing the rest of my coffee and turning to the television in the meeting room. “I’m sorry. It’s just that letting him win would really stick in my craw.”

# # #

It’s amazing, though, how certain worries can disappear once the match starts.

Last year, Patty reminded me that Planet Football is indeed a big place, and that a manager with a Champions League pedigree can find a place in it somewhere.

So, once the team coach arrived at Goodison, it was a case of ‘mind over matter’. I didn’t mind, so my trouble didn’t matter.

“Quit borrowing trouble for yourself,” I muttered as I entered the visiting manager’s office. “This team you’re playing gives you trouble enough.”

The players dressed for the match and I headed out into the hallway for a quick breather. There, I ran into David Moyes.

The fact that he was the last person I wanted to see wasn’t lost on either of us. Surprisingly, though, the Scot approached, his hand extended.

“Rob, now’s as good a time as any to offer you an apology,” he said, to my great surprise.

“For what?”

“Well, for slagging you off last season,” he said. “I never thought all this to-do would happen over it, and you had a great year. I’m sorry.”

I wondered what the catch was, but remembered that Moyes has a good reputation around football and his attack on my team was out of character.

“Well, you’re certainly entitled to your opinion,” I began, but he would have none of it.

“Unless you don’t want to accept an apology,” he smiled.

“No, I’ll surely accept it,” I said, and extended his hand again. This time, I shook it. “I’ve got problems enough without fighting with my fellow managers.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Those problems began to manifest themselves from the opening kickoff of the match, and they all wore blue shirts.

Even my last-minute surprise – a whim decision to start Lita in Kitson’s place to keep the big man fresh for Chelsea at midweek – didn’t faze the Toffees.

The hex of Goodison Park appeared to be well and truly in place from the start. As I expected, their quality of possession from the start of the match was very good, so the players weren’t unduly alarmed at my early decision to play a counter game.

It seems we’re good at it, as Arsenal can attest. Everton’s 4-4-2 was fairly conservative in nature but ate up possession in the midfield as often happens against us.

Our counter game keeps most opponents honest and prevents them from pouring forward as a lot of Premiership sides will try to do when they see a three-man midfield. My thought was that with Lita up front instead of Kitson, we could attack the Everton back four with two of the pacier forwards in the league.

Happily, it was Lita who generated the first chance of the game. Kalou, playing on the right side of midfield again today, started everything with one of his trademark lung-bursting runs down the flank, getting to the byline with surprising ease, leaving Gareth Barry huffing and puffing in his wake.

His pullback found Lita right at the edge of the six-yard box but was just a little too sharp with his cross. Leroy’s glancing header lacked power as a result and Tim Howard collected more comfortably than I think he was expecting as a result.

Lita’s play also led to another opportunity a few minutes later, and this time it was Maloney’s pass that set him free of the pack about forty yards from goal. The decision to play him looked good, as he sprinted free of the defense and in on Howard.

Yet Tony Hibbert came over from the right fullback position to cover for Joseph Yobo, who was now firmly in Lita’s slipstream. From the blind side, his inch-perfect challenge sent the ball skittering away to the left and to the feet of Barry, who thundered it into touch to get a quick stoppage of play.

Meanwhile, when play was a bit slower, Everton controlled the pace. Rosenior, on in place of Pogatetz at left fullback, wound up in Mark Clattenburg’s book for hauling back Mikael Arteta near the half hour, but Barry finally caught up to Kalou shortly afterward.

That wasn’t pretty to watch either, and Clattenburg’s card for the England man was just as yellow as it had been for Rosenior.

The game then turned into a fine example of back-and-forth, controlled football. We started to play better.

Newly acquired Michael Dawson teed up Andy Johnson from an Everton corner on 35 minutes, but his bullet was smartly saved at feet by Lobont, with Sonko clearing away the debris. We countered again, and this time Lita wound up on the knife edge of our attack, looking to provide.

He tried a cross to the opposite side of the area looking for Dagoberto, but Hibbert again got there first. Unfortunately for him, he committed the cardinal sin of heading the ball back across his own box, where Dica was charging in to play the bounce.

Dica played a wonderful first time volley but just failed to open his account, hammering a drive just past Howard’s lefthand post. We were still scoreless, but now able to create at Goodison in a way we simply couldn’t last season.

Then, though, a bad thing happened. It started to rain. Our pace advantage would be negated by poor ground conditions and I turned to Dillon on the bench.

“I think we’re cursed,” I moaned, sitting beside him under the dugout’s protective covering.

“Patience, Rob,” he advised. “The weather isn’t optimal but I’d really like to see us play a more stable game anyway.”

It’s a difference in philosophy that we seem to have, and it’s good for the club. I’m a more attack-oriented manager in any event, as I expect many Americans are. Dillon brings an element of balance to my philosophy, more interested in holding down the score when we’re away from home. So far he hasn’t actively opposed my philosophy and sometimes I suppose it’s a test of his patience to watch me play my sides in the way I do.

On forty minutes, though, Sonko went up with Joleon Lescott for a high ball and both players came back down injured. Why two opposing backliners would clash with each other was a mystery to me, but only one of them, Sonko, was where he was supposed to be on the pitch at the time it all happened.

Chief physio Matt Hirons reported on Sonko, said he’d probably be able to continue, and Clattenburg finally dismissed the teams for halftime. It wasn’t a bad start, all things considered.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“I’m happy with you,” I insisted at halftime. Some of the shocked expressions I received in return indicated to me that words of praise from the manager were both unexpected and surprisingly welcome, so I elected to shower them with kindness.

“I like what I’m seeing, in the main,” I said. “But since it’s raining now, we’ll need to be a bit more careful how we attack them. Nothing fancy here – we’ll go to 4-4-2 and shore things up a bit. Watch for opportunities and don’t ever be afraid to counter, even in this slop. They have trouble when we hit them on the break and if we’re sharp out there we might bag ourselves a goal. You can do it. Get it done.”

The rain picked up in intensity as the second half began, but one of Everton’s stalwarts didn’t answer the bell for the second 45 minutes. Moyes had removed the crocked Lescott from his second half alignment in favor of the veteran Phil Neville.

The rain turned into a steady downpour shortly after the second half kickoff. The home team was the first to take advantage of the conditions, with Michael Dawson rising to head a very slippery ball at Lobont from an early Everton corner. The ball slipped through my captain’s hands, but he dove on it at the second attempt to stymie the scoring opportunity.

After a moment to regroup, Lobont restarted play with a long punt upfield, to see Kalou make a marvelous play to shield Tony Hibbert from the ball with his body. Never one likely to soar through the air to win a ball, Salomon’s smarts won him this one.

He held up the ball momentarily – another element of the game that’s not exactly his style – before sliding a wonderful ball to the rampaging Magallón, crashing his way toward the Everton box.

His low bullet was blocked solidly by the right foot of the sliding Derek Boateng, who made a wonderfully timed slide to deflect the ball. It spun crazily to Magallón’s right, and onto the run of the unreasonably fortunate Dagoberto.

I didn’t care, though. Fortune favors the brave, as they say. With the defenders shaded toward the middle for Magallón, he had space on the right. He made no mistake from eight yards, giving us the lead five minutes into the second half.

On the other side of the bench area, Moyes threw up his hands in frustration in the Everton dugout and motioned to a kit man for a jacket. He was headed to the touchline, while we celebrated an opener that was perhaps as unlikely as it was fortunate.

Their response was immediate, Derek Boateng working a one-two passing play with Andy Johnson on the right side of our defense only for Lobont to save smartly from twenty yards.

Stung, Everton continued to pressure us, driving through the rain for another chance a few minutes later with Johnson this time electing to take the shot himself. The result was the same, though – Romania’s number one standing tall between our sticks to collect.

The ball was back at the England man’s feet again a few moments later, with Boateng to his right. However, Johnson screwed his shot so far wide to the right that he didn’t even bother to look at the result. He simply turned his back and ran back up the field as our fans gave him a heartfelt raspberry for his trouble.

Part of the reason Johnson was having such an easy time finding space was that the second player in that first half collision, Sonko, was having an increasingly difficult time keeping up with him. He was starting to lag badly and I noticed it on Johnson’s second opportunity. He came off right on the hour in favor of Ferreira.

I had started the match with Bikey playing right fullback to rest Paolo, but now Bikey moved to the middle to pair with Huth for the first time while Ferreira moved into his customary place on the park.

André looked a lot more comfortable in his customary position, and though I like him at positions other than central defense, mentally he was more into the game in the middle. That was fine with me, certainly, and our defensive play was a bit more stable with two strong and fully healthy center-halves out there at the same time.

He and Huth transitioned to each other surprisingly well. A few minutes later, Barry came off in a somewhat surprising substitution in favor of Leon Osman, but what made me happiest of all defensively was that Huth had completely shut down Vaughan.

Lobont made one more save off a weak effort from Johnson before the ball came back the other way through a long lead ball from Magallón to Dica.

This time, though, we didn’t hold the ball. Fully into our counter game, Dicã surged forward, with Dawson racing on a diagonal path to try to cut the angle. Before he could arrive, though, Dicã shot the ball and scuffed it.

That was good for us, because he scuffed it directly into Dawson and the defender deflected the ball sharply to the right. Keeper Tim Howard had moved to his left to cover the expected angle of Dica’s shot and he was helpless.

The ball rolled into the opposite corner of Howard’s goal for Dicã’s first official tally in our colors and a precious two-goal lead away from home.

There was nothing that could be done about it – deflected goals are a part of the game and as maddening for the defending team as they are wonderful pieces of good fortune for the attackers – and with twenty minutes remaining in the match, our whole defensive outlook could therefore change.

And it did. I pulled my foot off the gas tactically, with the 4-4-2 now more compact and less aggressive in nature. It was time to let Everton battle the elements.

After Dicã’s goal, Moyes took off Vaughan and replaced him with Victor Anichebe. The Nigerian’s blazing pace would be at least partly negated by the conditions, but the fresh set of legs matched against Huth soon gave us matchup problems.

“They’re doing us a favour,” were Dillon’s words upon seeing Vaughan leave the match, but soon Anichebe had turned Huth around for a great chance from just past the penalty spot. However, he scooped over and that was that.

He got another opportunity a few minutes later, but Ferreira blocked it, and a third chance just moments later saw him played clean through the defense by Tim Cahill. Lobont charged to cut down the angle and made the shooter hurry his shot.

When Anichebe blazed wide, missing a third great chance inside of ten minutes, I knew it was our day. And it was.

Everton 0

Reading 2 (Dagoberto 1st, 50; Dica 1st, 69)

A – 40,499, Goodison Park, Liverpool

Man of the Match – Bogdan Lobont, Reading

# # #

[Celtic_1967]

10-3 stop it! Every time I write a match report I'm happy with you pop up with a better one. KUTGW

[copperhorse21]

10-3 stop it! Every time I write a match report I'm happy with you pop up with a better one. KUTGW

I guess that's why he's won all those awards...

Really though, I agree with the many others who continue to read this wonderful story. Kutgw and let's hope that RR gets the lads churning in a positive way to avoid the sophomore slump.

Cheers on a fine bunch of posts...well worth the reading (no pun intended).

[tenthreeleader]

Well, thank you, gentlemen ... I'm finding this story still a lot of fun to write so onward we go

___

“Wouldn’t you really rather not rely on your keeper so much?”

I didn’t even need to look up to see who my questioner was. If there was a way to paint a negative spin about a clean sheet, Emiliani was just the fellow to do it.

“Last time I checked both sides were allowed to use one,” I replied. “And honestly I think ours played pretty well. Since he’s allowed not only to touch the ball but to use his hands while doing it, I think we made out pretty well.”

“Just asking, Rob,” he replied. “No need to be so defensive.”

The Italian’s demeanor was starting to put a damper on a very enjoyable win. I had to remind myself that I was going home with three more points on the table than Stefano had earned, and as a result I started to calm down a bit.

“I don’t act defensive unless you criticize a match where we’ve really done well,” I said. “How come you don’t give Wenger this sort of trouble?”

“He’s not ‘The Next One’,” Emiliani smiled.

# # #

It was, as they say, ‘a big day around the league’.

Prior to our kickoff, Alan Smith opened the scoring for Newcastle at home to Fulham today and even though he was carted off crocked on the half hour, his mates got goals from Joey Barton, Lucas Castromán and Jefferson Farfán to overwhelm the Cottagers 4-2. Collins John and Felipe Baloy responded for the visitors.

Liverpool showed they are serious, both about winning back a place in the Champions League and bringing heart failure to their fans by needing the last kick of the match to beat West Brom 2-1 at The Hawthorns. Fernando Torres hit the brace for the Reds, hauling back Omar Bravo’s goal in first half injury time for the Baggies.

Meanwhile, Chelsea was almost disturbingly workmanlike against ten-man Derby this afternoon at the Bridge. Drogba and Rossi – same as always – found the range for the champions, who we see next at mid-week. Watching that match video may make me break out in hives.

Continuing through the Big Four, United was almost as frightening as Chelsea today. Three goals in ten first half minutes from Michael Carrick, Carlos Tevez and Nemanja Vidic were more than enough to bury Portsmouth at Old Trafford. After Jermain Defoe scored for the visitors, Wayne Rooney reasserted United’s superiority in a 4-1 win that shows Steve Coppell’s team is in it for the long haul once again.

And to be truly depressing, Arsenal put on a show today as well. Cesc Fabregas scored just twenty seconds after the kickoff with a scorcher against Blackburn’s Brad Friedel, and his teammates did the rest. Eduardo scored seven minutes after Fabregas to, for all intents and purposes, end the game within the first ten minutes. Aliaksandr Hleb and Roque Santa Cruz scored window dressing goals as the Gunners won in a 3-1 stroll.

And then there’s Sven-Goran Eriksson’s City, which got a third minute goal from Rolando Bianchi that they made stand up for a 1-0 win at West Ham. Not that I mind that.

Clearly, we’re going to have to win matches instead of just draw them to compete this season. So today’s result, a solid road victory, was just what the doctor ordered. With our trip to the Bridge coming up at midweek, we have a lot of work to do.

Then it’s Arsenal. Then, we host CSKA for a spot in the Champions League group stages. Our work is never done.

# # #

[Twellman24]

Excited to see if we make it to the group stage, and who will we play if we get there. Very excited.

[tenthreeleader]

Twellman, it looks good. We'll see how long the good times roll

___

Sunday, August 16

There has been a definite thaw in my relations with David Moyes, and that is for the better.

After the match yesterday, the Everton boss sat down with The Observer for a look at this year’s Premiership. And, since the match had just concluded, he was asked about me.

“I think Rob’s a fine manager,” he said. “We had our disagreements last year because we caught them at a time when they weren’t playing well and I’d probably have done things differently than he did. But you can’t argue with his results, he’s got another Champions League qualifier coming up in ten days’ time and he’s got a chance to do something no one has ever done at his club. So fair play to him. They were the better side today and they got three points for it that they deserved.”

The cynic in me would wonder what he wants in return, but I’ve never known David to be a mercenary. That was why his initial comments last season were such a surprise.

Positive press took a back seat, though, after finally waking up in Patty’s arms after much too much time away from home.

“We missed you,” she said with a giggle as she kissed me good morning.

“We?”

“Mommy and the wee one,” she said, rubbing her tummy playfully.

Thoughts of the match yesterday, and anything to do with the current controversies surrounding the club, melted away with Patty’s soft touch.

“You are just amazing,” I sighed, holding her to me.

“Well, it’s been almost a week,” she cooed. “How am I supposed to get by without you around for that long?”

I laughed. “I’m sure you’d manage,” I answered. “You did it for how long before we met?”

“Awhile,” she said, resting her head against my chest. “But I never said I enjoyed it.”

“I hope you never get used to it,” I sighed. I trailed my free hand to her tummy and gently trailed a line across it with the tip of my index finger.

“There’s never enough time for us,” she said. “I miss you.”

She was telling me something important. As I kissed her gently, I couldn’t help but think that for the time being, there was little I could do to improve the situation.

# # #

Everyone got a day away today, before starting serious preparations for Chelsea at midweek.

I’d like the players’ heads clear before we start preparing for that match for a couple of reasons. First, the squad that went to Moscow and then to Liverpool is tired. They need a day and I wanted the players to simply enjoy what time off I can give for a couple of jobs very well done.

Second, nobody who wears our colors will forget what Chelsea did to us when we last visited Stamford Bridge. It was frankly embarrassing, even if it was the Champions who did it to us. We weren’t anywhere near our game and they took us behind the woodshed as a result.

They are the best team in the land. We’re going to have to play a lot better if we want to hang with them. So, it’s all about preparation, mental as much as physical, as we get ready to face them.

I watched the video of Chelsea today, so the guy doing the worrying was me. That’s why I get the big bucks.

# # #

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

[stoehrst]

Hooray, finally all caught up again! Phenomenal as always, 10-3

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks, stoehrst ... great to have you back with us!

___

Monday, August 17

This morning’s media gathering was as confrontational as I expected it to be.

The aftermath of our last visit to Stamford Bridge wasn’t pretty, and the result was a short-term bubble in our results that temporarily dropped us out of the Champions League places. Our play over the penultimate month of the season was enough to right the ship, however. So, the press wanted to know about that, and wouldn’t take my word for it.

Of course, there is still the whole issue of dos Santos vs. Beckham as well.

The day started with Winthrop pulling me aside before the press briefing. I enjoy that sort of conversation not at all, and the marketing chief’s words rang heavy with trouble.

“We’ll be making a player announcement later today,” he said. “You aren’t to say anything.”

“First, I don’t take orders from you. Second, is Dos Santos signed?”

“No,” he answered. “Mr. Richmond will speak after your briefing.”

“Mr. Richmond needs to make sure the manager knows what is being said in advance,” I replied, frowning at the thought of yet another spectacle. “I’ll leave the whole issue of informing the owner up to you. I’m certainly not about to do so, since I’m pretty sure I know which player will be discussed and he knows my feelings on the matter.”

“Again, you aren’t to say anything.”

“Look, are you hard of hearing?” I asked. “You talk awfully tough for someone without authority.”

He didn’t reply. He just turned and left.

# # #

“What would dos Santos bring to this team that isn’t already here?”

That was Weatherby, teeing me up and digging a hole for me at the same time. She was giving me an opportunity to talk about why I wanted to sign him, but I’d have to be very careful not to offend my current squad. Such is the danger about going public with an intended signing.

“We’ve got a fine stable of midfielders and strikers on this club,” I said. “But we can always use one more. With the Champions League hopefully on the horizon for my team, we’re going to contend on several different fronts because the owner and our fans will expect us to do so.”

“I notice you left out your board in that statement,” Weatherby smiled.

“Did I do that?” I asked, with a soft smile. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Rob, with Chelsea coming up, isn’t this latest distraction over players unwelcome?”

This was a good question, and it gave me the chance to talk about my wish for peace and quiet once again.

“It is,” I said. “We’ve got a plan here, I have got a plan here, for bringing players to this club and right now I am satisfied with the direction we are taking. We are still in the building stage and now we get the chance to measure up against the champions. We didn’t measure up well to them last year so now we have an opportunity to see if we are any better.”

“Robert Huth, Salomon Kalou, Paolo Ferreira, they all have history with Chelsea.”

“Yes, they do, and none of their players have history with us,” I said. “For us to succeed away from home against Chelsea we’re going to have to go in there with a bit of a chip on our shoulders. They embarrassed us last season on that ground and we have to try to put things right this time around. I have a room full of proud professionals and they don’t like being embarrassed.”

“What about the manager? How is he on getting embarrassed?”

I was thunderstruck the question hadn’t come from Emiliani, but it hadn’t.

“He hates it,” I smiled. “Just like any manager hates being embarrassed.”

# # #

Everton made a couple of moves to address deficiencies on their back line after the weekend’s games. Both moves came in a double swoop of Manchester City.

Richard Dunne is headed back to Goodison Park for a second tour of duty with the club for £7.75 million, but perhaps the more surprising signing was that of Nedum Onuoha, who switches clubs for an additional £10.5 million.

The center-half passed the century mark in appearances for Sven-Goran Eriksson late last term, with 106 games played for the club. Their free-spending owners will doubtless take that money and put it back into the squad before the window closes. With two weeks to go, there’s a lot of time left for negotiations.

Internationally, Paris St. Germain raided Portsmouth for striker John Utaka. He moves for £11 million that I’m sure Roland Nilsson can use.

Yet, those were hardly the stories of the day. The man who very much wanted to be the story of the day now approached the speaker’s dais in our media room.

# # #

[copperhorse21]

Evil, Evil, Evil Richmond and his stooge Winthrop...Grrrrrr!

[Balthazars]

Still far too good at this writing and football stuff, as always, 10-3. Continues to impress.

[gavrenwick]

It has taken me far, far, far, far, far too long to get around to catching up with all this. Bit the late nights reading parts of it have got me around to the recent stuff. Tenthree you write so flawlessly that it is quite frankly unfair that you are allowed round here, your flawless efforts outdoing what the rest of us strive to achieve with difficulty! I love Ridgway, and he is probably one of the most popular and appreciated characters around the FMS forum. Looking forward to much, much more from you, but don't forget Sharp and his Rangers! Need to hear from them guys

Roland Nilsson did well in getting £11million for Utaka - shrewd business from the Swede!

[tenthreeleader]

Fellows, thanks ... and Gav, thank you for one of the nicest things anyone's ever said about my writing. It's greatly appreciated. I'm coming up on two years of regular posts in the trilogy so far, and it's wonderful to know the tale is still appreciated.

___

After my media availability, I simply headed back to my office and turned on the stadium’s closed-circuit television feed before sitting behind my desk.

There he was, Sidney Richmond himself, sitting in the chair I usually occupy to speak with the Fourth Estate.

He pulled out his pince-nez and placed them carefully on the bridge of his nose. The press corps looked on, bemused but obviously interested in what he had to say.

I was interested in what he had to say too, especially since he had had to clear it through Sir John.

The lights came up, and it became obvious to one and all that Sidney isn’t terribly telegenic. In fact, he looked like death eating an onion.

Yet, he had something to say. So, he said it.

“I have a statement to make on behalf of the board of directors of Reading Football Club,” he said. “I will be happy to take your questions after I am finished.”

He took a deep breath. “With the permission of the owner of this club, Sir John Madejski, we have entered into discussions with America’s Major League Soccer and representatives of the Los Angeles Galaxy regarding the purchase of David Beckham’s contract. I am happy to report to you that a bid has been accepted by the Galaxy and we will now start negotiations on a contract.”

He paused for a moment, as though he were waiting for the popping of flashbulbs. Since there were no press photographers on hand, they never came, even though his announcement would be world news.

“I wish to make it clear that the board of directors and the ownership of this club has no wish to undermine manager Rob Ridgway in making this announcement,” he continued. “We merely wish to support our manager and make the best possible players available to him as we prepare for what we hope will be a memorable season in European competition. We feel that David Beckham will bring invaluable experience and personal drive and desire to our club as we seek to succeed in a new area of endeavour.”

“This concludes my statement. I’ll be happy to take your questions at this time.”

Not surprisingly, a balding Italian was the first to speak. “So where’s Rob?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you want your manager alongside you as you make such a momentous announcement?”

Leave it to Stefano to make the first question about me rather than about the announcement. In my office, I laughed out loud. Dillon, who by now had joined me, didn’t think it was quite so funny.

“How can you laugh?” he asked. “I understand why we don’t necessarily need Becks here, but really, why is all this funny?”

“You have to know Stefano,” I said. “This whole day hasn’t been funny. This is just the icing on the cake.”

Back in the interview room, Richmond twisted the knife. “You’d have to ask Rob,” Richmond replied, with just a hint of a sneer on his face.

“He’s not here, so I’m asking you,” Emiliani said, returning the smile and opening the door for my adversary.

“Rob will be brought on board,” Richmond answered. “Surely we’re not in a position where we can afford this type of dissension so as an employee of the club he’ll be brought on board.”

So there was his leverage. I am to be brought to heel. Sir John has been in on this from the beginning. I’m a pawn and nothing more.

I looked at Dillon.

“Okay, Kevin, perhaps you can tell me why I should do anything but laugh? If I slit my wrists, it’d just make a mess.”

# # #

[dechardonay]

A technical question, as I'm curious to know how this works in-game... Obviously you're bidding and dealing for other players, so how does the board element come in? Especially given you have a chairman who backs you well, but instead just one board member undermining you? Or does the game merely throw things at you from the 'entire' board and your elegant writing makes it seamlessly appear to be just one tool?

It's one problem I have with your writing, I can't figure out where your game world ends and your created world begins (for example, how could anyone hate anything about Pompey, unless you're a Southampton tool, I mean, fan?

But with such a minor complaint, obviously I continue reading...

[tenthreeleader]

Okay, time for a little philosophical discussion. I'm occasionally asked by beginning writers how to do backstory and story arcs. Sidney Richmond, one of my favorite characters, is therefore a good case study. As they say, your mileage may vary.

My philosophy in writing FM is simple: take what the game gives you and logically progress from those items to generate arcs. Rat Pack has one very significant flaw from a story-telling standpoint -- Reading has yet to go on an extended run of poor form under Rob's management. This is because I've got a good team that is suited quite well to the tactic I choose to play. Frankly, I'm not sure how RR would handle a long losing skid -- it will be interesting to write when the AI finally wipes out my tactic.

So, to make the story move and to hold your interest, I have to come up with something different. Most good stories have conflict and they have antagonists. At this point, the main antagonist is Richmond.

Richmond came into prominence during last season's Guti/Baptista arc. My thought in developing his character was that publicly chasing two high profile players and not getting either of them might have some sort of consequence for Ridgway. So, enter Richmond. From there I asked myself why he'd be angry at such a thing -- and a foil for RR was born.

Sir John generally supports Rob -- so now I have the chance to write a Ridgway/Madejski/Richmond conflict arc that offers great opportunity. To hold that arc together logically, I have to have a reason for Sir John to keep Richmond on the board -- this reason, as has now been revealed, is financial.

Now to Beckham. I don't want to tip my hand here because this is potentially a very significant personal arc not only for Rob but also for Patty Ridgway if Beckham comes to Reading.

I will say this: Beckham doesn't fit well into my tactic and at 34 years of age, he isn't likely to in the future. Bringing him to Reading would therefore be for financial reasons -- and for storywriting reasons, quite frankly. I'm therefore writing this arc, and bidding aggressively for Beckham, for storywriting purposes.

He may come -- in which case I get a treasure trove of new writing material -- or he may not, in which case I try to make the game cough up more story arcs. By the way, with regard to Portsmouth, the game says Roland Nilsson doesn't like RR. I chose to patch up RR's relationship with David Moyes (mainly because Everton has some players I wouldn't mind poaching) but that antagonism was game-created.

dechardonay, you ask where my game world ends and the created world begins. I'll say this: the vast majority of my football story arcs are initially generated by the game. I decide where it goes from there. The personal arcs and the media arcs are of course the product of my imagination. If you don't note a line of demarcation between the two worlds, then I'm doing my job

___

Tuesday, August 18

“Three million a year you're paying me or not, Sir John, I want to know why you allowed this. Did you not see that Sidney would undermine me in front of the worldwide media?”

I was incensed. It was 8:01 a.m. and I was the first item of business on the owner’s calendar.

I hadn’t slept, and was spitting mad both at Sir John and Richmond. I’d give my boss the benefit of the doubt, though, in the short term, mainly because I’m looking for something to do tomorrow night and managing against Chelsea seems like the thing I want to do.

“I allowed it because Reading FC is a business,” he said simply. “It’s my business, but it is a business nonetheless. Surely you can’t deny that having him in our shirt would bring in a bonanza of profits to us through shirt sales and even through the on-field results that are your responsibility.”

“I can see where he’d make a boatload of money,” I countered. “But I can’t see where he’d be a better midfielder than Salomon Kalou on the right side, and I can’t see where he would be better in my tactic than Nicolae Dicã.”

“Neither of whom sell shirts,” he said.

“If we get to the knockout stages of the Champions League, you’ll sell plenty of shirts,” I retorted. “I am very much out of the loop on this and I do feel I’m being bent to something I don’t feel is in the best interests of the football side of your business.”

That seemed to jog a little sense into the boss, and his reaction showed me I was learning how to play the game. “The calculation here is football versus finance,” he said, showing me at the same time that I have to learn to think multi-dimensionally if I am to succeed in the endgame.

“Well, let me put it this way,” I said. “It seems to me my choices are two. If Beckham comes here, I either accept it or I don’t.”

“I would prefer it not come to that,” he answered. “I would prefer that my manager understands there is a business side to the game as well.”

“I hear Maradona is looking for a team,” I mused, staring him straight in the eye. “I bet he’d sell a few shirts too.”

“Rob.”

“Yes, Sir John,” I said. “Just be quiet. I understand. May I be dismissed to training?”

He looked at me with a sad expression.

“I understand that this hurts you personally,” he said. “But it is for the good of the club and it is in that sense I am appealing to you now. You played hard for the shirt and you manage with equal intensity for the good of this club. If you will not accept this decision for me, perhaps you will accept it for the club you have served.”

He was good, I had to admit.

“Very well,” I said. “I have no alternative, so if you feel he’s needed, bring him on board.”

I then left for training. But I felt dirty.

# # #

[copperhorse21]

Brilliant! But that is in regards to sharing how your story arcs develop. I agree the toughest thing is to take what the story gives you, and come up with a plausible story arc to fit. I've had to make my own difficult choices regarding story arcs too (of which you're already aware considering our private discussions concerning Copper's stories) and when they do come off well, the feelings are incredible.

That said, Richmond is one of my fave characters too because he's a great antagonist for Rob's protagonist. Now, before I hijack this thread to discuss writing principles, allow me to add that this was a great chapter because of the conflicts into which Rob has been placed. Bravo!

[Twellman24]

Wow...

...David's coming.

This

is

going

to

be

nice.

[dechardonay]

Wow, thanks for such a detailed and fantastic answer! Great stuff. You've answered pretty much all my questions about where you end and the game starts, and I applaud your patience with not only the game, but the writing as well. Great work mate...

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks to all .. and to dechardonay, I love talking about writing. The problem for me is not making it into a screed

___

“Rob, you can’t let it worry you so,” Patty said.

“Sure I can,” I replied. “All this time I thought Sir John was on my side. Turns out now that he’s been turned, and by . All the talk about not selling up, what am I supposed to believe? Is he going to sell the club? And then what?”

“Then you find a different club. We talked about this last spring. How’d you like to go back to the States? I’m sure there are MLS teams that would love you back home. You might even get a shot at the national job someday. Would you like to maybe manage the United States in the World Cup? You could expand your horizons.”

“I know you’re trying to make me feel better,” I said, leaning back in my easy chair while my wife smoothed a compress over my forehead. My thundering headache showed no signs of subsiding. “We leave early in the morning for London and I need to feel better by then.”

“Same conversation we had last year,” she reminded me. “Don’t be afraid to look around. There are other clubs and even though you have done a great job here, you could also do a great job somewhere else.”

“Or I could crash and burn. That wouldn’t be fun.”

“You could crash and burn tomorrow. No one is guaranteed tomorrow in either of our businesses.”

Her plain common sense was starting to both irritate me and hit home at the same time. “But you’ve got something more important to worry about tomorrow – you have to figure out Chelsea. That drives everything and you’ll go nowhere with Sir John until you show you can win your way.”

“Come here,” I finally said, opening my arms. “You’re making way too much sense so the only way I can shut you up is to kiss you.”

Her soft chuckle was wonderful to hear. Her soft affection was even better to feel.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Wednesday, August 19

Chelsea (2-0-0, 1st place) v Reading (1-1-0, 8th place – EPL Match Day #3

Well, this is a fine kettle of fish.

My own coach ride to West London was completely silent. My team’s wasn’t much noisier.

My thoughts were solely on the match once we pulled out of sight of the Mad Stad and the club offices. The crap just never seems to end, but regarding Beckham, I’m hanging my hat on principle.

I want to do this my way. I have that right, until Sir John gets tired of the fighting. That could be sooner, or it could be later, but now that I know where I stand, my idea is to go down swinging if I must fail.

Those thoughts were my own. My players had other things to worry about.

It was a very quiet group of players that focused on their jobs as we rolled eastward. This was one time I bucked our standard tradition of traveling the night before a London match – I wanted the players as comfortable as possible so that meant sleeping in our own beds before heading out.

I could do that because I have a professional group of players who I could count on to stay out of the clubs. I have absolute faith in these players so the decision was easy.

Our chartered coach rolled into the Fulham district of the city, and finally to a stop behind the stadium. It was 8:30 in the morning, with plenty of time before warm-ups proper began.

I stepped to the front of the coach.

“All right, let me have your attention,” I said. “We all remember what happened to us last season at this place. We know it wasn’t pretty. We know it hurt. Today, though, I want you to put those things out of your mind. They lead to pressing and trying too hard and you can’t do that against this club. You have to relax and you have to play your game. We haven’t beaten this team yet but what I am looking for today is this team to play to its potential. We aren’t favored today, so whatever we do will be a nasty surprise to them and a pleasant one to everybody else.”

I looked at the new players, who sat toward the front of the coach. “Robert, you played here. You know this place. Nicolae, you haven’t, but you know the size of the stage you’re about to play on. Just do the things we brought you here to do and let your talent take care of the rest.”

I stepped aside and waved the team off the coach. A modest gathering had arrived to greet the visitors and though they weren’t overtly hostile, neither were they well disposed. They were kept behind barriers and we headed into the stadium without incident.

I made a quick stop at the home changing room to greet Grant, who was in his office.

“Rob, welcome back,” the Israeli said, rising from his chair. We shared a handshake and he waved me to a seat in his cavernous office. The trappings of the Big Four were certainly well worth having.

I looked across the way, to where Avram’s Manager of the Year award sat on a shelf.

“Congratulations on the bling,” I smiled, pointing to this trophy.

“Oh,” he smiled. “You’ve no idea the abuse I got for winning that.”

“I can’t imagine why,” I said, accepting an offered cup of coffee.

“Well, half the media here asks what I’m doing for an encore and the other half thinks you should have won it.”

Avram doesn’t smile often, but now a wide grin crossed his face.

“Can’t have everything, I guess,” I said, taking a sip of an excellent blend.

We talked about our teams while his players arrived behind the closed door to the manager’s office. A dazzling array of talent passed behind me and it was hard not to turn around and stare. If I had some of the depth Avram has in his squad, I’d have no worries about my future and we could forget about David Beckham.

Not surprisingly, that was the subject Grant had on his mind. “What will you do about that?” he asked.

I didn’t know, so I told him the truth.

“Well, I don’t envy you,” he said. “You remember we had the same situation here with Shevchenko.”

“But eventually he turned out all right for you,” I countered. “I don’t know, honestly, what I’d do if I was told to play Beckham in Kalou’s spot.”

“You’d learn about a whole different kind of pressure,” Grant smiled. “Last year I welcomed you to the Premiership, Rob. Now, I’m welcoming you to the big boys. The TV show says you’re the ‘Next One’. Now, you get to prove it.”

I laughed. “I never asked for that,” I said, taking another sip from my cup. It, like virtually everything in his office, was naturally emblazoned with the CFC logo.

“We never ask for such things,” Grant answered. “At least, if you are not named Mourinho. But now you have the name and you have to live up to it. If you stay in the Premiership for a few more years, that name will stick with you for the rest of your life.”

# # #

[dechardonay]

One other thing which tickles me in your story is you and Avram's friendship. I confess to being a dedicated Chelsea hater, but I enjoy seeing how your mate Avvie goes in your world here. Another good strength - The Ridgways aren't the only characters you have dragging us in.

[tenthreeleader]

dechardonay, the idea of a friendship between RR and Grant was one that was not generated by the game, ironically enough -- I did that myself. It springs from Grant's personal conduct after losing the European Cup final to United in Moscow. I was powerfully impressed by his demeanor, especially with his knowledge that he would likely be sacked for failing to win a trophy that season. I thought his silent grace and class in the face of heartbreaking defeat was admirable. I'm not a Chelsea supporter, but I thought Grant represented his club as well as anyone could have that day and I hope he does well at Portsmouth too.

___

It took less than five minutes for Dagoberto to make a statement on my behalf. That was a bit of a shock, as was the manner in which he opened our account for the day.

It started simply, with a throw-in to Chelsea on the left touchline in their defensive third. Ashley Cole took it, looking for Frank Lampard. But his throw went too far, and was effortlessly cut out by Kalou.

Seeing Kalou steal the ball, Dagoberto started his run and he sailed right between John Terry and Tal Ben-Haim. After only a few steps he knew he’d be open, so he whistled once for Kalou’s attention.

The Ivorian was already on the job, though, and the ball was on its way to the heart of the Chelsea defense. Ben-Haim had been caught badly out of position, and it was quickly a one-on-one between my fast striker and Petr Cech, now desperately trying to cut the angle.

Dagoberto was merciless, beating the keeper to the wide side with only three and a half minutes on the clock.

Grant was screaming. It was frankly horrible defending, and we had taken advantage of it to earn a dream start. It was already better than we had done at the Battle of Stamford Bridge a year ago, so there was that much to celebrate.

The intensity among my players was really something to behold as we headed back to the center circle for Chelsea’s kickoff. To be ahead this early, against this caliber of opposition, said a lot.

My players, to their credit, didn’t stop there. Dagoberto and Dica exchanged passes just outside the area a few minutes later, with the raider missing wide to Cech’s left with a corkscrewing shot that would have earned higher marks had it been on target.

Now the home team was back into the swing. Sonko managed to get above Rossi to head Daniel Alves’ early cross behind for a corner, and Lobont then saved from Drogba’s header on the ensuing set piece.

The half then turned tactical, as my players did a fine job of settling in to protect their lead. Rossi was sprung through by Lampard in the 26th minute but was denied by the offside flag. It was the best opportunity Chelsea had generated to that point, which made the central defender in me smile.

Shaun Wright-Phillips wound up in Rob Styles’ book soon afterwards for attempting to climb up Magallón, and Florent Malouda got a talking-to for trying to read the tag on Kalou’s shirt by pulling it to his eyes.

We were really holding up well, and I had just given the signal to shift to a flat 4-4-2 to protect the lead to halftime. Naturally, disaster then struck and its name was Rossi.

Wright-Phillips had just shot over the bar and after the ensuing goal kick the ball wound up at the feet of Lampard. His ball ahead found Rossi, who caught Sonko on the turn. It was that simple, and six minutes from the break Chelsea were level.

It was the same old thing, at the same old time. An opponent had found a way to equalize just before a break. That sort of thing is nothing new to my clubs, unfortunately, and it seemed that regardless of what I tried to do to scheme against it, nothing worked.

The teams went to the break level, which certainly wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But yet again, it could have been more.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I wasn’t stupid enough to rip into my team with a 1-1 draw at the Bridge on the cards. I’ve been accused of being a lot of things in my short tenure, but being stark raving mad isn’t generally among them.

Except by Emiliani, I guess, but then sometimes I think he says things like that for sport.

All you can do in such an instance is remind the players what got them the lead, and that was all I did. Inside, I was seething but in this case the best message to the players was one that was unsent. They knew.

So as the second half kicked off, we had a bit of extra energy. About ninety seconds after the interval, Ferreira brought the ball down the right looking to make some noise against his former mates. His ball into the middle was headed clear by Ben-Haim, eager to make amends for his error against Dagoberto in the first half.

Unfortunately, this time the Israeli national headed the ball directly at Magallón, and the Mexican started the ball right back toward the Chelsea goal. He played the simplest of balls ahead to Dica, and it was then that the Chelsea defenders switched assignments.

Ben-Haim was now on Kitson and Terry was on Dagoberto. It didn’t matter. This time, Dagoberto’s diagonal run split the central defenders with Terry on the left and Ben-Haim on the right. It was perfectly timed and again, he was in on Cech with the blue defenders mere spectators.

We concede goals late on. We seem to score them early, and the completion of Dagoberto’s brace put us back in front on 47 minutes.

“When he makes up his mind, he’s very hard to stop,” I exclaimed to Dillon, as our bench players resumed their accustomed seats after the goal.

“He’s making them look foolish,” he replied, a measure of satisfaction spreading across his face in the form of a wicked grin.

Of course, the Chelsea players on the pitch were screaming at Styles for offside, but there was nothing in it. Even Grant wasn’t protesting, but his defenders, frustrated at being caught out again, were out for their pounds of flesh.

Kalou then decided his time for revenge against Malouda had arrived, with a rather wicked challenge that somehow didn’t get him booked. He had sent his message, though, and it wasn’t long before the home team started to reply.

They replied in kind, and against my two-goal scorer. Ben-Haim decked Dagoberto just seven minutes after his goal, with a hard shoulder barge as the two raced for a lead ball from Kalou, and then Terry did it again not five minutes after that by running right through the player as he attempted to receive a chest-high pass from Maloney.

Neither infraction was deemed worthy of a booking, which incurred my ire. In turn, my rising from the bench to discuss the issue brought loud protests from the Chelsea fans behind our bench. Not that this mattered.

Grant made a surprising substitution shortly after that, taking off Cole in favor of Wayne Bridge. I had issues of my own, though – Dagoberto was lagging badly and struggling with an injury from Terry’s spikes. They had come through him before the rest of the defender’s body a few minutes previous. He had to come off, which did not please me in the slightest.

Lita was well into his warm-ups by then as we won a corner from the head of Ben-Haim. I was doing a slow boil, but Sonko then did his best to mollify his manager.

Maloney swung in the corner and my vice-captain towered over Terry in response. He caught the ball flush with his forehead and Cech had no chance.

Sonko just buried it, and we were two to the good on 64 minutes. Even having Dagoberto out of the mix didn’t hurt that much now, and our traveling support was in raptures.

Lita took the pitch one minute later, which certainly wasn’t the worst option I could think of. But still, taking off the hottest player on the park due to injury earned the fourth official a visit from me.

I pitied Uriah Rennie a bit as we talked. He wasn’t going to win the argument with me on points, but he had the last word so he could win by knockout.

I had most of the words in between, as I pontificated on the lack of yellow next to Terry’s name on the scoresheet.

“Rob, you know it’s not going to do any good,” Rennie said, motioning back to my bench.

“My player is injured,” I said, pointing back up the tunnel. “Shoulder barges I can understand, but not driving right through a player’s legs. That’s not on and you know it.”

“Okay, Rob, I know it,” he said. There really wasn’t anything he could do about it, but he was the nearest target for my ire.

Malouda then came off in favor of Joe Cole, with Grant trying to refresh his team offensively. At that point, the home team turned up the heat.

Maloney headed a Daniel Alves cross behind for a corner, and Kalou did the same with the ensuing set piece a flash before Ben-Haim would have latched onto it. Kalou cleared the next corner after that, and Lobont then made a simply marvelous reflex save on a shot by Wright-Phillips that came off Dica’s shin pad.

All that took two minutes. Now Lampard went to take the next corner, and we couldn’t hold them off any longer. It was Rossi again, from a sharp angle to Lobont’s right, with an artfully placed looping header that gave my captain no chance.

Eighteen minutes from time, Chelsea had their lifeline at 3-2, and we were suddenly in full defensive mode. The end of the match was fast approaching and I had to try, once again, to scheme on how to avoid giving up that late goal.

# # #

[MokBull]

EH! EH! Oh no!

[gavrenwick]

Come on, Reading!!

[WLKRAS]

Bloody cliffhangers

[tenthreeleader]

The answer, I thought, lay with Bikey. I brought him on for Kitson and moved to two holders in a 4-5-1. Maybe that would be enough.

And if it wasn’t, well, I had another use in mind for André.

The hosts came at us again, but our new five-man midfield seemed to hold up fairly well. Rossi, who hadn’t been crocked after his brace as my striker had, was trying to do it all himself, and soon wore Sonko like a blanket as a result.

As the scorer of what was now the potential winning goal, Sonko was playing as hard as I had ever seen him play. Huth and Drogba were having a “Clash of the Titans” in our box with the veteran striker bashing his head figuratively against Reading’s “Berlin Wall”. It was the sort of matchup Huth was brought in to win.

Meanwhile, Bikey and Magallón worked well together in the dual holding positions, supporting the back line well. André’s versatility was standing him in very good stead.

With six minutes to play, I decided to use Bikey in that other capacity. I went to 5-4-1 for the first time as a manager.

With the ball out of play, I whistled for Bikey’s attention and told him what I wanted. He would partner Sonko again, as he did all last year, with Huth dropping to a sweeper position in front of Lobont. With those three as the heart of my back line, I felt pretty good.

Unfortunately, Bikey fouled Michael Essien about three yards outside our box to the left of the D as Lobont looked at it, and the crowd stood in anticipation of a Lampard free kick.

Only, it wasn’t Lampard. He ran over the ball and Rossi took the freebie instead. He smacked a hard shot right into Dica’s chest, in a very poorly taken effort. It rebounded straight to Essien, and his followup shot cannoned straight off Huth.

Now the penalty area was a madhouse, with players from both teams scrambling to gain possession. Sonko, at full stretch, was first one to the ball and he toe-poked outside the area to relieve the pressure.

We rushed forward trying to clear our lines, but Daniel Alves got there before anyone in our colors. He launched a desperate first-time volley that had plenty of swerve on it. He bent the thing right around Lobont’s outstretched arm and home.

I looked on in utter shock as Stamford Bridge went absolutely nuts. I looked up at the clock. It had just turned over to 89 minutes.

Standing there, my arms on top of my head in frustration, I felt like the loneliest man in the world. It had happened twice in one game.

Again!

Chelsea 3 (Rossi 5th 39, 6th 72; Daniel Alves 1st 89)

Reading 3 (Dagoberto 4th 4, 5th 47; Sonko 1st 64)

A – 41,974, Stamford Bridge, Chelsea, London

Man of the Match – Dagoberto, Reading

# # #

[viperk1]

The Lita effect is coming back to bite you in the ass....

Shame to see you go ahead three times to be pegged back though

[Celtic_1967]

10-3 has Rob employed Kevin Keegan as defensive coach over the summer and you've neglected to tell us?

[WelshWolf]

Bloody hell thats unlucky, better luck next time and I can only hope you find a way to stem these last minute leaks... shame to see really. 'Part from that though your writing is as good as ever and the storyline just as captivating, keep it up

[Sammy Kay]

Thank you... very enlightening feedback on the "rest of the story" as Paul Harvey would say. Enjoy reading and being held captive to what will happen next in this story. As it was been noted many times before.. Keep up the great job!

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